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"Can you stop acting like a faggot?" Mingyu said. His voice felt like a thousand daggers piercing straight into his heart.
"What's so wrong with being one?" Wonwoo shot back, his voice barely a whisper, on the verge of breaking, not daring to meet Mingyu's eyes.
"Does it disgust you?" Wonwoo asked again. The words burned on his tongue, and he trembled like a small child being scolded by his father. He was afraid to hear the answer he already suspected.
Mingyu’s tongue itched. The answer was there—it had always been there. It never left, no matter how hard they tried to bury it; to lie to themselves over and over again.
"If you find it so disgusting, then say it to my face,” Wonwoo cried, his voice cracking as he finally dared to look into those familiar eyes soaked in false innocence.
"Say it to my face!" he yelled, losing control. He shoved Mingyu with such force that his body leaned back, but the pain that tore through his senses and seared into his skin—the lack of an answer, the mess of emotions clouding his mind—hurt far more than the push ever could.
Being impulsive had always been a part of Wonwoo, even as a kid. Just like that time when, without fear of the consequences, he defended his best friend, Mingyu, without hesitation.
Mingyu had always been everything to him. Mingyu was essential. Mingyu was the guiding star he followed to keep from getting lost in the dark. He was the one who made him want to be better, to be happy, to be himself. It had always been him.
But now? Is it still him?
The only thing he knows for sure is the sickening way cold sweat clings to his skin; he’s now living the fear he never felt as a child when he was still innocent. It hits him so hard he feels like he’s falling into a pit he’ll never escape from.
“I… I could introduce you to a girl—” Mingyu said, his voice icy. His expression didn’t change. He let Wonwoo hurt him in exchange for ending his own suffering. “I’m… I’m seeing someone—”
Wonwoo blinked, his eyes burning with torment. He felt his entire world collapse at his feet. How could Mingyu be seeing a girl when the only person he ever saw… was Mingyu? His best friend. His trembling fingers reached up and cupped Mingyu’s face like it was the last diamond on Earth. And to him, it was.
“Mingyu-yah, how can you be so heartless with me…” Wonwoo protested, his voice shaking. His limbs were failing him, overwhelmed by the cold indifference Mingyu showed. He shut his eyes tightly; his heart couldn’t bear the humiliation he was being put through.
And as if life were determined to break him even further, vivid memories attacked his mind—warm nights, soft kisses on the cheek that became their nightly ritual, hugs that felt eternal, days when they seemed to belong entirely to each other, and the countless “I love yous” they exchanged like it was nothing. Maybe it was the nostalgia, or maybe the lack of touch that pulled Wonwoo’s fragile body toward the warmth radiating from the taller one. But Mingyu’s reaction—his rejection—was cruel, almost inhuman. Wonwoo never thought his heart could break again, but it did.
He felt every fragile piece of his shattered heart fall slowly onto the cold floor that kept him standing. Tears rolled down his cheeks, following the same path. They stained his clean white shirt, but he didn’t care.
He tried to ignore the obvious rejection—to at least pretend, for a moment.
"Min… I’m in love with you—" Wonwoo tried to say.
“Jeon Wonwoo!” Mingyu shouted, his anger so sharp it felt like a death sentence. It felt illegal just to exist as he was. He cut off Wonwoo’s confession, and finally, his expression changed. His face twisted with something unrecognizable—maybe disgust, maybe hatred—but whatever it was, it couldn’t compare to the cold way he ripped Wonwoo’s hands from his face, with not a hint of kindness—bordering on cruelty.
"Stop bothering me, for fuck’s sake!” Mingyu roared. He hated the way he was acting. He hated treating his best friend this way. But the self-loathing—what he had become because of this—was drowning him. He felt like he was deep in the ocean, unable to find the bottom, nothing to hold on to, just the crushing emptiness devouring him from the inside.
“Don’t you get it? I’m not some sick freak like you.” Mingyu spat, trying to wound him, unleashing the darkest, most poisonous thoughts inside him. “I’m not a fucking faggot!” he shouted—more at himself than at Wonwoo—in a desperate attempt to deny who he really was.
The next thing Mingyu knew, he was on the floor, a searing pain blooming in his cheek. The punch Wonwoo had landed was hard enough to knock the sense out of him. He shook his head repeatedly, trying to snap out of it. His ears rang, and with every second, he struggled to even register the words Wonwoo was throwing at him through the tears.
“And I can’t even hate you!” was the last thing he heard from those sweet lips that had once brought him so much joy. The compliments, the “I love yous”, the words of encouragement—and what he loved most: the way they used to brush softly against his cheeks, planting adorable, loving kisses.
He thought about getting up, running after his best friend, falling to his knees, begging for forgiveness, swearing he’d never make him cry again—and then holding him tight, kissing him, showering him in love and sweet words.
But he only thought about it.
He stayed still. On the cold floor, silently observing his sad, messy apartment: the ice machine, the tree his father gave him, the picture frames that now covered more and more of his white wall—frames filled with memories he’d give anything to relive. And as the minutes passed, the room began to feel enormous, despite being barely 20 square meters.
His eyes landed on one frame in particular. His heart started racing. In it, he and Wonwoo looked happier than ever. Wonwoo’s smile was wide and dazzling, his teeth like tiny pearls, his soft cheeks tinged with a sweet pink, and his silky black hair falling over his beautiful face.
And him… He was looking at Wonwoo.
Just like he always had. It wasn’t a secret to anyone—least of all to himself—that he often got caught staring at his best friend. But not in the way best friends usually do. His heart clenched with unbearable pain. It felt like he was bleeding out, and there was no cure for the emptiness now growing inside him—a void that promised eternal suffering.
He just hoped Wonwoo would forgive him someday.
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