Chapter Text
The morning air was sharp as Ahn Keonho stepped through the school gates, backpack hanging slightly off one shoulder. It was just another day, or at least that’s what he kept telling himself as he merged into the flow of students heading inside. However, something felt like it was off.
A cluster of students had formed near the main walkway, tight and uneasy, like water curling around a stone. The usual noise of morning chatter seemed to bend around them, quieter in a way that wasn’t natural. Keonho slowed without meaning to, his eyes drawn forward despite himself.
As he got closer, the shape of it became clear.
Eom Seonghyeon stood at the center. So did James and Martin.
And between them half-gripped, half-held by the collar of his uniform, was another student Keonho didn’t recognize immediately. The boy’s hair clung damply to his forehead. Water dripped down the front of his shirt, darkening the fabric as it spread. Someone had spilled it deliberately. That much was obvious. A few students nearby watched without intervening. Some looked away too quickly, as if making eye contact with the scene itself could get them involved.
Keonho’s steps slowed even more. He felt something tighten in his chest. Not quite anger, he didn’t allow himself to go that far - but a dull, uncomfortable annoyance at how easily this was happening in plain sight. At how normal it seemed to everyone else.
Seonghyeon said something Keonho couldn’t hear clearly, but the tone carried anyway: light, almost amused. Like this was just another joke only a few people were meant to understand. James laughed. Martin shifted his grip slightly, and the trapped boy flinched. Keonho swallowed. He knew what he was supposed to do. Or at least, he knew what someone braver might do. But his feet felt rooted in place, as if the ground had quietly decided he didn’t get a choice in the matter. His gaze flicked just once, to Seonghyeon. Even here, even now, there was something about him that pulled attention like gravity. The way he stood so casually in the middle of it all, like consequences didn’t quite apply to him. Like the world adjusted itself around his presence instead of the other way around.
Keonho quickly looked away. His hands tightened around his backpack straps. “I’m not involved,” he told himself, though it didn’t sound like a decision. More like an excuse. He walked forward.
Step by step, carefully measured, he passed the crowd. Close enough to hear a fragment of laughter, close enough to catch the scent of damp fabric and cold morning air, close enough to feel like he was part of the same moment yet not enough to stop it. No one looked at him. That, somehow, made it easier. And just like that, Keonho continued into the building, carrying the weight of what he had seen without ever turning back to face it.
Break time arrived like a release of pressure.
The hallways shifted instantly louder, looser, filled with the scrape of chairs, overlapping conversations, and the rush of students spilling out of classrooms. Keonho stayed seated for a moment longer than necessary, staring at the edge of his desk as if it had answers written into the grain.
The morning scene still clung to him. He tried to shake it off. Failed. Tried again. Eventually, he stood and walked out with the rest of the class.
The cafeteria was already crowded, noise bouncing off the walls in a way that made it hard to think. Keonho bought nothing. He wasn’t hungry. Or maybe he was, but it didn’t matter either way. He found a quieter spot near the side corridor instead, half-hidden from the main flow of students. From there, he could see most of the cafeteria without being in it.
And, unfortunately, he could see them. Seonghyeon sat with James and Martin like they owned the place. Not loudly. Not even dramatically. That was the strange part. They didn’t need to act like they ruled the school the rest of the students did that part for them. People naturally left space around their table, like an invisible boundary no one wanted to cross. Keonho shouldn’t have been looking. But he was.
Seonghyeon leaned back in his chair, one arm draped casually over the side, laughing at something James said. It wasn’t a loud laugh. It was worse than that easy, effortless, like nothing in the world weighed on him long enough to leave a mark. Keonho felt that familiar, confusing pull again. It wasn’t admiration in a clean sense. It wasn’t simple fear either. It sat somewhere tangled between the two, refusing to separate itself into something understandable. Then Seonghyeon shifted. His eyes scanned the room lazily. And for a split second just a fraction of time that Keonho’s brain almost refused to register, they passed over the corridor where Keonho stood. Keonho froze. He wasn’t seen. He knew that logically. There were too many people, too much distance, too little reason for Seonghyeon to care. And yet his body reacted anyway, going still like a reflex. Seonghyeon looked away. Just like that. Conversation continued at his table as if nothing had happened.
Keonho slowly exhaled. His fingers had gone slightly tense without him noticing. “Why am I like this?” he thought, though even that question felt pointless. It wasn’t like there was an answer waiting to fix it. Across the cafeteria, James leaned forward, saying something that made Martin snort. Seonghyeon smiled again, slightly sharper this time less casual, more intentional. Keonho couldn’t hear the words. But he didn’t need to. Whatever it was, it belonged to a world he wasn’t part of. And still, he kept watching.
