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Blue, love it.
Synergy between you and me.
Everyday in my head, I think you’re the one.
It’s 5 am. Cold sweat runs down Younghoon’s spine, his body almost freezing in contrast to the boiling heat of the summer night that is sneaking from his open window. The sun is rising up from behind the hills, tinting the sky a lighter blue, but he doesn’t have time to think about that. From the window, he can see his best friend’s room, across the street, even if through the early dawn darkness he can only clearly recognize the tangle of blue hair splayed all over the white old pillow.
Maybe his incessant nightmares aren’t as bad if he has the opportunity to see Chanhee like this, ethereal, no more than twenty meters away from him.
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Where summer is a season full of colors for many people — the yellow of the still blossoming flowers, the white of the sand, the green of the palmtrees, the neon pink of the beach clubs — for Younghoon, it is only blue. The blue the wasted carpet he steps on each day, the blue of the waves shyly licking his feet, the blue of his bathroom tiles.
The blue of his best friend’s hair.
His best friend, who he has known for longer than he can remember. Who he has had a crush on for longer than he can remember.
They have always been the stereotype: two neighbors of the same age that got along well when playing together back when they were little kids, now still remain as best friends. Chanhee is the one that goes to the beach with him, the one he spends the late nights playing videogames with, the one that sleeps over at his house more than a few times during the summer break. The one that is now resting his head on Younghoon’s lap while mindlessly scrolling down on his phone.
The beach is silent except for the family setting down a few meters away from them. Two kids and a single mom. Younghoon watches as the mom tries to make her kids pay attention to her and behave, and as the kids start running to the sea without listening to a single word she’s screaming.
“She’s annoying.” Chanhee mumbles as he locks his phone and presses it against his chest, looking up at Younghoon. Like this, he looks almost fairy-like, with his blue sunglasses hanging from the collar of his white loose shirt and the two small messy braids Younghoon managed to make on his bangs a few minutes ago.
“I don’t think she is.” Younghoon says calmly, reaching down with a timid hand to caress his fading blue hair back. The salty sea has stolen almost all of the icy color for itself. “Her kids are not behaving correctly.”
“Then she shouldn’t have taken them to the beach.” His words may have a mean tint to them, but his smile is always sweet. Younghoon likes to imagine how those glossy lips must taste like, wondering if they’re really as honeyed as they look like. “What time is it?”
When Younghoon looks up at the horizon, the sun is setting down. Around 10 pm, he figures. He voices as much, Chanhee huffing and standing up, shaking the sand from his grey shorts with dainty hands.
And Younghoon can’t stop staring at the boy. At the beads necklace he made last night with him, at the light hairs by his arms, and at the small bruises painting his knees that make him look like a little kid. The golden sun hitting his skin turns the original pallor into honey-like shades. He’s beautiful. And he’s staring back down at him.
Younghoon wonders how Chanhee sees him. Does he see a beautiful boy, jet black hair falling down his tan skin? Or does he see a lost boy that looks up at him with glossy eyes knowing he will get nothing in return?
“You can stay at mine tonight if you want to. My parents went to the city.” His voice brings Younghoon back to earth. A nod is enough for Chanhee, who is now holding his hand out for Younghoon to take. “Let’s go, Hoon.”
Chanhee’s house always manages to make Younghoon feel cozy. Being a summer house, the decorations relate to the beach the most: blue couches covered by beige rugs, anea chairs and a porch with a glass table and a seesaw facing the sea. His sister never accompanies them when the Choi family comes to the small coast town, and, as Chanhee mentioned, his parents aren’t home.
So it’s just the two of them now, getting rid of their sandals by the entrance at the same time as Chanhee turns on the lights to the living room.
Younghoon has thought about this. He thinks about this almost every time they sleep together. So he can’t help it now. He thinks about joining their lips, placing his hands on his tiny waist and pulling him closer to his body. He’s is hungry for anything that Chanhee can give him. Each time he gently grazes his skin, Younghoon thinks that it’s the right moment. He wants to risk it all just to have a taste of his lips.
But he knows he can’t.
He knows he can’t kiss him when Chanhee clings to the side of his body at night, he can’t lay on top of him and bruise his lips with his own until they’re breathless. He can’t touch him, feel him, be with him. He can’t do it, as much as he wants to.
Because he wants to risk it all just to have a taste of his lips. But he can’t lose his best and only friend.
