Chapter Text
In the heart of a sprawling campus nestled between ancient forests and mist-shrouded mountains, the University of Elysium stood as a sanctuary for those touched by the divine, the mystic and the arcane.
Founded centuries ago by a coalition of gods and mystical beings, it catered exclusively to demigods, supernaturals, nymphs and many of their kin; offering an education that blended mortal academia with the esoteric arts of primordial immortality. Now the architecture reflected this duality: grand marble halls reminiscent of Olympus intertwined with shadowy groves where werewolves and vampires could roam freely under enchanted canopies that simulated eternal twilight.
It was a place where myths, legends and all that encompassed mortal understanding came together in one emancipation.
And it was also here, on a crisp autumn morning on his eighteenth year, that Juhoon arrived for his first day; finally stepping into a world far removed from the gilded confines of his upbringing. The very same day where his life was set to change forever.
Juhoon had always been regarded with a mixture of awe and reverence, even from his earliest memories. As the son of Aphrodite, the goddess of beauty and love, he bore her essence in every facet of his being. His features were a masterpiece of symmetry: porcelain skin that seemed to glow with a pinkish inner luminescence; eyes the color of polished amethysts framed by long, dark lashes; and hair that cascaded in soft, silky, ebony waves. They would always fall perfectly into place as if styled by invisible hands, framing his face into what could only be described as utterly ethereal. His presence evoked an involuntary admiration, a subtle aura of charm that drew eyes and whispers wherever he went.
It was a natural pull his kin possessed. A notable and subtly otherworldly trait those who came from Aphrodite’s divine lineage all inherited. It was a gift many admired, some even envied, but mostly ever dreamed about.
And yet for Juhoon, this divine inheritance was a burden just as much as it was a blessing.
Abandoned by his immortal mother shortly after birth, Juhoon had been adopted by a wealthy mortal family who, through a twist of fate and divine revelation, learned of his true parentage.
Gods seldom raised their mortal offspring, that much was known by the masses. But his adoptive parents; a couple of influential philanthropists with estates in the countryside, had fully accepted him as their own and made sure to treat him like the most precious artifact across all realms.
The two mortals had made it their life’s greatest mission to love and adore Juhoon to the utmost best of their capabilities. They sheltered him from the harsh realities of the world, surrounding him with tutors, governesses, and every luxury imaginable. He was made to grow up in opulent halls filled with a myriad of arts, treasures and music. A threshold where servants anticipated his every need; and where love, warmth and care were the most palpable blanket he would be wrapped in. They provided everything for him, spoiled him materially, and made sure he was cherished all throughout his lifetime. It was something they knew her divine grace, Aphrodite, would want.
But despite all of the luxury and the established lavish lifestyle, they also made sure to instill in him values of kindness and grace; ensuring he remained polite, kind and just overall compassionate despite his privileges.
From a young age, Juhoon had dabbled in the world of modeling, his ethereal beauty making him a sought-after child star in high-fashion campaigns. Photographers would always marvel at how the camera adored him, capturing an otherworldly allure that needed no enhancement; only eyes to fawn over. It was an activity Juhoon didn't initially ask for, but he grew to love it nonetheless. He saw the effervescent allure and artistic edge with every photoshoot, and being him, he developed a deep appreciation for all the things that went into it. He was always the one to appreciate artistry regardless of the presentation.
However, as he approached adulthood, his parents deemed that it was time to prepare him for his heritage’s true calling. The modeling contracts were allowed to lapse, much to his dismay of course, but Juhoon has always known love and respect for his parents. And he also knew that it was inevitable given who he was. And so, soon after everything was settled, Juhoon was enrolled in the University of Elysium. It was where he would learn to harness his latent powers among peers who shared his supernatural lineage.
Now, despite his golden spoon upbringing, Juhoon was not arrogant; far from it, actually. He was socially awkward, amongst other things, his interactions often hampered by shyness and a gentle demeanor that bordered on being demure. He has always been soft-spoken, his voice carrying a melodic quality inherited from his mother, and he moved with an innate grace that made even simple gestures appear elegant. He longed for genuine connections, but his charm often complicated matters. Mortals and demigods alike either placed him on a pedestal, assuming he was haughty and unapproachable, or pursued him solely for his physical appeal, reducing him to an object of desire rather than an individual capable of having emotional depth and complexities.
On his first day, Juhoon navigated the bustling pathways of the campus with a mixture of excitement and trepidation. The air during his inaugural hummed with an energy that was almost second nature to the setting of the university. Students with shimmering auras hurried to classes, a centaur professor trotted across the quad discussing philosophy, and a group of nymphs laughed by a fountain that spouted water in a hypnotizing pattern.
Juhoon nervously clutched his leather satchel, filled with textbooks on mythology and arcane history, his heart pounding beneath his tailored uniform of crisp white shirt and navy trousers. He had chosen a subtle ensemble, hoping to blend in, but his presence still somehow turned heads. Quite naturally so. It was, as expected, unavoidable. His mere existence demanded attention, it was something he could not control despite of himself. Though he wished it wouldn't be the case, but being an offspring of a high-echelon goddess made it quite impossible. He could only hope that somehow things don't unfurl against him.
But as it was, things don't really go as planned simply because of our desire for it to do so.
Juhoon was making his way towards the Hall of Divine Studies for his first lecture on Olympian lineages, when a group of young men; who, judging by their cocky postures and faint godly glows, appeared to be minor demigods. They were lounging against a stone pillar on the side of the pathway of the grand hall. A group of young delinquents born from lesser deities, and quite known for their mischief and self-imposed bravado.
One of them, a burly figure with tousled hair and a smirk filled with egotistic glee, caught sight of Juhoon and whistled sharply. “Hey, pretty boy!” he called out. “You lost or are you just here to grace us with your divine presence?” he said, his voice laced with an openly salacious teasing.
It seemed that he was the leader of the small gang because at that, his companions snickered, their eyes raking over Juhoon in a way that made the newcomer’s skin crawl.
Juhoon felt a familiar unease settle in his chest, a tightness that always seemed to accompany such encounters. He had experienced and endured catcalls before, even in the mortal world. But here, amongst his kind, it felt more… invasive, as if they presumed entitlement solely due to their shared heritage. Juhoon only quickened his pace, averting his gaze to the cobblestone path, hoping his silence would deter them.
