Chapter Text
If someone asked Sangwon to list the good things in his life, the list would take a while.
Loving parents who always supported him.
Grades that had been consistently excellent since grade school.
Acceptance into the top university in the country—now in his third year with professors who liked him for being hardworking and reliable.
He’d never call himself popular, but people knew who he was: the “shy, pretty nerd.”
He had a part-time job at a cozy, beautifully decorated café that smelled of fresh bread and roasted coffee beans. The pay covered most of his expenses, and his coworkers liked him—at least enough to tease him about being “the polite one who drops things sometimes.” An internship interview at a prestigious company was scheduled in just a few days. If he landed it, he’d be one step closer to his dream career.
His friends—Leo, Kangmin, and Junseo—kept life from becoming too predictable.
And Yuha. His girlfriend. Beautiful, popular, kind. The sort of girl who turned heads when she walked into a room, but still sat beside him in the library to help quiz him before exams.
Really, what more could he ask for?
Nothing.
Right?
---
The summer break before the new semester had been quiet. Sangwon spent most of it at home with his parents, returning to his apartment only a week ago. Since then, he’d been buried in a rigid routine: wake up early, head to the library, review notes for hours, work his café shift, then spend the rest of the night preparing for his interview.
If he stopped, even for a moment, nerves would take over.
Kangmin had told him he was overdoing it. Leo had said the same. Junseo, too.
Kangmin: “You’re gonna fry your brain like leftover tteokbokki if you keep this up.”
Leo: “An interview’s supposed to be a conversation. You’re making it sound like you’re memorizing lines for a play.”
Sangwon knew they had a point. But if he didn’t prepare, his fear would take the wheel and he’d crash. Better to be over-prepared than embarrassed.
---
The day before his interview, the doorbell rang while he was cross-referencing common interview questions on his laptop.
When he opened the door, Kangmin grinned broadly, holding two large plastic bags. Leo stood behind him with another.
“Operation ‘Save Sangwon from Himself’ is a go,” Kangmin declared, marching inside.
“Didn’t realize I was a rescue mission,” Sangwon said, shutting the door.
Leo tossed a bag onto the table. “You looked like you needed it. Also, you probably forgot to eat lunch.”
“I—” He paused. “Maybe.”
Soon the small table in his living room was crowded with steaming boxes—dumplings, fried chicken, tteokbokki, kimbap.
“You guys didn’t have to—”
Kangmin set the bags on the low table with a satisfying thump. “We did. Your fridge is emptier than my will to live during finals.”
That earned a quiet laugh from Sangwon despite himself.
Within minutes, the table was covered: glossy fried chicken, steaming dumplings, chewy tteokbokki glistening red in its sauce, kimbap rolls cut into neat slices.
“I really can’t eat all this—”
“Who said you were eating all of it?” Kangmin said, grabbing a piece of chicken before Sangwon could sit down.
“Yeah, we’re not here to watch you eat, we’re here to eat with you,” Leo added, already reaching for chopsticks.
They dug in, the apartment filling with the smell of spice and fried batter.
“So,” Kangmin said between bites, “how’s our soon-to-be intern?”
“Still panicking,” Leo supplied before Sangwon could answer.
“I am not panicking,” Sangwon protested. “I’m preparing.”
“You’re panicking,” Kangmin repeated, pointing a chopstick at him. “You’ve been doing mock interviews with your reflection, haven’t you?”
Sangwon hesitated. “...No.”
“Liar,” Leo said, deadpan.
They slipped into easy conversation—updates on mutual acquaintances, light gossip about who was dating who, speculation about which professor would be most likely to get into a fistfight. By the time the chicken bones piled up in the takeout boxes, Sangwon felt the tightness in his chest easing.
“Seriously,” he admitted, “I should’ve met you guys earlier this week. I might’ve avoided the whole... spiraling thing.”
