Chapter 1

He woke up. His eyelids fluttered before slowly lifting. He stared at the ceiling as birds chirped beyond the window, sunlight glistening through the curtains and spilling over his skin. His face remained blank.

He was late. Again.

It had become a habit in his first year—arriving late to class, born from persistent procrastination and lack of motivation. That, in turn, had stemmed from the dread of returning to his loud, competitive classes and the silent weight of adjusting after his father's passing. None of that excused his ongoing behaviour. He knew that. But right now, none of it mattered. Right now, his stomach was screaming louder than his guilt.

After a quick wash and a half-hearted comb through his ragged black hair, he headed to the kitchen and grabbed the first thing within reach—a neatly placed store-bought bun sitting alone on the counter. It was coconut flavour, his mum's favourite. She probably left it for him. Or at least, that's what he told himself as he rushed out the door.

He had only wanted to sneak in unnoticed. Maybe he hadn’t quite grasped how flimsy the door was. The only empty seats were in the back corner or smack in the middle of the front row. Already humiliated, he headed for the corner, nodding awkwardly to the student seated nearby as he pulled out his chair.

“Never seen you in my batch. Different course?” the young man beside him whispered.

He returned a wary grin and extended an open palm. “Do you have a pen, by any chance?”

“I’m Leonis, by the way. Psychology major. Not that into it, but it was easy to get in.”

Haneul preferred traditional painting—oils, brushes, raw canvas textures. But the university didn’t offer a dedicated fine arts course, not unless you could afford the private schools nestled in the town area. Those institutes gleamed with prestige, but their gates were greased more by money than merit. The kind of places where getting in wasn’t only about talent—it was about being able to afford not to fail. That world felt impossible to reach, especially with his family’s financial situation already stretched thin... and his body weighed down by health struggles that didn’t often make it to the surface of conversations.

“Ah! Then I’m lucky!” Leonis grinned even wider, voice dropping into a playful tone. “Someone who’s good at art. I can totally depend on you for this elective, yeah, Haneul?”

Haneul blinked at him.

He squinted, slowly turning his head with the kind of blank stare that masked judgment. Oh, he’s one of those. Design? Illustration? Fine art? All the same to people like Leonis.

“There’s a difference, you know.. and no, I’m not going to help you,” Haneul said flatly, already sensing the chaotic energy bleeding off him like a leaking highlighter.

Leonis chuckled, completely unbothered. “Worth a shot.”

It was officially the second year of university, but Haneul had already decided to skip the first few days, which were reserved solely for orientation. The previous year had blurred by in a haze of missed classes and hollow excuses. He hadn’t avoided orientation out of rebellion—honestly, he just didn’t have the energy.

People often labelled him lazy, but the truth was far more complicated. His health condition wasn’t just about headaches or chronic fatigue; it came with a slew of psychosomatic symptoms that never made it into casual conversations. On top of that, there was the loneliness. He had no friends from his first year—no one to remind him where he needed to be, no one looking forward to seeing him on campus.

Still, today felt different.

The oil painting elective had given him a reason, however small, to show up. It was one of several cross-course electives meant to blend students from different disciplines and disrupt the usual cliques. Haneul chose oil painting—the same one Leonis had picked. According to their seniors, it was an easy A as long as you showed up and submitted your work on time. It was pretty clear who was there for the GPA bump and who actually enjoyed the craft.

Haneul glanced over at the student next to him.

The first thing he noticed was the hair—dirty blonde curls, loose and unruly, like they hadn’t seen a comb all morning. Yet somehow, it didn’t look messy. If anything, it fit. The waves framed a fair, almost porcelain-like face, the kind that belonged more in paintings than lecture halls. There was a quiet glow to his pale complexion, accentuated by the subtle contrast of his forest-green eyes—warm and surprisingly grounded. Eyes like that made someone feel instantly seen, and maybe even safe.

Leonis’s build was lean but athletic, though it was hard to tell at first glance. Leonis always had a habit of wearing long sleeves, like today’s red sweater, soft and slouchy at the shoulders. Underneath, a white collared shirt peeked out, crisp and deliberate. He paired it with relaxed-fit khaki trousers that landed just above his shoes. The outfit was effortless and comfortable—the kind of style you wore when you knew you didn’t have to try hard to look good.

