Archive of Our Own

Jiwoong still remembers the way the summer heat clung to his skin, the scent of buttered kaya toast wafting through the air as he sat across from Zhang Hao in the small cafe tucked away in their quiet neighborhood. He remembers how the golden-brown slices crunched between their teeth, the sticky sweetness of kaya filling their mouths, and how they would fight over who got the last piece.

He remembers because it was the last summer before everything changed.

They had been inseparable back then—neighbors who turned into best friends, spending every waking moment together. Whether it was riding their bikes through the narrow streets, sneaking into each other’s homes to play games, or sitting by the lake skipping stones, Jiwoong and Hao had always been a pair. It was easy, effortless. Jiwoong never had to wonder if Hao would be there the next day. He simply was.

And maybe that’s why Jiwoong had never realized when his feelings had begun to shift.

It wasn’t a grand realization, nothing dramatic or world-shattering. Just a quiet truth that settled in his heart one day—the way his eyes lingered on Hao a little longer, how his laughter sounded different when Hao was the one making him laugh, how the smallest touches sent a warmth up his spine.

But Jiwoong was fourteen, and the weight of those emotions felt too big, too complicated to name. So, he buried them, convincing himself that they didn’t need to be spoken. Hao was his best friend, and that was enough.

Until it wasn’t.

The news came suddenly, dropped over a casual dinner at Hao’s house. Jiwoong had been mid-bite, chewing on a spoonful of rice when Hao’s mother mentioned it like it was nothing at all—

“We’ll be moving back to China in a few months. Hao will be attending high school there.”

Jiwoong had frozen, chopsticks clattering against his bowl. He turned to Hao, searching for some kind of denial, some sign that it wasn’t true. But Hao only looked down, poking at his food, avoiding Jiwoong’s gaze.

Later that night, when it was just the two of them sitting outside on the swings in Jiwoong’s yard, he had tried to sound normal.

“So… China, huh?”

Hao let out a breathy chuckle. “Yeah. My parents think it’s better for my future.”

Jiwoong’s fingers curled around the swing’s chains, knuckles turning white. He wanted to say something, anything to make Hao stay. But what was he supposed to say? Don’t go? Stay here, with me?

He couldn’t. Because what reason did he have to ask that of him?

Instead, he forced a smile. “Guess I’ll have to eat kaya toast alone, then.”

Hao nudged him, a small grin tugging at his lips. “Nah, I’ll come back. We’ll eat together again someday.”

Jiwoong wanted to believe that. He really did.

But the months passed too quickly. Their days together shrank, filled with rushed goodbyes and promises to keep in touch. Jiwoong never found the right moment to tell Hao how he felt. And then, just like that, Hao was gone.

For the first few months, they still messaged each other. It was hard, though, with school and time zones getting in the way. Their conversations became less frequent, then sporadic, then almost nonexistent.

One day, Jiwoong opened his phone and realized he hadn’t talked to Hao in weeks. Then months.

Then years.

And just like that, the boy who had once been his entire world faded into a distant memory.

🍞

The Saturday morning air is crisp, the sky still painted in soft hues of blue and gold when Jiwoong arrives at the cafe.

He unlocks the door with practiced ease, stepping into the quiet space that has become his second home—if not his first. The scent of kaya still lingers from yesterday, mixing with the faint aroma of coffee beans waiting to be ground.

Jiwoong moves through his opening routine methodically: switching on the lights, setting up the kitchen, and preparing the first batch of toast. The kaya paste simmers on the stove, thick and fragrant, while the bread toasts to a perfect golden brown. It’s muscle memory by now, a ritual that brings a quiet kind of satisfaction.

The bell above the door jingles, breaking the silence.

“Morning, boss.”

Jiwoong doesn’t have to turn around to know it’s Ricky. Unlike Yujin, Ricky arrives at a reasonable hour—never too early, never too late, just in time to start his shift.

“You’re early today,” Jiwoong says, glancing at the clock.

Ricky shrugs, setting his camera bag down by the counter. “Didn’t have much to do this morning. Thought I’d come in and actually work for once.”

Jiwoong snorts. “That’d be a first.”

Ricky smirks, rolling up the sleeves of his sweater. “Ouch. You know I’m the heart of this cafe.”

Before Jiwoong can respond, the door swings open again—this time with much more force.

“Good morning!” Yujin, an enthusiastic high school student who works part-time, practically bursts in, full of energy as always. He barely pauses before rushing to the counter, grabbing an apron and tying it around his waist in one swift motion.

Jiwoong sighs. “Yujin, for the last time, stop kicking the door open.”

“I didn’t kick it. I pushed it enthusiastically.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” Ricky mutters, already reaching for a towel to start wiping down tables.

Yujin grins and hops behind the counter, nudging Jiwoong’s arm. “You made the kaya already, right?”

Jiwoong raises an eyebrow. “Obviously.”

“Good,” Yujin says, grabbing a plate of freshly made toast and taking a giant bite before Jiwoong can stop him.

Jiwoong glares. “You’re supposed to sell that.”

“I’m a quality control tester.”

“You’re a thief.”

Ricky, laughing, pats Jiwoong’s shoulder. “Let the kid eat. He works hard for minimum wage.”

Yujin nods enthusiastically. “Exactly! Ricky hyung gets it.”

Jiwoong shakes his head, exasperated but not really upset. It’s always like this—chaotic, a little loud, but never lonely.

Once the cafe officially opens, the quiet morning peace is quickly replaced by the hum of customers filling the space.

Jiwoong focuses on the kitchen, keeping up with the steady stream of orders, while Yujin takes care of customers at the register, greeting each one with his usual bright energy. Ricky moves between tables, balancing trays in one hand while occasionally stopping to take candid photos of the cafe when he thinks no one’s looking.

“I swear, one day you’re going to post those pictures and expose how tired I look every morning,” Jiwoong mutters when he catches Ricky snapping a shot of him behind the counter.

“Relax, you always look good,” Ricky replies, examining the photo. “Very brooding cafe owner aesthetic. You should embrace it.”

Jiwoong rolls his eyes but doesn’t argue.

The hours pass quickly. The regulars take their usual seats—an elderly couple who share a single cup of coffee, a college student buried in their textbooks, a group of office workers taking a break before heading to work. The cafe has its own rhythm, its own cast of characters, and Jiwoong has come to find comfort in the familiarity of it all.

At some point, Ricky switches out of work mode, pulling out his camera again to snap a few shots of the sunlight streaming through the windows, the way the steam curls from a fresh cup of tea, the laughter between customers.

Yujin, curious, peeks over his shoulder. “You should start charging hyung for these aesthetic cafe shots. It’s basically free advertising.”

“True,” Ricky muses. “Jiwoong hyung, thoughts?”

“I’m already paying you both to be here,” Jiwoong replies dryly. “Should I start charging you for using my cafe as your personal studio?”

Ricky gasps, feigning offense. “You wouldn’t.”

Jiwoong smirks. “Try me.”

Yujin watches them banter before grinning. “You two should get married. That would solve everything.”

Jiwoong and Ricky both stop.

Jiwoong makes a face. “Absolutely not.”

Ricky shrugs. “No offense, but you’re not my type.”

Jiwoong rolls his eyes, but Yujin just laughs, clearly entertained by how easily he got under their skin.

By the time the afternoon lull hits, the cafe is finally calm again.

Yujin, now off-duty, lounges in one of the booths, finishing up his homework while munching on a piece of toast. Ricky is perched on a stool near the counter, scrolling through his camera roll, deciding which photos to edit.

Jiwoong leans against the counter, sipping his coffee, allowing himself to enjoy the rare quiet.

“You ever think about expanding?” Ricky asks, not looking up from his screen.

Jiwoong hums. “Not really. Why?”

“Just wondering.” Ricky glances around. “This place is nice, but I can tell you’re still holding back.”

Jiwoong frowns slightly. “What do you mean?”

Ricky shrugs. “Dunno. Sometimes it feels like you’re waiting for something.”

Jiwoong doesn’t respond right away.

He doesn’t know what he’s waiting for.

Or maybe he does—maybe he just doesn’t want to admit it.

Instead, he takes another sip of coffee, letting the warmth settle in his chest.

“I’m happy here,” he says simply.

Ricky watches him for a moment before nodding. “Alright.”

He doesn’t push, and Jiwoong doesn’t offer anything more.

The moment passes. The cafe remains warm and steady, the sound of Yujin’s pencil scratching against paper filling the space.

And for now, that’s enough.

🍞

Monday mornings at the cafe were quiet, the kind of slow start that Jiwoong had grown to appreciate.

The warm scent of kaya and butter filled the air, blending with the faint bitterness of freshly brewed coffee. The soft chime of the door opening occasionally broke the silence, accompanied by the hushed exchanges of the few early customers who trickled in.

Jiwoong liked mornings like this. No rush, no stress—just him, the cafe, and the comforting rhythm of starting a new week.

Unfortunately, Ricky did not share the sentiment.

“I swear, humans weren’t meant to be awake before ten,” Ricky groaned, slumping over the counter as Jiwoong worked behind it.

Jiwoong smirked, barely looking up from the coffee machine as he pulled a shot of espresso. “I thought photographers were supposed to be early risers.”

“I’m a freelancer. My clients don’t book me before noon because they have common sense,” Ricky shot back. He rubbed his eyes before grabbing a cloth to wipe down a table, still grumbling under his breath.

Jiwoong chuckled. Ricky had been working at the cafe part-time for almost a year now, balancing it with his photography gigs. He claimed it was just to make extra money, but Jiwoong knew he secretly liked the place. Ricky had an easygoing presence that made him good with customers, and despite his complaints, he never slacked off.

Besides, it was nice having company.

Jiwoong glanced at the clock—7:45 AM. The usual crowd wouldn’t arrive until closer to nine. Right now, it was just the occasional office worker grabbing a quick bite before heading to work.

The bell above the door jingled, and Jiwoong instinctively looked up.

Mrs. Kang stepped in, her small frame wrapped in a soft lilac cardigan, her graying hair neatly pinned back. She had been one of the cafe’s first regulars, always ordering the same thing—kaya toast and black coffee, no sugar.

“Mrs. Kang,” Jiwoong greeted warmly. “Good morning.”

She smiled. “Good morning, dear. I see you boys are up bright and early.”

Ricky, who was wiping down a nearby table, let out an exaggerated sigh. “Against my will.”

