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Yunho’s halfway weaving his way across the dance floor, heavy bass thudding in his chest, when he catches the sight of Seonghwa shaking his head, mouthing the words—
“Thank you, but I’m not interested.”
The man Seonghwa is talking to has his back turned towards Yunho, so he can’t see his face. What he can see, though, is a tall, well-built silhouette, and a pair of broad shoulders, accentuated by the well-tailored suit the man has on. The bar’s main clientele is that of college students, but it’s not unusual to see the occasional horde of sleek professionals, drawn to the jazzy atmosphere Hongjoong tends to gravitate towards.
And maybe—just maybe—other things, too.
The man’s sliding something over the counter—small and rectangular—his mouth moving, but Seonghwa doesn’t even glance at it as he wordlessly shakes his head, again. Long, elegant fingers nudge the card back towards the man, who takes it with a sigh of defeat. He’s leaving just as Yunho manages to slink his way to the bar. When the man passes by, Yunho manages to catch a glimpse of his face, tight with frustration, as clear as day even in the dim, indigo light.
“Hey, hyung,” Yunho greets, pitching his voice just loud enough to cut through the pulse of the music.
Seonghwa glances over with a smile, reaching for a bottle on the top-shelf, “Done dancing, Yuyu?”
“For now.” Yunho languidly stretches in the ridiculously comfortable barstool. Hongjoong always places importance on the oddest of things, but Yunho doesn’t mind. He whistles sharply at the drink Seonghwa sets in front of him. “Hongjoong-hyung won’t mind?”
Seonghwa cocks an eyebrow. “You think he’s gonna lose sleep over a whiskey on the rocks?
“Besides, my presence alone is probably making him hundreds of whiskey on the rocks right now. He won’t miss one.”
That… is probably true. Seonghwa didn’t really need to be here, bartending for Hongjoong. His social media career had skyrocketed since the pair graduated, landing him deal after deal to the point where he had so much bargaining power and so little bandwidth that he could afford to turn down anything he wasn’t interested in. There are only two reasons he’s here tonight—loyalty, for one, and boredom, for another.
“Fair enough,” Yunho chuckles. Curiosity prickles like barbed cacti against his skin as his thoughts drift back to the exchange moments ago, “Anyways, what was that, hyung? The guy just now.”
“He said he saw me online.” Seonghwa shrugs, wiping down the bar with a towel. “Joong’s Instagram, maybe?”
Yunho takes a sip. “Work?”
“No,” Seonghwa tucks the towel into his side. “He asked if he could take me out on a date.”
Whiskey sprays across the counter. Seonghwa throws his towel down with a half-hearted glare.
“What?” Yunho demands, in between fits of coughing. Something twists in his chest, dark and ugly.
“What, you don’t believe me?”
"No!" Yunho blurts out. Seonghwa stares at him impassively, waiting as Yunho struggles to catch up with his own words. "No—I didn’t mean I don’t believe you—just—"
It doesn’t take long for the facade to fall apart, and Seonghwa cracks a smile. “I know what you meant, Yuyu.”
Yunho sinks back into the barstool, swirling his drink. He tries for nonchalance. "So?"
“So?” Seonghwa echoes, brows furrowing.
“What did you tell him?”
“Oh,” Seonghwa picks up a glass to wipe at absent-mindedly as he replies. “You saw me turn him down, didn’t you? I caught you watching across the floor.”
The tip of Yunho’s ears burn red-hot. He ducks his head. “Why, though?”
“Why?” Seonghwa pauses briefly at that, his expression suddenly thoughtful. “He’s not my type. Besides…”
The other man trails off, his eyes flickering to the side. Yunho’s gaze follows Seonghwa’s line of sight, and it lands on the very same man who’d chatted Seonghwa up earlier. He’s standing near the edge of the crowd, illuminated by the soft, neon glow of the bar’s lights. He’s handsome, Yunho loathes to admit, now that he can properly see the man’s face—chiseled, well-groomed, slightly older than Seonghwa himself. An air of effortless confidence envelopes him, like he’s used to commanding the attention of every room he steps into- the man’s suit perfectly drapes his body, like liquid velvet, and the glint of his watch is subtle, expensive, even to Yunho’s novice eyes.
