Chapter Text
—
Seonghyeon had always been good with numbers. Not just good, he's consistent. Predictable in a way teachers loved and classmates quietly envied.
Top 1. Top 2. Never anything below that.
It should’ve felt like success.
But at home, success had a different shape.
And it never looked like him.
“James got into Law at the top university.”
“Juhoon is already doing clinical practice.”
“Martin’s professors say he’s exceptional for his age.”
His mother’s voice was calm when she said it.
Seonghyeon sat at the dining table, eyes lowered to his untouched food.
The room felt too big for him.
Too full of names that weren’t his.
His brother's achievements were already completed—solid, undeniable.
And Seonghyeon… was still being measured.
Still being compared.
Still being “not enough yet.”
He didn’t argue.
He never did.
Instead, he learned the pattern.
Study harder. Sleep less.
Be better.
By midnight, the house was quiet.
Seonghyeon’s room wasn’t.
The desk lamp cast a sharp circle of light over his notebooks. Everything was arranged with precision, clean lines, and perfect handwriting. If his life couldn’t be perfect, at least his notes could be.
His eyes burned slightly, but he kept reading anyway.
Just one more page.
Just one more chapter.
Just one more proof that he was worth noticing.
His hand paused for a moment.
A small tremor. He stared at it.
“…get it together,” he muttered quietly, as if his own body was something he could discipline.
And then he continued.
_
School was easier.
Not because it was less stressful.
But because it was simpler.
Everything there had numbers.
Scores. Rankings. Percentages.
No emotional ambiguity.
No silence filled with expectations.
Only results.
And the results were honest.
That was what he told himself.
Until Keonho Ahn transferred.
He didn’t look like a top student.
That was the first thought Seonghyeon had.
Too relaxed. Too calm.
Like nothing here could actually touch him.
And yet—
The first exam result proved otherwise.
- Keonho Ahn
- Seonghyeon Eom
Same score difference: barely anything.
Seonghyeon stared at the board longer than he should have.
“…seriously?” he whispered.
“Problem with second place?”
The voice came from beside him.
Seonghyeon turned.
Keonho was standing there with his hands in his pockets, like he didn’t just shift the entire academic balance of the school. Like he hadn’t just taken something that had always been Seonghyeon’s.
“Didn’t ask for your opinion,” Seonghyeon said flatly.
Keonho tilted his head slightly.
“I know. You usually don’t ask for anything.”
That hit differently.
Seonghyeon frowned.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Keonho shrugged.
“Nothing. Just noticing.”
They stood there in silence for a moment. Around them, students moved on, laughing, talking, celebrating. Life continues normally, but between them, something felt stuck. Measured. Like neither of them wanted to be the first to step back.
Seonghyeon finally spoke.
“You’re not staying at the top for long.”
Keonho blinked once, then smiled slightly.
“Good.”
That confused him.
Seonghyeon narrowed his eyes. “Good?”
Keonho turned away slightly, looking back at the board again. “Means you’ll keep trying.”
That sentence shouldn’t have mattered.
But it did.
For reasons Seonghyeon didn’t like.
As Keonho walked away, Seonghyeon stayed there.
Still staring at the board.
Still hearing that one sentence in his head.
“Means you’ll keep trying.”
And for the first time in a long time—
He wasn’t sure if that was supposed to sound like a challenge…or a concern.
—
The house was quiet in the way Seonghyeon had learned to fear.
He stood near the entrance for a second longer than necessary, fingers still on the strap of his bag. His shoes hadn’t even been fully taken off when he heard it.
“You’re back.”
His mother’s voice came from the living room.
Seonghyeon straightened his posture instinctively. “Yes.”
“How was your exam?”
He hesitated for half a second too long.
“Rank two,” he said.
Silence.
It wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be.
But somehow, it filled the entire house.
From the hallway, he could see her sitting neatly on the sofa, a cup of tea untouched on the table.
