Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was just another ordinary day for Juntae. Go to school, check in with Hyoman, and then run his stupid errands. Every day he carried a big bag filled with snacks and went around delivering them to every classroom—nothing more than a servant.

He’d recently heard about a new transfer student. His name was… Sieun, was it? Juntae just prayed he wasn’t another jerk like Hyoman and his gang.

A few days later, the new student finally caught his attention in class. His bangs were neatly combed, but he had his head down, asleep, so his face wasn’t fully visible. Juntae found himself waiting impatiently for class to start, just to get a better look.

When the teacher began explaining chemical reactions, Juntae risked a glance across the room. The boy’s eyes… they were beautiful. But his face was pale, his dark circles were obvious, and his lips looked so dry it almost made him look sick. At that moment, Sieun turned and shot him a sharp, piercing look.

It was intimidating, messy, and yet—his eyes looked sad.

Startled, Juntae quickly faced forward again. All he wanted was to be friends with him. But the rumors whispered in the halls echoed in his mind: that Sieun had once put someone into a coma at his previous school. The thought frightened him, yet deep down, Juntae sensed the boy’s sadness almost immediately.

Days passed like this.

Then, one afternoon, Hyoman and his lackeys cornered Juntae at the school stairs, throwing crude insults and harassing him. Fear and disgust knotted together in his chest—he hated them, but he was scared.

Suddenly, the figure from the rumors appeared. Sieun.

“Move,” he said flatly.

Wait—did he just tell Hyoman to move?

“I said move,” Sieun repeated. His eyes burned with a crazed intensity, as if he might kill someone right there.

“What? Do you even understand the word ‘move’?!” Sieun’s hand slid into his pocket, gripping a pen like it was a lifeline.

Hyoman sneered. “Are we supposed to be scared of you? Just because of a few stupid rumors, you think you’re better than me, huh?”

That only fueled Sieun’s anger.

Hyoman stood up and spat his venom. “Sieun, wasn’t it? Freak. Trash. You think you’re above me? I’ll gouge those disgusting eyes out of yours!”

That was the last straw. Sieun pulled the pen from his pocket and made a sharp movement—just one gesture, but Hyoman’s expression drained as if his soul had been ripped out.

Juntae took the chance to run.

But the relief didn’t last. A few classes later, during recess, Hyoman and his gang returned.

“Juntae, my man! Come here. Looks like we’ve still got unfinished business,” Hyoman snarled.

Juntae couldn’t take it anymore. He shoved a huge bread roll into his mouth like a makeshift mouthguard. If I have to fight back, at least I’ll take less damage this way, he thought.

He stood up, awkwardly shifting into some kind of defensive stance. “Hyoman, you bastard! Come on then—I’m not afraid of you!!”

Hyoman gave him a contemptuous look. “Pathetic.” He threw two heavy punches, knocking Juntae to the floor.

Juntae adjusted his round glasses, struggling to stay conscious. The classroom erupted in chaos—students yelling, egging the fight on.

Through it all, Sieun remained asleep at his desk. He had promised Suho not to get into any more fights, and he intended to keep that promise.

Then, the classroom door slid open.

A tall boy in a blue hoodie stepped in—one of Baku’s friends, the one known for trying to keep the peace at school.

“Hey! Beating on someone smaller and weaker than you—does that make you feel good?” he asked, his voice dripping with disgust.

Hyoman hissed in anger. “Tch. Always sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong, Go Hyuntak. Get lost—I’m not done yet.”

Still glaring at the helpless Juntae, Hyoman spat, “You’re pathetic. I’ll kill you with my own hands, you useless piece of trash!”

He raised his hand for another slap, but it froze midair. Hyuntak had caught his wrist.

“I told you, didn’t I? Don’t hurt people weaker than you. You’re pathetic.”

With one swift kick, Hyuntak sent Hyoman sprawling to the ground. Then he turned to Juntae.

“Hey, are you okay? You look like you’ve taken a bad hit.”

Juntae pulled the crushed bread roll from his mouth, bloodstained but intact. At least his teeth weren’t broken.

Hyuntak stared, wide-eyed. “Whoa. You used bread as a mouthguard? That’s… actually pretty smart.”

He reached out his hand, helping Juntae to his feet.

“Th-thank you,” Juntae said with a strained smile. “I really owe you one.”

Hyuntak frowned slightly. “You don’t owe me anything. Ever since Baku’s been gone, bullying has gotten worse. I just wanted to help, that’s all.” He smiled gently.

Juntae thanked him again, and they walked together to the nurse’s office. While Juntae patched up his wounds, Hyuntak continued chatting.

“I’m Go Hyuntak—you’ve probably heard the name, right?”

Juntae turned to him. “I’m Juntae. Seo Juntae. Nice to meet you.” He smiled, adjusting his glasses.

