Work Text:
He left with a goodbye he never said—
He came back with a vow he never broke.
1
There was a house at the edge of the field, a large, quiet building with peeling white paint and windows that blinked out like tired eyes at the sky. It wasn't broken, but it wasn't whole either. It stood like something waiting to be remembered.
That house was where Wonwoo lived.
Not by choice, not even by circumstance. He was born there — his mother, breathless and pale, had died on the same bed he took his first cry on. The women who worked in the orphanage said she was beautiful. They said she was too young to go. Too young to raise a child, he thought.
Wonwoo grew up in silence. Not because he had no voice, but because silence always made more sense than speaking.
He wasn’t the only one in the house, of course. Dozens of children, some younger, some older, all shared the space. The rooms echoed with laughter during the day, but at night, it was just the wind and the sound of distant trains.
Wonwoo had his corner. A desk by a window. A box of books he had read a thousand times. And a mind that wandered where his feet couldn’t go.
He was twenty-one now. Too old for adoption, too young to leave.
Still, the head caretaker let him stay, and called him a quiet helper. Someone who kept the place in order. Someone the kids liked to talk to before falling asleep.
But Wonwoo was not sentimental. He watched life with half-lidded eyes, like someone forever waiting for the punchline of a joke that never came.
Then, one morning, a black car parked in front of the orphanage. The man who stepped out first was tall, sharp like a blade. His uniform was crisp, his presence heavy. The children quieted at the sight of him, their senses instinctive. Beside him emerged another figure — younger, broader, with a gait too casual for his clean-cut clothes. His hair was tousled by the wind, and his eyes scanned the house like it was a new level in a game he wasn’t quite sure how to beat.
The general came to see Miss Han, the head of the orphanage. An old friend, apparently.
They exchanged words, formal and stiff, but the topic was clear:
They will stay in town for a while. His son will stay here for a while. The general was on leave. His son, the boy from the car, was to begin military training in town soon.
“Just for a month,” Miss Han explained to the staff later, with that strained smile she reserved for important guests.
“Just until the camp reopens,” The general said. ”It would be good for the boy to… experience civilian life. To help such young people in need. It will be additional to his training.”
Wonwoo had heard enough. He didn’t like the sound of “experience.”
The boy — Mingyu, that was his name — was nothing like his father. Where the general was silent and steel, Mingyu was noise and golden sunlight. He walked around like the hallways belonged to him. He was always smiling and talking. Always being… seen.
The younger kids adored him instantly. He gave them piggyback rides, told dumb jokes, even helped fix a broken swing out back. The staff liked him, too. He offered to carry heavy crates, clean the old shed, and repaint the broken fence.
Perfect. Charming. Too perfect.
Wonwoo watched from the porch one afternoon, book half-open, eyes sharp.
“What?” Mingyu said, catching him staring. “Do I have something on my face?”
“Just the arrogance,” Wonwoo replied without blinking.
Mingyu laughed genuinely, and that was the most annoying part. He wasn’t offended or defensive. He just smiled wider.
“Nice to meet you too, mystery boy.”
Not a mystery,” Wonwoo muttered. “Just don’t talk unless I need to.”
“That’s sad,” Mingyu said, flopping onto the step beside him, far too close. “People should talk more.”
Wonwoo turned a page in his book without answering.
Days passed. Mingyu stayed. He wandered the house like he was looking for something. Not bored, just… searching. He asked about the kids, helped with meals, made a mess in the kitchen trying to bake cookies tiger with a ten-year-old named Soonyoung.
He started joining Wonwoo during cleanup duty. Uninvited. Wonwoo tolerated him the way one tolerates a very persistent dog.
“You don’t like me,” Mingyu said once, mopping the hallway.
“Didn’t say that.”
“You don’t have to say it. It’s all over your face.”
Wonwoo paused. “I just don’t like people who act like they’re better than this place.”
Mingyu’s eyes darkened a little. “I don’t think I’m better. I just think... maybe this place deserves more than people expect it to.”
Wonwoo looked up then. Mingyu met his gaze, serious for the first time.
“I didn’t ask to be here either,” Mingyu said.
That night, Wonwoo couldn’t sleep. He sat by the window, watching stars peek through the clouds. There were too many thoughts, too many memories, and Mingyu’s voice.
“I didn’t ask to be here either.”
For the first time in a long time, Wonwoo didn’t feel like the moon at the edge of the sky. A star had wandered too close.
2
The days moved slow in that house.
Like syrup poured from a bottle, each hour stretched longer than it should. The children passed the time inventing games, counting cracks on the ceiling, and sometimes, just lying under the old oak tree, staring at the sky until it blurred.
Wonwoo never minded the quiet. He thought silence was the only thing that stayed. It had weight and familiarity. He had spent years folding himself into it, learning how to live inside the spaces where words didn't reach.
But Mingyu wasn’t the kind of person who let silence grow. The boy was everywhere.
Mornings at the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, struggling to slice bread with a butter knife like he was fighting for his life. Afternoons on the porch, feet propped on the railings, head tilted back as he counted clouds like they were old friends. Evenings at the worn-out piano in the common room, pressing keys at random, filling the house with soft, unsteady notes.
And somehow, always near Wonwoo.
He’s always there, like gravity.
When he was sititng under the oak tree one time, Mingyu sat next to him.
"You hate me, i get it."
"You're so assuming."
"Feels like it anyway. So, why?"
"Why what?"
"Why do you hate me?"
"i don't hate you. I just don't need anyone bothering with my peace of mind."
"Well, today for you is a jinx since I feel like it's my purpose to annoy you now."
Wonwoo groaned in annoyance, stood up and left. Mingyu was heard laughing, still sitting under the tree.
“You’re always here,” Wonwoo muttered one afternoon, folding laundry as Mingyu sat cross-legged on the floor beside him, doing absolutely nothing productive.
“Maybe you’re the one who’s always here,” Mingyu shot back, eyes glinting with mischief. “I just happen to exist.”
Wonwoo didn’t laugh. But his lips twitched, just enough for Mingyu to notice.
That was the thing about Mingyu, he noticed literally everything. The way Wonwoo’s fingers curled too tightly when folding shirts. The way his eyes softened when the little ones tugged his sleeves. The way he never flinched when the wind slammed the windows, like he had learned a long time ago that nothing outside could scare him more than what was inside.
Mingyu noticed, but he never asked. Wonwoo knew that, too, but never said a word.
There was a night, cold and clear, when the generator failed. The house plunged into darkness. The younger kids huddled together, wide-eyed and shivering, some on the brink of tears. Wonwoo moved without thinking. Lighting candles, gathering blankets, steady hands in a place where everyone else trembled.
And then there was Mingyu, flashlight in hand, using his jacket as a makeshift tent to shelter two children under his arms.
They met eyes across the room. Wonwoo didn’t look away, he couldn’t.
Later, when the house finally hushed, Wonwoo sat on the front steps, arms wrapped around his knees, watching the moon drown in a sky full of indifferent stars. Mingyu joined him, settling beside him with the same quietness the night offered. He didn't speak, not right away. He just let the silence stretch, this time without trying to fill it.
“You always sit here alone?” Mingyu asked, finally, voice low.
Wonwoo shrugged. “The sky doesn’t judge. It just watches.”
Mingyu leaned back on his elbows, head tilted, studying the same sky. “It looks lonely.”
“It is.”
Mingyu’s voice came softer, almost hesitant. “But it’s got the stars and the moon.”
Wonwoo blinked, startled at the familiarity of the thought.
“Although the moon was always seen as lonely, it had the stars,” Mingyu added, more to himself than to Wonwoo. “That’s what my mom used to say. Before she left.”
Wonwoo tilted his head, eyes narrowing. “Left?”
Mingyu gave a crooked smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah. When I was eight. Dad said she couldn't handle the weight of this world. Whatever that means.”
The words hung between them, suspended like the moon overhead. Wonwoo didn’t reply, and Mingyu didn’t expect him to.
After that night, something changed.
They still exchanged snarky comments. Still traded glances that felt more like fencing matches than conversations. But there was an ease now, the kind born not from words, but from shared silence.
Wonwoo found himself looking for Mingyu in the small things. A stray jacket left on a chair. Crumbs on the kitchen counter. The faint scent of rain and soap on the hallway he had just passed.
And Mingyu, for all his usual loudness, grew quieter when it was just the two of them. Like he understood there were things that didn’t need filling.
One afternoon, the rain came uninvited. The kind of rain that blurred the world, softened the hard edges of buildings and bent the sky downward.
The kids were all inside, busy with board games and puzzles, but Wonwoo stood by the window, eyes tracing raindrops as they raced each other down the glass.
