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Yeomra and Choi Jung Gun had known each other for as long as either of them could remember.
Their families had been allies for generations and were influential households whose names carried weight wherever they went. So it was only natural that their children, born mere months apart, were raised side by side.
From the moment they met at age five, Jung Gun had been loud, prickly, and easily flustered, while Yeomra had been quiet in that irritatingly calm way that only provoked Jung Gun more.
Whenever Yeomra made a teasing remark that was usually with a straight face that infuriated him, Jung Gun’s instinctive response was to grab the nearest broom and swat at him.
“Stop laughing at me!” little Jung Gun would shout with his little face red as he chased Yeomra around the courtyard.
“I’m not laughing,” Yeomra would reply, however, his eyes betrayed him when it crinkled in amusement. “You just look cute when you’re angry.”
His comment only made the broom swings faster.
But still, they stayed friends.
They were the bestest of friends. The kind of friends who memorized each other’s habits, who bickered until the adults sighed, and who sat together during family gatherings as if they belonged in a world just for two of them.
And inevitably, as the years went by and they grew up, their childish affection began to shift into something else.
By the time Yeomra was fifteen, he understood his feelings fully. That's why on one late evening, under the leaves of the cherry blossom trees, he turned to Jung Gun and said with resolve.
“I like you,” he started, before taking a deep breath and elaborated when he saw the other looking clueless still, “not as a friend, no. Not that kind of like. I like you romantically, and I've wanted to kiss you for so long now.”
Jung Gun froze mid-drink of his matcha, nearly spilling tea all over his lap as he choked.
“W– why would you say something like that out of nowhere?” he sputtered, his eyes darting everywhere but Yeomra’s face. Yet, his ears turned bright crimson.
“Because it’s true,” Yeomra said simply. “And I want to be with you.”
There was a long silence between them before Jung Gun buried his face in his hands.
“You idiot… you can’t just– I... felt the same and didn’t know how to say it,” he finally mumbled out, his voice a bit muffled.
Yeomra smiled in relief, his eyes curving in his delight.
“So… is that a yes?”
And Jung Gun, with the tips of his ears still red, grumbled out with a pout.
“Obviously. Why, are you regretting it?”
Yeomram giggled at his cute response, then hugging the surprised Jung Gun.
“I'm so so sooooooo happy, Jung Gun. Thank you for giving me a chance.”
“Hmph, you better.”
And so, from that day on, they were a couple.
They kept their relationship hidden from their families as they were two influencial households who would never approve of such a match as they were boomers and homophobic bastards.
Still, the only person who knew was Sheritt, Yeomra’s half-sister, who accidentally discovered them after nearly catching them kissing behind a storage shed.
Sheritt had stared at them with her mouth agape before letting out a sigh unbefiting of her young age.
“You two are terrible at hiding this.”
“Please don’t tell anyone,” Yeomra said simply.
She smirked smugly at them then flicked Jung Gun’s forehead.
“Don’t worry, I’ll cover for you. But you better treat my brother right.”
And really she did so by distracting attendants who were a bit too nosey, forging excuses for them when someone looked a bit too long, and even lending them her car and name so they could sneak out for dates.
Those years of their youth were blissful. They dreamed of the future together, like an apartment somewhere far away from politics and family pressure and where mornings would start with kisses and evenings would end with laughter.
They were twenty, bright with hope, and believed their love was strong enough to protect them from anything.
But everything shattered the moment their secret was exposed.
Barrow, Jung Gun’s cousin, had caught them one evening with their hands intertwined as they kissed by the riverside. And ten instead of looking away as he should, he simply watched, recorded, and let hell break loose.
The next morning, the elders of both families summoned them.
Yeomra stood before them with his jaw clenched. Jung Gun stood beside him, his expression calm but Yeomra knew he was nervous.
So, he boldly held his hand in front of the elders and held him tight, reassuring him that everything would be alright. Almost immediately, Jung Gun calmed down. He clenched his hand back in thanks.
The elders eyes narrowed further in rage at their audacity and display.
“You will end this relationship now,” one elder commanded.
“No,” Yeomra instantly snapped back.
“Absolutely not,” Jung Gun added, his voice now shaking with anger.
They had argued, fought back, and rebelled against them. They insisted they would not break up. They even planned to leave and pack their bags in secret, to leave to a far away place away from them all.
“I don’t care if they disown me,” Jung Gun said one night, “As long as I’m with you.”
“Then we’ll go together,” Yeomra promised as held him close.
However, the families struck first.
Jung Gun was locked in his room, his windows were barred, and guards were posted at his door.