But alas it did not.
The group detached from the pillar, sauntering closer towards him. “Come on now, princess, don't be shy. With looks like yours, you must be used to the attention. Aphrodite’s kid, right? Bet you could charm the pants off of anyone,” the leader persisted, his tone shifting from teasing to overt flirtation. He stepped into Juhoon’s path, blocking his way, while the others flanked him, their laughter echoing.
Juhoon’s cheeks immediately flushed with discomfort, his anxiety mounting slowly with the unwanted attention. Moments and interactions like this were the ones he dreaded the most. It was also why he would often find himself content in the solitude of their home, as opposed to being out and about in public places. He stopped, forcing himself to meet the leader’s eyes with polite firmness.
There was a predatory gleam in the much bigger guy's eyes that made Juhoon’s stomach twist in discomfort. He tried to gather his resolve first, before finally speaking. “I appreciate your… interest, but I must decline. Please excuse me for I have a class to attend to,” he said softly, his voice steady despite the tremor in his hands. He attempted a kind smile, ever the gracious one, in hopes that civility would diffuse the situation.
But upon hearing his answer, the leader’s expression only darkened. His oh so fragile ego bruised by the very obvious rejection. “Oh, playing hard to get, are we? What, you think you’re too good for us, huh? Son of the glorified beauty queen, acting all high and mighty.” He advanced a step, his hand reaching out as if to grab Juhoon’s arm, the air around him crackling with minor godly energy that carried out a spark of illusion brought forth by compulsion.
Juhoon couldn't help but lightly flinch as he braced himself for the contact.
But before the situation could escalate any further, a new presence immediately made itself known; intervening with a sense of haste undetectable to the average human sense. From the periphery, a figure emerged with purposeful strides, radiating an aura of both warmth and authority.
The person was tall, with skin a glistening expanse of tan akin to honey. His body was notably well-built, an athletic frame clad in a fitted jacket that accentuated broad shoulders and a toned physique. His hair was a deep shade of brown that was adorned with a few sun-kissed streaks of blonde, tousled in a boyish manner. And his eyes, they were radiant, sparkling with a golden hue that was reminiscent of the sun’s vibrant rays.
The guy was the embodiment of another major God. All the signs lead to one obvious truth. This person was no other than the son of the god of light, music, and prophecy, Apollo. A very clear major demigod whose charisma poured out so naturally it drew people like moths to a flame.
“Back off,” the guy commanded, his voice roaring with the warmth of summer yet edged with fiery steel. He quickly positioned himself between Juhoon and the group, his stance relaxed but ultimately unyielding. The air around him shimmered faintly, a subtle display of his inherited powers: a glow that mimicked sunlight, capable of blinding, and even burning his foes. “Crudeness and disrespect are not tolerated here. Find somewhere else to play your sick games.” His words were shrouded in an authoritative resonance that yielded no room for defiance.
At that, the leader quickly became hesitant, sizing up the guy who had just soiled his initial plans on bothering Aphrodite's son.
Even Juhoon, who was caught off guard at the sudden interference of this other person, couldn't help but feel the charged up atmosphere as the intensity of the situation continued to unfold.
Apollo’s children were known for their prowess amongst many other things. They were adept in the art of light, heat and fire manipulation, a gift bestowed upon them by their direct lineage to the god of light himself. They also weren't to be undervalued in many other artforms such as archery, medicine practice, and the uncanny ability to invoke fear to those who opposed them.
The leader knew who this person was. Keonho, he thought with disdain. Always this guy, tsk.
This Keonho, despite being only a sophomore himself, had a reputation of a charming social butterfly which quite preceded him; the guy was handsome on top of being quite a stellar image in their campus. He was well-known to say the least, it came with the natural allure that made him the center of any gathering. Even before entering Elysium’s most prestigious university, Keonho had already made a name for himself across the many realms of the divinely gifted. His athleticism, myriads of talents, social skills and amazing personality were key factors to his reputation. But despite his affirmative traits, people who crossed him often realized too late how he could turn quite mean in almost an instant. And this rang even more true when witnessing injustice.
“You think you can just waltz in here, Apollo’s spawn? This shit doesn’t concern you,” the leader spat imposingly, trying to uphold his arrogant demeanor despite the subtle tremor he felt. “Mind your own business and get the fuck away from here.”
Keonho's feisty nature all but flared now, the warm smile he usually wore was replaced by a glare that promised retribution. His eyes narrowed sharply, the golden flecks in them intensifying as he channeled a fraction of his father’s solar essence.
At that, the air around them immediately grew warmer, almost uncomfortably so; and faint rays of light began to emanate from his skin while flames erupted in place of his hair, casting elongated shadows that made the group appear diminished.
“It concerns me when I see someone being harassed,” Keonho said, voice laced with a valiant ringing that bellowed with due authority. “And I make it my business when imbeciles like you bother people with your embarrassing antics,” he continued, his eyes ever so sharp, bored holes inside the very soul of the other guy. “You’re very clearly outmatched, leave now or I’ll make sure to scar you for as long as eternity allows it. And trust me, my prophecies don’t lie.” His eyes sparked with a flare of warning. “Continue with your bravado and things will end very badly for you.” His tone was a cacophony of charisma laced with that melodic confidence inherited from his father. But despite that, the underlying threat was unmistakable, his entire frame tensing as if ready to take action at the moment’s notice.
The group quickly exchanged uneasy glances, the leader’s bravado crumbling under Keonho’s intense gaze. Muttering curses, they slowly backed away, the leader shooting one final glare before slinking off with his companions. “Fucking asshole,” he muttered underneath his breath as the group left.
Keonho’s eyes remained intensely set on the group as he watched until they were out of sight; his posture only relaxing when the pathway cleared and the threat was gone. Once the coast was clear, he immediately set his eyes onto the very clearly shaken up guy next to him. With his entire posture now turning to face Juhoon, Keonho’s expression softened immediately, the fierce protective personality giving way to the cheerful social magnet he was always known for. He then scanned Juhoon with genuine concern, his golden eyes warm and inviting. “Hey, are you alright?” he asked as a way to diffuse the tension. “Those guys can be real jerks. Minor gods’ kids thinking they own the place and whatnot. You didn’t deserve that.”
