Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The sound of Sunoo’s alarm cut through the quiet like an insult. Aggressively cheerful, playing some song he loved. A song that had once made him smile but now felt like a personal attack.

He groaned, not dramatically, but with the quiet exhale of someone who hadn’t quite made peace with waking up. His hand reached for his phone on the bedside table, knocking his glasses off the nightstand in the process. He did not want to wake up today.

From the other room, Jungwon’s voice rang out with a hint of annoyance.
“Sunoo. Your alarm has been going off for almost 10 minutes. If I hear that chorus one more time I’m replacing your alarm with Jay’s laugh and you know how scary it is.” Jungwon was his roommate, they met freshman year when they both chose to have random roommates, luckily they were assigned each other. Later on, Sunoo met Jay, who was a year above him, in a shared class. The three of them instantly become close friends. Though, Jay and Jungwon were closer than friends.

A muffled grunt was Sunoo’s only reply as he finally blinked into the morning light. He stared at the ceiling, allowing his brain to wake up properly. The familiar hum of the dormitory signaled the start of another day, and Sunoo took a deep breath, preparing himself for what layed ahead.

He got up slowly, moving in the soft, rhythm of someone afraid to knock the day off balance. Everything felt louder in the morning—the creak of his mattress, the whir of their tiny fridge, the whisper of his own thoughts.

In the shared bathroom, Sunoo caught sight of himself in the mirror and winced. Hair sticking up. Puffy eyes. Lips dry. He leaned in, turning on the cold water and splashing his face like he was washing something more invisible off himself.

A breath in. Hold. A breath out. Two more, just in case.

Behind him, the floor creaked as Jungwon padded into the kitchen. Sunoo heard the sound of the electric coffee machine turning on, followed by the mechanical whirr of the cheap coffee frother Jay had insisted they buy and barely used.

Dragging himself into the kitchen in an oversized hoodie and sweats, Sunoo muttered, “I feel like a rotting corpse.”

“You look like one,” Jungwon said without looking up from his coffee.

“Thanks.” Sunoo reached for a banana and leaned against the counter, peeling it half-heartedly. His hands were a little shaky—he told himself it was the cold.

Their tiny shared space looked like a Pinterest board curated by sleep-deprived students with the opposite aesthetic: mismatched mugs, taped-up class schedules, two plush cats and one fox on the couch, a nod to their trio. The whiteboard by the door still said:
“JAY IF YOU LEAVE DIRTY DISHES AGAIN IN OUR DORM, I’M STARTING A PODCAST ABOUT YOU”
in angry red marker.

Sunoo smiled faintly at it, then stared at the banana in his hand, procrastinating the rest of his day.

“You’re gonna be late to your first class,” Jungwon reminded him casually.

“I know,” Sunoo replied, not moving.

“Then why are you standing there like that banana is the best thing ever.”

“It is, and I’m… processing. It’s a delicate operation.”

“You’re chewing slower than a sloth.”

Sunoo glared weakly, then sighed and pushed off the counter. He walked back to his room, calling out over his shoulder, “One day you’ll miss my emotional complexity.”

“No, I’ll miss how you always leave your dignity in the kitchen.”

⸻

In his room, Sunoo got dressed in silence. White long-sleeved top and jorts, a good outfit made him feel like he had his life together. He brushed out his hair carefully and let it settle naturally, not styled, just soft, bangs falling in his face.

His room was a typical college student's room, cluttered with textbooks, crumpled notes, and empty coffee cups. Posters of his favorite artists and movies adorned the walls, adding a personal touch. Sunoo's gaze landed on a framed photographs of him, Jay and Jungwon from their first group hangout, their laughter frozen in time. Another photo next to it, of him and a friend, he felt a pang of nostalgia. Those were simpler times, before the weight of the real world settled on his shoulders.

He paused in front of the mirror, running his fingers along the edge of the vanity like a nervous habit. Then, without really deciding, he sat on the edge of his bed for a minute.

No notifications.

He wasn’t expecting any. Still, his eyes checked.

Just quiet.

That kind of quiet that wasn’t peaceful. The kind that felt like when you enter a room and everyone had just stopped talking.

He blinked again. Realized he’d been holding his breath. Released it in a long, controlled exhale and forced himself to get up.

⸻

He had a nutrition lecture first thing in the morning, followed by a lab session in the afternoon. In between, he had to find time to study for his upcoming quiz and work on his first project of the semester.

Nutrition had always been a passion of his, a fascination that began with his obsession of supplements and vitamins. He wanted to help others understand the impact of nutrition on their lives. It was a big goal, but Sunoo was determined to see it through.

The campus was alive with the usual 10AM crowd. Students clutching iced coffee like a need of survival. Others walking with that speed-walk only a near-late to class could cause. A guy on a scooter zipped past with a bagel in one hand and a prayer in his eyes.

Sunoo pulled his headphones on but didn’t press play. Sometimes, he just liked the illusion of being tuned out. It gave him a buffer. A space between him and… everything.

He didn’t hate mornings. But they always carried a weight. Some invisible fog that clung to his body, surrounding his heart and lungs. Most days, he could shake it off. Some days it clung tighter.

He walked the usual path through the quad, passing the rows of blooming cherry blossoms, that the school had clearly over-budgeted for. It was pretty, like a campus brochure. It felt… fake. But nice.

⸻

By the time he made it to the lecture hall, most of the seats were filled. He slid into the middle row and pulled out his computer.

The professor cleared her throat and launched into a passionate breakdown of enzyme pathways. Sunoo tried to listen. He really did.

But as the words blurred into each other, he found himself hyper-aware of the click of someone’s pen three seats over. The fluorescent buzz. The way his chest felt a little too tight even though he was breathing normally.

He tapped his pen against his computer in steady rhythm. Quiet. Countable.

The lecture kept going. People around him shifted, whispered, laughed. He laughed too, once, at a joke about ketones.

But still, that strange ache nestled somewhere under his sternum, low and persistent like static.

He didn’t know what it was. He never really did.

But he knew how to carry it.

Everyday was hard. But somehow Fridays felt the hardest, the heaviest. Sunoo’s second semester as a junior felt heavier than the ones before it, maybe because he was closer to graduation now. Or maybe because everything he used to look forward to—walking to class with someone, eating lunch on the lawn with someone, weekly hangouts on Friday with someone—didn’t happen anymore.

But it was fine. Mostly.

⸻

Sunoo was taking notes, until he got bored. He reached for his phone and went to the shared chat, with Jay and Jungwon.

[Group Chat: Foodiez 🤤]

Ddeonu 🧡:
i’m 12 minutes into this lecture and already contemplating dropping out

Personal Chef 🐈‍⬛:
grow up. i’m literally plating balsamic foam for a PARTICIPATION assignment. suffering for only 2% of my grade 💔

Future Cat Lawyer 🐈🧑‍⚖️:
i just watched a guy in my class argue by himself and contradict everything he said
and somehow he still got more participation points than me

Ddeonu 🧡:
well you picked to major in political science, what did you expect. peace?

Personal Chef 🐈‍⬛:
you two fight like divorced parents and i’m the child trapped in the group chat

Future Cat Lawyer 🐈🧑‍⚖️:
you literally told your cooking partner to “chop faster or drop out” also sunoo is OUR child.

Personal Chef 🐈‍⬛:
First of all, teamwork builds character and second of all, I’m too young to be a parent

Ddeonu 🧡:
I didn’t want u as my parents anyway 😒
okay but why did my professor say “turn to your partner and discuss the implications of vitamin toxicity”
and my partner just said “i think about overdosing on ibuprofen daily” that’s not even a vitamin 😐

Future Cat Lawyer 🐈🧑‍⚖️:
no bc what is going on with nutrition majors

Personal Chef 🐈‍⬛:
it sounds like a cult

Ddeonu 🧡:
we are
but we’re hydrated and our skin is clear

Future Cat Lawyer 🐈🧑‍⚖️:
omg wait
idea

Ddeonu 🧡:
oh god

Personal Chef 🐈‍⬛:
if this is another one of your 3pm spontaneous “let’s start a podcast” ideas, then I’m out.

Future Cat Lawyer 🐈🧑‍⚖️:
shut up
bbq tonight. 8pm.
i’m dying. u two sound like you’re dying. we need meat or we will all die together before we graduate

Ddeonu 🧡:
my spirit is already dead.

Personal Chef 🐈‍⬛:
can we go to the place that gives free dessert if it’s your birthday
i need to feel joy somehow

Future Cat Lawyer 🐈🧑‍⚖️:
you did that last week. they will not believe u

Personal Chef 🐈‍⬛:
they can’t deny me of free food 💔

Ddeonu 🧡:
wait are we actually going? i was gonna lie to myself in bed while rewatching 20th century girl

Future Cat Lawyer 🐈🧑‍⚖️:
cancel ur delusions and sad dramas. bring ur appetite and ur emo self
see u at 8

Ddeonu 🧡:
okay but if the table doesn’t have beef belly i’m committing crimes

Personal Chef 🐈‍⬛:
just show up
we’ll find meat
and we’ll find peace

Ddeonu 🧡:
thank u 🙇🙇🙇

Future Cat Lawyer 🐈🧑‍⚖️:
anyway
8pm. don’t flake. don’t cry until after the grill’s lit.

Ddeonu 🧡:
no promises

⸻

He loved going out with them. Loved the soft buzz of streetlights and laughter. It reminded him that life kept moving. That there were still things worth looking forward to. That even if his days were structured and careful and a little lonely sometimes, there were still nights like this.

Jay was already waiting outside the restaurant, holding the door open with a smug grin. He always looked effortlessly good—hair pushed back, silver rings, that casual chef swagger. Jungwon looked at him like he was the whole world. And Jay looked back at Jungwon like he had something to prove. Jay and Jungwon were a couple now, and their dynamic was a constant source of amusement and envy for Sunoo. They were the kind of couple that made everyone around them feel like they were missing out on something special. Sunoo couldn't help but feel a twinge of jealousy as he watched them interact, their laughter and playful banter a stark contrast to the silence that had settled over his own life.

⸻

The BBQ place was bustling—metal chopsticks clinking, laughter rising in little bursts from every table, and the smoky perfume of grilled pork belly swirling in the air. Sunoo was laughing at their ridiculous bickering over the best cut of meat, sliding into the booth as the server dropped off side dishes and a full bottle of soju.

Somewhere between the second round of grilled beef belly and the third shot of soju, Sunoo started feeling warm. Not drunk, not really. Just soft around the edges. His laughter came easier, his smile wider, his shoulders relaxed.

He looked at Jay and Jungwon across the table—Jungwon feeding Jay a lettuce wrap with an eye-roll, Jay making exaggerated “mmm” noises like a five-star review—and felt something sharp and tender twist in his chest.

He didn’t know what made the memory come back so vividly. Maybe it was the smell of the food. Maybe it was the way Jungwon was looking at Jay—familiar, in love, sure.

Or maybe it was just the soju.

But suddenly, he remembered someone else’s laughter. Someone else who used to sit next to him in booths like this. Someone who used to steal food off his plate and act like it was his right.

He looked down at his drink.

And for the first time that day, Sunoo thought of Ni-ki.

⸻

Jay flipped a strip of beef expertly with his tongs while Jungwon nudged the lettuce wraps closer to Sunoo, who hadn’t touched his plate much.

“Eat before you pass out,” Jungwon said, mouth half-full, eyes flicking toward the third soju bottle Jay had just cracked open.

“I’m fine,” Sunoo hummed, though his voice was already starting to lilt into that bubbly, floaty tone he got when he was more tipsy than he’d admit. “I’m just—relaxing. Letting life marinate.”

“Like this beef belly?” Jay deadpanned.

Sunoo giggled and reached for another shot, wobbling slightly as he poured. “Exactly like this beef belly.”

Jay and Jungwon exchanged a glance, the silent kind only people who’d known each other for years could decode. It said: He’s spiraling.

The food continued sizzling. Sunoo leaned back in his chair, cheeks flushed, one hand lazily poking at the leftover rice cakes.

“Do you ever think about… like… someone you haven’t talked to in a while?” he asked suddenly, eyes glazed with memory and alcohol.

Jungwon’s chewing slowed. “Sometimes.”

Jay stayed quiet. Knowing where this was going.

Sunoo smiled faintly, rolling the shot glass between his fingers. “It’s weird, right? Like, one day you’re laughing so hard with someone you can’t breathe, and then poof. Gone.” He chuckled.

“I miss Rik— I mean Ni-ki.” He corrected himself.

And there it was—the name. The one they all tiptoed around. The one that hadn’t been spoken aloud in nearly a year.

Sunoo stared at the tabletop. “I keep saying he pulled away first. And maybe he did. Maybe he got distant and cold and I didn’t know why. But I started doing it too. Not because I didn’t care. Because I cared too much.”

His voice cracked on the last word. He laughed like it didn’t matter, but it did—God, it did.

“I kept thinking, what if I was the problem? What if he just needed space and I was always texting, always calling, always needing more than he could give? So I told myself, be quiet. Be small. Be easy to forget. Maybe he needed to forget…”

Jungwon’s face had fallen. Jay looked visibly worried now, eyes darting from the soju bottle to Sunoo’s clenched hands.

“I thought maybe if I stopped trying, he’d come back on his own,” Sunoo said, blinking hard. “But he didn’t. And I didn’t go after him either. I let him go. I let us go. Like an idiot.”

“You’re not an idiot,” Jay said, voice low.

“I am,” Sunoo laughed bitterly. “I let my favorite person think I didn’t care just so I wouldn’t scare him off.”

He sniffled, but tried to smile. “Anyway.”

He pulled out his phone, unlocking it with fumbling fingers. “Wanna see something dumb?”

Jungwon nodded slowly. “Sure.”

Sunoo turned his screen toward them.

Playlist: ‘I miss you.’
Curated by: Sunoo

Jay read it, then looked up slowly.

Sunoo tapped it proudly. “All my favorite songs. Each one is like a diary entry, of what happened. Like this one—” He pointed to the top of the list. “‘We Don’t Talk Anymore.’ Charlie Puth. The anthem of passive mutual silence.”

He gave a hiccupped giggle, still scrolling. “I like it the most because it’s so obvious. No metaphors. No pretending it’s anything other than what it is. It’s like a mirror of what me and him are now. Cause well, we don’t talk anymore.“ He chuckled.

Then he paused. His finger hovered over the screen. “I used to talk to him every day.”

Jay and Jungwon stayed silent.

Sunoo swallowed thickly. “He was the first person I felt totally safe with. I could say anything to him. Even when we argued, even when we were annoying—he got me. Like, he really got me.”

His voice was trembling now. He laughed again, but it cracked halfway through.

“I don’t even know if he hated me in the end. Maybe he just got tired. And I don’t blame him.”

“Sunoo,” Jungwon started, eyes wide with concern.

But Sunoo shook his head. “It’s okay. I just… I thought he might’ve liked me too, you know? Not just as a friend. Not always. There were moments where I swore he looked at me like he couldn’t imagine life without me. But maybe I made all that up.”

Jay gently took the phone from his hand. “Maybe you’re drunk.”

“I am drunk,” Sunoo said, voice wobbling again. “But I’m also right.”

A single tear slipped down his cheek. He swiped at it quickly. “Damn it. I told myself I wouldn’t do this.”

Jungwon reached across the table. “Sunoo—”

“I don’t know what I did wrong!” he burst out suddenly, the laugh dying completely this time. “I replay everything. Every conversation. Every time he went quiet. Every time I did something dumb. Everytime both of us just gave up. I wish I could go back and just—fix it.”

Jay stood up slowly. “Okay. That’s enough for tonight.”

“No—no, it’s not.” Sunoo stood too fast and stumbled. “I just need to—God, I’m so stupid.”

“You’re not stupid,” Jungwon said, catching him.

“I ruined everything,” Sunoo whispered, his face crumpling. “And I miss him so much it hurts.”

He sobbed once, loudly, hands shaking as he tried to cover his face. “He was my favorite person.”

Jay gently guided him away from the table. “Let’s go home, okay?”

Sunoo didn’t resist. He leaned on them heavily, body warm and heavy with sorrow. As they exited the restaurant, his playlist still shone from the phone clutched in Jay’s hand, open on that one song.

And in the soft yellow glow of the streetlights, Sunoo murmured again, almost too quietly to hear:

“I still wait for him, you know?”

Jungwon squeezed his shoulder. “We know.”

They didn’t say anything else.

The only sound was soft humming. The song Sunoo mentioned, he hummed under his breath and tried not to cry again.

⸻

Jungwon and Jay helped him into the dorm, their quiet concern wrapping around him like a soft blanket. Jay patted his shoulder one last time.
“I’ll see you both tomorrow,” he said with a gentle smile.

Jungwon stayed with Sunoo, guiding him carefully to the bed. He tucked the thin blanket around Sunoo’s shoulders.
“Get some rest,” he whispered. “I’ll be in my room.”

“Okay,” Sunoo mumbled, words slurring around the weight in his chest.

Jay slipped out, the door clicking closed behind him. Jungwon lingered a moment, searching Sunoo’s face.
“Text me if you need anything,” he offered quietly, then stepped out, leaving Sunoo alone in silence.

⸻

The room was too quiet.

Sunoo layed on his back, the ceiling fan spinning above in slow, lazy circles, casting shadows that didn’t help the dizziness. His limbs were heavy. The buzz from dinner had shifted into something else now — something slower, more aching, like gravity had doubled just for him.

He blinked up at the ceiling, dry eyes fighting sleep that refused to come. His head was hot, but his hands were cold. Every breath felt too loud. Too noticeable.

He turned onto his side with a low groan, curling up for a second, thinking maybe if he held still enough his brain would stop spinning — but it didn’t. The room tilted slightly. The air felt thick.

His eyes shifted lazily toward his nightstand. And that’s when he saw it.

The picture frame.

Just sitting there, like it always did, angled perfectly like it had been untouched for months. He didn’t remember the last time he really looked at it.

The light from the night sky sliced across the photo — him and Ni-ki. Wide grins. Wrinkled eyes. It was taken after the Ni-ki’s graduation ceremony, Sunoo remembered that day. Ni-ki’s tassel slightly crooked. Sunoo’s arms looped around his shoulders too tightly, like he didn’t want to let go.

He stared at it. Long. Silent.

He could feel the burn creep into his chest before he registered it.

Something clenched deep in his stomach — not pain exactly, but that ache. The kind you get when you see someone across a crowd and realize too late they’re already walking away.

His bottom lip trembled, and he let out a soft laugh.

A ridiculous sound. Almost like a hiccup. A breath caught between amusement and disbelief. “God,” he whispered, wiping at the corners of his eyes even though no tears had fallen yet.

“Everything was perfect.” he whispered. Not to anyone — just to the stillness around him. He laughed again. It cracked halfway through.

And then the quiet shifted.

His breath hitched. Like his body finally caught up with his brain. His hand tightened around the edge of the blanket. His chest rose quicker.

“I really…” he whispered, voice thin and shaking, “I really thought…”

He didn’t finish the sentence.

Because suddenly the tears did come.

Hot. Blurry. Stinging. Not loud yet, just quiet and relentless, the kind that made your jaw hurt because you were clenching it too tight trying to keep it in.

Sunoo sat up. Slowly. Swiping at his face with the back of his sleeve, trying to breathe slow. Trying to pull it together. But his eyes landed on the photo again, and something in him snapped.

He reached out.

Grabbed the frame.

Held it in both hands like, like he could go back to that day if he stared long enough. He looked at the smiles — their closeness — and all he could think was, when did that stop? When did they really give up on each other?

And just like that, the anger hit.

He hurled the photo across the room.

It crashed into the floor by his desk with a violent shatter. Glass against the floorboard.

“Fuck!” Sunoo cried out, voice hoarse and raw in the small room.

He buried his face in his hands, shoulders shaking now, his sobs finally rising from the bottom of his throat.

He was angry.

At himself. At Ni-ki. At time. At silence. At how something so sweet turned into silence without either of them ever really saying goodbye.

His hands trembled as he wiped his face, sniffing hard, breathing in jagged breaths that made his chest feel like it was splitting open.

“I messed it up,” he muttered between sobs, eyes blurry and red. “I messed everything up.”

The words felt too true. Too big. Like they’d been waiting at the bottom of his chest all year.

He reached blindly for his phone on the nightstand.

Unlocked it with shaky fingers. The screen glowed too bright, but he didn’t care.

It opened on his playlist. The one he swore he’d never show anyone, until tonight. The one titled ‘I miss you’, sitting in his library like a constant reminder he had made for himself.

He hovered for a moment.

Staring at it.

His thumb hovered above the share button.

A single teardrop landed on the screen.

He didn’t think.

He just sent it.

To Ni-ki.

Nothing else.

No context.

Just a playlist full of everything that encompassed what he had tried so hard to bury.

Sunoo knew that no matter how much time passed, no matter how far apart they were, Ni-ki would always be a part of him.

And then, he let the phone drop on the table and curled onto his side.

His breath came out ragged. His throat hurt. His sleeves were wet.

The room stayed quiet — except for the sound of him softly crying into the dark.

No thoughts.

Just the gaping hole that Ni-ki used to fill.

And a playlist hanging in the air, waiting for someone else to press play.

⸻

Sunlight filtered through the blinds at an ungodly hour. Sunoo groaned, his chest tight with a familiar pounding, headache from the night before, eyes puffy, and throat sore. He rolled to his side, not wanting to face the world quite yet.

His hand reached for the bedside table, his phone. He turned it on, and saw a notification. A message.

He stared in disbelief.

It was from Ni-ki.

He opened it.

[4:12 AM]
Riki 🖤:
I miss you too.

His heart stopped.
The room spun so slowly—even that felt like too much motion.

He stared at the words, tears coming again—this time, not from regret, but maybe hope.

Sunoo pressed the phone to his chest, breath shaky, throat tight.

And for the first time in months—maybe years—he dared to think he could breathe again.

Chapter Text

When they had met, everything seemed to make sense.

Ni-ki was new to Korea, having just moved from Japan. He was officially starting his second year in high school, and though he wouldn’t admit it, he was really nervous. He had told himself over and over that he wasn’t, and everything would be fine, he didn’t believe in that. He kept his back straight, his hands tucked tightly under the straps of his bag, and tried to keep his breathing steady as students rushed past him as he was standing still.

He had only been in Korea for a week. His korean was conversational, not perfect. His uniform felt stiffer than it had at home. He had never felt more like a stranger than now.

Then someone crashed into him.

“Oh my god!, I am so sorry!” the voice gasped and was frantic.

Ni-ki stumbled a bit but manged to straighten himself up. When he looked where the voice came from, he was met with a boy. Standing infront of him with a nervous smile, bright eyes, fluffy black hair, and dimples under his eyes.

“I’m sorry, i didnt mean to scare you or stumble into you! I’m Sunoo—Kim Sunoo,” his smile never wavered. “I’m a third year and you’re a second year, right? Are you Nishimura Riki?”

Ni-ki blinked. Caught off gaurd by the speed Sunoo spoke.

“Yeah.. That’s me. You can call me Ni-ki. It’s a nickname, only my family calls me, Riki.”

Sunoo gave two thumbs up. “Okay cool! I’m glad I found you so soon! I’m part of the school’s welcome commitee and they assigned me to show you around! So, you’re stuck with me today.” Sunoo’s smile had widened, he was eager to make a possible new friend.

Before Ni-ki could respond, Sunoo had reached forward and pulled him into a quick hug.

Ni-ki froze—body tense, and eyes wide.

“Oh—wait, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that, I mean we did just meet..” Sunoo backed up, arms now glued to his side. “So sorry, I’m a hugger, especially when I’m excited, and you also looked overwhelmed, so I thought it would help. But i probably made it worse. Oh my god, you probably hate me now and—“

“It’s okay,” Ni-ki cut in quietly, a little stunned. “It was…nice. I appreciate it.” He smiled.

Sunoo paused. Then grinned.

“For real?”

Ni-ki nodded.

“Okay. Cool. Lets get going then, time for the grand tour!”

⸻

They turned the corner of the east wing, the hallway quiet and nearly empty now that students had gathered in classrooms and the more popular hangout spots in school.

“This way,” Sunoo said, voice a little softer than before. “Not alot of people come over here during the day. It’s kind of my favorite spot.”

Ni-ki tilted his head. “Why?”

“You’ll see.”

They stopped infront of a classroom door. The sign next to it read: Music Room.

Sunoo glanced at Ni-ki, then gently pushed the door open. Ni-ki followed him in, quietly walking in, taking in his sorroundings.

Inside, the room was only lit by the sunlight filtering in through the tall windows. The chairs were stacked on one side, a few instruments lined neatly along the black wall, and at the front of the room sat an old piano, its black paint chipped around the edges.

Sunoo took a breath, his voice more reverent now. “It’s quiet here. It’s peaceful. I come here sometimes after class when my head feels to full.”

Ni-ki looked around slowly, eyes sweeping the empty space. It was the first time since arriving that something about today had felt peaceful.

“You come here alone?”

“Yeah.” Sunoo stepped inside further and walked up to the piano, resting his fingertips just lighty on the lid. “I do like being around people most of the time, I am really outgoing. But sometimes I just get overwhelmed. You know? Like you’re smiling and talking, but inside it’s just—“ He took a breath. “—too loud.”

Ni-ki didn’t say anything, but his gaze softened.

Sunoo pulled his hand away and rocked on his heels. “Sorry…I’m an oversharer. But I’ve never told anyone that. And it’s not like it’s a sad thing, really. I just…like having somewhere to go where no one expects anything from me. Where I don’t even expect anything from myself. It’s nice…”

There was a quiet hum of understanding between them, not spoken, just felt.

Ni-ki took a step closer and nodded at the piano. “Do you play?”

Sunoo shook his head, laughing under his breath. “No. Not even a little, I think I tried learning guitar once, but my fingers hated me. So I gave up on all instruments.”

He reached out and pressed a single key. The note echoed, soft and pure.

“I don’t know,” He murmured. “I always look at it and wonder what it’d be like. To actually be good at something, that I could be poud of. To sit down and just…make something beautiful out of nothing.”

He hesitated, then glanced at Ni-ki. “Do you have anything like that?”

Ni-ki blinked. The question caught him off gaurd.

Sunoo tilted his head, smiling now. “Something you’re passionate about?”

A note of silence. Then Ni-ki nodded.

“Dance,” He said quietly. “I’ve been dancing since I was three.”

Sunoo perked up. “Really?”

Ni-ki nodded again, more sure this time. “In Japan, I used to go to this little studio near our house. My whole family dances, I guess it comes natural in the family.”

Sunoo watched him, listening intently.

“It’s the only thing I’ve ever done where I don’t second-guess myself, Ni-ki continued. “It’s like my body knows what to do, even when I don’t. Especially now, with everything being new and changing… it helps me feel like I’m still me.”

Sunoo smiled, soft and real. “That’s amazing.”

“It’s not,” Ni-ki shrugged, embarrassed.

“No, it is,” Sunoo said firmly. “Like, that’s the thing I’m talking about. I want that. Something that’s just mine. That I can be proud of.”

Ni-ki looked at the piano. “So…why not start?

Sunoo blinked. “What?”

“You should learn,” Ni-ki said simply. “If you want to. You’d probably be good at it.”

Sunoo turned to face him, the corners of his mouth twitching up. “You think so?”

Ni-ki shrugged. “You seem to care alot about things. That’s half of it, right?”

Sunoo stared at him for a moment, eyes almost glassy with a quiet emotion.

