Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Leo shoved his key into the lock, twisting it with the practiced impatience of someone who had been running on three hours of sleep for too many nights in a row. His shoulders were sore, his throat still raw from the day’s recording, and the only thing on his mind was collapsing face-first into bed without even changing out of his hoodie.

The apartment was dark except for the faint glow spilling out from the living room. Not unusual—Sangwon was a night owl, and Leo was used to him being up late, sometimes sketching on his iPad, sometimes chatting with friends on video call. Their schedules were so different now it almost felt like they lived in parallel universes that only overlapped at random points of the day.

Still, it was home. Their home. Even if Leo barely saw it awake anymore.

He kicked off his sneakers, tossed his cap onto the counter, and wandered toward the light. His brain was half-shut down already, his body on autopilot—until the sound hit him first.

A low laugh. A sharp inhale. A muffled noise that didn’t belong to Sangwon alone.

Leo’s brows furrowed, his steps faltering as he turned the corner.

And then he froze.

Sangwon was on the couch, lips crushed against some guy’s, their bodies tangled in a way Leo had never seen before. It wasn’t the quick, playful kisses he’d occasionally caught sight of in the past, moments he’d always brushed off with an easy grin. No—this was different. Hands gripping hair, shirts tugged half-up, the kind of urgency that turned the air heavy and sticky.

Leo’s stomach dropped.

He blinked once, twice, like maybe he was hallucinating from exhaustion. But no—this was happening right there, in his living room, on the couch where he and Sangwon ate ramen and argued about dumb variety shows.

The guy didn’t even notice him. Sangwon did, though. His eyes flickered open mid-kiss, catching Leo’s for a split second. There was no guilt there, no apology—just mild surprise, as if Leo had walked in on him drinking water instead of making out with half his lungs.

Leo swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry.
“Uh. Sorry. Didn’t know you were… yeah.”

He backed up before his brain could register more, retreating down the hallway like the room was on fire. By the time he reached his door, his pulse was pounding in his ears. He shut it quietly, leaned back against the wood, and exhaled sharply.

What the hell was that?

He wasn’t stupid. Sangwon had been openly gay since before they’d even lived together. Leo had never once had an issue with it. He’d seen him flirt, kiss, sometimes disappear for the night. It wasn’t new.

So why did this feel like a punch to the gut?

He sat on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees, fingers digging into his hair. His chest was tight, a knot forming in a place he couldn’t identify. He tried to rationalize it—maybe it was just the shock, maybe it was awkward seeing someone that into it in his space.

Yeah, that had to be it. Nothing more.

So. What was it then?

The ugly possibility crept in before he could stop it: what if I’m just being homophobic?

The word made his chest tighten. No way. He wasn’t like that. He’d never been like that. He’d always had Sangwon’s back, always supported him without hesitation. He’d defended him when people whispered, laughed off stupid comments from others, made sure Sangwon felt safe around him. He never understood why homophia was even a thing. That was who he was. That was who he’d always been.

So why did tonight sit so wrong in his stomach?

Leo sat forward, elbows braced on his knees. Maybe it was the setting. The fact that it was their apartment, their couch, the one piece of furniture they’d dragged across three hallways and a flight of stairs together. Maybe it was just about closeness—about boundaries. He wouldn’t have been comfortable walking in on anyone making out like that on the couch, guy or girl. Right?

Yeah. That had to be it. A privacy thing. Nothing to do with Sangwon being gay. Nothing to do with Leo.

He repeated it to himself until the words blurred, until his body finally eased enough to let him lie back.

But when he finally closed his eyes, all he could see was Sangwon’s fingers curled in that guy’s shirt, the sound of his laugh muffled against someone else’s mouth.

And his chest clenched all over again.

Chapter Text

The smell of coffee was the first thing Leo registered when he cracked his eyes open. Bitter, rich, and far too strong for nine in the morning. His skull felt like it was full of wet sand, each blink dragging.

He groaned, pushing himself upright. His hoodie from last night was twisted uncomfortably around his torso, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. All he wanted was caffeine—or a second round of unconsciousness.

When he shuffled into the kitchen, Sangwon was already there, sleeves pushed up, hair tied messily at the nape of his neck. He was rinsing a mug in the sink, humming low under his breath. Normal Sangwon. Same as always.

Leo hesitated in the doorway for half a second before muttering, “Morning.”

Sangwon glanced up, offered him that easy smile. “Morning. You look like hell.”

“Feel like it too,” Leo said, dropping into a chair at the table. He rubbed at his eyes, pretending the brightness of the room was what made him wince.

There was only one mug on the counter. No shoes by the door. No stranger on the couch. Whoever it was had left already.

Sangwon set the clean mug aside, dried his hands on a dish towel, then leaned against the counter. “About last night—”

Leo immediately groaned. “Don’t.”

“I should probably apologize,” Sangwon continued anyway, his tone gentler. “Didn’t think you’d be home that early. I should’ve… I don’t know, been more considerate.”

Leo waved a hand dismissively, eyes fixed firmly on the tabletop. “Seriously, don’t worry about it. It’s your place too. You can do whatever you want.”

“Still,” Sangwon said, tilting his head, studying him with those sharp eyes that always seemed to see through too much. “You seemed… surprised.”

“I was tired,” Leo muttered, forcing a half-smile. “You could’ve been juggling fire in here and I would’ve been surprised.”

That earned a quiet laugh. The tension eased a little, though Leo still felt an uncomfortable prickle at the back of his neck.

Sangwon let it go—he always knew when to push and when not to. He poured coffee into a mug, slid it across the counter toward Leo. “Here. Black, because you look like you need to be slapped awake.”

Leo caught it, wrapping his hands around the warmth. “Thanks.”

They fell into a familiar silence after that. Sangwon started chopping vegetables for breakfast, humming some tune Leo didn’t recognize. Leo sipped his coffee, watching him move around the kitchen the way he always did. Efficient, comfortable, like he owned the space.

Nothing had changed. Not really.

Except Leo noticed things he’d never thought twice about before—the faint red mark just visible above Sangwon’s collarbone, the way his voice sounded raspier than usual, the relaxed curve of his shoulders. He told himself it was nothing. Just the sleep deprivation making him overanalyze.

He dragged his gaze back to the mug in his hands, knuckles whitening around the ceramic.

“Long day ahead?” Sangwon asked, glancing at him.

“Yeah. Studio until late again.”

“Mm. Don’t overdo it.”

Leo snorted into his coffee. “You sound like my mom.”

“Maybe she’d pay me to keep an eye on you.”

That got a real laugh out of him, the first genuine one since last night. For a moment, things felt almost normal again. Almost.

But even when Sangwon slid a plate of eggs in front of him and nudged his shoulder playfully, Leo couldn’t shake the image of the couch. Couldn’t shake the feeling that something had quietly shifted inside him, even if he refused to put a name to it.

The next few days blurred together in a haze of late nights and early mornings. Leo’s schedule had him bouncing between the studio and meetings, his phone buzzing constantly with reminders and half-finished voice memos. By the time he dragged himself home each night, the apartment was quiet, lights dimmed, Sangwon usually in his room with headphones on.

It was easy, almost too easy, to convince himself nothing had happened.

Three days. No trace of strangers in their living room, no muffled laughter spilling from the couch, no reason to feel that restless twist in his stomach. He slipped back into their shared rhythm: Sangwon making coffee in the morning, Leo stealing the first mug; Sangwon leaving sticky notes on the fridge (“buy eggs, you ate the last one, don’t deny it”), Leo responding with doodles in pen.

Normal. Familiar. Safe.

And yet… every once in a while, Leo caught himself hesitating. A split-second pause before walking into the living room, a flicker of expectation that he’d open the door and see—
He shook it off every time. Too tired to think too deeply.

On the fourth morning, he woke later than usual, sunlight already creeping in through the blinds. The smell of toast hit him before he even sat up.

Padding into the kitchen, he found Sangwon leaning against the counter, scrolling his phone with one hand, a plate of toast balanced on the other. He looked up at Leo’s rumpled hair, the dazed blink of sleep still clinging to him, and smirked.

“You’re alive.”

“Barely,” Leo muttered, grabbing a slice off the plate without asking.

“Rude,” Sangwon said, snatching his phone charger from the counter and tossing it into his bag. “You always steal my food.”

“You leave it out like bait.” Leo bit into the toast, leaning one hip against the counter. The banter was automatic, comfortable. It felt good.

For a few minutes, the kitchen was filled with nothing but the crunch of toast and the soft ping of Sangwon’s phone.

Then, casually, Sangwon asked, “You’ve been… tired lately.”

Leo shot him a sideways glance. “Because I am tired.”

“No, I mean—” Sangwon hesitated, choosing his words. “You feel… different. Like your brain’s somewhere else.”

Leo frowned, rubbing the back of his neck. “That obvious?”

“Yeah.” Sangwon’s gaze lingered, sharp but not unkind. “Did something happen at work?”

Leo shrugged. “Work’s just… work. Same as always.”

“Mm.” Sangwon didn’t look convinced. He reached over and plucked the last corner of toast right out of Leo’s hand, popping it into his mouth with a grin.

“Hey!” Leo protested, but it came out more amused than annoyed.

“You know…” Sangwon started, his tone careful but playful, “maybe you should just take a day. Like—actually take a day off. No studio, no meetings, no running yourself into the ground.”

Leo snorted. “You sound like my manager.”

“Yeah, except your manager doesn't do profit when you’re half-dead. For me it's the same.”

Leo rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitched. “You know it doesn’t work like that. If I stop, I fall behind.”

“Not if it’s one day,” Sangwon pressed. His eyes softened. “Come on. Monday’s free, right? We could… I don’t know, do something. Nothing heavy. Just—relax. Breathe a little.”

Leo hesitated, chewing the inside of his cheek. A full day off felt like a luxury he couldn’t afford. But under Sangwon’s steady gaze, the protest in his throat lost some of its weight.

He shrugged, pretending to be indifferent. “Maybe. I’ll think about it.”

“That’s a yes,” Sangwon said immediately, grinning like he’d already won.

Leo shook his head, but the warmth of the smile tugging at Sangwon’s lips stuck with him longer than he expected.

Their laughter bounced easily through the kitchen, echoing off the cabinets. For a brief moment, Leo felt the knot in his chest loosen.

By the end of the day, though, he found himself lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, mind wandering back to that night on the couch. The images weren’t sharp anymore, dulled by time and exhaustion, but they still lingered at the edges of his thoughts.

He told himself it didn’t matter. That he was overthinking. That their life was exactly the same as before, and it would stay that way.

And for now, he was determined to believe it.

Chapter Text

Leo’s phone alarm went off at seven, as usual. He reached across the sheets, silenced it with a groan, and pressed the heel of his palm against his eyes. Monday—another week, another set of deadlines waiting for him.

Or it would’ve been, if not for the faint knock at his bedroom door.

“Hyung?” Sangwon’s voice floated in, light, almost annoyingly awake. “You up?”

“Unfortunately,” Leo muttered, sitting up. “Why?”

The door cracked open, and Sangwon peeked in, already dressed in a soft oversized sweater and sweatpants, hair still damp from a shower. He was holding two mugs, the faint aroma of coffee curling into the room.

“Because you’re not allowed to work today,” Sangwon announced, stepping in with that matter-of-fact tone that made Leo’s eyebrows draw together immediately.

“Excuse me?” Leo rasped.

“You heard me. No studio. No rehearsals. No pretending you don’t need sleep. Today’s a break day.” Sangwon set one mug down on the nightstand. “I planned it.”

Leo blinked at him. “Planned what, exactly?”

“Our day off.”

Leo laughed once, dry. “Yeah, not happening. I have—”

“You don’t,” Sangwon cut in smoothly, already anticipating the protest. “I checked with your manager.”

For a moment, Leo’s sleep-muddled brain couldn’t quite process that. He frowned. “You what?”

“I told him last week you needed a real day to reset. He agreed.” Sangwon tilted his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. “So if you’re mad, yell at me, not him.”

Leo gaped at him, then reached for his phone on the nightstand anyway, scrolling through notifications. Sure enough—no schedule. A single message from his manager confirmed it: Sangwon’s right. One day won’t kill you. Rest.

He tossed the phone back down, exhaling through his nose. “Unbelievable. You went behind my back.”

“Technically, I went in front of your back,” Sangwon quipped, sipping his own coffee. “Because if I told you directly, you’d have fought me.”

Leo shook his head, but there was no real anger in it. Just the kind of frustrated fondness he always ended up with when Sangwon managed to pull something like this. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously thoughtful, yeah.” Sangwon grinned and plopped down at the edge of the bed, setting the second mug into Leo’s hands. “Now drink. We’ve got a whole day of relaxation to get through.”

