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Returning to your hometown feels like stepping back into a reality that once belonged to you, only to find it altered beyond recognition. The buildings stand taller, the streets hum with unfamiliar voices, and the landmarks of your childhood exist only in memory. The small snack shop where you once bought your favorite candies has vanished, replaced by a grand salon with polished floors and gleaming mirrors. The open fields, where the old man once led his cows and buffaloes under the golden afternoon sun, have been swallowed by commercial shops, their glass windows reflecting a world that no longer feels like home .
All the people you spent years beside, the ones who shaped the map of your days. Some you liked, some you quietly disliked, and a few, rare souls you loved with the softest corners of your heart. They were the ones you laughed with, the ones you fought with and forgave, the ones who grew up alongside you, clumsy and unpolished, making mistakes hand in hand. They are the threads stitched into who you are now, the proof of the vows once whispered —we’ll always stay together.
But seasons turned, and time carried them like scattered leaves. No one is here anymore. One by one, they slipped into different streets, different lives. New faces stepped into the empty spaces, offering smiles that never quite carried the same warmth.
Everything changes.
And yet, something lingers. The air, carrying the scent of damp soil after the rain, still feels the same. The earth beneath his feet, still hums with a quiet familiarity. The echoes of laughter and whispered secrets are woven into the very fabric of the land, like footprints in wet soil, unseen, but never truly erased. Or maybe it’s just Taehyung who feels this way. Maybe the nostalgia sits heavier in his chest than it does in reality.
He blinks against the sting in his eyes, overwhelmed by the thought of it all, of how this town, — his town — , has shifted around him like a dream slipping through his fingers. This was where his ancestors lived, where his parents and grandparents built their lives, where stories were passed down like heirlooms. And now, to the next generation, it is simply father’s birthplace –a place to visit, not a place to belong to.
It’s a cruel truth, how no one can love something the way its original keepers did. We tell ourselves that loving our parents means loving what they cherished, but that’s not entirely true. Their special things, their favorite haunts, the scent of old books, the quiet joys they never spoke of, are lost on us.
Taehyung’s son knows that he writes poetry, but he does not know what and why. He does not understand the sacred solace of sitting beneath an ancient tree in the middle of an open field, letting the words pour out like a prayer. He only says, ‘That’s so cool, Dad’, with a polite smile, never once searching for his father’s old diaries, never tracing the inked emotions hidden in the pages. And that, perhaps, is the saddest part –not because of malice or indifference, but because time moves forward, and with it, the things we love fade into irrelevance.
But not for everyone.
Some people hold on. Some people return.
To the place they belonged. To the memories of their loved ones they still cherished.
Like Taehyung, standing here now, in the town where his house still stands, though the voices inside it are only ghosts.
He has lost them all. But losing them once was enough. He refuses to lose them again by forgetting.
With a deep breath, he steps out of his house, his feet moving instinctively toward the old pub –the one where his father used to sit with his friends, where the air was thick with cigarette smoke and the warmth of shared stories. The place where he had watched, with wide eyes, as his father taught him how to drink. The place where, later, he had spent countless evenings scribbling poetry on napkins and crumpled receipts, drowning in the music of clinking glasses and murmured conversations.
He still remembered the feeling of his friend, sitting in front of him, just because Taehyung wanted him to. Silently.
As he turns the familiar corner, his heart tightens with one silent prayer.
Let it still be there.
When he turns the corner, his breath catches.
The pub is still there. Aged, weathered, but standing. The wooden sign hangs a little lower, the paint on the door is chipped, and the warm glow of the lanterns flickers against the darkened street. But it’s there. A piece of his past, untouched by time’s relentless hands. Relief swells in his chest.
Stepping inside, he is met with the same scent that once clung to his father’s coat–the rich mix of aged whiskey, tobacco, and old wood. It feels like stepping through a doorway into another life. But as his eyes adjust to the dim lighting, reality sets in. The faces are different. The laughter is unfamiliar. The voices don’t belong to the ghosts he once knew.
He exhales, a quiet sigh slipping past his lips, before making his way to the counter. Without hesitation, he orders a bottle of whiskey and a glass, his voice steady, as if he’s done this a thousand times before.
Taking his drink, he moves to a table in the corner, away from the crowd, and pulls out a cigarette. The familiar flick of the lighter, the first drag, settles something inside him. A quiet ritual, a moment alone in a place filled with strangers.
Taehyung pours himself a drink, watching as the amber liquid swirls in the glass. He takes a slow sip, letting the burn spread through him, grounding him. Then, he lifts his gaze, letting it wander over the room.
Laughter hums from nearby tables. Conversations weave together, words blending into a comforting murmur. Almost everyone is here with company–friends, lovers, old companions.
Except for one man .
