* * *
Joowon stared coldly at the backs of the retreating students, then exhaled a long breath.
The fierce, wrathful energy that had surrounded him slowly settled.
He turned his gaze to Yoonwoo—slowly, and with great care.
The anger and iciness from earlier were gone, replaced by concern, guilt, and an expression so conflicted it was clear he didn’t know what to do with himself.
The overpowering aura he had radiated just moments ago was completely gone now.
“…Are you okay, Yoonwoo?”
His low voice echoed quietly down the now-silent hallway.
Yoonwoo stared blankly at him, still reeling from the shock and overwhelmed by unfamiliar emotions.
The humiliation and despair that had gripped him earlier had faded, replaced by the sound of his own heart pounding wildly.
To think someone would get that angry for his sake.
And not just anyone—but an Alpha, someone who stood at the shining center of a world so far from his own.
The very person who had once hurt him by asking about his secondary gender.
Yet Joowon didn’t confine him to being a “Beta.”
He saw him as a person—Seo Yoonwoo.
He recognized the talent and effort even Yoonwoo sometimes doubted himself.
And he defended him.
“He’s not someone you lowlifes have the right to speak about.”
“He works all night while you lot are out drinking.”
“That’s how he became the top student in the entire year.”
“You have no right to insult his effort or his ability.”
Joowon’s words rang clearly in Yoonwoo’s ears again.
Something hot surged up from deep inside Yoonwoo’s chest.
It wasn’t just gratitude—it was something far deeper, a kind of emotion he’d never felt before in his life.
A complete, unwavering defense and support that he hadn’t received even from his own family over the past decade.
Something he’d never once experienced in the face of society’s prejudice.
It felt like the cold, hardened walls around his heart were melting at the sound of each of Joowon’s firm declarations.
Like ice thawing slowly under warm sunlight, his defenses crumbled helplessly.
His eyes stung, and his vision blurred—not from sorrow, but from a raw and unfamiliar wave of gratitude and emotion.
“…Yes.”
The word slipped out, barely louder than a whisper, but it was a clear answer.
When Joowon saw the tears in Yoonwoo’s eyes and the faint trembling of his lips, he looked a little relieved.
Still, he smiled with great caution, gently and sincerely.
He took a step toward Yoonwoo and started to reach out to place a hand on his shoulder—but hesitated, and pulled back.
He remembered the overwhelming presence he had radiated earlier and didn’t want to risk hurting Yoonwoo any further by overstepping.
“It’s late… Should I walk you home?”
Joowon’s awkward yet sincere offer hung in the air.
Yoonwoo, still dazed, didn’t reply, but gave a small nod.
The lock he had kept tightly fastened felt like it was loosening, just a little.
Beyond the wariness he felt toward Joowon, a faint warmth—a small, flickering spark—began to stir.
They left the library in silence.
The campus was quiet in the late night, and the cool air soothed their flushed cheeks.
The earlier chaos in the lounge now felt like something from another world.
Under the streetlights, their long shadows stretched quietly beside them.
Joowon slowed his steps to match Yoonwoo’s pace.
He didn’t know what to say.
Even words like ‘I’m sorry’ or ‘Are you okay?’ might just weigh Yoonwoo down further.
He simply wanted Yoonwoo to feel that he wasn’t alone.
Yoonwoo didn’t say anything either.
His thoughts were still tangled, but the quiet presence of Joowon walking beside him gave him a strange sense of comfort.
A strange silence hung between them, both awkward and reassuring, as they slowly made their way toward Yoonwoo’s dorm.
Outwardly, not much changed between them after that day in the library hallway.
Yoonwoo remained quiet, still unsure how to reach out to others.
The image of Joowon standing up for him so fiercely was seared into his mind—but that didn’t mean the deep wounds and distrust toward secondary genders he had built over the years would disappear overnight.
Joowon, too, seemed careful not to repeat his earlier mistakes.
He respected Yoonwoo’s boundaries, maintaining a delicate distance.
Even during club meetings, he didn’t go out of his way to talk to Yoonwoo or shower him with attention.
