Archive of Our Own

The mornings in Sunoo’s life are soft.

They start with the weight of Mochi, their spoiled little corgi, sprawled across his legs. Sunoo shifts under the blanket, feeling the familiar press of fur against his calves as tiny paws stretch out in sleep.

Beside him, Jake is buried under the blankets, his face barely visible, save for a tuft of golden-brown hair peeking out. He sleeps like he has nowhere to be, like the entire world could wait for him.

Sunoo shifts slightly, watching as Jake exhales slowly, his lips parting, his breath warm against the pillow.

Sunoo used to envy how effortlessly beautiful Jake was. Even now, with his face relaxed in sleep, he looks like something out of an ad—soft freckles scattered across his nose, full lips slightly parted, lashes fanning against his tanned skin. His chest rises and falls with even breaths, the room still wrapped in the quiet of early morning.

Sunoo studies him, tracing the curve of his jaw with his eyes, watching the way his fingers twitch slightly in sleep. He’s perfect.

This is Jake.

The man he’s been in love with for three years. The man who built a home with him. The man who makes life easy .

Sunoo feels something warm settle in his chest.

This is what happiness should feel like right?

Their house isn’t extravagant, but it’s theirs.

A two-story home in a quiet, progressive suburb—far from the chaos of the city, far from the stifling expectations of their childhoods. It’s the kind of place where the neighbors smile in passing, where kids ride their bikes down the street, where the world outside their front door is safe.

The walls are lined with photographs—snapshots of a life well-lived.

A picture from their first vacation together, standing on a sunlit beach, arms tangled around each other as the ocean sparkles behind them. A Polaroid of Jake holding Mochi on the day they adopted him, his grin so wide it nearly splits his face. A blurry photo of Sunoo cooking, mid-laugh, while Jake stands behind him, arms wrapped securely around his waist, pressing a playful kiss to his temple.

Every piece of furniture, every plant, every tiny imperfection in the wooden floors—they are pieces of a love that has grown steady, unfaltering.

Sunoo loves their kitchen the most.

It’s the heart of their home, always filled with warmth, with the scent of coffee and whatever cooking experiment Jake has decided to take on that day.

Tiny magnets litter the fridge—ones shaped like corgis, ones with terrible puns that made them laugh at the store, ones they collected from their travels.

And on the windowsill above the sink, next to a tiny pot of sunflowers, sits a single wishbone.

Left there by accident. Forgotten.

For now.

Sunoo is always the first to wake up.

It’s habit—years of early morning classes, late-night shifts, a schedule he never managed to shake.

Carefully, he untangles himself from the sheets, slipping out of bed without disturbing Jake, who merely grumbles in his sleep and rolls over, burying his face in the pillow.

Downstairs, Mochi greets him with an eager wag of his tail, following him into the kitchen, his little paws tapping against the hardwood.

The kitchen radiates with familiarity.

Sunoo moves on autopilot—pressing the button on the coffee machine, cracking eggs into a pan, the scent of butter filling the air.

A few minutes later, slow, heavy footsteps descend the stairs.

Jake appears, still half-lost in sleep, hair an absolute mess, his hoodie slipping off one shoulder, sweatpants hanging loose on his frame. He moves with all the grace of a man who has just barely pulled himself out of bed.

Sunoo bites back a smile.

“You’re up early,” Jake mumbles, voice thick with sleep.

Sunoo flips an egg. “You say that like it’s a surprise.”

Jake lets out a sleepy chuckle, rubbing at his eyes as he wanders closer. And just like every morning before this, he wraps his arms around Sunoo from behind, his body warm against Sunoo’s back.

Sunoo leans into it without thinking, letting the weight of Jake settle over him like something safe, something unwavering.

Jake hums, resting his chin on Sunoo’s shoulder. “You smell good.”

Sunoo smirks. “That’s the butter.”

Jake nuzzles into the crook of his neck. “No, that’s you.”

Sunoo rolls his eyes but doesn’t pull away.

This is routine. A love woven into everyday moments.

Jake presses a lazy kiss to the side of his neck before letting go, stretching his arms above his head. Sunoo turns just in time to catch the flash of tan skin and toned abdomen as Jake’s hoodie rides up.

Jake catches him staring and smirks. “See something you like?”

Sunoo flicks a piece of toast at him. “Eat your breakfast.”

Jake laughs, snatching a piece of bacon from Sunoo’s plate instead.

And just like that, another morning passes.

Another quiet, perfect morning in his perfect life.

Jake is easy to love.

He is warmth and laughter and stability all wrapped up in one.

Loving him is not like a fire that consumes—it is like the steady burn of a candle on a windowsill, something that never flickers even when the wind howls outside.

With Jake, there is no fear.

No worry of abandonment.

No uncertainty.

Jake is constant.

And Sunoo is happy.

At least, he thinks he is.

