Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

PART I

Falling Leaves

Sunoo pressed his nose against the café window. “Is he there? Is he manning the counter?”

Jay craned his neck. “Wait—can’t see with all this steam—oh, yeah. That’s him. Look at him go. Apron, name tag, tragic expression.”

A gaggle of girls walked past the door squealing. “The new café guy is so handsome!”

Sunoo groaned. “Ugh. They’re talking about him, aren’t they?”

Jay sighed. “Unfortunately, yes.”

They looked at each other. Then they marched inside with synchronized evil grins.

At the counter, Sunghoon spotted them immediately. His face dropped. “...What are you doing here.”

His manager cleared his throat behind him.

Sunghoon’s jaw clenched. Then, in the fakest chipper voice anyone had ever heard: “Hi! Welcome to En-Café! How may I assist you on this beautiful autumn day?”

Sunoo burst out laughing, nearly doubling over. Jay had already whipped his phone out to record.

“I’ll have…” Sunoo tapped his chin dramatically. “A pumpkin spice latte.”

Sunghoon punched it into the register. “Size?”

“Oh, venti. But extra pumpkin. Triple it. And oat milk. No—almond milk. No—wait, SOY milk. But steamed to exactly 145 degrees.”

Jay wheezed. Sunoo pressed on.

“And can you, like, draw a pumpkin in the foam? With, like, whipped cream? Oh! And decaf. But only half. Semi-caf. And don’t forget to bless it with good vibes, because Mercury’s in retrograde.”

Sunghoon stared at him. Dead silent.

Then, BEEP BEEP BEEP. He stabbed the register violently but with his forced customer service smile.

“That would be 7,200 won,” he said flatly.

Jay had to cover his mouth to keep from laughing into his phone.

Sunoo handed over the cash sweetly. “Thank you, Sunghoon-ssi. You’re such a ray of sunshine.”

Sunghoon, through gritted teeth, “Enjoy your beverage.”

The manager beamed. “See? You’re a natural with customers.”

Sunghoon smiled, but it looked like his soul had been screaming to be let out of his body.

Sunoo skipped away to wait for his drink. “I’m coming back every day until he cries,” he whispered gleefully to Jay.

Jay hit stop on the video. “Don’t worry. I’m archiving all of this.”

Just then, Sunghoon called out an order: “Iced caramel macchiato for… uh, Seojun?”

A jock-looking guy in a varsity jacket stormed up to the counter, grabbing the cup and scowling at it. “What the hell is this?” he barked. “I didn’t order this. Dude, are you serious? Is this your first day or something?”

The café went quiet for a beat. Sunghoon flinched, his head snapping toward his manager instinctively, throat already tight with dread.

But before the guy could escalate, a voice rang out like sunshine.

“Wait… oh my gosh, is that a brown sugar upside-down caramel macchiato?” Sunoo chirped, eyes going wide with faux awe. He leaned dramatically over the counter, beaming at the guy. “That’s all the rage right now on tiktok! I wanted to order one, but caffeine hates me. I’m so jealous of you right now.”

The jock blinked, caught completely off guard. “...Uh. Yeah. I mean. I guess.” He glanced down at the drink, acting as if it had just gotten ten times cooler in his hand. His chest puffed a little. “Yeah, this is… uh, trending, right?”

“Totally,” Sunoo said, nodding furiously. “You’re basically a trendsetter. You’re, like, so ahead of the curve.”

The guy smirked, mollified, and sauntered off to his table with the confidence of a man who thought he’d invented coffee.

Sunghoon exhaled slowly, shoulders sagging. He caught Sunoo’s smug little grin from across the room and felt his ears heat.

Saved. By that menace.

Sunghoon watched the guy swagger off with his “trending” cup and, annoyingly, with his temper edited out. That was Sunoo’s stupid parlor trick—he could tilt a room a few degrees and suddenly anger slid off the table. Weaponized cheer. Sunghoon told himself that was merely…social engineering.

Not impressive. Not something to stare at.

He pretended to check the receipt printer until the heat in his ears cooled.

🍂🍂🍂

Sunghoon was already regretting every decision that had led him behind this counter, apron strings strangling what was left of his dignity, especially the part where Sunoo was sipping obnoxiously on his absurd semi-caf pumpkin spice monstrosity. Every slurp was loud, deliberate, and punctuated with a satisfied hum.

“Can you not drink it like that?” Sunghoon muttered under his breath when he passed by their booth.

Sunoo cupped the cup with both hands and slurped even louder. “Mmm. Autumn never tasted so spiritual.”

The bell above the door jingled. Jungwon walked in, scarf perfectly folded, psychology textbook and his infamous planner tucked under his arm. “Oh, hey, Hoon hyung!” He waved with both hands.

Sunghoon didn’t look up from the register. “Hi, welcome to En-Café, please enjoy your stay.” His tone carried the exact enthusiasm of a public transit announcement.

Jungwon faltered. “Uh. Customer voice. Nice. Totally… friendly.” He gave Sunghoon a thumb’s up that looked suspiciously like pity before sliding into the booth beside Jay.

Jay leaned over. “He sounds like Siri with social anxiety.”

Sunoo choked on his whipped cream.

The bell jingled again. This time, Jake bounded in, cheeks pink from the cold, energy turned all the way up. Behind him trailed a tall boy dressed in head-to-toe black, gaze heavy as he scanned the café.

Jake beamed. “Guys! This is my new roommate—Ni-ki!” He clapped the boy’s back proudly. “He’s a dance major!”

Ni-ki blinked once. Twice. Then said, in the flattest monotone, “I’m here against my will.”

The table fell silent.

Jay lit up. “Love the vibe. Sit.”

Ni-ki slid into the booth with a kind of slow disdain, arms crossed, posture straight.

Sunoo whispered loudly, “I love him.”

Ni-ki turned his head toward Sunoo, expression unchanging. “You’ll be the first to go.”

Sunoo gasped, delighted. “He’s so cute!”

Jay slapped the table, wheezing. “Oh, he’s perfect. Jake, you brought us a gift.”

Jake looked half-embarrassed, half-proud, scratching the back of his neck. “He’s… adjusting. Still warming up to people.”

Across the café, Sunghoon dropped a tray of mugs with a clatter, earning a sharp “Careful!” from his manager. He closed his eyes, exhaled slowly, and plastered on a smile that looked one twitch away from homicidal.

Sunoo perked up in his seat. “Oooh, look, he’s gonna snap. Do you think I should order a second latte but with even more modifications?”

Jake was stirring his coffee absentmindedly. “Well, he only got the job because of you, Sunoo.”

The table went dead quiet.

Sunoo blinked. “...Come again?”

Jake’s eyes shot wide. “Wait. Did I—uh—I didn’t say that out loud.”

Jay leaned across the table. “You definitely did. Spill. Now.”

Jake buried his face in his hands. “I didn’t mean to—”

“HYUNG. SPILL.” Sunoo was already halfway out of his seat, eyes wide.

Groaning, Jake peeked through his fingers. “Fine. It was… during summer break. You and Hoon fought, remember? You told him he had zero people skills and should, uh… talk to more humans. And—” he gestured weakly toward the counter, where Sunghoon was grimly wiping down a milk steamer— “I guess he listened. Got the job. To practice.”

The table detonated.

Jay collapsed against Jungwon’s shoulder, laughing. “Oh my god. That explains why he sounds like a malfunctioning robot every time he greets someone.”

Jungwon pinched the bridge of his nose. “Therapy would’ve been easier.”

But Sunoo—Sunoo couldn’t laugh.

His own voice replayed in his head from that summer fight: “God, hyung, no wonder people don’t like talking to you. You don’t know how. You’re cold, you’re rude, and you make everyone feel like they’re stupid. Maybe get a job or something. Learn how to act like a normal human being for once.”

He’d spat it like venom, sharp and careless, the kind of thing you throw in just to win an argument. He hadn’t thought it would stick. Sunghoon had always been so dismissive of him, rolling his eyes, shutting him down with science facts and logic until Sunoo wanted to scream. He’d thought the words would bounce right off him, like everything else.

But now here Sunghoon was, bowing stiffly to strangers, forcing out cheery greetings with a voice that cracked under the weight of his own discomfort. He wasn’t just tolerating it. He was enduring it.

And the worst part? Sunoo couldn’t tell if it was funny… or if it hurt a little to watch.

“Don’t tell him I said anything,” Jake whispered frantically, snapping Sunoo out of his thoughts. “Seriously, don’t. He’ll murder me in my sleep.”

The café bell dinged again.

“WELCOME TO EN-CAFÉ!!!” Sunghoon bellowed so loud the barista beside him flinched, and a poor girl near the pastry case dropped her croissant.

🍂🍂🍂

“Alright, everyone, focus up!” Jungwon slapped a notebook down on the table with authority. “It’s September, which means it’s time for our annual fall planning meeting.”

Ni-ki blinked. “Annual what.”

Jay patted his arm. “It’s tradition. Ever since Won and I started dating, we’ve organized group activities every fall. Apple picking, haunted houses, pumpkin carving—”

“Last year we got kicked out of a haunted maze,” Jake added helpfully.

“Because someone tried to exorcise an actor with holy water,” Jungwon said flatly, glaring at Sunoo.

Sunoo held his hands up innocently. “I was protecting us!”

“You threw a pumpkin at a vampire.”

“It was thematic!”

The table burst into laughter. Even Ni-ki cracked the faintest smirk. “I approve.”

Before Jungwon could wrestle the chaos back into order, Sunghoon appeared at the booth, tugging at his apron strings. “Move,” he muttered, sliding in beside Sunoo and pushing him inward without ceremony.

Sunoo squeaked at the sudden shove, pressing against Jake. “Excuse you!”

“I’ve got a fifteen minute break,” Sunghoon said, snatching one of Jake’s fries without asking. “Though honestly, I think my manager just wanted me off the counter before I caused a civil lawsuit.”

Jay grinned. “How many wrong drinks today?”

“Five,” Sunghoon answered without shame.

Sunoo stared at him quietly, lips pressed tight. Jake’s words still echoed in his head—He only got the job because of you. For once, Sunoo didn’t have a snappy remark ready.

Sunghoon noticed. His eyes narrowed. “What? Why are you looking at me like that? Do I have whipped cream on my face?”

Sunoo startled. “What? No! I wasn’t even looking at you.”

“Please,” Sunghoon scoffed. “You stare at me more than those freshmen girls who think I’m mysterious.”

Sunoo’s mouth dropped open. “Mysterious? You? The only mystery is how you still have friends.”

And just like that, the familiar rhythm snapped back into place.

Sunghoon leaned closer, smirking. “Says the guy who believes in tarot readings on Tiktok and alien sightings.”

“At least I have other friends!” Sunoo shot back, cheeks red.

“Wha—” Sunghoon blinked. “What does that even mean?”

“It means you’re a loser!”

The booth erupted again, Jay nearly spilling his drink from laughing, Jake covering his face with both hands, muttering “every damn year”, and Ni-ki watching the group silently and judging each one.

Jungwon finally cleared his throat. “Okay. For our grand annual fall activity this year, I propose… a staycation in a Hanok village.”

The table froze.

“A what now?” Jake asked.

“Hanok village,” Jungwon repeated, tapping his planner. “Cultural immersion. Hanboks, tea ceremonies, traditional food, and watching the fall foliage.”

Jay’s mouth opened. “That sounds—”

“Boring as hell,” Sunghoon cut in.

Jake nodded. “Yeah. No offense, Won, but that sounds like homework in a different location.”

“Exactly,” Sunghoon said. “High school field trip vibes. I’d rather stay here and—”

Jungwon’s glare cut across the table. Jay immediately folded. “—actually! Actually! That’s so creative! We love a cultured idea, right guys? Hanoks are aesthetic. Imagine the group photos this year!”

Jake’s jaw dropped. “Are you serious right now? You folded faster than origami.”

Sunghoon scoffed. “You’re pathetic. No wonder he bosses you around all the time.”

“HEY,” Jay cried, indignant, “it’s called supporting my boyfriend! Plus you should ALL thank Wonie for taking the time to organize these things. It’s not like you have other friends.”

“I actually do!” Sunoo cut in. Sunghoon just rolled his eyes.

Jungwon, unbothered, flipped a page in his planner. “Also, Heeseung hyung invited us. He’s the one who booked the village.”

Jake nearly spit out his drink. “Heeseung hyung is going?!” His entire demeanor flipped like a switch. “Wow, what an amazing idea. Hanok village! Tea ceremonies! Sign me up. I love culture.”

The table howled.

Jungwon smirked smugly and caught Sunoo’s eye across the booth. They shared a knowing look.

Now only Sunghoon was unmoved, arms crossed. “Yeah, well, I’d rather just spend the weekend working here than doing a glorified history project.”

As if on cue, his co-worker at the counter chirped out in the brightest customer service voice possible: “WELCOME TO EN-CAFÉ! HOW CAN I MAKE YOUR DAY BRIGHTER?”

Sunghoon froze. His eye twitched. Then he whipped back to Jungwon. “Actually NO. GET ME OUT OF HERE, JUNGWON. PLEASE. I’LL DO ANYTHING ELSE.”

Jay laughed so hard, the table beside them looked at him warily. Jake almost fell off the booth laughing. Sunoo snorted pumpkin spice foam up his nose.

Jungwon didn’t even look up from his planner. “So it’s settled. Hanok village.”

🍂🍂🍂

The low growl of an engine announced itself before they even saw it.

A sleek black SUV rolled up to the curb, tires crunching on autumn leaves. The driver’s window slid down, revealing Heeseung grinning behind a pair of aviators.

“Hop in, losers,” he said. “Road trip time.”

The six of them erupted.

“Heeseung hyung!” Jake lit up as if someone had plugged him into an outlet, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet.

Jungwon clasped his hands. “Hyuuuuuung. You look like you just drove straight out of a car ad.”

“Because he did,” Jay muttered.

Then—

“SHOTGUN!” Sunoo yelled.

“SHOTGUN!” Sunghoon shouted about three microseconds later, already scowling.

They froze. Sunoo’s triumphant smirk met Sunghoon’s thunderous glare.

“I called it first,” Sunoo sing-songed.

“You barely beat me! I was right behind you!” Sunghoon snapped.

“Well, I still called it first,” Sunoo sniffed, flipping his hair, “I’m giving it to Jake hyung.”

“What?!” Sunghoon’s voice cracked. “You can’t gift shotgun! That doesn’t exist!”

“There is now,” Sunoo said smugly.

“There’s NOT,” Sunghoon barked, spinning toward the others. “Guys, back me up. Gifting shotgun is not allowed!”

Ni-ki didn’t look up from his phone. “Seriously, you’re fighting over this? I’ll sit shotgun and strangle whoever argues if it appeases you both.”

Jay was wheezing. “God, I wish he meant that.”

“Sunoo, really, it’s fine, I’ll just sit in the back—” Jake started, pink in the face.

“Just get in the front, Jake hyung," Jungwon said smoothly.

Sunoo nodded with a small, knowing smile.

Sunghoon was still fuming, red in the face. “I was second to call dibs, which means by law of dibs hierarchy, I should—”

Before he could finish, Sunoo’s hand shot out, warm fingers curling around his wrist. He tugged firmly, pulling Sunghoon a step back toward the rear seats. “Come on, hyung. You and me. Back seat.”

It wasn’t much—just a simple pull—but for Sunghoon it was like someone had yanked the plug on his brain. He blinked once. Twice. His mouth opened, closed, then opened again, producing absolutely no words.

“So Sunghoon actually knows how to shut up?” Jay whispered loudly, already pointing his camera phone like a wildlife documentarian.

But Sunghoon couldn’t even glare at him. All he could feel was the warmth of Sunoo’s hand lingering against his skin, his pulse hammering so hard he was sure it was visible. “You—uh—I…” He cleared his throat, tried again. Nothing coherent came out.

Sunoo glanced back at him with a raised brow. “Just come sit here, I’ll explain on the way.”

The worst part was that his voice was casual, breezy, like holding Sunghoon’s hand was nothing at all.

Sunghoon yanked his wrist back too late, cheeks burning. “Tch. Whatever. Fine. Back seat. Not because you told me to. Because I want to.”

“Sure hyung,” Sunoo said, already sliding into the back row with a little victorious smile tugging at his lips.

🍂🍂🍂

The SUV doors slammed one by one until they were packed like sardines.

Jay and Jungwon squeezed into the middle row; Jungwon immediately cracked open his planner on his lap, and went on about their planned activities. Jay was already scrolling Pinterest for “Hanok Aesthetic Couple Photoshoot Ideas.”

Ni-ki sat beside them, posture straight, chewing his gummy worms one by one, each bite looked like an execution.

Heeseung adjusted his mirrors. “Sorry about the squeeze, guys. Didn’t know our group expanded.”

Jake perked up immediately. “Oh, right! That’s Ni-ki, hyung, my new roommate. Thought it would be fun to invite him as well.”

Heeseung raised an eyebrow, flashing a grin. “Oh? I just graduated this spring and I’m not your favorite roommate anymore, Jakey?”

Jake, already red as a tomato, flailed. “N-no, no, you’re both great! Equal roommates! Roommate equality!”

“Roommate equality,” Jay laughed. “That’s going on a t-shirt.”

From the driver’s seat, Heeseung chuckled low. “Relax, Jake. I’m just joking.”

And in the very back, Sunghoon and Sunoo were crammed shoulder to shoulder, their knees bumping. Sunghoon was dying. Absolutely dying.

“Everyone buckled?” Heeseung asked.

“Seatbelt, Romeo,” Jay teased.

“I’M BUCKLED,” Jake squeaked.

Heeseung smirked and turned the music up, some mellow indie playlist.

Ni-ki immediately unplugged his earphones and muttered, “Turn this snoozefest off. Play something demonic.”

“What do you mean demonic?” Jungwon asked, horrified.

“Slipknot,” Ni-ki said simply.

Jay clutched his chest. “I respect people’s music preferences but absolutely not.”

Heeseung laughed. “Compromise. I’ve got 2000s k-pop bangers.”

“YES, HYUNG,” Sunoo shouted from the back, smacking Sunghoon’s thigh in his excitement. “Play the throwbacks!”

Sunghoon flinched at the contact. “D-don’t hit me!”