No one ever told him that before. That caring was enough. That it counted.

He looked back at the piano, then smiled wide, genuine.

“You really think I should?”

“I think you want to,” Ni-ki said. “That’s enough.”

“Okay,” Sunoo said softly, like it was a promise. “I’ll do it. I’ll learn the piano. I have to.”

Ni-ki smiled and let out a small chuckle.

Sunoo turned back to him. “And when I do, I’ll play you a song, maybe I’ll even make my own.”

Ni-ki laughed softly. “You promise?”

“I promise.”

The room felt a little warmer, the sun casting golden patches across the dusty floor between them. It was one of those moments that didn’t need to be said aloud that it was important, but somehow just was.

Sunoo looked into Ni-ki’s eyes. “You know, I’m really glad they assigned me to be your welcome buddy.”

“Me too,” Ni-ki smiled.

They stood there for a little longer, in the hush of the music room, two boys who didn’t know how much this small beginning would shape the rest of their lives.

“Hey Sunoo,”

“Yeah?”

“You can call me, Riki.”

“Okay.”

This was enough—for now.

⸻

Ni-ki and Sunoo had been friends for a few months now, and in that time something about their bond had become unbreakable. It didn’t take long for them to fall into a rhythm—texting daily, walking home together, Ni-ki following Sunoo’s lead like a baby duck, sitting together in the cafeteria, and Ni-ki always giving Sunoo more food. For all the differences between them—Ni-ki’s quiet steadiness, Sunoo’s outgoing charm—they had clicked in a way that felt natural, like it was fate.

⸻

It was 1:07 AM when Ni-ki was laying on his bed, the blanket tangled around his legs and the room too quiet to feel restful. He shifted onto his back, letting his eyes roam the ceiling like it could offer him answers. He turned over again, punching the pillow out of frustration. The darkness outside his window made the inside feel even heavier.

He picked up his phone, screen casting a blue light onto his tired face. His fingers hovered over his contacts.

He scrolled.

Paused.

Stared at Sunoo’s contact.

They had been close for months now—inseparable, really. Ever since that first day of school when Sunoo practically tackled him with kindness, Ni-ki had clung to him like gravity. It was easy. Sunoo made life easier.

But it was late.

Way too late.

Without thinking, he tapped into his conversation with Sunoo. His name sat comfortably at the top of the list. His fingers moved on their own.

“You up?”

He paused. It was late. Maybe Sunoo was asleep. He was probably just being annoying. He should delete it. Before he could, the phone slipped from his hand, landing square on his face.

“Shit,” he muttered, grabbing it with a startled fumble.

When he looked at the screen again, the message was sent.

Ni-ki’s eyes widened. His thumb slipped and had hit send.

He groaned softly, about to throw the phone across the bed, when it lit up.

[1:09 AM]
Sun:
yeah
why are YOU up?

Ni-ki blinked in surprise, then smiled.

[1:10 AM]
Riki:
can’t sleep

Sun:
lol same
wanna meet up at the park? it’s either that or i keep laying here questioning life

Ni-ki hesitated for half a second before typing back.

[1:11 AM]
Riki:
be there in 10

⸻

The park was just a few blocks away. Ni-ki slipped into his hoodie, pulling it tight around his face as he crept past his parents’ room. Every floorboard felt like it was screaming. But soon he was outside, the cool night air brushing against his skin and bringing with it a strange calm.

He arrived first, sitting on a bench near the empty playground, hood still up, scrolling aimlessly through his phone.

A few minutes later, he spotted a figure jogging toward him, hair bouncing slightly and arms pumping with exaggerated effort.

“Wow, you beat me here?” Sunoo asked, slowing down, a little breathless.

“I’ve always been faster than you,” Ni-ki replied, standing.

Sunoo rolled his eyes, smiling. “Whatever.”

They bumped shoulders as they wandered towards the swingset. The park was dim but not eerie—just quiet, still. Peaceful in a way that only 1AM could be.

“This feels illegal,” Sunoo said.

“You’ve said that before,” Ni-ki noted.

“Yeah, well, sneaking out is like a crime”

They ended up climbing the jungle gym and daring each other to balance across the monkey bars. Ni-ki managed three before falling with a grunt, while Sunoo laughed so hard he nearly rolled off the structure. Eventually, they both gave up and flopped onto the slide, staring at the sky.

“There’s a 24/7 store across the street, right?” Sunoo said.

Ni-ki nodded. “Wanna go?”

“Lead the way.”

The store was humming with fluorescent lights and the faint buzz of an old fan. They wandered the aisles aimlessly before settling on popsicles—Sunoo picking a classic cherry one with two sticks, and Ni-ki going for strawberry.

On the walk back to the park, Ni-ki’s popsicle slipped from his fingers.

He stared at it for a beat.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered.

Sunoo laughed and snapped his popsicle in two, holding out one half.

“Here. Cherry flavor solves everything.”

Ni-ki accepted it with a slight pout. “You’re lucky I’m too tired to argue that strawberry is better.”

They sat side by side on the swings, feet dragging slowly over the gravel as they rocked gently.

⸻

The swings creaked gently, moving in lazy arcs under the dim glow of the park lights. Their shadows swayed beneath them, stretching long and quiet across the gravel.

They were quiet for a while, the kind of quiet that wasn’t empty. Ni-ki had his hands curled around the chains of the swing, eyes tilted toward the sky, but not really looking at anything.

“I’ve been feeling… different lately, like heavy.” he said finally, his voice low and a little unsure.

Sunoo’s swing slowed beside him. “Heavy?”

Ni-ki nodded slowly. “Like… not sad exactly. Just tired. All the time. Like something’s pressing on me, even when everything’s fine.”

Sunoo stayed silent, giving him space.

“It’s weird,” Ni-ki continued, picking at the hem of his sleeve, “I’ll be in a room full of people and still feel like I’m somewhere else. Or like I’m floating above everything, watching it happen but not really in it.”

His eyes drifted to the gravel. “And I think—I think I’m starting to feel more comfortable being alone. Not because I like it, but because it’s quieter that way. Easier.”

He exhaled, his breath visible in the cool night air.

“Being around people sometimes makes it worse. Like I have to act lighter than I am so I don’t ruin anything. Or weigh anyone down.”

Sunoo looked over, a frown tugging at his lips, but he didn’t interrupt. Just let Ni-ki speak.

“I’ve been trying to convince myself I’m just tired, not used to the change for now. That maybe I’ll wake up one day and feel normal again. But I don’t even know what that means anymore. It’s like… I carry this weight around, and I don’t remember when it got there.”

Ni-ki kicked gently at the ground with the toe of his sneaker. “And I don’t want to make it anyone else’s problem. So, I don’t talk about it.”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was full. Soft. Heavy in its own way.

After a long pause, Sunoo finally spoke, voice gentle. “I don’t think you’re a problem. And I don’t think being like this makes you harder to love.”

Ni-ki blinked, not expecting that.

Sunoo looked down at his lap, swinging just slightly. “I mean… I feel kind of similar, I don’t sleep well either. My head just never turns off. I’m always overthinking everything I said, everything I did. If people actually like me or if they’re just… used to me.”

He gave a quiet laugh. “Sometimes I wonder if I’m more annoying than I think I am. Like I have to tone myself down, so I don’t push people away.”

Ni-ki looked at him, his expression unreadable. Then, quietly, “You don’t have to tone anything down around me.”

Sunoo smiled at that—small, soft. “You either.”

A breeze passed between them. The swings rocked slightly.

“I don’t want to go home,” Ni-ki admitted again, voice almost a whisper this time. “I don’t want to just lie there and pretend to be okay.”

“Then don’t,” Sunoo said. “Come back with me. We’ll be not okay together.”

Ni-ki looked over at him, a flicker of something in his eyes. Gratitude, maybe. Relief.

“Yeah?” he asked.

Sunoo nodded. “Yeah.”

⸻

The quiet shuffle of their sneakers on the pavement was the only sound between them as they walked back to Sunoo’s house, the late night silence of the neighborhood wrapping around them like a shared secret. The night air was cool, the streets empty, and their shadows stretched ahead of them under the soft glow of the streetlights.

“I still can’t believe you dropped your popsicle,” Sunoo said, breaking the silence with a light laugh.

Ni-ki groaned. “It was an accident. Two dollars just melting on the floor.”

“Hey,” Sunoo nudged his shoulder playfully, “Those were my two dollars anyway.”

Ni-ki rolled his eyes. “Your money is my money.”

They were still sharing the double-stick popsicle Sunoo had handed over earlier, now whittled down to a thin sliver on one side. Ni-ki was holding it, taking small bites as they walked. It felt like something unspoken passed between them in that moment—comfort, ease. Like they’d been friends for years, even if it had only been a few months.

When they reached Sunoo’s house, it was quiet. He unlocked the door carefully, trying not to wake anyone. They slipped inside and tiptoed up to his room.

Sunoo flipped on the small desk lamp, casting a warm, muted glow across the room. “You can take the bathroom first if you wanna change or wash up. There should be an extra toothbrush in the top drawer.”

Ni-ki nodded and disappeared down the hallway.

Sunoo sat on his bed, picking at the hem of his shirt for a moment. He wasn’t sure why he felt nervous. It wasn’t like this was the first time Ni-ki had been in his room. Still, he’d never slept over before and something about the softness of the night, the quiet of 3AM, and the vulnerability of Ni-ki’s voice earlier at the park made this feel different.

When Ni-ki came back, he was in a borrowed pair of pajama pants and a hoodie that Sunoo had lent him. His hair was damp at the ends from splashing water on his face.

“Your turn,” he mumbled, flopping onto the bed face-first.

Sunoo smiled and went to get ready.

By the time he came back, Ni-ki had managed to crawl under the covers and take up exactly half the bed—and somehow, all of the pillows.

“You good?” Sunoo asked, raising an eyebrow.

Ni-ki opened one eye. “There were no boundaries established.”

“Right,” Sunoo said dryly. “You gonna leave me any space?”

Ni-ki scooted slightly to the side, just enough for Sunoo to climb in. The bed dipped and shifted under their weight, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It felt like being settled next to something familiar.

They lay on their backs for a while, staring at the ceiling.

“Your ceiling looks like it has faces in it,” Ni-ki said suddenly.

Sunoo turned his head. “What?”

“Like there.” Ni-ki pointed. “That part looks like a rabbit. And that crack looks like a frowny face.”

Sunoo squinted. “You have a lot of time to think, huh?”

“Insomniac perks.”

They both laughed quietly.

“You ever think about how weird it is we ended up being friends?” Ni-ki asked after a while.

Sunoo blinked. “Not really. I feel like… it just makes sense.”

Ni-ki hummed softly. “Yeah. It does.”

The silence between them stretched, but it wasn’t uncomfortable.

“You snore?” Sunoo asked.

“I don’t think so.”

“We’ll find out.”

Ni-ki chuckled and turned to face him. “Thanks for sneaking out with me.”

Sunoo turned too, their faces lit by the soft glow of the lamp. “Thanks for texting me. Even if it was by accident.”

Ni-ki smiled, a little sleepily. “Best accident I’ve made in a while.”

They fell quiet again, the rhythm of the moment gentle and unspoken.

Sunoo started to speak, something about a dumb song that had been stuck in his head all day, but halfway through, he realized Ni-ki wasn’t responding. He glanced over.

Ni-ki was fast asleep.

His features had softened completely, breath even, lashes brushing his cheeks. Sunoo didn’t move. He just stared for a moment, letting the quiet settle.

A small smile curled on his lips. He shifted a little, turned onto his side to face Ni-ki, and closed his eyes.

For the first time in what felt like weeks, sleep came quickly and easily.

⸻

It was strange, how quickly things felt permanent.

Ni-ki’s sophomore year and Sunoo’s junior year passed like a blur of late-night ramen, whispered conversations across desks, shared earbuds during library study sessions, and sole moments of the two in the music room. Almost a year had passed since they’d first met, and their friendship—so new and soft and full of uncertainty back then—now felt second nature.

Ni-ki still hung close to Sunoo in the hallways, but he didn’t cling anymore. He had his own circle now at his dance studio, his own rhythm—but somehow, it always felt like Sunoo was his center of gravity. Even if they didn’t talk for a couple days, they always found their way back to each other.

Sunoo hadn’t changed much either, at least not to most people. He was still loud in group projects, picky about cafeteria food, always carrying vitamins in his bag. But Ni-ki noticed the subtle shifts—how Sunoo lingered over his planner, how quiet he got when studying late, how he double-checked every application deadline and wrote drafts of his personal statement at least three times.

Despite everything going on, they made time. Always.

Since they lived only a block apart, Sunoo would often text Ni-ki a simple “u up?” at 12:30 AM. and ten minutes later, Ni-ki would be at his door. Sometimes they watched shows, sometimes they studied. Sometimes they just sat in silence, letting the night move around them.

Then summer came.

And when Ni-ki came back for his junior year, he had changed.

He’d grown taller—tall enough to have to duck under the door frames sometimes. His face had lost a bit of its softness, and his voice had settled into a lower register that caught people off guard. His humor had sharpened too—more deadpan, quieter. Some people at school said he had changed a lot, become more mysterious or mature.

But Sunoo never minded. He just rolled his eyes and said, “He’s still the same Ni-ki. He still eats my fries without asking. He’s just taller.”

Sunoo himself had matured too, but in ways that didn’t draw attention. He was still bright, still bubbly, but he had learned how to channel that energy into goals. He talked about college applications with a nervous but steady resolve, his dream school mentioned with reverence in passing. He made less time for hobbies and more time for planning, he still crammed in time for the piano though.

He still hated skinship—unless it was Ni-ki. And Ni-ki knew it. He didn’t say anything, but sometimes he’d rest his head on Sunoo’s shoulder and wait. Sunoo never pushed him away.

⸻

One night in late October, the air just barely starting to chill, they sat in Sunoo’s bedroom, surrounded by open notebooks, pens with chewed caps, and half-eaten snacks. Sunoo’s laptop was open in front of him, the application page to Seoul National University on the screen.

Ni-ki sat cross-legged on the floor, picking at the corner of a ramen cup.

“Should I even do it?” Sunoo muttered.

Ni-ki looked up. “Do what?”

“This.” Sunoo motioned to the screen. “Apply. To SNU. I’ve been thinking about it for months, and now that it’s here… I don’t know. What if I don’t get in?”

Ni-ki raised an eyebrow. “You’ve been talking about it since spring.”

“I know,” Sunoo sighed, rubbing at his temple. “I just… What if I’m not good enough?”

Ni-ki was quiet for a moment. He set the ramen aside and looked at Sunoo.

“Sunoo. You’re the most prepared person I know. You’ve prepped for this, written three versions of your essay, and you’ve been working your ass off for this. Of course you’re good enough.”

Sunoo looked down at his hands. “But if I don’t get in, what was the point?”

Ni-ki softened. “Then you don’t get in. And you’ll still be amazing. You’ll still have a dozen other options. But you won’t even know if you don’t try.”

Sunoo smiled faintly. “You’re good at this.”

“I’ve had practice,” Ni-ki said with a small shrug. “You freak out a lot.”

With a breath that was almost a laugh, Sunoo clicked submit.

Just like that.

A screen popped up confirming it had gone through. And then, for the first time all night, Sunoo leaned back and let himself exhale.

“I did it.”

Ni-ki watched him with a quiet smile. “You did.”

“Thank you,” Sunoo said, turning to him. “For real.”

Ni-ki nodded, but his heart felt heavier than it should’ve. He meant every word, but part of him still winced quietly.

Because Sunoo was leaving first.

And Ni-ki wasn’t sure if he was ready for that.

⸻

The afternoon sun gleamed on the crowded courtyard of the School, rows of blue gowns and caps stretching in neat formation. A gentle breeze teased the banners fluttering from the stage—Congratulations!

Sunoo sat near the center, heart pounding. This day felt surreal: he was one of the seniors everyone had once looked up to, and it made him anxious and proud in equal measure. He’d arrived early with his family—mom, dad, older sister—all beaming with starched smiles, flowers in hand, ready with congratulations.

Around him, his classmates exchanged selfies and swapped plans for next year. Still, he felt isolated in his nervous calm.

Then, a yell surged through the crowd. A single voice, loud and clear: “SUNOOOOOO!!!”

Heads turned. Sunoo’s jaw dropped—there, halfway down the aisle, Ni‑ki, in jeans and a button-down shirt, was standing, fist pumping, loud and unabashed. People laughed and shook their heads. That was Ni‑ki: unfiltered, real, completely himself around Sunoo, just for him.

Sunoo’s classmate patted his shoulder. “Your friend?”

“Yup,” he answered, grinning despite the knot in his stomach.

Just moments later, as the valedictorian’s speech ended and the principal started announcing names, then he announced—“Kim Sunoo.” Ni‑ki stood on his seat, fists raised. The small crowd of students took it up: cheers, whistles, “SUNOOO!” ringing in the air.

Sunoo swallowed, heart pounding. He rose with shaky confidence and walked across the stage with dignified steps, shaking hands with the principal, accepting the diploma. Ni‑ki’s cheering felt like an anchor in the breeze that threatened to sweep him off.

When the ceremony was officially finished, hats were thrown, hugs were exchanged, and families clustered together. Sunoo spotted Ni‑ki instantly—standing in the open courtyard with arms stretched wide like a scoreboard.

Ni‑ki let out a whoop. “You did it!!!”

Sunoo ran. He barreled into Ni‑ki’s arms and wrapped him up tight. Ni‑ki squeezed him back, swung him around, and set him down with a triumphant grin.

“I’m so proud of you,” Ni‑ki said breathlessly, voice full of pride. “You did it.”

Sunoo laughed and exhaled for the first time in hours. He felt full—full of relief, gratitude, and something louder beneath.

Later, amid the swirl of families, flower bouquets, and confetti, Sunoo and Ni‑ki walked side by side through the quieter promenade toward the old music room—the same run-down, echoey classroom where they first bonded over shy piano confessions.

Sunoo pulled Ni‑ki gently by the wrist, leading him down the corridor with a shy smile. They slipped into the music room—Sunoo’s sanctuary. Their sanctuary.

“This place,” Sunoo whispered, twirling the door knob, “holds our first big moment.”

The music room was empty and still. Dust lay in sunbeams, and the piano sat lonely in the corner.

“I’ll miss this place. I’ll miss this piano. The quiet. And being here with you, Riki.” Sunoo said, throat thick. They both sat on the piano bench.

Sunoo approached the keys. His fingers hovered in silence.

“Remember how I said I wanted to learn piano? I’ve practiced every day because you said I should and I wanted to,” Sunoo took a breath. “When I play for you, I want it to mean something, one day I’ll show you everything you mean to me in a song, each note screaming how much you matter to me. And if no one understands it, I know you will.”

Ni‑ki looked up, tears glossing his eyes. “Being friends with you, is the best thing to happen to me.” He swept a hand across his face. “Thank you.”

They sat in silence, the music room filled with their quiet triumph.

⸻

The weeks that followed were a blur of late nights and sun-filled days. Ni-ki and Sunoo spent nearly every hour together, trying to squeeze everything into the summer before college split them apart.

They explored new cafes, took photos on disposable cameras, shared headphones and long walks. They made dumb inside jokes and relived the old ones. Fell asleep during movie marathons, and once tried to bake a cake at 2 AM. that ended in a frosting disaster.

Sometimes, there were quiet moments. Like when Ni-ki watched Sunoo fill out housing forms and looked away too fast. Or when Sunoo caught Ni-ki staring at his suitcase and pretended not to notice.

But mostly, there was laughter. And warmth.

And the promise that even if everything changed—this summer, this love, this bond—they’d always have this season sealed in them.

Like music in a memory. Like a song played just for one person in an empty room.

⸻

Ni‑ki rushed up to Sunoo’s door right on time—7 PM sharp. He knocked lightly, then pushed in when he heard the faint thud of footsteps inside.

“Ready?” he asked, voice easy.

Sunoo appeared, hair parted, hands still gripping the door frame. He tried to straighten but exhaled and smiled. “Yeah. I’ve been looking forward to this all day.”

They headed out to the local spot they’d loved since middle school—a low-key ramen shop with plastic stools and fluorescent lighting. The owner nodded hello, as they walked to their usual table.

They dove in—chopsticks clattering, shared servings of each others bowl, shared laughter over silly stories that occurred throughout their time together, it might have been less than 2 years, but to them it felt like forever.

“It feels like college is tomorrow, classes don’t even start till next week, I’m just moving in.” Sunoo said between bites of ramen, eyebrows furrowed.

“Tomorrow is tomorrow,” Ni‑ki replied, tone steady. “Tonight’s ours.”

Sunoo smiled, the anxiety momentarily held at bay.

⸻

After dinner, they wandered the street to the all-night convenience store. The cool rush of air-conditioning washed over them as they browsed the freezer aisle.

Ni-ki grabbed a double stick cherry popsicle. “Wanna share?”

Sunoo grinned. “Yeah.”

⸻

They made their way to the same playground where they’d once shared sleepless conversations and weighted feelings. The swings stood empty, swaying slightly in the gentle breeze.

Ni‑ki hopped onto one swing and nudged a swing toward Sunoo. “Get on.”

Sunoo laughed, sitting down and lifting his feet, legs pumping under the soft park lights.

Swinging in tandem, they ate their popsicles, the sticky sweetness both comforting and bittersweet.

Sunoo’s voice broke the quiet first. “I’m… both scared and excited for tomorrow. I keep thinking… what if I mess up? What if I picked the wrong major? I love nutrition—I love helping people—but I also thought about music. The piano. I had moments where I second guessed, what if I chose wrong.” He sighed, letting his swing slow.

Ni‑ki stared straight ahead. “You? Second‑guessing? Impossible.”

Sunoo gave him a small smile. “I don’t feel ready. My love for piano… doesn’t mean I’m cut out for it.”

Ni‑ki slowed his swing too. “Sunoo—listen. You’re good at everything you care about. Nutrition, piano, whatever. Not because it comes easy, but because you fight for it.”

Sunoo exhaled. “Thanks.”

A pause—then Ni‑ki spoke, soft but certain: “I’m scared too, for senior year. But—I’ve already decided my future. I’m majoring in dance. And…I’m applying to the same college as you.”

Sunoo looked over, eyes widening. “You’re serious?”

Ni‑ki nodded. “Yeah. I don’t know yet what happens if I don’t get in, but… all I know is, I want to be around you.”

Sunoo closed his eyes, heart pounding. “That… that means a lot.”

“Well you’re my best friend, you mean a lot.” Ni-ki smiled.

They slowed to a halt, swings stilled. Sunoo’s voice was quiet. “I still have trouble sleeping. My mind just… won’t shut off.”

Ni‑ki’s chest tightened in recognition. “Me too. Sometimes I miss home…or, I don’t know but I… have nights where I can’t sleep because it all feels so empty.”

They stared at the ground, neither speaking, but the shared understanding passed between them.

After a deep breath, Sunoo stood and offered his hand. “Want to… stay over? Like the first time.”

Ni‑ki gripped it, nodding. “Yeah.”

Tonight would be their final night together before the dorm move tomorrow.

They left the playground without another word—no promises, no tears—just the weight of unspoken affection, hopes, and fears.

And together, they stepped toward Sunoo’s house, ready to spend their last night like they’d spent so many others, side by side, grounded in each other’s presence.

⸻

The light in Sunoo’s bedroom was soft—just the warm, amber glow of the small lamp on his desk, dimmed lower than usual. Outside, the quiet of the neighborhood stretched far and wide, so still it made their laughter from earlier feel like a distant echo. They had spent the entire evening together—dinner at their favorite place, a walk to the convenience store where they shared a popsicle, and then time at the old playground where it felt safe.

Now, they were back here, where every night seemed to end—Sunoo’s room. The walls held their shared memories, sleepovers, homework sprawled across the desk, late-night music they played too softly from a speaker, and hours of saying nothing while sitting side-by-side.

Ni-ki was standing near the dresser, stretching his arms above his head, his hoodie slipping off his shoulder. Sunoo sat on the bed, holding his phone in the, scrolling without really seeing anything. His mind was too full—of tomorrow, of leaving, of the way Ni-ki had looked at him earlier when they’d laughed over a dumb joke about melted popsicles.

Ni-ki disappeared into the bathroom. Sunoo changed into his pajamas. The silence in the room made his thoughts loud.

When Ni-ki came back, the room was darker. Only the streetlights leaked through the window now. He kicked off his socks, pulled off his hoodie, and stood for a moment in the quiet.

Sunoo patted the spot beside him on the bed. “C’mon. It’s already late.”

Ni-ki nodded and slid under the covers. This time, they both lay facing the ceiling at first—more distance between them than there had been in the past. It wasn’t a bad distance. It just felt like they were both waiting for something they didn’t know how to say.

“You good?” Sunoo asked after a few minutes, his voice a whisper in the dark.

“Yeah,” Ni-ki replied, his tone soft and sleepy. “Just tired.”

They lay there, listening to the faint hum of the fan spinning in the corner. The silence stretched—comfortable, but fragile.

“You know,” Ni-ki began after a moment, his voice barely above a murmur, “since I moved here, I haven’t really slept well.”

Sunoo turned his head slightly, eyes adjusting to the dark. He could make out Ni-ki’s profile, soft and calm in the glow of the streetlight bleeding in through the blinds.

Ni-ki continued, “But every time we’ve shared a bed like this… I actually sleep. Like, really sleep. I don’t toss or wake up every hour or feel like my chest is too full to breathe.”

His voice thinned out near the end, like the words were heavier than he expected. He turned on his side, facing Sunoo now.

Sunoo blinked, his own chest tightening.

“I think,” Ni-ki said, yawning mid-sentence, “I can only sleep when you’re beside me.”

Within seconds, his breathing slowed into the rhythm of sleep.

Sunoo fully stared at him now, unmoving.

The room suddenly felt warmer, but not in an uncomfortable way—more like a blanket had been gently draped over his heart.

The distance between them didn’t feel far anymore. It felt full—full of something unspoken, but no less real.

Sunoo reached out, not to touch, but just to be closer. His hand rested on the space between them.

His heart was racing—not with nerves, but with clarity.

Because in that moment, watching Ni-ki sleep, hearing his breath steady and soft, feeling his presence like gravity…

Sunoo knew.

He was in love with him.

And not the way he’d loved other friends. Not the easy, light affection that came with a bond and inside jokes. This was quieter, heavier, deeper. It had grown slowly—between shared meals and long walks home and hands brushing accidentally in the dark. It had bloomed with Ni-ki’s laugh, the way his voice softened only for Sunoo, the trust that had built between them like muscle memory.

He didn’t want to go back to before. He couldn’t.

Sunoo’s eyes stung, and he blinked quickly. Not out of sadness, but out of the terrifying, beautiful truth of it all.

He watched Ni-ki’s face in the faint light—relaxed in sleep, his mouth slightly open, his brow smooth. He looked peaceful. Safe.

“I only sleep when you’re here too,” Sunoo whispered. “I don’t feel… overwhelmed when it’s you. It’s like the world finally gets quiet.”

His voice cracked at the end, and he pressed his face into the pillow, not wanting to wake Ni-ki.

The room held his secret like a confession in church, quiet and sacred.

Tomorrow, he’d be leaving. And maybe nothing would change. Maybe everything would.

But tonight, Ni-ki was here. And so was Sunoo. Sharing a bed, sharing a breath, unknowingly sharing a love that had grown too big to keep hidden much longer.

Sunoo closed his eyes, heart full and aching all at once.

