The restaurant was a cozy, family-run place, a world away from the chaotic playground. Settled around a table laden with steaming dishes, the group was a transformed version of their earlier selves. They were clean, dressed in borrowed clothes that finally fit, and bathed in the warm, golden glow of the lantern light.
The atmosphere was easy, the shared absurdity of the mud fight having broken down all remaining barriers. Min-seo, still looking surprisingly graceful in the floral dress, was enthusiastically showing Doyun a new bl manhwa on her phone, and he was actually listening, asking questions.
But the heart of the scene was at the other side of the table.
Haneul, unable to contain his happiness, kept piling food onto Ji-won's plate. "Try the bulgogi, Jiwon-ssi! And you have to have some of this! It's the best here!"
Normally, Ji-won would have bristled at the fussing. But tonight, he simply watched Haneul's eager hands, a quiet acceptance in his eyes. He even picked up his chopsticks and tried everything Haneul offered, offering a small, almost imperceptible nod of approval.
At one point, Haneul, laughing at something Min-seo said, accidentally knocked over his glass of water. The icy water splashed directly into Ji-won's lap.
A hush fell over the table. Doyun braced for the cold, sharp reaction.
Ji-won looked down at his soaked trousers, then up at Haneul's horrified, apologetic face.
"I'm so sorry! I'm so clumsy!" Haneul wailed, grabbing napkins.
Instead of anger, Ji-won's lips quirked. He took a napkin himself and calmly started dabbing at the water. "It's just water," he said, his voice low but clear. "It will dry."
He then did something that made everyone's jaw drop. He reached over with his own chopsticks, picked up a perfectly grilled piece of meat, and placed it gently into Haneul's bowl. "Eat," he said. "Before it gets cold."
It was a simple gesture, but in the language of Han Ji-won, it was a thunderous declaration. Haneul's worried expression melted into a smile so bright it outshone the lanterns.
As the dinner continued, the conversation and laughter flowed around them, but Ji-won remained hyper-aware of the boy beside him. He watched the way Haneul's eyes crinkled when he laughed, the way he gestured with his chopsticks when he told a story. The cold, orderly world Ji-won had built felt like a distant memory. Here, in the warmth and noise of this small restaurant, with a boy who painted sunlight sitting beside him, Han Ji-won finally felt like he was coming home.
The easy warmth at the table began to curdle as Doyun's mood soured. He watched Ji-won and Haneul's quiet, intimate exchange—the shared food, the soft looks—and the jealousy he'd been swallowing all night finally boiled over. He reached for the soju bottle.
"Come on, Ji-won," Doyun said, his voice a little too loud as he sloppily poured a shot. "You're not studying now. Live a little. Drink with us."
Ji-won eyed the full glass with clear distaste. "I don't drink."
"Why not? Afraid you'll lose control?" Doyun taunted, pushing the glass closer. "Just one. Don't be a killjoy."
Haneul's smile faded. He placed a gentle hand on Doyun's arm. "Doyun-ah, stop it. If he doesn't want to, don't force him."
Doyun shook him off, his frustration evident. He slumped back in his chair with a dramatic sigh. "Fine, fine. I was just trying to have fun. Forget it." He looked genuinely hurt, his gaze dropping to the table.
Seeing Doyun's dejected posture, a pang of guilt shot through Haneul. He hated when his friends were upset because of him. "Doyun-ah, it's not that…" he started, his voice soft with apology.
Watching Haneul's face fall, something shifted in Ji-won. The protective instinct that had been simmering all night surged forward. He couldn't stand being the reason for that guilty look.
"Fine," Ji-won said, his voice cutting through the tension.
He picked up the shot glass Doyun had poured. Everyone at the table stared, including a wide-eyed Min-seo.
"Jiwon-ssi, you don't have to—" Haneul began, worried.
But Ji-won's eyes were locked on a surprised Doyun. In one quick, grimacing motion, he threw the clear liquid back. He coughed slightly, his face tightening at the harsh burn.
A slow, triumphant smirk spread across Doyun's face. "See? That wasn't so hard, was it?" He immediately refilled Ji-won's empty glass. "Now, that's the spirit. Let's have another."
Min-seo watched the exchange with growing concern. "Doyun, maybe that's enough," she cautioned, seeing the determined, almost reckless look in Doyun's eyes. This wasn't about fun anymore; it was a challenge.
But the line had been crossed. Ji-won, now committed, picked up the second glass. The battle was no longer in the playground mud, but across the dinner table, and the stakes felt dangerously higher.
The effect was immediate and startling.
