Archive of Our Own

march 12
you changed my life.
they always say, love makes you stronger, and now i know it’s true.
i used to live with fear.
i was scared of everything: of speaking to strangers. of giving the wrong answer. of loneliness. of lying. of getting caught lying. of giving my heart away. of getting hurt.

the truth is, i’m still scared, and i don’t think that’ll ever go away.
but with you at my side, the fear fades, like pencil marks beneath an eraser.
you don’t take my fear away, because energy can’t be created or destroyed.
but you turn it into something better.

endurance, courage, fortitude, perseverance.
love isn’t supposed to be easy, but you’ve given me weapons to stand my ground.

we fought today.
it’s not the first time this week, and yet i never know how it starts, or why.
you were so upset. i could see it in your eyes.
i wish you trusted me enough to give me a glimpse of what’s on your mind.
it hurts because i’ve never had to make a wish like that before.

regardless.
it’s always been you.
you with your stubbornness and imperfections.
you who gives me the strength to hold on to the people i love.

i know it hasn’t been easy.
we’re so close to graduating, to the end of school and the start of the rest of our lives.
i’m scared, but i’m not going to let go.
because you changed my life, and i want you to keep changing it for eons to come.

2021

Wooyoung couldn’t help thinking that perhaps he shouldn’t have broken up with Yeosang on a Friday. Arguably the happiest day of the week, the start of the weekend that everyone always looked forward to, now tainted irrevocably for them both until graduation at the very least.

Yeosang hadn’t even really reacted at first. He’d just stared white-faced at Wooyoung as if he’d grown another head all of a sudden. Wooyoung hadn’t known where to look or what to do, so he’d only stood there stupidly in silence until Yeosang took a quick, heaving breath and pulled himself together like magic.

“Alright,” he’d said calmly, and sat down at his desk once more.

Wooyoung looked at Yeosang for a moment longer – staring blankly at his own reflection in the darkness of his laptop screen, his hands trembling just a fraction in his lap – and left the room. It had been him or Yeosang right then, and he knew that Yeosang needed the sanctuary of their shared space more than Wooyoung ever would.

It had been a typical Friday night. The campus was busy with students coming and going, some chattering happily in groups as they returned after dinner, others already rowdy and joking as they left school grounds. Wooyoung sat down on the nearest bench and watched them pass with glazed eyes, feeling like an observer at a museum, like time had stopped for him alone and no one else.

Yeosang would usually have been writing his reflective journal at this time, some strange assignment for one of his literature modules that Wooyoung had never bothered to understand. He sat down and wrote an entry faithfully every Friday, the light of his screen illuminating his face, and Wooyoung wondered with a strange sense of regret if this would be the week to finally break that pattern.

All in all, it was an odd sort of break-up. Not quite mutual, not exactly amicable, and yet also not wholly hostile. It was mostly just immensely awkward. Wooyoung felt as if overnight, he had forgotten how to move around Yeosang, if he should step back when they both approached a doorway at the same time, or if he should slip out by the left or right when he tried to leave the bathroom as Yeosang entered.

Every day they were forced to unlearn the steps they had taken for years in favour of a new choreography, one where they brushed shoulders as little as possible and met eyes even less.

“Are you okay?” San asked all the time, all wide eyes and pursed lips as he squinted nervously at Wooyoung, as if expecting to have to deal with some sort of nervous breakdown.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Wooyoung would respond automatically, because it felt like the only thing he could say.

In truth, he felt utterly crushed. That was the right word for it, he thought. Not shattered, which implied a quick fall and scattered remains, but crushed, slowly and painfully over the past months until he finally crumbled beneath the pressure into a small pile of dust, ready to be blown away at the slightest breeze.

Opening his eyes in the morning had become more miserable than ever now that he no longer woke up with Yeosang’s warmth beside him. Yeosang had the abnormal ability to spring out of bed as fresh as a daisy at seven in the morning, while Wooyoung could snooze right through a dozen alarms with ease. Seeing Yeosang still in bed on a Thursday morning, therefore, when they both had a morning class, set alarm bells ringing in Wooyoung’s head.

Apparently, breaking up didn’t magically erase Yeosang’s entire schedule from his brain.

Stumbling out of bed, Wooyoung banged his knees against the side of Yeosang’s bedframe with a muffled curse. “Hey,” he hissed, shaking Yeosang’s shoulder anxiously. “It’s kinda late. Don’t you have class?”

Yeosang blinked confusedly at Wooyoung for a moment before shaking him off with a grumble. “Cancelled,” he muttered, pressing his face back into the pillow.

Wooyoung straightened, feeling nastily dazed. This was the kind of thing he would’ve known before, the kind of thing Yeosang would’ve told him so that they could perhaps have arranged to have lunch together, the difference between then and now.

“Oh, sorry,” he said hollowly.

Yeosang rolled over to face him, strands of hair smushed messily against his forehead as he cracked his eyes open. “S’alright,” he said, with the kind of sleepy sweetness that Wooyoung hadn’t heard from him in a while. “Have fun at class.” The corner of his mouth drew up just a little, before he dragged the covers over his head and burrowed down out of sight.

Wooyoung blinked rapidly, feeling the sudden urge to cry wash over him. Yeosang had forgotten, just for that single moment, that he wasn’t supposed to still be in love with Wooyoung, and Wooyoung wished that he could do the same.

He didn’t even know why they’d broken up if he was just as unhappy before and after it. Maybe Yeosang was better off, at least, now that he didn’t have Wooyoung squabbling with him every other day. It was always hard to tell with Yeosang. He still attended his classes on time and typed out his neat, meticulous notes each day, and as far as Wooyoung knew, he had never wasted time moping around about their disintegrated relationship.

Maybe he had already gotten over Wooyoung. Maybe he was already thinking of the future, of how they would be out of each other’s hair in less than two months, and breathing a sigh of relief.

It was another three days before Yeosang spoke to him again, when Wooyoung was already tucked into bed and Yeosang was a moment away from turning out the lights. Just for a second, as Yeosang glanced over with his hand on the switch, their eyes met, and Wooyoung blinked, panicked.

“You look tired,” Yeosang said after a moment, his mouth twisting as if there was more he wanted to say. The room felt rife with uncertainty, more painfully awkward than even their first meeting.

“Uh, yeah,” Wooyoung muttered, dropping his gaze to his hands. “I am kinda tired, I guess.” It was an exhaustion born of constant unhappiness, and definitely not something that he wanted to talk about with Yeosang.