“You like the rain?” Mingyu’s voice drifted from the doorway.
Wonwoo didn’t turn. “I like the sound. Drowns out the noise.”
“Thought you liked silence.”
Wonwoo’s lips quirked slightly. “Rain is a different kind of silence. One you don’t have to explain.”
Mingyu moved closer, standing beside him, shoulder barely brushing his.
“My mom liked the rain, too,” he said, voice distant, as if time folded inward at the mention of her.
Wonwoo glanced at him, something softer settling between them.
“Maybe we like the same things for the same reasons,” Mingyu added, eyes still on the rain.
Wonwoo didn’t reply, but his hand shifted, resting on the windowsill, inches from Mingyu’s. Close enough for the space between to hum.
Nights felt shorter after that.
It wasn’t that the days grew easier, or that life inside the orphanage magically became brighter.
But loneliness started to feel less suffocating to him.
Wonwoo still sat by the window and still watched the stars. But now, sometimes, Mingyu sits beside him.
Wonwoo never thought in his whole life in the orphanage, someone would care enough to sit beside and watch the night go by. Just by seeing Mingyu every day, he knew he was wrong.
3
The rain hadn't stopped.
It had been days, maybe three or four, the kind of rain that didn't come to wash things away, just enough to linger. Grey skies. Damp walls. Cold mornings that curled into colder nights.
The house felt smaller when it rained.
Wonwoo sat by the window, the same place he'd claimed for years. It was his territory, his quiet corner, where the world couldn't reach him. Where time slowed enough to feel manageable.
But this night, Mingyu was already there, leaning his head against the glass, exhaling softly, like he'd been carrying something heavy all day, and only now could let it go.
Wonwoo stood behind him, hands shoved in his sweater pockets.
“You're in my spot,” he mumbled, voice low but lacking the usual bite.
Mingyu didn't move, just tilted his head slightly, eyes not leaving the window.
“I’ll give it back when the rain stops,” he replied, almost a whisper.
It was always like that, these past few weeks. Small and quiet conversations. The kind that didn’t ask for explanations. The kind that sounded simple, but weren’t.
And Mingyu — the boy everyone assumed had the perfect life, the soldier’s son, the soon-to-be trained man molded from discipline — he sat there like a child who had long outgrown the safety of make-believe.
Wonwoo stepped forward, standing beside him, shoulder to shoulder, both facing the window.
“It won’t stop soon,” Wonwoo said.
“Good,” Mingyu answered. “I’m not in a rush.”
They didn’t talk about why nights felt heavier.
They didn’t talk about why both of them were always awake when the world slept.
But there was comfort in the presence.
Mingyu shifted, breaking the silence. “You know... I used to think being alone meant you were strong,” he said. “Like, if you didn’t need anyone, then nothing could hurt you.”
Wonwoo's lips twitched, a bitter smile barely surfacing.
“That’s not strength,” he replied. “That’s just... survival.”
Mingyu looked at him then. Not the quick glances he used to steal, not the playful ones either. This time it was different. Like he was seeing every fracture, every carefully hidden scar Wonwoo tried to bury.
“You ever wish it was different?” Mingyu asked.
Wonwoo blinked. “What?”
“Your life,” Mingyu clarified. “Your past. The cards you were dealt.”
Wonwoo stared at the window again, watching a raindrop trail down like a falling star.
“Wishing won’t bring my mother back,” he said quietly. “And it won’t change the fact that I was born into a world where love is a fleeting guest.”
Mingyu's chest tightened at that. He wanted to say something, anything, but the words tangled in his throat. So he did the only thing he could. He stayed. Sat there, silent, a steady presence. Sometimes that was all you could give someone.
And sometimes, that was enough.
The following morning, the rain eased.
And Wonwoo found himself standing at the back of the house, where the small garden stretched into a wild patch of earth. His hands were buried deep in the pockets of his jacket, his breath misting in the cool air.
Mingyu joined him, as usual, uninvited but not unwelcome.
“You’re up early,” Wonwoo muttered.
“You didn’t look for me by the window today,” Mingyu replied.
Wonwoo looked away, lips tightening. “I thought you’d be gone.”
Mingyu frowned. “Gone where?”
Wonwoo shrugged. “People leave.”
There it was, the unspoken truth. The one that lived in every orphaned child’s chest. The fear that anyone who stays will eventually go. That attachment is a ticking bomb.
But Mingyu only shook his head, stepping forward, standing close enough for his shoulder to brush Wonwoo’s.
“Well, I’m still here,” he said, soft but firm.
Days blurred into weeks.
Mingyu’s father stayed busy, buried in military paperwork and long phone calls. The man rarely spoke, but his shadow loomed over Mingyu like a constant reminder of who he was expected to become.
But Mingyu didn’t look like a soldier when he was around Wonwoo. He looked... human. Messy and just being himself.
One night, after dinner, when the house grew dim and the sky stretched wide, Wonwoo found Mingyu lying under the oak tree. His hands tucked behind his head, staring at the stars like they were old stories he was trying to remember.
Wonwoo sat beside him, pulling his knees to his chest.
“You ever wonder where the moon goes when it’s lonely?” Mingyu asked suddenly, breaking the quiet.
Wonwoo tilted his head, gaze lifting toward the pale crescent above.
“It doesn’t go anywhere,” he murmured. “It just stays there. Waiting for someone or something, I guess.”
Mingyu let the words settle, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
“Then I guess... you’re like the moon.”
Wonwoo blinked, startled. “Me?”
“Yeah,” Mingyu whispered, turning his head slightly. “You just kind of stay here in the house, waiting for something to happen.”
Wonwoo didn’t reply. His chest ached in a way that wasn’t sharp, but deep. Mingyu was right, he guessed that he really was just waiting for something to happen, whether in his life or to him.
4
Mornings have gotten gentler now.
The rain had stopped two days ago, but the grass still glistened with dew. The house, lively as ever with the younger kids screaming over who stole whose bread, faded into the background when Wonwoo found himself in the garden again.
But this time, he wasn’t alone.
Mingyu was there first, slumped lazily on a wooden bench, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, sunlight pooling on his skin like it belonged there.
Wonwoo paused, eyes lingering longer than he meant to.
“G’morning,” Mingyu said, not even opening his eyes. “Took you long enough.”
Wonwoo scoffed. “I wasn’t planning to join you.”
“Liar,” Mingyu replied, grinning now as he cracked one eye open. “You always show up. You’re predictable.”
“I could stab you.”
“Wouldn’t be the worst way to go.”
Wonwoo’s lips twitched. He hated how effortlessly Mingyu could pull that out of him. Like he was slowly chipping away at all of Wonwoo’s quiet fortresses.
And God, was he good at it.
They spent the morning in silence. The kind of silence that meant something, that didn’t need to be filled.
Wonwoo was reading. Mingyu was sketching something on an old notebook he claimed he “stole” from the supply closet.
“Let me see,” Wonwoo asked, nodding toward the pages.
Mingyu hesitated, clearly flustered.
“It’s nothing.”
“Exactly why I wanna see.”
Mingyu looked away. His voice was softer when he replied. “They’re sketches of you.”
Wonwoo blinked. “…What?”
“Just… fragments,” Mingyu mumbled, eyes still on the notebook. “Like, your side profile when you’re staring out the window. The way you sit, all hunched and guarded. Your hands when you turn the pages of a book.”
A pause. The sound of a bird in the distance. The wind brushing against them like it knew this moment was fragile.
“I see you a lot, even when you think I don’t,” Mingyu added, barely audible now.
Wonwoo didn’t say anything. His hands curled against the hem of his sweater, grounding himself. Because no one had ever noticed him that way. No one had ever seen him like Mingyu did.
That night, Wonwoo couldn’t sleep. So he went back to the window. The one that used to be just his. But Mingyu was already there as usual. They didn’t speak as Wonwoo sat beside him, shoulder brushing shoulder, the air between them electric and unspoken.
It was Mingyu who broke the silence first.
“My dad says I’m not soft enough,” he murmured. “That if I wanna lead like him one day, I need to learn to shut things off. Emotions. Attachments. All that crap.”
Wonwoo looked at him. “Do you believe that?”
Mingyu let out a breathy laugh. “I did. Until I met you.”
Wonwoo’s heart lurched. Something warm swelled in his chest, but he shoved it down, terrified to feel too much.
“Why me?”
Mingyu looked at him, eyes sincere, voice trembling just enough to show it mattered.
“Because you make loneliness look like something I want to understand.”
Later that week, even other people began to notice that something was different.