But Sunoo wasn’t listening. He was leaning closer, so close Sunghoon could feel his breath against his ear. “Listen,” Sunoo whispered, low enough only he could hear. “Won and I… we’re trying to help Jake hyung. You get it, right? That’s why I gave him shotgun.”

Sunghoon stiffened. Of course it wasn’t about me.

Still, the whisper was warm, curling into his ear, making his face burn hotter and hotter.

Sunoo pulled back just a little, grinning. “So don’t fight me on it, okay, hyung?”

Sunghoon swallowed hard, ears blazing red. He tried for snark, but all that came out was a strangled, “Y-you’re sitting too close.”

“Not my fault!” Sunoo chirped, squirming in the cramped seat until their thighs pressed even closer. “Blame Heeseung hyung’s car. Or maybe your shoulders for being too broad.”

Sunghoon turned to glare at the window.

Meanwhile, up front, Jake was white-knuckling his seatbelt as Heeseung hummed along to the stereo. Every smile Heeseung threw his way had Jake internally screaming.

🍂🍂🍂

The SUV rolled into the hanok village as the late afternoon sun turned the rooftops into silhouettes of ink and fire. Fallen leaves swirled across the path as Heeseung parked, and the group spilled out onto the gravel, stretching cramped limbs. The air smelled faintly of woodsmoke, sharp with autumn cold.

Almost immediately, Jungwon opened his planner, announcing the itinerary he’d spent weeks curating. Nobody listened. Jay and Sunoo were already taking too many photos, Jake nearly tripped over the bags being dropped by Sunghoon, and Ni-ki stood completely still, black hoodie pulled tight, surveying the centuries-old rooftops.

The first stop was the hanbok rental house. Within minutes, the group transformed into a mismatched cast of a sageuk drama. Jay draped himself in jewel-toned silk, striking poses in every mirror he passed and pulling Jungwon into various cute couple shots he’d bookmarked from Pinterest earlier. Sunoo spun circles in pastel sleeves as he declared himself “a flower spirit reborn.” Sunghoon, buttoned into somber navy, looked like he was attending a funeral, while Jake fumbled with his sash until Heeseung fixed it for him with easy hands, leaving Jake redder than the autumn foliage.

Later came the tea ceremony. They knelt on floor cushions as the host demonstrated each graceful movement. Jungwon mirrored every detail with reverence but failed to keep his composure while seeing his friends butcher the supposed “serene” tea-drinking posture, Jay immediately scalded himself, and Jake drank too quickly and burned his tongue. Sunoo couldn’t stop laughing until Sunghoon jabbed him in the ribs beneath the table.

The afternoon was spent wandering through groves of crimson maples and golden ginkgo. Jay staged photo after photo beneath the branches while Jungwon tried—and failed—to wrangle him. “We’re here to appreciate nature, hyung,” Jungwon scolded.

Ni-ki trudged ahead, marching through piles of leaves with heavy, deliberate stomps. Every crunch was violent, every scatter purposeful. His face remained stone cold, but the methodical way he kicked up each mound made it obvious he was having the time of his life.

Heeseung lingered behind with his camera, capturing wide shots of golden canopies and wooden rooftops. Sometimes Jake wandered into frame without realizing, and every time Heeseung lowered the lens with a smile, Jake’s brain blue-screened, heart pounding so hard he nearly tripped over roots.

Meanwhile, Sunoo and Sunghoon had managed to turn the peaceful hike into their usual constant chaotic back and forth.

“Look at this one,” Sunoo said, pressing a scarlet leaf against Sunghoon’s shoulder. “It matches your aura, dull and dying.”

Sunghoon swatted it away. “That’s literally just decomposition. Congratulations, Sunoo, you discovered science.”

The rest of the group didn’t even blink. Jay simply angled his mirror selfie to crop them out. Jungwon sighed as if they were just background noise he’d factored into the schedule. Jake muttered polite “mmhmms” every few minutes just to seem like he was engaged, even though he was busy trying not to combust every time his and Heeseung’s shoulders bump along the hike.

As the night deepened, the group gathered in the central courtyard of their guesthouse. The local guide stood before them, a man with weathered hands and a voice smoothed by years of retelling.

“This village,” he began, “was not built merely for living. It was raised as a place of passage. A place where the world of the living and the unseen draw close.”

The air seemed to grow colder as he spoke. Even Ni-ki, mid-scroll on his phone, glanced up.

He told them of the scholars who once sought wisdom beneath these roofs, who left behind ink-stained prayers on parchment tucked into crevices of the walls. Of monks who carved blessings into its stones, believing that words engraved here carried double weight. Of families who whispered petitions at the harvest moon, claiming that whatever they wished here—be it for love, for fortune, or for clarity—often found its way to them before winter ended.

“Of course,” the guide continued, his eyes glinting in the lanternlight, “not all gifts are gentle. Some awoke with knowledge they did not want. Secrets from others’ hearts. Burdens they were not meant to carry. That is the nature of this place… it does not choose wisely. It only reveals.”

The group shifted. Jake glanced nervously at Heeseung, who was calmly sipping his tea. Jay leaned into Jungwon and whispered dramatically, “This is how horror movies start.” Jungwon elbowed him.

But Sunoo—Sunoo was spellbound. His wide eyes reflected the lanternlight, every word sinking into him. He clutched his sleeves tight around him, heart hammering at the thought of a village that granted miracles.

The guide smiled faintly, as though he’d seen that look before. “So if you dream strangely tonight,” he said, lowering his voice until it nearly blended with the autumn wind, “do not be alarmed. It is simply the house listening. Simply the spirits remembering you.”

Most of the group snorted. Sunghoon just crossed his arms, unimpressed. Miracles didn’t exist. The only thing spiritual here was overpriced tea.

🍂🍂🍂

By the time the guide finished, night had settled fully across the village. The group, stomachs growling, quickly set about turning the evening into a feast.

Jay and Ni-ki took charge of the grill. Jay tied his hanbok sleeves neatly out of the way, tongs snapping with practiced flair. “Alright, children. Watch and learn.”

Ni-ki, however, immediately slapped three slabs of meat onto the fire all at once, pressing them down flat until fat hissed violently.

“Yah! Don’t murder it like that,” Jay snapped, swatting at him with his tongs. “You’re supposed to sear, not incinerate!”

Ni-ki didn’t even look up. “This is how we do it in Japan, hyung.”

Jay clutched his chest. “Well, this is Korea! You follow my rules.”

Ni-ki poked the meat once, then twice, flipping it before Jay could stop him. The juices bled out immediately. Jay screamed. “You flipped it too early! Now it’s ruined forever!”

“Still edible,” Ni-ki said flatly, already reaching for more meat.

From the side, Jungwon was getting frustrated. “Why did I even—forget it. Just… just don’t burn down the hanok.” He crouched over the rice cooker and just did his assigned task silently.

Meanwhile, Heeseung and Jake were stationed over a bubbling pot of ramyeon on the portable burner they’d set up in the corner. Steam curled into the night air, fragrant and comforting. Heeseung broke the noodles apart with practiced ease, movements steady and unhurried. Jake hovered beside him, eyes narrowed in deep concentration, as if one wrong move might collapse the universe.

“Did you put the flavor packet in yet?” Heeseung asked, tilting his head toward the unopened foil sitting by Jake’s elbow.

Jake froze mid-stir, horror dawning on his face. “The… the flavor packet?”

Heeseung’s laugh was easy and warm. He reached over and tore it open himself, shaking the powder into the rolling broth. “Some things never change,” he said with a grin.

Jake blinked. “Huh?”

“Remember when I first brought that little camping stove so we wouldn’t have to keep running to the convenience store?” Heeseung stirred the pot lazily, eyes distant with fondness. “You burned the ramyeon. Twice. I didn’t even know that was possible.”

Jake’s ears went pink. “That—okay, that was one time. And I had a paper due—”

“It was two times,” Heeseung teased, grinning wider. “But you made up for it. You cut green onions like a pro. That’s why I kept you around.”

Jake’s heart lurched so violently he nearly dropped the ladle. “Kept me around? What… what’s that supposed to mean?”

Heeseung chuckled again, this time softer, stirring the beaten egg into the water with a steady rhythm. “We’re partners in crime. Couldn’t have late night ramyeon without you. I kinda miss it, though, maybe you should visit me sometimes, Jake.”

Jake’s face turned the shade of the chili powder dissolving into the broth. He scrambled to say something, anything, but the words got stuck somewhere between his racing pulse and his throat. Instead, he reached for the ladle, and Heeseung let him stir, their hands brushing for a fleeting second.

At the far end of the courtyard, Sunoo and Sunghoon were given the simple task of gathering fresh greens from the guesthouse garden. It should’ve been easy.

It wasn’t.

“You’re picking weeds,” Sunghoon muttered, holding up a perfect head of lettuce. “This is lettuce. What you’re holding looks like rabbit food.”

Sunoo clutched his bundle of perilla leaves to his chest. “Excuse you, these have healing properties. Good for digestion. Good for the soul.”

“It’s literally a weed.”

They were mid-bicker when the bushes beside them rustled. Both froze.

Then the leaves trembled again.

Sunoo’s eyes went wide. “...That bush just moved.”

Sunghoon deadpanned, “It’s a bush. Probably just a squirrel.”

The bush rustled louder.

Sunoo squeaked, dropped his perilla leaves, and latched onto Sunghoon’s arm like his life depended on it. “HYUNG IT’S AN ANGRY SPIRIT! YOU HEARD THE LOCAL GUIDE EARLIER!”

Sunghoon went stiff as a board, ears turning red. “It’s—not—a spirit,” he stammered, his voice breaking halfway up his register. “It’s probably—a raccoon—”

The bush shook violently.

Sunoo screamed at a pitch only dogs could hear and buried his face against Sunghoon’s shoulder. “NOPE, HE’S MAD. GOODBYE WORLD. TELL JUNGWON HE CAN HAVE MY KEYCHAIN COLLECTION.”

A stray cat exploded out of the shrub, bolting into the dark.

Sunghoon exhaled, sagging in relief. “See? It’s just a cat.”

Sunoo peeked up slowly, still clutching him. His eyes narrowed then he sighed. “…You were scared too.”

“I was not.”

“You were definitely scared. Your voice cracked. It was hilarious.”

Sunghoon tore his arm free. “Shut up and pick the damn lettuce.”

🍂🍂🍂

Dinner was a mess, but somehow they survived it. The grilled meat (half-charred, half-perfect) was piled high thanks to Jay’s iron will and Ni-ki’s brute efficiency. The rice steamed golden under Jungwon’s careful supervision. The ramyeon was heavenly—partly because Heeseung had a magic touch with broth, partly because Jake looked like he’d die of joy just inhaling it. And the lettuce? A little crushed, a little dirty, but edible, which was all Sunghoon would admit after their “angry spirit” debacle.

By the time the food disappeared, soju bottles were already making the rounds. The group sprawled around the low wooden table in the guesthouse common room, red-cheeked from drink and laughter.

“Alright,” Heeseung said, voice carrying over the chaos. “Serious question now. If you could have a superpower for just one day, which would be the best? Invisibility, levitation, mind reading, or teleportation?”

The table practically ignited. This was exactly the kind of dumb, high-stakes nonsense their group lived for.

“Invisibility!” Jake shouted immediately, way too loud. “Think of the possibilities! Sneaking into concerts, skipping lines, free food!”

“Invisibility is creepy,” Ni-ki added darkly. “That’s just for perverts, hyung.”

“IT’S NOT CREEPY!” Jake yelled, face scarlet. “I WOULD USE IT RESPONSIBLY!”

“Uh huh.” Ni-ki calmly raised his glass. “Mine’s levitation. That way I could drop things on people’s heads.”

Jay nodded eagerly. “Yes! Same. Levitation is the best option. Imagine the photos you can take from up there!”

“You’d die in a powerline, hyung,” Jungwon muttered. “Plus… you do know levitation isn’t flying, right? It’s… floating. Like a balloon.”

Jay froze. “…Wait.”

“Yeah,” Jungwon continued mercilessly. “No wind currents, no propulsion. Just… up and down.”

“NOOOO,” Jay groaned, clutching his head. “I thought it meant flying! Like Superman!”

Ni-ki frowned. “...So I’d just hover?”

“Like a human drone,” Sunoo said cheerfully.

Ni-ki looked personally betrayed. “…That’s useless.”

Jay slammed the table. “Okay, I revoke my answer!”

Sunoo raised his hand like they were in class. “Teleportation. Easy. Skip traffic, skip class, skip life. Just poof.”

Heeseung grinned and clinked his cup to Sunoo’s. “Teleportation bros. Think about it—late night runs to Jeju. Or, like, Tokyo. Then Europe.”

Jake’s soul visibly left his body at the thought of being excluded from Heeseung’s teleportation adventures.

“Hold on,” Jungwon cut in. “You’re all being reckless. Remember, it’s only for one day. Which means the smart choice is something that gives you value after it’s gone.”

Jay blinked. “How do you get ‘value’ from a one day power?”

“Simple,” Jungwon said. “Mind reading. You spend the whole day gathering information—what people really think of you, who’s lying, who’s hiding something—and you use that knowledge for the rest of your life.”

The table actually fell quiet.

“…That’s terrifying,” Sunoo whispered.

“It’s genius,” Sunghoon cut in, arms crossed. “I’d pick mind reading too.” His tone was calm, analytical. “If you like someone, you can check if they like you back.”

Chaos, the others immediately dogpiled.

“Okay, but what if…” Sunoo’s eyes were big, glossy with drink. “What if you read someone’s mind and found out they didn’t like you back? Like, you like them, but they don’t like you. Wouldn’t that be sad?”

Sunghoon blinked at him. The room felt a little smaller. “Then I’d give up,” he said simply. “At least I’d know already. No wasted effort.”

Jungwon nodded firmly. “Efficient. I support this logic.”

Sunoo pouted, shaking his head. “That’s too sad. I don’t like it. Knowing for sure? It would hurt too much.”

For a second, Sunghoon just looked at him, throat tight. Then he forced himself to glance away, swirling his drink. The others hadn’t noticed the shift, still caught up in their own spiral.

Sunghoon cleared his throat and leaned forward, redirecting. “Well, teleportation isn’t what you think it is either. Instant travel means breaking your body into particles and reassembling them somewhere else. That’s catastrophic for your cells. You’d basically be fried every time you moved.”

“Fried?” Jay yelped.

“Deep fried,” Sunghoon confirmed, dead serious. “Your DNA would be scrambled eggs.”

Jay looked horrified. “Why would you say that while I’m drunk?! Now I can’t stop picturing it!”

“Teleportation is CANCELLED,” Jungwon announced.

“Hey!” Sunoo slapped the table. “Teleportation is perfect! You just don’t have the IQ—or the vibes—to understand!”

That set everyone off again, voices crashing over each other. Heeseung just laughed into his cup, completely unbothered, while Jake, beside him, was still defending his “wholesome” invisibility.

Ni-ki muttered solemnly, “I’m changing my answer to pyrokinesis. I want to set this table on fire.”

“Denied,” Jungwon said. “Only choose from the four options.”

“Who made you God?” Ni-ki shot back.

“Me,” Jungwon replied smoothly, pouring himself more drink.

Heeseung leaned back, grinning lazily into his cup. “I like watching democracy collapse.”

Through it all, Sunghoon sat quiet again, gaze flicking toward Sunoo, his earlier words echoing in his head: At least I’d know already.

🍂🍂🍂

The morning after was cruel.

Sunghoon cracked one eye open, instantly regretting it. His skull throbbed like someone was playing drums inside his head. The paper walls of the hanok let in too much autumn light, sharp as knives across his eyelids. He groaned, rolled over, and immediately regretted that too.

The courtyard echoed faintly with the sounds of early risers—Jungwon sweeping somewhere, Jay muttering curses about stiff futons, Ni-ki crunching on potato chips for breakfast. Everything was too loud. Too much.

And underneath all of it—another layer. A low hum of… chatter? Muffled, overlapping, like a radio not quite tuned. Where’s my charger? Never drinking again. I’m hungry. Did I die. I hope I died. Ramyeon for breakfast?

“Shut up,” he croaked to no one in particular, sitting up too fast. The hanok tilted, steadied. He shoved his hair back, shoved his feet into slippers, and staggered into the courtyard.

Jake was crouched by the koi pond. Hair sticking up in various directions. He looked like a golden retriever that had lost—and immediately found—its way home.

Clear as day, Sunghoon heard it: Hmm, I wish I brought fishing gear with me today.

Sunghoon squinted. “Fishing?” he muttered, voice gravel. “I don’t think we’d be better at it today than last time. We didn’t catch anything then, remember?”

Jake’s head snapped up. Then he beamed. “Oh my gosh, you’re thinking about fishing too?!”

Sunghoon blinked. “I’m… not thinking—You just said—”

“Great minds think alike!” Jake laughed, delighted. “We should try later! Not at the koi pond,” he added solemnly to the fish. “You’re safe.”

Sunghoon stared. He could’ve sworn he’d heard Jake say it. Out loud. Words. Sound waves. Mouth moving. He pinched the bridge of his nose. Hangovers had echoes now? Great.

The noise swelled again, a flood through the cracks.

Do we have coffee or do I die here.

If Jay hyung posts that angle I’m breaking up with him.

Heeseung hyung’s shirt smells like cotton candy—stop thinking that, idiot, stop—

“Can everyone keep it down?” Sunghoon snapped, louder than intended.

They all glanced over.

“It’s quiet, hyung,” Jungwon said, baffled.

The humming followed, soft and insistent, and he decided—firmly—that people were just mumbling. Thin walls. Weird acoustics. Ancient house. Sunghoon poured water and tried not to notice that the kettle hiss sounded exactly like the voices did in his head—too loud, too close, too real.

He was hungover. Obviously.

It was the only explanation that made any sense.

🍂🍂🍂

Jay clattered around the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, and prepared breakfast for six hung over men.

“Breakfast! I am a provider!” he declared, dramatically flipping an omelet. “You can all thank my mom for birthing me.”

“Provider of salmonella,” Ni-ki muttered from the corner, still crunching on his chips.

“Shut up, you corpse child,” Jay shot back. “These eggs are farm fresh!”

“Bought from the convenience store last night,” Jungwon corrected without looking up from preparing the table.

