T

The student union building at Gwangju National smelled perpetually of overpriced espresso and damp wool. For Yunho, Mingi, and Jongho, it was the place where their freedom had officially gone to die. Due to a clerical error in their sophomore registration, the three of them were short exactly two credits of "Social Engagement," a mandatory requirement that couldn't be bypassed by playing basketball or hiding in the library.

"A partner program," Mingi groaned, slouching so low in his plastic chair that his knees hit the underside of the table. "It sounds like a blind date service for people who hate each other."

Jongho, ever the pragmatist, flipped through his phone. "It’s a peer-integration initiative. We just have to assist students with different accessibility needs for the semester. It’s not that deep, Mingi. Just be helpful."

"I can be helpful," Yunho chimed in, though he looked just as exhausted as the others. "I just hope they don't expect us to be experts. I don't even know how to use a Braille typewriter."

Their conversation was cut short when the coordinator approached, followed by two figures who immediately drew the room’s attention.

The first was tall, moving with a grace that felt almost choreographed. He was striking—slim, wearing a tailored cream-colored coat that screamed fashion major. His hair was dark and perfectly styled, framing a face that belonged on a billboard. This was Park Seonghwa.

Beside him, clutching the sleeve of Seonghwa’s coat with a grip that turned his knuckles white, was a much smaller boy. He had a shock of bleached blond hair and thick, black-rimmed glasses that took up half his face. He looked like a frightened owl, his head tilted slightly to the left as if trying to catch a sound that wasn't there.

"Yunho, Mingi, Jongho," the coordinator said, gesturing to the newcomers. "This is Park Seonghwa, a junior in the Fashion Department, and Kim Hongjoong, a freshman in Music."

Seonghwa smiled, a warm, radiant expression. He lifted his hands, his fingers moving in a fluid, rhythmic dance of sign language while simultaneously speaking. His voice had the distinct, slightly heavy cadence of someone who had never heard the sound of his own words—a deaf accent that was soft and melodic.

"It is nice to meet you all," Seonghwa said, his signs punctuating his speech. "I am Seonghwa. This is my friend, Hongjoong."

Hongjoong didn't move. He didn't look at them—he couldn't—but he didn't even turn his face in their direction. He remained tucked behind Seonghwa’s shoulder, his expression a mask of stony defiance.

"Hi," Yunho said, waving awkwardly before realizing Seonghwa was the one who couldn't hear him and Hongjoong was the one who couldn't see the wave. He felt his face heat up. "I'm Yunho. We're looking forward to working with you guys."

Seonghwa nodded enthusiastically, his eyes crinkling. He nudged Hongjoong gently. "Hongjoong-ah, say hello."

Hongjoong’s lips thinned into a straight line. He didn't speak. Instead, he leaned closer to Seonghwa and whispered something into the taller boy's ear. Seonghwa sighed, a small, patient sound.

"He is a little shy," Seonghwa explained, his hands moving again. "He does not like strangers very much. But he is very smart."

"Shy is fine," Mingi said, trying to be friendly. "I’m Mingi. I’m a rap major, so maybe we have some stuff in common since you're in music?"

Hongjoong’s head snapped toward the sound of Mingi’s voice, but his expression wasn't one of interest. It was a scowl. He reached out, his hand finding Seonghwa’s arm again, and pulled. He made a sharp, frustrated sound in the back of his throat and signed something so fast and jagged that the sophomores couldn't begin to guess what it meant.

Seonghwa’s expression faltered for a second. "He says... he wants to go to the practice rooms now."

"Oh, okay," Yunho said, standing up. "We can walk you there."

As they walked, the tension was palpable. Yunho and Mingi tried to make small talk with Seonghwa, who was incredibly kind and patient, despite the difficulty of signing while walking. But every time they tried to include Hongjoong, the blond boy would recoil.

"Hongjoong, do you play the piano?" Jongho asked, trying a direct approach.

Hongjoong stopped walking. He turned his face toward Jongho, his thick glasses catching the overhead fluorescent lights so they looked like two opaque white circles.