She didn’t look surprised. Just… disappointed in a way she had practiced too well.
“Second again,” she repeated slowly, like she was testing the sound of it.
Seonghyeon didn’t answer.
Because there was no correct answer.
“You know,” she continued, calm as ever,
“your brother James never stayed second in anything that mattered.”
Seonghyeon’s jaw tightened slightly.
“Juhoon didn’t either. Even when medicine became difficult.”
A small pause.
“And Martin…” she sighed softly, like she was remembering something obvious. “He understood people better than most adults, even when he was your age.”
Each name landed carefully.
One by one.
Seonghyeon stood still.
He had heard this before.
Different versions. Same meaning.
You are not there yet.
Or worse—
You might never be.
From the dining area, a chair shifted slightly.
James was there. Reading something on his phone.
Juhoon was also there, scrolling through something medical-related, barely looking up.
Martin sat further back, headphones on, expression neutral.
All threee of them are present.
None of them was involved.
No one said anything.
Not even when their youngest brother was being measured again.
His mother finally stood up.
She walked past him slowly, like she was passing something that didn’t require urgency.
“You are not doing badly,” she said, voice softer now.
For a moment, Seonghyeon thought maybe—
But then she added:
“You're just not doing enough to be first.”
That sentence stayed longer than the others.
Seonghyeon nodded once.
Because that was what he always did.
“I’ll try harder,” he said quietly.
His voice sounded far away, even to himself.
Upstairs, his room was exactly how he left it.
The door clicked shut behind him. Only then did his shoulders drop slightly. As if his body was finally allowed to remember it was tired.
He sat at his desk without turning on the main light. Just the small lamp, enough to see. But not enough to feel safe.
From his bag, he took out a small bottle.
No label he focused on. No thought attached.
Just something that helped him sleep when his mind refused to stop being loud.
He stared at it for a moment.
Then took it.
Outside, the house continued as if nothing had changed.
Because nothing had, really.
Not for them.
Seonghyeon lay down still, fully clothed, eyes fixed on the ceiling.
His thoughts didn’t slow immediately.
They never did.
But eventually—
They became softer at the edges.
Distant.
Like voices behind a closed door.
Somewhere in that fading space between awake and asleep, one thought slipped through anyway.
“Second again.”
And another, quieter underneath it—
“How long can you stay here before it becomes permanent?”
He didn’t answer it.
He couldn’t.
And for the first time that night—
He didn’t try.
—
Seonghyeon had a pattern now.
Wake up. Study. School. Study again. Sleep only when necessary.
Repeat.
If he followed it perfectly, nothing would break.
That was the theory.
In reality, his body was starting to disagree.
“Seonghyeon.”
He didn’t look up immediately.
Not because he didn’t hear.
But because he already knew who it was.
Keonho.
“Move,” Seonghyeon said flatly.
Keonho didn’t move. Instead, he leaned slightly against the edge of the desk, eyes scanning him like he was trying to solve something.
“You look worse than usual,” Keonho said.
“I didn’t ask for a diagnosis.”
“Good,” Keonho replied.
“Because I’m not giving one.”
A pause.
“But you still look worse.”
Seonghyeon finally looked up. His expression was sharp, tired in a way he refused to show.
“What do you want?”
Keonho didn’t answer right away.
That was new.
He usually had something ready.
A comment. A joke. A challenge.
But this time, he just looked at him.
Too long.
Too observant.
“You’ve been skipping meals,” Keonho said eventually.
Seonghyeon scoffed lightly.
“Are you counting them now?”
“You didn’t deny it.”
“I don’t need to.”
Keonho straightened slightly.
“You also haven’t been sleeping properly.”
Seonghyeon’s fingers tightened around his pen.
“That’s none of your business.”
“It becomes my business when you start looking like you’re about to collapse in the middle of class.”
That made something inside Seonghyeon snap slightly. “I’m fine.”
Keonho tilted his head.
“That’s what people say right before they pass out.”
