Clad in an oversized hoodie, your dark curly hair tumbles forward, concealing your eyes and most of your face, a welcome barrier against the surrounding bustle.

You navigate the crowded school corridor, the weight of the final year at high school pressing down like the heavy textbooks in your bag.

Each day molds into the next, marked by In-woo's steady stream of demands.

He stands by the lockers, his stance casual yet imposing, his face giving nothing away. He catches your eye with a look that pins you in place.

In-woo: I need you to run some errands, grab my lunch, and don’t forget to pick up my math homework from the printer. Make it quick, okay?

You nod, resigned. There's no escaping the routine. Every task is an echo of the years spent under his quiet dominance. You never use your money for his errands; he makes sure of it, a small token that doesn’t soften the burden of your duties.

As you walk away, his next words float towards you, as predictable as the setting sun.

In-woo: Oh, and check the homework for errors. You know how I like it done.

The cafeteria is bustling, a cacophony of adolescent energy and the clatter of trays. You fulfill his lunch order, the familiar pang of annoyance softened by the routine discovery of a burger among the items—a small treat he includes, unspoken, for you.

It's a strange, silent concession from him, a confusing gesture that adds complexity to your tangled feelings.

Shin-woo: (Why does he bother? Is it guilt... or something else?)

Back at the lockers, you hand him the neatly stacked papers and the food, his fingers brushing against yours briefly, unintentionally. His expression remains unreadable, his eyes not meeting yours.

In-woo: Thanks. And remember, I need the project draft by tomorrow.

You turn away, the frustration simmering inside. His indifference is a mask, the reasons behind his actions as obscured as his emotions. Every favor you do, every task you complete, you’re left with more questions than answers.

Shin-woo: (One day, I won't be doing this anymore.)

But for now, you move to the next class, the taste of the burger bittersweet on your tongue.

[Transition]

You navigate the quieting halls after your last class, anticipating the solitude of your walk home when you spot In-woo near the old, rarely used art room. It's not a surprise—more of a routine encounter.

He positions himself intentionally in your path, a silent sentinel with an unspoken expectation.

Shin-woo: (So it's this again. Might as well get it over with.)

With no spoken command needed, you walk over, feeling the invisible tug of his presence. This enforced ritual has turned into a personal challenge for you to fill his silence with a flood of your daily trivialities, hoping to drown him in the mundane details of your life.

Today, you launch into an animated recount of your younger sibling’s latest antics, the words pouring out in a relentless stream.

He stands there, a stoic figure, giving nothing away as you chatter about the mess at breakfast, the chaos of getting everyone out the door, and the comedy of errors that followed.

Shin-woo: (Maybe today’s the day he decides he’s had enough of my ramblings.)

Your monologue drifts to the more tedious aspects of your day—how you nearly fell asleep in history class, the peculiar smell of the school cafeteria, or the peculiar way your pen keeps leaking.

It’s a litany of the profoundly ordinary, delivered with a hope that maybe, just maybe, he’ll grow tired of these one-sided sessions.

Despite your efforts, In-woo remains as impassive as ever, his face a mask of indifference. Is he even listening, or are you just background noise to him?

Shin-woo: (Does he find this amusing, or is it just another way to exert control?)

As the corridor empties, leaving echoes in its wake, your stories begin to run dry. You look at him, trying to gauge any sign of boredom or irritation, but his expression is unreadable—locked away behind a façade of detachment.

Finally, without a word, In-woo turns and begins to walk away, his departure as silent and enigmatic as his vigil.

Shin-woo: (What would he do if I just stopped talking one day?)

You watch him disappear around the corner, the weight of unspoken questions lingering in the air. Picking up your backpack, you start towards the exit, pondering the peculiar form of attention he gives you, wondering if it means more than you realize.

Shin-woo: (Would he still find a reason to keep me around if I no longer played the part?)

With that thought, you step out into the fading daylight, the mystery of In-woo’s intentions mingling with the crisp evening air.

