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The room was dark, lit only by a faint glow seeping through the window, a thin silver thread spilling across the cold floor.
Sangwoon lay on his bed, hands folded behind his head, eyes fixed on the ceiling.
He hadn’t planned on thinking about anything tonight, yet he found himself caught once again in the same spiral that had clung to him for days.
The voice of a staff member echoed in his mind:
“Didn’t you already have a favorite younger brother?”
And Leo’s oblivious reply:
“Who was it?”
As if that first sting wasn’t enough, the second came later, when one of the judges asked about the younger trainees. Sangwoon could still hear Leo’s laugh, light and unbothered:
“I admire their energy… I think I’ll start forgetting about Sangwoon.”
He had smiled along with everyone else at the time, laughed so as not to ruin the mood, not to let anyone think the words had struck him. But the truth was, they hadn’t left him since that day. Every time he closed his eyes, they returned, repeating as if they were meant only for him.
He raised an arm, pressing his forearm against his forehead, exhaling slowly.
Why was he remembering this now? What kept dragging his mind back to those moments again and again?
Something weighed on his chest—not a sharp pain, but a quiet heat that grew each time he remembered Leo’s laughter, his cheerful expression as those words left his lips. Jealousy? Maybe. Sadness? That too. But he couldn’t name it clearly. All he knew was that his heart tightened, as if an unseen hand were pulling him farther away from Leo.
“Strange…” he muttered to himself.
Leo—his friend of so many years. The one who knew him better than anyone, the one who had shared beginnings and endings and the small memories before they became who they were now. And yet… why did it feel as if there was a new distance between them, invisible but slowly growing?
It wasn’t just a passing moment. It felt more like a subtle reminder that he wasn’t the only one anymore. That his presence, once so significant, might be fading into the background.
A bitter smile tugged at his lips—one no one would see.
“Why does this bother me so much?” he whispered, as if scolding himself. He didn’t want to seem like a child jealous over careless words. But his heart wouldn’t let him brush it aside, wouldn’t allow him to act cold the way he usually could.
It felt like a hollow space was spreading inside him, and every so often a heavy question would strike:
Did Leo not need him the way he once did?
Would he really be forgotten so easily?
He pulled the blanket higher over his chest and turned his face to the other side, yet he couldn’t escape the heat burning softly in his heart. It wasn’t a fire consuming him—but a small flame, steady and persistent, reminding him he was jealous.
Jealous of losing the place he had held for so long.
Jealous of becoming nothing more than a memory in the eyes of someone who had once been his entire world.
⸻
The cafeteria buzzed with noise—dishes scraping, chairs dragging against the floor, and laughter scattered among groups of trainees. Sangwon sat at the far end of the table, choosing the corner as if it were safer, staring at his half-filled plate while his eyes kept flickering—unwillingly—toward the table across from him.
There, Leo sat with his familiar smile etched across his face. Next to him, Sanghyeon leaned lightly against his shoulder, his head tilted, laughing softly as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Leo, in turn, bent closer to him, said something drowned out by the surrounding clamor, but the weight of his words was clear in the way Sanghyeon burst out laughing—and Leo laughed with him.
An unexpected thump echoed in Sangwon’s chest, as though his heart wanted to pause its ordinary duty just to remind him it was still there. Heat stirred faintly under his ribs—not outright anger, not joy either, but something gray and tangled: a sticky, uncomfortable shade of jealousy.
His fingers tightened around the edge of the table, then released slowly, as if he didn’t want to show anything. He shifted his shoulders, sat a little straighter, then leaned forward as though to busy himself with the meal that no longer tempted him. He tried convincing himself that what he saw was nothing more than fleeting friendships, ordinary laughter between trainees spending their days together. And yet, his eyes kept straying back to where Leo was sitting.
At one point, he found himself shifting in his seat, sliding slightly toward the edge as if that tiny adjustment would grant him a clearer view. He was careful not to draw attention, every move hesitant, slow, almost invisible. It looked as though he were trying to measure the distance between himself and Leo without actually closing it.
He turned his head briefly toward the wall, pretending to focus on something distant, hiding his own unease from himself before anyone else could notice. But the discomfort wouldn’t leave. It drummed against his chest like a restless beat, while his mind repeated the same questions without mercy:
Why does Leo look so at ease beside him?
And why does Sangwon feel like he’s sinking deeper every time Leo laughs with someone else?
Then Leo lifted his head mid-laugh, and their eyes collided. The glance was sharp, more focused than expected, as though it cut straight through the noise to reach him. But it lasted only a moment; as soon as their gazes met, Sangwon dropped his eyes to his plate, pretending nothing had happened.
