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Jun had always believed in patience. Been taught that the things worth having were worth waiting for. But nothing in his life had prepared him for Wonwoo. He wasn’t meant to stay, Jun knew that much from the start.
Jeon Wonwoo wasn’t like anyone else in Jun’s carefully ordered life. He was chaos and calm, fire and ice, a contradiction Jun could never quite solve but couldn’t stop chasing. He came with danger woven into his every step, a storm trapped in a body carved with sharp, cold beauty — sharp lines and smooth planes, lips that always seemed perpetually torn between a smirk and a frown.
His dark eyes were an abyss, sometimes shimmering with warmth, other times so icy Jun swore he could feel frostbite creeping through his chest. He had always thought of himself as unremarkable next to Wonwoo. But Wonwoo would cradle his face like it was made of porcelain, hands trembling slightly, eyes flicking over his features like he was trying to memorize them.
"You should stay away from me," Wonwoo always said, though his voice never quite matched the hardness of his words. It was rough, quiet, like a storm held in check. And then, despite his own warnings, he’d kiss him like he needed him to breathe, as though Jun were both his salvation and his doom.
It was cruel. The way Wonwoo would draw him close, make him feel like he was the center of his universe, only to let his gaze turn cold and distant, leaving Jun behind to question if any of it had been real.
The cycle was always the same.
Wonwoo’s world was dangerous. Jun didn’t know all the details, but he knew enough. The bruises that painted Wonwoo’s body, the clipped phone calls, the times he’d disappear for days without a word — it all created a picture he really didn’t want to look too closely at.
But the danger wasn’t what scared Jun. He wasn’t afraid of the void Wonwoo left behind when he walked out the door, or the way Jun had to pick up the shattered pieces of himself over and over again.
What scared him was the moments before the leaving — the moments when Wonwoo gave Jun everything. When his kisses turned desperate, when his hands lingered as if he were trying to anchor himself to Jun’s warmth, when his dark eyes softened and gleamed with so much love that Jun could feel his knees weaken.
Those moments terrified him.
Because just when Jun allowed himself to believe, just when he thought, maybe this time he’ll stay, it would happen. Wonwoo’s entire demeanor would change. His warmth would vanish, replaced by that bone-chilling coldness, and he’d leave as though Jun had never mattered.
The worst part? Wonwoo never heeded his own warnings.
He kept coming back.
Jun wasn’t thinking about Wonwoo the night he was out with friends. Or at least, he was trying not to.
The dim, golden glow of the bar’s lights felt warm, comforting. Jeonghan was leaning close, teasing him about some guy across the room who kept looking at him, while Joshua chimed in with a laugh putting all his weight on Seungcheol, who just shuffled closer to his boyfriend making sure he doesn’t fall. Jun immediately looked away, trying to suppress the green ugly feeling bubbling inside of him.
“You should talk to him,” Jeonghan said, prodding Jun’s side. “It’s not like you have someone waiting at home.”
Jun rolled his eyes, letting himself smile faintly. “I don’t need anyone waiting for me hyung.”
But his words felt hollow, and he knew Jeonghan could tell. Because even here, surrounded by friends, Jun felt it—that faint, electric buzz of being watched.
It was heavy, lingering, and familiar.
Jun’s heart squeezed in his chest, skipping a beat. His grip on his glass tightened as his eyes darted around the room, searching. He knew who it was before he even saw him. He always knew.
And there he was.
Dressed in black, blending into the dimness, Wonwoo’s sharp features catching the faint glow of light like a portrait done in silver and gold. His dark eyes locked on Jun’s, unflinching and magnetic.
Jun’s heart betrayed him, skipping a beat. He forced himself to turn back to Jeonghan, swallowing hard, pretending he hadn’t seen anything. But the weight of Wonwoo’s gaze lingered, making his chest ache. He didn’t know whether to feel comforted or angry.
“Junnie?” Jeonghan asked, his voice quieter now. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” Jun said, forcing a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “I just… need some air.”
Outside, the night air was cool against his heated skin, but it did little to calm him. He didn’t have to look to know Wonwoo was there. He could feel Wonwoo before he saw him, his steps faltering as his senses screamed he’s here.
“You know,” Jun said, his voice low but steady, “if you’re going to follow me, you could at least have the decency to say something.”
There was a long pause before Wonwoo stepped out of the shadows, his hands in his pockets, his expression unreadable. He looked like a ghost—beautiful, untouchable, and painfully real.
“Go back inside,” Wonwoo said, his voice as quiet as the night around them.