“There’s pre-cooked pizza in the freezer. Do you want to have that?” Chanhee yells by the kitchen, only now Younghoon realizing that he has been daydreaming by the entrance all this time. He’s used to make a fool of himself, anyway, so it doesn’t matter much.
“Sounds good for me.” He sits in one of the stools by the kitchen’s island and props his chin on his hands, looking at every movement Chanhee makes along the room. There’s no way anyone in the world could look graceful while ripping the pizza’s plastic package open and leaving it inside the oven, but Chanhee does. Even in the way he sits in front of him, Younghoon can see sophistication. He might be biased, but it’s not like he cares. He’s in love in the end.
“You’re thoughts are loud, Younghoon.” Chanhee is copying his gesture, cupping his face with two beautiful hands and leaning onto the counter. Younghoon should be panicking: does Chanhee really know what he’s thinking? But there’s still a little rational part of his brain that tells him that, no, there’s no such thing as mind reading, so he simply smiles. “Is anything bothering your head?”
You, he wants to say. Your beauty, your simple presence that I need so much each time I have to sleep alone.
“It’s nothing.” He moves his hand up to ruffle the blue strands of his hair winning his favorite Chanhee gesture™: a cute scrunch of his nose. Chanhee opens his mouth to reply right when the oven starts to beep. When the blue-haired stands up and grabs two mittens to take the pizza out, Younghoon makes a gun with his fingers and shoots the oven. You should've let him talk.
Younghoon burns his tongue with the cheese. Chanhee does too. Younghoon is about to make a joke — half joke. Maybe a little serious statement —, suggesting they kiss to relieve the pain, but he lets the thought pass by. It’s stupid to say that when he knows that Chanhee would laugh at it and brush it off. He always does it. There’s no need for Younghoon to embarrass himself a little more. He has already spent his coupon for that tonight.
It’s still not midnight when they settle down on top of Chanhee’s bed sheets, a good centimeter separating their bodies. They’re just wearing shorts, but with the boiling heat, it still feels like they’re overdressed. Younghoon only has to move his gaze to the left to see the way his friend’s pale, bare chest rises and falls with each even breath, but he doesn’t want to do it. It’s better not to fall into the temptation.
“Can I hug you?” Chanhee’s voice comes from his side, almost like a whisper into the otherwise silent room. There it is: the temptation.
Younghoon should’ve expected Chanhee’s arms wrapping around his waist the moment he nodded, but it still startles him like it does every night. Chanhee has a hand on the curve of his waist, the other one flat over his chest, right above his heart. One of his long legs finds its place on top of Younghoon’s upper thighs, and the other sets in between his own legs.
They’re a mess of long limbs and wrinkled sheets, but they don’t care. Chanhee doesn’t, at least. Younghoon feels like his heart is about to rip off his chest from how hard it’s beating. If Chanhee is able to feel it against his palm, he doesn’t say anything. His eyes are closed after a few minutes, his breathing even and slow.
He’s sleeping, he clearly is.
But Younghoon is awake. And, inevitably, when he’s like this, with his love wrapped around him, he can’t stop his train of thought. If he told him that he loved him, how would he react? Would he stop talking to him forever? Or would he act like nothing happened? He could say it now, just to hear how it sounds when it escapes from his tongue. Chanhee is sleeping, in the end. He can’t hear him if he speaks. And if he does, Younghoon could downplay it as being a dream, or as a mishearing.
He aches to say it, aches so bad. He has been aching for years. Years of denial, of neglect. Years of seeing Chanhee date other men, have experiences he always shares with him, and not being able to do anything to stop it. He was there for him when he complained about his first boyfriend, about his first time. When he cried because he thought nobody loved him. And Younghoon swallowed his feelings back then. But he can’t do it anymore.
“I love you.”
It feels better to say it than what he originally thought. It’s relieving.
When Chanhee doesn’t move an inch, he lets out the breath he was silently holding. He didn’t hear him. That’s good, that’s a good thing. He let out his feelings, without consequences.
Somehow, the tight knot compressing his heart is a little bit more loose when he finally dozes off while hearing Chanhee’s little snores.
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Chanhee appears to spend more time on his phone the following days. It’s not something unusual from the younger: he has an Instagram account with thousands of followers to keep active, and his popularity is certainly undeniable within both girls and boys at university.
The thing is, now it feels different.