But sometimes, late at night, when the house is quiet and Jake’s arms are wrapped around him, Sunoo’s heart aches in a way he can’t explain.

Not sadness. Not regret.

Just something missing .

Like a song with half-forgotten lyrics.

Like a touch that once burned but now only lingers in memory.

Sunoo never says it out loud.

Because he loves Jake.

Because this life they built is good, it’s perfect.

Because what more could he possibly ask for?

It happens so simply.

A night like any other.

Jake is lounging on the couch, flipping through his phone, Mochi curled up in his lap.

Sunoo is at the sink, rinsing off the dishes, when his fingers brush against something small and fragile.

A dried wishbone.

He picks it up, rolling it between his fingers, feeling the smooth, delicate curve.

His mother used to tell him that breaking a wishbone could change your fate. He hasn’t thought about it in years.

But for some reason, tonight, he closes his eyes and makes a wish.

I want to see the happiest version of myself.

He pulls. The bone snaps, and for a moment, nothing happens. Sunoo lets out a small laugh, shaking his head.

Silly. Childish.

He tosses the broken pieces in the trash and dries his hands. 

“Coming to bed?” he calls over his shoulder.

Jake hums from the couch, not looking up from his phone. “In a bit.”

Sunoo watches him for a moment. Watches the ease of their life.

Then he flicks off the kitchen light and heads upstairs.

That night, he dreams.

But it’s not like any dream he’s had before. It’s too real .

The scent of chalk dust and old textbooks. The sound of fluorescent lights buzzing above. The distant chime of a school bell.

He sees flashes of a world that shouldn’t exist anymore—his old high school classroom, the winter air biting at his cheeks, the press of fingers lacing with his own beneath a desk.

A scarf being wrapped around his neck, soft hands adjusting it with gentle care. Laughter echoing in an empty gymnasium.

And a kiss.

Not just any kiss.

A kiss that makes his heart ache . A kiss that feels like everything .

His breath catches.

Sunghoon.

His mind reels, his body jolts, and suddenly—

Sunoo gasps awake.

His chest rises and falls rapidly, his fingers clutching the sheets beneath him. His body feels different —lighter, smaller. The air is wrong. The familiar scent of detergent mixed with something achingly nostalgic lingers around him.

He looks around.

The walls. The posters. The old wooden desk in the corner.

His childhood bedroom.

A sharp inhale. His hands—God, even his hands look younger .

And then he feels it.

The warmth of another body beside him.

Sunoo’s breath stills. Slowly, carefully, he turns his head—

And there, sleeping soundly, is Park Sunghoon .

Dark lashes fanned against his cheek, lips slightly parted as he breathes evenly, moles peppering his pretty face. His arm is draped over Sunoo’s waist, holding him close, as if he’s always belonged there.

Sunoo’s heart slams against his ribs.

This isn’t a dream.

Sunghoon shifts slightly, pressing closer, murmuring in a drowsy whisper, “Mm, why’re you awake? Go back to sleep, love.”

Love.

Sunoo forgets how to breathe.

Jake. Their home. Mochi . The life he built at 27—where is it? How did he end up here?

But none of it matters in this moment.

Because right now, he is sixteen again.

And he is back in the arms of the one that got away.

Sunoo doesn’t sleep.

He can’t.

He lies there, staring at the ceiling, listening to the quiet rhythm of Sunghoon’s breath beside him. His heart pounds against his ribs, his body frozen in place, as if the moment he moves, the illusion will shatter.

But it doesn’t.

Instead, the morning light creeps in through the blinds, bathing the room in a soft golden glow. Sunghoon shifts beside him, the warmth of his arm still draped over Sunoo’s waist. His grip tightens briefly, as if holding onto something precious, before he exhales a sleepy sigh and burrows deeper into the sheets.

Sunoo swallows hard.

What the hell is happening?

He carefully turns his head, his breath catching at the sight before him.

Sunghoon is beautiful like this—barefaced, peaceful, his dark hair slightly tousled from sleep. The sharp lines of his usual cool expression are softened, his lips slightly parted, his lashes delicate against his skin.

It’s been over a decade since Sunoo last saw him like this.

A decade since they were tangled up in each other’s arms, before heartbreak, before silence, before time stretched them apart.

His chest tightens painfully.

He wants to reach out, to touch, to see if this Sunghoon is real. But the memories of Jake—of their home, of the life he left behind—hold him back.

Slowly, carefully, he pulls away, slipping out of bed without disturbing the boy beside him. His hands tremble as he grabs his phone from the nightstand.

And that’s when the panic really sets in.

The screen is different. An old model—one he hasn’t used since high school. His heart races as he fumbles to unlock it, and when he does, his stomach twists.

The date.

Ten years ago.

Sunoo staggers back, gripping the phone tightly.

This isn’t a dream.

This is real.

And somehow, impossibly, fate has given him a second chance with his first love.

The morning routine is a shock to his system.