Sunghoon dragged himself to the table. The humming was still there—muffled thoughts sliding under his skull like static electricity.

God, I hope the rice I cooked was enough.

I wonder if Heeseung hyung still likes banana milk or if he grew out of it—stop stop STOP. Should I confess today?

Wow, Jay hyung actually knows how to cook. This is nice.

Sunghoon squeezed his eyes shut. Just a hangover. Just splitting headache. Ignore it.

Then the sliding door rattled, and in breezed Sunoo, hair fluffy from sleep, face glowing far too cheerfully for someone who’d been knocking back soju the night before.

“Oh no,” Sunghoon muttered automatically.

“Good morning, roomies of the universe!” Sunoo announced, arms thrown wide. “I dreamt I was a carrot last night. What do you think that means?”

Sunghoon groaned into his hands. “That you’re insane.”

Jay perked up. “Maybe it means you need more Vitamin A?”

Jungwon swatted at his arm.

But the worst part wasn’t Sunoo’s actual words, it was the sudden, crystal clear thought that shot through Sunghoon’s head the moment Sunoo sat down beside him and checked his reflection with the spoon.

I hope my hair looks okay. Not that people care. But Sunghoon hyung probably thinks I look stupid. He always thinks I look stupid.

Sunghoon’s head jerked up. “I do not!”

Sunoo blinked at him. “...You do not what?”

“You don’t look stupid!” Sunghoon blurted, voice way too loud.

The table froze. Even Ni-ki stopped chewing.

Sunoo squinted at him, suspicious. “...I never said I do.”

Sunghoon’s stomach dropped. His ears burned. He scrambled for a cover. “Well—you usually look stupid, but, uh, not today, I guess.”

The table erupted. Jay cackled. Jungwon just sighed, exasperated with his friends’ childish antics.

Ni-ki said flatly, “That was weird. Even by my own standards.”

But Sunoo just pouted, cheeks puffing out. “Wow. Thanks.”

And just like that, the noise roared back—Sunoo’s voice again, but not from his lips, sliding inside Sunghoon’s head. Why does he always have to say things like that? It’s like he hates me.

Sunghoon’s chest clenched. He blinked fast. Hard. He wasn’t sure if being hungover was the real problem anymore.

🍂🍂🍂

They packed the hanok fast, chaotic, no one admitting who broke what.

Jay barked orders while photographing everything (“For the memories. And the deposit, in case they accuse us of vandalism.”). Jungwon triple-checked everything, the trash, the bedding, and then his friends’ pockets for any stolen items. Heeseung loaded the SUV with calm competence. Jake hovered, trying to look useful while not breathing too close to Heeseung’s neck.

Sunghoon moved slower. His head was a dull aquarium—thoughts drifting like fish. Not words, not really. Just noise that sometimes sharpened and said thoughts he wasn’t sure belonged to him.

It’s just a flu coming on, he told himself. A dumb autumn cold with premium side effects.

He took a breath, shouldered the last tote. The courtyard looked cleaner than they’d found it, the lanterns pale in the weak morning light. If he concentrated, the static softened. Not gone. Just… muffled.

By the gate, the local guide retrieved from Jungwon the key bundle and accepted the envelope with their payment. They spoke quietly, polite bows and thank yous. Then the guide’s gaze lifted and landed on Sunghoon.

It was just a look. But it hit heavily.

The man’s face flickered—surprise, recognition, a pinch of something almost wary—before smoothing into a smile. He bowed deeper than necessary. “Safe travels,” he said to the group, but his eyes hadn’t left Sunghoon. “May your… heads be clear on the road back.”

Sunghoon blinked. Okay? He glanced over his shoulder to see if someone taller and more cursed was behind him. Nothing. He managed a stiff bow back. “Thanks,” he muttered, voice abrasively normal.

The guide’s smile tipped even stranger. “It listens best to those who swear they don’t believe,” he murmured, so soft it could have been the wind—then bowed once more to Jungwon, turned, and slipped through the gate.

Sunghoon stood there a beat too long, tote digging into his shoulder. His stomach swooped in a way that had nothing to do with carsickness.

“Hyung!” Sunoo’s voice materialized at his elbow. “You coming or what? They said we’ll retain the old seating arrangement. Also, Jungwon says if we leave in two minutes, we’ll miss traffic by twelve years.”

Sunghoon startled. “Yeah. I—yeah.” He started walking, brain chanting: Flu. Hangover. Weird old man. Ancient house acoustics. Definitely not—

He flinched. “Nope,” he said out loud, to absolutely no one.

Sunoo peered up at him, curious. “Are you doing affirmations?”

“It’s nothing.”

Jungwon did a headcount. “Everyone already peed? Everyone alive? Jake hyung, seatbelt. Sunghoon hyung—” His voice softened a hair. “You good?”

“I’m fine,” Sunghoon lied.

You look pale, Jungwon’s voice said—except Jungwon’s mouth didn’t move. It was in Sunghoon’s skull, tired and fond. He probably didn’t sleep enough. I’ll make him tea later.

Sunghoon forced a nod, throat tight. “I said I’m fine.”

Jungwon blinked, then smiled once, and climbed into the middle row.

Sunoo had already claimed the back seat, legs tucked up. He patted the spot beside him with infuriating cheer. “Your throne awaits, sire.”

Sunghoon slid in. Their knees touched. His pulse ricocheted. He shut the door. Instant hush.

The car smelled like leftover smoke and Sunoo’s laundry detergent. He listened for the static—waiting for it to swell.

For a second, just quiet.

Then, like a radio unmuted: He’s so grumpy in the morning. Whatever. Don’t think about that. Think about your dream, what could it mean? But I should probably text hyung later. No, I shouldn’t. Ugh.

Sunghoon stared straight ahead. “Shouldn’t?”

Sunoo turned slowly. “What?”

“Nothing,” Sunghoon said too fast. “Shut up.”

Sunoo burst out laughing, delighted for no reason. “You’re so weird today. I love it.”

Up front, Heeseung checked mirrors. “Everyone ready to go home?”

The SUV rolled forward, gravel crunching under the tires. The hanok roofs dipped out of view. Sunghoon kept his eyes on the road ahead, knuckles white on his knees, and told himself it would all fade by the time they hit the highway, urging himself to sleep.

🍂🍂🍂

Sunghoon didn’t go to bed when they got back to campus. He went to war with his browser.

By 1:12 AM, his laptop screen was a constellation of tabs: “Telepathy meta-analysis”, “Functional brain imaging of telepathy”, “TELEPATHY COULD BE REAL”, and a shameful WebMD tab he kept alt-tabbing away from like it was porn. Every time the dorm’s radiator clicked, he flinched.

Jay was asleep in the other bed, face smushed into his pillow, snoring like a tiny lawnmower. The blue glow painted the ceiling, and Sunghoon hunched closer, the way he did before physics midterms, only this time the formula was: If A (mind voices) and B (zero belief) then C (???).

He started a note.

Working Hypothesis:

• Not psychic. Obviously.
• Hangover + sleep deprivation = auditory misperception.
• Cognitive priming from last night’s debate; could be placebo telepathy
• People mutter. (Even if their mouths… weren’t… moving.)

He winced and scrolled.

He skimmed experiments about the Ganzfeld method, early parapsychology, replication failures, p-hacking. He muttered at the screen impatiently. “Small sample sizes. Bad stats. Garbage.”

He opened a neuroscience review on inner voices and how the brain sometimes mislabels it as external.

Inner speech misattribution.

Okay. Better. That felt like a coat he could wear.

The voices had been… exact, though. Crisp, like a phone call piped into his skull.

He took a breath, forced the memory back, Jake by the koi pond—wish I brought fishing gear, Sunoo at breakfast—it’s like he hates me—and yet they were not saying anything at all.

He clicked another paper. Mirror neurons.

Then a blog post about “electromagnetic fields of the heart.”

He sat back, horrified at himself. “Get a grip,” he whispered. “Next you’ll be buying crystals from Sunoo.”

His gaze drifted to Jay, starfished and drooling. Sunghoon grabbed the nearest metal object—a pasta strainer from Jay’s kitchenette—and held it over his head. A budget Faraday cage. He waited.

Silence.

Then, faintly, like a radio from the next room, Soobin’s clear voice: I should sleep now, the history test can suck it.

Sunghoon yanked the colander off and flung it to the floor. “Nope,” he hissed. “Science says no.”

He shut the laptop halfway, then opened it again, because stopping felt like admitting something mystical had happened and he was allergic to mysticism. He googled placebo and cognition and fell into a rabbit hole about expectancy effects. “Yes,” he told the screen quietly. “Exactly. I primed myself. The debate primed me. This is a cognitive afterimage.”

Sunghoon lay back down. “Placebo,” he told the empty air. “Just a very… powerful… placebo.”

He folded an arm over his eyes. In the dark, he could almost still feel warm hands clutched on his wrist and cheeks pressed against his shoulder.

“Tomorrow,” he murmured. “We test it. We break it.”

His phone buzzed on the nightstand.

Sunoo: hyung

Sunoo: u promised to tutor me for my upcoming chem exam, remember?

Sunoo: i’ll come by the cafe tomorrow. thank u hyung hope ur feeling better u seemed out of it earlier

Sunghoon stared at the glowing chat bubbles until the words blurred. His thumb hovered over the keyboard, then retreated. What was he supposed to say—Sorry, can’t, I’m too busy hallucinating your inner thoughts?

Instead he typed back the safest thing possible.

To Sunoo: Fine. 3pm. Don’t be late.

The dots appeared immediately. Then vanished. Then appeared again. Sunghoon clenched his jaw. Typical. Sunoo could write entire essays in class group chats but suddenly forgot how to form a sentence when replying to him—

Sunoo: yey ok ^^ <3 <3 <3

He let the phone fall face down, and finally, finally, sleep took him, while autumn wind fussed at the dorm window and the universe, perhaps, leaned in to listen.

Tomorrow couldn’t come fast enough.

🍂🍂🍂

Sunghoon did not show up to class that morning.

He did not show up to anything, really, except the idea that his brain might be haunted. Luckily, he did not have a work shift later.

Instead, he texted Jake.

Sunghoon: Medical emergency. Dorm. Don’t tell anyone. Bring your brain.

Jake: ??? on my way 🏃

By the time Jake knocked, Sunghoon had transformed their dorm desk into a science lab, laptop open to a half-finished document, scrap paper covered in equations, and, inexplicably, the pasta strainer still sitting beside his bed.

Jake walked in practically glowing. His sweatshirt wasn’t zipped, his sneakers weren’t tied, his grin was criminal.

Sunghoon narrowed his eyes. “Why are you… disgustingly happy right now?”

Jake blinked. “What? I’m not—”

WELL, Heeseung hyung held my hand before I hopped out of the car yesterday and he didn’t let go right away.

Sunghoon’s jaw slackened. “You—what?”

Jake went red, fast. “WHAT?”

“You just thought about Heeseung hyung holding your hand yesterday.”

Jake choked so hard he nearly fell over. “HOW DO YOU KNOW THAT. Did Jay tell you?! I swore—no, I swore to God I thought Jay noticed but he acted like he didn’t—”

“Jay didn’t tell me.” Sunghoon folded his arms. “I heard it.”

Jake froze. “You… heard it. Like… eavesdropping?”

“Not heard heard.” Sunghoon jabbed a finger at his own temple. “In here.”

Jake stared at him like he’d just claimed to be the reincarnation of Jesus Christ. Then he burst out laughing. “Oh my gosh, you’re sleep-deprived again, aren’t you? You’ve been pulling physics all nighters and now you think you’re Professor X.”

“I’m serious.” Sunghoon leaned forward, intensity radiating. “You were happy because Heeseung hyung held your hand. I only know that because your brain yelled it.”

Jake slapped both hands over his ears. “NO. Nope. Telepathy is not real. You just—you probably—uh—” He whipped out his phone. “I’m texting Jay. This is above my pay grade.”

“Don’t you dare.” Sunghoon snatched it right out of his hands. “We’re testing this.”

Jake blinked. “Testing?”

“Yes.” Sunghoon shoved a notebook and pen toward him. “Think of a number. Don’t say it. Write it down. Seal it like the freaking nuclear codes. If I guess it, you shut up forever. If I don’t, then fine, I’m insane, you can laugh, whatever.”

Jake hesitated. Then he sighed and grabbed the pen. “Fine. But when you fail, I’m telling everyone you built a whole lab about this.”

Sunghoon rolled his shoulders. “Let’s begin.”

Jake hunched over the notebook like it was the CSATs, tongue sticking out slightly as he scribbled a number and slammed the cover shut. “Okay. Got it. What am I thinking?”

Sunghoon narrowed his eyes. The room was quiet except for the faint hum of the radiator. Then there it was. A stray pulse, soft and sheepish: Seven. Lucky number. Duh.

“Seven,” Sunghoon said flatly.

Jake’s head shot up. “...No.”

“You’re lying.”

Jake flipped the notebook open. Written in fat block letters: 7.

“OH MY GOSH—” Jake clutched his chest. “How did you—what the—no. Nope. Coincidence.” He scribbled again. “Round two.”

This time the hum in Sunghoon’s head was louder, almost smug: Eighty five. He’ll never guess this one. Too random.

“Eighty five.”

Jake SCREAMED. “STOP. STOP IT. HOW ARE YOU DOING THAT.” He tossed the notebook across the room.

Sunghoon smirked. “Told you.”

“No. No, no, no.” Jake paced, running both hands through his hair. “You’re hacking me. This is hacking. You bugged the room. You—you put cameras—”

“Jake, it’s your brain, not an ipad,” Sunghoon deadpanned.

Jake pointed dramatically. “AGAIN. One more.”

He grabbed the notebook, scribbled furiously, slammed it shut so hard the desk rattled. His thoughts flared. Sixty nine. Nice. He’ll choke on this one.

Sunghoon pinched the bridge of his nose. “...Really? Sixty nine? What are you, twelve?”

🍂🍂🍂

By noon, the dorm looked even more like a crime lab. Scraps of notebook paper littered the floor, water bottles were stacked like “control variables,” and Jake was sweating as though they were mid-exam.

“Okay,” Jake said, clapping his hands. “Final round. If you get this, I’m calling NASA.”

He closed his eyes tight, brow furrowed. His thoughts poured out vividly and ridiculously. Picture it. A deer. Behind the wheel of a Maserati. Passenger seat? A bag of cement. Trunk? Fifty pineapples. All blasting ITZY’s Not Shy at full volume.

Sunghoon didn’t even blink. “Deer in a Maserati. Bag of cement shotgun. Pineapples in the trunk. Not shy, not me, ITZY.”

Jake’s eyes flew open. “YOU’RE POSSESSED. YOU’RE A WITCH. GET OUT.”

“You’re the one thinking about a deer in a Maserati,” Sunghoon deadpanned. “Also, I live here.”

Jake collapsed onto the bed, clutching his chest. “Okay. Okay. It’s real. You can actually read my mind. But h-how?” Jake asked weakly, eyes wide.

Sunghoon’s own pulse stuttered. He was just as dumbfounded, but his mouth moved before his brain caught up. “It’s the hanok! I don’t know how—I can’t prove it yet—but the hanok must have been cursed or something.”

Jake stared at him in horror. “Cursed?!”

“Do you have a better explanation?” Sunghoon snapped, running a hand through his hair. “Because I don’t.”

Silence. Heavy. The kind of silence that meant their lives had changed forever.

Then Jake blurted, “So you know what this means?”

Sunghoon braced himself. “…Maybe I should get an MRI?”

“No,” Jake said, eyes shining. “It means you can read Heeseung hyung’s mind for me.”

Sunghoon nearly choked on his own spit. “Excuse me?”

Jake sat up, dead serious now. “Think about it. Last night he—” his brain betrayed him instantly: held my hand before I got out of the car oh my god oh my god oh my god—

“Yeah, that.” Sunghoon cut in flatly. “Congratulations, you’re delusional.”

Jake whined. “I KNEW you were gonna say that! But like… what if you checked?” He looked at Sunghoon with those puppy eyes. “Just a little peek? One quick scan?”

Sunghoon blinked at him. “Absolutely not. That’s unethical.”

“BUT HOON—”

“No. Jake.” Sunghoon’s voice was sharp. “Man up. Just tell him you like him. He might like you back, I mean, he held your hand yesterday, right? That’s it. End of story.”

Jake gaped at him, betrayed. “…Wow. That’s rich coming from you, Mr. ‘I Choose Mind Reading So I Can See If The Person I Like Likes Me Back.’”

Sunghoon froze. “I—”

“Yeah, that’s right,” Jake said, leaning in. “You literally said that in that non-sense drunk debate. I REMEMBER. Mr. Efficiency. Mr. No Wasted Effort. Meanwhile you’re telling me to ‘man up’?”

Sunghoon turned red. “Shut up.”

Jake gasped dramatically. “OH MY GOD. THERE’S SOMEONE YOU LIKE.”

“Shut. Up.”

“WHO IS IT. WHO WHO WHO.” Jake was bouncing on the bed like an overcaffeinated golden retriever, his thoughts firing rapidly: OH MY GOD IT’S SUNOO ISN’T IT—

Sunghoon bolted upright, ears burning red. “TESTING OVER. EXPERIMENT TERMINATED.”

Jake howled with laughter, rolling onto his back. “Hoon, you’re so obvious. I don’t even need to have telepathy skills for this one.”

Sunghoon grabbed a pillow and smacked him in the face with it. Hard.

“Worth it!” Jake wheezed from under the pillow.

Sunghoon’s phone buzzed then. He glanced down.

Sunoo: hyunggg we’re still on for today right

The typing dots appeared, disappeared, then popped back again.

Sunoo: we’re already on our way to the cafe btw :)

Sunghoon’s soul ascended.

Jake leaned over, saw the notification, and nearly fell off the bed cackling. “OHHH my god. Speak of the devil. So… what’s it gonna be, Mr. Ethics?”

Sunghoon squinted. “Don’t.”

Jake clasped his hands, eyes sparkling. “What now? Gonna poke into his brain and see if he likes you back?”

Sunghoon squeezed his phone hard. He wanted to snap, to deny it but the words caught in his throat. Because he had thought about it. More than once. Of several ways to subtly find out whether Sunoo likes someone.

