Chapter Text
Your brother is never on time, but he’s never this late.
You check your phone again.
[Do-hyun]: I'll be late today.
That was the last text he sent—almost an hour ago. No explanation. No follow-up. And now, your messages aren’t even delivering.
A sharp exhale leaves your lips as your fingers tighten around the phone. He always does this—careless, impulsive, acting like nothing could ever happen to him. But this is different. Something feels off.
You’ve already circled the school twice. Checked every hallway, the gym, even the convenience store across the street. Nothing. Most students have already gone home, and the few that remain are too busy chatting or packing up to notice you. Outside, the sky has begun to darken, deep blue swallowing the last traces of daylight.
With every passing second, the knot in your stomach tightens.
"Idiot." The word slips out under your breath as you grip the strap of your bag.
Your unease hardens into frustration. He’s only fifteen. He shouldn’t be out by himself this late. You clench your jaw and walk faster, your footsteps echoing through the empty corridors. Classroom doors stand slightly ajar, desks abandoned in half-organized rows. The faculty office is dark. The outdoor courts are empty.
There’s nowhere else to check.
Your mind races. What if something happened? What if—
No. You shut the thought down before it can take root.
Do-hyun is reckless, but he’s not helpless. He gets himself into trouble, sure, but he can take care of himself. He has to be fine.
But then why aren’t your messages going through?
You press your fingers to your temples, forcing yourself to think.
Where else could he be?
Then, faintly—so faintly you almost miss it—a sound carries through the empty hall.
A low, pained groan.
Your breath catches.
The storage room.
You take off running, heart hammering against your ribs. The moment you reach the door, you yank it open—
And there he is.
Do-hyun sits slumped against the wall, arms curled around his stomach. His uniform is wrinkled, dirt smudged along the fabric. His breathing is uneven. But what makes your stomach drop is the way he barely reacts to your presence.
"Do-hyun?" Your voice comes out unsteady as you rush to his side, crouching down.
He doesn’t look at you.
You reach for him, but the moment your fingers brush against his arm, he flinches and jerks back. "Go away," he mutters, voice hoarse.
Your stomach twists.
"What happened?” you ask, trying to keep your voice steady.
Silence.
You’re not having this. Gently, you try to pull his arm away from his stomach, but he resists, muscles tensing under your touch.
" Don't ," he spits, eyes flashing with something unreadable. Anger, shame, frustration? You can't tell.
"Do-hyun, please. "
His breath shudders, and for a moment, he almost gives in. His shoulders slump—just enough for you to see.
The bruises forming along his ribs. Skin reddened from fresh impact.
But that’s not all.
There are older marks, too. Faded cigarette burns on his arms, scars that had gone unnoticed until now.
Your hands tremble. A thousand thoughts race through your mind, but none of them make sense.
" Who did this?" Your voice was quiet, too quiet.
“Leave me alone” Do-hyun rip his arm out of your grip and shove you back, his eyes burning with fury.
You try to grab his arm again, but he pulls it away. “Tell me.”
"I told you not to interfere, fucking nosy bitch!" Even trying to scream, he looks so vulnerable.
The words are meant to hurt, to push you away. But they don't. They never did.
He lash out when he is cornered, always choosing anger over vulnerability. It is how he survive. And you had learned long ago not to take it personally. He could curse at you, shove you, shut you out completely… but he is still your little brother.
And you aren’t going anywhere.
"How long has this been happening?" You barely recognize your own voice.
Do-hyun laughs, but there is no humor in it. "You don't wanna know."
How did I let this happen?
How could I be so careless?
Why didn't I realize before?
The lump in your throat tightens. You want to cry, but you don’t. You can’t.
You've never been someone who cries easily—not because you think it’s weak, but because over time, you’ve learned to find the positive in every situation.
But what positive side is there in seeing your brother like this?
Finally, you let him go, walking silently behind him.
The walk home is silent.
Do-hyun moves slowly, his steps heavy, but you don’t try to help him. You know better. You know how to handle him when he’s like this.
Even though you want to take care of him—apply ointment to his burns, make him a proper meal—you let him go straight to his room.