His mother calls him down for breakfast—her voice younger, lighter. His father sits at the table, flipping through the newspaper instead of checking stocks on his phone. Everything is just as it was, down to the scent of fresh rice and miso soup.

Sunoo grips the edge of the table, his mind spinning.

This is his childhood. The life he lived before he ever knew what heartbreak felt like.

Then, just as he remembers, the front door swings open without warning.

“Sunoo-yah,” comes a familiar, teasing voice.

Sunghoon.

Sunoo looks up too quickly, his breath hitching.

Sunghoon stands in the doorway, school uniform slightly disheveled, dark brown eyes scanning the room before landing on him. A smirk tugs at his lips, effortless, easy.

“Why do you look so shocked? Did you forget I always pick you up?”

Sunoo forgets how to speak.

His brain screams at him to respond normally, to fall into the routine that his younger self knew by heart. But how is he supposed to act normal when his heart is in his throat, when all he can think about is how this same boy would one day become nothing but a memory?

Sunghoon raises an eyebrow. “Are you okay?”

Sunoo swallows. “Y-Yeah.”

Sunghoon tilts his head but doesn’t push. Instead, he reaches out—his fingers brushing lightly against Sunoo’s wrist as he pulls him up from his chair. The touch is casual, innocent. But to Sunoo, it burns.

“Come on,” Sunghoon says, his voice light. “I’m not dealing with Coach’s wrath if we’re late again.”

Sunoo lets himself be pulled along, his mind a mess.

Because how is he supposed to relive this life, knowing how it ends?

High school is exactly as he remembers it.

The classrooms, the crowded hallways, the scent of freshly waxed floors. It’s all too much, too vivid, too real.

And Sunghoon—God, Sunghoon .

He is the same boy Sunoo fell in love with all those years ago.

The one who dragged him out of class to buy ice cream from the convenience store. The one who always pretended to be unaffected, but would pull Sunoo behind the gym just to lace their fingers together in secret. 

The one who made everything feel alive.

Sunoo watches him closely now, noticing the things he missed before.

The way Sunghoon taps his pencil against his textbook when he’s thinking. The way his lips part slightly when he’s about to argue with a teacher. The way his fingers always reach for Sunoo—without hesitation, without thinking.

And it hurts.

Because Sunoo knows that one day, those hands will stop reaching for him.

It’s late when they walk home together.

The air is cool, the sun setting in hues of orange and pink. Sunghoon walks beside him, hands stuffed in his pockets, his expression unreadable.

Sunoo knows this moment.

It’s one of the good ones. A quiet, perfect memory from the days when they still had forever ahead of them.

“You’re acting weird today,” Sunghoon finally says, glancing at him.

Sunoo startles. “What?”

Sunghoon stops walking, turning to face him fully.

“You’re... different.” His brows knit together slightly, his voice softer than before. “It’s like... you’re looking at me like I’m already gone.”

Sunoo’s breath catches in his throat.

His hands clench into fists. Because you will be, he wants to say. Because I know how this ends.

Instead, he forces a laugh, shaking his head. “You’re imagining things.”

Sunghoon doesn’t look convinced. He takes a step closer, his gaze searching. And then, without warning, he reaches out—his fingers curling gently around Sunoo’s wrist.

The touch is warm, grounding, dangerous .

“Then prove it,” Sunghoon says quietly. “Look at me like you used to.”

Sunoo’s heart shatters.

Because he can’t.

Not without looking like a boy who knows the future. Not without looking like someone who’s already grieving.

Sunghoon watches him carefully, and then—slowly—he lets go.

Sunoo doesn’t realize he’s trembling until the warmth of his touch is gone.

That night, Sunoo lies awake in bed, staring at the ceiling.

His chest aches, his mind spinning.

He thought he could handle this. Thought he could relive the past without letting it consume him.

But today was only the beginning.

And already, he is falling all over again.

Because Park Sunghoon is still everything .

The way he speaks, the way he laughs, the way he reaches for Sunoo like he belongs there with him and nowhere else.

Sunoo thought the pain of losing him was the worst thing he’d ever felt.

But this— this —is worse.

Because he is sixteen again. And he has to lose him all over again .

Sunoo’s mind spins.

What is this? A dream? A punishment? A chance to do it differently?

He swallows hard, his fingers curling at his sides.

Does he let things play out the way they did before? Does he let the past unfold, knowing that Sunghoon will eventually walk away?

Or does he change it?

Does he fight for them?

Does he hold onto Sunghoon this time, with everything he has, before it’s too late?

Sunoo knows.

He knows the exact moment when everything will start to slip away.

He has seen this story play out before. He has felt the sharp sting of heartbreak, the way Sunghoon slowly untangles himself from him, the way love turns into hesitation, into silence, into a goodbye that was never supposed to happen.

But this time, he won’t let it happen.

This time, he will fight for them.

The first time Sunoo notices the shift, he is ready.

Sunghoon, after practice, standing outside the locker room, staring at the ground, lost in thought.