Leo glanced down at the steaming coffee, then back at Sangwon, who looked far too pleased with himself.

“This is absurd,” he muttered, but he still lifted the mug to his lips. The first sip was perfect—smooth, just the way he liked it. Of course Sangwon would know that. Of course he’d think of everything.

“Absurd or not, you’re stuck with me,” Sangwon said cheerfully. “And no sulking. You agreed, remember?”

“I said ‘maybe.’”

“Which translates to yes.” Sangwon leaned back on his hands, grinning. “So relax. You’re mine for the day.”

Leo rolled his eyes, but the words lodged themselves somewhere in his chest. Mine for the day. He wasn’t about to unpack why that made his stomach twist. Not when he had such a perfectly simple explanation lined up: Sangwon was just… close. Closer than anyone else. That’s all this was.

Yeah. That had to be it.

So he sighed, surrendered to the absurdity, and muttered, “Fine. What exactly did you plan?”

“You’ll see,” Sangwon said, smug as ever. “But first, take a shower. We need to get the maximum of relaxation out of today!"

-

He dragged himself into the shower, letting the hot water pound at his skin until his thoughts slowed into something bearable. For a moment, he pretended that maybe this was his life—long mornings, no deadlines pressing at his throat, steam fogging up the mirror. Normal.

By the time he padded out into the living room, towel hanging around his shoulders, the smell hit him first. Warm, savory, and ridiculously nostalgic.

The table was covered. Toast stacked high, eggs, fresh fruit, and even something that made his chest tighten—a small plate of Vegemite toast.

"… is that… Vegemite toast?” Leo asked, dropping into a chair.

Sangwon looked up from the stove, spatula in hand, and grinned. “Figured you missed it.”

Leo stared. “You actually managed to get it?!”

“Online,” Sangwon said proudly, setting down a pan of eggs. “Took forever to ship, but I managed.”

For a moment, Leo didn’t know what to say. It wasn’t just the Vegemite—there were lamingtons, too, and coffee brewed the way he liked, not the way Sangwon usually made it. It wasn’t perfect—one of the lamingtons looked kind of squished, and Leo doubted Sangwon actually knew how to season eggs properly—but it was… effort. It was thought.

And for some reason, it made something twist unexpectedly in his chest.

He quickly buried it under a smirk. “You planning to open a café behind my back or something?”

Sangwon rolled his eyes, sliding into the seat across from him. “Don’t get used to it. Took me like two hours to figure out how to make half of this.”

Leo laughed, shaking his head. He picked up the toast, took a bite, and immediately felt the corner of his mouth twitch upward. “Not bad,” he admitted.

Sangwon leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Not bad? That’s all I get?”

Leo chewed slowly, deliberately, before meeting his eyes with the laziest grin he could muster. “Seven out of ten.”

The mock-offended gasp Sangwon gave nearly made him choke on his coffee.

It felt easy—banter always did with them. But under the surface, Leo’s thoughts kept circling back, stubborn and insistent. Why did it matter so much that Sangwon had gone through all this trouble? Why did noticing the way his hair stuck out in the morning, or the stupid little smudge of flour on his cheek, make him suddenly aware of his own heartbeat?

He forced the thoughts down with another sip of coffee, almost too quickly.
Yeah. He was fine.
Totally fine.

-

Leo honestly didn’t know what to expect when Sangwon marched him into the pottery studio, but “pleasant” wasn’t high on the list. He braced himself for embarrassment, convinced his clay would flop instantly.

It didn’t.

It was… surprisingly easy. The wheel hummed steadily under his palms, the clay soft and cool, molding the way the instructor showed them. It wasn’t perfect—his first attempt came out uneven, but not terrible. By the second try, he could actually see a little cup forming.

Sangwon sat beside him, tongue poking out in concentration, apron already streaked with clay smudges. He looked more like a kid at art class than a grown man, and for some reason, that sight made something warm unfurl in Leo’s chest.

He quickly shoved the thought away, focusing back on the clay.

“This isn’t bad,” Sangwon said after a while, leaning over to examine Leo’s cup. “Kinda professional, even.”

Leo arched a brow. “Don’t sound so surprised.”

“I’m not. I just thought you’d get frustrated and storm out.”

“Wow, thanks for the faith.”

Sangwon grinned at him, and Leo had to look away, ears heating for no reason.

The instructor eventually suggested they try making little figures, something more playful. Sangwon jumped on the idea immediately, already shaping his clay into something vaguely animal-like.

“What’s that supposed to be?” Leo asked, squinting.

“It’s a dog.”

“It looks like a potato.”

“Shut up, it’s artistic.”

Leo laughed under his breath, starting his own. His came out looking like a penguin—crooked but recognizable. By the time the session ended, they both had tiny clay creatures set on a drying shelf, along with the slightly wonky cups they’d made earlier.

The instructor told them they’d be able to pick everything up in about two weeks, after it was fired and glazed.

“Guess we’ll have to come back,” Sangwon said casually as they washed their hands.

Leo nodded, almost too quickly. “Yeah. Guess so.”

They left the studio carrying nothing but smudges on their fingers and the faintest ache in their cheeks from smiling. Leo realized, as they stepped into the sunlight again, that his head had been quiet the whole time. No deadlines. No pressure. No weird feelings gnawing at him. Just Sangwon, clay-stained and content, walking beside him.

And that… was enough.

-

The park was quiet, sunlight slipping through leaves in shifting patches of gold. Sangwon had picked a nice spot, a patch of grass near a small pond where ducks drifted lazily.

Leo stretched out his legs with a sigh, feeling the ache in his muscles ease a little. It was rare for him to sit like this in the middle of the day, no studio deadlines hanging over his head, no buzzing phone reminding him of what he should be doing. Sangwon had turned his phone off.

Sangwon unpacked the picnic basket with exaggerated care, as if he’d been waiting to show off. “Ta-da,” he said, laying out a neat spread on the blanket: sandwiches with perfect crusts cut off, bright fruit, a couple of fancy-looking pastries. Aesthetically flawless.

It looked like something out of a photo shoot.

Leo gave him a skeptical look. “You didn’t make any of this, did you?”

“Define ‘make,’” Sangwon said smoothly, popping open a pastry box.

Leo chuckled, shaking his head. Still, the first few bites weren’t bad—the sandwiches were a little dry, but edible. The pastries tasted good enough. They ate for a while, chatting about nothing serious. Leo even caught himself leaning back, enjoying it.

But after twenty minutes, it became clear: there just… wasn’t enough.

Sangwon’s “spread” was more for looks than for filling anyone up. The fruit disappeared fast, the sandwiches left them both underwhelmed, and Leo eyed the bottom of the basket with growing amusement.

“So, this is your grand plan, huh?” Leo teased, brushing crumbs off his lap. “Starve me so I’m too weak to complain?”

Sangwon groaned and flopped back onto the blanket. “Fine, convenience store after this. You can pick whatever you want.”

“Now we’re talking.”

The teasing settled into something quieter as they sat back and let the afternoon air drift around them. For a while, neither spoke. Leo watched the ducks glide on the pond’s surface, listened to the hum of distant city traffic softened by trees. His body was relaxed, but his head—the part that never really shut up—kept circling back.

Sangwon broke the silence first. “You’ve been working too much again.”

Leo blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“You’ve been pulling long nights. Even your texts sound tired. And—” Sangwon sat up, meeting his eyes. “I can see it in your face, Leo. You’re running yourself thin.”

Leo’s instinct was to brush it off. He always did.

Then he hesitated. His gaze dropped to his hands, fingers fidgeting with the edge of the blanket. “…I mean, yeah, I feel overwhelmed sometimes, but it’s not like before. I’m not… crashing.”

Sangwon’s expression softened, the sharpness in his voice easing. “I know. I just don’t want you back in that place.”

The air grew heavier, the weight of memory pressing in between them. That time—the burnout, the collapse after leaving Trainee A—was something they both remembered vividly. It had nearly broken him. And Sangwon had been the one to see the worst of it.

Leo swallowed. “Therapy helps. I’m not… ignoring it anymore. I’ve been honest with my therapist. Even the bad stuff.”

“That’s good.” Sangwon leaned back on his palms, eyes on the sky. “I just worry you forget that you don’t have to prove anything every second of the day. You’ve already put the work in. You’ve already built something. It’s allowed to breathe, you know?”

Leo’s chest tightened unexpectedly at the words. He hated how much they got to him. “Sometimes it feels like if I don’t give a hundred percent, I’ll fall behind. I know that's not true but that doesn't always help.”

“Exactly. You’re too good for that. And not because you kill yourself working—because you actually love it. That’s what’ll keep you going. Whenever you feal like that, talk to me, tell me and we'll find a way to get you back to the ground.”

Leo didn’t reply right away. He just sat there, listening to the ducks, the faint rustle of leaves, Sangwon’s steady presence beside him.

He appreciated it more than he could say. The way Sangwon always knew when to push and when to just… be there. The way he noticed things no one else did.

He caught himself wondering—did Sangwon do this for everyone? This level of care, this thoughtfulness. Or was it just him?

The question lingered longer than it should have.

Leo cleared his throat, forcing a small smile. “Thanks. Really. I needed to hear that.”

Sangwon bumped his shoulder lightly against his. “Anytime.”

They didn’t need to say more. Eventually, they packed up what was left of the “aesthetic” picnic and walked to the nearest convenience store, where Leo loaded up on triangle kimbap, chips, and bottled drinks with a satisfaction he didn’t bother hiding.

“Now this is a proper picnic,” he declared, holding up a pack of chips like a trophy.

Sangwon laughed, shaking his head, but he didn’t argue.

And for the first time in a while, Leo felt full—not just in his stomach, but in his chest, too.

-

By the time they left the convenience store and wandered back toward the heart of the festival, the sun was already beginning its slow descent. Lanterns flickered to life one by one, their glow spilling warm light across the crowded paths.

Leo felt lighter than he had in weeks, the weight in his chest replaced by the simple rhythm of laughter, noise, and Sangwon’s easy company.

They stopped at a game booth where rows of plushies stared down at them, stitched smiles daring challengers to win. Leo stepped up with that familiar spark in his eyes—the one Sangwon recognized instantly as his I’m going to crush this look.

“Careful,” Sangwon warned with mock seriousness. “You’ll embarrass yourself if you lose in front of me.”

Leo smirked. “Then I won’t lose.”

Minutes later, he was holding a huge plush in victory, grinning like a kid. Sangwon clapped half-heartedly, shaking his head. “I’ll admit it—you’re disgustingly good at this.”

But then Leo turned back, played again, and snagged another win—this time tossing the smaller plush into Sangwon’s arms without a word.

Sangwon blinked, hugging the round, floppy thing automatically. “…Why me?”

Leo’s grin tilted. “Because it looks like you.”

Sangwon glanced down at the plush, its wide eyes and slightly pouty mouth, then back at Leo. “You’re insane.”

“Tell me I’m wrong.”

Silence. Sangwon hugged it tighter. “…Shut up.”

Leo laughed so hard his shoulders shook.

They carried their prizes through the rest of the evening, stopping at food stalls along the way—skewers sizzling on grills, sweet drinks in plastic cups, fried batter that burned their tongues but made them go back for seconds anyway.

By the time they finally headed home, the sky was deep blue, flecked with stars. Their steps slowed naturally, the exhaustion of the day catching up.

Once they reached their apartment, Sangwon flopped down on the couch with a sigh. “I think I might’ve… overdid it,” he admitted, a faint laugh slipping out. “I wanted it to be, you know, the best relaxation day ever. But half the food wasn’t even edible.”

Leo nudged him with his foot, smirking. “It was perfect. Seriously. Don’t downplay it.”

For a second Sangwon just looked at him, like he was trying to measure if Leo really meant it. Then his expression softened. “Thanks. For spending the day with me. It… made me feel like I had a purpose again.”

Leo didn’t even hesitate. “You’ll always have a purpose.”

The words came out simple, almost casual—but the weight behind them made Sangwon glance away, silent. Leo leaned back quickly, acting like it wasn’t a big deal, but later that night, lying awake, he thought about it again.

He couldn’t wrap his head around how Sangwon could ever believe he wasn’t needed. It was ridiculous.

Absurd, he thought, rolling onto his side with a huff. He’s such an overthinker.

A cute overthinker.

Chapter Text

Leo dragged himself into the kitchen, hair a mess, hoodie half-zipped, still blinking sleep out of his eyes. His body begged for silence and caffeine.

Instead, there was Sangwon — already wide awake, perched on the counter stool with his phone in hand. His whole face lit up the second he saw him.

“I have to tell you something,” he blurted before Leo even reached for the coffee.

Leo’s lips twitched. He was too tired to smile properly, but Sangwon’s enthusiasm was like a spark in the dim kitchen. He leaned on the counter, waiting. “Go ahead. Floor’s yours.”

