Chapter Text
The soft, rhythmic click-clack of the train tracks usually did wonders to ground Byun Euijoo’s racing thoughts, but today, the sound just felt like a countdown.
Euijoo pressed his forehead against the cool glass of the window, staring out at the blurred pastel greens and grays of early morning Chiba. He adjusted the strap of his worn canvas tote bag, his fingers tracing the familiar, comforting weight of his secondhand Fujifilm camera resting inside. It was his prized possession—bought with money he’d saved up from working weekends at a local bakery, supplemented by a proud, tearful contribution from his mother.
His mom. Just thinking about her made a tight knot form in his chest.
Euijoo had spent his entire life acutely aware of how fragile his world was. He knew the story by heart, not because his mother repeated it bitterly, but because the ghosts of their past still lingered in the quiet corners of their lives. Born in Goyang-si, South Korea, his biological father had vanished the moment the pregnancy test turned positive. It had been just him and his mom against the world from day one. When he was three, after a terrifying medical diagnosis revealed his mother had cancer, they had packed up their lives and fled to Kyoto, Japan, where his mom’s closest friends offered a lifeline of support.
Those early years were a blur of cramped apartments, the sharp smell of hospital corridors, and the constant, suffocating fear that he would wake up one day entirely alone. But his mom was a fighter. She beat the sickness. By the time Euijoo turned five, her tireless work ethic landed her a massive promotion at a rising logistics company, allowing them to move into a spacious, sunlit house.
He had a comfortable life now. He knew he was lucky. Yet, the ghost of that poor, terrified little boy from the cramped Kyoto apartment never really left him. It manifested in the way he kept his shoulders hunched, the way he hesitated before speaking, and the deep-seated self-consciousness that told him he was always one misstep away from losing everything.
"Euijoo-hyung! Hey, wait up!"
The familiar, bright voice broke through his reverie as the train doors slid open at his stop. Euijoo blinked, a soft, genuine smile finally breaking across his face as he saw Nakakita Yuma jogging down the platform to catch up with him.
Yuma looked... different today. Euijoo’s sharp photographer’s eye picked up on it instantly. Though Yuma was smiling, the expression didn’t quite reach his eyes. There were dark, faint purple smudges under his lower lids, and his school uniform blazer looked slightly disheveled, as if it had been thrown on in a rush.
"Good morning, Yuma," Euijoo said softly, tilting his head. "Did you sleep well? You look a bit tired."
Yuma flinched. It was a microscopic movement, just a quick tightening of his jaw, but Euijoo caught it. "Oh, you know me. Just stayed up too late playing video games. K-hyung and Fuma-hyung were nagging me on the group chat until midnight." Yuma laughed, but it sounded hollow, lacking his usual sharp, chaotic energy.
Before Euijoo could press further, a heavy arm slung around his shoulders, nearly knocking him off balance.
"Good morning, my favorite overthinker!" K’s booming, cheerful voice echoed across the station path. Beside him, Murata Fuma walked with a serene, fond smile, his hand naturally reaching out to clasp K’s free hand. They were the school’s most established, unbothered couple—publicly together, fiercely protective of their younger friends, and entirely operating on their own wavelength.
"Morning, K-hyung, Fuma-hyung," Euijoo breathed, feeling a wave of safety wash over him. Soon enough, Taki joined them, bouncing on the balls of his feet, recounting a ridiculous dream he’d had about giant penguins.
For a few minutes, as they walked toward the imposing gates of Chiba High, Euijoo felt the heavy weight in his chest lighten. He loved his friends. They were his sanctuary. Even though Harua—his absolute best friend from childhood—had moved away years ago, leaving a lingering ache in their friend group, this tight-knit circle was everything to Euijoo.
But the peace, as it always did, had an expiration date.
And that expiration date usually arrived in a sleek, expensive black sedan.
The car pulled up smoothly against the curb right near the school gates. The door opened, and out stepped the bane of Byun Euijoo’s existence.
Wang Yixiang. Or, as he demanded the rest of the world call him, Nicholas.
