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Jeonghan isn’t entirely sure how he’s still breathing. He’s been running around the event floor the entire evening, and he still has a long way to go before he can reach the end of tonight—hopefully, in one piece.
He can feel the bass of the music thrumming within his chest by how closely he’s standing to the sound system. Beside the wall and away from watching eyes, he can see how each dancer onstage moves clearly. Although he’s not part of the cotillion dancers himself, he has every dance step, every mental count of the choreography ingrained in his head after months of making sure their practices had gone smoothly.
Watching the performers now, he smiles with relief. The routine is almost done, and he can say the program committee had done a good job at choosing people from their year level to include in such a crucial part of the event. He also makes a mental note of thanking Soonyoung for being such a talented choreographer. Once he’d agreed to choreograph the routine, the entire committee knew immediately they’d be saving money and producing a better performance compared to hiring a choreographer.
“What an exciting performance! Come on, guys, let’s give them a round of applause!”
There’s a slight tug at the bottom of Jeonghan’s stomach upon hearing the happy voice that booms on the speakers after the dance. It’s stupid, since he’s had to listen to same voice all night, but he can’t help it. The rich timbre is all too familiar, and although the cheerfulness in the voice is genuine, it’s performative—far from the intimacy Jeonghan has come to know with it over the years. He tries to ignore the feeling in his chest, focusing his energy instead on clapping for the bowing performers. Right before they exit, he’s running again to make sure the next part of the program is ready.
Inhale, exhale. Rinse, repeat.
By the time the rush of the crowd has died down and Jeonghan’s help is no longer needed by the program committee (and Minghao is already pushing him out onto the dance floor, God bless him), the prom playlist has already begun to slow down. Couples are now making their way onto the dance floor, holding hands and pulling each other out of their seats to join the cheesiest, but most awaited, part of the night.
Jeonghan doesn’t have a date, so he slowly strides over to his table where, unsurprisingly, there’s no one left sitting anymore. Jeonghan’s the only single one left of his friends, but aside from that, most of them are still busy backstage or making sure the program is going as planned.
Just prom committee things, Jeonghan guesses.
He takes a long swig of the tall glass of punch he’s barely touched the entire night, sure that it’s his since every other glass on the table is empty. That same dull ache reappears in his chest as he looks around the empty glasses, empty seats, and it’s even harder to ignore now that he’s no longer busy. He’s grateful for the few moments he’s given to breathe, but it’s the worst time for him not to have a distraction. Instead of losing himself in the song, in the melodies crooning through the air for everyone to enjoy, Jeonghan loses himself in this weird feeling of loneliness.
He hasn’t felt lonely in a while; not since that night. He’s been too busy to feel such a thing, too distracted to feel anything but stressed or focused. Or at least, he hasn’t allowed himself to feel his emotions or fixate on anything that wasn’t work. Everything Jeonghan has been doing the past two months has led up to this night, and now, all he feels is some sort of hollowness. It’s a dark and empty feeling, and Jeonghan doesn’t know what to do with it. He tries to fill the void inside him with more punch, with ice cubes colder than his fingers, but his second sip is rendered useless.
Great. His glass is empty and he’s only begun.
He’s just about to consider getting up to get more drinks himself when someone blocks his way. A familiar face smiles at him, and Jeonghan feels the pit at the bottom of his stomach fall.
“Jeonghan, hey! Are you busy?”
Seungcheol smiles at him, gentle as ever. Jeonghan desperately tries to smile back, tries not to look anywhere near uncomfortable. That’s the last thing he’d want Seungcheol to see: him doing anything but living his best life, thriving like he believes he should.
“Finally, I’m not.” Jeonghan chuckles uneasily, trying to survive through candidness instead. Seungcheol laughs as well, sounding more genuine than Jeonghan himself had, and he’s surprised to feel grateful he can still be the reason behind such a sound.
“That’s good to hear.” Seungcheol comments, still smiling at him. “You’ve been working so hard. You deserve to enjoy your night.”
There it is again. That all-too-familiar tightening in his chest, the dull ache reawakened. Jeonghan knows he deserves to enjoy his night, has worked way too hard just for this one-day school event. But it’s different hearing it from Seungcheol, when he knows they could have enjoyed this night together.
Only if Jeonghan hadn’t fucked up.