Seonghyeon stood up abruptly, chair scraping slightly.
“Why are you even here?”
Keonho didn’t move back.
“I’m standing in front of my desk,” he said calmly.
“That’s not an answer.”
Keonho studied him again.
“You didn’t look fine yesterday either.”
Seonghyeon froze for half a second. “…what?”
“You almost fell asleep standing, and before you say anything—no, it wasn’t subtle,” Keonho continued.
Seonghyeon stared at him.
“I don’t need you watching me,” he said coldly.
Keonho nodded once.
“Yeah,” he said. “I figured you’d say that.”
A pause.
Then—
“I’m still going to.”
Seonghyeon grabbed his bag.
“I don’t have time for this.”
He brushed past Keonho.
Shoulder barely touching.
But Keonho spoke again, just as he reached the door.
“Are you sleeping at all?”
Seonghyeon stopped, bue he didn’t turn.
“…I said it’s none of your business.”
Keonho’s voice softened slightly this time.
“That’s not an answer.”
Seonghyeon finally spoke, quieter than before.
“I’m fine. I just... need to be better.”
“Better than what?”
Seonghyeon didn’t answer.
So he left the room instead.
This time, Keonho didn’t stop him.
But he didn’t look away either.
And for the first time, Keonho didn’t think about rankings.
He thought about how someone could stand that still…
and still look like they were falling apart.
—
Seonghyeon stopped noticing time in normal ways.
It wasn’t “morning” or “afternoon” anymore.
It was just: study… school… pressure… repeat.
Sleep came only when his body forced him into it.
Even then, it didn’t feel like rest.
Just pause. Temporary silence before everything started again.
Keonho noticed patterns.
At first, he didn’t mean to.
It was small things.
Seonghyeon skipping lunch. Seonghyeon leaving class a little slower than usual. Seonghyeon stared at his paper longer than necessary, like the words were shifting when no one else was looking.
It should’ve been nothing.
Except it kept happening.
And Keonho saw it again.
Cafeteria. Seonghyeon is sitting alone.
Food untouched.
Head slightly lowered.
Not asleep.
Not fully awake either.
Just… there.
Keonho stood in line, tray in hand.
He didn’t move at first.
He just watched.
Then, without thinking too long, he took an extra sandwich and sat down across from him.
Seonghyeon didn’t look up.
“You’re in my seat,” Seonghyeon said flatly.
“There’s no assigned seating.”
Seonghyeon didn’t eat.
Keonho pushed the sandwich slightly closer.
“You should eat.”
“I’m not hungry.”
Keonho raised an eyebrow.
“That’s a lie.”
Seonghyeon finally looked up.
His eyes were tired—more than Keonho remembered.
“I didn’t ask for your concern.”
“I know,” Keonho said. “I’m still giving it.”
Seonghyeon stared at the food, then back at him. “…why?”
Keonho didn’t answer immediately.
Because he didn’t have a clean answer.
“Because you look like you’re going to collapse any day now.”
Seonghyeon scoffed lightly.
“I won’t.”
“That’s what people say right before they collapse.”
Seonghyeon stood up.
“I don’t need this.”
Keonho didn’t stop him.
But he didn’t look away either.
Later that day.
Library.
Seonghyeon was alone again.
Or at least, he thought he was.
Keonho appeared between shelves like he had always been there.
“You’re stalking me,” Seonghyeon muttered without looking up.
“I’m reading,” Keonho said.
“This is a library.”
“You’re reading me.”
That made Keonho pause slightly.
“…that sounded worse than I expected.”
Seonghyeon didn’t react.
Keonho leaned against the table.
“You slept in class today.”
“I didn’t.”
“You did,” Keonho said calmly.
“For about ten minutes. Maybe twelve.”
Seonghyeon closed his book slightly.
“What is your problem?”
Keonho met his eyes.
“You.”
That answer wasn’t supposed to be that direct.
Even Keonho seemed a little surprised he said it.
