Work Text:
Spring had finally arrived at Yonsei University.
The temperature was just right—no longer cold, but not yet warm. A gentle breeze swept across the campus, carrying the faint fragrance of blooming flowers, making anyone who passed by automatically inhale a little deeper.
The cherry blossom trees lining the front of the main building were beginning to bloom, their petals soft and cotton-candy pink. Each time the wind moved, the petals fluttered down, landing lightly on the hair and shoulders of students who walked past laughing. Some paused to take photos; others simply sat beneath the trees, soaking in the moment.
The freshly grown grass looked greener than usual, and the garden benches quickly filled with students having lunch or waiting for their next class. The campus felt more alive—brighter, busier, and, somehow, just a little more romantic.
Along the corridors, wide windows had been pushed open, letting sunlight spill gently across the floors. The warm glow made everyone reluctant to rush. Everything felt new, like the first page of a semester that promised to be kinder.
Amid the gentle bustle, Boom Raveewit walked with his guitar slung over one shoulder.
Normally, he couldn’t care less about the seasons, but today—even he couldn’t ignore how beautiful the falling cherry petals were.
And somehow, the sight brought a strange thought to him:
this spring… feels like it might be different.
“Sunbaenim… Boom sunbaenim!”
Two voices called out from behind, followed by hurried footsteps.
One girl was hugging her shoulder bag to her chest, while the other clutched a slightly crumpled pamphlet—crumpled from being squeezed too tightly along the way. Their breaths were uneven when they finally caught up to him.
“Sunbaenim…” the girl with bangs said, her voice almost trembling as she tried to steady her breathing.
Boom stopped walking. He turned slowly, his expression unreadable—cold, calm, the kind of gaze that made many students straighten their posture without thinking. The moment his eyes landed on them, both girls immediately stood more properly, as though facing a strict professor.
“H-How about our offer yesterday?” the girl with glasses asked timidly, her voice small but full of hope.
“Yes… we wanted to ask if you’d reconsider performing at the campus music festival. Please… if you can, think about it again.”
Both girls bowed at the same time—nervous but clearly sincere.
The girl with bangs held the pamphlet out to him.
But Boom only glanced at it. No reaction. No movement. Not a single shift in his expression.
Silence stretched between them—only the spring breeze moved, brushing their hair lightly.
When they finally lifted their heads, expecting some form of response…
Boom was already walking away.
Just like that—leaving them behind as though they were nothing but background noise.
“Aah… rejected again,” the girl with bangs sighed, lightly stomping her foot. Not out of anger—more out of pure exhaustion.
“He’s handsome, but seriously… does he have no feelings at all?” the girl with glasses muttered, watching his back grow smaller and smaller. “With that personality, does he even have a girlfriend?”
“He should!” the girl with bangs insisted. “He’s famous everywhere. Even if he’s cold and scary sometimes, so many girls still try approaching him.”
They exchanged glances—then matching mischievous smiles spread across their faces.
“You like him, don’t you?” the girl with bangs teased.
“You do too!” her friend shot back, laughing.
Their playful laughter drifted into the spring air as they walked off, the festival pamphlet swinging in the girl’s hand.
Not far from where they stood, a young man with sharp, narrow eyes and a small smile had been quietly watching the whole thing—from the moment Boom stopped walking, to the girls’ nervous babbling, to Boom leaving without a word.
He smiled faintly, as if hiding a secret only he knew.
Then he turned and headed toward his class, leaving a faint sense of curiosity lingering in the air.
Meanwhile, Boom returned to his own world—a world consisting only of himself, his breath, and his music.
He settled into the small garden behind the music building, the place he always retreated to whenever crowds drained his energy. As an introvert, attention exhausted him quickly. Music was the only thing that could recharge him, like a battery slowly filling back up.
A soft spring breeze brushed his hair, carrying the scent of newly blossomed cherry trees. A few petals landed gently on his lap—right on the body of his guitar.
Boom lowered his gaze, adjusted his fingers, and plucked the first note.
A tender melody unfurled into the air—warm, fragile—much like the parts of his heart he never let anyone see.
His voice soon followed: quiet, clear, soulful. It transformed the back garden into another world entirely.
He sang one of his favorite songs, the one that mirrored a side of himself no one really knew.
A song about fear, fragility, and the simple longing to be loved gently.
About someone who criticized himself too easily, cracked too easily, and quietly hoped someone might hold his flaws without hesitation.
Note by note, he opened a door he rarely dared to unlock.
Treat me gently… love me the right way.
That was the heart of the song—a small request he never dared say aloud to anyone.
Boom closed his eyes, letting his voice blend with the wind and the scent of cherry blossoms. Here, in this quiet place, he felt safe.
Not cold.
Not intimidating.
Not someone who had to appear perfect.
Just Boom—
a young man whose heart was finally allowed to sing.
I get defensive and insecure
My own worst critic
Behind a closing door
I’m fragile and fractured
That’s for sure
I burned myself down to the ground
Oh, can I ask of you
To treat me soft and tender
Love me hard and true
Keep my heart from building walls
So high, you can’t get through
Treat me soft and tender
Oh, can you love me like
Love me like that—Sam Kim.