Seated just a table away, the same table where Taehyung and his friend used to sit. The man clutches a glass in one hand, his other gripping a crumpled piece of paper. His eyes stay fixed on it, his expression unreadable, but there’s something in the way his lips press together, the way his fingers tremble slightly, that makes it clear–he’s on the verge of breaking.
Taehyung watches him for a long moment, the whiskey lingering on his tongue.
He doesn’t know what to do.
But something tugs at him. A quiet voice in the back of his mind, telling him that no one should feel this kind of sadness here, not in their hometown.
How strange, how beautiful it is, to feel love and affection for a stranger, simply because they belong to the same place.
Taehyung walks toward the table, his steps slow, careful, as if he doesn’t want to disturb the quiet that clings to the air like dust in an old home. The man seated there looks up, eyes weary, a silent question lingering in them. Is this wonder?
“Can I sit here?” Taehyung asks, his voice soft, almost hesitant.
The man glances around the near-empty place, as if searching for a reason to say no, but finds none. With a small nod, he gestures to the chair across from him.
Taehyung slides into the seat, his hands resting loosely on the table. The man watches him, curiosity flickering in his tired gaze. Taehyung offers a small, understanding smile.
“I saw you sitting alone,” he says. “I thought I’d keep you company.”
Something in the man's face shifts, not quite a smile, but the edges of his expression soften.
“Thank you, I’m just… alone.”
“Me too.”
they can be alone together. ~iydl
The sadness shared between them feels almost tangible, like a third presence at the table.
The man exhales, a sound that is more regret than breath. “My son left me,” he says, his fingers tracing the rim of his empty glass. “Said he needed to grow up. That this town, this life, was holding him back from becoming something more.” He lets out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “And here I was, I spent my whole life here because my father didn’t want me to leave. Because if I did, he’d be alone.”
Taehyung listens, a quiet ache pressing against his ribs. He doesn’t understand how love can demand such contradictions, how a father can chain his son to his own loneliness, and how a son can sever that chain so easily. Is it really that simple to abandon someone? And is it truly necessary to hold onto someone just for your own sake?
The man swallows, his voice turning raw. “When I told him that I’d be alone if he left, he looked at me and said, ‘So you’re going to do what Grandpa did to you?’ ” His hands tighten into fists, his breath unsteady. “And I had no answer.”
Taehyung reaches for the water pitcher, pouring a glass with quiet reverence, then pushes it toward the man. The small gesture feels like the only thing he can offer.
“And what did you say?” he asks gently.
The man lifts the glass, staring at the water as if searching for something at the bottom. He exhales shakily.
“I told him to go.” He lets out a humorless chuckle. “And he left me.” His voice drops to a whisper, one that barely reaches across the table. “Since then, I've been all alone.”
A silence settles over them, thick with unspoken things. Taehyung doesn’t say that he understands–because he doesn’t, not completely. But he knows the weight of it, the hollow ache of goodbyes.
“Where is your wife? Or anyone else?” Taehyung asks, his voice quiet, careful.
The man exhales slowly, his fingers tapping against the table in an absent rhythm. “My wife died giving birth to our son,” he says, his tone steady, but there’s something distant in his eyes, something hollow. “We knew it would be complicated. I told her not to go through with it, begged her not to, but she didn’t listen.” A faint, wistful smile tugs at his lips, one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “She was always stubborn.”
There’s a weight in his voice, as if he’s slipping back into another time, staring at something Taehyung cannot see.
“Did you love her?” Taehyung asks. He knows he shouldn’t, but he can’t help it.
The man looks at him then, pausing. Something flickers across his face, hesitation, or perhaps the ghost of an answer he isn’t sure he wants to give, but Taehyung knows, he will.
“I respected her. Adored her. Appreciated her,” he says finally. His words come carefully, almost rehearsed. “She took care of me. Our home. She gave me a son.”
Taehyung listens, notices the way the man chooses his words, how he does not say love but over-explains instead.
“You didn’t love her,” Taehyung murmurs, the words slipping out before he can stop them. And the moment they do, he regrets them.
Relief is there too.
Because the man’s expression shifts, sharp pain flashing in his doe eyes –eyes Taehyung only now realizes are so much like his own.
A silence stretches between them before the man finally speaks, “Not all houses are built on love. Sometimes they’re built on respect, trust, and needs.” He exhales, glancing down at his hands. “She was my neighbor. My mother chose her for me. I said yes. I got married at twenty” A small, bitter laugh escapes him.. “we only got to live together for two years.” His fingers still against the table, his gaze unfocused. “It wasn’t enough time to fall in love.”
“Oh.” Taehyung murmurs, the word barely leaving his lips. He feels bad for the man.
“Your son is…?” He starts to ask but hesitates, unsure if the question might bring more sorrow.