Yunho looks down at his own worn jeans and black sweater and suddenly feels… young.
The man waves when he notices Seonghwa’s attention, face lighting up with an easy smile. Seonghwa just chuckles and turns away.
For the first time in his life, the bright sound of Seonghwa’s laughter grates against his skin. That same dark, ugly feeling that’s curled itself home in Yunho’s chest twists into an even tighter knot.
Yunho was twelve when he first met Seonghwa. His hyung hadn’t been so gentle and easygoing back then—more prone to explosive outbursts, more susceptible to teary tantrums. Their families used to tease the pair for being polar opposites.
Little Seonghwa with his moody tears and little Yunho with his sunny smile.
But they had fit, somehow, and more than a decade later, they still did. They’ll always be best friends, Seonghwa had said, on more than one occasion.
And maybe that was enough for his Seonghwa-hyung.
But for Yunho, somewhere along the way, he’d started wanting, no- needing more, hadn’t he?
It all traces back to one night years ago—it had started out like any other day, except Seonghwa, twenty-one, fresh into his second year of university and absolutely stressed out of his mind, had made the spontaneous decision to go on a drive and decided to drag Yunho along. Yunho, twenty, fresh into his first year of university and also equally stressed out of his mind, had gone along. It’s about forty-five minutes in, The Script blasting on the stereo, wind whipping through open windows and hair flying wildly, when Yunho turned and saw Seonghwa’s face, eyes constellation-bright against the night sky and—
“Hey,” Seonghwa’s voice, quiet but warm, cuts through his thoughts, “What’s on your mind, Yuyu?”
Seonghwa’s looking at him now, intent and unwavering. It’s easy to be distracted when Seonghwa looks at you like that, Yunho thinks, like you’re the center of the world, his world.
But something even bigger’s lodged itself in Yunho’s mind, blocking out all other thoughts—Seonghwa’s amusement at some stranger’s flirtation, the sharp cut of the man’s suit, and his even sharper tongue, his eyes lingering on Seonghwa’s silhouette for far too long—
I love you, I think, Yunho wants to say, his fingers tightening around the glass, knuckles white. That dark, ugly feeling rears its head, and words begin to tumble out of his mouth, too loud, too fast—
“Hyung, could you do me a favour?”
…
Yunho’s getting his ass kicked in League, Jongho yelling at him to stop choking through his headset when he finally bursts out, unable to hold it in anymore—
“I asked him to be my boyfriend.”
“What is this bastard doing, oh my God, stop feeding—wait, what?” Yunho winces as Jongho’s screams shorts out through his shitty headset, distorting into a garbled mess. There’s a loud clatter, reminiscent of a mouse hitting a wall.
Mingi stills, the soft scratch of pencil against paper vanishing mid-stroke. Its abrupt absence is jarring, having been a constant companion since the beginning of their call.
Mingi recovers first, asking quietly. “Him—your childhood best friend? That hyung?”
The game’s over. Yunho watches the destruction of their team’s nexus unfold in slow motion, red text popping up on screen to mock them of their digital defeat. He swallows, acutely aware of how clammy his hands are.
“Hold on, hold on,” Jongho presses, “Yunho-hyung has somebody he likes?”
Mingi hums thoughtfully, “Ah, right. You wouldn’t know.”
Jongho had only recently joined their group—he had been a friend of Yunho’s first, having met through a shared elective, then, only naturally, Mingi’s. It had been the start of an easy friendship, built on a shared love for games, and it didn’t take long before it was like they had been friends for ages. Still, there were some things they have yet to loop Jongho in, though.
“You ever been to By.HJ?” Mingi asks.
“Yeah?”
“There’s a pretty popular bartender there. Only works some nights, but gets a crowd every time?”
Yunho stiffens. His mind immediately conjures the visage of Seonghwa behind the bar, grinning as he slides a drink across the counter, laughing at something some girl had said. The way people leaned in when he spoke, the way they looked at him—like they wanted him.
Like they thought they could have him.
“Seonghwa, right?”
“That’s the one,” Mingi confirms.
There’s a brief moment of silence before Jongho speaks again, a note of contemplation in his words like he’s filing the information away for later. “You’re dating Seonghwa, Yunho-hyung?”