Drrrt… drrrt…
The soft vibration of his phone cut through Boom’s gentle humming. He glanced at the black screen and tapped it twice. A single message appeared from a friend in his music club.
“Where are you? Class has started. Get here fast or you’ll be marked absent.”
Boom flinched. Without bothering to reply, he hurriedly packed up his beloved guitar and slipped it back into its case. The classroom was a good distance from the garden behind the music building—and to make things worse, the professor teaching today was notorious for being strict.
Boom quickened his pace, then broke into a small run, determined not to be late or draw any unnecessary attention. But in his rush, he failed to notice a young man walking casually from the opposite direction. And because neither of them slowed down, the collision was inevitable.
Thud—
Their shoulders bumped sharply. Boom stopped in his tracks. Something hit the ground and rolled away. He turned around and saw a pair of wireless black headphones lying there. Without hesitation, he crouched, picked them up, and handed them to the young man in a blue shirt standing before him.
“Sorry… I was in a hurry.”
Boom bowed quickly and was about to leave, but a low voice stopped him.
“Yaa, sunbaenim. You need to take responsibility. Look—your bump cracked it.”
The young man lifted the headphones, holding them almost right in front of Boom’s face.
Boom paused. His gaze met a pair of sharp, fox-like eyes—narrow, unwavering, and fixed on him.
He exhaled softly.
“Fine. I’ll pay for it. But not right now,” he said in a calm tone, even though every second ticking by only made him later. “I need to go. I’m already late for class.”
“No,” the young man replied immediately. “You’re coming with me now. What if you run away and never pay?”
Boom took another breath, this one heavier. His shoulders lowered just a little—less out of defeat, more out of exhaustion.
Patience. He needed patience for someone like this.
“I’m not going to run away. But I really need to go.”
“No.” The refusal was firm, almost forceful.
“But—”
“Then give me your number.” The young man thrust his phone toward him. “If you disappear, I can find you.”
Boom didn’t have time to argue. He took the phone, typed in his number, and handed it back.
“What’s your name?” Boom asked as he passed the device to him.
“Peanut,” he answered with a small smile—one of those quiet smiles that looked harmless on the surface, yet hinted at something else beneath it. A hint of satisfaction he didn’t bother to hide.
Boom nodded. “I’m—”
“Boom,” Peanut cut in, as if he had been waiting for the chance to say it. “I know. No need for introductions.”
Of course. Everyone knew him. Boom wasn’t surprised.
“I really have to go.” Without waiting for another protest, he hurried off again—this time more carefully, making sure he didn’t run into anyone else.
Peanut remained where he stood, watching Boom’s retreating figure. The guitar slung across the senior’s back swayed gently with each hurried step until he finally disappeared around the corner.
Slowly, the corners of Peanut’s lips lifted. His eyes narrowed, and his ears flushed red—unable to hide the burst of excitement swelling in his chest.
He hadn’t expected this to happen. Honestly—he’d been waiting a long time for even the tiniest chance like this. Ever since he first stepped onto the Yonsei campus as a transfer student from Thailand.
“Yes… yes!” Peanut bounced on his toes, pumping his fist in a small celebratory gesture.
“One step closer… to you, Boom sunbaenim.”
---
“Sunbaenim,
I’m waiting for you at the campus gate.”
Boom froze for a moment, his fingers tightening around his phone. The message felt like an extra weight on top of the already exhausting class he had just endured. If that guy hadn’t stopped him earlier, he wouldn’t have been late—wouldn’t have been publicly scolded by the infamous killer professor. Luckily, his intelligence saved him from the surprise quiz thrown at him specifically because he arrived a few minutes late.
Boom let out a long breath.
Tsk…
A small click of annoyance escaped from his tongue before he slipped the phone into his pocket.
“What’s wrong?” Yun Gi asked, walking beside him with his backpack slung lazily over one shoulder.
“Nothing. Just a minor annoyance,” Boom replied without looking at him.
They headed for the music club building, where the others were waiting for their afternoon rehearsal. The sky was clear; leaves rustled gently under the breeze, and the lowering sunlight spilled gold across the campus path. It should have been a peaceful moment—if Boom’s phone hadn’t started vibrating again.
The vibration came in steady, relentless waves, as if the caller refused to give up.
Boom kept walking. He didn’t speed up, didn’t slow down. As if the call wasn’t even happening. But Yun Gi’s eyebrows twitched at the sight of the constantly buzzing phone.
“You really not going to answer it?” he asked.
“No need,” Boom replied, voice flat as glass.
Yun Gi sighed. “Fine, whatever. Ten-door refrigerator.”
Boom only raised a thin eyebrow.
A few steps later, Yun Gi spoke again. “Boom, about the festival… you really don’t want to perform?”
Boom stopped. The late afternoon sunlight lit his profile, outlining the calm but striking lines of his face. He turned slightly.
“I don’t want to. I’m not interested.”
“Come on… your voice is incredible. It’s a waste not to show it on a big stage.”
“I make music for myself, Yun Gi. Not to be the center of attention.”