Not just the convenience of knowing, but the safety of it. The shield. If Sunoo didn’t like him back, he could bow out early. No wasted effort, no bruised ego, no slow humiliation of hoping for scraps. Just certainty.

But then that morning, Sunoo’s thought, raw and unflinching. He always thinks I look stupid. That had lodged deep, rattling around in him ever since. He hadn’t wanted to hear that. He’d felt it. The ache of it.

If liking someone meant carrying every unguarded thought they had about you, was certainty even worth it?

“I’m not—” Sunghoon started, ears still blazing.

Jake cut him off, pitching his voice like a documentary narrator. “And here we have the wild hypocrite in his natural habitat, cornered by his own moral compass.”

Sunghoon hurled a pen at his face. Jake dodged, still laughing.

“You have TWO choices,” Jake declared, holding up fingers dramatically. “Option A, you respect boundaries, keep your ethics intact, and spend the whole day suffering in silence while Sunoo’s brain does cartwheels right next to you. OR…” He leaned in, whispering, “Option B, you cheat, peek, and finally answer the age old question—does he think you’re hot or do you just annoy the hell out of him?”

Sunghoon’s jaw clenched so tight. “…Option C. I kill you now and bury you under the campus library.”

Jake grinned, utterly unbothered. “That’s not an option, Hoon. Murder won’t save you from love.”

🍂🍂🍂

By the time the clock hit three, his brain felt like an overstuffed filing cabinet, clattering, spilling, threatening to burst. He was determined to tune everyone out today.

Then the bell above the café door jingled.

Sunoo bounced in. Behind him, Jungwon with his textbooks. And someone else.

A boy with a meek smile, easy posture, shoulders broad but not intimidating—the kind of boy who looked like he’d help old ladies carry groceries just because it made him feel good. His hair fell neatly, his grin open and uncomplicated. The boy-next-door type who probably played guitar at bonfires and asked people about their days like he really cared.

Sunghoon’s stomach dropped. He’d seen the face before, somewhere in Sunoo’s IG stories—birthday selfies, blurry arcade shots. Not that Sunghoon kept track of Sunoo’s Instagram. He just… had eyes. And wifi. And now, apparently, a front row seat to Sunoo’s inner monologue.

Sunoo leaned in, whispering, “Hyung, sorry I brought someone. He heard me and Wonie talking about the tutoring and I couldn’t say no when he asked if he could join.”

And then—like a blade sliding straight into Sunghoon’s skull—

Please don’t be okay with this. Please say you’re busy. If Sungho sees how dumb I am at science he’ll never like me back. Just say no, hyung. Say no.

Not spoken. Not hinted. Just this unguarded panic. Sunoo’s voice—but not his actual speaking voice—pressed tight against Sunghoon’s ribs until it hurt to breathe.

Sunghoon’s pulse stuttered. The café tilted. His vision tunneled around the boy’s shy grin.

Sungho.

Sunoo did not like him. He liked someone else. Of course.

And seriously? Their names were basically the same. Sungho. Sunghoon. Just a letter off. Maybe Sunoo was just… confused. A typo away from the right answer.

The debate, the hypotheticals, it all slammed into place with brutal clarity. He had been afraid of finding out the truth. Now here it was, unasked for, a sentence he couldn’t erase.

His jaw locked so hard it ached. He swallowed the sudden, sour taste in his throat and forced his voice steady. “...Fine. Sit down.”

Sunoo sighed in relief—outwardly. Inwardly, the static was still full of screaming.

Sunghoon sat stiff in his chair, notebook open, pen idle in his hand. He was supposed to be explaining molarity, supposed to be the dependable tutor. Instead, his head buzzed with a thought that wasn’t his.

If Sungho sees how dumb I am at science he’ll never like me back.

The words looped like a scratched CD, every repeat digging deeper.

Conversation with Jake earlier echoed at the edges of his mind: If this is real, don’t use it to pry. Don’t cheat. Don’t take advantage of people. Especially him.

But he hadn’t pried. He hadn’t cheated. The thought had broken into him, sudden and raw, like a door flung open in a storm. He hadn’t asked for it, hadn’t even wanted it. Yet there it was, Sunoo’s heart laid bare, trembling in the quiet between them. Perhaps it shouldn’t have surprised him. That was always Sunoo’s way, wasn’t it? Wearing his heart not just on his sleeve, but spilling it into every laugh, every glare, every careless word that lingered longer than it should.

And now he knew. Sunoo didn’t like him. Not even close. He liked this Sungho guy. The polite one, the smiley one, the kind of boy who could probably win over anyone’s parents at dinner. The kind of boy Sunghoon should respect, should nod at and step aside for.

Except—God, if he was being honest—Sungho didn’t even hold a candle to him. Not to his sharp jawline or the way people whispered “prince” when he walked past in the lecture halls. He could be cruel enough to think that. He could be selfish enough to believe it.

But what gutted him wasn’t jealousy. It was the realization, sudden and absolute, of just how much he liked Sunoo.

He saw it all at once, the montage of moments he’d been too stubborn to truly notice. Sunoo laughing so hard he snorted during movie nights; Sunoo half-asleep on the bus, head tipping against his shoulder; Sunoo arguing him into the ground with nonsense logic just for the pleasure of winning, eyes bright, cheeks flushed. The way Sunoo could make a room lighter just by walking into it, like he carried his own stupid little sun under his ribs.

Sunghoon liked him. Liked him so much it felt embarrassing. Liked him so much it cracked through all his carefully built walls. He liked him so much that the thought of stepping back now, of surrendering because of one overheard truth, felt like cutting out his own lungs.

He had always believed—coldly, rationally—that if he knew someone he liked didn’t like him back, he’d just give up. It would be easy, efficient. Time and effort utilization was optimal.

But staring at Sunoo now, Sunoo with his messy hair, his ridiculous pumpkin spice order, his quick temper and even quicker smile, Sunghoon felt his own conviction shatter.

“No,” he thought fiercely, gripping the pen hard. His pulse pounded in his ears.

No. I refuse to give up.

Chapter Text

PART II

Falling in Love

Park Sunghoon was not an evil person.

At twenty-two, he liked to believe he was, at the very least, a moral one. Not saintly—he had no patience for that—but principled enough. He’d been born with the kind of face that made strangers adjust their mirrors just to look again, the kind of posture that made shopkeepers assume he was wealthy even when he was just carrying a campus tote. By sophomore year, he’d acquired a reputation that clung to him whether he wanted it or not: aloof, untouchable, the sort of boy you could project a fantasy onto but never quite reach.

And with that came opportunities—dozens of them, most of them ridiculous—and Sunghoon had ignored nearly all.

He could have cashed in on the upperclassman who once begged him to “just stand there” outside her ex-boyfriend’s dorm so she could watch the ex crumble. He declined, and even told her to go home and study. He could have entertained the boy who cornered him at a party and whispered he’d “cheat on his boyfriend in a heartbeat if it was with him”—and against every drunken instinct in the room, he walked him back to his friends and told him to rethink his relationship. Even the modeling scout who waved a glossy contract under his nose; he skimmed the fine print, spotted three ways it was exploitative, and sent the man packing.

Sunghoon, in other words, knew temptation. He just wasn’t in the habit of surrendering to it. A decent man, if one with sharp edges, quick to sigh at his friends’ chaos, quicker to retreat from group chats, allergic to anything that smelled like manipulation.

Which was why it rattled him now, deeply, to feel the floor under his feet tilting. Because morals were easy in the abstract—hypotheticals in a lecture hall, tidy debates over beer and soju. They were harder when a certain menace named Kim Sunoo was sitting across from him, lip caught between his teeth as he squinted at a chemistry problem, thinking thoughts Sunghoon had no right to hear.

And Sunghoon—principled, rational, supposedly moral Sunghoon—started listening.

🧡🧡🧡

Sunghoon flipped open his notebook. “Alright. Let’s start simple.”

Across the table, Jungwon lined up his pens. Sungho leaned in politely, pencil steady, the picture of “model student.” Meanwhile, Sunoo straightened his back and tried very, very hard to look unbothered.

“Problem one,” Sunghoon wrote. Find the molarity of a solution when 0.5 moles of NaCl are dissolved in one liter of water.

Sungho’s voice was cautious but certain. “Moles per liter, right? So… 0.5 M?”

“Correct,” Jungwon chirped, already pleased.

Sunghoon bit back a scowl. Damn it. No smugness. No condescension. Just genuine competence.

Sunoo smiled sweetly, twirling his pen. Outwardly cool. But his thoughts slammed into Sunghoon’s skull in all caps: Oh god, that was so fast. He’s so smart. I hate science. Hyung’s going to think I’m hopeless. Sungho’s going to think I’m hopeless. Everyone’s going to think I’m hopeless.

Sunghoon’s grip on his pen tightened. “Next problem.”

He went harder this time. If 25 grams of KOH are dissolved to make 500 mL of solution, what’s the molarity?

Jungwon leaned forward, eager. Sunoo nodded like he had it under control, casually jotting random numbers. His thoughts, however, were a screaming mess: What is KOH. Do I even know what K stands for? Potassium? Kryptonite? Kiss of Hife? Haha, that’s funny.

Sunghoon almost barked a laugh but swallowed it, waiting.

Sungho scribbled calmly: Molar mass KOH… 56.1… divide… 0.445… divide by 0.5… 0.89 M. His brain was like elevator music.

Sunghoon wanted to throw the notebook across the café. “Answer?” he forced out.

Sungho smiled meekly. “0.89 M?”

“Correct,” Sunghoon said, tone clipped.

Sunoo gave a little nod, casual, as if he’d gotten there too, while his thoughts were shrieking: HOW. HOW DOES HE DO THAT. OH MY GOD HE’S EVEN WRITING NEATLY. WHAT KIND OF A MAN.

Jungwon glanced between them, confused. “Uh, Sunoo hyung, what’d you get?”

Sunoo coughed, slapped his notebook closed. “Same.”

Inside: Lie, lie, lie, you got 84,000. Don’t show anyone. Die with this notebook.

Sunghoon’s lip twitched. He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. “Alright, Sunoo. Your turn.”

Sunoo perked up, plastering on a smile like this was fine, everything was fine. “Of course, hyung. Hit me with your best shot.”

Inside: Please don’t hit me with your best shot. Hit me with your easiest shot. Like… one plus one. Actually, even that might be risky.

Sunghoon smirked. “Balance this equation: C₂H₆ + O₂ → CO₂ + H₂O.”

Sunoo’s pen hovered. His mind immediately went static. Oh my god. Letters. More letters. This looks like a drunk alphabet soup. Is this chemistry or map coordinates?

Across the table, Sungho was scribbling neat notes. His thoughts brushed across Sunghoon’s mind, gentle as static: He’s concentrating so hard. Even furrowing his brows. That’s… kind of adorable.

Sunghoon blinked. Wait—adorable?

Meanwhile, Sunoo cleared his throat and wrote something down with confidence he did not feel. “Done.”

Sunghoon peeked. His paper said: C₂H₆ + 7O₂ → CO₂ + IDK LOL

Sunghoon pressed his lips tight to hide a laugh. Then he glanced at Sungho, waiting for the disgusted thoughts, the silent judgment.

But Sungho only thought: He even doodled. He must be trying to lighten the mood. Cute.

Cute?! That wasn’t the plan!

He’s really trying. Even when it’s hard, he doesn’t give up. He’s the type who fights through everything. That’s… admirable.

Sunghoon’s stomach turned. No matter how hard he grilled Sunoo, no matter how badly Sunoo flubbed, Sungho’s mind stayed maddeningly soft, all aww and cute. Not once did he think wow, Sunoo is dumb.

🧡🧡🧡

Sunghoon snapped the notebook shut, the sound sharp as a slap. “Well.” His voice was even, almost bored. “Honestly, you’re the only one who needs this. Jungwon already gets it. And Sungho—” his eyes flicked up—“he clearly doesn’t need my help.”

The words landed heavy, slicing the air clean through.

Sunoo went still. The flush that crept up his neck wasn’t shy this time. It was humiliation, hot and blotchy. His pen slid from his grip and hit the floor with a hollow clatter. He didn’t bend to pick it up.

He lifted his gaze instead, sharp as he could manage, trying to set Sunghoon on fire with nothing but a glare. But the real fire was inside his head, spilling raw and unguarded straight into Sunghoon’s skull: Why does he always do this? Always make me feel small. Like I’m the dumbest person in the room. Like I’ll never measure up. He hates me. He must hate me.

Sunghoon flinched. The disdain hit harder than he expected. He’d braced for whining, maybe pouting—but not that raw, bitter sting. He had wanted to test Sungho. Instead, he’d hurt Sunoo.

The silence stretched. Even Jungwon looked up from his textbook, sensing the tension in the air. Then Sungho’s voice broke in, warm and oblivious. “Uh… should I grab something from the café? I was thinking the carrot cake looked really good. Do you guys want anything?”

Sunoo kept his eyes fixed on his notebook, lips pressed into a thin line. He didn’t answer. Jungwon blinked, then caught on quick. “Actually, yeah—come on, Sungho. I already know what they like. Let’s order together.” He stood smoothly, tugging Sungho up by the elbow before the boy could protest.

The two of them left for the counter, their voices fading. The table was suddenly too quiet.

Sunghoon exhaled slowly, dragging a hand through his hair. “...I’m sorry.” 

Sunoo finally looked up, his glare softened to something smaller, more tired. He didn’t say anything, just gave a short, stiff nod.

Sunghoon cleared his throat and opened the notebook again, sliding it back toward him. “Alright. Let’s just go over limiting reagents again. Slowly, this time.” His tone was gentler now, the sharp edges dulled.

They worked in silence for a while. Sunghoon leaned over to explain, careful not to let impatience color his words. Sunoo scribbled, brow furrowed, lips pressed tight. The tension hadn’t vanished, but it had shifted.

When Jungwon and Sungho finally returned with a plate of carrot cake and a bunch of macarons and other sweets, Sunoo’s eyes lit up despite himself. He perked up once the plates landed on the table, his mood already softening at the sight of the cake Sungho had bought. 

He leaned in, watching Sungho spear another bite with his fork. “How is it?” he asked.

Sungho smiled, easy and warm. “Pretty good. Want to try?” He turned the fork slightly toward him.

For a second, Sunoo froze. The world shrank to that single silver fork glinting in the café light. It would be like… an indirect kiss, he thought, pulse skipping wildly. His mouth opened—ready to say yes—

And then the fork was gone.

Snatched right out of Sungho’s hand.

Sunghoon had leaned across the table with zero warning, taken the fork, and shoved the bite of cake into his own mouth. He chewed once, twice, then said with deliberate nonchalance, “Hmm. It’s so-so.”

The silence was thunderous. Sunoo blinked. Sungho blinked. Jungwon blinked so hard it looked painful.

“Uh—hyung?” Sunoo managed, staring at the fork.

“Oops,” Sunghoon said, mouth already full. “Reflex.” He slid the fork back toward Sunoo. “Here. Try it.”

The silence was thick enough to choke on. But Sunoo, after a beat, took the fork. Tasted. His eyes went wide. “This is… amazing.”

Sungho chuckled, scratching his cheek. “Figures. Carrot cake’s always been my weakness. Actually, carrots in general. When I was eight, I ate so many, my skin started to turn orange. My mom had to ban them from the house for a while.”

Sunoo laughed, starry-eyed. But in his head, the thought flared bright: Wait… my dream at the hanok. I was a carrot. Maybe it was a sign. Maybe the universe is telling me we’re meant to be.

The fork still clinked against the plate, but Sunghoon couldn’t hear it. All he could hear was Sunoo’s thoughts echoing in his head.

🧡🧡🧡

Sunghoon didn’t touch his own drink. He sat with his elbow braced on the table, fingers curled against his mouth, staring across at the sight in front of him.

Sunoo was laughing—bright, unguarded—at something stupid Jungwon had said, his shoulders shaking, his head tipping back just slightly. Sungho chimed in with some earnest comment, and Sunoo’s smile only widened, lips curling soft as if the world had folded itself into this small, perfect moment.

The sight made Sunghoon’s chest ache. Ache in a way he wanted to call indigestion, or annoyance, or literally anything else. But the truth sat heavy, he’d never seen Sunoo look at him like that. Never that easy, never that open.

The static stirred again.

Sunoo’s voice, unspoken, God, Sungho’s so kind. He makes me feel… not dumb. Not difficult. Just normal. I wish…

Sunghoon clenched his jaw so tight it hurt, and tried to drown out the rest of Sunoo’s thoughts.

And that was the moment something inside him tipped.

He thought of the guide’s words in the hanok: It only reveals. It does not choose wisely. He thought of Jake’s dumb face when he’d realized the ability was real. He thought of every “rational” answer he’d ever given about efficiency, certainty, no wasted effort.

Maybe this was the purpose.

If there truly was some divine thing out there—call it the universe, call it fate—it had placed this power in his hands. Him, Park Sunghoon. Not Sungho, not Jungwon, not Jake or Jay. Him.

And maybe that meant something. 

Maybe it meant he wasn’t supposed to give Sunoo up. Not yet. Not when the world had gifted him the one shortcut everyone else dreamed of. If there really was a greater being pulling strings, maybe it wanted him and Sunoo together, no matter what.

His pulse kicked, hard and uneven.

Yes. He could make this work. He would make this work.

Across the table, Sunoo turned his head, face still glowing from laughter, eyes catching the café light.

Sunghoon looked at him—looked at him like a man clinging to a life raft—and thought: Fine. If this is the card I’ve been dealt, then I’ll play it. I’ll use it. Whatever it takes.

Yes, Park Sunghoon was not an evil person.

At twenty-two, he liked to believe he was, at his core, decent. Maybe he still was. But right now? Watching Sunoo—his hand brushing too close to Sungho’s as they leaned over the cake—something in Sunghoon cracked. 

Morals had no place here.

Not when the universe had chosen him. Not when every voice, every unguarded thought from Sunoo fell straight into his chest. Not when he knew, in the marrow of his bones, that if he stepped aside, he’d never forgive himself.

Fuck ethics. Not now. If loving Sunoo meant crossing that line, then he’d cross it gladly—eyes open, no hesitation.

I’ll win you. Even if the universe itself has to cheat on my behalf.

🧡🧡🧡

The next week, Jake texted the group chat with his usual enthusiasm.