But just as he reaches the door, he stops. Turns around. His eyes burn with something desperate.
"Don't you dare do anything about this.” His voice is low but firm. “Just because you know now doesn’t change anything."
"Do-hyun..." you try to start. You want to ask him, How can I not do anything about this? Teach me how, because the idea makes no sense to me.
But he cuts you off before you could say anything else.
"I'm fucking serious right now. If you say something, you're never gonna see me again."
And with a slam of the door, your brother ends the conversation.
But his words echo in your mind all night long.
You're never gonna see me again.
You know what he means.
You never thought he’d actually consider it, but your father has been telling him to come live with him for a long time now. That would mean moving to a different city. That would mean seeing him only a few days a year, if that.
And you know your father.
The moment he gets bored, he’ll stop paying attention to Do-hyun. And for a teenager like your brother, that’s dangerous.
He thinks leaving might be an escape, a way out.
But you can’t let what your father did to him once happen all over again.
Do-hyun didn’t realize that he wouldn’t just be leaving this place. He’d be leaving you .
And that scared you more than anything.
Morning comes too soon.
Slipping out of bed, you move through the motions of your morning routine, muscle memory guiding you more than any real awareness. Your limbs feel heavy, your head thick with exhaustion from a night of tossing and turning.
The house is quiet, too quiet. Your mother is already gone, as expected. Work always comes first.
You shuffle into the kitchen, rolling up your sleeves. If you don’t make breakfast, Your brother will either skip it or eat instant ramen at 7 a.m. again. You don’t want to give him another excuse to be more irritable than he already is.
The sound of eggs sizzling fills the silence, but your mind is stuck in last night. The bruises, the burns, the way he shoved you away like you were the enemy. His words still echoed in your head.
A heavy pair of footsteps drags behind you, slow and sluggish. You don’t turn around.
Do-hyun slumps into a chair. "You're up early," he mutters, voice rough with sleep.
"You say that like I don’t do this every day." You slide a plate toward him. Your voice is steady, but it feels distant, like it belongs to someone else. " Eat. "
He doesn’t complain. He just picks up his chopsticks and starts shoveling food into his mouth.
You watch him for a second. He looks… normal . Just a sleepy, hungry teenager. But you know better now. His sleeves are longer than usual, his posture tense even as he eats. And most of all, he won’t look at you.
The silence is suffocating. You need to break it. You need him to react… something, anything that proves he’s still him.
So, you lean against the counter, sip your coffee, and say casually, "You know, I read somewhere that stress makes you bald."
Do-hyun pauses mid-bite, eyes narrowing slightly.
You tilt your head, barely hiding your smirk. "With the amount of scowling you do, you might wanna start saving up for a hat."
For a second, nothing. Then—just barely—the corner of his mouth twitches.
"Shut up," he mutters, shoveling more rice into his mouth.
You sip your coffee again, satisfied.
At least he’s still capable of being pissed off at you. And for now, that's enough.
The rest of breakfast passes in silence, but it's lighter now.
When it’s time to leave, you grab your bag and turn to him. "Come on. Let’s go."
Your brother doesn’t move right away. He stares at his half-empty plate for a moment before pushing his chair back and standing.
"Why do we have to go together?" he mutters, not meeting your eyes.
"Because if I let you go alone, you’d probably stop for snacks and be late," you reply, slipping on your shoes. "And then Mom would blame me for not keeping an eye on you."
He scoffs but follows you out the door anyway.
The morning air is crisp, a slight chill settling in your bones as you step outside. The city hums around you. Cars passing, bicycles weaving through traffic, students in uniforms heading to school. It’s the same routine as always. But today, it feels… different.
You glance at Do-hyun out of the corner of your eye. He has his hands shoved deep into his pockets, his face unreadable.
Halfway there, he suddenly stops and digs into his pocket. "Crap. I forgot my earphones."
"Tragic," you say, not slowing down.
He sighs dramatically before jogging to catch up. "Let me borrow yours."
"You’re hilarious."
"Come on, noona-"
"No way," you say, side-eyeing him. "The last time I let you borrow them, you returned them covered in crumbs, and mysteriously missing one earbud."