“I mean—this,” he added.
“Whatever you’re doing.”
Seonghyeon’s grip tightened on the book.
“I’m studying.”
“No,” Keonho said.
“You’re running.”
That word landed heavier than expected.
Seonghyeon looked away.
“…you don’t know anything about me.”
Keonho didn’t argue.
For once.
Instead, he said quietly:
“Then tell me I’m wrong.”
No answer.
Because they both knew he wasn’t.
That night, Keonho didn’t study properly.
Which was unusual.
He kept thinking back.
The cafeteria. The library.
The way Seonghyeon looked like he was holding himself together with something invisible.
Not strong.
Not okay.
Just… forced.
He leaned back in his chair.
“…what are you doing?” he muttered to himself.
It wasn’t really a question for anyone.
But it didn’t stop the feeling.
Meanwhile, Seonghyeon sat in his room again.
Lamp on. Books open.
But his eyes didn’t move.
The words didn’t stay still anymore.
Everything felt slightly too loud.
Too heavy.
His fingers hovered near the small bottle on his desk.
Then stopped.
For a moment, he just sat there.
Not studying. Not sleeping.
Just existing in between.
He told himself he was fine.
He always did.
It had become automatic—like breathing, like blinking, like lying without realizing it anymore.
Outside, life continued normally.
But for both of them—
Something had already started shifting.
—
The classroom was louder than usual.
Or maybe it wasn’t.
Maybe his head was just getting worse at filtering things out. The teacher’s voice blurred at the edges. Words stopped sticking properly.
He blinked once. Then twice.
The letters on the board shifted slightly. That shouldn’t have been possible.
“Seonghyeon.”
His name was called. He didn’t respond fast enough.
“Seonghyeon.”
This time sharper.
He forced his head up. “Yes.”
“Answer number three.”
He looked at the board. Nothing stayed still. His vision lagged behind reality.
“…I—”
He stopped.
Because the room tilted.
Just slightly. Just enough.
He gripped the edge of his desk. Hard. It didn’t help.
His breathing stayed normal on the outside. But inside, something was slipping.
Quietly.
Fast.
Keonho noticed it first. Of course he did.
Because Seonghyeon always tried too hard to look normal. And Keonho was starting to learn what “normal” looked like when it was fake.
“Hey,” Keonho said under his breath.
No response.
“Seonghyeon.”
Still nothing.
The moment Seonghyeon tried to stand, his legs didn’t fully agree with the decision.
The world tilted again. More this time.
His hand missed the desk edge.
And then—
He fell.
A body losing its agreement with its own weight.
Someone gasped. A chair scraped.
But Keonho was already moving. He caught him before he hit the floor properly.
One arm around his shoulder. The other steadied him.
“Hey—hey.”
Seonghyeon blinked slowly.
“…I’m fine,” he muttered.
Keonho let out a breath.
“Yeah. Sure.”
Seonghyeon tried to pull away.
Failed.
His body didn’t follow instructions anymore.
That was new.
That was wrong.
“…let go,” he said, quieter now.
Keonho didn’t.
Instead, he looked at the teacher.
Then back at him.
The walk to the School Medical Room felt unreal.
Keonho didn’t rush him. Every few steps, he adjusted his grip slightly—just enough to make sure Seonghyeon didn’t tip over again.
Seonghyeon hated that he needed it. He hated more that he didn’t have the strength to refuse it.
The nurse asked questions. He answered half of them. Or Keonho did. He wasn’t sure anymore.
Eventually, he was told to lie down.
White bed. White walls.
Keonho stood near the door.
Not leaving.
Not approaching either.
Just… there.
Watching.
“You can go,” Seonghyeon said weakly.
Keonho raised an eyebrow. “I know.”
“…so go.”
Keonho crossed his arms. “No.”
Seonghyeon turned his head slightly. “…why?”
“Because you almost dropped face-first in front of the entire class.”
A pause.
