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The dorm was chaos from the moment Leo opened his door.
He’d woken up resigned to routine—another long day of rehearsal, cameras shadowing their every move—but instead he was ambushed by shouts, off-key singing, and the blinding flash of a dozen trainee smiles.
“Happy birthday!”
In the snack room, a cake sat precariously on the low table, clearly store-bought and decorated with lopsided strawberries. Someone had taped a sheet of printer paper to the wall that read LEO 0822 in thick marker, the letters slanting as though written mid-rush. A couple of trainees were clapping in rhythm, others brandishing paper cups of juice like champagne flutes.
Leo froze in the doorway, hair mussed, hoodie half-zipped, “…what?”
They shoved him into the center before he could protest.
Chingyu struck up the birthday song, and the rest followed in loud, jumbled voices. Sanghyeon shoved a forkful of cake at him. And Leo nearly chokes, laughing around the mouthful.
His cheeks burned, but the warmth in his chest was undeniable.
For the first time in a while, Leo let himself smile without holding back.
The celebration sprawled for nearly an hour—cake, juice, jokes that spiraled into noisy dares. A handful of trainees teased Leo about getting older. The room howled with laughter. Cameras caught it all, and yet for once, the attention didn’t feel suffocating.
Still, amid the noise, Sangwon lingered at the edges.
He laughed at the jokes, clapped along, but his gaze kept slipping back to Leo—how the candlelight flickered across his face, how he ducked his head when the compliments got too loud. Every second, Sangwon’s resolve sharpened.
Today.
He’d promised himself.
Today, no matter what.
When the sugar rush began to ebb and the boys sprawled across couches, Sangwon finally made his move. He stepped forward, slipped his fingers lightly around Leo’s wrist, and tugged.
“Borrowing the birthday boy,” he announced, tone casual enough not to draw suspicion.
Leo blinked up at him, “why?”
“Come on, hyung,” Sangwon said, tugging again. “You’re not spending your birthday in here. Go wash up.”
There were a few groans of protest—“don’t steal him yet!”—but Sangwon only waved them off with a laugh. Leo, confused but compliant, let himself be pulled away toward the hall.
Sangwon shut the door to his room and exhaled. For an hour he’d played along with the noise, the chaos, but underneath it all his heart had been beating one steady refrain—today, today, today.
He glanced at the nightstand drawer and opened it. Nestled inside was the bracelet—silver chain, simple but not plain. He’d saved for weeks to get it, sneaking in free time between filming days to find just the right one.
Not flashy. Leo didn’t like flashy. Just enough to say, I notice you. I know you.
He lifted it in his palm now, the metal cool against his skin.
“Happy birthday, hyung,” Sangwon murmured under his breath, trying the words out, picturing Leo’s face when he sees it. Nerves twisted in his stomach, but alongside them was something steadier—certainty.
He’d been holding this in too long, pretending too much. Handholding, late-night talks, stolen laughter. It had already crossed the line of friendship. Today was the day he’d make it real.
Sangwon tucked the bracelet into his pocket, straightened in the mirror, and let determination settle over his features.
No more waiting. Today was the day.
They slipped out into the city with no plan but each other. Leo walked half a step behind at first, hood pulled low, but the second Sangwon slowed near a crosswalk, a warm hand slid into his without hesitation.
It always happened like this. Leo never asked, never hesitated. He just reached for him, like Sangwon’s palm was where his belonged.
And Sangwon’s heart skipped, stumbled, then settled into a rhythm far too fast. Like always.
This was normal between them. Common. Expected, even. Leo always had to be touching him.
His sleeve, his shoulder, the curve of his wrist. It had become such a pattern Sangwon wondered if anyone else even noticed. He did, though. God, he noticed.
Because no matter how many times it happened, he could never be used to Leo. Not when it was him. Not when Leo was the person he felt most at ease with, and at the same time the person who left him dizzy, buzzing, unbearably alive.
Something about love—unspoken, unconfessed—turned the smallest gesture electric. Something about buried feelings made every brush of skin feel stolen.
Something about being excited around someone you saw every day, that contradiction, was enough to make Sangwon want to laugh and cry at once.
The arcade was a blur of laughter.