“That’s what we’re here for,” Kangmin said with mock pride. “Preventing spirals since freshman year.”
Leo smirked. “Not that you’re an easy case.”
Then, almost casually, Kangmin asked, “So... you heard from your girlfriend lately?”
Sangwon froze, chopsticks halfway to his mouth. “...Yuha? Uh, no. Actually—wow, I completely forgot. It’s been two weeks since we last talked.”
Leo’s brows rose. “And here comes the overthinking face.”
“It’s not overthinking,” Sangwon said quickly. “I just feel bad. I didn’t even contact her.”
“Yeah, but she hasn’t messaged you either,” Kangmin pointed out. “And, well... considering the rumors, you’d think she’d reach out.”
That made Sangwon pause mid-reach for the dumplings. “...Rumors?”
Kangmin and Leo exchanged a quick glance.
“You seriously haven’t been on the campus forum?” Leo asked.
“I avoid that place like the plague,” Sangwon replied. “It’s just gossip about who’s dating who and which professor tripped over the podium.”
Kangmin scratched the back of his neck. “Well... maybe you should ask her about it directly.”
“Why are you guys making it sound like she murdered someone?” Sangwon asked, narrowing his eyes.
Kangmin sighed. “Well... People are saying they’ve seen Yuha with another guy. A freshman. And at some party, they were... kissing.”
“That’s—no. No way,” Sangwon said quickly, forcing a laugh.
Leo pulled out his phone. “You should probably see this.”
The first photo showed Yuha walking in the park, her hand linked with someone whose face was conveniently out of frame. She was smiling, the kind of smile she used when she was comfortable.
The second photo was grainy and dim—a girl and boy kissing at a crowded house party.
“That could be anyone,” Sangwon insisted. “Yuha’s popular. That guy could just be a friend. And she’s in the theater club—maybe that’s her scene partner. As for this—” he pointed to the blurry party picture “—you can’t even see their faces. It’s just... rumors.”
He said it like a statement, but in his chest, something uncomfortable twisted.
Kangmin and Leo didn’t push.
They stayed another hour, keeping the mood light before heading out.
“Good luck tomorrow,” Leo said at the door.
“Or at least don’t faint,” Kangmin added, grinning.
When they were gone, the apartment felt too quiet. Sangwon cleaned the table, washed the dishes, and tried to tell himself the rumors didn’t matter.
But lying in bed, the images kept flashing in his mind.
Before turning off the light, he reached for his phone and typed:
Sangwon: Can we meet tomorrow after lunch?
Yuha’s reply came minutes later.
> Yuha: ok
It wasn’t a bad answer.
So why did it feel so... distant?
---
The mirrored glass of Hansung Corporation’s headquarters loomed above Sangwon like it was leaning in to judge him. He could see his reflection in the sliding doors—hair neatly parted, shirt tucked in, tie perfectly straight—and it should have reassured him.
It didn’t.
His heart felt like it was trying to punch its way out of his chest. Every breath rattled in his lungs. His palms were slick despite the air-conditioned lobby, and when he wiped them on his pants, it left faint dark streaks.
Deep breaths, he reminded himself. You practiced this. You’ve got this. Just breathe.
It didn’t work.
It was like trying to hold back a tidal wave with a paper cup.
He checked in with the receptionist, sat down in the waiting area, and tried not to notice how perfect everyone else looked—like they’d all been born to ace interviews.
When the door to the hallway opened and someone called his name, Sangwon didn’t even remember standing up. His legs just carried him forward, each step strangely weightless and heavy at the same time.
---
Four people sat at a long table—two men, two women, each with files and pens ready. A sleek black recorder sat between them.
“Please, have a seat,” one of the men said, gesturing to the chair opposite them.
Sangwon managed a polite bow before sitting. His throat was dry, but he forced a smile.
“Introduce yourself, please,” a woman with rimless glasses prompted.