“There’s this guy,” Sangwon said quickly, like he’d been holding it in. “He’s—well, he’s kind of perfect. Tall, good-looking, an athlete—”

Leo’s chest tightened. The words were familiar, but today they landed differently.

He didn’t let it show. He nodded along, fingers curling loosely around his mug. “Athlete, huh? Very on-brand for you.”

Sangwon laughed, elbow propped on the counter. “No, seriously. He’s different. You’ll see.”

Leo hummed, sipping his coffee. Different. Right.

He didn’t stop Sangwon from talking — he never would. Sangwon’s words tumbled out, bright and quick, filling the room in a way Leo usually found comforting. He liked hearing what excited him, liked the way his face animated when he got carried away. It had never been a burden.

But that morning, with Sangwon glowing over someone else, it scraped at him. A small, sharp edge under the surface.

And Leo didn’t know why.

-

The crush didn’t stay in the kitchen. It followed them everywhere.

On Tuesday, Sangwon mentioned his sense of humor between mouthfuls of lunch. On Wednesday, it was his game stats. Thursday, how unexpectedly kind he was. By Friday, it was his smile.

Leo listened. He always listened. He threw in small comments when Sangwon paused, enough to keep the rhythm flowing. And Sangwon kept going, comfortable, unfiltered, like he always was with Leo.

Normally, Leo loved that — being the one Sangwon could talk to about anything, without restraint. But this time it gnawed at him.

It wasn’t irritation — he didn’t want Sangwon to stop. It was worse. It was that he did want to hear it, even as it made something twist in his chest.

Every detail lodged itself in Leo’s mind, whether he wanted it or not. He found himself measuring them against shadows of himself, against people Sangwon had liked before. He found himself watching how brightly Sangwon smiled when he brought him up.

By the weekend, Leo had caught himself staring too long, overthinking too much.

-

It was Monday night when the thread finally snapped. They were sprawled in the living room, a lazy quiet wrapping around them, the TV running low in the background.

Sangwon shifted suddenly, sitting up straighter. “So… he’s visiting this weekend.”

Leo froze, thumb hovering over his phone screen. “…Visiting?”

“Yeah.” Sangwon’s grin spread, small but genuine. “He’s got a game nearby, so he’s stopping by after. Isn’t that crazy?”

Leo’s pulse tripped over itself. He forced his expression steady, pushed his voice flat. “Crazy, yeah. Guess you’re really into this one.”

Sangwon ducked his head, smiling sheepishly. “Maybe.”

Leo let out a quiet laugh, the kind that could mean anything. He set his phone down, nodded like it was nothing. Like his chest wasn’t burning.

Sangwon went back to the TV, still smiling faintly, already lost in thought.

Leo, meanwhile, couldn’t shake it. He watched the flicker of light on Sangwon’s face, the way his lips curved at some private memory.

Later that night, when Sangwon was asleep, Leo lay awake staring at the ceiling. The silence pressed in.

It’s just a crush. He’s had dozens. Why does this one feel different? Why does it feel like it matters?

He shut his eyes tight, rolling onto his side. But the question didn’t go away.

And neither did the pictures in his head: Sangwon leaning in, kissing someone else, the scene flashing back in sharper detail each time. No matter how hard he pushed it down, it resurfaced, uninvited, stubborn as breath.

-

Leo had been staring at the glowing clock on his monitor for the better part of an hour. The studio was quiet except for the low hum of his computer, the screen reflecting half-finished tracks he wasn’t even touching. His hands weren’t on the keyboard anymore—they were folded, idle, betraying how little he was actually doing.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to work. He always wanted to. But his brain was stuck somewhere else, caught on the fact that Hyunwoo—Sangwon’s newest someone—was probably already sitting on their couch.

He chewed the inside of his cheek, shifting in his chair. Normally, when Sangwon had people over, Leo stayed late. He’d bury himself in the studio until the apartment felt safe again, until it was only Sangwon waiting for him in the quiet. It wasn’t even awkward; Sangwon never minded, never made him feel like a ghost haunting his own place. It was just easier to stay out of the way.

But tonight—tonight, the thought of not being there was unbearable. It felt wrong. Like he was supposed to be there.

He checked the time again. 8:42. Early. Not late enough to excuse himself. Not late enough to pretend he “just lost track of time.” He ran a hand over his face, annoyed at himself for caring so much. For circling around the same pointless question: Would Sangwon even want him there right now?

And yet, he knew the answer. Of course he would. Sangwon always did. He’d say it with that soft tone like he meant it too. That didn’t stop the guilt curling in Leo’s stomach, the voice insisting he’d be intruding.

By 9:10, he gave up on pretending. He grabbed his jacket, muttered a curse under his breath, and left.

The apartment was dim when he unlocked the door. The faint glow of the TV flickered across the living room, spilling shadows on the floor. He heard laughter first—Sangwon’s, quick and bright, the kind he only used when he was completely comfortable. It tugged something loose in Leo’s chest.

“Leo?” Sangwon looked up from the couch when the door clicked shut, his eyes lighting up like he hadn’t expected him back so soon. “You’re early.”

Early, Leo thought, though it was past nine.

Sitting next to him was Hyunwoo. Tall, broad-shouldered, with the kind of clean-cut look that made it obvious he was an athlete even without anyone saying it. He turned with an easy smile, polite but not forced.

“Oh—this is Hyunwoo,” Sangwon said, his voice warm, as if the introduction mattered. “Hyunwoo, this is Leo.”

Leo nodded, slipping his shoes off slowly, as though it would buy him time. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Hyunwoo echoed, smile widening like he actually meant it. No arrogance, no obvious front. Just… nice.

And that was the problem. He was nice.

Leo crossed the room, dropping onto the armchair instead of the couch, keeping a deliberate distance. His eyes flicked to Sangwon, who was already fiddling with the remote, trying to look casual. He wondered if Sangwon realized how his voice lifted when he said Hyunwoo’s name, or how his knee had bounced the entire time he’d been introducing them.

He’s really into this one, Leo thought, stomach tightening.

The movie resumed, some action thing Sangwon had probably picked to please both of them. Hyunwoo leaned back, comfortable in a way that made Leo tense up more. He tried not to watch, not to notice how Sangwon’s shoulder nearly brushed Hyunwoo’s every time he shifted. He told himself it didn’t matter, that he was being paranoid, that he was always suspicious of new people Sangwon brought home.

But he couldn’t shake the thought that this time he needed to be extra careful. Extra alert. As if watching closely would reveal something hidden.

He pretended to focus on the screen, but his eyes drifted anyway—to the way Sangwon laughed too quickly at something Hyunwoo said, to the slight flush on his cheeks. Leo’s mind buzzed with quiet irritation he couldn’t name, an itch beneath his skin.

He sat there, silent, trying to figure out why this bothered him so much. It made Leo restless. It made him uncomfortable. THEY made him uncomfortable. He shifted in his seat, fingers curling into the armrest. The thought came sudden and sharp. This is just like last time. The last time he had felt this unexplainable feeling. Homophia.

His chest tightened. Wasn’t that what this was—flinching because Sangwon liked guys, and now one was sitting right here, close enough to touch? Maybe he’d just been too sheltered, too unused to seeing it up close. Maybe that explained the unease, the way every glance made his stomach turn.

He hated the idea. Hated it enough that it lodged in his head and wouldn’t leave.

Because if it wasn’t that—if it wasn’t something ugly like prejudice—then what was it?

The question hung there, heavy and unanswered, long after Sangwon laughed again and the movie rolled on. And the longer Hyunwoo stayed, the more afraid Leo became of the answer.

Chapter Text

Against Leo's carefully calculated prediction, Hyunwoo did not disappear after one week. Or after two. In fact, after the third week, Leo was shocked to realize that this might be Sangwon's longest talking stage in nearly two years.

What should’ve been great news felt strangely heavy in his chest. For once, Sangwon had someone who didn’t pull the usual crap—the ghosting, the mixed signals, the sudden “I’m not looking for anything serious” and worst of all, the overly normalized cheating. Hyunwoo seemed steady, attentive even. He showed up when he said he would, texted back within the same day, actually seemed interested in what Sangwon was saying. Sangwon was glowing, lighter on his feet, humming under his breath while they cooked or folded laundry. Leo told himself he should be thrilled. Finally, after years of watching Sangwon crash and burn with guys who treated him like an accessory, there was someone who seemed to actually care.

And yet.

Leo’s stomach twisted whenever the doorbell rang and Hyunwoo walked in, socks in one hand, a sheepish grin on his face as if he belonged here already. He told himself the unease was just suspicion—he’d seen too many assholes waltz into Sangwon’s life pretending to be perfect. But this time was different. Hyunwoo didn’t give him much to pick at. No glaring flaws, no vanishing acts. Just… present. Consistent.

Too consistent.

The weeks blurred together in a pattern Leo couldn’t ignore. Hyunwoo at the apartment two, three nights a week. Movie nights sprawled across the couch. Sangwon’s phone lighting up at odd hours with texts that made him grin like an idiot. Leo would come home late from the studio, exhausted but buzzing with nerves from recording his solo single One Look, and instead of collapsing into the living room with Sangwon like he used to, he’d find them already settled—blanket thrown haphazardly across both of them, Sangwon curled up comfortably as if the couch belonged to the two of them now.

Leo hovered in the doorway more often than he entered. Sometimes Sangwon called him over, excited to include him. Other times he just smiled vaguely, distracted, and Leo retreated to his room without a word. He told himself he didn’t mind. That he was busy anyway. That it was good Sangwon had someone else to lean on.

Sometimes, when feeling especially brave, he joined them in hopes of finding his peace with the situation. Still the sight waiting for him was always the same: Sangwon glowing, lit up in a way Leo couldn’t take credit for. Sometimes sitting cross-legged on the floor with Hyunwoo, laughing too hard at some inside joke. Sometimes bent together over Sangwon’s phone, sharing earphones. Nothing inappropriate. Nothing even dramatic. Just… intimate.

That was somehow worse.

Late at night, lying awake in his room, Leo stared at the ceiling and tried to sort through the unease.

Maybe he was being paranoid. Maybe he was just overprotective. Maybe, worse—maybe this was the homophobia. Why else would it make him so uncomfortable to see Sangwon so close with another man? Why else would his skin crawl at every easy laugh, every casual brush of hands?

The questions wouldn’t leave him. Neither did the pictures in his mind—ones he hadn’t actually seen, but couldn’t stop imagining. The way Sangwon might look leaning in for a kiss. The way his voice might drop when he was shy. The way Hyunwoo’s hand might cup his neck, draw him close. Leo hated himself for even letting the images form. Hated himself more for the sharp, inexplicable twist in his chest.

And so, the longest talking stage of Sangwon’s life became the beginning of Leo’s longest, most private war with himself.

Until one of them had to change, not in Leo's favor sadly.

-

Leo was at the studio, headphones slung carelessly around his neck, hunched over the mixing board while the same chorus looped for the twentieth time. His brain was fried, his eyelids heavy, but he refused to leave until he nailed the layering just right.

His phone buzzed on the desk. At first, he ignored it. Nobody called him this time of day—except managers or producers. But when he glanced at the screen and saw Sangwon’s name, his chest tightened.

Sangwon rarely called. Texts, memes, random voice notes, yes—but calls were reserved for something important. Leo snatched up the phone, thumb swiping across before he thought twice.

“Hey,” he said, breathless. “Everything okay?”

On the other end, Sangwon laughed—bright, unbothered. “Relax, hyung, nothing’s wrong. I just… couldn’t wait to tell you.”

Leo’s grip on the phone tightened. “Tell me what?”

A beat, then Sangwon’s voice softened, shy in a way Leo didn’t hear often anymore. “Hyunwoo asked me to be his boyfriend today. And… I said yes.”

Leo stared at the soundboard, the blinking lights suddenly too bright. His stomach dropped in a slow, measured fall. He tried to keep his voice even. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” Sangwon rushed on, words tumbling out the way they did when he was nervous. “It’s official now, I guess. I wanted you to know first. Before I post anything or tell anyone else. You’re… you’re important, you know?”

That last line sliced straight through him. Leo forced a smile into his voice, even if it felt brittle. “Congrats, Won. Seriously. You deserve it.”

There was a pause. Then Sangwon said quietly, “You’re not mad, right? I know we don’t see each other as much, but I don’t want this to… change us. I’ll still bug you, still drag you into stupid things. You’re stuck with me no matter what.”

Leo closed his eyes. Exhaustion pressed down on him—the kind that wasn’t just from work, but from the weeks of restless nights, the self-interrogation about why this all bothered him so much. The whispers in his head that maybe he was broken, maybe even cruel, for flinching at Sangwon’s happiness.