Keonho barely noticed when the chair beside him shifted. “Is this seat taken?” The voice was soft careful, like it didn’t want to disturb anything. Keonho blinked and turned slightly. Juhoon was already pulling the chair out and laughing. Dark hair a little messy, uniform slightly less perfect than it should’ve been, like he hadn’t bothered to fix it properly that morning. He sat down with his tray balanced carefully in both hands, setting it down like even that sound might be too much. Keonho relaxed without realizing he’d been tense, and laughed. “You idiot” he said while laughing. He had actually thought it was a random student, and not his best friend since childhood, Juhoon.
Juhoon took a bite of his food, chewed, then glanced sideways not at Keonho directly, but in his general direction. “You’ve been staring a lot today,” he said. Keonho stiffened. “I haven’t,” he replied too fast. didn’t argue. He never did. Instead, he just hummed softly, like he was noting it down somewhere in his head. Keonho hesitated. Then, against his better judgment, his eyes drifted back across the cafeteria. Seonghyeon’s table, and of course Juhoon noticed. There was a pause. “Oh,” Juhoon said quietly. Not surprised. Not amused just observing. “Them again.” Keonho didn’t answer. His fingers tightened slightly around his drink. Juhoon followed his gaze for a second longer, then looked away first. “You shouldn’t watch them so much,” he said, voice low. Not a warning exactly. More like a fact he didn’t want to make heavy. Keonho let out a small breath through his nose. “I’m not watching them.” Juhoon gave him a flat look that didn’t accuse him, but didn’t believe him either. Silence settled again.
In the distance, laughter rose from Seonghyeon’s table sharp, casual, untouchable. James leaned back in his chair like he had all the time in the world. Martin said something that made someone nearby flinch. And Seonghyeon looked like he belonged exactly where he was.
Juhoon finally spoke again, quieter this time. “You know people don’t just… end up around them by accident.” Keonho didn’t respond right away - because of course he knew that. He knew it very well. But knowing didn’t seem to stop anything.
The atmosphere in the cafeteria shifted again not loudly, but in that subtle way Keonho was starting to recognize. Chairs scraped. Voices rose and then faded as Seonghyeon, James, and Martin stood up from their table. It wasn’t rushed. Nothing about them ever felt rushed. Even movement had a kind of control to it, like they didn’t need to worry about being anywhere at a specific time.
Keonho noticed before he meant to. Juhoon noticed too. “They’re moving,” Juhoon said quietly. Keonho didn’t answer, just watched.
The trio walked through the cafeteria with that same effortless spacing between them, cutting through the flow of students without anyone daring to obstruct them. Conversations bent away as they passed. Keonho tried to look away. Failed. He only realized where they were going when they reached the industrial bins near the side exit of the cafeteria the large metal dumpsters used for leftover food trays and waste, which was right where Keonho and Juhoon were sitting. Too close. Juhoon shifted slightly in his seat. “We should—” But there wasn’t really anywhere to go. The corridor behind them was narrow, and Keonho had ended up sitting with his back against one of the dumpsters without really thinking about it earlier. The metal behind him was cold through his uniform, pressing into his back like a warning he hadn’t listened to.
The trio stopped nearby. James tossed his empty tray into the bin first, casual, almost bored. Martin followed, a bit more careless, like the whole system was beneath him. Seonghyeon was last. Keonho felt it before it happened the way attention subtly shifted, even if no one said anything. Martin leaned slightly toward Seonghyeon. Whispered something. Keonho couldn’t hear it. He didn’t need to. Whatever it was, it made Martin’s mouth twitch into something like amusement. Seonghyeon’s gaze shifted. Slowly. Directly. It landed on Keonho.
For a moment, everything else seemed to dull the noise, the movement, even Juhoon beside him. Keonho forgot how to adjust his expression, forgot what his face was supposed to be doing. He just stared back. That was the worst part. Not looking away. Seonghyeon didn’t smile. Didn’t frown either. It was harder than that neutral, assessing, like Keonho was something briefly placed in front of him and not yet categorized.
Martin said something else under his breath, and Seonghyeon’s attention flicked away for just a second. Then back. And in that second, Seonghyeon lifted what was left of his food tray. Keonho didn’t fully process it until it was already in motion. The contents tipped forward. Cold leftovers rice, sauce, scraps of food splashed down onto Keonho without warning. For a fraction of a second, there was no reaction at all. Just silence in his mind, like it refused to accept what had happened. Then the weight of it settled. Cold, wet, humiliating. A few drops slid down his uniform shirt. Something sticky clung near his sleeve. The smell hit a moment later, sharp and unpleasant. Juhoon jolted up immediately. “Hey—!” But Keonho didn’t move. He couldn’t. Seonghyeon stood there, tray now empty, expression unchanged as he looked down at him for a brief second longer. Not anger. Not satisfaction either. Just something unreadable. James laughed once short, quiet. Martin looked away like it wasn’t worth remembering.
And then, just like that, the trio walked off. Like nothing had happened. Like Keonho was still just part of the background.