Almost the moment the second shot of soju touched his lips, Ji-won's posture, usually so rigid and perfect, went slack. His eyes lost focus, fluttering for a second before he listed heavily to the side. With a soft, dull thud, his forehead met the tabletop, his body going completely limp.
Silence descended upon the table.
Min-seo's eyes widened in alarm. She immediately turned to Haneul, who was staring, frozen, at Ji-won's collapsed form.
"J-Jiwon-ssi?" Haneul whispered, his voice laced with panic. He reached out a hesitant hand, gently shaking Ji-won's shoulder. There was no response. "Is he… is he okay?"
A slow, satisfied smirk spread across Doyun's face. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. "See?" he said, his voice dripping with a mean sort of triumph. "I told you he needed to loosen up. Looks like he's finally relaxed."
"This isn't relaxed, you idiot, he's passed out!" Min-seo hissed at him, her concern overriding her usual teasing. "He has a zero-tolerance! What were you thinking?"
Haneul didn't even hear them. All his attention was fixed on Ji-won. The sight of the always-in-control Han Ji-won rendered so vulnerable and helpless because of a stupid game sent a sharp ache through his chest. He carefully brushed a strand of hair away from Ji-won's peaceful, unconscious face, his own expression full of nothing but pure, unadulterated worry.
Doyun's smirk faltered as he watched Haneul's tender care. His victory suddenly felt hollow and cruel. He had wanted to embarrass Ji-won, but he had only succeeded in making Haneul look at him with disappointment, and at Ji-won with a protectiveness that made Doyun's stomach twist with envy.
The dinner ended on a somber note. Min-seo, seeing the disaster Doyun had created, took charge.
"Alright, Captain Trouble, you're done here," she declared, grabbing Doyun firmly by the ear.
"Ow! Hey! I can stay and help!" Doyun protested, his eyes fixed on Haneul and the unconscious Ji-won.
"Help? The only thing you'll help with is digging a deeper hole," Min-seo scolded, dragging him toward the door. "Come on. Let Haneul handle his… project."
Haneul offered them a weak, grateful smile before turning his full attention back to Ji-won. After paying the bill, he managed to haul Ji-won to his feet, wrapping one of Ji-won's arms around his own shoulders. Ji-won was heavy, his steps clumsy and uncoordinated.
"Jiwon-ssi," Haneul grunted, struggling to keep them both upright as they stumbled into the cool night air. "Where do you live? Tell me your address."
Ji-won's head lolled against Haneul's shoulder. He mumbled something incoherent into Haneul's neck.
"What? I can't hear you," Haneul said, adjusting his grip, his heart pounding from the effort and the proximity.
Suddenly, Ji-won's arms tightened around him. It wasn't a clumsy stumble; it was a desperate, clinging hug. He buried his face in Haneul's shoulder, and his voice, when it came, was a broken, wet whisper that shattered Haneul's world.
"I don't… have a home."
Haneul froze, his own breath catching.
Ji-won's body shook with a silent sob. "I don't wanna go there. Not back to that… that filth."
The raw pain in his voice, the sheer hopelessness of the word "filth," made Haneul's heart stop. He had seen Ji-won cold, angry, and even laughing, but he had never imagined this—this utter devastation.
Without a second thought, Haneul stopped trying to hold him up and instead wrapped his arms tightly around Ji-won, holding him close as the taller boy cried into his shoulder on the dark, quiet street.
"Shhh, it's okay," Haneul whispered, his own eyes stinging with tears. "You don't have to go back. You're coming home with me, okay? You're coming with me."
In that moment, the last of the sunshine boy's naivete evaporated, replaced by a fierce, protective resolve. He finally understood the depth of the storm raging inside Han Ji-won, and he was determined to be the one to shelter him from it.
Haneul managed to half-carry, half-drag a now-silent Ji-won into the guest room, laying him gently on the bed. He was wiping a damp cloth over Ji-won's forehead when his mother appeared in the doorway, her face etched with concern.
"Haneul-ah, what happened? Is he alright?"
Haneul's hands stilled. He looked from Ji-won's peaceful, sleeping face back to his mother, his own expression a turmoil of confusion and heartache.
"He… he drank too much," Haneul whispered, sitting heavily on the edge of the bed. "But Mom… that's not it." He took a shaky breath. "When I asked him where he lived, he… he started crying. He said he didn't have a home. He called it 'filth'."
The word hung in the quiet room, ugly and heavy.
Lee Sun-hee's face softened with a deep, maternal sorrow. She came and sat beside her son, placing a comforting hand on his back. "Oh, Haneul-ah."
