Park Sunghoon | drowned in silence

The next day started like any other, with Yejin waking up in her small apartment to the sound of her mother rushing to get ready for work. The thin walls did little to muffle the clatter of dishes or the hurried footsteps that always filled the mornings.

Yejin dressed quickly, her movements slow and deliberate. The weight in her chest had become a familiar companion, but today, it felt... lighter.

Sunghoon's words from the day before echoed in her mind: "If anyone bothers you again, tell me."

It wasn't a promise. Not exactly. But it felt like one.

At school, the usual routine awaited her—whispers, side glances, and Minji's mocking smirk. The moment Yejin walked into the classroom, she could feel the tension in the air.

"Here she is," Minji said loudly, her voice dripping with fake enthusiasm. "Our resident charity case."

Yejin's hands tightened on the straps of her bag, but she didn't respond. She walked to her seat, keeping her head down, willing herself to disappear.

Minji wasn't done. She sauntered over, leaning casually against Yejin's desk.

"What's wrong? Cat got your tongue?" she taunted, her voice low enough that the teacher wouldn't hear.

Yejin stared at the notebook in front of her, her chest tightening. She didn't move, didn't react, just as she always did.

Minji's smirk widened. "You know, it's kind of pathetic, the way you just take it. Do you think it makes you look strong? Because it doesn't. It just makes you—"

"Minji."

The voice was quiet but firm, cutting through the air like a blade.

Yejin's heart stopped.

She looked up to see Sunghoon standing by his desk, his expression calm but his gaze locked on Minji.

Minji froze, her bravado faltering for just a moment. Then she straightened, her lips curling into a mocking smile.

"Oh, look who's playing hero," she said, tilting her head. "Isn't that sweet?"

Sunghoon didn't respond, didn't even blink. He just kept looking at her, his silence more powerful than any words.

After a tense moment, Minji rolled her eyes. "Whatever," she muttered, turning on her heel and stalking back to her seat.

Yejin's hands trembled as she stared down at her desk, her breath coming in shallow gasps.

When the bell rang for lunch, Yejin stayed behind, as she always did. She didn't want to face the cafeteria, didn't want to deal with the stares and whispers that followed her everywhere.

But today, Sunghoon didn't leave either.

He leaned against the edge of her desk, his arms crossed, his expression unreadable.

"Why don't you ever say anything?" he asked after a long silence.

Yejin blinked, startled by the question.

"I..." She hesitated, unsure how to explain. "It doesn't matter. They'll just keep doing it."

Sunghoon frowned slightly, his gaze steady. "So you let them?"

"It's easier that way," she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

He was quiet for a moment, studying her. Then he leaned closer, his voice low but firm.

"Not everything has to be easy."

Yejin's breath caught. She looked up at him, her chest tightening. His words felt like they were pulling something loose inside her, something she had buried deep.

"I don't know how to fight back," she admitted, her voice trembling.

"You don't have to fight alone," he said simply.

The words hit her harder than she expected. For so long, she had felt like she was carrying the weight of the world on her own. The idea that someone else might share that burden... it felt unreal.

"Why do you care?" she asked before she could stop herself.

Sunghoon hesitated, his expression softening ever so slightly.

"I don't know," he admitted, his voice quieter now. "But I do."

The rest of the day passed in a haze for Yejin. Minji's group still whispered and giggled, but they kept their distance. Sunghoon didn't look at her much, but his presence felt like a shield, an invisible barrier that kept the worst of the cruelty at bay.

For the first time in a long time, Yejin felt like she could breathe.

That evening, as she walked home, the weight of the day began to settle on her shoulders. She replayed Sunghoon's words in her mind, trying to make sense of the strange warmth they brought her.

When she reached her apartment, she found her mother sitting at the table, her head in her hands.

"Mom?" Yejin said, her voice hesitant.

Her mother looked up, her eyes red-rimmed and tired. "Oh, Yejin," she said, forcing a smile. "You're home."

"What's wrong?" Yejin asked, her chest tightening.

Her mother shook her head, waving a hand dismissively. "It's nothing. Just work."

But Yejin knew better. She saw the unopened bills stacked on the table, the lines of worry etched into her mother's face.

She sat down beside her, silent but present. It was all she could offer.

As Yejin lay in bed that night, staring at the cracked ceiling, she thought about Sunghoon again.

His words, his presence—they had stirred something in her, something she hadn't felt in a long time.

Hope.