Work Text:
Hanil high school, early in the morning, always smelled the same: a mixture of paper, chalk and disinfectant. In the corridors, the artificial light of the neons made the faces a little pale, and the buzz of the students filled the air like a constant river but never really noisy.
Some were already running with books in hand, others were bent over their phones. The voices intertwined, but none prevailed. It was the routine, always the same.
At least until that day.
The main door opened, and the atmosphere changed.
⸻
Martin Edwards Park entered with a quiet step.
Immediately, the eyes turned.
At least 6’2. There was no need to measure him: it was enough to look at how he surpassed almost everyone around him by one head. The broad shoulders, the uniform jacket that fell well but already seemed tight, and that black backpack that, on anyone else, would have looked normal, but on his shoulders it appeared small, almost ridiculous.
The contrast was alienating.
Blonde hair, fair skin, mixed features, and that air of someone who doesn’t quite belong to the place, but who doesn’t even seem out of place.
⸻
The buzz in the corridors changed. He didn’t stop, but changed his tone: sharper, more agitated.
Some whispered immediately, almost unintentionally:
“Look... it’s him.”
“The new...”
“He’s half a foreigner, isn’t he?”
The girls exchanged glances, some laughing nervously.
The boys looked at him with a mixture of curiosity and challenge, as if they were already measuring him from a distance.
Martin seemed immune to all this. Or maybe not, maybe he noticed it very well, but he managed it in his own way: with that half smile on his lips, relaxed, as if nothing really touched him. He walked with long steps, hands in his pockets, observing the walls full of discolored posters, as if he had entered a completely new world and wanted to record it slowly.
⸻
In classroom 2-B, Seonghyeon was already sitting in his seat.
His desk, as always, was tidy: notebooks lined up, pencils arranged in parallel, pencil case arranged next to the math manual. The window to his right let in a pale light that illuminated his thin figure.
He wasn’t the type to get noticed. He wore the uniform perfectly, without a wrinkle out of place. His hair was black, cut short and clean, as the school required. Seonghyeon preferred to remain silent, almost invisible, and let his grades speak for him.
But when the classroom door opened and Martin entered, it was impossible not to look.
⸻
There was a suspended moment.
The new boy stood next to the chair, the blond of his hair that almost seemed to shine under the neon lights.
Seonghyeon realized that he was staring at him too much, and immediately looked down at the notebook.
But his eyes had already recorded everything: the foreign accent that mixed with the uncertain Korean of the presentation, the confidence with which Martin held his looks, the way his height almost seemed to bend the space around him.
And, even if he tried to ignore it, Seonghyeon’s heart beat a little faster.
The professor pointed to a free desk towards the back of the classroom.
Martin nodded, thanking with a short nod. He turned and began to walk along the narrow corridor between the benches, and with each step the air seemed to become more tense.
The students pretended to look away — books, phones, their hands intertwined — but their eyes betrayed them.
Some, especially the girls, immediately lowered their gaze when he passed by, and then exchanged muffled whispers of giggles.
Others, the most confident, stared at him defiantly: who was, exactly, this foreigner who presented himself so confident, with that dyed blond hair and that disproportionate height?
The sound of his footsteps seemed different from the others.
It wasn’t really louder, but it was as if the floor, under its weight, returned a light echo that resounded in the suspended air.
⸻
When he sat down, the chair creaking under him, as if it wasn’t used to such a tall body. Martin put the backpack next to his leg and bent down slightly to put the books in the small space of the desk.
The gesture was almost comical, because his long arms seemed too big for that coffee table designed for more minute boys.
But instead of looking clumsy, he got by with it with the usual naturalness. He settled down, crossed his arms on the table and looked up at the blackboard, as if he had always been there.
⸻
Seonghyeon couldn’t help but look at him again.
He was sitting three rows ahead, near the window, but he perceived the presence of the newcomer as if it were right behind him. Every time he tried to focus on the manual, his eyes fell on the edge of the window glass that barely reflected Martin’s blonde figure.
A blurred reflection, but sufficient.
That color even stood out in the flickering image of the glass, and Seonghyeon realized that his heart was beating too hard just for such a trivial detail.
Why am I watching it? He scolded himself, nibbling on his pen.
He was just a new student. Yet... it didn’t look like the others at all.
⸻
The professor started talking again, starting the lesson.
The chalk was slightly squeaky against the blackboard, and for a few minutes the general attention shifted elsewhere. But not completely.
The buzz was not gone: small glances, folded notes that passed from desk to counter, some choked giggles that were born and died immediately after.
Everyone, one way or another, kept thinking about Martin.
Even Seonghyeon, who usually didn’t get distracted by anything, that morning found himself unable to follow the professor’s words with the same concentration as always.
The professor’s voice filled the classroom, monotonous and regular, like the ticking of a clock.
The words slid on the whiteboard, written in a safe stroke of black marker: formulas, dates, vocabulary. They were the routine, the structure that the students were used to.
Yet, that morning, class 2-B was not as usual.
Too much energy retained in the air. Too many eyes that, at intervals, slid to the back of the classroom, where the newcomer sat with his arms crossed on the bench.
⸻
Martin didn’t seem worried in the least.
Every now and then he nodded as if he was really following the lesson, but it was obvious that some words escaped him.
He was betrayed by his gaze: those eyebrows that barely bent into a questioning expression, the way his eyes ran from the blackboard to the white notebook, where he had not yet written anything.
When the professor asked him a sudden question, the class held their breath.
«Martin-ssi, can you read this sentence?»
The boy raised his head.
For a moment there was silence, then he leaned towards the book, scrolling through the lines. His lips moved slowly, as if he was trying to read first inside himself.
In the end he began, the hard Korean on his foreign lips, syllable by syllable, with mistakes that made some classmates wring their mouths.
But instead of being embarrassed, when he interrupted halfway through the word and went wrong, Martin laughed.
A short, deep laugh that broke the tension.
“Sorry, sorry,” he said, waving his hand. “Difficult.”
Someone deep down burst out laughing, but not to make fun of him: it was contagious, that way of laughing about it. Even the professor, who had raised an eyebrow at first, shook his head with a half smile.
“Okay. You’ll work harder.»
«Yes, sir!» Martin replied in English, bringing his hand to his forehead as a military salute.
The class burst into a soft laugh, and for a moment it seemed that the morning was less heavy than usual.
⸻
Seonghyeon, however, didn’t laugh.
Or rather: his lips barely curled, unintentionally, but he didn’t make a sound.
From his place near the window, he observed that naturalness with a knot in his stomach. It wasn’t just the easy joke, or the laughter that lightened everything: it was the way Martin never really seemed to be in trouble.
Where he would blush, look down, try to disappear, Martin did the opposite: he was wrong and turned him into strength.
Seonghyeon turned a page of the notebook, pretending to take notes. But instead he was writing in pencil, in a corner, two words that had nothing to do with the lesson:
“How does he do it?”
⸻
As the hours passed, the atmosphere remained suspended.
Each change of subject was a small ritual: the professors who went in and out, the rustle of the chairs, the notebooks that opened again.
And every time Martin attracted attention, even without speaking.
Some classmate, the most enterprising, whispered something to him during a break.
Martin replied with a heavy accent but with that same light confidence that already seemed to conquer anyone.
Laughter. A hand that patted him on the shoulder. A note that sled on his desk, folded into a triangle.
Martin opened it without hesitation.
He read it, laughed again, and gave a vague nod to the sender, who blushed up to his ears.
⸻
Seonghyeon observed again, unintentionally.
A strange sense tightened in his chest. It wasn’t anger, it wasn’t sadness: it was something more nuanced. An awareness of distance.
He, who received attention only for the tasks copied at the last minute, looked at Martin, who in less than half a day had already turned on the whole class around him.
He looked down at his notes, tightening the pen.
He wrote words he already knew, formulas he didn’t need to repeat. But it was his way of putting himself back in his place: invisible, orderly, useful only when he needed it.
⸻
Towards mid-morning, when the sunlight began to filter a little more decisively through the windows, Martin let himself go backwards on the chair, stretching his arms.
A slow, natural gesture that made his chair creat and attracted other glances.
The professor turned around suddenly.
“Martin-ssi! You’re here to study, not to relax like at home!»
The class held its breath. Some students looked at each other, expecting embarrassment or a heavy reprimand.
Martin immediately straightened up, widening his eyes with a fake and theatrical expression of guilt.
“Yes, teacher! Study, study!’ He said, and took the pen as if he was about to write with the seriousness of an employee under pressure.
Another laugh crossed the class, louder than the previous one.
The professor sighed, raising his eyes to the sky, and went back to writing.
And once again, Martin had managed to turn a moment of tension into a scene that left everyone entertained.
⸻
The morning went like this: slow for some, light for others.
For Seonghyeon it was a silent fight between the concentration on books and the inevitable curiosity about that blond boy, too tall, too sure, too different.
Every now and then he convinced himself to ignore it. Then a laugh or a misplaced comment was enough, and again his eyes slid back, towards him.
It was only the first day.
And it already seemed that the balance of the 2-B had changed.
The bell rang with that metallic bell that vibrated in the air and marked the end of the first part of the morning.
Immediately, the classroom exploded in motion: chairs pushed back, backpacks opening, voices returning to fill the space like a liberated river.
Martin got up slowly, stretching as if he had just gotten out of bed. That gesture was enough to make two companions laugh behind him, who immediately gave him friendly pushes.
«Hey, Martin, are you coming with us?»
The Korean of their words was fast, but Martin caught the sense of the tone and expression. You nod with a wide smile, raising your thumb.
In a few seconds he was no longer “the new boy” but part of a small group that dragged him out of the classroom, towards the corridor.
⸻
There the air was different: noisier, more lively.
Students running to the distributor, girls sitting in a circle near the windows, others playing to push each other as a joke.
Martin, with his height and blond hair that reflected the light, stood out like a visual magnet. It only took a moment, and already curious glances landed on him.
«Where are you from?» Someone asked.
«Do you know how to play basketball?» Another asked .
The words invested him from several directions, and even if he didn’t understand everything, he always answered with the same smile, with broken sentences, with wide hand gestures. And every time, the reaction was the same: laughter, pats, jokes that welcomed him more and more.
When they arrived at the vending machine, someone sneaked a note into his uniform pocket. Martin found it immediately, opened it and laughed, shaking his head.
It was not understood if he had understood what was written there, but the gesture was enough: the girls a few meters away blushed, looking down.
⸻
From his bench near the window, who remained in the classroom, Seonghyeon observed the scene through the glass of the sliding door.
He almost never went out during the break: he preferred to stay in his place, eat a snack in silence, maybe exchange a few words with the two closest friends.
But that day, the gaze inevitably ran towards the corridor.
It was like watching a movie in which he had no participation: Martin in the center, surrounded by faces that laughed, hands that stretched towards him, voices that called him.
Seonghyeon realized that he was squeezing the pen too hard.
He inhaled slowly and looked down, returning to his notebook.
It wasn’t jealousy. Or maybe yes. But above all it was that familiar feeling of distance: the world out there, full of colors and laughter, and him behind a glass, with his neat handwriting and always straight lines.
⸻
The break almost ended without him noticing.
The sliding door opened again, and Martin went back inside, walking with a relaxed step.
He had a half-empty can in his hand and his smile was still on his lips. He let himself fall on the chair with a thud, making the wood crunch again.
For a moment, his eyes rose.
And they crossed those of Seonghyeon.
Just a moment, a short flash, enough for the younger boy’s heart to speed up.
Then Martin looked away, returning to his companions.
The afternoon sun filtered through the large side windows of the gym, tinging the floor a dusty orange. The air was impregnated with the smell of sweat, worn wood and chalk from the white lines drawn on the parquet.
The constant noise of bouncing balloons mixed with the screams of the boys, the high-pitched screams of sneakers sliding on the shiny floor. It was a family chaos, which in high school Hanil meant only one thing: training of the basketball team.
⸻
Martin was there, standing near the bench, with the team’s uniform they had lent him for the test.
The white shirt, wide on anyone else, fell on him as if it had been made to measure. The blond hair was already disheveled with sweat, and the meter and ninety height made the basket look less distant.
The coach watched him with his arms crossed.
He didn’t need to explain much: a nod was enough, and Martin grabbed the ball.
His first dribble was a bit messy, too strong, but he immediately found the rhythm. Then he ran to the basket and jumped.
The thud of the balloon that crossed the retina was dry, precise.
For a moment, silence fell in the gym.
Then the screams of the companions exploded.
“Wooah!”
«Did you see?!»
«Unbelievable!»
⸻
Martin smiled, breathing deeply. He wasn’t modest: he raised both arms in the air like a miniature champion, being dragged by the laughter of others.
It was just a shot, nothing special for those who had been playing for years. But the way he had done it - with that naturalness, with that energy - was enough to make it clear to everyone that he was not just any beginner.
The coach approached, staring at him with a half smile.
«Did you say you’ve been playing for a long time?» He asked in Korean, punctuating the words.
Martin scratched the back of his neck, trying to understand. Then he replied, in a mixture of languages:
“Yeah... in Canada. At school.’
The coach laughed.
“We’ll see. But in my opinion, you remain.»
⸻
The training continued.
Passes, runs, shots.
Martin made mistakes, of course: every now and then he lost the ball, sometimes he moved with too much enthusiasm and little control. But when he centered the basket, the sound was always clean, elegant. And each time, the group around him grew more: pats on the back, hands stretched out for the five, screams of encouragement.
Not even two hours had passed, and he already seemed part of the team.
⸻
Outside the gym, from the corridor facing the courtyard, Seonghyeon stopped for a moment.
He wasn’t there to watch the training: he was just coming home after spending too much time in the library. But the voices, the screams, the sound of the balloon forced him to slow down.
From the half-open door he saw Martin jump again towards the basket.
His tall body lifted with surprising ease, the balloon slid from his hand and crossed the retina with the same precision as before.
The screams filled the gym.
Seonghyeon stood still for a few seconds.
He didn’t know why, but he couldn’t look away.
Then he turned around, clutching his backpack, and continued down the corridor.
The hot shower had left a pleasant, almost lazy feeling on Martin’s skin.
While drying his hair with a wrinkled white towel, he looked at himself for a moment in the cracked mirror of the changing rooms.
The dyed blonde, now damp, seemed even lighter under the artificial light. The brown eyes, dark, stared at him as if to ask: So what? What do you think of this place?
He put on his school uniform again — his shirt slightly unbuttoned, his jacket thrown on his shoulder — and picked up his backpack.
The locker room had now been emptied: the teammates had come out one by one, some laughing, some talking loudly about strategies and future games.
Martin remained last, as if he wasn’t in a hurry.
He opened the iron door and went out into the corridor.
⸻
The air outside was different: cooler, almost humid, because the sun began to fall behind the high windows.
The voices of the gym behind him had been extinguished, replaced by the silence that accompanies the school in the late afternoon, when most of the students have already returned home.
And there, in front of the shoe racks lined up along the wall, there was Seonghyeon.
⸻
He didn’t seem to notice him right away.
He was sitting on a wooden bench, his backpack next to him, with a book open on his lap.
The warm light of the sunset fell on his figure, illuminating the black edges of the straight hair, and made the pages shine as if they were pale gold.
His lips barely moved: maybe he was going over under his breath, as he often did.
A habit that seemed natural to him, but that for those who observed had something intimately fragile.
⸻
Martin slowed down.
He didn’t really know why, but something hit him. Maybe the contrast: the whole gym still full of sweat, and that guy there, silent, as if time were flowing in another direction.
He knew him by sight: he had seen him in the morning, in class. The tidy guy, the one who never laughed too loud, always bent on the books.
But, at that moment, he was the only face in the hallway.
⸻
“Hey.”
Martin’s voice resounded unexpectedly, deep, still with the echo of mixed languages that he didn’t really know how to use.
Seonghyeon suddenly looked up from the book.
For a moment he stood still, as if he wasn’t sure that she was really turning to him.
Martin, with that half-smile of his, pointed with his chin at the open book.
«Always... study?» He said in a slightly broken Korean, slightly bending his head.
⸻
The sentence wasn’t perfect, but it was enough.
And it was enough to trigger something in Seonghyeon’s chest.
His heart accelerated, for no reason.
“Y-yes,” he replied softly, trying to look natural.
He closed the book, as if to hide the embarrassment.
Martin barely laughed, a low and light sound.
“Well... smart boy,” he said, mixing his tongues without worrying.
Then, without adding anything else, he arranged the backpack on one shoulder and headed towards the exit of the corridor.
⸻
Seonghyeon followed him with his eyes until his tall figure disappeared around the corner.
Only then did he realize that his heart was still beating too hard, as if he had run.
He closed his eyes for a moment.
Then he shook his head, putting things back in order.
It was just a greeting. Nothing more.
And yet...
The sky above Seoul was clearer than the day before.
Not completely clear, but veiled by thin clouds that let us glimpse, at times, a pale sun.
The morning air was cool, still imbued with the night humidity, and the school windows reflected the light like mirrors just veiled with fog.
In the courtyard, the comings and goings of the students was the same: fast-beating shoes, overlapping voices, full and heavy backpacks.
But there was a difference.
Between murmurs and low-voice speeches, a name appeared more and more often.
Martin
⸻
«Did you see him yesterday at training?»
«They say he made a basket like nothing!»
«And then... he’s so tall, he looks like a professional player!»
The voices ran from mouth to mouth, with that excited tone that the school assumes every time a novelty arrives too big to go unnoticed.
Some laughed, others shook their heads pretending to be indifferent, but in the meantime they were still talking about him.
And Martin, as if nothing had happened, crossed the main corridor with a calm step, the headphones tucked into his ears and the backpack thrown on only one shoulder.
He greeted with a nod who turned to him, he hinted at quick smiles at the girls who looked at him with bright eyes.
And already inside his locker they began to accumulate half-folded notes.
⸻
In classroom 2-B, Seonghyeon was back in his seat.
The routine never changed: books ordered, notebook lined up, gaze lowered.
But inside, there was a subtle difference.
He couldn’t not remember that short exchange of the afternoon before.
The broken words, the strange accent, the smile.