It took a bit of time for Juhoon to register everything that had happened. He could only nod slowly, as his disorientation lingered like a fog for a moment. His heart was still very much racing from the confrontation, he didn't think he'd ever get used to confrontations like that.
But somehow Keonho’s presence brought an unexpected calm, like sunlight piercing through clouds and then shining over a canopy after a brutal storm.
After a few more moments Juhoon finally breathe in slowly. He then managed a small, polite smile; his amethyst eyes meeting Keonho’s golden ones briefly before darting away. “Yes, I… I’m fine now. Thank you for stepping in. I tried to handle it as amicably as I could, but it escalated so quickly,” he spoke softly, voice gentle as it carried that melodic undertone that made his words feel almost poetic.
Keonho chuckled lightly, a sound full of that youthful, boyish charm that eased the tension further. He rubbed the back of his neck, his athletic build shifting with casual grace. “No need to thank me, it’s what anyone decent would do. I’m Keonho, by the way. Son of Apollo. Archery club captain, music enthusiast, and occasional hero, apparently.” He extended a hand, his smile bright and infectious, drawing Juhoon in despite his shyness.
There was no trace of the authoritative and arguably scary demeanor from moments ago; instead, his bright personality shone through, making the interaction feel light and effortless.
Juhoon hesitated for a split second, his social awkwardness making him overthink the gesture, but he accepted the handshake nonetheless. Keonho’s grip was firm yet warm, a stark contrast to his soft and gentle one. “I’m Juhoon, son of Aphrodite. It’s my first day here, so I’m still adjusting. I appreciate your kindness more than you know,” he said, introducing himself before continuing. “Most people would've just… stared or assumed things about me.” His words were said softly, voice laced with a quiet vulnerability, his gentle nature evident in the way he spoke without accusation.
Keonho’s eyebrows raised slightly in understanding, his feisty side giving way to understanding. It wasn't the first time he's encountered newcomers getting bullied around here. Apparently some people enjoy the power trip. He, though, was never a fan of such unruly behavior. “So it's your first day, huh? Well that explains it. This place can be overwhelming at first. You know, with how many are full of egos and with the ancient rivalries and all that. But hey, not everyone’s like those idiots. If you ever need a guide or just someone to chat with, I’m around. What’s your major? Maybe we have classes together.” His tone was cheerful, inviting conversation without pressure, his natural social charm making him adept at putting others at ease.
Juhoon felt a rare spark of connection, his shyness thawing under Keonho’s warmth. “I’m studying Divine Arts and Heritage Studies. It’s all so new, and… quite frankly… a bit overwhelming. I grew up sheltered, away from all this, so getting used to it all is proving to be quite a challenge.” He paused, thinking he'd probably shared too much. But his ever polite demeanor only encouraged him to open up a bit more. “What about you? Apollo’s lineage must come with its own adventures.”
Upon hearing the query, Keonho almost instantly grinned, his handsome features lighting up with enthusiasm. “Prophecy and Performance Arts for me. Lots of archery practice and composing hymns that could literally heal wounds. It’s fun, but yeah, adventures aplenty, like you know, predicting midterms or dazzling crowds at campus events.” He then glanced at his watch, his athletic energy evident in his restless stance. “I should head to class, but seriously, if those guys bother you again, come find me. We demigods have to stick together.”
Juhoon softly nodded. A small, polite smile adorning his lips at the first person who had shown him kindness ever since he stepped foot in this place.
With a final warm smile of his own and a casual wave, Keonho headed off toward his own class, his stride strong and full of that ever so confident charm.
Juhoon stood there for a moment, watching Keonho disappear into the crowd, melding amongst the many different types of divine and supernatural. The entire encounter somehow replaying in his mind for a brief moment before he too decided to finally go on his own merry way.
In his mind Juhoon quietly pondered about everything that has happened. This day truly was something else, and somehow it wasn't even over yet.
He was sent to a school filled with people like him, received a bunch of catcalls partnered with a not so great encounter with a group of minor demigods, then the rejection that almost escalated into something he did not wish to think about, and of course the timely intervention of a certain demigod. It was the first time someone outside his close-knit family and a handful of trusted friends had stepped in to aid him without ulterior motives. Keonho had seen beyond the stigma of his beauty, treating him as an actual person in need rather than a prize or a threat.
Throughout the day, even as lectures on godly hierarchies and practical sessions on charm manipulation unfolded, Juhoon couldn't help but think back to that warm smile and protective stance. By evening, as he returned to his dormitory, a luxurious suite overlooking the enchanted gardens, his mind still lingered on none other than Apollo’s son, Keonho.
Juhoon didn't know as to why, he could only settle with the idea that it was merely out of gratitude and nothing more profound. But as he continued to look back on everything that transpired, he quietly hoped to encounter him again soon, if only to express his thanks in proper. For now, though, that simple wish brought a gentle and quiet comfort to his otherwise overwhelming first day.
–
Dawn draped the University of Elysium in a veil of silver mist, the ancient oaks along the main avenue stood sentient as their leaves caught the first pale rays and turned them into fleeting prisms.
Juhoon woke to the soft chime of enchanted bells drifting through his open window, a melody older than the campus itself. He slowly rose from his bed in preparation for the day. He made quick work of his morning routine, smoothed the crisp white shirt across his chest, fastened the navy blazer with deliberate care, and adjusted the collar until it framed the delicate line of his throat just so. In the mirror his reflection gazed back. His porcelain skin luminous even in the half-light, amethyst eyes shadowed by long lashes, ebony hair falling in obedient waves were all reflected back at him in a surreal manner.
He looked, as always, like something crafted rather than born.
Juhoon opted to offer his mom a quiet prayer, closing his eyes for a brief moment before finally picking up his things and heading out to the new world he was set to live in. He asked for guidance, protection and the endurance to take on what were to come his way. And after finishing, he merely grabbed his cardigan, let out a gentle sigh and went on his way.
While walking, Juhoon placed a had over his designer tote bag, a protective gesture he unconsciously did as he trekked the pathway towards the University.
A modest rectangular box wrapped in pale gold paper and tied with a slender ribbon of the same hue was carefully tucked inside. The box housed four mille-feuille: crisp layers of pastry alternating with clouds of vanilla cream and crowned with glistening raspberries still kissed by morning dew.
