EUN JAE-HYUN
Spring breaks open in colors I've never noticed before. The petals on the quad feel like confetti after a celebration. Maybe it's because of how the festival ended—with that kiss behind the curtain, Min-woo's hands on my waist, the warmth of certainty finally replacing doubt.
I keep thinking it was a dream. But every time I see him, every time our fingers interlace like instinct, I remember: this is real.
We haven't told anyone explicitly. We haven't needed to.
We show up to class together. We leave together. We're always talking quietly over coffee, sharing playlists, humming the same melodies. There's no room for pretending anymore.
And still, there's this underlying hum—like we're waiting for the volume to spike again.
---
KANG MIN-WOO
I didn't expect it to feel this easy.
Being with Jae-hyun isn't a crash of fireworks. It's the gentle reverb after a perfect note—warm, spreading, steady.
But it's not perfect.
Not outside the music.
Some people have started talking. Whispering. We've heard the murmurs in hallways: "Are they really together?", "I thought Min-woo was into girls.", "What does this mean for Full Volume?"
I act like I don't care. But I do.
Not for me. For him.
Jae-hyun's already been fragile around the edges. I don't want this to push him back into himself.
---
EUN JAE-HYUN
I get the first message three days after the festival.
An anonymous DM on our band's social page: "Cute act. Let's see how long it lasts."
Then another: "Focus on music, not PDA."
I stare at the screen for a long time. My first instinct is to delete them. Not tell anyone.
But I don't.
I show Min-woo.
He reads them, jaw tightening.
"Idiots," he mutters.
I nod.
"I'm okay," I lie.
He sees through it.
"Do you want me to say something publicly?"
I hesitate. "No. That'll just fan it."
"Then we do it our way. Let the music talk."
---
KANG MIN-WOO
We write like madmen that week.
Three new songs. One of them a duet—equal parts fire and vulnerability. It's not subtle. It's about choosing someone in the face of doubt, about making noise when people want you silent.
We debut it during a livestream.
There's no introduction.
Just the melody, soft and unwavering.
By the end, the chat explodes.
"This is for Jae-hyun, isn't it?"
"Are they... together?!"
"I felt that in my chest."
We don't answer. We just smile.
But later that night, I find Jae-hyun in the studio alone, fiddling with chords he isn't really playing.
"You okay?" I ask.
He doesn't look up. "What if they stop listening to the music and only listen for gossip?"
I sit next to him. "Then we make better music."
"And if that doesn't work?"
"Then we keep going anyway."
He finally looks at me.
"Do you really believe that?"
"With everything I have."
He nods slowly.
That's when I know—he's in this. Not just with me. But with himself.
---
EUN JAE-HYUN
We start gaining followers. Not just for our music. For us.
Fan edits appear. Screenshots from our old videos. Speculations. Support. Some hate, yes—but far more love than I expected.
Still, I can't shake the anxiety that it might all collapse.
One night, I say it aloud: "What if they get tired of us?"
Min-woo's brushing his fingers through my hair when I ask it.
"They might," he says honestly. "Trends fade."
"But we won't."
My breath catches.
He repeats, firmer this time. "We won't."
And I believe him.
---
KANG MIN-WOO
We get invited to a regional college showcase. Top ten bands. Huge venue. Industry scouts rumored to attend.
It's our biggest break yet.
But we're warned: the committee will be watching for "image management."
I hate that term.
What image? We're not actors. We're not playing parts. We're just... us.
But Jae-hyun looks worried.
So I make the call.
We don't change.
Onstage, we perform our newest track. We wear matching outfits. We share a mic for the bridge.
And after the final note—before the applause—I lean in and kiss his temple.
The crowd erupts.
---
EUN JAE-HYUN
The press picks it up the next morning.
"Full Volume Challenges Industry Norms with Tender Onstage Moment."
"New Face of Queer K-pop?"
It's surreal. My face is in articles. Our kiss is being analyzed frame by frame.
And yet, I feel lighter.
Not because we're trending.
Because I'm no longer hiding.
Later that night, Min-woo drags me out to the quad. The sky is clear. Someone's strumming a guitar near the far edge of campus, badly but earnestly.
We sit on a bench beneath the cherry trees, eating convenience store kimbap and drinking banana milk.
"I used to think people like me weren't supposed to be the story," I admit.
He nudges me. "You are the story."
I smile. "You're the annoying subplot, then."
He smirks. "Plot twist—I'm actually the love interest."
I laugh, louder than I mean to.
And it echoes, easy and clear, like our voices in perfect harmony.
---
KANG MIN-WOO
That night, Jae-hyun and I lie on my dorm bed, our legs tangled.
The room smells like guitar polish and vanilla candles.
"Do you regret it?" he asks.
"Which part?"
"All of it."
I shake my head. "No. Not even close."
He smiles into my shoulder.
And somewhere outside, a student plays a Full Volume track on their phone.
We don't say anything.
We just listen.
To the resonance of a story we're still writing.
Together.