Sunoo remembers this day.

This was the day Sunghoon first started pulling away. The day he let doubt creep into the spaces between them.

So Sunoo does something different.

Instead of waiting for Sunghoon to say something, instead of pretending he doesn’t see the storm brewing behind his eyes, he pulls Sunghoon into a kiss.

Right there. In front of everyone.

A kiss that is deep, desperate, loud enough to silence all the fears creeping into Sunghoon’s mind.

The team whistles. Someone yells, “Get a room!”

But Sunoo doesn’t care.

Because when he pulls back, Sunghoon is staring at him, breathless, stunned, a faint pink dusting his cheeks.

And Sunoo smiles. “Whatever you’re thinking, stop. I love you.”

Sunghoon swallows. “I…”

Sunoo leans in again, presses their foreheads together. “No overthinking. Just us, okay?”

Sunghoon exhales shakily. His grip on Sunoo’s shirt tightens. “…Okay.”

And for now—just for now—Sunoo wins.

The second time, it happens at night.

Sunoo wakes up to find Sunghoon sitting at the edge of the bed, staring out the window.

This is another moment he remembers.

A night where Sunghoon had been awake for hours, thinking, breaking, deciding.

In the past, Sunoo had rolled over and gone back to sleep, not realizing that this was the moment Sunghoon had started convincing himself he needed to leave.

But this time, Sunoo gets up. He doesn’t give Sunghoon space to think. Instead, he climbs into his lap, wraps his arms around his neck, and whispers, “Stay with me.”

Sunghoon stiffens. “Sunoo—”

“I don’t care what you’re thinking,” Sunoo cuts in. His voice is soft, but firm. “I just need you here.”

Sunghoon exhales, his hands coming up to Sunoo’s waist. “I just—”

“Stay,” Sunoo pleads.

A beat of silence. Then—Sunghoon nods.

And when Sunoo kisses him, slow and aching, he makes sure Sunghoon remembers exactly what they are fighting for.

Sunoo starts cheating fate.

Every memory, every misstep, every moment that had once led them to heartbreak—he fixes it.

Sunghoon starts hesitating? Sunoo pulls him closer.

Sunghoon starts doubting? Sunoo drowns him in love.

Sunghoon starts thinking too much? Sunoo kisses him until he forgets why he was ever scared.

Every single day, Sunoo fights. He refuses to let it happen.

He does everything—he kisses Sunghoon the second they wake up, deep, desperate, searing. He holds his hand tighter than ever. He takes him to all their favorite places, makes new memories, reminds him this love is worth staying for.

Sunoo tells himself he can fix this.

He tells himself that this is his chance—his second shot at a love that was never meant to be lost.

He will not let Sunghoon pull away. He will not let their story unravel at the seams. He will not let this love become nothing more than a painful memory.

And so, he loves Sunghoon with everything he has.

He laces their fingers together tighter, holds on for a second longer, whispers I love you before Sunghoon can second-guess it.

He kisses him deeper, lingers closer, memorizes every inch of Sunghoon’s skin beneath his fingertips like he is afraid it will disappear.

And for a while, it works.

For a while, their world remains untouched.

For a while, Sunghoon still smiles at him with that soft, knowing look.

For a while, he still presses playful kisses against Sunoo’s neck, still murmurs, “Forever, okay?” against his lips.

For a while, Sunghoon still stays and Sunoo convinces himself that this time, he won’t lose him.

But love is never that simple and fate is never that kind.

Because no matter how hard Sunoo fights—the day still comes.

The day Sunghoon is supposed to walk away.

Sunoo wakes up with a knot in his stomach.

Everything feels too quiet, too heavy. The air feels thick, like something invisible is pressing down on him.

And when he looks at Sunghoon—he knows.

Sunghoon is already leaving.

He is still here, but his heart is already stepping away, his eyes already carrying the weight of goodbye.

No matter what he does—Sunghoon still pulls away.

Sunoo feels it happening in real-time for the second time around.

Feels it in the way Sunghoon’s fingers start slipping from his grasp.

Feels it in the way Sunghoon looks at him—like he’s memorizing him for the last time.

Feels it in the silence that stretches between them—a silence that used to be comfortable, but now feels like a countdown.

Sunoo’s hands shake.

“No,” he whispers. “No, you’re not doing this. Not again.”

Sunghoon closes his eyes.

And Sunoo breaks.

“Please,” he begs. “I changed everything. I did everything right this time.”

His voice cracks. His vision blurs. His entire body trembles.

Sunghoon exhales slowly. “I know.”

Sunoo grips his shirt. Desperate. Breaking.

“Then stay.”

And for a moment, Sunghoon almost does.

For a moment, Sunoo sees the fight in his eyes, the war happening inside him.

But then—Sunghoon swallows.

And he speaks.

The same words. The same heartbreak.

“This is for the best.”

Sunoo feels something snap inside him.