He had purchased them on impulse at the small bakery just beyond the wrought-iron gates, telling himself it was a simple, polite gesture of thanks. Yet now, as he stepped onto the dew-slick path, doubt coiled quietly in his chest. He knew nothing of Keonho’s schedule, nothing of where Apollo’s son might appear on any given day. The pastries might remain uneaten, a private emblem of his own reticence.
Juhoon noticed that there was a growing wariness in his chest and briefly halted his walk. He then lightly shook his head, a way to quietly calm down his slowly rising anxiousness. He felt confused, why was he worried he wouldn't get to see Keonho today? He deemed that it was not something he should be worried about. He was merely offering him some food as a sign of thanks.
To ground himself, Juhoon gently tapped his bag, feeling the hard texture of the box inside under his fingers, as he gently breathed in and out. He did that for a short while, and after a few more, he felt himself finally relaxing. With the newly founded peace, he quietly decided that he would carry them and let the hours decide. Whether or not he'd meet Keonho today for him to properly offer him his gratitude, he would just let fate take its course.
And with that, Juhoon now continued his walk, mind at peace and heart filled with quiet hope for what's to come.
***
While still in the middle of his walk towards the school, the perimeter market unfolded before Juhoon like a living tapestry.
Stalls of many kinds were draped in ivy and starlit silk; offering glowing vials of moonwater, bundles of prophecy-grade sage, and wreaths that shimmered with captured dawn. Beneath the widest willow sat an elderly woman whose stall seemed almost an extension of the tree itself. The shelves were adorned with dried petals, jars of honeyed light on display, and small silver bells rang even without wind. She was knotting rosemary stems when her gaze lifted and fastened on Juhoon with the suddenness of recognition.
“You,” she said, the single word soft yet resonant, as though she had been waiting decades to speak it.
Juhoon halted, startled into stillness. “Good morning, ma’am.”
She set the rosemary aside and rose with the careful dignity of someone whose bones remembered every spell they had ever woven. Violet light clung faintly to her fingertips, the signature of deep, quiet witchcraft. She studied him without haste, eyes tracing the curve of his cheekbones, the gentle sweep of his lashes, the faint rose-gold shimmer that surrounded him whether he willed it or not.
“Adorable,” she murmured, the word carrying the weight of genuine wonder. “Exactly as radiant as the Lady Herself. The same tender gaze, the same quiet elegance. I have laid roses at Her altars every full moon for more years than you have drawn breath. To stand before one of Her children… it is but a miracle.”
The woman spoke with so much genuine awe that it made heat climbed Juhoon’s throat and settled in his cheeks. Devotion directed toward him was something Juhoon couldn't ever get used to. It felt like wearing someone else’s crown, it felt too heavy, too bright and just utterly foreign to him. “I am only mortal, ma’am,” he said softly, face flushed pink at the unexpected reverence. “Truly nothing more.”
The old witch laughed, a dry, affectionate rasp. “Mortal, yes. But you walk wrapped in Her light. That is no trivial thing, my dear.” She reached beneath the counter and drew out a sprig of myrtle, its leaves dark green and glossy, bound with a fine silver ribbon that caught the light like liquid starlight. “For gentle protection and gentle love. Keep it near your heart.”
Though hesitant, Juhoon still accepted it with both hands, his polite manners naturally giving way to even the shyness the unfurled in his chest. He bowed his head in the old, formal way his tutors had once taught him to showcase gratitude and offered her a verbal thanks. “Thank you, ma'am. Your kindness touches me deeply.”
She waved a gnarled hand. “Kindness? Child, you are the one who moves through the world like living poetry. What I offered doesn't even begin to cover the type of reverence you deserve. Now go, do not let this old woman delay your day.” She then gave him a warm smile.
Juhoon could only offer back a shy, fleeting smile of his own before continuing onward, the myrtle sprig now nestled beside the pastry box, two small tokens of unexpected grace. And when he finally reached the compound of the university, everything else settled like a routine.
The morning classes passed in measured stillness. In the vaulted lecture hall of Divine Lineage Theory, a Satyr professor paced before a blackboard inscribed with glowing genealogical trees, his hooves clicking softly against marble.
Juhoon chose a seat near the rear wall, notebook open, pen poised. When called upon, he answered in his quiet, melodic voice. His answers were precise, courteous and never loud. Several heads turned at the sound; he felt their gazes like warm fingertips and kept his own lowered.
Later, in the Arcane Annex, he paired with a a forest druid named Liora whose skin shimmered faintly green beneath the lamplight. She guided him through the art of reading auras; when he extended his senses toward her, she drew in a soft breath. “Woah, your aura,” she whispered. “It’s almost like rose-gold sunlight filtering through newly sprouted petals.” She then beamed at him.
Juhoon lowered his head, feeling flustered at being exposed in such a surreal level. “Yours feels like cool earth after summer rain. It's steady and quite comforting,” he replied softly.
They worked in gentle silence after that, two quiet souls finding harmony in shared reticence.
By noon, hunger had nudged him towards the cafeteria, but instead of joining the throng in the colonnad, Juhoon turned toward the campus park. Willows trailed silver-green fingers across gravel paths; floating lanterns drifted above like captive moons, scattering motes of gold across the grass. The air carried the scent of wet stone, blooming jasmine, and distant cedar.
Juhoon kept to himself as he continued on with his walk. He had nearly reached the wide lawn when a sharp cry yelling, “heads up!” split the stillness, followed by the unmistakable whistle of a ball slicing through air.
Juhoon managed to look up and saw a glowing ball described a perfect, merciless arc heading straight toward his face. He felt his eyes slowly grow wide in realization. Time seemed to thicken; his body, trained more for grace than speed, refused to coordinate with his brain which was sending distress signals all over to move away. Juhoon was left with no other option but to close his eyes and brace himself for the impending impact.
A breathless moment then came in passing.
Silence.
No impact. No pain.
Juhoon waited for anything to happen but when nothing did, he slowly opened his eyes. When his lashes lifted again, the ball hung motionless inches from his face. It was cradled in the sure grip of a very tall and lean young man whose chestnut hair caught the light like burnished copper. Green eyes sparkling with mischief.
“Caught it,” the stranger said, tossing the ball once, twice, with negligent ease. “Apologies. My aim is usually sharper.”
Juhoon exhaled in a shaky rush, fingers rising instinctively to his collarbone. “I… i-it’s okay, n-no harm done,” he stuttered softly.
