Chapter Text
The hallway was buzzed with laughter, shouts, and the occasional slamming of lockers – yet this was all just background noise to kiyong.
He leaned back in his chair, half-tuning out the voice of a teacher. Eyes hazily tracing the cracks in the ceiling.
“ ! “
A soft thud landed on the desk in front of him. Not loud but was certainly directed towards him; demanding attention.
Kiyong’s gaze flickered down, instantly recognizing the familiar sharp figure standing over him.
“Moon kiyong. Class 4-G, correct?”
Hwang Inho, the vice principal and chem teacher let out a long sigh towards the young man. Before pressing two fingers against his temple as if staving off a headache.
“You got in trouble. Again?”
It wasn't even a question, just a resigned statement.
Kiyong offered a lopsided smile, feigning confusion.
“Sorry, sir.” he drawled, lifting his hands in a mock surrender.
“I was sitting in the back of class. Minding my own business. They picked on me first.”
Inho sighed.
“And what did I say about fighting back?”
“That it’s bad..?”
“...That you should report it, instead of throwing fists.” Inho crossed his arms.
“How many times are we going to have this conversation moon kiyong?”
Kiyong didn’t answer right away. He knew how this went. He’d get scolded, sit through detention, and then it would happen, all over again. It was all a big cycle.
“As many times as it takes, I guess.”
Inho gave him a long look, then exhaled sharply.
“Detention, after school.
…
Don’t be late.”
And with that, he walked off, leaving kiyong tapping his pen against his notebook mindlessly.
‘Same shit, different day.’
The fluorescent lights flicker, buzzing faintly above kiyong’s head. He leans back in his chair; arms crossed, staring blankly at the clock.
It's late. Too late.
Everyone else has already gone home, but of course, he’s still here. Typical.
When the teacher finally dismisses him, Kiyong grabs his bag and leaves without a word. The halls are empty, except for the sweet lady that’s sweeping the floor.
“...Geumja, I think that’s her name.”
Well, Kiyong could really care less if he got her name wrong, They’ve only talked once or twice.
Kiyong steps outside, the cold air hitting his face as he starts the walk home. The streets are dimly lit. A couple of kids from school pass by, laughing about something he doesn’t care to hear. They don’t notice him. Or maybe they do and just don’t bother.
He shoves his hands in his pockets, his grip tightening around his phone.
He stares blankly at the sidewalk in front of him. Thinking about home.
Yet, he knows what's waiting for him–
..nothing
The apartment is dead silent as he unlocks the door. He kicks off his shoes, tosses his bag to the side and glances at the kitchen.
The fridge hums softly, the light flickering when he pulls it open. Nothing new. A half-empty bottle of water, empty cans of beer, some expired yogurt, and leftovers that should’ve been thrown out days ago.
Kiyong lets out a short laugh.
"Right. Forgot I live alone."
Not technically true—his dad exists somewhere, just not here. Not tonight. Not most nights. And he prefers it that way.
He shuts the fridge and grabs the water bottle, taking a sip before heading to his room. His stomach grumbles, but he ignores it, flopping onto the bed. His phone screen lights up with notifications—none of them from her.
Not that he cares.
Not that it matters.
He flips onto his side, staring at the ceiling. The school system is rigged. His mother is a ghost. He’s starving, but he’s too tired to do anything about it.
“…Tch.”
He shuts his eyes.
Tomorrow, he’ll be back in the same damn cycle. But sooner or later, something’s got to give.
.
.
.
The alarm buzzed at exactly 6:00 AM. Kiyong was already half-awake by then, staring at the ceiling of his room. The same room, the same walls, the same empty silence.
He sat up, rubbing his face before pushing himself out of bed. His movements were methodical– out of habit rather than motivation. First, he made his bed, smoothing out the sheets with precise, practiced motions. Then, he changed into his school uniform, adjusting the tie just enough to pass the dress code without looking too formal.
The kitchen was as empty as always.
Nobody was there, of course. What did he expect?
.
.
A few leftovers sat in the fridge, but he wasn’t in the mood to eat. Not that it mattered—he’d gotten used to running on empty. Grabbing a carton of milk, he took a swig straight from it before setting it back down. Good enough.
By 6:30, he was out the door. The air was crisp, the streets quiet. He put on his headphones, drowning out the world with music. The walk to school was always the same– passing by convenience stores already opening, students huddled in groups, some half-asleep, some already gossiping about grades and exams.
