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The first thing Kang Yeosang noticed about Choi San was not his looks, or the way people instinctively seemed to step aside when he walked past.
It was the silence around him.
The lecture hall was full— chairs scraping against tiled floors, voices overlapping in messy excitement, the smell of coffee and new notebooks and the faintest trace of rain drifting in through the open windows. It was the first day of the semester, and everyone was buzzing with the fragile optimism of beginnings.
Yet around San, there was this strange, intangible stillness. He wasn’t loud. He wasn’t trying to be noticed. He was just… there. Standing near the doorway, tall and relaxed, one strap of his backpack hanging off his shoulder like he’d wandered in by accident while on his other shoulder is a guitar bag. His eyes swept over the room slowly, carefully, as if he were measuring it, memorizing it.
Yeosang had only meant to glance.
He was still clutching his schedule when his gaze landed on San, and somehow it lingered. He forgot to look away. Forgot to breathe normally. He only realized how long he’d been staring when San suddenly lifted his head.
Their eyes met.
San raised one eyebrow.
Not in anger. Not in curiosity. Just a small, almost bored gesture— and then he looked away like Yeosang had never existed.
Heat flooded Yeosang’s face.
He looked down at the paper in his hands, pretending to reread the same line for the fifth time even though the words had already blurred together.
“Rude,” he muttered under his breath, his lips barely moving. He wasn’t sure whether he was talking about San or himself. Probably both.
He didn’t know why that single glance unsettled him so much. He’d met plenty of people who carried themselves with confidence, with quiet assurance, with that same unreadable aura. Yet something about Choi San made him want to disappear into the floor.
From that moment on, Yeosang decided he would avoid him.
Completely.
It was a simple plan. Foolproof, really. Just another classmate in a university filled with hundreds of students. There was no reason their paths should cross more than absolutely necessary. Being in the same lecture hall should be enough.
The universe, apparently, disagreed.
A few days later, their professor announced that the seating arrangement would be fixed for the semester. A groan rippled through the room as students straightened up, scanning the rows with visible calculation.
Yeosang’s eyes drifted immediately to the back of the lecture hall, where sunlight streamed through tall windows overlooking the courtyard. The leaves outside trembled gently in the breeze, and a group of students were sitting on the grass, laughing over something he couldn’t hear.
Please let me sit there, he thought desperately. Please. Just that seat. I won’t ask for anything else.
“Choi San,” the professor called, flipping through her clipboard. “Back row, beside the window.”
Yeosang’s heart sank.
San stood up from somewhere near the middle of the room and made his way down the aisle, long strides unhurried, like he had all the time in the world. He slid into the seat Yeosang had been silently begging for, set his bag down, and leaned back as though the chair had been molded specifically for him.
Yeosang swallowed.
At least I won’t be near him, he tried to console himself.
“And Kang Yeosang,” the professor continued, not looking up. “Front row. Seat directly in front of Choi San.”
Yeosang nearly laughed in disbelief.
He stood up slowly, legs feeling oddly stiff, and walked to his assigned seat. The desk was still warm from the previous student. He didn’t dare look back immediately. He could already feel the presence behind him like a shadow he couldn’t shake.
When he finally glanced over his shoulder, San was somehow asleep, head resting on his folded arms. His hair fell over his eyes, softening the sharpness Yeosang had felt from afar.
He turned back around quickly, annoyed at himself for noticing.
He dropped into his chair and let his shoulders slump forward, staring blankly at the whiteboard.
They hadn’t even been classmates for a week, and he was already exhausted.
“Hey, Sang.”
He turned his head to the side. Yunho— his friend from his previous elective— was smiling at him from the seat next to San.
Thank God.
“At least I’m near you,” Yeosang murmured.
Yunho laughed softly. “You look like someone just stole your lunch money.”
“It feels worse than that,” he replied, eyes flicking back to the sleeping figure behind him. “I swear, I’m cursed.”
He followed his gaze and then smirked. “Oh. That explains it.”
“What explains what?”
“Nothing,” He said, far too innocently.
Ever since the seating arrangement, Yeosang has been feeling bothered, literally. It has been going on for weeks now, and he was just baffled and confused by whatever’s happening right now.
It started with a tap.
Barely noticeable. Just enough to register as movement, not enough to confirm anything.
Yeosang shifted in his seat. “Again?” He murmured to himself
Another tap.