He doesn’t even try to deny it. Instead, he sighs as if you’re the one being difficult. "Fine. Then just don’t talk to me."
"Gladly."
The silence that follows isn’t the usual, comfortable kind. It feels fragile, like one wrong word will crack it wide open.
When the school gates come into view, Do-hyun mutters a quick " See ya ," and disappears into the crowd.
You watch his back for a second before adjusting the strap of your bag and taking a deep breath.
You step onto campus, and the usual morning chatter surrounds you. Students laughing, complaining about homework, gossiping about things that don’t matter. Normally, the noise would blend into the background. But today, everything feels distant.
Your body moves on autopilot. Walking through the hallways, sliding into your desk. It’s all second nature. But your mind It’s stuck somewhere else.
I have to do something.
I need to do something.
You stare at the blackboard, but the letters blur. You should be paying attention, should be taking notes, but your fingers stay frozen around your pen.
Your grip tightens.
A sudden thunk next to you makes you flinch. A small carton of strawberry milk lands on your desk.
“Drink that,” Yoon-seo mutters without looking up from her notebook, twirling her pen between her fingers.
You blink at the carton, then at her. “What?”
She sighs dramatically. “You look dead. And not in the ‘I studied all night’ way. More like the ‘I forgot how to be human’ way.”
You shake your head, a small huff of amusement escaping before you can stop it. “I didn’t forget.”
Yoon-seo finally turns to look at you, raising an eyebrow. “Oh, really? Then what page are we on?”
You glance at the textbook. Pause.
“…That’s not important.”
Her lips twitch, like she’s holding back a laugh. But she doesn’t tease you further. Instead, she leans her cheek against her palm and says, “Just drink it.”
You hesitate, fingers brushing over the cold carton. “I didn’t ask for this.”
Yoon-seo shrugs. “You never do.”
The weight in your chest doesn’t go away, but something about her casual care, the way she notices without prying, makes it easier to breathe.
You stab the straw through the foil lid and take a sip.
It’s sweet.
She doesn’t say anything else. Just lets you exist in the silence, without asking why you’re so off today.
And then, out of nowhere, even though class has only just started, a sharp noise rings in your ears. The bell.
You blink, eyes unfocused, staring at the faint scratches on your desk. When did the lesson end? The classroom is already half-empty, students chatting as they gather their things, shuffling toward the door, chairs scraping against the floor.
You barely notice.
Your fingers curl around the fabric of your uniform skirt, gripping it tightly. The tension in your shoulders refuses to ease, no matter how many deep breaths you take. You can still hear Do-hyun’s voice—low, raw from the night before.
The thought makes your chest tighten. You can’t lose him. You won’t lose him.
A soft tap on your desk pulls you back. You blink up to find Jung-won standing beside you, her bag already slung over her shoulder. She tilts her head slightly, her gaze steady.
"Let’s go," she says, her voice calm but expectant, as if she’s been waiting for you to notice her.
Your throat feels dry. You glance at the clock. Lunch.
Have you really spaced out for that long?
You swallow hard, forcing yourself to move. The weight in your limbs makes it feel like you’re dragging yourself through water, but you grab your bag and stand up anyway. Jung-won doesn’t say anything else, just turns toward the door.
You follow.
The cafeteria is alive with noise—laughter, overlapping conversations, the occasional call of someone trying to get their friend’s attention. The scent of fried food and warm rice fills the air, but it does nothing to stir your appetite.
Jung-won leads the way to your usual table, where Yoon-seo is already seated, twisting open a yogurt drink. She barely glances up before taking a sip, then finally looks between you and Jung-won as you sit down.
"You two took forever," she remarks, resting her chin on her hand. "What, did you get lost on the way here?"
Jung-won simply shrugs, but Yoon-seo’s gaze flickers to you, her expression unreadable. You ignore it, reaching for your chopsticks. Your hands feel colder than they should.
You stare at your food, pushing the rice around your tray. You know you should eat, but your stomach churns at the thought of swallowing anything.
Yoon-seo drums her nails against her drink, watching you in a way that makes your skin prickle.
