Chapter Text
Seungcheol sat cross-legged on his bed, the glow of his laptop illuminating soft light across the dim dorm room. His fingers hovered over the keyboard as he scrolled through the drafts of unsent emails. Each subject line bore a name, names that had once made his heart race, his cheeks flush, and his thoughts spiral.
The last two drafts was updated just today.
He leaned back with a wistful sigh, the soft creak of the bed springs grounding him. There was something cathartic about pouring his feelings into these unsent letters. They were his safe space, the words he'd never dared to say out loud, a collection of moments that had shaped his quiet and romantic heart.
His finger hesitated over the "Drafts" folder, the cursor blinking as if urging him to do something—anything—but he shook his head, snapping the laptop shut. "No one needs to see these," he murmured to himself, swinging his legs off the bed.
It was only when he was halfway down the street, on his way to his part-time café job, that he remembered he'd left his laptop open. "Ah, whatever," he muttered, brushing off the thought. He was already running late.
---
The next morning, Seungcheol woke to the shrill ring of his alarm clock. Groaning, he slapped at the snooze button and sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. His dorm room was still dark, but the faint light seeping through the blinds hinted at the start of a new day.
He hurried through his morning routine, slinging his bag over his shoulder as he opened his phone to browse potential birthday gifts for Minghao, his best friend. His fingers scrolled aimlessly through items: art supplies, a new sketchpad, maybe something minimalist that Minghao would love.
Lost in thought, he didn’t realize he was already outside the dorm building until a soft voice interrupted him.
"Morning, Cheol," Minghao said, his words warm and casual.
Seungcheol blinked up from his phone, startled by the sudden closeness. Minghao stood a few feet away, his lean frame bent slightly forward, hands stuffed in the pockets of his worn jeans. His dark hair fell over his forehead, and the faintest smile played on his lips.
Seungcheol's heart skipped, just for a moment. Years ago, he would have been breathless in this moment, utterly undone by the way Minghao smiled at him as if they shared some secret only they understood.
But now? Now, he smiled back, beaming. "Morning, Hao."
"Ready?" Minghao asked, nodding toward the path that led to their lecture hall.
Seungcheol nodded, falling into step beside him.
---
The First Boy He Ever Loved: Xu Minghao
Seungcheol had always been a nervous wreck when it came to first impressions, and his first day at university was no exception. He had spent the morning planning every detail, his outfit, his route to class, even how he’d introduce himself but it all messed up when he overslept by ten minutes.
Now he stood frozen in front of the door to the massive lecture hall, his heart hammering in his chest. The muffled hum of voices from inside only made it worse. They’re all already sitting. They’re all going to look at me, he thought, clutching the strap of his bag tightly.
He was so lost in his internal spiral that he didn’t notice someone stepping up beside him until a soft voice broke through his thoughts.
"We’re late, aren’t we?"
Seungcheol turned, startled, to find a tall boy standing next to him. His face was calm, almost unreadable, but there was a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. His dark eyes sparkled with a quiet confidence, and his posture was relaxed, as if he didn’t have a care in the world.
The boy’s presence was oddly grounding. Seungcheol felt his nerves ease just a little as he chuckled awkwardly and nodded.
The boy quirked an eyebrow and tilted his head toward the door. "Well, let’s not keep them waiting," he said, his voice light with amusement.
Before Seungcheol could process what was happening, the boy reached out and took his hand. His grip was firm but gentle, and Seungcheol found himself being led into the lecture hall.
The room was exactly as intimidating as he’d imagined, rows upon rows of students, the professor already mid-sentence but somehow, with this stranger by his side, it didn’t seem so bad.
They found two empty seats near the back, and as they settled in, the boy leaned over and whispered, "I’m Minghao, by the way."
Seungcheol smiled shyly. "Seungcheol."
Minghao nodded, his expression serene. "Nice to meet you, Seungcheol."
Over the weeks that followed, Seungcheol found himself gravitating toward Minghao. They had a few classes together, art history, pottery, figure drawing and it was as if the universe had decided to keep pushing them into each other’s orbit.
Minghao had a way of making everything seem effortless. He moved with a grace that Seungcheol couldn’t help but admire, his long fingers deftly shaping clay in pottery class or sketching portraits with an almost magical precision.