He grabs Sunghoon’s wrist tighter. Harder.

“You don’t get to leave me,” Sunoo chokes out, furious, broken, desperate. “Not after everything. Not after this.”

Sunghoon’s eyes shine.

And just like before—he lets go first.

“Don’t make this harder than it should be, Sunoo.”

And then, he turns.

And this time, Sunoo refuses to let him walk away.

So he does something reckless.

Something desperate.

Something that shatters everything.

“I wished for you.”

Sunghoon stops.

Sunoo doesn’t stop talking. “I wished for this,” he gasps. “I wasn’t supposed to be here. I came back because I wanted to fix it. I wanted to save us.”

Sunghoon turns, eyes wide, disbelieving.

He refuses to let Sunghoon walk away without a fight. “I can change,” he pleads. “Tell me what I have to do, and I’ll do it. I’ll be whatever you need me to be—just don’t leave.”

Sunghoon’s eyes glisten under the gym lights. “I don’t want you to change,” he whispers. “I just don’t think… I can stay.”

Sunoo shakes his head, desperate, aching, unraveling.

He grabs Sunghoon’s wrist, holding on with everything he has. “Stay,” Sunoo begs, voice raw, broken. “ Please, just stay. ”

Sunghoon squeezes his eyes shut.

For a moment, he almost stays.

For a moment, Sunoo thinks he has won.

But then, just like before—Sunghoon finally lets go.

“I love you, Sunoo, but we both know I have to go.”

And then, he walks away.

And no matter how hard Sunoo screams his name—

He doesn’t look back.

Sunoo runs.

Through the streets, through the memories, through the past that is slipping through his fingers.

He stumbles back into his bedroom, hands shaking, his entire body breaking.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. This was supposed to be different. He was supposed to save them.

But no matter how tightly he held on—

Sunghoon still left.

The realization crushes him.

And then, as he collapses onto his bed—

The world shifts.

The air ripples, distorts, flickers like a candlelight in the wind.

And before Sunoo can scream, before he can try again—

Everything fades to black.

Sunoo wakes up again, gasping for air.

His breath stutters, his chest rising and falling in uneven waves. His body feels heavy, like it has been dragged through time and back again.

His fingers curl into the sheets beneath him. Familiar sheets.

And then, slowly, the world settles.

The air smells like fresh linen and faint traces of cologne. The weight of a tiny body—Mochi—rests at his feet, warm and unmoving. The quiet lull of morning fills the space around him, soft, safe, real.

And beside him—

Beside him, Jake sleeps soundly.

Sunoo stills, his entire body locking up as his eyes land on the man who never left.

Jake’s face is peaceful, bathed in the gentle light filtering through the curtains. Golden hair tousled, freckles barely visible against the sun-kissed warmth of his skin.

His lips part slightly as he exhales, his breathing slow and even. Unchanged. Unmoved. Here.

Sunoo sucks in a sharp breath.

Then, before he can think—before his body can second-guess itself—he moves.

He turns toward Jake, pressing himself against him, winding his arms around him so tightly it almost hurts.

Jake stirs, brow furrowing slightly at the sudden embrace. But he doesn’t pull away.

Instead, with the same ease, the same unwavering constancy that defines him, he relaxes into it.

“…Sunoo?” he mumbles, voice thick with sleep.

Sunoo buries his face in Jake’s shoulder, squeezing his eyes shut. His throat tightens, his chest aching with something he cannot name, something deeper than love, deeper than guilt.

“…Thank you,” he breathes.

Jake’s fingers twitch against the sheets. “For what?”

“For staying,” Sunoo whispers. “For never leaving me. For never breaking my heart.”

Jake stiffens, his sleep-addled brain trying to catch up.

“Sunoo—”

“I mean it,” Sunoo chokes out. His hands clutch at Jake’s back, clinging, desperate, as if grounding himself in the present, in this life.

Because no matter how much Sunoo’s heart aches, Jake is here.

Jake never walked away.

Jake never made him beg to stay.

Jake never shattered him.

Jake is the love that stayed.

Sunoo breathes in deep, his lips brushing against Jake’s collarbone. Then, barely above a whisper—barely audible over the sound of his own trembling heartbeat—he asks:

“…Forever, okay?”

A long silence.

Then—

Jake exhales, slow and warm, before shifting fully, wrapping his arms around Sunoo in return.

A steady, solid embrace.

“…Yeah,” Jake murmurs, his voice gentle but sure.

“Forever.”

Sunoo wants to believe it.

Wants to believe that he can let go of the past, that this love is enough, that fate brought him back here for a reason.

But deep down, as Jake’s fingers rub soothing circles against his back—

He knows.

Knows that no matter how tightly he holds on—

Somewhere, in another timeline, in another world—

His heart still belongs to the love that let go.

Sunoo tries.

He really, really tries.