“Uh,” Yunho hesitates, teeth sinking into his bottom lip. His stomach twists as the truth claws its way up. “Well, about that…”
“Hyung, could you do me a favour?”
Seonghwa’s head tilts at the sudden shift to seriousness in Yunho’s demeanor. He rests an elbow on the counter. “Of course. Whatever you need, Yunho.”
The lie slips off the tip of Yunho’s tongue far easier than he ever expected it to. “My parents—they’ve been asking me if I’m seeing anyone, since you know, I’m graduating soon—”
“I’m just going to pretend I didn’t hear that—”
“—and I kinda panicked? And said I am? And now they’re expecting me to bring someone home to that Christmas party- you know, the one our family always hosts.” Yunho forces a weak laugh. “I was wondering, if you know, you could?”
Seonghwa leans in, resting his chin on his palm. His eyes, dark and round, peek up at Yunho from below his lashes. Yunho’s mouth goes dry. “Could what, Yuyu?”
Yunho’s heart is pounding now, blood roaring in his ears. He tries not to stare at the lazy curve of the smirk that tugs at Seonghwa’s lips, the way his fingers tap idly against the counter, chasing the same rhythm as Yunho’s racing pulse.
“Uh, well, you know, could, uh,” Yunho stammers, lamely.
Seonghwa blinks, once, then twice. Then, with something unreadable in his voice—“Are you asking me to be—to pretend to be your boyfriend, Yunho-ah?”
“Yes,” Yunho breathes.
Say no, a tiny, traitourous voice in his head pleads. Say no before I make this worse.
“Please.”
Seonghwa straightens.
Mingi exhales through his nose, the disappointment, not unlike that of a parent lecturing his wayward child, palpable even through Yunho’s headset. “So you didn’t ask him to be your boyfriend,” Mingi says flatly. “You asked him to pretend to be your boyfriend.”
“Well, I mean—”
Jongho bursts into laughter, cackling through the mic, “Oh my God, hyung, you’re such a chicken!”
Shame crawls up Yunho’s spine, white-hot and suffocating. Defensiveness surges like a tidal wave, drowning out everything else, and Yunho snaps, without thinking—
“At least Seonghwa-hyung’s single!”
Mingi sucks in a breath.
It’s a low blow, and Yunho knows that. The atmosphere sours immediately, and even though Yunho can’t see him, he can tell Jongho’s gone quiet. Yunho’s gut twists, nausea rising in his stomach.
“Don’t talk about—”
“I’m sorry, Jongho. That was way out of line, I’m sorry—fuck—I didn’t mean to—”
Jongho cuts him off before he could spiral further. “Hey. It’s alright, hyung. Apology accepted.”
“God, Jongho, I’m so sorry,” Yunho exhales, pressing the heel of his hand against his forehead. “I’m so fucked up.”
Another silence settles between them, even more suffocating this time.
“I don’t want to put you in a worse mood, but…” Mingi hesitates. “What’s your plan? You know, after the party?”
Yunho stares at his screen, their game long abandoned. The words on the screen, eerily and cruelly apt, taunt him relentlessly.
It should be an easy question to answer. They’d stage their break up and go back to their usual, casual dynamic, back to how they always are—how they always have been. He’d go back to watching Seonghwa behind the bar, smiling at strangers, flirting without meaning to, back to keeping his cards tucked close to his chest. Back to knowing, deep down, that none of it meant anything.
It should be easy.
Even breathing feels difficult, all of a sudden.
“I don’t know, Minki,” Yunho murmurs, and the admission tastes like surrender—bitter and helpless. “I don’t know.”
…
Yunho’s speeding down the freeway, fingers tapping idly against the steering wheel whilst his heart’s racing in his chest, when he glances at Seonghwa, who’s lounging in the passenger seat and blissfully oblivious, and asks—
“Aren’t you nervous?”
The hum he receives as a reply is muted, almost meditative. “Is there a reason for me to be?”
“They’re going to ask questions, you know,” Yunho says, trying to keep his voice light and casual. The inside of the car is unbearably warm despite it being the middle of winter. He reaches for the dial, turning the temperature down another notch.
