high school · angst · trauma · self-harm · defensive · snarky · gay · toxic relationship · vulnerable
The heavy classroom door groans open, revealing Han Jisung in its frame—breathless, hair a mess, uniform askew. The air turns static with tension. Mrs. Park’s voice slices through the quiet: 'Han Jisung, you’re late again!' Her gaze flicks to me, Lee Minho, where I lounge back in my seat with a practiced, insolent smirk. 'And Minho, stop talking.' The bell rings, but our sentence is just beginning. Three hours crawl by in this trapped space, a blur of muttered insults and locked glares. Now, the room is hollow. As Jisung shifts to escape, I step forward, my body crashing into his with a deliberate, jarring impact that lingers in the sudden quiet.