Leonis stood out—not just tall and good-looking, but with the kind of presence that made people glance twice. That kind of “face card” didn’t just sit pretty—it drew attention, carved space. He walked like every hallway already belonged to him, not arrogantly, but with the quiet confidence of someone who knew he’d be recognized no matter what he said or wore.

And recognised he was. Across school blocks, people called out to him like he was a local celebrity. His name echoed in casual shouts and half-whispers—sometimes admiration, sometimes gossip. Loud, flirtatious, always talking—Leonis had that impossible-to-ignore energy. He wasn’t just extroverted; he thrived on connection. There were rumours, of course: that he was a player, that he never took anything seriously, that he flirted with literally anyone—including professors. And yet, as Haneul watched him genuinely try to make conversation, he started to think… maybe that wasn’t the whole story.

Because despite the charisma, the good looks, and the attention, Leonis didn’t come off as arrogant. In fact, he seemed curious. Present. He didn’t look through people—he looked at them. And now, for some reason, he was looking at Haneul like they could actually be friends. They were opposites, no doubt. But maybe, just maybe, this was the start of a friendship that neither of them knew they needed.

As the class settled in, the teacher began projecting a visual slide: a muted Renaissance portrait accompanied by the bold serif title “The Origins of Oil Painting.”

Haneul pulled out his notebook, the same one he’d abandoned halfway through the last semester. The teacher’s voice echoed clearly through the quiet lecture hall as he tried to focus, jotting scattered notes between each slide. But to his right, Leonis was already fidgeting—rocking back in his chair, he was clearly engaged—but with him.

Haneul suppressed a sigh.

Is this what the next two hours are gonna be like? he thought, eyes flicking sideways. Leonis was balancing his chair on its hind legs, whispering under his breath, nudging Haneul with a pointed elbow every time a new slide appeared.

Haneul barely turned his head.

How on earth do people tolerate this guy? Is it just the face card? God, he's annoying, he thought as Leonis hummed lowly next to him.

“So, what made you pick this elective?” Leonis whispered. “You an oil paint guy??”

He didn’t answer right away. He tapped his pen against the edge of the desk, steady but firm, a rhythmic little beat that hinted at his impatience. Then he spoke—not facing Leonis, just watching the slide change to a medieval icon painting.

“It’s forgiving,” he muttered. “Takes time to dry, so you can layer over stuff. Even strip paint off if you mess it up.”

Leonis blinked. “Huh.”

Haneul's pen stilled. “It’s like… the one medium where I can undo my mistakes. Unlike, you know, my real life.” He snorted once—half-laugh, half-cough at himself—and went back to copying bullet points.

Leonis scoffed lightly, but it wasn’t mocking. “Dude… that’s true.. but funny.”

Haneul rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitched.

The lesson drifted on. Sunlight pooled onto the desks as time slipped forward, and somewhere in the middle of a sentence about 15th-century Flemish underpainting techniques, Leonis shifted in his seat, leaning closer across the desk with a grin that suggested absolutely zero impulse control.

“I like you, man,” he said suddenly. “Also—I’m starving.”

He raised an eyebrow slowly. What on earth is up with this guy? He blinked once, then gave a deadpan reply.

“Right... anyway, there’s a café across the school.”

Leonis perked up instantly. “The one that sells curry puffs, right?!”

Haneul gave a single nod.

“Those are bangers,” Leonis said, grinning with eyes wide.

Haneul smirked despite himself. A glance at the ticking wall clock reminded him—he was hungrier than he thought.

The coconut bun hadn’t done much. His mother used to cook for him every morning back when his father was still around—things like warm sardine puffs or soft-boiled eggs with kaya toast, made with quiet care. But lately, her early shifts left the kitchen still and empty. Some days, there was nothing at all; other times, she left behind a small something from the pantry. Today’s bun felt like one of those last-minute offerings—something she grabbed on her way out, rushed but thoughtful.

He closed his eyes briefly, letting the memory sit. The smell of toasted kaya, the soft clatter of plates, his mum humming in the kitchen light. Then a loud stomach growl pulled him back to the present, sharp and real. He opened his eyes, almost startled, then capped his pen with a quiet finality.

“Shall we?”

Leonis grinned like a kid being let out of detention. “I thought you'd never ask. Let’s go soon before the curry puffs scurry awayyy!”

Haneul shook his head, barely containing a laugh. But he was smiling now—really smiling.

Just like that, a new adventure began.

Maybe this semester wouldn’t be as bad as the last.