And this time—though the night was heavy and the future uncertain—he slept.

But deep in his heart, he knew there was no going back to being just friends. Atleast not for him. Not anymore.

⸻

Chapter Text

⸻

The first time Sunoo opened the door to his dorm, it looked nothing like he imagined it would.

Boxes littered the floor in a way that looked less like ‘unpacking’ and more like an explosion of cardboard boxes. In the middle of it all, sitting on the dorm couch was a boy in a dark fitted tee and flared jeans, who kind of looked like a cat, with a cup of ramen in one hand and chopsticks in the other.

He looked up as the door opened, blinking at Sunoo through dark bangs.

“Oh,” he said. “You must be Sunoo.”

Sunoo, who had only taken one step inside, paused with both hands still clutching his duffel bag straps. “Uh…yeah.”

The boy stood up suddenly, kimbap still dangling between his fingers. “Im Jungwon, your roommate! I was gonna clean up and unpack before you came but…I got bored and hungry.”

Sunoo didn’t answer right away.

The room felt too loud even without anyone talking. His heart pounded a bit—not from fear, just that dull thrum of newness pressing on him. New city, new school, new bed, new roommate. He swallowed thickly, his finger brushing against the familiar fabric of his shirt, he gripped onto it. It grounded him.

“You’re fine,” he finally said. Voice light. Polite.

Jungwon smiled. “Cool. Wanna unpack now?”

“Sure.”

⸻

Together, they began sorting the boxes. Sunoo was more methodical, careful, making sure to not place things out of order. Jungwon loved like a whirlwind, narrating everything he was doing even if it didn’t make sense.

By the time the place started to look livable, Sunoo had begun to relax—not completely, but enough that the tension in his shoulders loosened. There was something oddly comforting about Jungwon’s openness. He didn’t ask too many questions too fast, didn’t hover, didn’t force anything.
But Jungwon never pushed too hard with Sunoo.

And that mattered.

It wasn’t until day three that things shifted.

They had completely finished decorating the dorm and their respective rooms. They were both sitting in the shared living area, Sunoo sitting crossed legged on the floor and Jungwon on the couch with ramen between them.

“What were you like in high school?” Jungwon asked suddenly.

Sunoo blinked up at the ceiling. “Tired.”

Jungwon snorted. “Same. I was on student council though. And the debate team. And I won this law essay contest in junior year. It was kinda stupid but they gave me a free hoodie so it was fine.”

Sunoo turned his head to look at him. “You already knew you wanted to do law back then?”

“Yeah,” Jungwon said with a shrug. “It’s like… the one thing I’m sure about. Weird, right?”

“Not weird,” Sunoo said quietly.

He didn’t say what he was thinking—that there weren’t many things he felt sure about, except maybe nutrition, his love for piano, and someone with black hair who texted him good morning every day.

Then Jungwon tilted his head. “Hey, don’t take this the wrong way, but… are you gay?”

Sunoo choked on air. “Excuse me?”

“Okay, okay—wait!” Jungwon held up his hands. “I’m gay too! I swear I’m not being weird. You just give off, like… major twink energy. In a nice way!”

Sunoo turned red. “What does that even mean?”

“It means you dress like a Pinterest board.”

Sunoo, flustered and sputtering, threw a pillow at him. Jungwon screamed dramatically and fell back, limbs sprawled like a starfish.

It was chaos.

Despite himself, Sunoo laughed. And for the first time since arriving, the dorm felt like it could be home.

⸻

They became inseparable that week.

Sunoo learned that Jungwon slept with socks on, loved cats but was allergic to them, ate strawberries like his life depended on them, and had a thing for people who cooked, which was odd but respectable.

Jungwon learned that Sunoo had a serious sweet tooth, an obsession with mint chocolate flavored foods, loved dramas, made to-do lists for everything, and often stayed up until 2AM even if he was exhausted. He also noticed how Sunoo checked his phone every night before bed, sometimes smiling, sometimes staring in silence.

He never asked about it.

But he noticed.

⸻

Move in week had ended. Classes were starting.

Sunoo’s first day on campus was dizzying. He kept his head down, stuck to his schedule, and did his best to memorize building layouts, so he wouldn’t look lost. Most of his classes were interesting. However, Food Science 101 had stood out.

Not because it was mandatory for both nutrition and culinary majors.
But because of the guy sitting next to him during the icebreaker session.

What stood out most was how quickly he smiled.

“Hi, I’m Jay,” he said, offering a hand. His voice was deep and smooth, and his smile—kind of crooked—made it hard not to return it.

“I’m Sunoo.”

“You’re a freshman?”

“Yeah, a nutrition major.”

Jay nodded. “Culinary major. I’m a Sophmore!”

Jay was wearing ripped jeans, a faded band tee under a flannel, and a pair of silver rings.

When the professor announced an icebreaker about a memory of a food, Jay launched into a story about a curry he had when he was ten, that had made him emotional and helped him realize he wanted to be a chef.

“Your turn.” He said after.

Sunoo heated, then smiled. “Popsicles. Not really a meal, but they’re special to me. It’s a thing between me and my…best friend.”

Jay smiled. “That’s sweet.”

Jay was surprisingly dorky, but in a charming way. They clicked.

They worked together through the first unit—swapping notes, complaining about pop quizzes, and once ditching class to get snacks instead.

⸻

Eventually, Jay was introduced to Jungwon.

The sun had already dipped behind the horizon by the time Sunoo unlocked the dorm room door. He stepped inside first, taking off his shoes, balancing a laptop bag on one shoulder and a paper bag of snacks in the other.

“Jungwon? I’m back!” he called, voice echoing into their little dorm.

There was a muffled sound from the back room—probably Jungwon halfway through one of his chaotic late-night “cleaning sprees.”

Sunoo looked over his shoulder, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Come in,” he told the Jay, waiting quietly in the hallway. “He won’t bite. Probably.”

Jay chuckled, stepping inside carefully like he wasn’t sure if he should take his shoes off or not. His hands were stuffed into the pockets of his leather jacket, a slightly sheepish grin on his face. “Smells like ramen and lavender in here.”

“That’s exactly what it is,” Sunoo replied, setting down the snacks. “Jungwon has this weird habit of eating spicy ramen while burning scented candles. Don’t ask.”

Just as Jay let out a soft laugh, the door to Jungwon’s room creaked open.

He padded out in socks, hoodie slightly wrinkled, hair ruffled from lying on his bed, holding a bag of peach gummies. His expression was blank at first—until his eyes landed on Jay.

And then it wasn’t blank at all.

Jungwon stopped in his tracks like someone had paused him with a remote.

Jay looked up from taking off his shoes and froze, too.

Everything got quiet.

It wasn’t dramatic. There wasn’t romantic music. Just… a long beat of silence where neither of them said anything.

And then—

“Hi.” Jungwon said, blinking.

Jay’s mouth opened, then closed again. He gave a small wave. “Hey.”

Sunoo blinked between them, slowly catching on. “Right. Jay, this is Jungwon. Jungwon, Jay. He’s my partner for that food science project. I told you.”

Jungwon gave a short, stunned nod. “Yeah. Yeah, you did.”

“He’s a culinary major,” Sunoo added, thinking it would be a helpful icebreaker.

And, oh no. Jungwon’s eyes flicked up again with interest. He tried not to show it, but Sunoo knew him too well.

Jay offered a sheepish smile. “Second year. I’m pretty decent at making pasta, if that counts for anything.”

Jungwon cracked a smile despite himself, walking a few steps closer. “You cook? Like, actually cook? Not ‘microwave ramen’ kind of cook?”

Jay let out a soft laugh. “Yeah. I mean, I want to be a chef, so hopefully I know what I’m doing.”

“God,” Jungwon muttered, almost under his breath. “That’s dangerously hot.”

Jay choked.

Sunoo’s eyes widened.

“JUNGWON,” he snapped, mouth falling open.

“What?” Jungwon said innocently, shrugging and popping a gummy into his mouth. “I’m gay, not blind.”

Jay turned pink.

Sunoo buried his face in his hands. “This is worse than I thought it would be.”

“Worse how?” Jungwon asked, now leaning on the kitchen counter, eyes still on Jay.

“Worse like I have to third wheel my new roommate and my project partner now,” Sunoo grumbled.

Jay cleared his throat, trying to redirect. “Anyway. We have that assignment due next week, so…”

“Right. Come on, let’s set up at the table,” Sunoo said, grabbing his laptop and dragging Jay with him to the couch.

Jungwon lingered near the kitchen, still munching on gummies.

Jay tried to focus on his laptop, but his eyes kept drifting toward the kitchen every few minutes. And Jungwon—leaning there, sipping water like he wasn’t trying to be mysterious but absolutely was—just kept glancing back.

Sunoo caught him. He caught both of them.

He leaned across the table toward Jay. “You good?”

Jay nodded too quickly. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good.”

“You’re holding your pen upside down.”

Jay looked down. “Oh.”

From the kitchen, Jungwon called out. “Need help reading the chart?”

Jay groaned softly into his sleeve. “This is going to be a long night.”

“Yep,” Sunoo said. “A long night of academic struggle and sexual tension.”

Jungwon shot him a dirty look. “You’re so dramatic.”

“I live with you,” Sunoo said, pointing his pen. “I learned from the best.”

They didn’t fall in love that night. But something started. Something small, warm, and a little confusing. Jay went home thinking about how Jungwon’s laugh lingered in the back of his mind. Jungwon laid in bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering why someone’s voice could be that low and pretty.

Sunoo, meanwhile, just grinned into his pillow.

⸻

The trio became a thing overnight.

Jungwon and Jay had a weird energy together—Jay’s calm sarcasm and Jungwon’s chaotic wit collided in a way that worked. They teased each other relentlessly, it had become flirting at the same time when Jungwon found out Jay liked men aswell.

Sunoo was in the middle—he didn’t mind, he knew something would grow between Jay and Jungwon—something beautiful.

The three spent late nights in the dorm. Jay would show up with food he made. Jungwon would turn on a movie for all of them. Sunoo curled up with a blanket, sometimes half-listening, sometimes zoning out.

And always, at some point, he’d look at his phone.

The messages were always there.

Short ones. Funny ones. Thoughtful ones.

From Ni-ki.

They texted about everything. About nothing. About dumbs shoes they used to watch together. How Sunoo kept practicing piano at the music building and what new dance Ni-ki had learned that day.

And even though they talked all the time—

Sunoo missed him.

It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t even sad. It was just…present. A quiet, steady ache that lingered behind his smile.

He never told Jungwon or Jay. Not yet atleast. Not when he didn’t know what to do with his newfound feelings the day before he left. But he didn’t have to.

Jungwon once caught him staring at his screen a little too long and said, “Is that the person who sends you those weird fox stickers?”

Sunoo looked up. “Yeah.”

Jungwon didn’t press. Just nodded and smiled.

⸻

When senior year began, Ni-ki felt the familiar jolt of routine shift beneath him. High school now carried its own gravity—a mixture of anticipation and nostalgia magnified by his impending departure. His hair was a little longer, parted in the middle in soft waves. His eyes held a gentle patience, as if he had learned that rushing through moments only made them fleeting.

He had spent the summer dancing—preparing for auditions, refining choreography, learning new styles. Dance was his language, and each movement carried the exhilaration of expression. But it also carried the exhaustion of perfectionism. But he had moments where he didn’t need to be perfect, where he could unapologetically be himself, moments with Sunoo.

Senior year demanded more than dance. Textbooks stacked taller, essays with demanding deadlines, college applications demanded personal statements and teacher recommendations.

⸻

Throughout the year, Ni-ki stayed connected to Sunoo in small but comforting ways.

A photo of the dance room walls. A small piano melody that sounded like home. A good-luck text before exams. The exchange was daily—simple slices of life across distance bridging a college campus and high school halls.

But shadows gathered beneath his eyes over time—the ache of missing someone who was, almost, always just a text away.

Despite the emptiness Sunoo left behind, Ni-ki’s senior year had its bright spots. He did well in school. His teachers praised his attention to detail. His dance instructors pushed him harder, told him he had something special in the way he danced, how he held emotion in his chest when he moved. He sent his application and audition videos to the college Sunoo attended and pretended not to pace every night waiting for a response.

His friends dragged him out on weekends. They took pictures in mall photobooths, tried every seasonal drink from their favorite coffee shop, and played video games on Ni-ki’s living room floor. He laughed. He made memories. But sometimes, the laughter felt disconnected from his body. Like he was watching from far away.

He couldn’t name the weight exactly. But it was there. A slow, silent pressure that made the good days feel blurry and the quiet nights feel loud.

⸻

At the dance studio, Ni-ki carved sweeps through space—hips swaying, arms sculpting air.

He practiced solos in front of mirrors, shifting his weigh from foot to foot, eyes never straying from his own reflection. He felt the energy when fellow seniors formed groups together—whispering about college plans, shared fears of leaving. Each conversation rang with both excitement and a subtle trembling under the surface.

⸻

It was Seojin who had a crush on him.

She was in his economics class. Friendly. Pretty. Smart, too—wore her hair in braids sometimes and asked thoughtful questions during lectures. When one of Ni-ki’s friends suggested they hang out, Ni-ki didn’t immediately say no.

“Come on,” His friend grinned. “You’ve been single since birth. Just try it. She’s cool.”

Ni-ki thought, ‘why not?’

So, they went out for coffee. It wasn’t bad. Seojin was sweet. She asked him about dance and told him about her dream of being a graphic designer.

But something felt off. Or maybe not off—just distant.

Ni-ki tried to smile. Tried to focus. But halfway through their conversation, he caught himself glancing at the street outside the window and wondering what Sunoo would say about this cafe’s mint chocolate latte. He imagined Sunoo’s laugh, the way he’d probably spill half his drink if he sat in the wobbly chair across from him.

When the date ended, Seojin walked him to the corner and gave him a hopeful smile.

“I had fun,” she said.

“Yeah,” he replied, voice soft. “Me too.”

He meant it. Mostly.

⸻

That night, Ni-ki laid in bed, in his hoodie, scrolling through his camera roll. A picture of his dance team, one of his dog, a blurry selfie Sunoo had sent from campus when he almost got ran over by a scooter.

He opened their messages.

He didn’t say anything about the date.

Instead, he typed:

[9:48 PM]
Riki 🖤:
Just got home. You still awake?

The reply came fast.

Sun:
Yeah. Can’t sleep.

And for the next twenty minutes, they talked about nothing. The weather. Their music tastes. A weird TikTok Sunoo found. But with every message, Ni-ki felt lighter.

He caught himself smiling in the dark. A kind of smile he hadn’t felt on the date. One that pulled at something under his ribs.

He didn’t say it. Not yet. But he knew.

He would’ve rather been at that cafe with Sunoo.

⸻

Near the end of the semester, Ni-ki performed his senior solo for the studio showcase. The auditorium was warm and buzzing, filled with families and friends. His parents were there. He had got a standing ovation.

He bowed, smiled, waved. But when the curtain closed and he walked offstage, it wasn’t pride that flooded his chest.

It was a strange hollowness. A sense that something was missing.

Later that night, he sent Sunoo a picture of the bouquet someone handed him backstage.

[9:10 PM]
Riki 🖤:
Showcase ended. It went well.

[9:12 PM]
Sun:
I’m proud of you. Wish I could’ve been there.

Riki 🖤:
Me too.

He stared at the screen for a while. His thumb hovered over the keyboard.

He wanted to say something else.

But all he did was save the photo Sunoo sent back—a blurry thumbs-up with a sleepy grin, taken from his dorm bed.

⸻

It was late in the afternoon in Sunoo and Jungwon’s dorm, the kind of sluggish, golden hour where time felt like it moved slower just to let the light linger. A half-finished puzzle sprawled across the coffee table, Jay laid upside down on the bean bag scrolling on his phone, and Jungwon sat cross-legged on the floor, slurping his iced coffee like it held the secrets of the universe.

Sunoo was curled up on the couch, his phone lighting up in his hands every few seconds.

Jungwon narrowed his eyes.

“Okay, who do you keep texting?” he asked suddenly, voice playful but sharp.

Sunoo blinked. “Huh?”

Jay flipped over on the beanbag like a cat startled from a nap. “He’s right—you’ve been texting someone all school year, like your thumbs are about to break.”

Sunoo immediately turned red and tucked his phone under the pillow.

“It’s no one.”

Jungwon gasped dramatically. “Oh my God, it’s a boy, isn’t it?”

Jay’s eyes lit up. “A crush? A boyfriend? An ex?”

“No,” Sunoo groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Not a boyfriend or ex.”

“That wasn’t a no to the crush part,” Jungwon pointed out, wiggling his brows.

Sunoo looked up, quiet for a second. His voice dropped.

“His name is Ni-ki.”

Both Jay and Jungwon shut up instantly.

Sunoo laughed awkwardly at their deadpan stares.

“He’s a senior in high school. We met in my junior year and became really close. Like, best friend close.”

Jay blinked. “And you’re texting your high school best friend… every day?”

Sunoo hesitated. “Yeah.”

Jungwon tilted his head. “Okay, so… is this like a super deep platonic thing or—?”

“Well…I realized I was in love with him the night before I left,” Sunoo blurted.

Jay choked on his spit. Jungwon dropped his cup.

“You what?” Jungwon screeched, scrambling to grab his drink before it spilled.

Jay just stared, wide-eyed. “Dude.”

Sunoo groaned again, dragging a pillow over his face. “This is why I didn’t say anything!”

“No, no, no,” Jungwon said quickly, scooting closer and grabbing the pillow. “You don’t just drop a ‘I’m in love with my best friend’ bomb and then try and hide.”

Jay finally recovered and sat up properly. “Okay, we need details. Immediate flashback. What happened?”

Sunoo sighed, fiddling with the hem of his shirt.

“The night before I left for college, we hung out. It was simple. Popsicles, swings, nothing fancy. He walked me home and we slept in the same bed again—like we used to. But then… he said he couldn’t sleep without me. And I looked at him and realized I didn’t just want him as a best friend anymore.”

Jungwon clutched his chest. “Sunoo.”

Jay exhaled loudly. “That’s like… painfully romantic.”

Sunoo gave them a sheepish look. “I not gonna tell him, obviously.”

“Why not?!” they both chorused.

“Because!” Sunoo exclaimed. “He might be coming to this school next year. I’d rather keep him in my life as a friend than risk losing him.”

Jungwon squinted. “So you’re just going to… suffer in silence?”

Jay nodded seriously. “That’s the most emotionally repressed romance I’ve ever heard of, and I’ve read fanfics written by teenagers.”

“Thanks,” Sunoo deadpanned.

Jay grinned. “You’re welcome.”

Jungwon nudged him. “So what are you gonna do?”

Sunoo leaned back, letting his head hit the armrest.

“Nothing,” he said. “I mean, what if he doesn’t like me like that? What if I ruin everything? It’s not like he’s ever said anything to make me think he’s interested.”

Jungwon looked thoughtful. “But you guys text all the time, right? He calls you when you can’t sleep, listens when you rant, always responds, yeah?”

Sunoo nodded. “Yeah, I guess. Wait…how’d you know that?”

Jungwon raised a finger. “The walls are thin. Anyway, That’s not nothing, Sunoo.”

“But it could just be friendship,” Sunoo said, voice small.

“Or it could be almost something more,” Jay offered gently. “You don’t have to act on it yet. But you don’t have to hide it either, especially from us.”

Jungwon smiled and leaned his head against Sunoo’s shoulder. “We’re Team happy Sunoo. You say the word and we’ll help you plot a slow-burn friends-to-lovers arc.”

Sunoo snorted. “There’s something deeply wrong with both of you.”

Jay pointed at him. “Yet you keep us around. That’s on you.”

Sunoo smiled, eyes a little misty, but heart a little lighter.

⸻

The hum of the ceiling fan filled the quiet space of Ni-ki’s bedroom. The light from his phone screen flickered across his face as he laid on his back, one arm tucked behind his head, the other cradling the phone like it was something delicate, something alive.

His last text to Sunoo hadn’t been anything particularly interesting—just a photo of his dinner, a lazy rice bowl he’d thrown together after practice. Sunoo had heart-reacted to it a few minutes ago, and Ni-ki had smiled, instinctively. It was a reflex now, the way his mood lifted anytime Sunoo’s name lit up his phone.

He turned the screen off and tossed it beside him on the bed.

He missed him. That part wasn’t new. He missed Sunoo like he missed his old neighborhood in Japan, like he missed the rhythm of a childhood he couldn’t return to. Only it wasn’t nostalgia exactly—it was sharper, more current, more alive.

They talked every day. Quick texts between classes. Silly selfies. Voice notes when one of them was walking home alone. The occasional FaceTime where neither of them said much but just existed in the same space again.

It helped. A little.

But not enough.

⸻

Ni-ki hadn’t said it out loud—hadn’t even fully let himself think it—but this year felt different. He was different. People told him so all the time. That he’d matured, that he didn’t joke around as much, that he seemed more serious. The teachers praised his focus. His friends admired his confidence.

But Ni-ki just felt tired.

And not the kind that sleep could fix.

⸻

“You’ve been on your phone all day,” his friend said, nudging him in the ribs as they walked from school.

“I have not,” Ni-ki lied.

“You’re always texting someone.”

Ni-ki shrugged, trying to play it off. “So?”

He laughed. “Is it Sunoo again?”

Ni-ki didn’t reply. His silence was enough of an answer.

They smirked. “Dude. You talk about him so much. I feel like I know him.”

Ni-ki rolled his eyes but couldn’t help smiling. “I just… miss him, I guess.”

“You guess? You text him 24/7.”

“Shut up.”

“I’m serious. It’s kinda cute. You like him or something?”

Ni-ki paused. “He’s my best friend.”

“That’s not a no.”

Ni-ki didn’t say anything.

Because it wasn’t a no.

But it wasn’t a yes, either.

He didn’t know what it was.

He just knew that when he tried going on that date with a girl from his class—someone sweet and funny, someone everyone told him he had chemistry with—he’d spent most of it thinking about what Sunoo would’ve ordered instead. He hadn’t laughed the same. Hadn’t felt the same ease in his chest. He’d come home from the date, heart numb, fingers itching for something real, and texted Sunoo.

He didn’t tell him about the date.

He didn’t need to.

That one dumb selfie Sunoo had sent of himself with his hair sticking up in all directions had made Ni-ki laugh more than the entire dinner with that girl.

He hadn’t told anyone that part. Not even himself.

⸻

He thought about Sunoo’s voice. The way it always got soft late at night. The way he always said Ni-ki’s real name like it meant something safe. He thought about that last night before Sunoo left for college. The way their legs had tangled in bed. The way Sunoo had looked at him like he was something familiar and treasured.

He hadn’t said anything back then.

He still didn’t know what he would say now.

Because he wasn’t sure. Not fully.

It wasn’t like he saw Sunoo and thought “I’m in love.”

It was more like… he saw him in everything.

He felt him in the quiet.

He wanted him around when things got heavy.

Was that love?

⸻

The time on Ni-ki’s phone blinked 12:47 AM. His bedroom was dark aside from the glow of his phone screen, which lit up his face in pale blue hues as he laid curled on his side under the covers. A dull ache sat in his chest—not sharp, not loud, just there. The kind that settled in when the day was over, when the lights were out, and all that was left were thoughts too heavy for words.

He was scrolling aimlessly through his photos when the screen lit up again.

‘Sun is calling…’

His stomach flipped. Not with nerves, just… something warm. Familiar.

He sat up slightly and answered without hesitation.

The call connected.

Sunoo’s face appeared on screen—barefaced, hoodie up, blanket around his shoulders like a cape. His cheeks were still full like always, his eyes heavy with sleep but still so soft. He looked like comfort. He looked like home.

“Hey,” Sunoo said, his voice low and scratchy.

Ni-ki felt himself smile instantly, the tension in his shoulders easing.

“Hey,” he replied. “You couldn’t sleep either?”

Sunoo shook his head with a small exhale. “I’ve been lying here for like an hour. Just… thinking.”

Ni-ki shifted so his face was closer to the screen, head resting on his arm. “About what?”

A pause. Sunoo blinked slowly. “Just college stuff. Life stuff. Everything feels… big sometimes, y’know?”

Ni-ki nodded silently.

Sunoo pulled his blanket tighter. “I love it here, I do. And Jungwon and Jay are great. It’s just… different. No one really tells you how weird it is to suddenly start a whole new chapter.”

Ni-ki listened, eyes soft. “You’re probably doing amazing, though.”

“You’re just saying that.”

“I’m not,” Ni-ki said firmly. “You’re literally doing everything you said you would. I’m proud of you.”

Sunoo’s lips quirked into a small smile. “Thanks.”

There was a quiet pause, but it wasn’t awkward. It was the kind of silence that existed between people who knew how to be alone together.

Ni-ki spoke again, softer this time. “I miss you.”

Sunoo’s eyes flicked up to meet his through the screen. His voice dropped too. “I miss you more.”

Ni-ki breathed out a laugh. “Impossible.”

Sunoo laughed quietly, then rolled over onto his back, letting the phone rest on his pillow beside his face.

“I haven’t been sleeping much,” Sunoo admitted suddenly, voice just above a whisper. “Since I moved. I thought it’d get better once I settled in, but… I guess it’s just how it is.”

Ni-ki hesitated, then said, “Same.”

“You too?”

“Yeah. I dunno. I just… I’m tired all the time but can’t sleep. It’s like… something’s missing.”

Sunoo closed his eyes for a second, then opened them again to look directly into the camera. “I slept really well that night we shared a bed. Before I left.”

Ni-ki’s throat tightened.

“Me too,” he said after a beat.

They both grew quiet again.

Then Sunoo murmured, almost shy, “Wanna try again? Like… fall asleep on FaceTime?”

Ni-ki’s eyes softened. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

They both adjusted their phones on their pillows, laying so their faces filled the screen. The angles weren’t perfect. The lighting was bad. But none of it mattered.

“You still sleep like a starfish?” Sunoo teased.

Ni-ki smirked. “You still steal all the blankets?”

Sunoo stuck out his tongue. “I do not.”

“You do. You’re worse than my dog.”

“That’s a compliment.”

They both laughed, soft and sleepy, and the room around Ni-ki didn’t feel so cold anymore. The world felt smaller in the best way.

“You know,” Sunoo said quietly, voice almost drifting now, “I only really sleep well when I’m with you.”

“You’re always warm,” Sunoo continued dreamily. “Like a giant heater. And your arms are heavy.”

“That sounds like an insult,” Ni-ki murmured.

“It’s not,” Sunoo whispered. “It makes me feel safe.”

Ni-ki’s eyes were closed now, lips still curled into a smile. “Good.”

A few more seconds passed, both of them sinking into the soft silence, the comfort of breathing in sync.

“Riki?” Sunoo said quietly.

No answer.

He smiled to himself as he watched Ni-ki’s slow, steady breaths on the screen.

Sound asleep.

Sunoo reached out and brushed a finger across the screen, as if to trace the line of Ni-ki’s cheek.

Something inside his chest tugged—a thread being pulled gently, insistently.

He didn’t say it out loud. Not yet.

But looking at Ni-ki’s sleeping face, he thought:

How could this be anything but love?

⸻

The email sat at the top of Ni-ki’s inbox, unread.

His heart thudded so hard it echoed in his ears. He stared at the subject line:

Seoul National University – Application Decision

For a second, he didn’t breathe.

The soft hum of his computer was the only sound in the room, and even that felt loud. His fingers hovered over the mouse. One click. Just one.