But Yeosang didn’t seem to have anything more to say either. He flicked the switch off with a quiet click, and Wooyoung heard the quiet rustle of Yeosang’s covers as he got into bed without even saying ‘goodnight’.

march 19
it’s funny, because when we first met i never thought i would like you.
you were just so much.
too loud, too bright, too fast.
like the city all around us, it felt like you moved at a pace i could never hope to achieve.

not that i wanted to.
i looked at you and i thought, spitefully, he’s running too quickly.
one day he’ll crash and burn.
i looked at you and i thought, grudgingly, i suppose i can learn to tolerate him.
i suppose i must.

but you were patient when i got lost on the streets, hopelessly turned around like a person blindfolded.
you were calm when my father broke his leg miles and miles away, and you sat me down and spoke to my mother on the phone as i panicked, trying to remember if there was a train home at this time of night.
you were quiet the week i was laid up in bed with the most awful fever, waking up through the night to check on me, sleepless and in pain.

you were everything i assumed you would be.
and you were everything i assumed you were not.

i used to scoff at my father when he said, people can surprise you. let them.
because nothing ever surprised me before you came along.

just imagine, one day we’ll be the ones telling this story.
maybe our children will be the ones laughing, but that’s okay.
they’ll never meet you the way i once did.
they’ll never sail the oceans we sailed and climb the mountains we conquered.
i may not be much of an explorer, but you are my greatest journey.
you are my greatest adventure.

2018

Wooyoung’s roommate arrived on campus late, so late that he had almost thought he might end up having a room to himself all semester after all. With only two days to go till his first day of classes, he had already gotten all his clothes unpacked and his brand-new timetable responsibly folded up in his notebook, when Kang Yeosang finally decided to slide unobtrusively into his life.

It was a bit of a surprise, actually, for Wooyoung to come back from dinner to find a complete stranger in the room he had come to think of as his, with various belongings scattered about on the opposite bed.

“Uh…” he started, momentarily confused as he stood warily in the doorway. “Are you – oh, you’re my roommate, right?” The realisation washed over him like cool relief, and a smile blossomed on his face as he shut the door behind him.

The other boy had frozen at his entrance, his head raising and his dark eyes blinking at Wooyoung like a startled rabbit, but he seemed to relax just a little at Wooyoung’s peppy introduction. “Yeosang,” he returned, shortly, and it didn’t take Wooyoung very long to get the impression that Yeosang wasn’t exactly a man of many words.

“Where are you from?” he asked, to which Yeosang said a single word: “Pohang.”

He then followed up with, “What are you going to study?” and once again Yeosang answered quite succinctly, “Language and Literature,” all the while arranging his toiletries without giving Wooyoung a second glance.

Wooyoung, of course, wasn’t going to give up so easily. “Why were you so late? I almost thought you weren’t going to show up, you know,” he said accusingly as he lounged on his bed, watching Yeosang put a small calendar up on the empty study desk that Wooyoung hadn’t already filled with his knick-knacks.

Once more, Yeosang paused at that question, although he didn’t turn around, and Wooyoung was left to guess at the expression on his face right then. “I didn’t think there was any reason to arrive earlier,” he said at last with a shrug, and Wooyoung chuckled to himself at the expected brevity of his response.

He chalked it down to shyness at first. Maybe Yeosang’s wild side only came into play around friends. Maybe he needed more time to warm up to Wooyoung.

It soon became clear, however, that silence was an old, constant companion of Yeosang’s. He wasn’t a fan of loud noises, or loud music, or loud voices, nor was he afraid to show it. He seemed constantly and subtly irritated at Wooyoung in those first few weeks, and only sheer politeness forced civility into his tone.

Wooyoung, on the other hand, found Yeosang quite fascinating. He spoke like his words were finite and might run out at any moment, and his reticence was strangely endearing. His demeanour reminded Wooyoung a little of a wild creature caught and put into a zoo, bewildered and anxious but struggling not to show it, and it was this deep sympathy that kept Wooyoung from leaving Yeosang to his own lonely devices.

I’m free for lunch later! he texted occasionally when he remembered to, and sometimes Yeosang would accept and sometimes he wouldn’t.

“I don’t see why you keep trying if he won’t extend the same courtesy to you,” San said sourly once, leaning against Wooyoung’s side to peek at his messages. “It’s kind of weird that he doesn’t like you but eats with you anyway.”

Wooyoung laughed and smacked at San’s shoulder. “Don’t be mean,” he said reprovingly. “He’s far from home and he’s naturally shy – he doesn’t really have anyone else but me. And I’m sure he likes me fine – he just doesn’t express himself well.”

San shot him a highly sceptical look. “Well, you’re the one living with him,” he conceded, before he sighed and turned back to their project slides.

It was a long, arduous process, much like taming a wild animal. Sometimes it felt to Wooyoung as if he might never make any progress with this tenuous friendship, and other times it felt like he took one step forward only to be forced three steps back.

But ever so slowly, as the semester progressed, things began to change.

Yeosang began to message him first at times, just simple facts like I’m free in the evening, and then it would be up to Wooyoung to propose hanging out together. Yeosang still didn’t mesh as well as he might have hoped with Wooyoung’s friends, and because of this he seemed constantly hesitant to impose on Wooyoung’s time.

On rare occasions, Wooyoung would return to their room late at night to find Yeosang already curled up beneath his blankets with his phone lighting up his face, scrolling through whatever it was that caught the fancy of someone like him. There was a serenity to Yeosang at those times that Wooyoung had never seen anywhere else, a relaxed peace that was never present in the day or out of their room. Wooyoung hated to interrupt these moments, and he would tread about with quiet steps until Yeosang looked up at him with a small nod of welcome.

It made him wonder what Yeosang’s life had been like before he had moved so many miles away from home to the bustling city. What was his family like, that he had grown up to so love the quiet? Where had he lived, that he could find no peace in the same noisy, happy crowd that powered Wooyoung full of energy?

One night, crashing down onto his bed after coming out of the shower, Wooyoung ignored the exasperated sigh that Yeosang let out in favour of asking, “What’s Pohang like, the part where you live?”

Yeosang’s phone lowered slightly. “Peaceful,” he said cuttingly, and Wooyoung giggled at the jab. Already he could feel the difference between them from before, the lack of tension emanating off Yeosang despite his resolutely curt replies, and the way he kept his eyes on Wooyoung instead of looking away dismissively, already knowing Wooyoung well enough to expect more questions.

“Yeah, but what is it like? Is it a small town? Does everyone really know everyone else?” Wooyoung propped himself up on one elbow, genuinely interested now rather than just irresistibly nosy.

Yeosang was quiet for a moment. “My family lives near a national park,” he said at last. “I spent a lot of time there, among the trees. It was my favourite place.” It wasn’t a full answer, but he really did look away then, a clear end to the conversation as he returned to his phone.

Wooyoung watched him for a moment longer, his profile half-lit in the orange light, and thought that maybe he understood Kang Yeosang just a fraction better now than he had before.

march 26
someone once asked me, why you?
was it fate?
are we soulmates?
or was it just because you are so beautiful that you still take my breath away?

why do they ask these questions that no one knows the answers to?

it’s you because you’re you.
it’s you because you were the first friend i ever made here.
it’s you because you have the biggest, kindest heart of anyone i have ever met.
it’s you because you laugh at everything i say, even if sometimes i fear the blade that is my own tongue.
it’s you because you didn’t have to know me, but you wanted to anyway.

it’s you for a thousand different reasons.
but also for no reason at all.

here is more of the thousand:
you always know when i miss home, and you hold me tight until i feel the way the forest used to make me feel. safe, cocooned in my own skin. warm, deep in my bones. peace, curling between my ribs and sinking into my heart.
your passion in everything you do. your certainty of the path you’ve chosen. the way you live and laugh and love like every day might be the last day of your life.
you wake up so slowly, a wanderer lost in the dark. every morning i wake you, shoving and pushing and grumbling, and every morning you open your eyes, just barely, and smile at me. a gentle, lazy, playful smile, a gift from you to me.

if they asked me again, why you, i still wouldn’t know how to answer.

all i know is that for me, it’s you.
forever and always.
to infinity and beyond.

for you, is it still me?

