Quietly walking through the halls to get to his class without passing any of his bullies, he almost tripped. His face flushed with embarrassment. Of course he was dumb and clumsy.

"Ha! Dumbass almost fell!" Woojin, his bullies friends laughed and pointed out. Minho quickly rushed away, tears threating to fall. But he managed to blink them away and get to first period.

There, he sat by his friends, Han and Hyunjin of course. They smiled and talked with him. Though he really didn't say anything but nod or slightly laugh. Han and Hyunjin understood. They didn't pressure him at all. They cared, and it always put Minho at ease.

......................

"Hey, fag! Why so quiet, hm? Oh, right..Youre fucking scared! HA!" Hangsa mocked, and his friends laughed along. Han and Hyunjin immediately stood up for him. Hyunjin was a good boxer, Han just knew how to roast people. Really good. And rap. He felt greatful but humiliated. He always thought of himself as useless. Was he really?

Yeah.

When they finally left, Minhos shoulders slumped in relief. He was so tense he felt like sobbing. But of course his friends comforted him.

"hey, it's okay. Don't worry, those jerks won't come back over here. And if they do I'll give them my fist." Hyunjin spoke, defending Minho and trying to make him feel better while gently patting his shoulder.

"Yeah, buddy...i promise you'll be okay, right?" Han smiled softly, Minho just nodded slightly, glancing at Han but not keeping direct eye contact. Not with someone he had true feelings for. It would just make him feel more humiliated.

...----------------...

Soon, time passed, fourth period came around just like that. Minho was stressed enough. Not wanting to be at school any longer. I mean, who would?! No one. But he had to. If he wanted to leave this place sooner.

And finally he went home. It would be the weekend. Three days off of school because they had canceled Monday. Finally he'd be alone. And calm. Happy. Right?

......................

......................

...................The curtains in their small apartment stayed drawn now. Silence filled the space like a heavy fog — no music, no laughter, just the low hum of the refrigerator and the occasional buzz of Minho’s phone… another call, another anonymous hate message. It had been the three days off of school since he’d touched real food. A few bites here and there, maybe a sip of water. His lips pale. He had only showered one day. His favorite hoodie hung off his frame like it no longer belonged to him....

He spent his days curled up in bed. Curtains drawn. Lights off. He barely spoke. Barely moved. He’d lost weight. Clothes that once fit him perfectly now looked too big. His silence and pain were deafening — this wasn’t the Minho he knew himself as. Today, he would try to get up, move around. Find things to cheer him up...

Even if it was complicated.

...----------------...

But he had to no matter what. School started tomorrow again and he needed to be ready for all the bullshit that might happen. He couldn't let it get in the way of him. It would just ruin him more...

......................

...Minho woke up to the sound of rain tapping impatiently on his window, the room still dark even though morning had arrived. He moved slowly, as if the weight on his chest made every action harder than it should be. His uniform felt cold, stiff, and somehow heavier than yesterday’s. He already knew what awaited him at school—he could feel the dread settling in before he even stepped outside. The walk to the bus stop felt endless, each puddle reflecting a tired version of himself he didn’t want to look at....

When he boarded the bus, the chatter faded the moment Woojin spotted him. Woojin’s smirk was the kind Minho had grown used to, the kind that promised trouble even before any words were spoken. Hangsa and Sungwa sat behind him, snickering, whispering just loud enough that Minho could hear his own name paired with insults. He kept his gaze fixed on the foggy window, trying to pretend the outside world was more interesting than their cruel laughter. His hands trembled slightly as he held his backpack closer, wishing he could shrink himself into the smallest version possible.

By the time he reached the school gates, Minho’s stomach felt twisted into tight knots. He hesitated, hoping the rain might buy him a few seconds of solitude, but the three boys were already there—waiting, as if the day couldn’t start until they’d found him. Sungwa flicked water from his umbrella onto Minho’s shoes, laughing when Minho stepped back. Hangsa blocked his path, and Woojin simply watched with that same cold smirk. Minho forced himself forward, each step echoing a quiet wish that tomorrow might somehow be different, even though today had proven once again that hope was the hardest thing to carry.

Minho woke up every morning feeling like the world was already one step ahead of him—and not in a good way. School wasn’t a place he went; it was a place he endured. The halls felt too bright, too loud, too crowded for someone who just wanted to disappear into the background.

But he never got the chance.

Woojin, Hangsa, and Sungwa made sure of that.

They weren’t the kind of bullies who yelled loudly in front of teachers. They were the quiet, sharp type. The ones who whispered things as they passed. The ones who bumped into him just hard enough for it to hurt, yet subtle enough to play innocent. The ones who smirked at every flinch like it was the day’s entertainment.

Every time Minho walked down the hallway, it felt like stepping into cold wind—unavoidable and biting. He kept his eyes low. His shoulders tight. His breath small. Some days he wondered if anyone even noticed how hard he was trying to simply exist.

