Chapter 2: This is what jealousy feel like..

The next evening, Min-Joon sat alone in his room, sketchbook open across his lap. He flipped through the pages—familiar lines, practiced shadings—but his breath caught when he came to one he didn’t remember drawing.

It was Yujun again.

This time, his expression was softer. Vulnerable. His eyes looked directly at the viewer, lips parted as if he were about to speak but hadn’t yet found the words.

Min-Joon touched the paper, fingertips hovering over the charcoal lines.

That’s not how Yujun looked at the world.

But maybe it’s how he looked at me.

His phone buzzed. A message from Yujun:

“Come outside. I have something to show you.”

Under the moonlight, they walked in silence. Yujun led him to the riverside.

There, tied to a tree branch, was a small, floating lantern.

Min-Joon blinked. “You made this?”

Yujun rubbed the back of his neck. “Tried to.”

Min-Joon laughed, the sound cutting through the quiet night.

“It’s crooked.”

Yujun shrugged. “I figured it fits us.”

They stood there, shoulders touching.

The lantern bobbed gently.

And neither of them said it—but both knew this was something beginning.

The next morning, a rumor floated through the halls.

Min-Joon had been seen laughing with Jiho by the bike racks.

Yujun didn’t ask about it. But his silence changed.

It was colder now. Shorter glances. Muted nods.

Min-Joon noticed.

That afternoon, Jiho found him again, this time waving two tickets.

“Movie night? My treat.”

Min-Joon hesitated. “I—”

Then Yujun appeared, gaze unreadable.

“He’s busy,” he said.

Jiho raised an eyebrow. “You’re not his boss.”

“No,” Yujun said. “But I know when he doesn’t want to say no.”

Min-Joon’s heart thudded.

After Jiho left, he turned to Yujun. “Why did you do that?”

Yujun didn’t meet his eyes. “Because I didn’t like how he looked at you.”

Silence.

Then Min-Joon whispered, “That’s what jealousy feels like.”

Yujun’s lips parted. “I guess it is.”

They didn’t talk about it after that.

But in Min-Joon’s sketchbook that night, he drew Yujun again—this time, facing him, with a line of stormy clouds behind his eyes and a single caption below:

You always say nothing. But I hear it all.

...

The first whispers of the summer festival drifted through the hallways like pollen, landing on every conversation.

"You're joining the art committee, right?" Jiho asked again, hopeful.

Min-Joon hesitated.

"He's already helping me," Yujun said, voice neutral, not looking up from his book.

Jiho raised a brow. "Since when?"

Yujun met his eyes. "Since always."

That was the end of that.

Later, when they sat side by side in the art room, Yujun leaned close, eyes fixed on the sketches Min-Joon was laying out for the festival banner. Lanterns, handholds, fireworks—each one soft with meaning.

"This one," Yujun said, pointing to two silhouettes standing under a paper lantern. "That’s us, isn’t it?"

Min-Joon didn’t answer. His pencil trembled slightly.

"I remember that night," Yujun added, voice low. "You had a fever. I carried you back."

"You were eleven," Min-Joon murmured.

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

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