The man doesn’t seem to mind. “He’s almost twenty three now,” he says, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “He has a daughter–she is eight months old.”
Something about the way he says it, the quiet pride in his voice, makes Taehyung smile too. It’s a rare moment of light between them, like the first morning sun breaking through a cold night.
“Wow,” Taehyung breathes. “She must be beautiful.”
“She is,” the man says, his expression softening completely. “The most beautiful girl in the world.”
Taehyung chuckles. “I think the same about my daughter.”
The man’s gaze sharpens with curiosity. “Oh, you have a daughter?” he asks, taking a sip, not from his drink, but from the water Taehyung had poured for him. “What’s it like? Having a daughter?”
Taehyung exhales, his smile fond. “It’s the most beautiful and also the most worrisome feeling in the world.”
“Why?”
He thinks for a moment before answering. “I have a son and a daughter,” he begins, his voice thoughtful. “And it’s so different. I’m always worried about my daughter–what she’s eating, if she’s sleeping on time, where she’s going, if she’s safe. I worry all the time. But with my son… I don’t feel that same fear. Not because I love him any less, but because it’s just different with daughters. I can’t help it.”
The man hums, considering his words. “I can’t relate,” he admits after a pause, a faint smile on his lips. “I never had a sister. And I never had a daughter.” He shrugs lightly. “But you… you’re lucky.”
Taehyung looks at him, then down at the table, his fingers brushing over the worn wood. He smiles.
“I really am.”
The silence between them stretches, not awkward but filled with the quiet hum of the bar around them. The low murmur of conversations blends with the clinking of glasses, the occasional burst of laughter breaking through the thick, dimly lit air. A soft melody drifts from the old jukebox in the corner, an old song, one Taehyung remembers hearing in his youth.
Taehyung glances at the condensation forming on his untouched drink, then looks up, suddenly remembering. “Ah, I forgot to introduce myself.” He holds out a hand, his voice steady but warm. “I’m Kim Taehyung. Came here from Seoul.”
The man across from him chuckles, a soft, breathy sound. Taehyung wonders, briefly, if an old man’s giggle can be beautiful. It turns out it can.
“I’m Jeon Jeongguk,” the man replies, shaking Taehyung’s hand with an easy grip. “Lived here my whole life. And planning to die here.”
Taehyung lets out a small smile. “It’s very nice to meet you. Jeongguk ”
Jeongguk’s lips quirk up, the dim bar lights casting soft shadows over his features. “You too, Taehyung .”
The song drifts toward its final notes, the singer’s voice lingering in the air. The jukebox clicks as the song changes, another melody from a time long past.
◇
“What was that you were reading?” Taehyung asks, his voice soft as he flicks the lighter and brings a cigarette to life.
Jeongguk sighs. His fingers linger on the folded letter in his lap before he glances at Taehyung. “It was from my son.”
Taehyung takes a slow drag and holds the cigarette out. Jeongguk accepts it, his fingers brushing against Taehyung’s briefly, then lifts it to his lips.
“What did he say?”
“He said…” Jeongguk exhales a long plume of smoke, his eyes fixed on nothing in particular. “He said it’s hard having a father like me.”
Taehyung turns to him, his brow furrowing as he retrieves the cigarette. “Why would he say something like that?”
Jeongguk’s shoulders rise in a half-shrug. “He’s worried, that’s all. That I’m here. Alone.” He pauses, voice quiet. “He wants me to move in with him. To Seoul.”
“And what do you want?” Taehyung asks gently.
Jeongguk takes the cigarette again, inhales deeply, then exhales slow. “I don’t want to disturb his life.”
“But he asked you,” Taehyung presses.
“It’s not that simple,” Jeongguk says. “At first, sure, they’d be happy. They’d take care of me. But slowly… I’ll start to feel like a burden. And one day, they’ll want me gone. They won’t say it, but I’ll feel it.”
Taehyung listens, the end of his cigarette glowing dim in the ashtray. “You didn’t do that with your father. You cared for him.”
Jeongguk lifts his gaze, and Taehyung sees it, that weight, that sadness that clings to the corners of his eyes. “But I thought about it. A few times.”
“Why didn’t you? Left him.”
A pause. Then Jeongguk’s voice comes, low and uneven. “Because I loved him too much.”
Funny, how hard it can be to say I love you, even when it’s about your parents.
“Your son must loves you too, Jeongguk,” Taehyung says quietly. “Do you think his love for you is any less?”
Jeongguk shrugs, but it feels more like a retreat. “I don’t know. I just… I don’t want to be an intruder in his world.”
Taehyung stubs out the cigarette, the sound of the ash meeting the tray a soft scrape in the quiet room.
