The festival began with a surge of color—red and gold streamers fluttered like fire against the dusky sky, and the sound of drums echoed across the courtyard.
Min-Joon stood by the display wall, taping up the last sketch: a soft ink wash of two boys walking beneath lanterns. One of them looked up; the other watched him instead.
“It’s beautiful,” came a voice behind him.
He turned. Yujun was there, hair tousled, wearing a traditional hanbok with the collar slightly askew. He looked at Min-Joon like the world had narrowed down to him alone.
Min-Joon flushed. “You actually wore it.”
“You told me to.”
“No, I—” Min-Joon faltered, then smiled. “Well… thank you.”
Yujun reached up and straightened a ribbon on Min-Joon’s sleeve, fingers brushing his arm. “Don’t thank me yet. You’re coming with me tonight.”
“Where?”
Yujun didn’t answer. He just led him through the crowd, past the food stalls and students in masks, until they reached the hill behind the gym. It was quiet there, overlooking the field where fireworks were being prepared.
“I used to come here alone,” Yujun said. “Before I really knew how to talk to people.”
“You’ve always been quiet.”
“But not with you.”
The words sank in, deeper than either of them expected.
When the first firework bloomed—loud and golden—Min-Joon gasped, the light reflecting in his wide eyes. Yujun turned to look, but not at the sky. Only at him.
“You know,” Yujun said softly, “I think I’ve been falling for you for a long time.”
Min-Joon froze. The world seemed to hush.
He turned to meet Yujun’s gaze—serious, waiting, afraid.
Instead of speaking, Min-Joon lifted his hand, fingers brushing Yujun’s.
Their hands didn’t quite hold. But they didn’t pull away either.
The sky exploded with color.
And beneath the firelight, something between them finally cracked open.
The morning after the festival felt strangely quiet. Min-Joon sat at his desk, the smell of soot still faint on his clothes, his sketchbook lying open before him. The page he’d drawn last night—a quick outline of two hands almost touching—stared back at him, waiting to be finished.
He hadn’t slept much.
Yujun hadn’t messaged him either.
At school, everything looked normal. The halls buzzed with leftover festival chatter, teachers reminded students about exams, and Jiho waved brightly at Min-Joon across the courtyard.
But Min-Joon was only looking for one person.
When he finally spotted Yujun by the vending machines, their eyes met—and then slid away. Yujun didn’t smile. He just walked past, slow but deliberate, leaving behind the chill of things left unsaid.
Min-Joon stood frozen, heart stumbling.
Had he imagined it?
The hand that had lingered by his last night, the words Yujun had spoken—I think I’ve been falling for you for a long time. Were they real? Or just a moment lost in firelight?
That afternoon, Min-Joon sat beneath the old gingko tree on campus, sketching. His lines were looser today, a little more uncertain.
He didn’t hear Yujun approach until a shadow fell across the page.
“Why didn’t you come find me this morning?” Yujun asked, voice quiet.
Min-Joon blinked up. “You didn’t message.”
“I didn’t know if I should.”
A beat.
Then Min-Joon looked down at the sketch and whispered, “Did you mean it?”
Yujun stepped closer. “Every word.”
Silence stretched between them, tense and full.
“I got scared,” Min-Joon admitted. “Of what it could mean. Of what I might lose.”
“You’re not losing anything,” Yujun said. “You’re gaining me.”
A heartbeat passed.
Then Min-Joon stood, his hand brushing Yujun’s, this time with more certainty.
“I think,” he said, voice low, “I’m already yours.”
And this time, their fingers didn’t hesitate.
They intertwined.
And neither of them looked away.
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