Mrs. Kang chuckled as she took her usual seat by the window. Jiwoong prepared her order without needing to ask, expertly slicing the toast and spreading a generous layer of kaya before placing it under the press.

“Your usual, coming right up,” he said.

She nodded approvingly before turning to Ricky. “You’re still working here, I see.”

“Unfortunately for me,” Ricky replied with a dramatic shake of his head. “Jiwoong overworks me.”

Mrs. Kang laughed. “I’m sure he treats you well.”

“Debatable,” Ricky muttered, but there was no real bite to his words. Jiwoong just rolled his eyes, setting a fresh plate of toast on the counter along with a steaming cup of coffee. Ricky took it over to her table, setting it down with an exaggerated flourish.

“For you, my lady.”

Mrs. Kang chuckled. “Such a sweet boy.”

She took a sip of her coffee before setting the cup down and turning back to Jiwoong.

“I have some news for you.”

Jiwoong, who had just finished cleaning the espresso machine, raised an eyebrow. “News?”

She nodded, stirring her coffee. “Someone’s finally moved into the Zhang house.”

“…What?”

“The Zhang house, right next to yours,” Mrs. Kang repeated. “I saw a moving truck there this morning.”

Jiwoong frowned. That house had been empty for years. Not once had he seen a for-sale sign or potential buyers looking around. For the longest time, it felt like it would just stay that way—abandoned, untouched, like a forgotten part of the neighborhood.

“Are you sure?” he asked, still confused. “I haven’t seen anyone looking at that place.”

Mrs. Kang hummed, blowing gently on her coffee. “It must have happened quickly. But how come you didn’t notice the truck?”

Jiwoong thought about it for a moment before answering, “It must have arrived after I left to open shop.”

Mrs. Kang nodded. “That makes sense. I walked past around seven, and they were already unloading boxes.”

Ricky, who had been only half-listening, finally perked up. “Wait, wait. Someone actually moved in?”

Mrs. Kang smiled. “Yes, a young man. About Jiwoong’s age, I’d say.”

Jiwoong blinked, his grip tightening slightly around the edge of the counter.

Ricky leaned in, intrigued. “What’s he like?”

Mrs. Kang tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Tall, handsome… Chinese, I think?”

That made Ricky’s eyebrows shoot up. “Chinese?”

“Mmhmm,” Mrs. Kang said. “He was speaking Chinese on the phone when I passed by.”

Jiwoong didn’t react outwardly, but something twisted inside his chest.

Chinese.

He had a guess—one that made his heart beat just a little faster, just a little unsteady.

It was just a possibility, nothing certain. And yet, the thought sent an uneasy flutter through him.

He tried to brush it off.

Ricky, meanwhile, looked even more interested. “That’s rare around here,” he mused. “I should go say hi. It’d be nice to have another Chinese person around.”

“You should,” Mrs. Kang agreed before turning to Jiwoong. “And you, too, dear. You’re neighbors, after all.”

Jiwoong forced a small smile. “Maybe.”

Mrs. Kang seemed satisfied with that answer and returned to her breakfast, but Jiwoong was still stuck in his thoughts.

Someone had moved into the Zhang house.

A Chinese man.

There were thousands of people it could be.

And yet, deep down, Jiwoong already had a feeling about who it was.

And that thought made him just a little nervous.

🍞

The sun was beginning to set, painting the sky in soft hues of orange and pink. The air was cooler now, the lingering warmth of the day fading into the crispness of the evening.

Hao adjusted the strap of his bag as he walked down the familiar streets of his old neighborhood. It had been years since he had last been here, yet so much of it looked the same—the quiet streets, the small shops, the way the golden light filtered through the trees lining the sidewalks.

It felt surreal to be back.

He had spent most of his childhood in this neighborhood, but after moving to China for high school, life had become too busy to think much about the past. His days had been consumed with studies, violin practice, and eventually, the intense training required for the path he had chosen—becoming an idol.

Coming back to Korea had never been part of the plan. But when the opportunity arose to train under a well-known company, he took it. It was risky, stepping into an industry where success was never guaranteed, but Hao had always been ambitious. If he was going to do something, he was going to do it fully.

Training was exhausting. Hours of vocal lessons, dance practice, language classes—it left him drained by the end of the day. But at least tonight, he didn’t have to worry about that.

Tonight, he was just Zhang Hao, walking home in a place that once felt like home.

As he turned the corner, a familiar voice called out to him.

“Oh, hello there, young man.”

Hao looked up and saw an elderly woman standing outside a small shop, adjusting a flower pot on the windowsill. She had a warm, knowing smile—the kind that made her seem like she had been part of the neighborhood forever.

He slowed his steps, politely nodding. “Good evening.”

She peered at him with mild curiosity. “I saw you earlier this morning. Are you new here?”

Hao hesitated for a moment before answering, “Not exactly.”

The woman tilted her head. “Oh?”

“I used to live here a long time ago,” he explained. “My family owned the house right down that street.” He gestured toward his home—the Zhang house.

Mrs. Kang’s eyes widened slightly. “Wait… you’re not—” She squinted at him for a second before realization dawned. “Zhang Hao?”

Hao smiled. “Yes.”

“My goodness,” she gasped. “The little Zhang boy? I can’t believe it! You’ve grown so much!”

Hao chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “It has been a long time.”

Mrs. Kang shook her head in amazement. “I remember when you and that other boy were always running around together. What was his name again?”

Hao blinked. “Other boy?”

“Oh, you know,” Mrs. Kang waved her hand, trying to recall. “I can’t remember who he is or where he lives but you two were inseparable! Always playing together, always up to something.”

Jiwoong.

Hao felt something stir in his chest, but he quickly pushed the thought away.

That was a long time ago.

It wasn’t like he had forgotten Jiwoong entirely, but after moving away, their lives had gone in separate directions. They had tried to keep in touch for a while, but as school got busier, the messages became fewer and fewer, until eventually… they stopped altogether.

Besides, what were the chances that Jiwoong was still here? People moved on.

So instead, Hao asked, “How has the neighborhood been?”

Mrs. Kang sighed. “Not much has changed, really. Still a quiet place. A few new families moved in, but most of us old folks are still here.”

Hao nodded. That much was obvious—most of the shops still looked the same, though some had gotten a fresh coat of paint or a new sign.

“Oh!” Mrs. Kang suddenly clapped her hands together. “You should go have dinner at the kaya cafe.”

Hao blinked. “…The kaya cafe?”

“Yes, the one down the street,” Mrs. Kang said. “You used to go there all the time, didn’t you?”

He did. He had almost forgotten.

Back then, it had been his favorite place to eat after school. He and Jiwoong would save up their allowance just to share a plate of kaya toast, splitting it evenly—two slices each.

The memory came back so vividly that he almost laughed.

“That place is still around?” Hao asked, surprised.

“Oh, yes,” Mrs. Kang nodded. “It’s under new management now, but the food is still good. You should check it out yourself.”

New management.

For some reason, the thought made him hesitate.

But in the end, he smiled and said, “I’ll think about it.”

Mrs. Kang grinned. “Good. It’s nice to have you back, Hao.”

Hao gave her a small bow before continuing down the street, his steps slower this time.

A kaya cafe.

He hadn’t thought about that place in years.

And yet, now, all he could think about was the taste of warm toast, the laughter of his childhood, and the boy who used to sit across from him, sharing every bite.

🍞

The streets were quieter now, the soft glow of streetlights casting long shadows on the pavement. Hao walked slowly, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket as he debated whether or not he should actually check out the kaya cafe.

It wasn’t like he was particularly hungry.

And yet, here he was, standing outside the cafe’s entrance.

The place looked different from how he remembered it. The old wooden sign had been replaced with a newer one, though the name was still the same. The interior, from what he could see through the glass windows, was warm and inviting—small, cozy tables, soft lighting, and the familiar scent of toasted bread drifting through the air.

It was nostalgic in a way that made his chest feel a little tight.

Taking a breath, he pushed open the door, the bell above it chiming softly.

“Welcome~!”

Hao blinked.

Standing behind the counter wasn’t an older man or woman like he expected.

It was a kid.

A high schooler, judging by the uniform, looking at him with wide, curious eyes.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

“…Did I walk into a daycare?” Hao finally said.

The boy scowled. “Excuse me?”

Hao glanced around, as if to make sure he was in the right place. “This is the kaya cafe, right?”

“Yes.”

“And you work here?”

“Yes.”

Hao raised an eyebrow. “How old are you?”

“Old enough to have a part-time job,” the boy shot back, crossing his arms.

Hao couldn’t help but smirk at that. He liked this kid already.

“Alright, fair enough,” Hao said, stepping further inside. “Do you have a menu?”

The boy—who was wearing a nametag that read ‘Yujin’—sighed and handed him one.

As Hao skimmed through it, Yujin leaned against the counter and asked, “Are you new in the neighborhood?”

Hao glanced up. “Not really. I used to live here a long time ago.”

“Oh.” Yujin tilted his head. “Wait, are you the one who moved into the Zhang house?”

Hao blinked. “You know about that?”

“Everyone knows,” Yujin said, as if it were obvious. “It’s a small neighborhood. People talk.”

Hao hummed. That explained a lot.

Before he could say anything else, another voice called out from the kitchen.

“Yujin, who are you talking to?”

Hao froze. That voice. It was deeper now, more mature, but still so achingly familiar.

Footsteps approached, and then, stepping out from the kitchen, towel slung over his shoulder, was—

Jiwoong.

Hao’s breath caught in his throat.

Jiwoong didn’t notice him at first, wiping his hands on his apron as he glanced at Yujin. “Are you slacking off again?”

“I literally just took his order,” Yujin replied.

Jiwoong finally looked up.

The moment their eyes met, everything seemed to stop.

For a second, there was only silence.

Then, very softly, Jiwoong whispered, “Hao?”

The cafe had never been this silent before, despite how empty it usually was on a slow afternoon. Jiwoong’s grip on the towel in his hands tightened. His heartbeat roared in his ears, drowning out the distant hum of the fridge and the soft clatter of dishes in the sink.

He blinked, as if he needed to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating.

But the man in front of him wasn’t a figment of his imagination.

It was really Zhang Hao.

Jiwoong’s childhood best friend.

The boy who once lived next door.

The boy he used to know like the back of his hand.

The boy he had loved.

Hao looked the same yet different. His features were sharper, more refined, and there was an undeniable confidence in the way he carried himself. His posture was relaxed, his expression unreadable, but his eyes—they still held that same quiet intensity Jiwoong remembered.