Nicholas didn’t just walk into a space; he conquered it. He adjusted the lapels of his perfectly tailored school blazer, his silver earrings catching the morning sunlight. His dark hair was styled with effortless precision, and his sharp, cat-like eyes scanned the crowd with a terrifying level of supreme confidence. He was rich, he was impossibly talented, and he knew exactly how attractive he was.
Flanking him were his two inseparable shadows: Asakura Jo, towering and quietly observant, and Hirota Riki—better known as Maki—who was currently laughing at something Nicholas had said, his loud voice drawing looks from the surrounding students.
As Nicholas walked through the gates, his eyes locked onto Euijoo’s group. More specifically, they locked onto Euijoo. A slow, smirk spread across Nicholas’s handsome face.
"Well, if it isn’t Chiba High’s resident charity case and his loyalty squad," Nicholas drawled, his voice smooth, dripping with a cockiness that made Euijoo’s stomach twist into painful knots.
Ever since Nicholas had moved into Harua’s old house next door when they were seven, he had made it his personal mission to be Euijoo’s tormentor. He had spent their childhood calling Euijoo a "nerd," mocking his quiet demeanor, and flaunting his wealth. They were polar opposites, fire and ice, destined to be enemies until the end of time.
"Leave him alone, Nicholas," Fuma said, his voice dropping into a stern, protective register as he stepped slightly in front of Euijoo.
Nicholas raised an eyebrow, completely unfazed. "Relax, Murata. I’m just saying hello to my favorite neighbor. Right, Four-Eyes?" he taunted, pointing a finger at Euijoo, mocking the glasses Euijoo usually wore when studying.
Euijoo swallowed hard, gripping the strap of his tote bag so tightly his knuckles turned white. He hated how Nicholas’s words always shrank him, making him feel like that helpless, poor three-year-old boy again. "Just go away, Nicholas," Euijoo muttered, keeping his eyes firmly glued to the pavement.
"Right, right. See you in homeroom, nerd," Nicholas chuckled, brushing past them. As he did, his shoulder intentionally clipped Euijoo’s, a physical reminder of his dominance. Maki and Jo followed behind; Jo cast a strange, long look back at Yuma, his eyes filled with a quiet, unreadable longing, while Maki flashed a quick, bright grin toward Taki, who suddenly looked very interested in his shoes, his cheeks flushing a faint pink.
Euijoo let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. "I hate him," he whispered. "I genuinely hate him."
"Don't let him get to you, hyung," Taki said, trying to cheer him up, though he still looked flustered from Maki’s glance.
Euijoo nodded, but the damage was done. The familiar, dark cloud of self-doubt and anxiety began to settle heavily over his shoulders.
If the morning was bad, homeroom was an absolute disaster.
"Alright, settle down everyone," their homeroom teacher, Mr. Saito, called out, clapping his hands. "As you know, this term requires a comprehensive, interdisciplinary research project that will account for thirty percent of your final grade. I have already assigned your partners to ensure a diverse mix of skills."
Euijoo prayed silently. Anyone but him. Please, let me pair with Yuma, or Taki, or literally a houseplant.
"Next pair," Mr. Saito announced, looking down at his clipboard. "Byun Euijoo and Wang Yixiang."
The classroom seemed to drop ten degrees. Euijoo felt the blood drain from his face. He slowly turned his head to look across the room, where Nicholas was already staring at him. Instead of looking annoyed, Nicholas simply smirked, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed, looking thoroughly amused by the hand fate had dealt them.
"Teacher," Euijoo said, his voice trembling slightly as he raised his hand. "Is there any way we can switch? I think our working styles might... clash."
"No exceptions, Byun. You two are excellent students; I expect you to handle this professionally," Mr. Saito replied dismissively.
Euijoo sank into his seat, a profound sense of dread washing over him. It wasn't just the project; his mental state had been on a dangerous downward slope for weeks. The pressure of upcoming college applications, his underlying financial anxieties, and his crippling lack of self-worth were starting to feel like a physical weight crushing his chest. Having to spend hours outside of school with his childhood nemesis felt like the final blow.
When the bell finally rang for lunch, Euijoo felt entirely drained. He slipped away from his friends, needing a moment of absolute silence. He climbed the stairs to the abandoned rooftop observatory—a locked, dusty sunroom that he had found a way into last year. It was his sanctuary.