Leo’s smile froze for the briefest second. His laugh dried up in his throat, and he found himself staring at Sangwon unconsciously. Something strange—was he upset? Or deliberately avoiding him? There was no time to dwell; Sanghyeon called his name playfully, and Leo turned back to him quickly, as if fleeing from his own confusion. He replied with a small smile, trying to set the thought aside.
But it didn’t last. When his gaze returned to where Sangwon had been, the seat was already empty. Sangwon had quietly risen, set his chopsticks aside with deliberate care, straightened up, and walked out the door. No glance, no comment, no words for anyone. He simply left.
Unconsciously, Leo’s eyes followed until Sangwon disappeared. His brows knit together, a vague weight pressing inside his chest. He had noticed the strange change in Sangwon these days. It wasn’t obvious, but it was there: the long silences, the short and shallow conversations, that subtle distance that hadn’t existed before. Sometimes he would move closer, step by hesitant step as if he wanted to stay near, only to pull back suddenly—as if reminded he needed to keep away.
And those looks… prolonged, sometimes heavy with something Leo couldn’t name. Not anger exactly, but a quiet, heavy sort of discomfort building up in silence.
Pressing his lips together, Leo searched for a logical reason. Was Sangwon upset with him? He didn’t want to believe it. Since when did Sangwon need to hide something from him? They had always shared what weighed them down, always eased each other’s hearts—even with a single word. When did he begin to build this wall between them?
Maybe… maybe he was just tired? The endless training, the constant pressure. Yes, it could be that. But if he was tired, why didn’t he tell him? He always used to.
Unwelcome thoughts crept in. Was Sangwon embarrassed around him now? Impossible. How could eight years of closeness turn into this strange distance?
Slowly, Leo pushed his chair back and stood. He decided in that moment: he would follow Sangwon. He couldn’t just sit here as if nothing had happened.
When Sanghyeon asked lightly,
“Where are you going?”
Leo only gave a faint smile and said he was full and heading back to the dorm, not waiting for a reply.
He walked out of the cafeteria, his steps quickening with each surge of unease inside him, his eyes searching instinctively for a shadow of Sangwon in the hallways.
Sangwon walked slowly, every step measured, as though he knew Leo would follow without hesitation. Leo hurried down the corridor, stopping just a short distance away, directly in front of him. Their eyes met briefly—silent yet sharp, heavy with concern and caution. Sangwon tried to avert his gaze, to pretend to look away, but he couldn’t. His heart flared suddenly, a pounding throb in his chest, as though his entire body wanted to escape before meeting Leo’s eyes again.
Leo’s voice came low, calm, but saturated with concern.
“Are you okay? You seem… a little different today.”
Sangwon exhaled slowly, trying to tie his thoughts together, struggling to keep his voice steady. Finally, he whispered, his tone quiet, honest, almost trembling:
“I feel… unsettled.”
At those words, Leo gently reached for his hand, brushing it softly before guiding him toward a nearby storage room, away from the cameras, away from watchful eyes. They walked side by side in silence, Leo careful not to leave any space between them.
Inside, Leo closed the door with quiet care, then turned to face him directly.
“Why are you upset?” he asked softly, his gaze fixed on Sangwon’s face.
The silence that had weighed down Sangwon’s chest for days felt unbearable now. Every moment watching Leo with others had stacked up inside him, until the warmth in his heart burned and spread to his limbs. He couldn’t hold it anymore—the worry, the heat, the silence pressing against him from within. Suddenly, the restraint broke, and his voice spilled out—low, calm, but edged with a sharpness uncharacteristic of him:
“I feel jealous… because of you.”
Leo froze for a beat, his eyes widening slightly.
“Jealous…? Because of me?”
Sangwon lowered his head, swallowed hard, and murmured almost like a confession:
“Yes… When I see you with the other trainees… I feel like I’m losing you.”
Leo didn’t answer right away, but Sangwon pressed on, as if he needed to empty everything from his chest before it consumed him:
“And sometimes I feel this… weight in my chest… whenever I remember your words—that you’d start forgetting me because of the younger ones… I can’t shake it off. It’s this heavy, painful feeling that keeps me awake for hours.”
His words weren’t meant to blame; they were raw honesty, a release of emotions he hadn’t dared to share until now. His heart was pounding hard, yet his tone remained calm, steady—trying to sound rational even as helplessness leaked through.