But listening to his voice now, Leo realized the truth was simpler. His exhaustion, his confusion, his strange feeling—those were his. They didn’t belong to Sangwon. And if he clung too tightly, they’d only poison the one thing Sangwon finally had: stability.

So he exhaled, long and slow, and let the words come.

“I’m not mad,” he said. “I’m happy for you. Really. Hyunwoo seems good for you.”

“You mean that?” Sangwon asked softly.

Leo’s throat tightened. “Yeah. I mean it.”

They talked a little longer—nothing dramatic, just Sangwon chattering about their plans for the weekend, about how weird it felt to actually say “my boyfriend” out loud. Leo hummed at the right moments, let himself laugh once or twice.

When the call ended, the studio was too quiet. Leo stared at his reflection in the darkened glass of the booth, his face drawn and pale, and let the truth settle heavy in his chest.

He couldn’t give Sangwon what Hyunwoo could. Not now. Not while he was drowning in work, not while he was battling feelings he didn’t even understand. His exhaustion, his confusion, his half-formed fears—they would only hurt Sangwon if he tried to wedge himself into this.

So he made the decision silently, right there under the buzz of the fluorescent lights: he would step back. He would let Sangwon have his happiness without interfering, without clouding it with his own mess.

And yet, even with that plan, Leo couldn’t ignore the quiet detail that stung most of all—
even with a boyfriend now, Sangwon had still chosen to call him right then. He had not waited or spent time with Hyunwoo after this change in their relationship. He has chosen to call HIM.

Chapter Text

Against his own instincts, Leo had kept the promise he made to himself.
He’d stepped back.

Mornings used to mean clattering bowls, coffee in mismatched mugs, Sangwon groaning at the table while Leo half-scolded him to eat faster so he wouldn’t be late. Those little rituals were gone now. Breakfast had become Leo standing at the counter with an energy bar, chewing without tasting while scrolling through unread messages from his producer.

He told himself he didn’t mind. He needed this. With One Look about to drop and his official artist announcement under 131 right around the corner, there was no space left for messy feelings. If Sangwon was building his own happiness, Leo wasn’t going to drag him into his exhaustion or confusion.

Instead, he filled his days with work. Long hours in the studio, voice hoarse from recording doubles, notebooks filling with half-phrases. When the sun went down, he didn’t go home—not right away. More often, he found himself hanging back, leaning against the wall of the smoke-filled lounge where producers and trainees drifted in and out.

That’s where Reddy had started talking to him more.

“Kid,” Reddy said one night, tossing a grape into his mouth like it was a cigarette flick, “you always look like you’re running out of time. Relax. Music’s not a race.”

Leo had only nodded, unsure how to answer. He respected Reddy—had for years. The man carried a kind of easy warmth, the sort that made everyone lean closer without even realizing it. His words weren’t flashy, just steady, patient.

Through the project, Leo had slowly been pulled into his orbit. Enough that, one afternoon, Reddy waved him over at the end of rehearsal.
“Come eat with us tonight. Korean BBQ. You need some air that’s not from a studio vent.”

Leo hesitated—his first instinct was to say no, to bury himself in more practice—but Reddy didn’t leave space for refusal. “I’ll drive. Don’t make excuses.”

That’s how he ended up sitting between Reddy and Hanbin at a crowded BBQ place, smoke curling toward the ceiling, the sound of sizzling meat and clattering soju glasses filling the air.

Somewhere between the smoke and laughter, a thought slipped in—Sangwon would’ve liked this place, the food, the noise; Leo pushed it aside before it could linger.

Hanbin was quiet at first, lost in his own thoughts as he flipped samgyeopsal with surgical precision. Reddy, though, kept the table alive—joking with the servers, asking Leo about his first release, telling old stories with an easy grin.

“So what’s your title track again?” Reddy asked, leaning back with a shot glass in hand.
“One Look,” Leo said. “It’s… a little rawer than what I’ve done before.”
“Good,” Reddy nodded, no hesitation. “Don’t polish it too much. Let people hear what you’re really feeling. That’s what makes them stay.”

“The truth is, that you're an artist who’s still figuring out his own voice Let them see it. Your authenticity is the most poweful thing you've got. Use it and prove it to everyone.”

Leo felt his throat tighten, unsure how to respond. He ducked his head, focusing on the grill, though something warm had started pushing against the walls he’d built around himself.

Hanbin finally spoke, voice calm but firm.
“Reddy’s right. Trust your gut. The rest catches up.”

It wasn’t long, not a lecture. But Hanbin’s tone carried weight. The kind of weight only someone who had been burned by the world and still stood back up could give.

The night stretched with laughter, plates emptied and refilled, Leo even managing a smile that didn’t feel forced. For a while, he forgot about the silence of his kitchen table at home.

When they finally left, spilling onto the quiet street outside, the air was cool against his face. Reddy waved goodbye, heading toward his car, already calling out plans for “next time.”

Leo was about to turn the other way when Hanbin lingered. For a moment, they stood side by side, smoke from the BBQ still clinging to their clothes.

Hanbin didn’t look at him when he spoke.
“It gets better. Trust me.”

That was all. No explanation, no eye contact. Just a clap on the shoulder before Hanbin walked off into the night.

Leo stood there, hands shoved in his pockets, listening to the city hum around him. For once, Sangwon wasn’t the only thought circling in his head. Reddy’s words, Hanbin’s quiet assurance—they pressed in close, soft and solid in a way he hadn’t realized he needed.

As he walked home alone, the echo of their voices was louder than the silence waiting for him at the apartment.

-

The day his artist announcment finally came, Leo barely had the chance to breathe. Notifications flooded his phone, his management was in overdrive with congratulatory messages, reposts, interviews being scheduled, radio requests rolling in. He stood in the practice room long after midnight, staring at the glowing screen in his hand, refreshing the numbers like an addict. Views rising. Comments piling in.

And yet, mixed in with the praise — It's ACTUALLY the Lee Leo, Finally, he’s stepping out on his own, This is insane, I'm soo excited — were the ones that dug under his skin, the kind that clung no matter how hard he tried to brush them off.

Didn’t this guy used to be canceled?
Still not over his past, can’t support him.
Talent wasted on someone like him.

He’d thought he was over it. Two years had passed since the lowest point of his career, since the weeks where he had his phone and any access to social media willingly taken away and still felt the impact. The memory was carved deep. And reading them now, between the positive comments, he felt his stomach knot the same way it had back then. He hated how easily he still flinched.

Still, Sangwon’s text arrived not long after the post:
“I’m so proud of you hyung it's gonna be perfect. I'm soo excited omg ”

Leo stared at the message longer than he should’ve, his thumb hovering over the reply box. The words warmed him, but there was a shadow hanging over it too — because for every encouraging line from Sangwon, there seemed to be Hyunwoo’s hand pulling him away.

The days that followed proved it. Sangwon wanted to celebrate, to drag Leo out for tteokbokki or just sit at their kitchen table with cake and instant noodles, but every time he suggested it, Hyunwoo somehow had already claimed the evening. Dinner reservations. Late-night drives. “Surprises” that filled every inch of Sangwon’s free time.

At first Leo brushed it off. Sangwon deserved to have a boyfriend who wanted to be with him constantly, right? But the pattern became too obvious to ignore. Every potential overlap with Leo was carefully, almost surgically cut out of Sangwon’s schedule. It wasn’t just coincidence.

It wasn’t jealousy either — at least, not the way he wanted to admit. It was the feeling of being slowly erased.

His body was screaming for a release. So late one night, when the walls of his room felt too tight and his head was too loud, he grabbed his hoodie and went to the gym.

The place was nearly empty, just the quiet clang of weights echoing in the background. Leo slipped his earbuds in, started stretching, then moved to the bench press. The repetition helped, the strain burning away at least a layer of the restless energy. He focused on the rhythm — down, up, breathe — until movement caught in the corner of his vision.

At the far end of the gym, someone was pacing near the treadmills, phone pressed to his ear, laughing at something only he could hear.

Leo froze mid-rep.

Hyunwoo.

Of all places. Of all people.

He tried to look away, but Hyunwoo noticed him too. Their eyes locked across the space — not long, maybe a second, but it stretched sharp and heavy. Neither smiled. Neither acknowledged. Just a quiet current of recognition and something darker threading between them.

Leo shoved the bar back onto its rack and sat up, towel over his shoulders, trying to focus on anything else. His music blasted but it didn’t drown out the thought clawing in his head:

Why today? Why did he have to be here TODAY?

Hyunwoo ended the call, slipped the phone into his pocket, and without breaking gaze, began walking toward the weights.

Leo clenched his jaw, grabbed the dumbbells, and pushed into the next set with force that bordered on reckless. No matter how much weight he lifted, the tension pressing down on him felt heavier still.

Chapter Text

Just when Leo thought it could not get worse then having to work out across the hall from Hyunwoo during this time, it did. It happened when Hyunwoo decided to walk over and start a conversation after working out silently and separately for an hour.

Hyunwoo grinned, towel slung around his neck, easy posture. He looked every bit the athlete Sangwon always described—tall, confident, polished. “Didn’t expect to see you here. Though I guess it makes sense… gotta keep up, right?”

Something about the phrasing snagged. Leo brushed it off, adjusting his gloves. “I guess.”

Hyunwoo leaned against the rack, casual, like he’d been waiting for this. “It’s funny, though.” His smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Usually it's you and Sangwon… you’re always together. Sometimes I wonder if you two are glued at the hip.”

Leo gave a dry laugh, shoulders tightening. “Funny, considering you’ve been working on replacing me so desperately.”

Hyunwoo ignored him completely. "Isn't it worth asking, why two people would really NEED tospend that much time together."

Leo froze just enough to notice the weight of the words, then forced himself to move again. “We’ve been best friends a long time.”

“Sure, sure,” Hyunwoo said, voice pitched like a joke, but there was a sharp edge buried in it. “It just… looks like more, sometimes. You spend so much time with him, people might get the wrong idea.”

Leo’s jaw tightened. He set the bar down with more force than necessary and turned to face him fully. His voice was steady, clipped. “What exactly are you trying to say?”

For a moment, Hyunwoo looked like he’d keep the mask on. Then, just as quickly, it cracked.

“I’m saying,” he dropped the grin, tone cooling, “that Sangwon doesn’t need someone clinging to him all the time. You think you’re helping him, but you’re not. You hold him back.”

The words landed like punches. Leo felt them sink straight into the insecurities he’d been nursing for months. Hold him back. Wasn’t that exactly what he feared?

Hyunwoo stepped closer, lowering his voice. “You’ve noticed, right? How he has these… habits. Immature ones. Things that make him seem… less. I’m trying to help him fix that. You just keep encouraging it. Keeping him small.”

Leo’s hands curled into fists, not from wanting to fight but from sheer restraint. His throat felt tight. “You’re talking about Sangwon like he’s some kind of project.”

“I’m talking about reality,” Hyunwoo shot back. His eyes were sharp now, no warmth left. “If he wants something serious, he’s gonna have to change. And if you actually cared, you’d back off and let him.”

Silence stretched between them. The hum of the gym machines blurred into static in Leo’s ears.

For a second, he wanted to argue—wanted to defend Sangwon, himself, everything. But the words clogged. Because wasn’t Hyunwoo right? Hadn’t he been exhausting Sangwon with his own shadows?

Leo swallowed hard, grabbed his towel, and slung his bag over his shoulder. He didn’t trust his voice, so he just said, “I’ll see you around.”

He walked out fast, the cool air outside a shock against his flushed skin.

Hyunwoo’s words looped in his head with every step: You hold him back. He needs to change. Back off.

And Leo almost believed every one of them. Almost.

But one thought gnawed at him, stubborn, refusing to dissolve:

Why would Hyunwoo want to change him at all?

He was Sangwon. The one being, that was already way to perfect to be considered a human..

Chapter Text

Leo had always been good at routines. He liked order, the quiet repetition of little rituals that kept life from slipping through his fingers. Breakfast with Sangwon used to be one of those anchors—morning light spilling through their cramped kitchen, Sangwon talking more than eating, Leo listening with half a smile while sipping his coffee. It had been theirs, as consistent as breathing.

And then, without warning, he cut it off.

Three days had passed since the gym, since Hyunwoo’s words started echoing inside him like poison. Three days of late nights at the studio, letting exhaustion mask everything else. Three days of not showing up at the breakfast table. Three days of staring at Sangwon’s messages without answering until hours later, then replying with clipped, empty words.

Sorry, still at the studio.
Busy. Don’t wait up.
Yeah. It’s fine.

He told himself it was for Sangwon’s sake—that pulling away was the kindest thing. That Hyunwoo had been right: Sangwon didn’t need someone who weighed him down, who whispered doubts into his head without even meaning to. If Leo stayed out of the way, maybe Sangwon could just… be happy.