"So," she says casually, "are you actually gonna tell us what’s wrong, or do we have to guess?"
Your fingers tighten around your chopsticks.
"Nothing’s wrong," you say, keeping your voice light. "I’m just tired."
Jung-won exhales through her nose, setting her spoon down neatly. "You barely talked in class," she says. "You didn’t even notice when Mr. Kim called on you."
A slight chill runs through you. You hadn’t even realized.
Yoon-seo arches a brow, tilting her head. "Did something happen at home?" she asks. "Your mom, or—"
"No," you cut in quickly. "She’s fine."
Jung-won’s gaze lingers on you, patient but unwavering. "Then what is it?"
Your heartbeat thuds against your ribs.
Should I tell them?
The words press against the back of your throat, heavy, begging to be let out. You want to tell them. You want to say, Dohyun came home hurt last night. You want to admit, I don’t know what to do. I’m scared for him.
But then you hear it again.
If you say something, you’re never gonna see me again.
Your hands curl into fists beneath the table. Would he really hate you for it? Would he actually leave?
You aren’t willing to risk it.
"I just didn’t sleep well," you say finally, staring down at your untouched food. "It’s nothing."
The lie sits heavy in your stomach, solid and unmoving.
A brief silence stretches between the three of you. You don’t dare look up.
Jung-won is the first to move, picking her spoon back up. "Okay," she says simply, but there’s something in her voice that makes your chest tighten.
Yoon-seo, on the other hand, doesn’t bother hiding her skepticism. She leans back, sipping her drink, eyes narrowing slightly.
"You suck at lying."
You force a small, hollow laugh. "Good thing I don’t need to lie often, then."
They don’t believe you.
You can see it in the way Yoon-seo taps her fingers against her tray, in the way Jung-won takes a slow, measured bite of her food, her gaze flickering to you every now and then. They’re giving you space, letting it go for now.
You should feel relieved.
But all you feel is guilt.
The day drags on, each passing hour pulling you further under, as though the weight of the lie you just told your friends has added a layer of lead to your chest. You can barely focus, your mind a constant reel of thoughts, of what ifs , of should I do this? Should I tell them?
The moment you find yourself alone in the hallway after class, you lean against the cool wall, staring at the ground, trying to collect your thoughts. The fluorescent lights above hum in the silence, but it doesn’t comfort you. Nothing does. You can still hear the echo of Do-hyun’s words from last night, still taste the sting of his anger, the way he pushed you away like you were nothing but an inconvenience.
How can you ignore that? How can you ignore the fact that, yet again, you’re standing between your brother and the world? You’re supposed to protect him, but at what cost? Would he really leave if you went to someone for help?
Your mind spirals into the same anxious loop, replaying the possibility of talking to someone, of telling the teachers what happened, of involving them. At first, the idea seems simple—just go to the school. Tell them. Let them do something. They’d know what to do.
But as quickly as the thought comes, it’s drowned by the weight of reality. You slide down the wall, your legs no longer able to hold you up. You tuck your face in your hands, squeezing your eyes shut against the wave of frustration crashing over you.
What would the teachers do?
Make a big deal out of it. Make a huge scene.
You can already see it: a school committee. Parents getting called in. You’d have to explain everything to people who couldn’t even begin to understand what’s going on in your house, who wouldn’t understand the way Do-hyun works, how he needs space, how he needs you to handle this his way.
If you bring this to anyone, the bullies will only be emboldened. And Do-hyun… He’ll never forgive you.
You exhale sharply, your breath catching.
What about him? What about the way he’ll look at you, the way his eyes will narrow when he finds out? You’d be betraying him, wouldn’t you? You’d be putting him in the middle of something he doesn’t want. And you’re not even sure if it would help. If they do something, what will they do? Suspend them? A few days, maybe? A slap on the wrist?
Then what?
Do-hyun will still be stuck with them. Nothing will change. The cycle will just keep going.
A bitter laugh escapes your lips, but it’s hollow. No matter what you choose, you feel like you’re drowning. There’s no clear right answer. No way to fix this without breaking something else in the process. You’re stuck. There’s no clean way out of this, no way to help him without losing him in the process.