There’s a smile painted on his beautiful face each time a message pops up on his screen, lighting up the whole room — not the screen, but the smile. There’s no brightness that could compare to Chanhee’s smile. There are constant giggles whenever he chats with a certain person. There's a reddish blush creeping up his round cheeks every day.
And Younghoon finds himself hating it.
He’s not usually like this, he’s not the jealous type. It’s not the first time Chanhee messes with someone: he has been through this already. There’s no reason for it to feel different now. But it does. It hurts to know that he’s not being the one making Chanhee smile like this.
“Who are you talking to?” They’re on the same spot on the beach, the sun setting down behind the sea just like the last time they found themselves like this. Chanhee is, once again, laying his head on Younghoon’s lap, blue hair splayed over his thighs and a red flush covering his chest, the result of spending the whole afternoon playing under the sun.
“I met a guy.” He’s smiling brightly when he looks up at him, and it brings back the knot in his heart.
“You met a guy?” Younghoon leans back and takes a look at the sky, reveling in the way the baby blue fades into warm colors, tinting the clouds reds and oranges.
“I met a guy.” He repeats, the smile never leaving. “Curious?”
Yes, Younghoon is curious. Incredibly curious. But will it hurt more if he knows?
“I mean, yeah. Tell me what you have. I know there’s no way to stop you from talking, so go ahead.”
“Just because I know you will ask, no, I don’t like him.” Is the first thing he says. He has sat up, and now Younghoon’s thighs feel cold without his touch. When they’re facing each other, both leaning back on their hands, Younghoon can — more subtly — appreciate Chanhee’s bare torso, from his pale collarbones to the faint lines of the muscles underneath the skin of his stomach. He’s beautiful like this, clad in blue bermudas that match perfectly the tone of his hair.
“I wasn’t going to ask.” He was going to ask.
“Hm, sure.”
And just like that, Chanhee starts talking. And talking. And talking, until it’s nearing 11 pm and their stomachs start to roar in hunger. Chanhee talks about this guy named Kim Sunwoo he met on Instagram just a few days ago. About his cherry red hair and his plump lips, about his stupid flirting and the tan of his skin. He explains to him that, casually, they go to the same university, despite Sunwoo being two years younger than him. He also talks about the way he speaks to him, the way he praises and compliments him every time he can get the opportunity.
Chanhee said that he doesn’t like him, repeated it at least four times throughout his monologue, but he speaks about him with little stars dancing inside his dark eyes.
Tonight, Chanhee offers Younghoon to sleep over once again. And for the first time, Younghoon says no. Instead, he lays on his own bed alone, staring at the ceiling and at the fluorescent little stars stuck to it. A finger gun is made again in his hand, this time pointing to his temple.
He doesn’t go to sleep without shooting.
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It only takes Chanhee a week to start dating Sunwoo. Younghoon isn’t aware of this until the red-haired magically appears at Chanhee’s house on a particularly hot Thursday morning. His car is red like his hair, a distinct change to the usually blue and white-toned street. Younghoon doesn’t like it, he doesn’t like changes.
And what he likes the least, is Chanhee not telling him about his summer fling, having to find out about it himself. It’s not like he has to tell him, of course not. Chanhee is free, and will always be, to do what he wants, but still, it hurts. Because in the end Younghoon is his best friend, and he has to find out by the stupid red Audi right in front of his house.
Kim Sunwoo is not that bad of a guy. He makes jokes that manage to bring a smile to Chanhee’s lips, fixes his hair when it’s topsy-turvy after he himself messes it up, and holds his hand when they walk by the beach. And no, Younghoon hasn’t been spying them from his window — even if the sweet temptation to just look at what Chanhee’s curtains hid was hard to contain. Chanhee is telling him about it now, as Younghoon tries to beat his ass in Mario Kart.
“You were lying when you said you didn’t like him.” Younghoon bickers as he pushes Chanhee’s character — Princess Peach, he always chooses her — out of the rainbow road, earning a desperate scream from the younger and a punch on his arm.
“Younghoon hyung! Why did you do that!” He pretends to be annoyed, but his smile betrays him. It always does. “Ah, now I’m the last!”
It’s what you get for leaving me alone.
“It’s all for the competition.” Except that it certainly isn’t. He always lets Chanhee win. But today he doesn’t feel like it.