“…Wait,” Yujin finally spoke, breaking the silence. “You two know each other?”

Jiwoong swallowed, forcing his expression into something neutral. He glanced at Yujin before nodding stiffly. “Yeah. We used to be neighbors.”

Hao chuckled softly. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

His voice was smooth, a little deeper than Jiwoong remembered. It made something uneasy stir inside his chest.

“Yeah…” Jiwoong exhaled, trying to steady himself. “It has.”

Hao stepped closer, sliding into one of the seats at the counter, resting his arms on the wooden surface like he belonged there. He tilted his head slightly, studying Jiwoong with a small, almost amused smile.

“You run this place?” Hao asked.

Jiwoong nodded. “Yeah. Opened it a couple of years ago.”

Hao hummed, glancing around. “It looks different from when we were kids.”

“Of course it does,” Jiwoong said, regaining a bit of composure. “It’s under new management.”

Hao raised a brow. “Yours?”

“Mine.”

Something flickered in Hao’s eyes—interest, curiosity, something else Jiwoong couldn’t quite place. But before he could dwell on it, Yujin suddenly clapped his hands.

“Well, that explains the weird tension,” the younger boy said. “I thought maybe you two were long-lost lovers or something.”

Jiwoong choked on air.

Hao, on the other hand, laughed—an actual, genuine laugh, his shoulders shaking slightly. Jiwoong hadn’t heard that sound in years.

“You’re bold,” Hao said, eyeing Yujin with amusement.

“I just say what I see,” Yujin replied, unbothered. “Anyway, are you ordering something, or did you just come in here to traumatize my boss?”

Jiwoong shot him a glare, but Hao just smirked.

“I guess I should order, huh?” He leaned on the counter, glancing at the menu. “Hmm… What do you recommend?”

Jiwoong crossed his arms. “You’ve been here before. You should know what’s good.”

“That was a long time ago,” Hao said. “Surprise me.”

Jiwoong huffed but turned toward the kitchen.

As he moved, his mind felt like it was running a marathon. This was too much to process all at once. Zhang Hao was back. Living next door. Sitting in his cafe like it was nothing. After years of radio silence. After Jiwoong had already buried those old feelings deep inside him, convinced they were never going to see each other again.

Jiwoong exhaled sharply, grabbing a plate and preparing the toast with muscle memory alone. His hands worked quickly—spreading the kaya, layering the butter, placing it neatly on the plate before cutting it diagonally. He could hear faint murmurs of conversation behind him—Hao asking Yujin something, Yujin giving some smart-ass remark in response—but Jiwoong wasn’t paying attention.

He needed to focus.

The past was the past.

Hao was just another customer.

That was all.

…Right?

When he turned back, Jiwoong placed the plate in front of Hao, their fingers brushing slightly as he slid it over. The touch was barely anything—a fleeting graze, really—but it sent a sharp jolt through Jiwoong’s nerves.

Hao didn’t seem to react to it. He just picked up a piece of toast, studying it for a moment before taking a bite.

Jiwoong waited, his breath caught in his throat without realizing it.

Hao chewed slowly, his expression unreadable. Then, after a few seconds, he swallowed and looked up.

“It still tastes the same,” Hao said quietly.

Jiwoong wasn’t sure why, but something about that sentence made his chest ache.

“…Of course it does,” Jiwoong said, forcing a small smile. “Some things don’t change.”

Hao’s gaze lingered on him for a moment—longer than necessary. There was something heavy in his eyes, something that Jiwoong didn’t want to dissect right now.

Instead, Jiwoong turned his attention to wiping down the counter, pretending that his hands weren’t trembling slightly.

This was fine.

They were just two people catching up.

Nothing more.

Nothing less.

But even as he kept telling himself that, Jiwoong knew it was a lie.

Hao rested his chin on his palm as he watched Jiwoong move around the cafe, his gaze quietly trailing his every step.

Jiwoong was busy—wiping down tables, stacking chairs, tidying up the counter. It was clear he was using the end-of-day cleanup as an excuse to keep his hands occupied, to avoid sitting down, to avoid talking. Hao could tell.

It was fine.

He had no plans of leaving yet, anyway.

So, he took another bite of his toast, letting the familiar sweetness of the kaya spread across his tongue. It had been so long since he’d had this—years, even—but the taste was exactly as he remembered.

Exactly the same as when he and Jiwoong were kids.

A sharp pang of nostalgia hit him.

Jiwoong had always liked kaya toast. Even back when they were kids, he used to beg Hao’s mother to make some whenever he came over to play. He would sit at the kitchen table, swinging his legs, eyes sparkling as he watched her prepare it.

Hao had always found it funny—how excited Jiwoong would get over something as simple as toast.

And now, here he was, owning a cafe dedicated to it.

Something about that made warmth curl in Hao’s chest.

As he quietly ate, his gaze never left Jiwoong. He watched the way Jiwoong moved, the way he absentmindedly pushed up the sleeves of his shirt as he wiped down a table, the way his brows furrowed slightly in focus.

He looked different from the boy Hao once knew.

But at the same time, he was exactly the same.

Jiwoong had always been like this—calm, composed, meticulous. Even when they were younger, he was always the responsible one, always looking out for Hao, always making sure he was safe.

Hao swallowed, an odd tightness forming in his throat.

It was strange, seeing Jiwoong like this again. Strange how normal it felt despite how many years had passed.

Did Jiwoong feel the same way?

Because from the way Jiwoong was deliberately not looking at him, Hao had a feeling that something was off.

Jiwoong’s movements were a little too stiff, a little too calculated. Every time he passed by the counter, he refused to meet Hao’s gaze, his jaw set tight.

Was he uncomfortable?

Was he… mad?

Hao frowned slightly. He hadn’t expected their reunion to be completely smooth, but he also hadn’t expected this unspoken tension hanging between them like an invisible thread pulled taut.

Hao exhaled quietly, shifting his gaze down to his plate.

Maybe it was because it had been so long. Maybe Jiwoong just didn’t know how to react yet. Maybe Hao was overthinking.

Either way, he figured he’d let Jiwoong finish up first before trying to catch up properly. There was no point forcing a conversation while the other was clearly occupied.

So, he focused on his food instead, eating in silence as memories continued to stir in his mind—memories of summer afternoons spent running down these same streets, of whispered conversations past bedtime, of warm laughter and pinky promises.

His childhood had been here.

With Jiwoong.

And now, years later, here they were again.

The thought made his chest feel strangely full, an odd mix of warmth and unease settling in his stomach.

He pushed it down.

The sound of the cafe door swinging open pulled Hao from his thoughts.

“Jiwoong hyung! I’m back!”

Hao glanced up just as a man strolled inside, a camera slung around his neck and a relaxed smirk on his lips.

Ricky.

Jiwoong barely looked up from wiping down the counter. “You’re late.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Ricky waved a dismissive hand before stepping behind the counter with practiced ease, tossing his bag onto a stool. “Some old guy at the park wanted me to take, like, fifty pictures of his dog. He kept saying, ‘One more! One more!’ I was trapped.”

Jiwoong exhaled through his nose, shaking his head, but there was a small hint of amusement on his face.

Hao had been expecting a short reply—maybe something indifferent. But instead, Ricky just grinned and casually slung an arm around Jiwoong’s shoulders like it was second nature.

“Did you at least eat today?” Ricky asked, his tone light, but the question itself sounded familiar.

Jiwoong didn’t react to the touch, just hummed in response. “I had a bite earlier.”

“Uh-huh.” Ricky clicked his tongue, squeezing Jiwoong’s shoulder before finally letting go. “So basically, no.”

Jiwoong rolled his eyes, but there was no real annoyance there. If anything, he just looked used to it.

Hao sat there, staring at them.

Something in his stomach twisted.

He wasn’t sure why.

“Oh?” Ricky finally seemed to notice Hao, his brows lifting slightly. “New customer?”

Jiwoong hesitated for half a second before replying. “Something like that.”

Hao frowned at the phrasing.

Before he could think about it, Ricky leaned against the counter, his sharp eyes flicking over him.

“You look kinda familiar,” he mused. “Have we met before?”

Hao shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

“Hmm. Wait a minute! You’re the new guy in the neighborhood! You’re Chinese, right?”

Hao nodded.

Ricky grinned. “Finally, another one. I was starting to feel lonely here. I’m Ricky by the way. Shen Quanrui.”

“Zhang Hao.”

Ricky turned back to Jiwoong, nudging him lightly. “I like this one. Keep him around.”

Jiwoong scoffed. “He’s not a stray cat, Ricky.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Ricky said absentmindedly, but then—without warning—he reached up and casually flicked Jiwoong’s hair back, smoothing it down like it was a normal thing to do.

Jiwoong didn’t react. Didn’t even flinch.

Hao, however, felt his stomach drop.

His grip on his fork tightened.

The easy way Ricky touched Jiwoong, the way Jiwoong let him—it felt like… habit. Like something familiar.

And Hao didn’t know why that bothered him so much.

🍞

The cafe had settled into a comfortable lull. The air smelled like toasted bread and coconut jam, the scent of warm nostalgia that Hao once associated with lazy weekend mornings. But now, as he sat at the small wooden table, chewing slowly on a piece of kaya toast, it tasted different.

Or maybe, he was just too distracted to enjoy it.

Jiwoong was cleaning up behind the counter, wiping down surfaces and stacking plates, while Ricky stood beside him, talking as if they had done this a thousand times before. Their conversation was effortless—shared jokes, teasing remarks, small comments that hinted at memories Hao had no part in.

Hao should have looked away. He should have focused on his food, and ignored the odd feeling stirring in his chest. But he couldn’t help but watch.

The way Jiwoong stood so close to Ricky, unbothered by the occasional nudge or casual touch. The way Ricky draped an arm over Jiwoong’s shoulder when he reached for something behind him. The way Jiwoong didn’t push him away.

Something twisted in Hao’s stomach, though he couldn’t quite name the feeling.

Across from him, Yujin had been watching quietly, sipping on his drink. He was young, still in high school, and seemed to have a natural curiosity about everything.

“Hyung,” Yujin suddenly spoke up, breaking the silence between them. “Wait, I can call you that, right? Anyways, how do you and Jiwoong-hyung know each other?”

Hao blinked, snapping out of his thoughts.

Before he could answer, Ricky beat him to it.