If I don’t say anything…
But what if something happens again? What if it gets worse? What if one day you’re not there to stop it? You can’t live with that. You can’t let him spiral further.
But if I do say something…
You stand just outside the door of your brother's classroom, pressing your back against the wall as you try to remain out of sight. Your body is stiff, shoulders tight, but your gaze stays fixed on the door. Time stretches on, each second feeling like an eternity as you wait.
Your eyes never leave the entrance. You’re so focused on the door that you can hear the faint murmur of the teacher’s voice inside, though the words are lost to you. Your entire mind is consumed by what you have to do next.
You need to know who did this. You need to find out who’s been hurting him.
It feels like hours before the door finally opens, and students begin spilling out into the hallway. You take a sharp breath, trying to stay composed, but your chest tightens. Your heart pounds hard against your ribs, and adrenaline surges through your veins.
You scan the group of kids, searching for a glimpse of him.
Then you see him—Do-hyun.
His head is down as he scrolls through his phone, as if the world around him doesn’t exist.
And then, like a ripple through the crowd, you see them.
They’re not far behind him, laughing amongst themselves, walking with that same cocky swagger you’ve seen before—the kind that screams superiority. But what makes your blood boil is what happens next.
One of them deliberately shoves into your brother’s shoulder as they pass.
It’s not an accident. It’s not some harmless brush of contact. No, it’s deliberate, rough enough to make Do-hyun stumble. But he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t react at all. He just keeps walking, head still down, eyes focused on his phone, as if he’s used to it.
Your stomach churns as the boy who shoved him turns to look at your brother, a sick smirk tugging at his lips. His eyes lock onto Do-hyun’s back for a moment.
Everything in you wants to march up, grab him by the collar, and demand an explanation. You want to shout , to make him pay for every little taunt, every shove, every bruise your brother has to carry. Your hands clench into fists at your sides, nails digging into your palms. A fire burns within you, hotter by the second.
How dare they?
But then, a cold, harsh truth flickers in your mind.
You know , deep down, that you can’t interfere like that. Not yet. Not in this way. You have to be patient. If you make a scene now, it’ll only make things worse for your brother. They’ll know you were the one who ratted them out.
You’ll only make him a bigger target. And that’s something you can’t risk.
So, you stay still. You bite your tongue, forcing yourself to breathe, to remain calm. You tell yourself that you have to wait. You have to gather more, to understand who’s really involved.
The boys begin to move in your direction. They pass you, their laughter echoing down the hallway. You stand tall, meeting each of their eyes with an unwavering stare. They barely pay attention to you, as expected—except for the one who shoved your brother.
He slows his pace, eyes narrowing as he locks onto yours. His smirk never falters, that same arrogant, entitled look still plastered across his face.
You don’t flinch. You don’t look away.
You stare him down , burning with a quiet fury that you barely contain.
He’s a stranger, but in that moment, you know his name.
Cha Beom-seok.
Park Min-jun.
Hwang Ji-ho.
You read the names printed on their uniforms as they walk past. The boy who pushed Do-hyun is the closest to you, his smirk still present. You feel his gaze linger on you for just a moment longer, as if daring you to say something.
But you stay silent. Still. Unmoving.
And just like that, they’re gone, disappearing into the crowd of students.
You clench your fists even harder, frustration threatening to tear you apart. Blending into the rest of the students so your brother doesn’t see you, you run to the entrance to wait for him.
The next day, as the first light of morning breaks through the curtains, you know you can’t wait any longer. You can’t keep walking around in this haze of uncertainty and fear. The weight in your chest has become unbearable, and the need to do something, to take action, is suffocating.
But as soon as the thought crosses your mind, another one follows: Who do I ask for help?
You immediately think of your friends. Maybe Hyun-ho, you consider—his fierce sense of justice is undeniable. He has always stepped in for others when they were being pushed around. He isn’t the type to sit back and watch, not when someone is being hurt.
But then you remember Do-hyun’s pride—the way he shuts down any attempts at help, especially from anyone he knows. If Hyun-ho finds out, he’ll never forgive me. You can already imagine Do-hyun’s glare, the betrayal in his eyes. He’d hate me for telling him. He’d never forgive me for dragging someone into his mess, especially not Hyun-ho.
