HMN C48

Chapter 48

He hadn’t seen him in days—and the first thing he does is fall asleep on me?

Go Chiwoo found it absurd, though the corner of his mouth betrayed him, curving slightly upward. Was Daeyoung really that unguarded, or just that tired? The guy was sleeping soundly, head resting on the shoulder of the man who’d confessed to liking him. Was that normal behavior? Either way, it felt like a small reward.

After being summoned home days ago, Chiwoo had endured his father’s relentless nagging ever since. He’d even been dragged to a formal luncheon earlier that afternoon, only escaping under the excuse of a university lecture. He needed air—quiet, stillness, something soft.

He tilted his head slightly, breathing in the faint scent of shampoo, of clean soap. The tightness in his chest, the numbness that had built up over the week, began to ease at last. His heartbeat fell into a steady rhythm again, calm and sure.

So this is what it means to miss someone, he thought. I really missed him.

Not wanting to wake him, Chiwoo stayed perfectly still, even softening his breathing. Each time the movie’s volume spiked, he almost glared at the screen. Why are you so loud? He’s sleeping. The absurdity of mentally scolding a movie only made his lips twitch harder.

His eyes drifted back to Daeyoung’s head against his shoulder—the soft crown of hair, the pale curve of his forehead faintly lit by the screen. He turned his head just enough to look, memorizing the fine details.

The warmth beside him, the quiet rhythm of another’s breathing—it was infinitely more satisfying than any surround sound or cinematic brilliance. The soft rise and fall of his chest, the delicate eyelashes fluttering against his skin… everything about it soothed him.

“……”

Daeyoung finally stirred near the film’s end. His lashes trembled with the flash of an explosion on-screen before he blinked, groggy and dazed. Slowly, he lifted his head and turned toward the shoulder he’d been using as a pillow.

“Ah—uh…”

He froze, realization dawning, then awkwardly began pressing Chiwoo’s shoulder as if to “fluff” it back into shape. It looked more like he was trying to pretend it hadn’t happened. Then came the fidgeting—the darting eyes, the muffled yawns, the kind of restless embarrassment that made his ears turn pink.

Shit. I actually fell asleep on him.

He’d already embarrassed himself enough times in front of Chiwoo, but drooling on his shoulder would’ve been next-level. If there was blame to place, it was mostly exhaustion—but maybe also that familiar scent, or the way his shoulder fit perfectly against his head.

Whatever. I’ll apologize properly later.

That was the plan—but even as he tried to focus on the movie, his half-sleepy gaze kept sliding right.

Chiwoo sat there perfectly composed, eyes fixed ahead. In the dim light, the sharp angles of his face cast quiet shadows—jawline, cheekbone, nose bridge, all drawn in clean strokes.

He’s… handsome, Daeyoung thought for what felt like the thousandth time.

And then—

Their eyes met.

He hadn’t expected it, but of course Chiwoo knew. Everyone else in the room was watching the movie; he, however, had been caught looking sideways. If they weren’t close, it would’ve been an odd thing—too intimate to ignore.

Over a hundred people sat in that theater. Explosions rumbled, dialogue echoed, music swelled. Yet none of it existed for the two of them.

They didn’t look away.

Daeyoung’s gaze held steady. The same eyes that had once glimmered with the light of a swinging pendant now reflected the flickering silver of the movie screen.

It was strange—hypnotic, even. He should have turned back to the film, but couldn’t.

Why can’t I look away? he wondered hazily. Maybe I’m the one hypnotized this time.

The thought lingered until the end credits began to roll, and the lights rose gradually. Only then did Chiwoo’s lips part.

“Handsome, right?”

“……”

Daeyoung almost answered—his mouth even opened.

“Not in love yet, though?”

Shhhk.

The sound of the curtain drawing up coincided with the shock hitting his brain. He blinked, face scrunching in disbelief.

“Hey—”

“Daeyoung. What’s going on here?”

The voice came from in front of them. Wonjung.

Ah. Right. He’d been sitting there the whole time—Daeyoung had completely forgotten about the round head visible over the seat.

“I’m Go Chiwoo. And you are?”

“…What?”

They already knew each other’s names. Why were they acting like strangers?