They noticed the way Mingyu looked at Wonwoo like he was memorizing constellations. The way Wonwoo, despite all his defenses, started laughing more. Even if it was just under his breath. Even if it only happened when Mingyu was around.
Then one night, while everyone else slept and the world was hushed in that way only midnight knew, Wonwoo found a note under his pillow.
In scribbled handwriting, messy but familiar:
“If the moon ever forgets how to shine, I’ll be your star until it remembers.” - M
Wonwoo clutched the paper to his chest. For the first time in many years, he cried. Because someone has finally stayed.
5
There was a new energy in the air. Not just spring creeping in through the windows or the smell of fresh laundry hung out in the sun. No, this was different.
This was the type of electricity that lived in the space between two people—close, but not close enough.
Wonwoo felt it every time Mingyu passed behind him. Felt it when their fingers brushed handing off a plate. Felt it when Mingyu looked at him like he was a song stuck in his head.
And he hated it.
Because he loved it.
And that made it worse.
One night, the electricity turned into fire.
The power went out, courtesy of an old transformer finally giving up. The younger kids panicked, squealing and shrieking like the world had ended. Flashlights flickered, candles were lit.
Wonwoo was in the storage room, rummaging for extra blankets when Mingyu showed up behind him.
“Need help?”
“Not really,” Wonwoo muttered, not turning around.
He heard the grin in Mingyu’s voice anyway. “Too bad. I’m helping.”
Wonwoo sighed, letting him take the folded linens from his arms.
There wasn’t much light, just the soft flicker of a candle placed on a nearby crate. It painted Mingyu in warm gold, like a scene out of something holy.
Wonwoo tried not to look at his face.
But then Mingyu spoke. “You always act like you don’t need anyone.”
And that made Wonwoo freeze. He turned, blanket still in hand, voice careful. “Is that a bad thing?”
“No,” Mingyu said. “Just... makes me want to be someone you could need.”
Wonwoo stared at him, eyes wide, breathing uneven. Mingyu stepped closer, slow and deliberate, the air between them so thick it could choke.
“Can I tell you something?” Mingyu whispered.
Wonwoo swallowed hard. “You’re already talking.”
“I think I’m falling in love with you.”
Time stopped. Or maybe it didn’t. Maybe it just felt like it did, because Wonwoo couldn’t hear anything but his own heartbeat.
Mingyu continued, his voice lower now. “Not the ‘I want to kiss you under the stars’ kind. Not yet. I mean…the scary kind. The kind that…I’m not sure if it’s a good thing to feel. It is! I- I’m not saying it’s not, it’s just…the kind that makes me want to protect you, even from yourself.”
Wonwoo stared at him like he was seeing the sky for the first time. He said nothing, he didn’t know how.
They were interrupted by a voice calling out for Mingyu from the hallway. They remembered that there was a fire, and Mingyu returned to the main living room. One of the younger boys needed help with a stuck window or something. The other kids were crying shamelessly. Just like that, the moment slipped away, replaced by a rush of footsteps and fading candlelight.
Wonwoo stood alone in the storage room, fists clenched around a blanket that suddenly felt too warm, too heavy. He didn’t know how to say it back.
But he wanted to. God, he wanted to.
Later that night, when everyone was finally asleep and the house hummed in silence, Wonwoo found a flashlight tucked under his pillow.
He clicked it on. Etched in Sharpie along the plastic barrel were four words:
“Find me on the roof.”
Wonwoo climbed the creaky ladder at the back of the house, heart pounding like war drums. When he reached the top, Mingyu was there, his knees tucked up. Without a word, Wonwoo sat beside him.
They stared up at the sky.
Mingyu’s voice broke the quiet after a while. “You don’t have to say anything.”
Wonwoo shook his head. “But I want to.”
“I’m scared,” Wonwoo said, and it was the truest thing he’d ever admitted.
“Me too,” Mingyu replied. “But it’s okay to be scared.”
Then, slowly, carefully, Mingyu reached out and took Wonwoo’s hand. Wonwoo didn’t pull away. Instead, he held on.
6
The night wasn’t cold, but his chest was.
Wonwoo stayed sitting on the rooftop long after Mingyu left, his hand still tingling from the touch, mind reeling with words he didn’t say. Words he couldn’t say.
Because what if?
Because what if it’s not real?
Because Wonwoo had spent years locking his heart in cages, and Mingyu had picked the lock with a smile.
And now he didn’t know what to do with all that freedom.
The next morning, he was quiet.
Quieter than usual.
He slipped away from breakfast early and settled on the staircase, halfway up, where the light from the window landed perfectly on the wooden steps. His usual hiding spot, his little world. But today, someone else found him. A small pair of feet padded up the stairs, stopping a few steps below him. Wonwoo glanced down to see Jihoon—one of the youngest in the house, no older than ten—looking up at him with sleepy eyes and messy hair.
“Hyung?” the kid mumbled, rubbing his eye with a balled fist. “You’re crying.”
Wonwoo wiped at his cheek, and sighed softly.
Jihoon sat down beside him, legs dangling over the edge, swinging slowly back and forth.
“You okay?” the boy asked, voice small.
Wonwoo let out a humorless laugh, resting his head against the wall. “Yeah. Just... heart stuff.”
The kid tilted his head. “Like when you fall down and it hurts?”
“Sort of. But worse.”
Then Jihoon, in that way kids do—completely unaware of the bomb he was about to drop—said:
“Our headmaster says when you love someone, you have to tell them, or else your heart gets really, really full and explodes. Like a balloon.”
Wonwoo let out a shaky breath. “Sounds messy.”
Jihoon nodded, swinging his feet faster. “Is that why you’re sad? You didn’t tell the person you love?”
Wonwoo swallowed. God, kids were brutal.
"Yeah," he whispered. 'We...are just a bit scared about it."
Jihoon wrinkled his nose, thinking hard like the answer was a very hard obstacle course.
“My mom used to say... you shouldn’t be scared of good feelings. If you love someone, you should tell them and be proud of it."
Wonwoo closed his eyes. “Smart mom.”
The kid hummed. “I miss her too. I wish she was still with me to say those again when I grow up.”
And just like that, the conversation became something more fragile. Two broken people, sitting on worn-out steps, holding the weight of the world between them without even realizing.
When Jihoon finally stood up to leave, he looked back over his shoulder.
“You should tell them that you're scared but you're proud of it, hyung. Before your heart explodes.”
Wonwoo let out a dry chuckle. “I’ll try.”
And for the first time in a long time, he actually meant it.
That evening, as the sun began to fold into the horizon, Wonwoo stayed on those stairs. Only this time, he wasn’t crying. He was waiting. And sure enough, footsteps echoed from the hallway. Mingyu.The boy paused when he saw Wonwoo, eyebrows quirking upward, like the universe had played this scene just for him.
“Hey,” Mingyu said, voice casual but eyes careful. “Didn’t see you at dinner.”
“Wasn’t hungry.”
Silence stretched between them, thin and fragile, until Mingyu sat down on the step below Wonwoo, back leaning against his knees.
“You okay?” he asked softly.
“I talked to Jihoon earlier. He kind found me here and stayed with me for a while.”
Mingyu turned his head, curious. “Yeah? What about?”
Wonwoo’s voice cracked, barely a whisper. “Love. And fear. And... exploding hearts.”
Mingyu smiled, but it wasn’t teasing. It was soft. Like he understood every word without needing the full story. And then, very quietly, Wonwoo admitted:
“I think I’m in love with you too. I just... I didn’t know how to say it. Until a kid told me I should.”
Mingyu tilted his head back, looking up at him, eyes shining like the stars overhead. “You didn’t have to say it. I’ve been waiting for you to feel safe enough to.”
And then Mingyu, voice barely louder than the wind, added: “I’m still here, you know. I’m not going anywhere.”
7
It started raining. Again.
Wonwoo stood by the orphanage’s old glass doors, watching the drops slide down like slow, lazy rivers. Everything inside him felt as heavy as the rain outside. Mingyu found him on the porch. They watched the rain in silence for a long while.
Wonwoo’s throat tightened, a lump sitting right where the words were supposed to be “You scare me,” his voice cracked on the first syllable. “You scare me because I didn’t think I’d ever feel this way about anyone. I’ve been alone for so long — I thought I was built for it. I thought I was meant to stay that way.”
Mingyu whispered, barely audible:
“Wonwoo...”
“I’ve been in love with you, Wonwoo. I know we've said it, but...i want you to hear me over and over so you could understand."
Wonwoo let out a shaky laugh, wiping at his face, even as more tears slipped out.
“You’re an idiot,” he whispered.
“Yeah,” Mingyu replied, eyes soft and wet. “But I’m your idiot.”
