Mint Candy Love - Chapter 2.1

Ki Young-han often found himself recalling a professor who’d once suggested he take a course to improve his communication skills. Back then, he’d brushed it off as unnecessary advice, but lately, especially since he’d finalized his schedule, the professor’s words came back to him with a strange sense of prophecy.

And somehow, as if fate itself had nudged him, he found himself enrolled in a course called Sex and Communication.
It wasn’t intentional. As he was browsing through the course registration site, head propped in his hand, the course title—a long and distinct one—had popped out at him. Without much thought, he clicked on it, planning only to check the lecture time.

The class was on Thursdays, three hours straight, from noon to three. The timing was ideal, falling perfectly between his major classes. The arrangement felt almost too convenient, as if the stars had aligned to make this decision for him. So he registered for Sex and Communication, the most popular elective at Korea University, without a second thought. They say that when coincidences stack up, it’s fate. And this one certainly felt like it.

On the first day, Young-han walked into Mugunghwa Hall, located on the first floor of the humanities building. The hall was structured so that, as you walked down the stairs, you’d get closer to the professor’s podium at the front. The room was packed, with over a hundred students filling the seats.

He scanned the rows and chose a seat in the middle—not close enough to seem eager to impress the professor, nor too far back among the dozers and phone-scrollers he despised. He placed his bag on the seat beside him and waited, scrolling through his phone with a disinterested expression.

It was a shame the syllabus hadn’t been posted. Normally, he would’ve cursed out a professor that disorganized and chosen a different class, but the popularity of this one made him curious, so he decided to stick it out and see what all the fuss was about.

A new notification pulled his attention back to his phone, where a flood of unread messages waited. His classmates from the Political Science and International Relations department, who ran the student council, were spamming him with invitations to the department’s welcome party and freshman orientation.

Just a bunch of guys eager to hook up with girls, he thought, reading the messages, each one beginning with “Young-han.” After glancing through them all, he ignored the lot. But then, in the midst of his notifications, he spotted a familiar name.

Ki Young-hyun

Are you coming home this weekend?

11:57 AM

His only brother, Ki Young-hyun, a high school senior this year. With his hulking frame and rough exterior, Young-hyun was dating another guy—a choice that sometimes baffled Young-han, given the world his brother had to navigate.
Though Young-han liked to believe his motto was to mind his own business, he found it nearly impossible to do so when it came to his brother. He scowled slightly, typing out a quick reply.

“Me”

“Why.”

12:01 PM

Young-hyun

Well… Mom and Dad are going on a trip this weekend, so…

12:01 PM

Young-han didn’t need an explanation; he knew exactly what his brother was implying.
“You little punk,” he muttered, clenching his jaw.

Me
I’ll be home.

12:02 PM

Focus on studying.

12:02 PM
Young-hyun

It’s lunchtime, though…

12:02 PM

A crying emoji followed. Young-han rolled his eyes at his brother’s attempt at cuteness, then flipped his phone face-down just as the professor entered the room.

The professor was surprisingly young, especially for someone who’d studied under some of the older, well-established academics. Probably late thirties—still ages younger than many others Young-han had seen lecturing here.
“My, this is quite the turnout,” the professor remarked, glancing around the packed lecture hall. Young-han gave the room a once-over, then looked down, uninterested.

“Since this is a communication course, instead of electronic attendance, I’ll be calling names directly,” the professor announced. “There are a lot of you, but I think we can manage.”

A lazy, unenthusiastic murmur of “yes…” came from the students. The professor handed a stack of papers to a student in the front row. “Please pass these back.”

As the syllabus made its way down the rows, students exchanged looks of curiosity. Young-han took his copy and skimmed over the contents.

Course Objectives:

1. Understanding sex and communication.

2. Examining ideal relationships and gender roles in society, and developing healthy relationship dynamics.
Week 1: Orientation

Week 2: Understanding Sex and Communication

Week 3: Gender Roles in Modern Society (Date Planning)

Week 4: Human Relationships and Communication (First Meeting)
…

A standard syllabus for a liberal arts course. But as he scanned the topics—date planning, first meeting, getting to know each other, first date—he couldn’t help frowning. Something about the course outline seemed uncomfortably personal.
If there was one thing Young-han despised in college, it was group projects. And he was sure this course would involve exactly that. His annoyance found a target in the professor who had recommended the course. Why suggest a subject like this?
Murmurs flitted through the room.

“They say you can actually get a girlfriend from this course.”

“Are we actually going to date for group projects?”

Young-han closed his eyes, frustration building. He loosened his grip on the syllabus. This? That people flocked to a course like this was proof the world had lost its mind.

I’ll drop it, he resolved, without a hint of hesitation.

“Let’s begin attendance,” the professor announced, calling each student’s name. When he got to “Ki Young-han,” Young-han responded with a bored “Yes.”

He hated group projects, especially ones requiring face-to-face interaction, and the idea of a “dating project” as an assignment was his worst nightmare. This semester was off to a terrible start. He’d heard people say that the beginning is half the journey, but if that were true, then this semester was going to be a disaster.