Yun Gi lifted both hands in surrender. “Alright, alright. Have it your way.”
They continued walking. A soft breeze ruffled the tips of Boom’s hair, carrying faint scents of flowers from the art faculty garden. It should have stayed calm—until his phone vibrated again.
This time, he closed his eyes briefly before pressing the green button.
“…Hello.”
“Running away after breaking someone’s belongings… that’s not very nice, sunbaenim.”
Peanut’s voice flowed clearly—light, but piercing like a hidden smirk.
Boom tensed just a little.
“I’m not running away. I have club practice.”
“A classic excuse,” Peanut hummed, sounding almost playful but still binding. “I’ll wait at the main gate.”
There was no room for protest. The call ended before Boom even breathed out.
He lowered the phone. The veins on his hand were visible, his grip tight—but his face remained calm, smooth like a still lake.
“Who was that?” Yun Gi asked cautiously.
Boom inhaled deeply, as if suppressing a small storm inside his chest.
“Gi… I’m going for a bit. Go to the clubroom first.”
“Hah? Boom, what—”
“There’s something I need to settle.”
His tone was calm but left no space for questioning. Without waiting for Yun Gi’s reaction, Boom turned around and walked off quickly, leaving his friend staring after him as the soft breeze carried Boom’s silhouette away.
---
A few minutes later, Boom arrived at the main gate. Under the warm glow of the sinking sun, Peanut was already there, leaning casually against the iron fence—looking very much like someone who had been waiting with patience.
The moment Boom approached, their eyes met.
“Hi, sunbaenim. You finally came,” Peanut greeted, his smile wide—far too wide for someone who’d only met him hours ago.
Boom didn’t return the smile. Without a word, he reached into his bag, took out his wallet, and pulled out several bills. He extended the money toward Peanut.
Peanut blinked. “What’s this?”
“Money,” Boom answered plainly, his voice cold like the tail end of spring. “I won’t have time to buy you new headphones. Get them yourself.”
Peanut looked at the money… and then, for some reason, let out a small laugh. Not mocking—more like amused.
Boom frowned. “Why? Not enough?”
“That’s not it.” Peanut shook his head, still fighting a smile. “I don’t need this.”
Boom held his breath for a moment. “Then what do you want?”
Peanut clasped his hands behind his back, expression bright with the kind of confidence that came from spotting a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.
“Have dinner with me.”
Boom froze.
…What exactly was wrong with this guy?
“No,” he said quickly. “I have practice. Just take the money. Stop bothering me.”
He offered the bills again, more firmly this time.
But Peanut only laughed softly again—clearer now, as if Boom had given the exact response he expected.
“I told you, I don’t need the money.” Peanut’s gaze sharpened slightly, though his tone stayed gentle. “Dinner with me. That’s the only condition. After that, we’re even.”
Boom felt irritation and fatigue blend into one. This guy was even more stubborn than he was—and that was impressive in a terrible way.
Without thinking too long, Boom grabbed Peanut’s hand, shoved the money into his palm, and closed his fingers around it.
“Just take it. I don’t want to waste time,” Boom said before turning away, his steps quick, not giving Peanut a chance to speak again.
Peanut stared at the money in his hand, and slowly, a wide smile bloomed—one he’d been holding back since earlier. The corners of his eyes lifted, and a small breath escaped his lips, full of triumph.
“Alright then, sunbaenim…” he murmured, that smile curling into something more satisfied.
“The game has just begun.”
The next morning, the sky over Seoul was clear, and the soft spring light washed over Yonsei University like a gentle filter, making everything seem a little more alive. Boom walked at a relaxed pace, headphones covering his ears, hoping today he could get through the morning without interruptions… especially after yesterday’s chaos.
He was heading toward the music building, silently planning his practice schedule.
That hope lasted… about three seconds.
Someone brushed past him—close enough that Boom caught a faint citrus scent, fresh, light, and distracting in a way he didn’t appreciate.
“Hi, sunbaenim.”
Boom’s steps faltered. He turned. Of course—it was Peanut.
He immediately paused the music.
“What are you doing here?”
“I study here,” Peanut answered, as if that were the most obvious fact in the world. Hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie, he strolled casually beside Boom. “And my class happens to be in the next building. So… same direction.”
Boom exhaled quietly. “You don’t need to walk with me.”
“But we bumped into each other yesterday,” Peanut said, half hiding a smile. “It’d be rude not to build a proper connection after that, don’t you think?”
“There is no connection,” Boom replied, not even pretending to sound friendly. He quickened his pace.
Peanut followed easily, steps matching Boom’s as if some invisible gravity pulled them side by side.
“Oh, right,” Peanut said, as though remembering something. “About that dinner.”
Boom stopped. “No.”
“I didn’t even say anything yet,” Peanut answered, amusement threading his voice.
Boom shot him a sharp look. “Still no.”
Peanut only shrugged. “Alright then. In that case…”
He leaned in slightly—just enough to make Boom instinctively step back half a pace.
“I’ll think of another replacement. Something sunbaenim can accept more easily.”
Boom stared at him, torn between irritation and exhaustion. “You… what exactly do you want?”