Seonghwa chuckles, unconcerned. “I’ll just charm them as I always do.” He sticks out his tongue when Yunho snorts. “They already love me, anyway. Remember your aunt?”
“Oh, yeah,” Yunho breathes out a laugh, a bit more genuine this time. Seonghwa shudders.
“I hope your cousin isn’t here this time.”
“He is.” Seonghwa pulls a face, and Yunho laughs again, even harder. He provides a peace offering. “But I heard that he has a girlfriend now.”
Seonghwa pumps a fist in the air in a tiny gesture, and it’s downright adorable.
“Either way, you’re off the market this time.” Yunho falters. The next word tastes like dust on his tongue. “Supposedly.”
Seonghwa doesn’t respond immediately. His gaze drifts off to the view outside of the window, watching the scenery blur past. The silence stretches a little too long for Yunho’s comfort.
“Supposedly,” Seonghwa echoes softly, but there’s an element of wrongness to his voice, like he’s somewhere else entirely—lost in thoughts Yunho can’t ever begin to fathom.
Yunho swallows, turning his attention back to the road. The familiar hum of the engine under his fingertips does little to ease the sudden tightness in his chest.
He has spent the days leading up to the party regretting every decision that has led him to this particular point in time. For as long as he can remember, Seonghwa has been his one constant, woven into every memory, each milestone. Seonghwa is his best friend, the one who holds his hand through every beginning, every end—holding him steady even when everything else plunges into chaos.
But now, with this new… situation between them, Seonghwa’s presence is the one that’s muddling at his brain, leaving him lost and untethered.
He knows how to be Seonghwa’s best friend.
He doesn’t know how to be—how to pretend to be Seonghwa’s boyfriend.
His silence must read as nerves, because Seonghwa shifts to place a hand over Yunho’s, where it’s resting on the gear stick. The touch is light, familiar, because he’s done this a million times before. But it feels… different, this time.
His thumb brushes absent-mindedly along the back of Yunho’s knuckles, and the fleeting whisper of a touch sends electricity buzzing through his body, coursing like static under his skin.
“Don’t worry too much, Yunho-ah,” Seonghwa’s voice is quiet but firm. The other man is peering up at him from beneath his sunglasses, but there’s something intense, something insinuating in his gaze that Yunho can’t decipher. “We both know this isn’t real, but I’ll still do my best to help you out.”
Yunho’s throat goes dry.
“Just—” Seonghwa cuts himself off abruptly with a sharp exhale. When he continues to remain silent, Yunho darts a quick look from the corner of his eye.
For the first time, Yunho sees a hint of uncertainty flicker in Seonghwa’s expression.
“…Just?”
Seonghwa chews absently at his bottom lip before sighing. “Just promise me your family’s not gonna hate me after we break up?”
The joke is lighthearted, absurd even—but something about the way Seonghwa’s demeanor dims doesn’t match the lightness of it all. Yunho’s fingers twitch under where Seonghwa’s hand rests, heavy and reassuring.
“I don’t think they could,” he ends up saying, the words slipping out before Yunho could think better of them. “I don’t think anyone could.”
Neither of them says anything for a long moment, before—
“Alright, remind me- how long have we been dating, again?”
Over teasing remarks and fond banter, time flies by shockingly fast. Soon, the familiar outline of Yunho’s childhood home comes into view, and Yunho grips the steering wheel harder as he pulls in. The place is exactly as he remembers it—warm, tangerine light spilling from the windows, his cousins’ cars parked haphazardly along the streets likely pissing off the neighbours, and a ridiculous amount of Christmas ornaments decorating the lawn, the door, the windows—and even the roof this time, seriously?
Seonghwa unbuckles his seatbelt, grimacing when he hears a couple cracks as he stretches. “Well,” he beams, completely at ease, “You ready to score a Grand Bell?”
Yunho groans, dropping his forehead against the steering wheel. Seonghwa laughs, nudging him to sit up.
Before Yunho can process what’s going on, Seonghwa’s leaning over the console, reaching over to straighten the collar of the polo under his sweater, fingers brushing over both fabric and skin like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
This close, Yunho can smell the strawberry-scented shampoo he knows Seonghwa is partial to.
