Cries and rejection

Beom-soo's POV:

"Why are you doing this? To me? Why?!!"

Tae-min's voice cracked as he yelled, loud enough to shake something in the silence between us.

I stared at him, stunned.

"What do you mean?" I asked, even though some part of me already knew.

His fists clenched at his sides, knuckles white.

"I… I was the one who loved you since forever! And you're choosing him over me?! What's so good about him and not me?!"

His voice broke completely at the end.

The words hit like glass shattering on the floor—jagged, irreversible.

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.

Tae-min's shoulders trembled.

He kept talking. A mess of confessions, curses, accusations—like everything he had been holding in for years was suddenly bleeding out.

And then—

He broke.

Right in front of us.

Tears streamed down his face, and he didn't even try to wipe them. He just… crumbled.

A boy who always stood tall, always laughed the loudest, now stood hunched and shattered in the middle of a schoolyard fight he didn't win—could never win.

Me and Han-jae—we just stood there.

Silent.

Frozen.

What could we even say?

What do you say to someone who loves you like that… but too late?

I looked at him—my childhood friend, my first companion in everything—and all I could feel was guilt.

Because he was crying.

Because I made him cry.

Because I couldn't return that kind of love, no matter how long it's been waiting.

I felt Han-jae beside me shift. He didn't speak either.

And maybe that was the cruelest part.

The silence.

The fact that we had each other now—and he had no one.

Beom-soo steps forward slowly, trying to place a hand on Tae-min's shoulder—but Tae-min flinches.

"Don't," he whispers. "Don't pity me."

But Beom-soo says gently, "I'm not pitying you. I just—wish I knew earlier."

Tae-min turns his head, tears still running, but his voice is quieter now.

"If I walk away now… don't come after me again. Just let me forget."

Han-jae watches Beom-soo take a step toward Tae-min.

Something sharp coils in his chest. Jealousy? Rage? Fear?

He grabs Beom-soo's wrist—not hard, but firm.

"You don't need to say anything," Han-jae murmurs. "Not to him."

Tae-min sees it. The way Han-jae holds him.

"You two deserve each other," he spits, before walking away.

That night, Beom-soo couldn't sleep. He kept hearing Tae-min's voice—cracked, trembling.

Han-jae stayed over again, but neither of them spoke much.

In the quiet, Beom-soo whispered, "Was I cruel?"

Han-jae didn't answer. He just reached for his hand under the blanket.

Han-jae's POV:

The classroom was quiet after lunch. A rare moment of calm. I was alone by the windows, flipping through my notebook when a shadow fell over my desk.

"Han-jae," a soft voice called.

I looked up. Yoon-ah stood there, wringing the hem of her sleeve.

"…Yeah?" I answered, closing my book halfway.

She glanced around nervously—no one else was around. Then she took a deep breath and said it:

> "I like you."

Silence. Just the tick of the wall clock and the sound of her heartbeat pounding in her ears—loud enough I swore I could hear it too.

"I've liked you for a while now," she continued. "Even before I transferred. I used to hear things about you from Nam-woo and… I don't know. I thought maybe you'd notice me."

I stared at her.

Not cold. But not warm either.

> She didn't know.

She didn't know the rumors weren't just rumors. She didn't know about Beom-soo. About what I wanted. About how far I'd already gone just to have him.

I stood up slowly. "Yoon-ah…"

"I know," she cut in quickly. "You probably don't like me. But I just—wanted you to know. And even if you don't feel the same… can't we just try?"

She stepped closer. Her voice lowered to something gentler. Sweeter.

"You don't have to give me an answer now. Just… let me stay by your side?"

Before I could move, she reached for me. Her hands brushed my chest—one of them trembling, her eyes locked on mine like she was looking for hope.

She leaned up suddenly—fast—close enough that I caught the scent of her hair.

> She was going to kiss me.

"Yoon-ah," I said sharply, pushing her gently but firmly away by the shoulders.

She blinked. Confused. Hurt.

> "Don't."

My voice was colder than I meant it to be.

She stepped back, stunned. "I-I'm sorry… I thought…"

I didn't reply. Just looked at her with something unreadable.

She swallowed, bowed slightly, and hurried out of the room.

I stood there for a while, rubbing the spot on my chest where she touched.

Not out of guilt.

But because I couldn't believe anyone else thought they had a chance.

> I left the classroom and texted only one person:

"Where are you?"

We didn't call it a date.

But we both knew what it was.

Beom-soo texted me the night before:

> "Wear the thing I gave you."

"And meet me two blocks behind the station. 3PM. No one else."

I stared at the clothes on my bed for a long time after.

A cream-colored oversized hoodie with a small stitched teddy bear near the hem.

Matching cream shorts and white sneakers.

The whole thing made me look… cute. Childish, even.

But I wore it.

When I got there, he was already leaning against a wall, hands in his pockets like he didn't know he was hot as hell. Black bomber jacket. Cream T-shirt. Cream joggers. Same sneakers.

He looked at me, then at our clothes, then smirked.

> "Cute," he said.

I rolled my eyes. "You're the one who picked this."

He stepped forward and tugged lightly on the teddy bear patch near my pocket.

> "Still cute."

We kept it lowkey—hoods up, caps on. No one from school would notice us this far out anyway.

Still, we stayed close. But not too close. Just enough.

We got snacks from a street cart. Walked by the river. Took dumb photos with purikura machines where I covered my face with stickers and he made peace signs like a dork.

> "Why do you always act like you're shy?" he asked as we sat at a bench, sipping bubble tea.

> "Because I am," I muttered.

He leaned closer, resting his chin on my shoulder.

> "Still cute," he repeated.

I didn't reply. Just blushed so hard I had to sip my drink to cover it.

Then suddenly, he whispered:

> "You're mine, right?"

I nodded slowly, heart thudding.

> "Yeah. I'm yours."

> "Say it again."

> "I'm yours."

He grinned and tapped my drink.

> "Finish that fast. I'm taking you to the arcade next. I want to win you something."