It had been a minimal moment, just a few seconds... yet it came back to his mind as if it had happened five minutes ago.
When Martin entered the classroom, later than the others, carrying that relaxed air with him, Seonghyeon immediately looked down at the notebook.
He tried to focus on the title of the page he was writing, but the pen stopped halfway.
It was enough for him to know that the tall blond boy was sitting a few rows behind, that he laughed softly at someone’s joke.
That presence alone was enough to change the temperature of the room.
⸻
The morning started as usual: the professor came in, the buzz went off, the lesson picked up rhythm.
Martin, like the day before, was not the type to shut up.
He tried to follow, of course, but every now and then he let himself go to comments too loudly, which made the classmates laugh and sigh the teacher.
He wasn’t rude, not completely: he was just... cheeky.
Yet, that brazenness was just what made him immediately popular.
⸻
During the second hour, when the professor went out for a moment to get some papers in the teaching room, the buzz exploded.
Everyone talked, laughed, exchanged notes and jokes.
And it was then that Martin, turning to talk to a boy behind him, crossed Seonghyeon’s gaze again.
For a moment, time seemed to stop.
Martin raised his chin, hinting at a quick smile, as if to say: I remember you, it was you yesterday afternoon, right?
Seonghyeon immediately looked away.
But the ears, slightly reddened, betrayed him.
The sound of the bell broke the tension of the last hour like a cracked glass.
Immediately the classroom came to life: chairs pushed back, boys getting up in groups, those who ran down the corridor, those who took out their packed lunch directly from the counter.
The air was filled with the smell of kimbap, sweet snacks, strawberry milk bought at the vending machine.
Martin sat for a moment, his legs stretched out under the bench.
He ran a hand through his hair and then he got up.
He walked calmly between the desks, followed by the curious looks of his classmates who had not yet tired of his novelty.
A girl put a small pink box in his hand: “For you!”
He looked at her, amazed, then laughed softly and thanked her with his broken Korean: “Thank you very much.”
The girl blushed and ran back to her seat.
⸻
Seonghyeon, from his corner, tried to focus on his lunch.
He had pulled out a metal drawer, the lid neatly open next to it, the steaming white rice and some side dishes carefully arranged by his mother.
Eating in silence made him feel invisible, and after all he was fine with it.
But the noise of the class, and especially the laughter that followed Martin wherever he moved, made it difficult for him to ignore.
Every now and then he looked up, unintentionally, and always found it there: in the center.
⸻
Then something small, but sufficient, happened.
As Martin crossed the corridor between the desks, someone - perhaps as a joke, perhaps out of envy - trippered over him.
He didn’t fall, of course: with the reflexes trained by basketball, he balanced himself in an instant.
But his backpack slid from the shoulder and fell with a heavy thud, opening halfway.
Notebooks, a bottle of water, and even a chocolate bar fell to the ground, scattering.
The class laughed, not in a bad way, but how to laugh at an unforeseen event that breaks the boredom.
Martin looked down, one eyebrow raised, and then gave an ironic smile.
«Funny,» he said in English, bending down to pick up.
⸻
And that’s when Seonghyeon moved.
Without thinking too much, he slid off his desk and bent down to pick up one of the notebooks that had fallen near his feet.
He took him in his hands and, for the first time, he found himself looking at Martin so closely.
The blond boy lowered his eyes towards him.
For a second he seemed surprised: not so much by the gesture, but by the fact that it was him who helped him.
«Ah...» Martin said, taking the notebook from Seonghyeon’s hands.
And he smiled again. Not the wide smile he gave everyone, but a shorter one, almost sincere.
“Thanks.”
The English pronunciation, clear, different from broken Korean, hit Seonghyeon like a small shock.
“Y-you’re welcome,” he replied softly, looking down as he returned to his seat.
⸻
Martin stood for a moment to look at him as he walked away.
Then he picked up the last books, put his backpack on his shoulder with a fluid gesture, and went back to his desk.
But his gaze, for a few seconds, remained fixed on Seonghyeon’s profile, bent back on the rice.
The bell of the last hour was always the most liberating.
The students went out in waves, some headed home, others to clubs and extracurricular activities.
The afternoon sky was a brighter blue, stained with light clouds that ran pushed by the wind.
Martin immediately headed for the gym.
He had already learned the way, even if every now and then he had to stop to look at the signs hanging on the walls.
The school uniform was replaced by a light suit, the white T-shirt tucked into the baggy pants.
When he entered, the sound of balloons bouncing against the parquet greeted him like familiar music.
The scent of polished wood, the echo of whistles and laughter: everything brought him back home, to Canada, to the gyms where he had always played.
⸻
The team was already there.
Some ran in a circle to warm up, others dribbled while waiting for the coach.
As soon as they saw him, someone raised his hand:
«Hey, the Canadian!»
Martin smiled, clenching his fists raised as a sign of greeting.
He didn’t feel uncomfortable: on the contrary, in that field he had the confidence that was still faltering in the classroom.
Basketball was his language.
The training started with simple exercises: runs, passes, fast shots.
Martin, despite not yet knowing Korean calls well, understood everything from the rhythm, gestures, dynamics.
And when the ball reached his hands, it moved with natural fluidity: two steps, jump, clean basket.
The others whistled, applauded, teased him in a friendly tone.
In a few minutes he was already “one of them”.
⸻
Meanwhile, outside the gym, the hallway was quieter.
Most of the students had already left.
Only a few members of the study club were left, locked in classrooms with piles of books.
Seonghyeon was walking with his heavy backpack on his shoulders, heading towards the exit.
His afternoon, as always, would be made up of homework and silence at home.
But as he passed in front of the large door of the gym, the sound of balloons and voices came to him clearly, like a call.
Instinctively he slowed down.
He didn’t really want to look... and yet he did.
Through the windows of the high windows, he caught a glimpse of Martin running along the field.
The neon light fell on his blond hair, making it look even lighter, almost shinier as he jumped for a basket.
The decisive rebound of the ball, the sound of shoes crawling on the parquet: everything had an energy that seemed light years away from his world to Seonghyeon.
He realized that he had stopped too long.
Fearing that someone would notice, he immediately looked down and started walking towards the exit again.
But in his chest, something was beating faster than usual.
⸻
Inside the gym, Martin landed after another perfect basket.
While his companions patted him on the back, he had a moment when he looked up at the side windows.
And he was sure, for a very short moment, to see someone out there.
A face, maybe. Dark eyes that watched him.
Then the shadow disappeared.
Martin narrowed his eyes, as if wondering if he had imagined everything.
But a thought remained on him, as he resumed drilling:
Who was it?
The morning started as usual, with the noise of the corridor and the shoes crawling on the shiny floor.
But the air in room 2-B had a different weight: on the desks were already ready-made piles of printed sheets, distributed with precision by the professor.
A test.
Of Korean language and literature.
The students took out pens and pencils, some sighed, others quickly passed crumpled notes with their hands.
Martin looked at the paper in front of him as if it were written in alien code.
The letters seemed to him lines and circles without meaning, too fast to read, too complex to connect.
He had learned some useful phrases to survive, of course, but here we were talking about classic poems, grammatical analysis, proverbs.
It doesn’t exist, he thought.
⸻
The professor began to explain the deliveries.
The voice was flat, used to that ritual, but for Martin it was like listening to white noise.
The class lowered their heads, starting to write.
He stood still, the pen suspended in mid-air.
The heartbeat accelerated, but not from anxiety: from irritation.
It was the umpteenth time that he was in front of an obstacle that he had not chosen.
«Ah... fuck ...» he murmured through his teeth, pushing the paper away.
The noise was clear: the paper that slid to the side.
Some companions raised their heads.
«Martin-ssi,» said the professor, stopping. «What are you doing?»
Martin looked up, his dark eyes slightly lit.
“I can’t take this test,” he said in a mixture of Korean and English. “It’s ridiculous. I’m not ready. It’s not fair.»
A murmur ran between the desks.
No one ever dared to raise their voices with that professor. No one, except him.
⸻
The teacher sighed, taking off his glasses and massaging his nose.
«Martin... we understood your situation. But school can’t stop for a single student.»
“I’m not asking you to stop,” Martin replied, placing the pen firmly on the bench. “I’m asking you to be realistic. How should I write an essay on a poem I can’t even read?»
The tone was direct, but not rude: there was frustration, but also a certain logic.
And this made the class even quieter.
The professor looked around, seeking support from the colleagues present as supervisors.
In the end, with a calm but harsh voice, he announced:
“Okay. We grant you a month. One month to recover. But you will have a tutor. And you’ll have to make a serious effort. Otherwise... you’ll be out of this school.»
The word “outside” echoed in the classroom like a hammer blow.
⸻
Martin crossed his arms over his chest, then nodded slowly.
“One month,” he repeated. “Okay. But who is this tutor?»
The professor didn’t answer right away.
He turned his gaze to the side of the class, where a boy with glasses was desperately trying to look invisible.
“Eom Seonghyeon.”
⸻
Seonghyeon’s world, at that moment, seemed to stop.
He heard his name rumble in the silence of the classroom.
Everyone turned to him.
His heart went up his throat.
Him? Martin’s tutor?
Martin followed the teacher’s gaze and, when his eyes met those of Seonghyeon, for a second the tension dissolved into a cheeky smile.
Half a smig, as if the idea amused him more than scared him.
“Perfect,” he said. «It’s fine with me.»
Seonghyeon immediately looked down, his hands clenched on the notebook, trying not to show the heat that went to his ears.
Inside himself, however, the thought was clear:
Why me?
The afternoon was warm, the sun filtered through the windows of the high school library.
It was there that the teachers had decided to take place the first meeting: no noise, no distractions. Just bookshelves, tidy tables and the familiar smell of paper.
Seonghyeon had arrived early.
He had taken a seat at a side table, far from the entrance, already with Korean grammar and literature books stacked next to the notebook.
The heart, however, was beating a little too fast.
He kept repeating himself that it was just a school assignment. Nothing special. But the more he said to himself, the less he believed it.
⸻
When the sliding door of the library opened, Seonghyeon heard it immediately.
A long step, decisive, and then the dry noise of the backpack resting on the table.
Martin
His blond hair, lightened by the sunlight that came in from the windows, looked almost golden.
He was still wearing the basketball club suit, his jacket tied at his waist, and he let himself fall on the chair in front of him with an expression halfway between boredom and fun.
“So,” he said, leaning forward on his elbows. «Are you my savior?»
⸻
Seonghyeon recovered, nervously fixing his glasses.
“I... don’t... I’m not a savior,” he stammered. «I’m just... your tutor.»
Martin laughed softly, a low sound, almost musical.
“Okay, tutor. Then teach me. Make me a fucking literary genius in a month.»
He said it as if it were a challenge, but without malice.
A tone that put together irony and a certain, subtle, curiosity.
⸻
Seonghyeon opened one of the books, trying to concentrate.
He pointed to a page, the first lines of a simple text.
«Let’s start by reading. You have to learn to recognize the structure of sentences.»
Martin looked at the lines as if they were heroglyphs.
He squinted his eyes, then tried to read.
The voice was deep, but the words came out broken, mispronounced. Some syllables sounded almost funny.
Seonghyeon, unintentionally, smiled.
And he immediately felt guilty for doing it.
Martin noticed it.
«Are you laughing at me?» He asked, tilting his head, but he didn’t really seem angry.
“N-no!” Seonghyeon replied, waving his hands. “I’m not laughing! It’s just that... you got the wrong accent. But... it’s not serious.»
«Ah, so you’re also strict.»
Martin relaxed on the chair, crossing his arms. «I like it.»
⸻
Time was flowing slowly.
Martin struggled to concentrate: he yawned, fiddled with the pen, asked trivial questions just to distract him.
But, every now and then, when he could read a sentence without gross mistakes, his eyes lit up like those of a child discovering something new.
And every time it happened, Seonghyeon noticed it.
He noticed the sincere satisfaction that shone through that smile, other than the arrogance he showed in class or with his teammates.
⸻
After almost two hours, Martin let himself fall backwards on the chair, stretching his arms.
“Okay, that’s enough. If you continue like this, my brain will explode.»
Seonghyeon slowly closed the book, holding back a sigh.
“Okay. But tomorrow... you’ll have to work harder.»
Martin stared at him for a moment, then folded his lips into a half smile.
«Do you know you’re touder than you seem?»
Seonghyeon blushed, looking down at the notebook.
«I... I’m just doing my job.»
Martin got up, putting his backpack on his shoulder.
«Well, then see you tomorrow... tutor.»
And with a nod of his hand, he left, leaving Seonghyeon alone at the table, his heart still beating too hard.
The Eoms’ apartment was located in a quiet neighborhood, not far from the school but quite far from the noise of the main traffic.
A simple condominium, with corridors illuminated by neon lights a little off, and doors all the same.
Seonghyeon opened his with a habitual gesture, leaving his shoes tidy next to the doormat and placing his backpack in the corner.
The house was silent.
His mother often worked late, his father was on a business trip.
Most of the Seonghyeon spent the same time like this: alone.
He turned on the table lamp, the warm light that immediately filled the small living room.
A square table, two chairs, shelves with books and notebooks stacked in an almost manic order.
Nothing out of place.
⸻
He prepared a quick plate of rice with kimchi, put it on the table and ate slowly, in silence.
Just the sound of chopsticks against the bowl.
Usually that silence reassured him.
But not that evening.
For some reason, his mind kept coming back to the afternoon.
To Martin’s wrong pronunciations, to the restrained laughter, to the cheeky smile he had given him before leaving.
He tried to chase him away, shaking his head.
It’s nothing. It’s just a task. You are the tutor, he is the student. Enough.
Yet, his heart did not agree.
⸻
After dinner, he sat down at the desk in his room.
The room was an orderly refuge: books of all subjects, highlighters arranged by color, post-its attached to the edge of the bookcase.
He turned on the study lamp and opened a new notebook.
On the title page he wrote:
“Study program for Martin Edwards Park”.
He spent more than an hour throwing down diagrams, graded exercises, simple vocabulary lists.
He wanted to be efficient, clear, useful.
But every time he wrote his name, Martin, the letters seemed heavier than the others.
He stopped, staring at the paper.
He felt like smiling, without realizing it.
«Stupid...» he murmured in a low voice, blushing to himself. «You shouldn’t think about it so much.»
⸻
That night, when he went to bed, the room was immersed in darkness and the usual silence.
He turned several times in bed, unable to fall asleep right away.
In his mind, the same scene always came back:
Martin who called him “tutor” with that mockery smile.
And Seonghyeon, despite everything, realized that he didn’t mind at all.
The library, again.
The same warm light that filtered through the curtains, the same smell of old paper.
And the same table in the corner, where Seonghyeon was already sitting, books and notebooks arranged in meticulous order.
He had prepared new exercises, simpler, so as not to discourage Martin.
He squeezed the pen between his fingers, drumming softly on the paper.
Every now and then he stopped, looked at the door, then immediately looked down, as if he didn’t want to admit to himself that he was waiting for him.
⸻
The sliding door opened with a sharp noise.
Martin entered, at least ten minutes late.
The uniform jacket was unbuttoned, the tie left danging crooked, and the blond hair - already disheveled by nature - today was even more so.
He looked like someone who hadn’t rushed at all.
«Hey, tutor,» he greeted, placing the backpack with a thud on the table. «You’re as punctual as a Swiss watch, huh?»
He let himself fall on the chair, stretching as if he had just come out of a nap.
⸻
Seonghyeon pursed his lips.
«You’re late.»
Martin laughed softly.
«Ten minutes. No one dies.»
Then he leaned towards him, resting his chin on the back of his hand. «You haven’t already put me between your rules, have you? Like: arrive on time, don’t laugh, sit up straight...»
Seonghyeon looked down, hiding the embarrassment behind the book.
«If you really want to pass the test, you have to take things seriously.»
Martin made a theatrical grimace, spreading his arms.
“Seriously? I’m serious. Very serious. Look.»
And he grabbed the pen, starting to turn it between his fingers with a distracted air.
⸻
After five minutes, however, he really started reading the first sentence of the manual.
He pronounced it badly, like the day before, but this time he added a deliberately exaggerated tone, almost comical, to get a reaction from him.
«M-mi... I call... Ma-tin... P-park...» he said with a grotesque accent, raising his eyebrows.
Seonghyeon stared at him, not knowing whether to get angry or laugh.
«It’s not fun.»
Martin burst out laughing anyway.
«But yes it is! Look how you get agitated. Your ears are already red.»
⸻
A silence lay out between them, but it was not heavy.
It was that kind of silence that arises when one provokes and the other tries to resist.
Seonghyeon cleared his throat.
«If you continue like this, you’ll never learn.»
“Oh, don’t worry,” Martin replied, leaning a little closer to him. «I have the best tutor at school. Isn’t that true?»
His voice had become lower, less joking.
And for a moment, Seonghyeon looked into his eyes: dark, bright with a cheekiness that wasn’t just indifferent.
There was also curiosity, almost an invitation.⸻
Seonghyeon turned around suddenly, looking for courage in the open book.
«Start reading again. But... this time seriously.»
Martin smiled, a little more serious indeed.
He looked down at the text, inhaled slowly, and tried again.
The words were still limping, but the voice no longer betrayed only irony.
It was as if, between one teasing and another, something was really starting.
The afternoon light came in tilted from the library windows, cutting the air into golden beams. The books on the shelves were filled with glittering dust, as if time in that room passed slower than elsewhere.
Seonghyeon was already at the table. He had lined up notebooks and pens, and on today’s paper he had written at the top:
“Daily useful phrases”.
He had spent the morning thinking about how to make the lesson easier. Martin has to commit, I can’t let him joke all the time.
And yet, when the door opened and he saw the tall and blonde figure appear, a thought crossed his mind: ...today will be complicated.
⸻
Martin arrived with the usual relaxed air. Open jacket, loose tie, and a half lazy half mischievous smile.
“Tutor, here I am. Ready to suffer?» He said, dragging the chair and making an annoying noise on purpose.
Seonghyeon stared at him with an impassive look.
«If anyone has to suffer, that’s you.»
Martin laughed softly and sat down, leaning with his elbows on the table.