“That’s what I wanna know,” Ricky said, leaning lazily against the counter. “Jiwoong never mentioned a childhood friend before.”

That stung a little.

Hao glanced at Jiwoong, but the man didn’t even look up from what he was doing. He didn’t deny it, didn’t correct Ricky—just kept cleaning, like it didn’t matter.

Maybe it didn’t.

Maybe Hao had expected too much.

“We were neighbors,” Hao finally said, trying to keep his voice light. “We used to hang out a lot when we were kids.”

Yujin nodded thoughtfully, as if trying to picture a younger Jiwoong playing with a younger Hao.

Meanwhile, Ricky seemed amused. “Huh. Never thought Jiwoong had a childhood best friend. He never talks about his past.”

Hao glanced at Jiwoong again, waiting for some kind of reaction. Some kind of acknowledgment.

Jiwoong finally turned to him, but his expression was unreadable as ever.

“We just haven’t had time to talk yet,” Hao said simply.

That should have been enough. But then, Ricky smirked.

“What, were you too busy staring?”

Hao froze.

Yujin choked on his drink.

Jiwoong didn’t even flinch. He simply sighed, wiping his hands on a towel before tossing it onto the counter.

“Ricky, don’t start.”

“What? I’m just saying,” Ricky said, grinning as he nudged Jiwoong’s shoulder again. “Our new customer here hasn’t taken his eyes off you since I got here, and who knows how long he’s been doing that before I arrived.”

Hao felt heat creep up his neck. He wasn’t staring. Or, at least, he wasn’t trying to.

Yujin, still recovering from nearly choking on his drink, looked between them with wide eyes. “Wait… does that mean—”

“It means Ricky talks too much,” Jiwoong interrupted, shooting Ricky a pointed look before finally turning back to Hao. His gaze was steady, unreadable, but not cold. “Are you done eating?”

Hao hesitated, then nodded.

“Good. Since we’re finally slowing down, do you want to catch up now?”

The question was simple, but it caught Hao off guard.

For a second, it felt like they were kids again—sitting on the front steps of Jiwoong’s house, talking about everything and nothing at the same time.

But they weren’t kids anymore. So much time had passed.

Still, Hao found himself nodding.

“Yeah,” he said. “I’d like that.”

The conversation started awkwardly at first. Hao asked about the cafe, and Jiwoong explained that he had opened it a couple of years ago, wanting to bring something comforting to the neighborhood.

“Did you always want to run a kaya toast cafe?” Hao asked, genuinely curious.

Jiwoong thought for a moment before answering. “Managing a cafe? Not exactly. But I loved kaya toast enough to want to keep this place around.”

Hao hummed. “I remember coming here a lot when we were kids.”

Jiwoong gave a small, almost imperceptible smile. “Yeah. You were always the one who asked for extra butter.”

Hao blinked. He remembers that?

The realization made something stir in his chest.

Slowly, the conversation became easier. Jiwoong asked about China, about how things had been, and for a while, it felt like nothing had changed. They fell into conversation naturally, reminiscing about their childhood, laughing at old memories.

But deep down, Hao still felt unsettled.

This cafe, this neighborhood… Jiwoong had been here all along, while Hao had been gone.

Had Jiwoong ever thought about him? Had he ever missed him?

Or had he simply moved on, the same way he seemed to move through life—calm, unaffected, steady?

Hao didn’t have an answer to that. But as he watched Jiwoong—watched the way he carried himself, the way he looked so at home here—he couldn’t help but wonder if he was already too late.

🍞

The cafe was even quieter now, the last of the evening customers long gone. The scent of kaya toast still lingered in the air, mixing with the faint aroma of coffee and warm butter. The once-busy hum of conversation had faded into soft murmurs between Hao and Jiwoong as they sat across from each other.

At some point, Ricky had stopped teasing and focused on wiping down tables, while Yujin organized the counter for the next morning. But even with the silence settling around them, neither Jiwoong nor Hao made a move to leave.

Jiwoong took a sip of his tea. “So, you’re back for business?”

Hao nodded. “Yeah. Well, sort of.”

Jiwoong raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to explain.

Hao hesitated for a moment, then shrugged. “I’m training to be a K-pop idol.”

Jiwoong blinked. “An idol?”

The surprise in his voice made Hao chuckle. It was rare to catch Jiwoong off guard.

“Yeah. I auditioned, got accepted, and now I’m back in Korea to train. It’s been intense, but… I think it’s worth it.”

Jiwoong studied him for a moment. “You were always good at music.”

Hao tilted his head. “You remember that?”

Jiwoong gave a small nod. “Yeah. You used to hum random songs when we played outside. And you’d get annoyed when I didn’t recognize them.”

Hao laughed. “Because you had no taste.”

Jiwoong scoffed. “I had taste. Just not the same as yours.”

Hao shook his head, still smiling. It was strange—how natural this felt, after so many years. He had expected some awkwardness, maybe even distance. But somehow, Jiwoong still felt familiar.

They talked more—about music, about Jiwoong’s cafe, about how the neighborhood had changed but also somehow stayed the same.

It wasn’t deep or heavy. Just easy.

Eventually, the clock on the wall ticked closer to closing time.

Yujin stretched his arms over his head. “Alright, I’m heading out. See you tomorrow, hyungs.”

“See you, Yujin,” Jiwoong said, giving a small nod.

Ricky grabbed his bag and slung it over his shoulder. He glanced between Jiwoong and Hao, his gaze lingering just a bit too long, as if he was analyzing something.

Then, with a smirk, he said, “Don’t stay out too late.”

Jiwoong rolled his eyes, while Hao let out a soft laugh.

And then, it was just the two of them.

Jiwoong locked up the cafe, securing the doors, before turning toward the street.

They started walking together, their footsteps falling into sync without effort.

Neither of them spoke at first. The streets were quiet, bathed in the dim glow of streetlights, casting long shadows along the pavement.

It wasn’t until they reached the familiar turn leading to their houses that Hao finally spoke.

“It’s strange,” he murmured. “Walking this way again.”

Jiwoong glanced at him. “Feels the same to me.”

Hao exhaled softly. “I guess… it’s been so long that I wasn’t sure if things would still feel familiar.”

Jiwoong didn’t answer right away. But then, he looked forward, his voice quiet but firm.

“Some things don’t change.”

Hao wasn’t sure if Jiwoong meant that as a good thing or not.

They moved at an unhurried pace, their old houses coming into view—familiar silhouettes against the dimly lit street. It was strange, standing in front of them again, as if time had folded in on itself.

They both stopped at the point where their paths finally had to split. Their childhood homes stood side by side, just like before, but now the spaces inside held years of distance between them.

Jiwoong glanced at Hao’s house. The windows were dark, no signs of life inside.

“Your parents aren’t here?” Jiwoong asked.

Hao shook his head. “No. They’re still in China. I’m the only one who came back.”

Jiwoong hummed in acknowledgment. He should’ve expected that.

Hao looked over at Jiwoong’s home. “What about your parents?”

Jiwoong let out a small breath. “They moved to a province far from here.”

That surprised Hao. “So, you live alone?”

Jiwoong gave a small nod. “Yeah. It’s been that way for a while now.”

Hao hesitated, feeling something unfamiliar settle in his chest. He wasn’t sure if it was sympathy or just the weight of realizing how much had changed since they were kids.

A quiet stretched between them—one that felt a little heavier than before.

Jiwoong shifted on his feet, about to say something to cut through it, but Hao was faster.

“What time does the cafe open?”

Jiwoong blinked at the sudden change in topic. “…7:30.”

Hao smiled. “Perfect. I’ll grab a bite for breakfast before heading to practice.”

Jiwoong raised an eyebrow. “You don’t have to.”

“I want to.” Hao shrugged, hands slipping into his pockets. “Besides, I need to see if your cooking is really good, or if a while ago was just a coincidence.”

Jiwoong scoffed. “I run the place, but Ricky handles most of the cooking.”

“Then I’ll judge his cooking,” Hao teased.

Jiwoong just shook his head, but there was a small hint of amusement in his expression.

For a moment, it seemed like that was where the conversation would end. Jiwoong gave a small nod, turning slightly towards his house. But just as they were about to part ways, Hao spoke up again.

“About Ricky—”

Jiwoong turned back to him, waiting.

But the moment the words left Hao’s lips, he realized how weird his question sounded. What was he even trying to ask? If Ricky was Jiwoong’s boyfriend? If Jiwoong was taken? Why did he even care?

Before Jiwoong could question it, Hao cleared his throat and shifted gears.

“I mean… he’s Chinese, right?”

Jiwoong looked at him for a beat, as if debating whether he was dodging something. But then he simply nodded.

“Yeah. He moved here a while back.”

Hao hummed in understanding. “I see.”

Another pause.

“Well,” Hao finally said, taking a step back toward his front door. “See you tomorrow morning.”

Jiwoong gave a short nod. “Yeah. See you.”

And with that, they finally parted—Jiwoong disappearing into his house, and Hao stepping into his own.

🍞

The moment Jiwoong shut the door behind him, he let out a long breath.

The house was quiet, save for the faint hum of the refrigerator and the distant sounds of the city outside. He slipped off his shoes, rubbing the back of his neck as he made his way inside.

It was strange.

Nothing about his home had changed, but something about it felt different now.

Maybe it was just the weight of the day settling in.

He turned on the lights, walking into the kitchen with muscle memory alone. His hands moved on their own, reaching for a glass of water, but his mind was elsewhere—still lingering on the last few hours.

Hao.

He was back.

Jiwoong took a sip of water, staring blankly at the counter.

He never thought he’d see him again.

After all these years, after convincing himself that Hao was just a part of his past—a warm, distant thing he could only revisit in memory—he had simply walked back into his life.

And it felt so easy.

Too easy.

Like no time had passed at all.

Jiwoong ran a hand through his hair, exhaling slowly.

He had spent years learning how to let go of something that Hao had just stepped back into.

And the worst part?

His feelings were still there.

Buried, maybe. Faded around the edges, worn down by time. But not gone.

Never gone.

He gripped the glass a little tighter.

He had liked Hao.

He had liked him in a way that went beyond childhood friendship, in a way that made his heart race and his hands tremble. But he had never said anything.

Because before he could, Hao had left.

And now, here they were again, years later, standing in the same place—but somehow, it felt even further away than before.

Jiwoong sighed, setting the glass down with a quiet clink.

Maybe it was stupid to think about this.

Maybe it didn’t matter anymore.

