As the time to choose a career path approached, Min Sanghan gradually began to interfere in Min Yugeon’s life. Fueled by dissatisfaction over the lab director who had long since promised to retire but still clung to his position, and driven by an obsessive need to secure his own standing within the research center, Min Sanghan’s stress intensified. And as if to compensate for his frustrations, he began to believe more and more that Min Yugeon should follow in his footsteps.
Every time they faced each other at home, he would pester him with the same old refrain—stop fooling around and just get into research. He even tried dragging Min Yugeon to training sessions hosted by the lab or meetings with ship officers. But Min Yugeon, seeing no value in complying, would consistently ignore him. To Min Yugeon, his father no longer held enough sway to truly stress him out.
Still, there were times when he couldn’t help but feel a deep weariness toward his father’s unrestrained behavior. Especially when Min Sanghan, drunk, would start spewing insults about Seo Suho’s parents. No longer a child who couldn’t recognize pretense, Min Yugeon—just as Lee Minha once said—began to find his father pathetic, parading around in the disguise of an old friend while mocking Seo Suho’s family behind their backs. Whatever history lay between them, it was clear that Min Sanghan harbored a festering inferiority complex laced with an unexplainable envy.
“What are you doing?”
A familiar voice stirred him from his thoughts. Seo Suho was leaning back in a chair, gazing down at him. Their eyes met, and Seo Suho’s brows furrowed.
“Your eyes are bloodshot. Did you not sleep last night?”
“No.”
Min Yugeon calmly shook his head. After coldly brushing off his father again for mocking Seo Suho’s family, Min Sanghan had flown into one of his long-winded rages, leaving Min Yugeon unable to sleep. He’d caused such a commotion in the living room that Yugeon eventually heard him fighting with Lee Minha, too.
Knowing just how deeply Seo Suho loved his family, Min Yugeon always found it difficult to meet his gaze the day after hearing his father’s vile words. There was a guilt he couldn’t shake, something that kept him from acting like everything was fine. Yet Seo Suho never once pressed him for answers, perhaps not to burden him further—even though he surely sensed there was a reason behind Min Yugeon’s off mood.
“Yeah, right. I figured—skipped training too.”
Seo Suho clucked his tongue softly and gently cupped Min Yugeon’s face with his hand.
“There’s still some time before the next class. Just take a nap.”
Min Yugeon blinked at the hand blocking his view, then let out a faint smile. He grasped Seo Suho’s wrist and leaned his forehead into his palm. The coolness of Seo Suho’s skin felt soothing, helping to calm his overheated thoughts. His slightly lower body temperature had once been a worry, but since Seo Suho was generally healthy, Min Yugeon had come to enjoy that subtle chill—especially compared to his own heat-prone body.
“I told you, I’m fine. I slept well.”
Maybe it was the slight dip in his tone—lower than usual—that tipped Seo Suho off. He didn’t buy it. His gaze narrowed as it shifted to the faint smile at the corner of Min Yugeon’s lips.
“Why are you smiling?”
“Huh?”
“Don’t smile if you’re not okay.”
It hit like a punch. Min Yugeon sat there silently for a moment, then lowered Seo Suho’s hand. Though his expression remained composed, that familiar look of concern in Seo Suho’s eyes left him no choice but to let his smile fade. Seo Suho reached out with his free hand and gently stroked Min Yugeon’s hair. Min Yugeon looked up with a roll of his eyes.
“You could just cry or throw a fit like you used to when we were kids.”
“…That was ages ago.”
Min Yugeon stuck out his lower lip. The memory of sobbing miserably in Seo Suho’s arms surfaced, making his ears burn with embarrassment. He grumbled under his breath.
“Say stuff like that and I might really start crying.”
“Go ahead.”
“Seriously?”
“Cry.”
Seo Suho looked completely sincere. Thinking about it, Min Yugeon couldn’t recall a time when Seo Suho had ever said something he didn’t mean. Not even in jest. He never said frivolous things, not even as a joke. As he stared at Seo Suho’s calm face, Min Yugeon slowly pulled his lips back in. Instead, he nudged his head deeper into Seo Suho’s palm, as if silently asking for more. And Seo Suho, wordlessly, continued to run his hand through Min Yugeon’s hair. The soft strands scattered beneath his fingers.
Maybe it started when he was young—when he began hiding how he really felt behind a smile, not wanting to give Lee Minha, already burdened with her own worries, more to fret about because of him. Whether he was actually happy or not, Min Yugeon often wore a smile. Strangely enough, smiling sometimes made all the unpleasantness feel like it didn’t matter. It wasn’t a good reason, but the outcome hadn’t been bad, so he accepted it as a habit. Still, every so often, Seo Suho would quietly watch his smiles like he disliked them, like they made him uneasy.