“What is it? Is there something wrong?” Chanhee pauses the game and takes the controller from Younghoon’s hands, holding his chin with his own delicate hand to make him look into his eyes. The touch burns his skin, and hurts. It hurts so bad.
“What do you mean? I’m fine.” He grabs Chanhee’s wrist and gets rid of his hold, almost afraid that his fingerprints might leave a permanent mark on his skin.
“You’ve been acting weird since Sunwoo came.” For once during this week, Younghoon will believe that there’s sadness in his eyes. He has been acting weird, that’s true, but so has done Chanhee. When he dates someone, he never leaves Younghoon behind. But now, that’s exactly what he’s doing.
“I’m not acting weird.” He doesn’t dare to look at his eyes, opting to stare at his hands instead.
“Yes you are.”
“And why do you care? You’ve had Sunwoo in your mouth since you started dating him and now you suddenly care about me? When you’ve left me alone for the whole week?” Chanhee is looking at him with a shocked expression when he finishes, but he doesn’t feel even half bad about it. His heart is broken for many reasons. For Chanhee leaving him behind, for not being the one to date him and make him smile. For not being the one to kiss his beautiful lips.
“That’s not it Younghoon…”
“It is! It has never been like this, Chanhee.” He cuts him before he can continue speaking, now almost yelling. “You don’t speak to me anymore, it’s like this guy has taken over your brain and even when you’re with me, you won’t stop talking about him. I’m not mad at you, but it still hurts me to know that you’ve left me in the second place when I’ve always been there for you, even now.”
“I told you, you’re not fine.” He’s standing up from the couch, Younghoon’s couch, nonchalantly, as if they weren’t literally in the middle of an argument. It doesn’t make Younghoon more mad, but it surely manages to make his eyes sting with tears almost as salty as the sea.
“Are you fucking kidding me Chanhee?” His limbs don’t move when he tells them to, so he stays by the couch, looking up at him right when a single tear falls down his cheek.
“Why are you crying?” Why is he crying? That’s a good question. Impotence, probably. Of not being able to say I love you again, of not being able to tell him the way he feels before it’s too late. And now it’s too late. Because now, Chanhee not only has a boyfriend. He’s also parting from him.
Younghoon’s only reply is to leave. He walks out of his own main door, and when he’s right in the middle of the street, he screams. He screams from the top of his lungs, as loud as he possibly can, and lets the tears run their path down his face. It’s late, past midnight, and even if all the neighbors might wake up because of his screams, he doesn’t let them stop. After two minutes of continuous screams, his throat hurts and his mouth tastes like blood. But it doesn’t make him feel better.
Chanhee on the other side, still standing in Younghoon’s living room, hasn’t moved an inch. He’s petrified as he hears his best friend screaming almost in pain just a few meters away from him, knowing he doesn’t have the balls to walk out and comfort him. Because he’s the reason why he’s like this. And he doesn’t think that nothing good would come out of him following Younghoon to the middle of the street and crouching down with him.
It’s better like this.
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The next time they talk is five days after, in the last week of July, when Chanhee knocks Younghoon’s door. It’s 7 pm, his parents aren’t at home and he has been avoiding him for too long, so Younghoon, almost against his will, finds himself opening the door to reveal his best friend’s figure. Today, the sky is overcast, so where Chanhee’s skin usually shines under the sun, now it looks almost white, lifeless.
“Can I?” Chanhee breaks their silence, gesturing towards the inside of his house. Younghoon is only strong enough to nod and let him in.
“You don’t look too good.” Younghoon says as they both make themselves comfortable on the couch, the centimeters separating their thighs being a bit bigger than what they usually are. Chanhee’s face is paler than usual, his blue hair a mess, the blush of his skin gone. A boy of multiple colors is wearing all black clothes on a summer evening. His magic is off.
“Well, you don’t look better yourself.” He stares down at his Converse-clad feet, not daring to look at Younghoon again after the fight they had just a few days ago. “Missed me?”
“A lot.” Younghoon doesn’t have the heart to lie on his face. He has missed him, way too much, during these five days. Each time he looked at the window and saw Chanhee’s room, it ached. Sometimes, he was alone, reading an old poetry book on his bed or scrolling down his phone, and other times, he was with Sunwoo. It could be innocent — them playing video games, watching TV together — or it could not be — heated makeouts, skin over skin… Younghoon closed his blinds shut and crouched down in a corner of his room each time his curious eyes witnessed such things, crying himself to sleep. He wishes he could be the one to graze his fingers along Chanhee’s ribs, kiss his skin one hundred times just to show him how much he loves him.