He cleared his throat. “Yes, of course. My name is Lee Sangwon, I’m a third-year business administration student at Seoul National University. I’ve maintained a GPA of 4.2, and I have work experience in customer service at Moonlight Café. I’m interested in pursuing a career in corporate project management and I believe Hansung Corporation’s innovative approach to—”
Words flowed. The first few questions—academic background, teamwork examples, why he wanted to work there—went well. Smooth, almost exactly like what he’d practiced.
Then came the question that punched a hole in his confidence.
“Mr. Lee,” the man on the far left said, “imagine we have a project deadline in two days, and a major supplier fails to deliver a critical component. What’s your immediate course of action?”
His brain blanked. What?
“I—uh—well, first I’d… I’d check with the… um… team to see if… there’s a—uh—backup…” His words tangled like a loose thread wrapping around his tongue.
The panel waited.
“…Option,” he finished weakly.
“And if there isn’t?”
“I… I guess… I’d—um…” His voice cracked. His mind scrambled for the right business jargon, but all he could think of were the textbook definitions, none of which fit.
From there, it was downhill.
Questions shifted from theory to scenario-based problem solving, and each one chipped away at him. He knew the concepts—he’d read them a hundred times—but applying them felt like trying to run through wet cement.
By the time they thanked him for coming, Sangwon was sure he’d just flunked every unspoken metric.
---
He sat on a bench in the small park across the street from the building, staring at the reflection of the clouds in the glass walls.
His mind kept replaying the interview in slow motion, dissecting every awkward pause, every clumsy half-answer. Book knowledge isn’t everything. He knew that. The world wanted skills, instinct, quick decisions—things you couldn’t cram into your brain in a week at the library.
The thought of not being good enough lodged itself in his chest like a stone.
He didn’t know how long he’d been sitting there when his phone buzzed.
Yuha: Where are you? I’m already here.
The message pulled last night’s conversation with Leo and Kangmin back into sharp focus. He’d forgotten completely that they were meeting. Guilt pricked at him.
He wanted to text back I can’t today, but he couldn’t bring himself to. Maybe she’d smile, tell him the rumors weren’t true, remind him he wasn’t a complete failure. Maybe he needed that more than he wanted to admit.
---
The café they’d chosen was quiet, the hum of the espresso machine the loudest sound. Yuha was already at a table near the window, scrolling on her phone.
When she saw him, she smiled faintly. But her eyes didn’t change.
“Hey,” he said, sliding into the seat across from her.
“Hey,” she echoed, giving him a quick once-over. “You look… like a mess.”
He let out a short laugh that wasn’t really a laugh. “It’s been… not the best day.”
They exchanged the standard “how have you been” lines, but the conversation felt stilted. The silences were heavier than the words.
He tried to remember the last time they’d sat together without this strange distance. The last time her smile had reached her eyes.
Yuha broke the silence first. “I guess you’ve seen the posts. The pictures.”
Sangwon nodded slowly. “I did. But… I trust you. I know there’s an explanation.” He searched her face, hoping for even a flicker of reassurance.
For a moment, she just looked at him. Whatever she saw in his expression must have been pitiful, because she sighed before speaking.
“I can’t keep doing this, Sangwon.”
His stomach dropped. “…What do you mean?”
She met his eyes. “The rumors are true. I’ve been seeing someone else. And… I like him. More than I like you.”
It felt like a door slammed shut inside his head. “That’s… you’re joking. Right? This is—” He forced a weak chuckle. “—some messed-up prank?”
“I’m not joking.” Her voice was calm, almost detached. “You’ve barely been interested in me. I mean… you probably like your books more than me. Honestly, I dated you because you were pretty, but…” She shook her head. “You’re just… boring, Sangwon. You never pay attention. I don’t even know why you wanted to be with me in the first place.”
He sat there, trying to keep his face neutral, his voice steady.
“It’s better to end things now,” she finished, standing and adjusting her bag. “No point in pretending.”
