Saturday nights on campus carried a different kind of quiet.
Not the heavy silence that followed long lectures or exhausting days, but something softer—something that didn't press down on your chest.
A break.
Even the student council allowed it.
The gathering was simple. No loud music. No chaos. Just soft instrumentals playing in the background, low conversations, and the occasional quiet laughter that didn't disturb the calm.
Everything was controlled.
Organized.
Peaceful.
Exactly how Kang Jae-min preferred it.
—
Jae-min stood near one of the long tables, a glass in his hand.
Untouched.
His posture remained straight, his expression unreadable as his eyes moved across the room. He observed every small movement, every interaction, ensuring nothing went out of line.
He wasn't here to enjoy the party.
He was here to maintain it.
—
Across the room—
"Another one."
Lee Hyun-woo held out his glass lazily, his fingers slightly loose around it.
His friend frowned immediately. "You've had enough."
"It's a party," Hyun-woo said, a faint grin forming on his lips. "What's the point if I don't drink?"
"That doesn't mean you drink like that."
"Relax," he waved him off. "I can handle it."
But his grip said otherwise.
"…Hyun-woo."
"Just one more."
A pause.
Then—
a sigh.
"…Fine."
Another drink was poured.
—
Minutes passed.
Hyun-woo's laughter came easier now, though it lacked its usual brightness. His movements slowed, his balance slightly off.
"…You should stop," his friend insisted again.
"I'm fine."
"You're not."
"I said I am."
His words slurred slightly.
—
From across the room—
Jae-min noticed.
Of course he did.
Annoying.
Irresponsible.
—
Not long after—
Hyun-woo nearly dropped his glass.
That was enough.
"Step aside."
Jae-min's voice cut through quietly.
His friend immediately moved away.
Hyun-woo blinked slowly. "…President?"
Jae-min took the glass from his hand without hesitation.
"You've had enough."
"Since when do you care?" Hyun-woo let out a weak laugh.
"I don't."
A beat.
"You're becoming a disturbance."
"Still cold," Hyun-woo muttered.
"Stand."
"That sounded like an order."
"It is."
Hyun-woo tried to stand—
and failed.
Jae-min caught him before he could fall.
Firm.
Steady.
"…You can't even stand properly," Jae-min said.
Hyun-woo chuckled weakly. "Guess I lied."
"I'll take you home."
—
"Don't."
Immediate.
Sharp.
Jae-min paused.
"…What?"
"I don't want to go home."
"…Why?"
"It's Saturday. The dorms are empty. You should go home."
Hyun-woo laughed softly.
"Home…?"
The word sounded distant.
"…I don't have one."
Silence.
"…What?"
"I don't have a home to go to…" he murmured. "…and no parents to go home with."
A beat.
"…They're all gone."
—
Jae-min's grip loosened slightly.
"…W-what?"
But Hyun-woo didn't stop.
Didn't even realize he was talking.
"I'm always alone…"
His voice softened.
"I'm smiling even though I'm hurt…"
His lips curved into a faint smile—but it wasn't real.
"I have no family left…"
"They died in a car accident…"
—
And just like that—
his mind slipped.
—
Rain poured endlessly outside the car windows.
The sound was loud.
Too loud.
A younger Hyun-woo sat in the backseat, his small hands pressing against the glass as he watched the blurry lights pass by.
"Sit properly," his mother said gently.
"I am," he replied, pouting.
His father chuckled softly. "You're going to fall if you keep moving like that."
"I won't!"
His mother smiled.
"We'll be home soon."
Home.
Warm.
Safe.
The rain grew heavier.
The road became harder to see.
Wipers moved quickly—
back and forth.
Back and forth.
Then—
a flash of light.
Too bright.
A horn.
Too loud.
"—Hyun-woo—!"
His mother's voice—
sharp.
Panicked.
Then—
everything happened at once.
A deafening crash.
Metal twisting.
Glass shattering.
The world spinning.
Upside down.
Then—
darkness.
—
Cold.
That was the first thing he felt.
Cold.
"…Mom…?"
No answer.
"…Dad…?"
Silence.
His ears rang.
His body wouldn't move.
The smell of smoke filled the air.
His vision blurred, but he could still see—
his father slumped forward.
Unmoving.
His mother—
her hand stretched toward him—
frozen in place.
"Mom…?"
His voice trembled.
"…Wake up…"
Nothing.
"Please…"
Tears blurred his vision.
"Dad…!"
No response.
No movement.
Just silence.
Endless silence.
—
Sirens.
Voices shouting.
Hands pulling him away.
"No—!"
He struggled.
"Wait—!"
"I need—my mom—!"
But he was dragged out.
Away.
And the last thing he saw—
was the car.
Crushed.
Broken.
Just like everything else.
—
"…No…"
The memory snapped.
—
Back to the present—
Hyun-woo swayed slightly, his breathing uneven.
"…Our house…"
His voice trembled faintly.
"I don't want to go there…"
"It's very lonely… and empty without my parents…"
—
Jae-min stood still.
Listening.
Unable to interrupt.
"I thought I was going to be okay…"
Hyun-woo continued softly.