Two more figures jogged up to where they were, breathing hard, grass stains bright against their clothes.
A broad-shouldered youth with cropped dark hair and the easy authority of someone born to lead, rubbed the back of his neck. “Hey, so that was my fault entirely,” he started upon reaching them. “ May or may not have over kicked it. I’m James, by the way, son of Ares. That’s Martin, Hermes blood, hence the impossible reflexes and this dude with me is Seonghyeon, Demeter’s son.”
Martin offered a mock salute, grinning wide and unrepentant. “Fastest dude on campus, by the way. You're welcome.”
“He’s also not very adept in the art of reading the room,” the guy named Seonghyeon, whose sleeves were already dusted with soil, said, scowling at the tall guy before waving sheepishly at Juhoon. “Sorry about that, I was meant to be the goalie. Clearly I failed spectacularly.”
Juhoon summoned a small, flustered smile. “It is quite alright, I am Juhoon,” he said, introducing himself as well.
James’s brows lifted with realization. “Oh? you're Aphrodite’s boy.”
Juhoon could only stare at him. He wondered how they found out of his lineage.
“Words travel fast around here, you'll get used to it,” James only said.
“Not as fast as me, though.” Martin then leaned in still grinning. “You froze like a statue there. Absolutely priceless. You sure you okay?”
“Yes,” Juhoon murmured. “I was just… startled, that’s all.”
Seonghyeon laughed, voice sounding bright and warm. “Nah, we owe you lunch. And you can't say no, by the way. Cafeteria’s on us.”
Juhoon, caught off guard by the sudden offer, only shook his head at once. “That is truly unnecessary–” but before he could finish his sentence, he was immediately cut off.
“Nope,” James cut in, emphasizing the P and already draping a companionable arm across Juhoon’s shoulders. The gesture was casual, warm, and just utterly devoid of ceremony. “You nearly ate leather because of us. Food is the least we can do.”
Martin snatched the ball and tucked it under his arm. “Come along, Your Highness. Don’t make us carry you because we actually will.”
To say that Juhoon was horrified by the thought of being carried by these three people he barely knew was an understatement. He opened his mouth to refute again, or at least tell them that he was truly fine and that they did not need to go out of their way to treat him, but somehow the trio was already in motion. Faster than thoughts could form in his cute head.
James was already steering him gently but firmly, Martin darting ahead and back like an eager shadow and Seonghyeon was humming a soft, delighted tune under his breath.
Juhoon found himself walking between them, flanked by solid warmth on one side and restless energy on the other, the pastry box bumping lightly against his hip with every step.
“So,” Martin began, falling into stride beside him. “First week?”
“Second day,” Juhoon managed to mutter, still feeling overwhelmed by everything.
James whistled low. “Rough start yesterday. Heard some fools were giving you a hard time. Bunch of losers, good thing Keonho shut them down fast.”
Juhoon’s pulse gave a quiet, involuntary skip at the mention of a familiar name. His head turned to face James. “You are acquainted with Keonho?”
Martin snorted and was the one to answer. “Acquainted? We’ve been wreaking havoc together since orientation. He’s probably in the music hall right now, seducing a lyre into perfect pitch.”
Seonghyeon grinned sideways. “Small world, isn’t it? Guess you’ll fit right in with our particular brand of chaos.”
Juhoon blinked, once again caught off guard by the effortless inclusion. He tried to reason with them, “I am uncertain I possess the necessary… chaos.”
James’s laugh rolled deep and easy. “Nah, trust me, you’ll fit right in perfectly.”
Juhoon could only gulp at that, as he was continuously lead by the group into the massive hall of the cafeteria. He quietly prayed to his mother that he survives whatever was to come. Also why were they walking so close next to him? Juhoon didn't know what was happening nor could he process how fast everything was unfolding. He only prayed more in earnest.
Once there, they claimed a long table near the tall windows of the cafeteria, sunlight pouring across worn oak in honeyed ribbons. Trays materialized swiftly: roasted root vegetables glazed with honey, slices of herb-crusted lamb, crusty bread still warm from the ovens, and a selection of fruit tarts whose berries gleamed like tiny garnets.
The cafeteria of the University of Elysium resembled a vast sunlit atrium more than a dining hall. High vaulted ceilings of pale glass let in a perpetual golden afternoon, while living vines twined around iron columns and released the faint perfume of honeysuckle whenever someone passed beneath them. Long oak tables stretched in orderly rows, yet the space thrummed with controlled pandemonium: griffin hybrids perched on rafters nibbling roasted quail, a cluster of dryads sharing nectar from crystal pitchers, a minotaur carefully balancing three trays while his horns scraped the chandelier of floating orbs. Laughter and overlapping voices rose and fell like waves, punctuated by the occasional burst of harmless magic and power of harmless sparks here and a sudden bloom of daisies across a tabletop there.
Juhoon sat at the centre of one such table, flanked on either side by his unexpected escorts. James occupied the bench to his left, one thick arm slung casually across the backrest behind Juhoon’s shoulders, close enough that the warmth of his bicep brushed the nape of Juhoon’s neck every time he gestured.
Martin had claimed the spot directly opposite, knees bumping Juhoon’s beneath the table whenever he leaned forward to make a point, while Seonghyeon sat to Juhoon’s right, absently twirling a sprig of fresh mint between his fingers and occasionally reaching over to tuck an errant lock of Juhoon’s hair behind his ear. “So it doesn’t fall in your tart,” he would say.
Each small contact sent a fresh ripple of heat across Juhoon’s skin. All throughout, he kept his posture impeccable. His spine straight, hands folded neatly in his lap when not holding cutlery and just being his ever graceful self. Yet still he could feel the flush creeping steadily upward from his collar. Every time one of the three touched him, however innocently, he fought the urge to shrink inward. They meant nothing by it, he reminded himself; this was simply their manner. They were loud, tactile, utterly devoid of personal boundaries and it was fine. But still, the contrast to his own carefully maintained distance left him quietly flustered.
“Hey.” Seonghyeon, who sat right next to Juhoon, slid a strawberry tart toward him. “You should try this. The berries carry my mother’s blessing this season. They taste like summer itself,” he said, smiling at Juhoon.