But what if it wasn’t good news?

His mind raced through every late-night study session, every sore muscle from dance practice, every second he thought he couldn’t do this. Then, every text from Sunoo, every FaceTime call, every moment of comfort that reminded him why he was trying so hard in the first place.

He clicked.

The webpage loaded slowly, like it was toying with his sanity.

Then it appeared.

“Congratulations, Nishimura Riki – You’ve been accepted into Seoul National University.”

He didn’t register the scream that escaped his throat. It was instinctual — the kind of raw joy that burst out before he could even form words. He jumped from his seat, knocking over his chair in the process, stumbling as he tried to run out of his room.

“Mom!” he yelled, barreling into the living room. “I got in! I got in to SNU!”

His mom, startled at first, stood and wrapped her arms around him when she saw his face. “You did?! Oh my god, Riki, congratulations!”

He hugged her tightly, heart pounding, laughing like he couldn’t stop. His hands were shaking from the adrenaline.

He did it. He got into SNU.
One of the best schools in Korea, which happened to be the same college as Sunoo. It had its perks.

As soon as he got back into his room, breath still uneven, he grabbed his phone and immediately FaceTimed Sunoo.

It rang once.

Twice.

And then—

Sunoo’s face appeared on the screen, a toothbrush hanging out of his mouth. “Hmph?”

Ni-ki was practically bouncing. “Sunoo.”

Sunoo blinked, took out the toothbrush. “What happened—why are you—did you cry?”

Ni-ki shoved the screen closer to his face. “I GOT IN.”

Sunoo’s jaw dropped. “What?!”

“I GOT INTO SNU!”

There was a beat of silence before Sunoo let out a scream that almost burst Ni-ki’s eardrums.

“SHUT UP. NO YOU DID NOT. RIKI!!”

Ni-ki was already grinning so hard his face hurt.

Sunoo covered his mouth, eyes wide. “I’m gonna cry. I’m seriously gonna cry—wait hold on.” He disappeared for a second and came back into view with tissues in hand. “Oh my god, you got in. YOU’RE COMING HERE.”

Ni-ki laughed breathlessly. “I’m coming to you.”

They both stared at each other, overwhelmed, grinning like idiots.

Sunoo wiped under his eyes. “I’m so proud of you.”

Ni-ki’s heart did something weird then. Something big and soft and real.

“I worked so hard,” he said quietly. “And I was so scared I wouldn’t. But the second I saw the email, the first thing I thought was… I get to see you again. Like—for real. Every day.”

Sunoo’s face softened into something smaller, something fonder. “I’m so happy. Like, selfishly happy. I missed you so much, Riki.”

Ni-ki nodded, blinking a little too fast. “Me too, Sun.”

⸻

That night, Ni-ki laid on his bed with his phone still beside him, FaceTime long ended, heart still beating fast.

He stared up at the ceiling.

SNU.

He was going to Seoul National University.

He was going to walk the same campus, breathe the same air, maybe even have classes in the same buildings as Sunoo.

For the first time in months, sleep didn’t feel heavy or forced. It felt like something he could drift into with ease.

But beneath all the joy, there was something else. A weightless kind of longing. A quiet ache in his chest that he was too afraid to name.

Because somewhere deep down, he knew the reason he was most excited to go wasn’t just because it was a good school. Or because his dance dreams were finally becoming reality.

It was because Sunoo was there.

And when he thought about walking onto campus and seeing Sunoo waiting for him.

He couldn’t remember ever wanting something more.

⸻

Back in his dorm, Sunoo sat on his bed with the lights off, the only glow coming from the fairy lights strung across the wall above him. He clutched his pillow to his chest, heart still fluttering.

Ni-ki was coming.

Riki was really coming.

The boy who used to show up to sleepovers with shrimp chips and banana milk. The one who used to hog the bed and talk about nothing until they both passed out. The one whose voice had become a constant thread in his life—even from far away.

His world had changed the day Ni-ki moved here. Again when he started college.

But now, it was about to change again. This time, for the better.

Still, thoughts tugged quietly at the back of his mind.

‘What if it gets complicated?m

‘What if I still love him like before and he doesn’t feel the same?’

‘What if I can’t pretend we’re just friends when he’s finally here?’

Sunoo curled tighter into his blanket and shut his eyes.

But even with all that fear, all that uncertainty—

He couldn’t stop smiling.

Because tomorrow, and the day after, and the days after that…

They were going to be together again.

⸻

The sun poured golden light through the auditorium windows, as Ni-ki adjusted his graduation gown nervously. His heart was pounding, not just from the nerves, but from the bittersweet weight of the day. This was the day he’d worked so hard for — years of studying and pushing through late nights and early mornings — culminating in this moment of celebration.

He scanned the crowd, his family sitting proudly in the front row. Their faces beamed back at him with pride and love, and it warmed him. But his eyes kept drifting to the empty seats that should have belonged to Sunoo.

Sunoo had finals. The timing was cruel — the one day Ni-ki wished more than anything for Sunoo to be here with him. But he understood. Sunoo’s dreams were just as important, and he wanted Sunoo to succeed.

Still, the absence was a hollow ache in his chest.

As Ni-ki sat waiting for his name to be called, the auditorium buzzed with chatter and the rustling of gowns. Graduates exchanged excited whispers about what came next, some already dreaming about college, while others worried about the unknown.

Then his heart skipped a beat.

The announcer’s voice rang out loud and clear: “Nishimura Riki.”

Time seemed to slow.

Ni-ki stood up, his legs feeling suddenly too heavy. As he started walking toward the stage, a loud, unmistakable yell cut through the noise.

“RIKI!!”

His head snapped toward the sound.

There, near the back of the crowd, was Sunoo — his hair now dyed a bright, radiant blonde, catching the light like a halo. Sunoo looked different, almost angelic, like the sunlight itself had climbed into the strands of his hair, yet that same warm smile that Ni-ki had missed so much.

Ni-ki stumbled slightly, his steps faltering as his eyes locked with Sunoo’s. The room seemed to disappear around him, all noise and chaos dimming beneath the glow of that single moment.

Sunoo was here.

He was really here.

The clapping and cheers blended into a distant hum as Ni-ki climbed the stage, the diploma clutched in his hands. His legs wobbled but he grinned wildly, fueled by the pure joy of Sunoo’s presence.

The ceremony ended in a blur. Families hugged, photos were taken, and the air was thick with emotion.

Ni-ki found himself surrounded by his parents and siblings, their voices overlapping in congratulations.

But all he could focus on was the figure standing just beyond the crowd — Sunoo, waiting for him.

When Ni-ki finally excused himself, he ran toward Sunoo, nearly crashing into him in a fierce embrace.

He wrapped his arms tightly around Sunoo’s waist, spinning him around in a whirlwind of laughter and disbelief.

“What are you doing here?” Ni-ki asked breathlessly.

Sunoo smiled, cheeks flushed. “I finished my final early… and I came as fast as I could. Literally, didn’t even stop to eat.”

Ni-ki pulled back, brows furrowed. “You didn’t eat?”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” Sunoo beamed. “That’s what matters.”

Ni-ki stared at him. At the way Sunoo’s eyes crinkled and the dimples on his cheeks appeared when he smiled. Ni-ki’s heart swelled. This moment felt like more than just a graduation. It was a turning point — something unspoken shifting quietly between them, something that neither quite understood yet but both could feel.

They stood together, the noise of the crowd washing over them, but for a moment, it was just Ni-ki and Sunoo.

And that was enough.

⸻

Their moment was interrupted only when Ni-ki’s younger sister tackled him in a half-hug around the waist.

“You looked like a baby duck up there! Didn’t he Sunoo?”

Sunoo snorted. “Now that I think about it, he really did.”

His mom walked over and gently pulled Sunoo into a hug. “I’m so glad you made it, sweetheart.”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Sunoo said warmly.

“Let’s take a picture,” Ni-ki’s older sister said. “You two. Over there. Just you and Sunoo.”

They both hesitated.

She rolled her eyes. “Come on. It’s tradition now. You took one at Sunoo’s graduation. You’ve taken more pictures with him than with us, anyway.”

Sunoo giggled as Ni-ki dragged him toward the courtyard, the sunset now mellow and peachy against the sky. They stood side-by-side. Shoulder to shoulder. Just like always.

Wide grins. Wrinkled eyes. Ni-ki’s tassel slightly crooked. Sunoo’s arms wrapped around his shoulders tightly—like he didn’t want to let go.

And the photo captured all of it.

A moment sealed in time.

⸻

The air buzzed with the post-ceremony glow as families spilled out from the campus courtyard, arms filled with bouquets and gift bags and congratulatory signs. Ni-ki’s cap sat crooked on his head, a little lopsided from all the hugs he’d received, but he didn’t care. Sunoo was here.

He still couldn’t quite believe it.

They’d taken a dozen photos already — goofy, serious, blurry, one where Ni-ki had blinked — and now the golden sun hung lazily in the sky, casting a soft glow over everything like it was meant to end this day perfectly.

Ni-ki tugged on Sunoo’s sleeve as they headed back to the school parking lot with his family.

“You sure you’re not coming to dinner?” he asked for what had to be the third time.

Sunoo gave a sheepish smile, rubbing the back of his neck. “I wasn’t planning to. I mean, it’s your family’s celebration, I don’t wanna intrude.”

“Sunoo,” Ni-ki’s mom called from a few steps ahead. “You are family.”

Sunoo blinked.

“Seriously,” Ni-ki’s older sister added, smirking as she slowed to walk beside them. “With how much Ni-ki talks about you, you might as well be blood.”

Sunoo turned pink instantly.

“I don’t—he probably doesn’t talk about me that much,” he mumbled.

“Oh please,” Ni-ki’s younger sister chimed in, skipping backward to face them. “He says your name more than he says mine, and I live in the same house.”

Ni-ki groaned behind her. “You guys are so embarrassing.”

“Well, you love him,” his mom said matter-of-factly, then blinked. “You guys are best friends, of course.”

There was a beat of quiet. Sunoo laughed — but it was delayed, and his smile twitched for half a second before recovering.

“Right. Best friends,” he echoed softly.

Ni-ki didn’t seem to catch it. He was too busy hiding his red ears by pretending to read something on his phone.

⸻

They ended up at a cozy BBQ place just outside of town, the kind with warm lights and an all-you-can-eat menu. The table was wide enough to fit all six of them comfortably, with Sunoo seated between Ni-ki and his younger sister, who had taken an immediate liking to him years ago and kept trying to steal the lettuce wraps he made.

The grill sizzled in front of them, meat crackling and aromas filling the space. Laughter bubbled up constantly. Ni-ki’s dad insisted on grilling everything and told long-winded stories about Ni-ki as a baby, while Sunoo laughed so hard he nearly choked on a piece of pork belly.

“Sunoo,” Ni-ki’s mom asked after they’d finally settled into the meal, “How’s school been? I can’t believe you’ve already finished your first year.”

“It’s been…” Sunoo paused, setting his chopsticks down. “Good. Busy. But I’ve made some great friends. I have one more week of packing and cleaning up the dorm before I’m back for summer.”

Ni-ki’s head snapped up at that. “Wait, really? You’re coming back next week?”

“Mmhm.” Sunoo smiled at him, eyes crinkling. “I didn’t tell you?”

“No!” Ni-ki grinned, looking stupidly delighted. “That means we’ll actually get to spend summer together soon.”

Sunoo ducked his head, trying to hide the way that made his heart flutter.

“Yeah. I missed being home,” he said, but he didn’t look at anyone except Ni-ki when he said it.

“We’ll have to do a proper cookout once everyone’s back,” Ni-ki’s dad said.

“Oh! And karaoke night again!” his younger sister shouted.

“I still have videos from last time,” Sunoo said, and Ni-ki groaned.

“Don’t you dare—”

“Too late. Already saved to my cloud.”

Ni-ki gave him a playful shove. “I let you stay over and this is how you repay me?”

Sunoo laughed as he pushed back. “You literally begged me not to leave.”

The table erupted into laughter again, and something warm settled in Ni-ki’s chest.

He didn’t think too hard about the way his hand kept brushing against Sunoo’s arm. Or how he leaned in just a little closer whenever Sunoo laughed. Or how, when his mom passed the side dishes across the table, he instinctively fixed Sunoo’s bowl before his own.

It all felt natural. Like a memory already familiar.

⸻

Later, when the plates were cleared and the family lingered around the table for one last round of beef, Ni-ki leaned back in his seat, stealing glances at Sunoo beside him. His eyes shined even in the low light. His hair had grown longer since the last time they’d seen each other. He looked a bit older. College-aged. Different.

But still Sunoo.

Ni-ki didn’t say it, but he had never been happier that Sunoo had come. This day — this entire milestone — wouldn’t have felt right without him there.

And now he’d be back next week.

For the whole summer.

Ni-ki let his head fall back and smiled to himself, eyes fluttering closed for a second. A quiet thought crossed his mind.

“I don’t know what I’d do without him.”

He didn’t even realize he’d been staring until Sunoo nudged him gently with his foot.

“What?”

“You’ve been zoning out and smiling, it’s kinda creepy.” Sunoo chuckled.

Ni-ki huffed a laugh. “I’m just in a good mood.”

Sunoo leaned in slightly, eyes soft. “Me too.”

They didn’t speak for a moment. Didn’t need to.

The rest of the family chatted on, discussing plans for the week. Sunoo’s laughter chimed in now and then. But for Ni-ki, the warmest sound was the silent hum between them.

Just being here.

Together.

No distance.

For now.

And somehow, that felt like enough.

⸻

The cool breeze of the night ruffled the hem of Ni-ki’s graduation gown as he stood outside the restaurant, his family laughing behind him as they packed into the car. The sidewalk glowed with golden reflections from the streetlamps, and the sunset had already slipped away behind the buildings, leaving behind a dusky navy sky.

Sunoo stood a few feet away, hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans, a soft smile still lingering on his face from dinner.

Ni-ki’s mom leaned out the car window. “You walking him to the station?”

“Yeah,” Ni-ki said, tugging at the collar of his gown. “It’s close anyway.”

His mom nodded knowingly and smiled. “Okay, don’t take too long. Text us when you’re home.”

As the car started, Ni-ki shrugged out of the gown and turned to hand it to his older sister through the window.

“You sure you don’t wanna keep it on for more dramatic flair?” she teased.

Ni-ki rolled his eyes and handed it over. “I think I’ve hit my dramatic quota for the day.”

As the car finally drove off, Sunoo turned back to look at Ni-ki — and froze.

Underneath the gown, Ni-ki had been wearing a crisp, navy button-up tucked into tailored black dress pants. His sleeves were rolled up just enough to reveal the veins on his forearms, and silver chains peeked out from the collar of his shirt, catching the light when he moved. Several rings decorated his fingers, the way they always had since he started getting more into fashion last year.

But tonight, for some reason, it all hit differently.

Sunoo’s breath caught in his throat. He blinked once. Twice. Then quickly looked away, cheeks heating under the soft orange streetlight.

Ni-ki noticed the shift and tilted his head. “What?”

“Nothing,” Sunoo said too fast, eyes fixed on a stop sign like it had personally offended him. “You just… cleaned up nice.”

Ni-ki blinked, a little surprised, then grinned. “You think so?”

Sunoo shrugged with false nonchalance. “I guess.”

“Wow. High praise.”

“Shut up,” Sunoo muttered, kicking at a pebble on the sidewalk. He hated that his heart was pounding. Ni-ki looked too good tonight, and it was unfair that he didn’t even realize it.

Ni-ki chuckled, falling into step beside him. “Train station’s this way, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Sunoo nodded, and they started walking.

⸻

The streets were quiet at this hour — a few cars rolled by, and the occasional group of teens laughed their way past a convenience store — but mostly it was still. Just the soft scuff of their shoes and the echo of their conversation bouncing gently between them.

“So,” Sunoo began, keeping his voice light, “you excited to be done with high school?”

“Definitely,” Ni-ki said. “Feels weird, though. Like… I blinked and it was over.”

Sunoo hummed. “You’ve grown up a lot.”

Ni-ki shot him a look. “You saying I was immature?”

Sunoo snorted. “I’m saying you had a growth spurt and now you look like a drama second lead.”

Ni-ki grinned. “Second lead? Not even the main?”

Sunoo smiled to himself, not answering that.

They passed a bus stop and a dim bookstore, and Ni-ki glanced sideways again. “You doing okay in school?”

“Yeah. Finals are brutal, but I’m managing. I got through my hardest one yesterday.”

“I wish I could’ve been there for your first year.”

“You were,” Sunoo said softly. “Even from far away.”

Ni-ki looked at him then, gaze lingering.

They walked a little more in silence.

“You nervous about college?” Sunoo asked eventually.

Ni-ki shrugged. “A little. But knowing you’re there helps.”

Sunoo’s chest tightened.

“And…” Ni-ki added, almost offhandedly, “I’m excited since I’m majoring in dance. I think I’m ready.”

Sunoo stopped. “Really?”

Ni-ki nodded. “Yeah. I’m all in.”

“That’s amazing, Riki. I’m proud of you.”

Ni-ki looked down at the pavement, his smile small and real. “Thanks.”

They reached the corner where the train station came into view — the glowing sign above the platform and a faint announcement echoing over the speakers.

Sunoo slowed. “Looks like I made it just in time.”

“Perfect timing,” Ni-ki said, but his voice dipped a little, softer now. “You sure you have to go back tonight?”

“Yeah. Still need to pack up the dorm and finish a few things.”

“But then…”

“I’ll be home for the summer,” Sunoo finished with a grin. “We’ll have plenty of time.”

Ni-ki nodded, but he didn’t move to say goodbye yet. Neither did Sunoo.

For a moment, the station faded into the background.

This goodbye felt different.

Not like the one from last summer, which had felt sharp and unfinished.

This one… felt warm. Full. Like a comma instead of a period.

“I’m really glad you came today,” Ni-ki said finally.

“I wouldn’t have missed it for anything,” Sunoo replied. “You looked really happy. Really… you.”

Ni-ki swallowed. “You being here made it even better.”

The train’s distant chime broke the moment, and Sunoo reached for his bag strap.

“I should go,” he said gently.

“Yeah.” Ni-ki didn’t move.

Sunoo hesitated. “I’ll text you when I get there.”

“Okay.”

Still, they didn’t move.

Then Sunoo stepped forward and, without saying anything else, wrapped his arms around Ni-ki.

Ni-ki stiffened for a split second, then melted, arms wrapping around Sunoo like they belonged there. The hug lingered — no rushing, no awkwardness. Just warmth and quiet.

When they pulled back, Sunoo smiled again. “I’ll see you soon.”

Ni-ki looked like he wanted to say something, but only nodded. “Yeah.”

And with that, Sunoo stepped onto the platform. He looked back once — and Ni-ki was still there, hands in his pockets, smiling softly like the world had slowed.

The train doors closed.

And for the first time in months, it didn’t feel like a goodbye.

It felt like the start of something.

⸻

The train hissed as it pulled into the station, slowing under the golden mid-June sun. It was hot — the kind of sticky, hazy heat that made the air simmer above the pavement. Sunoo shifted his bag on his shoulder, peering through the window as the platform came into view.

And there he was.

Ni-ki stood just beyond the yellow line, slightly taller than when Sunoo had last seen him a few weeks ago — maybe it was the posture, or the summer air, or the way the sunlight hit his black dyed hair and framed his cheekbones just right. He was leaning against a metal post, scrolling on his phone, one hand in the pocket of his cargo shorts, and a familiar smirk already tugging at the corners of his lips.

Sunoo smiled without meaning to.

As soon as the doors opened, Sunoo stepped out and was met with a gust of warm air — and Ni-ki immediately pushed off the pole, walking over to grab the bag from his shoulder like it was second nature.

"Welcome home, college boy," Ni-ki said casually, taking the bag as Sunoo rolled his eyes.

“You’re acting like I was gone forever,” Sunoo muttered, but he was already grinning.

Ni-ki glanced at him. “You were gone for a year. A year that felt like forever.”

Sunoo opened his mouth to argue but paused when he spotted the keys dangling from Ni-ki’s finger.

“Wait,” Sunoo said, stopping. “Are those…”

Ni-ki spun the keys on his finger smugly. “Yep. Passed my test the week you went back for finals. I am now a fully licensed driver.”

Sunoo blinked. “Since when do you one-up me in everything?”

“Since always,” Ni-ki replied easily, already walking toward the parking lot with Sunoo trailing behind. “Come on. My car has AC.”

Sunoo jogged a little to catch up. “What kind of car is it?”

Ni-ki shrugged. “Just the old Honda my sister used to drive. I call it dependable.”

Sunoo huffed a laugh. “You mean old?”

Ni-ki shot him a look. “You’re walking home if you keep this up.”

Sunoo bumped his shoulder. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“I might,” Ni-ki said, tossing his bag into the backseat.

But when they both climbed in, Sunoo leaned back into the passenger seat with a soft sigh, closing his eyes for a second.

It smelled faintly like mint gum, car freshener and Ni-ki’s cologne.

“You okay?” Ni-ki asked, glancing at him as he started the car.

Sunoo nodded. “Yeah. Just tired.”

“You’re lucky,” Ni-ki said as they pulled out of the parking lot. “You don’t even have your license. Guess I’m stuck driving you everywhere now.”

Sunoo opened one eye and smiled. “Good. I’m meant to be a passenger princess and that way we’ll never be apart.”

Ni-ki didn’t respond right away.

His fingers tightened slightly on the wheel.

⸻

The summer that followed was a blur of warm evenings, melting popsicles, and shared playlists in the car with the windows rolled down.

They spent nearly every day together — at first just to catch up, then because neither of them wanted to do anything else.

Trips to the convenience store just because. Late-night walks in their neighborhood. Movie nights where they’d end up falling asleep on the same couch. Lazy days where Ni-ki would dance in the living room just to make Sunoo laugh, and Sunoo would play songs on his phone that reminded him of moments only the two of them knew about.

Sometimes Ni-ki’s friends would ask him to hang out, and he’d say yes, but he always came back to Sunoo by evening. They both felt safest with each other.

Ni-ki never mentioned the weight in his chest that hadn’t gone away since last winter. He didn’t know how to explain the moments when everything felt loud and tight even when nothing was wrong. So he danced harder. Pushed himself more. Laughed a little louder.

Sunoo didn’t talk about the way his mind sometimes spiraled before bed or how hard it was to breathe when he thought too far ahead. So he smiled a little wider and busied himself with Ni-ki’s presence, the one thing that always made him feel okay.

And every day — every single day — Sunoo’s heart ached just a little more.

It wasn’t loud, and it wasn’t dramatic. But it was constant.

The way Ni-ki would open his door before Sunoo could knock. The way he’d save Sunoo’s favorite snack in the glove compartment. The way he’d instinctively match Sunoo’s walking pace without thinking.

Sunoo was in love. Deeply. Irrevocably. Quietly.

He hadn’t meant to be. But here he was.

Ni-ki, on the other hand, still hadn’t named the thing twisting inside him every time Sunoo smiled at someone else.

He hadn’t recognized that the heaviness he felt whenever Sunoo left his house wasn’t just sadness. That the way he stared too long when Sunoo changed the music in his car wasn’t just curiosity. That the ache that settled in his chest when Sunoo laughed with someone else on the phone wasn’t just protectiveness.

He felt something. Something warm. Something terrifying. But he didn’t know what to call it yet.

All he knew was that the days with Sunoo were the lightest he felt.

And the nights without him felt unbearably heavy.

⸻

It started with a phone call.

More accurately, a very dramatic crash onto Sunoo’s bed, face-first, followed by a groan so loud his mom texted him from downstairs to keep it down. He ignored it.

He laid there, hair messed up from showering, fingers twitching by his phone. His heart felt like it was trying to beat through his chest and he had no idea why.

No, he knew why. It was Ni-ki. It was always Ni-ki.

They'd spent the entire day together again — grabbing food, going to the lake, taking stupid pictures, laughing until their stomachs hurt.

And none of that was the problem.

The problem was that, Sunoo couldn’t breathe right anymore when Ni-ki smiled at him.

The problem was that he kept catching himself staring at the way Ni-ki absentmindedly played with his rings while talking, or how he always made sure to open Sunoo’s car door for him, or how he never let Sunoo walk closest to the street.

Sunoo was in love.

Not the lighthearted, maybe-I-kind-of-sort-of-like-him kind of love. It was deeper than that. Messier. Heavier.

So he did what any reasonable, emotionally overwhelmed person would do.

He FaceTimed Jungwon.

The younger boy answered immediately, readying himself for bed, “Why do you look like you’re about to cry or confess to a murder?”

“I might be both,” Sunoo whispered dramatically.

“Oh God.” Jungwon sat up. “It’s about Ni-ki isn’t it?”

“Ugh, yes!,” Sunoo hissed.

“You’re in love, huh?” Jungwon wiggled his brows.

“Come one, I told you that already!”

“No, but you’re like...really in love. There’s a difference. Like you have that stupid flushed face, where you’re ready to confess your undying love for him any minute.”

Sunoo groaned. “It’s so bad. I think about him all the time. And then today, he wiped sauce off my mouth and smiled at me, Jungwon! He smiled. I haven’t emotionally recovered.”

Jungwon blinked. “That’s intimate.”

“Exactly!”

There was a pause.

“What are you gonna do?”

Sunoo’s shoulders sagged. “I don’t know. He’s so...Riki. Like, kind and protective and oblivious as hell. I want to know if he likes me back but I don’t want to ruin our friendship.”

Jungwon squinted. “Start testing the waters. Drop hints. But don’t make it really obvious.”

“So like... make it seem like I like him, but not too much where I seem like I’m ready to drop to my knees for him at any second.”

“Exactly.”

Sunoo looked thoughtful. “That’s... actually smart.”

“Obviously.” Jungwon grinned. “I’m the brains, you’re the beauty.”

⸻

He hadn’t meant to be obvious — at least not at first — but something about being home for the summer, being near Ni-ki again, made it impossible to keep things neutral.

So he let himself flirt. Or atleast what he would consider flirting with his best friend is.

It started simple.

They bickered, playfully, always in close proximity. Always brushing shoulders or tugging at sleeves. And Ni-ki…Ni-ki let him.

He let Sunoo fix his hair unprompted. Let him feed him fries from the passenger seat. Let him lean his head on his shoulder when they watched shows, his only comment being a soft “My shoulder hurts.” that Sunoo ignored entirely.

⸻

Ni-ki didn’t seem to notice how close they were getting or if he did, he never said anything.

And that was what made everything harder.

Sunoo was spiraling.
Internally combusting, really.

Every glance, every soft laugh, every time Ni-ki picked lint off his shirt or adjusted Sunoo’s necklace like it belonged to him — it made his stomach twist in the worst and best way.

He didn’t flirt with anyone else. Didn’t want to.
There was only Ni-ki.

And Ni-ki…

Ni-ki didn’t flirt back. Not really. But he didn’t pull away either.

⸻

Their old high school friends were throwing a summer get-together. A mix of grads and seniors, pizza and soda, speakers and fire pits.

Sunoo had gone a little extra — light-washed baggy jeans, a tight fitted white shirt, and a new necklace. He had even put a hint of blush on, wanting to try something new. Ni-ki had stared at him for a little too long when they met up outside.

“You’re glowing,” Ni-ki said casually, adjusting his rings.

Sunoo felt his ears heat. “It’s the moonlight.”

“It’s the blush,” Ni-ki replied, eyes lingering. “And the necklace. And the jeans. And the shirt.”