Seungcheol, on the other hand, was clumsy and self-conscious, always second-guessing his work. But Minghao never seemed to mind.
"Here," Minghao said one afternoon, his voice soft as he leaned over to guide Seungcheol’s hand. They were in the studio, working on a project for pottery class, and Seungcheol had been struggling to get the shape of his vase just right. Minghao’s fingers brushed against his as he adjusted the angle of the tool, and Seungcheol felt his heart skip a beat.
"Like this," Minghao murmured, his focus entirely on the clay.
Seungcheol nodded, too flustered to speak, but he followed Minghao’s guidance, and the vase began to take shape.
Moments like that were what made Seungcheol fall in love with him.
It wasn’t just Minghao’s talent or his calming presence, it was the way he made Seungcheol feel seen and understood. Whether they were walking to class together, sitting side by side in the studio, or facing each other during portrait sessions, there was an unspoken connection between them, a quiet understanding that didn’t need words.
But somewhere along the way, those feelings began to shift.
By the time their first year ended, Seungcheol had realized something important: Minghao wasn’t just someone he loved, he was someone he needed in his life.
And while his romantic feelings had faded, their bond had only grown stronger.
Two years later, Minghao was his best friend, his confidant, his rock. He was the first person Seungcheol called when he was feeling down, the first person he wanted to share good news with, the person who knew him better than anyone else.
Seungcheol looked over at Minghao as they walked to class that morning. The sun spilling over the campus, and Minghao’s profile was serene, his expression as calm as ever.
Years ago, his heart would have raced at the sight. But now, it simply swelled with gratitude.
"I wouldn’t have it any other way," Seungcheol thought, smiling to himself.
---
Minghao wasn’t the type to dwell on the past. He believed in moving forward, in focusing on the present and what lay ahead. But when he opened his inbox that night and saw Seungcheol’s name in the sender line, his heart stopped.
The subject line read: To the first boy I ever loved.
He hesitated, his fingers hovering over the trackpad. His heart pounded loudly in his chest, drowning out the quiet hum of his air conditioning in dorm room. He clicked on the email.
The words on the screen felt both familiar and foreign. Seungcheol had written about their first meeting, about the day they had both been late to their introductory class, about how Minghao’s calm demeanor had eased his nerves, and about how he’d fallen in love with him in that moment.
Minghao read the email twice, then a third time, his throat tightening with every line.
Seungcheol loved him. Or at least, he had loved him.
And Minghao had known, hadn’t he? Deep down, he’d always suspected it. The way Seungcheol looked at him during their long walks to class, the way his laugh always lingered a little longer when Minghao said something funny, the way his eyes softened whenever Minghao helped him with his art, it had all been there, plain as day.
But Minghao had ignored it. Because acknowledging it meant acknowledging his own feelings, feelings he’d buried so deep they almost felt like a distant memory.
The truth was, Minghao had fallen for Seungcheol the moment they met.
He remembered that day vividly: how Seungcheol had been frozen outside the lecture hall, his wide eyes darting nervously between the door and the ground. Minghao had almost walked past him, but something about Seungcheol’s vulnerability had stopped him.
"We’re late, aren’t we?" he’d said, trying to sound casual, though his own nerves fluttered in his chest.
When Seungcheol chuckled and nodded, Minghao couldn’t help but smile. And when he took Seungcheol’s hand and led him into the room, his heart did something strange. It squeezed, like it was trying to tell him something important.
Over the next few months, Minghao watched as his feelings grew, as every small interaction with Seungcheol made his heart ache in the best way. He loved the way Seungcheol scrunched his nose when he was concentrating, the way he laughed with his whole body, the way he cared so deeply about the people around him.
But Minghao was a coward.
He told himself it was better this way, that Seungcheol deserved someone bolder, someone braver, someone who wouldn’t hesitate to tell him how they felt. So he stayed silent, letting their friendship blossom while his feelings withered in the shadows.
By the time their first year ended, Minghao had convinced himself that he was fine.
And when Seungcheol started calling him his best friend, Minghao decided that was enough.
But reading the email now, Minghao felt a pang of regret.
If he had been braver, could things have been different? If he had confessed back then, would Seungcheol have looked at him the way he used to—with wide, adoring eyes that seemed to see only him?
