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A quiet afternoon lingered in the campus art and creativity room, only two students were there, neither of them listed on the official committee for Student Art Week. Golden sunlight filtered through the tall windows, casting warm rays on the corner filled with paintings and certificates of appreciation. One of them sat cross-legged in the far corner, an acoustic guitar balanced on his lap. His fingers moved lazily across the strings, coaxing out soft, wandering chords—no melody in particular. Just filling the silence. Warming up for his performance later that night, though even he didn’t seem very focused on it.
Seonghwa stood in front of the mirror. Fixing his hair repeatedly, studied his own expression, then let out a long breath. Tonight, he was planning to confess his feelings to a girl he’d gotten close to over the past few months, just as the closing band played a romantic song during the event's finale. He thought she might be waiting for it too. She laughed at his jokes, leaned closer when he talked, lingered near him even when she didn’t have to. He was sure she liked him back. Pretty sure.
“How do I tell her?” Seonghwa muttered, glancing through the mirror’s reflection toward the figure sitting on the floor.
The strumming stopped mid-note. Hongjoong looked up, eyes slightly narrowed. He leaned his guitar against the wall and rested his forearms on his knees.
“Kiss her.”
A soft laugh and a shake of the head came instantly from Seonghwa.
“You’re crazy. That’s way too fast.”
“I'm serious. A kiss definitely shows how you feel,” Hongjoong replied, standing up and slowly walking closer until he stood right behind him.
Seonghwa blinked, not quite sure how to respond. The idea sounded reckless. But then again… Hongjoong was popular. Effortlessly cool. Girls liked him. He probably knew what he was talking about. Seonghwa never had that kind of experience. He barely even dated. So maybe... maybe Hongjoong knew better.
Maybe that was why his voice came out smaller than he expected: “You really think that’ll work?”
“I know how to kiss someone, Hwa,” he said, his tone low. “Want me to teach you?”
It was a trap disguised as a joke. Or maybe it wasn’t a joke at all. Seonghwa couldn’t tell.
All he knew was that something shifted in the air. Something almost invisible, but heavy.
And like he wasn’t entirely in control of himself, Seonghwa slowly turned around to face him. Their eyes met. Hongjoong didn’t blink. Didn’t flinch.
Seonghwa gave the smallest of nods, fully giving himself over to the lesson.
And just like that, it happened.
Hongjoong leaned in, and Seonghwa let it happen. Their lips touched. A short, fleeting kiss that lasted only a few seconds before pulling away. Hongjoong looked deep into his eyes, his breath warm against Seonghwa’s flushed cheek.
“Then look her in the eyes… and tell her how you feel.”
Seonghwa stood frozen, unable to speak, unable to move. His chest was tight, his brain scrambled. He didn’t understand what had just happened. He’d said yes. But now he didn’t know what he’d agreed to. All he could do was stare, wide-eyed, while Hongjoong calmly wiped the corner of his mouth with his thumb, brushing away the trace of saliva.
Then he turned. Picked up his guitar. Walked out the door.
No explanation. No glance back. No teasing smile.
Seonghwa was left standing alone in the now-silent room, his reflection in the mirror looking just as stunned as he felt.
Hours later, the art festival was at its peak. Lights sparkled across the campus lawn, music throbbed gently through the speakers, and students laughed, cheered, danced. Everyone seemed to be wrapped in a kind of youthful, fleeting magic.
Everyone except Seonghwa.
He stood beside the girl, the one he was supposed to confess to. She kept glancing at him, waiting—clearly expecting something. Her smile faltered. Her eyes narrowed. And eventually, with a frustrated breath, she walked away.
But Seonghwa didn’t even try to stop her.
Because his eyes were fixed on the stage.
On him.
On Hongjoong who lit by soft lights, strumming that same guitar, singing with a voice that was calm and rich and devastatingly beautiful. As if nothing had happened.
And Seonghwa’s mind was still back in that room. Replaying everything.