Leo’s hand was at his elbow when he tripped over a dance pad, on his shoulder when he bent over a claw machine, wrapped snugly around his wrist as he dragged him from game to game. Sangwon let himself be pulled along, dizzy with the sound of Leo’s laughter.
When Leo pointed out a stuffed bear in a glass case, Sangwon focused every ounce of concentration into winning it—just to see that smile again. He pressed it into Leo’s arms, and the look he got in return nearly knocked the breath out of him.
Later, at the river, with the sky melting into pink and orange, Leo settled beside him, shoulder brushing his. He handed Sangwon a drink with one hand, and with the other, almost absentmindedly, found his fingers again.
Sangwon stared at their hands, tangled together against his thigh, pulse thrumming. This was usual. This was normal. This was them.
But usual didn’t mean safe. It didn’t mean his heart slowed down. It didn’t mean he didn’t ache.
No—if anything, the familiarity only made him burn hotter.
And as the water rippled gold before them, Sangwon thought, with sharp clarity.
He can’t keep this quiet anymore.
The stuffed bear sat between them, its button eyes staring blankly at the river. The air was thick with late-summer warmth, the sky fading from gold into lavender. For a moment, it felt like the whole city had gone quiet just for them.
Leo cracked open his drink, took a sip, and sighed. “Feels good,” he said finally. “To be out here. Just us.”
His thumb brushed against Sangwon’s knuckles, absentminded but steady. Always steady.
Sangwon smiled faintly. “Better than the dorms, huh?”
Leo laughed, quick and sharp, but the sound wavered.
“Yeah, sometimes it feels like… if I stay in there any longer, I’ll just…” heal trailed off, shaking his head like it was silly, “…go crazy.”
Sangwon turned to look at him fully. Leo was still smiling, but Sangwon could see it—the tight pull at the corners of his mouth, the shadows flickering behind his eyes.
“You’ve been stressed,” Sangwon murmured.
Leo gave a little hum, a shrug, “a little.” Then, softer, as though testing the words, “I didn't realize it would be this scary. Thinking about… what happens here.”
Sangwon looked at Leo now, profile painted in the fading light, and felt that truth thrum through every vein.
What would happen here? In the show? In the future?
Sangwon doesn’t know. He can’t know.
But he knows this—no matter what, it was always Leo and him. Him and Leo. Always.
So he says just that.
“You’re always going to have me, hyung.”
Leo’s lips curved at the words, but his laugh came out softer this time, almost fragile, like it was balancing on a thread. He squeezed Sangwon’s hand, then spoke low, like he was confessing a secret he hadn’t meant to.
“And you’ll still have me, too. Even if…” His voice wavered, then steadied. “Even if you get in. Even if I don’t. I’ll still be there. Rooting for you. Always yours, in that way.”
The words struck Sangwon like a slap. His chest tightened, sharp and immediate, and before he could stop himself, he shook his head—too forceful, almost offended.
“No,” he said, the word fierce in his mouth. “Don’t say that. Don’t you dare say that.”
Leo blinked, startled, “Sangwon—”
“There’s no me without you,” Sangwon said, the words trembling out before he could hold them back. His grip on Leo’s hand tightened, as if he could anchor him to the promise. “So don’t talk like that. Promise me, hyung. Promise me we’ll be together. No matter what happens.”
Leo stared at him, wide-eyed. And then, slowly, the tension bled from his face. The anxious crease between his brows softened, melting into something gentler. A smile—small, but true. Real.
“Alright,” he said softly. “Promise.”
“Don’t…” Sangwon mutters, grip loosening, “please don't ever say that again.”
“I know, I know,” Leo cut in quickly, waving his drink hand, still smiling too brightly. “It’s fine. Really. I just—” He stopped, exhaled. His voice dropped, quiet now, stripped bare. “It’s just scary. That’s all.”
Silence swelled between them, filled only by the distant hum of traffic and the rush of water.
Then Leo tilted his head back, closing his eyes, a small curve to his lips that was more tender than happy. “Thanks, though. For today. For always.”
Sangwon blinked, “for always?”
