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It started, like all ridiculous things in Gyuvin’s life, with a tiny fish funeral.
Under the drooping shade of the old camellia tree in their backyard, he stood solemnly beside his little sister, both of them dressed like mourners in whatever black clothes they could find. His hoodie was two sizes too big, sagging off one shoulder, while his sister had squeezed into a black T-shirt that still had glittery “새해 복 많이 받으세요! Happy New Year!” lettering across the chest. The shoebox grave had been dug hastily with a garden trowel, the earth uneven and clumpy. Inside, layers of crumpled tissue paper cushioned the stiff little body of Mr. Bubbles III, the latest in a long line of short-lived aquatic companions.
The air smelled like damp soil and the faint, sharp sweetness of camellia blossoms. A fly buzzed lazily by, the only sound aside from his sister's sniffling sobs.
Gyuvin shifted his weight awkwardly from foot to foot, hands deep in his pockets. His sister sobbed into her small hands, shoulders trembling with each hiccuped breath, and Gyuvin, helpless, could only reach out and pat her awkwardly on the back, the gesture clumsy but sincere.
"It’s okay," he said, voice uncertain, unsure if he was comforting her or himself. "He’s swimming in the big fish tank in the sky now.”
She wailed louder, her grief redoubling, and Gyuvin winced, feeling like he had somehow made things worse.
By late afternoon, with the sun dipping behind the rooftops and mosquitoes beginning to stir, Gyuvin found himself saddled with a mission: a crumpled ₩20,000 bill shoved into his hand, his mom shouting reminders from the kitchen window, and his sister's tearful, desperate instructions burned into his brain.
Get a new Mr. Bubbles. Make it better. Fix this.
No pressure at all.
Which was how he ended up here—standing under the unforgiving, too-bright fluorescent lights of Paws and Claws, a small, slightly shabby neighborhood pet shop tucked between a laundromat and a perpetually half-closed café. The bell above the door had jingled weakly when he entered, and now he hovered near the entrance, feeling like a fish out of water himself.
The place smelled faintly of warm hay, wood shavings, and clean water, layered with a strange, metallic tang from the aquariums. Somewhere nearby, a lazy ceiling fan spun half-heartedly, clicking and squeaking with every rotation like it was barely holding itself together.
Rows of aquariums lined the walls, humming quietly, each glass tank alive with swirling flashes of movement—orange blurs of goldfish, silver flickers of guppies, slow-gliding bettas shimmering like liquid jewels in their blues and reds.
Gyuvin shuffled closer to one of the tanks, sneakers squeaking embarrassingly against the smooth tile floor. He leaned in, pressing his forehead lightly to the cool glass, squinting at the tiny, bobbing shapes inside.
Dozens of goldfish swam lazy, endless circles, their oversized eyes bulging slightly, mouths opening and closing rhythmically. Somehow, they all seemed to be judging him.
He sighed heavily, fogging up the glass.
They all looked the same. Orange. Round. Slightly disapproving.
He glanced at the handwritten signs taped crookedly to the tanks:
Fantail - friendly!
Comet - fast swimmers!
Ranchu - needs special care!
Gyuvin rubbed the back of his neck, sweat prickling under his hoodie despite the air conditioning. He had no idea what he was doing. What made a good replacement Mr. Bubbles? Size? Color? Swimming speed? Moral character?
He caught sight of his own reflection in the glass—messy hair sticking up at weird angles, dark circles under his eyes from staying up too late studying, and an expression that could only be described as "mild existential crisis.”
Great. He looked exactly as lost as he felt.
Out of desperation, he hovered awkwardly by the tanks, hoping someone—anyone—would come to his rescue. At the counter, a teenage girl was locked in an epic battle with a jammed receipt printer, muttering curse words under her breath. A young couple cooed over a basket of sleeping kittens, oblivious to the world around them.
Nobody seemed to notice him.