But two people did.

Han and Hyunjin—his only friends, and the only reason Minho didn’t feel completely hollow. Han always tried to make him laugh, even if it meant doing the dumbest impressions. Hyunjin had this habit of linking arms with Minho when he sensed things were bad, grounding him without saying a word.

They couldn’t erase the shadows, but they could hold a light.

Still, the days were heavy. Minho would sit in class, pretending to take notes while his mind drifted—imagining what it would be like if people just… left him alone. If he didn’t have to brace himself every time he heard footsteps behind him. If he didn’t have to pretend he was fine just to make it through sixth period.

He didn’t want to be dramatic. He didn’t want to be fragile. He just wanted to breathe without feeling like the air was full of needles.

Sometimes, when the three bullies laughed in the distance, Minho felt like the whole world was laughing with them.

But when Han lightly nudged him and whispered, “Bro, you gotta stop looking like a sad anime character—at least look like a cool one,” Minho felt something warm flicker in his chest.

When Hyunjin draped his jacket over Minho’s shoulders because “you look cold, idiot,” that flicker steadied.

His life wasn’t bright. It wasn’t easy. Most days felt gray and tiring.

But at least he wasn’t walking through it alone.

And sometimes—on the quieter days—it was enough to keep him going.

...----------------...

...Love for my friend? ...

...Minho’s POV...

...I don’t know when it started....

...Maybe it was always there, something small and quiet sitting under my ribs, waiting for me to finally pay attention. Or maybe it grew slowly, like a bruise that spreads even when you’re not aware of the moment you got hurt....

...All I know is—at some point, Han stopped being “just Han.”...

...And I started noticing things I shouldn’t....

...Like how he laughs with his whole face, even when the joke he’s laughing at is his own and nobody else thinks it’s funny. Or how he always walks on the outside of the sidewalk, like it’s a habit he doesn’t even think about. Or the way he never lets go of my sleeve when he pulls me through a crowded hallway. Like he’s worried he’ll lose me in the noise....

...I used to think I liked having him around because he made the bad days easier....

...Now I think maybe the reason some days even feel survivable…...

...is because he’s in them....

...It’s stupid. I know it’s stupid. He’s my friend. He’s safe. He’s the one who always tries to make me smile when I don’t even feel like a real person....

...But lately, it’s like I can’t stop paying attention to him....

...When he leans close to whisper a joke, my heart jumps in a way I pretend not to notice. When he links our arms together, I feel warm for the rest of the day—embarrassingly warm, like the feeling refuses to fade even long after he lets go. And when he smiles at me… it feels like I’m standing under sunlight after weeks of rain....

...Hyunjin teases me sometimes, calling us dramatic....

...But I don’t think he understands it....

...This isn’t drama....

...It’s… something else. Something I don’t have a name for yet....

...There was this moment last week—small, stupid, but it keeps replaying in my head. We were sitting under the stairwell during lunch, hiding from everyone. Han was swinging his legs, talking about some video game update, and I wasn’t really listening. I was too busy watching the way the light caught the strands of his hair....

...And then he looked at me....

...Directly....

...Like he caught me staring—and instead of laughing, he just smiled a little....

...A soft smile. The kind people only give when they really care....

...“Minho,” he said quietly, nudging my knee with his. “You okay? You’re being quiet.”...

...I wanted to say, I’m not okay, because I think I’m starting to feel something for you I don’t know how to handle....

...I wanted to ask him if he ever felt weird around me too—if the warmth I feel is one-sided....

...But I just nodded and said, “Yeah. Just tired.”...

...He didn’t push. He never pushes....

...He just scooted closer, shoulder touching mine, and said, “Then I’ll keep talking. You like it when I talk.”...

...And somehow, I did....

...Somehow, that simple sentence stayed with me all week....

...I don’t know what this is....

...I don’t know if it’s safe to admit it—to him or even to myself....

...But I think…...

...I’m starting to fall for my friend....

...And that scares me almost as much as it comforts me....

Some mornings, I lie in bed staring at the ceiling, wondering why I even bother getting up. School isn’t a place I look forward to—it’s more like a long, gray tunnel I have to force myself through every single day.

By the time I walk through the front doors, I can already feel my shoulders tightening. I try to stay quiet, invisible, unnoticed… but I guess I’m not very good at that.

Woojin, Hangsa, and Sungwa always seem to find me.

They don’t need to shout or shove me into lockers to get their point across. It’s the way Woojin “accidentally” bumps into me hard enough to make me stumble. The way Hangsa mutters something under his breath that I can’t quite hear—but I know it’s about me. The way Sungwa smirks like he’s waiting for me to break just a little more each day.

I keep my eyes down. I pretend I don’t hear them.

I pretend a lot of things.

Sometimes it feels like the halls are too bright, like the fluorescent lights are spotlighting every insecurity I try to hide. I feel small. I feel stupid. I feel like I’m walking around with a sign on my back that says easy target.