He wakes up every morning next to Jake, lets himself get lost in the familiarity of his warmth, in the quiet steadiness of their love. He kisses him before work, cooks dinner with him in the evenings, lets their hands find each other on the couch as they watch whatever random documentary Jake picks that night.

Jake is constant.

Jake is safe.

Jake is here.

And Sunoo wants that to be enough.

But some mornings, he still wakes up reaching for a warmth that isn’t there.

Some nights, he still dreams of fingers tracing patterns into his palm, of fangs brushing against his shoulder, of a voice whispering, “ Forever, okay?”

Some moments, he still aches for something he lost before he even knew how to hold onto it.

But Sunoo doesn’t say anything.

Because this life—the one he built, the one he chose—is good, it’s perfect.

And he loves Jake.

So, he moves forward.

Or at least, he pretends to.

It happens on a quiet evening.

Jake is in the shower, Mochi curled up at Sunoo’s feet, the hum of the television filling the living room with background noise.

Sunoo isn’t paying attention at first. He’s scrolling through his phone, trying to keep his mind busy, trying to not think about things he shouldn’t be thinking about.

But then—

A familiar name.

A familiar voice.

"Park Sunghoon—one of the most celebrated athletes of his time—joins us today as he prepares for his upcoming international competition."

Sunoo’s fingers freeze over the screen.

His heart stops.

His breath catches in his throat as he looks up.

And there he is.

Sunghoon.

Older. Sharper. His hair styled neatly, his jawline even more defined, his presence commanding even through the screen.

Sunoo can’t breathe.

It’s been years. Years since he last saw him. Years since he last let himself say his name out loud.

But Sunghoon is still breathtaking.

Still so achingly familiar.

The interviewer is speaking, but Sunoo barely hears it. His ears are ringing. His vision blurs.

And then—

"Was there ever a time you almost gave up?"

The question pulls Sunoo back.

Sunghoon pauses.

The mask he wears so effortlessly—the cool, composed, professional front—flickers.

His fingers tap against his knee, a habit Sunoo remembers. A habit that means he’s thinking too much, feeling too much.

For a split second, Sunghoon’s eyes soften.

“I had someone,” he says. His voice is quieter than before.

Sunoo freezes.

“A long time ago,” Sunghoon continues, his lips pressing together. “Someone who believed in me even when I didn’t believe in myself.”

The interviewer leans in. “A mentor?”

Sunghoon’s lips part—like he’s about to say something else, like he’s about to bring Sunoo into this moment, into this present.

But then—

His throat bobs.

His hands curl slightly.

And he smiles. A small, polite, distant smile. “A friend,” Sunghoon says instead. “Someone I haven’t seen in a long time.”

Sunoo’s chest caves in.

He grips the edge of the couch, his fingers trembling, his pulse pounding in his ears.

Because Sunghoon remembers—not in the way Sunoo does. Not with the full weight of their love.

But somewhere, deep inside him, buried beneath all the years and distance—Sunghoon still carries him.

And that should be enough.

But it’s not.

Because Sunoo still loves him.

Because no matter how much time has passed—Sunghoon is still the one thing he never truly let go of.

Jake walks in a few moments later, rubbing a towel through his damp hair, oblivious to the fact that Sunoo’s entire world has just been undone.

“What’re you watching?” Jake asks, plopping down beside him.

Sunoo doesn’t answer, doesn’t know how. Instead, he swallows hard, forcing himself to breathe, forcing himself to act normal.

“…Nothing, just news,” he finally says. His voice comes out steady, practiced.

Jake hums, grabbing the remote to change the channel.

Sunoo lets him. He lets the image of Sunghoon’s face fade from the screen.

But it’s too late because Sunoo can’t unsee him, can’t unknow the truth that has settled deep in his bones—that no matter how many times he tells himself he’s moved on—some loves refuse to stay buried.

It happens on a night that feels ordinary.

Sunoo stands in the kitchen, bathed in the  faint glow of the streetlamp filtering through the window. The house is silent, save for the low sound of Mochi’s soft snores curled up in his bed, and the distant sound of the shower running upstairs—Jake, unwinding before bed, unaware that something is shifting within Sunoo again.

His fingers tap against the marble countertop absentmindedly, his thoughts elsewhere. Not here. Not in this life.

And then he sees it.

A small, delicate thing, dried and waiting on the windowsill.

Another wishbone.

It must have been from dinner a few nights ago, left out to dry, forgotten among the small potted plants lined along the ledge.

But somehow, it doesn’t feel forgotten. It feels like it’s been waiting for him, waiting to be noticed.

Sunoo stares at it, his throat tightening, his pulse pounds in his ears.

Because he’s done this before.

Because he remembers.

Because the last time he made a wish—his entire world changed.

Sunoo knows it’s stupid.

He doesn’t even know if what happened before was real.

Maybe it was just a dream. Maybe it was his mind playing tricks on him. Maybe it was just longing, so deep and so endless, that it swallowed him whole and made him forget what was real.