Peanut smiled—calm, but hiding something beneath.
“I don’t like taking money from someone who can’t even look at me properly.”
Boom turned his face away. “I really don’t understand you.”
“That’s because you’re not trying to see me.”
His voice was soft, light—but there was a thin thread of sincerity that made Boom pause. Without realizing it, Boom looked at him longer than he intended—confused, annoyed, and feeling something he couldn’t quite name.
Peanut met his gaze—bright, slightly narrow eyes full of curiosity, like a fox that had found something worth chasing.
“Good luck with practice, sunbaenim. See you later.”
Before Boom could protest, Peanut had already turned around, walking away lightly, as if carried by the spring breeze itself.
Boom stayed still, fingers tightening around the strap of his guitar bag.
Day two. And he already felt… followed? Annoyed? Chased?
Or…
Viewed as interesting?
He shook his head quickly, dismissing the thought. “Impossible,” he muttered.
But then his phone chimed. One new message.
“I forgot to tell you. My headphones aren’t badly damaged. Just a small crack.”
“But I’ll keep coming to see you.”
Boom shut his phone immediately, his face warming like an overly bright afternoon.
The next days followed the same pattern:
Peanut appearing, interrupting, tagging along, smiling—
and Boom sighing, rejecting, speeding up his steps.
For the first two days, Boom was genuinely annoyed.
By day three, he was too tired to be angry.
By day five, he gave up.
And by the end of the week…
Peanut walking beside him felt almost natural.
Strangely… Boom had gotten used to it.
Even Yun Gi and the other music club members recognized Peanut.
Like now—in the small practice room filled with concert posters and the warm scent of guitar wood—Peanut was sitting comfortably among them, right next to Boom, who was singing while strumming his guitar.
Peanut didn’t say much. He just sat there with bright eyes—like a dog wagging its tail, but in human form—watching Boom as if every note was something precious.
When Boom finished singing, the room fell silent… until Peanut clapped the loudest.
“There’s no doubt—sunbaenim’s voice is incredible,” he said sincerely.
Boom—usually cold—unconsciously smiled, just a little.
Min Ho, the club president and resident troublemaker, leaned forward suddenly.
“You can sing too, right?”
Peanut blinked. “I’ve tried… but I’m not sure my voice is good.”
“Really?” Min Ho stood up and grabbed his shoulder like a producer discovering hidden talent. “Try it. Boom, accompany him.”
Boom turned sharply. “Huh? Why me?”
“Because I said so.”
Min Ho’s tone left no room for negotiation.
Boom sighed. “Fine.”
He adjusted his guitar, fingers resting reluctantly on the strings before plucking the opening notes.
Peanut inhaled softly.
And began to sing.
The voice that came out was softer than anyone expected—clear, warm, uniquely colored in a way that made everyone in the room freeze. Even Boom, who fully intended not to care, found himself caught off guard. His fingers moved almost instinctively, accompanying with greater delicacy than before.
When Peanut finished, the room fell silent again.
For a moment.
Then—
Applause erupted all at once.
“Wow!” Min Ho practically shouted. “Your voice is amazing! How about joining our music club?”
Peanut stared, eyes wide.
“Huh…?”
Boom beside him was still looking—maybe a little too long—like he’d just realized the boy who had been chasing him all week… was hiding something far more captivating than a mischievous smile.
Mr. Chuu
“Boom sunbae, someone’s looking for you,” Peanut said, standing at the doorway of the music club room.
It had been two weeks since the fox-faced boy officially joined the club. And although their relationship had improved a little—Boom was no longer as sharp as during their first encounter—his attitude toward Peanut remained cold. Not rude, just… a steady, unchanging coldness, like an air conditioner no one ever bothered to turn off.
The club room that afternoon felt warm and cozy. Dark brown paint coated the walls, giving a classic atmosphere. Instruments filled nearly every corner—guitars, a piano, organ, bass, and a full drum set standing prominently near the center. At the heart of the room sat a large sofa, big enough for six people, the members’ favorite place to rest or talk.
“Sunbaenim,” Peanut called again, leaning slightly to get a clearer look at Boom.
But Boom didn’t move. His eyes remained closed as he plucked the guitar, completely absorbed in the melody. Peanut glanced at the two girls waiting awkwardly behind him—ignored, flustered—then gave them a small reassuring smile and gestured for them to come inside.
They took a seat on the sofa across from Boom. The room grew tense, filled only with the soft picking of guitar strings.
“I don’t want to,” Boom said suddenly, still without opening his eyes.
The two girls exchanged panicked looks.
“We understand, sunbaenim…” the bespectacled girl said carefully, as though choosing each word. “But one of our guest performers canceled last minute. We’re short on participants… And the deadline is really close. We don’t have many options left.”
The atmosphere tightened as Boom finally opened his eyes. He let out a long breath, set the guitar beside the sofa, and sat up straight to face them. His expression said clearly: I already know why you’re here.
And his next words dropped with the same weight.
“I can’t.”
Peanut blinked. “Why not, sunbae?”
“No reason. I just don’t want to.”