As if nothing had happened, he returned to his role as club president, guiding discussions and taking care of the members.
But beneath the surface, a subtle crack had formed in the invisible wall between them.
Yoonwoo no longer avoided Joowon outright.
If they crossed paths in the hallway, he would give him a small nod.
And when Joowon left a movie DVD or a cup of lemon tea on the library table for him, Yoonwoo would respond in a quiet voice, “…Thank you.”
Sometimes, after a film screening, instead of giving a curt reply to Joowon’s questions about his thoughts, Yoonwoo would offer long, thoughtful answers filled with his own perspective.
His voice remained low and cautious, but the sharp coldness that used to be there had undeniably softened.
And every time their opinions happened to align during a discussion about a particular scene, Joowon never missed the faint smile that would briefly pass over Yoonwoo’s lips, previously always set like a mask.
Each time it happened, Joowon’s heart would pound loudly in his chest.
Yoonwoo found himself, almost unconsciously, spending more and more time observing Joowon.
His effortless leadership with the other club members, the way his eyes sparkled when he talked about films, and his unexpectedly gentle demeanor—especially when comforting a struggling junior or covering for someone’s mistake.
Joowon was clearly an alpha who shone at the center of many people’s attention.
But Yoonwoo didn’t feel the superiority or overbearing aura he’d often sensed from other alphas in the past.
What stood out to him most was Joowon’s careful and respectful attitude toward him.
He never treated Yoonwoo based on his secondary gender as a beta, but made a clear effort to treat him as just Seo Yoonwoo.
That made Yoonwoo think, ‘Maybe… this person really is different.’
Joowon, too, didn’t miss the subtle changes in Yoonwoo.
Though he knew Yoonwoo hadn’t fully accepted him, he found comfort in the fact that at least he wasn’t being pushed away like before.
Carefully, he tried to get closer—but never too close.
He restrained himself, doing his best to stay at a distance that Yoonwoo could feel safe in.
That patience gave Yoonwoo a different kind of trust.
Joowon maintained just enough distance not to overwhelm him, and constantly sent warm, steady glances his way.
Yoonwoo tried to ignore those looks, but still, his face would grow hot and his heart would tingle.
It was a sensation he’d never felt before—strange, but not unpleasant.
Time passed, and the autumn of Yoonwoo’s twenty-third year deepened.
Crimson and golden leaves fluttered across campus, and the chill in the night air made people pull their collars tighter.
There was still some awkwardness and a lot of silence between them, but the silence no longer felt sharp or uncomfortable.
Instead, it felt more like the quiet tension and excitement born of mutual awareness.
One evening, after the film club’s screening ended and most people had already gone home, Yoonwoo—who was on cleanup duty—stayed behind to pack up the equipment.
Just then, Joowon, who had already left earlier, came back into the clubroom.
“Yoonwoo, you’re still cleaning up?”
“…Yes. Almost done.”
Yoonwoo was a bit startled by the sudden reappearance, but answered as calmly as he could.
Without a word, Joowon began helping him clean.
In the quiet of the late night, only their breathing and the sounds of equipment being packed echoed softly.
It was awkward, but not uncomfortable.
Watching Joowon silently fold up the screen, Yoonwoo was reminded of the time he’d stood up for him, his broad back radiating strength.
His heart began to tingle again.
Once the clean-up was done, they stepped out of the clubroom and began walking together through the night campus.
The cool air brushing past them felt refreshing.
Dry ginkgo leaves, blown down by the wind, crunched pleasantly beneath their feet.
Under the moonlight, their long shadows stretched side by side behind them.
Suddenly, Joowon stopped walking.
Yoonwoo turned toward him, confused.
Under the mixed glow of moonlight and streetlights, Joowon’s face no longer wore its usual relaxed smile.
Instead, there was a visible nervousness—his true feelings laid bare.
His deep eyes were locked only on Yoonwoo.
“Yoonwoo.”
Joowon called his name softly, his voice trembling just slightly—Yoonwoo noticed it.
The serious tone made Yoonwoo swallow dryly as he waited for what would come next.
“…I like you, Yoonwoo.”
* * *