But every time he walked into the kitchen and saw the clean, untouched mug Sangwon had set out for him anyway, or opened his phone to see unread texts stacked up like small, desperate offerings, something in his chest throbbed until it was hard to breathe.

The second day was supposed to be different.

“One Look” had finally dropped. The MV was already racking up comments, and though the buzz wasn’t all positive—there were still sharp words thrown at him from shadows online—the good outweighed the bad. His performance went clean, no slip-ups this time. The relief should have been overwhelming.

And for Sangwon, it was supposed to be celebration.

They had planned this for months—hotpot after the release, Sangwon promising he’d cover the bill even if Leo tried to protest. Just the two of them, eating until they couldn’t move, laughing, letting the pressure bleed away.

So when Sangwon came into the living room that night, eyes bright, wallet already tucked into his pocket, Leo’s refusal landed like a blow.

“I’ve got more work to finish,” he said without looking up from his laptop.

Sangwon blinked, the spark in his expression dimming. “Work? Today of all days? Leo, it’s your release. You did so well, you should—”

“I don’t need congratulations,” Leo cut in, voice clipped. “I just need to focus.”

For a moment, Sangwon stood frozen, words caught in his throat. His shoulders slumped. “…Right. Okay.”

He left the room quietly, though Leo could feel the weight of disappointment trailing after him. The sound of the apartment door closing later, soft but final, lodged itself in Leo’s chest like a stone.

And that was when Sangwon stopped hoping it was just work. By the next day, his patience was gone. That’s why he showed up at the studio door. That’s why confrontation was inevitable.

-

The studio had become Leo’s whole world again—walls padded with soundproofing, wires tangled like veins across the floor, beats running endlessly in his headphones. He kept pushing, because if he stopped, even for a second, Sangwon’s face came back to him: hurt, confused, soft in ways Leo didn’t deserve to look at anymore.

The knock was soft but steady—so familiar that Leo already knew who it was.

Sangwon stepped inside, closing the door carefully behind him. He looked tired, not in the physical sense but in the way his shoulders drooped, like he had been holding something in for too long. “You didn’t answer my texts.”

Leo kept his eyes on the monitor, on the same looping track he hadn’t touched in hours. “Busy,” he muttered.

“Busy,” Sangwon repeated. His voice was flat, too calm. That calm before a storm. “You’ve been busy for days. You didn’t even come to breakfast. You always come to breakfast.”

Leo’s shoulders tightened, but he didn’t move. The air in the studio was too still, as though both of them were holding their breath.

Sangwon moved closer, and his words started steady, but there was a sharp edge underneath. “You think I haven’t noticed? You think I didn’t notice how you’ve been pulling away from me? We used to talk all the time, Leo. Every single day. You were always there. Even when everything went to hell back in Trainee A, when I didn’t even know who I was anymore, you were the one I leaned on.”

The mention burned through Leo like acid. There was nothing worthless about Sangwon. Not his laugh, not the way his face lit up, not the endless energy he carried into every room. If anything, Sangwon was the one thing that always felt like enough.

But the words kept tumbling out of him, piling faster. “And last night? Do you even realize what you did? You couldn’t even celebrate your own release with me. We planned that hotpot for months, Leo. Months. I was counting down for it. I thought it was going to be the moment things finally felt normal again. That we’d sit there and laugh and eat too much and I could tell you how proud I was. I even saved up, so I could pay for it myself. You know how tight things are for me. But I wanted to do it because it mattered. You mattered.”

Each sentence landed heavier than the last. He wasn’t yelling, not yet, but the way his voice trembled carried more weight than a shout.

“And I told myself, maybe you were just too busy. Maybe all the distance was just your schedule being insane. That’s what I told myself every morning when you didn’t show up. But you wouldn’t even let me congratulate you.” His eyes shone, angry and wet. “Do you know what that feels like? To care about someone so much and be shut out like that? Like you don’t even exist to them?”

Leo’s throat worked, but no words came out. He wanted to answer. He wanted to grab Sangwon, tell him he mattered more than anyone else, more than the music, more than the air in his lungs. But the words stuck, caught like glass in his chest.

“And don’t tell me it’s nothing,” Sangwon pressed, stepping closer, his voice rising. “Because I’m not stupid. I can feel it. You look right through me like I’m not even here. You’re supposed to be my best friend. You’re supposed to-” His voice cracked. “You’re supposed to be Leo. My Leo. The one who never let me fall.”

The ache that twisted through Leo’s chest was unbearable. To Sangwon, he had been someone steady, someone he could lean on. But lately, all Leo could see when he looked in the mirror was exhaustion, shame, and the growing fear that he was the one hurting Sangwon the most.

And still, Sangwon didn’t stop. The words poured like a dam breaking. “What changed? Why are you shutting me out? Was I too much? Did I do something wrong? Because if I did, I need you to just say it. Yell at me, curse at me, whatever. Anything would be better than this silence.”

Leo’s fingers dug into his knees. He wished silence was enough.

“Fine then,” Sangwon snapped, stepping forward and grabbing the laptop from the desk. He slammed it shut, the sound slicing through the room.

Leo’s head jerked up at the noise, meeting his burning eyes for the first time.

“Stop hiding behind your work,” Sangwon demanded, his voice raw. “Look at me. If you don’t want me around, then just say it. You know, I have only known Hyunwoo for less than two months, but right now he sees me more than you do.”

The name dropped heavy between them, twisting in Leo’s stomach. Hyunwoo. The one Sangwon let close. The one who stood where Leo wanted to, even if he never dared admit it.

Something inside Leo broke. His voice came out flat, detached, almost as if someone else was speaking. “Go to Hyunwoo then. Let him care for you. He’s better anyway.”

The second the words left his mouth, regret hit like a blade. But it was too late.

Sangwon stared, wide-eyed, the betrayal cutting deep. “Better for me?” His laugh was bitter, broken. “You think this is about better? It’s not. It’s about you. I don’t care about Hyunwoo. I don’t care about anyone else. I care about you. And right now you’re acting like I don’t mean anything to you.”

Leo’s chest tightened so sharply it hurt to breathe. Sangwon’s words were true, every one of them, and yet Leo couldn’t make himself speak. Couldn’t bring himself to bridge the gap when all he felt was that he was the problem.

“Fine,” Sangwon whispered at last, trembling but sharp. “If that’s what you want, then I’ll do exactly that. I’ll go to him.”

And then he left.

The door closed softly, far too soft for how violently it shattered Leo inside.

Alone again, Leo sat frozen, every muscle screaming to chase after him, to pull him back and undo the damage. But his body wouldn’t move. He’d wanted distance. He’d told himself it was safer. Now the distance felt like suffocation.

The moment Sangwon’s footsteps faded down the hall, Leo crumpled forward, head in his hands. His chest tightened until he couldn’t breathe, until pacing turned frantic and his breaths came short and shallow. His thoughts spun, chaotic and cruel. I broke him. I’m hurting him. I can’t stop.

The room blurred. Air wouldn’t reach his lungs. Panic tore through his veins until all he could do was stumble toward the wall, bracing himself as if the plaster could anchor him.

“Leo.”

A firm, steady voice cut through the spiral. Hanbin was suddenly there, crouching in front of him, movements calm and deliberate. He didn’t crowd him, didn’t grab him. Just spoke low and even, anchoring.

“Hey. Look at me. You’re safe.”

Leo’s wide eyes flicked to him, trembling.

“Breathe with me, okay?” Hanbin inhaled slowly through his nose, exaggerated but steady. “In… two, three, four. Out… two, three, four. Just copy me.”

Leo tried. His breaths came ragged, but Hanbin didn’t waver, counting softly, modeling the rhythm.

“That’s it. You’re alright. Ground yourself. Name something you see.”

Leo blinked, tears stinging. “Computer.”

“Good. Something you hear.”

“…Your voice.”

Hanbin’s mouth tipped upward, gentle. “Exactly. Keep going. Something you feel.”

Leo pressed a hand against the carpet, focusing on the rough texture beneath his palm. His breath hitched, then steadied slightly. “Floor.”

“There you go,” Hanbin murmured. “You’re here. You’re okay. Just keep matching me.”

Minutes blurred, the storm slowly loosening its grip. Leo’s breathing began to fall into sync with Hanbin’s, shaky but controlled. His trembling eased.

"I hurt him.”

Hanbin’s jaw tightened. He didn’t push, didn’t ask for details. He just gave Leo’s shoulder a firm squeeze. “Then you’ll fix it. But first—you breathe. That’s all you need to do right now.”

Leo shut his eyes. He wasn’t sure if he could fix it. But in that moment, with his chest still aching and Sangwon’s words echoing, he wanted nothing more than to. Only then did Hanbin sit back slightly, voice still soft. “Don’t try to explain right now. Just rest. Youare strong.”

Leo buried his face in his hands, shame mixing with exhaustion. The only thing left in his head was Sangwon’s face as he walked away, and the unbearable thought that maybe this was the proof Hyunwoo had been right all along.

-

By the time Leo got home, exhaustion clung to him like smoke, but there was no sleep in him. He sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the phone on his nightstand as though it might buzz by sheer force of will.

Nothing.

Every few minutes he checked anyway, desperate for Sangwon’s name to appear. He thought about their breakfasts, their hotpot plan, the way Sangwon’s eyes had looked when he shut the laptop and left. The silence now was worse than anything he’d ever felt.

At some point close to midnight, he gave in. The first message was cautious.
I didn’t mean it.

Then another.
Are you home?

Then more—short, breathless fragments piling into each other until they blurred.
Please text me.
I shouldn’t have said that.
You didn’t do anything wrong.

He hadn’t realized how many he sent until his screen was full of blue bubbles, unanswered and accusing.

In his desperation, his thumb hovered over another contact. Hyunwoo.
The last person he wanted to text. The last person he could.

But if Sangwon was with him, if he was safe, Leo had to know.

The reply came faster than expected. Short. Sharp.
We broke up.

Leo froze. His chest tightened. Before he could think, he typed back.
…Since when? Why?

Hyunwoo’s response landed like a knife.
Since tonight. You never managed to keep out of things.

Leo read it once. Twice. Again.

For a moment, the words hollowed him out completely. He sank down against the wall, phone heavy in his hand.

So it was his fault. Hyunwoo had been good for Sangwon—he had to admit that much. The late-night calls Sangwon used to make had turned into evenings out. The constant worry in his eyes had softened a little. He’d even looked healthier, brighter. Maybe Leo had only imagined it, but in those weeks Sangwon really did seem… happy.

And now? Because of Leo’s constant presence, because he couldn’t keep his distance, Sangwon had lost it. Lost him.

The thought gnawed at him, bitter and merciless.
You couldn’t even give him that. You couldn’t even let him have the one person who made him smile like that.

He pressed the heel of his hand against his eyes, forcing himself to breathe. He wanted to believe Hyunwoo. Wanted to believe Sangwon had been happy with him. That Leo’s shadow had been the thing breaking them apart.

But then another image surfaced. The gym. Hyunwoo’s grin, that cold little smirk when he said Sangwon’s “annoying habits” would have to go. The way he spat venom when Leo’s name came up, like just existing close to Sangwon was an unforgivable sin.

Leo’s chest tightened, the guilt twisting.

Hyunwoo hadn’t loved him. Not really. He’d wanted to mold him, trim away the pieces that didn’t fit his taste. And Sangwonnhad been shrinking himself just to fit.

The anger struck hard, cutting through the guilt like a blade.

Who the hell was Hyunwoo to decide what Sangwon should be? Who gave him the right to demand Sangwon change?

His hands curled into fists. No. Whatever mistakes Leo had made, whatever clumsy distance he thought was protection—none of it compared to this.

Sangwon deserved better. Better than Hyunwoo. Better than words that chipped away at him.

Better than Leo, maybe.

-

And then, at 2:04 a.m., his phone rang.

Leo scrambled to answer, heart lurching. “Sangwon?”

But it wasn’t his voice.

“Hello? This is the owner of Bar XXXXX.” The man sounded tired, vaguely annoyed. “Sorry to bother you, but this number was at the top of his emergency contacts.”

Leo’s blood ran cold. “Emergency—who?”

“Your friend. He’s here, he won’t stand up, and he’s not responding much. He keeps rumbeling and it's starting to annoy people. He needs someone to take him home. I can’t have him here anymore.”

The words snapped something inside Leo.

Nothing else mattered—none of the doubts, none of Hyunwoo’s poison, none of his own fear. In that instant, every excuse and hesitation dissolved.

“Where are you?” His voice came out sharp, clipped with urgency. “Send me the address. I’ll be there right now.”

The owner gave directions. Leo was already grabbing his jacket, shoving his phone and wallet into his pocket. His body moved before thought could catch up.

The only thought was Sangwon.

