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Love, what is love? We are often shown it as something simple, like a straight line connecting two points: you, me, and in between, that feeling which is supposed to be pure, constant, eternal. But the reality, the reality is so much more tangled.
To love is to dive into an endless ocean, full of unforeseen currents. One day, it sweeps you towards happiness, and the next, it plunges you into despair. It is a constant contradiction: it makes you feel alive while simultaneously consuming you from within. How can something so beautiful be so devastating?
It’s curious how love brings out both the best and the worst in us. We become vulnerable, offering parts of ourselves we didn’t even know existed, hoping that the other will take care of them. But what happens when they don’t? When those parts are left on the ground, shattered, irreparable?
And yet, we keep searching, we keep loving. Because, despite everything, love has this strange ability to make us feel whole, even if only for a moment. A moment that justifies everything. That justifies the tears, the sleepless nights, the pain in our chests that seems never-ending.
To love is to be willing to lose oneself, to be carried away by something we don’t always understand. It’s surrendering to chaos, knowing that there won’t always be order. And even when we understand it, when we grasp the complexities, we keep choosing it. Because what would we be without love?
Perhaps, just perhaps, love isn’t about seeking answers, but learning to live with the questions. Learning to embrace uncertainty, to accept that there won’t always be logic, that there won’t always be justice. In the end, love is an act of faith. Faith in the other, faith in ourselves, and above all, faith that despite the complexities, it’s worth trying again and again.
Perhaps, that is the true beauty of love: its inexhaustible ability to make us human.
"The true beauty of love is its inexhaustible ability to make us human," whispered a voice close to his ear. Sanghyeok jumped, so absorbed in his reading and entangled in his thoughts that he hadn’t noticed when Jihoon had approached.
“When did you get here?” he asked, still startled, as he closed the book with a soft snap.
“Maybe twenty minutes ago, or even more,” Jihoon replied, a knowing smile playing on his lips.
Sanghyeok blinked, processing the response, and realized how much time he’d spent lost in his reading. “Twenty minutes? And what have you been doing all that time?” he asked, still a bit bewildered.
Jihoon shrugged casually. “Watching you,” he admitted without hesitation. “I like how you get so focused that you forget the world around you. It’s fascinating.”
Sanghyeok felt his cheeks warm at Jihoon’s honesty. “You shouldn’t have stayed quiet for so long, you could’ve said something.”
Jihoon smiled, tilting his head with a playful air. “And miss the chance to see how you react when you’re so engrossed? Not a chance. Besides, you were reading something interesting, right? It looked like the words were pulling you in more than usual.”
Sanghyeok glanced down at the book in his hands as if the pages still held the answers he was seeking. “Yeah, I guess they did capture me more than I expected. They were talking about love, and how sometimes it transforms us into something even we don’t recognize.”
“And what do you think?” Jihoon asked, moving a bit closer, gently invading Sanghyeok’s personal space.
Sanghyeok looked up, meeting Jihoon’s gaze, which held an intensity that left him speechless for a moment. “I think… maybe they’re right. Love makes us better, but it also forces us to confront our insecurities and our fears. It puts a mirror in front of us and makes us see who we are and who we could be.”
Jihoon nodded as if those words resonated with him. “That sounds… terrifying, but also necessary.”
“Yeah,” Sanghyeok admitted with a soft smile. “It’s like a leap into the void. You never know if there’ll be something or someone to catch you… but you jump anyway.”
Jihoon watched him with a mixture of admiration and something else, something deep and undefined, like a whisper in the back of his mind. There was a latent connection between them, something that had been quietly growing without either of them noticing.
“I guess we’re all looking for someone to catch us, aren’t we?” Jihoon said, his voice barely audible, laced with a vulnerability he rarely showed.
“I suppose so,” Sanghyeok replied, his voice equally low, almost afraid to break the palpable tension that had formed between them. His eyes remained locked on Jihoon’s as if he was finding a truth in them that he had been avoiding.
As the silence between them stretched on, Sanghyeok felt his cheeks flush, an involuntary reaction that betrayed what he was beginning to feel. He tried to look away, to break the moment before it became too intense, too real, but he found himself unable to do so. There was something in the depth of Jihoon’s dark eyes that held him captive as if he had discovered an abyss he didn’t want to escape.
Every second that passed in that shared silence, the world around them seemed to fade away, and all that mattered was this moment. Jihoon, for his part, was also struggling against the whirlwind of emotions swirling within him. That unfamiliar sensation, the need to be close, to hold and be held, was growing in him, gaining ground over his confusion.
Suddenly, a vibrant voice broke the atmosphere. “Jihoon!” Minseok shouted, throwing himself at him with enthusiasm. “When did you get here?” he asked as he wrapped him in a hug.
“A few minutes ago,” Jihoon replied, returning the gesture.
“Did you bring food?” the shorter one asked with puppy-dog eyes, his tone pleading.
“Yeah, I left it in the kitchen,” Jihoon answered with a smile.
“Excellent!” Minseok exclaimed, a mischievous grin lighting up his face playfully. Without missing a beat, he sprang from the couch with the energy of someone who just remembered an urgent mission, nearly tripping over himself in his haste to head to the kitchen. His footsteps echoed in the room, abruptly shattering the intimate atmosphere that had dominated just moments before.
As Minseok hurried away, the energy in the room shifted as abruptly as his departure. Jihoon and Sanghyeok, who had been immersed in a shared bubble of silent connection, suddenly found themselves outside of it, as if someone had popped that little space where everything seemed clearer and simpler.
Jihoon blinked, trying to reorient himself as the feeling of intimacy faded as quickly as it had arisen. It was as if a curtain had suddenly closed, leaving them back on the usual stage of jokes and camaraderie. But the imprint of what had just happened lingered, a persistent echo in his mind that he couldn’t ignore.
Sanghyeok, on the other hand, felt a slight twinge of discomfort as he realized the magic of the moment had vanished. His cheeks were still slightly warm from the heat of that unexpected connection, and as he watched Minseok walk away, he couldn’t help but feel a bit disoriented. They had returned to reality, to the normal bustle of the house, but something had changed inside him. Something he couldn’t quite define, but knew hadn’t completely evaporated.
Jihoon leaned back slightly in his chair, exhaling a sigh he barely dared to release. The bubble had burst, but it hadn’t disappeared entirely. The feeling, the emotional pull, still enveloped him, like a memory he couldn’t—didn’t want to—erase.
A few minutes later, they were called to dinner. Minhyung had insisted they all eat together, while Minseok protested that he was too hungry to wait. However, if there was anyone who could convince Minseok of anything, it was Minhyung.
~~
“Are you okay?” Jihoon asked, still smiling as he handed Sanghyeok a glass of water.
“Yes, thank you,” Sanghyeok replied, accepting the glass and taking a nervous sip.