He barely acknowledged them. They barely acknowledged him, ha. Of course they do. That was fine. That was how it always was.
When he arrived at school, he checked the ranking board out of habit. Same names at the top. Same unfair system. His lip curled slightly, but he didn’t linger. Instead, he walked inside, hands in his pockets, ready to go through another day of pretending he didn’t care.
.
Classes blurred together. Kiyong was smart enough to follow along without much effort, so he spent most of his time staring out the window, watching the sky shift.
Lunch was uneventful. He waved and talked a bit to kang noeul. But other than that, He sat alone, as usual, poking at whatever he’d managed to grab from the cafeteria. He didn’t care about the taste. It was just fuel to him, there was no point in indulging in food that tastes like shit anyway.
After school, detention. Again. The fight from the previous day hadn’t earned him any sympathy, even if he hadn’t thrown the first punch. He sat in the empty classroom, listening to the dull ticking of the clock. It wasn’t like he had anywhere better to be.
When detention ended, the sun had already started dipping below the horizon. He took his time walking home, stopping by a convenience store to grab something cheap for dinner. His stomach had stopped growling hours ago, but he knew better than to ignore it completely.
The apartment was still empty when he got back. No lights on. No signs of life. He dropped his bag by the door and sighed, rolling his shoulders. Another day done.
He heated up the convenience store meal, sat down at the table, and ate in silence. The TV played in the background, but he wasn’t really watching. Just something to fill the quiet.
By the time night fell completely, he was back in his room, lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling again. Same room. Same walls. Same empty silence.
.
.
Across town, the Hwang household is much livelier. The clatter of dishes fills the dining room as Jun-ho sets the table, placing bowls and side dishes in their usual spots. In-ho moves around the kitchen with practiced ease, pouring steaming soup into a large serving bowl. Close to the counter, Gi-hun watches them with an easy grin, making no move to help.
“You could at least pretend to help,” Jun-ho mutters as he passes by, nudging Gi-hun with his elbow.
“I’m providing emotional support,” Gi-hun says, dramatically placing a hand over his heart.
“You mean you’re being useless,” In-ho says flatly, carrying the soup to the table. Gi-hun only grins wider. Walking towards the dining table “Hey, I practically live here. Isn’t that worth something?”
Jun-ho snorts. “You really do. Ever since your Mom passed, and, you know… everything else, you’ve been here more than your own damn place.”
In-ho sighs as he sits down. “Not that he had much of a choice. Divorce hit him hard.”
“Aw, don’t get all sentimental on me now,” Gi-hun teases, but there’s something softer in his voice. Jun-ho raises a brow, smirking.
“You sure it’s just that?”
In-ho gives him a look.
“ Shut up and eat, junho. ”
Gihun only laughs, sliding into his seat as the last of the food is set down. The warmth of the meal spreads through the room, the scent of broth and spices filling the air. It’s a familiar scene—one that’s played out countless times before. for a while, they eat in relative peace, the only sounds being the occasional clink of chopsticks against ceramic.
Then, as expected, Gihun is the first to break the silence. “So,” he starts, glancing at Inho. “How’s work?”
Inho barely looks up from his food. “The same.”
“That bad, huh?” Gihun chuckles, shoving a piece of meat into his mouth.
“What about you, Jun-ho? Catch any criminals today?”
Jun-ho rolls his eyes. “I’m still in high school, you idiot.”
“Could’ve fooled me with how serious you act.” Gihun smirks. “I bet the school would let you carry a badge if you asked nicely.”
Jun-ho ignores him, focusing on his food—until Inho casually drops, “Moon Kiyong got into another fight today.”
Jun-ho stops mid-bite.
Gihun raises an eyebrow. “Oh? That name sounds familiar.”
“He’s in my class, your class,” Jun-ho says, setting his spoon down.
“Is he?” Gihun furrows his brows, then snaps his fingers.
“Right, that kid. Always has good grades but barely talks. I don’t think I’ve heard him say more than a sentence.” He shrugs. “Never causes trouble in class, though.”
“He only fights outside of class,” Inho mutters. “At this rate, he’s going to get himself expelled.”
Gihun hums, leaning back in his chair. “Shame. If he’s smart, he should know better.”
Jun-ho frowns slightly, drumming his fingers against the table. “Why does he keep getting into fights?”
Inho glances at him. “That’s what you’re curious about?”