Sangwon slumped over in some noisy bar. Sangwon vulnerable. Sangwon hurt because of him. The image lodged itself like a knife in his chest.

As he ran down the quiet streets toward his car, his mind roared with one truth: he should never have let Sangwon slip from his sight. He should never have thrown those words at him. Never should have believed even for a second that distance was kindness. Never let Hyunwoo hurt him.

Sangwon needed to be safe. And Leo would tear the city apart with his bare hands if that’s what it took to make sure he was.

Right now, it wasn’t about labels. Not about love, not about the mess of feelings that left him spiraling every night. Right now, it was simple, pure, undeniable—

He just needed to get to Sangwon. Hold him. Keep him safe. Forever, if it came to that.

Chapter Text

The bar was half-asleep, the clinking of glasses and low hum of voices fading into the background as Leo crossed the floor. His eyes locked on Sangwon at once—slumped over on a stool, head buried in his folded arms, shoulders trembling. A wet stain spread beneath his cheek. Tears.

Leo’s heart clenched.

He’d never seen Sangwon like this. Not even once. Sangwon didn’t drink like this, didn’t look like this.

The bartender gave a tired nod toward him. “He’s been like that for an hour. Said nothing understandable, you're the emergancy contact.”

Leo only managed a curt nod in return. His focus tunneled to the figure before him.

“Sangwon,” he murmured, crouching down, reaching out carefully, gently brushing against his arm. “Hey. It’s me. Leo. I’ve got you. Let’s go home, alright?”

At first there was nothing but a sluggish stir. Then, as Leo slipped an arm around him and began to ease him up, Sangwon’s voice cracked through the air—broken, slurred, and unbearably raw.

“…Leo… doesn’t want me.”

The words weren’t aimed at him. They weren’t a question, either. They just were.

Leo swallowed, steadying his hold as he pulled Sangwon upright, one arm tight around his waist, guiding him toward the door. “It’s okay. I’ve got you. Just lean on me,” he repeated softly, keeping his tone calm, anchoring.

But Sangwon kept going.

“…I ruin everything… always too much… too loud.” His eyes were closed tight, lashes clumped from tears, his mouth trembling as more words tumbled out, fractured but certain. “…Too weird… nobody wants me… Hyunwoo doesn't... Leo doesn’t… Leo doesn’t like to look at me anymore…”

Each phrase landed like a knife under Leo’s ribs. He wanted to scream, to deny it, to shake Sangwon and tell him none of it was true but he didn’t. He couldn’t. Sangwon was far too drunk, far too gone to hear reason.

So Leo bit it back. His voice stayed calm. “I’ve got you. Just a little further.”

They stumbled out into the night air. Sangwon sagged heavier against him, crying openly now, tears soaking through Leo’s shirt. His body convulsed with quiet sobs, as if even his sadness had burned itself down to exhaustion.

“…I’m useless… everyone leaves…” The words came softer now, almost a chant, breaking on his breath. “…Leo eventually left too…”

Leo’s throat tightened to the point of pain. His vision blurred, but he forced his steps steady, maneuvering Sangwon into the passenger seat of his car. He buckled him in, tucking the seatbelt across his chest, brushing damp strands of hair from his damp forehead. Sangwon’s lips still moved faintly, broken syllables spilling without pause.

Leo leaned down, resting his hand lightly on Sangwon’s shoulder, his voice barely above a whisper but firm, deliberate. “You’re safe now. I’m here. I’m not leaving you.”

Inside, he was breaking apart. Every mumble replayed in his chest like a wound ripped open—because Sangwon believed it. Not questioned, not doubted, but believed. As if those lies had rooted themselves deeper than Leo could ever reach.

And Leo knew Sangwon wouldn’t remember this tomorrow. Knew these confessions were spilling out into a void. But that didn’t stop the pain. It only made it worse—because Leo couldn’t correct them, couldn’t explain, couldn’t fix it.

He could only keep driving, keep murmuring steady assurances into the dark, his hand occasionally reaching over to make sure Sangwon was still upright, still breathing evenly through his sobs.

All the while, inside, Leo screamed at himself. I should never have let it get this far. I should never have left him to doubt for even a second. I should never have thrown distance at him like punishment.

By the time they reached home, Leo felt hollowed out. The only thing that mattered—the only thing left—was the vow pressing against his teeth, the promise he whispered again as he lifted Sangwon into his arms:

“I’ll never let you go like this again. Never.”

 

-

 

The car door swung open, and Leo leaned in, feeling the familiar weight of Sangwon slumping against him, softer than he imagined, though entirely unsteady. His arms slid under the younger boy, struggling to find a balance that wouldn’t jostle him too much. Sangwon murmured, soft and blurred, unintelligible at first, a string of sounds that made no sense but carried that tremor of vulnerability. “…forget…please…forget…”

And then his hands were on Leo’s neck, warm and clumsy, dragging him closer in a motion that seemed deliberate even through the haze of inebriation.

The world slowed to a crawl.

Every movement, every breath became impossible to ignore. His pulse jumped as Sangwon’s face drew nearer, his lips slightly parted, flushed in the dim car light. The impossible was unfolding before him, and Leo could not register it as anything but real. His body tensed as his mind struggled to follow, to categorize, to process, but there was no language for this.

Did he want to kiss Hyunwoo? Was this some misplaced desire for someone else, to erase the memory of the night, the weeks, everything that Leo had put him through?

The questions tumbled through Leo’s thoughts, but they dissolved the moment he caught the curve of Sangwon’s jaw, the tilt of his small face, the shimmer of moisture on his lips. He was close—so close. Too close to ignore. Too close to deny that it tugged at something raw and unspoken inside him.

He felt the pull of Sangwon’s body against his, the soft warmth of his hair brushing his cheek, the faint scent of him that lingered, almost intoxicating.

This was wrong, but it also felt like standing at the edge of something he had never dared to imagine.

Sangwon’s lips brushed closer, the breath between them shallow and uncertain, and for the briefest instant, Leo’s vision narrowed, his world contracted into the impossible proximity of that face.

He thought about what it would mean if he allowed it to happen, just this once, just here in the quiet of the car, just to calm the tremor in Sangwon’s arms. He imagined the brush of lips, the heat of a breath shared, the way his hands might fall against Sangwon’s waist if he let himself think beyond the rational. The thought lingered, teasing, sharp and dizzying.

Suddenly though, like glass shattering, the truth broke through: Sangwon was drunk. Too drunk. He wasn’t choosing this, not with clear eyes, not with his own will. This wasn’t intimacy, it was an accident born of desperation and blurred senses. The thought slammed into Leo’s chest so hard it jolted him awake.

He couldn’t let this happen. Not like this. Never like this.

The spell shattered, time rushed back, and his body reacted before his mind could spiral further—he turned his head sharply, guiding Sangwon’s hands gently but firmly away from his neck. The younger boy sagged back, limp again, murmuring faintly, a small whine of something lost. Leo exhaled, feeling the tension slide off in waves. He adjusted his hold, cradling him closer to his chest as he lifted, startled again by how light he felt despite his dead weight.

He walked along the quiet path, each footfall measured, each motion weighted by the impossible, the intimate proximity of the boy in his arms. Had Sangwon intended this for Hyunwoo? Had he ever done this with Hyunwoo? Did the gesture belong to someone else entirely, some phantom figure meant to soothe the pain of abandonment? The very pain of abandonment, that he was the cause of.

He could not know, but the heart-twisting ache of seeing Sangwon vulnerable and leaning toward someone-anyone-was undeniable. Every inch of him wanted to protect, to shield, but beneath it all was the undeniable, unbidden surge of awareness.
What would it have been like if he hadn’t intervened?

The mind’s eye conjured fleeting, dizzying images: lips brushing, hands sliding to a small perfect waist, the tilt of a flushed, trusting face lifted to him. He could almost feel it—the weight of Sangwon against him, the softness of his body, the faint pulse in his temples, the warmth he radiated.

But he caught himself, reminding, reasoning: Sangwon was drunk. This was not a moment for desires or impulses.

Up the stairs, through the hall, into the apartment—the short walk felt endless, each threshold a new pressure point for his thoughts. Would he have wanted it? Could he have responded? His heart betrayed him with every beat, warmth spreading unbidden, and yet he repeated a silent mantra: no, not now, not like this, protect.

Finally, inside the apartment, the threshold crossed, the door clicked shut behind him, the hallway dim and the bedroom door in sight.

Sangwon stirred faintly, mumbling, “…don’t want to… be too much…” before slipping back into half-consciousness.

Leo froze. His chest ached with every fragment that left Sangwon’s lips. You’re not too much. You’re everything, he thought, but said nothing. His arms adjusted once more, cradling Sangwon, the cadence of his own pulse echoing every motion.

He lowered Sangwon onto the bed slowly, carefully, every movement deliberate. The flushed, relaxed face, the slightly parted lips, the small hands resting against the blanket—all of it burned into his mind. He exhaled, caught between relief and a rush of impossibility, staring down at the boy he had carried, at the intimacy of the moment that had almost spiraled into something else entirely.

Breathing out slowly, Leo adjusted the blanket, straightened the pillow, and for a heartbeat, allowed himself to linger in the intensity of his own reaction.

Every thought, every heartbeat, every small brush of Sangwon’s hair against his wrist, was a thread, weaving the awareness tighter: he wanted to hold him, protect him, stay close. Always close.

 

-

 

Ultimately , he got up, fetched a glass of water, and placed it on the nightstand. Then, with a soft sigh, he dampened a cloth and wiped gently at Sangwon’s face, chasing away the tear tracks as though erasing evidence of his pain could undo the cause.

Leo wrung out the damp cloth again, running it along Sangwon’s temple, down the curve of his jaw, over the flushed skin of his neck. His own hands wouldn’t stop trembling. He tried to be gentle, but every motion felt frantic, desperate, like he was piecing together something fragile that might shatter if he let go.

Then came a murmur. Silent, broken, barely formed, but sharp enough to cut straight through him.

“…Leo hates me.”

For a beat, everything inside Leo froze. His chest, his breath, even his thoughts. And then the dam burst.

“No.” His voice cracked. “No, no, no. Don’t say that. Not you. Never you.” He pressed the cloth harder against his cheek, as if he could scrub the words out of existence. “I could never hate you. Not now. Not ever. Do you hear me?”

The reassurances tumbled mindlessly at first, clumsy and raw, mantras spilling out faster than he could think.

“You’re precious. You’ll always be precious. You’re not a burden. You’re not too much. You’re not wrong. I’ll never hate you. I’ll never leave you.”

Over and over, as if repetition alone could undo the poison Hyunwoo had left behind. But then, as the seconds dragged on, something shifted. The words slowed. Each one grew heavier, thought-through, shaped by years of quiet truths he’d buried.

“You’re not boring,” he whispered, brushing damp hair back from Sangwon’s forehead. “Just listening to your voice makes my day brighter. You could be talking about anything. Your books, the ones you’ve read a dozen times already and have told me about a dozen times already, and I’d still never want you to stop.”

His throat tightened. The image of Sangwon leaning across a cafeteria table months ago came rushing back—eyes lit up, hands flying as he explained a story Leo hadn’t even read. The memory softened him, gutted him all at once.

“You’re not too loud. You’re the reason rooms don’t feel empty. You’re not too weird. You’re the reason things feel alive.”

His thumb traced along Sangwon’s cheekbone, breath catching. “You’re the strongest person I know. You don’t even see it, but you are. Stronger than anyone who’s ever tried to break you.”

“I don’t think I could live without you. I don’t think I’d even want to try.” He faltered, breath catching, before adding, softer still: “You know I wouldn’t.”

He leaned back slightly, looking at him. Really looking. His face was flushed, brows faintly furrowed even in restless sleep. He’d never looked so fragile, so breakable. And yet to Leo, he was everything. Always had been.

Memories threaded through: Sangwon dragging him out for late-night convenience store runs when Leo had been drowning in work, Sangwon laughing so hard at a dumb inside joke he nearly fell off his chair, Sangwon texting him paragraphs about some random thought just to make sure Leo saw it.

Back then, in his darkest days, Leo hadn’t even wanted to wake up. But Sangwon, just by being there, by being himself—kept him tethered. Kept him alive.

“You’re the most important person I’ve ever had,” he whispered. “You’re the one who makes the noise in my head quiet. The one who makes me laugh when I don’t think I can. The one who makes me feel like I’m still worth something.”

His chest heaved. He thought about earlier, in the car, when Sangwon, barely conscious, had leaned toward him, lips brushing dangerously close before Leo turned his head. He hadn’t wanted Sangwon to make a mistake he’d regret in the morning. But even now, he couldn’t deny the thought circling in him like wildfire.

“You could’ve kissed me,” Leo said softly, almost to himself. “I wouldn’t have minded. I’ll never mind. Not with you.”