“No,” Jun shot back, his tone sharper than he intended. “Not until you stop pretending you don’t care. You say I should stay away, but you’re always there. Watching. Waiting. Coming back just to leave again. Why, Wonwoo? Why can’t you just stay away like you keep telling me to? Why do you push me away when I do the same?”
“I do care,” Wonwoo shot back, and the rawness in his voice stunned Jun. “That’s why I can’t stay.”
“That’s bullshit,” Jun spat. His face was flushed, his usually soft features hard with frustration. "You say you care but you keep leaving and then watching me like some kind of ghost. You say you care but you pull me in just to push me away." His voice trembled as he tried hard not to let the tears flow. “You say you care but you keep hurting me Woo…”
Wonwoo stepped forward, cupping his face with both hands. His thumbs brushed against his cheekbones, his touch featherlight, as if Jun were something fragile.
“Junnie,” Wonwoo said, his voice breaking. “I’m not good for you.”
“Don’t,” Jun whispered, stepping closer. “Don’t say that. Don’t you dare say that please.”
Wonwoo looked at him then, really looked at him, and Jun swore he saw every emotion laid bare — guilt, longing, love. But then, just like always, Wonwoo’s expression shifted. His face hardening into that familiar mask of cold indifference, his jaw tightening as he stepped back, his hands falling away.
“You don’t want to be a part of my life, Jun,” he said, his voice cutting like glass. “It’s not something you can handle.”
Jun laughed, bitter and raw. “Don’t tell me what I can and can’t handle. You don’t get to make that decision for me.”
Wonwoo’s hands curled into fists at his sides, his body taut like a coiled spring. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”
“Maybe not,” Jun admitted, stepping closer, his voice wavering with the weight of his emotions. “But I know I want you. All of you. Bruises, scars, danger—whatever it is you’re running from, I don’t care. ”
He clenched his fists, trying to swallow the lump in his throat. “You keep saying I don’t deserve you, but that doesn’t change the fact that the only person I have ever wanted… the only person I’ll ever want is you.” His voice grew quieter, he was so tired of this game. “You know that Wonwoo. But you’re too much of a coward to stay.”
Wonwoo closed his eyes and then he took a step back, then another. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
And then he turned and walked away, leaving Jun alone in the dark.
The next time Wonwoo came back, he was different. There was no warning, no hesitation. He appeared at Jun’s door in the dead of night, drenched from the rain, battered and bleeding, his usually sharp features softened by exhaustion and something dangerously close to desperation.
“Wonwoo,” Jun said, startled, his heart lurching at the sight of him. “What—?”
“I can’t do this anymore,” Wonwoo said, his voice breaking. He stepped inside, closing the door behind him, and before Jun could say another word, Wonwoo grabbed his face, the tremors stronger this time, and kissed him. It was nothing like before — there was no careful control, no hesitation. It was messy, frantic, filled with all the things Wonwoo had been too afraid to say.
When they finally pulled apart, Wonwoo rested his forehead against Jun’s, his breath ragged. “I’ve tried to stay away. I’ve tried so hard, but I can’t. I just can’t do it anymore.” He broke down.
Jun’s hands trembled as they clung to Wonwoo’s jacket. “Then don’t. Stay.”
Wonwoo’s gaze faltered, and for a moment, Jun saw the fear taking over again. “I’m not good for you,” he repeated, softer this time, like he was trying to convince himself. “I shouldn’t do this to you, shouldn’t drag you along in my darkness…”
Jun’s lips quirked into a sad smile. “Maybe not,” he reached up gently prying Wonwoo’s hands away from his face and intertwined their fingers together. "Wonwoo," Jun said softly, "I’m scared too. But I’d rather face that fear with you than keep living like this—half in, half out, always waiting for you to leave again."
"I don’t know if I can protect you," Wonwoo said hoarsely, his thumb brushing over Jun’s knuckles as if committing the moment to memory. "My world—it’s dangerous, Jun. It’s ugly, and if you’re with me…" He trailed off, unable to finish.
Jun stepped closer, his free hand reaching up to rest against Wonwoo’s chest, where his heart was beating wildly. "Then let me decide if it’s worth the risk. Because for me, you are."
For a long moment, they just stood there, the rain pattering softly against the windows and the sound of their uneven breaths filling the silence.
And when Wonwoo’s eyes met his, they didn’t turn cold. They stayed warm, filled with a vulnerability that made Jun’s heart ache.
The mask was off.
For once, Wonwoo didn’t walk away.