He briefly considered just grabbing the nearest orange blob and sprinting out the door—but before he could commit to his terrible plan, a voice spoke, low and amused, right beside him.
"First time buying a fish?"
Gyuvin flinched so hard he nearly whacked his forehead against the glass. He whirled around, heart thudding against his ribs, and promptly forgot how to breathe.
Standing there was a boy—no, a vision—probably his age, maybe younger by a few months, but infinitely cooler. Dark hair flopped carelessly across his forehead, just long enough to brush his straight brows, and he had a small plastic container tucked against his chest where a vivid blue betta fish drifted lazy, regal loops.
He was—pretty, Gyuvin’s scrambled brain supplied. Not handsome in the rugged way dramas loved, but something gentler. Softer. The plain gray sweatshirt he wore only made it worse, they hung loosely, sleeves shoved up in a way that made him look effortlessly comfortable, like he belonged anywhere he stood. His expression was calm, unreadable, but not cold, and the corner of his mouth quirked like he was always on the verge of smiling, carrying some private joke he might let you in on if you were lucky enough.
Gyuvin scrambled to recover, words tripping over each other. "Uh—no! I mean, yeah—no! I mean—"
The boy just raised an eyebrow, the tiniest movement, waiting like he had all the time in the universe to watch Gyuvin implode.
Mortified, he cleared his throat aggressively and tried to salvage his pride. "I'm kind of a fish expert," he lied, with the breathtaking confidence of a man clutching the very last threads of his dignity. "Just, uh, you know. Taking my time. Gotta find the right... fish energy.”
"Fish energy," the boy echoed, and Gyuvin wasn’t imagining the way his lips twitched.
"Yeah," Gyuvin insisted, feeling heat claw up his neck. "Feng shui. Balance. Good vibes. It's important. You can't just rush these things."
For a terrifying moment, Gyuvin thought the boy might laugh at him, but instead, he smiled—a small, devastating tilt of his mouth that made Gyuvin's stomach swoop like he'd just missed a step.
"Well," he said casually, "if the fish expert needs help, I kind of work here."
Gyuvin blinked, brain stuttering. "You do?"
The boy tilted the plastic container in his arms, letting the betta catch the light. "Technically off-duty. But I know my way around goldfish." He set the betta down with such care it was almost tender, and stuck out a hand, fingers long and steady.
"Leehan."
Gyuvin grasped it a second too eagerly. Leehan’s hand was cool, his grip firm but easy, radiating a kind of quiet, steady confidence that Gyuvin could only dream of having.
"Gyuvin," he said, cursing internally at how breathless he sounded.
"Nice to meet you, Gyuvin," Leehan said, the small smile finally breaking free—and it was devastating, like sunshine cracking through a cloudy sky.
Gyuvin wanted to sink into the tile floor and never resurface. It should’ve been illegal for anyone to look that good saying your name. Gyuvin stuffed his hands deep into the kangaroo pocket of his hoodie, clutching the crumpled twenty-thousand won bill inside like it was a life preserver, like it could keep him from floating off under the sheer gravitational pull of Leehan's pretty smile.
He ducked his head a little, heat prickling embarrassingly at the tips of his ears, and focused very hard on not doing anything else humiliating.
Leehan shifted slightly, motioning toward the tanks. "So, you replacing a goldfish or just browsing for spiritual enlightenment?"
The sheer absurdity of the question, delivered so deadpan, yanked a surprised bark of laughter out of Gyuvin, bouncing off the tile walls. "Replacing." He sighed dramatically. "Mr. Bubbles III met a tragic end.”
Leehan nodded solemnly, a hand over his heart like he was attending a funeral. "I'm sorry for your loss."
"Thanks," Gyuvin said, matching his tone, mock-grave. "He was a real one.”
For a second, they both stood there, side by side in front of the glowing tanks, their reflections ghosted against the glass like faint echoes. The shop hummed around them—a ceiling fan stirring the air, the soft burble of water filters—but in Gyuvin’s mind it all faded to a blur, background noise to the impossible fact of Leehan’s shoulder brushing lightly against his.