“Thank you,” Juhoon could only say quietly, still feeling the remnant of reservation. He then took a careful bite. At that, sweetness almost instantly bloomed across his tongue, bright and achingly perfect. “It is quite… delectable,” he then said softly.
Seonghyeon beamed. “Told you.” He then offered him more of the delicacy. “Here, have some more.”
Martin propped his chin on one hand. “Alright, confess. What’s it really like being Aphrodite’s kid? Do strangers spontaneously propose marriage in the hallways?”
Juhoon very nearly choked at the boldness of the question. He patted his chest, trying his best to clear his throat.
“Dude, what the heck?! Look at what you did,” Seonghyeon exclaimed, patting Juhoon’s back.
“I’m fine,” Juhoon managed to squeeze out after finally clearing his throat. “It is not quite so theatrical.”
James smirked around a mouthful of bread. “Lies. I counted three nymphs swooning when you passed the fountain earlier.”
“I failed to notice,” Juhoon replied, cheeks warming to a delicate rose.
Seonghyeon reached to hit James. “Man, leave him alone. Look, he’s turning the exact shade of my prize hybrid roses.”
Somehow, that made Juhoon flustered even more.
Martin then outright laughed, loud and carefree. “What a cutie. Y'all, Keonho’s going to lose his mind when he hears we’ve officially adopted his damsel in distress.”
Juhoon’s gaze lifted, cheeks heating up once again. “Damsel… in distress?”
“Yeah,” James said, tearing another piece from the loaf and popping it in his mouth. “He told us about yesterday morning. He was literally fuming about those idiots. Said if they tried it again he’d personally turn their hair neon pink for a month. Whatever that means.”
“Nah, he said he'd burn their shoes and have it displayed on the campus entrance. Dude is unhinged.” Martin laughed again.
Upon knowing this, a quiet bloom of warmth unfurled behind Juhoon’s ribs. It was something he did not expect. His thought then went to the pastry box waiting patiently in his bag, appearing to be more necessary now, and somehow more daunting. “I had hoped to thank him properly today,” he admitted, voice ever so soft.
Martin’s eyes gleamed with sudden mischief. “Oh, you will. He’s got archery practice right after lunch. We’ll drag you along if necessary.”
Juhoon made a faint sound of protest, but the three only laughed. The sounds were bright, overlapping, and just utterly unselfconscious. Their noise wrapped around him like an unfamiliar but not unwelcomed blanket. For the first time since stepping through the university gates, he felt the tentative outline of belonging: fragile, unlooked-for, and somehow strangely sweet.
Outside the windows, the floating lanterns drifted on, golden motes dancing across the grass. The day, it seemed, had decided to be kind after all. Chaotic yes, perhaps even unexpected with how things had turned out. But ultimately, it was gentle and... well… bright.
And as lunchtime continued to unfurl, the shenanigans, of course, ensued along with it.
Martin was now leaning across the table again, elbows planted amongst the crumbs, his green eyes dancing with spontaneous mischief. “Admit it, you’ve never had anyone steal your fries before.”
Juhoon glanced down at the small pile of crisp potato wedges that had mysteriously migrated from his plate to Martin’s. “I was under the impression that sharing was implied.”
James immediately barked out a laugh and reached over to ruffle Juhoon’s hair.
It was another gesture that made Juhoon’s shoulders rise instinctively toward his ears.
“See? He’s already learning our ways. Next time we’ll teach him how to spear fight,” the eldest then said so casually.
Juhoon wasn't sure if he'd actually survive that. “Please don't,” he murmured, the words so soft they were nearly lost beneath the surrounding din.
And yet the three heard him perfectly and had quickly dissolved into overlapping chuckles.
Seonghyeon nudged Juhoon’s elbow with his own. “Relax, we’re harmless, you know. Mostly.” He paused, considering. “Well, James once flipped a table during a heated debate about pizza toppings, but that was a one time thing.”
“It was justified,” James immediately countered without any sense of remorse. “Pineapples do not belong on pizza.”
Juhoon managed a small, uncertain smile, the corners of his mouth lifting just enough to reveal the dimple that appeared only when he was truly amused despite himself. The motion drew three simultaneous grins in response, as though he had performed some rare and delightful trick.
Martin snapped his fingers. “Yow hold on, Keonho might actually flip when he sees this. Our boy rescued the pretty new kid yesterday, and today we’ve got him sitting with us like he’s always been part of the pack.”
Juhoon’s fingers tightened around the handle of his fork.
The pastry box still waited inside his bag, pressed against his thigh like a secret heartbeat.
He had rehearsed several polite variations of “thank you for yesterday” in his mind, each more stilted than the last. But now, given the possibility that Keonho might actually appear at any moment made every rehearsed phrase evaporate.
As though summoned by the thought, a familiar voice cut through the ambient roar. “What in Tartarus' abyss is this?”
Right then and there, at the very end of their table, Keonho stood in all his youthful glory. Tray balanced on one hand, sun-kissed hair slightly mussed from whatever exertion he had just finished and brows furrowed together in what could only be deemed as confusion.
His golden eyes widened as they landed first on Juhoon, then swept across the trio currently hemming him in from every angle. For a heartbeat he looked genuinely stunned, mouth half-opened, brows lifted nearly to his hairline, before the expression melted into something dangerously close to delight.
James was the first to recover. He threw both arms wide in mock innocence. “Look who finally showed up. We found your stray, Apollo boy.”
Martin grinned so broadly his mouth threatened to split his cheeks. “And we’re keeping him by the way. Sorry, dude, but finder’s keepers.”
Seonghyeon waved the mint sprig like a tiny flag of truce. “He’s very polite. And very cute. He doesn’t even complain when we steal his food.” And then he laughed with a smile directed at Juhoon.
Juhoon was… overwhelmed… to say the least.
Keonho quickly set his tray down with deliberate care, never once taking his eyes off Juhoon. “You okay?” he asked, completely ignoring the other three and voice softening with genuine concern in the way it had the day before.
Juhoon only nodded once, a bit too quickly. Heat surged into his face again; he could feel it burning behind his ears and rising up his nape. “Quite alright. Your friends have been… very welcoming.”
At that Martin quickly snorted. “That’s code for ‘they won’t stop bothering me’ I can tell.”
“I am managing,” Juhoon said with quiet dignity, even as James chose that moment to give his shoulder a friendly squeeze.