2020

Just as it did every year, Wooyoung’s birthday fell neatly on those strenuous weeks where finals were looming threateningly close and at least six assignments were due all in the same week. Yeosang quietly picked Wooyoung up after his Thursday afternoon class and brought him out for dinner at a nearby barbecue restaurant, and he couldn’t quite tell if the heady happiness he was feeling was because of the delicious scent of cooking beef or the sight of Yeosang staring intently at the meat with his tongs at the ready.

“It’s not going to burn if you take your eyes off it for a second,” Wooyoung teased, chewing on the rows of side dishes with relish.

“Be quiet if you want your meat,” Yeosang said irritably, and Wooyoung was filled with such a warm rush of affection that he wished they were sitting close enough for him to tuck his head on Yeosang’s shoulder.

It wasn’t much of a birthday celebration, but nothing much could make Wooyoung happier than the combination of meat and Yeosang.

They were just stepping back onto campus grounds when Yeosang said, quite out of the blue, “I planned something for Saturday night since we couldn’t do much today. You’ll be free, right?”

Wooyoung was so taken aback that he could hardly find a response at first. It was an unsettling, pleasing emotion that he didn’t have the words for, that moment when someone he already loved so fully without expectations turned around and gave him more than he would ever have needed or asked for.

“Yes,” he said at last, hastily, with every intention of emptying his calendar if it wasn’t already empty. “I’m definitely free on Saturday.”

Yeosang smiled at him, the affectionately judgemental smile that he often bestowed on Wooyoung that seemed to say, I don’t know why I like you, but I do. He slipped his fingers between Wooyoung’s without another word, and Wooyoung clutched back tightly. His mind was already leaping ahead to the end of the semester, when they would each go back to their own families over winter break, more than a month apart that filled him with dramatic sadness every time he thought of it.

As much as he loved everything about Yeosang, Wooyoung loved Yeosang’s lackadaisical texting habits the least. He could already tell that it would be a winter of constant badgering on his part, of endlessly hoping to draw a reply or two from Yeosang, if he even read or opened Wooyoung’s messages at all. Responding to messages from his friends was simply not something that ranked very high on Yeosang’s priorities.

On the other hand, Yeosang had gone out of his way to prepare a separate birthday surprise for Wooyoung, so he supposed he could put up with some irregularity in contact in return.

On Saturday evening, Wooyoung followed Yeosang to a small restaurant he had never heard of before, and stepped in to find two whole tables of his friends leaping up at him in joyful excitement. San was there, of course, grinning his pleased, eye-curving smile, along with Mingi and Yunho, and even Seonghwa, who had graduated the semester before.

“What –” Wooyoung let out a surprised squawk at the shocking wave of noise, his eyes as round as saucers, before his smile widened and he plunged into the crowd to exchange hugs.

“I can’t believe you guys all came,” he cried, slinging an arm around San’s shoulder and pressing his cheek to his friend’s face like an overexcited puppy.

“Did you think we’d miss out on your birthday?” Mingi scoffed, but they all knew perfectly well how difficult it was to separate a student from the library and their books during the usual end-of-semester panic that took hold.

Wooyoung could feel himself beaming through the night as they ate, his cheeks aching from the force of his happiness. He was showered quite liberally with small gifts, and did his best to catch up with those whom he hadn’t spoken to in too long. Yeosang was a steady presence beside him, occasionally making small talk with Hongjoong or Jongho, but mostly just observing the scene before him as if from afar.

Wooyoung was more than a little tipsy when he finally gave up on mingling and fell back into his chair. “You look bored,” he said disapprovingly, as he leaned over and blinked heavily at Yeosang’s stoic expression. Planting his hand on Yeosang’s thigh to support his own weight, he gave a silly little sigh as he thought about how ridiculously beautiful his boyfriend looked when he smiled.

“Bored?” Yeosang repeated, his dark brows raising and the corners of his lips quirking as he looked sideways at Wooyoung. “I’m not bored. Are you enjoying yourself?”

Wooyoung nodded sleepily. “Thanks for organising this even though you probably didn’t really like having to be here,” he said sweetly, his tongue oddly heavy in his mouth, and he felt the rise and fall of Yeosang’s sudden chuckle. With a pleased smile, he squeezed Yeosang’s thigh and was rewarded by the sudden jump of the taut muscle beneath his palm.

Yeosang slapped his hand down onto Wooyoung’s like a fly had landed on him. “Wooyoung –” he said under his breath, and then he let out another short laugh. “Do you want to leave? You’re probably tired.”

Half the guests had left by then, and the rest were in varying states of both natural and alcohol-induced tiredness. As much fun as he had had, Wooyoung was over it all too. All he wanted to do right then was to get back to his bed so that he could sleep, preferably with Yeosang spooning him if he felt like it.

“Yeah, kinda,” he said, and he was quite happy to let Yeosang pull him out of his seat and right out the door without even saying goodbye to San, who had his chin over Yunho’s shoulder while the other tapped furiously at some game on his phone with fiery intensity in his eyes.

The winter chill that struck them the moment they stepped out of the restaurant sobered Wooyoung up just a little, and he gave an exaggerated shiver as he stuck his left hand into Yeosang’s coat pocket. The sky was fully dark, only the streetlamps and the cloud-covered moon lighting their way back to the main road.

Everything was peaceful, and the last thing Wooyoung expected was for Yeosang to turn to him with all the force of a whirlwind, his lips closing bruisingly over Wooyoung’s. He almost staggered back in surprise, but Yeosang’s fingers were fisted tightly in his coat, keeping him upright. With a breathy sigh, Wooyoung parted his lips, submitting beneath the onslaught of this unexpectedly aggressive Yeosang.

“Sorry,” was all Yeosang said when they pulled apart, although he didn’t sound particularly apologetic. “I just – I really wanted to do that.” He stuffed his hands into his pockets, looking suddenly awkward.