But his fingers itch to reach for the wishbone anyway.

And he knows—the moment he wishes again, he is admitting that this life he built, this warm and perfect home, is not enough.

His eyes flicker toward the living room.

Toward the neatly folded blankets draped over the couch. Toward the framed photographs lining the walls—snapshots of a life he should be grateful for. Toward Mochi, still sleeping soundly, completely unaware that his owner is standing in the kitchen questioning everything.

His gaze drifts to the staircase.

To Jake.

To the man who has never once made him feel like he wasn’t enough.

To the man who stayed, who never let go, who never made love feel like something fragile, something that had to be fought for.

To the man who has given him everything, and never once asked for more than what Sunoo was willing to give.

And yet—

Sunghoon.

Sunghoon still lingers in his mind.

Sunghoon, with his teasing smirks and sharp jawline.

Sunghoon, with the way his fingers always knew how to find Sunoo’s wrist, how to hold him like he never wanted to let go.

Sunghoon, with the way his voice always softened when he said his name, like Sunoo was the only thing in the world that mattered.

Sunoo hates himself for it.

For leaving his heart somewhere else, even if his body came back to the present.

For holding Jake’s hand, but thinking of a love that slipped through his fingers.

For wanting. For still wanting.

Sunoo exhales slowly. His hands are shaking as he reaches for the wishbone.

It feels lighter than it should. Or maybe that’s just the weight of his heart pressing down on him.

He closes his eyes. He doesn’t wish for happiness this time.

Happiness is too vague, too fleeting, too much like something he has already tried and failed to find.

Instead, he wishes for hope.

For a version of himself where he loves. Where love is not just comfort, but something he feels in every fiber of his being. Where love is not something he convinces himself is enough—but something he knows, without a doubt, that he was meant to have.

The wishbone snaps easily in his hands.

Sunoo doesn’t look down at the broken pieces.

His breath comes out unsteady, his chest tight.

He doesn’t know if anything will change. If this is just another empty prayer to the universe. If fate is listening.

But even as he stands there, gripping the pieces in his palm, something inside him shifts.

And deep down, he knows it’s not over yet.

Sunoo doesn’t remember falling asleep.

He only remembers waking up in the past again.

The air is crisp. The scent of fresh-cut grass lingers in the breeze.

Sunoo blinks, his heart already aching.

Because he knows this place.

The old school courtyard.

The one where he used to meet Sunghoon after class. The one where they spent lazy afternoons, lying on the grass, dreaming of a future that never came.

A soft breeze ruffles his hair. The sky above is a warm shade of gold, tinged with the colors of a setting sun.

Then—a voice.

“Sunoo?”

Sunoo freezes.

Slowly— terrified, breathless, aching —he turns.

And there, standing just a few feet away, is Sunghoon.

Not the boy from the past.

Not the man from the present.

Something in between.

His hair is slightly longer than Sunoo remembers. His face is softer, touched by time, but his eyes—God, his eyes.

Still soft. Still warm.

Sunghoon stares at him for a long moment.

Then—he smiles. “…It’s you.”

Sunoo doesn’t understand.

He was supposed to wake up in their home. In the future where Sunghoon never left. That’s what he wanted, what he hoped for.

But now, he’s here. 

Sunghoon takes a step forward, his expression unreadable.

“I wasn’t sure if I’d ever see you again,” he says softly.

Sunoo’s chest tightens. “Again?”

Sunghoon exhales. His gaze flickers with something knowing.

Like he’s been waiting for this moment.

Like he remembers, too.

“You changed something, didn’t you?” Sunghoon murmurs, tilting his head. “The first time, I left you.”

Sunoo swallows. “You did.”

“And the second time…”

Sunghoon stops, his eyes searching Sunoo’s face.

“…You fought for me.”

Sunoo’s breath catches.

He knows. He remembers.

Not just in glimpses, not just in the way his body reacts to Sunoo’s presence—but fully.

Sunghoon remembers everything.

Every kiss.

Every fight.

Every moment that led to heartbreak.

Every desperate attempt Sunoo made to hold onto him.

Sunoo trembles. “How?”

Sunghoon smiles, fond, soft, full of love.

“Because, idiot,” he murmurs, stepping closer. “I made a wish, too.”

Sunoo’s entire world tilts.

Because if Sunghoon wished, too—

Then that means he wanted this just as much as Sunoo did.

“Sunghoon…” Sunoo’s voice is a whisper, lost in the wind.

Sunghoon reaches out, cupping his cheek, his touch as familiar as the sun on Sunoo’s skin.

“I think we were always meant to find each other,” Sunghoon says. “No matter what timeline. No matter what life.”

Sunoo’s throat is tight. His heart aches.

Because this isn’t their future.

This is somewhere in between.

A moment stolen from time.

A place where both versions of them exist at once.

Sunghoon leans in.