Boom replied instantly, got up, and walked out of the room without looking back—leaving two disappointed girls behind, and Peanut staring after him.
Peanut turned toward them. “Are you two okay?” he asked, sitting in the spot Boom had just vacated.
The girl with bangs shook her head weakly. “Could you please convince him? To perform at the festival?”
Peanut exhaled slowly. “You saw it yourselves. He really doesn’t want to.”
“We know…” the girl with glasses lowered her gaze. “But we don’t have anyone else. Please… help us.”
Peanut looked at them. Their desperate faces made it impossible to refuse. He rested his hands on his knees, letting out a quiet sigh.
“Alright,” he said at last, his voice resigned.
And for some reason, the moment the word left his mouth, his stomach tightened into a knot.
He knew this was going to be troublesome.
Especially because the person he had to convince… was Boom.
Who needed an entire week of being trailed around campus before he agreed to something as simple as dinner.
___
Boom stepped out of the music club building with an unreadable face, though inside him, irritation churned like a rising tide. He truly didn’t understand those girls’ way of thinking. He’d refused—clearly, firmly—so why did they still chase after him as if he held some moral obligation to save their event?
Would he be committing a sin if he didn’t join their festival?
Boom clicked his tongue, frustrated.
People really didn’t understand what no meant.
He quickened his pace, moving through the shaded hallway of the music building. One place flashed in his mind—the only place on campus where he could breathe easier. Without a second thought, he headed there.
A few minutes later, he arrived at the garden behind the music building. The wide green space was almost always quiet, guarded by rows of sakura trees whose petals fluttered gently in the breeze. Its distance from the main gate kept most students away—exactly why Boom loved it.
He let himself sink slowly into the dry grass, not worried about dirtying his pants. Normally, whenever he came here, his fingers would already be picking at a guitar, bringing melodies to life to calm his mind. But today, he’d come empty-handed; his guitar was still in the club room.
His shoulders sank a little at the realization. For a moment, he simply stared across the field, letting the spring wind brush past him like a reluctant comfort.
He inhaled deeply, letting the scent of sakura fill his lungs. Petals drifted down in delicate spirals—some landing in his hair, some carried off before they could touch the ground.
But the peace didn’t last.
Because when he wasn’t anchored by melody or strings, Boom’s thoughts wandered—to places he didn’t want them to go. To his past. To the time when other people’s voices drowned out his own. To the hundred-eyed stare from the stage that felt like a grip tightening around him. To the moment when singing—the thing he loved—twisted into something terrifying.
Boom shut his eyes, trying to press the memories back down.
But shadows from the past never knocked.
They simply arrived.
The fear he once swallowed.
The humiliation that had crushed his confidence.
The trauma that slowly shaped him into the person who no longer wanted to stand under the spotlight.
Boom curled his fingers around the grass beside him, trying to steady the faint tremble at his fingertips.
This place had always been his refuge.
But today… even the serenity of the garden didn’t feel like enough to wash away what he felt.
Spring was beautiful all around him—yet inside Boom, winter still lingered, stubborn and unmelted.
From across the garden, Peanut froze mid-step when he spotted the figure sitting alone under falling sakura. Boom’s hair was tousled by the breeze, his shoulders drawn low as if carrying a weight far too heavy for one person. The sight made Peanut unconsciously slow down.
“Found you…” he murmured softly—meant for no one else.
“Boom sunbae!” Peanut raised a hand, slightly awkward. “Hey… are you okay?”
Boom blinked, surprised to see Peanut. He had hoped no one would find him—but when Peanut’s face appeared, the irritation he expected didn’t come. If anything… a sliver of his tension eased.
“I just… needed some air,” Boom said quietly, honestly.
Peanut stepped closer, then hesitated. “Can I sit?”
Boom glanced down, then nodded. “If you want.”
Peanut sat immediately—of course, too close—making Boom instinctively scoot a little away. Peanut pretended not to notice, though the corner of his lips curved upward.
“Bad mood?” he asked.
He leaned a bit closer. “Sunbaenim?”
Boom didn’t turn right away, as if the voice reached him from a distance.
Peanut called more softly, more gently. “Boom sunbae… look at me for a second.”
Boom finally lifted his head. His eyes weren’t red, not watery—but there was something there. A faint haze that made Peanut hold his breath.
Boom twirled a blade of grass between his fingers. “I… just remembered something. A part of my past that makes me…” He searched for the right word. “…uncomfortable. And I don’t want it resurfacing.”
Peanut nodded slowly. “Hmm. Trauma, yeah?”
Boom froze. The word fit too perfectly, though it felt heavy on his tongue.
But Peanut didn’t panic or act dramatically. He simply let out a quiet sigh and patted the patch of ground beside him. “Can I sit a little closer?”
Boom blinked. “What for?”
Peanut gave a small, knowing smile. “So you won’t feel alone when your thoughts start wandering somewhere dark.”
Boom didn’t answer, but his expression softened.
Peanut added, in a romcom-like murmur, “Don’t worry, I won’t suddenly hug you… unless you ask.”
Boom snapped his head toward him, face flushing. “Who would ever ask you?”
