Sunlight crept through the thin curtains and stretched across the room.
He didn't move at first. His eyes stayed fixed on the ceiling, tracing the faint cracks in the plaster as if they meant something. They didn't. Nothing ever did.
The sting in his palms reminded him otherwise.
He turned his hands. Thin red scratches ran across the skin, faint but sharp enough to prove last night wasn't a dream. He brushed his thumb against one of the lines. It burned slightly.
Cobblestones. Fog. Whispers.
For a long moment he lay there, staring at his hands. Then he pushed himself upright.
The apartment was quiet. Too quiet. He moved to the bathroom, splashed water on his face, and looked into the mirror.
A pale boy with messy black hair and tired eyes stared back. His uniform shirt hung loose on his shoulders, collar slightly crooked. He didn't look impressive. He didn't look important.
He looked like no one.
That suited him fine.
---
The streets of Seoul roared with life as he stepped outside. Cars honked. Neon signs buzzed even in daylight. Students clustered together, laughing as they walked toward the station. The air was filled with motion, sound, and urgency—everyone rushing, everyone striving, everyone chasing something.
He blended into the crowd without effort. No one noticed him. Not one face turned his way.
He boarded the train, sat near the window, and watched the city rush by. Towers pressed against the sky. Bridges stretched across the river. Every building overflowed with people who thought their days mattered.
He almost smiled.
They didn't.
---
School was worse.
The hallways echoed with laughter, chatter, and the constant slam of locker doors. His shoes squeaked faintly against the polished floor as he walked, but the noise swallowed even that small sound.
Class began with the teacher writing formulas across the board. His classmates scribbled notes with a kind of desperate energy, as if these numbers were keys to salvation. He leaned back in his chair, resting his chin against his hand, eyes half-lidded.
None of it mattered.
The teacher called his name, "Han Jae-min" once, asking him to answer a problem. He stood, solved it quickly, then sat back down. The teacher nodded and moved on without comment. His classmates barely noticed.
By lunch, the noise grew unbearable.
He carried his tray to the farthest corner of the cafeteria, near the windows. The food sat untouched as he watched the clouds outside. They drifted slowly, endlessly, without reason.
Someone laughed loudly at another table. Someone else shouted across the room. A group threw erasers at each other, dodging and cackling.
He pressed a hand against his temple.
So much noise. So much movement. So much meaning crammed into pointless things.
---
A shadow fell across his table.
"Hey," a classmate said. A tall boy with sharp eyes and a careless grin leaned against the seat. "You spacing out again? You always look like you're half-dead."
He blinked up at him, unimpressed. "…And?"
The boy laughed, clapping his shoulder too hard before walking away. "Just saying. Try not to disappear one day, yeah?"
He rubbed his shoulder where the hand had pressed. The warmth felt foreign, almost irritating. He turned his gaze back to the window.
Clouds still drifted. Meaningless. Endless.
---
Afternoon classes dragged. Pages flipped. Pencils scratched. Teachers droned on.
He felt himself fading in and out of the rhythm, half-asleep, half-bored. The clock hands crawled, and finally, mercifully, the bell rang.
The others shot out of their seats, chattering about games, friends, plans for the evening. He took his time packing his bag. When he finally stepped into the hallway, it was already half-empty.
No one waited for him. No one ever did.
---
The train ride home was quieter than the morning rush. He stood by the window this time, watching his reflection blur with the city lights outside. The glass rattled faintly with each curve of the track.
His phone buzzed once.
A message.
He pulled it out, glanced at the screen, and let the device fall back into his pocket without unlocking it. Whatever it was, it didn't matter. Nothing did.
The train slowed, doors sliding open. He stepped onto the platform and followed the flow of people out into the evening.
The sky burned orange over the city, fading into blue, then black. Neon lights blinked awake, flooding the streets with colors. Voices rose from every corner—vendors shouting, cars honking, laughter spilling from restaurants.
He walked through it all like a shadow.
---
The apartment door clicked shut behind him.
Silence again.
He dropped his bag near the desk and sat on the edge of the bed. His palms brushed against the blanket, catching faintly on the fabric. He lifted his hands, staring once more at the scratches across them.
Real. Too real.
He leaned back until his shoulders hit the wall, tilting his head toward the ceiling.
The fog. The cobblestones. The whispers.
What had it been? A dream? A hallucination? Something else?
A dry laugh escaped him. It didn't matter what it was. Not really.
But…
His eyes lowered to his hands again. He flexed his fingers slowly, then closed them into fists.
It had been different.
Different from the endless noise of the city. Different from the empty chatter of school. Different from the shallow, suffocating meaning everyone else clung to.
He exhaled, slow and steady.
"Let's see if it happens again," he said into the quiet room.
His voice sounded strange, like it didn't belong to him.
He lay back, pulling the blanket over his body. His gaze fixed on the ceiling, watching it blur at the edges of his vision.
Sleep came like a curtain falling.
And once again, the ceiling began to dissolve.