Chapter 1: The Cracks
Notes:
so originally, this was supposed to be one long oneshot. like, 20k words in one chapter kind of long, but halfway through writing it, i realized i needed to break it up or i’d go insane.
i don’t actually stan enhypen that much, but this idea just came to me a few weeks ago and wouldn’t leave me alone.
hope you like it ♡
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The smell of burnt toast wafted through the kitchen, unnoticed by either of them.
Sunghoon adjusted the cuffs of his dress shirt with precision, his reflection flickering in the black glass of the microwave. His tie was already knotted, flawless as always. Heeseung hadn’t even made it out of his sweats.
“I thought we were out of butter,” Sunghoon muttered, scanning the fridge with a furrowed brow.
“Nope,” Heeseung said without looking up from his phone. “I bought some last week.”
A pause.
“You could’ve told me before I made dry-ass toast.”
“You could’ve asked.”
The refrigerator door shut with a sharp thunk . Sunghoon took a breath; not deep enough to count as a sigh, but just enough to be loaded.
Heeseung stood by the counter, scrolling on his phone with one hand, sipping coffee from a mug with the other. His hair was still messy from sleep. He didn’t look up.
“Did you call the cleaner?” Sunghoon asked finally.
“I thought you were gonna do it,” Heeseung replied, now mildly irritated.
“Of course. Silly me for thinking my husband would lift a finger for once.”
That made Heeseung glance up, finally. His eyes were tired. Not angry. Just… tired.
“I have three meetings today, Hoon. And a demo launch. I’m not gonna remember to schedule someone to scrub the fucking bathtub.”
Sunghoon didn’t respond. He took a single bite of toast, chewed once, then dropped the rest in the trash.
The silence returned; familiar and thick.
Heeseung drained his mug and placed it in the sink. Didn’t rinse it.
Sunghoon didn’t look at him when he said, “I’ll be home late. Don’t wait up.”
Heeseung leaned against the counter, arms folded, watching the back of Sunghoon’s head.
“I never do.
˖ ݁ ۫ ⋆ 𓆩 ♡ 𓆪 ⋆ ۫ ݁ ˖
The office was quiet except for the sound of typing and heels on tile. Bright lights, glass walls, endless paperwork.
Sunghoon walked through it like he belonged; because he did. Everyone nodded as he passed. No one stopped him.
He liked it that way.
He reached his office and closed the door behind him. The room was neat, just like his home; spotless, cold. He sat down, opened his laptop, and started reviewing contracts.
After a few minutes, there was a soft knock.
Minji poked her head in, holding two coffees. “I got one for you.”
He looked up. “You didn’t have to.”
“You looked dead last night. Figured you’d need it.”
Sunghoon gave her a small smile and took the cup. “Thanks.”
She sat across from him. “Are you alright?”
He paused. “Yeah. Just tired.”
Minji looked at him for a moment like she wanted to say something else, but she didn’t. She just nodded, gave him a quick pat on the arm, and left.
Sunghoon leaned back in his chair. The coffee was hot, but it didn’t help much.
His eyes drifted to the hallway outside his glass wall. Someone had taped a new print on the break room door, a colorful sketch of a cartoon dog holding a flower.
It said:
“You’re doing your best, and that’s enough.”
Sunghoon stared at it longer than he should’ve.
He remembered when Heeseung used to text him those kinds of things.
Don’t forget to eat today 💙
I believe in you, even if your clients are idiots.
You’re cute when you work too hard.
Now he barely even looked at his messages.
Sunghoon picked up his phone. No new texts.
He turned it over, screen-down.
Then he got back to work.
˖ ݁ ۫ ⋆ 𓆩 ♡ 𓆪 ⋆ ۫ ݁ ˖
Heeseung’s desk was chaos. Open laptop, tangled chargers, three empty coffee cups. A hoodie thrown over the chair. His whole side of the office looked lived-in, like he’d moved in yesterday and never planned to leave.
Across the open space, startup clacked on keyboards, shuffled in and out of meetings, and yelling.
Heeseung didn’t hear any of it.
He was staring at his phone.
One missed call.
Sunghoon.
Heeseung swiped it away and opened his Slack messages instead.
“Evan?” His assistant leaned into his office doorway, holding a tablet. “Do you want me to confirm dinner with your husband next week, or…?”
Heeseung rubbed his eyes. “Don’t. He’ll cancel.”
The assistant nodded slowly. “Okay. I’ll leave it blank.”
Heeseung went back to typing but didn’t really focus. His inbox was full. His to-do list was a disaster. He just didn’t care.
A knock on the glass behind him.
Ni-ki strolled in, holding a smoothie like it was a trophy. “Guess who finished the onboarding module without setting the server on fire?”
Heeseung didn’t look up. “Sunoo did it for you, didn’t he?”
From behind Ni-ki, Sunoo peeked in. “He literally begged me.”
“I didn’t beg ,” Ni-ki said, then added, “I mildly begged.”
Sunoo walked in like he owned the place; sparkly cardigan, flawless skin, iced coffee in hand. “Your code looked like it was written by a sleep-deprived goat.”
“Okay, harsh,” Ni-ki muttered.
Sunoo turned to Heeseung. “You look like shit, by the way.”
“Thanks,” Heeseung muttered, rubbing his face again.
Ni-ki and Sunoo exchanged a look.
“You two still fighting?” Sunoo asked, straight to the point.
Heeseung didn’t answer.
“You should just divorce him and find yourself a twink,” Sunoo continued casually, sipping his drink. “You’d be so much less tense if someone pretty made you breakfast and let you top.”
Ni-ki groaned. “Why are you like this.”
“I’m a realist,” Sunoo said.
Heeseung let out a short laugh. Then he sighed, long and quiet. “Marriage isn’t supposed to feel like this much work.”
Ni-ki sat on the edge of his desk. “Maybe it’s not. Maybe you guys are just… trying too hard to make it what it used to be.”
Heeseung didn’t respond.
He looked at his phone again. The missed call was gone. So was the notification.
Maybe if he ignored it long enough, it wouldn’t feel like his fault.
˖ ݁ ۫ ⋆ 𓆩 ♡ 𓆪 ⋆ ۫ ݁ ˖
The front door clicked open at 8:27 PM.
Sunghoon stepped in with a bag of takeout in one hand, keys in the other. His shoes came off neatly by the door. He hung up his coat, adjusted it until it sat perfectly straight, then walked into the living room.
Heeseung was already there, curled on the couch with a blanket thrown over his legs and a half-empty bowl of ramyeon on the coffee table. The TV was playing some show, too quiet to follow.
“I brought food,” Sunghoon said.
Heeseung didn’t look away from the screen. “I already ate.”
Sunghoon set the bag down on the dining table, slowly. “I texted.”
“I was working.”
A pause.
Sunghoon opened the takeout container anyway and sat down, eating in silence.
Heeseung muted the TV.
The only sound was the faint rustle of chopsticks, the clock ticking on the wall, and the hum of the fridge.
After a few minutes, Sunghoon spoke.
“I was thinking,” he started, without looking up. “Maybe we should- I don’t know. Book a weekend trip? Just us.”
Heeseung didn’t answer.
Sunghoon tried again. “Or at least find someone to clean the apartment. It’s always a mess. Neither of us has time.”
Heeseung shifted under the blanket. “It’s not that bad.”
“It is.”
Heeseung sighed. “Then hire someone. Why are you asking me?”
Sunghoon set his chopsticks down. “Because it’s our place.”
Finally, Heeseung turned his head, just slightly. “Then do what you want. I don’t care.”
That shut down the conversation. Not with yelling. Not with a fight. Just that same flat wall they always ran into now.
Later, Sunghoon rinsed his dishes and left the rest untouched. He passed by the couch and paused.
“Are you coming to bed?”
Heeseung pulled the blanket up to his chin. “I’m comfortable here.”
“…Okay.”
Sunghoon turned off the kitchen light. His footsteps were soft on the floor as he walked to the bedroom and closed the door without another word.
Heeseung stared at the ceiling.
The house was quiet. Too quiet for two people to be living in it.
˖ ݁ ۫ ⋆ 𓆩 ♡ 𓆪 ⋆ ۫ ݁ ˖
The café was tucked into the back corner of a quiet bookstore; one of those places where time felt slower. Soft music, warm light, walls lined with old hardcovers no one ever bought. A quiet hum of conversation and the clink of porcelain.
Sunghoon didn’t usually come here. It was too soft, too slow. But he’d had a headache at the office and didn’t feel like pretending too much.
He just wanted silence. A place to breathe.
He stepped inside, ordered a black coffee, and wandered into the shelves. No real plan. Just somewhere to hide for a few minutes.
That’s when he saw him.
A boy; young, maybe mid-twenties, sitting cross-legged in one of the reading chairs. Brown hair, slightly messy. Head down, pencil in hand, sketching something in a spiral notebook.
He looked… peaceful.
Sunghoon didn’t mean to stare, but something about the picture was strange. Not in a bad way; just unfamiliar. That kind of softness didn’t exist in his life anymore.
The boy must’ve felt the eyes, because he looked up.
Bright eyes. Warm smile. “Oh- sorry, was I in your way?”
Sunghoon blinked. “No. You’re fine.”
The boy tucked the pencil behind his ear. “You’re wearing a really nice tie.”
Sunghoon stared at him.
“…Thanks.”
“It’s patterned but not loud,” the boy added, like he was talking about weather. “Most people don’t know how to pull that off.”
Sunghoon didn’t know what to say. No one talked to him like that. Not lately.
The boy stood, suddenly flustered. “Sorry, I- that came out weird. I compliment ties when I’m nervous.”
“…Why are you nervous?” Sunghoon asked before thinking.
The boy laughed, soft and real. “I’m not sure. You just look like you could fire me.”
“I don’t work here.”
“Still.”
There was a beat.
Then the boy tilted his head. “Are you looking for something specific? Book-wise?”
Sunghoon looked down at the shelf like he’d only just realized where he was. “No. Just wasting time.”
“Well,” the boy said, reaching behind him, “then you should read this.”
He held out a thin paperback. The cover was worn, the title unreadable from the angle.
“Why?”
“It’s short, it’s weird, and the ending makes you feel like killing yourself.”
Sunghoon stared at the book, then at the boy.
“I’m Jake,” he said. “Not a stalker. Just… a guy who’s here too much.”
Sunghoon hesitated. Then took the book.
“…Sunghoon.”
Jake smiled again. “It suits you.”
Sunghoon looked down at the book in his hand, then back at Jake. “You always recommend books to strangers?”
Jake laughed, a little nervous this time. “No, just the hot, serious-looking ones who stare at me for ten seconds straight without blinking.”
Sunghoon raised an eyebrow. “I wasn’t staring.”
“You kind of were.”
“…You were drawing.”
“And you looked like you were about to sue the shelves.”
Sunghoon huffed; something close to a laugh.
There was a pause. Jake shifted on his feet.
“Um… if you end up liking the book,” Jake said, a little too fast, “you could text me. I mean- just to say you liked it. Or hated it. Or if you want another weird recommendation.”
Sunghoon blinked. “You want my number?”
Jake’s ears turned a little pink. “Not in a weird way. Just- I don’t know. You look like you could use more weird book people in your life.”
He hesitated. Then added softly, “Or at least someone who talks to you like you’re not made of ice.”
Sunghoon stared at him for a second too long.
Then, slowly, he pulled out his phone. “Give it.”