But it wasn’t just his mother who shaped who he was. Even back when he couldn’t think rationally as a child, the person who gave him the courage to push back against Min Sanghan’s toxic words and actions was Seo Suho. Maybe it made him into someone more defiant, even abrasive—not exactly a good thing—but it was still thanks to Seo Suho.
“Sorry.”
The words tumbled out impulsively. Seo Suho’s gaze shifted to the back of Min Yugeon’s head.
“For what?”
“……”
A war waged between the part of him that didn’t want to say it and the part that felt he had to. Seo Suho had never asked anything of him, never demanded anything—but still, Min Yugeon wanted to be honest with him. Not just the kind of honesty that covered up little things to avoid worrying him—like just now—but the kind that didn’t hide messy truths, the kind that, someday, might end up hurting Seo Suho.
His lips sealed shut on their own. If he were to confess everything honestly, would Seo Suho’s gaze toward him turn cold? And would he then be blamed—for having stayed silent all this time, simply because he was afraid of that moment?
“There’s something I should’ve told you.”
Min Yugeon lifted his head, glanced briefly around the empty surroundings, then looked directly at Seo Suho. Seo Suho asked, his voice tinged with curiosity.
“To me?”
“Yeah.”
Sensing the gravity of the mood, Seo Suho silently turned the chair in front of him around and sat down face-to-face with Min Yugeon. With a look that urged him to speak, Min Yugeon hesitated before finally opening his mouth.
“Your parents… They’ve known my father for a long time, right?”
It was a sudden topic—his parents—but Seo Suho nodded.
“Yeah, they have.”
“But the truth is, my dad…”
Min Yugeon hesitated, unsure whether to recount exactly how cruelly Min Sanghan had spoken about Seo Suho’s parents behind their backs. He debated whether it was really necessary to go that far, but also felt that if he didn’t tell it all, it would mean nothing. With a pained, conflicted expression, Min Yugeon frowned. Seo Suho watched him in silence.
And when Min Yugeon still couldn’t bring himself to speak, Seo Suho opened his mouth first.
“Min Yugeon.”
“Yeah?”
“We don’t know everything that happened between those three.”
Min Yugeon stared blankly at him, stunned.
“There probably weren’t only good things in a relationship that long. They were colleagues who worked together too. I’m sure there are plenty of built-up feelings between them.”
It was as if he’d seen straight through what Min Yugeon had been about to say. Min Yugeon felt his heart begin to pound rapidly with tension. His lips parted to speak, but Seo Suho gently shook his head and continued first.
“And even if your dad did say some bad things… don’t think that’s your fault.”
“……”
“You don’t need to feel guilty for something you didn’t do.”
Min Yugeon fell silent, at a loss for words in the face of that firm tone. As Seo Suho looked into his wavering dark brown eyes, he tapped the back of Min Yugeon’s hand, which rested atop the desk. It felt like he was telling him to free himself from pointless worry.
It was an unexpected reaction—but embarrassingly enough, it was the exact one Min Yugeon had hoped for. He drew his hand inward and dropped his gaze. Seo Suho covered Min Yugeon’s hand with his own.
“If it’s something you’re uncomfortable talking about, you don’t have to say it.”
Though spoken bluntly, the emotion in his voice was unmistakably concern. Not because he didn’t care—on the contrary, Seo Suho cared so deeply that he was attuned enough to sense what Min Yugeon was struggling with and what might be weighing on his mind. That was why he could offer such understanding.
Seo Suho wasn’t someone who easily brought people into his world. He didn’t feel the need to form new relationships, and from the start, he found it difficult to approach others. Sometimes, Min Yugeon wondered if they would’ve stayed strangers too—if he hadn’t taken the initiative to approach Seo Suho when they were younger.
Receiving Seo Suho’s attention was something rare and sweet. The way he used to gaze at others with that bored, expressionless face—and the way his features would subtly soften whenever he looked at Min Yugeon—always left a deep sense of satisfaction. Sometimes he worried that feeling so satisfied by that might be shameful, but even so, Min Yugeon couldn’t help the selfish desire for Seo Suho’s affection to always be his and his alone.
And today, more than ever, all those feelings were making themselves known. Seo Suho’s quiet kindness, his thoughtful prioritizing of Min Yugeon’s emotions—just holding his hand like this—felt so comforting, so grateful… and so tender that it was almost disorienting.
Yeah. Tender was exactly the right word.
With his eyes closed, Min Yugeon slipped his fingers between Seo Suho’s and interlaced them. Their hands locked together tightly.
