F12

…He’s beautiful.

That was the first thought Yeonho had as he watched the man smoking in front of him.

There were plenty of ways to describe him, his striking features, how handsome he was, his tall and elegant frame, his sense of style, his quiet intensity. But the word that came to Yeonho’s mind before any of those was simply: beautiful.

And more than that, “beautiful” was the one word that encompassed all the others and described the man before him most accurately.

As a freshman in the photography department, Yeonho was well aware that it was forbidden to film someone’s body without their permission. He had only started recording on his phone to capture the second day’s atmosphere of the orientation retreat at Seongam Resort in Gangwon Province, it had never been about filming one person.

So, when his camera lens caught that man in the frame, it was purely by chance. He’d been recording a structure that changed colors with the lights, and the man had simply entered the shot. But in that moment, Yeonho saw through his screen the most beautiful human form he’d ever witnessed in his life.

He locked the frame and drank in the man’s presence with his own eyes.

When the man turned his head with a cigarette between his fingers, his jet-black hair shifted as if a director had staged the scene on purpose. Beneath that hair, his two eyes gleamed so brilliantly it made Yeonho want to steal them away.

The wind that blew toward him, the snow piled at his feet, everything seemed arranged just for him. Even the people milling around near him looked like extras set up to direct attention his way.

While others stood around in puffy black jackets, he alone wore a crisp white shirt beneath a black coat. His tall, broad build didn’t seem bulky in the least. There was a certain loneliness to him.

All of it hit Yeonho like a jolt.

With dopamine suddenly flooding his brain, Yeonho, completely enchanted, mumbled to himself that he absolutely had to use him as a model for his work.

“…He must be in the theater department, right?”

He felt sure the guy must be an aspiring actor. But then the man turned slightly, revealing the name tag hanging around his neck. It read “Kim Yeonho, Department of Architecture.” He was two years ahead of Yeonho.

Since the retreat included both engineering and arts students, Yeonho had naturally assumed he belonged to the latter.

It was hard to believe he was from the engineering department, but what caught Yeonho’s attention even more was the name.

Kim Yeonho. Not unheard of, but not particularly common either.

They had the same name. Was this fate?

The senior from architecture, Kim Yeonho, soon noticed he was being filmed. After making brief eye contact with Yeonho, he stubbed out his cigarette and stepped away from the shot.

Yeonho’s gaze followed him without realizing, and so did his camera lens.

The senior, noticing this suspicious behavior, began subtly shifting his position again and again, baiting him.

Under the influence of dopamine and poor judgment, Yeonho forgot to stop recording and followed after him like a fish on a hook.

When the man was sure that Yeonho’s phone was tracking his every move, he looked directly into the lens as if to offer fan service.

Photo major Joo Yeonho made eye contact with architecture senior Kim Yeonho, and without thinking, he smiled and gave him a playful wink.

The senior’s face turned cold.

Why did he do that? When the bait was thrown, he should’ve come to his senses and stopped recording. But instead, he lost himself.

The man walked up slowly and stood in front of Yeonho. After a brief glance at Yeonho’s name tag, he looked at him with sharp eyes and said,

“Joo Yeonho. Why are you filming people secretly with your phone?”

His tone was cold and professional. His voice was low and calm.

It didn’t sound like he was personally offended, more like he was handling an unpleasant incident with composure.

“I… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. I was filming something else and just happened to…”

He couldn’t bring himself to say, I was so mesmerized by you that I forgot to stop the recording.

Either way, it was his fault. He should have paused and thought before acting, but as always, he acted first and regretted it after.

The man didn’t let it go. He held out his hand.

“Give me your phone.”

“What? My phone?”

“Yes. Hand it over.”

Yeonho, having his phone taken, clasped his hands to his chest and swallowed hard.

The man, turning on the screen, said,

“If you really weren’t filming me on purpose, I’ll apologize.”

“…Okay.”

Joo Yeonho, the would-be criminal, obediently unlocked his pattern lock, his fingers twitching nervously.