And then she was gone.
---
Back at home as he clicked the door shut behind him, but it felt like he’d left part of himself somewhere out there—on that café chair, in the interview room, maybe even somewhere further back in the week before it all started collapsing.
He didn’t bother turning on the lights. The apartment was dim, only the orange glow of the streetlamp outside spilling in through the blinds. He kicked off his shoes without caring where they landed and dropped onto the floor beside his bed.
His body felt heavy, but his mind wouldn’t stop moving.
The moment Yuha said I can’t keep doing this kept replaying in his head, but each time it sounded different—colder, sharper, like her voice was being replayed through a cracked speaker. The more he thought about it, the more his stomach turned.
Books more than her? Boring?
He wanted to argue, to tell her she didn’t understand. But she did, didn’t she? She’d been there, watching him disappear into his own little world while she was… somewhere else. With someone else.
His chest tightened. He pulled his knees up and buried his face in them.
Maybe she’s right. Maybe I never paid enough attention. Maybe I was so busy trying to be perfect that I forgot how to be present. Or maybe I just… wasn’t enough from the start.
Tears burned his eyes before he could stop them. One slipped down his cheek, then another, until his vision blurred completely.
He hated that he cared this much. Hated that he felt so small. Hated that a part of him still wanted her to walk back through the door and say she’d made a mistake.
The silence of the apartment pressed in on him. No messages from Kangmin or Leo. No buzzing from Yuha’s name lighting up his phone. Just quiet.
He let out a shaky breath. It was the kind of silence that didn’t comfort—it scraped at him, made him feel like he could hear the clock ticking in the kitchen, counting down to nothing.
The day had started with hope. It ended here, in the half-dark, with Lee Sangwon folded in on himself, feeling like the smallest version of a person he had ever been.
---
Two weeks had crawled by since the day everything had fallen apart.
The first week didn’t feel like a week at all. It was just a blur of lying in bed, staring at the ceiling until his eyes burned, dozing off without realizing it, then waking to the same heavy weight pressing down on his chest. Sometimes he cried. Most of the time, he just… didn’t move.
Food barely made it past his lips. The thought of stepping outside felt exhausting. Even the sight of his neatly stacked books—usually his comfort—felt like a cruel reminder of the person he couldn’t be right now.
He’d called in sick to the café. He hadn’t set foot in the library. His phone stayed dark on his bedside table, buzzing only when Kangmin, Leo, or Junseo came knocking again.
At first, they tiptoed around him. Kangmin would sit cross-legged on the floor, trying to crack small jokes. Leo would bring him bread or iced coffee, setting it down beside his bed like a peace offering. Junseo would poke his head in, giving a quiet “You okay, man?” before leaving after a minute or two.
But nothing stuck. Everything they said felt muffled, like someone was talking to him from underwater.
Until Leo snapped.
It happened on a Wednesday afternoon. The blinds were still drawn, the room stale with the smell of days-old air. Sangwon was curled on his side, scrolling aimlessly on his phone, not even reading the words on the screen.
The door swung open, and Leo’s voice cut through the dim like a slap.
“Okay, I’ve had enough of this.”
Sangwon blinked up at him. “…What?”
“You heard me,” Leo said, stepping inside and shutting the door a little too hard. “It’s been a week, Sangwon. A week of you lying here like some tragic main character who just got left at the altar.”
Sangwon frowned. “I’m not—”
“You are,” Leo cut in. “You’re doing nothing, eating nothing, shutting us all out. I get that you’re hurt. I get that it sucks—God, do I get it—but this?” He gestured to Sangwon, to the bed, to the drawn blinds. “This is you letting it win.”
Sangwon sat up slowly, his throat tightening. “It’s not that simple, Leo. You don’t know—”
“I do know,” Leo said, softer now, but still firm. “I know you. And I know if you keep this up, you’re going to crawl so far inside your own head that you won’t be able to find your way out.”
