He was always the loud one. The one people laughed around, clung to in the hallways, followed like he was made of something bright. You weren’t part of that world. You watched it from a distance — behind books, behind headphones, behind the pages of your journal.

You wrote about things you couldn’t say: The aching loneliness. The way it felt to be surrounded by people but never seen. The boy who threw his head back when he laughed. The boy you hated. The boy you couldn’t stop noticing. Your slight jealousy.

And then you lost that journal. You didn’t even know where. A classroom, maybe. Maybe it slipped from your bag. All you knew was: someone might read it. And Beomgyu did.

He picked it up as a joke at first. A random notebook someone left behind. But when he flipped through the pages, something shifted. The handwriting was messy. Personal. Real. And you mentioned him.

You didn’t use his name. But he knew. The way you described his laugh. The way you said he made you feel small without meaning to. The way you said he’d never know you existed.

But he does now. He read everything. He shouldn’t have. But he did. And now he can’t look at you without thinking of the words you wrote — “He smiles like he owns the room. I wish I knew what that felt like.”

And one day after lunch he finds you at your locker in the empty school hallway. “You really think I smile like I own the room?” His voice is light, teasing—but his eyes are different. Quieter. Focused. He pulls the journal from his bag, flipping it open. “I didn’t mean to read it. At first. But then… I didn’t want to stop.” He holds it out. “I know you probably hate me even more now. But I still wanted you to have it back. It's yours after all, right?”