“That’s embarrassing and I won't let that happen again.”
Seonghyeon almost scoffed.
“…you’re weird.”
“You do this often?”
Seonghyeon didn’t answer.
That was answer enough.
Keonho looked away slightly.
“…you don’t look fine,” he said quietly.
Seonghyeon closed his eyes.
“I told you,” he whispered. “I’m fine.”
A pause.
Then softer, almost fading:
“I just need to be better.”
Keonho didn’t respond right away.
When he did, his voice was lower.
“Better than what?”
No answer.
Because even Seonghyeon didn’t know where the limit was anymore.
Outside the room, school continued as if nothing had happened. Inside, one person finally stopped pretending—just for a moment. And another person realized something he couldn’t ignore anymore.
Keonho exhaled slowly.
“…this is not just about rankings,” he muttered.
And for the first time, he wasn’t thinking about winning anymore.
—
The ride home felt too quiet.
Not peaceful—just empty in a way that made Seonghyeon’s thoughts louder than they should’ve been.
Keonho stayed until he was discharged. He didn’t ask too many questions after that.
Just said, once, before Seonghyeon left: “Don’t do that again.”
Seonghyeon hadn’t answered. Not because he agreed. But because he didn’t know how.
The house looked the same when he arrived. Nothing about it suggested anything had changed.
Maybe that was the problem.
Nothing ever did.
“Seonghyeon.”
His mother’s voice came from the living room again.
He paused at the entrance. “Yes.”
She glanced at him briefly.
Noticing the slightly slower way he moved. The faint tiredness still clinging to him.
“You came back early.”
“I left school early,” he corrected.
“…why?”
He hesitated.
For half a second, he thought about saying it plainly.
Fainted.
School Medical Room.
Keonho.
But none of those words felt like they belonged in this house.
So he simplified it. “Not feeling well.”
Then she nodded once.
“As expected, you’ve been pushing too hard again,” she said calmly.
Seonghyeon looked at her.
That wasn’t the part that hurt.
What came next was. “Your body is weaker than your brothers, Seonghyeon.”
She said it like she was stating a fact from a report.
“James never missed school. Juhoon never fainted because of studying. Martin handled pressure better, even when he was younger than you are now.”
She set her cup down gently.
“And yet they didn’t need to struggle like this to succeed.”
A small pause.
“So tell me… why do you?”
Seonghyeon stood still.
His fingers curled slightly at his side.
He didn’t have an answer she would accept.
He never did.
“I’ll be fine,” he said quietly instead.
She nodded again. “Good.”
From the hallway, faint sounds of movement.
James is walking past.
Juhoon on a phone call.
Martin is somewhere nearby, headphones on.
All of them are aware.
None of them is stepping in.
Seonghyeon walked upstairs.
Each step felt heavier than it should have.
Not because his body hurt.
But because nothing had changed.
Even after everything.
Even after collapsing.
His room was exactly how he left it.
He sat down slowly at his desk.
Didn’t turn on the main light.
Just the small lamp again.
From his bag, he took out his notes.
Opened them. Stared.
But the words didn’t make sense immediately.
Not because they were difficult.
Because his brain felt delayed.
Like it was still trying to catch up with his body.
He pressed his fingers against his temple.
“…stupid,” he muttered to himself.
Somewhere in the silence, his phone lit up briefly.
A message.
Keonho:
You home?
Seonghyeon just stared at it for a moment.
Then turned the phone face down.
Outside his room, the house continued its routine.
Dinner would happen later.
Conversation would happen without him.
His absence would not disrupt anything.
That was the part that stayed the same.
Always.
Seonghyeon lay back slightly on his chair.
Eyes half-lidded.
Not asleep.
Not awake.
Just… suspended.
And for the first time, a thought came quietly, without him trying to push it away:
" If I disappear for a while… would anything actually change? "
He didn’t answer it.
Because somewhere deep down, he already knew the answer.
And that was worse.
—