He froze, pen hovering above his notebook. He didn’t turn around. He pretended he hadn’t noticed that it was just the chair behind him creaking or someone stretching their legs.
Then his chair nudged forward.
Just a little.
Yeosang turned around sharply. “Do you have a problem?”
San blinked at him, wide-eyed, like he’d just been woken up from a dream. “Me?”
“Yes, you,” Yeosang said, trying not to sound flustered. “You keep kicking my chair.”
San frowned thoughtfully. “I do?”
Yeosang stared at him. “Yes.”
“Oh,” San said, lips twitching. “Sorry.”
Yeosang turned back around, unconvinced.
A minute passed.
Then another gentle tap.
He whipped around again. San was resting his chin on his hand, elbow on the desk, watching him with barely concealed amusement.
“You’re fun when you’re annoyed,” San said.
Yeosang scoffed. “You don’t even know me.”
San tilted his head, a small smile forming. “I will.”
Something about the way he said it made Yeosang’s stomach twist in a way he didn’t want to acknowledge.
The chair tapping still didn’t stop after that.
Sometimes it was playful. Sometimes it was accidental — or at least San pretended it was. But Yeosang noticed that he no longer tensed every time it happened. Sometimes, he even waited for it.
During one class break, when the professor stepped out, Yunho turned in his seat toward San.
“So, before we got interrupted by our class a while ago, you were talking about anime, right?” He asked.
San nodded. “Yeah. I was saying—”
“Yeosangie watches anime too,” Yunho interrupted brightly, gesturing toward Yeosang. “Maybe he’ll know what you’re talking about because I’m honestly not into that genre, I’m so sorry, San.”
Yeosang blinked and turned around to face them both. “What?”
San leaned forward slightly, curiosity sparking in his eyes. “What kind of anime do you watch?”
Yeosang hesitated. Yunho was smiling at him like he’d just orchestrated something. He resisted the urge to glare at his friend.
“Anything,” he replied with a shrug. “Romance, thriller… whatever looks interesting.”
San’s face lit up. “Do you know Steins Gate?”
“I’ve heard of it,” Yeosang said. “I haven’t watched it yet—”
“You should,” San said immediately. His words tumbled out, fast and excited. “It’s my favorite. The characters are amazing, and the plot is insane, and it just— it starts kind of slow, but when it picks up, it really picks up. You won’t regret it, I swear.”
Yeosang watched him talk, watched the way his hands moved, the way his eyes shone like he’d unlocked something precious.
“I’ll try watching it,” he said quietly.
San beamed.
The next day, the seating was rearranged again, signalling the end of the semester and the beginning of a new one.
San didn’t move.
Yeosang did— to the seat beside him.
He looked up at the professor, then at Yunho a few rows ahead. He was smirking openly now, not even trying to hide it.
“Hey,” San said softly. “Did you start Steins Gate yet?”
“Not yet,” Yeosang replied. “I was planning to watch it later during lunch. I brought my iPad—”
“Oh!” San exclaimed, eyes widening. “We should watch together. I want to rewatch it anyway.”
Yeosang hesitated. He didn’t know when Choi San had stopped being someone he wanted to avoid and started being someone he wanted to spend time with.
But he nodded anyway.
And somewhere between shared earphones and accidental brushes of their hands, Yeosang realized that this wasn’t a storm he wanted to run from.
It was one he wanted to walk through.
Lunch breaks stopped feeling like breaks and started feeling like rituals.
It began with them sitting a cautious distance apart in the library on the sofa since the desks were all occupied, San balancing Yeosang’s iPad between them while trying not to hover too close. They shared one pair of earphones, wires awkwardly tangled, Yeosang holding one bud in place while San did the same.
The first episode of Steins Gate played, and Yeosang spent most of it not actually watching— too aware of the warmth beside him, the way San leaned in whenever something interesting happened, their shoulders brushing every now and then.
“Isn’t it cool how they introduce the mystery so subtly?” San whispered, like they were in on a secret.
Yeosang nodded, even though he barely understood what was going on. “Yeah… cool.”
By the third episode, San was no longer pretending to keep his distance. He leaned fully into Yeosang’s side, pointing at the screen whenever his favorite character appeared or whenever he told Yeosang to look at a specific detail for a future episode. Yeosang didn’t move away. He couldn’t.