Hyuntak looked at him, feeling something warm stir inside. “Hey, Jun-a.”

Juntae stiffened. It had been so long since anyone had called him something so simple. He was used to cruel nicknames—“dog,” “trash,” “loser.” Hearing “Jun-a” almost felt unreal.

He gave a small nod, like he was answering a teacher’s question.

Seeing that expression, Hyuntak went on, “If anyone bothers you, you come to me, okay? Don’t let those jerks use you however they want—especially that bastard Hyoman.”

Juntae nodded.

“Give me your phone,” Hyuntak said.

Juntae handed it over, puzzled. “What are you doing with it?”

Hyuntak quickly entered his number. “If anything happens, you call me first. Got it?”

Juntae nodded again. “Really… I don’t know how to repay you, Hyuntak. But thank you.”

After sticking the last bandage on, Juntae stood up. “I need to hurry to class now. Don’t be late yourself—see you later!” He waved.

Hyuntak waved back with a smile. Inside, he thought, He’s so pure. I won’t let anyone hurt him… not anymore.

Then, with a small yawn, Hyuntak stretched out on one of the infirmary beds and skipped the rest of class with a nap.

---

Chapter Text

Two weeks passed. During that time, Juntae and Sieun had become close friends—almost inseparable, like twins. Baku’s suspension finally ended, and he returned to school. With his usual loud attitude, he shouted: “HELLOOO EVERYONE, HOW’S IT GOING?!” Hyuntak only gave him a deadpan look, annoyed. “What the hell did you put in your hair? Chili sauce?” Baku struck a dramatic pose. “It’s temporary dye, Gotak! You wouldn’t understand fashion. It’s the same hairstyle as my favorite character from Slam Dunk, okay?” Hyuntak smirked. “Yeah, sure. One rain and you’re finished, dumbass.” Baku ignored him and leaned closer. “So… did anything happen while I was gone?” Hyuntak thought for a moment. “Actually, yes. I met a kid named Juntae. Oh, and I fought Hyoman again.” Baku frowned. “That bully bastard… Good job, Gotak. If it weren’t for you, no one would stand up to them.” “Anyway, who’s this Juntae kid?” Baku asked, sounding genuinely curious. Hyuntak explained, “We fought Hyoman because of him. Three or four guys had surrounded him—pathetic assholes. That’s how we met. He’s a good kid, and smart too. I saw him make a mouth guard out of a bread roll.” Baku’s eyes widened. “Wait… is this kid a fighter?” Hyuntak interrupted. “No, more like a tiny rabbit. He can’t fight at all.” Baku just froze. “…Huh?” --- Juntae and Sieun were eating lunch together. With his mouth full, Juntae mumbled, “So those rumors weren’t just made up… But you’re not the reason Suho’s in a coma, Sieun.” He swallowed. Sieun looked at him, his mind echoing those words. For a moment he drifted away, then forced himself to reply. “I don’t know… I don’t know if what I did was right or wrong…” Juntae quickly noticed the sadness in his voice and stayed quiet, letting him eat in peace. Just then, two boys sat at their table. One had bright red hair that immediately caught attention. The other was familiar—the one in the same blue sweatshirt. Four pairs of eyes turned to the red-haired boy. Baku was the first to break the silence. “Why so quiet? Cheer up, guys!” Sieun flinched at the volume, clearly annoyed, but Juntae still answered politely, “Hey, we’re fine.” Hyuntak sighed and smacked Baku on the head. “Can you shut up for once? Why are you always so damn loud?” Baku’s face fell for a second, but he quickly grinned again, turning to Sieun. “Oh, so you’re the one everyone’s been talking about. I’m Baku! Nice to meet you.” He ruffled Sieun’s hair. It wasn’t hostile, but Sieun still frowned. Then Baku turned to Juntae. “And you must be Juntae! Gotak told me a lot about you! Damn, you’re really cute. Wait—hold on—you and Sieun look exactly like those chipmunks from that one movie!” Juntae just stared at him blankly, then forced a smile. “Uh… thanks, I guess.” For the first time in a long while, Juntae felt like he actually belonged in a group. Hyuntak added, “Sorry about him. Baku’s an idiot. His IQ test literally said 99—he’s basically a monkey.” Baku immediately shouted, “HEY! I didn’t have time to finish the test!” The two started mock wrestling in their seats. Juntae chuckled quietly, while Sieun simply observed. And that’s how the four of them—Sieun, Juntae, Hyuntak, and Baku—first came together. ---