Leo stayed silent for a moment, studying Sangwon’s face, his expression, the tremor beneath his words. Then, slowly, he smiled—just a little—and stepped closer. He took Sangwon’s hand into both of his, holding it lightly, carefully, as though it were fragile. His voice turned tender, almost soothing:
“Oh, aegiya… don’t tell me you truly believed I could ever forget you?”
Sangwon didn’t reply, but he didn’t pull away either. His hands, almost unconsciously, clung faintly to Leo’s, searching for safety. After a pause, his words slipped out, barely audible:
“I don’t know…”
Leo lifted his hands slowly, as though every movement had to be measured—careful, afraid this closeness might vanish if he rushed. His fingers brushed against Sangwon’s cheeks, cupping his face with gentle firmness, before raising his gaze to drown in his eyes.
Leo let his stare sink deep into Sangwon’s, fearless, as if everything inside him was spilling out through his eyes. At last, he spoke, his voice quiet but filled with certainty:
“It’s impossible for me to ever forget you, Sangwoonie.”
Sangwon couldn’t find words; every syllable froze in his throat. His eyes trembled under the weight of Leo’s gaze, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he allowed his face to lean into the warm palm holding him, as though the touch of Leo’s fingers was the only rope anchoring him to this confusing world.
Leo’s thumb brushed lightly across his cheek, a small gesture that poured comfort into him, and he added in a deeper tone:
“How could I ever forget my aegi… my brother… my friend… my family—all in one person?”
The words melted into Sangwon’s chest like warmth thawing an old frost. The jealousy and fear burning inside him slowly dissolved, fading in the heat of Leo’s voice. His heart still raced, but now it beat with life, not fear.
He stepped closer, closing the last remaining space between them. Leo slid his hands from Sangwon’s face—not to pull away, but to wrap quickly around his waist, drawing him against his chest with a strength that didn’t hide its tenderness. Sangwon’s head fell naturally onto Leo’s chest, his ear pressed to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.
With hesitant movements, Sangwon’s arms rose to encircle Leo’s neck. He surrendered to the moment, closed his eyes, and sank into him, searching for a comfort he couldn’t find anywhere else.
Time stretched in silence, broken only by their breathing, which slowly fell into rhythm. Words weren’t needed, yet Sangwon finally spoke, his trembling voice barely above a whisper:
“I thought… you were serious about that…”
Leo paused, then whispered back with regret:
“I’m sorry… I never thought you would believe me. I never meant it. It was just a stupid joke… I would never say it for real.”
Sangwon exhaled slowly, releasing his tension in a single breath, surrendering to the safety seeping through Leo’s arms around him. His fingers clung a little tighter to his neck, unwilling to let go, even for a moment.
Leo lifted his hand and began to trace slow, steady lines along Sangwon’s back—up and down, over and over. With every touch, another layer of fear was lifted from his chest. Sangwon closed his eyes again, listening to Leo’s heartbeat, breathing deeply until their breaths merged, exhaling a peace he hadn’t felt in weeks.
Sangwon pulled back just slightly, his eyes still locked on Leo’s, his hands still resting around his neck. The space between them was no more than their shared breaths, Sangwon’s chest rising and falling quickly, while Leo’s arms gripped his waist, refusing to let him slip away.
In that moment, Sangwon saw nothing in Leo’s gaze but honesty, reassurance, and love. No doubt. No distance. Only a reflection of the feelings he had failed to say from the very beginning.
Leo leaned in slowly but with certainty, tilting his head just enough to press a soft kiss against the tip of Sangwon’s nose. It was light, warm, but enough to make Sangwon’s heart flutter violently. His eyes shut on instinct, as if that touch alone carried a promise stronger than any word. He felt the warmth of Leo’s lips against his chilled skin, the faint tremor in Leo’s chest from the closeness.
Leo whispered then, his voice quiet, sincere, drawn from the very depths of his heart:
“You should never be jealous… No one could ever come close to the place you hold in me.”
Leo pulled back just slightly—only enough to breathe—yet his hands stayed firmly on Sangwon’s waist, as if afraid to lose him. That was when Sangwon leaned forward again, resting his forehead against Leo’s, exhaling slowly, deeply, as though his chest had finally found the peace it had been denied for so long. His voice was soft, but steady:
“The place you hold in me, too… no one could ever reach it.”
A small smile curved on Leo’s lips, one that didn’t need explanation—an acknowledgment he had always known. His voice was a hushed murmur, eyes closing for a fleeting moment:
“I know.”
They remained there, breath against breath, their warmth dissolving every trace of jealousy and fear—leaving only calmness, and the silent promise that neither would ever let go.