“Well, who knows.” Peanut arched a brow. “I have to be mentally prepared.”
Boom finally laughed—quiet, but real.
The sound warmed the air.
For a brief moment, even the sakura seemed to pause mid-fall.
Peanut’s smile deepened.
“Sunbaenim… how about I go onstage with you at the festival?”
Boom froze. The words hit him like a stone dropped onto his chest. The calm he had just rebuilt crumbled instantly. He stared at Peanut—too long—because the sentence felt too familiar, too close to the pressure he’d been running from.
“I thought you understood my situation,” he said softly, unable to hide the hurt laced between the words.
Peanut didn’t flinch. “I do. That’s exactly why… I want to be up there with you.”
Boom didn’t answer right away. His gaze sharpened—not angry, but searching—trying to figure out if Peanut’s offer was genuine or just another form of gentle coercion. But Peanut held his stare, steady and sincere, those fox-like eyes unwavering.
“I don’t want to watch you get chased around by those organizers anymore,” Peanut continued, voice calm but firm. “They’re not going to stop, so… let’s just face it. I’ll be right beside you. Trust me.”
“I…” Boom’s words faltered.
Peanut had a point. Those girls would return—again and again. He knew that. He could feel it. But the fear in his chest… he didn’t know how to silence it.
“Sunbaenim.”
Peanut reached for Boom’s hand—slowly, gently—and laced their fingers together.
Warmth seeped through the touch, traveling up Boom’s arm, settling into the fragile space in his chest. Peanut didn’t speak again; he only looked at Boom, eyes deep and unwavering, as if trying to pour reassurance straight into him.
That gaze…
No doubt.
No pressure.
Just an invitation.
Can I really trust him? Boom whispered inwardly.
“I… I’ll think about it.”
His voice was soft—barely more than a breath—but Peanut heard it clearly.
Boom quickly averted his eyes to the line of sakura trees. Petals drifted down slowly, as if time itself had loosened its grip.
His heart pounded so hard he felt it in his throat.
But for the first time since earlier…
his breathing felt a little lighter.
Mr.chuu
“Alright, sunbaenim. Since the music festival is only a week away… let’s pick our songs and start practicing,” Peanut said, patting the side of his guitar lightly. His tone was cheerful, but his eyes were serious.
“We’ll perform three songs. I already have one in mind. The other two… you can choose whatever you like.”
Boom pressed his fingers gently against his temples, thinking. There were dozens of songs he knew by heart—too many, to the point he didn’t know where to begin.
“I… I’m not sure,” he murmured. “I know too many. What’s your pick?”
Peanut, seated on a high stool and busy plucking a few quiet notes, didn’t answer right away. The late afternoon light pouring from the window cast a warm glow across his face, outlining his sharp yet soft jawline. Boom found himself staring without meaning to—at the way Peanut held the guitar, the way his fingers moved, even the way his lips pursed slightly when he tested a note.
When Peanut finally looked up, their eyes met.
Boom jerked back instinctively, turning his head away. His heartbeat stumbled, too quick, too loud.
Peanut smiled—a wide, bright smile that somehow made the whole room feel a little lighter.
“Mr. Chuu, by Apink,” he said casually. “I like that song.”
That smile… for some reason, it made Boom’s chest feel warm.
A dangerously warm kind of feeling.
Boom straightened his back quickly, trying to look composed even though the tips of his ears were already turning red.
“I–I see,” he said, a bit stiff. “In that case… sure.”
It sounded like a simple answer—ordinary, even—but his heart was beating far too fast for just three letters.
___
The days slipped by faster than Boom expected. Now, with only one day left before the music festival, today became their final rehearsal—his last step before facing a stage he had avoided his whole life.
The Yonsei University amphitheater looked far livelier than usual. The outdoor half-circle venue buzzed with movement—crew members shouting instructions, adjusting spotlights, testing microphones, dragging cables across the floor. Metal clanged, chairs scraped, soundchecks overlapped into a messy harmony that somehow quickened the pulse.
On the raised stage before the stone steps, artists of all kinds came and went—some students, some invited guests, even a few well-known performers. Eyes were everywhere.
And in the middle of all that noise, Boom stood stiffly, as if he were a statue trapped in a world too loud for him.
“Boom sunbae… it’s okay. Just relax.”
Peanut touched his arm lightly, as though afraid to startle him. “I’m right here.”
Boom didn’t respond. His jaw tightened. He closed his eyes again, trying to steady his uneven breaths. His fingertips trembled—subtle, but not subtle enough for Peanut to miss.
Their turn for rehearsal came. A crew member raised his hand, signaling readiness.
Boom swallowed hard. The empty stage lights glared at him like unblinking eyes, and the dozens of glances—from crew, passing students, even other performers—felt like tiny knives pressing into his skin.
Peanut stepped into position.
Boom didn’t.
He tried to breathe—slow, deep—but instead of calm, something else answered.
His parents.
Their faces, sharp and demanding.
Eyes that never softened—only judged.
Eyes that made the stage feel less like a home, and more like an interrogation room.
Boom’s breath hitched.