Then Seonghwa’s leaning back, and the trail of strawberries leaves with him.
Yunho barely remembers stepping out of the car. He barely registers the cold nipping at his flushed cheeks, or the hooting cheers his cousins let out when they catch sight of the pair. The front door swings open, and his mother is there, pulling Seonghwa into a tight hug.
Over her shoulder, Seonghwa catches his gaze and smiles.
And despite everything—his jumpy nerves, his scratchy throat, his racing heart—Yunho finds himself smiling back.
…
Yunho’s sinking deeper into the couch, Seonghwa tucked into his side, when his mother, eyes twinkling with joy, leans forward with the question—
“So, tell me. How did this happen?”
Shit.
For all the details they had meticulously worked out, all the little facts and stories they had rehearsed, they both had somehow managed to miss out on the most important of them all. Perhaps it was just an oversight, a simple slip of the mind, or perhaps it was the fact that he doesn’t actually recall much of his life before he met Seonghwa—for all Yunho’s ever known, Seonghwa has just been… there.
What significance did a first meeting hold if you couldn’t even remember the existence of a ‘before’?
It’s a sweet sentiment, the kind that makes Yunho’s heart flutters in his chest all warm and reckless and giddy-like but right now—
Shit.
Yunho gulps, lips parting to fumble his way through some semblance of an answer, when Seonghwa takes his hand, fingers slotting into place between his, like they’ve always belonged there. Seonghwa leans in, just a tad closer, and rests his head lightly against Yunho’s chest.
The crown of his head grazes the edge of Yunho’s chin, platinum strands curling to tickle at his throat.
Yunho swallows.
“It’s a funny story, actually,” Seonghwa starts, and there is something in his expression—something wondrous and wistful—that draws their expectant audience like moths to a flame. “I think… I knew I loved him long before Yunho asked me out.”
The room goes quiet. Something, almost imperceptible, shifts in the air. Yunho’s stomach turns as he looks down at Seonghwa, who doesn’t spare him a glance. He wonders where the man is going with this, wonders if he can feel the clamminess of Yunho’s palm against his, wonders if he can feel the pulse racing under his skin.
Seonghwa cocks his head, a thoughtful look crossing his face. “I think it was my… second year? Yunho’s first, of course. There was this night where I was so unbelievably stressed out, it’s ridiculous, really—I don’t even remember what I was so upset over, now,” Seonghwa laughs, airy and high, and some of his cousins chime in, giggling and tittering. “I dragged Yunho here out for a drive, and there was just this one moment, when I looked over…”
Seonghwa lifts his head, dark eyes peeking up at Yunho from behind platinum bangs. His voice dips into a whisper, quiet and intimate, and his next words seem to slip into a secret space that exists just between the two of them, like there’s no one else in the room with them.
“And there he was.”
They’re just four, short words, but they slither their way through the crevices of Yunho’s ribs, squeezing his heart so tight it feels like his chest is about to implode.
Somewhere, someone sniffles. Yunho barely registers it—not when a distinct sense of danger fills the air, like they’re diving headfirst into unchartered waters—not when he can’t pull his eyes off Seonghwa, because Seonghwa’s looking at him like that, saying things like that, like it’s all real, like he means it and Yunho can’t breathe—
And then, just as smoothly as he pulled Yunho under, Seonghwa steers the conversation back to safer waters, turning back to Yunho’s mother with an easy smile on his face. “Oh, but he’s such a hopeless romantic too! He planned this whole day just to ask me out- he drove us all the way out, you know, to that old arcade down the street. Then we went ice skating next, before having a picnic watching the sunset. He really had everything thought out—even tried to replicate my mother’s kimchi, but, well, Yunho can’t really…”
Time stretches, seconds ticking by sluggishly like minutes, as Yunho slowly takes in the way Seonghwa’s face has lit up, fairy lights sparkling like stars in his eyes. And even though this… first date is something they hadn’t had the forethought to discuss, the words, painting a picturesque, perfect lie of a day, tumble out and past Seonghwa’s lips effortlessly, like it’s something he’s imagined before, not for the first time—
And Yunho feels sick.
