A Double Trouble

The Monday morning unraveled slowly as the early summer sun bathed the school with its rays. A few students loitered near the entrance, their laughter soft and sleepy in the crisp morning air. The usual bustle had yet to arrive; hallways echoed faint footsteps, lockers creaked open, and classroom lights flickered on one by one.

In that sleepy calm, Min-jun appeared like a spark—sudden, warm, and full of life. Without a word, he took Seung-joon's arm and gently tugged him toward a nearby empty classroom. The contact, so direct and unexpected, made Seung-joon's heart skip a beat.

The familiar scent of chalk dust and faint lemon floor polish filled the air as they entered. Seung-joon's gaze was drawn to Min-jun's eyes—bright, animated, and filled with a warmth that melted the fog of the weekend away. A rush of happiness bloomed in Seung-joon's chest, banishing the listlessness that had shadowed him the past two days. He hadn't realized just how much he'd missed Min-jun until that moment. 

***

The weekend after the trip, Seung-joon found himself adrift in boredom, his heart unsettled in ways he couldn't fully explain. The quiet moments, once peaceful, now stretched endlessly, filled with an unshakable restlessness. With no Min-jun to fill the space beside him, Seung-joon turned his attention to the twins—much to their dismay.

Like a mischievous cat with too much energy, he trailed after them all day, his eyes gleaming with barely-contained mischief. He interrupted their reading with sudden questions, leapt into their games at the most inconvenient moments, and made himself an unavoidable nuisance. His laughter rang out often—bright, unrelenting, and just a bit too loud—as if trying to drown out the quiet ache tugging at his chest.

"Joon-ah, get out of the bathroom, please! I really need to pee!" Tae-min begged, his voice rising in urgency as he tried to push Seung-joon out of the bathroom.

Driven to the brink of desperation, Tae-min finally scooped Seung-joon up like a sack of potatoes, hauling him over his shoulder with a grunt and depositing him onto the bed with a solid thud. Seung-joon let out a yelp of protest, but before he could scramble away, Tae-jon swooped in, expertly pinning him down.

"Got you," Tae-jon grinned, his laughter bubbling up as Tae-min made a victorious dash to the bathroom.

Seung-joon wriggled and kicked in protest, but Tae-jon only laughed harder, leaning in to plant a series of playful kisses on Seung-joon's cheeks. Their mock wrestling match quickly descended into a chaotic tangle of limbs and laughter, the room echoing with lighthearted shouts and muffled giggles—brotherhood in its purest, most boisterous form.

"Okay… okay! Let me go! I promise I'll stop bothering you guys!" Seung-joon cried out, laughing through his protests as he pushed against Tae-jon with all the strength he could muster.

But Tae-jon, grinning with wicked delight, remained immovable. With one last triumphant flourish, he pressed a quick kiss to Seung-joon's cheek.

"Ack—gross!" Seung-joon grumbled, finally managing to wriggle free from Tae-jon's grip. He sat up on the bed, rubbing his cheek with an exaggerated scowl. Tae-jon watched him with narrowed eyes, a smirk tugging at his lips, clearly reveling in the chaos.

"Why? Don't you like me kissing you? Or is there someone else who gets to kiss you now?" Tae-jon teased, his voice casual but sharp, a glint of suspicion dancing in his gaze.

Seung-joon's heart lurched at the question, a flicker of panic fluttering in his chest. Oh no. He scrambled to compose himself.

"I'm not delusional like you guys," he shot back, his tone carefully light, a flimsy cover over the nervous energy bubbling beneath.

"Kissing someone has nothing to do with delusions," Tae-jon quipped, pulling Seung-joon back into a tight hug and pressing another kiss to his cheek before he could protest.

"Argh… Hyung, I'm not five anymore!" Seung-joon cried out, squirming with a mix of mock outrage and helpless laughter.

"Yes," Tae-jon said, releasing him with an unexpected seriousness. "I can see that."

The shift in tone sent a jolt through Seung-joon's chest—he was in dangerous territory now.

Sensing the need to retreat, he leapt off the bed and made a quick dash for the door. "I don't think so!" he called over his shoulder, not daring to glance back.

After returning to his room and locking the door behind him, Seung-joon leaned back against it for a moment, exhaling quietly as the laughter and teasing from earlier faded into distant echoes. His room was quiet, the afternoon light spilling in through the white curtains and casting long, golden slants across the floor.

His eyes fell on his phone resting on the rumpled bed. He crossed the room, picked it up, and began scrolling through his gallery without much thought—until one particular image made his thumb still.

It was a candid photo of Min-jun, sitting by the beach, staring directly at the camera. The soft sunlight bathed him in a golden hue, outlining the contours of his face. Wind had ruffled his hair just enough to make it look effortlessly perfect. But what caught Seung-joon most—what always caught him—were Min-jun's eyes. Rich, warm brown and impossibly sincere, they seemed to hold the light itself, as if they were made to see the world in all its beauty.

Seung-joon sat down slowly, the corners of his lips lifting into a quiet, wistful smile. He held the phone a little tighter, as if afraid the image might vanish if he blinked. His heart ached in a way that felt both familiar and brand new.