“Don’t embarrass them, Minseokie,” Minhyung chimed in with a playful smile, casting his partner a knowing glance that spoke volumes. It was as if he could read his mind, already anticipating the mischievous next step Minseok was about to take.
Minseok opened his mouth to defend himself, but before he could say anything, Sanghyeok quickly changed the subject. “How were the streams today?” he asked hurriedly, trying to shift the focus.
Minseok squinted at him but decided to follow the new thread of conversation.
“They were alright, given the circumstances,” he replied, shrugging indifferently, though his eyes betrayed a hint of fatigue. “The DDoS attacks are still ongoing, but there’s not much we can do about it.”
“We could set fire to Riot’s offices,” Hyeonjun suggested.
“I’m in,” Wooje added, with a blend of seriousness and humor, as if the absurd but cathartic idea was the only possible response in a world where tech frustrations seemed endless.
“I can help,” Jihoon offered, trying to sound calm but unable to completely hide his enthusiasm. His words immediately caught Sanghyeok’s attention, who shot him an incredulous and surprised look, his eyebrows rising in a mixture of astonishment and silent reproach.
“I mean! That’s wrong, you shouldn’t do that!” he quickly corrected himself, waving his hands nervously in an attempt to backtrack, as if saying it out loud could erase his initial impulse. His clumsy effort to salvage the situation drew an amused smile from Sanghyeok, who couldn’t help but find Jihoon’s way of getting tangled in his own words endearing.
By the time midnight had passed, the atmosphere was filled with a pleasant weariness, the kind that comes after spending hours in good company. Jihoon, noticing the late hour, began saying his goodbyes, preparing to head home.
“If you want, you can stay the night,” Minseok offered in a tone so soft and nonchalant that anyone could have taken it as a genuine gesture of courtesy. In fact, it seemed so sincere that almost no one would have suspected there was anything more behind his words. Of course, Minseok wasn’t plotting anything at all, nor was there any hidden intent in his offer. And naturally, that slight smile tugging at the corners of his lips wasn’t at all malicious nor did it suggest that he had a plan in mind.
Sanghyeok couldn’t help but clear his throat, the sound of his forced cough resonating in the room. Minseok, observing his friend’s reaction, couldn’t suppress a subtle smile of satisfaction that played on his lips. Although he tried to maintain an angelic demeanor, it was clear to anyone who knew his behavior that he was enjoying the little game he had started.
“Yes, stay,” Minhyung added, backing up Minseok with a seemingly casual attitude. However, his tone of voice and the slight sparkle in his eyes revealed a deeper complicity.
Though Minhyung often firmly denied sharing Minseok’s mischievous streak, the truth was that after spending so much time together, he had begun to adopt Minseok’s ways and strategies without even realizing it. While he tried to maintain a façade of seriousness and discretion, time and Minseok’s influence had slowly corrupted him, leading him to play his own role in the subtle manipulation of the situation. And now, with his gaze fixed on Jihoon and Sanghyeok, he couldn’t help but hope that all the effort he and Minseok had put into their little maneuvers would finally pay off.
Because yes, in reality, everything that was happening at that moment, all the tension and the dynamics unfolding, wouldn’t have been possible without the intervention of Minseok and Minhyung. They had been the invisible architects behind the scenes, the ones who had set in motion a series of events that were now bearing fruit. Each joke and suggestion, each little push and each look loaded with intention, had been part of a larger plan designed to push Jihoon and Sanghyeok to confront what they felt for each other.
However, that story, with all its nuances and intricate details, was still to be told. It was a narrative of subtleties and maneuvers, of small actions that had accumulated to reach this climactic point. The true essence of how Minseok and Minhyung had woven their web of influences and how they had handled each situation with calculated finesse would be a plot to unravel at another time. For now, what mattered was the present, the game they were involved in, and how their efforts were beginning to shape a reality that, until recently, seemed unattainable.
Jihoon, feeling the weight of several gazes on him, found himself caught in a moment of uncertainty. His heart began to pound harder as the tension in the air grew more palpable. He couldn’t afford to hesitate, so he hurried to decline the invitation almost automatically, as if the words were already rehearsed in his mind.
“Sorry, I have to train early tomorrow,” he said, his voice adopting a light and casual tone that tried, without much success, to conceal the inner turmoil that was stirring within him. As the words left his mouth, Jihoon realized that his response was a thin shield, an excuse to avoid confronting the complex web of emotions that was overwhelming him. He knew his refusal was more than just a matter of schedule; it was a desperate attempt to maintain control in a situation that threatened to become too real.
Jihoon wasn’t sure if he was truly ready to face what lay ahead. Each time the possibility of taking that final step arose, a mix of anxiety and desire consumed him. He wasn’t sure if he himself was ready for what that would entail, but what worried him most was Sanghyeok. Would he be prepared to face the truth that both had been avoiding for so long? Jihoon didn’t want to rush anything, fearing that a wrong move could ruin what they had so carefully built.
He also didn’t want to pressure Sanghyeok into making a decision that neither of them might be ready for. He preferred to let everything happen at its own pace, without forcing any situation. For Jihoon, each small step they took together held deep meaning, a series of moments he wanted to savor slowly. Every conversation, every gesture, every shared glance was a crucial part of their relationship, and he wanted to enjoy them fully before crossing the line that could change everything.
The fear of the unknown held him back, but it also drove him to cherish every detail, as if he were aware that once they took that step, there would be no turning back. It was a delicate balance between the desire to move forward and the need to preserve what they had, a balance that Jihoon didn’t want to break hastily.
“I’ll walk you to the door,” Sanghyeok quickly offered, his voice a bit firmer than usual, as if the simple act of offering to accompany Jihoon was his way of maintaining control in the midst of a situation slipping out of their grasp. Jihoon, still feeling the nervous flutter in his stomach, nodded in agreement, grateful for the opportunity to escape the tension in the room.
Once outside, the cool night air hit their faces, providing momentary relief. They walked in silence for a few seconds, letting the calm of the early morning settle between them, as if the words they needed to say were waiting for the perfect moment to come to light. Sanghyeok, who had so far kept his emotions carefully contained, searched for a way to break the silence without pressuring Jihoon.
“Are you sure you can’t stay?” he finally asked, his voice carrying a softness that concealed the true question behind those words. It wasn’t just an attempt to get Jihoon to stay a little longer; it was an opportunity to find out if the other was as nervous as he was, if he shared the same uncertainty.
Jihoon gave a smile that, although it appeared genuine, carried a hint of sadness, a silent melancholy that only those truly attentive could perceive.
“I really have to train early,” Jihoon replied, his voice soft but firm, as if trying to convince himself as much as Sanghyeok. As he said it, he felt a pang of doubt. He knew he was choosing the easier way out, the one that would allow him to avoid confronting what they both felt, at least for a little longer.