“You look…” Ni-ki began, then stopped. “Good. You always look good.”

Sunoo nearly tripped walking.

They mingled, greeted familiar faces, shared inside jokes with friends they hadn’t seen since graduation.

And then he came.

Minjae. Tall. Was in the track team. Had a mild crush on Sunoo back in their junior year and was apparently still holding onto hope.

“Sunoo?” he beamed, walking over. “Wow, you look... different. Good different. Really good.”

Sunoo blinked. “Oh. Thanks!”

“You go to SNU now?”

“Yeah.”

“No way. I was thinking of transferring there next year. We should hang out sometime.”

Ni-ki’s head slowly turned from the fire pit.

Minjae stepped closer. “You have Instagram?”

Ni-ki stood up.

“Actually,” Sunoo said awkwardly, “I—”

“Sunoo,” Ni-ki called, voice low. “Can I talk to you?”

Sunoo looked between them. “Um, sure?”

He barely had time to react before Ni-ki took his wrist and gently tugged him away from the fire pit, away from the group, away from Minjae’s lingering gaze.

They stopped near the edge of the trees, firelight casting soft shadows across Ni-ki’s jaw.

“What was that?” Sunoo asked, blinking.

Ni-ki crossed his arms. “He was flirting.”

“I noticed.”

“I didn’t like it.”

Sunoo stared. “Why not?”

Ni-ki shrugged. “You’re... I don’t know. You don’t need to waste time with guys like him.”

Sunoo stepped forward, heartbeat quickening. “What kind of guy should I waste time on then?”

Ni-ki looked at him. Really looked at him. Then, quietly, he said, “Someone who makes you feel safe. Like you can be yourself.”

Sunoo’s chest ached with hope. “Is that how you feel with me?”

Ni-ki smiled. “Yeah. You’re my best friend.”

And there it was.

Like someone had stabbed Sunoo in the chest, right in the heart.

Best friend.

He looked away, blinking fast. “Right.”

Ni-ki didn’t notice the shift. He reached out, adjusting Sunoo’s necklace. “This is nice. Suits you.”

Sunoo nodded, not trusting his voice.

⸻

They drove home in silence. Music filled the space between them — some soft pop track playing from Ni-ki’s phone — but the words felt distant.

Sunoo kept stealing glances. Watching Ni-ki’s profile in the warm car light, the way his fingers tapped the steering wheel, how his jaw tensed like he was thinking hard about something.

Sunoo wanted to scream.

Because every time he felt Ni-ki pull him in, he’d push him back out again.

Every smile, every touch, every joke that felt like it meant more was followed by a casual shrug and ‘best friend’ label. Like Ni-ki didn’t see what he was doing. Like he didn’t know how tightly Sunoo was wound.

He wanted to ask. To really ask.

But what if the answer shattered everything?

⸻

Over the next few days, the energy didn’t shift. Not outwardly.

They still hung out. Still watched movies on Sunoo’s bed. Still shared stupid memes and inside jokes and long conversations about their dreams and fears and futures.

But inside, Sunoo was crumbling.

He couldn’t read Ni-ki anymore.

Ni-ki still touched his hair absentmindedly. Still threw an arm around his shoulder when they walked. Still said things like, “You’re the only person I can relax around.”

But Sunoo could still hear “best friend” echoing in his head.

He wanted more.

Ni-ki was giving him more.

But not in the way he needed.

And maybe, just maybe, Ni-ki didn’t even realize it.

⸻

The summer tasted like cherry popsicles and shared playlists.

Every morning, Sunoo told himself to not overthink things.

And every evening, after Ni-ki dropped him off or texted him goodnight, he did anyway.

⸻

They had a routine now. Or maybe a rhythm. Something soft and predictable, like a heartbeat — the kind you don’t notice until it skips.

Sunoo helped Ni-ki sort through boxes in his room. Clothes he was taking to college. Trophies he wasn’t. Books he didn’t realize he’d kept. Pieces of his childhood in stacks and piles while Sunoo sat on the floor, sorting what he could and quietly labeling everything.

“This sweater looks old as hell,” Sunoo said, holding up a crumpled green hoodie. “It’s ugly.”

Ni-ki looked up from his dresser drawer. “It’s vintage now.”

“It’s musty.”

“I wore that when we met.”

Sunoo paused, then smoothed it out. “I guess it’s kinda cute.”

Ni-ki grinned. “Knew it.”

It was like that, constantly. They hovered between teasing and tenderness. Between laughter and something quieter. Something that pressed into Sunoo’s chest when Ni-ki said his name softly or asked if he’d eaten or rested or couldn’t sleep again.

Ni-ki always noticed.

But only the surface.

⸻

Sunoo didn’t mean to fall harder.

It just happened, the way his hand would bump against Ni-ki’s when they reached for the same bag of chips. The way Ni-ki’s voice softened when they were alone. The way he’d quietly fix Sunoo’s crooked collar before they went somewhere.

Every little thing told Sunoo that he cares.

But caring wasn’t the same as loving.

And he was starting to realize that, no matter how much time they spent together, Ni-ki had never made a move. Had never flirted like he meant it. Never touched him like he wanted more.

Sunoo tried not to let it eat him alive.

Instead, he smiled harder. Laughed more. Told himself he wasn’t reading into things, then did it anyway.

⸻

They spent three full days helping Ni-ki pack.

Well, Sunoo did most of the organizing. Ni-ki carried the heavy things but mostly laid on his bed and played music while pointing out what was “essential” and what could “burn in a tragic fire.”

“You’re lucky I love you,” Sunoo said before he could stop himself.

Ni-ki froze for half a second, then grinned. “I am lucky. You’re a great friend.”

Sunoo nodded, forcing a laugh. “Yeah.”

He had no idea what Ni-ki meant when he said things like that. Or if he even meant anything beyond the surface.

Sometimes it felt like Ni-ki gave him just enough to stay.
But never enough to know.

⸻

One night, they sat in his car with the AC on blast, music humming low, city lights painting their faces in gold and red.

“Do you think I’m ready?” Ni-ki asked suddenly.

Sunoo blinked. “For college?”

“For… all of it. Leaving. Being somewhere new.”

Sunoo looked at him. Really looked. The way his fingers fiddled with his rings. The way his voice wavered just barely.

“You’re ready,” he said softly. “Even if you don’t feel like it yet.”

Ni-ki turned toward him, eyes sharp in the dim light. “You think so?”

Sunoo nodded. “I do.”

Ni-ki stared at him for a second too long. Then looked away.

“Thanks,” he murmured. “I… I don’t feel like myself lately. It’s like— everything’s loud in my head. Even when it’s quiet.”

Sunoo wanted to say, “I know. Me too.” But he didn’t. He just reached over and bumped their shoulders together.

“Let’s make it quiet for a while,” he said. “Wanna go for a drive?”

Ni-ki smiled. “Always.”

⸻

Sometimes, they sat in Sunoo’s room and said nothing.

Those were Sunoo’s favorite moments — when the weight of all the ‘almosts’ could settle without needing answers.

One night, Ni-ki sprawled out on Sunoo’s bed, phone forgotten, eyes half-lidded. Sunoo sat cross-legged beside him, watching the soft glow from the old fairy lights above.

“Do you think some people just aren’t meant to fall in love?” Sunoo asked, voice quiet.

Ni-ki hummed. “I don’t know. Maybe they do, but they don’t know when it’s happening.”

Sunoo’s heart ached.

He thought and maybe hoped, “Is that what’s happening to you? Is it me?”

But he didn’t.

He was terrified of breaking the balance they had — of saying something too heavy. Something Ni-ki wasn’t ready to hold.

So instead, he said, “I think it just sneaks up on you. Like a sunset. You only realize it was beautiful when it’s already dark.”

Ni-ki smiled softly, eyes closed. “That sounds like something you’d write in a sad poem.”

“It probably is.”

⸻

Sunoo called Jungwon later that night. Whispered into his phone while curled beneath his blanket, heart fluttering and falling apart all at once.

“I’m going insane,” he said.

“You’re already there,” Jungwon replied flatly. “Been there since move-in week.”

“Not helping.”

Jungwon sighed. “You’re in love. You’ve been in love. Now you’re stuck because he doesn’t get it.”

Sunoo didn’t answer.

“Have you flirted?”

Sunoo groaned. “Jungwon.”

“Flirt harder, coward. Touch his knee. Make eye contact. Breathe his air.”

“Jungwon!”

Jungwon cackled.

But beneath the teasing, there was always care.

“Hey,” he said after a moment. “It’s okay to be confused. But you have to figure out what you need. You can’t keep setting yourself on fire to keep the friendship warm.”

Sunoo blinked. “That was… poetic.”

“I read it on Twitter.”

Sunoo laughed, genuinely.

But when the call ended, he stared at the ceiling for a long time, wondering what it would feel like to finally say something and have Ni-ki not say anything back.

⸻

There were moments Sunoo felt like the main character.
And moments he felt like a side plot in his own story.

When Ni-ki touched his wrist too long. Or held open the car door. Or softly said ‘you’re important to me’, Sunoo clung to those moments like oxygen.

But they weren’t promises.
They weren’t anything real.

Just soft crumbs on a path Sunoo had chosen to follow alone.

And the more time they spent together this summer, the more it felt like he was falling in love alone.

Ni-ki laughed easily around him. Looked for him first in every room. Shared every detail of his day.

But he never leaned in.

Never touched like he wanted more.

Sunoo was drowning in a love that never fully landed. And he didn’t know if Ni-ki would ever meet him halfway.

⸻

One week left.

One week until Ni-ki moved into campus, a buildings away from where Sunoo had spent the last year pining.

Sunoo helped him buy bedsheets and toothpaste. Went with him to buy extra notebooks and socks. Watched him rehearse a new choreography at the studio and clapped like it was the first time.

And every moment, he kept thinking: “This is something. This is something more.”

But Ni-ki never said it back.

Sunoo knew he couldn’t wait forever.

But for now, he would.

⸻

The heat hung low that afternoon — the kind that made your thoughts stick to your skin. Ni-ki sat slumped on the park bench, the one near the playground where he and Sunoo had met up in the middle of the night almost a year ago. The paint on the bench had chipped more. The air smelled like dust and melting popsicles.

Sunoo was supposed to meet him soon. They were going to finish shopping for move-in day, get iced coffee, maybe wander around aimlessly like they always did — nowhere to be, everything to avoid.

Ni-ki checked his phone for the fifth time in a minute. Still nothing new.

It wasn’t impatience. He just… needed distraction. His brain felt loud again.

There’d been a static hum under his skin for weeks now — maybe longer. Something unspoken and unshakeable. A tightness in his chest that didn’t go away when he stretched or danced or even when Sunoo was right beside him.

That scared him.

Because Sunoo had always made it better.

Until now.

Now, even when Sunoo was next to him, it helped — but only for a second. The feeling always returned.

He didn’t want to call it sadness. That felt too dramatic. He graduated, he was going to college, he had friends, family. Sunoo. He had everything. So why did he feel like he was carrying something so heavy no one else could see?

⸻

The days blurred lately. Every memory folded into itself.

There were moments that sparked — like when Sunoo laughed so hard he fell off Ni-ki’s bed while watching a drama. Or when Ni-ki caught Sunoo staring at him across the dinner table, eyes soft like he was memorizing him.

Those moments? They made Ni-ki feel something else entirely.

Something sharp and dizzy.

Something he’d never named before.

⸻

Sometimes Ni-ki thought he was just overwhelmed — too many emotions crammed into one small space inside him.

He loved Sunoo. That wasn’t the confusing part.

He loved his laugh, the way he carried three snacks in his hoodie pocket at all times, the way he hummed when brushing his teeth.

But he also felt nervous around him lately.

Unsteady.

He caught himself staring at Sunoo's lips during movies.

Noticing the way the late sun caught the lighter streaks in his hair.

Wanting, yearning, really — for Sunoo to reach out and touch him. A hand on his knee. A shoulder bump. Anything.

It was new. It was terrifying.

It was something.

And Ni-ki wasn’t sure he was ready to find out what it meant.

Because if it was love… if he was falling in love with Sunoo…

What if that changed everything?

What if he wasn’t enough?

⸻

That night, after dinner, Ni-ki sat on the edge of his bed, phone in hand.

He could text Sunoo. Ask if he made it home okay. Say goodnight like usual.

But his fingers hovered over the screen for a long time.

He thought about the softness in Sunoo’s eyes when he looked at him. The way Sunoo’s voice dropped when they were alone.

He thought about what it would mean to love him.

To know he did.

To risk losing him.

Because if Ni-ki loved Sunoo out loud and it changed things, and he messed it up somehow, or if the weight he carried made it too hard to be loved back…

He wouldn’t survive losing Sunoo.

Not now. Not ever.

So Ni-ki let the text sit unsent.

He dropped his phone on the bed, the rest of his body falling onto the bed, and let the silence settle around him like smoke.

He buried his face in his arms and whispered to himself,

“It’s just a phase. I’ll feel better soon.”

But he’d been saying that for weeks, for months, and if he really thought about it, then maybe for years.

And he wasn’t sure if he believed it anymore.

⸻

The sun was low, brushing the rooftops with its golden touch. A soft breeze whistled through the trees, just strong enough to carry the warmth of summer away, and Sunoo couldn’t stop checking the time on his phone. His heart was somewhere between joy and dread.

Tomorrow, he’d go back to college.
Tomorrow, Ni-ki would move into his new dorm. They’d go back together.

And tonight, Sunoo wanted things to feel… right. Not perfect—he wasn’t that naive—but good enough to carry them through the change. To remind them both how far they’d come. To remind himself that even if things changed, even if feelings deepened, if everything got harder—this summer still happened. They still happened.

“Want to get popsicles?” Sunoo asked, nudging Ni-ki’s shoulder with his own as they walked side by side down the street, arms swinging just barely in sync.

Ni-ki glanced down, eyes soft with something unreadable. “Like last time?”

Sunoo smiled, heart pinching. “Yeah. Like last time.”

The silence that followed was comfortable, but too quiet for Sunoo’s thoughts. His brain buzzed. His chest ached a little.

He wasn’t planning to confess. Not outright. But he wanted to do something that might let Ni-ki know—something just subtle enough to protect the friendship if it wasn’t mutual. Maybe tonight could be that something.

Maybe if they just sat on the swings again, like that first night, like the night before he left for college… maybe Ni-ki would feel what Sunoo had been feeling for a long time now. Maybe he'd see it in the quiet between them.

But as they turned the corner toward the little 24-hour convenience store, Sunoo’s steps faltered.

The lights were off. The windows dark. A sign was taped to the glass:

“CLOSED FOR INVENTORY. WILL REOPEN TOMORROW.”

Sunoo stared. “No…”

Ni-ki blinked. “Seriously?”

Sunoo’s shoulders slumped. “This store never closes.”

“Guess even this convenience store needs a break,” Ni-ki said gently, with that small half-smile of his. The one that always looked like he knew more than he was saying.

Sunoo laughed, but it was hollow. “Guess we’re not getting popsicles then.”

Ni-ki tilted his head. “We can go somewhere else.”

“No,” Sunoo said quickly. “Let’s just go to the swings.”

He tried to brush it off. A store closing wasn’t the end of the world. But something tightened in his chest anyway.

They made their way to the old playground, shoes crunching gravel, breaths syncing naturally like always. The sky was shifting to blue-gray now, stars blinking awake.

And then Sunoo saw it.

Yellow tape. Faded orange fencing. A new sign.

“PLAYGROUND CLOSED FOR RENOVATION — COMING WINTER THIS YEAR.”

He stopped in his tracks. “Are you kidding me?”

Ni-ki came up beside him, reading the sign with a slight frown.

Sunoo took a step back. His hands curled into the hem of his shirt. “I wanted to—”

His voice caught in his throat.

This place—this dumb little playground with its chipped paint and creaky swings—had meant something. It had been a constant. A bookmark in their story. First sleepover. First goodbye. A thousand laughs. The unspoken quiet between them when words were too heavy.

And now it was… closed.

“Hey,” Ni-ki said softly. He turned to face him, but Sunoo wouldn’t look up.

“I know it’s stupid,” Sunoo muttered, eyes burning. “It’s just a playground. But—this was supposed to be our thing. One last time before everything changes again.”

“It’s not stupid,” Ni-ki said.

There was a pause.

Sunoo didn’t speak. He didn’t move.

Because in his head, the closed store and the shut-down park weren’t just coincidences. They were signs. Metaphors. Warnings.

Everything in him whispered; This is what it’ll be like soon. Things closing. Falling away. Maybe you’ll become too much. Your feelings. This—whatever you two have—fading.

His throat tightened. He could barely breathe.

And then Ni-ki stepped closer.

“You’re panicking,” Ni-ki said gently.

That startled Sunoo. He blinked up, tears pricking the corners of his eyes. “I’m not.”

“You are,” Ni-ki said. “I know that look.”

Sunoo pressed his lips together.

Ni-ki stared at him quietly, then added, “Come over. My house. You can sleep over.”

Sunoo blinked. “What?”

“We’ll get snacks at my place. I’ve got a tub of mint chocolate ice cream.” Ni-ki smiled. “And we can sit on my bed and talk like we used to. Just… a different setting.”

Sunoo stared at him for a long moment.

He nodded.

⸻

It smelled the same as always—like freshly washed laundry and soft cedarwood from his cologne. Sunoo sat on the edge of the bed.

Ni-ki was beside him, back propped against the headboard, scrolling through something on his phone in silence.

The room was dim. Only the desk lamp was on. Everything felt… off.

Sunoo finally broke the quiet.

“I know it probably seems dumb,” Sunoo started, voice quiet, “getting so worked up over a store and a playground being closed.”

Ni-ki shook his head. “It doesn’t. I know it meant something.”

“I wanted to go to the swings because it was one of the places that felt like the start of everything.”

Ni-ki glanced at him.

“And,” Sunoo added, “I wanted to go back there tonight because… it felt like we were looping back. Me leaving, now you leaving. That park—it made me feel like nothing changed. Like we’re still—” he stopped. Swallowed.

“I just… wanted to relive that for you. I know it’s dumb. I just wanted it to be perfect. For you. Because…you’re important to me Riki.”

Sunoo went on.

“I’m going back to college tomorrow, I mean we’re going, and you’re starting something new. I don’t know what this next year will look like. We’ll both be busy. There’s no guarantee we’ll have the time we had this summer. So when the store was closed, and the park was under renovation, it just… it felt like the universe was saying something.”

Ni-ki’s head turned slowly, eyes unreadable.

Sunoo looked down at his fidgeting hands.

Ni-ki turned toward him fully now, eyes wide, unreadable.

And Sunoo said it—the closest he’d ever come to confessing:

“I think those nights meant something to me that they probably didn’t mean to you. And that’s okay. I just wanted you to know, before everything changes again, that they weren’t just… nights. Not to me.”

Ni-ki swallowed. “Sunoo…”

Sunoo didn’t know what he’d hoped for—maybe a confession, maybe nothing—but something in Ni-ki’s tone felt final.

Like the conversation couldn’t go any deeper without breaking something between them.

“I know,” Sunoo said quickly, waving his hand like he could undo the weight of what he’d said. “I’m being dramatic. Forget it.”

But Ni-ki didn’t answer.

He didn’t lean in.

He didn’t ask what Sunoo meant.

A few beats passed. Then Ni-ki quietly said, “We should get some sleep. Big day tomorrow.”

It felt like a slap.

Sunoo’s eyes darted up. “Oh. Yeah. Right.”

He forced a small smile and slid down into the blankets, facing the wall. Ni-ki did the same on the opposite side.

No brushing knees. No soft jokes.

The space between them felt endless.

⸻

Minutes passed. Sunoo stared at the wall. The fan buzzed.

But sleep didn’t come.

For the first time ever—lying next to Ni-ki didn’t quiet the buzzing in his head. It didn’t slow his breathing. It didn’t soothe the ache.

Because Ni-ki had just… shut down. And Sunoo couldn’t blame him. He hadn’t said anything outright. But he knew Ni-ki had felt the weight of his almost-confession.

And he hadn’t leaned in.

He’d leaned away.

Across the bed, Ni-ki wasn’t asleep either. His breathing was uneven.

Maybe neither of them were ready to name it.

Maybe they never would be.

But the worst part? This was the first time Sunoo realized:

‘Falling asleep next to someone you love doesn’t always mean peace.’

Sometimes it means wondering if this is the last time they’ll ever let you close.

⸻

Sunoo’s words still lingered in the room long after the silence returned.

“I think those nights meant something to me that they probably didn’t mean to you. And that’s okay.”

Ni-ki sat frozen beside him, every part of him aching to reach out—to say something, anything—but he couldn’t. He didn’t know how. Because something inside him had cracked open in real time, and he was terrified of what it meant.

He turned away slowly, said, “We should get some sleep,” in a voice that didn’t sound like his.

And Sunoo had nodded. Smiled softly. Like he already knew not to expect more.

They climbed into bed. Back to back.

For the first time, they weren’t touching.

And for the first time, Ni-ki didn’t fall asleep immediately.

He laid there with his eyes wide open, staring into the dark, his heart hammering against his chest.

He should have said something. He knew that. But his chest felt tight, like if he opened his mouth the truth would spill out and he wasn’t ready for what came next.

Because the truth was,

He loved Sunoo.

He didn’t know when it happened.

Maybe it was in the way Sunoo smiled when they bought popsicles.
Maybe it was the way he always knew when Ni-ki was struggling, even if he didn’t say it out loud.
Maybe it was the day Sunoo had left for college, and Ni-ki had watched his train pull away and felt something hollow settle into his chest that didn’t go away for weeks.
Or maybe, it was the day they met, that time they talked in the music room.

But when Sunoo said those words tonight—soft, sweet, and afraid—Ni-ki felt something crash through him.

Like he was standing on the edge of a cliff and finally realized he’d been slowly walking toward it for years.

And instead of warmth or clarity, all he felt was fear.

Because Ni-ki didn’t know how to hold something that mattered so much without breaking it.

He thought about the way he’d changed—the parts of him he kept buried, the thoughts that stayed unspoken. He thought about the heaviness he still carried, even when he smiled. The loneliness he still hadn’t figured out how to name.

What if he told Sunoo he loved him, and it ruined everything?

What if he said it out loud and it turned their safe, sweet thing into something messy and painful and real?

He blinked hard, eyes stinging.

Sunoo shifted slightly behind him, the mattress creaking with the movement. He didn’t say anything.

But Ni-ki felt it.

The space between them.

The ache of it.

And for the first time, he understood that the thing hurting him most wasn’t distance.

It was his own silence.

He turned his face into the pillow and shut his eyes, forcing himself to sleep, pretending it didn’t matter.

But the truth buzzed like a secret in his chest.

He was in love with Sunoo.

And it scared him so badly, he didn’t know if he could face it.

Not yet.

Maybe not ever.

⸻

Chapter Text

⸻

They hadn’t touched since the moment Sunoo poured out his heart, and turned away from each other last night. The space between them had felt like miles. Both of them had barely slept, Sunoo’s heart pounding all night from what he’d said, what he almost confessed. And Ni-ki’s mind racing from new feelings.

They left together, in Ni-ki’s car. The same quiet jokes exchanged out of habit. But it all felt unfamiliar.

Sunoo smiled too brightly when Ni-ki cracked a joke. Ni-ki held the car door open for him like he always did. It was awkward—not horrible, just awkward—like they were trying to wear a costume of who they were before.

When they arrived at the campus gates, the buzz of students and laughter should’ve been enough to distract him. But as they approached the first dorm building, Ni-ki slowed.

“This is me,” he said, eyes darting to the sign and back to Sunoo. “You good getting to yours?”

Sunoo nodded, gripping his bag tighter than necessary. “Yeah. Jungwon’s already there.”

“Okay,” Ni-ki said.

And for a second—just one—Sunoo waited. Hoped maybe Ni-ki would say something. Anything. Maybe, ‘those nights meant something to me too.’ Or even just ‘I thought about it.’

But all he got was a quiet, “Text me later?”

Sunoo gave a small smile. “Yeah. Of course. Have fun with your new roommates!”

Ni-ki nodded, then paused like he might say something else. But he didn’t. Just gave him a small smile.

And then he walked away.

⸻

Sunoo’s dorm was warmer than he expected. The air conditioning wasn’t working yet. Jungwon was already unpacked, his small speaker playing something chill, and when Sunoo walked in, he was greeted with a bright, “You made it!”

Sunoo smiled faintly. “Barely.”

Jungwon looked at him, brows pinching. “Hey… everything okay?”

Sunoo dropped his bag near the couch and let out a soft sigh. “Do you want to go to the café?”

Jungwon paused, sensing the shift. Then he turned the speaker off and nodded. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

⸻

The café near campus was cozy and familiar, and even though it was full of students, Sunoo and Jungwon somehow got the small window booth.

Sunoo stirred his iced vanilla latte with a straw, eyes distant.

“So,” Jungwon said gently, “tell me.”

Sunoo inhaled deeply, then let the words flow in a quiet voice. “Last night, I slept over at Ni-ki’s.”

Jungwon raised an eyebrow but didn’t interrupt.

“We went back to his house after…” Sunoo trailed off. “After the convenience store and the playground were closed.”

Jungwon looked confused. “Your guy’s spot, right?

Sunoo nodded. “Yeah. It’s basically how our first sleepover happened. And from the night before I left for my first year. It felt right, to go back. Like if we could go there again, it would make everything okay.”

“But it was closed.”

Sunoo laughed weakly. “Yeah. Like a metaphor.”

Jungwon tilted his head. “For what?”

“For us. For what we used to be. What we are now. Like maybe… things are changing. We’re changing and maybe it’s the end.”

Jungwon’s expression softened.

“So we went to his room instead. And I… I told him it was important. That I wanted things to be perfect. Especially for him. That I was scared of change and just wanted to relive the past.”

Jungwon blinked. “Did you confess to him?”

“No,” Sunoo said quickly. Then quieter: “Almost.”

Jungwon leaned in. “What did he say?”

“He just said we should sleep… since today is a big day.”

Jungwon frowned. “That’s it?”

Sunoo nodded. “He turned around. And for the first time, I didn’t fall asleep right away with him. It felt… awful.”

There was silence.

“I don’t know what to do. I don’t know if he feels the same, or if he doesn’t, that’s okay, but it hurts. I love him. I’ve loved him for a long time now. But I can’t ruin what we have. I don’t want to be alone.”

Jungwon’s heart broke a little, hearing that.

Jungwon reached across the table and took Sunoo’s hand, “You’re not alone and you never will be.”

Sunoo looked up, surprised. “You promise?”

“I swear,” Jungwon said softly.

“Even if you and Ni-ki never become anything more, you’ll still have him. And you’ll have me and Jay,” Jungwon continued. “Love is scary. It always. It’s not all butterflies and perfect timing. Sometimes it’s silence. And hesitation. And trying not to drown in what you feel. Especially when you don’t know if the other person feels it too.”

Sunoo’s eyes burned. He didn’t want to cry.

“But,” Jungwon added softly, “when you give it a chance, it can be beautiful. You’re brave for even saying what you did. Even if it wasn’t a full confession.”

Sunoo looked down at his drink, swallowing thickly. “So… you think I should tell him?”

Jungwon smiled. “I think you should do what your heart tells you. And if that’s Ni-ki, then yeah. Try. But only if it’s for you. Don’t wait for him to say the perfect thing first.”

Sunoo leaned back, blinking up at the ceiling. “You’re wise, my future lawyer.”