Wonwoo leaned forward, forehead resting against Mingyu’s shoulder, breathing him in like air, like safety, like everything he’d been starved of for years. Mingyu wrapped his arms around him, holding tight, like he could stitch the broken parts back together just by being there.
8
The orphanage smelled like sunlight and old wood, and the windows were cracked open to let the afternoon breeze in. The kind of quiet that wraps around your shoulders like a warm blanket, soft and unassuming. Wonwoo was in the kitchen, sleeves lazily pushed to his elbows, rinsing the plates from lunch. The tap water running, the faint hum of the fridge, the occasional clatter of a spoon hitting porcelain — it all played like background music.
Mingyu wandered in, barefoot, hair still a little messy from his nap. His voice was casual when he spoke.
“You need help?”
Wonwoo shot him a sideways glance. “You? Help? Voluntarily?”
Mingyu grinned, rolling his eyes. “Miracles happen.”
So there they stood, shoulder to shoulder, washing dishes like it was the most natural thing in the world. At one point, Wonwoo wiped his wet hands on his apron, squinting at the plate he was drying.
“You know,” he said, voice light, almost teasing, “I always wondered why did the dishwasher refuse to go to therapy, I guess It didn’t want to confront its dirty past."
Mingyu leaned against the counter, before cracking up.
"I didn't know you could do jokes!"
Wonwoo snorted. “I’m full of surprises.”
I know. That’s what I’m scared of. Mingyu wanted to say but the words never made it past his lips.
Because the light caught on Wonwoo’s face, soft and golden, and in that moment, he looked so painfully beautiful in his ordinariness. Just a boy, holding a dish towel, hair a little messy, mouth pulled into a tiny smile. He looked so...Wonwoo. And before Mingyu could even think, before logic could shout over instinct, his body moved. A quick, quiet lean in. A kiss on Wonwoo’s cheek.
The world didn’t freeze. But for Mingyu, it felt like everything went silent. The second his lips left Wonwoo’s cheek, panic swallowed him whole.
Shit.
Too fast.
Too soon.
Too much.
He pulled back, heart hammering in his chest, eyes wide and searching. “I-I’m sorry,” he stammered, voice cracking under the weight of a dozen unspoken fears. “I shouldn’t have-I thought—”
But Wonwoo didn’t move away. Instead, he turned, slow and deliberate, towel still hanging from his fingers. His gaze held Mingyu’s like an anchor. And then, wordlessly, he leaned in. His lips met Mingyu’s.
When they parted, Wonwoo stayed close, their foreheads almost brushing, breath mingling in the space between. “Don’t apologize,” he whispered. “I wanted you to.”
Mingyu let out a breathless laugh, part disbelief, part relief. Wonwoo tilted his head, the smallest ghost of a smile curving at the corner of his mouth.
“And I wanted to kiss you back.”
9
It had been two days since the kiss in the kitchen. Two days since lips met skin and then met again, slower, softer, deeper. Two days of pretending everything was normal, when everything had clearly changed. And in classic divine comedy fashion, of course the sky decided to ruin things even further because it rained. Againnnn.
By nightfall, the town had turned to silver, with the lights from the orphanage casting golden puddles on the concrete. The kids had all been tucked into bed. Most of the staff had retired to their rooms. Wonwoo was seated on the staircase, chin resting on his knees, arms hugging himself. The window beside him fogged slightly from his breath. He looked like he was waiting for something he wasn’t brave enough to name. Then footsteps came, soft and slow. He didn’t have to look to know who it was.
“Hey,” Mingyu said, voice low.
Wonwoo’s lips twitched. “Hey.”
“Couldn’t sleep?”
“Not really.”
Mingyu stayed silent. The rain was falling harder now.
“Wanna go for a walk?” Mingyu asked suddenly.
Wonwoo turned to him. “You stupid? Now?”
Mingyu gave a genuine, loud laugh. “Yeah. Why not?”
They grabbed their coats and stepped out into the wet night. The town was quiet, only the sound of the rain could be heard. They didn’t say much at first. Just walked, side by side, soaking every drop of rain. Their steps were in sync. Their fingers kept almost touching, brushing every few seconds like the universe was teasing them.
After a while, Mingyu spoke.
“Do you regret it?”
Wonwoo blinked. “Regret what?”
“The kiss.”
The words fell between them like a heavy stone in still water. Wonwoo stopped walking. Mingyu stopped too.
Wonwoo turned to face him fully. “I don’t,” he said. “Not even a little.”
Mingyu stared at him, lips parting slightly. He looked… relieved. And terrified. And so, so in love.
“I just—” Wonwoo shrugged, shivering slightly against the cold. “I don’t know how to act around you now.”
Mingyu chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Same. I keep wanting to do stupid things.”
“Like what?”
“Like…” Mingyu stepped closer, close enough that their breath shared the same space. “Like holding your hand. Or kissing you again. Or asking if I’m allowed to fall for you a little more every time you smile like that.”
Wonwoo swallowed. “That’s not stupid.”
“Feels stupid.”
“Feels honest.”
Then came the thunder. A low, rumbling growl across the sky. Wonwoo looked up. The streetlight behind them flickered, and the rain caught in its glow like a thousand tiny diamonds.
“We should head back,” he said. “Before it gets worse.”
But neither of them moved. Mingyu took a step forward. Then another. Until he was inches away. He gently reached out and brushed a raindrop from Wonwoo’s cheek.
“Or,” Mingyu said softly, “we stay.”
Wonwoo breathed in. Rainwater had already soaked through the tips of his hair, his collar. “You’re gonna catch a cold.”
Mingyu smiled. “Worth it.”
And then, just like the first time, he kissed him. Only this time, it wasn’t rushed. \
Rain dripped down their faces, slid down their necks. But none of it mattered. Mingyu’s hands found Wonwoo’s waist.
Wonwoo’s fingers curled around Mingyu’s coat. The kiss deepened, thunder echoing far in the distance. It was messy and wet and perfect. When they finally broke apart, they were both breathless, smiling like idiots.
“Okay,” Wonwoo said, panting slightly, “that was stupid.”
“But honest,” Mingyu shot back.
Wonwoo nodded, cheeks flushed. “Very honest.”
They started walking back—hands finally, finally intertwined. Mingyu swung their arms a little, childishly. “So… do we talk about this now?”
Wonwoo grinned. “No. Let’s pretend this is normal.”
Mingyu raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? Totally normal to make out in the rain with your emotionally repressed roommate.”
“Exactly,” Wonwoo said, deadpan. “Just a Tuesday night.”
They laughed all the way back to the orphanage. Wet, cold, and glowing from the inside out.
That night, as Wonwoo lay in bed, hair still damp, he stared at the ceiling. He thought about the kiss. The rain. The way Mingyu had looked at him—like he was the only star in the sky. And for the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel lonely. Not like he used to.
Because maybe the moon was lonely. But this time, it had found a star who stayed.
10
The rain had come and gone, leaving behind the smell of damp earth and memories that clung to the skin like dew. It should’ve been an ordinary day—sunlight spilling through the leaves, broom bristles scraping the floor, faint chatter from the younger kids chasing each other around the area.
But ordinary stopped existing the moment Mingyu kissed him in the rain.
Now kisses weren’t sacred. They were normal. Stolen pecks in the kitchen when no one was watching, a brush of lips behind cupboard doors, soft “good mornings” pressed into hair while the sun was still lazy.
Wonwoo was content. Or at least, he told himself that.
That morning, Mingyu was already awake, hair sticking out in every direction like a dandelion struck by static. He barged into Wonwoo's room, he looked ridiculous. But in that way that made Wonwoo want to kiss the sleep from his eyes.
“I’m gonna fix the gutter today,” Mingyu said through a yawn."I don't want to flood the backyard again. Do you want to join me after breakfast?"
Wonwoo smirked. "What, so I can die of boredom while you pretend to be good with a hammer? No thanks."
Mingyu went to the bathroom, came back and laughed and flicked water from his toothbrush at him. “Admit it. You just wanna watch me sweat.”
Wonwoo didn’t reply, but his eyes did. And Mingyu, of course, grinned like he’d won the lottery.
That was the mood for most of the day. Wonwoo stayed busy in the kitchen, scrubbing dishes while humming a song no one else would recognize. The kids were outside, drawing with sidewalk chalk. Jisoo had somehow managed to color an entire rabbit pink. Mingyu was on the porch fixing a squeaky chair, shirt sleeves rolled up, humming his own tune.
Wonwoo was at the well when he heard it, the low rumble sound of a car. A black car rolled into view like a shadow with wheels, slow and deliberate. Something in his chest tightened. He’s back, he thought. The general. The bucket hit the side of the well, sloshing water onto his pants. His heart was thudding. Why now? Why so soon?