The hospital was quiet, almost unnaturally so. The polished floors reflected the harsh white lights above, and the faint beeping of distant monitors echoed through the corridor. To most people, this place smelled like medicine and despair. To Sieun, it had become a second home. The nurse recognized him instantly as he approached. Her eyes softened with pity. “You again? Kid, don’t you think you should rest sometimes? You’ve been coming every single day for months. Aren’t you… exhausted?” Sieun lowered his gaze. His lips trembled as if he wanted to answer, but instead, he simply shook his head. No words came out. What could he possibly say? That this sterile building was the only place where he felt close to being alive? The nurse sighed. She had asked the same question many times before and had learned not to expect an answer. With a small nod, she unlocked the door. “An hour. That’s all the hospital allows.” Sieun stepped into the room, and silence embraced him like a heavy blanket. The steady rhythm of the heart monitor was the only sound—slow, mechanical, indifferent. Suho lay on the bed, unchanged. His face was pale, lips faintly dry, chest rising and falling with the help of machines. If not for that, he could have been mistaken for someone peacefully sleeping. Sieun pulled up a chair and sat by the bedside. His hands, trembling from cold and weakness, reached out to hold Suho’s. The hand was warm—but lifeless. “Hey, Suho…” His voice cracked. “It’s been six months now.” The words spilled out, almost rehearsed, like he had said them a hundred times before. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t protect you. I wasn’t strong enough. And now you’re stuck here because of me.” His throat tightened. Tears blurred his vision. “I’m sorry for everything—sorry you’re in pain, sorry you have to lie here alone. Sorry that it wasn’t me instead.” Sieun bent forward, pressing Suho’s hand against his forehead, as if hoping some miracle might pass through skin to skin. “Can you hear me? If you can, just… move. Anything. Because I’m breaking, Suho. I can’t take it anymore. Every day feels heavier than the last. I was supposed to survive for us both, but… I don’t even want to survive anymore.” The tears came harder now, falling silently onto the bedsheet. His chest heaved, but he never raised his voice—his grief was quiet, suffocating. He lifted his gaze, searching Suho’s face for any sign of life. Nothing. Only that peaceful expression that mocked him with its calmness. “Why you, Suho? Why not me? You should’ve been the one to stay. The world needed you, not me…” The silence answered him. The steady beeping of the monitor continued, indifferent. After a long while, Sieun stood up. His legs felt weak, but he forced himself to leave before the nurse returned. His eyes were red, his cheeks streaked with tears, but his face was expressionless. The hospital door closed behind him with a quiet click, and Sieun disappeared into the dark streets outside. ---

At home, Sieun stepped into the shower. The water hit his shoulders first, cool and sharp against his skin, and then slid down his back in uneven streams, finding every curve and bone. He could feel each vertebra under his palms as he rubbed at his neck, a sudden awareness of how fragile his body had become. Water dripped from his hair, splashed against the floor with soft noises, and ran in rivulets over bruises that had appeared from nothing at all. He hadn’t been particularly healthy before, but now… now he looked at himself and realized just how far he had fallen. Meals were skipped or half-forgotten. Water was rare, stolen in small sips that barely quenched thirst. His arms felt hollow, his ribs poking against the skin like knives. Even standing, he wavered slightly, and when he moved under the water, it was as if the stream of hot water was the only thing holding him together. At school, he spent the first three classes with his head on the desk, half-asleep, eyes only opening for the sound of the bell or the shuffle of papers. No one really noticed, or maybe they did, and it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. Everything had changed since Suho fell into a coma. Sieun knew Suho wasn’t dead—he could never forget that—but still, grief gnawed at him. And beneath that grief was guilt. Sharp, relentless guilt. Every heartbeat was a reminder of the moment he couldn’t change, every thought a whisper of failure. If he hadn’t held himself together, if he had let it devour him whole, he might already be buried under the weight of his own despair. He had no faith. God, prayers, miracles—none of it reached him. Logical, smart, detached. The invisible couldn’t touch him, and he didn’t reach for it. Not out of disrespect—just a quiet, absolute disbelief. Except for Suho. Suho wasn’t just another person. He had been a savior, a quiet god, the one who had made Sieun feel emotions he thought were unreachable. Forgiveness without cruelty. Acceptance without condition. Love without demand. Not the clumsy, surface-level love people talked about in school or saw in dramas. This love was sacred, silent, patient. The kind that sits in the corners of your chest, unnoticed but powerful, like a small flame in the dark. Sieun didn’t scream it to the world. He carried it quietly, like water slipping down his back, like shadows stretched across his ribcage. He waited for Suho like one waits for sunrise—certain it would come again. That was Sieun’s love: wordless, patient, unconditional, and unseen, except by him ---

