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It should have been a night worth remembering.
The kind where lights dim too slowly and everyone clings to the afterglow. Where laughter trails behind, the chatter of lively conversations hums around, and someone grabs your wrist just to say, "Don't go yet."
But he had gone.
And Hyunwook remembers all too well. The gentle, hesitant, and fragile around the edges pretty smiles. The not-so-subtle glances heavy with longing. The thick tension. The words left unsaid.
Those gorgeous, oh those gorgeous, to-die-for eyes, that hold so much, that caught Hyunwook’s attention throughout the entire event.
Eyes that spoke volumes, so raw, so vulnerable, that even to whom they belonged, as an actor, he couldn’t hold back.
Eyes that had him under their spell for the past 3 years.
Eyes dripping with the hidden feelings only they knew.
-
Hyunwook left the afterparty before the second round of drinks. He couldn’t pretend any longer that his heart wasn’t elsewhere, his body here, but his mind absent. The hoodie he had changed into in one arm, leaving him with only a short-sleeved shirt in the cold weather. He wanted to feel something, anything, other than the heavy ache in his chest of what was to come. His phone weighing heavier in his pocket than it should. Every streetlight flickering past the car window caught on the corners of his thoughts, illuminating things he didn’t want to overthink.
Like the way his heart skipped a beat at the underlying subtext of the first love talk, how it made him want to cry, though he hid it behind a laugh instead. How it felt like an indirect, not to the audience, not even to Suho or Sieun, but to him. A secret, almost-confession made in public, and yet somehow more personal than anything said outright. A far-fetched, delusional thought of what could have been, if only things weren’t the way they are now.
Like the warmth that radiated from his body when taking the pictures they were asked to take together, a warmth Hyunwook wanted to indulge in, to be weak and snuggle into.
Like the electrifying feeling of their cheek-to-cheek moment, the softness of the brunette’s skin against his own, making him want to turn his face slightly and place the gentlest of kisses.
Like the scent of him that had Hyunwook holding back his breath, afraid of doing the irreversible, nuzzling his nose right in the crook of the doe-eyed boy’s neck, drowning in the comfort of him.
Like the way Jihoon hadn’t shown up to the party.
No excuse.
No text.
Just absence.
And that felt like the loudest thing he’d ever said.
He thought of texting.
Typed.
Deleted.
Typed again, then deleted.
Instead, he told the driver an address he dreaded and avoided for the longest time.
The address felt like unfinished business.
-
Hyunwook stood in front of Jihoon’s door, his fingers hovering above the wood, hesitating, anxious for what the night still holds. He knocked. Once. Twice.
The door creaked open slower than necessary. Jihoon blinked up at him, hair a mess, sweatshirt hanging off one shoulder.
Gorgeous, the only running thought in Hyunwook’s mind.
“Hyunwookie...” Whispered Jihoon, dazed, under his breath. So low, if it weren’t for the empty hallway, Hyunwook wouldn’t have caught his name, spoken so sweetly, laced with surprise, hesitation, and longing. His breath hitched, and his heart stuttered at the familiarity of it.
“Hyung… You didn’t go to the afterparty,” Said the taller boy.
The older one didn’t move. His eyes twitched; you could see his thoughts colliding too fast to settle. You could see the way they wavered for a split second, trying to hold something in, or maybe push something down. A tug of war behind them. Confusion. Questions- whys.
Jihoon didn’t open the door wider. “Neither did you.”
Hyunwook breathed in. “I went. I just... left early.”
He felt bare. Stripped down of his feelings, not by the weight of what he felt, but because all the careful avoidance, the dodging and pretending, suddenly cracked and left him wide open. Vulnerable.
A pause. Jihoon leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, like he was building a barrier between them. Eyes boring into Hyunwook’s, leaving the latter with nowhere to hide.
“Why are you here?”.
The bite in Jihoon’s words was sharp, lingering, low all the same, and tired like something he’d been carrying too long. He sounded worn, not loud. Like anger that had nowhere left to go. Angry at himself, at Hyunwook, at their situation, at the world.
“Because I couldn’t stand the possibility of not seeing you again after tonight.”
Jihoon didn’t answer.
But he stepped aside.
And Hyunwook stepped in.
-
The apartment was dim, lit by the soft golden spill of a single lamp in the corner. Funnily enough, Hyunwook saw himself in that scenery, half in the shadows, half exposed, warm in places and cold and empty in others. Like the apartment, he was floating between the darkness and light, suspended in the moment.
Hyunwook stayed standing.
So did Jihoon.
They faced each other. Drinking one another in, searching, tracing the lines that time and distance had drawn.
But they looked everywhere else too, at memories flickering behind those eyes, at what once was, or the lack thereof.
In the quiet between their stares, the space felt heavy with everything they hadn’t said, everything they couldn’t be, wished to be, to have- and more than anything, regret.
“You looked at me like we were something,” Hyunwook uttered quietly.
Jihoon huffed a breath. “You smiled at me first.” A smile that leaves me weak at the knees. Breathless. Thought Jihoon.
The kind of smile that wrecks him in all the quiet ways.
The kind of smile that glows, soft, making a warm home in his heart.
The kind that made him forget what he'd spent so long trying to hide, and couldn’t help but mirror it during the event.
The kind that made pretending hard. The kind that made him want things he wasn’t ready for.
“I was trying not to cry.”
The silence that followed was carried with tension, one that could be cut with a knife.
“You ignored me for weeks,” Jihoon said, voice low, wounded, thick with held-up emotions. Eyes already wet.
Hyunwook’s jaw clenched. “Because loving you was starting to hurt more than missing you.”