The car door opened. Not the general.
Someone younger stepped out. Tall. Sharp features. His hair was tied loosely at the back, and his eyes, when they scanned the place, were too familiar. Still clad in the army’s colors, but carrying none of its stiffness. His gaze was calm, almost soft. Wonwoo’s grip on the rope tightened. Mingyu, still holding a screwdriver, looked up from the porch. His eyes widened.
“Minghao?”
The man looked up. “Mingyu!”
And just like that, the general’s son turned into someone else entirely. He ran to the car, dropping his tools, arms outstretched. The hug was tight. Lingering. Mingyu was grinning like a kid offered candy.
Wonwoo watched them with a blank face. Mingyu never mentioned the man he was hugging before. And why was Mingyu’s smile so wide?
He turned away. Finished drawing water. Stepped back inside.
Wonwoo busied himself with everything and nothing—wiping surfaces that didn’t need cleaning, folding already-folded clothes, talking to no one. It was easier to keep moving. Jealousy was an emotion he never permitted himself. He had no right to it. Mingyu wasn’t his—not officially. Not really. And besides… he was used to people leaving.
The kids noticed. Of course they did.
“Wonwoo-hyung~,” whispered Jisoo-another one of the youngest, just a bit older than Jihoon-eyes peeking over the table during snack time. “Why do you look so sad?"
“It's nothing,” he smiled tightly, the kind you give to kids who don’t deserve your sadness. “Hyung just haven't got enough sleep.”
But the whispers spread like wildfire.
“Mingyu-hyung has a visitor!”
“Who was that? He looks handsome!”
"Maybe it's gyu-hyung's boyfri-"
“Oi!” scolded the housemother, but the gossip had bloomed, uncontrollable and giggling.
That night.
Dinner was lively, everyone chatting, chewing, clinking utensils. Everyone except Mingyu—who kept looking at the doorway, then around the room.
“Where's Wonwoo?” he finally asked, brows furrowing.
Jihoon piped up, like a true gossiper recruit. “Not here, maybe in is room. He didn't ate earlier, hyung.”
Mingyu didn’t hesitate. He stood and left mid-bite.
Wonwoo’s room was dim, lit only by the lamp by his desk. He was sketching, a hidden skill of his he barely show anyone. The knock came soft. He didn’t answer. But the door creaked open anyway.
“You’re here,” Mingyu said quietly.
“Yeah. Where else would I be?” Wonwoo didn’t look up.
Mingyu stepped in, arms crossed, nervous energy rolling off him in waves. “You weren’t at dinner.”
“Wasn’t hungry.”
“Did something happen?”
Wonwoo finally glanced at him. “Shouldn’t you be with Minghao?”
"No, he left few hours ago-" Mingyu blinked. “What?”
Wonwoo turned back to his sketch. “Nothing.”
“Minghao’s like my brother,” Mingyu said, taking a step closer. “We grew up together. He trained earlier than me. I haven’t seen him in years.”
“Cool.”
“Wonwoo…”
Wonwoo stood abruptly, setting his pencil down too hard. “I’m fine, okay? You don’t have to explain anything. I’m not...I mean, I’m not anything to you.”
“You’re everything to me.”
Mingyu stepped forward again. “I was looking for you. The whole time he was here, I wanted to tell you all the stories we used to share. I didn’t know you’d be upset.”
“I wasn’t—” Wonwoo sighed. “Okay, maybe I was. I just didn’t know I could be.”
He laughed bitterly. “I got jealous. Over a guy you hugged for five seconds. Isn’t that pathetic?”
“No,” Mingyu said. “That’s human.”
Wonwoo looked up, startled.
“I’m sorry if I made you feel like you weren’t important. You are. More than anyone. I just… sometimes I don’t know how to show it in ways that don’t scare you away.” Mingyu uttered softly.
Mingyu reached out, gently brushing the back of his fingers against Wonwoo’s cheek. “Are you mad?”
“I was,” he whispered. “But only because I care too much.”
“I don’t want to be the jealous type,” Wonwoo whispered again, eyes on the floor. “But you—when you smiled at him… it’s like I wasn’t even there.”
Mingyu knelt in front of him. “Wonwoo.”
“I know. It’s stupid. You don’t owe me anything.”
“I do. I do owe you—my time, my honesty, everything. You matter, Wonwoo. More than anyone else. Minghao’s my past. You’re… you’re my right now. You’re what I want to protect.”
Wonwoo blinked. “Then why didn’t you look at me like that earlier?”
Mingyu reached out, cupping his face. “Because if I did, I’d kiss you in front of everyone. And I wasn’t sure if you’d let me.”
Then, without warning, Mingyu leaned in and kissed him slow and full of apology. Wonwoo kissed back firmer.
And when they broke apart, Mingyu chuckled softly. “The kids think we’re dating.”
“They’re not wrong.”
Mingyu's eyes widen for a brief moment. Wonwoo said it so nonchalantly, Mingyu fell harder.
Wonwoo smiled at Mingyu's reaction. “Let them think that.”
Behind the cracked door, few kids peaked through.
"Hoy, did you see that?" Jisoo whispered.
"There's something going on, dude. They're together- together. Their chemistry's strong anyway." Dino said, munching on a cupcake that he has been eating for the past thirty minutes.
“Shhh! Jihoon might report you.” Soonyoung hushed them.
11
The kitchen smelled like warm bread and morning light. Wonwoo moved with the ease of routine, his sleeves rolled up, the hem of his shirt catching faint smudges of flour. Around him, the orphanage kids fluttered about like little birds—laughing, whispering, bickering over who got the bigger slice of buttered toast.
The landline rang. The old landline that barely ever rang. The one the kids weren’t allowed to touch. Headmaster Lee picked it up with a nod and a quiet “Hello?”
Wonwoo didn’t look up. But his hands stilled. Then, soft footsteps. The headmaster stepped into the kitchen, eyes scanning the room.
“Wonwoo,” he said gently. “Can you call Mingyu for me? It’s urgent. It’s from the central camp.”
Wonwoo nodded. Mingyu arrived minutes later, hair still damp from the shower, shirt half-tucked, confusion plain on his face. He disappeared into the office.
By noon, the news had scattered like a deadly virus. Mingyu was leaving. Not in a month. Not in two weeks. But in seven days. Seven. Is that all the universe could give them? Fucking seven days?
Wonwoo sat outside on the orphanage porch, watching the kids race around the yard, their joy louder than the ache forming in his throat. He thought he'd have more time to tell him. He thought he’d have the courage to say it one day. But now, that “one day” had a deadline.
The day after, the staff organized a small send-off. Nothing grand, just a table out in the garden, some flowers the kids picked, and cupcakes that weren’t sweet enough.
Jihoon cried first. He hugged Mingyu’s leg like it was a tree trunk, refusing to let go. “Who’s gonna race me now, Gyu-hyung?!”
Jisoo cried second. Then Chan. Then everyone. Even the staff looked misty-eyed. Mingyu tried to smile through it. He ruffled Jihoon’s hair. Carried Jisoo on his back for a while. Took photos with the kids using a disposable camera they found in storage. Everyone showed up. Everyone except one. Wonwoo wasn’t there.
He was in his room, sitting on the edge of his bed, staring at his hands.They were shaking. He covered his mouth, bit his lip. Tears slowly falls down his face in each passing moment. He cried like his chest ache like something’s being torn out of him slowly, strand by strand. He didn’t know love could hurt like this. He didn’t even know he’d fallen so deeply. He loved Mingyu.
That night, Mingyu knocked on his door. “Hey,” he said, voice low. “You okay?”
Wonwoo nodded too casually. “Just tired,” he said, not looking up. “Long day.”
Mingyu stepped inside anyway. Sat beside him on the bed. “They said I’ll be moving into the training quarters by next week.”
Wonwoo nodded.
“They’re giving me a private room. With a desk. And a window.”
Another nod.
Mingyu looked at him then. Really looked.
“Wonwoo,” he whispered, “aren’t you gonna say something?”
Wonwoo finally looked at him. And it broke Mingyu’s heart a little because those weren’t tired eyes. Those were eyes that had been crying.
“I’m happy for you,” Wonwoo said, smiling like it didn’t cost him everything.
“No, you’re not,” Mingyu said, voice cracking. “Don’t lie to me right now.”
And that was it, Wonwoo couldn’t hold it anymore. He stood up, fists clenched at his side.
“Why did you have to come here, Mingyu?” he asked, eyes gleaming. “Why did you have to walk into my life like that? I was fine. I was fine. And then you—” his voice broke, “—you came in and made everything feel like it meant something. Like I mattered. And now you're leaving.”