Jake: hangout friday!! everyone come😎

No context. No location. Just vibes. Which was why Sunghoon should’ve known better.

By the time he walked into the pojangmacha Jake had picked, a cramped tent bar reeking of grilled meat and soju, everyone was already there. Jay and Jungwon tucked on one side of the table, Ni-ki gnawing on skewers in the corner, Heeseung pouring drinks with his casual grace. Sunoo sat beside him, sleeves rolled up, laughing too loudly at something Jungwon had said.

Jake spotted Sunghoon instantly, grinning. “HOON! Sit here!” He patted the empty space across from Heeseung, eyes sparkling in a way that made Sunghoon’s stomach drop.

Oh no.

He’d walked into a trap.

The food came fast, the soju faster. Sunoo and Jay got into a heated argument about which famous tarot reader was “legit,” Ni-ki kept muttering dark little one-liners no one wanted explained, and Jungwon was trying to make sure nobody drowned in alcohol. 

And in the middle of it, Jake leaned forward, whispering. “Tonight’s the night.”

Sunghoon blinked. “What?”

“You know.” Jake’s eyes darted toward Heeseung, who was busy refilling Jungwon’s glass with that maddening ease. “The mind thing. Just… peek.”

Sunghoon’s pulse spiked. He gripped his glass tightly. He could—so easily—do it. One glance. And Jake would have his answer.

But the thought clawed at his ribs. One more person. One more secret cracked open. One more line blurred until he couldn’t even see where it had been drawn in the first place.

He forced his gaze down, into the swirl of liquid in his glass. The drink didn’t steady him. Instead, it reflected back the worst part of him—the part already rehearsing excuses. The part that said, No, not Jake. Not Heeseung. That’s different. That would be wrong.

As if it wasn’t already wrong. As if deciding to keep listening to Sunoo, of all people, wasn’t the very same trespass. He told himself he was being moral. But deep down, he knew he just wanted to hoard the sin for himself.

His eyes flicked across the table. Sunoo was laughing at something Ni-ki had muttered, cheeks flushed pink with drink, incandescent under the cheap tent lights. He had no idea that every unguarded thought was being siphoned, catalogued, tucked away by the boy convincing himself that abstaining from one more mind—just one—somehow scrubbed his hands clean of the rest.

When Jake looked at him with wide, pleading eyes, Sunghoon shook his head. “No.”

Jake blinked. “No?!”

The word tasted hypocritical on his tongue, but he pushed through it. “Just tell him, idiot. You don’t need me for that. You don’t need telepathy.”

Jake gawked. “But—but what if—”

“Then at least you’ll know,” Sunghoon cut in, a little too fast. A little too sharp. “Better than rotting in maybe forever.”

Jake slumped back, muttering something about him being “annoyingly right,” and Sunghoon clinked his glass against his, forcing the moment to close.

But inside, the guilt curled tighter, sharper. He could preach honesty to Jake all he wanted. He could claim the high ground, act principled, act clean. But every word felt like lying through his teeth. Because when it came to Sunoo—when it came to the one person who lit up his chest—he’d already decided to be selfish.

🧡🧡🧡

Heeseung was the first to stand, shrugging into his jacket as the tent lights flickered overhead. “I’m calling it a night, guys. Work event tomorrow. Gotta be up early.”

A chorus of groans followed him. “Booooo,” Jay jeered.

“Adulting is tragic,” Sunoo declared, clinking his glass anyway. “They even take your weekends.”

Jake’s smile faltered, but he looked straight at Sunghoon one last time. A silent question hung in his eyes. You sure, dude? Not even one peek?

Sunghoon only rolled his eyes and gave him a shove toward Heeseung. “Walk him out. Hail a cab. Be useful.”

Jake scowled but went anyway, jogging a few steps to catch up with Heeseung just outside the tent. The air was cooler there, crisper, carrying the faint smell of frying oil from the food stalls.

Heeseung shoved his hands into his pockets at first, strolling casually, but his pace softened when Jake fell into step beside him. “Thanks again,” he said, voice lower now, a private register meant only for Jake. “For inviting me. For, you know… still including me.”

Jake tilted his head, frowning. “What do you mean still, hyung?”

Heeseung gave a little shrug, eyes darting to the curb. “I’m not really part of the group anymore. Not like you guys. I’ve got work, bills, deadlines. I’m practically retired.” He huffed a laugh, self-deprecating. “Feels like I’m the old guy crashing the party.”

Jake stopped so suddenly that Heeseung had to turn back a step. His chest felt tight and hot. “That’s not true,” he said, too fast and earnest. “Hyung, nothing’s changed. You’re still… you’re still you. You’re still one of us. You’re still…” He faltered, words bunching at the back of his throat, then pushed them out anyway. “You’re still mine. I mean—not mine, but… ours. You get it.”

A silence stretched between them, not awkward. It was the kind of pause that crackled with something unspoken.

Then Heeseung smiled, gentle, slow, so warm it felt like it was aimed straight into Jake’s bones. He reached out without thinking, curling his hand around Jake’s. His palm was warm, steady. “For support,” he teased lightly, but his grip lingered.

Jake nearly combusted on the spot. His pulse pounded in his ears, each beat screaming don’t ruin this, don’t ruin this. His mouth went dry. But then he thought—if not now, when? Heeseung’s hand was in his. The night was soft around them. His heart was already betraying him anyway.

So he swallowed hard and blurted, words tumbling over themselves: “Then—uh—do you maybe want to go to the Halloween party with me this year? It’ll be fun. I could—uh—I could save you a dance. Or, I don’t know, keep Sunoo from throwing pumpkins at actors again.”

Heeseung’s laugh rang out, easy and bright, the kind that made Jake’s knees threaten mutiny. But then he shook his head, a shadow of regret flickering across his face. “I wish I could. Really. But I’ve got work that night.”

The words hit Jake hard. Heavy. Sinking. He tried to mask it with a half-smile, shoulders tightening. “Right. Yeah. Of course. Makes sense.”

But before he could retreat into himself, Heeseung’s grip tightened. His thumb brushed lightly across Jake’s knuckles, just once, too soft to be casual, too careful to be unintentional. “The day after, though… I’m free. Coffee, movies, whatever you want. Just us. You name it.”

Jake’s lungs stopped working. “...Anything I want?” he managed, voice smaller than he intended.

Heeseung’s grin widened, playful but lingering in a way that left Jake dizzy. “Anything.”

The night spun a little. The cars rolled past, indifferent, but for Jake, the world had narrowed down to one warm hand in his, one promise hanging in the air. He nodded mutely, ears burning, praying Heeseung couldn’t feel how badly his hand was trembling.

🧡🧡🧡

Jake stumbled back into the tent a few minutes later, cheeks still pink from the cold. Or maybe not the cold. His smile was dazed and lopsided.

Jay clocked it first. “Why do you look like that?” he asked, narrowing his eyes over his drink.

“Like what?” Jake blinked, still in another universe.

“Like you just saw God and he winked at you,” Ni-ki said flatly.

Sunoo leaned across the table. “Spill. Immediately.”

Jake fumbled with his coat zipper, failing twice before blurting out, too fast, “I—uh—I asked Heeseung hyung out.”

The table erupted.

Jay slammed his glass down. “YOU WHAT.”

Jungwon gaped. “Finally.”

Sunoo shrieked loud enough to startle the table behind them. “OH MY GOD YOU DID IT, YOU CONFESSED—”

Jake waved both hands frantically. “No, no, not like that! I mean—kinda like that—but not—ugh, I asked if he wanted to go to the Halloween party with me.”

“And?!” Sunoo grabbed his sleeve, shaking him. “What did he say, hyung?!”

Jake wilted, burying his face in his hands. “He has work that night.”

The chorus of groans around the table was loud enough to rattle the tent poles.

But before despair could fully settle in, Jake’s voice cracked out, muffled through his palms. “But then he said—he said he wants to hang out the day after. Coffee. Movies. Whatever I want.”

For a split second, there was silence. Then the noise doubled.

Jay banged the table. “OH, THAT’S A DATE.”

“That’s a date, hyung,” Jungwon confirmed, nodding solemnly.

Ni-ki raised his soda. “Rip to everyone else. Jake hyung won.”

Sunoo leaned forward, smile stretching wide, eyes glittering with mischief. “Hyunggg,” he sang, shaking Jake’s arm, “you are now leaving the doors of the pining arena.”

Everyone laughed, even Jake, half-hiding his grin behind his sleeve.

But underneath the laughter, Sunghoon caught the thought that slipped raw from Sunoo’s chest: Now I am left here all alone.

It was quiet, almost gentle, like a sigh muffled under a blanket but it pierced sharp through the noise.

Across the table, Jake was glowing, posture loose, voice tripping over itself in dazed happiness. Sunghoon found himself staring, not at Jake, but at what Jake had done. He had asked. Simple as that. Heart pounding, hands shaking, still he’d asked, and in return, Heeseung had given him something. A promise. A chance.

What if I just… had that kind of courage? The thought came unbidden, bitter at the edges. What if he just said it? Spoke the thing sitting under his tongue every time Sunoo smiled, every time his laugh made the world warmer?

But he didn’t. He couldn’t. If Sunghoon asked now, it wouldn’t be brave. It would only make things worse. It would make things weird.

No, he told himself, jaw tight. If he wanted a chance, Sunoo had to forget first. Forget Sungho, forget the harmless crush, forget anyone else who wasn’t him. Only then could Sunghoon step in.

He wondered if Jake’s courage was really courage, or just the blessing of certainty. He already knew Heeseung’s answer would be kind. Sunghoon didn’t have that luxury.

“Speaking of the Halloween party,” Jungwon started, flipping his planner open even here, under the tent. “It will be in two weeks. Student center. We need to coordinate.”

“Coordinate?” Jay groaned, already throwing his head back. “Just say a couple costumes and get it over with.”

Jungwon gave him a side eye. “...Yes. Couple costumes. Our last one, because someone is graduating.”

Jay perked right up, smug grin in place. “That’s right, peasants. Our swan song. The grand finale. We’re thinking… iconic, yet tasteful.”

Ni-ki, gnawing on a chicken bone, muttered, “Go as Adam and Adam. Just leaves. That would be cool and it’d make people think about the social constructs of gender.”

“ABSOLUTELY NOT,” Jungwon snapped, nearly dropping his planner.

Jay wheezed, clapping Ni-ki on the shoulder. “God, I love you.”

Sunoo was swirling his drink lazily, a little secret smile on his face. “Mine’s a surprise.”

Jay squinted. “...Surprise like funny surprise? Or surprise like traumatizing?”

Sunoo only tapped his nose mysteriously. “You’ll see, hyung.”

“Oh god,” Jungwon muttered.

“Exciting!” Ni-ki blurted suddenly, sitting up straighter than anyone had ever seen him. His eyes actually lit up. “Halloween is the best holiday. Costumes. Free candy. I’m going all in.”

Everyone blinked.

“Wow,” Jay said flatly. “First time I’ve ever seen him have a pulse.”

“Shut up, hyung,” Ni-ki said, but he was practically vibrating. “I already bought fake blood. So much fake blood.”

“That’s… concerning,” Jungwon muttered.

Meanwhile Jake had stars in his eyes. “I’ve been working on mine for weeks.”

“Oh?” Sunoo perked up. “What is it?”

Jake grinned sheepishly. “It was Heeseung hyung’s idea. He suggested it the night we were in the hanok village.”

Jay groaned. “Of course it was.”

“He’s not even gonna be there, right?” Ni-ki asked, already scrolling on his phone.

Jake’s smile faltered. “Yeah. It sucks. But I’m still doing the costume. Gotta… represent.”

Jay raised his cup. “To Jake, the world’s most loyal golden retriever.”

They all clinked, except Sunghoon, who only sipped his drink quietly.

Nobody asked him what he’d wear. They never did. 

He was the guy who showed up to every Halloween in a black hoodie, hands in his pockets, refusing to play along.

But this time, maybe, he would be someone else.

🧡🧡🧡

That night, in the dark of the dorm, with Jay snoring softly across the room, Park Sunghoon stared at the ceiling and laid down a plan.

Not a loose intention, not a vague hope—an actual plan. A framework. A system. The same way he approached experiments, problem sets, proofs. This time, the variable was Kim Sunoo. The outcome is simple: requited love.

Step One: Communication.

He winced at the memory of the tutoring session, of the way Sunoo’s eyes had hardened, the humiliation sharp enough that Sunghoon had heard it echo in his skull. Too many fights, too many sharp words. Who even started them anymore? Was it Sunoo always disagreeing with him, or him always cutting Sunoo down first? It didn’t matter. What mattered was that words could wound, and he’d been reckless with his. From now on, he would be careful. He would temper himself. He would listen.

Step Two: Fate.

Sunoo was obsessed with it—stars, signs, dreams that turned into symbols. He believed in the threads that tied people together, even when logic said they were nothing but coincidence. Sunghoon thought it was ridiculous, but if Sunoo believed in it, then fine. He would use it. Sungho liking carrots had already made Sunoo spiral into thoughts of destiny. If Sunghoon could nudge the right thoughts at the right time—make Sunoo think the universe itself was pointing him toward Sunghoon—then fate wouldn’t just be a belief. It would be a weapon.

Step Three: Monitoring.

Sunoo’s moods were mercurial, but not impossible to map. He could learn. He could chart the triggers: what made him laugh, what made him sulk, what made him turn red with irritation. If Sunghoon could anticipate those shifts—stabilize them, manage them—then Sunoo would start to associate peace with him, joy with him, safety with him. Not chaos, not fights. Just Sunghoon. Always Sunghoon.

Step Four: Eliminate competition.

Fate didn’t need a second option. 

Sungho, with his dimpled grin and carrot cake stories. Anyone else who might stumble into Sunoo’s orbit and draw that warm sunshine smile. They didn’t deserve to ruin what had already been written. If the hanok had chosen him, then why should he let anyone else interfere?

The thought shocked him, just for a moment. He wasn’t a villain. He didn’t hurt people. And yet, the longer he lay there, the less monstrous it felt. He wouldn’t have to lift a finger, just tilt things. Let opportunities pass, let misunderstandings grow, let fate rearrange itself in his favor. It wouldn’t be cruelty. It would be balance.

He thought of it like chemistry, inputs and outputs, stimuli and reactions. If he could master the formula, then the result would be inevitable. Love was nothing more than conditioning, wasn’t it? Synapses firing, dopamine trickling. A pattern. Something he could control.

If the universe had already handed him the key to Sunoo’s heart, wasn’t it his duty to use it?

His chest rose and fell with a long breath. Yes. This was how he would win him.

🧡🧡🧡

The student center had been transformed into something straight out of a campy horror movie: fake cobwebs sagged between the stair rails, plastic skeletons dangled from the ceiling, fog machines coughed mist into the air. A DJ in a Freddy Krueger mask blasted Halloween-themed songs at the loudest volume. The strobe lights flickered just enough to make everyone dizzy or maybe that was just the sugar from the candy bowls on every table.

The gang spilled in together, and, predictably, caused a small scene.

Jay and Jungwon led the charge, smug as ever. They strutted across the floor in their Formula 1 couple costume—matching jumpsuits plastered with sponsor logos, mirrored aviators, and toy helmets tucked under their arms. 

“They practiced a walk,” Ni-ki muttered, unimpressed. “Disgusting.”

Behind them came Jake—white shirt tucked neatly, a sash across his chest. Prince Eric, complete with a toy sword strapped at his hip. And of course, the first person to scream “HE’S SUCH A DISNEY PRINCE!” at him from across the room made him flush scarlet. He waved anyway.

Then came Ni-ki.

Covered head to toe in splatters of fake blood. Jeans ripped, shirt ruined, hair matted with red streaks. In his hands: a buzzing plastic chainsaw, which he revved like this was what Halloween was truly about.

The group stopped dead. Ni-ki was basically himself holding a chainsaw and covered in blood.

“...Ni-ki,” Jake said slowly. “Please tell me that’s fake.”

“Of course it’s fake,” Ni-ki deadpanned. “I borrowed it from the props department in the theater prod.”

Jay leaned in, squinting. “The blood too?”

Ni-ki revved the chainsaw again. “...What blood?”

A shriek erupted behind them as a freshman dropped her candy bucket and bolted. 

“YUP,” Jungwon snapped, voice tight. “I’m supervising him all night.”

And then came Sunoo.

He bounded into the room, cheeks flushed, eyeliner sharp, orange fabric swishing with every step. Not pumpkin, not jack-o’-lantern—no. He was a carrot. A giant, blindingly orange carrot, with a ridiculous tuft of green bobbing on top of his head.

The group collectively lost their minds.

“You did not,” Jay wheezed, doubled over.

“You’re insane,” Jungwon whispered, secretly delighted.

“So much orange,” Jake offered diplomatically.

Ni-ki just asked, “Are you… edible?”

“SHUT UP,” Sunoo snapped, but he was grinning, soaking in the attention.

Until.

“Hyung,” Jungwon said slowly, blinking. “Why are you…”

All eyes turned to Sunghoon.

Who stood there, in black slacks, a crisp white button up, and—most importantly—a set of bunny ears perched on his head. Not last minute. A real, soft pair that twitched every time the strobe lights hit.

The silence stretched for a dangerous beat.

And then Jay exploded. “OH MY GOD. IS THIS A COUPLE COSTUME?!”

The table rattled with how hard Jungwon slammed his hands down. “Carrot and bunny?! Are you kidding me?! Since when were you planning this?”

Jake let out a strangled laugh, eyes darting between them. Even Ni-ki looked mildly impressed, lowering his chainsaw.

Sunoo froze, rooted to the spot, his face flickering between fifty emotions at once. His carrot leaves wobbled dangerously.

“It’s not—” he started.

But then Jungwon snapped. He turned on Jay with a fury no one saw coming. “THIS. THIS IS WHAT A COUPLE COSTUME LOOKS LIKE, HYUNG. NOT—” he jabbed a finger at their matching F1 jumpsuits “—WHATEVER THE HELL THIS IS. We look like two bros who got lost on the way to a pit stop!”

Jay choked on his drink. “Excuse me? We’re the coolest ones here!”