That did something. Broke something. Jihoon turned away, then turned back.
“I hate how much I still want you.” It came out cracked, broken, like it had been sitting on his tongue for too long, bitter and burning.
Because he did. He wanted him in every stupid, stubborn way. In ways he was not allowed to.
After everything. After the silence, the distance, the bruised pride.
Wanting him wasn’t soft. It wasn’t sweet.
It hurt and burned his whole being.
“Then stop acting like I didn’t matter,” Hyunwook said, voice strained, eyes shining now.
Jihoon took one step closer. Shaky hands cupping Hyunwook’s cheeks.
Hyunwook melted like a puddle, eyes closing slowly, face leaning into those soft palms, tears welling up behind his closed lids.
He has missed his touch so much, missed Jihoon so much.
“You mattered. You mattered so much that it terrified me. I have been holding on for so long, convincing myself I don’t care, I don’t need you, I don’t feel anything… But I do.
In every moment we’re apart.
In every moment we’re at hand’s reach but can’t touch.
But especially in silence, especially in distance.
You matter so much it hurts.
Hyunwook opened his eyes, breathing too fast, clenching Jihoon’s hands in his too hard.
He felt heady. Jihoon’s words echoed in him, and the weight of everything they had avoided for so long came crashing down.
He looked at Jihoon, really looked, eyes burning with thousands of emotions, with hot, unshed tears.
“Then why did you let me go?” He says lips wobbly.
“Because you made it feel like I was always chasing something that didn’t want to be caught.”
Hyunwook flinched, shaking his head. “That’s not true.”
It is true.
Both know it’s heartbreakingly true.
They know Hyunwook runs, not because he doesn’t feel, but because he feels too much, and the moment something starts to feel real, it terrifies him.
They know he’s someone who smiles when his heart aches. Jokes when he wants to cry. And pulls away when the second it starts to matter because, what if he’s not enough? And so he runs.
It makes Jihoon doubt himself. Makes him feel like he’s chasing a ghost of something he swore was there. And when confronted, he denies.
And Hyunwook hates himself for it. And he doesn’t know how to stop.
But they also know that Jihoon shuts down.
They know Jihoon becomes cold, controlled. He pretends it didn’t matter, that he didn’t care.
Not because he’s indifferent, far from it, it’s because his caring makes him feel powerless.
He builds walls that make Hyunwook believe he’s not wanted anymore. He punishes in silence, retreating to himself, waiting for the other to take the first step.
He buries his love under sarcasm, nonchalance, under distance.
And he hates that.
Jihoon moved again. Even closer, resting his forehead on Hyunwook’s chest, holding his shirt so tight.
Hyunwook holds him back just as desperately.
Their embrace speaks what their hearts desire, what they’re unable to put into words.
The unspoken reality of their fate.
They want to be loved without having to ask. To be chosen without having to chase. To be understood without having to break themselves open.
They want to be wanted without being too much, safe to need. To be chosen for who they are, not what they give.
They know they are that for each other. They can be that for each other.
But
The situation isn’t better just because they’re holding each other. The damage cannot be undone with some tears and an embrace.
Because knowing they could be that for each other is not the same as knowing how to be.
They’re on an endless cycle that doesn’t seem to break anytime soon.
They know if they keep on going any longer on this path, this thing between them is meant to rot from the inside out.
And only regrets will be left. They’ll always wonder about what the ifs, the what could have been, if only they had just said something, anything.
Hyunwook tips Jihoon’s chin up, holding it gently, like the most precious thing in the world.
And to Hyunwook, he is.
His thumb brushes Jihoon’s bottom lip, tentative, reverent. Eyes lidded, heavy with craving. He wants to pour out everything he’s been holding in, all the quiet feelings, the buried hurt, the want.
And he did.
They crashed.
The kiss was desperation folded into heat. Fingers tangled in hair, heavy breaths. Hyunwook kissed him like the answer to every ache was behind Jihoon’s lips.
Jihoon kissed him like this was the last time.
And maybe it was.
Hands slid over backs, grasping like a lifeline to each other, not searching for lust but reassurance. They didn’t fall into bed, didn’t fumble with buttons. They just held on and kissed until their lips hurt, matching the burn in their hearts.
When they pulled apart, both of them were gasping.
Eyes red. Chests heaving.
Jihoon looked destroyed.
“That didn’t fix anything,” he whispered, exhausted from the swirling emotions.
Hyunwook nodded. “I know.”
He reached up and brushed his thumb over Jihoon’s cheek, tracing a tear that matched his own wet face.
Then they sank to the floor, side by side.
-
They sat on the floor, backs against the couch, knees bent like they were children hiding from the storm.
Neither said anything for a while.
“Do you think we’ll ever get this right?” Hyunwook asked finally.
Jihoon’s smile was more ache than answer. “I don’t know.”
He blinked. Once. Twice. Tears gathered once again but but didn’t fall this time.
Hyunwook reached for his hand.
Held it like the last thread holding him together.
Eventually, Jihoon stood.
Hyunwook followed.
“Tell me to stay,” Hyunwook said, barely more than breath.
Jihoon stepped close, pressed a kiss to his cheek, then his forehead.
No answer.
A misunderstood silence.
An almost that would echo for years.
Jihoon wanted to say it. God, he wanted to say it.
But silence was the only language he’d ever learned to survive.
And so Hyunwook left.
No door slammed.
No footsteps ran.
Just the sound of absence folding itself back into the night.
Jihoon stood in the quiet they’d both created.
The kisses still warm on Hyunwook’s skin.
The words still burning on both of their tongues.
Neither would say them, but both would remember.