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Summary
“Ah, how do I say this…” His laugh is short and sharp, a tinge despairing. “One way or another, I think you’d be more in love with your own image than you ever would be with me. And I don’t think I fit into the portrait you’ve painted of yourself.”
Heeseung’s eyes burn. “That’s not true.”
“Maybe not,” he easily concedes. “Maybe I don’t know you well enough to say things like that.”
“Sunoo—”
“Goodnight, hyung,” the boy murmurs. The line goes dead.
[My heesun thesis.]