“Yeah,” Leo said simply, as if it were obvious. “You’re just… there. I don’t even have to ask. You just show up.” He let out a breathy laugh, softer this time, almost shy. “Makes it easier, you know? Even when I feel like I’m losing it, I look over, and you’re… you. Steady. Right there.”
Sangwon’s chest ached, wishing he could pour everything he felt into that single hold.
Because Leo didn’t know.
Didn’t know what it meant to Sangwon to hear that. Didn’t know that he was the reason Sangwon had even dared step back onto this path.
He’d closed that door once—told himself the stage wasn’t his anymore, that chasing the idol life had been a dream meant for another version of him. He had been ready to let it go.
But then Leo came crashing with the idea back into his orbit. With his restless energy, his unfiltered honesty, the way he laughed with his whole body and reached out like it was second nature.
Leo broke Sangwon out of the shell he thought he’d sealed shut. Brought him back to the world he thought he’d lost.
And somewhere between late-night practices and hands linked under tables, between laughter in crowded dorms and quiet glances no one else seemed to notice—friendship had blurred into something else.
Something sharp, something alive, something burning hot enough to consume him if he didn’t say it aloud.
And his chest was full to bursting with it.
The walk back to the dorms stretched longer than usual. Neither of them seemed in a rush; their steps slowed, conversation meandering, hands brushing until Leo’s fingers hooked around his like it was the most natural thing in the world. It always was, between them.
They drifted off the main street without speaking about it, following the quiet pull of the river. The air grew cooler there, the buzz of traffic replaced by the soft rush of water, the glow of city lights mirrored in ripples that stretched endlessly. It felt tucked away, untouched, as if this corner of Seoul had been waiting for them.
Sangwon’s chest tightened at the thought. Maybe it has. Maybe it’s been waiting for me to do this.
The whole day replayed in his head. Leo’s laughter at the surprise party, the way his shoulders loosened over dinner, the smile that lingered all afternoon.
Sangwon had promised himself—give Leo a birthday worth remembering. And he had. But now came the harder part.
The part that mattered most.
Leo kicked lightly at the edge of the path, watching the lights shimmer across the water. He was humming something low, distracted, content. Sangwon watched him, every detail sharp. The way his hair shifted in the night breeze, the line of his profile against the glow, the way his hand fit against his like it belonged there.
Sangwon’s pulse pounded.
Don’t let the moment slip away.
All day long he’d stalled, told himself later, later, when it’s perfect. But here it was—no cameras, no noise, no eyes on them. Just the two of them, the river, the city carrying on without them.
He glanced sideways. Leo was still humming, eyes on the water, completely unaware that Sangwon’s whole world was trembling beside him.
Sangwon’s hand had been in his pocket for the last five minutes, fingers tracing the outline of the small box. He’d slipped it there before dinner, promising himself he’d give it to Leo when the time felt right.
But every time he thought about it, his throat closed up, his pulse racing. He could keep stalling forever. He could walk him all the way back to the dorms and pretend this moment never came.
Sangwon curled his fingers around the box.
Whatever. Just do it.
“Hyung,” he said, and his voice cracked the stillness of the riverside. Leo turned to him, brow lifted, lips parted in question.
Sangwon exhaled and tugged the box free, “here, before I lose my nerve.”
Leo blinked down at it, then at him, surprise flickering across his face. “…What’s this?”
“A birthday present,” Sangwon said, trying for casual but feeling his ears heat. “Don’t get too excited. It’s nothing big.”
Leo opened it, and the light caught on the silver bracelet nestled inside, simple but clean, chosen carefully. For a second, he didn’t say anything at all. Just stared at it, then back at Sangwon, his eyes wide with something unreadable.
“You—” he started, then cut himself off with a soft laugh, almost disbelieving. “You didn’t have to.”
“I know,” Sangwon muttered. His heart thudded in his throat. “I wanted to.”
Leo lifted the bracelet, weighing it in his hand before sliding it onto his wrist. It fit perfectly. His smile softened, slow and warm in a way that made Sangwon want to sink into the ground, “you always know how to make me feel like I have everything.”
The words hit Sangwon like a strike to the chest. Everything.
This was it. He couldn’t just stand there and let the moment pass. The box was gone from his pocket, the excuse gone from his chest.