But then, seeing the expression on Sanghyeok’s face, that façade of calm slowly crumbling to reveal a mixture of disappointment and vulnerability, Jihoon felt his heart contract almost painfully. He hadn’t expected his response to affect Sanghyeok so much, and now he found himself torn between the need to protect what they had and the fear that, by doing nothing, he was pushing away the possibility of something more.
The sadness in Sanghyeok’s eyes spoke of a silent frustration. In that instant, Jihoon felt a surge of regret, a deep desire to go back in time and accept the invitation, stay and see where that night would lead them, beyond the excuses and the fear.
But the words had already been spoken, and the approaching taxi seemed to mark the end of a chapter they hadn’t yet had the courage to write together.
~~
Sanghyeok entered his room, letting the door close slowly behind him, the soft click resonating in the silence that enveloped him. As he took a few steps inside, he felt his body, which until now had been sustained by almost automatic inertia, begin to give way under the weight of the day. Every muscle seemed to suddenly remember the effort and tension it had accumulated, making him aware of a fatigue he had ignored for hours. He collapsed onto his bed, as if all the exhaustion had been reserved for this exact moment, when he was finally alone and no longer needed to maintain composure.
The mattress molded to his body immediately, greeting him with a warmth that felt strangely comforting. It was as if the weight of the entire day, both physical and emotional, was descending upon his shoulders, crushing him relentlessly. It was as if, until this point, he had been maintaining a facade of energy and control, and now, alone, his body finally allowed itself to collapse. His muscles relaxed in an almost painful way, a reminder of how much he had been holding back.
With his eyes closed, Sanghyeok realized how deeply exhausted he was, not just physically, but on a deeper level, as if the weight of his thoughts and emotions had been draining his energy all day. Each breath he took seemed to lighten the load slightly, but also plunged him deeper into a kind of inevitable lethargy. He allowed himself to sink into that sensation, letting the heaviness that enveloped him take over, accepting that, for now, all he could do was rest and let the silence of the room calm his restless mind.
But no matter how much he tried to distract himself or clear his mind of the emotions that overwhelmed him, he couldn't stop his thoughts from returning again and again.
Jihoon.
Sanghyeok let out a deep sigh. The weight he felt in his chest was not only physical but also an emotional burden that had been accumulating, slowly but relentlessly. With a deliberate and almost resigned movement, he turned in bed, perhaps hoping that the simple act of changing position would bring some relief that didn't come. His eyes fixed on the ceiling, where the immaculate white stretched out before him like a blank canvas, a space that, at another time, might have offered him calm or a fleeting distraction.
However, at that moment, even the serenity of the ceiling seemed unable to provide any of the answers his mind longed for. It was as if the blank white surface only reflected the confusion and chaos he felt inside, amplifying his uncertainty rather than soothing it. The ceiling, so devoid of meaning and content, mirrored his own lack of direction, his inability to find clarity amidst the turmoil of his thoughts. Sanghyeok knew that what he sought was not there, yet he found himself unable to look away, as if somehow expecting a glimmer of understanding or a revelation that never came.
For a moment, his thoughts took him back to what had happened during dinner that night. He vividly recalled the moment when Minhyung, with a mischievous smile, offered a bite of food to Minseok directly from his chopsticks. The scene, charged with a natural intimacy between them, had almost gone unnoticed by the others, but not by Sanghyeok, who felt somewhat fascinated and perhaps envious of the spontaneity with which Minhyung and Minseok interacted.
Minseok, seizing the opportunity for a joke, had looked at Jihoon with a playful grin and suggested that he should do the same with his "boyfriend." The suggestion had been made lightly, as a joke, but it had resonated with Sanghyeok with an unexpected depth. What surprised him the most was Jihoon's reaction. Without a second thought, Jihoon had followed Minseok's suggestion and, with a naturalness that Sanghyeok hadn't expected, offered him a bite from his own chopsticks.
That simple act had made Sanghyeok's heart beat a little faster, not just because of the physical closeness but also because of what it could imply emotionally. Throughout the night, he couldn't help but think about how easily Jihoon had accepted that suggestion, as if the idea of being something more was not at all foreign to him. And although the moment had passed quickly, leaving him with a mix of hope and confusion, now, as he lay in bed, he realized how much it had affected him.
That interaction, so simple and unpretentious, had planted a seed of doubt in his mind. Could it be that Jihoon was more willing to take the next step than he thought? Or had he read too much into a gesture that might have been merely a product of the situation? As he looked at the ceiling in the darkness of his room, Sanghyeok realized he still had no answers, only more questions.
He turned again, his face buried in the pillow, and a muffled groan escaped his lips. In the dimness of the room, his thoughts tangled in a web of frustration. "Why does everything have to be so complicated?" he wondered, the echo of his doubts resonating in the silence around him.
A few minutes later, exhaustion overtook him completely. First, he felt his eyelids growing heavy, and each blink lasted a little longer than the last. The murmur of his own thoughts began to fade, as if someone were slowly turning down the volume of a distant radio. His body, which moments before had been trying to stay awake, now yielded to the gentle and warm embrace of fatigue. Finally, unable to resist any longer, he surrendered to sleep, his breathing becoming slow and deep as he fell into a restorative slumber.
Love takes us down unexpected paths. One moment, everything seems perfect; the next, conflicts arise that question the stability of the relationship. Communication, in theory, should resolve these issues, but often it becomes a battlefield of interpretations and misunderstandings. Expressing what we truly feel and want is not always easy; sometimes, the fear of rejection or vulnerability gets in the way.
Moreover, the differences between the people we love can be both a source of enrichment and conflict. How each person interprets gestures, words, and silences can vary dramatically. What one considers an act of affection, the other may see as a mere formality. This gap in perception can turn even the simplest gestures into subjects of debate.
And then there’s the future. The idea of planning for tomorrow while dealing with the present is, in itself, an overwhelming task. The uncertainty about where the relationship will lead and what role each person will play in the future can generate anxiety. Promises of commitment and discussions about the future feel like a minefield, where every word can carry significant weight.
Despite all the complications, it is in this chaos that the beauty of love resides. It is a journey of discovery, of learning to navigate the turbulent waters of human emotions. Confusion and disorder are not signs of failure but part of the process of building something authentic and meaningful. Amidst the turmoil, there are moments of clarity and connection that remind us why love, despite its complexity, remains one of the most profound and rewarding experiences we can have.
~~
Jihoon couldn’t stop replaying what had happened in his mind. He felt stupid, as if he had failed at something so basic that he couldn’t forgive himself. Over and over, Sanghyeok’s words echoed in his mind, but it was more the tone, that subtle sadness he had sensed, that made him feel like a complete idiot. How had he not understood what Sanghyeok was trying to tell him? He had been blind, caught up in his own doubts and fears. Jihoon knew that his awkward responses and lack of reaction had hurt Sanghyeok, and it pained him. It wasn’t just a mistake; it was the fact that he had failed someone who meant so much to him. He couldn’t stop feeling guilty, wishing he could go back in time and correct what he had done wrong.