“We’re tragic,” Jungwon shot back. “Carrot and bunny is synergy. It’s narrative. They have a relationship. You and I look like we hyperfixated on a Netflix series for three months and accidentally dressed the same.”

The entire table howled. Jake nearly spit out his drink. 

“Bro, we’re literally coordinating helmets!” Jay barked.

“BRO, WE LOOK LIKE CO-WORKERS AT A THEMED OFFICE PARTY,” Jungwon cried, gesturing wildly at Sunoo and Sunghoon. “THAT—” he pointed at them again “—THAT’S WHAT COUPLES LOOK LIKE.”

Ni-ki was wheezing so hard he nearly dropped his chainsaw. “Hyung, he’s not wrong. I thought you were Kakao T drivers on the way in.”

Jake had both arms around Jungwon’s waist, trying to sit him down. “Please, please, for the love of god, stop yelling in public—”

And right in the middle of it all sat Sunoo. The longer Jay and Jungwon yelled, the more people glanced over, whispering, pointing—carrot and bunny, carrot and bunny, couple costume.

His smile was tight, brittle, threatening to crack. This was supposed to be funny. Silly. Cute. Not this. Not dozens of eyes on him like he’d announced his crush with a megaphone. It was meant to be a quiet opener to his confession to Sungho, a witty remark, kind of a little inside joke: Remember when you used to be obsessed with me?

Beside him, Sunghoon just sat there in his bunny ears, calm as the eye of a storm, sipping from his cup as if none of this bothered him at all. His gaze flicked lazily to Sunoo, and in his chest, Sunghoon heard it. Oh my god, I want to disappear. Why is everyone saying couple costume. Why does he look so calm. Stop looking so calm!

And Sunghoon? He smirked, just barely, into his drink. Because for once, he wasn’t the one scrambling. For once, Sunoo was the flustered one and everyone else was feeding the narrative he’d planned.

“CHEMISTRY!” Jungwon roared, pointing between them, still not over the entire couple costume thing. “THAT’S WHAT THIS IS. LOOK AND LEARN, HYUNG.”

Jay rolled his eyes. “Whatever, you’re still my pit crew for life.”

🧡🧡🧡

The party reached its peak in a blur of lights and bad EDM. Jungwon had finally forgiven Jay after a dance battle against two terrified engineering majors, Ni-ki had scared three freshmen into tears by revving his chainsaw in the hallway and chasing them while laughing like a deranged man, and Jake… well, Jake was smiling into his cup, mind already drifting to the day after—his date with Heeseung.

But for Sunoo, the high was fading. He’d laughed, danced, even tolerated the carrot jokes but every time the door swung open, he’d looked up. Waiting. Hoping.

And Sungho never came.

Sunghoon slid into the chair beside him, letting the chaos blur into background static, the thump of bass, Jungwon’s laughter, Ni-ki with his chainsaw. He tugged at one floppy green felt leaf of Sunoo’s carrot hood, deadpan.

“You know,” he murmured, “we really do look like a couple costume. Bunny and carrot. People are probably taking bets by now.”

Sunoo groaned and rolled his eyes. “You’re insufferable.” But then he laughed, bright and surprised, the sound bursting out of him before he could hold it back.

For a second, the heaviness in his posture cracked, and Sunghoon caught it.

“There it is,” he said softly, almost triumphant. Like he’d been waiting all night for that laugh. He leaned back, careful, watching Sunoo’s shoulders shake as the corners of his mouth refused to settle.

He let the noise around them dissolve further, narrowing his focus to just the boy beside him. “Honestly,” he added, voice lower now, “you pulled it off. Best costume here. Don’t let Ni-ki hear that, though, he’ll haunt me in my sleep.”

Sunoo ducked his head, cheeks pink from the attention. The smile tugging at his lips wasn’t just amusement, it was softer, reluctant, some warmth creeping back into a room that had been too cold.

And underneath it all, his thoughts spilled: I needed that.

Sunghoon’s chest tightened. He had given him that. He wanted to hold onto it, bottle it, keep doling it out until Sunoo looked at him that way all the time.

Sunoo fiddled with the edge of his sleeve. “You’re not usually this nice, hyung. What’s your angle?”

Sunghoon smirked faintly. “Maybe I just think you look good in orange.” His tone was flippant, but the words slid heavier than he intended, carrying more truth than he wanted him to hear.

Sunoo’s ears turned pink, though he tried to hide it with a scoff. “You’re messing with me.”

But his thoughts betrayed him: He’s being sweet. Why now? What changed?

Sunghoon shifted, trying to mask the way his heart pounded. “Do you wanna head back to the dorms? It’s late.”

Sunoo blinked, hesitation flickering across his face. His thoughts spilled into Sunghoon like a current: I wanted to stay. I wanted to do the games, the photo booth, everything I skipped waiting for Sungho.

But what came out of his mouth was different. Softer. A shrug, a smile that looked practiced. “If you want to, hyung, we can head to the dorms now.”

The words didn’t match. The smile didn’t reach. And Sunghoon froze, because for the first time, he could see it clearly—the dissonance. The way Sunoo’s heart and his voice didn’t line up. The way he swallowed down his own wants, tucking them neatly away so no one else would feel burdened.

How many times had Sunoo done this? With Jungwon, when he bit back a complaint. With Jay, when he laughed too quickly at a jab. With Jake, when he cheered him on even while wilting in the background. With Sunghoon himself—God, especially with him.

How many times had Sunghoon taken Sunoo at face value, without realizing that underneath the easy smiles, he was silencing himself?

The thought twisted deep, sharp as glass. Because if this was true, if Sunoo had been hiding like this all along, then maybe Sunghoon had never really known him. Not fully. Not the real Sunoo.

And yet he wanted to. Desperately. With a hunger that felt sick in his stomach. He wanted every unspoken thought, every wish Sunoo bit back, every raw truth he never dared say out loud.

It terrified him, how much he wanted it. Terrified him more that he now had the power to take it, to reach for those truths Sunoo kept sealed away.

Sunghoon’s hand moved before he thought better of it, tugging lightly at the green felt hood slipping off Sunoo’s head. He brushed a strand of hair back into place, fingertips grazing the shell of Sunoo’s ear. His throat ached, but his voice came out steady, low.

“You know what? Let’s stay a little longer. I kind of want to try the activities—though Jay and Jungwon are too busy being a married couple, Jake’s already halfway to his date with Heeseung hyung in his head, and Ni-ki… yeah, I don’t even want to know what Ni-ki’s been up to.”

Sunoo’s eyes flicked up at him, startled, then softened, gratitude shimmering just beneath the surface.

And that was when Sunghoon knew he was lost. Because if this was all it took—listening, understanding, giving Sunoo back the things he couldn’t say aloud—then Sunghoon would do it again. And again. Until Sunoo’s every secret was his to hold.

Even if it meant damning himself more and more everyday.

🧡🧡🧡

They tried the pumpkin ring toss first—plastic hoops flying wildly, clattering off painted gourds. Sunoo missed every single one, groaning loud enough to draw laughter from the crowd. Sunghoon, who could’ve easily landed a perfect throw, deliberately let his hoops sail wide, too. When Sunoo’s head whipped toward him in disbelief, he only shrugged. “What? I’m keeping you company in the loser’s bracket.” The way Sunoo laughed, head thrown back, made the failure worth it.

When the host announced the Mummy Wrap Race, Sunoo was already dragging Sunghoon toward the center.

“You’re faster,” he said, thrusting the roll of toilet paper into his hands. “And I’m smaller. I’ll make the perfect mummy.”

Sunghoon gave him a long look, but the glint in his eyes betrayed his competitive streak. “Fine. Don’t move.”

The whistle blew.

In an instant, Sunghoon was a blur, circling Sunoo, tugging the roll, wrapping like his life depended on it. The crowd laughed as Sunoo squeaked, stumbling back half a step.

“Too tight, hyung, my arms—”

“Stop wiggling,” Sunghoon muttered, one hand braced firm on Sunoo’s shoulder, the other winding paper around his waist. He was close. Too close. His palm slid lower to steady Sunoo’s side, and then he crouched to wrap his legs, head level with Sunoo’s stomach.

Inside, Sunoo’s thoughts were shrieking: Oh my god he’s so close. He’s literally kneeling in front of me. Why is he taking this so seriously. Don’t blush, don’t blush, don’t—

Sunghoon’s jaw was set, eyes sharp, every muscle in his body treating this as a battle he refused to lose. And Sunoo, wrapped tighter with every second, could only laugh breathlessly, caught between panic and exhilaration.

By the time the whistle blew again, they weren’t even close to finished.

Sunoo groaned. “We lost.”

Sunghoon finally loosened his grip, smirk twitching at his mouth. “You’re the worst mummy ever.”

Before Sunoo could retort, he shifted, trying to wriggle free, and the hem of the unraveling paper caught under his foot. He yelped, arms pinwheeling uselessly, then toppled forward.

Straight into Sunghoon’s chest.

The two went down in a heap, Sunghoon hitting the floor with a grunt, Sunoo sprawled over him in a flurry of toilet paper. The crowd howled with laughter, phones already flashing.

Sunoo’s mind was a mess: Kill me now. Kill me. I’m literally on top of him. This is too embarrassing. Goodbye world.

Sunghoon, winded but grinning up at him, simply said, “...Guess we committed to the couple’s costume after all.”

The gym had been transformed into a full-on haunted house. Sunoo froze at the entrance, eyes wide. “Why is it always so much creepier when it’s in our own gym?”

“Because you know where the exits are supposed to be,” Sunghoon murmured. “And they’ve covered all of them.”

A zombie stumbled past, groaning. Sunoo squeaked and, without thinking, grabbed a fistful of Sunghoon’s sleeve.

Sunghoon glanced down at the small hand tugging his shirt, then up at Sunoo’s face—cheeks pink, eyes darting everywhere, lips pressed tight to keep from shrieking. He felt the tug again, firmer this time, when a vampire actor leapt from behind a curtain.

Sunoo yelped, colliding into his shoulder. “Oh my god—oh my god—”

Sunghoon smirked, voice low near his ear. “Didn’t you throw a pumpkin at one of these guys last year?”

“Shut up,” Sunoo hissed, pinching his arm without letting go. “I was defending myself.”

“Remember, you dragged me here,” Sunghoon pointed out, voice steady only because he was working very hard to make it steady. His palms already itched cold with nerves.

“I thought it was gonna be cute fake bats and candy corn!” Sunoo hissed. “Not—” A volunteer in a ragged cloak shuffled past with a groan. Sunoo shrieked so loud two freshmen in line jumped. “—NOT THIS.”

“Relax.” Sunghoon stuffed his hands in his pockets, schooling his face into bored disinterest. Inside, though, his chest was tight. He hated strobe lights. He hated not being able to track exits. His heart was already sprinting ahead of him.

They stepped inside, and Sunoo immediately screamed at a plastic crow on the floor.

“It didn’t even move,” Sunghoon muttered.

“It twitched!” Sunoo snapped.

“That was the strobe light.”

“It twitched,” Sunoo repeated, gripping tighter.

When a ghost burst from behind a curtain with a hiss, Sunoo leapt straight into his side, nearly toppling them both. Sunghoon let out a sharp curse—half-startled, half-genuine fear—before covering it with a low, “Pathetic.”

“You jumped too!” Sunoo accused, voice trembling.

“I did not.”

“You did.”

Sunghoon clenched his jaw, trying to keep his composure while every flicker of light made his stomach knot. A skeleton dropped from the ceiling on a pulley and he almost swore out loud, but Sunoo’s inner voice slammed into him instead: don’t let go, don’t let go, don’t let go.

Sunghoon swallowed hard. Without thinking, he let his hand drift down, brushing against Sunoo’s. And when Sunoo grabbed it instantly, clutching like it was a lifeline, Sunghoon’s breath stuttered—fear mixing with something far more dangerous.

They made their way through the house, Sunoo screaming at literally everything—a fog machine hissing, a floorboard creaking, a pumpkin wobbling in the corner. Sunghoon muttered “idiot” under his breath at least three times, but his grip on Sunoo’s hand never loosened.

And maybe he was trembling too, maybe his pulse was rabbit-quick, but he could take comfort in this: if he was scared, at least Sunoo was screaming louder.

By the time they stumbled out of the exit, Sunoo was wheezing with laughter, half-hysterical, half-relieved. “I think—I think I ruptured something screaming.”

“You ruptured my eardrums,” Sunghoon said dryly, though his hand was still curled around Sunoo’s, neither of them letting go.

🧡🧡🧡

The night air outside the haunted house was crisp, carrying the tang of smoke from sparklers someone had lit in the parking lot. Sunoo was still laughing under his breath, cheeks flushed, his hand warm where it tangled with Sunghoon’s. He didn’t seem in any hurry to let go.

“Come on, hyung,” Sunoo said suddenly, tugging at him. “Photo booth. We have to.”

Sunghoon let himself be pulled, long strides easily catching up. Every year, no matter how chaotic things got, the night always ended in that cramped little booth with too many props and too little space.

But the crowd was thinning out, and at the edge of the quad, the booth vendor was already stacking crates of hats and plastic pitchforks. The sign that had been flashing COSTUME SHOTS ₩2000 was dark.

“No, no, no,” Sunoo groaned, practically jogging the last few steps. “We just got out! He can’t close yet!”

The vendor, yawning, waved a hand apologetically. “Sorry, we’re shutting down. Last call was ten minutes ago.”

Sunoo’s shoulders slumped, disappointment written all over his face. His hand tightened unconsciously on Sunghoon’s.

And before Sunghoon could even think about it, the words slipped out. “We can still go. If you want.”

Sunoo blinked up at him. “What?”

Sunghoon nodded at the booth. “It’s still here. He hasn’t packed it all away yet. Doesn’t have to be the group. Just… us.”

The vendor was already pulling the curtain closed, but paused when Sunghoon lifted a hand. “One more shot?” he asked, voice calm but edged with something that made the vendor hesitate, then sigh and wave them in.

Sunoo’s mouth opened, then closed. For a second, his thoughts spun fast and sharp—just us? what does that mean? would it be weird?—but all he said out loud was a small, “...Yeah. Okay. Just us.”

The booth smelled faintly of plastic. It was cramped, absurdly so. Sunghoon had to duck just to get in, shoulders brushing the curtain. Sunoo pressed against the side panel, his carrot costume crinkling, and gave a small, breathless laugh.

“This is ridiculous,” he whispered, though his grin said otherwise.

Sunghoon reached automatically for the prop bin, then plucked a glittery witch’s hat and plopped it crookedly over Sunoo’s carrot top.

Sunoo snorted, then—soft, unguarded—leaned closer to fix Sunghoon’s bunny ears, tugging the headband until they sat straight. His fingers brushed his hair, his temple, lingering for half a second too long.

The first flash went off.

They both blinked, caught too natural, too close.

Sunoo scrambled for props to cover his fluster—oversized heart-shaped sunglasses, a feather boa he wound around Sunghoon’s neck with a dramatic flourish. Sunghoon played along, looping the end of the boa around Sunoo’s shoulders and pulling him closer until their heads nearly touched.

Second flash.

The screen showed them mid-laugh, Sunoo’s nose scrunched, Sunghoon’s smile uncharacteristically wide.

“Okay, one more,” Sunoo said, voice soft but determined. He dug into the bin again, pulling out nothing but a pair of tiny plastic devil horns. He slipped them onto Sunghoon’s head with a wicked grin. “Perfect. Matches your personality.”

Sunghoon raised an eyebrow. “Oh, really?”

Before Sunoo could dart back, Sunghoon wrapped an arm low around his waist, tugging him flush against his side. His hand lingered, steadying, holding. Sunoo’s breath caught.

The third flash went off.

On the tiny screen, the third photo blinked to life: Sunghoon and Sunoo, turned fully toward each other, eyes locked. No props, no silly poses—just Sunghoon gazing down, and Sunoo staring back with his lips parted, caught between shock and something else.

It didn’t look posed. It looked like a secret, snapped and sealed in glossy print.

Neither of them moved after the flash. The curtain muffled the noise outside, shrinking the world down to two sets of shallow breaths and the soft whir of the machine spitting out their photos.

When the strip slid out, Sunoo snatched it quickly, clutching it close like contraband. He skimmed the images and lingered on the third. His cheeks flushed. “Not bad,” he murmured, almost shy. “We… actually look kind of cute.”

Sunghoon didn’t say anything. He just watched Sunoo tuck the strip carefully into his pocket, as if it were something worth keeping.

And maybe—just maybe—it was.

🧡🧡🧡

The weeks after Halloween blurred into something Sunoo couldn’t quite explain.

It started small, a joke shared over coffee instead of a sharp retort, a quiet word from Sunghoon that landed softer than usual, a pause where once there would’ve been a clash. Their friends noticed first. Jay squinted at them across a lunch table. “Weird,” he declared. “It’s like watching two cats decide to stop clawing each other and… cuddle.” Jungwon only hummed in agreement, flipping to a new page in the pocket book he’s reading.

Even Sunoo was confused. He’d always thought of Sunghoon as infuriating, prickly, the kind of guy who would rather win an argument with him than breathe. But lately, he wasn’t sure if Sunghoon had changed or if he was simply paying more attention. There was a tenderness there, tucked beneath the sighs and smirks, surfacing in moments Sunoo didn’t expect.

Like the time Sunoo spilled hot chocolate all over his notes and braced himself for ridicule—but Sunghoon just wordlessly slid over his own neatly written copies, telling him to “keep them” with a shrug. Or the night Sunoo’s laugh cracked mid-story and instead of teasing him, Sunghoon leaned in and murmured, “Go on,” eyes steady, as though he could actually listen forever.

It baffled Sunoo. Sometimes it even unnerved him. Because every time Sunghoon responded just right—so precisely to what Sunoo hadn’t even voiced—something in him shifted. The annoyance unraveled. The bickering dulled to banter. The banter softened into warmth.

And before he realized it, he was spending more and more time orbiting Sunghoon. Choosing the seat beside him. Lingering after the group dispersed. Watching his profile under library lamps longer than he should. His mind, once a constant echo chamber of Sungho, began to quiet. And in its place, Sunghoon stood—sharper, steadier, suddenly impossible to look away from.

What startled Sunoo most wasn’t just that Sunghoon had grown more tender. It was that he found himself speaking more honestly around him too. Words he normally swallowed—complaints, hopes, stray confessions—slipped free in Sunghoon’s company. 