"Why would he say that?" Haneul's voice broke. "How can a home be filth? A home is… it's supposed to be warm. It's supposed to be safe. Like here."
His mother sighed, her gaze drifting to the boy sleeping fitfully in the borrowed bed. "Oh, my sunshine. Not every home is like ours. For some people, home is the place where they feel the most alone. Where the walls don't protect them, they trap them. Where the people who are supposed to care for you… leave wounds instead."
Haneul thought of the few things Ji-won had let slip—the coldness, the discipline, the way he never spoke of his family. The puzzle pieces began to click into a devastating picture.
"He's so strong, Mom," Haneul murmured, his eyes glistening. "He's the strongest person I know. But when he said that… he sounded so small. Like a little boy who'd been lost for a very long time."
His mother pulled him into a side hug. "That's often what the strongest people are hiding, Haneul-ah. A very hurt, lonely child. You offered him a safe harbor tonight. That was a very kind thing to do."
"It doesn't feel like enough," Haneul said, his voice thick with emotion as he looked at Ji-won. "How do I fix it? How do I show him that not all homes have to be like that?"
"You can't fix his past, my love," she said gently. "But you can help him build a new one. You can show him what a real home feels like. With patience. With consistency. With the kind of unconditional warmth you have in your heart." She kissed his temple. "Now, let him sleep. His battles will still be there in the morning, but tonight, he is safe. And so are you."
Haneul nodded, watching over Ji-won as his mother left. The room was silent, save for their breathing. For the first time, Haneul's crush felt trivial. This was something deeper. This was a promise, silently made in the quiet of the night, to become a shelter for the boy who thought he didn't have a home.
Next morning
A dull, throbbing pain pulsed behind Ji-won's temples as consciousness returned. He blinked, his vision swimming into focus on an unfamiliar ceiling—soft, cream-colored, and warm. The air smelled clean, like laundry detergent and something savory cooking. This wasn't his room. This wasn't the stale, silent air of his apartment.
Panic, cold and sharp, sliced through the haze of his hangover. The last thing he clearly remembered was the burn of soju and Doyun's smug face. Then… nothing.
He sat up slowly, the movement making his head spin. He was in a tidy, comfortable guest room. He was still wearing the borrowed polo shirt from Haneul's father. The memories of the mud fight, the dinner… it all came flooding back in a mortifying wave.
Quietly, he slipped out of the room and descended the stairs, each step careful and deliberate. The sound of cheerful clattering and a woman's humming grew louder.
He stopped at the entrance to the kitchen.
The scene before him was like something from a movie he'd never believed was real. Haneul was setting the table, carefully placing three bowls of steaming rice down. He was humming the same tune as his mother, who stood at the stove, flipping a perfectly golden egg.
Sunlight streamed through the window, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. It was warm. It was loud in the gentlest way. It was… a home.
Haneul looked up and saw him. A brilliant, unguarded smile instantly lit up his face. "Jiwon-ssi! You're awake! How's your head?"
Lee Sun-hee turned, her expression kind and knowing. "Good morning, Ji-won. I hope you're feeling alright. Breakfast is almost ready."
Ji-won stood frozen in the doorway, unable to speak. He was surrounded by an overwhelming, foreign sense of peace and belonging. The throbbing in his head faded into the background, replaced by a much more terrifying ache—a deep, yearning ache for something he had never known he was missing until this very moment.
Ji-won stood stiffly in the doorway, the warmth of the scene feeling like a spotlight on his own intrusion. He bowed slightly, his voice formal and tight. "I apologize for the trouble I caused last night. Thank you for your hospitality. I should be going."
Lee Sun-hee turned from the stove, her ladle still in hand. "Nonsense," she said, her tone leaving no room for argument. "You'll do no such thing. An empty stomach and a headache are a terrible combination. You will sit down and have breakfast with us."
"It's really no trouble, Jiwon-ssi!" Haneul chimed in, quickly pulling out a chair for him. "My mom makes the best seaweed soup! It'll help with the hangover, I promise."
Ji-won hesitated, his instinct to flee warring with a deeper, more powerful pull. The aroma of the soup was rich and comforting, a stark contrast to the cold, silent meals he usually had alone.
"Please, Ji-won," Haneul's mother said, her voice softening. "The table is set for three. It would be a shame to let this food go to waste."
Something in her gentle insistence, in the hopeful look on Haneul's face, broke his resolve. The fortress walls felt paper-thin in the face of such simple, genuine kindness.
"Alright," he murmured, the word feeling foreign. "Thank you."