If he had agreed to stay, would he now be lying beside him? Would he have felt the warmth of his body close, the reassurance of knowing he was there, sharing the same space, the same bed? Instead, he found himself alone, staring at the ceiling in the darkness of his room, with thoughts buzzing in his head and the emptiness in his chest that seemed to grow with each passing second. The solitude felt like an unbearable weight, a pressure on his chest that made it hard to breathe normally. Every corner of the room seemed immensely cold, distant, as if the entire world had suddenly lost its color and warmth.
He let out a heavy sigh, but the relief he sought did not come. Instead, he felt a wave of frustration and anguish that drove him to cover his face with his hands, as if that could contain the chaos raging inside him. He was going mad, trapped in a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions that dragged him mercilessly. He couldn’t stop thinking about what could have been, how everything might be different if he had just said yes, if he had set aside his doubts and allowed himself to be close to him.
He didn’t fully understand where all these emotions were coming from, shooting through him in such a chaotic and desperate manner. It was as if something had suddenly been triggered inside him, releasing a wave of feelings he couldn’t control. He felt overwhelmed, as if an invisible avalanche was hitting him over and over, each time with greater force, leaving him breathless. The emotions seemed to spring from a deep, dark place, a corner of his mind that had until now remained hidden, dormant.
The chaos was such that he couldn’t identify each of those emotions; he only felt a mix of anxiety, sadness, frustration, and a pang of fear that kept him in constant tension. It was as if he were walking a tightrope, swaying on the edge of an endless emotional abyss. Every thought, every memory acted as a trigger, releasing another burst of feelings that took him by surprise, leaving him disoriented, lost in a sea of confusion.
And finally, amid that emotional whirlwind, something clicked in his mind. It was a fleeting moment, but powerful enough for everything to suddenly become clear.
Sanghyeok.
He needed him. He needed him in a way that was almost painful, as if his body and soul were crying out for that presence that now felt so distant. There was a void in him that only Sanghyeok could fill, an absence that became more and more apparent with every moment he spent alone. All he wanted, all he needed, was to be with him. To feel his calm breathing while he slept, to hear his heart beating in unison with his, to share that intimate space where words weren’t necessary.
He needed him. He needed him in a way that stole his breath, making him rethink everything he thought he knew about love. Because, in the end, it wasn’t just about wanting to be together. It was about needing him to feel whole, to know that without Sanghyeok, something would always be missing, something would always be incomplete, like a melody without its final note.
The thought hit him with an unexpected force, a clarity that left him breathless. He seemed frightened when he realized what everything he was feeling truly meant, the depth of that need, the intensity with which his mind and heart gravitated around Sanghyeok. It was as if, suddenly, everything fell into place, but instead of bringing relief, it filled him with unsettling fear. He was damn well in love, and that certainty scared him more than he would have ever admitted.
It wasn’t just the fact of being in love that troubled him, but the magnitude of that love. It was a feeling so great that it enveloped him, consumed him. He had grown accustomed to his presence, to the way his life had begun to orbit around him, to the warmth he felt when Sanghyeok was near. But realizing now that this was a love so deep it disarmed him left him vulnerable in a way he hadn’t anticipated.
What did it mean for him to be so in love? What did it mean to be emotionally dependent on someone to the point of feeling that his world would crumble if he lost him? He had never experienced anything like this, and now that it was so clear, a part of him wanted to retreat, to protect himself from a feeling that exposed him so much. But it was too late. He had crossed an invisible line without realizing it, and now there was no turning back.
He was damn well in love, and there was no escaping it. The love he felt for Sanghyeok was overwhelming, overflowing, and at the same time, terrifying in its intensity. Because loving this way meant being willing to risk everything, meant opening up completely and trusting that the other person would do the same. And while part of him wanted to give himself completely, another part couldn’t help but feel that latent fear, that unease that came with the possibility that not everything would turn out as expected.
The realization left him frozen, his heart racing and his mind filled with unanswered questions. Because yes, he was damn well in love, and although it scared him, he also knew that there was nothing in the world he wanted more than to be by Sanghyeok’s side. Love, in its purest and most devastating form, had captured him, and no matter how much he tried to deny it, he couldn’t ignore the obvious: it wasn’t just a passing whim, it wasn’t simply attraction. It was love, in its most intense and real form.
He got up from the bed almost automatically, driven by a force he didn’t fully understand but couldn’t ignore. His thoughts were still tangled in that revelation that had left him exposed, vulnerable, but above all, desperate to do something about it. His hands trembled as he hurried to find his phone, almost stumbling in the dimness of the room, his accelerated breathing marking the rhythm of the urgency that dominated him.
He couldn’t stay still, not after realizing what he truly felt. It was as if, upon understanding the magnitude of his feelings, he had unleashed an uncontrollable energy that drove him to act, to do something to close that distance, to fill the void that felt so painfully present. He knew that if he didn’t do something, if he didn’t take that step, he would remain trapped in his thoughts, lost in the whirlwind of emotions that consumed him from within.
With trembling fingers and a lump in his throat, he swiped the phone screen, scrolling through names and conversations that at that moment seemed insignificant. Only one name mattered, only one contact had the power to calm that internal chaos that was overwhelming him. His eyes scanned the list until, finally, he found it. Sanghyeok’s name glowed on the screen, like a beacon in the midst of confusion.
Upon finding the contact, he paused for a second, his thumb hovering over the screen, as if in that brief moment, the reality of what he was about to do hit him. What was he going to say? How could he even begin to put into words what he was feeling? The truth was he didn’t know, and that scared him even more. But what he did know was that he couldn’t keep waiting, couldn’t remain immersed in that uncertainty that gnawed at him inside.
Taking a deep breath, he finally pressed the call button, his heart pounding as he awaited the ringtone, each second filled with a mix of hope, fear, and an undeniable longing.
Two, three rings echoed in his ears, each one lasting longer than the last, filling the silence of his room with unbearable tension. The wait seemed endless, as if time had slowed down, each second stretching into an abyss of uncertainty. Then, silence. Sanghyeok didn’t answer. A knot began to form in his stomach, a mix of frustration and desperation pushing him to try again, not to give up. He swiped the screen to redial, almost angrily, as if by doing so, he could force a response, a connection that felt increasingly distant and, at the same time, more vital.
He dialed again. Two rings. Three. Four. And nothing. The same silent response. His pulse pounded in his temples, adrenaline coursing through his veins as reality began to set in his mind. Something was wrong. Something didn’t fit, and then, suddenly, he realized what he had overlooked in his urgency. He looked at the time and felt the world collapse on him in a moment of absurd clarity. Almost four in the morning. What was he expecting? Sanghyeok was surely asleep, unaware of the emotional storm that had overwhelmed him, unaware of the anguish that now consumed him.