[Transition]

You stride down the school corridor, your thoughts swirling with the conflicting emotions that have haunted you through the years. The echoes of your footsteps mingle with the whispers of your internal turmoil—a constant battle between disdain and desire.

Shin-woo: (Why does he have to be like this? Why can't I just hate him?)

As you pass by, your eyes catch sight of In-woo in the library, helping a younger student reach a book on a high shelf. His movements are graceful, effortless.

His face, usually so impassive when he looks at you, softens with a smile that doesn't reach his eyes but lights up his features all the same. The sight tugs at something deep within you.

Shin-woo: (Look at him... even when he smiles, it's like he's not really there. But it's enough to make my heart skip, isn't it?)

You lean against the lockers, watching him interact with her—a stark contrast to how he treats you. The girl giggles, thanking him, and he nods with a trace of that unreachable smile.

As they part ways, your heart tightens, the familiar pang of jealousy and longing squeezing tightly.

Shin-woo: (Why her? What does she have that I don’t? It’s not like I want his kindness, but...)

The bell rings, pulling you from your reverie, but the image of his gentle smile lingers in your mind. You push off from the lockers, forcing your legs to move, dragging your tangled emotions along the tiled floor.

Shin-woo: (He's so confusing... so frustrating. I hate how much I pay attention, but I can't stop. It's like being stuck in a loop, always back to square one with him.)

As you turn the corner, your eyes inadvertently search for another glimpse of him, a habit you despise yet indulge in every time. The complex weave of your feelings tightens with each sighting, each casual interaction he has that you witness from afar.

Shin-woo: (And every time he's kind, every time he smiles at someone else, it feels like a small betrayal. Why do I even care? Why can't I just turn off these feelings?)

You head to class, the weight of your unspoken questions and unresolved emotions clouding your mind like a fog that refuses to lift. Each step is a reminder of the turbulent journey through your schooling years, marked by the paradox of resentment and yearning, never quite settling on either.

[Transition]

Saturday morning unfolds slowly at your home, the air filled with the laughter and occasional squabbles of your younger siblings.

As you step into the living room, your eyes immediately find Dae-hyun, 5 years old, constructing a fortress out of cushions on the sofa. His eyes light up when he sees you, and a grin spreads across his face.

Dae-hyun: Hyeong! Help me make it bigger!

You can’t help but smile at his enthusiasm, bending down to assist him with his architectural endeavor. His small hands clumsily adjust the cushions you strategically place, his giggles infectious.

Shin-woo: (He’s always so full of joy. How can he not make my day brighter?)

Next, you find Byung-ho, 6 years old, engrossed in a makeshift game of pirates, his toy sword swishing through the air as he navigates the treacherous carpet seas. He spots you and immediately recruits you as his first mate.

Byung-ho: You gotta help me find the treasure, or walk the plank!

His expression is stern, but the twinkle in his eyes betrays his playful spirit. You join his game, following his lead as he outlines the rules with the seriousness of a sea captain.

Shin-woo: (His imagination is boundless. He just pulls everyone into his world, and it’s impossible not to laugh along.)

Meanwhile, Iseul is at the kitchen table, working on her homework but clearly struggling to focus. Her brow is furrowed, and she occasionally scribbles something, then sighs heavily—a pre-teen of 8 years old wrapped up in the drama of schoolwork and growing up.

You approach, leaning over her shoulder to glance at the problem that’s causing her frustration.

Shin-woo: Need some help?

Iseul looks up, her expression a mix of relief and stubborn independence.

Iseul: Maybe just a little. But I can do most of it myself!

Her tone is a blend of the capricious pre-teen attitude you’re starting to see more often, but her eyes are grateful that you’re there to help.

Shin-woo: (She’s at that tricky age, trying to be big but still needing her big brother.)

As you sit down to guide her through the math problem, explaining the steps with patient gestures, Dae-hyun clambers into your lap, snuggling close. The warmth of his small body and the focus on Iseul’s homework encapsulate the dual role you play in their lives—protector and mentor.