Mingyu stood, reaching for him. “Wonwoo—”
“I know it’s your dream. I know,” he said, voice quieter now, “and I’m proud of you. But I…” His lips trembled. “I just wish we had more time.”
"I never said it's my dream." Then Mingyu stepped closer. “I’ll come back,” he whispered. “I swear, I will.”
Wonwoo looked at him, tears falling freely now. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”
“I’m not,” Mingyu said, voice firm. “Wonwoo… You made this place feel like home. You made me feel like home.”
Mingyu took his hand, squeezing it gently but firm. “If the moon can wait for the stars every night,” he whispered, “then I’ll wait for you. Even if I’m gone.”
12
The morning after the gathering felt unreal. The sun bled through the curtains in streaks of gold, and the scent of dew-kissed grass curled in the wind. Mingyu woke up to the sound of birds. But his chest was heavy.
Seven days had become six.
He turned his head to the side. Wonwoo was not there. His side of the bed was empty and cold.
By the time he found him, Wonwoo was out by the field, sitting under their tree — the tree. Wonwoo didn’t hear him approach. Not until Mingyu gently tossed a wrapped rice cake onto his lap.
“For breakfast,” he said. “Stolen from the kitchen. Jihoon said I’m a thief now.”
Wonwoo smiled without looking at him. “You’ve always been a criminal.”
Mingyu chuckled. “What did I steal besides the rice cake?”
Wonwoo met his gaze. “My peace of mind.”
And they sat there, shoulder to shoulder, as if pressing close would make time slow down.
The week passed like sand slipping through fingers. They spent every second together — brushing past each other in the kitchen, sneaking away during chores, sitting on the rooftop after lights-out. They were greedy for it. For time. For touches. For the little seconds that used to be nothing, but now meant everything.
The kids noticed. Of course.
“Oh my God, they’re holding hands again,” Jisoo whispered loudly, dragging Jihoon behind the bushes.
Chan gasped like he discovered a conspiracy. “Did you see the way Mingyu-hyung looked at him? Like! A! Puppy!”
“Don’t ruin the moment,” Jihoon snapped. “They’re in love.”
Mingyu overheard them one day and nearly tripped over a rake. Wonwoo just laughed.
They danced under fairy lights Jihoon strung across the backyard. it was not made of light, it was actually fireflies stringed together. Jihoon insisted that he didn't torture them, told that he was going to let them go once the sun goes up. It wasn’t a real dance, it was just swaying, bodies too close, breaths mingling in the dim glow of makeshift magic. There was no music, only the out of tune voices of the kids singing summer's last song.
“I don’t want to forget this,” Mingyu murmured into the space between them.
“You won’t,” Wonwoo whispered back. “Because I won’t let you.”
And then it was the last day.
Wonwoo woke up before the sun and cooked breakfast like always. But this time, he made Mingyu’s favorite seaweed soup, soft tofu, egg rolls with cheese in the center.
The kids surprised him with letters— some written in crayons, some in barely readable scrawls. Jihoon gave him a rock with eyes drawn on them.
“It’s you,” he said, dead serious. “You can talk to him when you miss us.”
Jisoo made him a bracelet out of rubber bands. “It’s ugly but it’s strong,” he beamed.
Wonwoo didn’t say much. He just sat beside him, eyes following every movement like he was trying to memorize it. No one said the word “goodbye.” They didn’t want to break it yet.
By late afternoon, they walked together to the tree. Just the two of them. There was something sacred about that place now, as if the roots had grown heavy with every secret they’d buried there.
Mingyu took a shaky breath. “Do you remember the first time we talked here?”
“You mean when you accused me of hating you?”
Mingyu laughed. “You did, though.”
“I didn’t,” Wonwoo said, almost too quickly. “I just didn’t want to need someone.”
“You need me now?”
Wonwoo’s voice was quiet. “I don’t want to.”
“That’s not an answer.”
He turned to face him, the late sunlight catching the tears that shimmered but never fell.
“I do,” Wonwoo whispered. “God, I do.”
Mingyu reached out, his fingertips brushing the edge of his jaw.
He didn’t say I love you. Because when he leaned in, and their lips met under the golden light, it was slow, deep — like a novel’s last page, the kind you don’t want to turn because you know there will be no other next page. Mingyu kissed him like he was afraid it would be the last time. Wonwoo kissed him like he already knew it was.
His hands held Mingyu’s face, trembling. Mingyu’s hands settled on his waist, grounding. The wind picked up around them like the world itself was holding its breath. They kissed like the world was ending. And maybe, in a way, it was.
Because down below, hidden by branches and distance, a tall man stepped out of a black car. His suit was pressed, his shoes shined. The general stood beside the Headmaster, shaking his hand, exchanging polite words. The kids watched from a distance, clutching each other like a storm was coming.
“Your ride’s here,” Wonwoo whispered against Mingyu’s lips.
But neither of them moved.
Not yet.
They held on for one more second.
Then two.
Then three.
And when they finally pulled apart, their foreheads pressed together, eyes closed.
Wonwoo inhaled shakily.
“I’ll wait,” he whispered, as if it were a vow.
Mingyu pressed a kiss to his temple.
“I’ll come back.”
From beneath the tree, neither of them noticed the general who was now watching them. A father whose eyes had yet to reveal if he came bearing closure or catastrophe.
13
From down the slope, the black car remained still, engine humming like a low warning. No one noticed it at first — not the kids whispering behind the bushes, not the headmaster saying goodbye with a brittle smile. Only one pair of eyes caught it all.
Wonwoo touched Mingyu’s cheek one last time. “Go,” he whispered, voice cracking. “Before I beg you to stay.”
Mingyu gave a trembling nod, swallowing the lump in his throat. “I’ll come back.”
“You better,” Wonwoo said, almost smiling.
He didn’t. He couldn’t watch him walk away. But the kids did. Little ghosts trailing behind him with their paper hearts and rubber band bracelets.
Mingyu opened the car door, heart still half inside Wonwoo’s hands— and froze.
His father was already seated inside, back straight, eyes forward. Mingyu felt his blood go cold.
“Get in,” his father said, calm as the eye of a storm.
He obeyed. The door shut with a click that sounded too much like a final chapter closing. He dared a glance at his father — who didn’t even look at him. Just stared straight ahead, lips a thin line.
“I thought… Minghao would be picking me up,” Mingyu said, voice small.
His father finally turned. “Minghao is not your parent.”
That voice, razor sharp under the calm facade. Mingyu flinched.
....
“Was that your idea of a goodbye?”
Mingyu’s chest seized. “I—what?”
“Don’t play dumb,” his father said, tone still cold, still measured. “The boy under the tree. The orphan.”
He spat the word like it was a disease.
“Why him? Of all the people in the world you could disgrace our name with... why him?”
Mingyu felt something crack inside. “He’s not..just some orphan—”
“But that’s exactly what he is,” his father cut in, voice like ice. “No name. No future. No bloodline. And a boy, no less. Tell me, Mingyu — are you that desperate to throw your life away?”
Mingyu stared at the floor. His fingers curled into fists.
“I love him.”
It came out before he could stop it.
His father slowly turned to face him.
“Then you are more foolish than I thought.”
They didn’t speak the rest of the ride.
Outside, the orphanage was growing smaller, and behind its gates, Wonwoo stood alone, eyes wet, mouth trembling, watching the black car vanish into the horizon like a bad dream.
When they stopped at a gas station an hour later, Mingyu got out to breathe. Just breathe. But the driver was already packing his things into the trunk.
"Where are we going?" Mingyu asked.
“To the capital,” the man replied stiffly. “Your father has arranged your military entrance earlier than scheduled. Weren't you told back at the orphanage?”
Of course he has.
Mingyu turned to find his father stepping out, brushing imaginary dust from his sleeve. And then, like it was nothing, like he hadn’t just broken his son in half—
“I’ve chosen your future wife.”
WHAT
“I’m not—” Mingyu’s voice faltered. “I’m not marrying anyone.”
His father looked bored. “You’ll do as you’re told. You’re a Kim. And the girl—Lisa—is a respectable match. Our families need to strengthen ties. Your child must be a boy.”
Mingyu staggered back like he’d been punched.
"Lisa?" he choked. “That Lisa? Father, she's...she's my cousin.”
“Distant,” his father replied sharply. “The bloodline matches. That’s all that matters.”
Something in Mingyu cracked so loudly he thought the sky itself might hear it.