“You can always come back, you know,” he says, looking at him with a kind of knowing that’s lived through its own share of silence and sacrifice.
Jeongguk offers a small smile. “Yeah. I can.”
Taehyung leans back, then glances at him again. “Do you mind me asking… Why did you never get married again?”
Jeongguk lets out a breath. “I got busy. With my son. With my father. Somewhere along the way, I stopped thinking about myself.”
Taehyung nods. “Same.”
“You never wanted to?” Jeongguk asks.
“I never loved someone enough to,” Taehyung answers simply.
Jeongguk nods slowly, as if the truth of that sits heavy in the space between them. “Fair enough.”
◇
“It’s my last day here,” Taehyung says softly, his fingers tracing the rim of his glass.
Jeongguk looks up, eyes steady. “Really?”
Taehyung nods, a gentle breath escaping his lips. “Yeah. I’ve been here a week. Now it’s time to go back. Seoul.”
“Home is in Seoul?” Jeongguk asks, voice quieter than before.
Taehyung offers a sad smile, the kind that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Home was here. I left it behind and tried to make something in Seoul.”
“Did you succeed?” Jeongguk asks, watching him carefully.
Taehyung hesitates, then says, “My family is there. So… in a way, yes.”
There’s a pause. A shared silence.
“I wanna go home too,” Jeongguk murmurs, eyes lowering to the empty glass in front of him. His fingers brush the lid like it holds some answer.
Without thinking, Taehyung says, “Come to Seoul.”
Jeongguk lifts his gaze, surprised.
“I mean—” Taehyung corrects himself, quickly. “You should go to Seoul. To your son. He’s your family. He’s… your home.”
Jeongguk’s lips curve into a soft smile, warm yet touched by sorrow. He nods. “You’re right. But how do I leave this place? This town… these memories?”
Taehyung looks at him for a long moment. “You make new ones.”
Jeongguk nods again, this time slower, as if the thought is still settling in his chest.
“When are you leaving?” he asks.
“Tomorrow. Morning.”
“Oh.” Jeongguk reaches into his pocket and pulls out a few crumpled bill, placing them gently on the table.
Taehyung watches him. The gesture feels final.
He knows what it means, he’s going. And for some reason, that knowledge stings more than it should. This man, with sad eyes and quiet warmth, is about to walk out of this moment, this night, and Taehyung doesn’t know why it aches so deeply.
Is it foolish to want him to stay?
Is it too much to ask someone to spend a little more time with you? Just sitting. Just talking. Just existing in the same quiet space.
Jeongguk stands, and Taehyung notices, his posture, his quiet strength. He’s taller than he looked seated, his frame lean but solid. He doesn’t look that old. Not in the way time wears on some people.
Taehyung remains seated, tilting his head to meet Jeongguk’s gaze.
They look at each other for a moment suspended in quiet.
And then Jeongguk speaks.
“Do you want to come with me?”
Taehyung’s heart skips a beat. He tries to ignore it.
“To where?” he asks, though something in him already hopes the answer won’t make sense.
Jeongguk smiles, a distant one. “To nowhere. And everywhere.”
Taehyung keeps looking at him.
And then he smiles, small, real. “I’d love to go there with you.”
He stands. And wordlessly, he follows Jeongguk out of the bar, into the night.
◇
“When we were kids,” Jeongguk begins, his voice low and thoughtful, “we used to think our parents didn’t need us. That they were too busy, always caught up in something else, work, life, everything but us. But now… now that I’m a father myself, I realize how wrong I was.”
He glances toward the path ahead, eyes soft under the dim glow of the streetlights. “We parents… we only ever need our kids. If we’re away, it’s just so we can build something, something steady, something safe, for them. So that when we finally sit down beside them, it’s in peace.”
Taehyung hums quietly, hands buried deep in his coat pockets. “That’s true,” he says after a moment. “But I don’t think you were entirely wrong either. When I was little, my father barely spoke to me. I’d try to get close, sit beside him or ask about his day, and he’d just, push me away.
When I turned seventeen, you know… that phase where everything feels unfair,” he adds with a faint smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, “I asked him why. Why he never had time for me. And he just said, ‘It’s not necessary to be together all the time. I have a life, a career. I couldn’t spend my whole day with you.’”
Jeongguk speaks, “But I think… that was wrong. A father should give time to his child. What’s the point of bringing someone into the world if you can’t show them love?”
Taehyung lets out a quiet sigh, “I agree, that's why I tried so hard not to become my father. Maybe that’s why I ended up being the opposite kind of father. I gave my kids all of me. Every spare second, every thought. I thought… maybe if I stayed close enough, they’d ’d never feel what I felt. But somewhere along the way, I think I overdid it. They started to pull away. Told me to give them space. I must’ve felt… suffocating.”