«Wow, you’ve become sharper. I like it.»
Seonghyeon ignored the comment, pushing the paper in front of him.
«Today practical sentences. You will use them every day. So listen and repeat.»
⸻
The first sentence was simple:
“안녕하세요. I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” (Annyeonghaseyo. Jeoneun Martin-ieyo)
Martin read it softly, imitating the sound.
«An... nyeo... sa... seyo. Jeoneun... Ma-tin-i...»
He froze and looked at him with a fake desperate air.
«God, it looks like a tongue twister.»
“It’s not difficult. Try again,» said Seonghyeon, pointing at the syllables with the pen.
Martin sighed, then did it again. This time he purposely missed the intonation, transforming the sentence into a kind of funny song.
«Jeoneun Maaaaaartin-ieyo~»
Seonghyeon slammed the pen on the table.
“Martin!”
The voice was firm, serious. Not shouted, but determined.
And that sudden tone triggered a silence.
⸻
Martin looked at him, surprised. Then he smiled, as if he had found the reaction he wanted.
“Oh. Did you get angry? I thought you were made of ice.»
“I’m not kidding,” Seonghyeon replied, his eyes fixed on his. «You don’t have time to waste. If you fail, it won’t be my fault. I’m committed. But if you don’t do it...»
The tone was serious, almost severe.
Yet, the slightly reddened expression of his cheeks betrayed that it was not just anger: there was also the embarrassment of having to raise his voice for him.
⸻
Martin remained silent for a moment.
Then he looked down at the book and murmured:
«Okay, okay... no more jokes.»
He resumed reading with greater concentration, still making mistakes but this time without jokes. Every now and then, however, he glanced at Seonghyeon, as if to measure how far he could still push him.
And Seonghyeon, while maintaining seriousness, realized that something in that challenge made him feel... alive.
The next day the library was unusually silent.
Maybe because it was raining outside and few students wanted to stay, or because the air itself seemed denser.
The drops of water slid down the windows in oblique lines, and every now and then a distant thunder filled the silence.
Seonghyeon sat in the usual place.
He had prepared reading exercises: longer sentences, small dialogues.
He said to himself: I won’t let him go astray today. Today he must make serious progress.
When Martin entered, his hair slightly damp and his usual relaxed smile, Seonghyeon mentally prepared for the challenge.
⸻
«It’s raining cats and down, tutor,” Martin said shaking his head, dropping a few drops of water from his blonde bangs. «I hope you appreciate the sacrifice I make to come here.»
“Sit down,” Seonghyeon replied, already with the pen in his hand.
Martin chuckled and let himself fall on the chair, stretching his legs under the table until he almost touched Seonghyeon’s.
It wasn’t an accidental gesture.
Seonghyeon straightened up, trying to ignore him.
“Today we read a dialogue. You the first part, I the second.»
⸻
Martin took the paper and began to read.
The words made him trip, and he laughed under his voice every time he was wrong.
“Don’t laugh,” said Seonghyeon, a little too quickly.
Martin looked up.
“But you’re too serious. Look, if you look at me like that, I get nervous.»
“Concentrate,” Seonghyeon replied, trying to stay calm.
Martin leaned over the paper, this time with more effort. But, in doing so, he bent too much.
His arm rested against Seonghyeon’s, and the shoulder touched his.
⸻
Seonghyeon held his breath.
The heat of the contact shook him like a sudden discharge.
He tried to move, but the table was too tight.
«Martin... you’re too close,» he murmured, without looking up.
Martin smiled, with that tone that mixed indifference and provocation.
«So I can hear your pronunciation better.»
“It’s not... it’s not necessary,” Seonghyeon replied, but his voice came out less firm than he would have liked.
⸻
For a few seconds they remained like this: Martin bent over the paper, the warm breath that brushed Seonghyeon’s cheek, and a silence that weighed more than any word.
Then Martin went straight back to the chair, as if nothing had happened, and started reading again.
This time without joking, almost with a shadow of true seriousness.
Seonghyeon followed him with his eyes, his heart struggling to return to normal rhythm.
And he wondered, for the first time, if that contact had really been a coincidence.
The day in high school went as usual, with the usual alternation of lessons and breaks.
Martin, with his height and charisma, had now become a point of reference: the boys on the team greeted him everywhere, some girls stopped him in the corridors with heart-folded notes, and the professors regularly complained about his savage attitude.
Seonghyeon always watched all this from a distance.
Not because he wanted to, but because his natural position was that: the quiet corner, the counter near the window, the open book in front.
Yet, in spite of himself, he began to realize that Martin always managed, in some way, to involve him.
⸻
During the mid-morning break, for example, Seonghyeon was writing notes in solitude when the classroom door opened suddenly.
Martin entered with the usual energy, followed by two teammates.
“Hey, Seonghyeon!” He called him, in a louder voice than necessary.
The classroom turned around.
It was rare for someone to say Seonghyeon’s name out loud.
He stood still for a second, pen in mid-air.
Martin approached, nonchalantly placing his hand on his desk.
«So you’re there this afternoon, aren’t you? I have to learn to say “I don’t want to study” in Korean.»
He smiled with that half-serious half-joked way of his, while his companions laughed.
⸻
Seonghyeon sighed, trying to mask the embarrassment.
“It’s already clear enough without you saying it,” he replied, without looking up too much.
Someone at the back of the class laughed softly.
«Wow, I didn’t know Seonghyeon could answer like that!» A voice murmured.
Martin, pleased, hit the bench lightly with his hand.
«Here, you see? He can be funny too.»
Seonghyeon felt his ears warm, but forced himself to remain neutral.
Inside, however, he realized that that scene was disconcerting him: he didn’t like being the center of attention, yet with Martin he couldn’t avoid it.
⸻
The tension, subtle, also grew in other small details.
When they left the classroom together at the end of the lessons, the difference in height immediately made them recognizable: Martin laughing out loud, Seonghyeon walking at a regular pace, more serious. Some students looked at them, whispering.
«What a strange couple...» «Are they really always together?»
And even Martin’s teammates, during training, had begun to notice it.
«Hey, your tutor is never missing, right?» Joked one, seeing him hurry away for the library.
Martin laughed, shrugging his shoulders. «What can I do about it, he keeps an eye on me.»
But it wasn’t quite a joke.
⸻
Seonghyeon, for his part, felt a new awareness grow: every day Martin found a way to touch his routine.
He didn’t do it with blatant gestures, but with minimal attention — a too loud greeting, a loud comment, a look that lasted longer than necessary.
And the others saw it.
And he, Seonghyeon, no longer knew whether to hide or accept that new visibility.
It was Thursday, and the rain of the previous days had left a clear, sharp sky.
During the last hour of class, the class was already impatient to go out: someone was dozing on the desk, others were staring at the clock, counting the minutes.
Martin, of course, had not missed an opportunity to attract attention: low jokes, complicit smiles with his companions, small comments that made half the line laugh at the end.
Seonghyeon, as always, tried to focus on the notes.
But he couldn’t help but feel Martin’s presence: that warm voice, which he could never ignore, always reached his ear, even if he tried to block it.
⸻
At the ringing of the bell, the class exploded in a buzz of dragged chairs and backpacks quickly closed.
Martin got up immediately, extending his arms as if to stretch, and in a moment he was surrounded by two or three teammates.
«Hey, Martin, are you coming with us to the cafeteria?»
«Let’s have a quick game on the field later.»
Martin laughed, pretending to think.
Then, with a half smile, he turned his head towards Seonghyeon, who was still calmly arranging the books.
“I can’t,” he said in Korean, stunted but clear. «My private teacher is waiting for me.»
Seonghyeon pointed with a nod of his chin.
⸻
For a moment there was silence, then the boys laughed.
It wasn’t a bad laugh, but the typical one of the pack that snifts out a harmless joke.
«Ah, so he’s the one who babysits you!»
«I bet he’ll scold you if you don’t do your homework!»
The rumors overlap, cheerful.
Martin chuckled, raising his hands in surrender, as if it were all part of the show.
⸻
Seonghyeon, on the other hand, felt his face heat up.
He wasn’t laughing. He couldn’t even look at anyone.
He had stayed there, still, with his hands on the zippers of his backpack.
Inside him, something cracked.
For him it’s just a game. It’s a joke for them. But I... I’m not a game.
He closed his backpack with a dry gesture and got up without saying anything.
He didn’t look at Martin, he didn’t look at anyone. He left the classroom with a quick step, leaving behind the sound of laughter that continued to fade.
⸻
Martin followed him with his eyes.
He didn’t expect it.
Maybe he expected Seonghyeon to snort, to ignore him as usual.
Not that silent escape, loaded with something he couldn’t define.
And for the first time, a slight shadow passed over his smile.
The corridor, immediately after the lunch break, was a river of students returning to the classroom. Martin walked among them as usual: tall, sure, the blond hair that captured the neon light. He was still laughing at a joke said to a partner, when he caught a glimpse of Seonghyeon ahead.
It was natural for him to speed up his pace.
«Hey!» He called him, raising his voice.
No answer.
Seonghyeon continued to walk with his eyes straight in front of him, as if Martin was part of the background noise. Not a grimace, not a slightest nod of recognition.
Martin was interdicted for a moment, then laughed to himself.
«Oh, come on... are you angry with me?» He muttered, convinced that in the end Seonghyeon would give up.
But he didn’t give in.
⸻
In the afternoon, when they found themselves in the usual classroom for the tutoring session, the difference was even more evident.
Seonghyeon was already there, sitting composed, with the Korean manual open in front of him and the pages already marked with small colored post-its. As soon as Martin entered, he looked up for a second, cold and neutral, then immediately lowered his eyes to the book.
«Hey, prof!» Martin joked, throwing his backpack on the chair and letting himself fall carelessly. «So, today we learn to say “I’m a genius”?»
Silence.
Seonghyeon turned a page calmly, as if he hadn’t heard.
Martin narrowed his eyes, bending his head to the side.
«Oookay... so let’s start seriously, hm?»
He leaned a little, looking for his gaze. “Oh, are you mad at me? For that thing today?»
No reaction.
Seonghyeon, with a calm and flat voice, spoke as if he were reading a script:
“Let’s start. You have to conjugate the verbs in the past tense. Page thirty-two.»
Martin was taken aback.
That tone... it was as if they weren’t even talking as equals, as if he had become just any ordinary student.
⸻
The lesson went on like this: Martin who tried to break the ice with jokes, grimaces, theatrical expressions; Seonghyeon who replied only with technical explanations, cold, devoid of any color.
At the end of the hour, he closed the book with a dry gesture.
«That’s enough for today. See you tomorrow.»
He got up and went out, without a pause, without a word more.
Martin stayed there, sitting, staring at the door that had closed.
For the first time, his smile had completely faded.
The following days dragged on with a monotony that, however, hid a constant nervousness.
In class, Martin was always Martin: tall, unmistakable, the boy who made everyone laugh with a joke at the right time, or who attracted glances without even trying. It seemed that nothing touched him, that everything slipped on him like rain on a raincoat.
Yet, it was enough to look a little more closely to realize that there was a crack.
Every time his eyes fell on Seonghyeon — bent over the notebook, intent on writing with the usual precision — Martin’s smile became slightly wider, a little more theatrical.
It was as if he wanted to say: “Look, I’m fine. Look, I don’t care.”
Only Seonghyeon didn’t really care.
Or, at least, it seemed so.
⸻
During the afternoon repetitions, the scene was repeated with a cruel punctuality.
“I studied a lot today,” Martin said as he entered, dragging the chair with noise. «I learned a new word: kimchi!»
He smiled, waiting for at least a look, a sigh, any reaction.
Seonghyeon leafed through the book, without deigning to look at it.
«Page forty-seven. Read the sentences.»
⸻
The next day, Martin showed up with a pen tucked between his lips as if it were a cigarette.
«Do you like me like this? A bit of a bad boy?»
He had bent towards him, winking.
Seonghyeon had moved the manual a few centimeters, moving it away from that invasiveness.
«Concentrate.»
A single word, flat as a stone.
⸻
Even in the canteen, when Martin made his teammates laugh with some improvised imitation, his eyes ended up unconsciously looking for the thin and orderly figure of Seonghyeon, always sitting at the same table with two silent companions.
And every time it was the same scene: Seonghyeon eating slowly, without ever looking up at him.
As if Martin didn’t exist.
⸻
For the others, there was no change: Martin was still the boy who was conquering the school.
But for him, that increasingly cold distance was becoming a shadow. A challenge that he couldn’t ignore.
The third consecutive lesson of silence weighed like lead.
Martin had arrived with the usual attitude: noisy entrance, initial joke, chair pulled back with too much energy.
«Hello, Prof. Seonghyeon! Today I’m ready to become a poet in Korean,» he had said, unveying the usual crooked smile.
Nothing.
Seonghyeon had just raised his eyes, for a second, just to verify his presence. Then back to the book.
«Read here. Sentence two.»
Martin sighed, but obeyed. The voice, however, no longer had the theatrical confidence of before.
⸻
After half an hour of exercise, he let himself fall on the chair, stretching his legs under the bench.
«Hey, aren’t you tired of being a robot?» He tried to say, tilting his head towards him.
«I’m bored to death...»
Silence.
Martin bit the inside of his cheek, holding back the urge to laugh to fill the void. This time there was nothing funny.
⸻
That evening, after training, he came out of the locker room with a slower pace than usual. The other guys on the team laughed, made fun of each other, someone patted him on the shoulder calling him “the blond giant”. Martin replied with a nod, but without the usual energy.
Just outside, he put his hand in the backpack and took out a crumpled pack of cigarettes.
He lit one with a quick, almost angry gesture, and took a deep breath.
The smoke scratched his throat, but at least it gave him the feeling of filling that void he was carrying inside.
He leaned against the wall of the gym, watching the embers turn on and off to the rhythm of his breathing.
And for the first time since he had arrived at that school, he realized that his smile was not enough.
Not with Seonghyeon.
⸻
The next day, the scene repeated itself the same. Martin arrived, tried to joke, to invent wrong phrases on purpose, even to make him the verse.
And Seonghyeon? Nothing.
A wall of ice.
⸻
Sitting at his desk, while pretending to follow the lesson, Martin found himself staring at Seonghyeon’s dark and tidy neck, with that perfect hairline, always the same.
A thought crossed his mind, dry, almost brutal:
Okay. I made it big. And now i can’t stand it anymore.
It was a Thursday afternoon.
The bell had just rung, and the students poured out of the classrooms like overflowing water. The sky was already dark, a dirty gray of the end of winter pressing on the windows.
Seonghyeon carefully closed his notebook, put the books in his backpack and got up to go to the study room. His routine was precise, without deviations: arrive five minutes early, prepare the materials, wait for Martin with the same icy detachment as always.
⸻
Just beyond the corridor on the second floor, a strong hand grabbed him by the wrist.
«Oh—!»
Seonghyeon gasped, turning around suddenly.
It was Martin.
“Hey,” he said, without smiling. Not his usual swagging tone: his voice was lower, more tense.
With a half-tur, he dragged him away from the flow of students, in a hidden corner behind the fire escapes.
«What are you doing? Leave me,” Seonghyeon blurted out, trying to free himself. His gaze was hard, but he couldn’t completely hide the amazement.
Martin didn’t leave him. Not strong, not with violence, but with that obstinacy from which you did not escape.
“You’re mad at me. But like this... that’s how you’re killing me.»
⸻
The words remained suspended between them, heavy.
Seonghyeon swallowed, clutching the shoulder strap of the backpack as if it were a shield.
“I’m not angry,” he replied, cold.
“Oh no? So why don’t you even look me in the face anymore?» Martin replied, tilting his head to meet his gaze.
For the first time in days, their eyes met.
Seonghyeon tried to resist, to keep that mask of indifference... but he felt something move inside. A crack.
⸻
Martin inhaled, looking for the right words.
«I... didn’t want to make you look stupid in front of others. I didn’t think about it. It’s true, I exaggerated. You help me and I... I’ve been a fool.»
He passed his hand through his dyed blond hair, visibly uncomfortable.
«I know you pretend you don’t care, but... I care. I don’t want you to shut up with me like that.»
⸻
Seonghyeon remained motionless.
He would have liked to answer with another sharp sentence, immediately close that crack that Martin was widening.
But he didn’t succeed. His heart was beating too hard, and the boy’s unexpected sincerity had surprised him.
In the end, he looked away and just said:
«If you really want to prove it, then... commit. Study. Don’t waste my time.»
And he went down the stairs, leaving him there, still with the cigarette half crushed in his pocket and a lumped in his throat.
That same evening, Martin sat at the kitchen table.
The light was dim, only the lamp above him on, while the rest of the house remained immersed in the quiet darkness. His mother was already locked in her room, exhausted from work, and he had in front of him a pile of Korean grammar sheets that he would normally ignore.
Not this time.
He had opened the manual, tracing the most important notes with the red pen, underlining the conjugations of the verbs, repeating the sentences in a low voice like a mantra. His tongue was tangled, there were many mistakes, but his gaze was focused.
He wasn’t a guy used to studying seriously, but the feeling that Seonghyeon was disappointed in him pushed him more than any vote or threat from the professors.
⸻
The next day, in the study room, Seonghyeon expected the usual drama: jokes, laughter, distractions.
Instead, Martin sat up straight, took out the thick sheets of notes and just said:
“OK. We can start.»
Seonghyeon stared at him, surprised.
«...Did you study?»
Martin nodded, a little awkward.
«Yes. I tried last night. I didn’t understand everything, but... it took me hours.»
He looked through the notebook, showing the crooked lines of notes, some wrong, but full of effort.
For a moment, Seonghyeon didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t used to seeing Martin so serious.
⸻
The lesson was quieter than usual.
Martin was still very wrong, but he didn’t laugh at those little mistakes anymore. He tried to correct himself, to repeat, to ask for explanations with patience.
Time seemed to slide in a different way, less frantic, almost... accomplice.
And then, when the bell marked the end of the hour, Martin put down the pen and looked at him. Not with arrogance, not with that smile that always wanted to look bigger than the world.
“Seonghyeon...”
His tone was low, sincere.