Keonho slid onto the bench directly across from Juhoon, displacing a stack of empty plates with an easy sweep of his arm. His gaze flicked to the faint pink still staining Juhoon’s cheeks, then to the way Juhoon’s fingers were now clasped so tightly his knuckles had paled.
“You sure?” Keonho asked again, quieter this time. “They can be a lot.”
“They have been exceptionally kind,” Juhoon replied, which was true even if kindness in their case arrived in the form of relentless teasing and casual contact. Juhoon suddenly felt hesitant, this was the perfect time to finally bring out his gift. But he wasn't sure if he should. Silently gathering up the courage, he eventually reached beneath the table for his bag. The gold-wrapped box felt suddenly enormous in his hand when he pulled it out. “I… brought something. For yesterday.” He then placed the box on the table between them with the careful precision one might use to set down fine porcelain.
The ribbon ultimately gleamed under the atrium light.
Keonho stared at it for a long second, surprise flickering across his features once more. Then slowly his mouth curved into that wide, sun-bright smile that seemed to pull warmth from the air itself. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“I wished to,” Juhoon simply replied. His voice was barely audible above the cafeteria noise, yet Keonho heard every syllable. “Thank you, for intervening. It was… more meaningful than I can adequately express.”
For once the table fell quiet. Martin’s perpetual state of moving stilled, James’s arm slipped from the backrest and Seonghyeon had to set the mint sprig down.
Keonho reached out and carefully drew the box toward himself. His fingers brushed the ribbon, then paused. “May I?”
Juhoon nodded, a tiny, almost imperceptible motion.
Keonho untied the bow with surprising gentleness. For someone whose hands were callused from constant combative bowstrings and guitar frets, his actions were tender. When he lifted the lid, the scent of vanilla and fresh raspberries drifted upward. His expression was that of fascination, but it quickly melted into something much more soft.
“Mille-feuille,” he said, sounding quietly delighted. He raised his gaze to look at Juhoon, and then flashed him his ever so bright smile. “My favourite.”
Martin, who was listening intently–something he's never done before, leaned sideways to peer in. “You have a favourite pastry? Since when?”
“Since always,” Keonho immediately shot back, earning him a snicker from the older guy, all without looking away from Juhoon. “Thank you, seriously,” he then added.
Juhoon ducked his head, face flushing once more and lashes sweeping low. “It is only a small thing.”
“It isn’t,” Keonho countered gently. He selected one of the delicate pastries and held it out toward Juhoon. “Wanna share with me?”
The question caught Juhoon off guard. He blinked as hesitation settled in the pit of his stomach. But when he saw the genuine look on Keonho’s face, something in him acquiesced as he accepted the offered sweet.
Keonho’s smile only grew wider at that.
Their fingers brushed for the barest instant; and Juhoon felt the contact like a spark of sunlight against skin.
In the middle of all this, James deemed it perfect timing to clear his throat loudly. “Okay, you guys know I’m not one for all the soft stuff, but I can admit that this is actually cute.”
“Word,” Martin chimed in, clapping his hands once.
Seonghyeon simply smiled, soft and knowing.
Juhoon, of course, got flustered again, as he took a small bite of the pastry to hide his renewed flush. The cream melted on his tongue, sweet and cool.
From across the table, Keonho mirrored the motion, eyes crinkling at the corners as he watched Juhoon with unguarded warmth.
The other three, though, could only watch as something quiet noticeable brewed between their friend and the new quiet, pretty boy. Their eyes darting to one another, gleaming with a look of understanding in them.
Now as moments continued to pass, the lunch hour stretched longer than Juhoon had initially anticipated.
The cafeteria noise rose around them once more, yet for that small pocket of space at the long oak table, the world felt curiously hushed, filled only with the quiet crackle of pastry, the rustle of laughter, and the tentative, unexpected comfort of new friendship taking root beneath the endless golden light.
The golden light continued its downward pouring through the atrium glass turning the long oak table into a makeshift stage for the four young men who had so effortlessly claimed him as part of their orbit. Conversations flowed in overlapping waves. Each delivered with a loud, rapid, punctuated laughter that rolled across the cafeteria like summer thunder.
Juhoon sat at the eye of the storm, hands folded in his lap, posture straight as though good manners alone might anchor him against the tide.
James was currently in the middle of reenacting an archery mishap from last semester. His narration was partnered with exaggerated arm movements that nearly knocked over Martin’s water glass. “Bro, I swear! Keonho’s aim was so off he nearly took out the entire judging panel. The centaur professor had to duck.”
Martin cackled quite comically, slapping the table hard enough to make the cutlery jump. “Nah, but facts, though. Keonho was out there shooting like crazy! Dude looked like he was trying to fight off Cerberus or something. It was freaking hilarious, man,” he supplied, wearing a wide grin as he recalled what transpired.
Keonho's cheeks immediately flushed with mock indignation. He then leaned forward and flicked a crumpled napkin at Martin’s forehead. “Excuse you, that was one bad shot. One. And I still beat your sorry, speedy ass during the finals.”
“Only because I let you win,” Martin shot back, dodging another napkin with inhuman speed. “Call that big bro privilege.”
James snorted. “Bro, you’re the older one and yet you still lost to the baby of the group. That's embarrassing.”
Seonghyeon, ever the quiet instigator, simply smiled and passed Juhoon another strawberry from his tart. “Don’t listen to them,” he murmured under his breath. “They’re always like this.”
Juhoon accepted the berry with a small nod of thanks, lips curving in the barest hint of a smile. He had not spoken much during the duration of their lunch, and opted to only murmur agreements, soft thank-yous, and the occasional polite question. But somehow the others did not seem to mind. If anything, his quiet presence appeared to amuse them more. Every so often one of them would glance his way, as though checking whether their newest satellite had drifted off into another orbit elsewhere or not.
Keonho, it turned out, was the youngest amongst the group by several months. The revelation had come wrapped in teasing “our maknae.” and “he’s basically the kid.”
Where James carried the easy authority of an eldest brother, Martin the restless mischief of a middle child, and Seonghyeon the gentle steadiness of someone who had long ago learned to let chaos wash over him without drowning, Keonho burned the brightest and loudest of all. He laughed with his whole body, gestured with sunlit enthusiasm, and somehow managed to be both the instigator and the peacemaker in the same breath.