“You know,” Jeongguk says, voice gentle, “I think anything, no matter how good, can turn heavy if we give too much of it. Love, time, even care. It’s not about always being there. It’s about being there when they need us.”
Taehyung nods slowly. “I forgot I had a life of my own too. Somewhere along the line, I stopped living it.”
“I know,” Jeongguk replies, offering a small smile. “Parenting’s… it’s a strange thing. Makes you lose yourself and find yourself all over again. Especially single parenting.”
“I feel sorry for my parents now,” Taehyung says quietly. “Only after becoming one myself.”
Jeongguk lets out a breath of laughter. “Same. My father used to say, ‘No one is ever ready to be a parent. You just become one, and then you learn to love without needing answers. You go with the flow, even if it drowns you a little.’”
Taehyung frowns faintly, hesitating. “That… doesn’t sound entirely right.”
“Maybe not,” Jeongguk agrees. “But I’ve stopped looking for what’s right. We’re all just trying. No one really knows what they’re doing. Not us. Not them.”
They turn, walking side by side into the soft hush of the night —two fathers, two sons, two boys still carrying the echoes of their childhoods in grown-up hearts.
◇
“I think we’ve talked enough about parenting for one night,” Taehyung says with a small laugh.
Jeongguk chuckles too, nodding as they keep walking under the soft amber streetlight. “Yeah… agreed. So, what do you want to talk about now?”
Taehyung tilts his head, thinking. “I don’t know. Why don’t tell eachother something about ourselves? Hobbies? Jobs?”
“Ah, ok. Let's start with you. Tell me what you do?” Jeongguk asks.
“I… write,” Taehyung answers, a shy smile tugging at his lips as he glances at the ground.
Jeongguk raises a brow, intrigued. “Oh? What kind of writing?”
“Poems. Short stories. Mostly things that don’t make much noise but carry a lot inside,” he says, voice soft.
“Yaeh, Wow,” Jeongguk says, impressed. “A published writer.” why it doesn't sound like a question.
Taehyung shrugs, still smiling. “I’ve published a few books. Nothing big. I’m not famous or anything.”
“Fuck, I am walking beside a published writer, lucky me” Jeongguk teases. And Taehyung only shakes his head with a shy smile.
“What do you do?”
“Well, I used to paint.” Jeongguk replies.
“Used to?”
“Yeah,” Jeongguk sighs, gaze drifting. “After getting married, and then having a kid, I slowly let it go. I still draw sometimes… here and there. But…”
“But?” He prompts, softly.
“I needed money, Tae. Real money,” He says, voice dropping. “So I started giving my time to things that paid the bills.”
Taehyung ’s expression turns tender, a hint of sadness flickering in his eyes. “But… you could’ve earned with your art too. You shouldn’t have had to give it up completely.”
Jeongguk lets out a small chuckle, one that doesn’t quite hide the ache. “My father used to say, art is for your heart and soul. Do it for yourself. Never sell your soul for money. And maybe I believed him a little too much.”
“That doesn’t mean you should’ve let go of it,” The writer murmurs. “Your soul deserves more than to be shelved.”
“It doesn’t matter anymore, Taehyung-ah.”
“To whom? To your family? To you? Or… to me?”
Jeongguk glances at him, startled, then laughs softly, brushing the seriousness off. “Why are you getting so worked up? It’s not that big of a deal.”
“But it is,” Taehyung says quietly. His voice carries a kind of weight now, not pushy, just deeply sincere. “Can you… show me one of your paintings?”
“Aah, I don’t have any photos,” The painter says with a shrug. “Didn’t really keep them.”
“Then paint something for me. Right now,” Taehyung says, eyes lighting up with excitement, like a child offered a treasure.
Jeongguk bursts into laughter. “What? Out here in the middle of the street?”
“You can, If you want. But only if you let me write something for you too. Deal?”
Jeongguk’s smile lingers as he watches Taehyung, something quiet blooming in his chest. “Wow… aren’t you full of surprises?”
Taehyung laughs. “You still get surprised, it's your fault. Okay then. Deal.”
◇
They stop by the little shop at the corner, filling their arms with brushes, paints, fresh paper, and ink. By the time they reach the lake, the air is soft with the scent of water and wild grass. They settle by the edge, spreading their things on the ground, the ripples catching the fading light as though the day itself is holding its breath for them.
Jeongguk looks at Taehyung, a playful spark in his eyes. “Ready?” he asks, brush already in hand.
Taehyung tilts his head, lips curling. “What’s the prize for the winner?”
Jeongguk chuckles, warm and easy. “Who says there has to be a winner? We’ll both win.”
Taehyung shakes his head, stubborn as always. “No. Someone has to get something.”
“Alright then,” Jeongguk says after a beat, gaze softening. “How about this –we’ll grant each other a wish.”