Byung-ho’s victorious shout as he ‘finds’ his treasure fills the room, blending with Iseul’s relieved “Ah, I get it now!” and Dae-hyun’s contented sigh as he begins to drift off to sleep in your arms.

Shin-woo: (This is home. This is what keeps me grounded amidst everything else.)

You balance the weight of your youngest brother in your arms with the weight of your family’s needs, the love you have for them making every challenge worthwhile.

Time passes quietly as you hold Dae-hyun close, his breathing deep and steady as he sleeps against your chest. The day drifts into a peaceful lull, the quiet moments with your siblings grounding you.

Eventually, the stillness of the afternoon is broken by the soft creak of the front door. Your mom slips out quietly, heading off to another long shift, her departure a familiar routine. The door closes with a soft click that echoes through the now-quiet apartment.

It’s a sound you’re all too familiar with, one that signals the start of another stretch where she’ll be at work, trying to keep everything together for the family.

The weight of her absence sits heavily on your shoulders, a reminder of the responsibilities you’ve taken on since your dad passed away four years ago.

Shin-woo: (She’s always so tired… She never complains, but I can see it. I just wish she didn’t have to work so hard.)

You glance around the small apartment, now eerily quiet without the usual hum of activity. It’s moments like this when you miss your mom the most—not just her presence, but the way she used to laugh more freely before everything became about surviving.

Shin-woo: (I don’t want to bother her with my problems. She’s dealing with enough as it is.)

Your thoughts are interrupted by the familiar knock at the door. You already know who it is before you open it. Eun-ho, your childhood friend, stands there with a grin that could rival the sun.

He doesn’t need an invitation, stepping inside like he’s done a thousand times before.

Eun-ho: Yo, you look like you’re thinking too much again. Time to knock that off.

He drops his bag by the couch, plopping down like it’s his own home. In many ways, it is. The two of you have spent countless weekends and holidays here, filling the silence with laughter and mischief. Eun-ho’s presence always has a way of lightening the atmosphere, his energy infectious.

You roll your eyes at his usual teasing, but there’s comfort in it, in the familiarity of his banter.

Shin-woo: (He always knows how to distract me, even when I don’t ask for it.)

You join him on the couch, and he immediately starts goofing around, poking you in the ribs until you’re both laughing like kids again. This is your escape—a brief reprieve from the worries that usually occupy your mind.

He throws an arm around your shoulders, his voice dropping into that playful tone he uses whenever he wants to get a rise out of you.

Eun-ho: So, what’s new with your boyfriend, In-woo? Still making you run all his errands?

You freeze for a second, shooting him a glare, but it lacks real heat. He’s the only person who knows about your complicated feelings for In-woo, and he’s never let you live it down.

But you also know it comes from a place of understanding, not judgment.

Shin-woo: He’s not my boyfriend, and you know it.

Eun-ho smirks, raising an eyebrow.

Eun-ho: Right, right. So, you’re just his unpaid assistant who happens to be head over heels for him?

You groan, leaning back against the couch, trying to will away the flush that creeps up your neck. He’s relentless, but that’s just who Eun-ho is. He knows how to push your buttons, but it’s also his way of showing he cares.

Shin-woo: (He’s only teasing because he knows how I really feel… and because he’s probably right.)

The two of you settle into your usual routine—talking about everything and nothing, playing video games, and just enjoying the rare moments of peace when life doesn’t feel so heavy.

It’s these weekends that remind you you’re not alone, even when it feels like the world is on your shoulders.

As the evening draws on, Eun-ho eventually falls asleep on the couch, his arm draped over his eyes to block out the light. You watch him for a moment, the steady rise and fall of his chest calming your own racing thoughts.

Shin-woo: (He’s always been there for me, even when I didn’t know I needed him.)

You pull a blanket over him before heading to your room, the apartment now filled with the quiet sound of Eun-ho’s soft snores.

It’s not much, but these moments are enough to keep you going, to remind you that, no matter how tough things get, you’ve got someone in your corner.

And with that thought, you let yourself relax, knowing that tomorrow will bring its own challenges, but also knowing you won’t be facing them alone.