Work Text:
May 2026
Jeju, South Korea
“Mom and Dad miss you.”
Gun-il abruptly looks up from his food, just realizing that he hasn’t been paying attention to his brother for the past 10 minutes, or maybe more. He doesn’t know.
“Yeah, me too.” Gun-il answers, then continues on playing on his food.
Gun-il’s brother, Yunseo, visits him every chance he can get while he’s still in Korea. They don’t live together, regardless of how many times his family pestered him to move back to America. Be with his family and all that.
For the last 6 months, Gun-il lived in a small apartment. Well, he used to have a moderate sized one, that can host a party of 20 people, until he resigned on a job that pays well, but will take his entire soul in return.
The apartment’s old and sometimes can get smelly when it rains pretty hard, (which commonly happens in Jeju so he’s a bit fucked on that one), and is probably infested by rats as he doesn’t remember the last time he cleaned.
But hey, it’s better than not having a home, right?
Yunseo made some curry, that surprisingly tasted good, after he declined Gun-il's idea to just order take out. “When was the last time you ate proper food?” is what he asked him and he remembers how Gun-il just stared at him and answered nothing in return.
The apartment doesn’t have a heater. Actually, it just doesn’t work. Gun-il planned to call someone up to fix it, but then he prefers cold weather and come on, don’t even mention about the additional bill he has to cover.
“You have a microwave, right?” Yunseo asks as he stands in front of Gun-il’s doorway, preparing to leave.
“Of course I do?” Gun-il furrowed his eyebrows and looked at him, slightly confused.
“The curry is probably stone cold right now, so just heat it up later or...” Yunseo grabs his coat, throwing it over his shoulders before wearing it.
“Yeah, sure.” Gun-il made a dismissive gesture.
Yunseo gave him a crooked smile, and then his eyes landed on the countertop where a stack of bills lay. He wants to say something—something with the intention of being generous and helpful, but he knows that Gun-il would never see it that way. He’d actually see it the other way around. Pitiful or maybe even boastful.
But he’ll try.
“Gun-il, just tell me if you need extra—”
“Don’t.” Gun-il said almost immediately, breaking eye contact to look down at his shoes.
“Okay, okay. Just—I’m here, alright? Call me anytime.” Yunseo said in defeat and then scratched the back of his neck.
“Yeah, I know.” Gun-il sighs. “Sorry, hyung. I know, thank you.” Because even if he secretly accepted that — that financial offer — his parents would know one way or another. And he prefers for them not to know that he’s struggling and working at a crappy job and living in a crappy apartment.
He tries to think it doesn’t hurt, mostly, because he understands. No one wants to see the person they love struggle on their own. He, too, would go through the lengths to make them happy.
But for some reason, he doesn’t want people doing the same thing for him.
“Don’t forget the new phone I got you.” Yunseo reminds him as he points at the sofa where he placed the paper bag.
Gun-il slightly turns to look behind him. “I won’t. Did you put—”
“Yeah, I already put our numbers in there, Mr. Who-Forgets-Everything.” Yunseo scoffs.
Gun-il lets out a soft laugh and shrugs. “Thank you, again.”
Yunseo nods, before walking closer to Gun-il to pull him in a hug. This time, a lot tighter. Because he, including Gun-il, knows all too well that he needs it more than anything.
After a few more words to each other, Gun-il finally shuts the door behind him after his brother disappeared from the hallway.
—
It was past 10PM when Gun-il lay still on his bed. For a wall so thin, he barely hears any noise besides the rustling of his blankets and the cicadas outside. It helps him to be alone in his thoughts, create coherent ideas, plans for his life and whatnot.
He turns for the nth time on his bed, desperately finding a comfortable position to sleep in. He sighs when he feels it’s not taking over him soon. His eyes starts to wander everywhere—the walls, his clothes on the floor, his overfilled trash can outside his bedroom, his bed table, and then his phone.
Gun-il stared at it longer than he planned to, so he reached out for it. Maybe the blue light can tire his eyes out and finally give him the break from reality he needs.
He browses through it. The phone is still plain. It still has that default home screen design, which Gun-il doesn’t mind that much. He only uses it mostly for work and calls anyway. Well, sometimes for pictures.
He finds it fun to take pictures of foods, specially the expensive ones.
His poodle dog, Pooh.
The sky.
Parts of his apartment that need repairing.