He pulled out his Fujifilm camera, looking through the viewfinder. The world through a lens was so much easier to handle. It was static, quiet, and beautiful. He took a photo of the dust motes dancing in a single shaft of mid-day sunlight, the contrast of light and shadow perfectly capturing the melancholic ache in his heart.
He pulled out his phone and opened his photography Instagram account, @clover_lens. He had started it when he was sixteen as a secret diary. Over the past year, it had unexpectedly grown, gaining thousands of followers who loved his calming, nostalgic aesthetics. He uploaded the photo with a simple, raw caption:
Some days, the shadows feel much heavier than the light. It feels like I’m running out of room to breathe.
He turned off his phone, leaning his head against the brick wall, letting a single tear slip down his cheek. He felt so profoundly lonely, so utterly convinced that nobody in the world truly understood the storm inside his head.
Meanwhile, down in the courtyard, Yuma was walking back from the vending machines, a cold can of coffee in his hand. He was trying to mentally prepare himself to face Euijoo and the others; he knew Euijoo was perceptive, and he couldn't risk the older boy finding out what was happening.
As he turned the corner near the old gymnasium sports shed, a rough hand suddenly grabbed the collar of his uniform blazer, violently yanking him into the shadows.
Yuma gasped, dropping his coffee can, which rolled away with a loud clatter. He found himself pinned against the corrugated iron wall of the shed. Looking up, his heart seized with terror.
Standing over him was Kuro.
Kuro was a third-year, notorious for his malicious streak. He was the very same bully who, years ago, used to corner Euijoo in the park until Nicholas had intervened with a terrifying, rich-kid fury. But Kuro hadn't changed. If anything, he had gotten bigger, meaner, and more dangerous.
Euijoo still remembered that day vividly. He had gotten cornered by Kuro and his minions while walking home from the school, insults getting thrown about him as his glasses shattered—joining the floor with his beat up journals and textbooks. He had for sure thought he was done for. That was, until the loud sound of Nicholas’s skateboard scraping the ground echoed the alleyway.
“You better shut it, idiots,” Nicholas had muttered while grabbing each boy’s collar and kicking their shins. “Only I get to mess with Four-Eyes.”
"What do you want, Kuro?" Yuma hissed, trying to keep his voice steady, though his knees were shaking. "I told you, I don't have any more money today."
Kuro chuckled, a dark, unpleasant sound. He leaned in close, his grip tightening on Yuma’s collar, twisting the fabric until Yuma could barely breathe. "Do you think I care about your pocket change, Nakakita? We have a deal. You don't get to just walk away because you're scared."
"I don't want to do this anymore," Yuma whispered, tears pricking the corners of his eyes. "Please. My friends are starting to notice. Euijoo is asking questions—"
"Then you better keep your pretty little mouth shut," Kuro snarled, his eyes flashing with a dangerous malice. He dragged Yuma further into the blind spot behind the shed, completely hidden from the rest of the school. "You're coming with me after school. No excuses. If you skip out, I’ll make sure your precious little photography friend Byun pays the price. Got it?"
Yuma’s breath hitched. Not Euijoo. Anyone but Euijoo. "Fine," Yuma choked out, his voice breaking. "Fine. Just... don't touch him."
Kuro smiled, a sickening smirk, and finally let go of Yuma’s collar, patting his cheek roughly. "Good boy. See you at four."
Yuma slumped against the wall as Kuro walked away. He smoothed down his wrinkled uniform, his hands trembling violently. He couldn't tell K. He couldn't tell Fuma. And he absolutely could not tell Jo, who he knew had been watching him with worried eyes for weeks. He had to carry this alone.
By the time the final bell rang, Euijoo felt like a walking corpse. He slowly packed his notebooks into his bag, dragging his feet.
"Hey."
Euijoo jumped, looking up to see Nicholas standing over his desk. Nicholas had his hands shoved carelessly into his pockets, his leather school bag slung over one shoulder. His expression was unreadable, devoid of the teasing smirk from this morning, replaced by something intense and focused.
"We need to start the project," Nicholas said bluntly. "My house. Today. We can use the library in the west wing."