All that was left was the truth, pressing harder and harder until it was impossible to hold back.
Leo turned his wrist this way and that, admiring the way the silver caught the glow of the river lights. He looked so satisfied with it, so quietly moved, that Sangwon thought his lungs might collapse from the sight alone.
“Thank you,” Leo said again, softer this time. His gaze lingered on the bracelet before flicking back to Sangwon. A smile tugged at his lips, a little crooked, a little shy.
“Really. For this. For today. For everything. You always…” he trailed off, shaking his head, almost like the words were too heavy. “You always know what I need.”
The quiet between them swelled, the river rushing on as though trying to carry the moment away. Leo finally nudged his shoulder gently against Sangwon’s, voice lighter again, “come on, let’s keep walking before it gets too late.”
But Sangwon didn’t move. Couldn’t.
His feet felt like they’d rooted into the pavement, his chest too full, his body trembling with the weight of everything he’d been carrying all day. His knuckles pressed tight into his fists at his sides. He knew if he loosened them, they’d shake.
Leo blinked at him, confused, “Sangwon? Are you alri—”
“Hyung,” Sangwon blurted, and the word cracked in his throat like glass. He swallowed hard, heat crawling up his neck, his face flushed under the river’s dim glow.
“I…” His voice nearly faltered, but then he forced it out, quick, before he could stop himself.
“I love you.”
The words hung between them, raw and breathless, pulled out of him like a secret too long buried. Sangwon stared at the ground, fists clenched tighter, the world roaring in his ears. If he looked up, he wasn’t sure he could stand to see Leo’s expression.
But he’d said it. He’d finally said it.
Sangwon could hear his own heartbeat in his ears, every second stretching too long. His fists stayed locked at his sides, nails biting into his palms until the sting grounded him, until the trembling threatened to spill out.
Then Leo moved.
A step closer, then another, until Sangwon felt warmth at the edge of his skin. Gentle fingers closed over his fists, prying them open, smoothing over the tension the way Leo had done a thousand times before.
Sangwon’s breath stuttered. Leo’s thumbs brushed over the angry little crescents his nails had left behind, soothing them away as if they weren’t even there.
“I know,” Leo said, voice so calm, so certain. His eyes softened, his hands never leaving Sangwon’s. “And I do, too. I like you. I love you. A lot.”
For one dizzying second, Sangwon’s mind nearly burst with relief. The world buzzed around him, too much, too fast—Leo liked him, Leo actually liked him—but no.
No, no, wait. That wasn’t it. He must be misunderstanding.
“Hyung, no,” Sangwon’s breath hitched, desperation clawing its way out of his chest. “You—you don’t understand. I’m in love with you. Not just as a friend.” His voice cracked. He forced the words out anyway. “I want us to be more.”
Leo froze. His expression shifted, the quiet certainty replaced by wide-eyed surprise.
The silence is brutal.
“Hyung?” Sangwon whispered, already bracing for the sting, the rejection, the world ending before his eyes.
His throat burned. Tears stung hot against his lids, threatening to spill. He almost wanted to take the words back, swallow them whole, pretend this had never happened.
And then Leo’s mouth opened, his voice trembling for the first time that night.
“Aren’t we,” he said slowly, blinking as though trying to piece together a puzzle, “already dating?”
The world tilted.
Sangwon could barely breathe, his chest hollow and too full all at once. His words hung in the night air.
Leo searched his face, a small furrow forming between his brows.
“We’re not already?”
Sangwon blinked. Once. Twice. His brain refused to catch up.
“…What?”
Leo looked at him like he was the one being ridiculous, genuine confusion softening his voice.
“You hold my hand all the time. We almost kissed… a lot of times,” his lips tugged into a helpless little smile, sheepish but sure. “I just thought you were shy. You look at me like—” his words caught for a second, quieting into something more fragile, “like I’m yours.”
The silence cracked against Sangwon’s ears. He could only stare, throat dry, every word slipping through him like water.
“And well,” Leo went on, gentler now, “I’ve always thought that about you, too. So I thought we were dating. I thought we…” his eyes flickered, catching Sangwon’s in the glow of the streetlights, “that night on your birthday last year—I thought we started dating.”