And it didn’t stop there. The change bled into everything else, into the way he carried himself when the group was together. Sunoo had always been sharp-tongued but cautious—quick to joke, quicker to deflect, always calibrating his words so he wouldn’t look foolish or take up too much space. He hated the idea of saying the wrong thing, of being brushed off or laughed at. He always felt that way with the old Sunghoon.

But lately… it felt different.

When he spoke, Sunghoon didn’t just listen, he anchored him. Sometimes with a quiet nod, sometimes with a glance that lingered long enough to say go on, I’m here, I believe you. That look alone was enough to steady him, enough to make him braver. So Sunoo started saying things he normally wouldn’t: his irritation when Jay went overboard, his dreams about maybe studying abroad, his annoyance at professors who played favorites. Things he used to keep locked behind his smile.

And no one laughed. No one dismissed him. Because Sunghoon was right there, every time, validating him without a single word. His presence was heavy enough to tip the balance, to make the others actually listen.

It was strange, realizing how much he’d craved that. How badly he had wanted someone to back him up. Not with grand gestures or loud declarations, but in quiet solidarity. In the tilt of a head, in the steadiness of a gaze, in the small warmth of someone simply treating his feelings as real.

With Sunghoon beside him, Sunoo wasn’t afraid of his own voice anymore.

🧡🧡🧡

The café was quieter than usual that afternoon. A soft lull between the rushes, only the low chatter of a couple students in the corner. Sunoo leaned against the counter, tapping his card without fuss, no dramatics, no twenty step order designed to rile him up.

“Just an iced Americano,” he said, simple. Almost too simple.

Sunghoon raised an eyebrow as he worked, waiting for the catch. But nothing came. Sunoo only smiled—small, soft—and drifted toward the booth by the window, his phone in hand.

The thought hit him a moment later, quiet as a feather but landing hard in his chest: Hyung looks good today.

It wasn’t spoken. Just there, passing through Sunoo’s head, and for once, Sunghoon didn’t feel guilty for catching it. For once, he let himself hold it.

The rest of his shift blurred. Orders, dishes, receipts—it all moved in a rhythm, his body on autopilot, but his mind was stuck replaying those words. He looks good today. Sunoo’s voice. Sunoo’s thought. About him.

When the clock finally released him, Sunghoon tugged off his apron. He turned, half-expecting the booth to be empty, but—

There he was. Sunoo, still there, still waiting. Legs crossed under the table, chin propped on one hand as he scrolled idly through his phone, as if he had all the time in the world. For him.

Something in Sunghoon cracked open.

He crossed the room before he could lose the nerve, every step heavier with what he’d decided long ago but never said. And when he reached the booth, he didn’t sit. He stood there, hands shoved in his pockets, staring at Sunoo as if the words might choke him if he didn’t let them out now.

“Hey,” he said, voice rough. “Do you… want to go out? With me. Not just coffee. Like—” He forced himself to meet Sunoo’s eyes. “Like a date.”

The word hung there, daring. Too loud in the quiet café.

Sunoo blinked, startled. His lips parted like he’d been caught mid-thought, his gaze darting up and down Sunghoon’s face as if searching for the punchline. But there wasn’t one. Just Sunghoon, finally, asking.

For a heartbeat, Sunoo just stared. The kind of stare that stripped Sunghoon bare, like he was suddenly twenty two years old and nineteen and twelve all at once, standing stupid and trembling in front of someone who could destroy him with a single word.

Did he just—? Is this real? Did he actually say date—

His thoughts scattered, leaves in the wind, frantic, crashing against Sunghoon’s skull.

Sunoo’s mouth opened. Closed. Then opened again, but nothing came out. Just a shaky little laugh. “You… you mean, like—like a real date?”

Sunghoon swallowed hard. “Yeah. A real one. With me.”

The world slowed. Sunoo’s eyes flicked to the window, then back to him, then down to his hands fidgeting with his phone. His mind was a kaleidoscope—shock, confusion, a sudden hot flare of panic, and underneath it all, something that felt terrifyingly close to hope.

Why does my chest feel like this? Why am I nervous? Why do I—

Sunoo sucked in a breath, too loud in the quiet. “You’re serious.”

“I wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t.” 

Then finally, finally, Sunoo set his phone down, lifted his chin, and met Sunghoon’s gaze head on.

“...Okay,” he said, voice smaller than usual. A little uncertain. “Okay, hyung. Let’s go on a date.”

It wasn’t fireworks. It wasn’t a scream, or a laugh, or one of Sunoo’s usual dramatic flourishes. It was softer. Something Sunghoon had learned to hear from him these past few weeks—something honest to what he truly felt.

🧡🧡🧡

The morning of the date, Park Sunghoon woke up lighter. At first he thought it was just the sun, pale and honeyed across his sheets, the kind of morning that felt brighter because of what’s up ahead.

Then he realized it wasn’t lightness. It was silence.

He sat up so fast Jay was startled. The dorm was quiet—the normal kind of quiet. No radio buzz at the back of his skull, no stray thoughts.

He waited, trying to listen to Jay’s inner thoughts. Pressed the heel of his palm hard against his forehead. Nothing.

No voices.

Panic slammed through his chest.

By the time Jake found him, Sunghoon was pacing the quad. His hair was a mess, his hands shoved into his hoodie pocket, muttering under his breath like he was about to flunk a final.

“Hoon?” Jake’s voice cut through, a bit concerned. “You good? You texted saying there was an emergency.”

“I can’t hear anything.”

Jake blinked. “Uh… what?”

“The voices. The thoughts. They’re gone.”

Jake’s brows pinched together. “...You say that like you’re upset about it.”

“Because I am upset!” Sunghoon snapped, a little too loud. He dragged both hands through his hair until it stuck up in every direction. “I have a date. With Sunoo. Today. Do you understand? Today. And my whole plan was—was—” His throat closed. He swallowed hard. “I was going to make sure he had fun. I was going to give him exactly what he wanted, before he even had to ask. I was going to—”

“Cheat?” Jake supplied.

Sunghoon shot him a look, sharp and at the same time guilty.

Jake just shrugged. “Hoon. You don’t need… whatever hanok power that was. You think Sunoo’s going to fall for you because you magically predict his coffee order? Or because you remember every single detail about him? That’s not how this works.”

“You don’t get it,” Sunghoon muttered, pulling at the hem of his hoodie. “I can’t improvise. I don’t… do that. I needed a plan. And the plan was him. His head. His thoughts. That was my safety net.”

Jake’s smile softened. He nudged him with his shoulder. “You don’t need a safety net. You just need to be there. Listen to him. Actually listen, with your ears, not with your brain antenna. Sunoo doesn’t want a robot who computes optimal date efficiency.”

Sunghoon opened his mouth, then closed it. His chest was still tight. His pulse still messy.

Jake tilted his head, voice gentler now. “Hoon… he already said yes. Without you pulling stunts. Don’t you think that means something?”

Sunghoon’s throat burned. He wanted to agree, to let the comfort settle over him. But the truth was a splinter too deep to ignore.

“I did,” he blurted. His voice was low, raw. “I did pull stunts.”

Jake blinked. “...What?”

Sunghoon forced the words out before he could swallow them back. “I cheated. I used it. The voices. I read him. Every time. I knew what to say, what not to say. I twisted it into… into fate, into signs, into every stupid little thing he believes in. That’s how I got him to this point. That’s how I got him to even look at me.”

Jake stared at him like he’d just admitted to burning down the library. “Wait, wait, wait.” He put his hands up, nearly dropping the drink he was holding. “You’re telling me—you actually used it? On Sunoo? Like, not just peeked, but… you used it?”

Sunghoon’s throat tightened. He nodded once, sharp and miserable.

Jake blinked at him. Once. Twice. “You used telepathy. For love.” His voice pitched higher, half-horrified, half-incredulous. “Oh my god, you’re basically a drama villain.”

Sunghoon flinched. That was it, the judgment he deserved. He braced himself for the rest—hypocrite, liar, backstabber. Jake was supposed to tear into him, throw that night at the pojangmacha back in his face, remind him how he’d refused to peek at Heeseung’s thoughts because it was “wrong.”

But Jake didn’t.

He just sat there for a long moment, breathing out through his nose, then shook his head with something closer to resignation than rage. “...I should be furious at you. Honestly, I kind of am.” He scrubbed a hand down his face. “You said no to me, remember? You told me to man up, to just confess. And meanwhile—” he gestured helplessly, “you’re over here building an entire relationship strategy with cheat codes.”

Sunghoon’s chest burned. “I know,” he said, voice hoarse. “I know I’m a hypocrite.”

Jake’s eyes softened, the sharpness ebbing into something gentler. He sighed, leaning back in his chair. “Yeah, maybe. But you also look like you’re about to throw up just telling me this. Which means you already hate yourself enough for it. So what good does it do if I pile on?”

Sunghoon blinked, throat working. “You’re not going to—”

“Lecture you? Call you the world’s worst friend?” Jake shook his head again, a rueful little smile tugging at his lips. “Nah. You’re already doing that in your head on loop. I can tell.”

Silence stretched between them. Sunghoon had expected a blade. Instead, Jake had offered… something else.

Comfort.

“So you think Sunoo only laughed with you, only stayed with you, because you… what? Knew when to say the right thing? You think he’s that shallow?”

Sunghoon looked away. He couldn’t answer. Because deep down, he feared it was true.

Jake sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. “Hoon, I don’t care what kind of cursed power you got in that hanok or somewhere else, but listen to me, Sunoo’s not dumb. He’d never stick around if he didn’t want to. You didn’t trick him into liking you. You just… maybe gave yourself the push to show a version of you he needed. That doesn’t mean it’s fake.”

The words should have soothed him. But they did not.

Because Sunghoon couldn’t shake the thought: what if Jake was wrong? What if the version Sunoo wanted wasn’t him at all, but the cheater, the liar, the boy who weaponized thoughts that were never his to hear?

🧡🧡🧡

The date was supposed to feel easy. 

Light. 

Fate-touched.

Instead, it felt like Sunghoon had lost a limb.

Hours before, Sunghoon sat hunched over his desk, laptop open, pages cluttered with texts only he could decode. It wasn’t science equations or lab notes—it was Sunoo. Entire days reduced into data points.

He scrolled through the pages like a student cramming for exams when the professor had walked in and announced: Closed notes. Memory only.

His stomach churned. Without the static in his head—without that unfair, forbidden clarity—what if he misread? What if he cracked the joke at the wrong time, or praised when he should tease, or worse—what if Sunoo looked at him and thought, God, he doesn’t get me at all.

Sunghoon pressed his palms into his eyes until he saw stars. “This is fine,” he muttered to the dark. “I’ve studied. I know the material. I’ve been… paying attention.”

But even as he said it, the screen glared back at him, every bullet point a reminder of how far he’d gone. How he’d been observing Sunoo like an experiment. And now the experiment was running live, with no equations to solve, no answers tucked between neurons.

He shoved the laptop shut with more force than necessary. “Closed notes,” he said again, jaw tight. “Guess I’ll just have to pass or fail.”

And yet, the thought lingered, horrifying: what if Sunoo decided to fail him?

At the theater, he bought tickets to the first movie he saw, something loud, something with too many explosions. Sunoo didn’t complain, only grinned and asked if he was paying. But in the dark, Sunghoon sat stiff in his seat, every laugh Sunoo let out landing in his chest like a test he didn’t know how to answer. Should he laugh too? Was the timing right? What if Sunoo thought he wasn’t paying attention? What if he was paying attention but not enough?

By the time the credits rolled, his jaw ached from clenching.

“Hyung,” Sunoo said as they shuffled out with the crowd, “are you okay?” His tone was light, but his eyes searched. “You look… I don’t know. Constipated.”

“I’m fine,” Sunghoon said too fast. His palms were damp.

Sunoo tilted his head. “You sure? We can head home if you want. No big deal.”

“No,” Sunghoon said. Too sharp again. He cleared his throat. Softer, “I mean… no. I want to stay.”

So they stayed. They wandered the streets, ate tteok skewers from a vendor, lingered by the neon lights of claw machines neither of them actually played. Sunoo filled the spaces easily, rambling about professors and tiktok trends he found cute and wanting to recreate, even telling a ridiculous story about Jungwon’s failed attempt to microwave ramyeon in their dorm room.

And Sunghoon—usually so sharp, so quick with retorts—just nodded. Smiled when he remembered to. His brain screamed with every pause: What should I say? What if it’s the wrong thing? What is he thinking now? The silence in his head was unbearable.

“Hyung,” Sunoo said again at one point, softly now, “you really don’t look okay. You sure you don’t want to just go home?”

“I’m fine,” Sunghoon repeated, even as his voice cracked faintly.

The rest of the night stretched thin, awkward in places, sweet in others, but heavy with all the words he swallowed instead of speaking.

When they finally stopped at the steps of Sunoo’s dorm building, the streetlight flickered overhead. For a moment, it felt like the world had gone quiet just for them.

Sunoo shifted, shoulders brushing his as he turned. His laugh had softened into something smaller. His eyes lifted, then lingered, half-lidded, his face tilting ever so slightly toward Sunghoon’s.

Sunghoon’s pulse spiked. Is this—does he—should I— His brain scrambled, panicked. Without the voices, without the certainty, he couldn’t read the moment. He didn’t trust himself to.

So he froze.

And instead of leaning in, he stepped back. Cleared his throat. Forced a smile that felt brittle on his face. “...Goodnight, Sunoo.”

For a flicker, disappointment crossed Sunoo’s eyes—so quick Sunghoon might have imagined it. Then he smiled, soft and easy again, and said, “Goodnight, hyung.”

Sunghoon walked away with his hands shoved in his pockets, every step heavier than the last, heart thrumming with a brutal refrain: If I still had it, I’d know. If I still had it, I wouldn’t have let that moment pass.

🧡🧡🧡

That night, after watching Sunoo’s figure disappear into the dormitory glow, Sunghoon didn’t head back to his own bed. He didn’t even hesitate. His feet carried him straight to the curb, his thumb stabbing at his phone screen until a cab agreed to come.

The fare was obscene, more than he’d spent on groceries the entire month, but he didn’t care. He slid into the backseat, heart thudding against his ribs, and muttered the name of the village. The driver raised his brows, grumbled about the distance, but the meter started ticking anyway.

The ride was long, the roads dark and endless, the city lights falling away until only the dull glow of the dashboard lit Sunghoon’s clenched jaw. His mind wouldn’t quiet. It looped back to the date—Sunoo’s small smile, the way he’d leaned in at the end, that soft hesitation Sunghoon couldn’t decipher. 

He pressed his forehead to the cool glass of the window, watching blurred fields rush past. His reflection stared back at him, pale and hollow-eyed, and he thought: I can’t lose him. Not like this.

He didn’t have a plan. Didn’t even know what he was expecting. Maybe the guide would be there again, waiting like some kind of prophet. Maybe he’d just find silence, the same wooden beams and stone paths, nothing more. But Sunghoon was ready to throw every ounce of pride at whatever force had done this to him.

Just a little more time, he rehearsed in his head. Not forever. Just until he’s mine. Until he chooses me without question. 

He didn’t know if he’d beg the spirits, or the universe, or some god he didn’t believe in. But as the cab wound its way up the familiar road, Sunghoon’s chest tightened with something desperate and raw.

The cab pulled away, leaving Sunghoon in the silence of the village. The lanterns that had once glowed were dark now, their paper shells fluttering faintly in the night wind. The stone path crunched under his shoes as he made his way to the hanok, every breath ghosting in the frigid air.

Empty.

The courtyard stretched bare, no voices, no figures, no cryptic guide waiting with half answers. Just him and the skeletal outline of the house against the black sky. He stood there for a long moment, the weight of the journey pressing down on him, until his knees gave out.

He sank onto the porch steps, hands hanging useless between his legs. The quiet was deafening. Just the hollow beat of his own heart.

At some point, he must have texted Jake, half-drunk on adrenaline, thumb shaking across the screen. I’m going to fight for it. For him. For the future I know is mine. Jake had left three unanswered calls in return, but Sunghoon had turned his phone face down, unable to bear the thought of being dragged back.

The hours blurred. He didn’t remember closing his eyes, didn’t remember surrendering to the cold, only that the dark stretched endless. And then—

When he woke, the sun wasn’t up yet. But he wasn’t alone.

The man’s presence was quiet but undeniable, as though he had been there long before Sunghoon even arrived. His robe sleeves trailed across the wooden step, his hair tied back with no concern for neatness. Wise—that was the only word Sunghoon’s mind could muster. Not in the sense of age, but in the way his stillness carried entire volumes.

Sunghoon’s chest was tight. “You know why I’m here.”

The man regarded him with eyes both soft and sharp, like they saw more than Sunghoon would ever confess. “Do I?”

Sunghoon’s nails bit into his palms. “I need it back. The ability. I can’t—I can’t lose it now. Not when—” His throat caught. “Not when I finally—”

“Finally what?” The man’s voice didn’t cut. It guided. Like a lantern showing corners Sunghoon hadn’t wanted to see.

Sunghoon blinked hard. The words spilled. “Not when I finally have a chance. With him. With Sunoo.”

The man’s silence pressed heavier than accusation.

Sunghoon’s chest heaved. “I don’t need it forever. Just… just a little longer. Just until he sees me properly. Then I’ll let it go, I swear.” His hands curled into fists on his knees. “Please. Just more time.”

The man tilted his head. “More time. Tell me, what does that mean?”

Sunghoon stilled. His mouth opened, closed, then opened again. “It means—until he chooses me. Until he believes it’s fate, until he…” His voice cracked. “Until he loves me back.”

The man’s gaze held. “What did you think this power was?”

“A shortcut,” Sunghoon said, before he could pretty it up. His voice tasted of metal. “A way to make things certain. To stop wasting time. To… get to him faster.”

“And why did you think it was given to you?”

Because I deserve it. Because I’m careful. Because I’ll use it well. The answers he’d rehearsed sounded small, mean, childish under the dawn. “I told myself it meant we were meant for each other. That the universe chose me.” He stared at his palms. “But maybe it was never about fate. Maybe it was to show me what people don’t say. And I turned it into a lever.”