Jake lit up, thumb flying over sunghoon’s phone screen to save his number, and then he called sunghoon from his own. A second later, the name popped up:
Jake 📚
“Just so you know it’s me,” Jake said, a little breathless. “I’m harmless. Mostly.”
Sunghoon didn’t smile, but something flickered behind his eyes. “Right.”
They parted with a nod, no promises. Just quiet air and something new, buzzing just under the surface.
˖ ݁ ۫ ⋆ 𓆩 ♡ 𓆪 ⋆ ۫ ݁ ˖
The apartment was dim except for the kitchen light.
Heeseung sat at the dining table alone, poking at his food. He’d cooked one of Sunghoon’s favorites. Or at least, what used to be. The rice was a little overdone, but he’d tried.
The second plate sat across from him, untouched. The seat beside it stayed empty.
He checked his phone again.
[09:02PM] Hee: hey
[09:03PM] Hee: are you coming home soon
Still no reply.
He looked at the clock: 9:48 PM.
Eventually, he stood and cleaned up. Left Sunghoon’s plate in the fridge. Wiped the table. Quiet, slow movements. Like stretching time would change something.
He passed the cabinet in the hallway on the way to the couch and paused.
After a moment, he opened it.
A framed photo sat inside; their wedding day. Heeseung in black. Sunghoon in white. Both smiling. Standing so close.
He stared at it for a long time.
Then put it back, closed the cabinet, and walked to the couch.
He didn’t change. Just pulled the throw blanket over himself and curled into the cushions. He left the light on.
Heeseung didn’t know if he was waiting. Or hoping. Or just too tired to move.
The door unlocked at 10:36 PM.
Sunghoon stepped in, loosened his tie, and shut the door behind him with a quiet click. His eyes landed on the table first; two used dishes in the drying rack. One plate still full, covered in plastic wrap inside the fridge.
He opened it.
The food was slightly cold. It smelled… familiar.
He didn’t touch it.
He walked through the hallway and slowed when he passed the cabinet. Something about it felt off.
He opened it.
Their wedding photo had been moved. Not by much; just a few inches forward, like someone had taken it out recently.
He stared at it. Just long enough to feel something shift in his chest.
Then he shut the cabinet again.
He walked into the living room and found Heeseung asleep on the couch, arms curled around himself, the blanket slipping off his shoulder. The light still on.
Sunghoon didn’t say anything.
He just watched for a moment, then turned off the light.
He changed quietly, stepped into the bedroom, and sat on the edge of the bed in the dark.
His phone buzzed.
[10:40PM] Jake📚: Hi :) It was nice meeting you today. I hope you like the book.
He stared at the message.
That same warmth came back; subtle, strange, but impossible to ignore.
Sunghoon didn’t smile often anymore. But now, looking at his screen, he did.
He typed back:
[10:42PM] Hoon: It was nice meeting you too. I’ll start reading it tomorrow.
He sent it before he could overthink it.
Then he set the phone down on the nightstand, face-down.
The room was quiet.
And for the first time in weeks, he didn’t feel so alone.
˖ ݁ ۫ ⋆ 𓆩 ♡ 𓆪 ⋆ ۫ ݁ ˖
Notes:
This chapter ends just as things start to shift, and I promise… it only gets messier (and softer) from here.
Please feel free to share your thoughts in the comments, I’d love to hear what parts hit you. ♡
Chapter Text
The bell above the bookstore café chimed softly.
Sunghoon stepped in with his usual composed posture, pressed slacks, sharp collar. His coat was still damp from the rain, but he didn’t shake it off. Just hung it neatly and ordered a black coffee without looking at the chalkboard menu.
He didn’t come here often. He shouldn’t have come again at all.
But the air outside had been cold. Too cold. And something about this place felt like a buffer between him and everything else. Like a room inside his chest that wasn’t so loud.
He took his drink, wandered past the bookshelves again with no real purpose, just letting his eyes skim over cracked spines and softened covers.
That’s when he heard it.
“Oh my god, you came back.”
Sunghoon turned toward the voice.
Jake.
Same reading chair. Same notebook on his lap. Same wide smile that didn’t seem rehearsed.
He was in a denim jacket today, layered over a hoodie with a rip in the sleeve. His pencil was stuck in his hair, and there was a smudge of graphite across his thumb.
“I wasn’t stalking you,” Jake added quickly, holding up his hands. “I swear. I just- I'm always here on Fridays.”
Sunghoon blinked. “It’s Thursday.”
Jake’s mouth opened, paused, then shut again. “Okay, so… always here on weekdays that feel like Fridays. Same thing.”
Sunghoon let out the smallest exhale. Not quite a laugh, but close.
Jake patted the armrest beside him. “You can sit, if you want. Unless you need a contract before informal agreements.”
“I’m a lawyer,” Sunghoon said, tone perfectly dry. “I prefer verbal agreements.”
Jake grinned. “Then verbally agree to sit down.”
For some reason he couldn’t name, Sunghoon did.
The chair creaked under him. His coffee was still warm in his hands. He didn’t know what to say.
Jake spoke first. “Did you start the book?”
“I did.”
“And?”
Sunghoon glanced sideways. “You were right. The ending was unhinged.”
Jake lit up. “Right? It’s so frustrating. You hate it, but you respect it.”
“Not a common reaction.”
“That’s what makes it good.”
There was a beat of silence. But it wasn’t awkward. Just… quiet.
Jake tucked his knees under himself in the chair, notebook sliding to the side. “You look less stiff today. That’s a compliment, by the way.”
“I’ll try not to be offended.”
“Seriously, though,” Jake said, softer now. “You seemed… really tired last time. Like the kind of tired that isn’t fixed by sleeping.”
Sunghoon looked down at his coffee.
Jake didn’t press. Just sipped his drink and leaned his head against the back of the chair.
“I like coming here when I feel tired like that,” he said. “It makes me feel small. In a good way. Like the world doesn’t need anything from me for a while.”
Sunghoon didn’t respond right away. But his shoulders eased just slightly; like something in him recognized the feeling. Like he'd been trying to explain it to himself and never quite found the words.
Jake reached over to grab his pencil, and it tumbled from his hair into Sunghoon’s lap.
“Shit- sorry, sorry,” Jake said, laughing as he leaned forward to grab it.
Their hands brushed.
Jake froze, fingertips lightly over Sunghoon’s wrist.
The contact lasted barely a second.
Sunghoon didn’t move.
Jake’s smile faltered a little, replaced by something gentler. “You’re really warm,” he said quietly.
Sunghoon looked up at him.
“I’ve been sitting with coffee,” he said.
Jake smiled again. Not teasing this time. Just… soft.
They didn’t speak for a few moments.
Eventually, Jake looked away, twirling the pencil between his fingers. “You want another recommendation? Something less emotionally catastrophic this time?”
Sunghoon tilted his head. “Is that possible?”
“For you?” Jake’s eyes sparkled. “I’ll find something absolutely devastating.”
Sunghoon’s lips curved. Not fully. But enough.
He didn’t realize he was still looking at Jake until Jake looked back again.
“I’m glad you came back,” Jake said quietly.
Sunghoon didn’t answer.
But he stayed.
And that said enough.
˖ ݁ ۫ ⋆ 𓆩 ♡ 𓆪 ⋆ ۫ ݁ ˖
The park was quiet for a weekday afternoon; cool, with the soft rustle of leaves overhead and the occasional chirp of a bird somewhere far. Heeseung walked the path with his hands in his pockets, shoulders tense, jaw tighter than he realized.
He’d ended a call with Sunghoon ten minutes ago. It hadn’t been a fight, just another conversation where they both said too little, and everything that needed to be said, rotted between the words.
Now that silence followed him down the path.
He wasn’t sure why he’d come here. He never walked without purpose. But something about the air, or the stillness, or the weight in his chest, made him turn into the park instead of heading straight home.
That’s when he saw him.
A boy sat cross-legged on a wooden bench beneath a tree; notebook balanced on one knee, pencil moving in slow, careful strokes. His hair was tousled, and he wore an oversized sweater with sleeves pushed up to his elbows. A bag sat beside him on the bench, open, with half a sandwich and a second pencil poking out.
Heeseung didn’t mean to stare.
But there was something about the scene; the stillness of it, the way the boy’s eyes tracked every line he made, that held him in place.
The boy glanced up, caught him.
“I charge for staring, by the way.” he said, smiling.
Heeseung blinked, surprised. “I wasn’t staring.”
The boy tilted his head. “You were kind of staring.”
Heeseung huffed. He stepped closer, hands still in his pockets. “What are you drawing?”
“Nothing scandalous,” the boy said, holding up the page. It was a loose sketch; a mother and daughter sitting on the next bench over, sharing a juice box. The lines were soft, imperfect, but alive.
“You draw people a lot?” Heeseung asked.
“Nothing scandalous,” the boy said, holding up the page. It was a loose sketch; a mother and daughter sitting on the next bench over, sharing a juice box. The lines were soft, imperfect, but alive.
“You draw people a lot?” Heeseung asked.
“Yeah, you could say that.”
Heeseung looked at him again; properly, this time. The boy’s eyes were warm. Not in a fake way. Just… open.
“I’m Jake,” he said, offering a smudged hand.
Heeseung hesitated. Then shook it. “Heeseung.”
They sat in a light silence for a beat. Jake didn’t ask what he was doing there. He just shifted on the bench and gestured to the spot beside him.
“You can sit. I don’t bite.”
Heeseung almost said no, almost kept walking like he always did. But something about the quiet was easier here. Less charged. So he sat.
Jake resumed sketching. The moment stretched out, easy and slow. The air smelled like damp leaves and someone nearby burning a scented candle.
“Bad day?” Jake asked without looking up.
Heeseung raised an eyebrow. “That obvious?”
Jake glanced at him. “You look like you’re dead.”
Heeseung scoffed. “I work too much.”
Jake nodded. “Let me guess. Something important-sounding? CEO? Partner? Consultant?”
“Founder.”
Jake smiled like he’d won a bet. “Bingo.”
“Should I be offended?”
“Not unless it’s true.”
Heeseung didn’t answer that. But the corner of his mouth twitched, the closest he’d come to a smile all day.
Jake didn’t press. He just kept drawing, eyes flicking between the paper and the world.
“Do you ever just stop?” he asked softly. “I mean… not for sleep. Not for food. Just… stop?”
Heeseung looked at him. “Not really.”
“Most people don’t,” Jake said. “But they should.”
There was no judgment in it. Just observation. And it landed.
Heeseung leaned back against the bench. His eyes drifted toward the sketchbook. “You’re good.”
Jake shrugged. “I’m stubborn.”
“Same thing.”
Jake paused. Then he glanced down, flipped to a new page, and started sketching again. Slower this time.
Heeseung didn’t ask what it was. He just watched the way Jake’s fingers moved; light, intentional.
They sat like that for a while. No rush. No expectations.
Eventually, Jake tore the page out carefully, and held it out.
“For you.”
Heeseung blinked. “What is it?”
Jake didn’t answer.
Heeseung looked down. It was a quick sketch; a figure sitting on a park bench, head tilted slightly up, eyes distant. He recognized his own posture instantly.
He stared at it longer than he meant to.
Jake shrugged again, a little embarrassed. “You looked like someone I should draw.”
Heeseung didn’t speak.
“Don’t worry,” Jake added, while smiling. “I won’t charge for this, or anything.”
