There were moments—quiet, unguarded moments—when Seung-min found himself thinking about the past.
Not often.
He wasn't someone who lingered there.
The past was something fixed, something unchangeable, something that held no real purpose in the present.
And yet—
Sometimes, without warning, it returned.
It usually happened when things were too quiet.
The rooftop was empty that afternoon.
A rare occurrence.
The sky stretched wide and clear above them, soft clouds drifting lazily as if time itself had slowed down.
Youn-jun lay on his back, one arm thrown over his eyes, complaining faintly about something Seung-min wasn't really listening to.
His voice blurred into the background.
Familiar.
Comforting.
Constant.
Seung-min sat beside him, one knee drawn slightly up, his posture relaxed in a way it never was anywhere else.
His gaze rested—not on the sky—
But on Youn-jun.
And without meaning to—
He remembered.
Back then, the world had been… smaller.
Not physically.
But in the way it felt.
Kindergarten classrooms were filled with noise—children laughing, talking over each other, moving without care. Colors were everywhere, bright and overwhelming, walls covered in drawings that didn't make sense.
It was supposed to feel warm.
To Seung-min—
It never had.
He had always been quiet.
Not shy.
Not nervous.
Just… distant.
Other children found it strange.
And children, unlike adults, didn't hide what they thought.
"Don't sit next to him."
"My mom said he's cursed."
"He's weird."
The words came easily to them.
Carelessly.
Seung-min never responded.
He didn't see the point.
Even when they went further—
"His mom died because of him."
"He's a monster."
He didn't react.
Didn't cry.
Didn't argue.
He simply… accepted it.
Not because he believed it.
But because it didn't matter enough to deny.
If people decided something—
They wouldn't change their minds.
So Seung-min stopped trying.
Instead, he built distance.
A quiet, invisible wall that separated him from everyone else.
If he didn't get close—
Then nothing could touch him.
It was simple.
Efficient.
Safe.
Until the day it wasn't.
The memory was clear.
Too clear.
It had been after class, the room nearly empty.
Three boys stood in front of him, blocking his way like they always did.
Louder than him. Bigger than him.
More… normal.
"Why do you even come to school?" one of them asked.
"No one likes you."
"You're creepy."
Seung-min didn't respond.
His gaze remained steady, uninterested.
Waiting.
They would get bored eventually.
They always did.
"Hey!!"
The voice cut through the air—
Sharp.
Bright.
Out of place.
Seung-min looked up.
Someone stood between them.
A boy.
Smaller.
Noticeably so.
His shoulders were tense, hands clenched into fists that looked too small to be threatening.
But he didn't move.
"You can't say that!" he said, his voice louder than it had any right to be. "That's mean!"
The boys laughed.
"And what are you gonna do about it?"
A pause.
Just for a second—
The boy hesitated.
Seung-min noticed.
Of course he did.
The slight tremble in his hands.
The way his voice almost faltered.
He was scared.
And yet—
"I'll tell the teacher!" he said quickly. "And I won't be your friend anymore!"
Silence.
"That's not scary."
"Well—it is to me!"
The response was so honest—
So unpolished—
That it caught them off guard.
The boys scoffed, losing interest.
"Whatever."
"He's still weird."
And just like that—
They left.
Seung-min expected the moment to end there.
Expected the boy to follow them.
Or walk away.
Or forget.
Everyone did.
But he didn't.
Instead—
He turned.
And smiled.
"Hi!"
The brightness of it was… confusing.
"I'm Youn-jun," he said, like it mattered.
Seung-min stared at him.
Didn't respond.
Didn't understand.
"You don't talk much, huh?" Youn-jun tilted his head slightly, studying him with open curiosity—not judgment. "That's okay. I talk a lot."
Still—
No answer.
"That was kinda scary, though," Youn-jun added, scratching his cheek. "They were bigger than me."
Seung-min blinked.
The words didn't match the situation.
"…Then why?"
It was the first thing he said.
Quiet.
Flat.
Uncertain.
Youn-jun's expression shifted.
Just slightly.
Then he smiled again.
"Because they were being mean."
Simple.
Too simple.
"That's not your problem."
"It is now."
Seung-min didn't understand that.
Didn't understand him.
But before he could think further—
"You can sit with me," Youn-jun said, already dropping down beside him.
No hesitation.
No permission.
"…Why?"
Youn-jun looked at him again.
And this time—
His smile softened.
Not loud.
Not bright.
Just… warm.
"Because you looked lonely."
Something—
Shifted.
It was small.
Barely noticeable.
But it was there.
A feeling Seung-min didn't recognize.
Didn't know how to name.
From that day on—
Youn-jun stayed.
He talked too much.
Laughed too loudly.
Pulled Seung-min into things he didn't want to do.
Shared snacks without asking.
Sat too close.
"Your name is too long," Youn-jun had declared one day. "I'm calling you Min."
"…Do what you want."
"Okay, Min!"
He was annoying.
Disruptive.
Too bright.
And yet—
For the first time—
Seung-min didn't feel alone.
The walls didn't disappear.
Not immediately.
But they opened.
Just a little.
Only for him.
"…Min."
The voice pulled him back.
Seung-min blinked.
The rooftop returned.
The sky.
The warmth.
Youn-jun was staring at him now, his expression curious.
"You've been quiet for a while," he said. "Were you even listening to me?"
"I was."
"You weren't."
A pause.
"…Maybe not."
Youn-jun huffed, sitting up slightly. "Wow. I'm pouring my heart out here."
"You were talking about snacks."
"They're important!"
Seung-min almost looked away.
Almost.
But he didn't.
"…Jun."
"Hm?"
A pause.
"…Nothing."
Youn-jun narrowed his eyes.
"You're being weird."
"You're loud."
"You love it."
Seung-min didn't deny it this time.
Because the truth had never changed.
Even now.
Even after all these years.
In a world that had once been nothing but silence—
Youn-jun had been the first voice.
The first warmth.
The first—
Color.