The iPad slid a little on their laps, and San instinctively steadied it with his hand, his fingers brushing Yeosang’s thigh. They both froze.
San pulled back immediately. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Yeosang replied too quickly, heat crawling up his neck.
After that, their lunch breaks turned into anime marathons. Sometimes they laughed too loudly and earned glares from other students. Sometimes they sat in comfortable silence, letting the dialogue fill the space between them.
It was terrifying how easy it felt.
The two also began to spend time watching Steins Gate in the morning before lectures. San started bringing extra snacks, and both of them have started saving each other a seat in the library when one of them hasn’t arrived yet in the morning. Then, eventually, finished all seasons of the show and shared their thoughts about it. Yeosang was in awe every time San would smile with his crescent-like eyes as he talked about the crazy plot twist that had happened in the anime.
Yeosang thought that he didn’t mind spending time with him. Yunho watched from afar like a proud father, pretending not to notice the way Yeosang’s eyes followed San around, whether it’s in the lecture hall or in the library
Weeks passed, then months.
It didn’t hit Yeosang all at once.
It crept in quietly, the way rain clouds gather when you’re too busy living to notice the sky darkening.
It started with little things.
Like how he found himself checking the seat beside him first thing in the morning before lecture, relief flooding through him whenever San was already there, flipping through his notes or lazily drumming his fingers on the desk. Or how he began to time his walk to campus so they’d arrive at the gate together, pretending it was coincidence.
Then there were the nights.
He’d lie in bed with his phone pressed to his chest,replaying San’s laughter in his head, the way his eyes curved when he smiled, the warmth of his shoulder during lunch breaks in the library.
That was when the trouble began.
Because liking San wasn’t supposed to be part of the plan.
Yeosang had sworn he wouldn’t get involved. He remembered how intimidating San had been on that first day, how he’d wanted nothing more than to disappear whenever their eyes met.
So why did the idea of losing him suddenly feel unbearable?
One evening, he closed his textbook with a frustrated sigh, unable to focus. His notes blurred together, and the only thing he could think about was the way San had rested his chin on his hand that afternoon, watching him with that stupid fond smile.
“What is wrong with me?” Yeosang whispered into the empty room.
He scrolled through his messages, stopping at San’s name.
San: did you finish the assignment yet or are you still fighting for your life
Yeosang typed a reply, erased it, typed again.
Yeosang: i’m fine lol i survived
He stared at the screen long after the message was sent.
He wasn’t fine.
He didn’t survive.
He was scared.
Because liking San meant risking everything — their easy laughter, their shared lunches. If he said something and it went wrong, he’d lose all of it.
And as if that wasn’t enough, the universe decided to have the two begin to have study sessions together.
They started studying together in empty classrooms after lectures, San strumming his guitar quietly while Yeosang flipped through flashcards.
“You’re not even studying,” Yeosang scolded one afternoon.
San grinned. “I study better with music.”
“That doesn’t even make sense.”
“It does to me.”
San would hum as he played, low and soft, melodies floating lazily through the quiet room. Yeosang found himself lingering after he finished his notes, just to hear a little more.
Sometimes San would stop mid-song and glance at him. “What?”
“Nothing,” Yeosang would say, heart thudding, because how was he supposed to explain that his chest felt too full?
They never talked about what they were becoming.
But Yeosang felt it everywhere — in the way San saved a seat for him without being asked, in the way their knees brushed under the desk, in the way San’s voice softened when he said his name.
Yeosang is definitely fucked.
The next day, he was quieter than usual.
San noticed immediately.
“You okay?” he asked, nudging Yeosang’s knee under the desk.
“Yeah,” Yeosang replied automatically.
But San didn’t look convinced.
During lunch, Yeosang sat stiffly beside him, barely tasting the food Yunho had shoved into his hands. When San leaned in to show him a funny clip on his phone, Yeosang flinched — just a little.
San pulled back. “Did I do something?”
The question pierced straight through Yeosang.
“No,” he said too quickly.
San hesitated. “You know you can talk to me, right?”
Yeosang nodded, throat tight, because how could he possibly explain that the problem was that he cared too much?
That night, he cried quietly into his pillow, hating himself for falling for someone who felt so unattainable and yet so close. He hated how much he wanted to hold San’s hand, how much he wanted to rest his head on his shoulder without pretending it was accidental.
He didn’t know what to do with his feelings.
So he did what he always did— he buried them.