“I’m emotionally mature, remember?” Jungwon grinned.

Sunoo laughed. “Thanks. Really.”

A moment passed.

Sunoo looked at him slyly. “Now. Enough about me. How was your summer?”

Jungwon blinked like a deer caught in headlights.

Sunoo narrowed his eyes. “Oh, that face says everything. Spill.”

“I… um…”

“Don’t um me, what happened?”

Jungwon sighed and muttered, “Jay and I… went on a date.”

Sunoo shrieked, grabbing his arm. “WHAT?!”

“Shhh! People are looking!”

“I don’t care—wait—Jay, culinary Jay? Like our Jay?”

Jungwon groaned. “Yes, that Jay.”

Sunoo’s eyes sparkled. “Tell me everything.”

Jungwon hid his face in his hands. “It’s not serious. We just… went to dinner. Talked a lot. It was cute. That’s it.”

“It’s not a big deal, we’re not even official.”

“Not yet,” Sunoo sing-songed, poking his cheek.

Jungwon glared but couldn’t hide the smile pulling at his lips.

⸻

Later, when they walked back to the dorm, Sunoo found himself feeling…okay. Still nervous. Still hurting. Still unsure about where things with Ni-ki stood. But also comforted.

Jungwon’s word stayed with him, “love is scary…when you give it a change, it can be beautiful.”

And maybe, just maybe, he could hold on to that for now.

Even if the playground was closed.

Even if Ni-ki hadn’t said anything back.

Even if he was scared.

Suno still believe in love. Especially with Ni-ki.

And he’d keep believing in it—even if it took time.

⸻

The awkward silence that hung in the air between Sunoo and Ni-ki was new. Especially after mornings like that.

They stood outside the college gates now, duffel bags over their shoulders, wheeling their suitcases through gravel. Still, it felt heavier than usual—like the air was pressing down on Ni-ki’s chest every time Sunoo glanced at him, like he was waiting for Ni-ki to say something. But Ni-ki didn’t know what to say. Not when his mind kept replaying the night before on a constant loop.

Sunoo’s words from last night echoed, blurry and soft:
“I think those nights meant something to me that they probably didn’t mean to you.”

Not “I love you.” But close. Too close for Ni-ki.

They reached the split path leading to the dorms. One direction took you to—Sunoo’s dorm. The other toward, where Ni-ki had been assigned.

“This is me. You good getting to your dorm?” Ni-ki said, shifting his bag strap.

Sunoo nodded, hesitant. “Yeah. Jungwon’s already there.”

⸻

When Ni-ki reached his new dorm and opened the door, chaos greeted him.

Two guys—both definitely older than him—were practically yelling over each other, each standing in a doorway on opposite sides of the suite.

“I said this one’s mine!” the one with dark brown hair insisted, holding a toilet brush of all things.

“You had the better room last year,” the other shot back, pointing with what looked like a protein bar.

Ni-ki stood at the doorway, watching like it was some weird sitcom.

“Uh…”

Both guys froze.

They turned to him at the same time.

“Oh,” said toilet brush guy. “You must be…”

“The new roommate,” Protein Bar added, stepping forward.

Ni-ki slowly nodded, holding up his student ID. “Nishimura Riki. First year. Dance major.”

They blinked.

“You’re a freshman?” Toilet brush guy repeated.

Ni-ki gave a half-shrug. “Housing was full. They gave me the open spot in this triple.”

There was a pause. Then toilet brush guy grinned, holding out a hand. “I’m Jake. Third year. Engineering major. Nice to meet you.”

Ni-ki took the handshake with a confused expression.

Protein bar guy stepped forward next. “Sunghoon. Sports ed. Also third year.“

Ni-ki blinked again.

Jake slung an arm over Ni-ki’s shoulder suddenly, pulling him in like they’d known each other forever. “Don’t worry, you’ll get used to us. You’re our new baby bro now.”

Sunghoon snorted. “He looks older than you, definitely way taller.”

“Whatever it’s not like I’m short,” Jake said plainly.

“You definitely are.” Ni-ki chuckled.

Sunghoon gasped. “He fits right in!”

⸻

Within an hour, they’d helped Ni-ki toss his stuff into the empty third room of the suite and insisted on showing him around campus.

They made their way past the quad, toward the sports center. Jake pointed out buildings and food spots as they passed, walking with an energy that made Ni-ki wonder if he’d secretly had four Red Bulls.

“So do you know anyone here yet?” Jake asked, spinning slightly on his heels to walk backward and face him.

“Yeah,” Ni-ki said. “A few.”

Sunghoon raised an eyebrow. “Like who?”

“Well mainly one person,” Ni-ki corrected. “His name’s Sunoo. He’s a second year. We went to high school together.”

There was a beat.

Jake slowed, turning toward Ni-ki with a grin so mischievous. “Sunoo, huh?” he sing-songed. “Why do you look like you’re blushing?”

“I’m not.”

Sunghoon raised an eyebrow. “You are, though.”

Ni-ki’s jaw clenched.

Jake nudged his shoulder. “So… is that, like, a thing? You two dating or what?”

“No,” Ni-ki answered too quickly. “We’re just… we’re best friends.”

Jake and Sunghoon exchanged a quick look.

Ni-ki caught it and suddenly felt like all the oxygen was sucked out of the air. His chest tightened. He looked away, burying his hands in his hoodie pocket.

The teasing atmosphere dulled. Jake’s voice softened. “Hey, sorry. We’re just messing around. Didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“Yeah,” Sunghoon added. “We’re idiots, but not mean idiots.”

Ni-ki exhaled slowly. “It’s fine. I just… it’s complicated.”

They nodded in unison, like they understood. Ni-ki wasn’t sure if they actually did. But he was grateful they didn’t press more.

Jake clapped his hands once. “Anyway! How about food? There’s this killer burger place down the street.”

Ni-ki nodded. “Sure.”

Jake threw an arm around both Sunghoon and Ni-ki’s shoulders like he’d known them his whole life. Sunghoon protested, but not really.

Ni-ki just let himself be pulled along.

⸻

That night, when the dorm was quiet and his room still smelled like cardboard boxes and dryer sheets, with only his bed set up, Ni-ki laid in bed, staring at the ceiling.

The other two were already asleep, Jake’s snoring being heard through the walls.

Ni-ki’s phone buzzed once.

Sun:
Finished decorating my dorm! Want me to come over to yours tomorrow and help? 🤗

Ni-ki stared at the screen for a long time.

He hadn’t stopped thinking about Sunoo all day.

Hadn’t stopped thinking about the way Sunoo looked that morning—tired but glowing. Like he’d given Ni-ki a piece of his heart and was waiting to see what he’d do with it.

But Ni-ki didn’t know what to do with it.

He’d felt something last night. And this morning. Something warm, and terrifying. Something real.

When Sunoo talked about popsicles and the playground, and how he kept all those moments between them, like they were more, something inside Ni-ki cracked.

It was the same thing he’d tried to ignore all summer. The same thing that made his chest clench when Sunoo would smile at him. The same thing that made him want to stay up all night just to hear Sunoo’s voice. The same thing that terrified him now.

Because what if he really was in love?

What if this wasn’t just a phase, or a moment, or teenage confusion?

What if he loved Sunoo?

And what if that love broke everything?

He sat up, suddenly too warm, too aware of his heart pounding in his chest.

He couldn’t be in love.

Not when love meant expectations. Meant change. Meant not knowing if the person you loved would stay once they saw the mess you really were.

Sunoo saw too much of him already.

Ni-ki clenched the blanket tight, pulled it over his face, and let out a slow, shaky breath.

Maybe if he didn’t say it out loud…
Maybe if he didn’t admit it…
It wouldn’t be real.

He typed slowly.

Riki 🖤:
sure. :)

Then tossed the phone on the pillow beside him and curled onto his side, eyes burning even though he wouldn’t cry.

⸻

The morning sun filtered in through the half-covered window blinds of Ni-ki’s new dorm room. His suitcase sat half-unzipped by the foot of his bed, boxes stacked in the corner waiting to be unpacked. Compared to Jake and Sunghoon’s sides, which were already cluttered with posters, extra pillows, and clothes, Ni-ki’s area looked like a loading screen—half-formed and hesitating.

Not that he cared. Yesterday had been a blur—meeting his roommates, being dragged across campus for a “better than any tour the school gives” tour, then collapsing in bed with his shoes still on.

But today…

Today, Sunoo was coming over.

Ni-ki wasn’t nervous. Not really.

Okay, maybe a little.

He heard a knock.

Three short taps.

He opened the door, expecting to see the usual—Sunoo in some oversized graphic tee and probably his old denim jorts that had survived way too many summers.

Instead, he blinked.

Then blinked again.

Sunoo was standing there wearing a snug, cropped white shirt, the soft fabric hugging his arms and shoulders, clinging just enough to emphasize the delicate slope of his waist. His light-washed, baggy jeans slung low on his hips, a silver chain belt glinting in the sunlight.

A sliver of skin peeked out, showing more every time he shifted his weight. Just enough to make Ni-ki forget how to say hi.

“Hey,” Sunoo said with a smile, already stepping inside. “You look like you just saw a ghost.”

Ni-ki blinked rapidly. “Uh… no, just—wasn’t expecting you so early.”

“It’s noon.”

“…Right.”

Behind him, Jake’s voice echoed from the kitchen. “Is that your friend? From high school?”

“Yeah, it’s Sunoo.”

“Pretty name for a pretty face,” Jake called out. His hair was messy from sleep, but his grin was bright. “I’m Jake, by the way. Third year. Engineering.”

Sunoo laughed politely. “Nice to meet you, Jake.”

Sunghoon appeared behind him, a protein bar in his hand. “Don’t mind him. He flirts with everyone.”

“Correction,” Jake said, holding up a finger. “I compliment everyone. There’s a difference.”

Sunghoon rolled his eyes and offered a small wave. “Sunghoon. Sports Ed major.”

“Cool,” Sunoo nodded. “I’m a nutrition major, Second year.”

Jake nudged Sunghoon. “You hear that? We’re in the presence of a double threat, smart and pretty.”

“Jake,” Ni-ki muttered under his breath, eyes narrowing.

“What?” Jake whispered back, exaggerated. “I’m just being friendly!”

“Anyway,” Sunoo cut in with a polite chuckle. “Riki and I are just gonna decorate his space. Hope that’s cool.”

“Totally cool,” Jake said. “Wait. Riki?”

“It’s my real name, only Sunoo can use it though.” Riki muttered.

“Yup, I get real name privileges.” Sunoo smirked.

“Aw, come on, why can’t me and Hoon have real name privileges?”

“I’ve known you guys for a day, just give it time.” Ni-ki rolled his eyes with a chuckle.

“How long did it take Sunoo to get this privilege?” Sunghoon questioned.

“Erm… a couple hours after we met.”

Jake and Sunghoon just stood there, arms crossed, eyes wide.

“Anyway! We’re gonna go to his room now, it was nice meeting you guys, see ya!”

Sunoo walked off with Ni-ki silently showing him the way, still dazed.

⸻

Once they were in his room, Sunoo dropped his bag and sat cross-legged on the bare mattress.

“I brought some of your posters from home,” he said, pulling out a rolled tube. “I figured you’d forget them.”

“I didn’t forget,” Ni-ki said, voice lower than usual. “I just… didn’t bring them.”

Sunoo paused, glancing up. “Why not?”

Ni-ki shrugged and opened one of the boxes by his feet, pretending to look for thumbtacks. “Didn’t feel like it.”

Sunoo watched him for a second, like he could see through the deflection, but let it go.

Instead, he moved to unroll one of the posters. “You still like this one, right?”

Ni-ki glanced over and found Sunoo smoothing out the creased edges of an old Shinee poster. “Yeah,” he said, voice catching. “I do.”

They worked quietly for a while—Sunoo sticking up posters and organizing Ni-ki’s desk, Ni-ki pretending to be very focused on untangling a charger cable. But he couldn’t stop stealing glances. Every time Sunoo lifted his arms, the white shirt rose just a little, showing that same stretch of warm, soft skin.

It was driving him insane.

“Hey,” Sunoo said suddenly, not looking at him as he taped up another photo. “You seem kind of out of it.”

Ni-ki cleared his throat. “I’m not.”

“You are. You’ve been staring at the same charger for ten minutes.”

He dropped it with a sigh.

“I guess I’m just not used to seeing you like… this.”

Sunoo turned slowly. “Like what?”

Ni-ki rubbed the back of his neck. “You know. Dressed like that.”

Sunoo glanced down at his outfit and gave a small laugh. “It’s not that different.”

“It is.”

A pause stretched between them.

Sunoo sat down again, tucking one leg under the other. “Well…I guess I just wanted to try something new, I like it.”

Ni-ki’s mouth was dry. “You look good.”

Sunoo’s eyes met his.

“Really good,” Ni-ki added, quieter.

There it was. That moment again. That unbearable closeness. The way the air thinned between them. The way Ni-ki’s heart thudded too loud in his chest and how Sunoo’s gaze lingered just long enough to make it hard to breathe.

Sunoo started walking toward the small side table by the bed, flustered and trying to clear space for whatever Ni-ki chose to put. But then he paused.

There was a frame already there.

Sunoo blinked.

It was a photo. A familiar one.

The picture was from his graduation — taken by his mom, actually. He was standing center frame, holding the bouquet Ni-ki had given him: soft white roses and blue Hydrangeas. He remembered thinking it was the prettiest bouquet he’d ever received. He remembered hugging Ni-ki after and whispering thank you.

Ni-ki stood just beside him, not posing, not even looking at the camera. His eyes were fixed entirely on Sunoo, staring at him like — like he couldn’t imagine anything else existing. Like Sunoo was the most important thing in the world.

Sunoo’s breath caught.

He stared at the frame, heart skipping a beat. Something about it made his chest ache — not in a bad way. In the too much to hold way. The how long has he looked at me like that kind of way.

“You… kept this?” he asked quietly.

Ni-ki didn’t look up at first. “Yeah.”

“When did you even get a print?”

“Your mom sent it to me. Said she thought I’d want a copy.” He shrugged, still not meeting Sunoo’s gaze. “She was right.”

Sunoo turned to him slowly, eyes soft. “You framed it.”

Ni-ki scratched the back of his neck, sheepish. “It was the first thing I put up. Before I unpacked anything else.”

Silence stretched between them — not awkward, but charged. Full. Heavy with all the things left unsaid.

Sunoo looked back at the photo.

That look.
That expression.
It wasn’t just friendship. It wasn’t just fondness. It was everything.

Sunoo’s chest tightened

He looked like he wanted to say something.

So did Ni-ki.

But then he stood up, breaking the moment like snapping a twig.

“I’ll go hang the lights,” he said quickly, pulling away.

Sunoo blinked, stunned. “Ni-ki—”

“It’s fine,” Ni-ki muttered, already reaching for the ladder they’d borrowed.

Because it wasn’t fine.

Because if Sunoo let himself look too long, or feel too much, he’d fall in love harder than he already had.

And that terrified him.

⸻

They worked in silence after that. The kind of silence that buzzed with things left unsaid. When Sunoo finally left a few hours later, Ni-ki walked him to the door, offering a barely-there smile.

“Thanks for the help,” he said.

Sunoo paused at the threshold. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah.”

“You’ve been acting weird.”

“I’m fine, Sunoo.”

Sunoo didn’t believe him, but he nodded anyway. “Okay.”

And then he left.

Ni-ki closed the door behind him and leaned his forehead against it. His hands were shaking.

⸻

Later that night, Jake returned from his run and threw himself onto the couch. “Your friend is cool.”

“Sunoo?” Ni-ki asked.

“Yeah. He’s funny. Also… wow.” Jake made a face, flapping his hand in a mock fan motion.

Sunghoon chuckled from the fridge. “He’s got good taste, though. That outfit today? Killer.”

“Right?” Jake added. “Dude, you didn’t tell us he was that pretty.”

Ni-ki didn’t answer.

Jake noticed. “Hey. You good?”

“I’m tired,” Ni-ki said, disappearing into his room.

⸻

He laid down on his half-made bed and stared at the ceiling, heart pounding.

Sunoo looked so happy. So confident. He’d changed, and Ni-ki had watched it happen from afar, thinking he could keep up. Thinking that maybe he had a chance.

But now?

Now he wasn’t so sure.

Because Sunoo was growing into someone beautiful, bold, and bright—and Ni-ki was still trying to figure himself out. Still afraid to say what he felt.

Still afraid that if he let himself fall all the way in, Sunoo wouldn’t catch him.

So he chose silence.

Even when his heart screamed otherwise.

⸻

It started quietly, like all dangerous things do. Just two best friends, walking across campus side by side, laughing about professors, dumb classmates, and overly aggressive squirrels that tried to steal food from students in the quad. Just Ni-ki and Sunoo — no labels, no confessions, no pressure.

But that was the problem, wasn’t it?

Because somewhere between the way Sunoo would shove the last bite of his sandwich into Ni-ki’s mouth with a triumphant grin, and the way he’d press his shoulder into Ni-ki’s while giggling at his own joke, things had started to change.

Ni-ki was falling in love. And it terrified him.

⸻

Their routine fell into place naturally after the move-in chaos. Every morning, Ni-ki would find Sunoo waiting just outside his dorm building — sometimes balancing a two iced coffees.

They’d walk to class together — or more accurately, Ni-ki would walk Sunoo to class and then sprint to his own. And if they had the same starting time, Sunoo would insist on walking him, even if that meant dragging Ni-ki by the wrist while talking his ear off the whole way.

“You know, I was thinking,” Sunoo would start mid-rant, his hair bouncing with each step, “we should start doing skincare nights again. Or maybe movie nights. I feel like I haven’t annoyed you nearly enough this month.”

“You literally texted me twenty times during one lecture,” Ni-ki muttered.

“And none of them were boring. You laughed. Admit it.”

“I didn’t laugh. I—smiled,” Ni-ki would argue, but Sunoo would already be grinning like he’d won.

And maybe he had.

⸻

Lunch was always in the quad. Just them, a shared blanket, mismatched takeout containers, and Sunoo’s voice filling up the space around them like music.

“Jungwon’s already acting like a little lawyer again,” he said one afternoon, picking the tomato slices out of his sandwich. “He tried to make a Google Sheet for our dorm chores. It lasted two hours.”

Ni-ki hummed, leaning back on his hands and watching the clouds. He wasn’t much of a talker during lunch. He just liked listening. To Sunoo. To the way his voice softened when he talked about things he cared about. To the sound of him existing right next to Ni-ki like it was nothing.

It wasn’t nothing. Not to Ni-ki.

“Earth to Riki,” Sunoo waved a tomato slice in his face.

Ni-ki blinked, flinching when the red pulp dropped onto his shirt.

“Ah seriously?” Sunoo cackled. “That was an accident but also kind of funny.”

Ni-ki stared at him. “You’re the most annoying person I’ve ever met.”

Sunoo winked. “And you still hang out with me. What does that say about you?”

⸻

It should’ve been easier.

They weren’t fighting. They weren’t drifting. They were closer than ever. But Ni-ki was barely holding himself together.

He didn’t want to love anyone. He wasn’t built for love, yet. Not the kind that made your stomach flip or your chest ache when they weren’t around. He didn’t want someone who could ruin him.

But then came Sunoo. Who loved so easily and so deeply it made Ni-ki feel like he could breathe underwater. Who could see through him like glass, and still choose to stay.

And that terrified Ni-ki more than anything else.

Because Ni-ki knew — Sunoo didn’t even realize how much power he had over him.

⸻

One Friday evening, their weekly hangout ended late.

It was just them under a tree, the sky purpling into night. Sunoo had kicked off his shoes and laid down, head resting against Ni-ki’s shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Ni-ki hadn’t moved.

He sat there, legs stretched out, eyes fixed on the stars while Sunoo talked about nothing in particular. It should’ve been just another moment. Another piece of their routine.

But something cracked open inside Ni-ki.

Sunoo turned slightly, cheek pressing against Ni-ki, his hand brushing lazily against Ni-ki’s arm. “You’re quiet today,” he murmured. “You okay?”

Ni-ki swallowed hard. He wanted to say yes. Wanted to say no. Wanted to scream that he was in love with him, but he didn’t.

Instead, he just said, “Yeah. Just tired.”

Sunoo smiled up at him, half-lidded eyes glowing under the stars. “Want me to sing to you?”

Ni-ki laughed, choked and soft. “You’re not that good.”

Sunoo gasped, sitting up to smack his arm. “You liar! I carried our karaoke night.”

“You cried singing Troye Sivan,” Ni-ki deadpanned.

“I was feeling it,” Sunoo snapped, shoving his shoulder. “You’re heartless.”

Ni-ki grinned, but it faded fast. He looked at Sunoo, really looked — soft lashes, faint pink lip balm, the way his shirt slipped off his shoulder like it belonged there.

God, he was so beautiful it hurt.

Ni-ki looked away.

⸻

That night, Ni-ki laid in his dorm bed, staring at the ceiling. He couldn’t sleep.

Sunoo was in every thought. Every corner of his mind. Every breath inhaled that didn’t feel full enough unless it was next to him.

He remembered the way Sunoo said his name. Like it mattered. Like he mattered.

He remembered the way Sunoo curled into his side when they watched movies. The way he stole his hoodie even though it was twice his size. The way he told Ni-ki he felt safe with him.

And Ni-ki hated that.

Not Sunoo — he could never hate Sunoo. He hated how much he needed him.

Because no one had ever cared for him like this. No one had made him laugh when he didn’t even feel like smiling.

Sunoo had become everything. His comfort. His calm. His safe space.

And now… Ni-ki was afraid of what that meant.

⸻

The days went on.

Sunoo kept showing up. Kept sitting close. Kept looking at him like he hung the damn moon.

And Ni-ki kept pretending he didn’t feel the same.

He teased. He smiled. He let his fingers brush against Sunoo’s under the table. But he never said the words.

Because once you say them, you can’t take them back. And what if Sunoo didn’t mean it the same way? What if he changed his mind? What if he realized Ni-ki wasn’t enough?

What if he left?

Ni-ki couldn’t handle that.

⸻

“You’re being weird,” Sunoo said one afternoon, mid-lunch.

“I’m literally eating,” Ni-ki replied, halfway through his rice bowl.

“You didn’t yell at me when I stole your spring roll.”

“I’m maturing,” he said flatly.

Sunoo squinted. “Or you’re distracted.”

“I’m thinking.”

“About what?”

Ni-ki looked at him then. Really looked. At his playful smirk. The way his hand curled around his juice box. The tiny gold earring on his ear. The faint scar on his chin from when he fell in junior year and swore he’d never ride a skateboard again.

And he wanted to say you. I’m thinking about you.

Instead he just said, “Homework.”

Sunoo didn’t believe him. Ni-ki could tell. But he let it go.

For now.

⸻

That night, Sunoo texted him.

sun:
if u fall asleep before replying i’ll kill u <3

Riki 🖤:
Is that a threat?

sun:
it’s a promise. ☺️

Riki 🖤:
what do you want

sun:
i miss u lol

Riki 🖤:
we were together like four hours ago

sun:
yeah but i miss u now
you okay lately?

Riki 🖤:
yeah. just tired

sun:
tired of me?

Riki 🖤:
never

There was a long pause. Then a new message.

sun:
you know you can tell me anything right?

Ni-ki stared at the message for a long time.

Anything.

Everything.

Everything he couldn’t say.

Riki 🖤:
yeah. i know.

⸻

It was the late afternoon, golden light filtering through the dorm window. Sunoo is sprawled across Ni-ki’s bed, flipping through a magazine while Ni-ki pretends to organize his books.

Ni-ki couldn’t focus.

He hadn’t been able to for weeks now, if he was honest with himself — but now, with Sunoo lying there like he belonged in every soft space Ni-ki ever called his own, he felt dizzy with it. He kept glancing over his shoulder, catching glimpses of soft skin where Sunoo’s shirt had ridden up, the lazy rise and fall of his chest, the way the sunlight lit up the faint gold in his eyes.

He looked better every day, Ni-ki swore it.

Like the universe had some kind of grudge against his heart, constantly making Sunoo more breathtaking just to mess with him. It was starting to feel cruel. The way he talked with his hands, the way he leaned close without thinking, the way he laughed too hard at Ni-ki’s jokes like he didn’t even realize he was the reason they were funny in the first place.

Ni-ki sat down at his desk chair, back to the bed, gripping the edge of it to stop himself from turning around again.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

It was supposed to be comfortable. It was supposed to be the same Sunoo from high school, the same one who made fun of his haircut and ate his snacks without asking. But something had changed. No—everything had changed.

And the worst part was, Sunoo had no idea. How his smile made Ni-ki’s stomach ache. How he looked like a dream Ni-ki couldn’t wake up from. How sometimes, Ni-ki would catch him singing under his breath and feel like his chest was caving in.

“I feel like your room’s finally looking like you,” Sunoo said suddenly, his voice soft and familiar. Ni-ki turned around and found him on his side, cheek pressed against his arm, eyes lazy from comfort.

“I don’t know what that means,” Ni-ki said, but his voice was lower than he meant it to be.

Sunoo smiled. “It means it’s cool. And warm. Kind of contradictory. Like you.”

Ni-ki swallowed, hard. He didn’t know what to say to that.

He stood up too fast. “I’m gonna get us something to drink. You want something cold?”

Sunoo nodded, stretching out like a cat. Ni-ki had to look away again.

In the hallway, Ni-ki leaned back against the wall, eyes closed, heart racing.

He was in trouble.

Sunoo was everything. Too soft. Too radiant. Too effortless.

He was always worried someone else would notice it, too. Someone who could handle love better. Someone who wasn’t still learning how to hold things without crushing them. Sunoo deserved that. Deserved someone who could look him in the eye and say I love you without shaking.

But Ni-ki could barely say it to himself.

Star-struck didn’t even begin to cover it.

Sunoo had become the center of everything without even meaning to. A constant hum beneath Ni-ki’s skin. And it scared him more than anything ever had—how far they’d already come, how deep he’d fallen without realizing.

⸻

Ni-ki came back from the kitchen holding two cold cans of soda, but the moment he stepped into the doorway, he stopped.

Sunoo was sitting up now.

His legs folded under him, shoulders relaxed, back against Ni-ki’s headboard like it was made for him. The light blue shirt clung to his skin, almost sheer in the warm lighting, and rode up slightly when he reached to scratch his side — just enough to show the soft dip of his waist, the bare line of skin above his jeans.

And Ni-ki?
Ni-ki just stared.

He’d seen Sunoo in a thousand ways. Sunoo in oversized sweaters. Sunoo in jorts, in slippers, in face masks with headbands with bunny ears. Sunoo in moods — annoyed, teasing, angry, loving. But now…

Now he was beautiful in a way that hurt.

Not in the way strangers were. Not in the way models looked perfect in passing. But in that gut-punch kind of way, the kind that made you forget how breathing worked, the kind that made you want to memorize someone just in case they slipped through your fingers.

Sunoo glanced up at him through his lashes. His hair was slightly wrinkled from the bed, his lips pink, and his shirt collar stretched a little too wide from lounging.

Ni-ki looked at him and thought:

You look better than anyone else I’ve ever seen.

Better than every idol on stage, better than every pretty face on his feed, better than anyone he’d ever noticed in a fleeting way.

And worse, better than anyone he’d ever imagined touching.

He hadn’t done anything yet — nothing beyond the innocent rushes of youth, fumbling with the idea of desire in a distant way. But this? This was different.

