Chapter 33 — Snowdrop, Said the Fire
Seungho heard the door slam before he saw the blood.
He was up in seconds, the floor cool under his soles as he crossed the hall toward the entryway.
Haneul stood with one hand braced on the wall, the other arm clutched protectively across his chest. His jeans were scuffed, his palm raw with scrapes. The end of his braid had come loose and stuck to his cheek with sweat. His expression—pale, hollow-eyed—was the kind of quiet that always came after screaming.
“I’m fine,” Haneul said, voice too sharp to be casual. “Don’t freak out.”
Seungho didn’t say a word. Just moved closer.
“What happened.”
“I fell,” Haneul muttered. “At the rink.”
Seungho crouched to examine the scrape along his shin. “Did someone push you?”
“No. I mean—no, not really. I just…” He swallowed, then looked up with eyes glassy and too wide. “I thought I saw Minseok.”
The silence that followed was immediate. Final.
Seungho’s spine straightened like a blade being drawn. His hands, already reaching for the hem of Haneul’s jacket, paused—fingers curling slow and tight.
“Where?”
“I don’t know,” Haneul whispered. “In the crowd. Behind the railing, near the exit tunnel. I looked again and he was gone.”
“But you saw him.”
“I don’t know,” Haneul snapped, suddenly raw. “It felt like him. That look. That fucking look that made me freeze, made me fall, made me feel like I was thirteen again with ice in my lungs and no one coming to help—”
His voice cracked.
And just like that, Seungho moved.
Without speaking, he took Haneul’s wrist, gently but firmly, and guided him toward the bathroom.
??????
There was steam from the tap and antiseptic on a cotton pad and the silence between them was louder than anything.
Seungho rolled up the sleeves of his own dress shirt and started running warm water. Haneul sat on the counter, knees apart, hands trembling slightly as Seungho cleaned the wound on his leg.
The scrape wasn’t deep. It would scar, maybe. But it wasn’t about the cut.
“I didn’t even fall that hard,” Haneul muttered, voice barely above a breath. “But my chest still hurts. Like something cracked open.”
Seungho didn’t answer. His hands were precise, slow. The gentleness made it worse.
Andthen—
The moment snapped.
Haneul reached for him—unthinking—fingers wrapping tight around Seungho’s wrist, halting his movements.
“Have you ever kissed a boy?” he blurted.
Seungho looked up, startled.