Euijoo sighed, feeling too exhausted to even argue. "Fine. But I need to walk home with Yuma first. I promised him—"
"Nakakita already left," Nicholas interrupted, his voice clipped. "Jo saw him sprinting out of the school gates ten minutes ago. Said he had some family emergency."
Euijoo frowned, a spike of worry piercing through his lethargy. A family emergency? Yuma didn't mention anything to me. He pulled out his phone to text Yuma, but there was no response.
"Come on, Four-Eyes. I don't have all day," Nicholas urged, turning on his heel and walking out of the classroom, fully expecting Euijoo to follow.
With no other choice, Euijoo trailed behind him. The walk to the neighborhood they shared was suffocatingly quiet. Nicholas walked a few paces ahead, his confident stride making him look like he belonged on a runway rather than a suburban sidewalk. Euijoo kept his eyes down, his mind wandering back to the dark thoughts that had plagued him all day.
When they arrived at Nicholas’s house—a massive, modern architectural marvel hidden behind high security gates—Euijoo felt the familiar sting of his own insecurities. Nicholas’s family possessed the kind of generational wealth that Euijoo’s mom could only dream of, even with her big promotion.
They went up to the second-floor library. It was a beautiful room filled with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves and a large oak table. Nicholas tossed his bag onto the table and slumped into a chair, kicking his legs up onto the wood.
"Alright, let's get this over with," Nicholas said. "You do the research layout, I’ll handle the presentation delivery. I'm obviously better at public speaking, and you're good at... whatever it is you do."
Euijoo bit his lip, pulling out his laptop. "Fine. But we need to agree on the topic first."
For the next two hours, they worked in a tense, prickly atmosphere. Nicholas was surprisingly sharp, throwing out brilliant points with an arrogant nonchalance that infuriated Euijoo because he couldn't even find a way to argue against them. But as the clock ticked past 6:00 PM, Euijoo’s concentration began to wane. The headache that had been brewing all day finally bloomed into a full-scale migraine. His vision blurred slightly, and his chest felt tight, the phantom weight of his anxiety returning with a vengeance.
He closed his eyes, resting his forehead against the cool surface of the oak table, letting out a shaky, uneven breath.
Nicholas stopped typing. He tilted his head, his sharp eyes narrowing as he looked at the slumped figure across from him. For a split second, the arrogant facade slipped, replaced by a flash of genuine, deep concern. He reached his hand out, hovering just inches away from Euijoo’s shoulder, as if wanting to comfort him.
But then, Nicholas caught himself. He pulled his hand back, his expression hardening back into his usual mask of cocky indifference.
"Hey. If you're going to fall asleep, do it at your own house," Nicholas barked, though the harshness in his voice lacked its usual bite. "We're done for today anyway."
Euijoo lifted his head slowly, his eyes slightly bloodshot. He looked incredibly small, incredibly fragile. "I'm going home," he whispered, packing his things with trembling hands. He didn't even look at Nicholas as he practically fled the room.
Nicholas sat in the quiet library for a long time after Euijoo left. He stared at the empty chair, his jaw clenching. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone.
He didn't open his private messages. Instead, he opened Instagram. He went straight to his search bar and typed in @clover_lens.
He clicked on the latest post—the photo of the dust motes in the sunroom. He read the heartbreaking caption Euijoo had left earlier that afternoon. Nicholas’s chest tightened, a profound bitterness washing over him. He hated seeing Euijoo like this. He hated that Euijoo carried the weight of the world on his shoulders and refused to let anyone in.
Nicholas logged into his burner account—an account with zero followers and a blank profile picture that he used solely for one purpose.
He tapped the comment box and began to type.
@user91047: The shadows only feel heavy because the light you carry inside you is so bright, it creates a deep contrast. Don't let the darkness trick you into thinking you're empty. Breathe. You are doing so much better than you think you are. The world needs your eyes.
Nicholas stared at the words on the screen. It was a level of vulnerability he would rather die than show in real life. He hit send.
He looked out the library window, watching the lights turn on in the spacious house next door—Euijoo’s house.
"Stupid, fragile nerd," Nicholas muttered to the empty room, his voice soft, devoid of any malice, carrying only a quiet, hidden devotion. "Just hang in there."