Chapter Text
Smile when the teacher asked if you were doing all right.
Smile when someone noticed you hadn't eaten lunch.
Smile when your mother called and asked how school was going.
Smile when Juhoon leaned across the desk and said, "You look like shit."
Especially then.
Martin smiled.
"Thanks."
Juhoon snorted.
"I meant tired."
"Still thanks."
It was the first week of the semester, and the classroom smelled like whiteboard marker, old textbooks, and rain.
Martin liked the rain.
It gave everyone an excuse to look down.
Students hurried through the corridors with their umbrellas folded against their sides, their shoes squeaking against the tile. Nobody looked closely at anybody else.
Nobody noticed Martin standing outside the classroom for nearly five minutes because he couldn't make himself open the door.
Except Juhoon.
He was leaning against the wall beside the window, scrolling through his phone.
"You going in?"
Martin looked at him.
"Eventually."
"Class started three minutes ago."
"Then I'm fashionably late."
Juhoon glanced at the classroom.
Then back at him.
"You're weird."
Martin smiled again.
"I've been told."
Juhoon opened the door.
"Come on."
Martin followed.
He always followed.
By lunch, Martin had already forgotten most of the morning.
Not because anything particularly interesting had happened.
That was the problem.
His days had started blending together.
Wake up.
School.
Pretend.
Go home.
Pretend.
Sleep.
Repeat.
Sometimes he wondered how long a person could live like that before something inside them simply stopped responding.
He had stopped being afraid of the thought.
That was what scared him.
Martin sat at the edge of the cafeteria table while Juhoon argued with two classmates about whether instant noodles counted as cooking.
"They're not cooking," Juhoon insisted.
"You boil water."
"That's preparation."
"You're gatekeeping noodles."
"I'm protecting the culinary arts."
Martin laughed.
It came out naturally.
For a few seconds, he forgot.
Then his phone buzzed.
His smile disappeared.
Mom: Are you coming straight home today?
Martin stared at the message.
Another appeared.
Mom: We need to talk.
His stomach tightened.
He turned his phone face-down.
"You okay?"
Juhoon.
Of course.
Martin looked up.
"Yeah."
Juhoon didn't look convinced.
"You've said that about six times today."
"Maybe I'm very okay."
"Maybe you're terrible at lying."
Martin laughed.
"You're obsessed with calling me a liar."
"Because you're bad at it."
Juhoon pushed half his lunch toward him.
"Eat."
"I'm not hungry."
"Didn't ask."
Martin stared at the food.
Then at Juhoon.
"You always this bossy?"
"Only with you."
Something warm flickered in Martin's chest.
It scared him more than it should have.
He picked up the chopsticks.
"Happy?"
"Extremely."
Martin ate.
Juhoon smiled.
For a moment, everything felt almost normal.
After school, Martin didn't go home.
He sat on the steps behind the gym, listening to the rain.
His phone had stopped buzzing hours ago.
He didn't know whether that was better.
The sky was getting darker.
He should leave.
He knew that.
Instead, he sat there with his knees pulled against his chest and watched water gather along the edge of the pavement.
Sometimes he thought about disappearing.
Not dramatically.
Not like in movies.
Just—
Not being here.
Not having to wake up tomorrow and perform the same version of himself again.
The thought was quiet.
Almost gentle.
You could just stop.
Martin closed his eyes.
He hated how comforting it sounded.
"Martin?"
His eyes snapped open.
Juhoon stood at the bottom of the stairs.
His hair was damp.
He was holding two convenience-store drinks.
"You followed me?"
"I was going to ask you something."
"What?"
"I forgot."
Martin raised an eyebrow.
"You followed me because you forgot?"
"Yeah."
"That makes no sense."
"I know."
Juhoon sat beside him.
He handed Martin one of the drinks.
"Here."
Martin looked at it.
"Why?"
"Because you look cold."
"I'm not."
"You're shaking."
Martin looked down.
His hands were trembling.
He shoved them into his sleeves.
"Probably caffeine."
"You haven't had caffeine."
"Then I'm mysterious."
Juhoon smiled faintly.
But it disappeared quickly.
"Seriously."
Martin stared ahead.
"What?"
"You've been weird lately."
"I'm always weird."
"Not like this."
The rain grew heavier.
Martin swallowed.
"Maybe I'm just tired."
Juhoon was quiet.
Then—
"Are you okay at home?"
Martin's heart stopped.
He looked at him.
"What?"
"Your phone."
"What about it?"
"Every time it goes off, you look like you're going to throw up."
Martin looked away.
"You notice too much."
"I notice you."
The words were simple.
They shouldn't have hurt.
But something inside Martin cracked.
He blinked rapidly.
Juhoon turned toward him.
"Hey."
"I'm fine."
"Martin."
"I'm fine."
"Stop saying that."
Martin's breath shook.
He stood abruptly.
"I have to go."
"Where?"
"Home."
"Do you want me to walk you?"
"No."
The answer came too quickly.
Juhoon stood too.
"Okay."
Martin looked at him.
For a second, neither moved.
Then Juhoon said quietly,
"You don't have to tell me what's wrong."
Martin's throat tightened.
"But you also don't have to lie to me."
He couldn't answer.
So he left.
That night, Martin sat on his bedroom floor.
The house was quiet.
His homework remained untouched beside him.
His phone was on the bed.
There was a message from Juhoon.
Juhoon: You get home okay?
Martin stared at it.
He typed:
yeah
Deleted it.
Typed:
I'm fine
Deleted that too.
Finally:
yes
Three dots appeared.
Then disappeared.
Then appeared again.
Juhoon: Okay.
A minute later:
Juhoon: Goodnight, Martin.
Martin stared at those two words for a long time.
Goodnight.
Such an ordinary thing.
Such a small thing to hold onto.
He put the phone against his chest.
His eyes burned.
For the first time in weeks, he let himself cry.
Quietly.
He pressed his sleeve against his mouth so nobody would hear.
And somewhere beneath all the exhaustion, one terrifying thought surfaced:
What if Juhoon is the only reason you haven't given up yet?
Martin squeezed his eyes shut.
He didn't want that responsibility.
He didn't want to need anyone.
He especially didn't want to need him.
Because people left.
People changed.
People got tired.
And Martin couldn't survive another person leaving.
So he made himself a promise.
Tomorrow, he'd smile.
Tomorrow, he'd go to school.
Tomorrow, he'd sit beside Juhoon and pretend nothing was wrong.
He would become so good at pretending that maybe, eventually, he would believe himself.
Outside his window, rain slid down the glass.
And somewhere across town, Juhoon was still awake.
Staring at the same unanswered question.
What was Martin hiding?