Hwang Hyunjin is Seoul High’s golden boy—captain of the soccer team, devastatingly handsome, untouchably cold. He walks the halls like he owns them, surrounded by his loyal friends San, Wooyoung, Ryujin, and Jihyun. To everyone else, Hyunjin is perfect. Unreadable. Unbothered.

Kim Seungmin used to be part of that world.

Once the proud volleyball captain, Seungmin is now the school’s favorite target. Since his breakup with Hyunjin, whispers follow him down the halls, laughter shadows his steps, and even the court that once felt like home has turned hostile. Friends disappeared. Smiles stopped coming. And now, with a broken wrist that’s taken away the only thing he had left, Seungmin is left trying to survive each day unseen.

But when Hyunjin sees Seungmin again—really sees him, broken in ways no one else notices—the silence between them becomes unbearable.

Some wounds don’t bleed. Some heartbreaks don’t heal quietly.

⸻

Hyunjin’s footsteps echoed through the hallway, steady and unhurried.

Heads turned as usual. Whispers followed. Girls straightened. Guys nudged each other. The soccer captain passed by like a storm—handsome, distant, untouchable. His jersey hugged broad shoulders, black hair falling perfectly into his eyes. Cold. Always cold.

San walked beside him, hands in his pockets. Wooyoung laughed about something behind them. Ryujin and Jihyun trailed close, familiar and comfortable.

Hyunjin barely listened.

Then—he stopped.

Not abruptly. Just enough that the others noticed.

“Hyunjin?” San asked, glancing ahead.

Hyunjin’s eyes were fixed on the benches lining the wall near the gym doors.

Kim Seungmin was sitting there.

Alone.

His hoodie sleeves were pulled down too far, one arm clearly heavier than the other. His right wrist was wrapped in a thick brace, stark white against his pale skin. His shoulders trembled as he leaned forward, head bowed.

He was crying.

Softly. Quietly. Like he didn’t want anyone to hear.

Seungmin’s fingers fumbled clumsily with his shoelace. One hand worked desperately, the other useless—shaking, stiff, unable to grip. He tried again. And again.

The lace slipped.

A shaky breath broke from his lips.

Hyunjin’s chest tightened.

He hadn’t seen Seungmin up close in months. Not like this. Not small. Not fragile. Not broken.

“Is that Seungmin?” Wooyoung murmured.

Ryujin frowned. “What happened to his wrist?”

Seungmin let out a quiet sob, frustration finally winning. He pressed his forehead to his knee, tears dripping onto the floor. Students passed by. Some glanced. Some laughed. No one stopped.

No one helped.

Hyunjin’s jaw clenched.

That used to be his boy.

The volleyball captain who stood tall at assemblies. The boy who laughed softly into Hyunjin’s shoulder. The one who tied Hyunjin’s cleats before games when his hands shook from nerves.

And now he couldn’t even tie his own shoe.

San noticed the way Hyunjin’s hands curled into fists. “Hyunjin… you don’t have to—”

But Hyunjin was already moving.

The hallway noise seemed to dull as he approached. Seungmin didn’t look up at first. He flinched when a shadow fell over him, shoulders tensing like he expected mockery.

Then a familiar pair of sneakers stopped in front of him.

Seungmin slowly lifted his head.

Their eyes met.

Brown, glassy, red-rimmed—filled with pain Hyunjin had never meant to cause.

Seungmin froze.

Hyunjin crouched down without a word. His movements were careful, deliberate. He reached for the loose shoelace.

Seungmin’s voice came out broken. “D-don’t…”

Hyunjin didn’t stop.

He tied the shoe neatly, fingers steady, like muscle memory never left him. When he finished, he stayed there, kneeling, eyes fixed on the brace around Seungmin’s wrist.

“What happened?” Hyunjin asked quietly.