Hao had moved on with his life. He had come back to Korea for his own reasons, not for Jiwoong.

And yet, Jiwoong couldn’t help but feel like something unfinished was settling between them again.

Like the past wasn’t quite done with them yet.

Hao leaned against the closed door, eyes drifting shut for a moment. His chest felt lighter than it had in years, yet there was something else—something heavier—pressing against it.

He was happy. He really was.

Seeing Jiwoong again, talking to him like no time had passed, even walking home together like they used to… It was more than he could’ve hoped for.

When he first landed in Korea, he wasn’t sure how things would go. He wasn’t even sure if Jiwoong still lived in this neighborhood. But somehow, fate had been kind. Jiwoong was still here, running a cafe in the very same place they used to spend their afternoons as kids.

It was almost too perfect.

Hao sighed, pushing himself off the door and walking further into his empty house. The place was quiet, untouched. It still had the same walls, the same structure, but it didn’t quite feel like home anymore.

Not the way it used to.

He dropped his bag onto the small couch and sat down, head falling back against the cushions as his thoughts wandered.

Jiwoong.

Even after all these years, his feelings hadn’t changed.

He had liked Jiwoong when they were kids—liked him in a way that was deeper than friendship, in a way that scared him. He didn’t realize it at first, not until the idea of leaving Korea became real.

He had wanted to tell Jiwoong. He had thought about it so many times.

But he never did.

Because what if Jiwoong didn’t feel the same? What if it ruined everything?

So, instead, he kept his feelings buried, left for China, and convinced himself that time would take care of the rest.

But time didn’t erase everything.

And today proved it.

Hao exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his face.

He had hoped that reconnecting with Jiwoong would give him a chance—a chance to finally say what he couldn’t back then, a chance to see if there was still room for them to be something more.

But then…

Ricky.

His stomach twisted at the thought. The way Ricky casually touched Jiwoong, the way Jiwoong didn’t even react to it—it was so effortless, so familiar.

Hao didn’t know what to make of it.

Was Jiwoong taken? Had he already moved on a long time ago, long before Hao even thought of coming back?

He should have known that things wouldn’t be simple.

He had been gone for years. Jiwoong had an entire life without him now.

But still…

Hao clenched his fists.

He had to know.

Even if it wasn’t what he wanted to hear, even if it hurt, he had to know where Jiwoong stood.

Because if there was even the smallest chance… he didn’t want to run away from it again.

🍞

The morning rush had already come and gone, leaving the cafe in a comfortable lull. Soft instrumental music played in the background, mixing with the faint clatter of utensils and the hum of the espresso machine. Sunlight streamed through the windows, casting warm golden hues onto the wooden floors.

Jiwoong moved behind the counter with ease, pouring tea into a cup as the scent of kaya toast filled the air. It was a routine he had gone through countless times, yet today, there was something different.

Or rather, someone.

Zhang Hao sat at the counter, watching him with quiet interest.

It wasn’t an intrusive kind of staring—nothing demanding or expectant. Just observant. As if he were memorizing the way Jiwoong moved, the way his hands worked with practiced familiarity.

Jiwoong could feel it.

And he didn’t know how to feel about it.

“You’re quiet,” Jiwoong said as he placed the tea in front of Hao. “Didn’t take you for a morning person.”

Hao huffed a soft laugh. “I’m usually not.”

Jiwoong leaned against the counter, wiping his hands on a towel. “Then why are you here at this hour?”

Hao shrugged, picking up his tea. “I said I’d come for breakfast. I keep my promises.”

Jiwoong raised a brow. “Since when?”

Hao smirked over the rim of his cup. “Since now.”

Jiwoong exhaled through his nose, shaking his head as he turned back to prepare the toast. But even with his back turned, he could still feel Hao’s eyes on him.

It was strange.

It had been years since they last saw each other, yet Hao looked at him like nothing had changed.

But things had changed.

Jiwoong had changed.

And he wasn’t sure how to navigate this sudden return to familiarity.

“…Hey, Jiwoong.”

Jiwoong looked up. “Hm?”

Hao hesitated, his fingers drumming lightly against the counter. But he had already started, and there was no backing out now.

“Are you seeing anyone?”

Jiwoong froze.

The towel in his hands stiffened as he gripped it tighter. He opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again—only for nothing to come out.

Hao waited.

Jiwoong’s heart was pounding.

What was he supposed to say? The truth? That he wasn’t ready for this? That he didn’t know how to let Hao back into his life in that way after all these years?

He wasn’t ready.

So, he lied.

“Yeah,” Jiwoong said, the word tumbling out before he could stop it.

Hao’s expression barely faltered, but Jiwoong caught it. The subtle downturn of his lips, the way his fingers curled slightly into his palm.

“…Oh,” Hao said, his voice carefully neutral. He gave a small smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “That’s great. Who’s the lucky guy or girl?”

Jiwoong’s stomach dropped.

Shit.

He hadn’t thought that far.

His brain scrambled for an answer, but nothing came—not until the door swung open, and salvation arrived in the form of Ricky.

Ricky stepped inside, dressed in casual clothes, his hair slightly tousled from the morning breeze. He blinked at the sight of Hao, then turned to Jiwoong, eyebrows raising slightly at the tension in the air.

Jiwoong made his decision in an instant.

Before Ricky could say a word, Jiwoong walked right up to him.

“Morning, babe,” Jiwoong said smoothly, placing a hand on Ricky’s shoulder.

Ricky barely had time to react before Jiwoong leaned in—too close.

Hao’s eyes widened slightly.

Ricky, to his credit, was quick on his feet. He glanced between Jiwoong and Hao, instantly piecing something together. He smirked.

“Morning, love,” Ricky replied easily, slinging an arm around Jiwoong’s waist. “Miss me?”

Jiwoong wanted to die.

Hao watched them for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, he let out a small chuckle, though it sounded a little forced.

“Well, I guess that answers my question,” he said lightly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I should get going before I’m late for practice.”

He turned toward the door, and just before stepping out, he glanced back at Jiwoong one last time.

“I’ll see you around,” Hao said, offering a small smile—one that was too polite.

Jiwoong could only nod, his throat too tight to form words.

The door closed behind Hao, leaving behind an unbearable silence.

Ricky let go of Jiwoong, stepping back with an amused expression.

“Okay,” he said, crossing his arms. “What the hell was that?”

Jiwoong sighed, rubbing his face. “Don’t ask.”

Ricky smirked. “Oh, I’m asking. And I expect a very good explanation.”

🍞

Ricky stared at Jiwoong, arms crossed, waiting for an answer.

Jiwoong said nothing. He kept his gaze on the counter, still gripping the rag in his hands like it was some kind of lifeline.

Ricky sighed. “Let me get this straight—”

“Don’t.”

“—you panicked, lied about being in a relationship, and then—” Ricky gestured vaguely at himself, “—roped me into it?”

Jiwoong let out a quiet groan, dragging a hand down his face. “I don’t know what happened. It just—” He exhaled sharply. “—slipped out.”

Ricky raised an eyebrow. “You know lying about having a boyfriend isn’t exactly an easy thing to walk back, right?”

“I know,” Jiwoong muttered.

“And you picked me of all people? Me?!” Ricky pointed at himself, looking both exasperated and amused. “What, did you think I wouldn’t say anything? That I wouldn’t tell my actual boyfriend—”

Jiwoong’s head snapped up. “Ricky, please.”

Ricky grinned, the kind of grin that meant he was enjoying Jiwoong’s suffering way too much.

He let out a dramatic breath, shaking his head. “You are so lucky that you and Gyuvin are friends.”

Jiwoong finally looked up, brows furrowed. “What does that have to do with anything?”

Ricky gave him a pointed look. “Because if you weren’t friends, I’d have a very angry boyfriend right now demanding to know why he just got cheated on in the middle of a cafe.”

Jiwoong winced. “Fair point.”

“Yeah,” Ricky continued, still staring at him like he was the dumbest person alive. “Lucky for you, Gyuvin actually trusts me. He knows I wouldn’t be sneaking around behind his back just because my idiot friend panicked in front of his ex.”

Jiwoong groaned. “He’s not my ex.”

Ricky smirked. “No? Then what is he?”

Jiwoong hesitated. That was the question, wasn’t it? What was Hao to him now?

An old friend?

A former crush?

Someone he once cared about— still cares about —but wasn’t sure how to face?

Ricky raised an eyebrow, waiting for an answer, but Jiwoong stayed silent, his thoughts tangled up in the very question he didn’t want to address.

Ricky sighed, tilting his head. “You don’t know, do you?”

Jiwoong exhaled sharply. “I—” He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated with himself. “It’s complicated.”

Ricky scoffed. “No, it’s really not. You still like him.”

Jiwoong flinched. “That’s not—”

Ricky gave him a look. “Jiwoong.”

Jiwoong shut his mouth.

Silence stretched between them. Ricky just stood there, arms crossed, waiting. Jiwoong wanted to argue, to deny it, but… what was the point? He knew Ricky was right.

Jiwoong sighed, rubbing his face. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“I want you to admit you’re being a coward.”

Jiwoong shot him a glare. “Excuse me?”

Ricky shrugged. “You’re scared of him. Or maybe you’re scared of what he still makes you feel. Either way, you saw an easy way out, and you took it.”

Jiwoong clenched his jaw. “And what was I supposed to do? Just tell him ‘oh yeah, I’m single, let’s catch up properly so I can relive all the feelings I thought I buried’?”

“Yes,” Ricky deadpanned.

Jiwoong groaned, slumping against the counter. “You’re impossible.”

“No, you’re impossible,” Ricky shot back. “Look, I get it. You weren’t expecting to see him again. You definitely weren’t expecting him to waltz back into your life like nothing happened. But you can’t just… lie your way through this.”

Jiwoong frowned, gripping the edge of the counter. “What if I don’t want to deal with it?”

Ricky softened—just a little. “Then be honest about that, at least. But don’t drag me into some fake relationship because you don’t know what to do with your feelings.”

Jiwoong let out a slow breath. “You’re right.”

Ricky blinked. “I am?”

“Don’t sound so surprised.”

Ricky smirked. “It’s just rare to hear you say it.”

Jiwoong rolled his eyes, but his lips twitched. The tension between them eased, if only slightly.

“So,” Ricky leaned against the counter, “what’s the plan, then? You gonna tell him the truth?”

Jiwoong hesitated. “…Not yet.”

