Ah/ya/na—In Korean culture, these sounds are added after someone's name to show affection and closeness.
***
Pacing back and forth between his own classroom and Seung-joon's, Min-jun could feel himself teetering on the edge of losing control. His heart thudded painfully against his ribs, each step feeding the restless storm inside him. He had thought that catching a glimpse of Seung-joon would grant him some measure of peace — a brief moment of clarity, a way to ground his fraying emotions.
Instead, every stolen glance only tightened the knot in his chest, dragging him deeper into the turmoil he was desperately trying to suppress.
At first, he had refused to believe it — that Kim Seung-joon, the prodigy whose name was known in every corner of the school, could possibly be the same small, unassuming boy he had encountered in the infirmary. The idea had seemed absurd, almost laughable.
And yet, the more he looked, the more the truth pressed down on him, undeniable and inescapable.
What baffled him even more was how no one seemed to know about Seung-joon's blue eyes — a feature so rare and striking it should have been impossible to overlook. Then again, Min-jun thought bitterly, it's not like I could exactly run around interrogating everyone about a boy with blue eyes.
If he had dared to do that, the rumor mill would have exploded, his name splashed across the top page of the school's gossip newspaper by the next morning, right under some ridiculous headline.
Chang-min, growing weary of Min-jun's endless chatter about the mysterious boy, had finally dragged him to the 11-C classroom, determined to settle the matter once and for all. With a teasing grin, he pointed toward Kim Seung-joon, lounging near the back of the room.
The moment Min-jun's eyes found him, the world seemed to tilt.
From a distance, Seung-joon's eyes appeared as deep and dark as black diamonds, glinting faintly under the fluorescent classroom lights. It was no wonder no one had noticed their true color — under the ordinary hum of the school day, they blended into the shadows like hidden treasure.
But to Min-jun, they were anything but ordinary.
Even from afar, he could see it — the impossible depth, the secret shimmer of blue that reminded him of the serene lake by his grandparents' house, still and endless beneath a wide summer sky. Seung-joon's large eyes dominated his delicate, pale face, giving him a strangely ethereal beauty, like something out of a dream Min-jun had long forgotten.
Rooted to the spot, Min-jun stared through the classroom window, his heart hammering painfully against his ribs. He didn't even register Chang-min's exasperated sigh before he felt himself being dragged away.
His legs stumbled beneath him as he staggered back toward his own classroom, his usually long, confident strides reduced to a clumsy shuffle. His knees had turned to jelly, and his heart was pounding so loudly it seemed to drown out the world around him. A dizzying heat flushed through his body, leaving him breathless, shaken, and utterly overwhelmed.
Since that day, Min-jun found himself drifting near Seung-joon's classroom without even meaning to. It was as if an invisible thread pulled him there, no matter how hard he tried to resist.
At first, no one thought much of it. Min-jun had several basketball teammates in 11-C, and it wasn't unusual for him to drop by between classes, laughing and joking with them. But as time passed, his behavior became harder to overlook. Even when his teammates weren't around, Min-jun still lingered outside, peering through the window with a distant, searching look in his eyes.
It didn't take long for whispers to start. Curious glances began to follow him down the halls, and the weight of their attention pressed heavily against his back. Realizing how obvious he was becoming, Min-jun forced himself to stay away, battling the restless urge to steal just one more glimpse of Seung-joon.
The more Min-jun saw Seung-joon, the more certain he became that his feelings had little to do with the boy's rare blue eyes. There was something else — something deeper — a quiet, unexplainable pull that gripped his heart and soul whenever Seung-joon was near.
It was in the way Seung-joon carried himself, the calm, almost detached way his gaze traveled from place to place, as if he moved through the world untouched by the noise around him. Every time Min-jun caught a glimpse of those serene eyes, his stomach fluttered helplessly, a soft, aching reminder of how deeply he had fallen.
More than anything, he yearned for Seung-joon to notice him — to have those distant eyes pause, just once, and truly see him. But unlike the rest of 11-C, who had each, at some point, tried to befriend Min-jun if only because of his status, Seung-joon never spared him more than a passing glance. There was no curiosity, no warmth — only a quiet indifference that both wounded and fascinated Min-jun.
Still, he found excuses to linger around 11-C with his friends, laughing and chatting as if he belonged there. Just being able to sit nearby, to watch Seung-joon from up close — even if unnoticed, even if invisible — felt like a small, precious gift. A fleeting happiness he had no right to want, yet could not bear to give up.
Half of Min-jun's heart still wrestled bitterly with the truth — the undeniable fact that he had fallen for a boy. The other half, wild and unrestrained, was constantly searching for Seung-joon, drawn to him like a moth to a flame. The push and pull of these emotions left Min-jun feeling both exhilarated and utterly terrified.
But he knew he couldn't allow himself to be swept away. He couldn't afford to lose control.
Determined to regain his footing, Min-jun began throwing himself into basketball with a desperate intensity. Every spare moment was spent on the court — practicing drills until his muscles ached, running laps until his lungs burned. It was a way to put distance between himself and Seung-joon, a way to cage the reckless heart that refused to listen to reason.