More awake than he had been just a minute ago, Wooyoung burst into a fit of giggles at Yeosang’s obvious chagrin. “We should hurry back then,” he said with a coy smile, almost preening with delight at the way Yeosang’s eyes flashed. “Don’t you want to do more?”

april 2
the whole is greater than the sum of its parts.
that’s synergy.
that’s us.

you’re too wild and i’m too wary.
you laugh fearlessly and i hesitate to even smile.
you care so much that it hurts and i harden my heart so that it won’t.

we’re human, horrible and wonderful and flawed, but when we’re together, i cover your blemishes while you cover mine.
we overlap.
we complete each other.

i believe this, and i believe that you believe this too.

but still i wonder.
if you could go anywhere in the world.
if you could have anyone in the world.
would you still be here?

we’re not crumbling, not yet, but i can feel us pulling away.
you’ve felt it for a while, haven’t you?

you were sitting on your bed today, giggling at your phone.
it was nothing i hadn’t seen before, but also a sound i hadn’t heard in too long.
you didn’t look over when i sat down beside you.
you didn’t move or smile or frown or say a single word.

a few months ago i could never have imagined myself here:
wanting to kiss you but not daring to.
wanting to run my fingers through your hair and lay my head in your lap and sneak my fingers under your shirt to make you laugh.
wanting you to look at me and tell me i’m not invisible.

for what it’s worth, i’m sorry.
i don’t know what i did wrong but i’m sorry for it.
and for being a coward of the highest order.

i don’t know how to fix this, and i don’t even know where or how to start trying.
but i haven’t given up on us yet.
so i’m begging you, please, don’t you give up either.

2021

“I didn’t really do anything today.” Yeosang’s voice came out hesitant, just a little too much echo in the transmission for Wooyoung to imagine that they were truly side by side. “I sent you some pictures though. Did you see them?”

Wooyoung rolled over on his bed so that he was staring up at the ceiling, his phone still tucked tight against his ear. “I did,” he said quickly. “You’re definitely getting more snowfall than us.”

Yeosang had sent him picture after picture of his house, the forest, the trees, all white with thick, clumpy snow. It looked nothing like the soft, powdery snow that Wooyoung was familiar with. This snow clung to every crevice and branch like some sort of growing mould, stretching upwards from the ground to the lowest branches, as if gallons of water had frozen in mid-air as it fell to the forest floor.

It was interesting, but what Wooyoung really wanted to hear about was Yeosang, and Yeosang, it seemed, never had anything to say about himself.

“I miss you,” he sighed.

“It’s only a couple more weeks,” Yeosang replied, with the hint of a smile in his voice. “We’ll be seeing each other soon.”

Wooyoung exhaled quietly, pressing his lips together before the question on the tip of his tongue could slip out like a betrayal. But do you miss me too?

Nothing had really changed from their previous school breaks apart – just like before, Wooyoung was the one who went off on wild tangents as he retold the events of the day, while Yeosang interjected with a few well-timed questions to keep him going – and yet Wooyoung found that his heart wanted more and more from Yeosang with every day that passed. Now, Yeosang’s reticence hurt and frustrated him in ways that had never even occurred to him before.

They had been together for more than a year now. Could Yeosang not spare the effort to say a few words just to make Wooyoung’s day? Did he not know that Wooyoung would all but float around for the next twelve hours in a state of bliss if he would only say something even the slightest bit sentimental?

“Do you ever think about what will happen once we graduate?”

“We’ll both find jobs, I suppose.” He could almost see Yeosang shrugging unconcernedly in his mind’s eye.

“No, I meant us,” Wooyoung corrected with a huff. “What’ll happen to us?”

Yeosang was silent for a second. “Well, nothing will happen to us,” he said at last, confused. “What do you mean?”

Wooyoung closed his eyes. “Nothing. I dunno,” he sighed. “I’ve just been thinking about how it’s going to be our last semester, that’s all.”

Maybe it was just Wooyoung who had changed. Maybe he had gotten over the wild, early days where he had needed only the simple knowledge that Yeosang was his to sustain his overflowing affection. Maybe he had reached a point where he wanted to know that he was loved and needed in return, in ways that Yeosang seemed unable to give him.

Sometimes he wondered if he was being unfair, expecting so much of Yeosang, who had never once lied to Wooyoung about who he was.

Most days it didn’t even really bother him. Some days, all he could think about was the new recipe that he spent half the day in the kitchen learning from his mother, and her loud laughter at his every mistake, while his brother tried his best to help but usually failed. Other days, he bundled himself up as warmly as he could and twirled out into the city, meeting Yeonjun and his other old friends to revisit the familiar haunts of their childhood, the deserted playgrounds and small, warm cafes and freezing street corners.

Wooyoung enjoyed his holiday as fully as only a graduating student who knew it would be the very last winter break of his life could, and only his calls with Yeosang, once the highlight of his day, managed to cut through his happiness. Somehow, they always made him feel small, needy and not exactly unloved, but not loved enough.

“Tell me something,” he said once, because even Jung Wooyoung wasn’t bold enough to demand, Tell me you love me. Tell me you need me. Tell me you miss me.

Yeosang chuckled. “Tell you what?” He never got confused over Wooyoung’s strange requests anymore.

Wooyoung closed his eyes. “Anything,” he said, and then, quickly, “Just something you think I’d like to hear.”

“Hm.” Yeosang’s deep voice thrummed thoughtfully down the line, until finally he said, “I made something for you.”

Wooyoung’s eyes snapped open at that. “You made something for me?” he repeated, and he could hear the way his own voice pitched higher in amazement. “What is it?”

“It’s a surprise,” Yeosang said simply, sounding perfectly secure in his ability to resist Wooyoung’s cajoling.

“Fine,” Wooyoung mumbled sulkily. “Did you make surprises for anyone else?” He tensed as he waited for the answer, fully intending to use the information to sneak some clues about his own gift.

Yeosang actually snorted out loud at that. “Of course not. Who else would I make them for?” he asked, as if it were obvious, as if there was no one else in his life worth preparing a present for save Wooyoung.

Wooyoung found himself grinning and buoyant as he said sat up and said playfully, “You have other friends, you know. Are you neglecting them?”

Yeosang, on the other hand, sounded faintly annoyed when he said, “Well, they’re not my boyfriend. They’ll live.”

Wooyoung cooed at that, warm delight running through his veins at that matter-of-fact response. “Oh, you’re awful,” he said lovingly, all his unhappiness melting away in an instant. “I can’t wait to see you soon.”

“You mean you can’t wait to see your present soon,” Yeosang retorted, quite astutely, and Wooyoung only giggled giddily into his phone without a word of protest.

Maybe this was all he needed, just the straightforward assurance that Yeosang did think of him when they were apart, that Wooyoung occupied a space in Yeosang’s life that no one else did. He already knew that words weren’t Yeosang’s strong point after all. His affections were not the large, loud gestures that Wooyoung had grown up with, surrounded by his parents’ frequent hugs and his brother’s young, unselfish love.

Maybe he would have to learn to pick out these subtle expressions of tenderness a little better. Maybe this could be enough for his greedy, desperate heart.