“Because I can’t lie to you, I’ll admit that I have missed you too.” He finds Younghoon’s hand and intertwines their fingers, rubbing his thumb over his palm. For the first time today, both of them are smiling. Because of the simple touch, and because it was hard for them to be without each other for so long. If tears threaten to burn their eyes, they don't let it show.
“What happened to you, Chanhee?” Younghoon lets go of the hold on his hand to cup Chanhee’s face, using his thumb to draw away the only tear that slipped out of his beautiful eyes. Chanhee is strong, he has always been. He doesn’t cry.
Yet now he’s letting the tears silently run down his heated cheeks, not sobbing one single time from how muted his little flame is.
“I’m okay.” Contradictory to his words, he leans over his best friend and hugs him, burying his face on his chest and letting the tears flow. Despite his first startlement, Younghoon is quick to bring a hand up the blue strands and start massaging his scalp with his fingerprints, trying to soothe him down. He seems to succeed, even if just for a few seconds.
Chanhee takes a few more minutes and all the tears available inside his poor eyes to speak.
“Sunwoo screamed at me today.” Chanhee breaks the silence, but his voice is still muffled by Younghoon’s shirt. The caresses on his blue hair never stop, even now that Younghoon has the urge to take a baseball bat and break that awfully gaudy red car of his.
“Why did he do that?” As much as he wants to end the sentence with a very soft baby, his voice threatens him, stopping him from letting his feelings show.
“I don’t know.” His dainty hands are grasping his shirt, wrinkling the cheap fabric inside his palms, but Younghoon doesn’t really mind it. His own hands are slowly working now in making some little braids on a blue hair that is now almost faded to blonde.
For a second, Younghoon thinks that maybe Kim Sunwoo is taking out every color that Chanhee had and is starting to make it his own. Blue hair almost gone, colorful tie-dye t-shirts replaced by deep black ones, honeyed cheeks now pale and lifeless. Younghoon needs Chanhee to come back, to be the blue boy he has always known.
Because the one clinging to his side is far away from that blue boy.
“We just had disagreed at something, and instead of letting it be he screamed at me and made me feel bad.” There’s a smile on his face when he pulls away from him, but there’s no brightness in it. Only a few inches are separating their faces now. Tension is created surrounding them all of a sudden, a hesitation in the way Chanhee’s hands move to his shoulders.
Younghoon doesn’t know why, how it happens, but right the next second, their lips are pressed together. It is sudden, too sudden. There’s a first thought that comes to his mind, “fuck, this is happening”, but a second one, way more rational, hits him: “I’m kissing my best friend, and he has a boyfriend.” Everything that could possibly go wrong in this situation is going wrong.
However, it doesn’t make them part.
Where Chanhee’s hands are trembling on his shoulders, Younghoon takes a firm grip of his hips and repositions him on his lap, having a way better access to his mouth this time, the initial awkward angle now gone.
Kissing Chanhee is just like he had imagined. His lips are soft and plush when he presses his own a little harder over them, and they taste exactly as sweet as he thought they would. They’re a perfect fit, like two missing puzzle pieces finally finding each other, when Chanhee shyly licks at his bottom lip in an attempt for him to open up, letting him in.
Younghoon doesn’t know why this is happening.
It’s bittersweet to let their tongues messily play with each other for only one single second before meeting his lips again. Sweet, because he has wanted this for so, so long. Bitter, because this is wrong. He thought it would be morbid, to get a taste of the forbidden. Instead of making him feel good, though, it almost makes him feel like he should be jailed. It doesn’t matter how tasty Chanhee’s lips are, all of this feels like a sin, from the heated kisses to the way they’re touching. And there’s no sin deadlier than the way Chanhee’s mouth tastes around his own.
Younghoon still doesn’t know why this is happening when instead of pulling away to catch his breath, Chanhee starts a path of kisses down his jaw, making him whine in a way that should be embarrassing but somehow isn’t, not with Chanhee. He wants to say something, anything, to make him stop before he loses his mind.
But who is he going to lie, he’s already losing his mind with the wet sounds Chanhee’s lips make each time they press against his bristly skin, lazily mouthing at the curve of his neck as if he had been doing this all of his life. In a way, there’s some sort of twisted familiarity between them when Chanhee moves back up and joins their lips again, this time rougher than before.
