Chapter 3: Unspoken Things

The art room smelled of acrylic and old wood, a strangely comforting mix that clung to the corners like old memories. Min-Joon sat cross-legged on the floor, sorting through tangled strands of ribbon and marker pens. Outside the windows, the light was beginning to soften into evening gold.

Yujun leaned against the doorframe, watching him quietly.

"You’ve been quiet today," Yujun said.

Min-Joon didn’t look up. "Just tired."

But it wasn’t the kind of tired that sleep could fix. It was the ache of wanting something he couldn’t name out loud. The weight of words left unsaid.

Yujun walked over and crouched beside him. “Want to ditch and grab something sweet?”

Min-Joon paused. “We still have work.”

Yujun grinned, nudging his knee. “So responsible lately. You didn’t even flinch when I said ‘ditch.’”

Min-Joon smiled faintly. “I flinched inside.”

They ended up at their usual spot anyway—a tiny bakery tucked between two alleys, where the owner knew them by name and always gave Yujun an extra custard bun “for being handsome,” which Yujun accepted with an embarrassed shrug and pink-tipped ears.

Min-Joon sipped at his iced cocoa as they sat on the curb outside.

“You ever think about after?” Min-Joon asked.

“After what?”

“High school. Us.”

Yujun didn’t answer immediately.

Instead, he turned his head and looked at Min-Joon directly. “I don’t like thinking about things ending.”

Min-Joon’s heart twisted.

“It doesn’t have to end,” he said softly.

Yujun’s eyes flickered to the sidewalk. “Sometimes it does, even when you don’t want it to.”

The silence that followed was filled with the low hum of passing scooters, distant laughter, the clink of dishes from the bakery.

Min-Joon stared at his reflection in the cocoa. His voice was barely a whisper when he asked, “What if I said I want it to stay like this?”

Yujun looked up again, something unreadable in his expression.

“I’d say... I want that too.”

Their hands brushed on the concrete between them.

Just a brush.

But neither moved away.

And in that soft space between what was and what could be, the world felt painfully, beautifully still.

Rain painted the windows of the classroom in blurry streaks, softening the world into something dreamlike. Most students had already rushed out, umbrellas popping open like petals in the distance.

Min-Joon lingered behind, carefully closing his sketchbook. His heart had been restless all day—he kept catching himself glancing at the seat beside him, waiting for Yujun to show up like he always did.

But today, Yujun had disappeared during lunch. No message. No explanation.

As Min-Joon stepped out into the courtyard, he spotted a familiar figure under the old sycamore tree. Yujun, soaked to the shoulders, stood there without an umbrella, head tilted back to the sky.

Min-Joon rushed over. “Are you crazy? You’ll catch a cold.”

Yujun didn’t move. “Do you remember the first time it rained like this?”

Min-Joon blinked. “You mean when we were kids?”

Yujun nodded. “You were crying because your drawing got ruined. I tore out one of my notebook pages and made you a new one. You said it wasn’t the same.”

“I still have it,” Min-Joon murmured.

Yujun turned, surprise flickering in his eyes. “You do?”

Min-Joon pulled his umbrella over both of them, the small circle of space forcing them close—too close. Their foreheads almost touched. The rain drummed softly above.

“I was upset that day,” Min-Joon said, voice low. “But you stayed with me. Even when I pushed you away.”

Yujun smiled faintly. “I’ll always stay.”

That did it. Min-Joon’s grip on the umbrella tightened.

“You say things like that and pretend they don’t mean anything.”

Yujun looked at him fully then—eyes steady, unreadable. “What if they do?”

The space between them was no wider than a breath. One small step, one confession, and everything could change.

But Min-Joon stayed still. He wasn’t ready for change. Not yet.

So instead, he offered the only truth he could manage. “I’m scared.”

Yujun’s hand reached out, fingertips brushing Min-Joon’s wrist. “Me too.”

They stood in the rain like that—scared, trembling, hearts too full to speak—sharing warmth under a borrowed sky.

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