Sangwon’s heart thundered so hard he thought it might stop altogether. No words came out.
Nothing, just stunned, burning silence.
His pulse raced so violently he couldn’t tell if he wanted to laugh, cry, or collapse right there by the river.
Sangwon’s lungs stuttered against his ribs.
His fists were still caught between Leo’s hands, warmth seeping through, steady and grounding, and yet his mind was spinning out like a train gone off the rails.
“What…” his voice cracked, barely more than a breath. His eyes widened, frantic, like if he blinked too long he’d wake up from this dream. “What is happening right now?”
Leo blinked at him, genuinely bewildered, his thumb still absently smoothing across Sangwon’s knuckles like this was the most normal thing in the world. “We’re talking. You’re… confessing? I’m saying I like you back?”
“No, hyung, you’re saying—” Sangwon’s words tripped over themselves, his face burning so hot it ached. “You’re saying we’re already dating. And that doesn’t… how could that—what are you talking about?”
Leo laughed softly, the sound tinged with disbelief, as though Sangwon was the ridiculous one here.
“What do you mean, how? I just thought…” he shrugged helplessly, eyes still locked on him with unbearable tenderness. “I thought it was obvious.”
Sangwon could only gape, brain short-circuiting, heart hammering itself to pieces.
He wanted to argue, to demand an explanation, to rewind and replay the past months under this new light—but all he could do was stand there, held in Leo’s hands, the ground under his feet no longer steady.
Sangwon shook his head so fast it made him dizzy, words tumbling from his lips with no control.
“No, no, no, hyung, listen to yourself—dating?”
Sangwon’s eyes are blown wide with confusion.
“We never said we were dating! Holding hands doesn’t mean—well, it does, but not always, and kissing—almost kissing—doesn’t count!”
His chest was heaving, panic buzzing loud in his ears, the air thick with the smell of river water and the faint echo of city lights across the bank. His fists were still trapped between Leo’s palms, trembling hard now, and he couldn’t tell if it was fear or something else.
Leo only watched him, eyes soft, lips tugging at the corner like Sangwon’s meltdown was the most endearing thing he’d ever seen.
“Oh my god. So you really were drunk that night?”
Sangwon froze, “…what?”
Leo’s laugh was quiet, breathy, like a secret being unwrapped, “I thought you were… okay. You said so. Which is, come to think of it—I shouldn't have taken your word for it.”
He squeezed Sangwon’s hands, leaning just a little closer, enough that his gaze pinned him still. “But you really don’t remember, do you?”
Sangwon blinked rapidly, brain scrambling, heat rising to his ears, “remember what?”
“You. Begging me to date you,” Leo said plainly, almost too casually. “Telling me not to meet anyone else except you. You were holding onto me like I might disappear if you let go.”
His voice dipped, quieter now, but steady. “You don’t know how hard I tried not to laugh, because… Sangwon, I didn’t need you to beg. I’ve been in love with you since forever.”
Sangwon thought he might actually stop breathing.
His knees felt weak, his heart slamming against his ribs like it wanted out. He opened his mouth, shut it, opened it again, words failing him entirely.
“…What is happening right now?” He whispered again, but softer this time, like a prayer.
Leo only smiled, as if the answer had always been simple.
“But a whole year, I—” Sangwon’s breath catches on his throat, “if I begged you to date me I would remember that, right? I mean, unless I was really drunk, but even then I’d have to know.”
His flurry of words continue, “you can’t just drop something like that on me when I—when I just confessed—”
“Sangwon—”
“—and what do you mean in love since forever? You can’t just say things like that, that’s insane. You’re insane, oh my god, I’m literally losing my mind right now, hyung. This is—”
Leo leaned in, cupping his face with both hands, and cut him off.
“Stop talking so I can kiss you.”
Sangwon’s entire body stilled.
His mouth shut with an audible click, his face going crimson from ear to ear. He whispered, almost helplessly, “holy shit.”
Leo didn’t wait for more.
He was already closing the distance, tilting Sangwon’s head just slightly, lips pressing against his like it was the most natural thing in the world.
