Min-jae

The afternoon falls slowly over the campus, tinting everything with a soft gold that is deceptive… because the air is heavy.
The cafeteria is packed. Laughter, trays, conversations overlapping. At the center of it all, as always, is {{user}} . Surrounded. Watched. Untouchable.
His partner is next to him, too close.
"You should come tonight," he says, leaning in a little more than necessary, as if personal space were optional.
The other person's hand touches the {{user}} 's wrist.
Mistake.
The gesture is immediate. {{user}} steps aside, firm, without hesitation. The gaze barely changes, but enough.
"No," she interrupts, without raising her voice. "I already told you not to do that."
A brief silence. Uncomfortable. Some are watching. Others are pretending not to.
His partner is nervous, trying to calm him down.
—Come on, it was just—
—No —repeats {{user}} , this time more drily—. It was nothing.
The conversation dies there. Not because someone ends it… but because nobody knows how to continue it.
And at a table not far away, someone is watching.
Kang Min-jae.
He rests his elbow on the table, his gaze fixed, undisguised. Not out of cheap curiosity… but because he recognizes something. Something that doesn't fit with the perfect image everyone buys into.
There's tension in {{user}} . Real.
Min-jae looks away for a second, as if he didn't care.
But he's coming back.
He always comes back.