“Excuse me. For the other day. For making you feel that way. I thought it was just a game, but it wasn’t fair. Not with you.»
⸻
The words remained suspended, as did Martin’s gaze: direct, firm, almost vulnerable.
Seonghyeon felt his chest tighten. He wasn’t used to receiving real excuses, and even less from someone like him.
He looked down, pretending to arrange the sheets, to mask that slight heat that rose to his face.
«...Okay,» he said softly, after a long silence. «But don’t do it anymore.»
Martin barely smiled. Not the usual smile of those who laugh at the world, but something small and authentic.
«Promised.»
That week, the repetitions had taken on a different rhythm.
Martin had not suddenly become a model student, but he no longer showed up empty-handed. He brought with him notes, questions, even sheets full of scribbles where he had tried to write whole sentences on his own. Every now and then he got nervous, snorted, ran his hands through his hair as if he was about to give up.
Yet he didn’t give up.
Seonghyeon noticed it. At first he watched him with the same detachment as always, but something inside him began to give way. He noticed that he was smiling - a smile just mentioned - when Martin managed to say an entire sentence without mistakes, or when, after a failed attempt, he hit his fist on the table and said in a ungrammatical Korean: “No, I’ll do it again!”.
It was difficult to stay frozen in front of that clumsy obstinacy.
⸻
One afternoon, while they were collecting books, Martin let out a joke:
«You know, if you were my real teacher... maybe I would have already learned everything.»
Seonghyeon stared at him, barely holding back his smile.
«Don’t talk nonsense.»
“It’s not nonsense,” Martin replied, bending his head with an innocent air. «It’s different with you.»
Those words remained there, suspended. They didn’t seem to have the tone of the usual joke, and this surprised Seonghyeon more than he wanted to admit.
⸻
The same evening, in the park near his house, Seonghyeon found himself telling it to Juhoon, his closest friend, the one who often sat with him in the canteen and who knew how to read between the folds of his silence.
Sitting on the bench, with two cans of soda in hand, Juhoon listened to him carefully.
«So... doesn’t it just make you angry anymore?» He asked, raising an eyebrow.
Seonghyeon looked down at the can.
«It’s not that... I don’t know. It’s that he always laughs with others, he’s being a jerk. With me... it’s different. Sometimes it really seems like he cares.»
Juhoon tood a sip, thoughtful. Then he smiled sideways.
«It looks like you’re starting to trust him.»
«Me? Trust him?» Seonghyeon shook his head, almost indignant. «I didn’t say that.»
But his ears were red, and Juhoon noticed it immediately.
“Mh. Okay, as you wish,” he said with innocence. «But... when you talk about him, you have that face.»
«What face?»
«The one you never do with anyone.»
Seonghyeon didn’t answer. He just took a sip of soda, staring at the dark sky and feeling a different weight inside — no longer just annoyance, no longer just anger. Something hotter, more confusing.
The following days marked a slow but steady transformation.
In class, Martin was no longer only “the new tall and charming boy”. Of course, the notes in the locker kept coming, but he didn’t care anymore with the same bravado. He often crumpled them quickly, putting them in his backpack without even reading them, as if they were background noise.
And above all, at the repetitions, his attitude had changed. There were no more continuous jokes, childish distractions. He sat down, pen in hand, trying to follow the explanations. Every now and then he tried to read aloud and got angry about the mistakes, but instead of laughing he corrected them.
It wasn’t perfect, but it was different.
Seonghyeon noticed it.
Every day, one more detail: Martin who stopped to ask for a new term; Martin who hurriedly noted a rule; Martin who, when it was time to say hello, always said “thank you” in Korean, even if with a harsh accent.
It was hard to pretend not to see that effort.
⸻
In the evening, at the usual park, Juhoon didn’t let go.
“So,” he said, rubbing the empty can in his hands, “you haven’t admitted anything yet.”
Seonghyeon raised his eyes to the sky. «There’s nothing to admit.»
«Oh no?» Juhoon stared at him with a too sly smile. «Then explain to me why you talk about Martin every single time we see each other.»
«It’s not true!»
“It’s very true,” replied the other, amused. «And not only that. I see you. You are different when you talk to us. Even when you get angry with him... you seem more alive.»
Those words hit Seonghyeon like a stone in the stomach.
«I... it’s not that...» he stammered, but Juhoon didn’t let him finish.
«Look, I know how you are. You never open up to anyone, you don’t let yourself be touched. Yet with him... you let him in. Not so much, okay, but enough.»
He leaned towards him, his eyes bright. «I say you like him.»
“Juhoon!”
«What’s up? Am I wrong?»
Seonghyeon didn’t answer. Silence was the confirmation he didn’t want to give. He hid behind a sip of soda, but his heart was beating too fast.
⸻
The next day, Martin made a gesture that made everything more evident.
During basketball practice, the coach had distributed exercises written with instructions in Korean. Martin usually managed to ask the others, but this time he did something unusual: he took the paper, took it to Seonghyeon’s canteen and, without arrogance, handed it to him.
«Will you explain these two lines to me? I don’t want to be wrong,” he said, seriously.
There was no irony, there was no indifference. Just the honest request of someone who was trusting.
Seonghyeon helped him, with the usual calm. But inside he couldn’t stop thinking about Juhoon’s words: “I’ll let him in with him.”
And for the first time, it no longer seemed like an accusation to him.
Seonghyeon had decided: he wouldn’t let Juhoon drag him into his game.
“Do you like him? What nonsense...» he repeated himself every time he thought back to the conversation in the park. Yet, the more he tried to chase away that idea, the more Martin’s gestures came back to the surface.
The way he presented himself to the repetitions with the notebook already open.
The way he, without being noticed, he held his breath when he read an entire sentence in Korean, almost looking for approval.
Or that time when, during a reading exercise, he had laughed at himself, shaking his head and saying:
«I have to make it... at least not to disappoint you.»
Those words had not been thrown as a joke: they had a weight, a sincerity that Seonghyeon could not ignore.
⸻
Juhoon, of course, didn’t give up.
«Do you know what I see?» He told him one afternoon, walking together towards the bus stop. «I see you’re getting attached. And you can’t stand it, because it never happens to you.»
«It’s not true.»
«Oh yes it is.»
Juhoon smiled, spreading his hands as if he had already won the argument. «It’s that you’re stubborn. You want to resist. But the more you resist, the more he gets into your head.»
Seonghyeon didn’t reply. He just stared at the sidewalk under his feet, clutching the backpack on his shoulders. Juhoon’s words had stuck inside him like thorns.
⸻
And in the meantime, Martin kept changing.
He hadn’t become a saint — he still snorted every now and then, he still showed that arrogant side — but the details were clear.
He had stopped smoking in front of the school entrance, and when someone offered him a cigarette after training, he refused it with a quick gesture, almost annoyed.
He had started carrying a pocket dictionary in his backpack, consumed after a few days.
And in class, when the Korean teacher asked questions, he no longer looked for excuses: he tried to answer, even if he was wrong.
It was like looking at a boy who had decided not to run away anymore.
⸻
Seonghyeon, however, kept telling himself that he would not give in.
That it wasn’t his job to get involved. That Martin was just an assigned task, a duty.
Yet, when she saw him sitting next to him, with that tired but determined air, a part of him cracked.
It was a resistance made more of fear than conviction.
And deep down, Seonghyeon knew it.
The repetitions had been longer than expected.
The sky behind the library window had already descended into a deep blue, with streetlights beginning to dot the street. Most of the students had already left, and even the lady at the reception began to tidy up the books left on the tables.
On the corner table, however, there were still two figures.
Martin had his head bent over his notebook, his blond hair falling a little before his eyes. He was trying to rewrite a sentence in Korean, focused in an unusual silence. The pen ran, stopped, went back.
Seonghyeon looked at him sidely, trying to maintain a neutral expression. He was used to seeing him laugh, to hearing that confident voice that filled every space. But there, at that moment, there was a different Martin: serious, absorbed, almost vulnerable.
«Here.»
Martin pushed the paper towards him, with a somewhat uncertain smile. «I wrote right? Or is it a disaster?»
Seonghyeon took the paper. He read it calmly. There were mistakes, of course, but the structure was correct. It was clear that it wasn’t just luck: Martin had really understood the logic.
“Not bad,” he said softly, putting down the pen. «You’ve made progress.»
Martin looked up, and in those dark eyes there was a quick, almost childish flash.
«Really?»
“Seriously.”
There was a moment of silence. Not heavy, not embarrassing. A silence that seemed suspended, full of something that neither of them wanted to name.
Martin leaned on the back of the chair, stretching his legs under the table. Then he looked at him with that usual half-irony he used to lighten the air.
«See? I’m not just a desperate case.»
Seonghyeon shook his head, but the smile - small, involuntary - escaped him anyway.
Martin noticed it. He stared at him for one second too long.
«Do you know that you smile very little?»
The sentence caught him off guard. Seonghyeon immediately looked down, returning to the book, to hide the redness that rose to his ears.
«It’s not true.»
“It’s very true,” Martin replied, still with that light but warm tone. «And it’s a shame, because... you’re really pretty when you do it.»
The words remained suspended between them, heavier than Martin seemed to realize.
Seonghyeon stopped writing, staring at the notebook without really reading it. He felt his heart beating too hard, and that feeling scared him.
He got up abruptly, picking up his books.
“It’s late. You should come back too.»
Martin watched him, surprised by that sudden change, but said nothing. He just followed him with his eyes as he left the library, his shoulders stiff, as if he was fleeing from something he didn’t want to face.
In the following days, Seonghyeon imposed an iron control on himself.
No unnecessary smiles. No distractions. The repetitions would have remained only that: study, exercises, corrections. No missteps. Not a word that could betray what he had felt that evening in the library.
Martin, as usual, didn’t seem to feel the walls. He continued to present himself with an air a little slyly, to try to read complicated sentences with a voice full of commitment, to throw him from time to time those light comments that, willy or not, knew how to crack the silence.
But Seonghyeon was determined: he wouldn’t give in.
⸻
One afternoon, while waiting for Martin to finish basketball practice, he saw a scene that made him clench his fists without even realizing it.
Near the locker room, a girl from their class had approached Martin. He smiled, tilting his head in an almost studied way, and with a sweeter voice than usual he told him something that Seonghyeon could not distinguish.
Martin laughed. Not that explosive laugh he used when he joked with his classmates, but a low, relaxed laugh. Then he answered in a light tone, letting the conversation flow without any rush.
He even bent down a little, as if to hear her better, and the girl got even closer.
In everyone’s eyes, it was a normal scene: two students chatting.
In Seonghyeon’s eyes, however, it was like receiving an invisible sting.
His chest tightened. He felt an annoying heat rise up his neck.
He immediately lowered his gaze, tightening the zipper of the backpack too hard.
«You’re not jealous, you’re not jealous, you’re not jealous...» he repeated like a mantra.
⸻
That evening, on the phone, Juhoon heard him immediately.
«What’s wrong with you? You’re weird.»
“Nothing.”
«Ohhh... nothing, huh? Let me guess. Is it about Martin?»
“No.”
The answer came too fast, too dry.
Juhoon laughed. A long, amused laugh that made Seonghyeon boil on the other side of the line.
“I knew it. Look, you’re bad at hiding things. Tell me what happens, come on.»
«I’m not jealous. I’m not jealous. I’m not jealous»
“Mmh.”
Juhoon’s tone was too smug, too mischievous.
«So why do you say that three times in a row, huh?»
«Because it’s the truth!» Seonghyeon blurted out, clutching the phone tightly against his ear. «I don’t care who he’s talking to. I don’t care!»
Juhoon laughed again, more slowly this time, as if he wanted to stag the teasing.
“Of course, of course. You don’t care at all. So little that you’re thinking about it now, while you deny it to me.»
Seonghyeon remained silent. He wanted to reply, but he had no words. Because, in the bottom of the chest, the sensation did not disappear.
The scene in front of the locker room kept repeating itself, stubborn, like a shadow that would not dissolve.
The next day, in the school lobby, Juhoon joined Seonghyeon with a jumping step, carrying the usual can of iced coffee in his hand. He had that air of a companion who “saws something” and can’t wait to use it.
«Oh, look who’s here!» He exclaimed, placing a heavy hand on his shoulder. «Our model student... and his favorite problem student.»
Martin, who was arranging the books in the backpack right next to it, raised an eyebrow.
«Problematic student, huh?» He said, with that half smile that seemed to never leave him. «I like it.»
Seonghyeon sighed, already annoyed. «Juhoon, don’t start.»
But Juhoon had no intention of stopping.
He turned to Martin, with a mischievous expression. «Do you know that yesterday I caught him staring at you? But really fixed, eh. He couldn’t take his eyes off you.»
“Juhoon!”
Seonghyeon’s voice rumbled louder than expected, even attracting a few glances from the corridors.
Martin laughed, low and amused. He didn’t seem offended or surprised: rather intrigued.
«Ah, really?» He asked, looking first at Juhoon, then at Seonghyeon. “And why didn’t I notice?”
Seonghyeon blushed suddenly, hiding behind the notebook that he squeezed like a shield. “It’s not true. It’s just Juhoon talking at random.»
“Me?” Juhoon spread his arms in a fake theatrical innocence. «I only say what I see. And yesterday, when that girl stopped you in the locker room, it seemed that someone didn’t like the scene very much.»
His eyes shone with malice, pointed at Seonghyeon.
A short, but heavy silence, snead between the three.
Seonghyeon looked down, biting the inside of his cheek. He felt his heart beating like crazy, but he didn’t want to concede even an inch.
«Shut up, Juhoon.» he hissed.
Then he turned around, heading towards the stairs without saying anything.
Martin remained to watch him walk away, his head slightly tilted, an expression that mixed fun and... a vague spark of seriousness.
Juhoon siphed the coffee, satisfied.
«Eh, man,» he said facing Martin. «He’s already put you in the ranking higher than you think.»
Martin didn’t answer right away. He kept staring at the empty stairs, where Seonghyeon had disappeared, as if he was trying to figure out what was really under that reaction.
The next afternoon, the study room was silent.
On the table, books and sheets of Korean grammar exercises were scattered with the usual precision of Seonghyeon, who was already writing the translation of a sentence. The sound of the pen was the only sound in the room.
Martin, sitting on the other side, had not yet opened his book.
He was watching him.
Seonghyeon’s eyes ran quickly on the paper, his forehead slightly wrinkled, his hand tidy.
Martin rested his elbow on the table, his chin on his hand, and let a slow smile be drawn on his lips.
“You know,” he said suddenly, breaking the silence, “Juhoon is right.”
Seonghyeon looked up, confused. «In what?»
«That you look at me too much.»
The sentence fell light, but full of malice.
Seonghyeon’s pen stopped halfway through the speech.
«Don’t talk nonsense.» he replied, cold.
Martin leaned forward a little, reducing the distance. «So why did you get so angry yesterday? Just because Juhoon spoke?”
Seonghyeon’s eyes narrowed. «Because he says useless things. And you always fall for it.»
“Oh, no,” Martin replied, laughing softly. «I don’t fall for it. I listen. There is a difference.»
The silence was full of tension.
Seonghyeon looked down again, but the hand holding the pen trembled imperceptibly.
Martin tilted his head, continuing to stare at him.
«And anyway... even if it were true that you look at me... it wouldn’t be so strange. I look at you often.»
Seonghyeon opened her eyes wide, taken by surprise.
His heart jumped down his throat, but he immediately hid behind the usual severe mask. «Don’t say nonsense.»
Martin laughed, a low, calm laugh, which rumbled in the silence of the classroom.
Then, with a sudden gesture, he took Seonghyeon’s notebook and pulled it slightly towards him. “Then prove it to me. Write without shaking.»
«Git it back to me!» Seonghyeon snapped, extending his hand to take it back.
But Martin didn’t give up right away. He let their hands touch the edge of the notebook for a few seconds, looking into his eyes with that air of defiance.
In the end, he returned it to him with a provocative smile.
«See? You always move like this... only with me.»
Seonghyeon squeezed the notebook tightly, as if it were an anchor.
He inhaled slowly, letting the air stop in his lungs for a few seconds, and then let it out slowly.
When he spoke, his voice was low, controlled, almost flat.
«I’m not your toy.»
Martin raised an eyebrow, still with that ironic smile that lit up his face. But the calm response — more than an angry outburst — hit him hard.
«A toy?» He repeated, pretending to laugh. «Eaggerate. I’m just trying to make these lessons a little more fun.»
“I don’t need fun,” Seonghyeon cut short, without looking up from the papers. “I need concentration. And you... you should have even more.»
The tone was clear, like a closed door in the face.
But the hand holding the pen was stiff, the movements less fluid than usual.
Martin watched him, tilting his head.
There was something new, in that cold and precise way with which Seonghyeon tried to tame him: it was not real indifference, it was a silent struggle.
And that awareness hit him harder than any scream.
«Mh.» he just did, going back to leafing through his book.
A vague sound, but full of unsaid thoughts.
For the rest of the lesson, neither of them spoke anymore.
Only the rustle of the pages, the scratch of the pen on the paper and the ticking of the clock hanging on the wall.
But the space between them was not silence: it was tensed like a rope ready to break.
The rest of the afternoon he slid away slowly, almost heavy.
Seonghyeon never looked up from the papers, he didn’t even offer a sideways glance, not even a half sigh addressed to Martin.
It was closed, impenetrable, as if there was only him and his grammar book in the room.
Martin, on the other hand, seemed at ease.
He leaned over the chair, stretched blatantly, fiddled with the pen bouncing the cap on the table. Every now and then he glanced at Seonghyeon, then bit the corner of his lip, amused.
«Do you know you’re boring when you do that?» He said, tilting his head.
No answer.
«Nemmeno un’occhiata? Dai, un po’ di compassione per il tuo allievo disperato.»
Silenzio ancora.
Martin laughed softly, a sound that had nothing forced. He even seemed to enjoy talking against that ice wall.
But behind the smile, behind the eyes that sparkled with malice, there was a small blind spot: he was not used to being ignored like this.
And, no matter how hard he tried to make it all look like a game, something was gnawing inside him.