Sunghoon’s voice broke open as he added, “He doesn’t even like me. Not the way I want. He… he liked another guy. He looked at him like he was the sun. And I—” His breath shuddered. “I couldn’t stand it. I thought—if I knew how to respond, if I could just… steer things, if I could make him laugh, make him feel safe—then maybe he’d look at me instead.”

“And so you listened,” the man murmured.

“I cheated.” Sunghoon’s head dropped.

The word hung there, brutal in its simplicity.

“Tell me,” the man said gently, “when you listened, whose heart were you protecting? His, or yours?”

Sunghoon froze. The truth sliced him open. He had told himself it was kindness, that he was smoothing over Sunoo’s fears, giving him the comfort he deserved. But at the root of it—the gnawing, selfish root—he had been terrified of being unwanted. Of being ordinary. Of being left behind.

“My own,” he whispered.

The man’s gaze softened, but he did not let him go. “And what is it you believe now? About him. About yourself.”

Sunghoon’s breath came shallow. He stared at his hands, at the faint scar on his knuckles from the party, when Sunoo tripped above him during the game. “I believe…” His voice trembled, but steadied. “I believe I want him. Not because I can win him. Not because the universe handed me some… tools. But because when he laughs, it feels like the world makes much more sense. Because when he looks at me—even just as a friend—it feels like I’m not as cold as I thought I was.”

“And what about yourself?” the man asked again, firmer.

Sunghoon shut his eyes. He wanted to say he did what he did in the name of love. He wanted to cling to the word passion. But those felt like clothes he’d outgrown. What was left was raw, naked truth.

“I’m selfish,” he admitted, the words hollowing him out. “I’m scared. I keep trying to play god because I don’t think I’m enough on my own. But I want to be. I want to be enough for him without cheating. I want to be someone he chooses even when I’m flawed. Even when I can’t read his mind.”

The dawn was breaking, a pale wash of light spilling across the hanok. The man’s features glowed faintly, as though made more real by Sunghoon’s words.

At last, the man nodded. “Then you already have your answer.”

Sunghoon’s brow furrowed. “What answer?”

The man turned his gaze to the horizon. “Love cannot be stolen. It cannot be engineered. You cannot manufacture fate. You can only meet it, bare and trembling, and hope it will meet you back. The power you had, it was never meant to guarantee love. Only to show you what people hide. And now, perhaps, you must learn to hear the truths without shortcuts. Including your own.”

Sunghoon’s throat tightened, tears pricking hot. “But what if I lose him?”

The man’s voice was steady, resolute. “Then you will know you lost him as yourself. And that is not a loss… It is freedom. Because love without choice is not love at all.”

The silence that followed was not empty. It was full—of ache, of clarity, of something larger than either of them.

When Sunghoon blinked again, the step beside him was empty. No robe, no man, no trace. Only the rising sun and the quiet pulse of his own heart.

Sunghoon stared at his phone for a long time, thumb hovering. He typed, deleted, typed again, deleted again, then finally wrote the only thing that didn’t feel like strategy.

He sent the text at 3:07 AM, thumbs numb from the cold.

Sunghoon: I’m sorry I was weird last night.
Sunghoon: I need to tell you something.

He tried to book a cab back to the city. None took. The app spun and spun and spat back apologies. He curled on the hanok’s porch, hoodie up, phone face down, and let the dark swallow him.

When he blinked awake, the morning already came and his screen was a battlefield.

18 missed calls. Jake (8), Jungwon (6), Jay (4).

A string of texts:

Jay: Where are you?
Jay: If you died I’m going to be so mad.
Jay: Call me back right now.

Jungwon: Answer your phone, hyung
Jungwon: I’m putting together a search plan if you don’t respond in 15 minutes
Jungwon: This is not a joke.

Jake: Dude I’m sorry I had to tell all of them. I panicked.
Jake: Please call me.

And then—

Sunoo: I already know. Jake hyung told us.

His stomach dropped so fast he had to sit down again.

Another ping, late by a minute, as if the universe wanted to twist the knife:

Ni-ki: Hyung was that true? That’s bad ass. Why didn’t you tell me?

Sunghoon stared at the screen until the letters stopped meaning anything. Then he typed to Jake—You had no— He erased it. Tried again.

Sunghoon: I’m alive. I’m at the hanok.
Sunghoon: I’m not mad. I just need to fix this.

Jake called immediately. Sunghoon answered on the second ring.

“I’m sorry,” Jake blurted. “You texted ‘I’m going to fight for it’ at, like, two-something, and then your phone went dead, and everyone asked where you were, and I—my mouth did the thing. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” His voice sounded scraped. “He texted me.”

“I know. He texted me too,” Jake said, softer. “He was… quiet.”

“Is he—” The word done lodged like a broken glass. “Is he furious?”

“Not how you think.” Jake exhaled. “Just… come back. Don’t run.”

The call ended with a promise—I’m coming back—and a bus schedule that made him swear under his breath. He switched to Sunoo’s thread and typed with fingers that wouldn’t stop shaking.

Sunghoon: It’s true. All of it.
Sunghoon: I won’t make excuses. I’m coming back to campus. Can we talk?

The typing bubble appeared. Disappeared. Returned.

Sunoo: Not now.
Sunoo: I need time to process all these, hyung. 

He read the last line three times. 

Another buzz from Jungwon:

Jungwon: Good. You’re alive, hyung. Meet me later if you need help or anything. And eat something.

Ni-ki again:

Ni-ki: Also if you can hear minds why didn’t you stop me from buying that fake labubu
Ni-ki: Nvm hyung we’ll discuss later

Sunghoon shoved the phone in his pocket, shouldered his bag, and started down the path toward the road. The morning smelled like pine and old wood. Every step felt like walking toward a verdict he deserved.

🧡🧡🧡

The dorm door was already unlocked.

When Sunghoon stepped inside, he braced himself for silence, maybe Jay on his bed half-asleep, ready to mutter “where the hell were you?”

Instead, the room was full.

Jay, Jungwon, Jake, Ni-ki—every single one of them. And on Jay’s desk chair, spinning it lazily, was Heeseung. Of course Heeseung was already updated, he and Jake had been dating and going steady for a few months now.

“Finally,” Jay snapped, springing up. “You better have a damn good explanation, because Jake said you ran off to some hanok like a maniac—”

“—and that you can, like, read minds,” Jungwon added.

Ni-ki was perched on Jay’s bed, eyes gleaming. “Hyung. Telepathy. Why didn’t you tell me sooner? That’s sick. Do I look cool in my thoughts? Tell me I look cool.”

Jake looked wrecked, hands buried in his hair. “I’m sorry,” he said quickly, before Sunghoon could even answer. “They kept asking where you were, and I panicked, and it just came out, and—”

“Jake looked so terrified I thought he was making it up,” Jay cut in, eyes sharp. “But then we couldn’t reach you, and Jungwon nearly called campus security, and Sunoo—” He stopped, lips pressing tight.

Sunghoon’s stomach lurched. “Sunoo.”

“He knows, hyung,” Jungwon said flatly. “And he’s not here.”

Heeseung finally spoke, voice calmer than the rest but no less heavy. “They thought Jake was joking at first. Or drunk. But then you vanished, and the messages…” He gestured at Sunghoon’s phone. “It wasn’t funny anymore.”

The room went still. Everyone’s eyes locked on him.

“Tell us the truth,” Jungwon said evenly. “All of it. Because right now, we don’t know if our friend’s been losing his mind, or if we are being subjected to the cruelest joke.”

The weight pressed down hard, suffocating. Sunghoon’s throat felt raw.

He didn’t sit. Couldn’t. The weight in his chest was too heavy for that.

He explained everything, from the beginning in the hanok, to the day he realized it was real, to the moment his principles crumbled. The way Sunoo—God, Sunoo—sat across from him during tutoring, thinking so loudly he couldn’t escape. And what started as noise became… temptation. Then strategy. Then obsession.

The room was silent. 

Jay leaned back first, exhaling through his teeth. His disbelief was loud, written across his face, but there was something else underneath—betrayal. “Do you even hear yourself? You’re telling us you read his mind—his mind, Hoon—and used it like a playbook to get him to like you?” His voice cracked sharp with disbelief. “That’s not fate. That’s not even love. That’s—” He cut himself off, dragging both hands through his hair. “That’s manipulation, man. You know that.”

Jungwon looked down at his hands. He didn’t interrupt, didn’t lash out, but the disappointment in his posture was enough. Jungwon was methodical, trusted rules and fairness; hearing Sunghoon twist something so intimate into a formula must’ve felt like watching gravity break.

Ni-ki’s eyes were wide, but not angry. He muttered, “So it’s real. Telepathy.” To him, it was still cool, even if it was wrong, but he understood, in his own way, that it was dangerous too. “It’s… kinda terrifying. Like you were walking around with a loaded gun, and we didn’t even know, hyung.”

Jake leaned forward, elbows on his knees, face tight with guilt. “I should’ve stopped you,” he admitted. “When you told me, I should’ve… I don’t know, maybe I should have been more skeptical. I should have noticed things. But I didn’t, and now—” He broke off, shaking his head. “Now Sunoo’s hurt. And that’s on both of us.”

Heeseung was the only one who looked at him steadily, arms crossed, gaze unreadable. He didn’t ask questions. He didn’t need to. He’d already pieced together the shape of it. “You’ve always been careful, Hoon. Calculated. But this?” His arms folded across his chest. “You don’t need my judgment. You already know what you did. What you need to figure out is whether you’re going to keep running from that… or face it head on.”

The silence that followed was suffocating.

Sunghoon stayed standing, back against the wall, hands curled into fists in his pockets. He didn’t argue. Didn’t defend himself. Because for once, he had nothing left to hide behind, not even other people’s thoughts.

🧡🧡🧡

The first snow fell quiet, unannounced. Just a thin lace of white drifting across campus lawns, frosting the railings, gathering in the crooks of branches. Sunghoon was in the library when his phone buzzed, a vibration so soft it almost disappeared under the sound of working heaters. He pulled it out half-distracted—until he saw the name on the screen.

Sunoo: I’m ready to listen now. Greenhouse, 2 PM.

Sunghoon’s pulse skipped. For a second, he couldn’t breathe. His thumb hovered over the screen. Over a month of silence, one month of keeping distance, one month of carrying all the unsaid words like stones in his pockets and now this.

By the time two o’clock came, the greenhouse air was heavy and warm against the bite of winter outside. Snow still clung to his coat when he stepped in, melting into beads that slipped down his sleeves.

Sunoo was already there. Standing by the benches, hands stuffed in his pockets, hair catching the white light that filtered through the glass panes. He didn’t smile, but he didn’t look away either.

“You came,” Sunoo said softly.

“You asked,” Sunghoon answered. 

For a long moment, they just stood in the damp hush of the greenhouse, fans clicking overhead, the snow outside falling harder, the distance between them narrowing not with steps, but with something heavier.

“Don’t lie,” Sunoo said, voice quiet, not cold. “Start there.”

Sunghoon swallowed. “It’s gone.”

Sunoo blinked.

“The… voices,” Sunghoon said, throat rough. “I woke up the day of our first date and I couldn’t hear anything. Not you. Not anyone. I panicked. I ran to the hanok like an idiot thinking I could bargain with—” He exhaled, a humorless sound. “—with whatever broke me.”

Sunoo’s face didn’t change, but his shoulders eased a fraction. “So you can’t hear me now.”

“No.” The word shook. “And I won’t pretend I’m noble about it. I miss it. It made me feel safe. It made me feel… chosen.” He forced his gaze up. “But it also made me cruel. I used it. I used you. I told myself I was protecting your heart, when really I was just protecting mine.”

Sunoo’s laugh was soft and terrible. “Do you know what it felt like? To replay everything and realize you had the answers in the back of the book the whole time? That every time you said exactly the right thing, it wasn’t because you saw me—it’s because you heard me where I didn’t invite you.”

“I did see you,” Sunghoon said, the words breaking open. “That’s what kills me. I saw you spill hot chocolate and brace for the joke and I wanted to be the person who didn’t make it. I saw you look at the door all night waiting for someone who didn’t show and I wanted to be the person who did. The cheating came after the wanting, not before it.” He took a breath like it hurt. “It doesn’t make it clean. But it’s true.”

Sunoo stared at him, mouth a thin line, eyes bright. “Then answer me something you couldn’t have stolen. Why me? Not the way I’m loud, or pretty when I laugh. Something you learned without crawling into my skull.”

Sunghoon didn’t look away. “Because you’re brave in quiet ways. Because you translate rooms. You stand in a circle of people and you can feel where the cracks are, and you… spackle them with yourself. You smooth the edges so no one cuts themselves, even if it slices you a little. I didn’t fall for the carrot costume, Sunoo. I fell for the way you held the door with your foot while your hands were full, and still apologized to the door when it bumped you. I fell for the way you looked at the photo strip that night and then tucked it away like a promise to yourself.” His voice lowered. “I fell for the way you squeeze once—just once—when you hold someone’s hand in the dark. When you held mine. Like you’re saying here without having to say help.”

Sunoo’s eyes flinched, a tiny, betraying muscle. “You shouldn’t know that about me.”

“I know because I was there,” Sunghoon said, helpless. “Because I paid attention. Not because I listened without permission.” He swallowed. “I wish I could hand you every moment and show you which ones were mine and which ones were stolen. I can’t. All I can do is stop stealing.”

Sunoo breathed in, wet greenhouse air and something like regret. “You took my choice,” he said, the words small but heavy. “You took the part where I get to decide if I want to be seen. You made the timing for me. You—” His voice wavered. “You turned my insides into strategy.”

Sunghoon nodded once, a flinch made into a vow. “I did. And I am so, so sorry.” He stepped forward one slow pace, palms open. “If there’s a way through this that isn’t me—if you need me to disappear so your chest doesn’t feel like a crime scene, I will. I’ll be the villain in the story you tell yourself at night so you can sleep. Just—” His voice cracked. “Just don’t let the part where I loved you be the lie. Punish me for how. Not for that.”

Tears gathered but didn’t fall. Sunoo looked away, up, anywhere but the boy unraveling in front of him. A bee worried at the screen. The fan clicked again.

“Say something I don’t want to hear,” he whispered. “And don’t guess. Don’t read. Just… say it.”

Sunghoon’s mouth trembled. “I don’t know if I’m enough without the shortcut.”

The answer landed like a stone in a lake—clean, sinking, ripples everywhere.

“Thank you,” Sunoo said, and the words sounded soft and sharp. He scrubbed at his cheek with the heel of his hand, angry at the wetness there. “Because I don’t know if I’m ready to forgive you. And I hate that part of me still wants to reach for you anyway.”

Sunghoon made a wrecked sound. “Then don’t forgive me today. Make rules. Make walls. I’ll take them. I’ll climb them slow. Just give me a way to try that doesn’t cost you yourself.”

Sunoo’s gaze dropped to Sunghoon’s hands, empty, shaking. He looked for a long time, as if deciding whether they were capable of gentleness.

“Okay,” he said finally, and the greenhouse seemed to tilt. “Rules.”

He spoke them as if he’d been building a bridge one plank at a time.

“One: no more shortcuts. No games with fate, no nudging people out of my orbit, no… orchestration.”

“Okay,” Sunghoon breathed. “Yes.”

“Two: honesty that hurts is still better than kindness that lies.” He swallowed. “If you don’t know what I’m feeling, don’t pretend. Don’t perform. Just tell me the truth.”

“Yes.”

“Three.” He hesitated, then reached into his pocket and pulled out the photo strip—three tiny windows, the last one looked fabricated now. He smoothed the glossy edge with his thumb. “We pause. No dates. No almost-kisses under flickering streetlights. We go back to… talking.” His voice tried to steady and failed. “If there’s anything real left, it’ll survive talking.”

Sunghoon pressed his knuckles to his mouth, nodded. “I’ll talk until my throat breaks.”

“Four,” Sunoo said, softer. “When you’re scared, you don’t go to the mountains and bargain with ghosts. You reach out to me, to our friends.”

A breath that might’ve been a laugh, might’ve been a sob. “Deal.”

Sunoo looked down at the photo strip once more, at the third frame where they were turned to each other, eyes locked. He lifted the corner as if to tear it—then stopped. He didn’t tear it. He flipped it over and, with the stub of a pencil someone had left by a tray of seedlings, wrote a date on the back. The day of the party. The before. Then the date today, the date of the first fall of the snow. The after.

“I’m angry,” he said, finally looking at him. “And I miss you. I don’t know what to do with the fact that both are true.”

Sunghoon’s eyes shone. “Give me the part where you’re angry. You keep the rest safe. I can stand here and take it.”

Sunoo’s mouth trembled. “I don’t want you to just take it. I want you to understand it. I want you to not do it again.” His voice fell to a whisper. “I want to know what it feels like to be chosen by you without being studied, without being solved.”

“You will be,” Sunghoon said, a promise. “If you let me try. If you don’t—” He swallowed the rest, the plea, the please.

Sunoo nodded once, a reprieve. He tucked back the photo strip into his pocket.

“Walk me out,” he said.

They moved through the humid aisle shoulder to shoulder, close enough to feel each other’s heat, not quite touching. At the door, Sunoo paused with his hand on the bar, the glass fogged pale with his breath.

“Think something,” he said suddenly, voice low, without turning. “Something you would’ve listened for. Something you shouldn’t know.”

Sunghoon stared at the back of his head, the slope of his neck, the green smudge of a leaf caught in his hair. For the first time in months, he didn’t reach for an answer that wasn’t his to take. 

Finally, he smiled. “I can’t hear you,” he said. His voice carried all the weight of confession, and the fragile hope of a man learning how to love with all honesty.

Sunoo’s shoulders shifted, a breath leaving him. He pushed the door open. Cold air rushed in, biting their cheeks, scattering the steam of the greenhouse. For a second, snow drifted in too, soft and fleeting, like the universe reminding them that the autumn was gone and that winter is finally here after all.

“Good,” Sunoo murmured. And then—just as the light broke across his face—he glanced back at Sunghoon, the barest curve tugging at his lips; hurt’s sibling, hope’s beginning.

It wasn’t entirely forgiveness. 

But it was not an ending, either.

And Sunghoon stepped into the snowfall with nothing in his pockets but rules and a vow, following the pull of a boy who—miracle of small miracles—still looked back.