But then… there are Han and Hyunjin.

Han always shows up out of nowhere, like he’s got some sixth sense for when I’m sinking too deep into my head. He’ll nudge me, poke me, whisper the dumbest jokes—sometimes they don’t even make sense. But I still laugh because no one else tries that hard to make me feel okay.

Hyunjin’s different. He doesn’t joke. He just… stays close. He hooks our arms together when he sees I’m tense, or he pulls me aside when he thinks I’m trying too hard to act fine. He always notices the things I wish nobody saw.

They make the weight easier to carry, even if they can’t take it away.

Still, most days feel exhausting. I sit in class pretending to focus while my mind drifts somewhere else—usually to thoughts like what would it feel like if they just stopped? Or why do I have to brace myself every time someone walks behind me? I know it’s dramatic to feel this way, but I can’t help it. Every laugh from the back of the classroom feels like it’s aimed at me. Every whisper feels like it has my name in it.

Some days I wonder if anyone else sees how hard I try just to exist quietly.

But then Han kicks my chair and whispers, “Bro, stop looking like a tragic anime protagonist. At least look mysterious.”

And I roll my eyes, but the corner of my mouth lifts anyway.

Then Hyunjin tosses his jacket at me and says, “Wear it. You look cold. Or depressed. Or both.”

And somehow, that helps.

My life isn’t bright. It isn’t easy. Most days feel like one long sigh.

But I’m not alone.

And maybe—on the rare days when the halls are quiet and the world feels a little gentler—that’s enough to keep me moving forward.

...----------------...

The morning felt heavier than usual—like the sky itself had pressed its weight onto Minho’s shoulders before he even stepped out the door. His bedroom was dim, the sun refusing to rise fast enough to convince him that today would be any better than the last. He pulled on his uniform with slow, numb movements, each button feeling like a task too big for someone already tired just from existing.

When he got to school, the halls felt wrong.

Too loud.

Too bright.

Too empty of the one person who made it all feel survivable.

Han wasn’t there.

Minho noticed immediately—Han’s desk, usually cluttered with doodles and crumbs from some snack he’d sneak before class, was completely empty. No backpack. No jacket thrown over the chair. No Han looking up with that tiny smile he tried to hide whenever Minho walked in.

His stomach sank in a slow, cold drop.

He slid into his seat, Hyunjin glancing over with a small nod. The kind that said, Yeah… I see it too. But Hyunjin didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. Minho wouldn’t have believed any reassurance anyway.

Without Han’s calm presence, the room felt colder. His breath felt louder in his chest. The space between his ribs ached with a loneliness he wasn’t ready to name out loud.

And of course—because the universe never missed a chance—Woojin, Hangsa, and Sungwa walked in like they owned the hallways.

Minho looked down at his desk immediately. Too late.

“Look who’s already sulking,” Woojin’s voice cut through the air, dripping with amusement.

“Where’s your little emotional support rodent?” Hangsa snickered.

“Probably finally realized you’re pathetic,” Sungwa added with a smirk.

The three of them lingered around his desk like vultures, feeding off the sight of him shrinking into himself. Minho kept his eyes glued to the scratched surface of his desk, counting each line like it could save him.

Hyunjin shifted beside him, tense, ready to intervene—but even he couldn’t handle all three of them, not without turning it into something worse.

“Seriously, Minho, you can’t survive one day without clinging onto someone?” Woojin leaned down, whispering just loud enough for Minho to hear but quiet enough that the teacher wouldn’t.

Minho swallowed, throat tight.

He wanted to say something. Anything.

But the words dissolved before they even reached his tongue.

He felt small again—like he was shrinking into a version of himself he hated, the version that trembled and hoped for someone to come save him. The version that disappeared under the weight of other people’s voices.

The teacher walked in, finally forcing the bullies to scatter, but the damage had already sunk into his chest like sharp glass.

The day only got worse from there.

Classes blurred together. The teachers’ voices felt muffled, like Minho was underwater. Hyunjin tried to talk to him at lunch, but every time Minho opened his mouth to respond, nothing came out. Not when he wanted to explain why he felt so hollow, and definitely not when he tried to pretend he was okay.

Every empty hallway reminded him Han wasn’t there. Every joke Hyunjin made that fell flat reminded him of the laughter missing from beside him.

Every time Woojin and the others passed by—throwing comments, shoving his shoulder, mocking his quiet—reminded him of how much weaker he felt without Han’s steady, warm presence.

By the final bell, Minho felt like he’d spent the entire day trying not to cry, the pressure behind his eyes sharp and constant.

He walked home alone, hands deep in his pockets, staring at the cracks along the sidewalk.

He didn’t know why missing Han hurt this much.

Or maybe he did.

Maybe he just wasn’t ready to admit it.

All he knew was that today was one of the worst days he’d had in a long time.

And all because Han wasn’t there to make the world feel a little less cruel.