"I don't need your help to walk," Hongjoong snapped. His voice was sharp, surprisingly deep, and dripping with venom. "Talk to Seonghwa. Leave me alone."

The three sophomores froze. Even Seonghwa looked surprised by the vitriol in the younger boy's tone. Hongjoong didn't wait for a response; he grabbed his white cane from the side of his backpack and began tapping furiously at the floor, stomping ahead with a sense of direction that was borderline miraculous for someone who couldn't see.

---

A week later, the trio was huddled in Yunho’s dorm room, the remains of a late-night pizza delivery scattered between them.

"I’m telling you, he hates us," Mingi said, throwing his hands up. "I tried to offer him a granola bar today because he looked like he hadn't eaten, and he told me he wasn't a 'stray dog' and to get out of his personal space."

Jongho sighed, leaning back against his headboard. "He’s feisty, I’ll give him that. But it’s exhausting. We’re supposed to be helping them, but he won't let us within three feet of him. Seonghwa is great, but he spends half the time apologizing for Hongjoong."

"It’s not just that he’s mean," Yunho added, frowning. "It’s like he’s built a wall of glass around himself. He only talks to Seonghwa. He won't even acknowledge we're in the room unless we accidentally bump into him, and then he looks like he wants to bite our heads off."

"He’s a nerd, too," Mingi grumbled. "He’s always got those headphones on, or he’s hunched over a Braille score, muttering to himself. I tried to ask what he was composing and he told me my 'vocal resonance was irritating his ears.'"

"He said that?" Jongho laughed, despite himself. "Damn. That’s cold."

"We have to find a way to break through," Yunho said, though he didn't sound very convinced. "We’re stuck with them for the semester. If we don't get these credits, we're screwed."

The opportunity for a breakthrough came sooner than they expected, though not in the way they imagined.

The following Tuesday, the group was meeting in a secluded corner of the campus gardens. It was a rare warm afternoon, and Seonghwa had insisted they sit outside so he could "feel the sun" while he worked on his sketches.

Hongjoong was sitting on a stone bench, his blond hair ruffled by the breeze. He looked smaller out here, less guarded. He had his glasses off for once, rubbing the bridge of his nose as if they had been giving him a headache. His eyes were closed.

"Seonghwa-hyung," Hongjoong called out, his voice lacking its usual bite. "Where did I put the water bottle?"

Seonghwa was busy sketching and didn't notice the call. He was focused on the drape of fabric on a small mannequin he’d brought along.

Yunho, seeing an opening, picked up the bottle from the grass. "Here, Hongjoong. It’s right here."

He stepped forward and gently placed the bottle in Hongjoong’s hand.

The touch startled the smaller boy. Hongjoong’s head snapped up, his eyes flying open.

Yunho, Mingi, and Jongho all stopped dead in their tracks.

For the first time, they were seeing Hongjoong’s eyes without the distortion of the thick lenses. They were breathtaking. They weren't clouded or dull as one might expect; instead, they were a deep, clear amber, framed by long, dark lashes. But it was the way they moved—drifting slightly, unfocused and hazy, like looking at the world through a veil of smoke. They were wide, vulnerable, and startlingly beautiful.

Hongjoong realized his mistake instantly. His hand scrambled for the glasses resting on the bench beside him, his fingers trembling.

"Don't look at me," he hissed, his voice cracking. "Give them to me!"

"Wait, Hongjoong—" Yunho started, his voice soft with genuine awe. "Your eyes... they're really pretty."

Hongjoong flinched as if he’d been struck. He finally found his glasses and shoved them back onto his face, the thick frames hiding the amber depths once more. The wall was back up, higher and thicker than before.

"Don't talk to me," Hongjoong spat, his face flushing a deep crimson. "I don't want your pity, and I don't want your compliments. Just... stay away."

He stood up, his cane swinging wildly until it hit the path, and he practically ran toward the music wing, leaving the three sophomores standing in stunned silence.

Seonghwa looked up then, noticing the empty space on the bench. He looked at the three boys, his expression falling into one of deep sadness. He signed slowly, his voice heavy.