And…
Gun-il stops scrolling from his camera roll when he stumbles upon a picture, taken just last year.
It was Jungsu. Smiling brightly as he held on the concrete-balcony with rustic buildings and homes as his background. Night time.
~
October 2025
Ilsan, South Korea
“Oh, that was good! Look!” Gun-il beams at him after taking the shot.
“No, I was laughing!” Jungsu retorts, then walks closer beside him to glance at his phone.
They were out in the middle of the night. They used to do it sometimes. Every time they get some free-time, they always spend it with each other.
But it was also the period of time where their job was slowly tearing them apart without them noticing it.
Maybe they did, but neither of them brought it up. Too scared to do so.
All they wanted to talk about was positive things. Nothing more, nothing less. If they focused more on the good, the lesser the chance their relationship would fall apart.
Right…?
“See, the flash ruined it!” Jungsu laughs at him, practically taking the phone from Gun-il’s grip to delete it.
“No! Wait— we’ll just take another picture, alright?” Gun-il says as he tries to retrieve his phone back.
“Okay, but delete that one,” Jungsu says, almost pleadingly.
“And if I don’t?”
Jungsu fights off a smile, “Then… I won't talk to you forever.”
Gun-il’s eyes widened, “That’s a bit extreme, isn’t it—”
He was cut off by Jungsu’s laugh, and then a pair of soft lips landed on his cheek.
They got quiet after a while because Gun-il just stared at him for at least ten seconds before grabbing Jungsu’s chin to place a proper kiss on his lips.
Both of them smiled into it.
“You’re never ugly.” Gun-il whispers as he pulls away.
“...Thank you. But still, delete it.” Jungsu says and then turns around to go back to his position for another picture.
Gun-il hums in response.
He never did.
~
It’s always nice to reminisce. Gun-il knows that. It reminds him of little bits of his life that made him who he is. But he knows he can’t hold onto them forever, because just as everything comes to him, it goes as quickly as he anticipated.
As cliché as it sounds, his life with Jungsu was simple, maybe. Because If you find the right person, it can be simple, but even then simple doesn’t mean perfect, and simple isn’t always a dealbreaker. Just... It was nice while it lasted.
Gun-il let out a deep exhale and went through his contacts instead.
It was only then he realized that he only keeps contact with a few people. His contact list fits the entire screen without needing for him to scroll down, it’s that little. A few friends from his hometown, some colleagues and then his family.
For a split second, he tries to find Jungsu’s.
As expected, it wasn’t there. Of course.
Why would it be? He was the one who broke contact.
Gun-il is probably so hung up on his feelings that he starts to absent-mindedly type out Jungsu’s number. The only thing he remembers clearly, and he actually feels kind of bad about it because he doesn’t even remember the phone number of his family members.
But also the reason why he’s not that nervous or scared, is because he’s confident it won’t go through. God knows what Jungsu did with his phone number? He might as well have blocked him or better yet, changed his number.
He stared at the number on his screen. Long enough to get enough courage to whatever he’s doing right now.
He won’t answer, Gun-il thinks, before clicking to dial.
Whatever consequence he will face, he’ll deal with it later.
But for now, he needs to know.
He needs to know if he’s fine or gone in his life for good.
“Hello?”
Without thinking, Gun-il dropped his phone on his lap. His heart pacing at a dangerous pace as he stares at his screen. He sees the numbers go up below the phone number, indicating that…
Jungsu did pick up.
“Hello? Who’s this?”
Gun-il heard the muffled voice from his phone. He picks it up and presses it on his ear again.
“Hel—”
“Hey,” Gun-il says, his throat dry.
Gun-il gripped on his sheets as a means of lowering his anxiety or something. He wasn’t actually expecting any of this.
The other line went dead silent. Gun-il thought he lost signal, he was about to hang up when he heard Jungsu speak again.
“Gun-il?” Jungsu calls out so softly, as if he’s hiding from someone.
Gun-il’s eyes darted from the ceiling to stop the water from dropping in eyes. God, it’s been so long since he heard his name from Jungsu’s voice. Way too long.
It takes about ten seconds for Gun-il to think of a proper answer, “Yeah, it’s me.”
“...Why are you calling?”
Gun-il lets out a shaky breath, “I… I don’t know.”
He heard Jungsu let out a sigh, “Hyung, if… if you’ve got nothing to say then—”
“How are things with you?” Gun-il gulps, his hold of his phone tightening.