Heeseung folded the paper once, neatly, and tucked it into his coat pocket.
“Thanks.”
Jake smiled. “Anytime.”
Heeseung stood. His phone buzzed in his pocket, but he didn’t check it.
“You’re here often?” he asked.
Jake nodded. “More than I should be.”
Heeseung didn’t ask what that meant.
He just said, “Maybe I’ll see you around.”
Jake looked up at him with something unreadable in his eyes.
“Maybe.”
And that was it.
˖ ݁ ۫ ⋆ 𓆩 ♡ 𓆪 ⋆ ۫ ݁ ˖
The rooftop café was a little too bright for Sunghoon’s taste; early afternoon light bouncing off pale wood and glass, soft jazz playing through ceiling speakers, clean marble tables and couples laughing softly.
He stirred his iced americano with the tiny metal straw and glanced at his phone again.
[1:42PM] Jake 📚: okay but
[1:42PM] Jake 📚: would you rather fight
[1:42PM] Jake 📚: 1 horse-sized pigeon
[1:42PM] Jake 📚: or
[1:42PM] Jake 📚: 100 pigeon-sized horses
He huffed, barely amused, but his fingers were already typing.
[1:43PM] Hoon: Do you just sit around thinking of these
[1:44PM] Jake 📚: my mind is weird
[1:44PM] Jake 📚: and i have zero impulse control.
[1:44PM] Jake 📚: next question
[1:44PM] Jake 📚: also, you didn’t answer
Sunghoon didn’t notice the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
He was still typing when a hand knocked on the table in front of him.
“Okay, what the hell was that face?”
Sunghoon looked up. Jay was settling into the seat across from him, his sleeves were rolled to the elbows, sunglasses perched in his hair. Jungwon trailed behind him, clutching a drink like it was sacred.
“What face?” Sunghoon asked.
Jay mimicked him; a stiff-lipped, too-pleased expression, complete with fake typing on imaginary air.
“That face. I haven’t seen you smile like that since we dragged you to that spa weekend and they gave you a free foot massage.”
Jungwon sat beside Jay, straw between his lips. “He’s right. You looked… weirdly scary. It was disturbing.”
Sunghoon rolled his eyes, locking his phone. “Maybe I’m just in a good mood.”
Jungwon narrowed his eyes. “You’ve been in a good mood for three weeks. Who is he?”
“There is no he.”
“Or she. Or they. Whatever. Who are you texting?”
“No one.” Sunghoon picked up his drink again. “It’s just work.”
Jay blinked. “You don’t smile like that when you talk to your clients.”
“Especially not that soft,” Jungwon added.
Sunghoon didn’t answer. His fingers toyed with the condensation dripping down his glass. Jay raised an eyebrow.
“You’re not cheating on Heeseung, right? Because. I love you, but I will tackle you into oncoming traffic.”
Sunghoon’s hand stilled. “Wow. Subtle.”
“I’m serious.”
Jungwon gave Jay a look, but his voice was gentler. “We’re just worried. That’s all.”
Sunghoon didn’t speak for a second too long.
Jay leaned back. “You’ve both been off lately. You don’t post together. You don’t show up to dinners anymore. Last week when I asked Heeseung hyung about you, he said you were ‘fine’ and then changed the subject to cryptocurrency.”
Sunghoon set his glass down with care.
“We’re just busy.”
“Hyung,” Jungwon said, soft, “are you okay?”
He didn’t lie immediately. That pause was enough.
Then he shrugged. “I’m fine.”
Jungwon didn’t believe it. Neither did Jay. But neither of them said anything else. The silence between them was heavy.
Jungwon reached for the sugar packet holder. “Remember when you told me to dump that guy who hated dogs?”
“He deserved to be broken up with,” Sunghoon muttered.
“My point is,” Jungwon said, smiling gently, “you were the first to tell me I shouldn’t stay somewhere that didn’t feel like home anymore.”
Jay glanced at Sunghoon. “Not saying you should leave. Just… don’t lie to yourself trying to stay.”
Sunghoon looked away.
His phone buzzed in his lap.
[1:51PM] Jake 📚: you still haven’t answered.
[1:51PM] Jake 📚: if youre scared dont be
[1:51PM] Jake 📚: i wont judge you based on your answer
He didn’t smile this time.
But he didn’t put the phone away either.
˖ ݁ ۫ ⋆ 𓆩 ♡ 𓆪 ⋆ ۫ ݁ ˖
The office was quiet in the late hours. A few clicks of keys from other rooms. The hum of the AC. City traffic pulsing beyond the windows.
Heeseung sat behind his desk, arms folded, coffee untouched beside his laptop. The screen glowed softly, tabs open but nothing moving. His inbox blinked at him, unread. His to-do list sat half-finished. His brain wasn’t on any of it.
He stared past the screen, gaze unfocused.
His phone buzzed once on the table; a reminder about a product meeting he’d already postponed twice. He dismissed it without reading.
Then another buzz, softer this time. From the coat hanging on the back of his chair.
He glanced at it. Didn’t move.
A folded piece of paper peeked from the side pocket. He knew what it was; Jake’s sketch. The one he didn’t ask for. The one he still hadn’t thrown away.
He looked at it for a second too long.
“-and then she had the nerve to say my code was ‘too aesthetic.’ Like, excuse me for having taste-”
Sunoo’s voice came in mid-rant as he pushed open the office door, iced coffee in hand and glitter on his cheekbones, with Ni-ki trailing behind him. He dropped into the chair across from Heeseung, still talking.
“-and you know what I said? I said- are you listening?”
Heeseung didn’t blink.
Sunoo paused.
“…Earth to Heeseung.”
Heeseung startled slightly, blinking out of his daze. “What?”
Sunoo tilted his head. “You’ve been staring at your screen for five minutes. I think your coffee fossilized.”
Heeseung glanced at the mug. Still full. Cold now.
“I’m fine.”
“Liar,” Sunoo said instantly.
Ni-ki, who was sitting on the chair beside Sunoo, whispered, “Marriage problems”
Heeseung didn’t laugh. Just pressed his fingers to his temple.
“Something like that.”
Sunoo smacked Ni-ki’s shoulder,
“You know what’s wild, though? You two used to be so insufferable. Gross, even. Always making out in the hallway. Sneaking away at dinner parties. Do you remember that month you wouldn’t shut up about the vacation you took to Jeju?”
Ni-ki perked up. “That beach photo. You were literally wearing matching shirts. So ew.”
Heeseung didn’t respond. He rubbed his face instead, dragging his palm down to his chin.
Sunoo’s voice softened, “You guys haven’t gone out together in weeks. You’re both acting like… I don’t know. Weird.”
“We’re just busy,” Heeseung said, without looking up.
Ni-ki sat up. “That’s what you said two months ago.”
There was a pause.
Sunoo set his drink down on the desk, quieter than usual. “It’s okay to say it’s hard, you know. Even love stuff. Especially love stuff.”
Heeseung leaned back in his chair, head tilted toward the ceiling. He let out a breath that sounded more like a sigh.
“It’s complicated.”
But his eyes flicked to the coat pocket again, just for a second.
Sunoo followed the glance, then looked back at Heeseung’s face.
“Maybe complicated means you’re not talking to the right person,” he said gently.
That made Heeseung freeze just slightly. A flicker in his posture, like a flinch he tried to hide.
Sunoo didn’t know about Jake. He didn’t know how easy it had been, how natural, to let someone else make the silence go away.
But guilt clung to his ribs anyway.
Heeseung sat forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “We’ll figure it out.”
Sunoo didn’t press, nor did Ni-ki.
But the weight in the room didn’t lift.
It was past 8 p.m. when the office finally emptied. Heeseung could’ve gone home hours ago, but he didn’t.
The room was still, bathed in warm light. He scrolled through his phone, not really reading anything.
Then, slowly, he reached for his coat.
He pulled out the folded paper.
A sketch of him; loose, pencil lines and soft shadows. Sitting still, like he hadn’t noticed he was being drawn.
He stared at it for a long time.
Then folded it again, just as gently.
He didn’t know what he was holding onto anymore.
But he couldn’t let it go.
˖ ݁ ۫ ⋆ 𓆩 ♡ 𓆪 ⋆ ۫ ݁ ˖
The apartment was quiet. The dining table was half-covered in clutter: mail, a bottle of soy sauce, a cooling takeout container with one chopstick sticking out. The TV was on, muted, showing an old drama neither of them had been watching.
Sunghoon sat at the table, laptop open, fingers still on the trackpad even though he hadn’t scrolled in minutes. The dim light cast a soft glow over his cheekbones, the edge of his glasses, the tight pull of his mouth.
The front door opened with a soft click.
Heeseung stepped inside, keys loose in one hand, the other cradling a brown paper bag that smelled faintly of garlic and spice. He didn’t say anything as he kicked off his shoes, just hovered near the edge of the kitchen for a moment.
“Can we talk?”
The question hung in the air, lighter than it should have been, but loaded still.
Sunghoon didn’t look up immediately. His eyes lingered on the same line of text for a second too long. Then he closed the laptop slowly.
“Now?”
Heeseung exhaled. “Yeah. I just… I don’t want to keep pretending this is normal.”
He moved closer, set the bag on the table, but didn’t unpack it.
For a moment, it looked like they might sit together. But Sunghoon stayed where he was, stiff-backed, eyes forward. Heeseung leaned against the kitchen counter instead, arms crossed.
“It’s not,” Sunghoon said. “Normal, I mean.”
Heeseung nodded once.
A beat passed.
“Maybe we should talk to someone.”
Sunghoon blinked. “Someone?”
“You know,” Heeseung said, hesitant. “A therapist. Like- together.”
Sunghoon looked away, almost like he was amused. But the smile didn’t come.
“Didn’t we already try that?”
Heeseung’s jaw tightened. “Yeah. But we didn’t really try. You skipped half the sessions.”
“Because she kept asking me to open up. Like I was the only one holding things back.”
“Were you not?”
The question wasn’t loud, but it was sharp. Sunghoon’s eyes flicked up to meet his.
“You want me to bleed in front of a stranger so you don’t have to admit you’re mistakes?”
“That’s not what I said.”
“It’s what you meant.”
Heeseung pushed a hand through his hair, frustrated. “God, you twist everything.”
“And you avoid everything.”
They were quiet again. Heeseung broke it first.
“You always act like I’m some project you have to fix. Like I’m not enough as I am.”
Sunghoon stared at him. “And you don’t even notice when I’m drowning.”
The words came out too fast, like they’d been sitting in his throat for weeks, maybe months.
Heeseung’s mouth opened, then closed. His voice dropped. “That’s not fair.”
“No, what’s not fair is coming home and finding ramen on the table when I’ve been trying to hold my life together with thread. What’s not fair is being married to someone who forgets what my favorite fucking drink is.”
“I forgot one time- ”
“You forget all the time,” Sunghoon snapped. “Birthdays. Anniversaries. Cleaning up after yourself. You think just showing up counts for everything.”
Heeseung’s eyes darkened.
“And you treat love like a checklist,” he said, low. “Like if I don’t load the dishwasher your way, I don’t love you enough. Like if I don’t hold your hand at the exact second you’re upset, it means I never cared.”
“That’s not true.”
“Then what is true, Hoon? Because I’m exhausted trying to figure out the rules.”
There was a pause.
Sunghoon swallowed, his throat tight. His voice dropped to a whisper.