Taehyung’s mouth quirks. “Done.”
They fall into silence, each to their task, though silence feels too small a word for it. it’s more like the world pauses around them. Jeongguk keeps stealing glances, eyes lingering on the curve of Taehyung’s shoulders, the slope of his neck, the way light bends across his profile. He doesn’t even try to hide it, brush moving with an unspoken reverence.
Taehyung feels it. Every look, every quiet trace of attention. His heart stumbles, his fingers frozen above the blank page. The pen hovers, the emptiness pressing on him heavier than the words he wants to write. He bites his lip, caught between the page and the man beside him, nerves thrumming under his skin.
He knows what Jeongguk is painting. He knows it’s him. And that thought alone makes his hands useless, his chest full.
What should he write? The lake, the sky, the summer air–none of it feels right. His eyes flick toward Jeongguk, and he wonders if maybe the only thing worth writing about tonight is the man who cannot stop looking at him.
Jeongguk glances at him, brush paused mid-stroke. “You’re not writing?”
Taehyung shakes his head faintly. “I can’t.”
“Oh? Why?”
“Nothing is coming to me,” he admits, voice low, almost guilty.
Jeongguk studies him, brow softening. “Has it happened before?”
“Plenty of times,” Taehyung sighs, dragging aimless lines across the empty page. “But tonight it feels different. It’s making me anxious. A little… self-conscious.”
Jeongguk tilts his head. “Because of me? Not like you are writing for the first time infront of someone.”
Taehyung doesn’t lift his gaze, only gives the smallest nod. “Still.”
For a moment, Jeongguk says nothing. Then, gently, almost coaxing, “Come here.”
Taehyung doesn’t even think, his notebook and pen drop onto the grass, forgotten, and he rises, feet carrying him to Jeongguk as though pulled by something stronger than choice.
Jeongguk takes his hand with surprising care, guiding him to sit close. Taehyung’s heart stutters, the warmth of his touch setting every nerve alive. But then his eyes fall on the page, and his breath halts entirely.
It’s him . Jeongguk has been sketching the quiet slope of his face, the unruly strands of hair slipping forward, the stillness he hadn’t realized he carried. The likeness is rough, unfinished –but it’s unmistakably him, seen through Jeongguk’s eyes.
Taehyung swallows, words tumbling out before he can catch them. “You made it looks like I’m… beautiful.”
The confession hangs in the summer air, heavier than the stillness of the lake, softer than the brush against canvas.
“You think you’re not?” Jeongguk asks softly, eyes never leaving him.
You are so beautiful.
Taehyung lets out a short, uneasy laugh. “Girls are meant to be beautiful, not men. And I’m just… an old man.”
“Who said that?” Jeongguk lifts another brush, handing it over. Taehyung accepts it hesitantly, their fingers brushing for a fleeting second.
“Everyone,” Taehyung mutters, a ghost of memory flickering in his tone. “My appa once slapped me when I tried to put on a colored lip balm.”
Jeongguk’s nose scrunches in distaste. “Fake masculinity,” he mutters, and dips back into the paint. His strokes grow more deliberate, more protective, as though every line is an argument against the world.
Taehyung watches him, voice quieter now. “Hmm… men aren’t supposed to use feminine products, or do things like that. But I never restricted my son. I always told him, he can do whatever he wants.”
His gaze drifts to the canvas. Jeongguk’s fingers move carefully over the shape of his mouth, painting lips with a devotion so precise it feels like touch. Taehyung’s own lips tingle, as though the bristles have found him instead of the paper.
His breath hitches. He looks at Jeongguk, his steady focus, his lashes lowered in concentration, the curve of his mouth. That mouth. The bottom lip fuller, soft-looking, and the small mole beneath it drawing his attention like gravity.
Something stirs in him–an ache, a pull. He blinks, once, twice, trying to steady himself. But the thought burns through anyway, raw and unbidden.
He wants to lean in. He wants to know what Jeongguk’s lips feel like against his own.
Taehyung glances at the brush in his hand, then dips it into the pot of red paint. Before Jeongguk can notice, he leans closer, the tip of the brush grazing softly over Jeongguk’s lips.
Jeongguk startles, eyes snapping to him. “What are you doing?”
“Trying to see how a red tint would look on your lips,” Taehyung answers, honest and unflinching.
Jeongguk doesn’t move. He just watches him, still and wide-eyed.
Something bold stirs in Taehyung’s chest. He tosses the brush aside, dips his fingertip into the paint, and then, slowly, deliberately, traces it across Jeongguk’s mouth.
Jeongguk’s lips part, his breath caught, eyes never leaving Taehyung’s face.