“Of course,” Jeonghan tries not to stutter, shaking through his words. He grips the glass in his hand tightly, praying he doesn’t accidentally break it. “I hope you enjoy your night too, Seungcheol.”
He’s barely taken a step away from him when Seungcheol stops him.
“No, wait!”
Someone must have spiked the punch, as that can be the only explanation why Jeonghan hears a hint of desperation in Seungcheol’s voice. He stops walking to look at him again, seeing wide eyes staring back at him and an outstretched hand that immediately retracts itself. Gone is the confident smile, and all Jeonghan sees is the boy he used to love.
The boy he still loves.
“Sorry, you might not even want to, but I’ve just been thinking about it all night. When I saw you sitting all alone at your table, I thought, fuck it .”
Seungcheol is looking at him, almost a little crazy, and Jeonghan has no idea what’s happening.
“What are you talking about, Seungcheol?”
He tries to feel nothing when Seungcheol smiles. Swear to God, he tries to look at him without feeling affected, but there’s a certain sadness pulling at Seungcheol’s lips. There’s a hint of longing in his eyes, and under the purple lights of the room, he’s still as handsome as Jeonghan remembers.
Handsome, but not his.
“Wanna dance with me? For old time’s sake?”
“What?”
No matter how hard Jeonghan looks, he can’t find any insincerity in Seungcheol’s expression—no laughter, no hesitation. If anything, he finds desperation in the way his lips twitch, the way his eyes pin him down to the ground.
“I know how hard you’ve worked for all of this to happen, and I hope you know how much I—how much everyone here tonight appreciates it. I just want a few minutes of your night, if that’s okay with you. You deserve to dance out there as well. Please?”
Every fiber of Jeonghan’s being wills him to say no, to turn Seungcheol down. What good will it do him, anyway? The uneasiness in his chest at the idea of being so close to him again after so long must mean something. If that something is that Jeonghan still hasn’t moved on after two months, then that’s even more reason for him to say no.
Who dances with their ex? Who does that?
There’s nothing wrong with saying no. Seungcheol will understand. If he doesn’t, which is unlikely, Jeonghan doesn’t care. He shouldn’t care. He has all the right to say no. He just has to turn him down.
“Okay.”
It’s unsurprising, how he always comes to this point, and yet he hasn’t in two months. Saying yes to Seungcheol has always been Jeonghan’s weakness, but he hasn’t had to say anything to him in a while now.
He wants to curse himself for being so weak. He wants to regret it, to hate himself for it, but there’s no time to consider any of that once Seungcheol gives him the biggest smile he’s seen in so long.
Maybe Jeonghan will regret this. But right now, it’s worth it if he gets to make Seungcheol smile again.
Seungcheol tilts his head in the direction of the dance floor, still smiling, and starts walking towards the dancing couples. Jeonghan notes the lack of physical contact, and quickly ponders if he should rethink his decision. But then Seungcheol is looking back at him, a little confused and so painfully handsome, and Jeonghan finds himself walking towards him.
They walk side by side, not too far away from each other but not quite close either. Jeonghan allows himself to think of it as Seungcheol giving him respectful distance and tries not to dwell on the unfamiliarity between them nearly three months after the breakup.
Three months, yet it feels so long and so short at the same time. Even now, with their shoulders almost touching because of the amount of people around them, Jeonghan feels so far away from Seungcheol. He’s not sure if he even knows who he is anymore.
It hurts, not being so familiar anymore with someone he used to know so well, someone he trusted with his entire heart—someone he still trusts with his entire being. Jeonghan tries to push it down, wills away the flashes of memories of holding Seungcheol so close he could see the sparkle in his eye; of laughing in each other’s space until he could feel his hot breath on his cheek.
It’s all too much, and Jeonghan ignores it all, trying to smile at the beautiful boy before him.
“This is okay, right?” Seungcheol asks, placing his hands on Jeonghan’s waist.
His palms are warm through the fabric of his tailored suit, Jeonghan thinks, and he can’t help but notice how Seungcheol’s movements are tentative, careful. He laughs softly and tries not to think too much about how Seungcheol has to tiptoe around him now, too afraid of making a mistake.
Three months ago, he didn’t have to worry about any of that. Guilt washes over Jeonghan, knowing it’s his fault.