He let the silence hold, broken only by Sangwon’s uneven breaths. Then his voice dropped lower, steadier.

“You’re the most precious to me. More than anyone else. No one else could ever compare.”

The truth rose in him like a tide, terrifying and unrelenting. He brushed his thumb across Sangwon’s cheek again, voice shaking but certain.

“I don’t hate you. It’s the opposite. God, it’s always been the opposite.” His laugh came out weak, pained. “I think, I might love you. Maybe I’ve been in love with you all along, and I was too afraid to see it.”

The words hung in the dark, fragile but real.

And then, just to make it true, just so there could be no doubt, he said it again.

“I love you.”

Again, firmer this time, a vow. “I love you, Sangwon.”

And once more, almost a whisper, like a prayer only for himself: “I love you.”

His chest eased for the first time in weeks, like speaking it aloud had carved the truth into the night itself. Even if Sangwon never remembered. Even if tomorrow erased it all. At least now, finally, Leo had said it.

He had told Sangwon about his love. Not the safe kind of love he’d pretended it was all these years, not the comfortable devotion of friendship. Something deeper. Something that terrified him and set his chest on fire all at once.

Leo sat back slowly, heart hammering, realization flooding him in dizzying waves.

-

The room had gone still, save for Sangwon’s uneven breaths. Leo sat there, cloth slipping between his fingers, his chest tight as though someone had wound iron chains around his ribs. He’d said it already — that Sangwon mattered, that he was precious — but now that the words were out, they kept multiplying inside him, restless, pressing for air.

He thought about what it meant. Loving Sangwon.

Not just tonight, not just in some fragile, drunken moment — but all the years leading up to this. He’d always done it, hadn’t he? Every time Sangwon smiled and the air felt lighter. Every time his voice spilled about some book or lyric or story and Leo sat there, drinking in every word like it kept him alive.

It had been there when he fought through rehearsals, running on empty, and Sangwon had kept him grounded. It had been there when he doubted everything, and Sangwon simply… stayed. When Sangwon anchored him in every way.

And now Leo couldn’t deny it anymore. He loved him. He’d always loved him.

The realization should have been freeing, but instead it set his nerves alight. Because now what?
Sangwon was asleep, broken by someone else’s words, and tomorrow — tomorrow he’d probably wake with a pounding headache and no memory of this night. Leo’s whispered mantras, his quiet confessions, the truth that had slipped from his chest at last — none of it would last.

So what would he do with these feelings?
Keep them buried? Pretend? Watch Sangwon laugh with others, lean close to others, trust others with his heart? Watch him fall, get hurt, stand back while someone else became the center of his world?

The thought stung, sharp and ugly, and in that sting something clicked. He’d been jealous all along. Every time Sangwon texted someone else instead of him, every time another guy made him laugh too loudly, every time Hyunwoo stood at his side like he belonged there. Leo’s chest burned with it now — the heat of wanting to protect him from everyone who didn’t see him the way he deserved.

And yet, how was he supposed to hide this? He could barely contain himself after one night of honesty. What about weeks? Months? Years?

A dangerous thought crept in, unbidden, reckless:
What if Sangwon could ever like him back?
Not just as a friend, not just as the one he relied on — but as more. What if, by some impossible twist, Sangwon wanted him too?

The picture formed too easily. Lazy mornings with Sangwon curled against him. Fingers intertwined on late-night walks. Sitting across from him at dinner, not as best friends, but as something claimed, something real. Maybe even a kiss — not stolen in a haze of alcohol, not fumbled and wrong, but deliberate, sure, mutual.

The fantasy flooded him with warmth so sweet it made his throat ache. For a moment, he let himself believe it.

And then the fear came. Crushing, relentless.
What if it didn’t work? What if they dated and broke apart, and Sangwon could never look at him the same again? What if someone found out, if it leaked, if Sangwon lost everything he’d worked for because of Leo’s selfish heart?

Worst of all: what if Sangwon found out how he felt and left anyway. Not because of a scandal, not because of failure, but because he could never accept him like that. Because to Sangwon, he’d only ever be a friend.

The thoughts spun fast, tightening like a storm around him. Leo pressed his hands over his face, willing it to stop. He couldn’t lose him. He couldn’t risk it.

But he couldn’t forget this truth, either.

Somewhere between fear and longing, his voice slipped again, cracked and raw in the silence. “You’re the most important to me, Sangwon. No one could ever mean what you do. Not in this life. Not ever.”

He bent over the edge of the bed, forehead hovering close but never touching, as if proximity alone might brand the words into the space between them.

“I love you.” The whisper was almost soundless, almost not there. He wasn’t sure if he said it for Sangwon or for himself.

"Please. Don't leave me."

The admission hung in the room, unacknowledged, unanswered. He forced his eyes shut, his chest heaving. He tried to push it away, bury it with the rest of the impossible things. But it lingered, stubborn, impossible to ignore.

And with that, the night stretched on, heavy with words that couldn’t be taken back.

-

By the time dawn crept through the blinds, Leo was still there—shoulders stiff, eyes burning, but utterly unmoving. If the world asked him for anything else, it would have to wait.

Because tonight had burned away all doubt. He had made his choice, with no hesitation left:

Sangwon would never have to face that kind of night again. Not as long as Leo had strength left to give. Not as long as Leo had anything left to give.

Chapter Text

The morning bled softly into the room, sunlight creeping through the blinds in thin, trembling lines that broke across the walls and floor. The air smelled faintly of rain from last night: cool, still, and heavy with quiet.

Leo sat where he’d been for hours, slouched in the desk chair near the bed. He hadn’t even tried to sleep. Not after what he’d realized. Not after whispering words that changed everything for him, even if Sangwon would never remember.

He loved him.

It wasn’t a question anymore. Not a half-formed suspicion or a fleeting thought that he could still outrun. He’d said it, out loud, even if Sangwon hadn’t been conscious enough to hear Now the truth was there, pulsing in his chest with every breath.

And yet, as he looked at Sangwon now, curled up beneath a blanket, still pale from last night, mouth slightly parted in soft, unguarded sleep, Leo knew he wouldn’t say it again. Not today. Maybe not for a long time.

Because today wasn’t about him.

Sangwon had been through enough. Hyunwoo’s words, his OWN words, the fight, the drinking. it all sat heavy in his face even now. There was a faint crease between his brows, the kind that only appeared when he was holding something in. Leo knew it too well; he’d seen it for years, that same look right before Sangwon said he was fine.

So he decided, quietly, without any need for drama or promise: I’ll keep it to myself.

It wasn’t out of fear, not really. It was because Sangwon needed rest. He needed laughter again, comfort, space to breathe without being tangled in someone else’s feelings.

Leo leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. The morning light touched Sangwon’s cheek, and for a moment Leo just... watched. His hair was a mess, soft dark waves scattered across the pillow, catching flecks of gold where the sun hit. He looked peaceful like something sacred Leo had no right to disturb.

“...you don’t even know how beautiful you are,” Leo whispered, not expecting an answer.

A quiet, almost shy smile touched his face for a second before fading.

He’d keep this to himself for now. Maybe someday, when Sangwon was ready, when things didn’t hurt so much, when he could smile without forcing it—then Leo would tell him. But not now.

Not when all Sangwon needed was a friend, a break.

With a small breath, Leo stood, pushing the chair back carefully to avoid waking him. The sound of the blinds shifting filled the silence as he crossed to the door. He wanted to have a breakfast ready for Sangwon when he decided to wake up.

Before leaving, he let his hand hover on the doorframe and glanced back one more time. The sight nearly made him change his mind: Sangwon’s soft breathing, the sunlight tangled in his hair, his face peaceful and unbearably human.

“Today’s yours,” Leo murmured under his breath.

And with that, he slipped out of the room, the door closing behind him with a soft click, carrying the quiet vow with him into the warmth of the morning.

 

-

 

The sound of the kettle clicking awake filled the small kitchen. Leo rubbed a hand over his face, trying to shake off the weight of the night that still clung to his skin. The apartment smelled faintly like detergent and old coffee; sunlight cut across the countertop in golden ribbons. It felt too calm for what his chest was doing.

He’d spent the last twenty minutes moving quietly, pouring oats into a pot, slicing fruit, setting the table like muscle memory. Something about the rhythm helped. It made him feel useful again. Porridge was simple, safe, warm. Something you made when you didn’t know what else to offer.

He was halfway through stirring when he heard soft footsteps down the hall.

Leo froze.

Then Sangwon appeared in the doorway, hair tousled, eyes still puffy from sleep or maybe the night before. His oversized hoodie hung loosely off one shoulder, the sleeves half-swallowing his hands. The shorts he wore were barely visible beneath the hem, his legs pale against the morning light.

Leo’s breath stuttered. Just for a moment.

He quickly looked back down at the pot, stirring like his life depended on it. “You’re up,” he managed, voice softer than he meant it to be.

Sangwon mumbled a small “yeah,” rubbing his eyes as he stepped closer. His voice was rough from sleep, a little shy. “Smells good.”

“Porridge. For the hangover,” Leo said, forcing his tone into something normal. “And coffee. Unless you want tea instead.”

Sangwon blinked at him, head tilting slightly. “Coffee’s good.” He sat down at the table, curling into the chair like he was trying to disappear into it.

“Thanks.” His voice was a little hoarse.

Leo sat across from him, trying not to stare. “You feeling okay?”

Sangwon shrugged, gaze still on his porridge. “My head hurts. But I’ll live.” He paused, then glanced up. “Sorry about yesterday.”

Leo shook his head immediately. “No, don’t apologize.” His voice came out firm, almost too quick. "I should apologize for the way I treated you. Seriously."

Sangwon looked up, making eyecontact but didn't respond. He simply accepted the moment and chose to out an end to this topic with a thankful smile.

Leo looked away, pretending to sip his coffee. His hands were shaking slightly, so he gripped the mug tighter.

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable, just fragile. Every small sound filled it: the scrape of a spoon, the hum of the fridge, the soft thud of Sangwon’s socked foot against the floor.

“You’re good at this,” Sangwon said after a while, like it was just an observation.

Leo looked up. “At what?”

“Taking care of people.”

Leo blinked. His stomach twisted. For a second, all he could do was stare at him — the way his lips moved when he spoke, the way the sunlight hit the strands of his hair. Taking care of people? If only Sangwon knew how badly Leo wanted to take care of him, just him.

He laughed a little too quickly. “You say that like it’s a job.”

“It kinda is,” Sangwon said simply, spoon still in his mouth. “You just make it look easy.”

Leo had no idea what to do with that. His heart was pounding so hard it was hard to breathe.

When they finished, Leo started cleaning up. It was easier to focus on dishes than on his brain short-circuiting. Sangwon stood up to bring his bowl over, sleeves brushing against Leo’s arm—barely even a touch, but enough to make Leo tense up so fast he almost dropped the spoon.

Sangwon didn’t even notice. He just set the bowl in the sink and mumbled, “I’ll grab a game or something?”

“Yeah,” Leo said, still staring at the sink, his hand gripping the counter a little too tightly. “Yeah, that’s good.”

As Sangwon padded out of the kitchen, Leo finally let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. His heartbeat was still running wild, too fast, too obvious.

He rubbed his palm over his face and muttered under his breath, “Get it together, man.”

But then he caught a glimpse of the hoodie swaying as Sangwon turned the corner and thought—no. There was no getting it together anymore.

Not when it was him. Today he had to be strong, but he was becoming more unsure of how long he could keep this up with every glance he got at Sangwon.

 

-

 

The smell of butter and sugar clung to the air, thick and golden in the late afternoon light. The oven hummed behind them; the sound was steady, almost domestic. Leo had never imagined he’d spend a day like this—with flour on his hands, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and Sangwon laughing next to him over the proper way to beat eggs.

It should’ve been ordinary. It wasn’t.

Sangwon was all soft edges today—barefoot, in an oversized hoodie that swallowed him whole, hair falling into his eyes every time he leaned forward. Leo had never been good at baking, but apparently, he was worse at pretending not to watch.

“Careful,” Sangwon said, reaching over as Leo’s hand hesitated mid-pour. “Too much milk.”

Leo blinked. “You said eyeball it.”

“I didn’t mean close your eyes.”

That earned him a snort. Leo tried to laugh too, but the sound came out quiet, thin. He wanted to enjoy this—the lightness of it—but the warmth kept catching somewhere in his chest and tightening.

Sangwon nudged him with his shoulder. “You look terrified.”

“I’m concentrating,” Leo said, eyes fixed on the bowl.

“You look like you’re about to defuse a bomb.”

“That’s kind of what baking feels like.”

Sangwon laughed, shaking his head. “Then you're ​miserably failing right now, should I take cover?”

“I’m serious. You finally found my weakness. After years of being able to do everything...”