“I don’t even know why you married me.”
It was quiet. So quiet.
Then, slowly, like he didn’t mean to say it:
“Some days… I don’t either.”
That was it.
No yelling. No storming out.
Just that line; dropped like a stone into water, leaving rings that rippled into everything else.
Sunghoon stood up. Pushed his chair in with deliberate quiet. His face was unreadable, his posture perfect.
Heeseung didn’t stop him when he walked down the hall.
The bedroom door didn’t slam. It clicked closed, soft.
Heeseung stayed standing, still in his coat, surrounded by the same quiet that haunted their apartment now.
He looked at the table, at the food he brought home without knowing what Sunghoon wanted. At the dining table that used to be filled with laughter. At the light flickering gently above, like it was tired too.
His hand drifted to his pocket.
He felt the edge of the folded sketch still tucked inside.
But he didn’t take it out.
Not tonight.
He just sat down on the couch, head in his hands, in silence.
˖ ݁ ۫ ⋆ 𓆩 ♡ 𓆪 ⋆ ۫ ݁ ˖
Notes:
tbh, i had the rest of the chapters for this written, but i absolutely hated them. so i was planning on just discontinuing this, because i really fucking hated how i wrote this, and i didnt want to waaste my time trying to make it better, but unfortunately my sister really loved this, and she bullied me into posting this, so i have to post the rest of it now, because of her. anyone whos reading this, youve been warned, i myself dont like this, so dont judge me on this one pls
Chapter 3: The Almost
Chapter Text
The office was quiet.
Outside the glass wall, the city blinked in restless lights. Inside, it was just Sunghoon and the soft hum of his monitor, illuminating the edges of a desk stacked with reports and a coffee that had long since gone cold. He hadn’t touched it in hours. Just kept sipping and forgetting it was there.
He shifted in his seat, rolling his neck. The muscles beneath his collar were tight. His tie was loosened, top button undone, sleeves still rolled to his elbows. Always put together, even when everything else was falling apart.
He opened a new tab. Started typing an email. Stopped. Backspaced all of it.
Then, without meaning to, his eyes flicked to the top corner of his screen where his phone lay screen down, exactly where he left it.
It buzzed once.
Then again.
He didn’t move right away. Just stared at it like it might disappear if he waited long enough.
But it didn’t.
With a sigh barely more than breath, he reached for it.
[9:42PM] Jake 📚: ( A photo of a hand-drawn frog holding a tiny sword.)
[9:42PM] Jake 📚: me vs the laundry pile
Sunghoon blinked, then smiled. He stared at the frog for a moment longer than necessary. Then tapped out a reply.
[9:44PM] Hoon: I’d bet on the frog.
Another buzz.
[9:42PM] Jake 📚: He has nothing left to lose.
[9:42PM] Jake 📚: He’s dangerous.
Sunghoon huffed under his breath; something between a laugh and a sigh. His thumb hovered above the keyboard again.
He could end it now. Say goodnight. Pretend he was busy. Pretend this wasn’t the highlight of his day.
Instead, he found himself scrolling up. Reading the last week’s worth of texts.
Jake had sent him book recs. Random thoughts. Photos of doodles on napkins. “I saw a guy today, he looked so fucking expensive” Jake had written on Tuesday. “He had your exact vibe.”
It wasn’t flirty. It wasn’t anything that could be called dangerous. But it was something.
It was soft.
And it was his.
Sunghoon started typing.
There’s something I should tell you…
He stopped.
Backspaced.
Typed again.
I’ve been meaning to tell you,
Backspace. Backspace.
His hands paused, fingers tightening around the phone.
His chest hurt in that slow, familiar way; not like a wound, but like a weight. He didn’t want to tell Jake. But he also didn’t want to lie by omission forever.
He just… didn’t know how to explain what he was doing. What this was.
Eventually, he typed something else entirely.
[9:51PM] Hoon: What are you reading tonight?
A pause.
The dots appeared almost immediately.
[9:52PM] Jake 📚: nothing special, tbh
Sunghoon stared at the screen.
His throat was tight.
Before he could think of a reply, Jake sent another.
[9:52PM] Jake 📚: u okay tho??
[9:52PM] Jake 📚: sorry for being weird
[9:52PM] Jake 📚: you just sound dull today thats all
Sunghoon didn’t respond right away.
He sat there, under the ceiling light, with the cold weight of loneliness pressing into his ribs. He could say yes. He could say no. He could be honest for once. But that would mean making it real.
Instead, he clicked his phone screen off and let it sit beside him again. Face-down.
He'll reply later.
Later, the apartment was dark except for the soft glow of his phone screen.
Sunghoon lay on his side in bed, arm tucked under his pillow, staring at the quiet while staring at his and Jake's chat that was still open.
[9:52PM] Jake 📚: u okay tho??
[9:52PM] Jake 📚: sorry for being weird
[9:52PM] Jake 📚: you just sound dull today thats all
He hadn’t replied. Jake hadn’t pushed.
But the message lingered.
He let the cursor blink in the reply box, then slowly started typing.
I think I’m falling for
He stopped.
Stared at the words.
Deleted them.
The screen dimmed. The room stayed still.
Outside the bedroom door, the house was silent.
Sunghoon turned onto his back, phone resting on his chest, and closed his eyes.
And for the first time that night, he missed home.
Because this didn’t feel like home anymore.
It just felt like a place he didn’t belong.
˖ ݁ ۫ ⋆ 𓆩 ♡ 𓆪 ⋆ ۫ ݁ ˖
Heeseung wasn’t planning to stop. Not really.
He told himself he was just walking; earbuds in, hoodie pulled low, sunglasses doing most of the work to keep the world out. The city buzzed around him: cars humming in lazy afternoon traffic, someone’s dog barking at a pigeon, the slow churn of a fountain he passed every day but never really looked at.
He’d had another argument that morning. Not loud. Not brutal. Just… dull.
Sunghoon had barely looked at him before leaving. No kiss goodbye. Just a muttered reminder about some bill that needed paying and the door clicking shut.
Heeseung didn’t remember what he said in return.
Now, his feet were moving, no destination in mind; just the impulse to be anywhere else.
Then he saw him.
Same park bench. Same shade-drenched corner of the green space just off the street. Jake was cross-legged on the bench, sketchpad in his lap, headphones on, one foot bouncing with whatever music was playing in his ears.
Heeseung slowed.
He almost kept walking.
Almost.
But then Jake looked up.
Eyes bright. Smile immediate.
He pulled one headphone down. “You again.”
Heeseung blinked, half caught. “What’re the odds.”
Jake grinned. “Pretty good, actually. I sit here a lot. You’re the one wandering.”
He pulled one headphone down. “You again.”
Heeseung blinked, half caught. “What’re the odds.”
Jake grinned. “Pretty good, actually. I sit here a lot. You’re the one wandering.”
Heeseung chuckled, and it sounded real.
Jake turned the sketchpad slightly, revealing a half-finished drawing of a pigeon in sneakers. “You’re interrupting some serious work here.”
Heeseung raised an eyebrow. “That pigeon looks like it sells vape pens to minors.”
Jake laughed. A real, sharp one that cracked open the air around them.
Heeseung found himself smiling, too.
“Sit,” Jake said, scooting over automatically. “Unless you have to be somewhere else?”
Heeseung hesitated. Just a second.
Then sat.
He didn’t even ask why it felt like a relief.
They talked; about nothing at first. The weather. The weird man feeding pigeons next to them. Jake’s telling him he really likes pigeons.
The tension in Heeseung’s shoulders melted without him noticing. He let himself lean back against the bench, thigh brushing Jake’s briefly.
He didn’t move away.
Jake looked over. “You look tired.”
Heeseung’s jaw tightened for a second. Then loosened. “I’ve been carrying things too long.”
Jake didn’t ask what. Didn’t push.
Just nodded, flipping to a blank page.
His pencil started moving; slow, deliberate.
They sat in silence for a minute. Two.
Then Heeseung exhaled, like something gave out. “I want to go home. But my home doesn’t feel like home anymore.”
Jake didn’t flinch.
He looked down at the sketchpad, nodded once like he understood, and kept drawing.
It was a strange, abstract thing. A house made of uneven lines. A single chair inside it. With walls of glass. With shadows, but no source.
Heeseung watched it form without comment.
Then Jake tore the page cleanly from the pad and held it out to him without saying anything.
Heeseung stared at it. Not just the drawing, the gesture.
He took it.
Folded it carefully.
Slid it into the inside pocket of his coat without thinking, like it was something private. Something sacred.
Jake didn’t say anything. Just smiled again, soft this time.
Heeseung almost said it then.
“This is the first time I’ve felt calm in months.”
But the words stuck in his throat.
He just looked at Jake; at the curve of his mouth, the mess of curls, the smudge of pencil dust on his wrist, and stayed quiet.
The feeling lingered anyway.
And when he got up ten minutes later, thanking Jake for the company with a faint smile and a wave that lasted too long, the weight in his chest still didn’t vanish.
˖ ݁ ۫ ⋆ 𓆩 ♡ 𓆪 ⋆ ۫ ݁ ˖
The bookstore café was quieter than usual.
It was just past eight, late enough that the city’s buzz had dulled to a hum, and the regular evening crowd had thinned. The lights above their table glowed low and golden. A soft jazz instrumental played from speakers.
Sunghoon sat across from Jake, coffee half-drunk and cooling beside his elbow. He wasn’t in work clothes for once. No blazer, no pressed collar; just a dark crewneck, sleeves pushed to his forearms, fingers curled loosely around his mug.
Jake was sketching again, his pencil moving lazily across the page. Between them, the sketchbook sat open, turned so Sunghoon could watch as shapes took form.
“You always draw like that?” Sunghoon asked, voice low. “Like you’re not even thinking?”
Jake didn’t look up. “That’s the trick. Don’t think.”
Sunghoon’s lips curled faintly. “I think too much.”
“I know,” Jake said, grinning. “It’s in your posture. You sit like you're solving an equation even when you're just drinking coffee.”
That startled a quiet laugh from Sunghoon.
Jake looked up then, like he hadn’t expected to hear it.
“You should laugh like that more,” he said, gentle. “It suits you.”
Sunghoon dropped his gaze, the heat in his chest blooming too fast. He reached for his coffee as if it could ground him.
“You should hear how I sound at work,” he muttered. “It’s tragic.”
Jake chuckled, soft and genuine. “Well, I hope you get paid extra for suffering through all that tragedy.”
“I don’t,” Sunghoon replied, lips pressed around the edge of his cup. “But I pretend I do.”
For a few moments, the world narrowed to the flick of pencil on paper, the muted jazz, the scent of cinnamon from the counter. Jake’s hand stilled on the page.
“Can I ask you something?” he said, not quite meeting Sunghoon’s eyes.
Sunghoon nodded, cautious. “Sure.”
Jake’s thumb ran along the edge of his pencil. “Are you happy?”
The question landed like a stone in a still pond.
Sunghoon blinked. He didn’t answer right away.
His eyes drifted down to the sketchbook, not really seeing what was drawn there anymore. The noise around them; the clink of a mug behind the counter, the scrape of a chair at another table, all dimmed.
“I don’t know anymore,” he said finally.
His voice was quiet. Honest. There was no bitterness in it, no defense. Just fatigue. A slow exhale of something he hadn’t realized he’d been holding in.
Jake didn’t push. He only nodded, and turned the sketchbook toward Sunghoon fully.