“You’re acting like a twelve-year-old dancing with his first crush at some middle school dance. You’re fine,” Jeonghan consoles him instead, stepping in a little closer so he can rest his arms on Seungcheol’s shoulders. He tries to regulate his breathing, tries not to panic because this is the closest he has ever been to him in so long. Slowly, he starts swaying from left to right, and Seungcheol follows his lead. The song is nice, sweet, and they smile at each other. The moment is all too perfect, and God, Jeonghan is still in love with him.
“You were my first love, you know?”
The pain that comes with Jeonghan’s realization is still sinking in when he slowly registers what Seungcheol has just said.
“What?” he asks, sounding stupid even to his own ears.
Seungcheol laughs, short and quick. He looks away, and Jeonghan has to restrain himself from reaching out to turn his face towards his again. His hands itch in place, but he keeps them still, knowing he has no right to hold Seungcheol like that anymore. He’s grateful he even gets to be close to him like this now.
“Sorry, sorry, I probably shouldn’t have said that.”
“No,” Jeonghan reassures him all too quickly, “it’s fine. Just surprised me, is all.”
Seungcheol finally looks at him again, and up this close, he finally sees the sadness in his eyes. There are no tears, but under the purple lights, Seungcheol looks vulnerable, regretful. Even while looking like a prince in a fitted suit with his hair pushed back, he suddenly looks like the Seungcheol that Jeonghan used to know; that Jeonghan wishes he still knows.
“It’s fine, I promise.” Jeonghan smiles, and it hurts, but he says it nonetheless because the last thing he wants is for Seungcheol to be hurting again because of him. “And for what it’s worth, you were my first love too.”
He hadn’t meant to say the last part, but it’s the truth. He tries to laugh it off, but Seungcheol only looks at him. His stare is intense, almost pinning Jeonghan to the ground. But he waves it off and keeps swaying like any of this is actually normal—like dancing with your ex at prom and pretending everything is fine is in any way normal.
When Seungcheol breaks the silence, he says, “It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”
Jeonghan knows what he means, and yet he pretends he doesn’t. Instead, he forces a smile and says, “But we’ve never slow danced before.”
He’s aware of how cruel it is. He knows Seungcheol means more than that. He knows that they’ve spent more time in high school together than apart, and they’ve had to relearn what life is like without the other. He knows that Seungcheol means this is their first proper conversation since the breakup, because Jeonghan has been too busy, and Seungcheol has always been too respectful of other people. Too respectful, in fact, to the point where he chose to give Jeonghan the space he had asked for, never lingering in moments they were around each other. Always straight to the point, never taking more than he needed.
“I know, but I’ve always thought about slow dancing with you.” There is no hesitation in his words, no unsure pause. “I’m sorry I’m too late.”
Seungcheol smiles, and Jeonghan’s heart breaks.
“Why do you keep apologizing?” Jeonghan asks, even though he’s not sure if he even wants to know. He can’t help it; he’d rather fill the silence with loaded questions rather than deal with the distance between them, present as ever even with their current proximity.
He doesn’t stop there, continuing before Seungcheol can even reply, “You always did that even when we were together, even when we broke up, like everything was your fault. Why do you keep doing that?”
“I’m so—”
“You’re doing it again,” Jeonghan catches him easily, having already predicted what he’d say before the two words left his mouth. He’s calm when he points this out, almost sad in the way he says it. “You don’t have to apologize for everything, you know? It’s just me.”
Jeonghan’s voice grows smaller towards the end—shy, even. Because who is he kidding? Who is he to Seungcheol after all this time? They had agreed to be friends, sure, but it hadn’t been that easy. It isn’t easy at all, even now, because they are nowhere near friends at this point.
It’s stupid, because Seungcheol had been his best friend. Jeonghan can name a few of his best friends, sure, like Jisoo and Seokmin. But deep down, he knew that no one else knew him like Seungcheol did. Everyone else knew that.
And now, they’re nothing.
The truth is, Jeonghan can’t simply reduce him to a friend. He can’t go from having him as the love of his life, the one person who kept him grounded, to treating him just like everyone else. It feels like lying in a way, because he just can’t find it in him to pretend like Seungcheol’s nothing more a friend. He can’t just act like he hasn’t loved him with his entire being, having given too much to take it all back.
“Yeah,” Seungcheol whispers, eyes shining. “It’s just you.”