Not just because it isn’t real—none of this is real—but because that is how Seonghwa should be treated. Seonghwa shouldn’t have to just imagine, just hope, just dream of somebody out there who’d be willing to go the extra mile to make him happy.
And the worst part of it all?
Yunho knows perfectly well there are dozens and dozens of people who would be more than happy to go through all that trouble just to have that happiness shine on Seonghwa’s face—if only he let them.
That dark, ugly feeling that has laid dormant in his chest since the night at the bar, slowly stirs awake.
The conversation quickly blurs after that. At some point during the night, Seonghwa disentangles himself from where he’s snuggled against Yunho, disappearing into the kitchen with his mother. When they return, Seonghwa shoots Yunho an odd look, but he doesn’t say anything.
Yunho, still swept up in his thoughts, doesn’t ask either.
They end up sleeping in Yunho’s childhood room, since the bed is big enough for the both of them. When they retreat to the bedroom, his mother sends them off with a teasing, “Leave the door open—just kidding!” and Seonghwa laughs, but it sounds different from usual.
A little hollow, a little uncertain, and Yunho isn’t sure why. It’s difficult to read Seonghwa, these days.
Seonghwa’s quiet as he gets ready for bed, but a small smile still slips out here and there when he catches Yunho staring. Yunho takes his time in the bathroom, fingers gripping the sink as he exhales slowly, trying to unravel the knot weighing heavy in his chest.
When he returns, Seonghwa is already curled up under the covers, platinum hair spilled across the pillow, framing his face like a halo. Yunho slides into bed beside him, pulling the blankets higher up under Seonghwa’s chin. His gaze absently traces the soft curve of Seonghwa’s jaw, the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest, the plush pout to his lips.
For a fleeting, aching moment, Yunho wonders how they’d taste.
I love you, Yunho wants to say. Instead, he brushes his fingers over Seonghwa’s hair in a ghost of a touch, murmuring—
“I’m sorry.”
…
Yunho’s standing out on the balcony, watching snow fall in a flurry of white, glistening and glimmering under the first slivers of sunlight peeking over the horizon, when he hears Seonghwa say—
“You lied to me.”
Yunho stills, ice spreading like tendrils from the center of his chest. Seonghwa’s voice is too calm, too cool, too careful. Snow crunches below Seonghwa’s boots as he trudges forward, deliberate and slow, to lean against the railing. His head tips back, gaze lifting toward the pale morning sky, the stretch of white, cottony clouds drifting overhead, but Yunho sees through it all too easily—Seonghwa’s avoiding looking at him.
When Seonghwa speaks again, his tone is light, too light. “Your mother talked to me last night, in the kitchen.” Seonghwa exhales, his breath misting in the cold, “She said the family had been ecstatic when they found out you were bringing someone home—bringing me home.”
He barrels on, not giving Yunho any chance to speak, but it’s not like Yunho could eke out a single sound anyway, not past the lump firmly lodged in his throat.
“‘It was like a wonderful, early Christmas present’, she said, when they received the news.” Seonghwa’s voice wavers. “When you told them two days ago.”
He turns, finally meeting Yunho’s gaze. There’s no anger in his expression, but there’s something worse—confusion, hurt, devastation tangle together in a heart-wrenching blend that twists and turns at Yunho’s insides. “I don’t understand,” Seonghwa confesses, with a gentleness that Yunho does not deserve. “Why lie about something like that? There was no need for all this.”
The answer bubbles up Yunho’s throat instantly.
Because I can’t live with the idea of you with anybody else, Yunho wants to say, but the words freeze at the tip of Yunho’s tongue. His mouth opens—closes—then stays shut, as Yunho’s unable to say anything, do anything but stare at Seonghwa in mute horror.
Seonghwa watches him carefully, for a beat, then two—waiting, just waiting.
Then, his eyes widen.
“How long have you known?” Seonghwa asks, color draining from his face as he takes a shaky step back, nearly tripping over his shoes in his haste. “I—you—”
Fear flickers across his features before his face crumples completely, hand pressing against his mouth to muffle the plaintive cry that threatens to escape. His lips are trembling when he continues in a frail whisper, barely audible in the still, frozen air—
“I never thought you to be so cruel.”