And Sangwon…
Sangwon just melted into it, knees weak, hands clinging desperately to Leo’s sleeves like he’d fall apart otherwise.
When they pulled apart, Sangwon was swaying, dizzy, lips tingling. His heart was sprinting faster than his thoughts could catch up, and he genuinely thought he might faint right there by the river.
Leo grinned, forehead resting lightly against his.
“I’ve been waiting a whole year for that.”
Sangwon made a strangled noise, torn between laughing, crying, and combusting on the spot.
He’s still blinking through the haze, lips swollen, heart in his throat, when Leo leaned back just enough to see him clearly. His smile was soft now, a little tentative, a little shy, like the first time he’d ever let Sangwon catch him without his practiced stage mask.
“So…” Leo began, voice low, careful. “I know I should’ve done this properly way before, but… can we be official now? For real?”
For a second Sangwon just stared, breath stuck, until his voice finally cracked its way through.
“…Yes.” He swallowed hard, then said it again, firmer. “Definitely yes.”
Leo’s smile bloomed, wide and boyish, knocking the breath right out of Sangwon’s chest.
“Good. Best birthday gift I could ask for.”
Sangwon made a helpless sound somewhere between a laugh and a choke, but he didn’t get to answer—Leo was already leaning in again. Their lips met softer this time, slower, clumsier around their smiles, but certain. Real.
When they finally broke apart, the city lights stretched golden over the river beside them, the hum of traffic in the distance, the faint chill of night air clinging to their skin.
Sangwon reached for Leo’s hand, fingers tangling between his. They kept walking, shoulders brushing.
Like it’s always been.
Only now, there were no question marks hanging over them.
They walked in silence for a while, the river glimmering at their side, cicadas buzzing faintly in the dark. Their hands swung between them, fingers threaded tight.
Like it was nothing new. Like it was everything.
Sangwon couldn’t stop glancing down at it—the shape of Leo’s knuckles against his own, the warmth pressed into his skin.
For years it had been the same hand that dragged him through crowds, that rested lazily on his knee in cabs, that patted his head when he was sulking. Always the same hand.
But tonight it was different. Tonight it meant something.
And Leo… Leo looked like he’d known it all along.
The city lights made a halo out of his grin, and Sangwon had to laugh, helpless, because how could he not.
“Hyung, am I stupid?”
Leo didn’t miss a beat. “Only a little,” he said lightly, eyes soft even as his mouth curved into mischief. “But I like you that way.”
Sangwon groaned, heat rushing up his neck. “God, you’re never going to let me live this down, are you?”
“Not a chance,” Leo squeezed his hand, tilting his head to look at him properly. “Especially after all the things you said that night.”
The bottom fell out of Sangwon’s stomach, “…what did I say?”
Leo raised a brow, smug. “Are you sure you want to know?”
“Yes, no—” Sangwon stumbled over his words, glaring at the ground as if it could swallow him whole. “Oh my god, hyung, please just… don’t say I embarrassed myself—”
Leo’s laugh came easy, low in his throat, “you didn’t embarrass yourself.”
Sangwon exhaled, relief breaking through him. Until Leo let the pause hang a little too long, smile tugging at his mouth.
“Well, unless you count the part where you cried a little.”
Sangwon froze, “…excuse me?”
“It was cute!” Leo insisted, grinning, but then his gaze flickered sideways, his ears faintly red. “You said some really sweet things at first. Like, really sweet.”
Sangwon narrowed his eyes, suspicion and dread colliding, “what do you mean ‘at first’?”
Leo’s laugh faltered, and he rubbed the back of his neck, sheepish, "yeah, because then you just… kind of… started saying the things you’d do to me.”
Sangwon’s entire body lit on fire, “what—”
“And, uh—” Leo coughed, suddenly avoiding eye contact, “what you wanted me to do to you.”
“Hyung!” Sangwon practically shouted, covering his face with both hands as if that could undo every syllable. “Oh my god, stop talking! Stop right there, I’m actually going to die.”
Leo’s own face betrayed him, cheeks heating at the memory. He laughed but softer now, not meeting Sangwon’s gaze, “I mean… yeah. That’s why I thought we were already together. After that night, how could I not?”