He lingered on the photo, his thumb resting softly against the edge of the screen. The hush of the room wrapped around him like a cocoon, broken only by the faint ticking of the wall clock and the distant chirp of birds beyond the open window. Seung-joon's heart swelled with a quiet appreciation, each beat syncing with the emotion that stirred gently within him.

There was something so pure, so untouched in Min-jun's expression—a raw softness that the world hadn't yet managed to tarnish. The way his eyes met the camera, open and unguarded, held a truth that words could never articulate. It was a fleeting moment frozen in time, and yet it felt eternal.

Seung-joon smiled faintly, grateful beyond measure that the club president had captured that exact second. A perfect image—one that mirrored Min-jun's inner light with striking clarity.

Han-ah, he thought tenderly, warmth rising in his chest. How did you manage to stay so innocent all these years?

He knew the answer even before it fully surfaced.

I guess… Chang-min hyung must have looked after you a lot.

His smile deepened, touched with a hint of melancholy, as he imagined the long years Min-jun had spent under that quiet, watchful care—sheltered, but not caged. Nurtured in a way that allowed that light to flourish. And now, that same light had found its way into Seung-joon's own guarded world.

Seung-joon's gaze remained fixed on the photo, but his thoughts drifted elsewhere—beyond the frame and into the intricate dynamic between Min-jun and Chang-min. A puzzle he had long brushed aside was slowly coming into focus.

There had always been something about the way Chang-min looked at Min-jun—an emotion that was difficult to define. At first glance, it could easily be mistaken for a lover's gaze: intense, unwavering, and quietly consuming. Seung-joon had, in fact, assumed that at one point. The subtle tensing of Chang-min's jaw when someone got too close to Min-jun, the unspoken command in his eyes when he intervened to shield him—it had all seemed like signs of a hidden infatuation.

But now, with time and careful reflection, Seung-joon began to understand it wasn't love in the romantic sense. It was something much deeper, something far more enduring. Chang-min's gaze wasn't rooted in desire—it was rooted in care.

It was the kind of gaze a parent might cast upon a child. Not born from blood, but from something even more resilient: chosen love, forged in years of silent devotion.

Seung-joon recalled the countless little things—how Chang-min instinctively reached for Min-jun's bag to carry it without a word, how his eyes scanned a room to make sure Min-jun was comfortable before even sitting down himself. The way he always remembered how Min-jun liked his food, the careful way he shielded him from people and pain alike.

You've raised him in your own quiet way, Seung-joon thought, the realization settling heavily in his chest. You've been his guardian long before anyone else even noticed he needed one.

A strange ache bloomed inside him—not jealousy, but admiration tinged with guilt. He had once been envious of Chang-min's closeness with Min-jun, but now he only felt a sense of quiet awe. Because loving someone that deeply, that selflessly, was a rare thing.

Han-ah, Seung-joon thought, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips. I'll try to follow Chang-min hyung's example. I know he always keeps you happy. The thought offered him a rare kind of peace—a quiet anchor in the swirl of his emotions. A sense of resolve began to settle in his chest. If Chang-min could guard Min-jun's happiness so steadfastly, then maybe—just maybe—Seung-joon could find his own way to do the same.

These thoughts still lingered in his mind as he trailed behind Min-jun into the empty classroom. The door clicked shut behind them, the sound oddly loud in the otherwise still room. Seung-joon barely had time to steady his breath when Min-jun turned to him, closing the space between them. His hands settled on Seung-joon's shoulders, firm and warm, and his eyes—so deep, so startlingly earnest—locked onto Seung-joon's with a force that made his heart lurch.

"Joon-ah, what's your relationship with the Hwang twins?" Min-jun asked, his voice laced with nervous urgency, his eyes scanning Seung-joon's face as if searching for a truth long buried beneath layers of silence.

Seung-joon stood still, the question catching him off guard—not because he didn't expect it, but because it was Min-jun asking. The closeness between them made everything feel more fragile. His gaze lingered on Min-jun's face—so close, so earnest. In that moment, Min-jun seemed impossibly handsome, his features bathed in the soft morning light filtering through the blinds, his worry-painted eyes more captivating than ever.

"They're my brothers, hyung," Seung-joon said at last, the words quiet but steady.

Min-jun's brow furrowed, his confusion written plainly across his face. "But… your surname is Kim."

A flicker of hesitation passed through Seung-joon's eyes. "I'm adopted," he said softly, watching Min-jun's face closely, wondering if this revelation would change anything between them.

Before Min-jun could respond, the classroom door burst open with a force that made it slam against the wall. The sharp crack echoed through the air, jolting them both. The twins stormed in, their presence overwhelming the quiet tension that had hung so delicately between Seung-joon and Min-jun.

Seung-joon's breath caught in his throat. He didn't have to look to know the storm in Tae-jon's eyes—he felt it like a chill against his skin. Without a word, Tae-jon strode forward and seized Seung-joon's arm, his grip firm but not painful—just commanding, leaving no room for resistance.

Seung-joon's heart sank for the first time in a long while, the sensation cold and unfamiliar. The warmth of the moment with Min-jun dissipated instantly, replaced by a crushing heaviness that wrapped around his chest.

As he was pulled toward the door, he turned his head—just for a second—and found Min-jun still standing there. Pale. Frozen. His wide eyes were filled with disbelief, as if the scene unfolding before him was something he couldn't yet process.

Their eyes locked.

Han-ah... I'm sorry.