“Good…. Everything’s fine.”
“Right, that’s—I’m glad.”
It’s silent again and Gun-il’s chest burns.
“...You?” If Gun-il wasn’t listening hard enough he wouldn’t have heard it.
“Same old. Nothing changed. But… I got a new job.” Gun-il whispers the last part, unsure if he should tell him this.
“Really? Where?”
“Here, still in Jeju.”
Jungsu hums, “That’s great, hyung.”
“Thanks, it’s harder than I thought.”
“I thought you—” Jungsu pauses. Thought you went back to America.
“Yeah, no, I…” I didn’t.
Neither of them spoke after that, and it feels suffocating each second. But he’s here, he already did it. Why not make the most out of it? He’s already living in a life full of regrets, is he going to make this a part of it too?
So he takes a leap of faith.
“Can we meet?” The words slip out of his mouth before he can even stop it.
Jungsu didn’t answer for a while. It was so silent that he heard his own heart beating out of his chest.
Then he hears a mumble at the end of the line.
“If we meet, can you promise not to call me again?”
Gun-il could hardly hear him. It felt like a force pushing him backward, and for a terrifying moment, it seemed as if he might plunge into an endless fall.
“Yeah.” Gun-il swallows a lump in his throat. “I promise.”
—
Rust and burnt food.
That’s what he can mostly smell when he sits at a nearby bench, just in front of nearby convenience stores as the source of light. Gun-il wore the thickest jacket he could find: his leather jacket. Because apparently, for some dumb reason, he underestimated the after-rain weather thinking it would be a lot more humid, hence he didn’t bother wrapping himself up.
Boy, was he so wrong.
He rubs his palms together, trying to get some heat through his body. A fog of air coming out of his mouth every time he lets out an exhale. He can’t do this. He’s already as nervous as it is and the temperature is not helping him or whatsoever.
At some point, Gun-il thinks of leaving. He will come back, of course. Just leave to get his puffer jacket. He took a glance at his phone, he'd been waiting for at least 15 minutes, but then, they didn’t agree on a specific time either.
Both of them just agreed they will meet. Here. At this place.
His apartment is not too far from here. He can make a run for it. Right, okay, he’ll just run. He’s fast, at least that’s what he thinks.
As he starts to brace himself to stand up, he hears twigs being crushed at the impact of a footstep.
He pauses and then looks where it came from.
It’s Jungsu. He did come.
For a while, Gun-il just stared at him—observes him, rather. Jungsu is still the same as when he last saw him. But this time, with black hair and a lot taller, but other than that, it was still him. He vaguely remembers the feel of his blonde strands as he runs his fingers through them.
He remembers how it’s the only thing that can put him to sleep after coming home in the middle of the night.
“Hi,” Jungsu softly greeted.
Gun-il jumps out of his thoughts, and then shifts. “Hey, glad you could make it.”
Jungsu smiles, or forces himself to. Then his eyes land on the space beside Gun-il, he inhales before sitting down beside him, making sure he sits at the very end—putting enough space between the two of them. Gun-il tries not to think too much into it.
Moments tick by, both of them waiting.
“I’m sorry for dragging you here.” Gun-il begins. He hears Jungsu exhale deeply.
“It’s fine. Just wanted to know why…” Why you wanted to meet.
So, he’s here, Jungsu’s here, might as well say it.
“I missed you.”
“We ended things.” Jungsu says immediately, fast enough for him not to comprehend what Gun-il just told him.
“I know.”
“So, you have to let go.”
“I know.”
“You’ll just get hurt if you don't, hyung.” Jungsu whispers as he rubs his face with his hands. Frustrated.
Gun-il lets out this shaky breath, “I’m aware.”
“Then why do you keep—?” Jungsu asks, then glances at him. “Why, hyung?”
Gun-il clicked his tongue, but softly. “What else am I supposed to do?”
“Anything! Anything but… this. Go out there and do something that makes you happy.”
Gun-il takes a pause, putting his hands inside his pockets before leaning back on the bench.
“Isn’t that what I’m doing?”
Suddenly, Jungsu stares at him, then away. His jaw works. Of course, Gun-il and his fucking words that can effortlessly make his world spin again. It’s no surprise that he still has it—that charm— one of the many reasons why he held onto their relationship for too long.
However, he dismisses it, “You’re doing it wrong then.”