Minghao closed his laptop and leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling. He thought about the years they’d spent together, the countless memories they’d made.
Seungcheol wasn’t just his best friend—he was his safe place, his constant, the person who knew him better than anyone else.
And that was why Minghao had let go of his feelings.
Because loving Seungcheol as a best friend was better than losing him completely.
–––
The next morning, Minghao met Seungcheol outside the dorm building, just as he always did. Seungcheol was looking at his phone, his brow furrowed in concentration, and Minghao couldn’t help but smile.
For a moment, Minghao’s heart ached. He wanted to tell Seungcheol about the email, to confess everything he’d been holding back for years. But then he saw the way Seungcheol’s smile reached his eyes, the way he looked so at ease, and Minghao knew he couldn’t ruin that.
So he shoved his hands into his pockets and asked, "Ready?"
Seungcheol nodded, falling into step beside him.
As they walked to class, Minghao stole a glance at him, memorizing the way the morning sunlight danced across his face.
Seungcheol would always be the first boy he ever loved.
But now, he was also the boy he chose to let go.
The Baby’s Breath:
The walk to class was quiet, the kind of silence that felt heavy yet comforting. Seungcheol hummed softly under his breath, his attention fixed on his phone, scrolling through his phone.
Minghao, however, wasn’t paying attention to where they were headed. His gaze wandered to the bushes lining the path, his mind swirling with memories of that spring day two years ago.
It had been a breezy afternoon in the park, their sketchbooks and paints scattered across the grass. The scent of flowers filled the air, carried by the soft rustle of the wind. They were supposed to be brainstorming for their next project, but Seungcheol had been stuck, staring at a blank canvas for what felt like hours.
"I need to clear my head," Minghao had said suddenly, standing up and dusting off his jeans.
Seungcheol barely looked up. "Don’t take too long. I’ll be here…trying to figure out why I’m so bad at this."
Minghao had smiled softly before walking off, disappearing down the winding paths of the park.
When he returned, Seungcheol was still sitting under the tree, pencil in hand, his brow furrowed in concentration. Minghao approached quietly, holding something small and delicate between his fingers.
"I've been drawing the wrong inspiration," Minghao said, kneeling beside Seungcheol.
Seungcheol looked up, confused, just as Minghao reached out and tucked a tiny baby’s breath behind his ear. His fingers lingered for a moment, brushing against Seungcheol’s skin.
"Whoever gets to love you should cherish you like this flower," Minghao said softly, his voice almost lost in the breeze. "Fragile, beautiful, and deserving of so much care."
Then he looked away, standing abruptly. "I think I found my inspiration," he added, motioning toward his canvas as though the moment hadn’t just shifted something between them.
Seungcheol had stared at him for a long time after that, his heart fluttering in a way it hadn’t before. It was the first time he truly realized his feelings for Minghao—and the last time his heart would ever flutter for him.
Minghao’s fingers brushed against a small white flower growing along the bushes. A baby’s breath. He plucked it carefully, holding it between his fingers as he walked beside Seungcheol.
They reached the corner where they usually parted ways for class. Seungcheol stopped, turning to him with a small smile. "Thanks for walking with me. See you later?"
Minghao didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he stepped closer, his heart pounding, and reached up to tuck the flower into Seungcheol’s hair, just as he had years ago.
Seungcheol blinked, startled. "What’s this for?"
Minghao smiled, bittersweet and soft. "Just felt like it belonged there," he said, his voice steady despite the storm in his chest.
Seungcheol tilted his head, confused but smiling nonetheless. "Thanks, Hao."
Minghao watched as Seungcheol walked away, the tiny flower still tucked in his hair, glowing in the morning sunlight.
And in that moment, Minghao let go.
He let go of the what-ifs, the lingering feelings, and the quiet dreams he’d tucked away for years. Seungcheol was his best friend, his soulmate in a way that went beyond romance. And that was enough.
As the distance between them grew, Minghao turned and walked to his own class, feeling lighter than he had in years.
---
The boy that I fell for and made me fall for myself too: Jeon Wonwoo
Seungcheol walked briskly toward the photography class. He spotted him ahead,the tall, broad-shouldered figure with a camera bag slung over his shoulder. Jeon Wonwoo.
Seungcheol’s pace quickened, and before he knew it, he was beside him.