His ears turned red. His heart pounded.

What now? A lawsuit for violating portrait rights? A long legal battle? Would they keep meeting in court? He wouldn’t mind that, actually. No, no. That’s not the point. He was a twenty-year-old freshman who hadn’t even gone through orientation yet. Surely the senior would show some leniency.

The man watched the video calmly, trying to stay objective.

At first, it seemed he’d just happened to be in the corner of the frame. But soon, the camera started following him, and before long, he was dead center.

He scoffed.

It wasn’t a sexually explicit video, so he judged that deleting it and receiving an apology would be enough.

He erased the video, handed the phone back, and said,

“Apologize.”

Every eye nearby turned toward them. It was the most humiliating moment of Yeonho’s life.

“I’m sorry. Please forgive me. I didn’t mean anything bad. I was filming something else, and you happened to be in it. I wasn’t thinking properly and forgot to stop recording.”

Yeonho, tears welling in his eyes, spoke earnestly. He acknowledged that he must have come off as careless.

But it was true, he had never done anything like this before. He was a first-time offender.

In Yeonho’s mind, the true culprit was the senior’s overwhelming beauty. He figured the blame was fifty-fifty, though of course he didn’t say that out loud.

The man didn’t believe a word of Yeonho’s excuse.

He wasn’t a public figure, and this wasn’t some harmless video. It could’ve been used maliciously. What did it matter if the intent wasn’t bad?

Still, he decided not to take things further. He turned away and muttered under his breath,

“What a freak. Disgusting.”

Yeonho sucked in a sharp breath.

In his nineteen years of life, he’d been called sweet, pretty, and well-mannered more times than he could count, but never disgusting.

People were always kind to him.

The most uncomfortable thing anyone had ever said was his grandma muttering something about his fate and face reading.

This kind of cold treatment was unfamiliar.

Yeonho, so used to being loved, had a hard time enduring his first real rejection.

Watching the man’s back as he walked away, he whispered softly to himself,

“How could he say something so cruel to me?”

Of course not everyone was going to like him. But Yeonho wasn’t ready to accept that just yet.

Especially not when the first person to speak to him like that was also the first person he’d felt an instant attraction to.

Yeonho, whose hobby was being adored by everyone, had studied how to act cute and endearing, and only ever did things that made people love him.

Even when he made mistakes like today, people usually forgave him.

Deep down, he still believed the senior would eventually forgive him and even take a liking to him.

That’s how it had always gone before.

No matter what happened, it always ended with the other person falling for him.

But this guy was the first to break that pattern.

For Yeonho, it was a shocking, identity-shaking event.

“Being an adult isn’t easy.”

While his classmates tried to console him – saying, It was just an accident, don’t take it too hard – Yeonho seriously reflected on his own creepy behavior.

But not for long.

Soon, he was once again tracking the man with his eyes.

The senior had blended into a crowd of students wearing black parkas, like a black swan among rolls of kimbap.

Yeonho, ears flushed red, blinked his dry eyes and crept closer to the architecture students gathered to smoke.

From what he overheard, they were upperclassmen who had arrived later than the others.

The man began speaking on the phone.

“Yes, Dad. Thanks for the birthday present. No, I’m glad to spend my birthday with friends.”

His calm, mature tone. His logic and emotional control, unshaken by appearances.

It was everything Yeonho lacked, and that made it all the more appealing.

Was it weird that even getting scolded by him had felt attractive?

He was like the ideal grown-up Yeonho had dreamed of.

At this point, Yeonho decided to go all in.

Since it had come to this, he might as well fully embrace being the creepy guy.

He quietly followed the group and found out which room the architecture students were assigned to. Room 415. The number stuck like an arrow in his mind.

His pride flared up.

Joo Yeonho had never once failed to be loved or to get what he wanted.

He would make that man fall for him.

No, he would make him love him so much it brought him to tears.

That became Yeonho’s new goal for college life, set right there at the orientation retreat.