Sangwon’s hands twisted in his lap. He wanted to argue, to say that he wasn’t spiraling, but the truth sat heavy in his stomach. He was.
Leo crouched down, meeting his eyes. “It’s not the end of the world, man. It feels like it right now, sure, but you’ve got more than this. You’ve got us. You’ve got your life. You’ve got things to look forward to. Don’t throw that away because of one person who decided you weren’t enough for them.”
The words stung, but not in the wrong way. It was the sting of someone hitting a bruise that needed pressing.
Sangwon swallowed. “…I don’t know if I can just get over it.”
“Who said you have to get over it right now?” Leo’s voice softened again. “Just… get up. Eat. Open the damn blinds. That’s all we’re asking.”
It wasn’t magic. It didn’t fix him instantly. But that night, Sangwon stood up and cracked the blinds open. The next morning, he forced down a full breakfast. A few days later, he stepped outside for the first time in nearly two weeks.
By the time the new semester rolled around, he was back in his routine—not whole, not unscarred, but at least functioning. The ache was still there, low and constant, but he was getting better at hiding it.
---
The first few days of the semester were uneventful. Classes, coffee runs, library hours—it was almost like before. Almost.
The only real change was the noise on campus. This year’s freshmen seemed to be celebrities in their own right, names and faces popping up on the student forum daily. Sangwon didn’t care much, scrolling past the posts without reading them.
It was lunchtime when he finally noticed the buzz for himself. He was sitting in the cafeteria with Kangmin and Leo, halfway through a bowl of rice and kimchi stew, when Junseo slid into the seat beside Kangmin.
“Looks like the new freshman’s stolen your thunder,” Junseo said with a grin.
Kangmin looked up mid-bite. “What thunder?”
“You know, your ‘most talked-about guy on campus’ status.” Junseo leaned back, smug. “You’ve been dethroned.”
Leo snorted. “Oh yeah. Kangmin’s got competition now.”
“Competition?” Kangmin scoffed, shoving Junseo’s shoulder. “Please. Nobody’s competition for me.”
Junseo raised an eyebrow. “Hate to break it to you, but Zhou Anxin’s not just competition. He’s way above you.”
Kangmin froze, then narrowed his eyes. “Are you on his side right now? Is this what betrayal feels like? If you came here just to rub it in, you can get lost.”
Junseo, without missing a beat “You shouldn’t tell your senior to get lost.”
Leo laughed, nearly choking on his food.
Sangwon had been listening quietly, but now he looked up. “Who’s Zhou Anxin? And why is everyone talking about him?”
Three sets of eyes turned to him.
“You really live under a rock, don’t you?” Kangmin said, shaking his head.
Junseo chuckled.
Kangmin set his chopsticks down. “Zhou Anxin’s the new freshman. Son of the founder of Xinyuan Global—you know, that massive trading company? He was the top student at some elite school, insane GPA, apparently speaks like three languages. Oh, and—”
Leo leaned in with a smirk. “—he’s hot. Like, really hot.”
Kangmin rolled his eyes. “Yes, that too.”
Leo was already pulling out his phone. “Here. Gossip site’s obsessed with him.”
On the screen, Sangwon saw a tall boy with sharp, almost unfairly perfect features—dark hair falling just so, the kind of smile that looked like it had been rehearsed but still felt natural. Even through the pixels, there was a presence about him.
He scrolled through a few posts, catching phrases like college heartthrob, celebrity of the year, everyone’s crush.
Sangwon let out a soft laugh. “Wow. Yeah, okay… I get it.”
Kangmin smirked. “Told you.”
Sangwon set the phone down, shaking his head. “This school needs a new hobby.”
They went back to eating, the conversation shifting to lighter things—weekend plans, a professor’s strange new haircut, whether or not Leo could beat Kangmin at basketball. For the first time in a long while, Sangwon found himself actually smiling without forcing it.