And as much as Hyun-ho cares, he isn’t the quiet type. He would do whatever it takes to help, but that’s not what you need right now. It isn’t just about confronting the bullies. This is about making them stop without making things worse for Do-hyun.
What would Hyun-ho do? Probably storm in and make them afraid, maybe even throw a few punches. The thought twists your stomach. No, that wouldn’t work. That would only escalate things, put a bigger target on Do-hyun’s back.
The classroom feels suffocating. It’s empty—just you, pacing. The silence should be calming, but it only amplifies the chaos in your head.
Who else could I turn to?
Then, as if the answer falls from the sky, you hear it.
A commotion outside.
You turn your head sharply toward the window, just in time to catch the movement near the back entrance of the school. A group of students gathers in a loose circle, their voices raised, a mix of taunts and sharp curses cutting through the crisp afternoon air.
A fight.
Your body moves before your mind fully processes it. You aren’t the type to rush toward fights for entertainment, but something tells you to go.
By the time you reach the hallway leading to the entrance, you can see them clearly. The fight hasn’t started yet, not really. Two boys stand in the middle of the circle—one of them seething with anger, hands clenched into fists, his breathing heavy through his nose like a bull ready to charge. The other?
Go Kyung-jun.
He isn’t angry. He isn’t even tense. If anything, he looks bored. His posture is relaxed, one hand tucked into the pocket of his uniform pants while the other lazily pushes his hair back. His opponent is practically vibrating with rage, but Kyung-jun? He barely acknowledges it.
Your eyes narrow. He’s toying with him.
The way he tilts his head slightly, eyes half-lidded with amusement, like he’s already bored of the fight before it even starts. The way he lets the boy step forward, almost like he’s inviting him to make the first move. And then, just as the other boy’s arm twitches, about to swing—
Kyung-jun takes a single step forward.
That’s all it takes.
The shift is barely noticeable, but you see it. The other boy, so full of aggression a second ago, suddenly hesitates. His anger wavers—not gone, but diluted with something else.
Doubt.
He’s scared.
He realizes, too late, that he’s made a mistake.
Kyung-jun doesn’t throw the first punch. He barely even moves. Just the threat of movement is enough. The way his jaw tightens for a split second, the way his shoulders square ever so slightly—it’s enough to make the other guy hesitate. And Kyung-jun notices immediately.
He smirks.
Then he strikes.
Fast. Too fast for the other boy to react. He moves with precision, with the kind of ease that only comes from experience. One hit to the ribs, and the boy staggers back with a choked gasp. Before he can fully recover, Kyung-jun grabs the front of his uniform and yanks him closer.
For a moment, their faces are inches apart. Kyung-jun murmurs something too low for you to hear. His voice is steady, cold. He isn’t smiling anymore. His jaw is clenched, his eyes dark—unreadable.
The boy’s hands tremble slightly, as if he isn’t sure whether to push Kyung-jun away or surrender entirely.
A shiver runs down your spine. Does he actually enjoy this? The thought surfaces before you can stop it.
You had always assumed Kyung-jun fought because he liked it, because he enjoyed being feared. But now, watching him up close, you aren’t so sure. His expression… it isn’t quite anger, but it isn’t satisfaction either.
He plays the part well.
Kyung-jun finally lets go, shoving the boy backward. He doesn’t bother to throw another punch. He doesn’t need to. The fight is already over.
The boy clutches his side, breathing heavily, looking anywhere but at Kyung-jun. And just like that, the crowd begins to disperse, as if the whole thing had been nothing more than a passing distraction.
But you stand frozen in place.
Because in that moment, it clicks.
If Kyung-jun can do this to someone who wants to fight him, what could he do to someone who doesn’t ?
What could he do to the boys who hurt Do-hyun?
You take a slow, steady breath, your pulse thrumming in your ears as Kyung-jun turns away, completely unaware of the decision you’ve just made.
If fear is the only language they understand… then you know exactly who to ask to speak it.