Yet no matter how hard he pushed himself, the loneliness gnawed at him. His chest felt hollow, as if he were moving through the days as a shadow of himself. Amid the noise of the bouncing ball and the shouts of his teammates, a silent, miserable ache remained — the part of him that still longed for a boy who barely even knew he existed.
Min-jun couldn't figure out what made him miserable: liking a boy or being unable to reveal his feelings forever.
Min-jun couldn't quite figure out what tormented him more: the fact that he had fallen for a boy, or the crushing certainty that he could never reveal his feelings — not now, not ever.
Given his family's background, even loving a normal girl would have been complicated, burdened by expectations and scrutiny. Loving a boy, however, was simply unthinkable — a rebellion against everything his life had been built upon.
And yet, every time he passed by 11-C and caught sight of Seung-joon sitting quietly in the back corner of the classroom, studying with serene focus, it felt like the only moment when Min-jun was truly alive.
Slowly, painfully, Min-jun began to realize a bitter truth: the life he had lived so far — a life that had seemed happy, easy, even privileged — had not been truly his own. It was a life carefully crafted to fit his family's expectations, a role he had slipped into unconsciously, never daring to question.
Until now.
Until the impossible happened.
Until his heart stopped for someone he was never meant to love — and with that single, forbidden beat, the world he thought he knew shattered.
In that fleeting, fated moment, Min-jun's soul had awakened — raw, unguarded — to every overwhelming, dazzling, terrifying emotion the universe had ever known.
Kim Seung-joon — the small, not-so-plain boy with the haunting blue eyes — had quietly, irrevocably become the center of Min-jun's world.
Min-jun knew he was acting like a fool. He knew his growing obsession with Seung-joon was giving Chang-min a hard time. But he couldn't stop himself — no matter how hard he tried, no matter how fiercely he fought against it.
Chang-min, who had been his best friend since childhood, saw right through him. Without needing to say a word, he would grab Min-jun by the arm and drag him away from the corridors of 11-C whenever he caught him loitering.
"Minjun-ah, are you crazy?" Chang-min demanded one afternoon, exasperation written all over his face.
"Argh... I don't know. I must be crazy, right?" Min-jun groaned, burying his face in his hands. "Changmin-ah... help me... tell me how to stop it... I don't want to be like this either..."
The desperation in Min-jun's voice cut deep, and for a moment, Chang-min could only stare at him, heart aching for his friend. With a long sigh, Chang-min turned to gaze out the window, watching the golden afternoon light stretch across the empty sports field.
"I don't think I know how to stop it... or even if it's possible," he said quietly. Then, turning back to Min-jun, he added with a soft smile, "You're not the kind of person who gives up on something — or someone — once you care about them."
He placed a steady hand on Min-jun's trembling shoulder. Min-jun reached up and touched his hand, the simple gesture offering a tiny flicker of comfort in the storm raging inside him. Over the years, through every triumph and heartbreak, Chang-min had always been there, quietly protecting him.
Their brief, fragile moment was broken by a familiar, boisterous voice.
"Ya, what's with this heavy atmosphere?"
Won Han-bin's sudden entrance startled them both.
"Ah... Bin-ah, you're here," Chang-min said, forcing a smile. "How was the swimming competition?"
"As expected, you're looking at the champion," Han-bin said proudly, puffing out his chest. Then, narrowing his eyes, he added suspiciously, "But that's not important. What's going on with you two? You're acting very suspicious lately."
His loud voice echoed down the empty 12th-grade hallway, making both Chang-min and Min-jun lunge forward to pull him down between them.
"Fool! Keep your voice down!" Chang-min hissed, shooting a murderous glare at him.
Han-bin blinked innocently at them. "Why, what's going on?"
Min-jun pressed his forehead to his desk, covering his ears as if trying to block out the inevitable. Chang-min shot him a look, took a deep breath, and said heavily, "Our Minjun-ah... has fallen in love with Kim Seung-joon."
The words seemed to freeze the air itself.
"WHAT?!"
Han-bin's voice thundered down the corridor like a canon blast. For a moment, everything went deathly still — students pausing, teachers turning, the very walls seeming to shudder.
Min-jun and Chang-min turned to Han-bin with horror-struck expressions.
Realizing his mistake too late, Han-bin sat down heavily in the nearest chair, scratching his head in bewilderment.
"I'll... I'll learn to speak silently," he muttered sheepishly, glancing at Chang-min with an apologetic look.
Then he turned to Min-jun, whose head still rested against the desk, his face hidden.
"Jun-ah... are you okay?" Han-bin asked, his voice uncharacteristically soft.
Chang-min and Han-bin both watched in alarm as Min-jun slowly lifted his head. His face was pale, almost ghostly, and to their shock, a single tear slipped down his cheek.
Until now, Min-jun had carefully avoided naming his feelings for Seung-joon. He had refused to use the word love — as if not saying it would keep it at bay, would make it less real, less terrifying.
But hearing Chang-min say it, hearing it spoken aloud with the heavy, inescapable weight of truth, shattered whatever fragile barrier he had left.
In that moment, Min-jun realized just how deeply he had fallen — and just how impossible it would be to ever reach the one he loved.