Jeonghan wonders if he’s still someone important to Seungcheol; if he still thinks about him from time to time, remembering how they used to be before it all came crashing down. It’s a stupid thought, probably, because Jeonghan’s sure Seungcheol had loved him—there’s no doubt about it. The question is whether or not Seungcheol still values him as much as he did before, maybe even more now that he doesn’t have him in the same way anymore.
It’s a selfish idea, and Jeonghan hates himself even more for it.
“What are you thinking about?” Seungcheol asks tentatively.
Jeonghan laughs awkwardly, prolonging the moment. Seungcheol musters a small smile.
“If you’re okay with telling me, what is it?”
Seungcheol’s eyes are kind, warm, and it’s too easy to make Jeonghan feel safe in his arms. No part of him wants to lie, and he’s afraid because he hasn’t felt that way since the breakup. Since then, he’s forced himself to put up a wall so that he would stop hurting.
He doesn’t mean to be so honest, but the truth has been bubbling up for months, and he finds the words leaving his mouth without thinking about it.
“I missed you so much,” he finally admits.
There’s a few moments of silence, where Seungcheol’s face registers with shock for just a second before it morphs into sadness. If Jeonghan weren’t so close, he wouldn’t have seen it. A new song is now playing, the second one for them, but it feels like they’ve been dancing for hours. Jeonghan’s feet are as heavy as lead, and it’s almost painful to be here, but he doesn’t want to let go of the moment just yet.
“I missed you too, Hannie,” Seungcheol whispers, and Jeonghan can actually feel his chest ache at the familiar nickname.
“No, Cheol, I,” he stutters over his words, suddenly overwhelmed with emotion. “I missed you—I miss you, present tense. You have no idea.”
“Hannie—” Seungcheol repeats that goddamned nickname and Jeonghan just can’t take it anymore.
“No, God, I just felt so alone, you know? I felt so alone working on prom, even though I knew I wasn’t. It’s weird, because I’m literally heading an entire committee of over eighty people, but it was different without you. It’s probably unfair—no, I know it’s unfair that I’m saying this right now when I was the one who broke it off in the first place, but it was different not having you by my side anymore.”
They’re barely even dancing now. Anyone who’d look at them would think they were just standing there. At this point, Jeonghan’s only forcing himself to move, stepping to the side every now and then, slow like molasses. It feels like he’s a prisoner of his own body, his mouth moving on its own accord.
“No one was waiting to walk me home after my meetings anymore, no one checking up on me at lunch every day to make sure I was eating. God bless my friends for trying to get me to eat, to even drink water or just take a nap, especially on my worst days. But it’s so different without you, and I hate it.”
The current music playing is hopeful, a soft and sweet pop song, and it’s such a stark contrast to everything Jeonghan’s saying, everything he’s only remembering now. It’s like his mind is trying to compensate for all the time he’s spent suppressing his own painful thoughts, now conjuring up all these images that are so fresh it feels like they had happened only yesterday.
He thinks about the way Seungcheol’s voice would sound like through his shitty phone speaker past midnight; the way his hands would easily find their way to Seungcheol’s whenever they were together, naturally gravitating toward each other like they just couldn’t get enough. He thinks about all the secrets that Seungcheol has whispered in his ear, and all the stories he’s spun in the air in return. He thinks about all their dreams, goals, and promises together, and he tries so hard not to let his voice break.
“No one accompanying me when I did errands like submitting the forms and asking teachers to sign letters, no one messaging me at 2AM to ask why I was still up, usually doing prom work to distract myself. No familiar face waiting outside of my classroom every morning, no gentle smiles hidden behind textbooks while helping each other study.” He takes a deep breath, looking hard into Seungcheol’s eyes. He’s nowhere near done yet. “And any of my friends could have done all these. They were there for me the whole time, always concerned when I got too quiet mid-conversation. They tried to hide it, but I knew how they looked at me, like they didn’t know whether to ask, or to comfort me, or to just pretend like everything was fine.”
Jeonghan had almost forgotten that Seungcheol’s hands were still on his waist. His touch is so faint now, he can barely feel it. They’re no longer even moving, simply swaying in place, merely pretending like they’re any other regular couple on the dance floor.
Jeonghan is so fucking tired of pretending.
“Any of my friends could have filled the space you had left, could have stayed by my side throughout it all. But I threw myself into work and forced myself to become independent, almost as if I didn’t want anyone to take your place. Because it felt wrong.” He lowers his voice, growing more and more vulnerable by the second. “No one can take your place, Cheol.”