He nodded as if he didn’t really care, leaned on the back of the chair and spun the pen between his fingers.
“Okay, professor. I leave you in your kingdom of silence.»
But as he looked down at his notebook, the smile on his lips remained attached to him more for pride than for lightness.
The sky was dark, full of clouds.
The school day was over a long time ago, but Seonghyeon hadn’t returned home yet.
Sitting on a bench behind the gym, the hood of the sweatshirt pulled up, he squeezed the backpack between his knees as if to protect himself from something that was not the wind.
Juhoon arrived shortly after, with his usual listless step, a can of iced coffee in his hand.
“I knew I would find you here,” he said, throwing himself sitting next to him. «You have that face of... brain on fire.»
Seonghyeon didn’t reply right away.
He remained to stare at the cracked concrete under his feet, then passed a hand through his hair with a nervous gesture.
«Juhoon... I don’t understand.»
«What?»
“Martin.”
The name came out like a sigh.
«It’s... it’s like I have no control when it comes to him. One day I think I’ll be able to keep it at a distance, as I promised myself. Cold, detached. But then...» he paused, pursed his lips, «then a joke of his, a smile of his is enough, and I... lose everything. I let myself be dragged.»
Juhoon opened the can, taking a sip, without taking his eyes off his friend. «So you admit that you like the fact that I provoke you.»
«I’m not saying that!» Seonghyeon snapped, blushing immediately after. «It’s not... it’s not that simple.»
«Mh,» Juhoon grumbled, spinning the can between his fingers. «But a little yes. Otherwise you wouldn’t have had all these problems.»
Silence fell between the two. Only the sound of the wind moving the branches.
After a while, Seonghyeon spoke again, in a low voice.
«Do you know what bothers me the most? That I promised myself not to give it importance. Not to let me be influenced by him. I thought... “it doesn’t mean anything, it’s just a guy I have to put up with for a month”.»
He inhaled deeply, clenched his fists on his knees.
«But the truth is that... it counts. It counts and how.»
Juhoon looked at him to the side, an amused smile that however had a hint of tenderness.
«So stop lying to yourself.»
Seonghyeon looked down, biting the inside of his cheek.
He did not reply, but the silence that followed was an answer as clear as any word.
The corridor on the third floor was as always chaotic during lunchtime: laughter, pushes, those who ran to go to the vending machine, those who leaned against the walls chatting.
Martin walked in the middle of the group of teammates, high above their heads, the backpack thrown on one shoulder.
“Hey, Martin,” Minseok said, laughing, “are you going to your babysitter this afternoon?”
A couple of guys laughed right away, adding comments.
«That nerd with the serious face!»
«Who knows how you can stand it, it will be very boring.»
«Oh, maybe he even scolds you when you’re not doing your homework!»
The laughter increased, light but annoying.
Martin, usually, would laugh with them, letting it go or making a joke in turn.
But not this time.
He stopped suddenly, planting his feet on the ground.
The group turned around, surprised.
«Don’t call him a babysitter.»
His voice was calm, but firm.
«He’s my tutor, and without him at this hour I’d already be screwed. It’s not boring. He’s smart. More than many of you.»
Silence suddenly fell between the boys.
A couple of them coughed, others avoided the direct gaze, laughing nervously.
Martin started walking again, shrugging his shoulders, as if he hadn’t said anything special.
⸻
A little further, around the corner of the corridor, Seonghyeon was standing in front of the vending machine, a can still in the slot of the car.
He had heard everything.
Every word.
He remained motionless, with his fingers clenched on the cold metal of the can.
His heart was beating hard, almost too hard, and a heat rose to his face without him being able to stop him.
He didn’t know whether to be more confused or... grateful.
But one thing was certain: those words had not been spoken for him.
Precisely for this reason they had even more effect.
The afternoon, as always, they found themselves in the same place: the library half-empty, the tables tidy, the silence that seemed heavier than words.
Martin let himself fall on the chair, slamming his backpack on the table with a bang.
“Okay,” he sighed, “I’m not run away today. I promise. Let’s do what you want.»
Seonghyeon, in front of him, just looked up, ready to answer with the usual coldness.
But the sentence hit him in a different way.
It had been said lightly, yes, but not with irony.
Martin seemed... sincere.
For a moment, Seonghyeon hesitated.
Then he opened the grammar book and pushed it towards him.
“Okay,” he said, and for the first time his voice was not rigid, but almost... neutral.
Martin smiled, barely. He didn’t make jokes, he didn’t make fun of him.
He leaned over the book, starting to read.
Ten minutes passed like this, in a new silence.
Not the tense one of the previous days, but something simpler, more natural.
When Martin made a mistake in the conjugation of a verb, Seonghyeon corrected it.
He made a theatrical grimace, bringing his hand to his heart. “Ouch. Hit straight.»
This time Seonghyeon was not left unmaved.
A smile escaped him. Small, quick, who immediately tried to hide back to the book.
Martin noticed it, and his eyes lit up as if he had just scored the basket of the most important game.
He didn’t say anything, though.
He just leaned back on the text, a smile he couldn’t hold back on his lips.
⸻
It was a tiny gesture, almost invisible.
But for both of them it meant much more than they would have admitted.
The next day, the routine repeated itself.
Same silent classroom, same table.
Yet, there was something different.
Not an obvious change, rather a new air that crept between the two.
Martin had really made an effort: he didn’t flip through his notebook at random, he didn’t have a good time with his cell phone. His handwriting was messy, crooked, but it filled the pages. Every now and then he looked up, met Seonghyeon’s and, instead of making the usual grimace, he remained serious.
A serious one who wanted to say: I’m trying, really.
Seonghyeon, for his part, could not ignore it.
He looked at him under his eyes, recording those small signals.
The way in which Martin, when he didn’t understand a rule, no longer snorted in a theatrical way, but scratched the back of his neck and asked, almost softly: “Can you still explain it to me?”
The way he held the pen between his fingers, drumming nervously when he didn’t find the answer right away.
He wasn’t the arrogant Martin of the early days.
And this disoriented Seonghyeon.
⸻
During a pause, Martin let himself fall backwards, stretching his arms over his head.
“Wow. I didn’t think it was so tiring to use the brain.»
It was Martin’s classic joke.
But the tone was not mocking, rather an attempt to lighten.
Seonghyeon looked at him for a moment, then, against all his habits, he replied.
«Maybe because you’re not used to doing it.»
Martin stared at him, surprised.
And then he burst out laughing, a real laugh, which made the girl turn around at the next table.
Seonghyeon immediately lowered his eyes, pretending to return to the book.
But inside, a little satisfaction warmed his chest: it was he, for once, who hit him with a joke.
⸻
Small exchanges, nothing blatant.
But day after day, that wall that Seonghyeon had erected began to crack into almost invisible spots.
And Martin, perhaps without even realizing it, stuck his hands in those cracks, slowly widening the space.
The library, that evening, was almost deserted.
The sunlight slowly fell from the high windows, dyeing the tables with golden reflections. Outside, you could barely hear the noises of sports clubs, the rumble of a soccer ball, the whistle of an improvised referee.
Inside, instead, there was a muffled silence.
Only two figures, folded on the same table.
Martin was writing, seriously, with slightly frowning eyebrows. Every now and then he stopped the pen, squeezed his eyes as if he was looking for the right word in the middle of the emptiness of memory. Then he found it, he drew the mark decisively.
Seonghyeon watched him, without being noticed too much.
He was no longer the boy who had introduced himself with arrogance and a arrogant smile. Not quite, at least.
That concentration gave him a new gravity, almost... mature.
And that’s exactly what surprised Seonghyeon: that a change like this was real, not just acted out.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Martin murmured suddenly, without taking his eyes off the paper.
Seonghyeon recovered, barely blushing.
«I don’t—»
“Yes, you were doing it,” he replied, a half-smile. «I was too handsome, wasn’t I?»
Seonghyeon snorted, trying to compose himself. «Rather, you were writing the wrong thing.»
He pointed his finger at his notebook, calmly correcting.
Martin stared at him from the side, with a flash in his eyes.
But he didn’t laugh, he didn’t make jokes.
He just said: “Okay. I do it again.»
⸻
More minutes passed like this, marked by the noise of the pages turned and the rustle of the pens.
And in that suspended atmosphere, Seonghyeon realized that something inside him was changing.
It wasn’t just the annoyance that slowly melted. It was... a strange familiarity. A feeling that, in the silence of the room, made him feel less alone.
⸻
When the clock marked half past six, Seonghyeon closed the book.
“Enough for today,” he said, with a firm voice.
Martin snorted, but did not protest.
He stretched out on the chair, stretching with a satisfied moan. Then, resting his chin on the back of his hand, he looked at her.
«You know the month is about to end, right?»
The words fell light, but to Seonghyeon they weighed more than they should.
One month. Already almost finished.
“Yes,” he simply replied.
He didn’t add anything else, and neither did Martin.
They remained like that, for a few moments, with that silence that was no longer cold but was not yet confidence.
A limbo.
And maybe both, deep down, were afraid that soon it would no longer be there.
The ticking of the pens had now stopped.
Seonghyeon was arranging the books in the backpack with his usual methodical precision, while Martin, as usual, took twice as long: the crumpled sheets to collect, the pencils scattered, the notebook still half open.
«You know you’re a disaster, right?» Seonghyeon muttered, without looking at him.
“Eh, but a fascinating disaster,” Martin replied, giggling.
It was the usual lightness, but this time there was neither annoyance nor grunt on the part of Seonghyeon. Just a slower breath, as if he had decided to let it run.
⸻
They left the library together.
The sky had already descended in bluish shades, the first lights of the lampposts were flickering in the schoolyard. There were still people from the clubs, but less, and the air had that freshness that anticipates the night.
They walked next to each other, without talking.
It wasn’t an embarrassing silence, but a strange balance.
Then, without warning, Martin broke his calm.
“Hey,” he said, with a distracted tone, as if he was talking about a triviality. «But when this month of torture ends... isn’t it that we continue to see each other the same?»
Seonghyeon stopped suddenly.
«What?»
Martin turned to him, his hands in his pockets, that air halfway between the swift and the serious.
«I say... not to study, eh. Enough grammar, no more verbs...»
He made a vague gesture with his hand, as if to drive away the boredom.
«I mean, I don’t know... to go eat something, or to... boh. Doing normal things. Friends, understood?»
The word friends remained suspended between them, as if it had a weight that Martin himself did not want to admit.
⸻
Seonghyeon didn’t answer right away.
He looked at it, but without being able to decipher it.
Was it a provocation? One of your usual games? Or was there really something more?
In the end, he looked down.
“Let’s see,” he only murmured, trying to keep his voice neutral.
Martin barely smiled.
He didn’t insist, he didn’t try to get more.
He just got back on his way, his hands always in his pockets, whistling softly as if nothing had happened.
But between the folds of his smile, Seonghyeon caught something unusual.
A fragility he had never seen before.
The classroom had remained quieter than usual.
Martin, with the pen in his hand, stared at the last lines of his Korean test as if he were facing a basketball game at the last minute. Every word, every sentence written was an achievement. Not perfect, of course. There were mistakes, hesitations, some shaky translations. But there was also commitment.
When he handed over the paper, he did it with a half smile, the somewhat insolent one that never abandoned him, but inside it was tense.
The teacher took the tests, checked them calmly, and finally, meeting Martin’s gaze, nodded softly.
“It’s not perfect,” he said, with a stern tone but less than usual. “But you’ve made obvious progress. And that’s enough for me, for now.»
A buzz ran through the class: a mixture of surprise and curiosity.
Martin turned to Seonghyeon, who was sitting further back. For a second, their eyes met.
And at that moment, Martin didn’t hear the buzz, nor the comments. He only felt the relief in Seonghyeon’s gaze, hidden under his usual composure.
⸻
At the exit of school, the corridor was a river of rumors and laughter. Martin’s friends were already waiting for him: someone called him waving their hands, others shouted his name, proposing to go celebrate.
Martin took a few steps towards them, the backpack danging from one shoulder.
Then he stopped.
He turned on his heels and turned back, stopping in front of the door of classroom 2-B.
Seonghyeon was going out right at that moment, the usual quiet step, the low look.
He looked up, surprised to find Martin in front of him.
«What are you doing here?» He asked, his voice cautiously.
Martin bent slightly towards him, a small smile on his lips.
«What am I doing?» He repeated, tilting his head. «I’m here for you. Tonight, you and I have a date.»
The word appointment came out deliberately theatrical, with that half-serious and half-joked tone that Martin used when he wanted to destabilize him.
⸻
Just at that moment, behind Seonghyeon, Juhoon popped up.
He had heard enough to smile like a satisfied cat.
«Hoit, wait... what?» He laughed, looking first at Martin and then at Seonghyeon. “A date? You two? Ohhh... how cute!»
Seonghyeon suddenly stiffened. «It’s not what—»
“No, no, don’t worry,” Juhoon interrupted him, raising his hands in a fetend surrender. “I don’t judge. In fact...» he patted him on the shoulder. «Finally something interesting in your monotonous life.»
Martin rideva, divertito dal teatrino.
«Grazie, Juhoon. Vedi? Anche lui approva.»
Seonghyeon, on the other hand, turned red up to his ears. «Stop both of them.»
But inside himself, as he walked away at an accelerated pace, he couldn’t understand if he was more irritated... or troubled by the idea that, deep down, Martin had really told the truth.
«All wait for me in front of the stop at seven.»
It had been Martin’s only indication, written in a hurry on a piece of paper that he had put in Seonghyeon’s notebook at the last moment, during the last hour of class.
Seonghyeon had found him alone at home, while emptying the bag.
He had stared at those crooked letters, written with Martin’s lazy handwriting, and his heart had made a strange leap.
For half an hour she had seriously thought about ignoring him. Then, as usual, he had ended up doing the opposite.
⸻
At seven o’clock, Seonghyeon was already there, with the school uniform on and the light jacket that couldn’t really warm him up.
He felt a little ridiculous: standing in front of the stop, clutching his backpack against his chest like a shield.
Then, suddenly, a voice behind him:
«Wow, very punctual. You’re more accurate than a Swiss watch.»
He turned around suddenly: Martin was there, in dark jeans and gray sweatshirt with the hood down. The blond hair still captured the light of the streetlights.
He was tall, relaxed, with a can of soda in his hand.
Different, outside the uniform. More free.
“So?” Martin asked, giving him a quick glance. «Are you going to stay there planted or are you coming?»
⸻
He took him downtown, not too far from school.
A row of clubs, neon lights, the scent of street food that mixed in the air: fried mandu, spicy tteokbokki, caramelized sugar.
Martin seemed to know every corner: he greeted the sellers, bought skewers as if he had always been a local boy.
“Take it,” he said, extending a skewer to Seonghyeon.
«I’m not hungry.»
«I didn’t ask you if you’re hungry. You have to taste it.»
Seonghyeon snorted, but ended up taking a bite.
The spiciness immediately pinched his tongue and he coughed slightly, which made Martin burst into laughter.
«What a cute! Look at that face!»
«It’s not fun.»
«It really is.»
⸻
They walked for a long time. Martin talked a lot, about trivial things: basketball, the neighborhood, even the music he listened to.
Seonghyeon answered in monosyllables, but she didn’t go.
And in the end, without even realizing it, he found himself walking next to him at a slower pace, as if he liked that suspended time more than he wanted to admit.
At one point, Martin stopped in front of a small shop with the cameras for the passport photos.
“Hey,” he said, pointing with his chin. «Let’s go in.»
«Why never?»
“Because yes. You can’t say no to me, after everything I studied with you.»
Seonghyeon hesitated, but Martin had already pushed him inside.
The white lights, the tight seat, the tiny space. Too close.
Seonghyeon stiffened, while Martin inserted the coins and pressed the buttons at random.
« Come on, smile at least once.»
«It’s not necessary—»
Click!
The camera shot just as Seonghyeon turned to Martin, annoyed.
And in the image that came out, Martin laughed with his mouth open while Seonghyeon stared at him with that stern air that, strangely, seemed less hard next to the other’s smile.
Martin picked up the photo strip and put one in the pocket of Seonghyeon’s jacket.
«So you don’t forget about our first outing.»
Seonghyeon looked down at the small paper rectangle.
My heart was beating too fast.
It wasn’t a date, he repeated to himself. It was nothing.
Yet, inside, something told him that that evening would not be easy to forget.
The air was cooler now.
The streets of the center began to empty, the neons of the shops went out one after the other, leaving the yellowish streetlights to illuminate the street.
Martin walked next to Seonghyeon with the same slow step as before, his hands tucked into his pockets, his jacket a little open.
He still had that satisfied smile printed on him, as if the evening had been his personal little victory.
Seonghyeon instead tightened the backpack in front of him. The photo, still hot in print, was hidden inside the jacket pocket.
He felt the heartbeat stronger than usual, but he tried to keep an indifferent air.
«You had fun, admit it.»
Martin’s voice broke the silence.
«... Not really.»
“I’m a lie.”
«I’m not lying.»
«If you say so.»
Martin laughed softly, but didn’t insist.
He continued to walk, looking forward, and for a few minutes only the sound of shoes on the asphalt remained between them.
⸻
They arrived at the bus stop.
It was almost deserted: only two boys talking softly, an elderly woman holding her shopping bag.
Seonghyeon stopped a few steps from the sign, crossing his arms.
Martin leaned against the stop post, with that relaxed air that seemed to never leave him.
“So,” he said after a while, tilting his head towards him. «How did my first Korean date go?»
«It wasn’t a date.»
«Of course it was.»
«You decided it.»
«Yeah. And it seems to me that you came there anyway.»
Seonghyeon stared at him for a moment, speechless. Then he looked away, looking for the lights of the buses that didn’t arrive.
⸻
The evening wind moved his hair on his forehead.
Martin watched him in silence, more serious, even if the smile did not abandon him completely.
There was something different in his eyes. An attention that was not the usual mockery.
“You know,” he said softly, “I didn’t think I could really study before. I didn’t think I’d listen to anyone. But with you... I don’t know. It’s different.»
The words hit him more than he wanted to admit.
Seonghyeon felt a sudden heat rise to his face.