He hoped it would be.

april 9
i didn’t want to write today, but i didn’t know what else to do.

we almost made it to a year and nine months.
is it cheating if i round it up?
it took us a year and nine months to implode.
is that a long time or a short time? should i add an ‘only’ there?

this is supposed to be a reflective journal, but what is there left to reflect on?
my own inadequacies?
or everything you did wrong?

i feel numb.

you turned my life on its head with four words,
and then you shattered it with three.
let’s end it, you said, as if anything is ever that simple.

i’m still here.
i’m here breathing.
i’m here hurting.

it’s over, but it doesn’t feel like an end.
it feels like an agonising beginning.

i don’t know what to do.

i just keep wondering:
why wasn’t i enough?
could i have done more?
should i have tried harder?

maybe it would be easier to hate you, but i can’t.
there’s ice around my heart, and it’ll break into a million pieces before i ever think of you with malice.

i’ll miss the way you blow into my ear to get my attention.
i’ll miss the way you fall over yourself every time you laugh.
i’ll miss the way you sulk whenever things don’t go your way.

i just miss you.
i miss you i miss you i miss you.

my heart says, wait for him. maybe this is a mistake.
but my head says, let him go. where is your pride?

can you feel it?
how every part of me is torn in two, caught between me and you.

2019

To say that Wooyoung had been surprised when Yeosang had invited him home for the very first summer of their university career would be a gross understatement. He didn’t think he had ever been stunned speechless in his life before that moment, when Yeosang had thrown the suggestion out as casually as if he had been suggesting ordering Chinese for dinner that Saturday.

“Wait, for real?” he spluttered, eyes huge as he stared hard at Yeosang. If it had been anyone else, he might have brushed the whole thing off as a practical joke.

Yeosang, as always, looked less than pleased at Wooyoung’s questions. “You’re the one who’s always asking about where I live,” he said irritably, and Wooyoung immediately discarded the rest of his lingering reservations. He was quite sure there would never be another chance like this – if he didn’t say yes now, Yeosang would never invite him back again.

“What about your family?” Yeosang asked, looking worried, but Wooyoung scoffed and waved his hand, and said that he saw his family so much that they would certainly be able to survive his absence for a month or two.

“They must be grateful that I’ll be giving them some peace at last,” Yeosang muttered, dodging to the side when Wooyoung tossed a pen at him.

In the end, Wooyoung ended up falling asleep on the bus ride from Seoul to Pohang, and when he awoke it was to find that his cheek was pillowed somewhat uncomfortably against Yeosang’s shoulder. Even now, he was a little surprised that Yeosang hadn’t nudged him off at some point, but all Yeosang was doing was staring out the window at the landscape flashing by, his eyes sharp and focused. He looked like the last thing on his mind at that moment was Wooyoung.

“What time is it?” Wooyoung mumbled, attempting to lift his head for half a second before he slumped back down against Yeosang.

Yeosang shifted slightly against him. “We’ll be reaching in twenty minutes,” he said, and then, after a moment, “I’ll wake you if you want to sleep more.”

With his eyes already closed, Wooyoung muttered, “Don’t mind if I do,” and he grinned when he felt Yeosang sigh.

Pohang was a part of the country that felt like something right out of a TV programme to Wooyoung, somewhere distant and unrelated to himself that he had never thought to visit. Now that he was here, he was taken aback by how different the city was from Seoul. He would never say it out loud to Yeosang, but everything about it felt…rough, and the huge steel plant located right smack in the middle lent a strange smell to the air.

It was something of a relief to get on another bus to head even further south, away from the city and nearer to the Gyeongju border, even if he did spend most of the trip bored and shifting restlessly beside a perfectly unbothered Yeosang.

The scenery outside grew gradually greener, the clustered residences giving way to cultured vegetation and scattered farmhouses. It all looked unimaginably idyllic to Wooyoung, an existence untouched by pressing deadlines and incessant text notifications. He darted a brief, considering glance at Yeosang, trying to match his sharp wit and impatience with the pastoral landscape outside.

Yeosang’s father picked them up at the bus station, and already Wooyoung could see the way Yeosang began to soften at the edges the closer he got to home. He was no more talkative with his parents than he was with Wooyoung, but his eyes seemed to glow when they gathered him into a hug, and his mouth was pulled up in a constant faint smile.

“We’re so glad to have you here, Wooyoung,” his mother said warmly, and Wooyoung directed his most winning grin at her.

“I’m really glad that Yeosang invited me,” he said truthfully. Yeosang was a mystery that he had only barely began to unwrap over their months together, and the more he learned, the more he found himself drawn into Yeosang’s quiet orbit. It made Wooyoung feel like the protagonist of a movie, the one who inevitably fell for the cold, distant boy with a carefully hidden heart of gold.

Yeosang brought Wooyoung into the forest the following week, and he let out a deep exhalation as they began to tread along the well-worn paths that were surely as familiar to him as the back of his hand. “I used to come here all the time,” he said, half-turned so that he could see Wooyoung following along behind him. “To think, or just to relax.”

It was as clear as day to Wooyoung, the way the tension had vanished from Yeosang’s shoulders, and simply the ease with which he coexisted with his surroundings. Quite suddenly, he realised that everything about Yeosang embodied the vast, sprawling forests that stood at his doorstep – steady, peaceful and unhurried, the hallmarks of his home stamped indelibly on his soul. Wooyoung tried to imagine losing himself in the heart of this wilderness day after day, year after year, near untouched by man and time, but found himself intimidated by the thought instead.

Seoul must have felt like being thrust headfirst into a chaotic, whirring blender to Yeosang.

They came to a stop at a large rock that Yeosang leapt onto in a single bound, finding some hidden foothold that Wooyoung couldn’t see. He sat back against the upward incline of stone worn smooth by time and smiled down at Wooyoung, the truest smile that Wooyoung had ever seen on Yeosang’s face, and gestured around.

“This is my spot,” he said softly, and there was something charmingly melodic about the sound of his deep voice set against the background chatter of nature. “I wander a bit sometimes, but I always come back here in the end.”

Wooyoung turned slowly in place, wanting to see the beauty of the forest through Yeosang’s eyes. It was like something straight out of a fairy tale – the birds twittering away unseen in the trees; the deep, verdant green of the leaves; the sunlight hitting the forest floor in stripes and speckles; the subtle breeze stirring the air around his bare calves.

“Why did you bring me here?” he asked, because all of a sudden it felt very important for him to know this, even if he himself didn’t quite know what he meant by ‘here’. The forest, or Yeosang’s home, or Pohang, or just all three.

Yeosang was silent for only a moment. “I wanted to show you something I love,” he said. “I wanted to share something with you.”

Wooyoung turned to face Yeosang fully, and he found that his mouth was unexpectedly dry.

“Yeosang,” he said slowly. Yeosang’s eyes were gentle and unguarded in a way that made his heart clench, and he felt as if he were teetering on the edge of a cliff. Thank you, he wanted to say, or It’s beautiful, but what came out of his mouth instead were four completely different words.

