The festival changed everything.
Haneul High, usually structured and predictable, transformed into something brighter—louder, messier, alive in a way that felt almost overwhelming. Classrooms turned into themed attractions, hallways filled with decorations that didn't quite align, and the air carried a constant mix of music, laughter, and overlapping voices.
It was chaotic.
It was exhausting.
And, for most people—
It was fun.
Seung-min stood in the middle of it all, holding the outfit in his hands with visible disapproval.
"I'm not wearing this."
The words were calm, but firm enough to leave little room for argument.
Across from him, Youn-jun didn't look concerned.
"You are."
"I'm not."
"You are."
"I will resign."
"You won't."
A few students nearby had gone quiet, their attention shifting almost instinctively toward them. Conversations slowed, glances exchanged—subtle, but curious.
Youn-jun stepped closer, lowering his voice just enough that it felt more personal than public.
"It's one day," he said.
"No."
A brief pause.
Then—
"It's for me."
That did it.
Seung-min didn't respond immediately.
He rarely did when it mattered.
But the refusal didn't come again.
"…One day."
The shift was small, but noticeable.
Someone near the window let out a quiet sound of disbelief before quickly covering it with a cough.
Youn-jun smiled, satisfied.
"Good."
Before Seung-min could step back, Youn-jun reached out—fingers brushing lightly against his collar as he adjusted it with practiced ease. The movement was natural, unthinking, like something he had done many times before.
Seung-min stilled.
Not because of the touch itself—
But because of how easily it happened.
"Too close," he said after a second.
"You're tall," Youn-jun replied. "I have to get close."
"…That's not the problem."
Youn-jun didn't ask what was.
He just smiled again.
The café opened shortly after.
Within minutes, it filled.
Youn-jun moved through the room like he belonged in it—greeting customers, guiding them to tables, his voice light and easy as he spoke. People responded to him without hesitation, drawn in by something effortless and warm.
Seung-min noticed.
He always did.
"Table three," Youn-jun called from across the room.
Seung-min moved immediately, tray balanced steadily in his hands.
"Here."
The word was simple as he placed the order down.
"Thank you," one of the girls said, her tone bright. "You're really handsome."
"…I know."
There was a pause.
A small one—but enough.
Across the room, something clattered lightly.
"Min—"
Youn-jun's voice carried just enough to reach him, somewhere between disbelief and poorly hidden amusement.
Seung-min didn't react.
The girls exchanged a glance, one of them letting out a quiet laugh under her breath, though it faded quickly when Seung-min's gaze lifted again.
Work continued.
Orders came and went.
The noise never really settled.
And still—
Seung-min's attention returned to the same place.
Again.
And again.
It wasn't difficult to find Youn-jun in a crowded room.
He stood out without trying.
He was laughing now—head tilted slightly back, eyes crinkling at the corners. Someone said something else, and he leaned in just a little closer to hear, nodding as if it mattered.
Too close.
Seung-min looked away.
It didn't matter.
It was normal.
It had always been like this.
So why—
"Min~"
The voice pulled him back.
Youn-jun had already crossed the room, his energy dimmed just enough to show the exhaustion beneath it.
"I'm tired."
"Sit."
He did, dropping into the chair beside him without hesitation.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then, slowly—
Youn-jun leaned.
Not fully.
Not completely.
Just enough for his shoulder to rest lightly against Seung-min's.
"You're overworking," Seung-min said quietly.
"I'm maintaining my image."
"You ate six pastries."
"That's part of the image."
Seung-min reached for a bottle of water without looking.
Opened it.
Held it out.
Youn-jun took it just as easily.
"…You always do that," he said after a moment.
"Do what."
"Take care of me before I ask."
Seung-min didn't answer.
He didn't need to.
The moment lingered—
Quiet.
Uninterrupted.
Until—
"Youn-jun sunbae?"
The voice was hesitant.
A girl stood nearby, shifting slightly where she stood.
"Can I take a picture with you?"
Youn-jun smiled immediately.
"Of course."
They stood together.
Close enough for the camera.
"Can you come a little closer?" she asked.
Youn-jun leaned in slightly.
Seung-min looked away.
It didn't matter.
The camera clicked.
The moment passed.
"Thank you," she said, stepping back, her voice lighter now. But before leaving, her gaze flickered briefly—not at Youn-jun, but past him.
Then she turned and walked away.
"Min?"
"…What."
Youn-jun tilted his head slightly.
"You're glaring."
"I'm not."
"You are."
"The wall is poorly designed."
A pause.
Then—
a faint, knowing smile.
"Are you jealous?"
"…No."
"Guard dog."
"…Stop."
Youn-jun stepped closer.
This time, deliberately.
And then—
He rested his head against Seung-min's shoulder.
Not lightly.
Not halfway.
Completely.
"So stay like this," he murmured. "So no one gets the wrong idea."
Seung-min didn't move.
"…What idea."
"That I'm available."
Silence settled between them.
"…You're not."
"Exactly."
Seung-min's hand lifted slightly—
Almost unconsciously—
Before resting near Youn-jun's wrist.
Not holding.
Not stopping.
Just there.
The noise around them continued, but it felt distant now, like something happening far away.
A few passing glances lingered longer than necessary before shifting away again, conversations resuming in softer tones.
Evening came gradually.
The lights dimmed, the energy settling into something quieter.
When they finally stepped outside, the air felt cooler.
Calmer.
"Today was fun," Youn-jun said, walking beside him.
"…It was loud."
A small smile.
"That means yes."
Seung-min didn't deny it.
They walked in silence for a while.
Comfortable.
Familiar.
Then—
"Min."
"…What."
Youn-jun slowed slightly.
"Stay with me in college too."
The answer came without hesitation.
"Obviously."
Relief passed over Youn-jun's expression so quickly it could have been missed.
"Good."
They continued walking.
Side by side.
Close.
No space between them.
Just the way it had always been.
And neither of them noticed—
How tightly they were holding onto that.