"Hey, Wonwoo."
Wonwoo looked down at him, his glasses catching the light as he smiled softly. "Morning,Seungcheol."
He extended a cup of coffee, just the way Seungcheol liked it, with a warm smile that Seungcheol had come to treasure over the past few years. Seungcheol couldn’t help but beam back, taking the cup from Wonwoo’s hand with a grateful nod.
For a moment, as he sipped the warm beverage, Seungcheol felt that familiar flutter. It was a sensation he hadn’t experienced in a while—one that used to make his heart race every time Wonwoo smiled at him, or when they spent quiet afternoons together. But now, as he looked up at Wonwoo, the flutter seemed distant. It was a feeling he had once clung to, but now it felt like a memory.
Wonwoo chuckled, a deep sound that could once send Seungcheol’s heart into a frenzy. "You’re still the same, huh?"
Seungcheol smiled softly, but his heart didn’t race the way it used to. He had moved on—he had to. But that didn’t mean he didn’t care for Wonwoo. He was still important to him, just not in the same way anymore.
---
It all started that day on the rooftop, a moment Seungcheol would never forget.
It had been a quiet evening—one of those perfect sunsets that painted the sky in hues of purple and orange. Seungcheol had been sitting on the rooftop, his headphones on, sketching the view to paint it. He was so focused on his canvas that he didn’t notice the figure approaching until he heard the soft click of a camera shutter.
The man was tall, with broad shoulders, and the way he held his camera made him look so cool, so effortless. Wonwoo didn’t seem to care about anything other than capturing the world through his lens. Seungcheol had been mesmerized, and before he realized it, his pencil had moved across the page to sketch the figure too.
When he heard a deep voice beside him, Seungcheol turned to see Wonwoo, his camera in hand, looking at Seungcheol’s sketch.
"You drew me?" Wonwoo asked, a small smirk playing on his lips.
Seungcheol had blushed, his heart pounding. He hadn’t even realized he’d drawn him. But there it was, in the corner of his sketchbook—Wonwoo, captured in a way that felt intimate.
From that moment on, something shifted. Seungcheol couldn’t stop thinking about the way Wonwoo had looked in that light, how the sunset had framed him so perfectly. Over the next few weeks, they found themselves together more often. They’d sit together in the photography club, their quiet conversations growing into something more. Seungcheol loved the way Wonwoo saw the world through his lens—he made Seungcheol feel like he was a part of something beautiful, something worth capturing.
It wasn’t long before Wonwoo started showing Seungcheol the photos he had taken. One day, Wonwoo pulled up an image from that very rooftop, the one where Seungcheol had sketched him.
Seungcheol stared at the picture, his breath catching. There he was—his own image, captured by Wonwoo’s camera. The angle, the light, the way Seungcheol’s face had been framed—it was beautiful in a way he had never seen himself before.
"I like this one," Wonwoo said quietly, his voice almost shy. "You look... different. Like you’re part of the sunset."
Seungcheol blinked, his heart stirring as he looked at the photo. It was as though Wonwoo had captured him in a way no one else had ever seen. For the first time, Seungcheol saw himself through someone else’s eyes—and it made him fall for Wonwoo, again and again, each time he saw himself in Wonwoo’s perspective.
Slowly, Seungcheol found himself falling deeper in love with the way Wonwoo made him feel—like he was worthy of being seen, worthy of being loved. It wasn’t just about the photographs; it was about how Wonwoo made him love himself in a way he never had before.
But then came the moment that changed everything.
One day, as they walked together to class, Wonwoo turned to Seungcheol, his hands stuffed in his pockets. There was an unfamiliar hesitation in his eyes.
"Seungcheol... there’s someone I like."
Seungcheol’s heart sank, but he tried to mask it with a smile. "Who?"
Wonwoo hesitated before continuing. "His name is Wen Junhui. I... I need your help."
Seungcheol’s world stilled. The words felt like a punch in his chest. He had known, deep down, that Wonwoo had never truly been his, but to hear it out loud—it was different.
"You want me to help you confess to him?" Seungcheol asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Wonwoo nodded, his face softening with gratitude. "Yeah. I’m not good at this kind of thing... but I trust you, Seungcheol."
Seungcheol swallowed hard, forcing a smile. "Of course, I’ll help you."