Ricky groaned. “Jiwoong.”

“I will! Just… not now.” Jiwoong sighed. “Let me figure this out first.”

Ricky stared at him for a long moment before relenting. “Fine. But I swear, if this blows up in your face, I’m not taking responsibility.”

Jiwoong huffed. “Noted.”

Ricky pushed off the counter, stretching. “Anyway, I actually have places to be. I only went here to help out for a while before my scheduled shoot, I didn’t expect to cheat on Gyuvin. Try not to make any more dumb decisions while I’m gone.”

Jiwoong waved him off. “Yeah, yeah.”

As Ricky headed for the door, he paused, looking back. “For what it’s worth, Jiwoong… I think he came back for you.”

Jiwoong stiffened. “That’s—”

“Complicated, yeah, yeah, I know.” Ricky smirked. “Just… think about it.”

With that, he left, the cafe door swinging shut behind him.

Jiwoong let out a deep breath, staring after him.

Think about it?

As if he could think about anything else.

🍞

Hao slammed his palm against the cool surface of the practice room mirror, trying to ground himself, but the thoughts swirling in his head wouldn’t let him focus. His body was sore from hours of practice, his muscles aching with exhaustion, but none of it mattered.

All that mattered was what he had seen at the cafe—the way Jiwoong and Ricky had stood so close to each other, the way their voices softened as they exchanged little pet names.

Babe.

Love.

Hao clenched his jaw, his hand tightening around the water bottle in his grip. It had been such a small thing—so casual, so natural—but it felt like a gut punch to him. The realization had come crashing down all at once. He had known Jiwoong had likely moved on, but seeing it in person, seeing the way Jiwoong smiled at Ricky, the ease with which they interacted—it made the bitter truth harder to swallow.

It was like a slow-burning ache spreading across his chest.

Jiwoong was happy. With someone else.

Hao ran a hand through his hair, pulling it back into a messy bun. His gaze shifted to the group of trainees practicing in the corner, their movements synchronized, effortless. They were all focused, all in their own little world. Hao had been like them, once—sharp, driven, and fully immersed in his training. But today, all he could think about was how easily Jiwoong had moved on.

What had he expected?

That Jiwoong would have waited for him, all these years? That he would come back and find everything exactly where he left it, the way he had left it—incomplete.

No.

Hao closed his eyes, feeling the familiar tightness in his chest. It was stupid to even think that. He had left. He had stayed away. He had focused on his future, leaving everything else behind. He didn’t get to come back and claim what was never his in the first place.

But he couldn’t deny the sting that still lingered in his heart, the frustration and regret that gnawed at him when he thought of Jiwoong, and Ricky, and the way they looked at each other.

Babe.

He shook his head as if he could physically dislodge the word from his mind. It wasn’t about the pet names. It wasn’t about the small gestures of affection.

It was about the fact that he hadn’t been there.

He had been too scared to act on his feelings before. Too scared to admit what he truly wanted, to put himself out there. And now?

Now, it was too late.

“Zhang!”

The instructor’s voice broke through the haze of his thoughts, pulling him back into the present. The room was silent except for the sound of his teammates shifting into formation, awaiting his move. Hao snapped to attention, trying to gather his focus.

Focus, damn it.

He didn’t want to admit it, but the truth was clear: he hadn’t been able to focus on a single thing since he saw Jiwoong and Ricky together. Every step, every move, felt off. His body was here, but his mind? It was still in that cafe, with Jiwoong, looking at him with that soft, affectionate smile as he called Ricky “love” like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Hao gritted his teeth and fell back into the routine, his body moving on autopilot. He could do this. He had to.

But his mind kept going back to that moment.

The way Jiwoong had looked at Ricky, the way he had touched his arm like it was second nature, like it was something he had always done. And Hao had stood there, powerless, watching it all unfold.

Why hadn’t he ever told Jiwoong how he felt?

Why hadn’t he confessed when he had the chance?

Back then, he had been afraid. Afraid of rejection. Afraid of ruining their friendship. Afraid of losing someone he had been so close to for so long. And now that he’s ready, it’s too late. He had lost his chance.

Now, he was standing here, wishing he could turn back time, wishing he had just been brave enough to say what he felt. But that wasn’t how life worked.

If only I had said something.

Hao closed his eyes for a second, forcing himself to take a deep breath. He needed to stop wallowing. He needed to focus. He was here for a reason—training, perfecting his craft, and making his dreams come true. Jiwoong had his own life, his own path to follow.

But still, Hao couldn’t shake the thought that kept gnawing at him:

What if?

He looked at himself in the mirror, eyes scanning his reflection with a mixture of frustration and resolve. He would focus. He would push through this—he had no other choice.

But every time he moved, every time his body swayed with the music, his mind returned to one simple, unavoidable truth:

Jiwoong had moved on.

🍞

Hao had no intention of stopping by the cafe tonight.

After an exhausting day at practice, all he wanted was to go home, take a long shower, and get some sleep. But as he walked through the quiet streets of his childhood neighborhood, his gaze inevitably drifted toward the familiar glow of the small shop.

The sight of it stirred something in his chest—nostalgia, maybe, or something heavier.

This morning had been a lot. Seeing Jiwoong again after all these years was one thing, but watching him be so comfortable, so affectionate with Ricky… that was something else entirely.

Hao didn’t even realize he had slowed his pace until the cafe door swung open.

“Hao-hyung?”

He tensed.

Yujin stood outside, a trash bag in his hands, looking surprised but pleased. “What are you doing here?”

Hao hesitated before answering, “Just passing by.”

Yujin squinted at him, an amused smile forming. “Really? Then why do you look guilty?”

Hao blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

Yujin laughed, tossing the trash into the bin. “Relax, I’m just messing with you. You always look serious.”

Hao let out a breath, shaking his head. This kid was something else.

Still grinning, Yujin motioned toward the door. “Since you’re here, wanna come in?”

His first instinct was to decline. The last thing he needed was to sit in a place filled with memories—especially not after today. But Yujin was looking at him expectantly, and Hao found himself wavering.

“…Just for a little bit,” he said finally.

Yujin beamed. “Cool! I’ll make you some tea.”

Inside, the cafe was quieter than it had been that morning. Without the usual customers, it felt more intimate, almost peaceful. The warm lights cast soft shadows across the wooden counters, and the faint scent of kaya and butter still lingered in the air.

Hao took a seat at the counter as Yujin moved behind it, setting the kettle on the stove.

“You look tired,” Yujin noted, grabbing a mug.

“Long day,” Hao admitted, rolling his shoulders.

“Tell me about it,” Yujin groaned dramatically. “School was brutal. I almost fell asleep in history.”

Hao chuckled. “Not a fan of the past?”

“Oh, I love history. I just don’t love it when my teacher makes it sound like a bedtime story.”

Hao shook his head in amusement as Yujin slid a steaming cup in front of him. “Drink up. It’ll help.”

Hao murmured a quiet thanks, fingers curling around the warm ceramic. They sat in a comfortable silence for a moment before Yujin spoke again.

“So, how’s it feel to be back?”

Hao exhaled slowly, staring into his cup. “Familiar. But different.”

Yujin hummed. “Yeah, that makes sense. Things change when you’re gone for a long time.”

Hao knew that better than anyone.

He hesitated before finally asking, “How long have Jiwoong and Ricky been together?”

Yujin, who had just reached for a dishcloth, froze.

His fingers twitched slightly, lips parting like he was about to say something—then shutting as if he thought better of it.

“Uh…” He blinked. “What?”

Hao tilted his head. “Jiwoong and Ricky. They’re dating, aren’t they?”

Yujin looked visibly lost. Hao immediately knew something was off.

Before Yujin could scramble for an answer, a voice cut in smoothly.

“Hey, Yujin.”

Both of them turned toward the entrance.

Ricky leaned casually against the doorway, arms crossed. “Can you check the sugar stock in the storage room?”

Yujin frowned. “I just checked earlier. We have plenty—”

“Then check again.”

Something in Ricky’s tone made Yujin hesitate. He looked between them, then sighed. “I swear, I do everything around here,” he muttered before disappearing into the back.

Now, it was just Ricky and Hao.

Ricky sauntered toward the counter, his usual easygoing smirk in place. “You ask a lot of questions, Zhang Hao.”

Hao met his gaze evenly. “Just curious.”

Ricky leaned on the counter, tilting his head. “Curious? Or jealous?”

Hao didn’t even blink. “What’s there to be jealous of?”

Ricky let out a low chuckle. “You tell me.”

Hao exhaled, forcing his grip to stay relaxed around his cup. “So? How long?”

Ricky let the silence stretch before answering, “A while now.”

A dull ache settled in Hao’s chest, but he refused to let it show. “…I see.”

Ricky studied him carefully. “That a problem?”

Hao let out a short, humorless laugh. “Why would it be?”

Ricky’s fingers tapped against the counter idly, watching him in a way that suggested he wasn’t buying it. But after a moment, he simply said, “Good.”

Hao forced a smile. “Yeah. Good.”

At that moment, Yujin returned, looking unimpressed. “We have so much sugar. What was the point of that?”

Ricky shrugged. “Double-checking.”

Yujin narrowed his eyes. “Weirdo.”

The conversation shifted after that, and Hao let it. He nodded at the right times and responded when necessary, but his mind was elsewhere.

Because now, there was no more denying it.

Jiwoong had moved on.

And he had to accept that.

By the time Hao stepped outside, the night air was cool against his skin.

He needed to clear his head.

But just as he turned to leave, a familiar voice stopped him.

“Leaving already?”

Hao’s breath caught as he turned back.

Jiwoong stood a few steps away, hands in his pockets, his expression unreadable.

Hao forced himself to stay calm. “Yeah. Just stopped by for a bit.”

Jiwoong nodded, gaze flickering toward the cafe. “Did you eat?”

Hao hesitated before shaking his head. “I’m not that hungry.”

Jiwoong frowned slightly like he wanted to say more, but before he could, Hao stepped back. “I’ll see you around, Jiwoong.”

Jiwoong blinked. “Hao—”

But he was already walking away.

And this time, he didn’t bother looking back.

The cafe door closed with a soft chime, leaving the three of them in silence. Jiwoong watched as Hao’s figure disappeared into the night, his expression unreadable.

Yujin, however, wasted no time.

“What was that?” he asked, staring at Jiwoong like he had just witnessed some kind of crime. “Why did Zhang Hao just ask if you and Ricky-hyung are together?”