Yet every few minutes, sometimes when Juhoon was carefully cutting another small piece of pastry, sometimes when he was simply watching the others with wide, attentive eyes; the youngest’s gaze would slide toward him. Not obviously, not long enough to be called staring, but enough that Juhoon felt it like the brush of warm light across his skin.
When their eyes met, Keonho’s mouth would curve into that effortless, radiant smile, golden flecks in his irises catching the overhead glow. And each time it happened, Juhoon’s face would automatically bloom with heat, much to his surprise. He would then drop his gaze to his plate, lashes sweeping low, all while his fingers tightened around his fork until the metal warmed beneath his palm.
It is only because of his lineage, Juhoon told himself firmly.
The son of Apollo carries sunlight in his very presence. Nothing more.
Still, the flush refused to fade. And every time he caught Keonho looking at him before he could even notice, a certain warmth would creep up his back and would settle at his nape and on his cheeks. It was all very bizarre for Juhoon.
Time continued to bleed out, and eventually the enchanted chimes rang through the atrium. The sound was soft, melodic, yet impossible to ignore altogether, signaling that lunch was officially over.
James stood up and stretched, joints popping audibly. “Aight, I got combat strategy to attend to. Catch y’all later.”
Martin was also already on his feet, tray in hand. “Yow, Seonghyeon, you walking me to herbology or what? I need moral support before Professor Rootbound makes us repot poison ivy again.”
Seonghyeon sighed the sigh of what could only be deemed as long-suffering. “Fine. But if one scratches my face again, I’m wrapping you in thorn-filled vines.”
Martin croaked out a laugh. “Deal!”
The group started gathering their things in a flurry of motion. Their trays clattered against each other, chairs scraping, banters still getting thrown around and flying like arrows as they did.
Juhoon rose more slowly, smoothing his cardigan with careful hands, his designer tote already slung over his shoulder. He had taken two steps toward the exit when Keonho appeared at his side.
“I’ll walk you,” Keonho said simply, as though the decision had already been made prior.
Juhoon, caught off guard, could do nothing but blink. The offer came out of nowhere. “Oh… that's alright. You need not to-” Juhoon tried to say, but before he could even finish his sentence, he was cut off by another voice.
“Too late,” Martin called over his shoulder, already halfway across the room. “He’s latched on to you somehow. Good luck, pretty boy.”
James grinned at that, all teeth and a teasing glint in his eyes. “Yeah, but just don’t let him charm you too hard. Apollo genes hit differently, you know.” Then he winked.
Seonghyeon offered Juhoon a sympathetic look that somehow still managed to sparkle with amusement. “Come find us if he starts reciting poetry literally out of nowhere. We’ll try to stage an intervention,” he said. “No promises if it'll work, though.”
Keonho only rolled his eyes heavenward at his friends’ obvious lack of decorum. “I will literally dry you all out under the noon sun. Try me.”
The three dissolved into fresh laughter as they disappeared through the arched doorway, leaving Juhoon and Keonho standing in a suddenly quieter pocket of space.
Juhoon felt rather… on edge. As if every single one of his nerve endings were now hyper aware of the presence standing just a few feet away from him. He then cleared his throat softly, trying to overcome the sudden cloak casted on them. “They are quite… spirited.”
Keonho only chuckled, the sound low and warm. “That’s one way to put it.” He then tipped his head toward the corridor. “Divine Arts building, right? Let's go, I’ll walk you there.”
Juhoon wasn't sure whether to accept the offer or not. But eventually he settled with an, “okay.” and fell into step beside the younger, acutely aware of the scant distance between their shoulders. “Thank you. Again.”
“You keep thanking me,” Keonho observed, tone light. “It’s gonna go to my head.”
“I only wish to be polite.”
“You’re already polite enough for the whole campus.” Keonho’s smile tilted sideways, boyish and bright. “Seriously, though. I’m glad you’re okay after yesterday. And… well… I’m glad you’re here.”
Juhoon’s pulse stuttered. He kept his gaze fixed on the marble floor ahead, watching the way their shadows stretched long and golden in the afternoon light. “I did not expect to find… acquaintances so quickly.”
“I prefer the term friends,” Keonho merely said, sounding quietly pleased. “But yeah. I think we qualify.”
“Friends?” Juhoon asked. He didn't think he fit that description yet.
“Yeah, why, you don't wanna?” Keonho responded, voice casual yet teasing.
“I’m most fine with it,” Juhoon answered softly after a short, quiet contemplation
“Good.” Keonho then smiled at him, his charming personality radiating through.
The two then walked in companionable quiet for several paces. Around them the campus pulsed with life. Plenty of students were hurrying between buildings, a pair of harpies arguing animatedly over a shared textbook, the distant twang of a lyre drifting from an open window. Yet Juhoon felt curiously insulated, as though the world had drawn back just enough to let the two of them pass through undisturbed.
At the steps of the Divine Arts building Keonho slowed. “I’m guessing this is your stop.”
Juhoon turned to face him. “Thank you for accompanying me.”
Keonho only flicked his head and rubbed the back of his neck, a gesture Juhoon was beginning to recognize as his tell for mild embarrassment. “Anytime. Seriously. Oh and if those idiots from yesterday show up again, or if Martin tries to arm wrestle you, just find me, okay? I’ve got your back.”
The words landed soft and sincere. And somehow Juhoon felt them settle somewhere behind his sternum, warm and unfamiliar. “I will remember that,” he said quietly.
Keonho’s smile returned, softer this time. “Good.” He nodded, looking pleased. “I guess I’ll see you around?”
Juhoon only nodded. Soft eyes conveying gratitude.
With a casual wave, Keonho turned and jogged back down the steps, golden-kissed hair catching the light like a crown of captured sun as he began his descent.
Juhoon’s eyes merely followed him, watching him go until he disappeared around the corner. Only then did he allow himself a single, slow breath. His cheeks still felt warm, much to his mild bewilderment; all while his heart still beat a fraction too quickly.
He touched the myrtle sprig in his pocket. The gentle voice of the old woman from earlier echoing inside his head. Gentle protection, gentle love.
A faint smile settled in Juhoon’s lips, his heart blooming with gentle gratitude. And with that he climbed the steps into the cool marble hush of the building, carrying the faint afterglow of sunlight and laughter with him.
🐶🐢