“I want to show you something.”
Jake reached across the table.
Sunghoon did too, without thinking.
Their fingers grazed; the briefest touch, skin against skin.
It wasn’t electric. It wasn’t dramatic. It was soft, accidental, and entirely too much.
They both froze.
Sunghoon looked up. Jake had already lifted his eyes.
Their gazes caught, neither pulling away.
The air stretched between them, silent and golden and alive. Jake’s hand was still close, not retreating. Sunghoon’s breath had slowed, held like he didn’t trust what would happen if he let it go.
For a moment, it felt like something might change.
But someone walked past their table.
The sound shattered the stillness.
Jake blinked and cleared his throat. Sunghoon sat back slightly, fingers curling away from the sketchbook.
Jake tore the page out without a word and offered it across the table.
“You should keep this one.”
Sunghoon took it, careful. The paper was still warm from where Jake’s hand had pressed it down.
“Why?” he asked, barely above a whisper.
Jake leaned back in his chair. His smile wasn’t playful now; it was something deeper, something quieter.
“Because it looks like you...”
Sunghoon didn’t know what to say to that.
He only looked at the sketch again. It was a portrait, yes, but not one of his face. Not really. It was a moment, a shape of him that Jake had somehow captured in lines and light. Not perfect. But real.
He folded the paper carefully, slid it into the inside pocket of his coat.
Neither of them spoke after that. They didn’t need to.
The silence between them said everything.
˖ ݁ ۫ ⋆ 𓆩 ♡ 𓆪 ⋆ ۫ ݁ ˖
The city was steeped in blue.
That hour between sunset and nightfall, when the sky still held the last lavender streaks of daylight. The street was empty but for the distant sound of a passing car, and the breeze carried the warm scent of fried food.
Heeseung stood outside the entrance of his office building, tie loosened, sleeves rolled to his elbows. A cigarette burned low between two fingers, though he hadn’t taken a drag in minutes. His shoulders were hunched, jaw slack. Like he’d been still for a while.
Jake rounded the corner carrying a plastic takeout bag and wearing the same oversized hoodie he always seemed to be buried in. He blinked when he saw Heeseung, surprise flickering across his face, but not hesitation.
“Hey,” he called, lifting the bag slightly. “You again.”
Heeseung turned, startled. His brow lifted, cigarette falling to the ground unnoticed.
“Are you stalking me now?” he asked, voice flat but not unkind.
Jake grinned, slowing as he approached. “Maybe this street’s just in my orbit.”
Heeseung huffed; not quite a laugh, but close enough. Jake stepped beside him, shoulder to shoulder but not quite touching.
He opened the takeout bag, peeked inside.
“Want a bite? They gave me extra.”
Heeseung glanced down. Then, without a word, took one of the skewers offered to him and bit into it.
It was easy. Easier than most things had felt in weeks.
They walked a block in comfortable silence, Jake’s steps slow and loose, Heeseung’s more clipped. But neither pulled ahead. They moved in the same direction without needing to say it out loud.
“What kind of music do you listen to?” Jake asked eventually.
Heeseung gave a noncommittal shrug. “Used to be r&b. Then it was whatever Sunghoon played in the kitchen. Now… silence, mostly.”
Jake made a soft noise. “That’s a genre.”
Heeseung cracked a real smile at that. Jake nudged his elbow, pleased.
They turned onto a narrower street. Above them, an old rooftop garden peeked over the edge of a residential building. Without thinking, Heeseung stepped toward it.
The rooftop was empty, just a few benches and an old wooden railing that overlooked the flickering city below. A low wall on one side.
Jake climbed up first, perching on the edge like it was second nature. Heeseung followed, settling beside him, boots planted firm, back curved slightly forward.
Neither spoke for a long time.
Jake reached into his hoodie and pulled out a pencil, thumbed open a sketchpad.
Heeseung watched him draw. Slow, looping strokes without looking at the page.
“You always look like you’re somewhere else,” Heeseung said softly.
At that, Jake giggled and looked at him. Something inside Heeseung’s heart healed, hearing him giggle.
“I’ll take that as a compliment.” And went back to sketching.
The silence that followed was peaceful.
The wind picked up a little. Jake pushed his hair back behind his ear and kept drawing. Heeseung tilted his head to look at him.
The silence that followed was peaceful.
The wind picked up a little. Jake pushed his hair back behind his ear and kept drawing. Heeseung tilted his head to look at him.
“Um… have you ever felt like the person you love most is the hardest one to talk to?”
Jake didn’t answer right away.
The pencil paused on the page.
“Yeah,” he said finally. “But sometimes you talk with your eyes, even if your mouth stays shut.”
Heeseung looked away fast, at nothing in particular. Just the darkening sky. The way the lights flickered across glass.
And then, slowly, a small laugh broke out of him. Soft and unexpected.
“You always do that.”
“Do what?” Jake asked.
“Say something weird and right at the same time.”
Jake smiled, eyes still on the page. “It’s a talent.”
Heeseung didn’t realize he was leaning closer until Jake’s sketchbook shifted toward him.
The drawing wasn’t literal. It was abstract, looping lines and soft, jagged shapes. But something about it looked like him.
Not his face. Not his figure.
Just… the way he felt inside.
“What’s that supposed to be?” Heeseung asked, his voice quieter now.
Jake didn’t answer.
He just tore the sketch out gently, folded it once, and handed it over.
“Yours.”
Heeseung took it.
Not like a gift, like a secret.
They didn’t say goodbye. Just shared a quiet nod, a soft smile.
Jake walked back down the stairs. Heeseung stayed behind, legs still dangling off the ledge, wind tugging at the corners of the page now in his coat pocket.
He didn’t unfold it.
Not yet.
Just sat with the weight of it in his lap, and the stranger who somehow made him feel less alone.
˖ ݁ ۫ ⋆ 𓆩 ♡ 𓆪 ⋆ ۫ ݁ ˖
Jake’s apartment was quiet, but warm. Lit by a single standing lamp in the corner that casts everything in a slow, golden haze. There are sketches everywhere. Stacks of loose paper piled against the coffee table, a few tacked sloppily to the wall, and one clinging to his thigh where it’s stuck to the static of his blanket.
He’s curled up on the couch, hoodie sleeves half-covering his fingers, legs folded under him. His phone rests on the blanket in front of him, lighting up every few seconds, and each time, he checks it too fast, like it might disappear.
And then it buzzes again.
[07:42PM] Hoon: You’d hate my new client. His tie is always crooked and his morals are worse.
Jake lets out a breathy giggle. His cheeks hurt. He doesn’t even realize he’s smiling until he catches his reflection in the darkened TV screen.
He taps out a reply. Stops. Deletes it.
Types something new.
[10:44PM] Jake📚: At least his tie has the decency to look ashamed.
He sends it. Immediately hides his face in the sleeves of his hoodie.
“God,” he whispers, to no one. “Can I stop smiling, he’s not that special.”
There’s a half-finished sketch resting on his lap. Charcoal smudged in places where his fingers got too eager. It’s not a portrait, just a sketch of a hand. Long fingers, a sliver of a wrist. Sharp angles with softness threaded through.
Sunghoon’s hands.
Jake closes the sketchbook, careful not to crease the page. Sets it on the coffee table and leans back into the couch, exhaling like the air’s been heavy for hours.
Sunghoon is… complicated. Cold in the way frost forms on glass. Intricate, quiet, and beautiful if you get close enough. Jake’s not used to people like that. Most of his friends are messy, loud, full of heat. Sunghoon is silence and elegance, bite and brilliance, all wrapped in a man who sometimes laughs like he didn’t mean to.
And he texts Jake.
He keeps texting Jake.
And when they talk, Jake feels like his brain is turned all the way up. Like he has to stay sharp, clever, present. And somehow, it doesn’t feel like pressure. It feels like… recognition.
Jake turns over, tucks a throw pillow against his chest. Watches the phone on the coffee table like it might come alive again.
“He’d tell me if he was seeing someone,” Jake murmurs. “Right?”
A flicker of doubt passes through him.
There was that one moment. Last week? When Sunghoon had gotten a phone call, and he declined it so fast, and put his phone away. His mood was sour for the rest of the day.
Jake sits up a little, chewing his lip.
“No,” he says, softly. “He wouldn’t keep that from me. Not if he felt the same.”
He grabs the sketchbook again, flipping it open without thinking. Page after page of loose lines, idle shapes, until he stops on something that makes his chest pull tight.
A face; half-drawn. Not really detailed, but the shape of it is unmistakable. A strong jaw, big round eyes, a lazy kind of focus in the lines.
Heeseung.
Jake pauses.
He hadn’t realized he’d kept that one.
Heeseung is different. Their conversations feel like standing in the sun. No second-guessing, no banter, just comfort. He doesn’t demand Jake’s attention. He just has it, without trying.
Jake touches the edge of the page, hesitating. Then he closes the sketchbook.
“But it’s not like that,” he mumbles. “Heeseung’s just easy to talk to. That’s allowed.”
Still. His brain offers up a memory: Heeseung sitting next to him on the wall of the rooftop, laughing at something stupid Jake said. The way his eyes softened when Jake offered him that sketch. The way he tucked it away, so carefully, like it mattered.
Jake pulls his knees up to his chest.
“No. It’s not the same.”
A beat.
“I really like Sunghoon.”
It’s the truth he wants to hold onto.
His phone buzzes again, lighting up the dim room with another warm pulse of attention.
A photo this time. Blurry. The crooked tie of the client he mentioned.
Jake huffs a laugh and types.
[10:50PM] Jake📚: im free tomorrow
[10:50PM] Jake📚: if you wanna hang out???
He hovers over the send button. Waits. Wonders if it’s too much. Wonders if Sunghoon will think it’s flirting, or if he’ll pretend not to notice.
Jake taps send before he can overthink it.
The message goes through. No response yet.
He leans back against the cushions, letting his eyes drift to his desk.
There, near the edge, is the sketch of Heeseung he once did in the park. The one he meant to give him, but never did. Still unfinished. Just lines and shading and emotion that never got named.
It sits in the silence.
˖ ݁ ۫ ⋆ 𓆩 ♡ 𓆪 ⋆ ۫ ݁ ˖
Chapter Text
The bookstore café was quiet at this hour; warm lights pooling like honey across the hardwood, the low hum of music curling around soft murmurs from the people. Jake sat by the window, sketchbook in his lap, a to-go cup warming his fingers.
Sunghoon’s coffee sat untouched across from him. Black, extra hot. Just how he liked it.
Jake smiled to himself, cheeks pulled tight with nerves. He tapped his pen against his thigh, then leaned over his notebook, smoothing the corner of the sketch he'd tucked between its pages; a drawing of Sunghoon’s profile, half-finished and tender. Too soft for someone who always seemed so sharp.
He glanced at the door every few seconds.
‘Maybe he’ll finally say it tonight. Maybe I will.’ He giggled.
His phone buzzed.
[08:45PM] Hoon: Five minutes
Jake’s stomach flipped. He smoothed his hair down with a shaky hand.
The bell above the door jingled, and Jake looked up, already smiling.
Sunghoon stepped inside, coat unbuttoned, cheeks a little pink from the cold. He looked tired, but when he saw Jake, he smiled too.
“Hey,” he said, soft and familiar.
Jake rose to greet him. “I saved your coffee.”
“Oh, thanks,” Sunghoon said, sinking into the seat across from him.