The weight of the situation hit him like a slap. Of course, he was asleep. How could he not be? At that hour, the entire world seemed to be on pause, immersed in the stillness of the night, while he, trapped in his own spiral of thoughts, had completely lost track of time. But even understanding this, logic offered no comfort when his chest ached from holding back that torrent of feelings, when the silence on the other end of the line was more deafening than any response.
He slumped onto the edge of the bed, his phone still clutched tightly in his hand, as if it were an anchor in a sea of turbulent emotions. He tried to calm himself, rationalize, tell himself that it was best to wait until morning, that he couldn’t keep insisting at this hour. But no matter how much he tried, he knew he couldn’t. Not like this. Not with that weight in his chest that seemed to crush him, with that urgency burning on his skin, demanding to be released.
He couldn’t just lie down again and wait for sleep to find him, because he knew it wouldn’t. He knew that if he didn’t do something, if he didn’t somehow release all that he was feeling, he wouldn’t survive the night. It was too much, too intense, too real to ignore. He had crossed a point of no return, and there was no turning back. He needed Sanghyeok, he needed him to know, to understand how much he needed him, how much he loved him. The time didn’t matter, the risk of seeming irrational or desperate didn’t matter. Because he was. He was desperate. Desperate for that love that now defined him, that controlled him.
Before he could continue plunging into that abyss of anguish and desperation, lost in the whirlpools of his own emotions, the familiar sound of his phone broke the silence of the room. It was a sound that, under any other circumstance, would have gone unnoticed, but at that moment it rang out like a shot, jolting him out of his spiral of self-destructive thoughts. The soft but insistent tone pulled him from the paralysis he was in, bringing a sharp awareness of his surroundings. His heart skipped a beat when he saw the screen light up. Sanghyeok.
For a moment, his mind went blank, unable to process the sudden connection between his missed calls and the reality now in front of him. Sanghyeok was calling him. The screen flashed with his name, and it was as if suddenly the world had regained its color and meaning. All those feelings that had been suffocating him, that mix of fear, love, and need, converged in that brief moment, in the simple sight of his name shining in the darkness of the room.
But with the relief came a wave of panic. What was he going to say? How could he even begin to explain what had led him to call in the middle of the night, at a time when doubts and fears grew larger, more real? His fingers trembled as he swiped the screen to answer, his mind racing, searching for the right words, trying to find a way to articulate what he felt without sounding completely desperate. But deep down, he knew there was no hiding what was happening inside him.
The phone barely touched his ear when he heard his voice. That voice. It was deeper, more groggy than usual, with that raspy tone indicating he had just woken up, probably startled by his calls. Guilt struck him like lightning as he realized he had pulled him from his sleep, yet he couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming relief hearing that familiar sound, that warmth that only Sanghyeok could give him, even in the most unexpected moments.
"Jihoonah? Did something happen?" The worry in his voice was palpable, and with those simple words, everything he had been holding back, everything he had tried to rationalize, came flooding out. He couldn’t lie to him, he couldn’t pretend to be okay, not when the truth was so evident. He was far from okay. He was lost, and more than ever, aware of how much he needed him.
"I'm sorry... I didn't mean to wake you." The words came out in a trembling whisper, almost like an apology, but before he could say anything more, Sanghyeok interrupted him, his voice soft but firm.
"Asleep or awake, I'm always here for you." Those words were like a balm for his wounded soul, a reminder that, no matter how chaotic his inner world was, he was not alone in this. Sanghyeok was there, on the other end of the line, ready to listen, to be by his side.
The lump in his throat grew larger. He didn’t know how to explain what was going through his mind, or how to tell him that he was hopelessly in love with him, that the magnitude of what he felt scared him more than he had ever imagined and that he had only realized it moments ago... But he also knew he couldn’t stay silent any longer, he couldn’t keep hiding what his heart was shouting with every beat.
"Can we meet?" Jihoon asked, his voice trembling slightly with a mix of desperation and hope. Each word seemed to carry the weight of a need that had been repressed for too long, and the tone of his question conveyed a palpable urgency.
"Now?" Sanghyeok replied, with a hint of surprise in his voice, clearly taken aback by the request at such an ungodly hour. The disbelief was accompanied by genuine concern, as if he were trying to grasp the magnitude of the moment and the reason behind the sudden call.
"Yes, I know it's too late and maybe not the best time, but…" His voice trailed off, unable to continue as the reality of what he was asking sank in. The night had been too long, and his emotions were too overwhelming to allow him to articulate more. He wanted to tell him everything he had been holding back, but the words were stuck in his throat, blocked by the fear and vulnerability he felt.
However, before he could finish his explanation, Sanghyeok interrupted him again, this time with a firmness that took his breath away. "Come," he said, the word simple and direct but filled with a comforting warmth that wrapped around him like a blanket amid his emotional storm.
That single term resonated in Jihoon’s heart with an intensity that made him stagger. Sanghyeok’s voice, though sleepy and raspy, carried with it an implicit promise of being there, of offering refuge in the midst of chaos.
Jihoon felt an overwhelming wave of love, an emotion so deep it almost paralyzed him. He couldn’t imagine how he could love Sanghyeok more than he already did, but at that exact moment, he felt his heart expand its capacity to love, pushed by the simple act of understanding and support from the other.
He ended the call with a sigh, the sound of the click echoing in the silent darkness of his room. He looked at his phone, the screen already dark, as if he could find an answer to the thousands of questions spinning in his mind. But there were no answers, only a mix of anxiety and hope burning inside him. He decided not to dwell on it any longer and got out of bed, feeling the cold of the floor beneath his bare feet. He didn’t care that he was in pajamas; it was midnight, and the world was asleep. Everyone, but him.
The urge to see him, to have him in his arms, was so strong it swept him along like an unstoppable current. He couldn’t stay still, not now. It no longer mattered that he was only in pajamas. At that moment, none of it seemed relevant. All he wanted, with every fiber of his being, was to reach him.
He knew he was risking a lot. If everything went well, it would be the best day of his life, a moment that would forever change the dynamic of what they shared. But if it went wrong... Well, then it would be the worst day he could imagine, the kind of day that engraves itself on your skin and bones, never to be forgotten. And curiously, starting the worst day of his life in pajamas, with tousled hair and lack of sleep, seemed like the least of his worries. It was something he couldn’t control, and perhaps that was why he found it almost comforting.
As he crossed the door of his room, he left any hesitation behind. There was no room for regrets. He stepped into the hallway, his footsteps echoing softly in the gloom, with his heart beating like a drum in his chest. He couldn’t predict the future, but at least he would know he tried. Because, in the end, risking it all for the possibility of a “yes” was worth it, even if it meant facing a “no” dressed in pajamas.
~~
The roar of the engine was almost a whisper compared to the whirlwind in his mind. The streetlights passed by like a parade of shadows, blurred by the speed and the fog of his own thoughts. His hands were firm on the wheel, but his heart was another story. That frantic beating made him feel both alive and on the edge of a precipice. He knew where he was heading, but what he would find upon arrival remained a mystery, one that had his nerves on edge.
