“For you see, each day, I love you more—today more than yesterday and less than tomorrow.” – Rosemonde Gérard

The fight had ended. Fists thrown, blood tasted, and adrenaline drained.
Now it was just quiet. Wet pavement and the dull fluorescent buzz of the convenience store sign above them.

Gotak stood still outside. One hand clutching a can of hot coffee given by Juntae, the other subtly clenched into his pocket. Not for anger. For control.
His leg ached like a fucking bastard. The cold always made it worse. The dozen times it was kicked and kicked, probably didn't help. 

Baku was leaning against the brick wall beside him. His eyes scanning the street, not saying anything for once.

Sieun, Gayool, Juyang, Taeoh, and Juntae were inside grabbing snacks. Talking too loudly and trying to act like everything was fine.
But Gotak wasn’t fine.

So, he cleared his throat and mumbled, “I'm heading out.”

Baku looked over immediately. “What? You good?”

“Yeah. Just tired.” Gotak didn't meet his eyes. “My mom’s been calling.”

Lie.
His mom was working doubles. She wouldn't have been able to call.

Baku didn’t say anything, but his brows pulled tight like a worried dog.
Gotak hated that look.

Gotak limped off before anyone could stop him.

────୨ৎ────

He’d barely made it three blocks when he heard the familiar scuff of heavy shoes behind him.

“You gonna keep trailing me like a puppy or say something?” Gotak said, not turning around.

A beat of silence.

Then Baku’s voice, low. “You’re limping more than usual.”

Gotak rolled his eyes. “Don’t start.”

“I’m not...”

“Yes, you are. You’re doing that thing where you pretend, you're not worried but look like you're about to cry and punch a wall at the same fucking time, idiot.”

Baku flinched. “...Can I come over?”

Gotak finally turned, eyes soft despite the exasperation in his voice. “Why ask? You’ve been crashing at my place since we were eight. Mom already gave you a key years ago.”

Baku cracked a half-laugh and his shoulders easing.
Gotak winced as he stepped, and Baku moved to his side without another word.

They walked in silence the rest of the way.

────୨ৎ────

Gotak’s house was cozy. Three rooms, an old comfortable couch, and the smell of clean detergent.
Baku always said it was “perfect.”

They didn’t turn on the TV. Didn’t need to. Just sat on the couch with the dim kitchen light casting long shadows across the room.

“...Can I do your leg?” Baku finally asked. Quiet. Hesitant.

Gotak froze. “Do my leg?”

“Massage. Like, just... help with the muscle. You said the cold messes it up, right?”
Baku’s voice cracked a little. “Please.”

Gotak’s face flushed, his ears pink. “You... you don’t have to.”

“Let me,” Baku whispered.

Gotak huffed out. “Fine. Jesus.”

He shifted on the couch, lifting his sweatpants just above the knee.
The scar was pale. It stretched over his skin like a ghost of what was stolen.

Baku’s hands were warm against Gotak’s knee. Moving in slow, gentle circles.
Trying to ease the tension. To chase the pain away.
His touch was light and careful. Almost hesitant.
Like he was afraid that pressing any harder might break him all over again.

They stayed like that for a while.
The silence between them not awkward. Just full of things unsaid.

“You know,” Gotak said softly, “it wasn’t your fault.”

Baku didn’t answer, his hands pausing.

“I’m serious,” Gotak went on. “What Baekjin did… he was always gonna go low. Kick a guy while he’s down, use someone to get to someone else. That’s who he is. Not who you are.”

Baku's voice cracked. “But if I never helped him before, or if I did what he wanted, he wouldn’t’ve,”

“He wanted to break you. Wanted to make you his. Like you're a fucking thing to own,” Gotak interrupted. “Fuck that asshole. I would have never let you do it his way.”

Baku’s hands trembled.

Gotak looked down.
He could feel Baku's tears fall on his leg.

“I made my choice, Baku. I picked you. And yeah, my leg’s fucked up. My dreams of being a Taekwondo champ? Gone. But I’m still fucking here. I can still stand. I walked again, didn’t I? I fought through rehab. You know why?”

Baku’s head was bowed, shoulders shaking.

“Because of you.”

Gotak reached out but stopped.
He could feel the sobs before he heard them.

“Because you were there. Right beside me.  I simply couldn’t leave you alone. You made me want to survive, Huminah. And it's okay. I can just make new dreams.”

“But they’re not the same,” Baku choked out. “You had everything, and now? Now, because of me...”

Gotak finally gave in. He leaned in, forehead resting gently against Baku’s.
“Because of you, I’m alive. So shut up, you moron. And stop crying on my pants.”

Baku sobbed harder.

They stayed like that, breath mingling, hearts full of things neither dared say out loud.

Not yet.

But Gotak didn’t move. And Baku didn’t pull away.

Because some kinds of love don’t need names.

They just need to be chosen. Over and over.

And tonight, like every night since they were eight years old...
Baku stayed, and Gogo chose him.