Their knees almost brushed under the table. The air between them felt warm, expectant; like something unspoken was just about to make itself known.
Sunghoon reached for the cup, his fingers grazing Jake’s for the briefest moment. Jake’s breath hitched.
He opened his mouth- ‘Say something. Say what you want. Tell him.’
But then, the door chimed again.
Jake didn’t turn at first, too focused on the way Sunghoon was looking at him almost nervous, like he had something to say too.
But then he felt Sunghoon freeze.
And then-
“What the hell is this?”
Jake blinked.
He turned, slowly, confusion prickling up his spine.
Heeseung stood in the doorway, eyes locked on them like a gun aimed at the truth.
Jake’s mouth dropped open.
“...Heeseung?”
Heeseung’s gaze snapped to him, wide with disbelief, fury, and something like betrayal.
“You,” he hissed. Then back to Sunghoon, “Him? Are you kidding me?”
Sunghoon stood, slow and measured. “What are you doing here?”
“You didn’t even bother to hide it,” Heeseung spat, stepping closer.
“Are you following me now?” Sunghoon asked, ice coiling around his voice.
Jake looked between them, heart pounding. “Wait, I don’t- what’s going on?”
“You’re cheating?” Heeseung growled at Sunghoon. “Seriously?”
Jake reeled, heat rushing to his face.
“What?” he said. “Cheating?”
Sunghoon’s head whipped around. “You know him?”
Heeseung faltered just for a second. “Don’t turn this on me.”
“What, You’ve been seeing him too?” Sunghoon’s voice cracked like glass. “You’ve been cheating too?”
Jake stepped back like he’d been slapped. “What?”
“No,” Heeseung said quickly. Too quickly. “It wasn’t like that- ”
“You both- ” Jake said, voice rising, cracking. “You’re together?”
Neither of them answered.
The silence said everything.
Jake took another step back, hitting the edge of the table.
“You both lied to me.” His hands shook. “You- you let me fall for- for this- ”
“I didn’t know,” Heeseung said, pleading now. “Jake, I swear, I didn’t- ”
“That makes it worse,” Jake snapped. “You still let it happen.”
He turned to Sunghoon. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Sunghoon looked away.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Jake was already moving, grabbing his sketchbook, his phone, his coat.
He couldn’t stay in this place that suddenly felt like a joke.
Sunghoon reached out, too late. “Jake- ”
But Jake didn’t turn.
He walked out of the café, the bell ringing faintly behind him.
The cold night slapped him in the face, but it didn’t sting nearly as much as the ache in his chest.
He didn’t look back. He didn’t want to see the wreckage.
He just wanted to get away.
˖ ݁ ۫ ⋆ 𓆩 ♡ 𓆪 ⋆ ۫ ݁ ˖
The door slammed shut.
Keys hit the countertop with a hard, metallic clatter, bouncing once before sliding out of sight. Heeseung didn't look at them. He was already pacing, jacket half-off, one hand running through his hair like he didn’t know what else to do with himself.
Sunghoon moved slower. Deliberate. He slid his coat off and hung it carefully on the hook by the door, every movement neat and methodical like it was the only way to keep from exploding.
The silence between them was heavy.
“So?” Heeseung's voice broke it. Sharp. Bitter.
“Nothing to say?”
Sunghoon didn’t flinch. He turned around with his expression perfectly blank.
“What would you like to hear?” he asked coldly. “That I’m sorry I got caught?”
That was it. The match.
“You think this is about getting caught?” Heeseung’s laugh was jagged.
“You lied to me. You sat across from him like we weren’t married. Like we didn’t exist.”
“Don't act like you're innocent,” Sunghoon shot back.
“You think I didn’t see you? The way you looked at him? You’re not subtle.”
“We were friends.”
“Bullshit,” Sunghoon spat. “You liked him.”
“So did you.”
That silence that followed was sharper than anything they’d said aloud.
Sunghoon’s lips curled, not in a smile, something colder. Something exhausted.
“You always do this. Twist it around. You shut me out for months, and then look shocked when someone actually wants to talk to me.”
“You shut me out first!” Heeseung shouted.
“You go quiet, and cold, and then I’m the one begging for scraps.”
“You were never home.”
“Because home stopped trying to feel like home to me.”
They were spiraling now, too fast to pull back. Resentments long buried were resurfacing in all the wrong ways.
“You gave up.”
“You left first.”
“You stopped loving me.”
“You made it impossible to love you.”
It hit like glass shattering between them. Heeseung reeled back a step.
“You really think that?” he asked, voice low. Wounded.
Sunghoon’s chest heaved. He looked at Heeseung like he was daring him to cry. Like it would be easier to fight than to forgive.
“You didn’t even try anymore,” Sunghoon hissed.
“And when someone finally looked at me like- like I was something other than a burden,you were too busy feeling sorry for yourself to notice.”
Heeseung’s jaw clenched so tight it ached.
“You wanted him,” he said. “You let him see you like that.”
“You’re just mad it wasn’t you first.”
“You think it wasn’t?” Heeseung’s voice cracked.
“You think I didn’t try to feel something- anything, with you, before all this?”
He stepped forward.
Sunghoon flinched. Not because it was a lie, but because it wasn’t. He knew heeseung had tried.
A breath. A pause.
“Maybe we should just call it,” Sunghoon said suddenly, voice brittle.
“Maybe it’s time.”
Heeseung stared at him. Then, with venom in his voice,
“Oh? So you can finally be with him now?”
The words hung in the air. Thick. Drenched in disbelief.
Sunghoon blinked.
And then he said it. Quietly. Carefully.
“Maybe I want a divorce because of him.”
The silence that followed was deafening.
Heeseung didn’t speak. He just stared at him like he didn’t know him at all. Like he was trying to memorize the last version of someone he once loved.
Then, something inside him cracked.
His shoulders slumped. His lips parted, then pressed shut again. When he spoke, it wasn’t sharp, it was small.
“You didn’t even try,” he whispered.
He turned. Walked down the hallway like his body was too heavy for him to carry.
“Hee- ” Sunghoon started, his voice fraying at the edges. “Wait, I didn’t mean- ”
“Don’t,” came the answer, tired and sharp. “Don’t touch me.”
The apartment door closed gently behind him. Not a slam. Not a bang. Just a soft, final click.
Sunghoon stood in the hallway for a long moment, staring at the closed door like it might change its mind. Like maybe if he stared long enough, it’d open and Heeseung would come out and say he didn’t mean it either.
But the door stayed shut.
Eventually, Sunghoon walkes to their bedroom.
He padded over to the bed, kicking off his shoes, tugging the blanket over his legs. It didn’t feel like home anymore. It hadn’t for a while.
He looked toward the door. Then curled onto his side, arm over his eyes.
He didn’t cry.
He just lay there, staring at nothing. Listening to the silence of their apartment.
˖ ݁ ۫ ⋆ 𓆩 ♡ 𓆪 ⋆ ۫ ݁ ˖
The apartment was too quiet.
Not the good kind of quiet, like Saturday mornings and warm sunlight. This was something heavier. The silence of something gone cold. Of a home that had stopped feeling like one. The fridge hummed like it always did, low and steady, and Heeseung hated it for sounding so normal.
He crouched beside an open suitcase, folding a sweatshirt with hands that moved slower than they should. He wasn’t bringing much. A few pairs of jeans. A jacket. The records he kept stacked in the corner of the closet. And the sweaters. All the ones Sunghoon had bought for him on his birthdays, soft and oversized, smelling like cardamom and detergent and once, like lavender oil from a trip they never talked about anymore.
One of them; the charcoal gray one, still smelled faintly like the drawer it lived in. He pressed it to his face. Briefly. Just for a second.
Then shoved it deep into the bag.
There were no footsteps from down the hall. No door creaking open. The bedroom stayed quiet.
He glanced once, over his shoulder, toward the room they used to share. The door was ajar now. The blankets half-pulled, the blinds drawn. No Sunghoon.
Heeseung let out a breath through his nose, sharp and quiet.
Keys in hand. Bag on one shoulder. His old sneakers thudded softly against the floor as he walked toward the door.
He hesitated, just once. The kind of pause where you hope something changes behind you. A sound. A word. A reason to stay.
Nothing came.
He left.
Heeseung was on the floor, back against Ni-ki’s couch, legs stretched out. The place smelled like leftover takeout and something warm in the air, like chamomile.
Sunoo was curled into the corner of the couch above him, two hands around a mug of tea, eyes wide and worried but not surprised.
Ni-ki sat on the other end, socked feet up on the coffee table, a bowl of popcorn sitting between his knees like they were watching a movie instead of a slow-motion trainwreck.
“Why'd you move out though?” Ni-ki asked first, voice casual, but not careless.
Heeseung didn’t look up. He tapped the side of his phone against the floor once. Twice.
“Figured it was better than burning the place down.”
Ni-ki whistled low. Sunoo flinched like he didn’t find it funny.
“Are you... okay?” Sunoo asked, after a stretch of silence.
Heeseung thought about lying. Thought about saying ‘I’m fine,’ or ‘I will be,’ or ‘it’s better this way.’
But his mouth felt too dry.
“No,” he said instead. “Not really.”
The answer settled heavy in the room. Even the tea didn’t smell warm anymore.
They sat like that for a while, Ni-ki idly eating popcorn, Sunoo picking at the cuff of his sweater, and Heeseung staring up at the ceiling like it might blink first.
Eventually, Ni-ki nudged his shoulder with a socked foot.
“Look,” he said, softer now. “You messed up. But... I get it. When someone makes you feel like you can finally breathe, it’s hard not to chase that.”
Heeseung’s jaw clenched. His eyes stayed fixed on a shadow in the corner of the ceiling.
He didn’t say anything.
But he nodded once, and hoped it was enough to mean ‘I know’.
The place was warm, but Sunghoon sat cold in his seat. Back straight. Hands curled around a coffee cup he hadn’t tasted.
Jay sat across from him, stirring his espresso like he was trying to slow time. Jungwon leaned into the crook of the booth, arms crossed, jaw tense.
“So you’re just… not going to talk to either of them?”
The words hung. Sunghoon blinked slowly, like waking from something.
“What’s left to say?”
His voice was too even. Paper-thin.
Jungwon made a sharp sound, and leaned forward.
“You spent years with Heeseung. And Jake- ”
Sunghoon interrupted, quieter now.
“I hurt them both.”
The admission tasted like ash. He didn’t look up.
Jay exhaled softly. His fingers finally stilled around his spoon.
“Doesn’t mean you stop trying.”
Sunghoon’s jaw clenched. His eyes didn’t lift from the rim of his coffee.
“I’m tired of trying,” he said, almost inaudible.
The words came like a slow collapse.
Jay said nothing after that. He just stared at the surface of his drink.
Jungwon’s expression cracked. Less anger now, more something else. Worry. Maybe pity. But he didn’t reach for Sunghoon’s hand. Neither of them did.
They just sat there, all three of them, surrounded by warmth they couldn’t feel.
The room had lost its light days ago.
Curtains drawn. Lights off. Just the quiet hum of the fridge and the tick of a clock he couldn’t remember setting. Jake lay curled on his side, tangled in a nest of blankets on the couch. Not even the bed. The couch felt smaller. Easier to drown in.
His hoodie was the same one he’d worn the night it happened. Sleeves too long, soft from wear, fabric worn thin at the wrists. It smelled faintly like citrus soap. He hadn’t taken it off.