He moved to the table and sat in the offered chair, his posture still unnaturally straight. Haneul immediately sat beside him, beaming, while his mother placed a bowl of fragrant soup in front of Ji-won.
"Eat well, dear," she said with a warm smile before sitting down herself.
For a few moments, the only sound was the clinking of spoons. Ji-won took a tentative sip of the soup. It was perfect—warm, savory, and healing. He hadn't realized how cold he was until this moment, feeling the warmth spread from his stomach throughout his entire body.
Haneul, unable to contain his happiness, kept glancing at him. "Is it good?"
Ji-won looked from the hopeful boy to the kind woman, then down at the steaming bowl. He gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. "Yes," he said, his voice quieter than usual. "It's very good."
In that sunny kitchen, surrounded by the easy chatter of the Lee family, Han Ji-won ate a proper, home-cooked breakfast for the first time in years, and felt a piece of his frozen heart begin, truly, to thaw.
The warm, comfortable silence of the breakfast table was gently filled by Lee Sun-hee's easy chatter. She turned her kind eyes to Ji-won.
"So, Ji-won, Haneul tells me you're an incredible artist. And the top student in your year! You must be very disciplined."
Ji-won, who was in the middle of taking a sip of water, gave a slight, awkward nod. "I… try to be."
"Unlike someone I know," she said, playfully nudging her son. "This one, his head is always in the clouds. I swear, if his shoes weren't attached, he'd forget them."
"Mom!" Haneul whined, his cheeks turning pink.
She leaned toward Ji-won conspiratorially. "When he was seven, a man at the park told him he was a prince from a faraway land and that he needed Haneul's help to find his lost crown. This child spent the entire afternoon digging in the sandbox with a complete stranger."
Ji-won's eyebrows lifted in surprise. A soft, unexpected chuckle escaped him. It was a quiet sound, but it made Haneul's heart flip.
"He hasn't changed much," Ji-won observed, a faint smile touching his lips as he glanced at the now deeply embarrassed Haneul.
"Exactly!" his mother laughed. "He sees the good in everyone, which is beautiful, but it also means he doesn't always see the cliffs he's about to walk off." Her expression softened into something more sincere. She looked directly at Ji-won. "Ji-won-ssi, I know you two are working on this contest together. Could you… please keep an eye on him for me? This clumsy, careless son of mine?"
Haneul was about to protest again, but the words died in his throat when he saw Ji-won's reaction.
Ji-won met his mother's gaze, his own usually guarded eyes surprisingly clear and earnest. He then looked at Haneul, who was watching him with a mixture of hope and embarrassment.
"You don't have to worry," Ji-won said, his voice firm and quiet, like a vow. "I'll take care of him."
The promise, so simple and direct, hung in the air. Haneul felt a blush spread from his cheeks all the way to the tips of his ears. He looked down at his soup, a helpless, happy smile spreading across his face. His mother smiled, satisfied, and gave Ji-won a grateful nod. In that simple exchange, something unbreakable was formed, a silent understanding that went far beyond a school project.
The last bowl was washed and dried, and a comfortable silence had settled over the sunny kitchen. Ji-won, feeling a lingering sense of obligation, had insisted on helping, but Haneul's mother had shooed them both away with a warm, "Guests do not do dishes in this house!"
As they stood there, a little lost, Haneul's eyes lit up with an idea. "Since we already took the day off from school… why don't we spend it practicing for the contest? We can paint here!"
Ji-won hesitated, the old walls of formality trying to reassert themselves. He glanced around the warm, inviting home. "Is it… really alright for me to stay here longer?"
Before he could finish, Lee Sun-hee was already bustling toward the refrigerator. "Of course it is! I was just thinking about what snacks to make for you two. You can't create masterpieces on an empty stomach!"
The last of Ji-won's resistance crumbled. A small, genuine smile—one that reached his eyes—appeared on his face. "Thank you."
That was all the permission Haneul needed. He grabbed Ji-won's wrist, his touch now familiar and warm. "Let's go! Don't be shy!" he said, pulling him toward the staircase.
He led Ji-won to his room, a space that was the physical embodiment of Haneul himself—bright, slightly messy, and filled with color. Canvases leaned against walls, sketchbooks were piled on the desk, and tubes of paint were organized in a chaotic yet somehow logical system.
"We can set up here!" Haneul said, already clearing a space on the floor by the large window where the light was best.
Ji-won stood in the doorway for a moment, taking in the room. It was so different from his own sterile space. It was alive. And for the first time, the thought of staying, of immersing himself in this vibrant chaos, didn't feel intimidating. It felt like coming up for air. He stepped inside, ready to paint in the sunshine.
15 minutes later...