Sunoo was real.
And he was close.
And Ni-ki wanted him.

He wanted to lean down, press his face to Sunoo’s neck, breathe him in. He wanted to slide his fingers beneath that blue cotton and feel how warm his skin was underneath. He wanted to know what it would feel like to be that close — not just physically, but emotionally raw. Vulnerable. Bare.

He wanted to kiss Sunoo slowly, thoroughly, like he’d never kissed anyone before — because he hadn’t. Not like that. Not with meaning. Not with trembling hands and a soul screaming please be mine.

He placed the drinks on the desk quietly, trying to shake the thoughts loose.

Sunoo smiled up at him. “You okay?”

Ni-ki swallowed, throat tight. “Yeah. Just thinking.”

Sunoo tilted his head. “Dangerous.”

Ni-ki laughed, but it was quiet, breathy. “You always say that.”

“It’s because it’s true.”

It is.
Thinking too hard about Sunoo was dangerous.

Because lately, Ni-ki had found himself imagining things he hadn’t let himself think in a while. Like waking up next to him, Sunoo messy-haired and still warm from sleep. Just… real. And still the most stunning thing Ni-ki had ever seen.

Sunoo, blinking up at him with a sleepy smile and a raspy voice. Sunoo in the early morning light, bare-faced and his.

God, Ni-ki would be ruined.

He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly too warm. “You always wear that kind of shirt now?”

Sunoo raised a brow. “Is that your way of saying you like it?”

“No,” Ni-ki said too fast, then paused. “I mean… I do. Yeah. You look…”

His voice dropped before he could stop it.
“…Really good.”

Sunoo blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity.

Something passed between them — something that hung heavy in the air. Charged. Fragile. Full of all the things they hadn’t dared name yet.

Sunoo didn’t tease. Didn’t laugh. He just looked at Ni-ki with wide, unreadable eyes, and that look — that one look — had Ni-ki’s pulse racing.

It was all too much.

The sharp lines of Sunoo’s collarbones. The faint stretch of his waistband. The heat in his gaze. The way he sat there like Ni-ki was allowed to look at him, like he wanted him to.

And Ni-ki…
Ni-ki was so worried.

Because he didn’t know what this meant. Didn’t know how to do this — this slow unraveling of fear and want and everything in between. He hadn’t expected it to go this far.

But it had.

And it was only the start.

⸻

The weeks continued like that. Sweet. Dangerous. Close but not close enough.

Ni-ki kept loving Sunoo quietly. In walks to class. In stolen glances. In the way he caught himself memorizing every laugh, every sigh, every color that shined in Sunoo’s eyes.

But he said nothing.

Because falling in love was easy. It was being loved back that felt impossible.

And he couldn’t lose Sunoo. Not over something as selfish as a feeling.

So Ni-ki stayed silent. And Sunoo, for now, stayed his.

Even if he never knew just how much of Ni-ki he already owned.

But love wasn’t supposed to feel like this—like pressure sitting on his chest instead of warmth.

Ni-ki didn’t know how to explain that it wasn’t Sunoo he was afraid of, but himself.

That he didn’t want to hand over his heart when he wasn’t even sure how to hold it steady on his own. And deep down, a part of him wondered if he was even capable of being loved right when he hadn’t learned how to love himself yet.

He couldn’t fall in love.
Not yet.
Not like this.

Chapter Text

⸻

[6:23 PM]
wonnie:
where are u rn

sunnie:
music building, room 201

wonnie:
I’m coming over with snacks !

sunnie:
this is why i love u 🫶

Jungwon shook his head fondly and picked up the pace, the bag of snacks in his other hand swaying with each step. The music building was quiet this time of day, most students were either in late lectures or already heading off campus. He pushed open the heavy door, the faint hum of a piano barely audible from the second floor.

Room 201.

Jungwon stopped outside of it, peeking through the small glass pane on the door. Inside, the sunlight pooled on the polished floor and highlighted the dark piano, where Sunoo sat hunched slightly, fingers hovering above the keys before pulling away again.

The sound of frustration, not loud, not angry, just…tired echoed as Sunoo exhaled and rested his chin in his hand.

Jungwon slipped in without knocking.

Sunoo glanced up. His eyes looked a little puffy, but not red. Just tired. Jungwon held out the snacks.

“I brought backup.”

Sunoo took it with a grateful hum and a soft smile. “Thanks, Wonnie.”

Jungwon leaned against the side of the piano. “What are you doing here? Pretty sure you you’re not allowed in here,” he teased lightly.

Sunoo shot him a look over the bag if chips. “I took a piano class as an elective, remember? My Professor said I could use the room if it was open.”

“Ah.” Jungwon nodded. “Right. Still feels illegal.”

Sunoo gave a small, dry laugh and tapped a few keys, hesitant, like he was scared of how they’d sound. “I’m working on something.”

“A song?”

“Mhm.” He nodded once, then glanced up at Jungwon. “For Riki.”

Jungwon blinked. “…Seriously?”

Sunoo nodded again, slower this time. “Yeah. I mean, I’ve had the idea for a while. Ever since we met, actually.”

Jungwon raised an eyebrow and quietly took the chair beside him.

Sunoo looked down at the keys, fingers absently gliding over ivory and black. “It’s kind of dumb.”

“It’s definitely not dumb if you’re in here at 6PM on a Tuesday instead of harassing me and Jay at the cafe.”

Sunoo let out a laugh, real this time and shook his head. “Okay, fine. Not dumb. But…a little dramatic.”

“I’m listening.”

There was a silence. Not uncomfortable, just filled with Sunoo’s breath as he gathered the words.

“When I first met Riki, it was my junior year. I was so… unsure of everything. Everyone was telling me who I should be. I felt like I hadn’t done anything for myself. Not really. I told him that.” He smiled faintly. “He told me that wanting to do it was enough, that caring was enough. So it was…the piano.” His fingers pressed a chord that sounded dull and flat, and he quickly lifted them. “I told that once I finally got good at it, I’d play something for him. Compose something.”

Jungwon swallowed. “And now?”

Sunoo heated. “Now it just feels stupid.”

Jungwon frowned. “Why?”

”Nothing I write sounds like him. Nothing feels right. I sit here for hours and it’s like the keys have something against me.”

He glanced over at the half-written score again and let out a frustrated breath. “It’s like every version of Riki I try to write ends up sounding… wrong. He’s not just dramatic, or soft, or loud, or gentle. He’s all of it. And I can’t capture that.”

Jungwon moved towards the bench. “I don’t think music is supposed to capture everything,” he said gently. “Just a moment. A piece.”

Sunoo shook his head. “I don’t even have that.”

Jungwon studied him for a moment. The way Sunoo’s shoulders curved inward, like he was trying to disappear into the piano. The way his fingers trembled just a little, hovering over the keys.

“Hey, um are you still planning on confessing?” Jungwon asked, voice lower now.

Sunoo nodded, but slowly and uncertain. “Maybe. Not soon. Things are… tense. Weird. I don’t want to push him.”

He shrugged, eating a chip, eyes a little distant. “Things have been… strange between us since move-in day. Not bad. Just… off. I don’t want to pressure him. He’s been quieter. And I know he’s going through something even if he won’t say it.”

“Do you think it’s because of what happened last time y’all slept over ?”

A long pause.

Sunoo closed his eyes. “Yeah. I think he understood what I was saying—or at least, I thought he did. But I’ve been thinking a lot, and I don’t think I understood what he was feeling. I just wanted him to know I… I see him. That I always have.”

Jungwon waited.

“But now?” Sunoo continued. “It’s like we’re walking next to each other but not…with each other. There’s distance, even when we’re close. And it’s not his fault. He’s not doing anything wrong. I think he’s just… overwhelmed. With everything.”

Jungwon didn’t say anything—just nodded, like he understood in a way that didn’t need explaining.

Sunoo leaned forward, pressing a few tentative notes again. They sounded hollow, thin. Not like Ni-ki at all.

“He makes me feel like I’m not too much,” Sunoo said quietly. “That I don’t have to tone down who I am. And now I want to make something that makes him feel that way too. But nothing I play comes close.”

There was a long stretch of quiet between them.

Jungwon finally spoke. “Maybe you’re trying too hard to compose Ni-ki the person,” he said. “But what about Ni-ki the feeling?”

Sunoo’s brow furrowed.

“Like… don’t write who he is. Write how he makes you feel. Like you always tell me, the way he makes you laugh when you’re down. The way he always acts like he doesn’t care but gets secretly flustered when you wear his hoodie. The way he makes your eyes gleam when you talk about him.”

Sunoo was still.

Jungwon gave a small shrug. “I think music’s about that. Not accuracy. Emotion.”

Sunoo blinked once, slowly, like the idea was sinking into him in pieces.

Then he turned back to the piano.

He played a few tentative notes, different ones this time. Softer, unsure, but warmer somehow. Still scattered. Still searching. But there was something gentler in his touch. Like he wasn’t trying to chase perfection anymore.

It wasn’t a song yet. Barely even a three chords. But something flickered beneath it. A beginning.

Jungwon didn’t speak again. He just sat there, eating snacks, while Sunoo closed his eyes and played the same few chords over and over. Slower. More thoughtful. Trying to find the rhythm of Riki’s quiet presence.

The music building stayed quiet.

And even though the notes were raw and unfinished, Sunoo stayed. Because for the first time in days, the keys were a part of him.

⸻

College isn’t bad, really.

Ni-ki knows it could be worse—he’s seen burnout in his classmates, watched friends struggle in courses they hate, or juggle part-time jobs with sleepless nights and impossibly complicated majors. Compared to that, his life is manageable. Good, even. He’s doing well in his classes, especially in his dance. Majoring in dance is everything he’d hoped for: structure, freedom, chaos, clarity. He’s lucky. He knows that.

And still, everything feels heavier than it used to.

He wakes up tired, even after a full night’s rest. He drags himself through his morning routine, brushes his teeth while his limbs ache like he danced for hours the night before even when he didn’t. The pressure behind his eyes doesn’t come from tears—it comes from the weight he carries.

He remembers telling Sunoo about it once, when they were still in high school. The first night they slept over, they were on the swings, coming back from the convenience store.

That was the first time he said it out loud—that something felt wrong. That there was a heaviness he didn’t understand, not sadness exactly, but something just as suffocating. He remembered looking at Sunoo, eyes full of light, and thinking: I can’t bring this to him. Don’t weigh him down.

Even back then, he had loved him. Even if he hadn’t known it then.

And now, years later, that same weight is stronger. Meaner. It creeps into the quietest parts of the day—when he’s walking between classes, when he’s tying his shoes, when he’s sitting in the back of lecture halls trying to focus but only hearing static. It’s not a cinematic kind of sadness. There’s no dramatics, no breaking down. He’s just…tired. A bone deep exhaustion that no one else seems to notice.

Dance helps sometimes. When he’s moving, it’s easier to shut out the rest. Muscle memory kicks in, precision takes over, and his thoughts grow quiet. But even then, he catches himself in the mirror. Wondering when he started looking so distant. So tired.

After class, he doesn’t go out like the others. He heads straight back to his dorm.

And that’s where the silence waits for him.

It’s strange, how he craves the quiet now. The stillness. The pause between the noise.

And maybe the strangest part is that he doesn’t hate it.

Being around people, even the people he loves—feels like wearing clothes three sizes too small. He feels their eyes on him, their questions, their concern. Every well meaning gesture brushes against something raw inside him. Something he doesn’t know how to explain.

He doesn’t want to be alone.

But he doesn’t want to be with people either.

It’s the worst kind of in-between.

⸻

Sunoo had texted him one morning, offering to go out.

sun:
wanna hang out today? I haven’t seen you this week. :(

Riki 🖤:
sorry can’t today, studying for a test tmrw. maybe after class tmrw? :)

sun:
okay sure! good luck on the test!

He didn’t have a test.

He didn’t lie because he didn’t want to see Sunoo—but because he wanted too much.

He still thinks about what Sunoo said, that day before move-in. He said it like it was the most natural thing in the world, that he cared for him. It wasn’t some grand confession, but it meant something.

And Ni-ki hadn’t said anything back.

He didn’t know what to say.

He didn’t understand it or maybe he did and that’s what scared him.

Because love is too big of a word for someone who doesn’t feel whole. Who’s not sure where he stands on anything, who’s still figuring out what it means to want someone, not just in theory, not just in physical closeness, but that aching, all-consuming way that Sunoo seemed to understand already.

Sunoo, who is a year older. Who glows with purpose. Who is trying so hard—for school, for his friends, for Ni-ki. And Ni-ki feels like he’s stuck. Like everyone else is running and he’s barely managing to walk.

He didn’t know how to explain that it wasn’t Sunoo’s fault. That it had never been Sunoo’s fault. That his love for Sunoo wasn’t the problem—it was how much it scared him.

Because how do you explain to someone that you love them so much it makes your chest ache, that it makes you want to run from yourself?

He still sees Sunoo. They still hang out. They still sit shoulder to shoulder wherever they are, legs pressed together, pretending nothing’s changed. Sunoo still makes fun of his music taste and threatens to throw out his week-old socks when he visits his dorm. He still braids little pieces of Ni-ki’s hair when they’re studying on the floor together. And it all feels the same—but also not. There’s a tension that Sunoo is too polite to call out, and Ni-ki is too cowardly to confront.

He doesn’t want to lose him. But he doesn’t know how to have him either.

⸻

Ni-ki’s roommates have become his saving grace, in a way. Jake and Sunghoon are both older—more grounded, more chaotic in very different ways, but steady. They treat him like their little brother. Jake cooks late-night ramen for all of them when they’re stressed, dragging Ni-ki out of his head with dumb jokes and too many questions about his day. Sunghoon doesn’t ask too many questions, but he notices things. He doesn’t pry, just throws a hoodie at Ni-ki and tells him to come to the gym with him when things get too loud.

Heeseung, Jake’s boyfriend, had been coming around more lately, and Ni-ki doesn’t mind. Heeseung is soft-spoken but magnetic, with eyes that see too much but never judge.

When Jake had introduced them properly one night—“Ni-ki, this is Heeseung, my boyfriend, he’s a fourth-year in Music Performance.” Ni-ki had felt something shift in his chest. Not jealousy, not quite. Just…longing.

He had watched the way Jake and Heeseung stood close to each other, not shy about it. Heeseung’s hand settled on Jake’s back like it belonged there. Jake had leaned into it like it was second nature. And Ni-ki had smiled and nodded and made polite conversation—because that’s what he was supposed to do—but later, when he was alone in his room, he stared at the ceiling and thought;

They’re not afraid.

And the truth was… he was. Afraid of how loud his love for Sunoo was. Afraid of being seen for all of it. Afraid of what it would mean to say it out loud. To want another boy and admit it without flinching. Afraid of being known and held and loved in return, and having to live up to that.

He doesn’t even know exactly what he’s afraid of. Just that it presses on his chest like a hand he can’t remove.

⸻

Most days, college moves too fast. Assignments pile up. Practice hours stretch long. He’s still good at what he does, professors praise his technique, his energy, his adaptability. But it all feels like he’s watching himself from a distance, a version of Ni-ki that people expect. The bright one. The talented one. The one who always has it together.

It’s not an act, not really. It’s just a version of him he knows how to perform.

And performing is exhausting.

Some days, he doesn’t talk much. He lets Jake fill the silence, nods when Sunghoon grumbles about early morning classes, laughs at the right moments. He’s not pretending to be okay—he’s just trying not to make anyone worry. Because how do you explain to people who care for you that you feel like you’re unraveling for no reason?

The world isn’t cruel. His friends aren’t cruel. But the noise of everything is deafening.

He started turning his phone on silent during the day, telling himself it helps him focus. But the truth is, it’s easier not to see the messages piling up. Sunoo still texts. Sometimes it’s just a meme. Sometimes a “look at this duck it looks like you.” Sometimes it’s “missed you today.” Other times it’s “call me later?”

Ni-ki does call. But his replies get shorter. His smiles dimmer. He doesn’t know how to be around Sunoo without wanting to fall in love all over again—and that ache is becoming unbearable.

But he’s not pulling away yet. Not really. Not yet.

He still wants to be close. He still wants to hear Sunoo talk about his classes. He still wants to sit beside him and forget the noise in his head. He just…doesn’t know how much longer he can pretend he isn’t drowning.

He tells himself it’s just a phase. That it’ll pass. That he’ll wake up one day and feel lighter again.

But until then, he curls into himself at night, lets the silence wrap around him like a blanket, and thinks about Sunoo again. Thinks about that night in his room. Thinks about what he would say now, if he could go back.

“It’s not that I don’t love you,” he would say. “It’s that I love you too much to let this heaviness touch you.”

But he knows that’s not fair.

Sunoo would take it. All of it. Sunoo would hold his weight like it was nothing. Sunoo would stay.

But Ni-ki still isn’t ready.
He hopes one day he will be.
But that day won’t come soon.

⸻

Ni-ki doesn’t notice how long they’ve been walking until his shoulder bumps into Sunoo’s.

It’s an accident, soft and barely-there, like so many of the things Sunoo does, his laugh when he’s amused but pretending not to be, the way he walks with his arms slightly swaying, the way he hums under his breath the same melody playing in his head. It’s a kind of presence that doesn’t demand to be noticed, only felt.

And Ni-ki always feels it. That’s the problem.

They meet like this every Friday. Just them. No noise, no group, no questions. It’s a tradition they never discussed, just slipped into. A shared rhythm in the chaos of college, a pause Ni-ki looks forward to even when everything else feels like static.

Tonight the city’s quieter than usual. Summer’s winding down, the air just starting to shift, that liminal warmth, like the weather can’t decide what to do. They’re walking toward nowhere, shoes brushing against the sidewalk, and Ni-ki’s hands are in his pockets, because it feels safer that way. His mind is elsewhere. His mind is always elsewhere.

But Sunoo’s here.

“Riki,” Sunoo says, tugging his sleeve suddenly. “Look, they’re selling tteokbokki.”

He’s pointing at a street cart a few feet away, the kind they used to visit in high school. The warm glow of the vendor’s overhead light spills across the pavement, and there’s something nostalgic about it. Something easy.

Ni-ki barely hears what Sunoo says. All he really notices is the way Sunoo’s hand wraps around his wrist, gently, casually, like it’s second nature. Like he doesn’t even think about it anymore.

And in that split second, Ni-ki thinks:

“I can’t do this anymore.”

The thought arrives without warning. It doesn’t knock first. It just roots itself in his stomach and settles there, heavy and sickening.

He blinks. Sunoo’s still tugging him forward, eyes lit by the warm light of the cart, cheeks pink from the evening chill. He’s smiling, not a big one, just the small, soft kind that lives in the corners of his face. The one he saves for when he’s truly content.

And Ni-ki can’t breathe.

He could grow with him.

He could love him fully, openly. The feelings are all there—constant, overflowing, terrifying. He loves the way Sunoo thinks out loud, the way he always brings a second drink just in case Ni-ki forgot his. He loves how Sunoo makes everything feel lighter, not smaller, not insignificant—just light. Like maybe the world isn’t something you have to drag yourself through. Maybe it’s something you get to walk alongside.

But lately, Ni-ki’s been dragging.

It doesn’t feel like he’s living. It feels like maintaining.

And with Sunoo, that maintenance turns into something else entirely.

Because Sunoo doesn’t ask for anything. He doesn’t push. He doesn’t demand. He just waits.

Like he’s always waited.

And that makes it worse.

Ni-ki doesn’t know how to carry that kind of trust. That kind of quiet faith. It’s too warm. Too steady. Too much.

The worst part? He wants to be the person Sunoo sees when he looks at him. But sometimes, Ni-ki feels like he’s still the same fifteen-year-old sitting on a swing set, telling Sunoo that it felt like he was carrying something heavy inside his chest. Something he didn’t have words for.

Back then, it was just a weight. Undefined. Manageable.

Now?

Now, it’s everywhere. It echoes even in silence. He thought college would be a fresh start, a clean break from the murky parts of himself he didn’t understand. But instead, it’s like everything’s gotten louder. Bigger. Heavier.

They reach the cart and Sunoo is already chatting with the vendor, pointing at the tteokbokki with his usual charm. Ni-ki hangs back, hands still buried in his jacket pockets, watching the way Sunoo moves. He’s so alive—so full of color.

And Ni-ki feels like grayscale in comparison.

He tries not to spiral. But his thoughts are like threads caught in a storm drain. He keeps tugging and they keep getting tangled.

The memory of last week rises without warning—the one where Jake had introduced his boyfriend to the group.

Jake had looked so proud when he said, “This is Heeseung. My boyfriend.”

And Ni-ki remembers how simple it had sounded. No shame. No hesitation. Just truth, spoken aloud like it didn’t need to be earned or apologized for.

Ni-ki had smiled politely. Had shaken Heeseung’s hand. Had laughed at Jake’s jokes like nothing was wrong.

But later that night, in the quiet of their dorm, he’d sat on his bed and stared at the ceiling for over an hour, wondering what it must feel like—to know who you are. To speak it like it’s second nature. To not feel like a question mark in your own skin.

He’s not sure what scares him more: the idea of being seen, or the idea that someone like Sunoo already sees him.

Sunoo passes him a cup with a grin.
The tteokbokki is warm in his hands.

“Eat it before it gets cold.”

Ni-ki nods. “Thanks.”

They don’t talk much after that. Just eat in comfortable silence, sitting on the edge of a low stone wall by a tree. The street is quieter here. The vendor’s light fades behind them, and the city hums like a lullaby.

Ni-ki finishes his portion slowly. Each bite sits in his stomach like something he doesn’t know how to digest.

Sunoo kicks his feet lightly, looking out at the passing cars.

“You’re quiet tonight.”

Ni-ki’s heart skips. But Sunoo’s voice isn’t accusing. It’s just observant. As always.

“Just tired,” he says.

And that, at least, isn’t a lie.

Sunoo hums. “It’s okay. I like the quiet.”

Of course he does.

Because Sunoo never asks Ni-ki to be anything other than what he is.

And Ni-ki wants to cry because of it.

Instead, he nods. Smiles faintly. And when Sunoo leans his head against his shoulder, he lets him.

Because even if the weight is unbearable, this is still the best part of his week. Even if he knows—somewhere deep down—that he can’t keep doing this.

He can’t keep accepting love like it’s a debt he doesn’t know how to repay. Can’t keep standing still while Sunoo keeps choosing him, again and again, with quiet hands and unwavering belief.

Because what Sunoo doesn’t realize is that Ni-ki isn’t choosing him back.

He’s surviving near him. He’s trying, yes. But trying isn’t enough when someone gives you their heart.

And suddenly, that realization hits him like a shove to the chest.

Not in a brave, cinematic way. Not with clarity or peace.

Just in that raw, gut-wrenching kind of way that makes your breath catch and your hands shake.

He looks down at his empty cup.

And then at Sunoo’s fingers, still brushing his arm absentmindedly.

He knows what he has to do.

Not tonight. Not even this week. But soon.

Because if he really loves Sunoo, he can’t keep dragging him through this fog.

He can’t keep letting himself be the weight.

So he makes a quiet decision.

No words. No declaration.

Just a promise to himself.

He’ll start pulling away. Gently. Slowly. In the kindest way he knows how.

Because this kind of love—the kind Sunoo gives—deserves more than a half-version of someone who’s still trying to become whole.

And maybe someday, when the weight lifts, when the noise dulls, he’ll find his way back.

But for now—

For now, he just leans his head against Sunoo’s for a moment longer, closes his eyes, and memorizes the feeling.

Because letting go, he realizes, starts in moments like this.

Moments that are too soft to last.

⸻

Chapter Text

⸻

Sunoo wakes before his alarm, like he always does. The early morning light hasn’t even reached his curtains yet, but he lies there for a few seconds, listening to the low hum of the dorm’s air conditioning. It’s quiet, the kind of quiet that feels like the world hasn’t started yet. He likes it that way, before there’s any extra noise, before anything can happen.

His hand automatically moves to find his phone on the nightstand. No new messages. No missed calls. He scrolls briefly through notifications, checking the familiar apps, even though he knows he checked them last night before bed. Nothing urgent. His chest feels a little lighter knowing that.

He pushes the blanket off of him, the cool air brushing against his skin. The floor feels the same as it always does under his feet, solid and familiar. He takes a moment to stretch, then heads to the bathroom.

The shower is cold enough to wake him up. His hands move knowingly, shampoo first, rinse, conditioner second, then body wash in the same order of arms, chest, legs.

He brushes his teeth watching himself in the reflection of the mirror, not staring, exactly, but making sure his hair is falling the right way, that there’s no toothpaste clinging to the corner of his mouth. He likes to look like he has it together, even if he’s not sure he does.

Skincare comes next. Each step is familiar; cleanser, toner, serum, moisturizer, sunscreen. His hands move quickly, almost muscle memory, the quiet slap of cream against his cheeks echoing in the small bathroom. There’s something grounding about it, small, physical actions that don’t leave room for wandering thoughts. He thinks about putting on makeup. He’s been wanting to try it for a couple weeks now, each moment never feeling right. Today won’t be the day, maybe tomorrow. He reminds himself not to be too hasty, take new things slow. 

Back in his room, he picks out the clothes he’d already thought about last night. Nothing too loud. Something that feels safe. The sweater’s texture is soft enough that he knows he won’t fidget with it during class. He pulls it over his head, smoothing it down, then grabs his bag from the chair.

Breakfast is always the same, yogurt and a banana. It’s not that he doesn’t like variety, but new things first thing in the morning make him uneasy. He likes knowing exactly what to expect, how it will taste, how long it will take to finish. While he eats, he scrolls aimlessly on his phone again, barely processing what he’s reading, just letting the minutes pass in their usual order.

When the yogurt cup is empty, he rinses it and sets it in the recycling bin. His banana peel goes into the trash. Backpack straps over his shoulders, water bottle in the side pocket. Phone, keys, wallet—check, check, check.

He opens the door and steps into the hallway. The air outside his dorm feels a little warmer, the hum of other students slowly waking up drifting through the building. Sunoo lets out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. The morning has gone exactly the way it always does. And that means he’s ready or at least as ready as he ever will be for whatever comes next.

Sunoo walks to his first lecture. At 8:30 AM lecture that he definitely regrets signing up for now. He should’ve listened to those tiktoks saying not to sign up for morning classes. But he enjoyed the morning, the breeze, the feeling of waking up early and having his life together. 

Sunoo had liked this class.

Not loved, it wasn’t something that set his heart racing or made him sit up straighter with excitement but liked enough that most mornings he could convince himself to look forward to it. The professor was clear, the material was structured, the syllabus was detailed and that gave him something to hang onto. He had chosen his seat carefully: third row from the back, left-hand side. Not in the spotlight, but not invisible either. Close enough to feel present, far enough that no one would expect too much of him.

His notebook was already open, a page half-filled with neat handwriting. He underlined key terms, his pen resting exactly along the spiral when he paused. The rhythm of listening, writing, and nodding along steadied him. It was a good day so far. Everything was fine.

“Sunoo,” the professor’s voice cut across the room, sharp and sudden.

His head snapped up. His pen stilled.

“What do you think the author is trying to communicate here?”

The words on the page in front of him blurred into meaningless shapes. He had been listening or at least he thought he had but now it was like his brain emptied itself in an instant. The silence that followed stretched just long enough for him to notice it, to become aware of it pressing down on him.

“I…I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice quieter than he meant.

The professor’s brow furrowed, but not unkindly. “Pay attention, please,” they said before moving on.