A month passes. Maybe two. Time is weird when your soul’s somewhere else. The orphanage keeps moving, meals at six, chores at nine, Jihoon yelling at Seungkwan for flooding the laundry room again. The same breeze flutters the same curtains. Wonwoo moves like a ghost. He doesn’t look up anymore when someone calls his name. He spends more time in the library, reading the same page over and over, forgetting the words immediately. The other kids tiptoe around him like he might shatter. They’re right. He might.
Sometimes he dreams of Mingyu. He dreams about the before. Before everything felt weird now. The stolen glances, the pinky touches under the table, that dumb smile Mingyu would give him like they shared a secret no one else could understand. He dreams of the tree, of the two of them sitting under it in each other's presence.
Mingyu, on the other hand, is not dreaming. He’s surviving. The capital is cold. It's loud unlike the orphange. it smells like smoke and old metal. Everyday, he trains till his bones scream. His fists bleed. His throat stays hoarse. even with all that, his father doesn’t talk much. When he does, it’s orders. Commands.
"Stand straighter."
"Don’t embarrass me."
"Forget that boy."
Mingyu doesn’t answer because he never will. He can't just forget about that boy. Lisa visits twice. The first time, she tries to be gentle.
“It’s not like we have to love each other,” she says, fidgeting. “It’s just duty, you know? Legacy.”
Mingyu looks at her like she’s a stranger.
The second time, she doesn’t say anything. Just leaves a wedding date on the table and walks away. Mingyu stares at the paper like it’s a death certificate.
Back in the orphanage, a letter arrives.
Unmarked. No return address. Wonwoo doesn’t expect anything, so when the headmaster hands it to him, his hands tremble. The handwriting is familiar. He locks himself in the library before he opens it.
Wonwoo,
I don’t know how to start this without crying, so I’ll keep it short. I don’t know if I’m allowed to love you anymore. But I do.
I think I always will.
My days feel gray now. I train, I eat, I sleep. But nothing tastes like anything. Nothing feels like home. Except you. Except us.
They told me I have to marry someone I barely know. I said nothing. I am a coward.
I should’ve screamed your name. I should’ve run back. I should’ve kissed you harder.
But instead, I watched you cry in my rearview mirror.
I’m sorry.
I want to come back. Someday. If you’re still there. If you’ll still have me.
Wait for me.
I love you.
—Kim Mingyu
Wonwoo folds the letter like it’s made of glass. He didn't cry. But when he goes back to the tree the next day, he brings a notebook. He starts writing letters, poems.Things he never got to say out loud. Things he’s scared he’ll forget if he keeps them inside.
Two years. That’s how long it took for Mingyu to be forged into the perfect soldier. Two years of blood, discipline, steel mornings, and letters left unanswered. In the name of duty. In the name of his father. Now, in the garden where he stood in crisp ceremonial white, beneath flowers he didn’t choose, before people he didn’t know, beside a woman he would never love—oh, he's fucking dying inside. If anything, he wants Wonwoo there.
“Do you, Kim Mingyu, take Lalisa Manoban—”
“I don’t,” Mingyu said.
Lisa—beautiful, calm, clad in soft ivory and irony—smiled faintly. “Thank God,” she muttered, and looked off to the side. “I was hoping you’d go first.”
A few gasps. The priest blinked. Someone dropped a glass.
“You what?” General Kim’s voice broke across the altar like thunder.
Lisa raised a brow. “Relax. I have a boyfriend. He’s Thai, he’s hot, and he actually asks me what I want for breakfast.”
Mingyu’s father was already storming forward, mouth curling, voice rising. “You ungrateful bastard, after everything, this is the thanks I get?!”
“You want thanks?” Mingyu’s voice was shaking, but steady now. “Thank you, Dad. For turning my entire life into a war. For using your rank like a goddamn cage. For treating love like it’s a disease.”
The general’s face twisted. “You were going to marry her. That was the deal.”
“You made that deal. I didn’t.”
“You think you have a choice?” His father pulled a pistol from his coat and raised it without hesitation. “You’re not a kid anymore, Mingyu. Time to act like a man.”
But Mingyu was already ahead of him. They were forgetting that he graduated in the military service before the wedding. He moved, faster than fear and snatched the weapon. He twirled the safety off and aimed it at his own temple. Gaps and screams filled the whole setting, others backed off from the two of them.
“I swear to God,” Mingyu growled, “if I can’t live the life I want—if I can’t even try to love who I want—then there’s no point. None. You already killed me a long time ago.”
“You don’t know what love is,” his father spat.
Mingyu’s voice cracked, eyes glassy. “No. But I felt it. For a month. With someone you’ll never understand.”
“Enough,” said Lisa, stepping forward.
She reached under her dress and, like the baddest bitch in a K-drama finale, pulled her own gun and aimed it straight at the general’s feet. “Stand down, sir. Or we’ll both have headlines by breakfast.”
“…You brought a gun to your wedding?” Mingyu whispered, half in awe.
“I brought two,” Lisa smirked. “But you only needed one, right?”
The general backed down, face unreadable, fists clenched. Mingyu dropped the pistol with a clatter.
Lisa walked up, fixed his collar, and leaned in. “Go find him,” she whispered. “That’s an order. From your real commanding officer.”
And Mingyu ran. Past the garden. Past the shocked guests. Past the ruins of everything expected of him. And in his ring finger, the wedding ring glows under the sunlight. The one he would offer to the boy who loved him when no one else dared. To the boy with the sharp tongue and soft hands. To the boy who used to watch the rain fall from the window glass. To Wonwoo.
Mingyu ran through the storm, heart pounding like a war drum. Boots slapping through puddles, heart clawing its way out of his chest. The once-familiar streets blurred into a tunnel of memories and regret. Rain lashed at his face like it wanted to punish him for leaving. For being late. For taking two damn years just to come back.
But he was coming back.
He didn't know if the orphanage lights would still be on. He didn’t even know if Wonwoo still waited. But the weight in his coat pocket—the ring meant for a wedding that never happened—was proof enough that he had to try.
It was dark when he reached the hill, breath shuddering, limbs trembling, soaked to the bone.
And there they were.
Children were laughing and shrieking under the rain like it was a blessing, not a burden. Jihoon was chasing Soonyoung, who kept splashing water at Seokmin, who was trying to shield Seungkwan using a giant leaf. It was chaotic. It was home. Mingyu stopped in his tracks. His eyes blurred with the tears that threatened to fall any second. God, he missed those kids so much.
With a loud whistle against the storm, a single scream pierced the storm. Heads turned. Faces lit up.
And suddenly, he was swarmed.
They crashed into him like a tidal wave. Hugs from all directions, chaotic giggles, tears mixing with rain. Seungkwan deadass tripping on a rock out of excitement. Jisoo was there, arms wide; Hansol ruffled his hair; Chan kept yelling “YOU’RE REAL? AM I DREAMING?!” and Jun slapped his back so hard it hurt. Jeonghan didn’t say anything at first—he just hugged him tight.
Seungcheol was the last to step forward. “Wonwoo’s inside,” he said softly, eyes glinting. “He’s already asleep. Go get him, hyung."
Mingyu exhaled like he hadn’t breathed in years. And then he walked in, trailing rain on polished wooden floors. The orphanage was warm. The staff gasped, some smiled, one cried. The headmaster froze in place, then ushered him in with open arms.
And then: the chaos of children running upstairs. Kids stomping into the hallway like a mini army, Mingyu trailing behind them with a smile that’s all teeth and tremble, like he can’t believe he made it back alive.
“WONWOO-HYUNG!”
“GET UP!”
“THERE’S A GHOST IN THE LIVING ROOM!”
“NO IT’S GYU-HYUNG!!”
"THERE'S A HOT FIRE WALKING!!"
Inside his room, Wonwoo stirred. The only thing he heard was 'fire' and he was immediately on high alert, sleepiness dissapeared in a heartbeat.
"Fire?! Where-"
His door opened before he could even stand up. The kids barged in, soaking wet with rain. He blinked. Rubbed his eyes. He forze on his spot. Mingyu was behind them. Dripping wet. Smiling the ugliest, happiest smile in the world. Wonwoo didn't move for a heartbeat. Maybe two.
Then he crossed the room in three long steps and punched Mingyu’s chest. Once. Twice. And then he collapsed into his arms, crying.
“I thought you weren’t—”
“I’m here,” Mingyu said. “I’m back.”
Later that night, when the chaos settled and the kids dried off, when the storm quieted but never really stopped, Mingyu took Wonwoo’s hand and led him out.
Back to the firefly field. Where once they danced. Where Jihoon once summoned light for them. Tonight, the fireflies weren’t needed.
The look in Wonwoo’s eyes was bright enough.