And when their lips meet, Sunoo swears he feels the weight of every lifetime, every heartbreak, every longing breath mend itself in this single moment.

The world flickers.

The warmth of Sunghoon’s touch lingers.

And then—

Sunoo wakes up once more, his chest heaving.

His breathing rises and falls unevenly, his heartbeat erratic. His fingers clench the sheets beneath him, gripping them like an anchor—like he’s afraid that if he lets go, the world will shift again, and he will wake up somewhere else.

Something is different.

The air feels warmer, heavier with something unfamiliar. The scent of fresh linen and faint traces of cologne clings to the space around him.

His body feels lighter.

Like something inside him has clicked into place.

Then, he hears it.

A voice, drowsy and low, coming from the person beside him.

“Mmm… why’re you awake so early?”

Sunoo freezes.

His breath catches in his throat.

Slowly, breathless, disbelieving, he turns his head.

And there, beside him, lying on his stomach, his face half-buried in the pillow, his hair a mess from sleep, his bare shoulders peeking out from under the sheets—

Park Sunghoon.

Sunoo forgets how to breathe.

Sunghoon shifts slightly, his body stretching lazily beneath the sheets before he turns toward Sunoo, eyes barely open, lips parting in a sleepy sigh.

For a moment, Sunoo can only stare.

Sunghoon looks older than the last time Sunoo saw him—older than the teenage version of him in the past.

But he is still Sunghoon.

Still jaw-droppingly beautiful.

Still unfairly effortless in the way he exists.

Still the person Sunoo lost, over and over again.

Except this time—Sunghoon is here.

Still beside him.

Still his.

Sunghoon’s brows furrow slightly as he blinks the sleep from his eyes. He looks at Sunoo, then at the way Sunoo is staring at him like he’s just seen a ghost.

“…What’s wrong?” he murmurs, voice rough with sleep. “You look like you’ve seen a murder.”

Sunoo doesn’t know what to say.

Doesn’t know how to process the fact that fate has rewritten itself once again.

That he made a wish for hope—and woke up in the arms of the man he never stopped loving.

A choked sound escapes him. His fingers twitch beneath the sheets, itching to reach out, to touch, to confirm that this is real.

Sunghoon’s eyes flicker with confusion before they soften, before he lets out a small, knowing chuckle.

“Nightmares again?” he murmurs, his voice a quiet rumble as he reaches out, his hand finding Sunoo’s wrist with practiced ease, curling around it like second nature.

Sunoo shakes.

Because Sunghoon still touches him the same way.

Like he’s never let go.

Tears burn at the back of Sunoo’s eyes.

He doesn’t know what this life is. Doesn’t know how much has changed, what version of their love this is, what pieces of their past remain the same.

But none of that matters.

Because Sunghoon is still here.

And Sunoo—Sunoo refuses to lose him again.

Sunghoon frowns at Sunoo’s silence, shifting up onto one elbow, his other hand coming up to cup Sunoo’s face.

“You okay?” he asks, the concern in his voice cutting through the fog in Sunoo’s mind.

Sunoo inhales sharply.

And then—before his body can stop itself, before doubt can creep in—

He surges forward, burying himself in Sunghoon’s chest.

Sunghoon startles, his breath hitching.

But he doesn’t pull away.

He never does.

Instead, he sighs against Sunoo’s hair, his arms tightening around him, warm, solid, grounding.

Sunoo’s hands clutch at Sunghoon’s back, his body curling into him like he’s trying to melt into his skin.

Sunghoon lets him.

Lets him hold on for dear life, lets him press himself impossibly close, lets his fingers clutch at his shoulders like he’s afraid this moment will disappear.

A shaky breath escapes Sunoo, his heart breaking and healing all at once.

He has no idea how much he lost in this version of his life, what sacrifices were made, what choices led them here.

But right now, it doesn’t matter.

Because this time—Sunghoon didn’t leave.

This time—Sunghoon is his.

Sunghoon hums softly, one hand sliding into Sunoo’s hair, playing with the strands like it’s something he does every morning.

“Bad dream?” he asks again, his voice softer this time, threaded with something gentle. Familiar. Safe.

Sunoo swallows hard. His voice comes out a whisper, barely audible against the silence of the room.

“…Something like that.”

Sunghoon sighs. His fingers move along Sunoo’s back, tracing soft, absentminded circles.

“Hey,” he murmurs. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Sunoo squeezes his eyes shut.

Because this time, he believes him.

Because this time, he finally got it right.

Later that morning, as the sun rises, Sunoo will take in the home he now shares with Sunghoon.

He will see the framed pictures on the walls—of them, older, still together.

He will see the jackets piled by the door—his and Sunghoon’s, tangled together, like they belong in the same place.

He will see a ring on Sunghoon’s finger.

And one on his own.

Sunoo will cry.

Then he will laugh.

He will wake up every day after this one and choose this life over and over again.

Because this time, he is the happiest version of himself.

And this time, he is truly home.