“Oh my god,” Sangwon said, laughing harder now. “The great Leo, defeated by cookie dough.”

He leaned over to stir something, and Leo had to glance away. The sunlight caught on Sangwon’s cheekbones, the soft line of his jaw. It was too much and not enough at once.

“I cannot believe you finally got me to do this,” Leo said after a moment. His tone was lighter than he felt. “I've been fighting it for so long.”

“Yeah, I wore you down.”

“Guess you did.”

For a while, the only sound was the soft scrape of the spatula, the occasional quiet hum from Sangwon as he worked. Then, out of nowhere, Sangwon said, “You know, I always wanted to do this with someone.”

Leo looked up from the bowl, unsure if he’d heard right.

“Baking?”

Sangwon nodded, still smiling, but there was something fragile about it now. “Yeah. I told Hyunwoo once that we should do this. He laughed. Said he’d rather order takeout than ruin the kitchen.”

Leo’s grip on the spoon went slack.

Sangwon’s tone was light, but the words began to slow, dissolve. “I thought it’d be… fun, you know? I kept bringing it up. He just never had the time.”

The silence that followed wasn’t loud—it just lingered.

Leo looked down at the bowl, at the uneven swirls of sugar and butter, and wished it could absorb the ache that crept into the air. He wanted to say something, but every word he thought of felt like it’d hurt worse than the quiet.

When Sangwon’s voice came again, it was softer. “It’s stupid. Forget I said anything.”

“It’s not stupid.” Leo’s words came out low, steady. He didn’t even have to think about them. “He should’ve made time for you.”

Sangwon blinked at him, caught off guard by how easily Leo said it. Then he laughed again, but this time the sound cracked halfway through. “You make it sound simple.”

“Maybe it is.”

“It’s not. If he didn’t want to, I can’t force him.”

Leo set down the bowl and turned to him fully. “You shouldn’t have to force anyone to want to be around you. It's a privelege to spent time with you.”

That hit harder than he meant it to. He saw it in Sangwon’s eyes, the way they darted down, then away. Teary.

The silence grew heavy. Then Sangwon tried to brush it off, voice thinner than before. “I don’t know why I’m talking about this.”

“Because it hurt,” Leo said quietly. “And you don’t have to act like it didn’t.”

Sangwon pressed his lips together. His hands, still dusted in flour, trembled slightly. “I thought I was fine. Guess I’m not.”

Leo hesitated for a breath, then reached out-slowly, gently-thumb brushing under Sangwon’s eye. A streak of flour came away with the tears.

Sangwon didn’t move.

Leo’s voice was soft, almost a whisper. “He’ll never taste cookies as good as these.”

That earned him a quiet laugh-wet and small but real.

“Yeah,” Sangwon said, wiping the rest of his tears with his sleeve. “He won’t.”

“There you go.”

Sangwon exhaled shakily, nodding. “Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me,” Leo murmured. “You did all the work.”

Sangwon smiled again, faintly this time. “Guess I did.”

Leo could feel his pulse in his wrist where it hovered near Sangwon’s cheek. He pulled his hand back before it became obvious. The space between them felt strange now—charged, but still quiet.

“You okay to finish?” Leo asked.

“Yeah,” Sangwon said. “Let’s bake.”

He turned back to the counter, taking the spatula and gently folding the dough again, pretending his voice hadn’t cracked seconds ago. Leo watched for a moment, letting the sound of Sangwon’s movements ground him back to something safe.

He picked up the whisk again, tried to focus on stirring. But his thoughts tangled faster than the batter.

 

They shaped the dough into uneven rounds, Sangwon occasionally reaching across him to adjust the spacing. Leo couldn’t focus on the tray, not when Sangwon’s sleeve brushed against his arm, or when his hair fell close enough that Leo could smell the faint hint of his shampoo—vanilla and cedar.

When the last tray went into the oven, Leo finally exhaled. “We survived.”

“Barely,” Sangwon said, bumping him lightly with his hip.

“You have no faith in me.”

“I have realistic expectations.”

Leo looked at him for a second, smiling faintly. “I’m glad we did this.”

Sangwon blinked, then smiled back—small, sincere. “Yeah. Me too.”

The timer ticked quietly. They stood shoulder to shoulder again, waiting, the silence between them no longer heavy but full—of warmth, of unspoken things.

Leo glanced at Sangwon’s reflection in the oven door. His heart twisted in a way that was almost gentle. He thought of how easily he’d fallen into this, how naturally it came. How long have I felt this? he wondered. How long have I been pretending not to know?

Sangwon nudged him again, voice breaking through his thoughts. “You’re thinking too hard.”

“Am I?”

“You get this look on your face when you are.”

Leo laughed quietly. “You know me too well.”

“Obviously,” Sangwon said, smiling again. “We’ve been doing this too long for me not to.”

Leo nodded slowly. Too long for me not to love you, he almost said.

Instead, he reached for the oven mitts and said, “Let’s check the cookies.”

When they came out—golden, soft, unevenly shaped—Sangwon made a small noise of satisfaction. “See? Perfect.”

Leo watched him grin over something so small, so simple, and thought maybe this was what happiness looked like when it wasn’t trying too hard.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “Perfect.”

He reached for a towel, dampened it, and gently wiped the last streak of flour from Sangwon’s cheek, pretending it was an accident.

Sangwon didn’t move away this time.

“Better?” Leo asked.

“Yeah.” A beat of quiet. “Thanks.”

Leo smiled. “Anytime.”

He meant it like he always did. But this time, the word stuck in his chest—heavy, sincere, and far too real.

Just like that the afternoon flew by and the evening, the time Leo dreaded the most, was approaching.

 

-

 

Sangwon was crouched in front of the TV, navigating the streaming menu like it was a matter of national importance. Leo sat back on the couch, a plate of slightly uneven cookies balanced on his knee and two open cans of Coke on the table.

“You’ve never watched this?” Sangwon turned to him, genuine disbelief on his face. “It’s been around since, like, 2006! That’s almost twenty years, Leo.”

Leo blinked. “That’s older than our friendship.”

“Exactly! You’ve had years of opportunity.”

“I didn’t know it was a requirement.”

“It is. For me. You can’t call yourself emotionally literate if you haven’t seen Eternal Summer.”

Leo chuckled. “I’m emotionally literate enough to bake cookies, isn’t that enough for one day?”

Sangwon gave him a half-smile, shaking his head as he pressed play. “You’re hopeless.”

The opening credits began—soft guitar, hazy blue tones washing over the screen. Sangwon flopped down next to him, tucking his legs under a blanket and reaching for a cookie.

Leo handed him one automatically, still smiling. “So, this is one of your favorites?”

“One of the favorites,” Sangwon said, eyes on the screen. “It’s…aesthetic. Pretty. Sad, kind of. But not the bad kind of sad.”

Leo hummed, pretending to focus on the subtitles. The truth was, he wasn’t really watching. His attention kept snagging on the way Sangwon’s hair caught the light, the way his lips moved slightly as he read the dialogue under his breath.

Every time Sangwon laughed quietly, Leo felt something twist in his chest.

Half an hour passed like that—quiet, peaceful. Sangwon occasionally commented on a scene (“Oh my god, the framing here—look at it, Leo, it’s so pretty!”) or softly hit him when he didn’t react enough. Leo just smiled, letting himself exist in the moment.

It wasn’t the movie keeping him awake—it was Sangwon. Always Sangwon.

Around the midpoint, Sangwon shifted a little. “Hey, can I lie down?”

Leo didn’t think much of it, still half-focused on the screen. “Yeah, sure.”

He didn’t expect Sangwon to shift sideways, tug the blanket down, and actually lie on him—head resting on Leo’s lap, eyes fixed on the movie again like nothing about this was unusual.

Leo froze.

Every muscle in his body forgot how to function. His heart wasn’t beating anymore—it was sprinting.

“Comfortable?” Sangwon murmured without looking away.

Leo swallowed. “Uh. Yeah.”

He wasn’t. Not in the way he should’ve been.

He stared at the screen, but he didn’t see it. The subtitles blurred. His hand hovered awkwardly above Sangwon’s shoulder, unsure where it belonged. The warmth of Sangwon’s body through the thin blanket made his pulse buzz in his fingertips.

The film played on, soft and nostalgic—the kind that made your chest ache before you knew why.

The characters on screen argued, laughed, lingered too long in silences. It felt familiar in a way that hurt.

Two boys growing up together. Close enough to hurt each other. Close enough to never say it.

Leo exhaled through his nose, almost laughing at the irony. “You really picked a comforting one tonight,” he whispered under his breath.

“What?” Sangwon murmured, half-asleep already.

“Nothing,” Leo said quickly. “Just talking to myself.”

He watched the movie, but now it mirrored him too much. The tension between the characters wasn’t so different from his own—their fear of crossing a line that might ruin something precious.

Leo’s mind drifted.
Would it be like this if he told Sangwon? That same ache of confusion, the inevitable distance after the truth slipped out?

He imagined it—blurred and too vivid all at once.
Sangwon sitting there, stunned. Maybe laughing it off. Maybe saying you’re just tired.
Maybe moving out.

Leo’s stomach turned. He wanted to be brave, but bravery wasn’t worth losing him.

He glanced down. Sangwon was watching quietly again, unaware of the storm just above him. His face was calm, lips parted slightly, eyelashes soft against his skin.

Leo felt something fragile unravel in his chest.

How do you keep doing this to me without even trying?

The movie hit its quiet emotional peak—a confession scene that wasn’t really a confession at all. The kind of truth, where everyone knew about it anyway. Leo’s throat tightened.

He could almost see himself there.
Almost hear his own voice in the one on screen.

What would happen if he did that?
Would Sangwon pretend not to hear it, the same way Leo pretended not to mean it?

He didn’t want to know.
He wanted to stay here, in this strange peace—Sangwon’s head in his lap, cookies half-eaten, the movie’s glow flickering across the room.

A soft sigh broke the silence. Sangwon had shifted, slowly sitting up halfway through the final act. He blinked sleepily and leaned against Leo’s shoulder instead, eyes still glued to the screen.

“You okay?” Leo asked quietly.

Sangwon nodded without speaking, just letting his head rest there. His hair brushed Leo’s jaw. Leo didn’t move.

By the time the credits rolled, Sangwon was asleep again.

The soft hum of the end credits filled the room, paired with the slow rhythmic breathing next to him. Leo watched the screen fade to black, the reflection of both of them lingering faintly for a second—his tired face, Sangwon’s head against him.

He didn’t turn off the TV right away. The silence felt too intimate to break.

He thought about the movie’s ending—the quiet change between the two boys, the kind that lasted a lifetime.
He thought about his feelings.

Would I change everything?
Or am I already?

He leaned his head back against the couch, staring up at the ceiling. He hadn’t slept in almost thirty hours, but he didn’t feel tired—just restless. Adrenaline, maybe. Or maybe it was something softer, heavier.

He looked down again. Sangwon was slumped against him, the blanket half-fallen. Leo adjusted it carefully, tucking it around his shoulders.

“Sangwon,” he said softly.

No response.

He tried again, gently this time, touching Sangwon’s arm. “Hey, wake up.”

A faint groan.

“You should go to bed,” Leo whispered.

Sangwon blinked drowsily, still half in a dream. “Mhm.”

Leo smiled. “Come on.”

He stood, stretching slightly, and helped Sangwon up. Sangwon’s eyes stayed mostly closed, his steps slow and clumsy. Leo guided him down the hall, one hand hovering near his back, not quite touching but ready to catch him if he stumbled.

At the bedroom door, Sangwon mumbled something incoherent, maybe a thank you, maybe nothing. He fell into the sheets like gravity had claimed him.

Leo waited a moment, watching him settle, before turning off the lamp.

The room fell into soft shadow.

“Goodnight,” Leo whispered.

Sangwon didn’t answer.

Leo closed the door behind him quietly and leaned against it for a moment, exhaling for the first time in what felt like hours. His pulse was still too fast. His thoughts wouldn’t stop spinning.

The apartment was still. Only the hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen, the faint smell of sugar and butter lingering in the air.

He rubbed his face with his palms, finally dragging himself toward his own room. The fatigue hit all at once now, a wave that made him stumble.

But before sleep could take him, his last thought wasn’t about the movie or the fear.

It was about the weight of Sangwon’s head on his shoulder, and how, for the first time in a long while, it had felt like home.

 

- SANGWON POV

 

Yesterday, he carried him.
The weight of Leo’s arms, the whisper against his hair, every word he wasn’t supposed to hear.

So why stay silent now?

He turned onto his back, eyes tracing the ceiling in the dark. If Leo could say it when he thought Sangwon wouldn’t remember, he could say it again—awake, sober, and sure.

Until then, Sangwon would wait.
He always had.