Taehyung’s pulse hammers against his ribs, so loud he can hear it. Is Jeongguk’s heart beating the same? He wonders, and without thinking, lays his other hand gently on Jeongguk’s chest.
Jeongguk gasps at the touch.
Taehyung pulls back his finger from Jeongguk’s lips, finally looking at the result. His mouth glows with a vivid red, as though painted with lipstick, striking and beautiful. Too beautiful.
The desire surges sharp and unbearable. Taehyung leans closer, his whisper trembling near Jeongguk’s lips. “Beautiful.”
Jeongguk holds his gaze for a long second, then he just smiles, and rises slowly to his feet, wiping the back of his hand over his mouth. The paint smears across his skin, staining his lips, his cheek, his knuckles.
“Let’s get out of here,” he says, voice light but uneven.
Taehyung blinks, taken aback. “But you didn’t finish the painting.”
“I don’t care.” Jeongguk is already moving away, footsteps brisk, as if leaving behind something dangerous.
Taehyung lingers, staring at the sketchbook. The rough sketch of his face stares back at him, unfinished yet alive. Carefully, he lifts the page, folds it though the paint is still damp, and slips it into his coat pocket as though it’s a secret worth keeping.
Then, without another word, he follows Jeongguk.
Jeongguk pushes through the door of the small public washroom by the gas station, Taehyung trailing behind him in silence. The fluorescent light hums faintly overhead, cold against the night air they just left.
Jeongguk bends over the basin, twists the tap, and lets the water run. He splashes his face again and again, red paint smearing, dripping into the sink until the water swirls pink. His jaw is tight, his shoulders rigid, as though he’s scrubbing something heavier than paint.
Taehyung lingers at the doorway, watching. His chest feels heavy, his heart aching with a sadness he can’t name. He knows he shouldn’t have done it. Shouldn’t have touched him like that. Shouldn’t have crossed the line that wasn’t his to cross. He looks down at his boots, the tip of one scraping nervously against the tiled floor.
“There was a boy in my high school,” Jeongguk says suddenly, voice breaking the silence.
Taehyung’s head lifts, startled.
“He was so beautiful,” Jeongguk continues, water dripping from his chin, his eyes fixed on the sink. “So beautiful I thought he could blind the whole world with it. I used to make him wear pretty dresses, put makeup on him… he looked like he was made for it.”
Taehyung’s fists curl tight at his sides. “Then?” He forces out, his voice low.
Jeongguk exhales, his hand gripping the basin edge until his knuckles pale. “We got caught.”
Taehyung swallows hard. “What… what did they do?”
Jeongguk’s throat works, his voice splintering. “They slapped him across the face. Called him a faggot. A mistake.”
The word hangs in the sterile room, cruel and echoing. Jeongguk’s voice cracks at the end, raw with a hurt that still bleeds years later.
“Was he your friend… or more than a friend?” Taehyung’s voice shakes, fragile as it leaves him. He wants to know. Needs to.
Jeongguk finally looks at him, eyes shadowed. “He was me. He was me more than I ever was.”
A broken chuckle slips from Taehyung, though it’s heavy with nerves. “You should be the writer, not me.”
Jeongguk twists the tap shut, the dripping slowing until silence takes over. He steps toward Taehyung, each movement pulling the space tighter. Taehyung blinks, heart stumbling, a sudden nervousness curling inside him.
“He once asked me to run away,” Jeongguk murmurs. “I remember being so surprised. Because, have you ever heard of two boys running away together? In a town where no one understood them… where what they felt was considered a sin?”
Taehyung swallows hard. “What they felt… for each other?”
Jeongguk stands close now, close enough that Taehyung can feel his warmth.
“Love,” he says quietly. “Craze. Attraction. Lust.”
Taehyung gasps, the word sparking through him like fire.
A faint smile touches Jeongguk’s lips. “He’s still beautiful.” He whispers almost quite.
Taehyung’s chest tightens. “Why didn’t you run away?”
“If I had run away that day, would you and I be standing here now, Taehyung?”
Taehyung lowers his eyes, the weight of the thought pressing on him. His voice is soft when he replies, “Your life must be beautiful.”
Jeongguk shakes his head slowly. “No. If we had run away, we’d always regret it. We’d carry the guilt of leaving our parents, the shame it would bring him. It would’ve eaten us alive.” He sighs, his chest rising and falling with the heaviness of it all.
Then, almost like a confession, his voice gentles. “Loving is easy, Tae. Living is not. Carrying that love… especially a love the world calls a sin… it breaks you.”
The words linger in the sterile washroom air, tender and devastating all at once, settling between them like something neither of them can ignore.
Taehyung sniffs, his throat tightening. “Have you ever told him… how much you loved him?”