He stole a glance sideways. Leehan’s face was calm, his gaze intent on the fish, long lashes casting shadows against his cheeks. It was like he moved through the world at his own unbothered pace, unshakable.
It was unfair, really, how someone could look so soft and self-assured in a dingy little pet shop, in a plain sweatshirt, with the crappy overhead lighting doing nothing for anyone else but somehow turning him into the main character of Gyuvin's very stupid, very doomed life. Meanwhile he could barely remember how legs worked.
"So, um, about these goldfish..." He finally said, forcing his voice to sound normal.
Leehan chuckled under his breath, a low, warm sound that settled right in Gyuvin’s chest and refused to leave. He stepped closer to the tanks, motioning Gyuvin forward like they were sharing some small, secret mission.
"They're hardy," Leehan said, tapping lightly on the glass. "Mostly. Some breeds are fussier than others. If you're replacing a typical goldfish, I'd recommend a Ryukin or a Comet. They're forgiving. Good for beginners.”
"Beginner?" Gyuvin said, pretending to be offended. "Excuse you. I'm basically a fish whisperer."
Leehan gave him a slow sideways glance, eyes glinting with amusement. "Sure you are.”
He bent down slightly to point at a lower tank, and Gyuvin, despite himself, noticed the soft, exposed curve of Leehan’s neck, the way his sleeves bunched at the elbows, revealing a faded scar running across one forearm. It looked old, like an old burn or a playground accident.
Focus, Gyuvin. Fish first. Flirting later.
"This one," Leehan said, tapping the glass. "Ryukin. See how his back arches? Strong swimmers. Hardy. Good personality."
Gyuvin peered at the little orange blob in question—a plump fish with a slightly goofy expression and a proud little flick of a tail.
"Yeah," Gyuvin said, grinning despite himself. "He looks like he’s seen some things."
Leehan let out a real laugh then—a short, honest burst of sound that made Gyuvin’s heart stutter in his chest.
They drifted slowly down the aisle together, Gyuvin hanging on every word as Leehan explained tank sizes, water temperature ranges, feeding schedules. Gyuvin tried valiantly to pay attention, but mostly his brain was cataloguing things like the way Leehan’s voice softened when he talked about fish, the way he spoke with his hands, animated and a little shy at the same time.
Eventually, they picked out everything necessary: a small tank kit, a tiny net, starter food, a bag of colorful gravel, and a little plastic plant that Leehan convinced him to buy for "enrichment" purposes.
At the counter, as the girl finally wrestled the cursed receipt printer into submission, Leehan grabbed a pamphlet from a nearby stack. He scribbled something quickly on the back, his pen scratching across the paper.
He slid it across the counter with two fingers, almost casually, not quite looking at Gyuvin.
"For emergencies," he said lightly. "Or, you know, if he starts judging you too hard."
Gyuvin picked it up, and froze. On the back, in slightly slanted handwriting, was a phone number. He looked up, and caught Leehan watching him, head tilted slightly, one eyebrow raised, a silent challenge written all over his face.
Gyuvin's throat went dry. He nodded, managing to croak out, "Thanks. Really."
"No problem," Leehan said, smile smaller now, softer, almost private. "Good luck, fish expert."
The bell jingled overhead as Gyuvin stumbled out into the fading evening light, his little sister's new goldfish sloshing gently in its bag, his heart beating somewhere dangerously high up in his throat.
He was so, so screwed.
Outside, the night had fully fallen, settling heavy and deep over the neighborhood. The sky above was a velvet sprawl of navy, with only the faintest smattering of stars poking through the glow of the streetlamps. The air had turned brisk, edged with the early bite of autumn, carrying the faint smell of damp concrete and fallen leaves. Somewhere far off, a motorcycle buzzed down a street and faded into the distance like a sigh.
