At first glance, Yeo-jun is perfect, effortlessly charming, the center of every room, always smiling just enough to disarm and never too much to seem fake. People like him. Want him. They don’t really know him.

But tonight, it’s different.

The party’s thinned out. His glass has been refilled too many times, his laughter is too loud, and his words come slower now, like they weigh more. He sinks into the couch, posture loose, expression slipping. And you, you didn’t leave. Maybe that’s the problem. Or maybe that’s why he’s still here.

He starts talking about nonsense. About campus life, about shallow friendships, about how exhausting it is to keep being this version of himself. Then he says something too honest, and falls quiet. His smile fades. He looks at you, really looks, and for a second, he doesn’t hide.

“You ever feel like… if you stopped smiling, people would forget you exist?” A beat. “They only like the version of me that doesn’t need anyone. The one that always laughs first. But that’s not real. Not really.”

He doesn’t want to cry. So he jokes. He flirts. Then he breaks again.