“Go out with me.”

april 16
whenever i heard the question, what is the happiest moment in your life?
i used to think, how can you choose just one?
i used to think, i am lucky. i am privileged. i have so much more happiness than i deserve.
how can i ever choose?

now, when i close my eyes, i see you.

i see you, standing among the trees that i grew up with, looking like you belonged.
the branches overhead threw streaks of shadow across your skin, but even that couldn’t hide the look of pure wonder on your face as you looked up and around.
it was like the sun coming out from behind the clouds.
like the glare off the rolling waves at high noon.
sudden, blinding, wondrous.

and then you looked over at me, and said those four words.
“go out with me.”

there is no moment i can recall being happier in, and i think the universe realised that.
they realised what i have always known: that i have more happiness than i deserve.

i remember the sound of bracken crunching beneath your sneakers, and your inexplicable fascination with it.
i remember your scream when the dragonfly brushed past your leg, winking and glimmering like a shard of sunlight falling on forgotten treasure.
i remember the way your hand felt in mine, your fingers pressing tighter than you’d ever held me before as you navigated the unfamiliar terrain.

i didn’t know then that it would be the first and last time you would ever walk those quiet paths with me.
if i had, would this memory be even happier?
or sadder?

2021

There was a constant restlessness buzzing through Wooyoung the moment they all returned to campus, a pressing anxiety about the somewhat dismal state of his GPA and whether it would get him a job in Seoul, and even if anyone anywhere would want to hire him at all.

“Of course you’ll find a job. Why wouldn’t you?” He felt the warmth of Yeosang’s presence behind him, and then fingers pressing firmly into his shoulders, kneading at Wooyoung’s sore muscles with his thumbs. Wooyoung couldn’t stop the low groan that slipped from his throat, and he tilted his head back against Yeosang’s chest with a sigh. Even from below, he could see that Yeosang’s lips were pressed together in concentration, his eyes sharp and focused in the same way he did everything else.

“You don’t know that for sure,” Wooyoung muttered, although he was enjoying the impromptu massage too much to really sound as petulant as he intended. “It’s hard to find a job these days.”

Yeosang shrugged. “The unemployment rate speaks for itself,” he pointed out, and there was something about his cruel nonchalance that raised Wooyoung’s hackles.

Jerking forward so that Yeosang pulled his hands back in surprise, Wooyoung spun his chair around. “Just let me be nervous, okay?” he said irritably. “Just because nothing ever scares you doesn’t mean you get to keep belittling my problems.”

“I’m not belittling your problems,” Yeosang said, his face blank but for the faintest furrow of his brows as he stared at Wooyoung. It was something that Wooyoung could tolerate less and less of recently, where before he had loved to unpack every little nuance of Yeosang’s expressions.

“Well, it feels like you are,” he snapped, and when he stalked out of the room Yeosang didn’t come chasing after him.

It was utterly infuriating. Wooyoung didn’t need to be told that his worries were pointless and that he was losing sleep over nothing. He needed someone to cuddle him and tell him that he was doing great. He needed Yeosang to hold him and kiss him and make him feel like he could take on the world, but clearly Yeosang was either as dense as a brick or simply didn’t care enough to think about what Wooyoung wanted.

The awful thing was that Wooyoung didn’t think Yeosang was dense at all.

When he slipped back into the room late that night, Yeosang was still awake, and Wooyoung knew without a doubt that Yeosang had been waiting for him. His knees were tucked up to his chest as he stared out the window, lost in his own unknowable thoughts, but he started and turned at the sound of Wooyoung’s entrance, his eyes dark and considering.

Wooyoung went straight to Yeosang, engulfing him in a hug that was tentatively returned. “I shouldn’t have gotten mad. I’m sorry,” he said contritely, tucking his chin against Yeosang’s shoulder. The only thing he felt was silly now, like one of those melodramatic characters in Yeosang’s classic literature novels, driven mad with love and longing.

It was a cycle that Wooyoung couldn’t seem to break. His constant frustration inevitably boiled over and Yeosang would be caught in the crossfire, drawn into an argument over something trite and insignificant. Come night time, one of them would apologise and they would fall asleep tangled together in one bed like kittens in a basket, and everything would be fine and dandy until Wooyoung lost his temper over the differences between the ways he and Yeosang expressed love once more.

It was unfair and ridiculous, but Wooyoung didn’t know how to stop wanting something that Yeosang couldn’t give him, and the more they fought, the more distance Yeosang put between them. He had a terror of direct confrontation, of anything, in fact, that involved baring his emotions to the world.

“Don’t you wish we could turn back time sometimes?” Wooyoung asked once, his head pillowed on Yeosang’s lap and his legs dangling over the edge of his bed.

“Not really.” Yeosang shifted and began to run his fingers through Wooyoung’s hair, combing through his bangs and curling the short strands around his fingers.

Wooyoung smiled slightly at the expected answer. Yeosang was, in the end, very much a child of nature. Whatever happened in the forest, be it death or life, time moved forward inexorably, and there was no use wishing otherwise.

“I do,” he said softly. “Sometimes.” Not all the way back to before he had ever met Yeosang – never that – but back to the days when Yeosang could do no wrong in his eyes, when Yeosang had been a mystery and gift to him all at once, and Wooyoung hadn’t known how to do anything but love him for who he was.

Yeosang continued the slow carding of his fingers through Wooyoung’s hair as he fell into a comfortable half-doze, his face pressed against Yeosang’s thigh. The moment felt shrouded in a languid peace that Wooyoung hoped would last just a little longer.

It was Yeosang who broke the silence after a long, long while, with a question that told Wooyoung precisely what a terrible boyfriend he had been. It told him without a doubt that Yeosang was desperate and cornered, because it was a question he would never have asked if he thought he had any other choice at all.

“Wooyoung,” he said slowly, the motion of his hands slowing to a stop. “Did I do something wrong?”

Wooyoung opened his eyes. “No, of course not,” he said immediately, but he didn’t know how to explain further. Yeosang expressed himself with intricately shaded pencil portraits of Wooyoung, immense care evident behind each stroke; he read love poems out loud and said that they reminded him of Wooyoung; he left packets of honey butter chips on Wooyoung’s desk without ever saying a word.

It wasn’t Yeosang who loved too little. It was Wooyoung who wanted too much.

“Sometimes I just need to hear that you love me, that’s all,” Wooyoung said tiredly, as if that was enough to explain the tension that had been brewing between them over the past weeks.

“I do,” Yeosang said, politely bewildered. “You know I do.”

“I know, but I never hear you say it,” Wooyoung said, thinking once more that this would be the death of them, this lack of understanding, but not for lack of trying. A shadow fell over his face, Yeosang leaning over him with an earnest concern that was painful to see.

Wooyoung closed his eyes and took Yeosang’s hand in his. Pressing the heel of Yeosang’s wrist to his lips, he wished with all his heart that life could be as simple as kissing their relationship better.

april 23
breaking up feels a lot like a different kind of death.

no one mentions your name in my presence now.
or if they do, it’s in careful, hushed tones, as if i might break down at the sound of a whisper.
they do it out of love, i know, but i wish i could find the words to tell them:

it’s okay.
i’m okay.
even if i’m not, please pretend that i am.
i can’t stay an open wound forever.

i still see you every day anyway.
how can I not? we still share a room, where everything and nothing is different.

you wake up on your own now, with your own alarm, but you still drag your feet to the bathroom with your eyes half-lidded.
you still cook dinner on wednesdays, but the portions you make are no longer enough for two.
we still alternate doing the laundry each week, but i can no longer remember the last time you uttered a single word of complaint.

it feels unreal.
a year and nine months is nothing, but apparently it’s enough.
enough for me to know your habits and your quirks, to come to love them, and then to miss them.
you’re not gone, just out of reach, and somehow that feels even worse.

i knew it wouldn’t be easy, but i never thought that it’d be this hard.

if this feels like a tribute, perhaps it is.

you are an unstoppable force of nature.
you were a passing storm, and you battered down my walls before whirling away.
but to tell the bald-faced, shameful truth, i don’t regret it.
this time of me and you.

all i can say is, thank you for letting me love you.

our days were numbered, but in the end,
i am grateful to have been able to call you mine.