But inside, he knew.
Wonwoo belonged to Junhui. They were meant to be together, and Seungcheol was just a chapter in Wonwoo’s story—a chapter that had come to its natural end.
---
Last night, after reading Seungcheol's letter, Wonwoo sat still for a long while, the words lingering in his mind. He hadn’t expected it—Seungcheol’s confession, his release, his letting go. For a brief moment, Wonwoo wondered if he had ever truly loved Seungcheol, or if it had only been an infatuation. Seungcheol had always been so beautiful, so captivating. He was the kind of person who made the world feel brighter just by being in it. When Wonwoo had first picked up his camera, it had been Seungcheol’s face that he had wanted to capture.
Wonwoo looked at the framed picture of Seungcheol he had on his desk, his pretty dimple smile on display as he looked at the cup of coffee Wonwoo gave him. He looked utterly beautiful and full of happiness and satisfaction, that Winwoo felt the need to capture it.
Seungcheol had been the prettiest thing his camera had ever focused on, and Wonwoo had loved the way Seungcheol’s smile would light up the room, the way his eyes held so many quiet thoughts. He loved capturing him, and more so, just being around him. They would talk about art, about life, about everything and nothing at all. Seungcheol had opened up to him in ways he never thought possible.
Wonwoo had learned to make coffee because Seungcheol had once mentioned how much he loved it. He still made Seungcheol’s coffee every morning in the cafe he worked at, just the way he liked it. It had always been a small but personal ritual, one that made him feel connected to Seungcheol in a way that words couldn’t explain.
But then Jun had come into his life. And that was when the confusion started. He had thought he loved Seungcheol. It had all made sense then, in the way that young love sometimes does. But it wasn’t until Jun came into his life that Wonwoo realized where his heart truly lay. Jun was the one who made him feel whole in a way. He had thought Seungcheol was just a passing crush, someone who had caught his attention for a moment.
But now, looking back, Wonwoo understood. Seungcheol had always been his love through the lens. He had been a momentary love, one that was beautiful and pure, but not meant to last.
Seungcheol was their friend now. A friend they both cherished. And Wonwoo was thankful for that. He was thankful that Seungcheol had once loved him, and he knew that Seungcheol deserved someone who could love him back the way he had always wanted to. Seungcheol deserved someone who could fully give him their heart, someone who could love him the way he had loved Wonwoo.
---
As Wonwoo watched Seungcheol now, walking with him sipping his coffee to their photography class, he couldn’t help but smile. He understood now. He understood why he had once fallen for Seungcheol. He had been the momentary love, the fleeting connection that had taught him so much. But now, Jun was his forever love, and he knew that was where his heart truly belonged.
Looking at Seungcheol, Wonwoo smiled softly, not with regret, but with gratitude. Because Seungcheol had helped him find himself, and for that, Wonwoo wouldalways be thankful.
---
It was lunch time, and Seungcheol was walking beside Wonwoo toward the cafeteria. He knew Minghao and Jun would be waiting for them at their usual table. As they walked, Seungcheol felt a hand slip around his shoulder. He turned to his right, since Wonwoo was on his left, and found Joshua grinning at him, his eyes sparkling with his usual mischief.
"Hey, Cheol," Joshua greeted with a playful pout. "I lost my appetite after that anatomy class. I swear, all those organs make me want to pass out!"
Seungcheol chuckled at Joshua’s dramatic whining, nudging him lightly. "You always say that," he teased, shaking his head fondly. Joshua was always full of energy, but this was a side of him Seungcheol was used to—his adorable, dramatic side.
When they reached the table where Minghao and Jun were already seated, Wonwoo immediately sat next to Jun, brushing his hand through Jun's hair before leaning down to kiss his head. before Seungcheol could sit, Joshua, without thinking,pulled out the chair for him.
Seungcheol chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re ridiculous.”
Joshua only smiled. “Just making sure my queen sits comfortably.”
Seungcheol sat down, looking at Joshua for a moment longer than necessary, before breaking into a soft smile.
Yeah. He got it now.
He understood why he had fallen for Joshua once upon a time.
