chapter three

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.

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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.

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