The deserted streets at that hour, shrouded in the early morning gloom, only heightened the sense of urgency that consumed him. He had driven these streets a thousand times, but never with his heart in his throat, never with this anxiety churning his stomach that he couldn't shake, no matter how hard he tried to focus on driving. What was he thinking at that moment? Was he awake, waiting for him, or was he sleeping, oblivious to the storm of emotions driving him to push the accelerator a little harder?
Every red light was torture, every stop sign a test of patience that felt unbearable. He was forced to brake when all he wanted was to keep moving, to get there already. Time seemed to stretch, those minutes felt eternal, and anticipation burned his throat. The car had become a kind of capsule where the silence forced him to face his doubts, his fears. Because he couldn't escape reality: if things went wrong, if he didn't get what he longed for, how would he move on? How would he survive rejection, the void?
But he couldn't let those thoughts stop him. Not now, not when he was so close. With every mile, he felt like he was leaving his doubts behind, one by one. Only the persistent heartbeat of hope remained, that small spark that kept him going, pushing him to persist, not to give up.
There was no turning back now. The car would be his silent witness to what was about to happen. He accelerated a bit more, as if arriving faster could control fate, bend it in his favor. But the truth was, it was in the hands of what he would say, how he would react upon seeing him appear in the middle of the night, in pajamas, with his mind in chaos.
It was in his hands.
A few meters from the entrance, he slowed down. It was time to face everything. He turned off the engine, and immediately the silence became oppressive, almost tangible, as if the whole world had frozen in that precise moment. It wasn't a comfortable silence but a dense one, charged with expectations and doubts, one that seemed to steal his breath and compress his chest almost to the point of suffocation. The sound of the engine shutting off faded away, and with it, the sense of control that had accompanied him during the drive. Now, sitting in the stillness of the night, with his hands still gripping the wheel, he felt reality hit him with full force, tearing down the walls he had built to keep his thoughts in check.
He had arrived. He was there, exactly where he knew he needed to be, but the certainty of his decision did little to ease the tension gripping his muscles. There was no turning back, not after everything he had imagined, everything he had wished to say. But as time dissolved in that narrow space between the end of one path and the beginning of another, one question hit him forcefully: how do you take the next step when the world seems to stop right on the threshold of what is about to happen?
He unbuckled his seatbelt with a mechanical gesture, almost unconsciously. His movements were automatic, a simple response to the urge to do something, anything to distract him from the tangled thoughts threatening to overwhelm him. He took out his phone, and for a moment, just stared at it, his thumb hovering over the screen as if the small light could guide him. He could send a message, something brief and simple like “I’m here.” It would be easier, less abrupt, a way to soften the reality looming over him. He sent it and waited for the other’s response.
Then, time seemed to stop. The screen of his phone returned to darkness, leaving him with nothing but the wait. Every second without a response stretched out, pulling at his nerves like a taut rope ready to snap. The silence on the street grew deafening, and the sense of vulnerability overwhelmed him completely. He was there, exposed, with all his hope hanging on those two words, waiting for a response that would mean so much more than just one night.
And then, the phone vibrated. A notification lit up the screen, and Jihoon held his breath. “I’m coming down.” three words as brief as they were definitive, imbued with Sanghyeok’s calm and direct tone, so familiar to him. There was no emotion in them, no hint of what the other might be feeling.
He felt a mix of relief and desperation at the same time. Sanghyeok was coming down, and in a few minutes, they would be face to face.
He finally opened the door and got out of the car, letting the cool night air envelop him. The contrast with the warmth inside was so abrupt that a shiver ran down his spine, prickling his skin. He felt the cold on his bare arms. He closed the car door carefully, almost reverently, as if fearing that a sound too loud might break the spell of calm that reigned over the street. He wasn’t wearing a coat, wasn’t prepared for the cold, nor for what he was about to do. In fact, he wasn’t even sure he was fully awake. Maybe all this was part of a feverish dream he would wake up from at any moment.
But it wasn’t a dream. He knew it by the way the cold bit at his skin, by the tension in his chest, by the clarity with which memories and emotions mixed in his mind.
He felt his legs tremble slightly. He didn’t know if it was from the cold or from the nerves threatening to make him lose control. He leaned against the car, feeling the cold metal against his skin, seeking a stability he couldn’t find within himself. The street was deserted, silent, as if the world had stopped waiting for what would come next.
Jihoon didn’t know what to do while he waited. The silence of the street became increasingly overwhelming, amplifying the beats of his heart. The stillness of the early morning felt dense, as if the world was holding its breath along with him, expectant, waiting for what was about to happen. Every shadow on the street, every whisper of the wind, seemed to increase the pressure in his chest.
His hands trembled slightly, and to hide his nervousness, he crossed his arms in an attempt to appear calmer. His phone vibrated again, and he quickly unlocked it, hoping it was a message from Sanghyeok. However, upon looking at the screen, he found a message from Siwoo asking where he was. As he tried to reply, he received three more messages from his ADC. One of them read: “Escaping to visit your princess?” Jihoon let out a huff, irritated. There was no way they would leave him alone, not even for a night. As he struggled to respond and keep the conversation to a minimum, the glow of his phone distracted him from the rising anxiety he felt.
~~
For Sanghyeok, worry had become a constant presence in his chest. Seeing Jihoon there, at that hour of the night, was a surprise mixed with increasing unease. Jihoon's request to see him in the middle of the night, especially when he had mentioned needing to train early the next day, seemed completely out of place.
Sanghyeok wondered what could have happened to make Jihoon decide to interrupt his night in such a manner. The call had left him with a sense of alarm, a spark of concern he couldn't ignore. He didn’t understand why Jihoon couldn't have explained the situation over the phone or at least waited until morning. Something in the way Jihoon had insisted on seeing him told him it was important.
He hurried down with growing anxiety that had turned into an urgent need to see the other. He couldn't bear the wait another minute; his mind was caught in a whirlwind of questions. He wanted to see Jihoon, to make sure he was okay; it was all that mattered.
As soon as he stepped into the cool morning air, his eyes searched for Jihoon. And there he was, leaning against his car, frowning as he checked his phone. The sight stirred a wave of emotions in Sanghyeok, a flutter in his stomach mingled with a sense of relief and admiration. Despite the worrying context, Sanghyeok couldn't help but notice how attractive Jihoon looked at that moment, his features highlighted by the dim streetlight. The way the light played on his face, creating soft shadows, made him appear even more charming. However, he realized he was letting his thoughts stray. There was something more urgent he needed to focus on right now. This wasn't the time to reflect on how attractive Jihoon was; instead, he needed to address why Jihoon had come to him at such a late hour.