“I brought something,” Mingyu said, pulling out the ring from his pocket.
Wonwoo stared at it.
“That’s not from…” he whispered.
“It is,” Mingyu said. “But it wasn’t meant for that. It was always meant for you.”
“I wanted to ask back then, even when I had no ring to give...” Mingyu said. “But I was scared. Of losing everything. Of losing you.”
He knelt. Not because tradition said so. But because his heart did. “Wonwoo. I don’t want to waste another minute pretending I’m not already yours. So… can I stay this time? Forever?”
Wonwoo didn’t cry. He just nodded. Eyes wet. Lips trembling. And then he kissed him.
Behind a bush that absolutely did not cover their nosy asses properly, a group of soaked, wide-eyed children were clutching each other like a romance novel they once read was unfolding live.
Jihoon had both hands over Soonyoung’s mouth to stop him from screaming. Seungkwan was fanning himself with a leaf. Chan was literally kneeling in prayer. Seokmin had a journal. Yes, he was writing this down.
“IS THIS A PROPOSAL???” Seungkwan whisper-screamed, tugging at Hansol’s sleeve like a madman.
“Shut up, shut up, SHUT UP—he’s going down on one knee!” Jeonghan hissed.
“Holy Mother—” Soonyoung started, but Jihoon kicked his shin.
They all watched as Wonwoo, standing under the glowing drizzle, nodded. And kissed Mingyu like he meant it. Like he’s been waiting. Like the world was a song and Mingyu was the final line.
The kids absolutely exploded.
“AAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”
“This is better than that woman fish love story.”
“Hey! Stop hating Ariel!”
"You have tail fettish or something?"
“Togetherrrr foreverrrrr~~”
“CHOOSE ME! PIICK ME! LOVE ME, MINGYU HYUNG!”
“Oi! We're still children, why are we acting like this?!”
Jisoo off to the side, just smiled and whispered to Jeonghan, “Let them have this. They deserve it.”
Jeonghan wiped a tear. “I’ve seen their chemistry since day 1.”
Even the headmaster, sipping tea from the porch, muttered, “Finally. My job here is done.”
“Alright! Tomorrow, we are going to do the wedding planning and ceremony. We are not letting that ring go to waste.” Seungcheol stated. The kids nodded and saluted.
“Operation: Wedding of the Century”
(Or as Seungkwan screamed into the wind: “The royal fucking wedding of Hyung Wonwoo and Prince Gyu, you peasants!”)
The venue was the orphange backyard a.k.a. The land of laundry lines and broken flower pots. They placed white curtains over the laundry lines and called it fancy. The budget was 58 dollar bills. 3 candles from Jisoo’s shrine. 2 crayons, purple and green. Hotdog sticks. One roll of tape Seungcheol definitely stole from the office.
The core team was the most excited.
Core Team:
Seungkwan: Event host / Decorator / Emotional support blabbermouth.
Jihoon: Soundtrack master and singer. Definitely wasn't forced.
Seokmin: Fake priest. Absolutely went method with it.
Soonyoung & Chan: Choreographers for a flash mob no one asked for.
Minghao was also there. Wonwoo was a bit unsure of him being there, but this time Mingyu introduced them both to each other. For some time, they became friends. Wonwoo thought Minghao wasn't bad as he thought. He was actually like Mingyu, just less sunshine. He was more reserved and calm.
Minghao: Florist-slash-aesthetic guru. Brought lavender from god knows where.
Jeonghan: Bridesmaid. Period. The moment.
The invitation was written by Seungcheol and Jun, who used different variations of crayons and pen they could find inside the house.
“You are hereby invited to the 100% legally binding, government-certified, fairy tale wedding of GyuHyung and WonuHyung. Wear pink. Don’t be crusty.”
Jisoo and Hansol was assigned to dress the couple. Wonwoo wore an actual curtain. It was white. Cinched with safety pins and diy papaer butterflies taped at the lower part. He somehow slayed the whole look. Mingyu, on the other hand, wore Jihoon's funeral blazer when they were once invited to a funeral of some distant relative of one of their staffs. It was two sizes small, it was a miralce it was staying storng in Mingyu's body. Seokmin said he looked like a hot funeral director. Seungkwan added that he would simp again. Hansol and Jisoo beamed like a proud parents.
The flowers they used was handpicked by Seungcheol. It was mostly weeds, tied with a thread. Seungcheol shed a tear after preparing the flowers. "This...this is love."
As wedding ceremony began, Jihoon sang “Can’t Help Falling in Love” and played on a broken keyboard. Three keys were stuck. Two notes were off. It was perfect. Chan threw DIY flower petals (actually torn notebook paper with hearts drawn by Seungkwan). Soonyoung backflipped during the procession. Jeonghan posed and winked like a model.
Seokmin, standing on a stool:
“Kim Mingyu, do you take this emo little reader to be your husband, forever co-parent to feral children, and official spider-killer?”
“I do. Forever.”
“And Jeon Wonwoo, do you take this six-foot-two manchild to be your life partner, blanket thief, and sunshine for all eternity?”
“Always.”
The backyard erupted in cheers and screams as they kissed. Jisoo passed out. Seungkwan slapped him with the bouquet.
The reception was no different from the ceremony. The snacks was hotdog on sticks and two small cakes. One was slice and split in 13 ways, the other was for the headmaster and staffs. The drinks was prepared by Jun, an orange juice with ice. Their first dance was referenced by the Cinderella ball dance that was initiated by Soonyoung, complete with slow-mo spin and one backflip that almost killed Chan. Jihoon and Minghao suprised them with the fireflies. Jihoon denies every question related to torture and killing. Everyone knows he made it happen, this time he was accompanied by his new acquaintance. Seungcheol cried again, screaming 'I love you' on top of his lungs. Jeonghan said, “I look better than the grooms.”
Wonwoo stood at the edge of the field, the same place they once danced as boys trying to pretend they didn’t love each other. The garden, lit only by a few scattered fairy lights Jihoon and Minghao salvaged from earlier, pulsed with a soft glow. The laughter from inside the orphanage had faded now, the chaos of reunion settling into contentment.
Behind him, footsteps approached.
"Mingyu," Wonwoo whispered without turning around.
Mingyu slowly wrapped his arms around Wonwoo's waist, his head resting on the man's shoulder. "Hi, love."
Wonwoo turned around, his whole body facing Mingyu. Mingyu looked ridiculous. A white button-up clinging to his body like a second skin, the funeral blazer was long forgotten inside the house. His sleeves was rolled up, mud-stained slacks, and a single flower tucked behind his ear—gifted by Seungkwan with zero explanation. But his eyes... oh, his eyes were galaxies, overflowing.
"Come with me," Mingyu said.
Wonwoo raised a brow. “Where?”
Instead of answering, Mingyu took his hand and led him to the tree they always used to rest, just enjoying each other's presence. There, in that quiet clearing, Mingyu let go of his hand and turned to face him fully.
"Close your eyes," he said.
"Mingyu—"
"Please."
Wonwoo sighed, but obeyed.
He felt something cold slide onto his finger. A ring, unfamiliar yet somehow known. When he opened his eyes, Mingyu was already kneeling in front of him, the same position he was yesterday, smiling like an idiot—smiling like someone who had lost everything and still chose to love. The ring was a different one, it was handmade by Mingyu from a copper wire, it turned out to look like an acutal simple ring. Mingyu was proud of that.
"This isn’t legal. We don’t have papers. No priest. No witness except for a few gossiping fireflies," Mingyu said. "But in my heart... this is it. This is everything."
"But you've already asked me, Min. And by the laws of the feral children, we are already married." Wonwoo chuckled.
"I’m not asking," Mingyu whispered. "I’m promising."
Wonwoo laughed softly. “You’re such an idiot.”
“But I'm your idiot.”
“Yes, you are."
He pulled Mingyu up into a hug—tight, desperate, like two years wasn’t enough to erase the ache. They stood there, swaying slightly, the moonlight casting halos around them. There was no music. No applause. Just two boys who never had anything... finally choosing each other.
Finally, Mingyu murmured, “You and me, Wonwoo. From now until forever.”
"Do you remember when you told me I was like the moon? And I said that the moon was lonely, and you replied that it's not lonely, it had the stars. Mingyu, I've found my star. You, Mingyu. You're my most beloved star."
"And I you, my love." Mingyu whispered, a silent happy tear rolling down his cheek.
And somewhere in the background, Seungkwan’s muffled voice from inside screamed: “ARE THEY KISSING?? BITCHES I CALLED IT FIRST—”
But the world outside didn’t matter. Not anymore. They have each other and that was all that matters. From then, the moon shines the brightest.