HMN C41

Chapter 41

“Hey. I spent my entire weekend watching a damn video of someone shaking chicken breast in a plastic bag on loop. Like a dog. That’s where I’m at.”

The look on his face was full of bitter self-mockery, the kind of raw self-awareness that hit even Daeyoung straight in the gut. Still—he was way too close. Instinctively, Daeyoung leaned back, trying to make some space, but Chiwoo just stepped in further, tilting his head slightly.

“…So?”

His expression was wary, tension written all over it, as if bracing for whatever price might be demanded. Chiwoo’s gaze quietly traced the small, round face before him.

Honestly, a week was a long time. For Ahn Daeyoung, who didn’t like him, it would fly by without a second thought. But for Chiwoo—who couldn’t stop noticing every tiny detail about the boy ever since that so-called hypnosis—it felt endless.

“For a week, stay close to me. Eat dinner with me, lunch too. Do assignments together.”

“…Are you out of your mind? Completely insane?”

“Why do you keep asking that? I already told you I am. Clean out your ears.”

And of all people, the one who’d driven him insane was hardly in any position to talk. But Daeyoung was having none of it, shaking his head hard in disbelief.

“Didn’t hear that. You can just grit your teeth and endure.”

He turned away, brisk and irritated, but Chiwoo already knew how to make him stop in his tracks.

“Well, too bad. I guess I’ll just have to vent this tragic, anxiety-ridden one-sided love to Minhye or something. Maybe she’ll have advice.”

Freeze.

Daeyoung’s steps halted mid-stride. Chiwoo, barely suppressing a smirk, started counting in his head. One, two, three, four, five—

Not even five seconds passed before the small, round head whipped back toward him. The adorably neat face was full of outrage and reluctant defeat.

“…F-fine. Just a week.”

That thin jaw clenched tight as he spat it out, and Chiwoo couldn’t help the smile that crept across his lips, even closing his eyes for a moment in satisfaction.

Daeyoung shot him one last glare, then turned on his heel again, storming down the narrow street. His stride was large, his footsteps loud and heavy—thunk, thunk—as if stomping his irritation into the asphalt.

Watching him, Chiwoo tilted his head slightly, admiring that cute, furious back view. Then he raised his voice.

“Hey! Don’t walk like that when you’re that fucking cute!”

“Ahhh!”

Daeyoung let out a strangled yell, slapped his hands over his ears, and bolted. His fine hair fluttered behind him as he dashed away, disappearing down the street. Chiwoo laughed out loud, unable to stop himself. God, why was he so cute?

Even after Daeyoung vanished past the crosswalk, Chiwoo’s grin didn’t fade. He pressed his palm against his chest, feeling his heart pounding hard beneath his shirt. It was the first time he’d ever experienced his heart racing—not out of anger or adrenaline, but because being with someone actually felt good.

“Hypnosis is wild,” he muttered, voice lighter than usual.

Ahn Daeyoung didn’t like attention.

No, more than that—he actively avoided it. He wasn’t painfully shy or timid; he just hated being the center of anyone’s gaze. Maybe it was the lingering shadow of his less-than-smooth school years.

He didn’t even like being the subject of gossip—good or bad. And yet, if someone asked why he wanted to be part of the “in” crowd, he wouldn’t know how to answer. He didn’t want fame, just a bit of warmth—people talking about him in a good way for once. Sure, it was a childish dream, but wanting something you’ve never had was the most human thing of all.

“…What’s that about?”

Gu Wonjung’s quiet question snapped him back. Exactly this—this kind of attention—was what he hated.

He’d rushed all the way to the lecture hall like someone’s shoes were on fire, only to push open the door and immediately feel dozens of eyes on him.

“……”

He knew why. And he knew ignoring it was the only option.

Ignore it. Just ignore it.

He chanted it like a mantra as he walked inside. A quick glance behind him confirmed it: the guy who’d been following him was now gone.

“God…”

“What’s up with you?”

He hadn’t even had the chance to sit before Wonjung poked his side. Daeyoung shook his head and pulled out his chair, pretending nothing was wrong—but then Hae-gyeom walked in, glanced down the hall, froze, and rushed over in disbelief.