He approached with firm yet carefully controlled steps, trying not to disturb the moment of introspection Jihoon seemed to be lost in. As he got closer, he noticed something that caused an unexpected wave of tenderness: Jihoon was in pajamas. The image of him in such casual attire, contrasting with the formality and concern of the night, conveyed a sense of vulnerability and closeness he hadn't anticipated. The contrast between Jihoon's casual outfit and the seriousness of the situation accentuated his humanity and openness at that moment.
Sanghyeok couldn’t help but let out a small smile at seeing him in such a genuine state. The gesture of tenderness wasn't just because of his appearance, but because of the recognition of the vulnerability it represented.
"Jihoon," Sanghyeok said, trying to make his voice as soft and soothing as possible to avoid startling him. However, his attempt was in vain. Jihoon looked up with an expression of surprise and confusion, as if he had just seen a ghost.
~~
Jihoon instantly felt self-conscious realizing that not only had he been lost in his own thoughts, but someone had approached him without him noticing. Sanghyeok's presence jolted him out of his reverie, leaving him momentarily blank. Surprise and anxiety clouded his mind, and he had to make a conscious effort to clear his throat and find the right words.
"Sanghyeok," he finally said, with as much calm as he could muster, though his body betrayed his attempt at serenity.
Sanghyeok quickly picked up on the pretense; his assessing gaze and slightly raised eyebrow indicated he wasn’t fooled by Jihoon's attempt at calm. His expression was a mix of concern and curiosity, clearly sensing there was more to the situation.
"Are you okay?" Sanghyeok asked, moving a bit closer.
His tone was soft, almost reassuring, but there was a firmness in his question that revealed his genuine concern for Jihoon’s well-being. The worry in his eyes became more evident, and the proximity intensified the moment, filling it with palpable tension. Sanghyeok moved even closer, creating an intimate atmosphere that only heightened Jihoon’s nervousness, as he struggled to organize his thoughts amidst the emotional pressure.
"Um, yeah," Jihoon replied as best he could. Having him so close wasn’t helping to calm his nerves at all, but he didn’t want to pull away either.
"Do you want to go inside?" Sanghyeok asked.
"No, I think it’s okay out here," Jihoon said uncertainly. The truth was that he felt colder than he had anticipated, but going inside didn’t convince him either.
"It’s chilly out here, are you sure?" Sanghyeok insisted, scanning Jihoon’s body with his gaze. Jihoon felt a bit self-conscious. "Did you bring a jacket?"
"Uh... no, I thought it wasn’t that cold," he answered with a nervous smile.
"We’re in autumn," Sanghyeok said, looking at him with amusement.
Jihoon felt embarrassed; he didn’t want it to be obvious that he had rushed out of his house without even thinking of bringing a coat.
Before Jihoon could say anything more, he felt a firm, warm hand wrapping around his wrist, pulling him gently but determinedly. The action was so sudden that he barely had time to process it before he found himself standing up and starting to move, his legs responding almost instinctively. Sanghyeok was guiding him inside, his steps steady setting the pace, while Jihoon could barely keep up, dragged by the silent urgency of the moment.
Amidst the confusion, Jihoon realized he didn’t have a plan. He had come with the vague hope that everything would turn out well, but reality hit him hard. His strategy had been to trust that "future Jihoon" would handle everything. However, now that the future had become the present, he felt trapped, not knowing how to proceed. Anxiety engulfed him, and his mind, unable to organize itself, could only think about delegating the responsibility to "future-future Jihoon," hoping somehow the right words would appear at the right moment.
He allowed Sanghyeok to lead him, not resisting. The contact of his hand on his wrist, warm and steady, gave him a sense of security that contrasted with the chaos inside him. As they moved forward, Jihoon desperately tried to calm himself. He needed to find a way to organize his thoughts, to piece together at least a few coherent sentences to express what he was feeling. But the more he tried, the more tangled his thoughts became, like a ball of yarn impossible to untangle.
Finally, they reached the door. Sanghyeok opened it with a fluid motion, as if this was the most natural thing in the world. Jihoon, on the other hand, felt suddenly trapped in a haze of doubts and fears. When Sanghyeok turned to invite him in first, Jihoon realized he had stayed a few steps behind, motionless, with a stiff expression.
"Jihoonie, what’s wrong?" Sanghyeok’s voice, soft but filled with concern, broke the silence. He took Jihoon's hand gently, trying to convey the same calm he felt, but at the same time feeling a pang of anxiety upon sensing the tension in the other’s body.
The touch, the warmth from Sanghyeok’s hand, was enough for Jihoon to feel like the whole world had paused for a moment. A whirlwind of emotions stirred inside him: fear of the unknown, hope, the terror of things going wrong, and a vulnerability that made him feel completely exposed. It was as if, at that moment, the whole situation became real, tangible, inescapable. There was no turning back, and the weight of what he was about to say felt unbearably heavy, as if every unsaid word was dragging him deeper into the abyss of his own thoughts.
“Sanghye—!” Minseok was immediately silenced by a hand over his mouth. It was Minhyung. With a quick gesture, he pulled Minseok aside, out of the other two’s line of sight, but from where they could still observe them. Minhyung slowly released him, placing a finger over his lips to indicate silence. Minseok nodded, understanding.
In a nearly inaudible whisper, Minseok asked, “What’s going on?”
Minhyung replied in the same low tone, “He’s with Jihoon.”
Minseok’s eyes widened, and he had to cover his mouth with his own hand to avoid shouting. He knew what was coming.
“Is it happening?” whispered Hyeonjun, who had also joined the observation. The other two nodded in agreement.
“Give me space, I want to see,” demanded Wooje, pushing in for a better angle.
Jihoon felt his heart beating with an intensity he had never experienced before. Each beat was like a drum resonating in his chest, a mix of nerves and hope that almost took his breath away. He gathered all the courage he could and took Sanghyeok’s hands. Sanghyeok looked at him, astonished, his eyes reflecting a mix of surprise and curiosity. He made no move to pull away or say a word. He simply looked at him, straight into his eyes, seeking in Jihoon’s gaze an answer, a sign of what was to come.
Jihoon took a deep breath, letting the air fill his lungs, as if he needed to prepare for what he was about to say. When he finally spoke, his voice came out soft, laden with an unexpected sweetness, even to himself.
“Sanghyeok,” he began, “I don’t know how to explain it... I’m not sure if words will be enough to tell you how I feel, but I’ll try. Since we started spending time together, since we’ve been getting to know each other, I’ve realized that I want to be someone really important to you, not just as someone who’s in your life casually or temporarily, not as a mere companion or a familiar face with whom you share moments. I want to be that person who’s always by your side, through the good days and the bad, in the small victories and the big failures, in every moment that life brings us. I want to be the one who makes you smile when everything seems bleak, who holds you when you feel the world is falling apart, who celebrates every little achievement with you and reminds you of your strength when things don’t go as planned.”
Jihoon felt his heart pounding as he spoke, inhaling deeply, letting the feelings he had kept bottled up burst forth like an unstoppable torrent.