Jeongguk doesn’t hesitate. “Do you really think he needed to hear it from me? I told you, he was more than myself. He knew me better than I knew me. He didn’t need quiet words. My eyes were enough.”
Taehyung’s chest aches at the conviction in his voice. He swallows hard. “Have you ever regretted… not running away with him?”
Jeongguk’s expression shifts, pain flickering across his face. “Every second,” he breathes.
Taehyung’s voice trembles when he asks, “If he asked you to run away now… would you?”
Jeongguk throws his head back and laughs, the sound raw and sharp, breaking the air between them. He turns away. “Wash your hands, Tae. They’re dirty,” he says simply, before walking out of the washroom.
The door closes behind him, and Taehyung lets out a long, shaky breath. He leans over the sink, water running cold over his hands as tears slip down his face unchecked. Why is he crying? He doesn’t know. All he knows is the ache, the weight in his chest that won’t let him breathe. He wipes his cheeks quickly, as though the water alone caused them, and steps outside.
Jeongguk is waiting under a tree just beyond the building, the faint glow of a cigarette between his fingers.
Taehyung walks up quietly, takes the cigarette from Jeongguk’s hand, and presses it to his lips. The burn bites at his lungs, familiar and harsh, but he doesn’t flinch.
Jeongguk exhales, watching him with unreadable eyes. When Taehyung lowers the cigarette, Jeongguk takes it back wordlessly, slipping it between his own lips again. Their breaths mingle in the air, the silence thick with everything neither of them dares to say.
“What would he feel, if he saw us here… sharing a smoke?” Taehyung asks, voice low, eyes lingering on Jeongguk through the haze.
Jeongguk huffs out a laugh, smoke curling from his lips. “Oh, he’d be so jealous. Once, he even broke someone’s nose because the guy kept trying to touch me while I was teaching him something.”
Taehyung lets out a surprised laugh. “God, he was possessive. And violent.”
“Yeah,” Jeongguk grins faintly, eyes going distant. “But he had the softest heart. Afterward, he took the guy to the nurse, bought him lunch, and just said, ‘stay away from my Ggukkie.’ ” His laugh softens, almost wistful, as if he’s drifting through old memories no one else can touch.
Taehyung hums thoughtfully. “And you? Did you ever do something like that for him?”
Jeongguk turns his gaze back to him, shaking his head with a small smile. “No. I was always the coward one.”
Taehyung studies him for a moment, then his words pour out, sharp and trembling. “You never climbed the roof to his house just to see him, when his father wouldn’t let him out? You never fought with his father for his happiness? You never worked nights without sleep just so he could afford to go to a book launch of his favorite author? You never fought two men at once because they called him a dramatic psycho? You never cooked food and snuck it to him every time his father punished him with none? You never treated his wounds and cried as if they were yours? You never kissed his feet, his eyes, his forehead, everywhere but his lips because you didn’t want him to think your love was just for his body? So he wouldn’t feel uncomfortable. So you wouldn’t cross the line?”
Jeongguk holds his gaze, unflinching, and says simply, calmly, “No.” He takes another drag, smoke spilling out slowly.
Taehyung scoffs, heart racing. “Liar.”
Jeongguk lets out a small smile. “And he hated liars… but I was the biggest liar in his life.”
“And he loved you the most,” Taehyung says quietly, watching as Jeongguk coughs out smoke.
“Why didn’t you ever kiss him?” Taehyung asks after a beat. “He must’ve asked you to.”
Jeongguk’s lips press together before he answers. “As you said, I didn’t want to cross the line. Because I knew it wouldn’t be the only boundary we’d cross.”
Taehyung studies him, his voice softer this time. “If he asked you to kiss him now, would you?” His gaze stays fixed on Jeongguk’s eyes.
Jeongguk gulps, his throat tightening as he looks away.
Taehyung scoffs and shakes his head. “Coward.”
Jeongguk glances back at him, then lowers his gaze to the ground, unable to hold it.
“You know what a cruel punishment it is… to meet you but not truly meet you,” Taehyung whispers.
Jeongguk bites his lip, gaze flickering. “It’s too late. We should go home.”
Taehyung tilts his head back, staring at the sky as it begins to lighten. A new day is breaking. He nods slowly, then steps closer until Jeongguk’s back presses against the rough bark of the tree.
“Jeonggukkie.”
Jeongguk lifts his head. His eyes are wide, glistening –bright like stars, but no, they aren't stars. It’s tears.
“You granted me a wish,” Taehyung says softly. “And… I grant you one too.”
Jeongguk swallows and nods. “Make a wish.”
“Let’s make one together,” Taehyung suggests, his voice fragile. “At the same time.”
Jeongguk breathes out, nodding again.
“One… two… three.”
“Let’s run away.”
Their eyes lock, and despite everything, they smile.
Can they? Should they? Now?
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