His hair was unwashed. His skin felt too tight. His eyes burned but not from crying. He hadn’t cried all at once. The tears came randomly, like the creak of an old house. A leak in the ceiling. Involuntary.
Tissues littered the coffee table. Some crumpled, some stained. He hadn’t bothered with a bin.
Across from him, the sketchbook sat open on the nightstand, spine bent like it couldn’t hold the weight anymore.
Jake didn’t move. He just stared at the ceiling, eyes raw, until the blur turned everything blank.
Eventually, he picked up his phone. Not to scroll. Just to check.
Hoon (2 new messages)
He didn’t open it.
He turned the phone face-down.
The world didn’t change.
It was still quiet. Still gray. Still soft and aching.
Jake sat up, back hunched, knees drawn close. He reached for the sketchbook like it might explain something. Save something.
He flipped to the last page he remembered drawing.
Sunghoon’s hands.
Pale lines, delicate curves. A stillness captured in ink.
The next page, Heeseung’s smile. Rougher, looser strokes. Not perfect, but warm. Honest. Heeseung laughing mid-sentence, like Jake had caught something no one else had ever seen.
Jake stared. Then flipped the page again.
Blank.
He reached for a marker this time, not a pencil. Something permanent. Heavy.
And started filling it in.
Black. Thick lines. Over and over and over.
Not a shape. Not a face. Just the absence of one.
By the time he was done, his fingers were stained.
He closed the book. Pressed it to his chest like it might keep him from splitting.
“I should’ve known,” he whispered.
His voice didn’t echo. The room stayed dark. And Jake stayed still, holding a page that said nothing, but meant everything.
˖ ݁ ۫ ⋆ 𓆩 ♡ 𓆪 ⋆ ۫ ݁ ˖
Notes:
just one more chapter left yayayyayayayya
Chapter 5: And Then, Us
Notes:
Finally I'm done with this! Guys I'm actually extremely sleep deprived, and half dead so if you find any mistake in this, don't tell me. Ignore it.
I'm so proud of myself to have finally finished this. I hope you guys like this, as much as you liked the other chapters. Enjoy the last chapter! ♡
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The apartment hadn’t changed. It had been four months since Heeseung moved out. The framed photos on the wall still smiled with memories that felt decades old now. The dent in the couch cushion still formed where Heeseung used to sit.
Sunghoon woke up with the same ache in his chest, the kind that no longer hurt sharply, but dulled everything else. Like his body had adjusted to the absence. He brushed his teeth in silence, glanced at the mirror like he didn’t recognize himself, and made coffee in the mug Heeseung used to use.
His phone buzzed. Just a weather update. Most days passed like this now. Long hours buried in case files and court prep, back-to-back meetings, and late nights staring at documents that blurred together. Work had always been his escape, but lately it felt more like a shield. On weekends, he stayed in; scrolling aimlessly, drinking too much coffee, watching old movies without really watching.
Sunghoon sat by the window, legs curled beneath him, fingers tight around the warm mug.
It had been so long since he'd heard from either of them. Not a call, not even a message, and somewhere deep down, he figured that was fair. He deserved it.
He thought of Heeseung, how they used to love each other with their whole bodies, their whole lives. How somewhere in the routine of surviving, they’d stopped loving out loud. And Jake. Jake, who had come in like sunlight through a cracked door, and left just as quietly.
Sunghoon closed his eyes.
Maybe loneliness was the punishment. Or maybe it was the answer.
The new apartment was smaller than their old one. Colder. The light didn’t hit the windows quite right. It wasn’t home, just a place to sleep. To forget.
There were boxes Heeseung still hadn’t unpacked. A drawer full of old shirts he refused to wear but couldn’t throw away. A photo frame facedown on the bookshelf.
Most nights he drank, curled into the couch cushions, the TV flickering light across his skin. He left it on even when he slept. The silence was louder than anything else.
Sometimes he wondered if staying would’ve changed anything. If he could’ve fought harder, spoken louder, held on longer before everything slipped away.
He’d said awful things. Worse, he’d said nothing when everything was falling apart. He didn’t know how to fight for what he loved until it was already gone.
Now, he just sat in the wreckage, hoping someday it might bloom into something again.
Jake had always been good at leaving. Quiet exits. He’d grown up believing his role was to fill in spaces, not take up too much of them.
After the fallout, he tried to go back to his life. He took on more freelance work. Sketches filled pages again; nameless faces, bodies turned away, expressions he couldn’t capture because they weren’t Sunghoon’s or Heeseung’s.
He kept the old sketchbook buried in a drawer. The one with Sunghoon’s hands, Heeseung’s profile mid laugh.
Every now and then, he pulled it out just to touch the pages.
He walked more now. Parks, bookstores, anywhere quiet. He’d sit on a bench and watch the world move around him.
Couples passed by holding hands, laughing at things he couldn’t hear.
Jake’s fingers twitched for his pencil, but he never opened the pad.
He told himself he’d moved on, but they still showed up in the quiet. In the echo of footsteps that weren’t theirs, in the softness of memories that clung to him like fog.
He wasn’t angry anymore. Just tired. He missed them, even if he didn’t know what they were anymore. Even if part of him feared finding out.
But part of him also wondered.
'What if there’s still something left worth saving?'
˖ ݁ ۫ ⋆ 𓆩 ♡ 𓆪 ⋆ ۫ ݁ ˖
The sky outside bled orange into grey as dusk settled over the city. Sunghoon sat at his kitchen table, the overhead light flickering gently; just bright enough to illuminate the chipped wood beneath his hands and the half-eaten takeout he'd barely touched. A tired quiet lingered in the apartment. Not oppressive, just… constant.
He stared at his phone like it was something foreign. It sat screen-up on the table. For months now, he'd avoided it. He’d told himself he was giving them space. That if they wanted to talk, they would. That maybe silence was safer than reopening wounds.
But the truth had always sat just beneath that lie: he’d been afraid. Afraid of rejection. Afraid that reaching out would make everything real again; the mistakes, the unraveling, the way it all fell apart without anyone really trying to stop it.
He unlocked the phone anyway.
Jake’s chat was still there. So was Heeseung’s.
The message history between them was a graveyard of unfinished conversations.
Heeseung’s name caught his thumb first. The last message was his
Let me know if you’re coming home.
Then Jake. The last message was even simpler
I'm waiting :3
It was from the day when everything fell apart. While Jake was waiting for him at the cafe for their date.
Sunghoon scrolled up through the old messages like he was peeling back layers of his own skin. And then, without overthinking it, he clicked on Heeseung’s chat and started typing.
[07:30PM] Hoonie: I know I have no right to ask.
[07:30PM] Hoonie: But can we talk?
He hit send before he could talk himself out of it.
The message turned blue. Read. Then three dots blinked.
And blinked.
And blinked.
Then,
[07:35PM] Hee: ok
Just that. No punctuation. No hesitation. But somehow it felt like a breath after drowning.
He didn’t know what it meant, whether “ok” was Heeseung’s way of saying ‘I’m still mad at you but I’ll listen’, or ‘I miss you too much to say no’, or simply ‘I'm too tired to fight anymore’. But it was enough.
It had to be.
Next, Jake.
This time, his fingers hesitated above the keyboard. The weight of it all felt heavier with Jake. Maybe because Jake had never really deserved to be dragged between their fight. Maybe because Jake had only just begun to open up when it all shattered. Maybe because Jake wasn’t supposed to matter that much… but he did. He always had.
He typed slowly, deliberately.
[07:45PM] Hoon: I know things got messy.
[07:46PM] Hoon: And I didn’t handle anything right.
[07:47PM] Hoon: But, if there’s still a part of you that wants to talk, I’d like to.
He stared at it for a full minute before hitting send.
The screen stayed blank. Delivered. Not read.
Sunghoon locked the phone and set it face-down, pushing it across the table like distance would dull the anxiety crawling beneath his skin.
He stood, poured himself a glass of water, and tried not to check again. He failed three times.
When he checked the third time, he saw it,
Jake had seen it.
But he didn’t reply.
The buzz came just as Heeseung was stepping out of the shower, towel around his waist, condensation still clinging to the mirror. He glanced at the notification bar and froze.
Hoonie
His heart punched against his ribs.
He wiped his hands, picked up the phone with careful fingers, and read the message.
[07:30PM] Hoonie: I know I have no right to ask.
[07:30PM] Hoonie: But can we talk?
He stared at the screen. Read it again. And again. Something twisted low in his chest; not quite anger, not quite relief. Just a heavy, aching pull of emotion he’d tried to outrun.
stared at the screen. Read it again. And again. Something twisted low in his chest; not quite anger, not quite relief. Just a heavy, aching pull of emotion he’d tried to outrun.
He remembered nights curled against Sunghoon’s side, tracing the dip of his collarbone with lazy fingers. He remembered the way Jake used to laugh when they sat together on the park bench. He remembered how good it had been once. Before all the silence and guilt.
Heeseung didn’t know what talking would fix. But he also knew that silence hadn’t healed anything either.
He didn’t want to have this conversation.
But he also didn’t want to keep living like none of it mattered.
So he typed back,
[07:35PM] Hee: ok
And nothing else.
It had been a quiet day. Jake had spent the afternoon in the park with his sketchpad, drawing faceless figures and letting the world blur around him. He’d taken the long route home, stopped at a bakery, watched the sky begin to change.
He’d only noticed the message an hour later.
Sunghoon’s name made something crack open inside him.
He read the words again. Then again. And then sat very still on the edge of his bed, phone in hand, heart thudding.
[07:45PM] Hoon: I know things got messy.
[07:46PM] Hoon: And I didn’t handle anything right.
[07:47PM] Hoon: But, if there’s still a part of you that wants to talk, I’d like to.
His first instinct was to close the message. Pretend he hadn’t seen it.
But his thumb hovered over the screen.
Jake exhaled, slow and long. He didn’t know what to feel. Anger wasn’t the right word. Hurt? Maybe. But mostly, sadness. An ache that had never quite healed.
He didn’t type anything. Not yet.
Instead, he put the phone down, lay back on the bed, and stared at the ceiling.
His heart didn’t know what it wanted. But it beat a little faster, all the same.
˖ ݁ ۫ ⋆ 𓆩 ♡ 𓆪 ⋆ ۫ ݁ ˖
The café was nearly empty. A soft indie track played overhead, and the scent of fresh espresso clung to the air. Evening light filtered through rain-specked windows, casting soft gold over the table.
Sunghoon sat first, early. His palms were damp, fingers wrapped tightly around the ceramic cup that had long gone cold. The table felt too wide. The space between the chairs too exposed.
Heeseung arrived next. Their eyes met, hesitated, then looked away. Heeseung took the seat across from him. Not beside him, like he would have months ago. Not close enough to brush knees. Just… across.
Then came Jake. A hood pulled up despite the drizzle outside. He paused at the entrance, eyes scanning, like he half-hoped they’d canceled. But he saw them. Two ghosts from a life he’d tried to bury. Still haunting the same corner table.
He joined them, lowering his hood and sliding into the last chair. The silence hung heavy. Three heartbeats and a thousand unsaid things between them.
Sunghoon cleared his throat, voice low.
"I miss you,” he said, his eyes not on either of them, but somewhere in the space between.
“Both of you. I think… I’ve always been missing you. Even when we were together.”