"But I'm still struggling alone…"
"Behind all the laughter…"
"…I'm struggling behind that."
"I have no family to go home with…"
—
Silence fell.
Heavy.
Unavoidable.
—
Hyun-woo blinked slowly.
"…Tsk."
"…I talk too much when I'm drunk."
—
"…The dorm," Jae-min said finally.
"I'll take you there."
"…Yeah."
—
The walk was quiet.
Slow.
Jae-min stayed beside him.
Close enough.
—
When they reached the dorm—
Hyun-woo dropped onto the couch immediately.
The room was messy.
Empty.
Quiet.
—
"…You should clean this," Jae-min said.
"No energy."
"Clearly."
—
"…Get some rest."
He turned to leave.
"Hey…"
He stopped.
"…Don't tell anyone."
A pause.
"…It's irrelevant."
—
"…Thanks."
—
The door closed.
—
Hyun-woo stared at the ceiling.
"…Tsk."
But his voice was quieter now.
Almost broken.
—
Outside—
Jae-min stood still.
Longer than necessary.
—
Because for the first time—
silence didn't feel peaceful.
—
Unfortunately,
some memories never fade.
—
Jae-min didn't leave immediately.
The door had already closed behind him, yet his hand remained on the handle for a second longer than necessary.
Still.
Unmoving.
The hallway was quiet.
Too quiet.
"…Irrelevant," he muttered under his breath, as if repeating the word would make it true.
But it didn't.
His grip tightened slightly before he finally let go and walked away.
—
Inside the room—
Hyun-woo shifted slightly on the couch.
His arm still draped over his eyes.
"…Tsk."
His breathing was uneven.
Not from the alcohol.
Not entirely.
Fragments of memory still lingered—unwelcome, heavy, refusing to disappear.
Rain.
Glass.
Voices.
Silence.
"…I said I wouldn't think about it…" he murmured weakly.
But thinking wasn't something he could control.
Not when he was like this.
Not when everything was quiet.
Too quiet.
—
He turned slightly, pressing his face deeper into the couch.
"…It's always quiet," he muttered.
A small, humorless laugh escaped him.
"I hate it."
Silence answered.
—
Another memory surfaced.
Not the accident this time.
But after.
—
White walls.
Too bright.
Too clean.
The smell of antiseptic filled the air.
A younger Hyun-woo sat on the hospital bed, his legs dangling slightly, his hands gripping the thin blanket tightly.
"…Where are they?"
No one answered immediately.
The adults around him exchanged looks.
Hesitation.
Pity.
Words he didn't understand yet.
"…Where's my mom?"
His voice was small.
Fragile.
"…Where's my dad?"
Still no answer.
Just silence.
Then—
a hand gently rested on his shoulder.
"…Hyun-woo."
A pause.
"…They won't be coming back."
He didn't understand at first.
"…What?"
"They're gone."
Gone.
The word echoed.
But it didn't make sense.
"…No."
He shook his head immediately.
"No, they're just… they're just late, right?"
Silence.
"…Right?"
No one answered.
And that was when it hit him.
Not all at once.
But slowly.
Painfully.
"…No…"
His grip tightened on the blanket.
"…No—"
His voice broke.
"…You're lying—!"
Tears blurred his vision.
"They said we were going home—!"
His chest tightened.
"I want my mom—!"
"I want my dad—!"
But no one could give them back.
No one.
—
Back to the present—
Hyun-woo let out a shaky breath.
"…I hate this…"
His voice was barely audible.
"I hate remembering…"
—
He shifted again, curling slightly into himself.
The room remained messy.
Unchanged.
Empty.
Just like always.
"…This is why I don't go back," he whispered.
"…That house…"
His fingers clenched slightly.
"It doesn't feel like home anymore…"
—
Meanwhile—
Jae-min walked through the quiet campus.
His steps steady.
Measured.
As always.
But his thoughts—
weren't.
"…They're all gone."
The words repeated in his mind.
Unwanted.
Unnecessary.
Irrelevant.
And yet—
they stayed.
Jae-min frowned slightly.
Annoyed.
At himself.
At the situation.
At the fact that—
for once—
he couldn't ignore something.
"…It doesn't change anything," he said under his breath.
But even that—
didn't sound convincing.
—
The next morning—
sunlight filtered through the dorm window.
Hyun-woo stirred.
Slowly.
"…Mmm…"
His head throbbed slightly.
"Ugh…"
He sat up, holding his head for a moment.
"…I hate drinking…"
A pause.
"…Why did I even—"
Then—
he froze.
Fragments.
Words.
Memories.
"…Oh."
His expression stiffened slightly.
"…No way…"
He ran a hand through his hair.
"…I didn't, right?"
Silence.
"…I did."
He fell back onto the couch.
"…Great."
A dry laugh escaped him.
"Just great."
—
He stared at the ceiling.
"…Well," he muttered after a moment.
"…Too late now."
Another pause.
"…He probably doesn't care anyway."
That thought—
should've made him feel better.
But for some reason—
it didn't.
—
He sighed, pushing himself up.
"…Whatever."
Back to normal.
Back to noise.
Back to pretending.
—
Unfortunately,
some things said in silence—
are the hardest to take back.