2020

“Seonghwa hyung’s out there cooking again,” was the first thing Yeosang said when he entered their room, and sure enough, Wooyoung could smell the delicious scent of what was most likely stir-fried pork wafting in from the common kitchen that everyone on the level shared.

Raising his brows at Yeosang from where he was slumped sideways at his desk over a too-thick textbook, Wooyoung said absently, “Go and ask him to share then.”

Yeosang scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he muttered, setting his bag down on the end of his bed with a tired sigh. “Why would I do that when I have you?”

Wooyoung spun his chair around to face Yeosang in an instant, sputtering with laughter as he twirled his highlighter back and forth between his fingers. “So you won’t learn to cook but you’ll wait for me to cook for you?” he demanded. He didn’t do it much, maybe once a week or so when he didn’t have classes, a simple way of bringing a taste of home into their lives with the recipes he had learned eagerly at his mother’s side.

“Well, you’re so much better at it than I am,” Yeosang said mildly, looking amused.

“You’re useless,” Wooyoung complained, but he reached his arms out for Yeosang anyway, who padded over for Wooyoung to wrap his arms around his waist, Yeosang’s hip pressing warmly against his shoulder. There was surely some sort of fae magic about Yeosang that he had absorbed from all his time in the forest, because his very presence alone was enough to take some of the exhaustion and misery of the dreaded mid-terms season from Wooyoung’s shoulders.

He pressed his face to the side of Yeosang’s torso and closed his eyes, slumping forward as he exhaled deeply. A cool hand cupped the back of his neck, stroking hypnotically just beneath his ear for a long moment. Finally, Yeosang pulled back gently, squeezing at Wooyoung’s shoulder.

“Finish that chapter and get some rest,” he said quietly.

“You’re a bad influence, Kang Yeosang,” Wooyoung said accusingly. “I’ll never finish studying if I keep taking breaks,” He looked up with a very deliberate pout, and he was absurdly pleased to see Yeosang hesitate, his gaze wavering indecisively for a moment before settling back on Wooyoung’s face.

“You’re tired,” Yeosang countered, although not with his usual whip-snap vigour.

Wooyoung had to struggle not to smirk at the trap that Yeosang had so easily walked into. “How about you give me a kiss for energy then?” he said, already straightening in his chair and tilting his head even further up in gleeful anticipation.

To his surprise, Yeosang only laughed, a soft noise that coughed quickly out of his throat. “You’re just so predictable,” he said with a roll of his eyes. He looked at Wooyoung for a moment, shaking his head slowly, before he cupped Wooyoung’s cheek with one hand and leaned down.

Kissing Yeosang was, like many things that had to do with Yeosang, a tense, restrained experience that never failed to leave Wooyoung shaking with need at the end. He kissed like water collecting behind a dam, slowly but surely, the pressure building up almost unnoticeably between them until all of a sudden Wooyoung could feel himself on the verge of shattering beneath the heat of Yeosang’s skin and the hunger of his lips.

He tightened his grip on Yeosang’s wrist when he felt the other step back, arching up with a soft whine, but Yeosang shook him off abruptly. “You need to study, and so do I,” he said. His voice was low and angry-sounding, but his eyes were dark and his cheeks flushed as his stare raked hotly over Wooyoung’s face.

“A bit of a break never hurt anybody,” Wooyoung huffed, a weak attempt at their usual banter. Already he could see the flicker of uncertainty in Yeosang’s movements, his intention to make a sensible retreat warring with the desire to drag Wooyoung off his chair and over to the bed. It was always a toss-up with Yeosang – he was so difficult to read that, quite thrillingly, Wooyoung never really knew which option he would go for until it happened.

This time, disappointingly, Yeosang stepped back.

Wooyoung pouted hugely as Yeosang sat primly down at his own desk, his notes laid out before him and a set of slides open on his laptop, but he knew that it would make no difference. It was near impossible to shake Yeosang out of his laser focus once he got started, and hours later it was, predictably, up to Wooyoung to forcibly drag Yeosang out of his chair so that they could both get to sleep.

Stretched thin and drooping like a daisy deprived of the sun at the thought of the coming week, Wooyoung climbed into Yeosang’s bed without thought, gravitating automatically towards his favourite person for comfort. Yeosang turned slightly towards him, resting his cheek against the top of Wooyoung’s head as he pushed his face cat-like against Yeosang’s shoulder.

“These beds aren’t that big. If you fall off, it’s not my fault,” Yeosang said dryly, but he stroked Wooyoung’s cheek lightly for just a moment.

“I’m tired,” Wooyoung muttered, eyes tight shut as he clung to Yeosang with arms and legs like an affectionate octopus.

“I know,” Yeosang whispered back. He gave no words of comfort, but his presence alone beside Wooyoung was warm and unafraid. Nothing ever touched Yeosang – even now, he seemed to Wooyoung like the sort of person who would remain standing even after the world had ended and the dust had cleared. Something as banal as exams could never frighten him.

Wooyoung fell asleep easily to the sound of Yeosang’s steady breaths fluttering against his hair, and hours later he awoke to the uneven dipping of the mattress beneath him as Yeosang tried unsuccessfully to inch off the bed without waking him.

Reaching out blindly, Wooyoung tugged Yeosang down onto him, a satisfied hum thrumming in his throat as he twined his legs about Yeosang’s hips to trap him in place.

“Wooyoung –” Yeosang sighed, but he leaned down obligingly to kiss Wooyoung anyway. It was a lazy, sloppy kiss, and possibly a little bit half-hearted on Wooyoung’s part considering he was barely awake, but he enjoyed it well enough to complain when Yeosang finally made his escape.