He pretended to check the time on the phone, hoping that the bus would arrive quickly.
⸻
A few minutes later, the lights of the vehicle appeared at the end of the street.
Seonghyeon took a step forward, ready to climb.
“Hey,” Martin called him.
Seonghyeon just turned around, with a tense expression.
Martin gave him a half smile and raised two fingers in a wave of greeting.
«See you next time, tutor.»
The doors opened with a hiss.
Seonghyeon went up without answering, he went to sit next to the window.
When the bus left, he couldn’t resist: he turned to the stop.
Martin was still there, his hands in his pockets, watching him walk away.
And for a moment, in the reflection of the glass, Seonghyeon thought it wasn’t a bad date at all.
The morning at Hanil high school began as always: the noisy corridors, the shoes hitting the floor, the greetings between students chasing each other between the lockers.
Yet, for Seonghyeon, there was something different.
He didn’t know if anything had really changed... or if it was just the memory of that evening, the photo still hidden in his game, to make him see things differently.
He entered the classroom, arranged the books on the desk like every day. Then he heard the usual voice, more familiar than he wanted to admit:
«Hey, tutor.»
Martin was there, standing next to his desk, with his backpack on his shoulder and a smile that didn’t seem like the usual provocation.
Avva’s eyes slightly marked by fatigue, but bright with good mood.
Seonghyeon just looked up.
«Don’t call me that.»
«Okay, then... date partner?»
Someone in class turned to look at them, curious.
Seonghyeon blushed immediately and lowered his voice: “Don’t talk nonsense.”
Martin laughed softly, but didn’t insist. Not the usual loud laugh: a low, short sound, as if it were just for him.
Then, naturally, he sat at the desk behind his, leaning towards the notebook.
⸻
During the lesson, for the first time, Martin did not bother him with cards or jokes.
Every now and then, however, he leaned just forward to whisper something — a quick comment, a serious question but said in a light tone.
And Seonghyeon realized that he was answering without that coldness he had used for weeks.
It wasn’t real complicity.
But it was as if the distance, that wall he had built, suddenly had a small crack.
⸻
At halftime, Juhoon approached with the usual mischievous smile.
«So, Seonghyeon... how did the appointment go?»
Seonghyeon widened his eyes, ready to deny strongly.
But before he could say anything, Martin intervened:
“Very good.”
The answer was dry, sure, almost brazen.
Juhoon burst out laughing, while Seonghyeon covered his face with one hand, trying to stay calm.
Yet, under the embarrassment, he felt something new: not the usual irritation, but a heat difficult to control.
It was late afternoon when the school finally was empty.
The courtyard had already softened in the colors of the sunset, and the wind carried with it the smell of dry leaves mixed with that of asphalt.
Martin and Seonghyeon had not planned to stay longer, yet they both found themselves in front of the lockers when almost everyone had left.
“Oh,” Martin said, closing the door with a sharp blow. «Still here?»
“I had to finish some notes in the library,” Seonghyeon replied, tucking his backpack.
He didn’t add anything else, but he didn’t even move.
It was Martin, this time, who broke the habit.
«Do you want to go for a ride?»
The tone was different: no jokes, no nicknames. Just a simple question.
⸻
They walked along the avenue that led out of the school, without a precise destination. The low houses of the neighborhood began to turn on with lights, the first families returned home.
“So,” Martin began, with that lightness that was hiding something more serious. «What do you do when you’re not busy babysitting me?»
Seonghyeon looked at him to the side.
«I study.»
«Just that?»
«...Almost.»
Martin laughed softly. «Don’t you get bored?»
“No.”
«I would be bored to death.»
He stopped for a moment, taking a stone from the ground and throwing it away.
«You know... in Canada I was good at never stopping. Always friends, always movement. But I don’t know if it was because I really wanted to, or because I didn’t want to be alone.»
Seonghyeon didn’t expect that sincerity. Not like that, not from him.
«And now?» He asked, almost without realizing it.
Martin thought about it for a moment.
«Now... it doesn’t bother me so much to be still. Maybe because I’m not really alone.»
The words remained suspended in the air.
Seonghyeon didn’t know what to answer. He only felt a strange heat in his stomach, difficult to control.
⸻
After a while, he was the one who spoke.
«I’m not like you.»
Martin turned around. «What do you mean?»
«I’m not... I’m not good with people. I don’t know how to behave. I always feel... inadequate.»
It was the first time he said it out loud.
The cold wind made him look down, as if to protect himself.
Martin remained silent, then just bent towards him, with a half smile that was not mockery but understanding.
«Well, it seems more than adequate to me.»
Seonghyeon looked at him, disconcerted.
He didn’t laugh, he didn’t get angry. He just kept quiet, with his heart beating faster than it should.
And for the first time, they walked side by side without needing anything else.
After walking for a while aimlessly, the two ended up in front of a small park.
It was nothing special: two slightly rusty swings, a bench, a street lamp that flickered when it lit up. It was almost empty, apart from a couple of children playing with bicycles.
“Let’s sit,” Martin said naturally. He didn’t ask permission, but he didn’t even order.
He let himself fall on the bench, his legs stretched forward, and waited for Seonghyeon to sit next to him.
⸻
For a while no one spoke.
There was only the noise of the wheels on the concrete, the distant croaking of the crows returning to the nests.
Martin took out a can of iced coffee that he had taken from a distributor. He brought it to Seonghyeon.
«Do you want?»
Seonghyeon hesitated, then took the can, without touching his fingers directly.
She took a sip, returning it to him with his eyes down.
Martin laughed softly. «Wow, so you know how to share things. I didn’t hope so.»
Seonghyeon looked at him askow, but not with anger. It was more of a reflex, a way to hide embarrassment.
«Don’t get used to it.»
⸻
The lamppost above them lit up completely.
The warm light enveloped them, leaving the rest of the park in the shade.
“Hey,” Martin said suddenly. «Don’t you ever get tired of doing everything right?»
Seonghyeon turned to him, surprised.
«What?»
«At school, in homework, in the rules. Always perfect. Does it never bother you?»
The question remained suspended, as if it had been more intimate than Martin had anticipated.
Seonghyeon lowered his eyes on his intertwined hands.
«...If I don’t, I don’t know who I am.»
The sincerity of the answer silenced Martin for a few seconds.
Then he nodded slowly, as if he understood more than he showed.
«You know what?» He murmured, almost laughing. «Maybe that’s why I respect you.»
Seonghyeon stared at him, taken by surprise by that word. Respect.
He had never heard it come out of Martin’s mouth.
And at that moment, without laughing, without joking, he really felt seen.
⸻
They stayed there a little longer, exchanging a few sentences, more pauses than speeches.
Yet those pauses were not empty: they were filled with a silence that, for the first time, did not weigh on either of them.
The rumor had spread in a few minutes in the corridors: Martin is fighting with someone in the third year.
When Seonghyeon arrived, dragged by the flow of curious students, the circle was already formed.
In the center, Martin.
The uniform jacket was half torn, the lip split, the ruffled blond hair falling on the eyes. His meter and ninety made him imposing, but it wasn’t just strength: it was pure anger, which made him move in quick and violent shots.
One of the older guys had shouted something at him — one of those poisonous comments about him being “half a foreigner”, about his stunted Korean.
Martin hadn’t held it.
⸻
“Martin!”
Seonghyeon’s voice crossed the crowd like a sharp blow.
Not shouted, but determined.
For a moment, Martin froze. His hand remained suspended, clenched in a fist, a few centimeters from the rival’s face.
His breath was jerking, his veins swollen on his arms.
The eyes moved, searching.
And when they found Seonghyeon, hoddled among the boys, his gaze changed. Not quite, but enough: the fury lost biting, as if it had been domesticated all of a sudden.
The rival took advantage of that moment to back out.
The professors arrived soon after, breaking the circle and shouting orders.
⸻
It was all chaos: voices, hands pulling it, students commenting.
In the end, Martin was dragged to the infirmary, and it was there that Seonghyeon managed to stay with him.
Martin let himself fall on the bed, his breath still heavy.
«What a pain...» he snorted, running his tongue over his split lip.
Seonghyeon stared at him, standing next to the bed, arms crossed.
«You’re an idiot.»
His voice was not cold: it was tense, almost trembling.
Martin looked up at him, a half-crooked smile on his bloody face.
«I know.»
⸻
Seonghyeon took a ball soaked in disinfectant and, with hands firmer than he thought he had, pressed it on his eyebrow arch.
Martin made a face. «Ooh, slow don...»
“Shut up,” Seonghyeon replied, without looking at him.
But inside, his heart was beating fast.
He couldn’t understand why: maybe because of the anger of seeing him reduced like this, maybe because of the fear that he could really hurt himself, or maybe because Martin, at that moment, seemed fragile. Not the usual invincible guy, but someone who needed to be held back.
«Why are you doing this?» He asked at a certain point, in a low voice. «Why do you always get into trouble?»
Martin remained silent. Then, with a thread of voice, he said:
«Because when I don’t know how to answer... I raise my hands.»
He stopped, looking for his eyes. «But when I heard you calling me... I stopped.»
The ball stopped in mid-air.
Seonghyeon looked at him, and for a moment he didn’t know what to say.
And it was then that the unsaid passed between them, clear as never before: Seonghyeon cared about him, and Martin had understood it.
It was late afternoon, the gym almost deserted.
The rest of the team had already finished training, but Martin had stayed. Maybe to vent after the fight the day before, maybe just to distract himself.
The sound of the ball hitting the parquet rumbled loudly, punctuating the rhythm of its movements: dribble, step, jump, shot.
The ball hit the basket with a clean sound, but he didn’t stop, repeating over and over again, as if he wanted to get rid of something that burned inside him.
Seonghyeon found it like this.
He hadn’t planned to go looking for him, but his feet had brought him there. Maybe because, despite his anger, he couldn’t get rid of it completely.
He stopped on the threshold, observing.
Martin, sweaty, with his shirt glued to his back and his big breath, looked like a different boy: no longer the arrogant in the hallway, but someone who consumed himself in silence.
⸻
“You’ll ruin yourself even more if you continue like this,” said Seonghyeon, the voice that broke the echo of the gym.
Martin turned around, surprised. A smile slipped on his lips, ironic but tired.
«Did you come to check that you don’t make other disasters, babysitter?»
Seonghyeon frowned, advancing a couple of steps.
«Don’t be stupid.»
He stopped near the line of the three points, crossing his arms. «You already hurt yoursell enough yesterday.»
Martin laughed softly, shaking his head. «You’re never happy, are you? Not even when I mark every shot.»
He bounced the ball, then suddenly passed it to him.
Seonghyeon, surprised, managed to catch her with difficulty.
“I don’t—“ he began to say, but Martin interrupted him by suddenly approaching, his face still wet with sweat, his eyes shining.
«Consi, try.»
⸻
Seonghyeon’s heart accelerated for no reason.
He held the ball, undecided, while Martin approached him again, reducing the space between them. The acrid smell of sweat and deodorant, the warmth of Martin’s body, all enveloped him.
“I don’t know how to play,” he murmured.
“Enough,” Martin replied, placing a hand on his wrist to guide him.
It was that touch - warm, decisive - that blocked Seonghyeon.
A simple contact, almost trivial. Still, his body reacted as if it were something huge: short of breath, the blood pounding in his ears.
Martin didn’t seem willing to break away.
He took his hand naturally, intertwining his fingers around the ball, and guided his gesture.
«So... do you hear? You have to bend your legs a little, otherwise you’ll pull without strength.»
The voice was calm, different from the usual indifferent tone.
And the fact that Martin was so close, that his hand covered hers, made Seonghyeon feel exposed, vulnerable... and at the same time safe.
⸻
The ball flew, hitting the iron of the basket and bouncing away.
Martin laughed softly. «Well, to be the first attempt... not bad.»
Seonghyeon stared at him, his heart still in turmoil.
“You’re unbearable,” he said in a low voice.
Martin smiled, this time without irony.
And instead of moving away, he let his hand stay on Seonghyeon’s wrist for a moment longer, just an instant beyond what was necessary.
It wasn’t a hug, nor a kiss. But it was enough for, from that moment on, the air between them to change.
In the evening, in his room, Seonghyeon couldn’t concentrate.
The grammar book was open in front of him, but the lines were confused, becoming a tangle of black symbols. He kept reading the same sentence without recording it.
Every time he closed his eyes, he relived that moment in the gym.
The ball in his hands, Martin’s warm and confident grip that guided his wrist, his breath close, too close.
It had been a moment. But a moment that had left a shiver down his spine, hard to shake off.
He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated.
«Why am I thinking at such a stupid thing?» He muttered to himself.
Yet he knew it wasn’t a stupid thing. Not for him.
⸻
The next day, during lunch, Juhoon immediately catched him.
«What’s wrong with you? You have the face of someone who saw a ghost,” he said biting a kimbap.
Seonghyeon shook her head. “Nothing.”
«Ah, of course, of course.» Juhoon squared him. «You have that way of squinting that you only have when you’re anxious. And don’t tell me it’s for homework, because homework doesn’t scare you.»
Seonghyeon pursed her lips, trying to ignore him. But Juhoon didn’t give up.
«Weat...» he said with a small smile. «It’s for him, right? Your favorite Canadian.»
Seonghyeon stiffened. «Don’t say nonsense.»
«Oh, so you don’t deny it?»
Juhoon’s eyes shone amused. He bent towards him, lowering his voice. «Concome on, tell me. What did he do this time? Did he embarrass you in front of everyone? Did he provoke you? Or...» and the tone became more mischievous «did it make your heart beat?»
Seonghyeon bit the inside of her cheek.
He didn’t want to talk about it. He didn’t want to give Juhoon the satisfaction of being right. But in the end, he sighed.
“It’s nothing. He just...» he hesitated, looking for the words. «It... took my hand. To teach me how to shoot basketball.»
Juhoon widened his eyes. Then he burst out laughing. «Wait, wait! Did he get your hand? And are you still alive to tell it?»
Seonghyeon glared at him. «It’s not fun.»
«Instead of it is, and how!» Juhoon lowered his voice, but he couldn’t hold back his smile. «So that’s why you have that face like... I don’t know... a drama character? Come on, admit it: you’re agitated.»
Seonghyeon shrugged, staring at the lunch tray. «It was... strange. Too close. I don’t know.»
Juhoon watched him for a few seconds, then shook his head with a softer smile.
«Do you know what I think? That he’s not the one to confuse you. It’s you who doesn’t want to admit how much you care.»
⸻
Those words remained in Seonghyeon’s head all afternoon.
He didn’t want to think about it, yet every time he looked down, he noticed that his hand - the same one Martin had grabbed - still seemed warm to him.
And for the first time, admitting it to himself made him more afraid than relieved.
For a few days, Seonghyeon had decided to put distance.
No more out of place chatter, no too long stops in the corridors, no shared laughter.
Every time Martin approached, he found an excuse: a book to fix, a message to check, an urgent task to review.
It wasn’t easy, because Martin didn’t go unnoticed. Whether he was in the classroom, in the gym or in the courtyard, he attracted attention like a magnet. But Seonghyeon forced himself to look elsewhere, not to get carried away.
That afternoon, in the library, he was looking for a literature manual. The rows of shelves were silent, only run by the buzz of neons. He was convinced that he had found some peace, until a hoarse, familiar voice called him slowly:
“Hey.”
Martin was leaning on the shelf next to him, with the air of someone who had no reason to be there, but him.
Seonghyeon stiffened, pretending to be immersed in the titles of the books.
«What’s up?» He asked without looking at him.
Martin studied it for a moment. He didn’t have the usual provocative smile, nor the cheekiness with which he usually broke the silences.
«Are you okay?» He asked, with an accent still kneaded but sincere.
Seonghyeon turned around suddenly, caught off guard. He expected the usual joke, and instead he found clear eyes staring at him with unusual seriousness.
His heart jumped down his throat, but he hurried to compose himself.
“I’m fine. I don’t see why I shouldn’t.»
Martin didn’t let himself be convinced.
He took a half step forward, lowering his voice as if he feared disturbing the quiet of the room.
“I don’t know. You seem... different. You don’t talk to me anymore.»
Seonghyeon pursed her lips, squeezing tightly the spine of the book she was holding in her hand.
«Maybe because I have nothing to say.»
A brief, suspended silence.
Then Martin, instead of teasing him as usual, let slip a small, almost shy smile.
“Okay. But... if one day you need someone to listen, I’m here. I don’t mess up.»
Those words, simple and direct, made more breach of his noisy laughter or arrogant joke.
Seonghyeon looked down, unable to reply. He just put the book back in place and murmured:
«Do what you want.»
Martin let him go, he didn’t insist. But when Seonghyeon pulled away, he felt the weight of a look different from the usual on his back: less playful, more caring.
And that unexpected care put him much more in crisis than any mockery.
The week had been heavier than usual.
Tasks, checks, and in addition the tense atmosphere that Seonghyeon had created for himself, moving away from Martin. He tried to convince himself that it was the right thing: fewer ties, fewer distractions, fewer risks.
It was raining heavily that afternoon. The bell had just announced the end of classes and the students crowded at the main entrance of Hanil high school. Some quickly opened the umbrellas, others ran to the bus with the books on their heads.
Seonghyeon only then realized that he didn’t have an umbrella.
He had forgotten it at home, and the prospect of walking in that pouring rain was not at all pleasant. He approached the glass of the sliding door, watching the water fall in dense rivers on the asphalt.
A sigh escaped from his lips.
«Are you going to stay here all night?»
The voice reached behind him.
Seonghyeon turned around and found Martin, with his backpack thrown on one shoulder and — of course — a black umbrella closed in his hand.
The blond boy didn’t wait for an answer. He opened the umbrella with a sharp gesture and approached.
«Let’s go.»
«What?» Seonghyeon asked, confused.
«I’ll take you home.»
Martin spoke naturally, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
Seonghyeon remained firm, undecided whether to accept or reject. He had tried for days to avoid it, not to give in to any opening. But Martin didn’t seem willing to leave him room for an excuse.
“It’s not necessary,” he murmured. «I’m doing it.»
Martin raised an eyebrow, hinting at a half smile that, however, was not the usual, provocative one.