Heeseung exhaled through his nose, fingers tapping an anxious rhythm against his cup. His voice came out rough. Hesitant.
“I ruined it,” he said.
“I was scared. And angry. And I didn’t know how to say any of it. So I just... didn’t.”
Jake's fingers toyed with a paper napkin, folding and unfolding.
“And I shouldn’t have run either,” he said after a moment.
“But I was scared of being in the middle. Of feeling like a guest in something I wasn’t sure I was allowed to want.”
There was a stretch of silence again. Not cold, but fragile. A pause that might break if filled too quickly.
Sunghoon looked up then, gaze wet but steady. “I love you. Both of you.”
The words landed like rain on dry earth.
Heeseung’s breath hitched audibly, but he didn’t speak. Jake blinked, mouth parted like he had something to say, but it got lost in the storm that suddenly spun inside his chest.
“I- ” Jake started, then stopped.
His throat tightened, and he looked down. The napkin in his hands was shredded now, frayed into confetti.
“I don’t know what to say to that,” he admitted.
“I’ve spent the last few months convincing myself that I was okay without this. Without you. And I thought I was. But now I’m here, and it feels like the ground’s shifting under me again.”
Sunghoon opened his mouth, but Jake gently raised a hand.
“I’m not saying I don’t feel anything,” Jake said. “I do. That’s the problem. I never stopped.”
He swallowed hard, then stood.
“But I need time to think. To figure out if this is something I can walk back into without losing myself again.”
The chair scraped lightly as he pushed it back. He looked at both of them, really looked this time. There was no anger in his eyes. Just ache. And caution.
“I’m not saying no,” he said. “I just… I’m not ready to say yes yet either.”
And with that, he left. The bell above the door jingled softly, and then he was gone.
Heeseung watched the door for a long time. As if Jake might turn back. As if anything might rewind.
But it didn’t.
Sunghoon exhaled, and his body slumped forward just slightly, like he’d been holding tension in his spine for hours. Maybe months.
“I thought he wouldn’t come at all,” Sunghoon said quietly.
Heeseung nodded. “I did too.”
They sat in the quiet aftermath, the sounds of steaming milk and a low guitar riff filling the space Jake had left behind.
Heeseung turned to look at Sunghoon. Really look. He looked tired. Not just in the physical sense, but emotionally, spiritually. The kind of tired that came from carrying too much for too long.
“Did you mean it?” Heeseung asked, voice softer than before.
“Every word.”
Heeseung nodded slowly. “I love you too.”
They didn’t speak for a while after that. Sunghoon traced the rim of his coffee mug. Heeseung leaned back in his chair, staring out at the rain as it trickled down the windowpane in lazy streaks.
Finally, Sunghoon broke the silence.
“Do you wanna come over?” he asked, tentative. “Just to… talk. Or not talk. Or sit in silence together for a while.”
Heeseung hesitated.
Then nodded.
Sunghoon stood first. They walked side by side through the soft drizzle, not touching, not speaking, but not avoiding either.
˖ ݁ ۫ ⋆ 𓆩 ♡ 𓆪 ⋆ ۫ ݁ ˖
Back at the apartment. Their old apartment, everything looked the same and nothing did.
The shoes by the door weren’t where Heeseung remembered them. The couch had different pillows. But the air still smelled like them, like lavendar.
Sunghoon stepped in first, slowly. Heeseung followed.
“I didn’t change much,” Sunghoon said, almost apologetic.
“Couldn’t bring myself to.”
They stood in the living room for a moment, and then, as if pulled by gravity, Heeseung sat on the couch.
Sunghoon joined him.
The silence this time was softer. Easier. Like the space was remembering them.
“I keep thinking about that morning,” Heeseung murmured. “When I left. You weren't even there to say goodbye.”
Sunghoon’s gaze dropped to his hands. “I didn’t know how to stop you.”
“I didn’t want you to stop me,” Heeseung said.
“That’s the worst part. I wanted you to let me go, so I could tell myself I wasn’t the only one giving up.”
They were quiet again.
And then Sunghoon reached out. Just his pinky at first, brushing Heeseung’s hand.
Heeseung turned his hand over, laced their fingers.
"I never stopped loving you,” Heeseung whispered.
“I just got too scared to keep showing it.”
Sunghoon leaned his head against Heeseung’s shoulder.
“I want to try again,” he said. “Even if it’s just us. Even if Jake never comes back.”
Heeseung pressed a kiss to the top of his head.
“We’ll try again,” he said. “But I think he will.”
Sunghoon closed his eyes, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
“I hope so.”
The rain tapped gently on the windows. The silence curled around them, warm this time. Forgiving.
And in that quiet, they stayed. Not fixed. Not perfect. But open.
Together.
˖ ݁ ۫ ⋆ 𓆩 ♡ 𓆪 ⋆ ۫ ݁ ˖
The text came late in the afternoon. Just a single line, no punctuation.
[5:35PM] Jake📚: can we talk
Sunghoon’s heart skipped before he even finished reading it. His hands trembled slightly as he read it again, as if the words might rearrange themselves, vanish, turn into something else. But they didn’t. They stayed, patient, like Jake was waiting for the silence to break.
Heeseung was already at the apartment. Their apartment, sitting on the floor with his legs stretched out, leaning against the couch. The television was on, volume low, casting dull colors across his face.
Sunghoon turned to him, phone still in hand.
“He texted.”
Heeseung looked up, eyes alert. “Jake?”
Sunghoon nodded. “He wants to talk.”
The quiet between them was heavy, but not the suffocating kind they used to sit in. This one felt like anticipation. Like a page waiting to turn.
“I told him to come over.”
The knock came just after seven.
Sunghoon opened the door slowly, cautiously, as though opening it too quickly might scare Jake away.
There he was. Same dark hoodie, backpack slung over one shoulder, hair slightly damp like he’d walked part of the way. He looked tired, but less guarded than he had the last time they saw him.
“Hey,” Jake said softly.
“Hey,” Sunghoon echoed, stepping aside.
Jake stepped in, gaze flicking around the space.
Heeseung stood as Jake entered. There was a moment of awkwardness, two people unsure whether to hug or nod or speak.
Jake gave a small wave. “Hey.”
“Hey,” Heeseung replied, voice rougher than usual. He moved aside to give Jake space.
They sat down, not quite in a line, not quite apart. Jake took the armchair, Sunghoon perched on the edge of the couch, Heeseung leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. Like a triangle that hadn’t decided which side to lean on.
Jake broke the silence first.
“I thought about it. A lot.” He looked up, eyes meeting theirs.
“About everything.”
Sunghoon didn’t speak. Heeseung didn’t either. They let him speak.
Jake sighed. “I’m not ready to jump back into this. Into us. Whatever we were… whatever we are. I’m not even sure I know how to be part of something like that.”
He looked between them, earnest and open.
“But I don’t want to be on the outside either.”
Sunghoon’s voice was gentle when it came.
“So… what do you want?”
Jake hesitated.
“I want us. But slow. No rushing. No pretending nothing happened. I want honesty. And space, when we need it. And… I want to know it’s real this time.”
Heeseung nodded, looking down at his hands.
“That sounds fair.”
There was another pause; not of discomfort, but of shared understanding. Like all three were checking in with themselves and each other, silently asking,
'Can we do this? Are we ready?'
Jake let out a breath.
“I don’t want a label. Not yet. Not until it feels right again.”
“Okay,” Sunghoon said.
Heeseung offered a soft smile. “We’re not going anywhere.”
Something unspoken passed between them; a quiet commitment. A choice.
Jake relaxed a little in his chair.
“Won't you guys serve anything? Tea?”
Sunghoon blinked, then let out a laugh; a real one.
“You’re unbelievable.”
"Hey, I'm your guest!” Jake grinned.
“I’ll make it.” Heeseung stood, stretching.
In the kitchen, mugs clinked and water boiled. Jake watched Heeseung move from the living room. Sunghoon leaned into the couch a little more, arms crossed but smile soft.
Jake looked around the room again. “It smells nice here.”
Sunghoon tilted his head. “Smells like what?”
Jake shrugged. “Like… you guys. Comfort, maybe. Lavendar something. It's really nice”
Heeseung returned with three mugs, handing them out like a peace offering.
They sipped in silence, but this time it was warm.
Jake set his mug down and leaned back.
“I saw a dog today that looked like Sunghoon. Same resting bitch face.”
Sunghoon raised an eyebrow. "What am I supposed to do with the information?”
Jake shrugged, feigning innocence. “Just saying.”
Heeseung chuckled. “You missed this, didn’t you?”
Jake didn’t answer, but the look in his eyes said enough.
Eventually, the distance between them closed. Heeseung shifted to sit beside Sunghoon. Jake moved to the floor, back against the couch, knees bent loosely.
They didn’t talk about the past. Not that night. There’d be time for that, time to unearth the hurt, time to apologize again, properly, for the things said and unsaid.
But for now, it was enough.
Sunghoon leaned his head gently onto Jake’s shoulder, and Jake didn’t flinch. He leaned back.
Heeseung let his arm fall across the back of the couch, fingers brushing lightly against both of them.
It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t tidy. But it was beginning again.
Jake let out a breath, soft and full.
"This time,” he murmured, more to himself than anyone, “let’s get it right.”
And for once, no one felt the need to reply. They just sat there, in the warmth, in the softness, in something they were finally willing to rebuild together.
˖ ݁ ۫ ⋆ 𓆩 ♡ 𓆪 ⋆ ۫ ݁ ˖
The sun filtered through the curtains in lazy streaks, golden and slow, like it had nowhere else to be.
Heeseung was the first to wake, as usual. He lay still for a moment, blinking at the soft ceiling light, then turned his head to Jake, curled on his side, one arm flopped across Sunghoon’s waist. Sunghoon, flat on his back, hair a mess, lips parted slightly as he slept.
Their breathing filled the room. Quiet, even.
Heeseung smiled.
The apartment looked different these days. Not bigger, not brighter, just… lived in. The fridge was covered in mismatched magnets and takeout menus. Sketches were pinned on the wall beside grocery lists. Sunghoon’s work bag sat beside Jake’s beat-up sneakers in the hallway. Heeseung’s laundry habits drove them both insane.
Jake stirred and cracked an eye open. “Stop staring bro.”
“I’m allowed to,” Heeseung whispered. “You’re mine.”
Jake rolled his eyes and reached blindly for Sunghoon, who groaned at being squished between two half-awake idiots. “It’s Sunday,” he muttered into the pillow. “Let me sleep, or die.”
Heeseung chuckled and leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to the top of Sunghoon’s head, then to Jake’s shoulder.
“M’kay,” Jake mumbled. “You win. That was cute.”
The coffee could wait. The world could wait.
They’d been through the storm; the silence, the loss, the ache of what-ifs, and still found their way back to something real.
Something warm. Something lasting.
No labels. No perfection.
Just them.
Together.
˖ ݁ ۫ ⋆ 𓆩 ♡ 𓆪 ⋆ ۫ ݁ ˖
Notes:
I'd love to hear your thoughts, so feel free to comment.
Thank you so much to all the people who supported this fic, and encouraged me to write it, I really appreciate y'all.
I've started on a Minsung fic, so if you're interested in it, you can read it Salt In The Wound
I would really appreciate the support on that fic too.
Once again, thanks a lot for being with me through Our Missing Piece. I hope I didn't disappoint anyone. Take care of yourselves y'all, I'm proud of you ♡
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