The initial excitement had faded, replaced by the daunting pressure of the blank canvas. Haneul sat cross-legged on the floor, chewing on the end of his paintbrush, his brow furrowed in deep frustration. He'd sketch a line, then angrily scratch it out with charcoal.
"Ugh! Nothing looks right!" he groaned, letting his head fall into his hands. "What's the point?"
Ji-won, who had been calmly setting up his own materials, watched him. He didn't offer empty reassurance. Instead, he asked a simple, quiet question.
"Why did you start painting?"
Haneul lifted his head, the frustration in his eyes softening into thoughtfulness. He looked out the window, as if searching for the answer in the clouds.
"It… makes me feel alive," he began, his voice growing steadier. "When everything else is loud or confusing, the canvas is quiet. It's my peace. It's like… I have my own world there. A world where I can make the sky green if I want to, or make the sun cry golden tears. I can create anything. There are no rules."
Ji-won listened, utterly captivated. He had always seen art as a skill, a technique of light and shadow. For Haneul, it was breath itself. It was freedom.
"And this contest…" Haneul continued, his eyes shining with a fierce, beautiful ambition. "It means everything. I don't just want to win a scholarship. I want to stand on that stage and have everyone see what I can do. I want my art in galleries in Paris and New York. I want to be the biggest artist in the world. I want… I want everyone to look at my paintings and feel something. I want them to admire my art, and through it, maybe… understand a little piece of me."
The confession was raw and powerful. Ji-won found himself staring, his own cynical views on ambition and recognition melting away in the face of Haneul's pure, unapologetic dream. He wasn't just painting for grades or escape; he was painting to connect his soul to the world.
"Then stop trying to force it," Ji-won said, his voice unusually gentle. He pointed to Haneul's heart. "Paint that world. The one that makes you feel alive. The judges won't see your technique if they can't first feel your peace."
Haneul looked at him, the frustration completely gone, replaced by a look of profound gratitude. Ji-won understood. He really understood. Picking up his brush with renewed purpose, Haneul turned to his canvas, no longer seeing a challenge, but his own, beautiful world waiting to be born.
The only sounds in the room were the soft scratch of charcoal and the quiet rhythm of their breathing. Ji-won, lost in the precise lines of his composition, didn't notice the smudge of black dust on his cheek.
Haneul glanced over and saw it. A fond giggle escaped him. "You've got a little..." he murmured, setting his brush down.
He leaned across the space between them, over the canvases that separated their two emerging worlds. He reached out, his thumb gently brushing the smudge from Ji-won's sharp cheekbone.
The touch was electric.
In that moment of tender contact, Haneul lost his balance. With a soft gasp, he pitched forward.
Ji-won's hands shot out on instinct, catching Haneul by the shoulders, stopping his fall. They froze.
Haneul was half-sprawled across the canvases, held securely in Ji-won's grip. Their faces were inches apart. Ji-won could feel the warm puffs of Haneul's startled breath against his skin. The air crackled, thick and heavy. Haneul's eyes were wide, locked on Ji-won's, full of a vulnerable, questioning hope. Ji-won's heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic, wild drumbeat he was sure Haneul could hear.
He saw the blush creeping up Haneul's neck, saw the way his lips parted slightly. Ji-won's own breath hitched, his mind a roaring static of confusion and overwhelming want.
And then Haneul moved.
He leaned that last, impossible inch forward and pressed his lips against Ji-won's.
It was soft. Tentative. A question.
Ji-won froze completely. His entire world narrowed to the point of contact—the warm, gentle pressure of Haneul's mouth on his. His brain short-circuited, every thought, every rule, every wall obliterated by the sheer, shocking sensation.
He didn't kiss back.
A second passed. Two.
Haneul pulled away, the hope in his eyes shattering into mortification. His cheeks flushed a deep, painful crimson. "I—I'm sorry," he stammered, scrambling back, his voice a broken whisper. "I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have—"
He was retreating, emotionally and physically, consumed by embarrassment.
And that's when Ji-won's heart screamed louder than his fear.
As Haneul turned away, Ji-won's hand, which had been frozen on his shoulder, moved. It slid down Haneul's arm, his fingers intertwining with Haneul's. He gave a gentle, but firm, pull.
Haneul gasped, stumbling back around, his eyes wide with shock.
Ji-won didn't say a word. His gaze, no longer icy but burning with a raw, unspoken intensity, dropped to Haneul's lips. This time, he was the one who leaned in. This time, there was no hesitation. He closed the distance and captured Haneul's mouth with his own, answering the question with a silent, desperate, and perfect yes.