“I’m deeply in love with you,” Jihoon said, with a smile that seemed to release all the chaos he had been holding inside. “I literally ran out in pajamas in the middle of the night to see you because I couldn’t keep it in anymore, I couldn’t bear another minute without telling you.” He laughed lightly, now surprised at everything he had done in his desperation to confess. “You’re the only thing I think about, I don’t want to think about anything but you, I don’t want to see anything but you, everything about me is filled with you.”
The silence that followed his words felt eternal, as if the entire world had stopped at that precise moment.
Jihoon allowed himself to feel the relief of having poured out everything he had inside. His heart was still pounding, but no longer from anxiety, but from the anticipation of what Sanghyeok would say or do.
Sanghyeok looked at him with an intensity Jihoon had never seen before. There was something in his eyes, a mix of surprise, tenderness, and a deep emotion that seemed on the verge of overflowing. He took a step closer, cupping Jihoon’s face in his hands, his fingers gently brushing his skin as if afraid to break the moment. Then, delicately, Sanghyeok tilted his head and pressed his lips against Jihoon’s.
The kiss was soft, warm, and contained all the unspoken words, the repressed emotions, and the accumulated tension they had shared in silence. There was no urgency, only a genuine desire to be close, to feel the presence of the other, to express what they had been holding back.
Jihoon closed his eyes, letting himself be carried away by the warm sensation of Sanghyeok’s lips against his. All the anxiety, uncertainty, and fear melted away in that instant, replaced by a deep sense of peace. His heart, which had been racing wildly, began to calm, finding a new rhythm in sync with the moment they shared.
Instinctively, his hands slid to Sanghyeok’s waist, pulling him closer, as if to ensure this wasn’t a dream, that Sanghyeok was really there with him. Every slight movement of their lips conveyed the weight of Jihoon’s confessed words, and Sanghyeok’s response was the proof he needed—the confirmation that he wasn’t alone in these feelings.
The kiss wasn’t rushed or demanding; it was gentle, full of a tenderness that spoke of everything left unsaid. It was as if, in that single gesture, they were both conveying all the emotions and desires they had been holding back. Sanghyeok held him with a delicate firmness, making sure Jihoon knew that he understood, that he accepted him, that he shared the same feelings.
As they remained connected, nothing else mattered—time ceased to exist. Everything reduced to that moment, to the connection between them, where chaos turned into calm, and doubts into certainties.
When they finally pulled away, Jihoon slowly opened his eyes, meeting Sanghyeok’s gaze, which was now filled with a clarity that left him speechless.
Sanghyeok gently caressed his cheek with his thumb, his voice barely a whisper as he spoke, "Me too, Jihoon… I’m so in love with you that it’s hard to think of anything else."
Jihoon grinned widely, his eyes turning into crescent moons, and he felt an overwhelming joy, as if he had become the luckiest man in the world. In fact, he was.
He leaned in toward Sanghyeok again, intending to share another kiss, wishing to prolong the sweet moment. But just as they were about to get close again, an unexpected shout startled them, causing them to break apart abruptly.
"Ugh," Hyeonjun groaned, lying on the floor, with Wooje on top of him and Minseok on top of Wooje.
"Quiet, they’ll hear us—" Wooje tried to say, but his voice cut off when he looked up and saw Jihoon and Sanghyeok staring at them with a raised eyebrow.
"Hyung!" Minseok exclaimed with an angelic smile as he got up from the floor. "Congratulations!"
"Yes, congratulations!" Minhyung added with equal enthusiasm, trying to stifle the laughter in his voice.
"We’re leaving now!" Wooje said, pushing the others away from the scene. "Carry on, carry on," he added, gesturing with his hands.
They hurried to leave as quickly as possible, but froze when they heard Sanghyeok’s firm voice.
"Stop," he ordered. "How much did you see or hear?"
"Pretty much all of it," Minseok answered, partially hiding behind his boyfriend.
Sanghyeok narrowed his eyes at them.
"We’ll talk about this later," he said firmly, pointing at them before slamming the door shut, the sound echoing down the hallway.
"The fun’s over," Hyeonjun remarked, disappointed.
"Ugh, I wanted to see more," Wooje complained with a sigh, looking at the closed door with disappointment.
"That was the sweetest confession I’ve ever seen," Minseok said, still admiring the door as if hoping it would open again.
"Hey! What about mine?" Minhyung protested.
"The second best after yours," Minseok corrected, giving him a kiss on the cheek.
"Now that our plan is complete, what do we do?" Minhyung asked with a sad expression, while Minseok sighed beside him.
"I wish someone would confess to me like that," Wooje murmured as he walked with Hyeonjun toward their room.
"Someday, someone will," Hyeonjun replied, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.
Minseok and Minhyung exchanged knowing smiles.
"Let’s go to sleep; we have a lot to plan," Minseok said, while Minhyung hugged him from behind around the waist.
~~
"I'm sorry about that," Sanghyeok said.
They were now standing beside a tree that offered them discreet shelter, away from curious eyes and unwelcome spies.
"It's fine," Jihoon replied with a smile, "I guess I’ll have to get used to having an audience."
He placed his hands on Sanghyeok’s waist, pulling him closer, feeling for the second time that night how perfectly his hands fit around Sanghyeok’s frame.
Sanghyeok gently brushed through his hair while watching his face intently.
"I hadn’t realized how handsome you actually are," he teased with a mischievous smile.
"Really?" Jihoon asked, feigning offense as his face flushed slightly.
Sanghyeok laughed, giving him a quick kiss on the lips. Jihoon wished the kiss had lasted longer.
"Did you really run here in the middle of the night in your pajamas?" Sanghyeok asked, amused, causing Jihoon to pull back a little, covering his face with his hands.
"Please, let’s never talk about that again," Jihoon begged, his voice full of embarrassment.
Sanghyeok let out a cheerful laugh.
"You're a romantic, Jihoonie," he said, taking his hand.
"I have to go back," Jihoon said sadly, "I'm sure Siwoo has flooded my phone with messages and calls."
A wave of distress washed over Sanghyeok. He didn’t want him to leave; he wanted Jihoon to stay with him all night, all day, every day.
"I can come over tomorrow night if you want," Jihoon offered, noticing the expression on Sanghyeok’s face.
"You could stay every night," Sanghyeok suggested.
"I’m not sure our teammates would like that very much," Jihoon replied with a smile.
"Mine wouldn’t mind. After tonight, they owe me favors for life," Sanghyeok assured him.
Jihoon looked at him, his eyes filled with a tenderness so deep it was almost tangible.
"I love you," he said with a sincerity that resonated in every word.
Sanghyeok gazed at him, stunned at first, as if processing the weight of those words. Then, a radiant smile began to form on his lips, spreading with a warmth that could only reflect his own overflowing heart.
"I love you," he repeated, his voice trembling slightly, laden with an emotion he could barely contain.