If anyone had asked Jihoon how the day started, he would've said it was painfully normal.
The kind of normal that lulled you into forgetting that things could still go wrong.
Morning lectures dragged on the way they always did, the professor's voice blending into the soft scratch of pens and the occasional cough. Jihoon sat near the window, sunlight warming the side of his face as he underlined notes with mechanical precision. Riku sat beside him, knee bouncing slightly, attention split between the lecture and whatever message he was typing on his phone.
Jihoon nudged him gently with his elbow. "Focus."
Riku glanced over, grinning. "I am focusing."
"You're smiling at your screen."
"Multitasking."
Jihoon shook his head but smiled anyway, returning to his notes. Moments like this—quiet, easy—had become the backbone of their relationship. No chaos, no uncertainty. Just shared space, shared time.
Behind them, Yuna whispered commentary about the lecture, Mika trying and failing to stifle her laughter. Yuri and Haru sat together a few rows down, heads bent toward each other, completely in their own world. Sophia leaned against Sowoon's shoulder, half-listening, half-doodling in the margins of her notebook.
It was ordinary. Comfortably so.
By late morning, the campus buzzed with movement as students poured out of buildings and into the open spaces between them. Jihoon walked with Riku toward the cafeteria, hands brushing occasionally, never quite holding but always close enough to feel intentional.
"What do you want to eat?" Riku asked.
Jihoon shrugged. "Anything that doesn't taste like regret."
Riku laughed. "Bold ask."
The cafeteria was crowded, louder than usual, the midday rush in full swing. Trays clattered, voices overlapped, chairs scraped loudly against the floor. Jihoon scanned the room for an open table, already mentally bracing himself for the sensory overload.
"I'll grab us seats," he said. "You go order."
Riku nodded, flashing him a quick smile before disappearing into the line.
Jihoon weaved through the tables, spotting a familiar corner where they usually sat. It was partially blocked by a cluster of students standing close together, their backs turned inward. He slowed, something about the scene prickling at the back of his mind.
The laughter wasn't right.
It was sharp. Mean.
Jihoon stopped.
At the center of the group stood Riku.
His tray lay tipped on the floor, food scattered uselessly, drink seeping into the cracks between tiles. Riku's shoulders were tense, his jaw set in a way Jihoon recognized immediately—the way he looked when he was trying very hard not to react.
One of the guys leaned in too close, sneering. "What, cat got your tongue?"
Another laughed. "Guess he only talks big when his boyfriend's around."
The ring of students surrounding them wasn't tight, but it was suffocating. Some watched with open curiosity. Others with discomfort. No one intervened.
Jihoon's chest tightened.
He didn't think.
He moved.
"Hey."
His voice cut through the noise sharper than he expected, drawing attention instantly. The students turned, surprised, making space without meaning to as Jihoon stepped directly into the circle.
Riku looked at him, eyes widening just a fraction. "Jihoon—"
Jihoon didn't look away from the guys in front of him. He bent down calmly, picked up Riku's fallen tray, and set it aside before standing back up, posture straight and unyielding.
"Is there a problem?" Jihoon asked.
One of the guys scoffed. "Relax. We're just talking."
Jihoon's gaze hardened. "Then talk somewhere else."
Another laughed nervously. "Why do you care so much?"
That did it.
Jihoon felt something snap—not loud, not explosive, but deep and final. Months of swallowed comments, of watching Riku brush things off, of pretending that jokes didn't sting, that whispers didn't matter.
He cared because this wasn't the first time.
"Because," Jihoon said slowly, voice trembling despite his effort to keep it steady, "you don't get to corner someone and call it a joke."
The guy rolled his eyes. "It's not that serious."
Jihoon laughed once, short and humorless. "It is when you're the one being laughed at."
The surrounding students had gone quiet now, the cafeteria's usual hum dimming into an uneasy backdrop. Jihoon could feel eyes on him, could feel his pulse pounding in his ears—but he didn't stop.
"I've watched people like you do this over and over," he continued, words spilling faster now. "You hide behind crowds, behind 'just joking,' because you're too scared to be decent when no one's watching."
Riku reached for his sleeve. "Jihoon, it's okay—"
"No," Jihoon said, finally turning to him. His voice softened instantly, breaking in a way that startled even himself. "It's not."
He took a breath, then another, emotions rising too fast to contain.
"I'm tired," Jihoon admitted, voice shaking. "I'm tired of pretending this doesn't hurt you. I'm tired of wondering if you're okay when you say you are. I'm tired of holding back because I don't want to make things worse."
The guys shifted uncomfortably now, the weight of the moment pressing in.
Jihoon turned back to them one last time. "Leave."
There was no anger in his voice anymore. Just certainty.
They hesitated, then one by one, backed away, muttering under their breath as the ring dissolved. The cafeteria slowly resumed its noise, but something had changed. Conversations were quieter. Glances lingered.
Jihoon exhaled shakily.
Only then did he realize his hands were trembling.
Riku stared at him, stunned. "Jihoon…"
"I'm sorry," Jihoon said immediately. "I didn't mean to—"
Riku shook his head. "No. Don't apologize."
Jihoon swallowed, emotions crashing all at once now that the adrenaline was fading. He looked around briefly, then back at Riku, something resolute settling in his chest.
"I don't want to wait anymore," Jihoon said.
Riku blinked. "Wait for what?"
Jihoon took Riku's hands—right there, in the middle of the cafeteria, surrounded by people, noise fading into irrelevance.
"I don't want to keep acting like what we have is fragile," Jihoon said, voice breaking openly now. "I don't want to keep protecting it quietly. I want everyone to know. I want you to know."
Riku's breath hitched.
Jihoon lowered himself onto one knee.
The cafeteria went completely silent.
"I don't have a ring," Jihoon said softly, eyes shining. "I don't have anything planned. I just know that I don't want a future where I'm not standing next to you."
His voice cracked. "Marry me."
For a heartbeat, nothing existed except the two of them.
Then Riku laughed—wet, breathless, overwhelmed. He dropped to his knees too, pulling Jihoon into a fierce embrace.
"Yes," Riku said, voice shaking. "Yes. Of course yes."
The cafeteria erupted.
Cheers, gasps, applause—someone actually screamed. Jihoon barely registered any of it as Riku pressed his forehead to his, both of them laughing and crying all at once.
The rest of the group arrived moments later, having heard the commotion from across the room.
"What did we miss?" Yuna asked—then froze. "WAIT."
Mika gasped. "OH MY GOD."
Haru clapped a hand over his mouth, eyes shining. Yuri just smiled, wide and proud.
That night, they celebrated at a small restaurant near campus, laughter spilling out of their booth as plates piled up and glasses clinked together. Riku couldn't stop smiling. Jihoon looked lighter than he had in months.
For once, the world felt loud in the best way.
And Jihoon knew—no matter what came next—they'd face it together.