Three days after visiting Seung-min's house, Youn-jun decided he had seen enough tragedy for one semester.
This was how he explained it to himself, at least.
In reality, he had spent those three days thinking about marble floors, echoing hallways, and the way Seung-min had stood in front of him without hesitation. He kept remembering the bedroom that looked more like a hotel suite than a place someone slept, the untouched tea, the careful quiet in every corner.
Most of all, he kept remembering how normal Seung-min had acted through all of it.
As if coldness was simply weather one learned to dress for.
Jun did not like that thought.
So when the final bell rang on Thursday, he grabbed Seung-min by the sleeve before the other boy could escape.
"You're coming to my house."
Seung-min glanced down at the hand on his uniform. "Am I?"
"Yes."
"I have work."
"You're seventeen."
"Student council work."
Jun scoffed. "Corruption. Abuse of power. I'm the president now."
"You're not even on the council."
"I'm president in spirit."
Seung-min gently removed Jun's hand from his sleeve. "I need to review economics."
"Perfect. We'll review economics at my house."
"You don't review. You panic theatrically and hope I save you."
"That is still a system."
Without waiting for agreement, Jun slung his own bag over one shoulder and started toward the gate. After a brief pause, footsteps followed behind him.
Jun smiled to himself and did not turn around.
Jun's home announced itself long before the front door opened.
There was music somewhere inside. Someone was arguing cheerfully in the kitchen. A dog barked from the backyard, followed by Jun's younger sister yelling that she had done nothing wrong.
Seung-min stopped in the entryway.
Jun glanced back. "What?"
"It's loud."
"It's called life."
"It sounds inefficient."
Jun laughed and kicked off his shoes. "Mother! I brought Min!"
There was a crash in the kitchen, then rapid footsteps. Jun's mother appeared wearing an apron dusted in flour, her face lighting up immediately.
"Min-ah!"
Before Seung-min could brace himself, she had both hands on his shoulders and was inspecting him with the severity of a military commander.
"You've gotten thinner."
"I don't think that's possible in three days," Jun said.
"No one asked you."
She turned back to Seung-min. "Did you eat lunch?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Properly?"
Jun snorted. "He had a triangle of bread and one grape."
Seung-min gave him a flat look. "That is exaggerated."
"You had two grapes?"
Jun's mother clicked her tongue. "Sit down. Both of you. I'm making snacks."
"We came to study," Seung-min said.
"Wonderful," she replied. "Study while eating."
There was no arguing with her. Even Seung-min seemed to know this.
Jun led him to the dining table, where books were quickly spread across the surface already cluttered with fruit bowls, unopened mail, and a half-finished craft project no one could identify.
"This is chaos," Seung-min said.
"This," Jun corrected proudly, "is atmosphere."
They managed twenty productive minutes before Jun's sister wandered in.
She was thirteen, suspicious by nature, and immediately narrowed her eyes at Seung-min.
"So you're the famous one."
Seung-min looked mildly alarmed. "I am?"
"She talks about you all the time," Jun said helpfully.
"I do not," she snapped. Then, to Seung-min: "Can you help me with math?"
Jun pointed at her. "Traitor. Ask me."
"I prefer success."
Seung-min, to Jun's annoyance, accepted instantly.
Within minutes he was explaining equations while Jun watched from across the table, deeply offended by how naturally his family adopted him every single time.
His mother returned with a tray of sliced fruit, toast, dumplings, and enough snacks for a small conference.
"We're only three people," Jun said.
"Then eat like three people."
She set a plate directly in front of Seung-min.
Jun stared. "I came from school too."
"You know where the kitchen is."
"This household has favorites."
"Yes," his mother said. "And?"
Seung-min lowered his eyes, but Jun caught the faintest hint of a smile.
By evening, rain had begun tapping softly against the windows.
The house grew cozier in that effortless way it always did—lights warmer, voices softer, the smell of dinner drifting from the stove.
Jun had long since abandoned economics and was now lying across two chairs dramatically.
"I'm failing," he declared.
"You are not," Seung-min said without looking up.
"I feel like I'm failing."
"That is unrelated to academics."
Jun threw a pencil at him.
Seung-min caught it one-handed and placed it neatly aside.
Jun sat up. "You're irritatingly competent."
"So I've been told."
Jun opened his mouth to reply, then stopped.
Seung-min looked tired.
Not obviously. Anyone else would have missed it. But Jun noticed the slight delay in his blinking, the loosened posture, the way he had been rubbing the same spot on his wrist unconsciously for the past ten minutes.
"Hey," Jun said.
"Hm?"
"When did you sleep last?"
"I sleep regularly."
"That wasn't an answer."
Seung-min finally looked at him. "Two."
Jun stared. "Two hours?"
"Mm."
"Why?"
"Studying."
"You're stupid."
"That seems harsh."
Jun stood, walked around the table, and took the pen from Seung-min's hand.
"What are you doing?"
"Saving your life."
"I don't need—"
"Yes, you do." Jun tugged lightly at his sleeve. "Come here."
He led him to the living room sofa and pushed him down by the shoulders.
Seung-min blinked up at him. "You've become violent lately."
"Sleep."
"I can't."
"You can."
"There's noise."
Jun looked around. His sister was singing badly upstairs. Pots clanged in the kitchen. Rain pattered outside.
He softened.
"Oh," he said quietly.
For a second, Seung-min's expression shifted—something small and unguarded.
Jun disappeared down the hallway and returned with a folded blanket.
"You can still hear everything," Seung-min said.
"I know." Jun draped the blanket over him anyway. "But it's my everything, so maybe it helps."
The room went still.
Seung-min's fingers tightened once around the edge of the blanket.
Then, very quietly, he said, "It does."
Jun pretended not to feel strange about that.
"Good. Sleep."
He turned to leave, but a hand caught the cuff of his sleeve.
Jun looked down.
Seung-min's eyes were already half-closed.
"Stay," he murmured.
The word was soft enough to be mistaken for breath.
Jun stood there for a moment, heart stumbling over itself for reasons he refused to inspect too closely.
Then he sat on the floor beside the sofa, resting his arms on the cushion.
"Okay."
Within minutes, Seung-min was asleep.
Jun watched rain slide down the window glass. He listened to the sounds of his family moving through the house, the clatter and laughter and ordinary mess of it.
Then he looked at Seung-min's sleeping face.
The lines of tension had eased. He looked younger like this. Less guarded. Almost peaceful.
Jun reached up without thinking and brushed a strand of hair from his forehead.
The house felt full in a different way tonight.
As if something had returned to it.
Much later, when Seung-min woke to dim lights and the smell of dinner, Jun was still there on the floor, asleep against the sofa with his head tilted awkwardly.
For a long moment, Seung-min simply looked at him.
Then he pulled the blanket higher and covered them both.