Chapter Text
The Student Council room at AHOF Academy always smelled like old parchment and the sharp, citrusy scent of the tea Chihen insisted on brewing every afternoon. It was a space of organized chaos, filled with the scratching of pens and the low hum of the air conditioner.
Juwon sat at the heavy table, his eyes fixed on a stack of budget reports, but his mind was several feet away, anchored to the tall, focused figure sitting at the President’s desk. Chihen was currently frowning at a proposal for the upcoming school festival, his fingers drumming a rhythmic beat against the wood.
He looked tired, there were faint shadows under his eyes but to Juwon, he looked as striking as ever.
“Juwon-ah,” Chihen’s voice broke the silence, deep and slightly raspy from a long day of meetings. “Did you finish the layout for the volunteer booths?”
Juwon blinked, snapping back to reality.
“Almost, Chih. I just need to double-check the placement for the food stalls. Han wanted to make sure the culinary club has a spot near the main entrance.”
Chihen chuckled, a sound that made Juwon’s heart do a clumsy somersault. “Of course he does. Han won’t rest until he’s fed the entire student body single-handedly.”
“He’s just passionate,” Juwon said softly, a small smile tugging at his lips. “He says food is the only universal language everyone understands.”
“He’s not wrong,” Chihen sighed, leaning back and stretching his arms over his head. “I could use a universal language right now that involves a three-hour nap.”
Juwon watched him, his chest tightening with a familiar, aching warmth. He wanted to tell Chihen to go home, to offer to finish the rest of the paperwork himself, to reach out and smooth the stress lines on his forehead. But he didn’t. Instead, he reached into his pocket and felt the small, square piece of paper hidden there.
He waited. He waited for the moment Chihen would get up to refill his tea or head to the restroom.
Twenty minutes later, the opportunity came. Chihen stood up, grabbing his mug. “I’ll be back. Do you want anything from the lounge?”
“Iʼm okay,” Juwon replied, keeping his voice steady despite the adrenaline spiking in his veins.
As soon as the door clicked shut, Juwon moved. He slipped out of his chair and hurried to Chihen’s desk. With practiced ease, he placed the small sticky note right on top of Chihen’s planner.
In the corner of the note was a tiny, hand-drawn bunny holding a heart twice its size... a doodle Juwon had practiced in the back of his notebooks for weeks.
Next to it, in his neatest handwriting, were five simple words: You’re doing a great job.
He retreated to his seat just as he heard footsteps in the hallway. When Chihen walked back in, he didn’t notice the note immediately. He sat down, took a sip of his tea, and adjusted his glasses. Then, his eyes fell on the yellow square.
Juwon held his breath, pretending to be deeply immersed in the budget.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Chihen pick up the note. A slow, genuine smile spread across Chihen’s face... not the professional smile he always gave to the faculty, but a soft, private one. He traced the little bunny with his thumb before carefully tucking the note into the inner pocket of his blazer.
Juwon felt a rush of heat in his cheeks. He kept it. Every day for the past three months, it was the same. A note about the weather, a note telling him to eat lunch, a note simply saying his hard work was noticed.
Juwon would always heard he was like a baby tiger to everyone else—shy, a bit clumsy, and easily teased but through these notes, he felt like he could finally say the things his voice was too small to carry.
The door to the council room burst open, shattering the quiet.
“Is the drama over yet, or do I need to buy more popcorn?” Woongki entered, trailing Shuaibo behind him.
Woongki was the embodiment of energy, his eyes darting around as if looking for the latest gossip.
“Weʼre working, Woongki-ya,” Chihen said, though his tone was fond.
“Are you?” Woongki leaned over Chihen’s shoulder, his eyes narrowing. “You look awfully happy for someone staring at a spreadsheet. Did a fairy leave you a gift again?”
Chihen swatted him away. “Mind your business.”
Shuaibo, who was practically attached to Woongki’s side, nodded solemnly. “He’s been smiling at his pockets all day. It’s creepy, Woongki.”
“Itʼs not creepy, it’s mysterious!” Woongki countered, turning to Shuaibo. “Why donʼt you ever leave me notes too? All you leave me are unwashed gym socks.”
Shuaibo rolled his eyes, though his hand stayed firmly on Woongki’s shoulder. “I gave you my last juice box today. That’s better than a note.”
“You drank half of it first!”
The two of them began their usual bickering—a chaotic dance of I hate you and Donʼt leave me... that everyone in the group knew was just a cover for how inseparable they were. They were in total denial, yet Shuaibo’s hand never left Woongki’s space, and Woongki never truly told him to go away.
Juwon watched them, feeling a pang of envy. Even though they argued, they were there. They were loud about their presence in each otherʼs lives.
“Where’s Han and JL?” Chihen asked, trying to steer the conversation back to sanity.
“In the kitchen, obviously,” Woongki said, finally sitting on the edge of a desk. “Han is making some sort of elaborate pasta because JL mentioned he was hungry once three days ago. Honestly, Han is like a stoic stone wall to the rest of the world, but the second JL pouts, he turns into a literal house cat.”
It was true. Han, Juwon’s older brother, was the definition of cool and collected. He didnʼt talk much, and he rarely showed emotion. But around JL, he was different. He expressed his love through food, spending hours perfecting recipes just to see JLʼs face light up.
While JL... JL was the opposite.
He was straightforward, loud, and wore his heart on his sleeve. He would follow Han into the kitchen, leaning over his shoulder and asking a million questions, blissfully unaware or perhaps very aware of how much he was flustered.
“Theyʼre a mess,” Juwon muttered, thinking of his brother’s silent devotion.
“Weʼre all a mess,” a new voice joined.
Steven and Jeongwoo walked in, looking like they had just stepped off a fashion runway. They were the playboys of the school, or so the rumors said. They were always surrounded by people, always charming, always elusive.
But as they settled into the lounge chairs in the corner, their masks dropped. Jeongwoo leaned his head on Steven’s shoulder, closing his eyes, while Steven instinctively began to play with the hair at the nape of Jeongwoo’s neck.
In this room, away from the prying eyes of the other students, they were each other’s quiet harbor.
“Tough practice?” Chihen asked.
“Long day,” Steven replied, his voice low and soothing. “Jeongwoo stayed late to help the freshmen with their choreography. He’s too kind for his own good.”
Jeongwoo hummed in disagreement but didnʼt move.
The room was full of love, Juwon realized. It was in the bickering of Woongki and Shuaibo, the silent care between Steven and Jeongwoo, and the simmering devotion of his brother Han.
And then there was him. The Vice President who could only speak through drawings of bunnies and scraps of yellow paper.
“I should get going,” Juwon said, standing up and packing his bag. He couldnʼt stay any longer; the weight of his unsaid words was starting to feel too heavy. “Hani-hyung expects me home for dinner.”
“Okay, Juwon-ah. See you tomorrow,” Chihen said, his eyes softening as he looked at his Vice President. “And thanks for the help today. I couldnʼt do this without you.”
Juwon nodded, not trusting his voice. He walked out of the room, his heart hammering. He didnʼt know that in the next few weeks, his world would shift. He didnʼt know that a simple misunderstanding would turn his secret hope into a long, cold winter.
For now, he just walked down the hallway, thinking of the little bunny note tucked safely in Chihen’s pocket, and for a brief moment, he allowed himself to believe that maybe, just maybe, it was enough.
But itʼs wasnʼt...