It’s almost as if Chanhee had been aching for this just as much as Younghoon was. And Younghoon is completely losing his mind just at the thought of Chanhee loving him, wanting him in the way he wants him, needs him.
It hurts deep in his heart when tears start to run again down Chanhee’s cheeks. He’s crying silently like before, pressing his whole body impossibly closer to Younghoon’s, wrapping his arms around his shoulders and letting his tongue taste every inch of his mouth. His movements are passionate, but not enough to be lustful, when he slightly rolls his hips just to feel the way Younghoon’s moans vibrate against his mouth.
He wants to feel it all, because he knows that this is probably the last time.
“Chanhee.” He whines against his lips, grabbing his hips tightly again to keep him still. For half a second, he wishes that his fingers leave bruises on his milky skin. “Stop, Chanhee.”
The rational part of his brain finally shows up after five short minutes of incessant kisses. Chanhee’s lips are kiss-bruised when he makes him part from him and looks into his eyes again. They’re still glossy with tears, eyelids red and swollen, but it doesn’t make him less beautiful. He’s beautiful, beautiful, beautiful. Too beautiful for this world.
“This was wrong.” Chanhee speaks, but he doesn’t make any attempt to pull away further. Younghoon can almost feel his breath softly fanning over his own lips.
“It was.” He doesn’t move either, keeping his hands at their place over Chanhee’s thin hips. “You have a boyfriend. This was so wrong.”
For some reason, the way Chanhee smiles next is absolutely terrifying for Younghoon. He’s leaning closer, making their lips brush just enough to send a shiver up and down their spines. Younghoon, again, doesn’t know why this is happening. He feels so lost when they kiss again, slower this time.
“But why does it feel so good, if it’s so wrong?”
Younghoon feels his jaw drop right to the floor.
“Why are you doing this, Chanhee?” Younghoon feels on the verge of tears, but he’s not strong enough to let them go. He’s not even strong enough to move Chanhee away from him when he kisses his neck again. Something hiding deep inside his brain tells him that his first perception was wrong.
Maybe Chanhee is not doing this because he loves him, but because he needs to forget about Sunwoo right now, after their fight. Maybe he’s just using his desperation for his own pleasure, taking from Younghoon what he knows he won’t be able to take from his boyfriend: someone that loves him, appreciates him, lets him kiss away and touch.
Maybe he doesn’t love Younghoon the way he does, but still will use him just for his own good.
A single tear runs down his face when he realizes.
Chanhee doesn’t love him. He will never love him.
“Isn’t this what you wanted?” He remarks his words with a bite that will surely leave a mark. Younghoon has never seen Chanhee like this, and it scares him. This is not the Chanhee he knows. The Chanhee he thought he knew.
“No.” He grabs his shoulders harder than what he should and makes him completely part from him. “You know that I love you and that’s why you’re using me, am I wrong?”
It doesn’t matter that the tears are still fighting to escape from Younghoon’s eyes, he doesn’t let them spill. The world is not blue anymore. It is black and grey.
“I guess I’m just going crazy.” Younghoon lifts his arms and lets them rest above his head, a smile on his face that holds anything but happiness in it. “After all these years of knowing you, of loving you, of giving you my everything and more, and you decide to treat me like this… I surely wasn’t expecting it from you.” Chanhee just looks at him, perplexed, big doe eyes staring down at him.
Younghoon, feeling bold tonight, keeps talking. “I fucking love you Chanhee, so much. You don’t even know how much. How much I have ached for you, for just one kiss from you, just one touch. I really thought that you were going for real when you started kissing me before. And it felt good, it felt so damn good to finally get a taste of you. But you know what? Now I don’t want it anymore.”
“You don’t want me anymore?” Chanhee’s voice is plain when he speaks, having waited a few seconds just hoping that Younghoon would change his mind. He has been selfish, and he knows that far. So maybe this is what he deserves.
“No, I don’t.” His hands go back at Chanhee’s hips with the idea of making him leave his lap, but his own desire betrays him. The hope that Chanhee loves him still lingers despite it being clear that no, he doesn’t love him.
He can’t pull back when Chanhee’s lips meet his again, now for the last time. It’s chaste, nothing more than a simple peck, but it’s enough to make Younghoon’s heart break completely. He almost feels the shattering pieces digging painfully against his chest.
“I don’t want you anymore.”