Jiwoong sighed, rubbing his temple. “It’s… complicated.”

Ricky let out a scoff, crossing his arms. “No, it’s stupid.”

Yujin blinked. “So, you two aren’t together?”

“Hell no.” Ricky looked absolutely offended by the idea. “First of all, I have a boyfriend.”

Yujin’s eyes widened. “Wait, you do?”

Jiwoong side-eyed him. “How do you not know this?”

“I don’t know, you guys never tell me anything,” Yujin muttered, shaking his head. “Anyway—so Hao thinks you’re dating?”

Jiwoong hesitated, shifting uncomfortably. “…Yeah.”

Yujin looked between the two of them. “Okay, so…why didn’t you correct him?”

Ricky let out the loudest, most exaggerated sigh of his life. “Because Jiwoong is an idiot.”

Jiwoong shot him a glare. “Excuse me?”

“No, excuse you, you absolute moron.” Ricky turned to fully face him now, looking equal parts exasperated and entertained. “I had to step in because I know Yujin would slip and compromise your lie. But the point is — you lied! You made things complicated!”

Jiwoong grimaced. “I know, I know. I messed up.”

Ricky wasn’t done. “And not only did you drag me into this nonsense, you are literally pushing Hao away by lying to his face.”

Yujin raised a hand. “Wait, so just to clarify—you are lying, right? Like, you’re not actually dating Ricky-hyung in secret?”

Ricky groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Kid. Please.”

Jiwoong exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “Yes. It’s a lie.”

Yujin processed this for a moment, then nodded. “Damn. You’re stupid.”

Ricky pointed at him. “See? Even the kid gets it.”

Jiwoong groaned. “Okay! I get it! I’m an idiot. Can we move on now?”

Ricky shook his head, muttering, “I like ‘stupid’ men, but not actually stupid men.”

Yujin’s curiosity was immediately piqued. “Wait, you like stupid guys?”

Ricky shrugged. “Clearly, since I’m dating Gyuvin.”

Yujin’s jaw dropped. “Gyuvin as in Kim Gyuvin? Oh my god that guy’s YouTube videos are so dumb. You do have a type.”

Jiwoong rubbed his temples. “Can we please stay on topic?”

Yujin crossed his arms. “Fine. Then let me ask the question.”

Jiwoong braced himself. “What question?”

Yujin smirked. “Do you still like Zhang Hao?”

Jiwoong froze.

Ricky raised a brow, watching him closely. “Well?”

Jiwoong’s mouth opened, but no words came out. His heart pounded in his chest, because the answer was so simple, so obvious—but saying it out loud felt impossible.

So instead, he did what he always did.

He avoided it.

“…It doesn’t matter,” Jiwoong muttered, standing up. “I already messed things up.”

Ricky sighed, watching him with something like pity. “No, you just made things more complicated.”

Jiwoong grabbed a cloth and started wiping down the counter, hoping they would drop it.

But Yujin wasn’t done.

He leaned on the counter, eyes gleaming. “You know, if you wanted to make things easier, you could just tell him the truth.”

Jiwoong’s hand slowed.

Ricky smirked. “What, scared?”

Jiwoong glared at him. “Shut up.”

Yujin grinned. “Ooooh, he is scared.”

Jiwoong sighed deeply, muttering under his breath, “Why do I even employ you two?”

Ricky grinned, throwing an arm around Yujin’s shoulder. “Because deep down, you know we’re right.”

Jiwoong groaned, wishing for the ground to swallow him whole because unfortunately, they were.

🍞

At first, Jiwoong thought it was just bad timing.

The first time he ran into Hao again, it was early in the morning. Jiwoong was stepping out of his house, coffee in one hand, ready to head to the cafe when he spotted Hao just a few steps away. He almost smiled, about to greet him, but Hao had already turned his head away, pretending to be too focused on his phone.

Jiwoong frowned. That’s weird.

He shook it off, convincing himself that maybe Hao was just in a rush. But then it kept happening.

Another morning, Jiwoong was unlocking the cafe doors when he spotted Hao walking past, headed toward the train station. He hesitated before calling out, “Hao—”

But Hao didn’t even glance his way.

Jiwoong’s voice caught in his throat when he noticed the sleek white earbuds in Hao’s ears. His pace never slowed, his posture never shifted.

Did he even hear me? Jiwoong wondered.

He wanted to believe it was just the headphones, but the next few times they crossed paths, it became painfully obvious—it wasn’t.

Jiwoong saw him again in the evening, the sun casting long golden streaks over the quiet streets. Hao was heading home, and Jiwoong, who had just stepped outside to stretch after a long day at the cafe, instinctively lifted a hand to wave.

Hao glanced up—and then looked right past him.

Jiwoong felt it that time.

That wasn’t an accident. That wasn’t just bad timing.

That was intentional.

Jiwoong’s hand slowly dropped to his side, something uneasy curling in his chest.

It happened again. And again.

Jiwoong tried not to let it bother him, but it was hard not to notice when someone who once met your eyes so easily suddenly refused to see you.

One night, after closing up, Jiwoong found himself staring out the cafe window, watching the street as if expecting to see Hao pass by.

He never did.

And Jiwoong hated that it felt like he was waiting.

Did I do something wrong?

That thought sat heavy in his chest.

Because the truth was, Jiwoong wasn’t stupid.

He knew exactly what he did.

And now, Hao was acting like he didn’t exist.

Like Jiwoong was a ghost. A ghost that didn’t deserve to be looked at anymore.

🍞

Jiwoong slammed his hands on the cafe counter. “I need help.”

Ricky barely looked up from his phone. “Yeah, no kidding.”

Yujin, sitting on a stool while munching on a piece of kaya toast, raised an eyebrow. “Wait, like actual help or Jiwoong-hyung-being-dramatic help?”

Jiwoong scowled. “Actual help.”

“Okay, but you say that every time and then it’s just you complaining about how our kaya jam supplier is annoying,” Ricky pointed out, sipping his iced coffee. “So clarify.”

Jiwoong exhaled through his nose, rubbing his temples. “It’s about Hao.”

That got their attention. Ricky finally put his phone down, and Yujin actually stopped chewing.

Jiwoong continued, “He’s been… avoiding me. Like, really avoiding me.”

Yujin frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I mean every time I see him, he either pretends not to hear me, looks at his phone like I don’t exist, or straight up ignores me,” Jiwoong muttered. “It’s like I’m invisible to him.”

Ricky, who had been watching this with mild amusement, snorted. “Yeah, well, that’s what happens when you tell the guy you’re taken when you’re very much not.”

Jiwoong shot him a glare. “Are you helping or making fun of me?”

“A little bit of both,” Ricky admitted with a shrug.

Jiwoong exhaled sharply and braced his hands on the counter. “I need to fix this.”

Ricky didn’t even look up from his phone. “Yeah, no shit.”

Yujin, who was sprawled across a chair with a snack in hand, raised a brow. “Fix what exactly? Hao avoiding you? Or the part where you’re in love with him but messed everything up?”

Jiwoong shot him a glare. “I said I need to fix it, not get roasted.”

Yujin shrugged. “Can’t help it.”

Jiwoong ignored him and pushed forward. “I like him.”

“Again, no shit.” Ricky finally put his phone down and gestured vaguely. “You’ve liked him since before he moved away. This is not new information.”

Jiwoong sighed. “Yeah, but now that he’s back… I don’t want this distance between us. I don’t want him to think I’ve moved on or that I don’t care. I don’t want him to ignore me every time I try to reach out.” He leaned against the counter, frustrated. “I just— I need to do something. Anything.”

Yujin looked thoughtful. “You could just tell him the truth.”

Jiwoong groaned. “That’s the most obvious thing, but how? He’s been dodging me left and right.”

“Then you have to corner him,” Ricky said simply, smirking.

Jiwoong stared. “…I’m not going to physically corner him.”

“Not what I meant, dumbass.” Ricky rolled his eyes. “I mean, make it so that he can’t just brush you off. Create a situation where he has no choice but to talk to you.”

Jiwoong frowned. “Like what?”

Yujin tapped his fingers against the counter, deep in thought. Then suddenly, his eyes lit up. “Oh! Oh! A special menu item!”

Jiwoong blinked. “Huh?”

Yujin grinned. “Hao always loved kaya toast, right? What if you made something special? Something nostalgic. Something he can’t resist.”

Jiwoong hesitated. “That’s…not a bad idea. I could make him some kaya toast, soft-boiled eggs, coffee—“

Before he could finish, Ricky scoffed. “Yeah, because kaya toast is such a revolutionary new dish.” He gestured vaguely at the cafe around them. “Jiwoong, it’s literally the main thing on the menu. What’s so special about that?”

It was so simple. Too simple.

And yet…

Hao loved it. Always had. Always would.

Ricky caught on first, smirking. “Ohhh. I get it. You’re betting on the fact that he won’t be able to resist it.”

Jiwoong crossed his arms. “It’s not a bet.”

“It’s totally a bet,” Ricky said, amused. “And you’re doubling down by delivering it straight to his door, huh?”

Jiwoong looked away, but his lack of denial was answer enough.

Yujin whistled. “That’s kinda romantic.”

“It’s desperate,” Ricky corrected. Then he grinned. “I love it. Let’s do it.”

Jiwoong sighed, but despite himself, a small smile tugged at his lips.

If this was what it took to get Zhang Hao to finally open his door—then so be it.

🍞

The streets were quieter at this hour, the usual daytime bustle of the neighborhood replaced by the occasional sound of a passing car or the distant hum of a television through an open window. The lights were on in Hao’s house, which meant he was home.

Jiwoong took a deep breath, tightening his grip on the tray in his hands.

Kaya toast, extra butter. Soft-boiled eggs. Coffee.

It was simple. It was familiar. It was what Jiwoong knew Hao couldn’t ignore.

He exhaled sharply, walking up to the door before his nerves could get the best of him. No more running. He knocked.

Silence.

He knocked again, firmer this time. “Hao, I know you’re in there.”

Still, nothing.

Jiwoong pressed his lips together, debating whether to knock a third time or just start talking. He chose the latter.

“I brought food,” he said, shifting the tray slightly to emphasize the point, even though Hao obviously couldn’t see it. “Your favorite.”

Another beat of silence. Jiwoong sighed. Was he really going to ignore him even now?

“…I figured you’d be tired after practice,” he added, voice softer. “Thought you might want a good meal before bed.”

