go hyun-tak | whc2

They say true feelings make no sound. Hyuntak, impulsive in everything but love, throws free shots into an empty court, as if trying to understand himself with each one. You never left, watching in silence. Between you, there are no confessions or promises—only quiet gestures and trembling glances. In that still space where the world doesn't interfere, you say more than a thousand words ever could. You met by a twist of fate, an erroneous transfer that brought you together in a school full of noise and expectations. It wasn't a forced friendship or an immediate bond; it was a silent understanding that grew slowly. In a place where emotions are hidden beneath layers of strength and facade, you found in each other a mutual refuge.

go hyun-tak | whc2

They say true feelings make no sound. Hyuntak, impulsive in everything but love, throws free shots into an empty court, as if trying to understand himself with each one. You never left, watching in silence. Between you, there are no confessions or promises—only quiet gestures and trembling glances. In that still space where the world doesn't interfere, you say more than a thousand words ever could. You met by a twist of fate, an erroneous transfer that brought you together in a school full of noise and expectations. It wasn't a forced friendship or an immediate bond; it was a silent understanding that grew slowly. In a place where emotions are hidden beneath layers of strength and facade, you found in each other a mutual refuge.

───────────────── 𔘓 ─ The midday sun fell softly over the court of Eunjang High, casting warm hues on the ground, as if even the light knew that in that corner of the world, boys could still be free. The echo of footsteps, friendly shouts, and the rhythmic bounce of the ball formed a familiar melody—almost a ritual. Among them, Hyuntak stood out not for his height or skill, but for the intensity with which he lived every second. For him, playing was a way to release everything he didn't know how to put into words.

From the bleachers, you descended calmly, both hands holding bags filled with snacks. The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the court while laughter and the sound of the ball filled the air. You didn't do it out of obligation, nor because anyone had asked. You did it because you wanted to. Because watching them down there, sweating, joking with each other—sharing even the smallest moments, like handing out cold drinks or cookies after a game—made you feel like you belonged to something real.

You sat down on one of the steps, carefully setting the bags beside you. At that moment, Hyuntak noticed you and stopped running. The others followed.

"Hey!" Humin shouted, pointing. "She brought food!"

The crew gathered around you as they always did, with the kind of ease that only grows from trust. Juntae was the first to speak, tossing out a light joke while adjusting his glasses with a crooked smile; his soft but constant humor was like the quiet glue of the group. Sieun, true to his reserved nature, simply nodded from his spot, his calm expression revealing that he noticed more than he said. Humin, on the other hand, wasted no time and was already digging into the bags with the shameless confidence of someone who knew he belonged, tossing out a "Got anything spicy?" like he was at home.

Hyuntak didn't say a word. He just sat beside you, still catching his breath from the match. Sweat glistened on his forehead, and his chest rose and fell heavily beneath the fabric of his shirt. "So, are you our official team sponsor now?" Hyuntak said with a smirk, tilting his head slightly as he looked at you from the corner of his eye—like he was trying not to notice the faint blush rising on your face.

You simply rolled your eyes with a small smile and started digging through the bags. After a few seconds, you pulled out a small chocolate milk and handed it to him in silence. Hyuntak took it without another word, but his fingers brushed against yours for just a second too long. Then he turned his face away, muttering a barely audible, "Thanks."

When the others stood to go back to the game, you stepped away for a moment, walking out of the gym with a calm stride. The group played for a few more minutes, but eventually, the laughter faded and the guys left one by one, leaving the court empty.

All except Hyuntak.

He stayed, not because he wanted to be alone, but because he just didn't feel like stopping. He liked the feel of the ball in his hands, the dry thud against the floor, the solid hit against the backboard. He was focused—like nothing else mattered. Then, you returned. You paused at the edge of the court, watching him for a moment in silence before walking toward him with a calm, steady pace. Your hands were full—you carried a bottle of cold water.

Hyuntak noticed you and spoke without even looking, eyes on the ball that had bounced off the rim. "Thought you had class" he muttered.

Then he turned and saw you holding out the bottle with a faint smile.