That should have been the end of it. It wasn’t cruel. It wasn’t humiliating. Just a passing comment.

But the words stuck to him, heavier than they should have been.

Heat crept up the back of his neck. His chest tightened in that familiar way, not too painful, not unbearable, just enough to make every breath feel shorter. His stomach fluttered uncomfortably, a mix of guilt and dread.

No one was looking at him, but it felt like they were. It always felt that way. Like there were always eyes lingering too long, thoughts forming too quickly, judgments being made silently. He knew, rationally, that most people in this room probably didn’t care. They were scribbling notes, scrolling on their laptops, already moving on. But knowing that didn’t change the weight pressing down on him.

He dropped his gaze to his notebook and tried to make his pen move. Instead of words, he drew small loops, random marks in the margins. Anything to look busy, to look normal.

Minutes crawled. His leg bounced under the desk. He shifted his bag. Adjusted his sleeve. Little movements to release the restless energy building up in his chest. He nodded along to the lecture, as though that could convince everyone, including himself that he was still paying attention.

When class ended, he packed up too quickly. His hands were almost clumsy, shoving his materials into his bag, zipping it up before the professor had even dismissed them. He muttered a faint “thank you” out of habit and escaped into the hallway.

The chatter of students poured out around him, louder than it really was. Every sound felt sharp, buzzing against his skin. He made a beeline for the nearest restroom, shouldering through the door and heading straight into the farthest stall.

The lock clicked into place. He leaned back against the door, closing his eyes.

It wasn’t a big deal. He kept repeating that. It wasn’t a big deal. People forget about things like this in seconds. No one cared. No one was still thinking about him fumbling an answer in class.

But his mind wouldn’t let it go. The words replayed, the tone replayed, the silence replayed. His body was stuck in it even if the moment had already passed. His chest felt tight in that restless way, his stomach knotted with unease.

He pressed a hand to the middle of his chest, breathing carefully. Not slow and controlled like the breathing exercises he sometimes read about, just careful, like if he wasn’t, the feeling might spiral further.

It’ll pass, he told himself. It always passes.

After a few minutes, the tightness eased. Not gone completely, but dulled into something he could carry again. He rubbed his palms against his jeans, stood a little straighter, and tried on a small smile before leaving the stall.

In the mirror, his reflection looked fine. Fine enough, at least.

And fine was what he needed right now.

Sunoo pushed the bathroom door open, with a hand that still slightly trembled, the faint smell of soap clinging to him as if it could cover the shakiness that lingered under his skin. The hallway was buzzing with students switching classes, footsteps clicking, the chatter rising and falling like waves that threatened to pull him back under. He straightened his back, tugged at the strap of his bag, and made his way down the hall with his eyes low, his lips curved into the smallest version of a smile, just enough to convince anyone looking that he was fine.

No one was watching. That’s what he told himself. People were too busy worrying about their own life. But his body refused to believe the words. Each laugh that echoed down the hall felt sharper than it should, as if it might be directed at him. Each whisper carried weight. His chest was tight, not painful, but stretched, like someone had tied invisible strings around his ribs and pulled at them.

He kept walking. He didn’t need to go back to the dorm, not yet. He couldn’t sit in silence with those thoughts clawing around inside of him, not when they threatened to get louder. What he needed was somewhere quieter. Somewhere with no eyes, no expectations, just the chance to let his hands speak for him.

The music room wasn’t far. He found himself hurrying, speeding through the crowds until the halls began to empty, until the sound of doors shutting muffled the chatter. The music building was older, tucked near the back of campus, and as soon as he pushed inside, the air changed. Cooler and quieter.

He made his way into one of the empty practice rooms. The upright piano stood waiting against the wall, keys yellowed in some places, the bench creaking as he sat down. He placed his bag on the floor and just sat for a moment, staring at the instrument. His fingers hovered over the keys, but he didn’t play yet. His shoulders sagged.

This was supposed to help. It always had. Since he was young, there had always been something, a toy, a notebook, a screen, a melody that gave him a little escape. The piano had become the most constant as of late. The first time he played in high school, he remembered how every sound seemed to drown out the noise in his head. For a little while, it was like someone had pressed pause on everything else.

But today, even as his fingers pressed the first chord, the relief didn’t come so quickly. The notes rang, soft but uneven, as if they carried the weight of his hesitation. He pressed again, trying different chords, adjusting until something began to feel right. Slowly, the stiffness in his hands gave way to something more natural, though the knot in his stomach was still there.

He reached for the notebook in his bag, the one he’d been trying to fill with fragments of lyrics and melodies. A song for Riki. That had been the goal. Something to capture the way his best friend always managed to ground him, always teased but never judged, always noticed when Sunoo needed someone to pull him out of his own head. Writing it had been harder than he expected.

Flipping through the pages, he saw notes scribbled then crossed out, chords that never seemed to land the way he wanted. He stared at the page until the writing blurred. Then he tried again, pencil in hand, writing, erasing, rewriting. Nothing fit.

It was always like this. The harder he tried, the louder that voice grew. What if it’s not good enough? What if he doesn’t understand what you’re trying to say? What if someone else hears it and thinks it’s stupid?

His chest tightened again. He pressed his palm against the paper, leaving a faint smudge of pencil. The weight pressing on him wasn’t new. It had been there as long as he could remember, in some form or another. As a kid, he used to sit at the edge of classrooms, worrying about when he would be called on, about saying something wrong, about his friends deciding they didn’t actually like him. Back then, it came and went. But somewhere along the way, it had gotten heavier. Like a shadow that followed him into every room, whispering that he was too much or not enough, never exactly right.

He played another chord, softer this time, letting it linger. His reflection in the glossy lid of the piano looked tired. He could still feel the heat in his face from earlier, when the professor had called on him and his mind had gone blank. The way his stomach had dropped, the way his throat had closed up. The words he hadn’t been able to say. He thought about how quickly the professor’s words “pay attention” had cut through him, sharper than intended, and how it had made the whole class feel like they were all staring, like the spotlight was blinding.

Even now, his body replayed it, in every detail. He could still feel the chair under him, the way his hands twisted in his lap, the way his heart pounded. He knew rationally that it probably hadn’t been a big deal. No one else was likely to remember. But his thoughts refused to let it go, looping back again and again, like a song stuck on replay.

His fingers pressed the keys harder, a sharp sound filling the room. He winced, tried again, gentler. He wanted to lose himself in the music, to let it wash away everything. But every time he tried, that creeping feeling followed. The fear of being seen, of being misjudged, of doing something wrong without realizing it.

It wasn’t that he hated being around people. Far from it. He liked talking, he liked laughing with his friends. He liked filling the silence with sarcasm and jokes. But afterward, when the noise faded, his mind picked apart every word he had said, every glance, every pause. Had he sounded rude? Did he look weird when he laughed? Did they actually enjoy having him there, or were they just being polite?

The cycle was exhausting. Like living with an echo that never stopped.

He pressed his forehead against his hand, sighing. The pencil rolled across the sheet music, stopping against the edge of the notebook. He knew what he wanted to say, but every time he reached for the words, they slipped away. And underneath it all was that constant weight like chains tugging at him, like he was always seconds away from being dragged under.

Another chord. Softer. Then another. Slowly, the sound filled the space, not enough to erase the thoughts but enough to make them quieter. His body relaxed, piece by piece, as he let his hands move without forcing them. He didn’t need the melody to be perfect right now. He just needed it to exist.

The pages of his notebook began to fill with more scratches of notes, a few lines of lyrics, half formed phrases that might mean something later. His chest still ached, but the rhythm steadied him.

He thought about Riki and how the younger boy teased him relentlessly, how he rolled his eyes but secretly appreciated the way Riki always checked in without making it obvious. Maybe the song didn’t have to be perfect. Maybe it just had to be honest.

His hand hovered over the keys, and for a moment, the room felt still. Quiet, but not suffocating. The kind of quiet he could breathe in.

He played again, softer this time, letting the sound carry him.

And for just a moment, the weight inside him loosened.

⸻

It had been two weeks.

Two weeks since Sunoo and Riki had last hung out, which in their world felt like forever. They were the kind of friends who were together 24/7. Even when classes got busy, even when their schedules pulled them in opposite directions, they always found a way back to each other. Until as of late.

At first, Sunoo had brushed it off. Riki was a first-year, he was adjusting. He had rehearsals that stretched late into the night. It made sense he’d be busy. Sunoo had told himself that over and over again. But the more he thought about it, the more he started noticing things, how Riki’s texts were shorter, how his excuses for not being able to hang out sounded more practiced, how he seemed to walk the long way around campus instead of taking the path that would put him right in Sunoo’s orbit after class.

Sunoo tried to convince himself he was overthinking. He always did that, he would read too much into things, imagining distance where there wasn’t any. Still, something about this felt different. Heavy. Like the closeness he’d relied on was quietly slipping out of reach.

He picked at the edge of his tray in the dining hall, half listening to the clatter of forks and hum of voices around him. Across from him, Jay was talking, hands moving in gestures as he explained something, his expression soft in the way it always was whenever Jungwon was the topic of conversation. 

“…so, Jungwon insisted we go to that cafe again, the one with the cat paw mugs. He ordered the same drink as last time, and he said—” Jay’s mouth tugged into a faint smile. “He said because the first time he ordered it, he was with me. That he wanted to make it a tradition. He’s so corny sometimes.” Jay chuckled.

Sunoo felt his chest warm at that. Jay’s voice was low but steady, a tone of fondness running through his voice so clearly that it made Sunoo smile without realizing it.

“I’m really happy for you guys,” Sunoo said, and he meant it. His friends deserved this kind of happiness, the kind that softened their edges and made the hard days bearable. He watched Jay’s face brighten just a little more, and it made something inside him ache.

Because even as he sat there, genuinely happy for Jay and Jungwon, the thought snuck in, “I want that too.”

Not with just anyone. With Riki.

It had been creeping up on him for months, the shift from friendly comfort to something heavier, sharper, and sweeter. The way Riki’s laughter could pull him out of the darkest spiral. The way he remembered small details about Sunoo that no one else seemed to notice. The way Sunoo’s world always felt a little louder, a little brighter, when Riki was in it.

He wanted to love Riki fully. Not just in the safe boundaries of friendship, but past them, into something more certain, more lasting. He wanted to hold his hand and not let go, to have the right to lean into him when the weight in his chest got too heavy. He wanted to step past the invisible line they had drawn between themselves.

But Riki was avoiding him. And that invisible line was starting to feel like a wall.

“Sunoo?”

He blinked, realizing he had been staring down at his untouched food, his mind a thousand miles away. Jay was watching him carefully, one eyebrow raised in that subtle way of his.

“Sorry,” Sunoo blurted out, heat rushing to his cheeks. “I was listening, really. I’m happy for you and Jungwon. I didn’t mean to… zone out. Please, keep going.”

Jay studied him for a moment longer, then shook his head slightly, smiling. “It’s fine. I’ve said enough about my love life.” He leaned forward a little. “What’s wrong?”

The words were gentle but direct, like Jay always was when he decided someone mattered enough to cut through the surface.

Sunoo hesitated. He wasn’t used to being asked so plainly. Most people took his smile at face value. Most people didn’t notice when he drifted off into his head. But Jay… Jay was different.

“I just—” Sunoo sighed, picking at his food. “I think Riki’s pulling away from me. Like, really pulling away. We haven’t hung out in a couple weeks, and when I try to make plans, he always has an excuse. It’s weird. We’ve never gone this long without seeing each other, except my first year here, but even then we’d text or call everyday.”

Jay didn’t interrupt. He just nodded, letting Sunoo keep going.

“And I know, I know, I might be overthinking. I do that. But this feels… different. He avoids eye contact sometimes. He doesn’t walk the same path as before, where we’d meet after classes. It’s like he doesn’t want to be near me, and I don’t know why. Did I do something wrong? Did I say something? I can’t stop replaying everything in my head, trying to figure it out, and—”

“Sunoo,” Jay said softly, stopping him before he spiraled too far.

Sunoo swallowed, realizing how fast he’d been talking. His chest felt tight again, but Jay’s steady gaze anchored him.

“You care about him,” Jay said simply. “That’s clear. And because you care, you notice every shift, every little thing. But sometimes, people pull back for reasons that aren’t about us. Sometimes they’re just figuring things out on their own. It doesn’t always mean you did something wrong.”

Sunoo let out a shaky breath, his fingers curling tighter around his fork.

“I know you,” Jay continued. “You overthink. You get stuck in your head, turning small things into bigger ones. But Ni-ki… he cares about you. That’s obvious. If something’s really wrong, he’ll tell you. Until then, give him space, but don’t stop being yourself with him. He’ll come back. People always come back to the ones they care for.”

The words landed deeper than Sunoo expected. His chest still ached, but the sharpness dulled, replaced by something softer. He blinked quickly, looking away before his eyes could start to water.

“Thanks,” he said quietly. “I needed that.”

Jay gave him one of his rare, genuine smiles, the kind that wasn’t polite or practiced but warm, unguarded. “Anytime.”

The rest of lunch passed lighter, though Sunoo’s mind kept drifting back to Riki.

Later that day, he pulled out his phone and typed a quick message.

Sun:
Want to hang out tonight? Maybe grab snacks?

He waited, watching the typing bubble appear, disappear, reappear.

Sun: 
Riki?

Riki 🖤:
Sorry, can’t. Got practice.

Sunoo’s stomach sank a little, but he typed back a smiley face and told him good luck.

Two days later, he tried again.

Sun:
Movie night in my dorm? Just us. :)

Riki 🖤:
I’m tired. Rain check?

And again.

Sun:
Want to walk to class together?

Riki 🖤:
Already left. Sorry.

Every answer was polite, every excuse was reasonable, but together they painted a picture that Sunoo couldn’t ignore.

Riki was slipping away.

And Sunoo didn’t know what to do.

The next day Sunoo didn’t push. Maybe Riki just needed space. Maybe he was stressed and just wanted some time alone. Sunoo told himself not to assume the worst, not to let his thoughts spiral down that familiar path where everything wrong had to somehow be his fault.

He didn’t believe it fully, but he tried.

That night, the city was alive with its usual buzz, neon signs flickering to life against the evening sky. Sunoo walked beside Jungwon, the younger boy chattering about how boring being a poli sci major is, Sunoo listened, nodded, even laughed when Jungwon’s tone grew particularly dramatic, though a part of him roamed elsewhere.

They turned a corner, crossing a crowded street, and that was when Sunoo’s heart paused.

Across the street, just past a stretch of storefront windows glowing with warm light, he saw Ni-ki.

Not alone.

Jake and Sunghoon were with him, all three mid-laughter. Jake’s hand lighting slapping Ni-ki’s shoulder, Sunghoon smirked at something that was said, and Riki—Riki was grinning wide, head thrown back, completely at ease. He looked like he belonged there, like the past week hadn’t carried even a fraction of distance or silence. A change between him and Sunoo.

The sight burned.

Sunoo’s stomach tightened, a dull ache crawling upward to his chest. For a second he thought about waving, about calling out, about running across the street and closing the gap that had been physically there and emotionally growing for weeks now, between them. But Riki didn't look up, didn’t search the crowd for him. He just kept walking, his laughter fading into the city’s noise until he was gone around the corner.

Sunoo turned his face away quickly, pretending to focus on the restaurant sign ahead. His throat felt thick, like something heavy had lodged there. He kept his steps even, hands shoved into his pockets so Jungwon wouldn’t notice the tremor starting in his fingers.

Inside the restaurant, the warmth of the lights and chatter pressed close, but Sunoo felt cold. He sat across from Jungwon at a small booth, resting his chin in his palm as he stared at the menu without really reading it. His mind was somewhere else, buzzing too loud.

“What’s wrong?” Jungwon finally asked, eyebrows knitting.

Sunoo blinked, tried for a smile. “Nothing. Don’t worry.”

Jungwon gave him a look, the kind that cut right through him. “Sunoo. Tell me.”

The words broke free faster than he intended. “It’s just…it’s Riki.”

He fiddled with the edge of his sleeve, voice dropping low. “He hasn’t been hanging out with me. It’s been over two weeks now. I thought maybe he was just busy, or needed time alone, but I just saw him across the street. He was with Jake and Sunghoon, laughing like everything was fine. And if everything’s fine why won’t he talk to me? Why doesn’t he want to be near me?”

The ache in his chest pulsed sharper now. “So maybe it’s me. Maybe I did something wrong. Maybe he doesn’t want to hang out with me anymore and he just doesn’t know how to say it. What if I annoyed him? What if I said something that—”

His words stumbled, tangled with the quickening beat of his heart. His stomach churned. His palms dampened against his sleeves. The walls of the restaurant seemed to close in, all noise fading until all he could hear was his own racing thoughts.

He replayed every recent memory in a rush, conversations where maybe he’d talked too much, texts where maybe his wording sounded clingy, moments where maybe he laughed too loud or said something embarrassing. Each one twisted into proof, undeniable evidence that he had to be the problem.

Sunoo’s breath hitched. His chest tightened like someone had pulled ropes around it, drawing them closer and closer until he could barely breathe.

Jungwon reached across the table, steadying him with a hand. “Sunoo. Hey, breathe, look at me.”

His voice was calm, grounded, an anchor Sunoo tried to hold onto. He dragged his gaze up, meeting Jungwon’s steady eyes, and focused on the sound of his words.

“You’re not the problem,” Jungwon said firmly. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Ni-ki cares about you. I can tell just from what you tell me about him. Whatever’s going on, it’s not because of something you did. Don’t tear yourself apart over something you’re imagining.”

Sunoo swallowed, throat dry. He nodded slowly, even as his insides still whirled, thoughts refusing to quiet. On the outside, he could make himself appear calm again. He could manage small smiles, manage nods, manage a steady voice.

But inside, it was chaos.

Inside, he couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe pulling away was the best thing he could do. If Riki didn’t want him around, then he shouldn’t push. He shouldn’t bother him, shouldn’t make himself an unwanted weight.

So he made a choice.

If space was what Riki wanted, Sunoo would give it. Not out of anger, not because he didn’t want to be close anymore. But because Riki’s happiness mattered more than anything else, even if it meant Sunoo was standing on the outside, watching from a distance.

And so, behind a careful smile Sunoo tucked the decision away, deep in his chest where no one could see.

He would pull back.

For Riki’s sake.

For his comfort.

Even if it hurts.

⸻

Days had passed since Sunoo started to pull back. 

But his thoughts never stopped consuming him.

‘What if I was the problem?’

That thought had been circling Sunoo’s head for days, just like a moth that wouldn’t stop throwing itself against the same bright light. It came first thing in the morning, before his eyes had even opened, and it lingered when he went to bed, pressing into him until he fell asleep.

‘What if Riki just needed space and I was always there. Always texting. Always calling. Always needing more than he could give.’

The words echoed in his mind, reshaping themselves into new variations until they didn’t even feel like his own thoughts anymore.

So Sunoo told himself to be quiet. Be small. Be easy to forget. Maybe he needed to forget just for a while. Until everything was okay again.

He had repeated it like a mantra, though it wasn’t calming. It wasn’t freeing. It was a heavy chain wrapped around his chest stopping every attempt to breathe. And yet, he clung to it, because the alternative, that Riki didn’t want him at all, was worse.

No more quick texts about a funny video he saw. No more late-night “what are you doing” texts that lead to hanging out at 2 AM. No more leaning in too close during study hangouts, waiting for Riki’s laugh to brush against his ear.

He still wanted to. God, he needed to. Every day his fingers itched, hovering over Ni-ki’s contact, staring at his and Riki’s messages. But then the doubts crept in, it was insidious. “What if I’m bothering him? What if he sees my message and sighs? What if he rolls his eyes and thinks, ‘Ugh, again?’”

Sunoo learned to shrink.

To take up less space in conversations. To laugh a little quieter, to answer a little shorter. He convinced himself it was for Riki’s comfort, but the truth was he was terrified. Terrified of being too much, of being unwanted, of being the reason Riki’s smile dimmed instead of grew.

And so, it had been a while. A stretch of days that blurred into weeks, where his closeness with Riki was reduced to memories and the occasional passing glances across campus that both of them tried to avoid.

The others filled the space in small ways. Jay teased him about his food choices at the dining hall, Jungwon dragged him to his poli sci lectures so Sunoo would never be alone for too long. It helped Sunoo not overthink too much. He smiled through all of it, because he was good at smiling. But beneath it all, something was missing. Something specific.

Someone specific.

And in another corner of campus, Riki stumbled.

The dance studio was humid, mirrors slightly starting to fog up as bodies moved in sync across the hardwood floor. Music pounded through the speakers, filling every inch of space with its rhythm, demanding precision and energy. Riki had been keeping up fine, muscle memory carrying him through the motions, but one misstep broke the flow. His foot slipped, his body tilting off balance, and frustration filled his chest.

“Take five,” the instructor called out, clapping his hands loudly.

Riki exhaled hard, wiping sweat from his forehead as he crossed the floor. He collapsed against the wall, sliding down until he was sitting with his knees bent, breath coming quick and heavy. His water bottle was cool in his hands.

The talk amongst the other dancers filled the studio, but Riki tuned it out. He unlocked his phone, two unread texts waited, Jake and Sunghoon confirming dinner plans later. He typed a quick reply, thumbs moving automatically.

Then a notification popped up.

Instagram.

Sunoo’s username.

Riki froze. His thumb hovered above the screen, his chest tight in a way that had nothing to do with dancing. He blinked at it once, twice, as if staring long enough might make it seem like he never saw it.

He had meant to turn the notifications for Sunoo’s account off. He thought he had turned them off. But here it was anyway, glowing bright and reminding him of the very thing he had tried to push aside.

Sunoo.

He should ignore it. He knew he should.

And yet hesitation stretched on. His thumb trembled just slightly, indecisive, caught between avoidance and desire.

Finally, almost against his will, he tapped on it.

The story loaded.

It was just a picture. Sunoo sitting in a lecture room next to Jungwon, both laughing. Sunoo’s smile was wide, eyes crinkled in that way that made him glow brighter than anyone else in the frame. His caption was scrawled across the bottom: “crashing his lecture!”

Riki let out a quiet chuckle, the sound startling him. Reflexively, his finger twitched toward the heart icon. He stopped just short.

Because he couldn’t.

Because what would be the point of all the trouble he’d gone through?

Avoiding the calls. Declining the invites. Slowly letting the distance grow wide enough that maybe Sunoo wouldn’t notice the outline of his absence anymore.

Not because he hated him. God, never that.

Because he loved him.

And that love, it was too much. Too dangerous. He couldn’t hold it properly, couldn’t give Sunoo what he deserved. So he’d convinced himself the kindest thing to do was fade away, to let Sunoo forget him before the weight of it crushed them both.

The sound of the teacher’s voice snapped him back to reality.

“Break’s over! Back in formation.”

Riki locked his phone quickly, tucking it away as though it had burned his skin. He pushed himself to his feet, muscles tight, face calm.

The music started again. The world spun back into rhythm.

But in the back of his mind, Sunoo’s smile lingered.

⸻

Sunoo and Jungwon stepped out of the lecture, the air buzzing with students shifting from one class to another. Jungwon was talking about how the professor had gone off on another useless tangent again but Sunoo only caught pieces of it. His phone was heavy in his hand, thumb swiping almost unconsciously through random apps.

And then he saw it.

Riki had viewed his story.

A simple thing, barely a flicker of acknowledgment. But to Sunoo, it felt like the ground shifted beneath him. He hadn’t realized how badly he needed proof that Riki still noticed him, still remembered he existed. His chest tightened.

It had been weeks, almost months of silence and space, weeks of telling himself to stay quiet, to shrink smaller, to not push. But now seeing something so insignificant happen in all their years of being friends, it sparked something fragile inside him.

Maybe…Just maybe he could try one more time.

As they walked, Jungwon’s voice blurred into the background. Sunoo scrolled to Riki’s contact, the name glowing at him like it had been waiting all this time. He hesitated, thumb hovering. His heart was already racing, his palms clammy.

‘Don’t do it. You’ll regret it. He doesn’t want to hear from you.’

But what if he did? What if this time I y was different? What if—

Sunoo inhaled, slow and shaking, he typed before he could begin to overthink it.

‘Hey Riki! tmrw is Friday and I was wondering if you wanted to hang out like we used to? :)’

He stared at the message. His finger hovered over the send button. Then, with a click, it was gone, somewhere in Riki’s inbox.

Almost instantly, the typing bubble appeared.

Sunoo’s heart leapt, his chest swelling with hope so sudden it almost hurt. He could picture it already: Riki saying yes, Riki smiling when they met up, Riki slipping back into place beside him like nothing had changed.

The bubble flickered.

And then the reply came.

Riki 🖤:
I can’t. Sorry.

Just that.

Three words, and the hope drained out of Sunoo so fast it made him dizzy.

He laughed. It was a small, breathless sound that was closer to a choke. What had he expected? That after weeks of silence, everything could magically go back to normal? That Riki would just welcome him back into his life, easy as that?

Of course not.

He shoved the phone into his pocket, forcing a smile onto his face as Jungwon chattered beside him.

By the time they got to the library, Sunoo felt his walls crumble. Jungwon ran ahead the moment he spotted Jay waiting by a study table, his whole face lighting up. Sunoo followed slowly, smile stretched thin, heavy and hollow.

And then a tear slipped. He hadn’t even felt it forming. Just the sudden wetness sliding down his cheek.

Jungwon and Jay turned instantly, their laughter cutting off.

“Sunoo! What’s wrong?” Jay asked, voice sharper than usual with concern.

Sunoo blinked, startled, hand flying to his cheek. His fingers became damp. Panic rushed in, flooding him. “Oh! I, no, I didn’t mean to! I’m sorry, I don’t know why—” He tried wiping it away, but more spilled before he could stop them. His chest felt tight, breaths too quick.

“Hey, hey.” Jungwon’s voice was soft but firm, guiding. “It’s okay. Just—what’s wrong?”

Sunoo’s throat ached. The words tumbled out too fast, one after another, tripping over each other. “I think me and Riki are done now. I don’t know what I did! I keep replaying everything in my head like, every word, every moment and it doesn’t make sense! Why did we both just give up—Why did he give up?” His breath hitched, voice shaking. “I let him go, but I swear it’s not because I didn’t care! I cared so much. Maybe too much…I just—”

He stopped, choking on air, chest heaving. His hands trembled as he folded them into fists, tightening every second, trying to steady himself.

“Sunoo,” Jungwon whispered, and then he was moving, wrapping his arms around him in a tight hug. Not gentle, but firm. Pressure that anchored, that steadied. Sunoo resisted at first, stiff with panic, then slowly melted, the tension draining as he let himself melt into it. His heartbeat slowed, the frantic beats dulling.

Jay’s voice cut through after a moment. Calm, steady, like always. “You need a night out.”

Sunoo blinked, still half-buried in Jungwon’s shoulder. “What?”

“Just one night,” Jay repeated. “Forget about all of this. Forget about him, about school, about everything. Just breathe for once. There’s a party tonight. Come with us.”

Sunoo hesitated, stomach twisting. A party meant people, noise, eyes everywhere. But Jay’s tone was unwavering, and Jungwon pulled back just enough to nod encouragingly.

“Maybe it’ll help,” Jungwon said softly. “Even if it’s just for a night.”

Sunoo’s lips parted. He wanted to say no. He wanted to retreat. But looking at their faces, at the steady warmth in Jay’s eyes, the quiet hope in Jungwon’s, he found himself whispering, 

“Okay.”

⸻