«If you were really able to get by, you wouldn’t be staring at the rain for ten minutes.»
Having said that, he took a step forward, opened the umbrella over both of them and gently pushed him over the door.
«Move, or we’re going to get wet anyway.»
⸻
They walked side by side, close under the umbrella that forced them to touch each other with their shoulders. The water was pouring all around, but under that small cover there seemed to be a different silence: more intimate, protected.
Martin didn’t talk much, and Seonghyeon didn’t know how to react.
In the end, it was he who broke the silence, in a low voice.
«Why are you doing this?»
Martin looked at him, and took a few seconds to answer.
«Because I care.»
Few words, said without smiles or arrogance. And that’s why they weighed twice as much.
Seonghyeon looked down, pretending to observe the puddles. He felt his heart beating fast, and he hated himself for not being able to control him.
When they arrived under the door of his house, Martin closed the umbrella and shook it gently.
«See you tomorrow.» he said only, with a nod of his head.
Seonghyeon stared at him for another moment, unable to find the words. Then he barely greeted him, before entering, with the feeling that something inside him was starting to give way.
The apartment was immersed in that familiar silence that sometimes tasted of comfort and sometimes of emptiness.
Seonghyeon dropped her backpack next to the desk, took off her wet jacket and stood still for a few moments, her gaze lost on the floor.
The smell of rain was still coming in from damp shoes, and that detail immediately brought him back to the image of just before: him and Martin under the same umbrella, shoulder to shoulder, too close to pretend nothing happened.
He ran a hand through his hair, nervous.
“Why...?” He murmured in a low voice, without finishing the sentence.
It was always the same question that came to his mind: why did Martin behave like this? Why, despite his impulsive and provocative character, had he had that sincere concern? And above all: why did those words - “because I care” - continued to resonate on him like an echo that didn’t want to go out?
He let himself fall on the chair, turned on the lamp and opened the literature book. He tried to read, to throw himself into the study as he always did, but the lines danced senselessly before his eyes.
After a few minutes you closed the volume with a sharp shot.
The truth was that he couldn’t concentrate.
Every time he tried to chase him away, Martin’s thought came back. The joking tone with which he usually irritated him, and then, that afternoon, the unexpected seriousness.
Seonghyeon bit the inside of his cheek, annoyed by himself.
He had promised - more than once - that he would not let Martin take up space in his head. But there he is, sitting at the desk, with his heart beating a little too fast because of two simple words.
He closed his eyes, resting his forehead on the bent arm.
A part of him wanted to minimize, reduce everything to a gesture of courtesy, nothing more.
But another part, the one who couldn’t even lie in front of the mirror, knew that Martin had become something harder to ignore.
The ticking of the rain on the windows accompanied those thoughts, and for the first time Seonghyeon didn’t know if she hated that sound or if she found it strangely sweet.
The next morning, the corridors were the same as always: full of voices, hurried steps and laughter bouncing off the shiny walls. But for Seonghyeon, that day, every sound seemed muted, as if he was immersed in a bubble.
He had slept badly, agitated by thoughts. He had convinced himself that, once he entered the classroom, everything would be like before: Martin making the usual noisy entrance, the friends around him, the professors who were irritated with him.
Instead, it wasn’t really like that.
When Martin arrived in class, he didn’t come in with the usual snare-hing grimace. She greeted in a low, almost polite voice, let herself fall on the chair and — incredible thing — pulled out the literature book even before the bell rang.
Seonghyeon widened his eyes, lowering them immediately after so as not to be noticed.
Maybe it was a coincidence. Maybe he just wanted to impress someone.
Yet, during the first hour, Martin took notes. Not perfect, not tidy, but there were. Every now and then he leaned towards Juhoon to ask for clarification, and they weren’t the usual sarcastic jokes: they were real questions.
When the professor asked a point-blank question, Martin raised his hand. He didn’t answer flawlessly, but he tried.
And that thing alone was enough to stir a sudden silence in the classroom.
Seonghyeon found himself looking at him again.
He didn’t understand if it was amazement, curiosity or something else. Maybe all three things together.
At the break, Martin didn’t go wandering through the corridors as usual. He approached the vending machine, took two cans and, with a gesture that seemed casual but that seemed anything but casual to Seonghyeon, placed one on his counter.
“It’s for you,” he said carelessly, opening his. «Don’t make that face, it’s not poisoned.»
The friends laughed.
Seonghyeon remained motionless, his fingers brushing the icy can.
He didn’t thank him right away, but his heart had a small jump that he tried to mask by looking down.
Martin, on the other hand, seemed calm. In fact, he had that almost satisfied air, as if he knew he had made the mark without the need for confirmation.
⸻
It was a detail of nothing, yet Seonghyeon felt that something was changing.
And the problem was that he didn’t know if he wanted to stop it... or let himself be dragged.
The afternoon had fallen lazily, with a pale sun barely warming the windows of the empty classroom. After the last lesson, almost everyone had already run away: some at the club, some at home, some at the bar nearby.
Seonghyeon, however, was left behind. He was arranging his books with the methodical calmness he always used, but he was actually waiting. Or rather: he was waiting. Because he knew that Martin hadn’t come out yet. He had seen him lingering near the basketball courts, his backpack against the wall, his hands in his pockets.
In the end he decided. He went out into the corridor, found him there, leaning as if he had nothing to do, staring absently at his cell phone.
“Martin.”
He looked up immediately, a raised eyebrow and that half smile that never failed.
“Oh, babysitter. What’s up?»
Seonghyeon pursed her lips. He didn’t want to get angry, not this time. He inhaled slowly.
«I have to ask you something.»
Martin shrugged, as if to say “shoot”, but there was a different light in his eyes. Not the usual challenge.
«Why are you behaveing like this?» Seonghyeon said, unable to completely disguise the tension. «This morning you were taking notes, you even answered the professor... and then—» he indicated the can he still carried in his backpack, «these things. It’s not from you. Why do you do it?»
There was a short but intense silence. Only someone’s distant steps in the corridor filled the air.
Martin sighed, breaking away from the wall.
«What do you mean by “it’s not from me”? I’m always me.»
“You haven’t always been like that,” replied Seonghyeon, more determined than expected. «And don’t tell me it’s a coincidence. You can see that you’re... changing. I want to know the reason.»
Martin looked at him, and for the first time he didn’t laugh. He didn’t even make his usual sarcastic joke. He ran a hand through his blond hair, messy by the wind, and then said calmly:
«Maybe... because someone made me understand that I can’t keep giving a damn about everything.»
The words hit Seonghyeon harder than he had prepared.
He remained silent, staring at him.
Martin barely smiled, looking down.
«And don’t worry, I’m not becoming a saint. But... I want to try.»
⸻
Seonghyeon felt her heart speed up. A part of him wanted to urge him, ask “who made you understand this thing?” — but the answer was already clear, and for this very reason he lacked courage.
He remained silent, only a slight blush on his cheeks.
Martin noticed it, and returned to his usual joking tone.
«Hey, don’t think too much, eh. It makes you wrinkle.»
This time, however, the joke did not erase what had been said shortly before. She remained suspended, like a shared secret.
After that conversation in the hallway, neither of them made the gesture of leaving first. It was as if a silent force was holding them there. In the end it was Martin who broke the silence, reaching towards Seonghyeon’s backpack.
«Shall we go for a walk? I don’t want to go home right away.»
Seonghyeon hesitated. In theory he should have said no: he wasn’t the type to waste time around, and his routine was sacred. But that day something was different. Maybe the words Martin had just said, maybe the way he had said them. So he nodded, without adding anything.
⸻
They left school together. The air was colder than they expected, and the sky had turned a dark gray, loaded. They walked side by side, without haste, the lights of the shops already on illuminated the street with blurred colors.
“So,” Martin began, with an almost light tone, “aren’t you curious to know why I wanted to go out with you and not with someone else?”
Seonghyeon looked at him to the side, tightening the zipper of his jacket. «You’re not so important as to make me curious.»
Martin laughed softly. «Thank goodness, I thought you were starting to take me too seriously.»
Yet, that smile was less cheeky than usual, more... genuine.
⸻
They arrived halfway, and that’s when the first drop fell. A dark spot on the asphalt. Then another one. Then many, thick, sudden.
“Ah, perfect,” Martin commented, raising his face towards the sky. «I had to imagine it.»
In a few seconds the rain caught. They didn’t have umbrellas, and within a minute they were already soaky. Seonghyeon tried in vain to cover himself with the briefcase, but the water slipped down his hair, cold, insistent.
“Seonghyeon!” Martin shouted to be heard in the sound of the rain. «Do you live near here, don’t you?»
Seonghyeon nodded, uncomfortable. He had never thought that this time would come: to invite Martin to his house. But the rain was so strong that there was no other choice.
«Follow me!» He screamed, and started running down the street, with Martin following him laughing, as if it were the funniest thing in the world.
⸻
They reached Seonghyeon’s palace. They entered sloppy, leaving behind a trail of drops. The lobby was silent, lit only by a dim light bulb, and the sound of the rain beat against the windows.
When they finally arrived at the door of the house, Seonghyeon hesitated for a moment. It was rare for him to have guests, very rare. But by now they were there. With a sigh, he inserted the key and opened it.
«Come in.»
Martin followed him inside, his wet hair dripping on the floor. As soon as he took off his shoes, he laughed softly.
«Do you know you look smaller when you’re soaked?»
Seonghyeon glared at him, barely blushing.
«Shut up and sit down. I’ll bring you a towel.»
As he disappeared towards the room, he still felt Martin’s laughter behind him. Yet, despite the apparent irritation, something in his chest was different. Because that image - Martin, soaked wet, inside his house - gave him a strange, dangerous feeling of intimacy.
Seonghyeon returned shortly after with two folded towels, one light blue and one white. He had taken them almost in a hurry from the closet, but when he handed them to Martin, he noticed that his hands were barely shaking.
«Hold it.»
The tone was dry, almost nervous.
Martin accepted it with a wide smile, dishedding his messy dyed blond hair, making droplets fly everywhere.
«Ah, man, look what a mess.»
Seonghyeon frowned and took the books away from the table, to protect them from the drops.
«Stop shaking yourself like a dog. You’re a guest at my house, not on the street.»
«Guest, huh?» Martin laughed again, but didn’t insist. He rubbed his hair, the towel that went down his shoulders, uncovering the line of his neck. Then he took off his uniform jacket, soaked, leaving it hanging from a chair. The shirt adhered to him, wet, and the transparency highlighted the structure of the shoulders, the chest.
Seonghyeon immediately looked away, but it was impossible not to notice it.
⸻
«I can...» Martin began, pointing to the shirt. «Can I change? If not, I’ll get sick.»
The request was logical, but Seonghyeon immediately felt uncomfortable. He was not used to sharing the space of his house, much less with someone like him. But he nodded, without words, and went to rummage through the closet. He came back with a gray sweatshirt and wide pants, which once belonged to his father.
«They fit you wide, but better than nothing.»
Martin took the clothes with a grateful smile.
«I’m not complaining. I like comfortable things.»
He went into the bathroom to change. Seonghyeon remained in the living room, his heart beating faster than usual. It was nothing special, it was said, it was just a matter of education. Yet... there was something too intimate, almost domestic, in knowing that Martin was changing behind that door.
⸻
When he came out, a few minutes later, Martin was different. The still damp hair fell on his eyes, the wide sweatshirt slipped on him, yet it seemed to fit well.
«Comfortable, really,» he commented, stretching his arms as if to show the abundance of fabric. «It almost looks like mine.»
“Stop being a clown,” Seonghyeon replied, but his voice was lower, less sharp.
Martin watched him. Then he took a step towards him. Not aggressive, not cheeky. A slow, calculated step, which shortened the distance.
“You know, I didn’t think you’d really let me in. You surprise me every time.»
Seonghyeon squeezed the towel in her hands. He didn’t want to admit that he was right. So he just sat on the couch, trying to mask his heartbeat.
“It was just logical. We couldn’t stay in the rain.»
Martin sat next to him. Not too close, but not far either. Halfway.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. You could only hear the constant sound of the rain against the windows, and the silence that became denser, more loaded.
And it was in that silence that Seonghyeon realized: that was no longer a simple “emergency rain”. It was a threshold.
The ticking of the rain had no hint of stopping.
Outside, the darkness of the evening seemed to have closed around the house, like a shell. Inside, the warm light of the table lamp created a small safe space, isolated from the rest of the world.
Sitting on the sofa, the two remained silent for a while, each lost in their thoughts.
In the end, it was Martin who spoke.
“You know,” he began, staring at the void in front of him, “I’m not good with these things. To be serious, I mean. I usually make jokes, make fun of, or ace as if I didn’t care about anything.»
He ran a hand through his damp hair, with a short but tired smile. «The truth is that... maybe it’s easier that way. It hurts less.»
Seonghyeon looked at him to the side, caught off guard by that tone. He had never heard Martin like that.
“My parents,” he continued, his voice lower, “have always been... in disagreement. My Canadian father, my Korean mother. Two worlds that have never really met. I grew up in the middle, not knowing which one to belong to. In Canada I was “too Asian”, here I am “too foreign”. I don’t speak the language well, I don’t know how to follow certain rules... and they hate me for that.»
He interrupted for a moment, his lips bent into a bitter grimace. «I don’t really hate... but what I do is never enough. I’m not enough.»
The words remained suspended in the air. Seonghyeon absorbed them all, slowly.
“Martin...” he just murmured.
He shook his head. “Don’t say it with that voice. I don’t need mercy.»
Then, after a silence, he added: “What I need is someone who... doesn’t look at me as if I were wrong.”
⸻
Seonghyeon felt a nump in his throat. He shook hands, then spoke in turn.
«My parents are never there. They always work, trips, trips, meetings. Sometimes it seems to me that their house is not here, but in another city, or in another country. And I... stay alone.»
He said it without changing his expression, but inside it was like opening a crack.
«Maybe for this study so much. To fill the void. If I have high grades, at least I exist. At least they see me, even if only through the report cards.»
Martin watched him carefully, without laughing, without interrupting.
It was rare for him: he usually never left room for such heavy breaks. But now, yes.
“So,” he finally said, “even you never feel enough.”
Seonghyeon looked down, as if that sentence hit him too closely. «...Maybe.»
⸻
The distance between them shortened almost by itself. Martin leaned a little further forward, his elbows on his knees, looking for the other’s eyes.
«You know, I didn’t think I’d ever say these things. Not at school, not at someone who... really looks at me.»
Seonghyeon’s heart accelerated.
«Why to me?» He asked softly, almost unintentionally.
Martin stared at him, and there was an unusual sincerity in his dark eyes.
«Because with you... I don’t have to pretend. I don’t have to be a fool, I don’t have to do what feels invincible. You see beyond. And I... I don’t know if it scares me more or if I like it.»
Those last words slipped slowly, like a confession too close to something bigger.
Seonghyeon swallowed, not knowing how to respond. His chest tightened, and he realized that that speech was going towards a territory that he had never had the courage to explore.
Martin, however, did not stop.
He took a deep breath, then said, in a low but firm voice:
«Seonghyeon... I like you more than I would like.»
The silence after that sentence seemed to weigh as much as the rain pounding on the windows.
The words remained in the air, sharp, impossible to ignore.
Seonghyeon barely gasped, as if someone had suddenly pulled the ground from under his feet. His eyes widened, fixed on Martin, incredulous and at the same time... too involved to pretend indifference.
«C... what?» He managed to say, his voice cracked.
Martin didn’t look away. No jokes, no sly smiles this time. Just a serious, tense expression, which left no room for misunderstandings.
«Excuse me, I couldn’t hold back anymore.»
Seonghyeon inhaled abruptly, his heart beating like crazy. He stood up suddenly, as if the sofa had suddenly become too tight.
«Don’t... you can’t say something like that. Not to me!» He exclaimed, agitated.
Martin followed him with his eyes, without moving, letting him vent.
«Why not?» He replied calmly disarmingly.
«Why...» Seonghyeon stopped, clenched his fists. He didn’t have the right words.
Because he couldn’t admit how much those phrases had hit him, how much they had put him in crisis.
Because, inside him, that part that wanted to always remain orderly and controlled was now wavering dangerously.
«I’m not... I’m not...» he stammered, trying to put his thoughts in order.
Martin then got up slowly, taking a step closer. His presence filled the room, as always, but this time he was not arrogant: it was intense, sincere.
«You’re not what?» He asked softly.
Seonghyeon looked at him, his eyes shining with a thousand conflicting emotions.
“I’m not ready to hear it. Not from you. Not like that.»
Martin swallowed, and a shadow of wound crossed his eyes. But I didn’t back do away.
«I understand.» he murmured, barely lowering his voice.
Then, with a half tired smile, he added: “I didn’t want to scare you. But I couldn’t pretend anymore.»
⸻
Seonghyeon turned around, turning his back on him. He was breathing hard, as if the walls had tightened around him.
He passed a hand over his face, trying to calm down.
It was too much. Too direct. Too true.
Yet, inside himself, a part screamed at him that those words had shaken him because... he wanted them.
Seonghyeon made to move towards the door, his heart pounding in his temples.
«I... have to go. I can’t stay here.»
The decisive step was suddenly interrupted by a strong hand that grabbed him by the wrist.
Hot. Stop.
«Hait.»
Martin’s voice was not arrogant, it was not ironic: it was almost broken, as if he was afraid that Seonghyeon would really let him go.
Seonghyeon stopped. He didn’t have the strength to free himself.
He felt that grip that kept him anchored not only physically, but emotionally, as if it was the only thread to keep him from falling.
Martin approached him slowly. He didn’t force him, he didn’t squeeze more, but he didn’t even let go.
«Before running away... let me do something.» he whispered.
Seonghyeon barely turned, short of breath, the eyes that met Martin’s.
He found fear, desire, vulnerability. Not the usual mask.
And at that moment Martin bent down, without haste.
Their lips brushed slowly, almost with hesitation, as if Martin feared that Seonghyeon would break at the slightest touch.
It was not an impetuous kiss, not a gesture of possession: it was slow, delicate, almost shy. A silent invocation.