Jun-ho shrugs, but the question lingers in his mind.
Gihun, ever the observer, tilts his head. “You’ve been talking about him a lot lately, Inho.”
Inho doesn’t react at first. Then, he exhales, setting his chopsticks down. “He’s wasting his potential.”
Jun-ho stays quiet, turning over Inho’s words.
If even Inho—who rarely cares about anyone—sees something in Kiyong, and if Gihun, who teaches half the school, actually remembers him, then maybe there’s more to him than just the quiet kid who keeps getting into fights.
Maybe. Jun-ho thinks it wouldn’t hurt to pay more attention.
After dinner, Jun-ho moves to clean up the table, stacking empty dishes with practiced ease. This time, though, Gi-hun offers to help.
Jun-ho raises a brow but doesn’t question it – until he catches the subtle way Gi-hun glances toward In-ho, who is currently washing dishes at the sink.
Right. Because being helpful is totally the only reason he’s here.
Not that Jun-ho particularly cares about these two lovebirds. Not really.
Once the kitchen is taken care of, he heads to his room, shutting the door behind him with a quiet click. Routine takes over—he brushes his teeth, washes his face, and changes out of his school clothes, letting the exhaustion of the day settle into his bones.When he’s done, he grabs his phone from his desk, casually checking for any notifications. His fingers hover over the student council group chat, just in case there’s a new task waiting for him.
…Nothing.
The dim glow of the screen reflects in his eyes as he sighs softly.
“Maybe I’ll just scroll for a bit,” he murmurs, tapping into an app.
A few posts pop up—some school drama, the usual nonsense. One of his classmates, Kang Mina, uploaded a new picture. Something about her hair.
Jun-ho pauses.
Actually… He’s never seen her get dress coded before.
The thought lingers for a second before his attention shifts. A different account appears on his timeline. One he doesn’t recognize.
“...MoonKkyong..?”
Curious, he clicks on it. No profile picture, no followers. Just a single post.
[Idiot asked me to download this app and told me to post whatever. First post.]
Attached is a picture.
Jun-ho leans in. It’s a close-up of a hand holding a plastic bag, likely filled with instant food. The background is dimly lit—street lights casting a glow over a convenience store he recognizes. It’s right around the corner. close to his house.
Jun-ho tilts his head. He hums, tapping the screen.
“Hm… Imagine if we bumped into each other.”
A silly thought. No harm in running into a classmate, right?
Yet something about the image lingers. The stillness of the moment. The quiet air of the night. It feels… peaceful.
Before he can think too much about it,
“Jun-ho! Could you bring in the laundry? I think it’ll rain later!”
Gi-hun’s voice–not too loud, not too quiet, that perfect balance of teacher professionalism and older-brother authority.
Jun-ho blinks, snapped out of his thoughts. Puts his phone onto his desk.
“Alright, hyung! I’ll be there in a second,” he calls back, setting his phone down on the desk.
He glances back at his phone for a second. Before finally going down the stairs to help gihun.
After setting his phone down, Jun-ho pushes himself up with a sigh and heads outside to help with the laundry. The night air is cool against his skin as he steps onto the small balcony, where neatly hung clothes sway slightly in the breeze.
Gihun is already pulling a few shirts off the line, shaking them out before folding them over his arm.
“That was quick,” he says, glancing at Jun-ho.
Jun-ho shrugs, reaching for a towel. “I was already awake.”
“Don’t stay up too late,” Gi-hun says, voice carrying that natural authority he always has when he's in teacher mode. “It’s a school night.”
Jun-ho rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah.”
They finish gathering the laundry in comfortable silence, and after a quick exchange of goodnights to Gihun and his brother, Jun-ho retreats back to his room.
He tosses his phone onto the mattress before climbing in himself, shifting under the blankets until he finds a comfortable position. His fingers itch to grab the phone again, to scroll just a little longer, but he stops himself.
Instead, he lets his gaze drift to the ceiling, his mind replaying the image from earlier—Kiyong’s hand, the plastic bag, the quiet glow of the streetlights.
He doesn't even know why it stuck with him.
Maybe it’s the feeling of familiarity. That small, almost unnoticeable loneliness in the way the photo was framed.
Maybe it’s nothing.
.
A deep breath.
His eyelids grow heavy, his body slowly sinking into the comfort of sleep.
Just before he drifts off, a fleeting thought crosses his mind—
I’ll probably see him tomorrow anyway.
.