What?
Seonghwa’s rambling now, the words spilling out erratic and fast, like torrential waters from a broken dam. “Is this your way of letting me down gently? ‘Throw Park Seonghwa a bone before I shatter him, forever,’ because—what?” Seonghwa scoffs at the ground, harsh and self-deprecating, “You feel bad for me? God, Yunho—if this is some kind of—some kind of pity thing—”
His gaze snaps up to meet Yunho’s, eyes red-rimmed and glassy.
“I know you don’t feel the same but—” his voice cracks, and Yunho swears he sees some fragile part within Seonghwa fracture alongside it. “I’d rather never have had any of this if it just meant losing it all after.”
It’s like Yunho’s drowning, dragged beneath the waves, as the words reach him, distant and muffled. But even through the haze, everything centers around the way Seonghwa’s voice shakes, the way his breath stutters, the way his arms wrap tight around his quivering frame, willing himself to not crumble further.
He’s scared—of Yunho.
In the end, it’s Seonghwa’s desperate plea that drags him to the surface.
“Tell me, please, Yunho—why?”
Because I love you, Yunho wants to say. And because everything’s already gone to hell and he’s caught in the eye of a storm he has no way of stopping, Yunho thinks he might as well ruin himself completely and so he ends up saying—
“Because I love you.”
Seonghwa freezes.
For a short, singular moment, everything stops.
Their breaths fog up in the cold, dissipating into nothingness—thin wisps of smoke in the dawn. Ice sinks under Yunho’s sweater and into his skin, chilling against the heat that sears through his veins.
Then—
“That night, at the bar, God, you should’ve seen the way that man looked at you—it was—I couldn’t—” Yunho blurts out, frantic, unsteady as he blindly stumbles his way through the mess he made, the mess he started. That dark, ugly feeling rises within him, struggling to claw its way to the surface, but Yunho forcefully shoves it aside. “I couldn’t bear even the thought of you being with somebody else. I wanted to tell you then, I really did.”
Seonghwa’s eyes narrow, dubious and distrustful. “… So why didn’t you?”
He barely manages to choke out the words with how hard his chest squeezes. “I was scared.” The paltry explanation, vulnerable as it is, reeks of cowardice. Yunho drops his head to the ground, shame coiling tight in his stomach. “And I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”
Silence hangs between them, thick and unforgiving. He feels the heat of Seonghwa’s stare burning into the crown of his head, but he’s too scared to look up, too terrified of what he might find, too afraid that when he does look up, it’ll be to the sight of Seonghwa’s shadow, stepping away from him. So he waits, and waits, until—
Seonghwa steps forward. His fingers ghost over Yunho’s wrist before sliding down to curl around his hand.
“Look at me.”
Yunho hesitates, then obeys.
This close, he can see the snowflakes clinging to Seonghwa’s lashes. They’re dainty, delicate, dancing in the dawn breeze.
Slowly, Seonghwa lifts his other hand to cradle Yunho’s cheek. The thumb brushing along the highs of his cheekbone betrays the sharpness of his tongue.
“You’re so, so stupid, Jeong Yunho.”
Seonghwa’s watching him carefully, gaze lingering along every inch of his face like he’s searching for something. His eyes are still red, but in them, Yunho sees something raw and quiet and longing. It’s overwhelming—everything and nothing make senses all at once, but—
Seonghwa’s holding his hand, warm and steady and true.
The knot in Yunho's chest unravels and—
He finds himself able to breathe, again.
Between them, the sun rises. Snow gives way to streaming rivulets beneath the golden light.
“You’re so lucky I love you, you idiot.”
…
Later, when they return to Seoul, Yunho will set his plans into motion. He’ll ask Seonghwa to be his boyfriend—for real, this time—just as the other had described in wistful whispers, over old arcade games and clumsy attempts at kimchi. Seonghwa will call him silly, but he’ll leap into Yunho’s waiting arms, pressing teary cheeks into the crook of his neck. But for now, Yunho’s falling in love, all over again, as Seonghwa, soft and shy and strawberry-pink, parts his lips—
“Kiss me?”
Yunho leans in.
It’s sweeter than Yunho could’ve ever imagined it to be.