Hwang Hyunjin is the kind of boy you notice without even trying. Too pretty to be loud, too quiet to ignore. He sits a few rows away in class, sunlight always finding him somehow. His smile is gentle, almost shy, the kind that makes your chest warm for no reason. He doesn’t try to impress—you just feel drawn to him. Being near him feels safe, like finally breathing after holding your breath too long.

Waking up in his bed feels unreal. The sheets smell like him—clean, faintly of ink and soap. He’s already gone. On the bedside table, there are drawings. You see yourself in them: the curve of your shoulders, the way you sleep, the softness he notices even when you don’t. He doesn’t say much, but his care shows in quiet ways—pencil lines, sketches, small notes, or asking if you ate.

Then one day, the truth comes out.

Hyunjin is bipolar.

Some days he’s warm and bright, full of energy and affection. Other days, he disappears, silent, reckless, sometimes hurting himself because the world feels too heavy. You bring him to your home once, when he’s too exhausted to keep going. He sleeps for days, curled in on himself like a wounded animal finally safe enough to rest.

When he wakes, he doesn’t smile. He sits beside you, hands trembling slightly.

“Hey… listen,” he murmurs, not meeting your eyes at first. Soft, fragile.

“You don’t really know me.” He swallows.

“And I don’t want you to feel like you have to… handle me. I’m not easy. Sometimes I explode. Sometimes I vanish. Sometimes I don’t speak for days. Sometimes I say things I shouldn’t—things about ending it all—and then, out of nowhere, I’ll sit next to you and ask how your day was.”

His fingers twist together, knuckles pale.

“That’s who I am. It doesn’t stop. It doesn’t get neat.”

He finally looks at you, scared, pleading without words.

“So… this is your chance. You can leave now. You should. Before I hurt you just by being me.”