“……”It sounded like a sentence of judgment.And because he knew the history woven into those words, Seo-eul already knew what he was supposed to do next.He could laugh as if he didn’t understand, or gently tell him not to think that way. Even as those familiar responses rose up in his mind, he found himself unable to move—his hands clenched tightly together on his lap.He knew it wasn’t true.It had happened a long time ago. By now, surely, it was nothing more than a passing incident in Sa-heon’s memory.Even in reality, after that day, Sa-heon had never brought it up again—not even as a joke. Both of them knew it was better that way. Yet, whenever that kind of thing slipped out of his mouth, Seo-eul’s fingertips turned cold.Maybe because it always sounded like Sa-heon was saying it directly to him.A chill crept up the back of his neck, making him hold his breath.When his lungs filled completely, it felt like he’d turned into a vacuum-sealed piece of meat—oddly comforting, in a way. He slowly began to count numbers in his head. He needed to rebuild his normal face as quickly as possible. It wasn’t hard.“…Lee Seo-eul?”Thankfully, it didn’t take long.Thanking his profession, Seo-eul arranged his expression just right and let out a quiet breath. When he turned his head, he met Sa-heon’s gaze through the side mirror. Frowning naturally, Seo-eul recited his line.“You’ve got confirmation bias. He’s your fan—say something nicer.”“It’s not bias, it’s certainty. Even if I told you to change your manager, you wouldn’t.”He wasn’t wrong. A manager wasn’t something you swapped out like a menu item. Seo-eul forced his voice to stay steady, rare firmness edging his tone.“…Why would I replace someone who’s doing their job well?”“That’s why I’m saying—don’t get too close.”“……”“Keep your distance. You know what I mean.”It did sting, the idea that liking someone could be treated like a crime. But when the person in question was Seo Sa-heon, the logic shifted.Seo-eul had seen firsthand the kind of people his childhood friend attracted—the kind that turned his life into a disaster zone.He’d called it confirmation bias, but it was closer to a reliable pattern drawn from experience.Recalling memories too grim to be called nostalgia, Seo-eul looked again at Sa-heon’s profile. The neon lights outside painted across that flawless face in streaks of color—bright, bleeding, then gone. It looked almost cinematic, the kind of scene he wanted to secretly capture and keep just for himself.The night wind was damp and sour. The stench of exhaust drifted up from the street, and Seo-eul was reminded again that he, too, belonged to the list of those validating Sa-heon’s “bias.” His own feet were tangled in the same trap. Sa-heon wasn’t wrong at all.“…Yeah, I know.”Because I like you too.Because no matter how many times I tried to cut it out, this feeling refused to die.He didn’t plan to justify it or make it sound pure. It was a love that belonged to no one, a quiet catastrophe that would never be confessed or exposed again. Once was enough.The car entered a tunnel. The kaleidoscope of city lights disappeared, leaving only the steady calm of the past ten years.So, as always, Seo-eul swallowed the feeling whole.It had long expired, but that didn’t matter.The road home was painfully long.And like spoiled food sitting in his gut, the ache lingered for a long, long time.***That summer had been unbearably hot.Even Seo-eul, who usually ran cold, suffered through it. The radio droned on about “record-breaking discomfort indexes” like a broken parrot. Just standing still was enough to make sweat bead down his nape.Naturally, the heat-prone Seo Sa-heon was half-dead.The culprit: an air conditioner fixed stubbornly at twenty-seven degrees “for the planet and the environment.”“This damned school,” he muttered, voice hoarse. “If they really cared about the planet, they’d start by wiping out the humans.”He looked terrible—like someone who hadn’t slept all night. When Seo-eul asked out of concern, the reply was that the air conditioner in his dorm had broken at dawn. Considering Sa-heon usually kept his at eighteen degrees, that was basically a death sentence.“Ha… fuck, I’m gonna die…”He slumped over his desk like a dying animal. The classroom door creaked open and shut again and again, and even the weak air from the ceiling vent wasn’t enough to stop his irritation from boiling over.Knowing Sa-heon’s sleep drive could flatten an elephant, Seo-eul quietly slipped his textbook into his bag. Maybe getting him to rest would help.“Want to go to the infirmary?”