“I…“
Emotion surged too fast, too suddenly. His chest squeezed tight. His voice cracked.
“…I can’t.”
Before Peanut could grab him, Boom stepped back—then again—and turned away, descending the stage with quick, uneven steps.
Almost running.
He left Peanut alone under the bright lights, while the amphitheater noise faded into a distant, painful echo.
And for the first time, Peanut saw it clearly—
Boom wasn’t avoiding the stage.
Boom was running from his past.
---
“Sunbaenim…”
Boom lifted his head slowly at the sound of that voice.
He sat alone in a small garden near the festival grounds—one of the few places quiet enough to breathe. The sun was dipping lower in the sky, spilling warm gold over the leaves, letting their shadows sway gently across the ground.
Peanut approached, then sat beside him on the worn wooden bench.
“Sunbaenim… are you okay?”
Boom didn’t answer. The evening breeze touched his face, but his chest still felt unbearably tight.
“I’m… sorry for leaving you like that.”
His voice was soft, nearly lost beneath the distant noise of rehearsal.
“But I don’t think I can do it.”
Peanut let out a small breath, then reached for his hand. Warm. Steady. Not forceful—just a touch that said I’m here.
“It’s okay,” he murmured. “You don’t have to push yourself. I’m here.”
Boom lowered his head even further. He pressed his lips together, as if trying to hold back something he’d been carrying far too long. His eyes looked empty—someone fighting shadows he couldn’t name.
“I don’t know what you’ve been through,” Peanut continued gently. “But you don’t have to face it alone. We can face it together.”
Boom closed his eyes. The setting sun brushed his cheek, highlighting the exhaustion written across his face.
“Why would you do that…?” Boom whispered. “I’m sure I haven’t treated you well.”
“Sunbaenim,” Peanut said, voice soft but firm.
Boom didn’t move. His gaze stayed fixed on the ground, as though something heavy was anchoring him there.
Peanut raised a hand and touched his cheek—slowly, carefully.
He guided Boom’s face toward him, not forcing, just asking.
When Boom finally met his eyes, Peanut spoke in a voice low, mature, and painfully sincere:
“I’m doing this because I like you. Because I love you.”
Boom froze.
The gold of the late afternoon suddenly felt warmer—not from the sun, but from those words. Something in his chest trembled, almost hurting, yet undeniably real.
“Peanut… what are—”
Peanut held his gaze steadily—like someone who had thought about this for a very long time.
He cupped Boom’s face gently, leaning in.
A kiss.
Soft. Brief. So delicate that Boom almost questioned if it happened at all.
“Peanut…”
Boom’s voice cracked—fragile, exposed.
Peanut smiled faintly.
“Sorry… but I had to be honest.”
And before Boom could breathe or retreat, Peanut kissed him again—deeper this time, clearer, though still gentle.
It was not a hurried kiss.
Not reckless.
It was the kiss of someone who cared, who waited, who loved without rushing.
Boom didn’t realize when he started kissing him back.
The fading sunlight brushed their skin, slowing the world around them, stretching the moment into something tender and unspoken.
When they finally parted, their breaths mingled softly between them.
No words.
Just eyes—
and understanding.
Peanut then pulled Boom into his arms. Not tightly. Just enough to make him feel safe.
“Sunbaenim,” he whispered, “I love you. And I’m not going anywhere. We’ll take it slowly. You’re not alone.”
Boom closed his eyes and returned the embrace with a relief that felt like exhaling years of weight.
In that soft, golden hour—with the distant hum of the festival far behind them—something new began to bloom.
Quiet.
Honest.
And warm.
Mr.chuu
Night settled slowly over Yonsei University, draping the amphitheater in hues of deep blue and soft violet. Tiny lights hung along the rows of sakura trees, flickering like fallen stars caught in the branches. Thin petals drifted now and then, carried by the breeze—spiraling gently before touching the ground.
The semicircle of seats was filled with students buzzing with excitement—some waving small lightsticks, others clapping in rhythm with the previous performance. Conversations and bursts of laughter blended into a warm, comforting hum, the kind that wrapped around the heart rather than overwhelmed the ears.
Onstage, golden and peach spotlights glowed softly, bathing guitars, microphones, and the drum set in a tender warmth. Cables were neatly arranged; the stage monitors hummed with a low, steady buzz as the crew prepared for the next act. Behind them, the LED screen displayed drifting sakura petals—subtle, almost shy, yet captivating.
The scent of festival food floated through the air—spicy tteokbokki, warm waffles, latte foam from a student-run coffee stand—bringing the night to life. Cameras clicked here and there as students tried to capture a moment that felt unmistakably, beautifully “Yonsei.”
Backstage, the atmosphere shifted. The lights glowed pale yellow—quieter, calmer. It was the kind of space where the thud of one’s heartbeat suddenly felt too loud.
Peanut stood near the left side of the curtain, adjusting his ear monitors. But his attention wasn’t on the wires or the stage cues.
He was searching for one person.
Boom sat on a folding chair, guitar held close to his chest. His fingers were cold, but the soft stage light that spilled into the backstage area brushed his face gently—restless, yes, but not as exhausted as before. A single sakura petal had landed on his shoulder, softening his silhouette even more.
