The campus leader. The confident upperclassman. The boy who always had the right words, the right smile, the right laugh at the right time.

But that night, the mask slipped.

And Ji-Hoon saw the truth.

---

The rain had returned, soft and steady against the dorm window. Ji-Hoon lay under the blanket, a book on his stomach, eyelids heavy.

Across the room, Min-Soo sat at his desk, unmoving, the glow of his laptop screen spilling across his face. Too still. Too quiet.

“You okay?” Ji-Hoon asked.

Min-Soo didn’t answer at first.

Then, still facing the screen, he said quietly, “Do you ever feel like people only want the version of you that smiles?”

Ji-Hoon blinked, startled.

“I mean… I’m the dependable one,” Min-Soo continued, voice measured. “The president of the outreach committee. The guy who organizes study groups, plans volunteer weekends, gives speeches, fixes things when they fall apart. That’s who everyone knows.”

He finally turned, and Ji-Hoon saw it—eyes shadowed, heavy. “But I don’t think anyone’s really seen me. Not the way you do.”

Ji-Hoon sat up, heart thudding. “You’ve never said that before.”

“I didn’t think I was allowed to.” Min-Soo gave a short, hollow laugh. “It feels like if I’m not okay, then everything else will fall apart too. So I stay okay. Even when I’m not.”

A pause.

“My dad used to say, ‘Leaders don’t cry. They carry.’ I guess I believed him.”

Ji-Hoon slid off the bed and crossed the room, quiet but certain. He lowered himself onto the floor beside Min-Soo’s chair and reached for his hand.

“You’re allowed to be tired,” Ji-Hoon said softly. “You’re allowed to let go.”

Min-Soo stared at their joined hands like the concept itself was foreign.

“You don’t have to carry everything alone,” Ji-Hoon whispered. “Not with me.”

The silence that followed wasn’t empty. It was thick. Weighted. Real.

Min-Soo leaned forward until his forehead rested against Ji-Hoon’s. His voice came out fragile, almost a breath:

“Thank you for seeing me.”

---

Later that night, with Min-Soo asleep at his side, Ji-Hoon opened his notebook and let the words spill without hesitation:

> He holds the world with both hands.

I only hope I get to hold him when it gets heavy.