Wooyoung blearily watched Yeosang leave the room through slitted eyes, and then turned over and pulled the covers back over his head with a groan. He sure was glad not to have a morning class. Maybe he would make lunch later and surprise Yeosang when he got back – just maybe, and only if he could get out of bed in time.

april 30
everything comes to an end.
and today, as i say this, i say this with hope.

it’s been a long uphill climb, so long that i barely remember what level ground feels like beneath my feet.
i can’t see the end yet. the path is still rising before me.
but one day, surely, happiness will find me again.

last night you looked at me just before i turned out the light, and i saw with new clarity that you too have been struggling.
the old instincts arose so quickly, a tiger lying in wait.
i wanted to run to you and hold you.
i wanted to protect you from every hurt the world has ever inflicted on you.

but then i realised, i’m a part of that world.
so i lay in bed in silence, and even in my dreams i could feel your absence.

in a month, maybe a little more, we will move out of this room forever.
this room filled with memories, the tender and the ridiculous side-by-side.
this is where we started and ended, where the good still outweighs the bad by miles.

they say we should live life without regrets.
and i wonder, will i regret it if i let you walk out of my life like this?
i thought about it for a bit, and you know what,
i think i will.

call me pathetic. call me weak.
but i’m coming to realise that i’d fight to the ends of the world for us.

there’s this picture in my phone.
it’s of you. of course it’s of you.
you’re a bit of a blur, looking away from the camera, smiling so wide as the sunset paints you gold.
a friend sent it to me a long time ago and it’s been my favourite picture ever since, because somehow, someway, in this static burst of colours you are constantly in motion.

he looks so happy, i said.
my friend looked at me and laughed, and said,
don’t you know?

he was looking at you.

2021

Wooyoung noticed the slightly crumpled sheets of paper in the bin precisely because they hardly ever used loose pieces of paper these days. Yeosang kept his sketches strictly in his sketchbook and nowhere else, and almost all of their assignments were typed out and submitted online. Wooyoung’s handwriting was, in fact, starting to look somewhat wonky with disuse.

It was thus confusion more than nosiness that led to Wooyoung plucking the four sheets of A4 paper out of the trash, with what looked like a couple of short passages printed on each side. It looked like Yeosang had started to make corrections here and there with a pen, for the earlier pages had various underlines, circles and cancellations scribbled across the words, but he had eventually given up. Wooyoung flipped the pages over, pausing at the thick, dark lines scored through the final paragraphs.

He stared at the earliest dated entry, March 12, and then at the line right beneath it: you changed my life.

None of the entries were very long, but Wooyoung felt as if he had lived through several lifetimes by the time he reached the end. Mostly, he just felt like crying again.

He had never really doubted that Yeosang had loved him to some degree, but to read it like that, written in Yeosang’s own hand, in his own voice, with all the raw vividity of his emotions that he never revealed on his face splashed nakedly across the page – Wooyoung found that his hands were all but shaking as a thousand different thoughts ran through his mind all at once.

The first being, where was Yeosang right at this moment?

As if summoned by Wooyoung’s thoughts alone, he heard the click of the lock before Yeosang stepped into the room. His eyes were downcast at first as he stuffed his keys back into his bag, before he looked up and took in the sight of Wooyoung sitting on his bed with red-rimmed eyes and a few very familiar pieces of paper in his hand.

“Oh,” Yeosang said blankly, and then, “Did you really go through my trash for those?”

Wooyoung spluttered. “They were just there,” he protested. “I didn’t have to dig through anything.”

They were both silent then, just looking at each other in a way that they hadn’t done in far too long. Wooyoung thought that Yeosang looked as lovely as ever, even with the collar of his shirt slightly askew and sleepless shadows beneath his eyes.

“Could we try again –” Yeosang started, just as Wooyoung blurted, “I’m still in love with you.”

“You first,” Yeosang said politely, although the frightened animal look was back in his eyes as he stood with his back to the door, as if he might dart out at any moment.

Wooyoung huffed out a breath, suddenly at a loss for words. “I just – I’m not good at this,” he said at last. “I didn’t know you liked me this much. I couldn’t…tell. I’m used to people just telling me they love me, or hugging me or, you know, doing obvious romantic things. You didn’t do those, so I just – I’m an idiot. I felt like I was always chasing after you, like I was the one who loved you more, and it stressed me out.” He sank his forehead into his palm with a sigh of frustration.

“You tried to tell me,” Yeosang said, realisation lacing his voice as he drew slowly closer, “but I didn’t understand. I’m sorry.”

For the first time Wooyoung could remember, it was Yeosang who drew him into a hug. Not just a soft touch on the shoulder or a hand on his cheek for a kiss, but his arms wrapping fully around Wooyoung’s body, pulling him into the secure warmth of Yeosang’s chest. Wooyoung tucked his face against Yeosang’s shoulder as he leaned in, sniffling slightly with watery eyes.

“I’m sorry for being stupid. I missed you so much,” he sighed, inhaling the fresh, familiar fragrance that was all Yeosang and feeling a comfortable contentment settle over him.

“Wooyoung…” Yeosang pressed his lips softly to Wooyoung’s cheek before drawing back to look him full in the face. “I’m not good at saying these things, you know that, but I’m guessing you’ve already read everything anyway. You’re the best person I know. I’m very, very much in love with you.”

Wooyoung could feel his cheeks beginning to hurt from how widely he was smiling. “I know, but it’s really nice to hear it anyway,” he said, hardly able to hold back his giggles at the pained look on Yeosang’s face. “I never knew that your inner thoughts were so sappy. Were you really going to submit these for class?”

Yeosang rolled his eyes. “It was supposed to be a reflective journal on our relationship, but then we broke up and I decided it was just a little too personal for my professor’s eyes,” he said dryly. “I only decided to bin it two days ago, and then I had to fake two months’ worth of journals in a day. It was nightmarish.”

Wooyoung grinned, revelling in the physical weight of Yeosang’s hands in his, the mesmerising movement of his lips as he spoke, and the pink smudge of his birthmark beneath his bangs, only visible from up close. He didn’t let himself think twice before leaning forward, his kiss cutting Yeosang off mid-sentence and earning a slightly surprised grunt from, he presumed, his once-again current boyfriend. Wooyoung felt Yeosang’s hands come up to grip at his waist, and then they were stumbling backwards, slightly off balance, before toppling over onto Wooyoung’s bed.

Their teeth scraped together painfully at the impact, and Wooyoung drew back to laugh at the sheer idiocy of the situation. “Move in with me,” he gasped as he lay atop Yeosang, whose chest was still heaving as he blinked up at Wooyoung. “After graduation, I mean.”

Yeosang’s brows raised. “Move in with you where? Do you own a house somewhere that you haven’t told me about?” he asked.

“I mean move in with me after we find a place together,” Wooyoung complained, smacking at Yeosang’s shoulder and earning a smug chuckle for his efforts. “I’m not letting you get away from me again.”

“Fine, we’ll look for a place together after graduation,” Yeosang agreed easily, and something about his smile as he looked up at Wooyoung was very tender.

“I’ll be open with you,” Wooyoung promised earnestly. “I’ll tell you if I’m feeling down because of you, so that we can fix it. I really want this to work. Being without you is horrible.”

Yeosang only smiled, looking slightly overwhelmed at Wooyoung’s sudden barrage of emotions. “I’ll try my best for you,” he said at last, solemnly. “If I can’t say it, I’ll write it down – all my cringy, sappy thoughts about how much I love you, Jung Wooyoung.”

Wooyoung beamed bright as a summer’s day until Yeosang pulled him back down to continue their interrupted kiss, their bodies fitting perfectly together, two halves of a whole that had found their way back to each other once more.