Joshua slung his arm around Seungcheol’s waist, resting his head on Seungcheol’s shoulder. Seungcheol might have felt flustered by Joshua’s clinginess—he had always been a little more reserved with physical affection. But now, it felt like second nature. Joshua had become a constant presence in his life, a friend who treated him with so much affection and care.
As the conversation flowed around the table, Seungcheol laughed along with the rest of their friends, amused by Joshua’s antics. He lifted a slice of sandwich to Joshua’s mouth, who ate it happily despite his earlier complaints about losing his appetite. Seungcheol couldn’t help but smile at how much he had come to cherish these moments. Joshua, the boy who treated him like royalty, who always made him laugh no matter what, was one of the best friends he could have ever asked for.
"You're such a baby," Seungcheol said with a soft laugh, shaking his head affectionately.
Joshua just smiled up at him, eyes sparkling with the same warmth that had drawn Seungcheol in from the beginning. Even if things had changed, even if his heart had moved on in other ways, Seungcheol could still find happiness in the friendships he had. Joshua, Minghao, Wonwoo, Jun—they were all his family now, and that was morethan enough.
---
The Guy Who Treated Me Like a Queen: Hong Jisoo
Seungcheol didn’t realize he had a problem until he woke up in the nurse’s office with a splitting headache and a warm hand pressing a cool cloth against his forehead.
“You’re awake,” a voice murmured, and when Seungcheol blinked the blurriness away, he saw a face he didn’t recognize hovering above him. Dark brown eyes behind glasses, lips pressed in concern, a soft glow of afternoon light reflecting against his sharp features.
Seungcheol tried to sit up, but a firm yet gentle hand pressed against his shoulder. “Take it easy.”
“Where am I?” His voice came out hoarse, throat dry.
“The nurse’s office,” the stranger said. “You fainted in the hallway.”
Oh. Right. He barely remembered—he’d been in a rush, skipping breakfast, and before he knew it, his vision had gone dark.
The stranger—who was wearing a white coat, which meant he was probably a med student—sighed. “You need to take better care of yourself.”
“I’m fine,” Seungcheol mumbled, but even as he said it, his stomach twisted in protest.
The stranger raised an eyebrow. Then, with an almost exasperated fondness, he reached behind him and pulled out a neatly packed bento box. “Here,” he said, opening the lid. “Eat.”
Seungcheol blinked at him. “You just carry food around?”
The guy smiled. “It’s mine, but you need it more than I do.”
Seungcheol hesitated for only a second before he took the offered chopsticks. The first bite of rice melted on his tongue, warm and slightly sweet, paired with tender pieces of chicken.
“Damn,” Seungcheol mumbled between bites. “This is good.”
The guy laughed, a quiet chuckle that made something inside Seungcheol settle. “I made it myself.”
Seungcheol looked up in surprise. “You cook?”
“I have to,” he shrugged. “Med school doesn’t exactly give you time for proper meals if you don’t make them yourself.”
Seungcheol hummed, taking another bite. “Thanks, uh—” He realized he didn’t even know the guy’s name.
“Joshua,” the guy supplied, watching him with an amused look. “Hong Jisoo. But most people call me Joshua.”
“Joshua,” Seungcheol repeated, the name rolling off his tongue a little too easily.
That was the first time they met. The first time Seungcheol felt what it was like to be taken care of without having to ask.
After that day, Joshua somehow became a permanent fixture in Seungcheol’s life.
It started with small things. A text in the morning—Did you eat?—followed by a neatly packed lunch waiting for him between classes. Joshua claimed he always made extra, but Seungcheol knew better.
Then came the evening jogs.
“You need to keep your body moving,” Joshua told him one day, dragging him out of his dorm and into the crisp evening air. “It’s good for your heart.”
Seungcheol groaned, trying to pull away. “I hate running.”
“Too bad.” Joshua grinned. “Come on, it’ll be fun.”
It wasn’t fun. Seungcheol was gasping for air within ten minutes while Joshua barely broke a sweat. But when they stopped at the top of the hill, watching the city lights blink in the distance, Seungcheol had to admit—maybe it wasn’t that bad.
Then, somehow, Joshua had him in the gym too, showing him how to stretch properly, making sure he didn’t overwork himself, handing him a water bottle every five minutes.
It was ridiculous.
And yet, Seungcheol found himself looking forward to it.
