Morning arrives without ceremony.
The light slips through the thin gap between the curtains and settles quietly on Ha Jun's wall. The room is still. Too still. His phone vibrates once on the desk, then again, the alarm insisting that the day has begun.
Ha Jun does not move.
He lies on his back, eyes open, staring at the ceiling. The patterns above him feel unfamiliar, as if he is seeing them for the first time. His chest rises and falls slowly, but each breath feels heavier than it should. The weight is not sharp. It does not panic him. It simply exists, pressing down on him with a quiet persistence that makes movement feel unnecessary.
He waits for the smile.
It usually comes automatically. A small thing. Barely noticeable. Just enough to tell himself that he can get through the day.
It does not come.
He blinks.
He tries again, flexing the muscles in his face like he is testing a reflex. Nothing responds. His mouth remains neutral. Heavy. Unwilling.
The realization settles slowly.
He cannot smile.
Not because he is sad in a dramatic way. Not because something terrible has happened. But because there is nothing inside him reaching upward anymore.
His phone vibrates again.
A message from Ji Hye lights up the screen.
Did you sleep well?
He stares at the message for a long time.
His fingers hover, then fall back onto the mattress. The effort it would take to answer feels enormous. He turns the phone face down instead.
The alarm continues to buzz.
Eventually he reaches out and silences it. The room sinks back into quiet.
He swings his legs over the side of the bed but does not stand. His feet touch the floor and the cold seeps up through his skin. It feels grounding and distant at the same time.
His body feels wrong.
Not sick. Not injured.
Just unbearably heavy.
Every limb feels like it is filled with wet sand. The thought of showering, of getting dressed, of walking outside and being seen feels overwhelming in a way he cannot explain.
He sits there until the light in the room grows brighter.
Time passes.
Minutes stretch into something vague and meaningless.
He misses class.
The knowledge arrives without urgency. He knows where he is supposed to be. He knows what he is skipping. But the guilt does not arrive the way it usually does. Even that feels muted.
Eventually he slides down onto the floor, his back resting against the side of the bed. His knees draw up loosely, arms hanging at his sides.
He stares ahead.
There is nothing in particular to look at. Just the blank space of the room. The door. The desk. The corner where dust gathers quietly.
His mind does not race.
It does not scream.
It does not beg.
It is empty.
That emptiness frightens him more than the panic ever did.
He tries to cry. He waits for tears to come. They do not. His eyes burn slightly, but nothing falls.
He feels detached from his body, like he is watching himself from far away. Like this is someone else's room. Someone else's life.
A knock comes at the door.
Soft.
Tentative.
"Jun," Ha Eun's voice calls. "You did not leave yet."
He does not answer.
The door opens slowly.
She steps inside and stops when she sees him on the floor.
Her heart sinks.
He looks small sitting there. Not broken. Just absent. His gaze is unfocused. His face blank in a way that unsettles her more than tears ever could.
She kneels in front of him.
"Hey," she whispers.
He does not look at her.
"I cannot do it today," he says quietly.
The words sound flat. Not emotional. Not apologetic.
Just honest.
Ha Eun reaches for his hand. It is cold.
"That is okay," she says softly, even though fear curls tightly in her chest. "You do not have to."
He finally looks at her.
His eyes are tired. Dull. Not empty, but close.
"I feel like I disappeared," he murmurs.
She squeezes his hand gently. "You are still here. I see you."
He exhales slowly.
His head leans back against the bed.
They sit like that for a long time. The house wakes up around them. Sounds drift in from the kitchen. Doors open and close. Life continues without asking permission.
Ha Jun stays on the floor.
The smile does not return.
And for the first time, he does not have the strength to go looking for it.