“Hey. What the hell?”

“What.”

Looking every bit as annoyed as he felt, Daeyoung pulled his laptop from his bag.

“Why is Go Chiwoo here? Since when are you two close?”

“…Ran into him on the way to school.”

“Then why’d he follow you all the way here? This isn’t even the same floor—he came right up to your classroom.”

“We just… ended up talking.”

He waved his hand dismissively, telling them to drop it.

It wasn’t worth explaining anyway.

Like most people, the first thing Daeyoung did upon waking up was check his phone—and instantly regretted it.

Haaah…

Face buried in his pillow, he kicked and flailed his limbs helplessly.

He’d sprinted home last night like a man escaping an arson scene, only to find a message from Chiwoo waiting for him after his shower.

When he asked why the hell Chiwoo needed his class schedule, the reply was, “For efficient coordination.”

Too tired to argue, he’d just sent it. The response: “I’ll meet you in front of your place when you leave.”

He’d thought, no way. Before sleeping, he’d thought no way. In the morning, still, no way.

And then he opened the door—only to see Go Chiwoo standing right there.

Their walk to campus had been filled with Chiwoo’s relentless nonsense.

“Can’t we hold hands?”

“Can you not?”

“They say holding hands breaks prejudice.”

“Try breaking your neck first.”

And so on.

He’d never in his life been confessed to, let alone courted, and the fact that his first time was by a hypnotized Go Chiwoo was just insult to injury. Worse yet, that annoyingly perfect face sometimes made him think, Goddamn, he really is stupidly good-looking, and that was a blow to his pride all on its own.

In the end, Chiwoo had insisted on following him all the way to the lecture hall before finally leaving. Daeyoung had protested—furiously—that walking him into the building was absurd, especially in front of classmates, but since he’d promised to “cooperate” for the week, he couldn’t refuse outright.

“You’ve gotta give me context, man. One day you’re avoiding him like the plague, the next he’s walking you to class? I feel like I skipped five chapters.”

At Hae-gyeom’s remark, Daeyoung lowered his eyes and rummaged in his bag.

“We’re not close. We just talk sometimes ‘cause we work at the same café.”

Wonjung, noticing the slight evasiveness in his gaze, studied him closely.

“Last time you freaked out just ‘cause of a rumor. Now you’re showing up together? What, best friends now?”

“Ugh, can we not? Please?”

It was just this week. Once the hypnosis wore off over the weekend, Chiwoo would be back to normal, and they’d go back to being strangers.

Exhaustion was written all over Daeyoung’s face, enough to silence the others for now. Besides, the professor was already walking in.

“Let’s get food later. I’m working out tonight, so I’m free.”

Same schedule meant same free period. As soon as the long, dull lecture ended, Daeyoung stretched his arms above his head and slung his bag over his shoulder—but before he could answer, his phone buzzed.

Chiwoo.

Why did I give him my schedule again?

Frowning, Daeyoung stood, adjusting his strap.

“Sorry, I’ve got plans. Just eat without me this week, okay? My bad.”

Wonjung frowned, clearly unimpressed.

“What plans?”

“I, uh…”

I accidentally hypnotized Go Chiwoo, and now he’s obsessed with me.

Yeah, no. That wasn’t something you could just say.

He’d be dragged to a bar and interrogated for being “insane.” So instead, he went with the oldest, safest kind of lie—one so weak it might just pass by pity.

“I’ve just got too much going on this week. Volunteer work, my part-time shift… I’ll join next week.”

Pouting slightly for emphasis, he patted Wonjung’s back with forced friendliness and slipped out.

As soon as the door closed, Hae-gyeom leaned in, grinning.

“Smells fishy, right? Real fishy.”

“…Yeah. He’s a terrible liar.”

And he was.

Ahn Daeyoung couldn’t lie to save his life. His version of “lying” looked more like reciting a textbook out loud—monotone, stiff, and avoiding all eye contact, as if holding up a giant sign that read I’m lying right now.

Wonjung narrowed one eye, closing his book slowly.

What the hell is he hiding?

His sharp gaze followed the direction Daeyoung had gone, lingering on the lecture hall door.