Gun-il laughs quietly at himself because he knows. He knows this isn’t the best way to be happy. No one other than him understands how grave the situation he put themselves in. But he finds it rather smart for doing it because they could get closure out of this, right?
So, fine, maybe he did plan this ahead after all. He thought that, maybe, through whatever they will talk about here—will help in resolving what happened between them.
They go quiet again, and Gun-il hates this kind of tension and so he sits up a little straighter, inhaled and exhaled deeply through his nose and says:
“I’m enlisting soon.”
Gun-il clearly saw in his peripheral view that Jungsu turned away from him and looked at the complete opposite side. Avoiding his gaze.
Before he can even take a glance and move on to another topic, Jungsu lets out this… faint guttural breath, so faint that he had to shut off his other senses, besides his hearing, to catch it. Gun-il stopped breathing for a while.
“Oh… That’s—” That’s amazing is what Jungsu wants to say, but he’ll just be lying to himself.
“When?” Jungsu asks instead, his heart sort of fluttering against his ribs which suddenly feel too tight.
“Next month.”
Jungsu lets out an affirmative hum, nodding.
“I’ll write you a letter.” Gun-il suggests.
“I don’t want you to.”
“Okay. I just wanted to let you know.”
The conversation seemed frighteningly final. Gun-il sees no progress in fixing whatever happened between them, and it’s okay. He tried. That's what matters.
Gun-il slapped his hands on his thighs, loud enough to get Jungsu’s attention again in case he lost him for a second. Uncomfortable silence has become a running thing between them lately; he does not blame him for zoning out.
“You should get going.” Gun-il pressed his lips together, looking at Jungsu.
“Maybe.”
“You’re gonna get sick.”
“You should worry about yourself.” Jungsu snaps, but there’s no venom to it. His eyes trailed on Gun-il’s leather jacket.
Gun-il shrugs, smiling. “I’m going to be alright. Don’t worry about me.”
And yeah— this. Jungsu knows this. Ever since the beginning, Gun-il just pushes aside what he’s feeling and rarely communicates with what’s bothering him, not thinking of its effects in the long run.
He always bottles everything inside until Jungsu finally tries to help him, and then… he lashes out, consequently ruining both of them.
For every rose Jungsu tries to provide, he receives nothing but thorns in return.
And suddenly Jungsu feels like crying. It hits so hard and fast that he laughs instead. It sounds fake to his own ears, and he’s sure it does to Gun-il’s. He could, he thinks, say sure whatever, but that would just sound too mean, and he doesn’t want to be like that.
So, Jungsu stands up from the bench, closes his eyes, takes a deep breath before slowly bending down on his knee in front of Gun-il.
“Hyung, look at me.” says Jungsu, feeling a little sick.
Gun-il looks up from his hands and he swear he saw a tear just dropped down in one of Jungsu’s eye.
After 6 whole months, Jungsu grabbed his hand and squeezed it.
“I have loved you.” Jungsu begins.
Gun-il felt everything come to a halt, and when it started again it was far too fast. He balled his hands into fists and tried to get his voice to work. He almost find it funny that something like that could knock the breath out of him more effectively than a punch to the gut.
Gun-il spent a long time fighting back those tears, a long time keeping his breath even and slow, but in the end he couldn't do it. He feels heat coming up to his head as waves of emotions start pouring into him.
And before he knew it, he’s crying in front of Jungsu.
“I did my best.” Jungsu continued, his voice shaking every time he let out a word. “And look where it got me.”
And Gun-il knew he did not mean that in a positive way.
“I’m so sorry.” Was all Gun-il could say.
It almost felt like a warm hug when Gun-il placed his hand on top of Jungsu’s. His grip tightening every time he feels Jungsu letting go.
Jungsu must have felt the urgency that he just let his body move the way he wants, and pulled Gun-il in a real hug. He rubs and rubs on his back while his other hand wipes the tears pouring down on his own cheek.
It’s better this way, both of them think, that sometimes you just have to do what you need to do for the betterment of someone. Even if it hurts them, even if it hurts you.
“You don’t need me, Gun-il.” Jungsu whispers, a little desperately. “You need yourself to come back.”
Gun-il let himself dissolve into the hug. He nods at Jungsu’s words, because no matter how much he turns the world around, he just can’t keep being with Jungsu when he’s like this. He needs to be better.
Rust and burnt food turned into vanilla cologne and mint shampoo when he hugs him one last time.