He can hear the way Seungcheol takes a sharp of intake of breath, and he decides to cut the boy some slack. He’s already said too much. He’s probably already ruined Seungcheol’s night, and if not, Seungcheol probably never wants to see him again after this.
He’s fucked up again.
“I just,” Jeonghan’s throat grows dry, and he swallows, wanting to get out of here as fast as possible. “I missed you, okay? I know it’s been like three months since we broke up and I shouldn’t be bothering you like this, but I just trust you so much even after all this time. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, this probably wasn’t what you were expecting when you asked for a dance. I’ll go now.”
Jeonghan finally entangles himself before Seungcheol can react, walking as fast as he can away from the dance floor, trying not to attract attention to himself. But Seungcheol is too fast, grabbing his arm before he can get any further, eyes pleading with his.
“Please don’t go,” Seungcheol croaks out. “One last song, please?”
It feels like Jeonghan’s heart is going to beat out of his chest any moment now, and he doesn’t understand how Seungcheol is acting so calm right now. He’s just poured his entire heart, left it on the dance floor, and Seungcheol wants one last dance with him?
“Please,” Seungcheol repeats, and Jeonghan hates himself for being unable to resist him.
They go back to their previous position, but this time, Seungcheol’s hands hold his waist more firmly, as if to keep him from running away. Jeonghan wouldn’t say that idea is too bizarre, considering how he almost did just a minute ago had Seungcheol not stopped him.
A few minutes pass without Seungcheol saying anything, and Jeonghan sighs, deciding to fill the silence again, unable to keep himself from confessing everything he has to say tonight.
“I’m sorry I broke up with you.”
Seungcheol barely even reacts, only moving closer so that Jeonghan has no choice but to look at him.
“Now you’re the one saying sorry,” Seungcheol says softly, but there’s no resentment in his eyes; only a distant sort of sadness, and it’s so dangerous that Jeonghan has to look away.
“I mean it though,” he mutters, trying to focus on anything other than Seungcheol’s hands on his waist, other than the way Seungcheol looks at him like he’s the only one in the room.
“Why? Are you taking it back?”
For the hundredth time tonight, Jeonghan’s world feels like it stops. He doesn’t know if the thump, thump, thumping he feels is his heartbeat or the music, but either way, he’s too shocked to breathe for a moment. It seems like Seungcheol keeps surprising him tonight.
Is he taking it back? He’s thought about it, sure, but he’s never thought about actually acting upon it. Jeonghan’s an overthinker who cares too much—of course he’s imagined all the possible outcomes of getting back together with Seungcheol, both in the near and far future. He’s just lucky he’s been too busy and exhausted to have ever thought about it in-depth. Even when he had had the time or energy, he never allowed his mind to stray too far.
Well, is he?
“I,” he hesitates, unsure, “don’t know yet. I don’t think so.”
He finally meets Seungcheol’s eyes, and his cheeks grow warm even in the cold venue. He tries to blame it on the intensity of the lights rather than Seungcheol’s gaze.
“Then there’s nothing to say sorry for. If you’re happier without me, then I’m happy for you. That’s what matters.”
“You’re so stupid,” Jeonghan breathes out without thinking. “I just said a whole ass monologue about how miserable I’ve been without you, and here you are talking about me being happier without you?”
“No, think about it,” Seungcheol insists. “Is it better for you in the long run? I don’t want to be dragging you down when there’s so much you want to do, Hannie. I know how important prom is to you, and I know that the future has so much more in store for you out there. If you’ll be able to fully reach your goals without me, without the extra baggage, then I’m fine with letting you go.”
Jeonghan isn’t surprised at all the moment his throat closes up and he feels the familiar rush up his nostrils. His eyes easily well up with tears and he blinks quickly.
Not now. Not in front of him. Not in front of everyone, and at prom of all places. This is supposed to be my night, the culmination of all my hard work. Not yet.
“Do you regret it?” Seungcheol suddenly asks.
Jeonghan sniffles a bit, shaking his head to will the tears away. If Seungcheol notices, he doesn’t say anything.
“You’re gonna hate me if I answer that.”
“It’s okay.”
There’s a pregnant pause, and Jeonghan loathes himself for what he’ll say next.
“...no. Sometimes I do, but at the end of the day, I know it’s better in the long term.”
Seungcheol doesn’t hesitate when he answers, “Then that’s what matters.”