Juntae was lying at home, reading something quietly, yet there was a strange emptiness inside him. But for the first time in a long while, he didn’t feel scared. Instead, he felt calm, refreshed—as if he were the purest person in the world. Back in elementary school, Juntae had been a normal, trouble-free child. He would go to school, come back on time, eat his meals—a typical routine for any kid. But in the last year of elementary school, he met a boy named Dan. They quickly became inseparable, like twins who couldn’t stand being apart. Yet, slowly, Juntae began to change. He started feeling something unusual for Dan. He was just a small kid, but every time he was around Dan, his heart pounded, and his face turned bright red. Yes… Juntae had fallen in love. In his young mind, love had no gender—but almost no one around him agreed. One sunny Tuesday, during P.E., they were outside in the yard. Juntae had prepared a small, sweet envelope, decorated with heart-shaped stickers. He called Dan to the back of the school, and Dan agreed. Juntae confessed his feelings… poured his heart out. But everything backfired. Dan looked at him mockingly, then shoved him to the ground. With disgust in his eyes, he spat out, “Get the hell away from me, disgusting fuck. Are you gay? Don’t ever come near me again.” Juntae was terrified. At that moment, he had no idea that this face, this expression of pure hatred, would haunt him for the rest of his life. Within days, the news spread through the school. Juntae became the most bullied and despised student. Teachers got involved, and even his family was drawn into it. His mother, though concerned, tried to stay calm. His father… did not. When he found out, he flew into a rage. The first chance Juntae had when he returned home, his father cornered him: "WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOU? WHAT DID WE DO TO MAKE YOU LIKE THIS? WHY ARE YOU SICK? YOU’RE NOT MY SON, YOU’RE A SHAME!" Before Juntae could even react, his father’s fists hit him. One strike, then another—each blow more violent than the last. Juntae’s small body couldn’t protect him; the pain was sharp, crushing, like every part of him was being erased. He tried to curl up, to shield himself, but it was useless. The sound of skin hitting skin, the harsh roar of his father’s voice, the tears burning his eyes—he felt like he was disappearing piece by piece. He could hear his mother screaming, “STOP! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” but her voice was distant, almost swallowed by the chaos. Each strike left not only pain but an echo in his mind—a deep, unshakable fear that he would never be safe, never be enough. "WE SPENT IVF MONEY ON THIS FAGGOT AND LOOK AT HIM! HE’S PROBABLY SPREADING HIS LEGS FOR OTHER BOYS!" his father yelled, his words stabbing deeper than any fist. Juntae felt frozen, not just physically but inside—every ounce of hope, every spark of self-worth, crushed. His body ached, his spirit felt shattered, and for a long moment, he thought maybe this world didn’t want him at all. After that, Juntae’s memories became a blur. By the time he reached middle school, he had grown quiet, a product of all the trauma he had endured. Classmates teased him, calling him mute, and would even mess with his meals. He remained frail and withdrawn. Hyoman’s men, aware of Juntae’s sexuality, tried to exploit him deliberately. But Hyuntak stepped in, protecting him from bullying. For the first time, Juntae saw a light. In a world where even his own father did not value him, a stranger’s care made him feel important. He was happy, alive, and—at least for a moment—at peace. ---

Baku was trapped in the tiny apartment with his dad, sitting idly and thinking about past events. Since the boy named Baekjin came into his life, it was clear that his life had changed a lot… but now… now, they barely saw each other. Baekjin inexplicably reminded Baku of snakes and talismans; even in appearance, they resembled them, in Baku’s opinion. Baku might have been naive, but he was still aware of what was happening. When he entered high school, Baekjin changed. He wasn’t a bad person then, not at all. But his personality changed. People said personalities don’t change, that it’s obvious from the start… but Baku had always opposed that idea. Baekjin’s family was wealthy, and he was smart, but he constantly faced bullying. Baku helped him, but that help backfired. Baku felt as if he were carrying a snake in his arms. The last time they met, Baekjin tried to invite Baku to join the union he had established, but Baku refused every offer. He knew he could make easy money because he grew up in a fairly poor family. Yet he refused, because earning money illegally made him feel terrible. Baku was already a skilled fighter, but the union wasn’t for him. He wasn’t one of those terrible teenagers who enjoyed beating people for fun and thought gangster life was cool. Yes, he was naive and talkative, but he had a heart more mature than most people, like a carved diamond—a perfect heart. He and Baekjin were like two halves of a whole, or like magnets; when separated, a black liquid flows inside him—this liquid is pure sorrow, grief, and anger. But they always complemented each other perfectly, like a work of art. At least, that’s how Baku imagined it, though it constantly haunted his thoughts. Whenever Baku heard the name of Baekjin’s union, or Baekjin’s name, a sharp pang would rise in his chest, a little like a pinprick. It didn’t hurt him much, but it warned him—the past kept appearing before him. Yet he never let his happy face drop. Because a happy face allows one to escape responsibility, forget the past, and merely wear a new mask, appearing naive and innocent. Baku continued staring at the wall, tears streaming from his eyes. He couldn’t handle it; he fell into that swamp completely. At the start, if someone had held his arm, he could have been pulled out immediately. Baku flinched at a message:

Gogo(Gotak): “Hey bro, want to go grab some drinks?” ---