This time, he heard movement.

Jiwoong straightened as the door finally creaked open.

Hao stood in the dim glow of the porch light, already in his pajamas—his hair damp from what looked like a shower. Though, as fresh as he smelled, he still looked exhausted.

But more than that, there was something in his eyes—hesitation. Like he was still debating if this was a good idea.

Jiwoong swallowed.

They stood there for a long moment, neither of them speaking. Then, finally—Hao sighed.

“…Come in.”

Jiwoong followed Hao inside, the warmth of the house settling over him as he stepped past the threshold. It smelled faintly of fresh laundry and something floral, like a reed diffuser had been set up in the corner of the living room. It felt lived in, but barely. As if Hao was still getting used to being here.

Jiwoong hadn’t been inside this house in years. Not since they were kids. He used to know every corner of it—where Hao kept his toys, where they used to sneak snacks from the kitchen, the exact spot in the living room where they would lay on their stomachs and read comic books until Jiwoong had to go home.

But now… it felt different.

Hao felt different.

Jiwoong stood awkwardly near the entrance as Hao walked straight to the dining table and pulled out a chair. He gestured at it wordlessly, a silent instruction for Jiwoong to put the tray down and sit.

Jiwoong did. The warmth of the food seeped through the plate, but he barely noticed it. His eyes were trained on Hao, watching the way he immediately reached for the coffee first, wrapping his hands around it like he needed something to hold onto.

The silence stretched between them.

Jiwoong tried to think of something to say. Something to make this feel less like a confrontation and more like… them.

But before he could, Hao sighed, breaking the silence himself.

“…I can’t do this.”

Hao was always the straight-to-the-point kind of person. He wasted no time in getting his feelings out there.

Jiwoong blinked. His stomach twisted.

“What?”

Hao let out a slow breath, fingers tightening around his cup. “Us. Talking like this. Interacting.” He finally looked up, his gaze sharp but guarded. “At least… not yet.”

Jiwoong’s heart lurched. Not yet?

He forced out a small, almost breathless laugh. “Why?”

Hao scoffed like the answer should have been obvious. He gestured vaguely toward Jiwoong.

“Because you’re in a relationship.”

Jiwoong stiffened.

Oh.

Right.

That.

His brain scrambled for a response, but all he could do was stare.

Hao mistook his silence for confirmation.

He exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head with a small, self-deprecating chuckle. “I don’t want to get in the way,” he muttered.

A strange, uneasy feeling settled in his chest. Like he was missing something. Like the weight of Hao’s words meant more than he could grasp in that moment.

He found his voice, careful and measured. “What do you mean by that?”

Hao let out another short laugh, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He looked down at his coffee, as if it was safer than looking at Jiwoong.

“It means exactly what I said.”

Jiwoong frowned. “No, it doesn’t.”

Hao stilled.

Jiwoong leaned forward slightly, studying him. “You don’t want to get in the way—of what, exactly?”

Hao tensed.

It was small, almost unnoticeable. But Jiwoong saw it.

His grip on the cup tightened. His shoulders went stiff. His throat bobbed, like he was trying to swallow something down.

“…Of your relationship,” Hao finally said, voice even.

Jiwoong swallowed hard. He should let it go. He knew he should.

But something about Hao’s answer—about how carefully he had said it—kept tugging at him.

He shouldn’t push.

But he did.

“…Does that mean you have feelings for me?”

Hao’s breath hitched.

The room fell into silence.

Jiwoong could hear the faint hum of the fridge, the distant ticking of the clock on the wall, the soft rustle of the curtains swaying from the night breeze.

But Hao didn’t say a word.

Jiwoong’s pulse pounded in his ears.

That was an answer in itself, wasn’t it?

Hao wasn’t denying it.

He wasn’t brushing it off.

He was silent.

Jiwoong felt his chest tighten. Because if that silence meant what he thought it did…

Then that meant he had hurt Hao more than he realized.

Hao exhaled shakily, his fingers curling into his palms. He had kept this inside for years, buried it deep, told himself it was too late. But now that it was out in the open, he couldn’t stop.

“…I liked you, Jiwoong. I still like you,” he said, barely above a whisper.

Jiwoong felt the world tilt on its axis.

The weight of those words settled deep inside his chest, pressing against the parts of himself he’d spent so long keeping locked away.

Hao must’ve taken Jiwoong’s silence the wrong way because he let out a small, humorless laugh. “I know,” he muttered, looking away. “It’s pathetic, isn’t it?”

Jiwoong opened his mouth, but Hao kept going.

“I left, and I thought—” He swallowed. “I thought maybe if I stayed away long enough, I’d stop feeling this way. That if I was in a different country, surrounded by different people, living a different life, my feelings would fade.” His lips pressed together tightly. “But they didn’t. And then when I came back, I told myself that maybe—maybe this was my chance. Maybe I could finally tell you. Maybe—”

He let out a sharp breath, shaking his head.

“But then I saw you with him.” Hao’s voice dropped lower, almost like he hated admitting it. “I saw the way you let him touch you. The way you looked at him.” He gave a tight, bitter smile. “And I realized I was too late.”

Jiwoong inhaled sharply.

All this time… Hao had been hurting.

Because of him.

He thought of the past few days, of Hao avoiding him, of the guarded way he acted. Jiwoong had assumed it was just annoyance, maybe frustration. But it was so much more than that.

It was heartbreak.

And Jiwoong had been the one to cause it.

He took a step closer. “Hao—”

“Don’t,” Hao said quickly, his voice tight. “Please.”

Jiwoong froze.

Hao took a deep breath, visibly trying to compose himself. “I meant what I said earlier,” he continued, his tone more controlled now. “I can’t be around you like this, Jiwoong. I can’t pretend that I don’t feel this way. And I won’t be the kind of person who lingers around someone who’s already in a relationship, hoping for something that’ll never happen.”

Jiwoong’s throat felt dry.

Hao was pulling away. Again.

And if Jiwoong didn’t do something now, he might lose him for good.

“Wait,” Jiwoong blurted out, stepping forward before he could stop himself. “You’re wrong.”

Hao frowned slightly, caught off guard. “…What?”

Jiwoong swallowed. “I—” He hesitated, then took a breath. “I lied.”

Hao’s eyes widened.

Jiwoong forced himself to hold his gaze. “I lied about Ricky and me. Ricky and I aren't dating. And he has a boyfriend.”

Silence.

Then—

“…What?” Hao repeated, slower this time, like he needed to make sure he heard correctly.

Jiwoong exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “I panicked. When you asked if I was single, I—I wasn’t ready. I wasn’t ready for you to be back, and I didn’t know how to handle it, so I said the first thing that came to mind.” He let out a weak chuckle, shaking his head. “And, well… you saw what happened after that.”

Hao just stared at him.

Jiwoong couldn’t tell what he was thinking. If he was angry, hurt, or just plain baffled. Maybe all of the above.

“…So you’re telling me,” Hao finally said, voice flat, “that you made me go through all of this—thinking you were taken, thinking I had no chance—because you panicked?”

Jiwoong winced. “I… yes?”

Hao closed his eyes for a long moment, exhaling sharply through his nose. “Oh my god.”

Jiwoong braced himself for the yelling.

But instead—Hao let out a shaky laugh.

Jiwoong blinked.

Hao laughed again, covering his mouth like he couldn’t believe it. “I can’t believe this,” he muttered, shaking his head. “I actually thought—” He let out another breath, dropping his hand. “Jiwoong, you’re an idiot.”

Jiwoong smiled slightly. “Yeah.”

Hao finally looked at him again, something softer in his expression now. The tension in his shoulders had eased—like the weight he had been carrying for so long had finally been lifted.

Jiwoong took another step closer.

“Hao,” he said, carefully. “I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you.”

Hao searched his face for a moment. Then, finally, he nodded. “I know.”

Jiwoong hesitated, then exhaled. This was it.

“I also like you,” he admitted, voice quiet but steady. “I always have.”

Hao stilled.

Jiwoong gave a small, almost sheepish smile. “I just never got to tell you too.”

Hao stared at him for a long moment, eyes searching. Jiwoong swore he could hear his own heartbeat.

Then, slowly—Hao reached out.

Jiwoong barely had time to react before Hao flicked his forehead.

“Ow—what the hell?” Jiwoong scowled, rubbing the spot where Hao had hit him. “Was that necessary?”

Hao raised a brow. “You made me suffer for days, Jiwoong. Consider that payback.”

Jiwoong huffed, but there was no real annoyance in it. If anything, it felt… familiar.

Hao shook his head fondly. “Unbelievable.”

Jiwoong smiled. “But?”

Hao exhaled. Then—finally—he smiled too. Small, but real. “…But you can make it up to me.”

Jiwoong grinned. “How?”

Hao nudged the takeout bag in his hands. “For starters, you can feed me.”

Jiwoong laughed. “See? I knew you couldn’t resist kaya toast.”

Hao rolled his eyes, but there was no hiding the way his lips curled up slightly. “Shut up.”

Jiwoong chuckled, feeling the warmth settle in his chest.

Maybe they had wasted time. Maybe they had both been idiots.

But right now, as Hao nudged him inside, grumbling about how cold it was, Jiwoong thought—they finally got it right.

Hao took a bite of the kaya toast, expecting the familiar, comforting taste he had loved since childhood. But something was different. He chewed slowly, letting the flavors settle on his tongue, his brows furrowing slightly.

“This tastes…” He paused, taking another bite. “Different.”

Jiwoong, who had been watching him intently, tilted his head. “Different bad?”

“No,” Hao said quickly, shaking his head. “Different good. Better, actually.” He looked down at the toast, puzzled. “But it’s the same ingredients—kaya, extra butter, toast. With the same eggs and coffee. So why does it taste different?”

Jiwoong smiled, leaning forward just slightly. “Because,” he said softly, “there’s one new ingredient.”

Hao glanced up, intrigued. “What?”

Jiwoong met his eyes, warmth written all over his face.

“Love.”

Hao blinked, caught off guard for a moment—then he let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head. “That was so cheesy.”

Jiwoong grinned. “You like cheese, though. Maybe I should add a kaya toast with cheese on the menu.”

Hao rolled his eyes, but the smile tugging at his lips gave him away. He took another bite, savoring it a little longer this time. Maybe Jiwoong was right. Maybe love really did make things better.

He took another bite, slower this time. The taste lingered, warm and familiar, but now carrying something more—something he had been waiting for all along.