From the stage, the MC’s cheerful voice rang out:
“Alright, up next… a duet from two members of the Music Club! Let’s give them a big round of applause!”
The crowd erupted in cheers.
Peanut turned—and found Boom already looking toward the stage. His eyes held fear, unmistakable… but beneath it, something new. A sliver of determination. A spark that hadn’t been there before.
In the wash of warm yellow backstage light, Peanut reached out and took Boom’s hand.
No dramatic speeches.
No lengthy reassurances.
Just a steady, warm grip.
“Sunbaenim,” he whispered, his voice nearly swallowed by the roar of the crowd,
“I’m right here.”
Boom exhaled slowly—lighter, steadier than he had in a long time.
Tonight felt different.
A night that should have been terrifying…
suddenly fe
lt like the beginning of something new.
___
Peanut stepped onto the stage first, slipping through the black curtain with steps that were light yet measured.
When it was Boom’s turn, he paused—just for a fraction of a second—staring at the golden light spilling through the gap in the curtains.
The cheers waiting for them weren’t deafening, but they were warm enough to make his chest tighten.
Peanut turned from the center of the stage and smiled.
A simple smile.
A steady smile.
A smile that felt like an anchor.
Boom finally stepped forward.
The moment the stage lights embraced him, the world seemed to slow.
The rising rows of stone seats, the silhouettes of students bathed in soft light, the night sky dotted with artificial stars from stage rigs—everything blended into a warm glow that steadied him.
At the center of the stage, Peanut adjusted Boom’s mic stand and whispered, just loud enough for only him to hear:
“Don’t worry. You’re not alone.”
Boom’s hands stopped trembling instantly.
The first song began.
His guitar rang clear—more steady than he ever imagined he could manage that night. Peanut entered with his soft, sure voice, the sound echoing beautifully against the amphitheater walls. The night breeze carried their harmony, stirring the sakura leaves as if the trees themselves were listening.
During the chorus, Boom added his voice.
It wavered at first—gentle, like a whisper searching for footing.
But Peanut glanced at him, nodded once, and Boom found his tone.
The audience cheered softly—not loud, not wild.
Warm.
Embracing.
The second song.
The lights shifted into soft peach tones, painting a sunset in the middle of the night. Peanut took the guitar this time, leaving Boom to sing without an instrument—something he hadn’t done since his trauma.
Boom closed his eyes.
Just for a second.
Then he sang.
His voice was clear. Fragile, yet beautiful.
There was a tremble in every note—one that made him sound achingly alive. When he finally opened his eyes, he found the audience silent… not from boredom, but from awe.
Some leaned forward unconsciously, as if afraid to miss a single word.
Peanut watched him the entire time, as though witnessing a small miracle.
And perhaps he was.
The third song: Mr. Chuu.
The cheerful intro burst through the speakers, earning an instant wave of excited screams.
Some students even stood up, dancing along. Peanut lit up, slipping into his energetic side—like a tiny sun on stage.
Boom smiled too—really smiled—without even realizing it.
For the final harmony, Peanut and Boom stepped closer.
Their faces stopped inches apart.
The audience roared, but for the two of them, everything else faded.
There was only their voices.
And their heartbeats.
CHUUP…
Time stopped.
Boom froze.
The stage lights seemed too bright, blurring at the edges.
The cheers dissolved into a long, indistinct hum.
The kiss was so quick it could’ve been a trick of the light—yet the warmth lingered on his left cheek, refusing to fade.
And the culprit stood right beside him.
Peanut—his second-year junior, the boy who had confessed to him just the day before—lowered his gaze slightly. His cheeks were flushed, but his eyes… his eyes were unflinchingly bold.
Too bold.
As if he knew exactly what he’d just done.
The crowd erupted, uneven and chaotic.
“Wait—did that really happen?!”
“Who is that junior?!”
“Oh my god, Boom sunbaenim was kissed?!”
Boom’s heart hammered—too fast, too heavy.
That familiar rush again—the one that always came whenever Peanut drifted into his orbit.
He reached for his mic, trying to steady himself, to keep some semblance of composure amid the chaos exploding onstage.
“…What did you just do?” he whispered.
Calm, but barely audible.
Peanut heard it clearly.
Peanut gave him a small smile—a troublesome, infuriatingly warm smile, one that made Boom want to look away but couldn’t.
“I’m sorry, sunbaenim,” he said softly.
But there wasn’t a hint of regret in his voice.
“It’s part of our performance.”
Boom blinked.
Performance?
Since when did a performance require a junior to kiss his senior on stage?
The commotion grew.
The MCs hurried to close the segment, lights dimming one by one, burying the moment under fading spotlights.
People were already whispering, already speculating—even before Boom had fully processed what had happened.
But one thing he couldn’t ignore—
Peanut’s eyes.
Eyes that followed him until the curtain fell.
And strangely… when Boom touched his cheek again…
The warmth was still there.
Still lingering.
Still brave.
Just like Peanut.
Just like the feelings Boom had been trying so desperately to hide.
The end.