Looking forward to Joshua’s texts. Joshua’s home-cooked meals. Joshua’s laughter as he teased him for being dramatic after a ten-minute jog.
At some point, Joshua had become his safe space.
At some point, Seungcheol realized he was falling.
Falling Wasn’t Supposed to Be This Easy
It hit him one afternoon, when Joshua was making a strawberry milkshake in the small café they liked to study in and Joshua worked at.
Seungcheol had always loved strawberry milkshake, but somehow, the one Joshua made always tasted better.
“Because I make it with love,” Joshua joked when Seungcheol told him that once, winking playfully.
Seungcheol had scoffed. But later, when he took another sip, warmth spreading through his chest, he wondered if maybe Joshua wasn’t joking.
Because love felt like this, didn’t it?
Love felt like a warm hand guiding him through exhaustion, like a voice reminding him to take a break. Love felt like someone knowing you needed help before you even asked for it.
And that’s what Joshua was to him.
Love, in the softest way possible.
But Love Isn’t Always Meant to Last
The thing about falling for Joshua was that Seungcheol never got the chance to say it out loud.
Because one day, Joshua came to him with the biggest smile, eyes shining like the first stars of the evening sky, and said, “I think I’m in love.”
Seungcheol’s heart twisted painfully. But he smiled back anyway. “Yeah?”
Joshua nodded. “Yeah.”
And just like that, Seungcheol knew—Joshua was never his to love.
Because Joshua loved someone else.
Maybe that’s how it was meant to be.
Maybe Joshua was just meant to be the person who taught him how to take care of himself.
Maybe Joshua was just meant to be the boy who treated him like a queen, but never his king.
And that was okay.
Because love didn’t always have to mean possession.
Sometimes, love was just gratitude.
And Seungcheol would always be grateful.
The Ending That Felt Just Right
---
Joshua sat at his desk, staring at his screen. The email from Seungcheol sat open in front of him, and his heart had been quietly, steadily thumping ever since he’d read the words.
Seungcheol had loved him.
Joshua smiled softly, a quiet chuckle escaping his lips. He hadn't expected this. He had always loved Seungcheol—quietly, without expecting anything in return. Seungcheol had been the one to show him what it meant to love someone.
But did Seungcheol know that?
He didn’t think so. How could he? Joshua had never confessed, never wanted to burden Seungcheol with something that would never happen. They were friends, close friends—and that was enough. It was enough to care for Seungcheol, to make sure he ate right, to keep him healthy, to be there whenever he needed. Well he did once tell seungcheol that he fell in love, but, he doubts seungcheol knew. That it was him, that he fell for.
Maybe that’s why when Minghao, tipsy and spilling his feelings, had confessed to Joshua that he loved Seungcheol, Joshua had immediately stepped back. There was no chance for him. Minghao deserved Seungcheol. Seungcheol deserved him.
So Joshua let it go.
He thought he’d moved on. A few months ago, a new transfer student had caught his attention, and before long, Joshua found himself falling for someone else.
But reading Seungcheol’s email—Seungcheol had loved him too. Maybe not in the same way, maybe not with the same depth. But he had loved him. That was more than enough for Joshua.
He could still remember the first time Seungcheol had passed out from exhaustion, and Joshua had been there to take care of him, had shared his lunch with him when Seungcheol had woken up hungry. That simple act of care had grown into something more—Joshua cooking for Seungcheol, pulling him into workouts, making sure he took time for himself, even for something as small as jogs around campus to release his stress.
And now, even after everything, Joshua watched Seungcheol next tohim, engaged in conversation with Jun. Seungcheol, his friend. Joshua’s first love, the person who had unknowingly shown him what it was like to love.
Joshua’s lips curled into a soft smile as Seungcheol turned to him with a piece of food, offering it in his direction.
And maybe, just maybe, it was enough.
Enough to know that Seungcheol had cared. Enough to understand that he didn’t need to be his forever love to matter.
He was content. He’d found love again with someone new, but Seungcheol? Seungcheol had shaped him into who he was.
"Thanks," Joshua mumbled around the food, eyes warm as seungcheol fed him another mouth full of food.
It was a quiet, subtle acknowledgment of a love that had never been meant to be. And Joshua was okay with that.
It had been beautiful. But sometimes beautiful things don't last long, but it's okay. Because atleast you got to experience it.