Just then, the back door of the hall creaked open, the grating sound drawing the room’s attention. The professor continued with the roll call, but Young-han turned to see who had entered. The moment he saw the face, a memory from months ago resurfaced, as if echoing from the past.

“Why does the professor favor me? We’re all his students, aren’t we?”

The voice of a guy who’d made that remark in a tone of exaggerated humility. He remembered him easily because his striking face was hard to forget, the kind of face that stood out in a crowd.

Like a light cocoa, he mused briefly before turning his attention back to the professor, who was still calling out names. The footsteps grew closer, but Young-han kept his focus ahead. There were plenty of empty seats, so there was no reason for anyone to sit beside him.

“Excuse me, could you… move your bag?”

The voice, quiet and hesitant, came from beside him. Great, he thought, moving his bag aside, annoyed. Of all places, he had to sit here.

“Thanks,” the guy muttered, slightly out of breath. He must have rushed to get here.

Young-han cringed, averting his head, hoping to avoid any unwelcome smells. But as the guy sat down, a faint, sweet scent reached him—a sign of too much fabric softener, perhaps.

“Yoon Ye-jun.”

“Here,” the guy responded, raising his hand.

Yoon Ye-jun, Young-han thought. For someone with sharp features, he had a surprisingly gentle-sounding name. But it didn’t matter; Young-han had no intention of getting to know him any further.

Attendance finally over, the professor flashed a warm smile.

“With this many students, calling roll is a bit of a workout,” he joked. “From next class, I’ll rotate—calling from the front and back, since our friends with Kang surnames always seem to have a lot of complaints.”

A ripple of laughter went through the room as he transitioned to explaining the syllabus. It was a typical orientation, but every time he made a joke, students burst into laughter. Young-han glanced at the syllabus on his desk, feeling no interest in joining in.

“Now, as you may have guessed from the syllabus, you’ll need to form pairs by the next class,” the professor announced. “This course has a bit of a reputation around here, so I’m sure you know what kind of pairs I mean.”

More murmurs filled the room, but Young-han didn’t pay attention. He was dropping the class anyway.

“If you’re already in a relationship with someone taking a different course, I suggest you drop this one. I won’t be able to give you good grades if I find out.”

Silence hung in the air for a moment.

“Also, don’t worry if the gender ratio doesn’t match exactly. Same-gender pairs are fine. It’s the 21st century, after all.”
Another wave of laughter erupted, but Young-han, unamused, muttered under his breath.

“For god’s sake, this is ridiculous…”

Young-han always claimed he didn’t care if his younger brother, Young-hyun, dated guys. Yet, he’d been raised to live a relatively conventional life. When he first found out his brother was dating a man, he’d been more than a little shocked but had put on a brave face. He told himself that Young-hyun was still in high school, that it was a phase, something he might grow out of. And besides, opposing him might only push him further in that direction. So, he’d decided to let it be—for now, at least.

Leaning back in his chair, he tilted his head to stare at the ceiling, silently willing the class to end. Moments later, the professor wrapped up the syllabus explanation with a cheerful “Alright!” and drew everyone’s attention.
“I’ll let you out early today, but please form your pairs before you leave. It’ll be difficult to organize this outside of class. That’s all for now—see you next week.”

“Thank you.”

With a final glance at the room, the professor walked out, leaving behind a buzz of excited chatter. Young-han picked up his syllabus with one hand, watching as Yoon Ye-jun, the guy who had sat beside him, was already making a beeline for the back door. Quick to leave, too. Just as he was about to stand, a girl sitting in front of him turned around.

“Hey, have you found a partner yet?”

“No. I’m dropping the class.”

“Oh… alright.”

Without hesitation, he replied, then grabbed his bag, intent on leaving. But just as he reached the doorway, another voice called out, “Excuse me, do you have a partner yet?”

“No. I’m dropping this class.”

Finally escaping the classroom, he tossed the syllabus into the trash can nearby. He wouldn’t be needing it. Maybe a cigarette would help him clear his head.

He stepped outside, heading toward the smoking area, and lit up, taking a drag as he mulled over his options. What elective should I take instead? Would any decent classes be available at this point? It would have to fit his schedule too. He wanted to avoid coming to campus on Fridays if he could help it. Thoughts spiraled as he kept his gaze lowered.
He exhaled a stream of smoke, only to hear a voice.

“Excuse me.”

This time, it wasn’t the same high-pitched tone he’d heard in the classroom.

“…”

Still frowning, he lifted his head. Standing a foot away was Yoon Ye-jun, the memory of his unusual, round-sounding name coming back to him. He looked up at the guy—about a head shorter than him—and raised an eyebrow, wordlessly asking what he wanted. Yoon Ye-jun, with his usual unbothered tone, spoke.

“Have you found a partner?”

What kind of question is that?

Young-han straightened his head and took another drag from his cigarette, exhaling smoke before flicking the butt into a nearby flower bed that served as an improvised ashtray. He watched as the cigarette slowly died out in the sand before looking back at the guy.

“Me?”

“Yes.”

“You’re asking if I’ve found a partner?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I’m a guy.”