“I’m already banned from there.”What the hell did he do to get banned from the nurse’s office?Normally Seo-eul would’ve [N O V E L I G H T] scolded him at least once, but seeing that exhausted face, he just sighed and brushed the stray hair off Sa-heon’s forehead. He lowered his voice. “Then I’ll go instead.”If Sa-heon couldn’t, he could.Seo-eul had been a campus celebrity from day one—a famous child actor barely meeting minimum attendance. No one would question him for resting a bit in the infirmary.For once, he was grateful his profession was useful. He’d pushed himself to come to class that day, and now it felt worth it. Thinking of the upcoming out-of-town shoot, he hurried his steps.And as expected, the nurse granted him permission easily.When he leaned against Sa-heon, pretending to stagger, even the notoriously cold-hearted nurse melted. She not only gave them a bed but handed him the key before leaving.“Rest as long as you need,” she said kindly.As soon as the door shut, Seo-eul tugged Sa-heon’s arm toward the bed. The room was pleasantly cool—nothing like the classroom.“Come here.”“Wow, you’ve gotten slick, Lee Seo-eul.”He’d been too quiet earlier—turns out he’d been holding back laughter. The straight-laced honor student, acting just to get him in here—Seo Sa-heon found it hilarious.After dragging him all this way, getting teased was infuriating. Seo-eul swatted the exposed elbow beneath the rolled-up sleeve.“Shut up and lie down.”He hadn’t really hit him, more like pressed him down firmly. Not wanting to make him suffer further, he even helped him stretch out on the bed. “There. Not hot now, right?” He smiled faintly and stood, meaning to let Sa-heon rest. But then his wrist was caught.The heat spread instantly through his palm.“Ah… you’re cooler.”A sigh mixed into the voice.The low murmur made Seo-eul freeze.His hand, still caught, brushed across the firm line of Sa-heon’s forearm. They’d bumped into each other countless times before, but never like this—never with this strange weight behind it.He should’ve pulled away, scolded him, said what are you doing?—but his brain went blank.Apparently pleased by the chill of his skin, Sa-heon treated his hand like it belonged to him, moving it as he pleased. His palm glided up from the crook of his arm to his neck. The pulse throbbed under his fingertips; the heat there was unbearable. Seo-eul shivered, ears burning red.It was… strange.An emotion he couldn’t name pressed against his ribs, making him want to cover his mouth. The feeling of his own hand wandering across hard, hot skin felt indecent, wrong. It wasn’t his will, but it still felt like he was the one crossing a line.Whether Sa-heon noticed his confusion or not, his eyes remained closed, peaceful—as if Seo-eul were nothing more than a cool pack. Seo-eul tugged at his arm with more force, but it was useless. Overpowering him was impossible. This idiot…His heart thudded wildly, indistinguishable from Sa-heon’s. The tingling reached all the way to his toes.Then Sa-heon lifted the now-warm hand higher, placing it against his cheek, pressing it there like he wanted to drain the last trace of coolness out of him.The spot burned.Seo-eul gritted his teeth, trying not to think.Then Sa-heon’s head tilted—and his lips brushed against the palm.Just for a second.“……!”But the moment he felt it, electricity shot through him, sharp and bright. He jerked like someone struck by lightning, face flushing crimson. No way.Before words could form, he yanked his hand free and bolted. Somehow, his body had already carried him out of the infirmary before his mind caught up.“Ha…”The corridor was silent, classes already in session. His breath came in ragged bursts, like he’d run for miles.He didn’t know what had just happened. Knees weak, he sank down on the stairway landing, trying to breathe. No, it couldn’t be that. But denial only deepened the certainty.That was the moment the unnamed feeling inside him took shape—an emotion entirely outside what the world called “normal.”And strangely, it hadn’t scared him.Back then, he’d even dared to hope.He’d thought maybe, just maybe, Sa-heon felt the same. That maybe they were closer to lovers than friends. That someday, inevitably, they would become each other’s.What a ridiculous thought.He hadn’t realized it was all his mistake until much later. Seo-eul had ached for a long time after that, and the rest was a blur—like a tape rewound too fast.Through the chopped fragments of memory, Sa-heon’s voice echoed faintly—“You’re doing it again… like this…”And Seo-eul recoiled from the past as if burned.If only he could carve those years out with a knife, he would have.

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