And that was why, when the annual class trip finally arrived, it came like a punctuation mark in the middle of the semester. Yeosang’s chest felt too tight from the moment he stepped onto the bus— like he already knew something was about to break inside him.
A long bus ride to the countryside, everyone buzzing with excitement, music playing from someone’s speaker in the back. Yeosang boarded late, juggling his bag and umbrella, only to find that the only empty seat was beside San.
San looked up and smiled like it was the most natural thing in the world. “You’re late.”
“Shut up,” Yeosang said, but he was smiling too.
San pulled something from under his seat— a guitar case. “I brought this. Thought I’d practice on the way.”
The bus started moving, and San began to strum softly, fingers moving with practiced ease. Yeosang leaned his head against the window, watching the city blur into fields as light droplets of rainwater came into view, San’s music wrapping around him like a blanket.
They sang together without planning to.
At first, it was barely a whisper, Yeosang mouthing the words while San carried the tune. But as the ride stretched on, they grew braver, harmonizing quietly, their voices blending until Yeosang couldn’t tell where his ended and San’s began.
By the time the bus slowed to a stop, the sky was dark with heavy rain.
Everyone rushed off, laughing, umbrellas popping open like flowers.
When the bus was empty, Yeosang lingered, heart pounding. He stood there in the aisle while San packed his guitar away in the compartment above them instead of placing it under their seats. When he finished, he held his umbrella and tapped Yeosang on the shoulder and muttered, “Let’s get going.”
Yeosang followed him off the bus, rain already beginning to fall in heavy sheets. The sky was a deep, aching gray, the kind that made everything feel suspended between moments. The air smelled like wet asphalt and distant pine trees, and the rain didn’t just fall— it crashed, soaking through his clothes within seconds.
He stood there, frozen at the bottom step of the bus, heart beating so loudly he was certain San could hear it despite his back facing him, and he could definitely hear it over the storm.
“What the fuck– this damn rain, didn’t even wait for me to open my umbrella—”
“San,” Yeosang called, voice barely louder than the rain.
San turned to look at him, eyes wide as he took in the soaked, trembling figure before him. “Yeah– wait, where’s your umbrella, Yeosang? Come here, let’s share for a while.”
Yeosang stepped off the bus steps and fully into the downpour, the cold biting into his skin like a challenge he had to accept. Rain plastered his hair to his forehead, trickled down his lashes, blurred the edges of the world. San hurried to stand beside him, shielding Yeosang from the pouring rain.
“Hey, you’ll catch a cold—”
“I like you.”
The words left Yeosang before he could stop them.
The rain hit harder, continuing to drench them both despite having an umbrella over them.
“I like you,” he repeated, louder now, hands clenched at his sides. “I think I’ve liked you for a long time. I didn’t mean to. I tried not to. I didn’t want to. But I do. I like you so much it hurts sometimes, and I don’t know what to do with that anymore.”
San stopped a step away from him, completely soaked, eyes wide like the world had just cracked open in front of him.
For a moment, he said nothing.
Yeosang laughed weakly, tears mixing with rain. “You don’t have to say anything. I just— I needed you to know. I was scared every day that I was going to lose you without ever telling you why you mattered so much to me.”
Rain streamed down San’s face, his lips parted, breath uneven.
Then he smiled.
Not the playful one he wore in class, not the teasing one that always made Yeosang roll his eyes.
This smile was different.
Soft. Steady. Full.
“I was wondering how long it would take you,” San murmured, stepping closer until Yeosang could feel his warmth through the storm. “Do you have any idea how hard it’s been pretending I didn’t feel the same?”
Yeosang blinked. “You… what?”
San laughed quietly, shaking his head. “The first day you stared at me as if I’d personally ruined your life? I thought you hated me. I kept kicking your chair because I didn’t know how else to make you look at me again.”
Despite himself, Yeosang let out a shaky laugh. “I was intimidated.”
“I was hoping,” San said, brushing wet strands of hair away from Yeosang’s eyes, fingers trembling, “that someday you’d stop running from me.”
Their foreheads met, rain sliding between their faces, the umbrella being completely useless in this harsh weather, breaths mingling in the space that had always felt like it was waiting for this moment.
The storm roared around them.
But Yeosang had never felt so quiet inside.
For the first time in months, he wasn’t drowning in his feelings.
He was walking through it— with San right there, holding him steady as the rain fell.