Gyuvin tucked the bag closer to his chest and started walking.
His sneakers scuffed against the uneven ground, each soft scrape matching the quick, jittery beat of his thoughts. Every few steps, he glanced down at the bag, half-expecting disaster to strike and the fish to float belly-up. But the little Ryukin kept paddling along, slow and lazy, pausing occasionally to blink up at Gyuvin like it knew exactly how much of a wreck he was.
Gyuvin huffed a shaky laugh under his breath. "You and me both, buddy," he muttered.
The closer he got to home, the heavier something pressed against his ribs—not the weight of the bag, but the ridiculous, fluttering feeling still tangled up inside him. He could still see it so clearly in his mind: the way Leehan had smiled, easy and a little shy, like it hadn't been a big deal. Like it could be a big deal, if Gyuvin let himself believe it.
God, he was pathetic.
The streetlights blurred a little as he blinked too hard. He shoved his free hand deep into his hoodie pocket, fingers curling around the crumpled receipt like it was a lifeline.
Ahead, the windows of his house spilled warm, buttery light out into the street, a quiet welcome against the encroaching dark. He climbed the front steps two at a time, heart rattling somewhere stupidly high up in his chest, and set the fish bag down carefully beside him on the porch.
The night was quiet in that gentle, hollow way it only ever got when the world was winding down—just the soft chirr of crickets, the distant whoosh of passing cars, and the occasional creak of wood settling in the cool air. Through the front window, he caught snippets of his sister's laughter and the low hum of the TV, the cozy background noise of home.
Gyuvin sat heavily on the steps, pulling out his phone. The screen lit his face harsh and blue in the dark, but he barely noticed. His thumb hovered, hesitating—and then, with a reckless breath, he started typing:
[Gyuvin]: urgent fish emergency
[Gyuvin]: he’s definitely judging me rn. pls advise.
He stared at the message for a moment before hitting send, wincing immediately after like he'd thrown a rock through a window.
The reply came faster than he expected:
[Leehan]: Hahaha
[Leehan]: That means he's healthy. Judgment is a good sign.
Gyuvin let out a laugh that sounded more like a breathless wheeze, scrubbing a hand over his burning face. His cheeks hurt from smiling so much, but he didn’t bother trying to stop. It was useless anyway.
Still sitting on the steps, he leaned back against the wooden railing, the bagged fish nudging his thigh like a weird little aquatic pet. In front of him, the old camellia tree whispered in the breeze, petals shaking loose and floating down in slow spirals, dusting the porch around him like a blessing.
[Gyuvin]: glad to know i’m being emotionally supported by a goldfish.
[Gyuvin]: anyway. maybe you could meet him sometimes? for... vibe checks?
The second he sent it, he regretted every choice he had ever made in his life.
He stared at the screen, willing it to light up, already preparing himself for the inevitable silence—or worse, a polite rejection.
Seconds stretched unbearably long. The stars above him thickened in the darkening sky, tiny pinpricks against the vast blue-black stretch of night.
Then, miraculously:
[Leehan]: I'd like that.
Simple. Direct. No hesitation. No teasing.
It hit Gyuvin so hard he nearly toppled backward off the steps. He pressed his forehead against his knees, trying and utterly failing to muffle the helpless, giddy sound that tore out of his throat. His whole face was on fire.
Thee camellia tree rustled again, showering a few more petals across the porch. The night smelled like damp earth, like new beginnings. He lifted his head, laughing quietly to himself, and nudged the fish bag gently with one knuckle.
"Guess you’re good feng shui after all," he whispered.
The goldfish floated serenely, utterly unimpressed by human drama.
Gyuvin grinned, heart buoyant in his chest, and gave the bag a fond little pat. "You’re not much of a talker, huh?" he said, voice low and conspiratorial. "That’s okay. I talk enough for both of us."
With the night wrapped warmly around him, he gathered his things—a boy, a fish, and a heart that wouldn't stop doing cartwheels.