The tension was palpable. Chiwoo’s tone was too smooth to be polite, his smile thin-edged. They stared each other down like rivals about to collide.

Daeyoung, caught between them, sighed, picked up the empty popcorn bucket from the floor, and stood.

“What else? Two college guys watching a movie for their club. Save the testosterone for somewhere useful.”

He brushed past Chiwoo, descending the carpeted stairs. Halfway down, he heard the double thuds of footsteps behind him—two sets, side by side, broad shoulders filling the narrow aisle.

He turned, brow furrowing.

“What, you guys doing some kind of dominance walk now?”

They weren’t even descending one at a time—just shoulder to shoulder, like an action movie poster. Maybe it was that weird thing gym bros did when they met, sizing each other up. God, immature.

With a sigh, Daeyoung reached back and tugged on Chiwoo’s wrist, pulling him forward a step to break the lineup.

“Save the flexing for the gym.”

And with that, he didn’t look back again.

At least not until they’d left the theater. He was tossing his trash when Chiwoo leaned close, breath brushing his ear, and murmured—

“That was insanely hot.”

Daeyoung froze, then bolted for the exit, walking twice as fast.

“Daeyoung, this place has great chicken.”

The pub near the theater was alive with noise, packed with students fresh from the screening. After the film, the group split off—only about a dozen left, enough to fill two tables.

“More beer?”

“No.”

Still chewing a piece of chicken, Daeyoung waved off Wonjung’s offer, gesturing toward his half-full glass. He’d meant to go home right after the movie, but somehow he’d been dragged along again.

“The movie was good.”

“Yeah, really good. That scene with the dual pistols? Perfect shot angle.”

Naturally, the movie itself became the main topic over fried chicken and beer. Daeyoung drank quietly, tearing off bits of chicken without much thought.

“What about you, Daeyoung?” Wonjung asked.

“…”

Honestly, he barely remembered it. Half the time he’d been eating popcorn, the other half dozing off, and by the end, he’d been distracted by something—or someone—else entirely.

“Yeah, it was good. I just… don’t remember much. Kinda chaotic.”

“Totally. I felt the same way. Too many good-looking people on-screen. It was hard to focus.”

Sungrae chimed in, and the others laughed, nodding. The conversation spiraled into chatter about actors, not plots.

Daeyoung’s eyes drifted to the white plate streaked with spicy sauce. He blinked slowly, lost in thought.

The image wouldn’t leave his head—the face illuminated by the flickering light, the shadow of lashes, the faint glint of a smile. When the lights had come on, he’d actually… admired it.

His face is literally a work of art.

“Already full?”

“Huh? Oh. No. Pass me the soju.”

He pushed away his beer glass and reached for a shot instead. Wonjung raised an eyebrow but poured it for him anyway. Daeyoung downed it in one gulp, the sharp burn clearing his head.

Just then, the next table erupted.

“Let’s drink till we die!”

Typical. Group gatherings always devolved into this. Especially in clubs built on hobbies instead of grades—it was all energy, laughter, and chaos.

“So anyway, I emailed the professor, right?”

By sheer bad luck, Daeyoung had ended up seated among the same crew from that infamous drinking night. Sungrae and his friends were in their element, loud and rowdy.

“Man, I should’ve just killed that guy back then.”

“Sungrae, chill. You’re on parole, remember? They’ll lock you up for real this time.”

Ridiculous jokes bounced around the table, drawing easy laughter. Watching the two of them banter, Daeyoung couldn’t help but smile. It was stupid, but harmless.

He took another sip. The warmth spread through his chest, smoothing out the fatigue of a long week buried in assignments.

Then—

Thud.

Someone slid into the empty seat beside him.

“Oh? Senior? You came?”

It was Go Chiwoo.

One of the other juniors noticed first, greeting him politely. But Chiwoo didn’t so much as glance at the kid. His eyes were on Daeyoung.

“Why are you drinking alone?”

Daeyoung blinked. He hadn’t expected to see him again tonight.

After the screening, Chiwoo had spoken briefly with Minhye, looking serious, then sat apart during dinner like he had somewhere else to be. Daeyoung had assumed he’d left.

Apparently not.

Without a word, he shuffled slightly left—just enough to put a sliver of distance between them.