Sangwon made a strangled noise, half despair, half disbelief, heart racing so fast it drowned everything else out.
And when he peeked through his fingers, Leo was watching him—blushing, but smiling too, like he wouldn’t trade that memory for anything.
Then, Leo ducked his head, lips so close Sangwon swore he felt the faintest brush of them against his skin as he whispered, voice dark and playful.
“So, uh… do you really want me to bite your neck like that?”
The word bite burned, low and deliberate, a soft growl curling around it. Sangwon made an inhuman noise, somewhere between a whimper and a strangled laugh, burying his face in his hands.
He’s mortified, to say the least.
“I’m going to drown myself,” Sangwon clutches onto the railings, legs shaking. “Right here. Push me into the river, hyung.”
Leo laughed so hard he nearly doubled over, but he pulls him into a hug instead.
Sangwon buries his face on Leo’s shoulder, face burning and heart hammering against his chest.
After a moment, the humor gentled into something quieter. Sangwon pulls back with Leo’s arms still wrapped around him.
And he finally looks at Leo again.
A look that said how’d you keep those words close for a whole year?
The realization that Leo had never once doubted the possibility of them.
Sangwon’s heart squeezed, breaking open. He whispers, “you really remembered all that? The entire confession?”
“Of course I did,” Leo reached up, brushing a thumb against his cheek like it was the most natural thing in the world. “I’ve been waiting since then to hear you say it again. Sober this time.”
Sangwon’s throat worked, but no sound came out. The words stuck, tangled somewhere between disbelief and the sharp ache swelling in his chest. Leo’s thumb lingered against his cheek, soft, steady—anchoring him in place when everything else felt like it was spinning.
He tried to laugh, but it cracked into something more fragile. “You’re insane. You can’t just say things like that.”
“Why not?” Leo tilted his head, his smile crooked, tender. His hands were warm at Sangwon’s waist, holding him like he belonged there. “I’ve been saying them all along. You just never believed me.”
Sangwon squeezed his eyes shut, overwhelmed by the closeness, the heat, the quiet certainty in Leo’s tone. It was too much. It was everything.
“Hyung…” his voice breaks, fingers fisting in the back of Leo’s shirt before he could stop himself. He wanted to pull him closer, wanted to push him away, he wanted everything.
Leo leaned in, close enough that Sangwon felt the brush of his breath across his skin, the faint tremor in it. “Lee Sangwon,” he whispered, almost pleading now, “don’t run from this. Not when I’ve been waiting for you.”
Sangwon’s eyes flew open, meeting his. The look in Leo’s was devastating—steady, unguarded, raw.
His heart lurched. And before he could think better of it, the words tumbled out, hoarse and broken but true.
“I don’t want to run.”
The words hung in the air between them, trembling, alive. Leo stilled, his breath catching—like he hadn’t dared to imagine hearing it out loud.
And then, slowly, his smile broke, warm enough to undo Sangwon’s knees.
“Good,” Leo murmured, thumb brushing his cheek again. “Because in my head, we’ve been dating for more than a whole year, so…”
Sangwon gaped at him, his mouth opening and closing soundlessly. “You can’t—” his face burned, “you can’t just say things like that with a straight face—”
“I mean it,” Leo cut in, soft, certain. “Every second of it.”
Sangwon made a strangled noise, halfway between a laugh and a groan, burying his face briefly against Leo’s shoulder. He wanted to disappear and stay pressed here forever, all at once.
When he finally looked up again, Leo was still smiling that infuriating, devastating smile. The one that promised he wasn’t joking, wasn’t taking any of this lightly.
And that was the moment Sangwon realized he wasn’t breathing just fine—he was alive, every nerve alight, because of him.
Sangwon felt the weight lift off in Leo’s arms, warm and certain, like an anchor and a promise all at once.
The city lights shimmered across the river, scattering into gold, but none of it compared to the way Leo smiled at him—quiet, unshaken, as if he’d been waiting for this all along.
It struck Sangwon then, with the kind of clarity that steals your breath. This was what it meant to be alive in the right moment, with the right person.
Not someday. Not almost. Now.
Simply this. Simply them.
Always them.