Seonghyeon remained stiff for a second, surprised, scared.
Then something inside him gave way. The heartbeat became a ras in the ears, the fingers trembled... but it didn’t detach.
In fact, he barely closed his eyes.
The world outside — the rain beating on the windows, the darkness of the evening, the silence of the house — disappeared.
There were only the two of them.
When Martin pulled away, he stayed very close, his warm breath still brushing Seonghyeon’s lips.
«I had to do it.» he said in a breath, almost a plea.
Seonghyeon, confused and shaken, moved away halfway. He couldn’t speak, he couldn’t organize his thoughts.
The only thing he felt was the taste of that kiss that remained on him, like a secret that he could never erase again.
Seonghyeon’s breath became short, almost broken.
Martin’s words still rumbled in his head: “I had to do it.”
He should have been angry. He should have rejected him, told him never to try again, reminded him of the promise he had made to himself: Martin doesn’t matter. Martin must not matter.
And instead, before he even thought about it, his body betrayed him.
With a sudden gesture, he grabbed Martin’s jacket, pulling him to him.
Their mouths collided again, but this time it was not slow, it was not hesitant: it was a decisive, strong, almost desperate kiss.
All the accumulated tension, every night convincing himself that he didn’t feel anything, all the times he had turned his gaze not to look at him for too long... exploded at that moment.
His heart was beating like crazy, as if he wanted to free himself from his chest.
It was a kiss that tasted of anger and fear, but also of desire and truth.
It was as if Seonghyeon was shouting without using his voice: “I want you. Even if I shouldn’t. Even if you scare me. Although I will never admit it.”
Martin was only surprised for a moment. Then, with a deep sigh, he responded to that kiss, reciprocating with the same intensity, but with more warmth, more abandonment.
His hands rested on Seonghyeon’s shoulders, but not to hold him back: almost to support him, to tell him that he was not alone in that fight against himself.
When Seonghyeon finally let go, his breath trembled, his face was flushed.
He immediately lowered his gaze, biting his lip, as if he was afraid of what he had just done.
Martin stared at him, his clear eyes shining with a happy, almost incredulous surprise.
He didn’t say anything right away, but a half smile escaped him, sweet and fragile, far from his usual arrogance.
Silence.
Only the rain, the beating of their hearts, and a secret that they could no longer pretend not to know.
The next day was a return to silence.
Seonghyeon showed up at school as always: perfect uniform, books in order, impassive expression. As if nothing had happened. As if the night before there hadn’t been that kiss that had turned his heart upside down.
When Martin entered the classroom, he looked up at him, perhaps expecting a nod, a smile, whatever sign.
Seonghyeon, on the other hand, turned the other way, planting his eyes on his notes as if he had to decipher a secret code.
Every time Martin looked for a look, a word, Seonghyeon cut him off with a wall of coldness.
It was his strategy: to ignore him.
Ignoring the hands he had grabbed, the heat he had felt on his lips, that feeling of vertigo that still kept him awake.
If he could behave as always, then everything would be back as usual.
Or at least, that’s how it was repeated.
⸻
But it wasn’t that simple.
Because his head screamed, he escapes, but his heart, silent and stubborn, did not stop beating louder every time Martin laughed or moved among the others.
⸻
In the afternoon, at the park, Juhoon found him sitting on a bench, his backpack leaning next to it, his eyes lost between the pages of a book that he wasn’t actually reading.
“Hey,” he said, letting himself fall at his side. «What’s up? You’re more musy than usual.»
Seonghyeon closed the book, without looking at it. “Nothing.”
Juhoon looked at him to the side, raising an eyebrow. «Nothing? Don’t make fun of me. I know you too well.»
He waited for an answer, but the silence became heavy.
«It’s for Martin, right?»
The name was enough to make Seonghyeon stiffen.
“It’s nothing,” he repeated, this time drier.
Juhoon snorted, losing his patience. «Seonghyeon... you’re nothing.»
Those words fell like a stone.
He stared at him, confused, almost hurt. «What does that mean?»
«It means that since I met you you have always hidden behind your grades, behind being perfect, behind that wall of ice that you built for yourself. You never allow yourself to make mistakes, to feel you, to really live.»
Juhoon’s voice cracked a little, full of frustration but also of affection.
«And now that, for once, you have someone who makes you falter, what do you do? Do you close even more? Do you think it doesn’t matter? That you can pretend nothing happened?»
Seonghyeon swallowed, clenching his jaw. «You don’t understand...»
«Oh I understand, and how!» Juhoon interrupted him, raising his voice. «I understand that you are lying to yourself. That you’re doing everything not to admit what you feel. But I’ll tell you something: you deserve to be yourself. Not the model boy everyone expects. Not the one who lives for the vows. But you. The one who laughs, the one who gets angry, the one who... yes, falls in love, even if it’s scary.»
The last words remained suspended, heavy.
Seonghyeon looked down, shaking his hands on the closed book.
He felt a lums rise to his throat, but he couldn’t melt it.
He couldn’t deny it. He couldn’t admit it.
He was trapped.
Juhoon looked at him for a moment, then sighed, more gently.
«I’m not telling you it’s easy. I’m telling you that for once... let yourself go. Because if you keep running away, you’ll only end up losing something that, after all, you really want.»
The week slid away in a sharp silence.
Seonghyeon continued to do what he did best: ignore.
Not in a blatant way, not with malice.
It simply wasn’t there. No look, no nod, no word out of the indispensable.
Martin, on the other hand, noticed it in every gesture.
He noticed the way Seonghyeon lowered his eyes when he entered the classroom, the stiffness of his body when they accidentally touched each other in the corridors, the distant air that looked like a transparent glass planted between the two of them.
He still laughed with the others, he continued to play basketball, to maintain that scorfly image that everyone knew.
But inside... inside it was a tight lump, which weighed more on his chest day by day.
⸻
One evening, after training, he was left alone in the gym.
The ball bounced slowly on the parquet, but his hands were shaking.
He couldn’t continue.
He sat on the floor, his back against the wall, his knees bent. And it was there that the knot in the throat gave way.
He passed a hand over his eyes, angry with himself.
«What the fuck did I do...» he murmured, his voice broken.
He felt stupid, helpless.
He had wanted to get closer, he had wanted to go further — and now he seemed to have completely lost Seonghyeon.
He sees it slip away and he didn’t know how to grab it without breaking it even more.
⸻
That night he didn’t go home right away.
He sent a message to Juhoon: “Are you awake?”
Shortly after, he joined him in a small park near the neighborhood. The air was fresh, silent, with the streetlights dimly illuminating the empty benches.
Juhoon watched him arrive and was struck: he was not the usual Martin.
The long step seemed uncertain, the shoulders curved, the eyes swollen and red.
«Hey...» he said softly, without joking for once.
Martin let himself fall on the bench next to him, without even fakeing a smile.
“I ruined everything,” he whispered, his voice cracked. «With Seonghyeon... I ruined it.»
Juhoon stared at him, surprised by that frankness.
Martin lowered his head, his hands in his hair, desperate.
«He doesn’t even look at me anymore. He doesn’t speak. It’s like I’m invisible. And I don’t know... I don’t know what the fuck to do. I...»
He stopped, his breath broken.
«I don’t want to lose it.»
The last words came out almost like a choked cry, immediately suffocated in the palm of his hand.
Juhoon remained silent for a moment, letting the boy vent that despair that no one had ever seen in him. Then, slowly, he put a hand on his shoulder.
«Martin...» he sighed. «Maybe you didn’t ruin anything. Maybe it’s just that Seonghyeon is more afraid of you.»
Martin looked up, confused, tears still running down his face.
“He’s like that,” Juhoon continued. “He protects himself from everything. Even from what he really wants. You didn’t lose it. But if you care... then you have to show him that you’re not leaving, even when he closes the door in your face.»
The next morning, the sky above the school was clear, but inside Martin there was still that gray cloud that he couldn’t chase away.
He had spent the night tossing in bed, Juhoon’s words rumbling in his head: “You have to show him that you’re not leaving.”
It was easy to say. But how did you prove something like that?
⸻
When he entered the classroom, he saw him immediately.
Seonghyeon, already seated, intent on arranging books and notebooks with that precision that by now Martin knew well. He didn’t even look at him. Not even a second.
That cold squeezed his chest.
But instead of running away - as he would have done in the past, pretending to care - he decided to stay.
He walked to his desk, passed by. Then, without thinking too much about it, he put a can of hot coffee on his notebook, taken from the vending machine.
“For you,” he murmured. The voice didn’t have the usual lightness, there was no irony. Just a low, sincere tone.
Seonghyeon stiffened. He raised his eyes slowly, surprised.
«...Why?» He asked softly, almost wary.
Martin bit the inside of his cheek, looking for the words.
“Because I don’t want you to be afraid of me,” he said, barely lowering his voice, so that no one else could hear. «And I don’t want it to be like this all the time between us. I don’t want you to... think I don’t care.»
A silence lengthened between them.
No giggles, no jokes. Only the noise of the companions taking their place and the hot can in Seonghyeon’s hands.
⸻
Martin sat down without adding anything else, trying not to look at him too much, but with his heart beating fast.
It was a small gesture, almost ridiculous compared to the weight he carried inside.
Yet for him it was a beginning. The first step to say: “I’m there, even if you push me away.”
The rest of the day passed slowly, as if each hour was heavier than the previous one.
Martin no longer turned to Seonghyeon’s counter, even if his eyes fell there all the time, betraying him.
Every time he did it, he only found the same image: Seonghyeon taking notes with glacial calm, without ever deviating, without ever looking for him.
The coffee can, however, had not disappeared.
He stayed on the edge of the counter all morning. Intact. Not accepted, but not even rejected.
⸻
At halftime, Juhoon approached Martin, patting him on the shoulder.
«Hey, what happened to you last night? I sent you a thousand messages.»
Martin shrugged his shoulders, listless. «I didn’t feel like it.»
“You? Not wanting to go out? It must be serious.» Juhoon laughed, but then noticed his friend’s expression and left immediately. «It’s for... him, right?»
Martin didn’t answer.
Only a long sigh, while his eyes were still looking — inevitably — for that boy at the counter by the window.
⸻
The afternoon passed the same: basketball training, laughter with teammates, but the thought was always there, fixed.
Martin made basket after basket with growing anger, as if he wanted to push away that emptiness that didn’t let him breathe.
Yet, not even physical fatigue could erase that feeling: of having taken a step towards Seonghyeon, and of not knowing if there would ever be an answer.
⸻
In the evening, at home, Martin threw himself on the bed without even having dinner.
The room was dark, the cell phone was flashing on the bedside table.
No message. No notification concerning him.
He ran a hand over his face, then sank his head into the pillow.
«Seonghyeon...» he murmured softly, almost as if saying it could evoke him.
Silence was his only answer.
The next day, Martin showed up at school with the same smile he used as a shield.
He entered the classroom with a confident step, his uniform jacket open, his backpack thrown over one shoulder. He greeted loudly, making some friends laugh, and sat down as if nothing could touch him.
But as soon as he turned to Seonghyeon’s counter, his smile trembled for a moment.
Seonghyeon was reading.
Head down, glasses slightly slipped on the nose, no intention of returning that look.
Not even a nod. Not even a crease in the lips that could suggest attention.
⸻
Martin tried again.
A joke in the hallway, said on purpose loudly hoping that Seonghyeon would hear it.
Nothing.
A note left on the counter during the break.
Left there, intact, like the can of the day before.
A passage in the library, fake random, with the excuse of looking for a book he didn’t need.
Still nothing.
It was as if Seonghyeon had locked himself in a glass bell: unreachable, impervious to everything.
⸻
The worst thing, however, was not total indifference.
It was that Seonghyeon continued to do everything perfectly: she studied, answered the professors’ questions, talked to Juhoon or to the other classmates calmly and naturally.
It was only with Martin that he was impenetrable.
⸻
After a couple of days like this, Martin began to lose his temper.
One evening, during training, he missed two easy shots and the captain scolded him.
«What’s wrong with you? You’ve always been precise from there.»
Martin gritted his teeth, throwing the ball against the floor with too much force.
“Nothing. It’s nothing.»
But inside, he felt that that “nothing” was consuming him.
⸻
In class, by now, his attempts had become more clomsy, more desperate.
Once he tried to offer him a pen, even though Seonghyeon had his own. «Hold it, maybe you need it.»
Seonghyeon took it with two fingers and put it on the table without using it, without looking at it.
Another time, Martin leaned towards him during the explanation, whispering a joke.
He didn’t even get a look, just a quick gesture: Seonghyeon moved a little further, as if to put distance.
⸻
At night, Martin turned in bed.
He lit a cigarette secretly, with the window anclosed, watching the smoke dissolve in the cold air.
Every shot was a way not to think.
Yet he always thought only of him.
«I can’t lose it like this... not after all this.»
His voice came out hoarse, low, almost a moan.
The metallic noise of the lockers in the locker room was the only sound present.
It was late afternoon: the gym was emptying, the teammates had already left, and only Martin remained inside, wiping his sweat with a wrinkled shirt.
He opened the locker with a sharp blow. The echo rumbled in silence.
He was about to put the books in his backpack when the locker room door opened again.
Seonghyeon.
He got stuck on the threshold, as if he had just made a mistake entering.
There was no one but Martin. No noise from the outside, just that tense, restrained atmosphere.
Their eyes met for a second.
Too long.
«What are you doing here?» Martin blurted out, the abrupt tone.
«I have to get my sneakers. I forgot them.»
Seonghyeon spoke softly, cold, but the voice betrayed a thread of hesitation.
Martin laughed bitterly. “Obviously. Always by chance, always as if you didn’t see me.»
He closed the door with a crash that made the wall vibrate.
Seonghyeon frowned. “Don’t start, Martin. I don’t have time to—»
«You don’t have time for me, that’s what you don’t have!» He interrupted him, the voice rumbling in the empty locker room.
His breath came out quickly, irregularly, like after a drawn game.
Seonghyeon stiffened, turning around as if to run away. «Don’t make things more complicated than they are.»
And that’s where Martin exploded.
He jumped forward, grabbed him by the arm and forced him to turn towards him. His eyes burned, he didn’t understand if he was angry or in pain.
«Complicated?! Do you think it’s complicated? I... I can’t shut up anymore, Seonghyeon.»
The words came out broken, like fists. «I can’t pretend that this distance suits me, I can’t pretend that you’re just... just anyone. Because you’re not.»
Seonghyeon opened his mouth, but Martin didn’t leave him room.
«I think of you every day. Every damn day. When I smoke at night, when I play, when I enter a class that seems empty without a look from you.»
His voice cracked, but he continued, almost screaming.
«I love you, Seonghyeon. Do you get it? I love you. It’s not a joke, it’s not a phase, it’s not because I don’t know how to shut up. It’s true. It’s real. That’s all I have!»
The silence after that scream was deafening.
Martin’s heart was beating fast, so much so that he could hear the echo in his chest.
Shiny eyes, clenched jaw, clenched fists.
In front of him, Seonghyeon was motionless, his gaze shaken, as if those words had hit him with the force of a physical blow.
The silence in the locker room was almost unreal, broken only by the accelerated beating of Martin’s heart that rumbled in his ears.
He was breathing hard, as if the words he had just said had snatched his breath away along with the weight he had been carrying inside for weeks.
Seonghyeon was staring at him.
No sarcasm, no detachment. Only his eyes, wide open, as if trying to decipher the truth in Martin’s dark irises.
One second.
Two.
Too many.
Martin looked down, his clenched fists trembling slightly. He was afraid. Fear of having said too much, of having ruined everything forever.
But then something happened.
Seonghyeon took a step forward.
A decisive step, without hesitation.
He stretched out his hand and grabbed the lapel of Martin’s sweatshirt, pulling it abruptly towards him.
And kissed him.
It wasn’t the confused kiss of the first time, nor the one stolen in fear of making mistakes.
It was direct, firm, almost urgent.
A kiss that left no room for doubts, that said without words: I understand, and I don’t want to run away either.
Martin stiffened for just a moment, then his body reacted on its own. One hand ended up on his waist, the other went up to squeeze the back of his neck. He answered with all the strength, despair and love that he had just shouted loudly.
The whole world dissolved.
There were no more lockers, no gym, no rain noise outside. Only the warmth of their mouths, the panting breath, the heart beating as if it was ready to burst.
When they broke away, they were both out of breath.
Seonghyeon didn’t look away, he didn’t back down.
“I know you’re not kidding,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. «And I don’t want to pretend anymore that it means nothing to me.»
Martin looked at him, in disbelief.
Then he smiled, a smile different from the others, fragile but full of relief.
It was the first time that there was no lie, no escape, no fear.
Just the two of them, finally, in the open.
For a moment they stayed there, very close, with their foreheads still touching.
Seonghyeon’s warm breath mixed with Martin’s, both breathless, as if they had just come out of a long and tiring run.
No one was talking.
Yet, the silence was not empty.
It was full. Full of what they had never had the courage to say before.
Martin, slowly, loosened his grip. His hand, which was still clutching the back of Seonghyeon’s neck, slid down his neck until it stopped on his shoulder. A delicate gesture, almost uncertain, so different from his usual energy.
«You know...» he murmured softly, with a thread of voice, «I didn’t want to scare you.»
His eyes trembled, but there was an honesty that he had never shown to anyone.
Seonghyeon looked down, feeling his heart pounding hard.
His hands, which were still holding the fabric of Martin’s sweatshirt, couldn’t come off.
He didn’t want to.
«I know.»
A simple, but true answer.
And in the way he said it, there was no more anger or fear. Acceptance only.
Martin barely smiled at him. Not his usual cheeky smile, but something fragile, almost childish. Then, without asking permission, he rested his head on Seonghyeon’s shoulder.
The blond giant that everyone saw strong and indestructible, at that moment had bent, letting himself go.
Seonghyeon, instinctively, raised a hand and placed it between her sweat-soaked hair.
He didn’t know why he was doing it. He didn’t even know if he was ready.
But it was natural.
As if his place had always been there.
They stayed like that, in that silent locker room, no need to say anything else.
And, for the first time, neither of them felt the need to escape.