"He thinks... he thinks he is broken," Seonghwa said. "He does not want you to see the broken parts."

"We don't think he's broken," Mingi whispered, looking toward the direction Hongjoong had disappeared.

"I know," Seonghwa replied. "But Hongjoong... he does not know how to be seen."

Over the next few weeks, the trio tried everything. They brought him his favorite snacks (which Seonghwa secretly told them were honey butter chips). They tried to talk about music theory, hoping to pique his interest. Yunho even tried to learn a few basic signs to show they were putting in the effort.

But Hongjoong remained an island. He stayed closed off, his responses limited to sharp one-word answers or stony silence. He wouldn't look toward them, wouldn't laugh at their jokes, and wouldn't let them help him with so much as opening a door.

One evening, as they were leaving the library, Jongho caught a glimpse of Hongjoong in one of the glass-walled practice rooms. The blond boy was at the grand piano, his head bowed low over the keys. He wasn't using a score. His fingers were flying across the ivory, creating a melody that was haunting, complex, and desperately lonely.

Jongho signaled for Yunho and Mingi to stop. They stood in the hallway, watching through the glass.

In that moment, without his glasses, Hongjoong looked like a different person. The anger was gone, replaced by a raw, aching passion. He was swaying with the music, his hazy eyes closed, a small, sad smile playing on his lips. He looked whole. He looked brilliant.

"He’s incredible," Yunho whispered.

Mingi nodded, his chest tight. "Why won't he let us in, man? We're right here."

They waited for him to finish, hoping that maybe, just maybe, if they caught him in this moment of peace, he would finally speak to them.

But as soon as the last note faded, Hongjoong reached for his glasses on the piano lid. As the frames settled onto his face, the transformation was instantaneous. The soft expression vanished, replaced by the familiar, defensive scowl. He sensed the vibration of the door opening as they stepped in.

"We heard you playing," Jongho said softly. "It was beautiful, Hongjoong."

Hongjoong stiffened, his hands clenching into fists on the keys. He didn't turn around.

"Beauty is for people who can see it," he said, his voice cold and flat. "Go away."

"Hongjoong, please," Yunho tried, stepping closer. "We just want to be your friends. We’re not here because we have to be anymore. We actually like hanging out with you and Seonghwa."

Hongjoong stood up abruptly, his bench screeching against the floor. He turned toward them, his blurred eyes hidden behind the black rims, his chin lifted in defiance.

"I have Seonghwa," he said. "I don't need anyone else. I don't need three sophomores following me around like I’m a science project. I’m not a charity case."

"We never said you were!" Mingi burst out, frustrated.

"You don't have to say it," Hongjoong snapped. "I can hear it in your voices. The way you soften your tone when you talk to me. The way you move out of my way like I’m made of glass. I’m not glass. I’m not pretty. I’m just blind. Now leave."

He brushed past them, his shoulder hitting Yunho’s hard. He didn't stumble; he knew this room by heart. He walked out into the hallway, the rhythmic tap-tap-tap of his cane echoing against the linoleum like a heartbeat.

The three of them stood in the empty practice room, the scent of old wood and Hongjoong’s sharp citrus cologne lingering in the air.

"He’s not going to open up, is he?" Mingi asked, his voice low.

Yunho looked at the piano, the keys still seemingly humming from the force of Hongjoong’s talent. He thought about those amber eyes, hidden away behind thick glass and even thicker walls.

"I don't know," Yunho said. "But he’s wrong about one thing."

"What’s that?" Jongho asked.

"He thinks we see him as broken," Yunho replied, his heart heavy. "But he’s the only one who can’t see how bright he’s shining."

They left the room, the silence of the hallway feeling heavier than it had before. They had come to the program looking for credits, but they had found something much more difficult to earn: the trust of a boy who had decided long ago that the world was better left in the dark. As they walked away, they could only hope that one day, the haze would lift, and Hongjoong would realize that he didn't have to face the silence and the shadows alone. But for now, the glass remained, unshattered and cold.