He was starved. Never enough to kill him, yet enough to weaken him, to punish him, and force him to bend.
Yeomra only learned the truth when Sheritt managed to slip him a note written in a shaky hand.
He rushed to the Choi estate, only to be denied entry. Days passed, weeks, and he could do nothing but wait and beg for news.
And by the time he finally managed to see Jung Gun again, smuggled in by a sympathetic servant, the sight made him freeze.
Jung Gun was barely recognizable.
His cheeks were hollowed, his lips dry and cracked, and there was a faint tremor in his thin shoulders. Weeks of confinement clung to him like a shadow.
Yet the moment the door creaked open and Yeomra slipped inside, Jung Gun’s eyes widened before he raised the corners of his lips to smile.
“Hey,” he rasped out, his voice raw from disuse. “I’m… okay.”
Yeomra’s felt his breath caught in his lungs.
“You’re not,” his voice cracked, the sound of it small and trembling. “Jung Gun… they did this to you.”
Jung Gun lifted a shaking hand and reached out as if afraid Yeomra would shatter if touched too suddenly. His fingertips brushed Yeomra’s cheek, a fragile gesture so full of desperation.
“I’m fine,” he lied gently. They both know he was not, “but you need to go… before someone sees you.”
“Don’t, please,” Yeomra desperately held his hand, holding on as though the world might rip them apart. “I’m not leaving you, I swear I–”
“Yeomra,” Jung Gun’s voice broke, but he forced himself to meet Yeomra’s eyes.
“If they find you here, they’ll hurt you too. And I–” his breath hitched. “I can’t stand the thought of that. Not to you, never you.”
That was why he silently endured this afterall. So that they won't touch him, won't hurt him, and be tortured for loving someone such as himself.
The room fell silent with silence so heavy it physically pressed against their ribs, thick with all the things they wanted but could no longer have.
And then slowly, Yeomra closed his eyes. He intertwined their fingers, brought them to his chest, then leaned forward until their foreheads touched.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice breaking.
“I'm sorry, too.”
By morning, Yeomra walked into the elders’ chamber with empty eyes and a lifeless voice and declared that he would end the relationship.
He didn’t look at anyone as he didn’t need to. The words he let out carved itself into him like a wound that would never truly heal.
And that same week, he was sent abroad without the chance for a proper goodbye.
Jung Gun was finally released from his locked room, shakily stepping into the hallway with one folded note clenched in his hand.
It was Yeomra’s apology.
The paper was crinkled and smudged, the ink blurred in places where tears had fallen.
The elders forbade any contact between them ever again. And to seal the scandal away, they arranged an engagement between Jung Gun and Sheritt.
Jung Gun accepted the news in silence, his expression empty, as if everything inside him had already been hollowed out.
And then later, standing alone in his dim room, he opened Yeomra’s note again. The words wavered in his eyes, swimming through the blur of new tears.
His fingers tightened around the paper.
He had never felt heartbreak like this.
He had never felt so devastated and so utterly alone.
A full year passed before Choi Jung Gun finally reached the breaking point.
One hour before his wedding, dressed in ceremonial garments that felt more like shackles than silk, he stared at his reflection and made a decision born from desperation.
He opened his phone, the one he had not dared to touch for months, and typed two lines.
[I’m getting married in an hour.]
[If you want to change something, come over.]
His thumb hovered for a moment. His heart hammered against his ribs before he sent it.
The moment the message left his phone, Jung Gun’s resolve ignited.
If Yeomra came, if he appeared even for a second, Jung Gun would run. He would leave everything behind, consequences be damned.
He sat on the edge of the bed, his breath shallow with every heartbeat a silent plea.
Come
Please… come.
Yeomra, please come.
He waited with every second that felt like a lifetime. The servants had started to knock on the door, informing him the ceremony was about to start, but Jung Gun barely heard them.
As the minutes stretched... did his hope thinned.
Yet Yeomra did not come.
By the time he was led into the wedding hall, Jung Gun’s heart felt like it was fracturing inch by inch. Sheritt’s eyes were red, she looked miserable too, but she still managed a trembling smile for the sake of the watching elders.
The ceremony passed him in a blur and applause resounded from the attendees, yet Jung Gun stood beside his new bride and felt numb.
His heart shattered for more than one reason that day.
Because Yeomra had not come.
And because, deep down, he believed Yeomra had finally given up on him.
But the world was crueler than that.
Because just a few days after the ceremony, Jung Gun received news that Yeomra had been in a catastrophic car accident.
His vehicle had exploded and he was pronounced dead upon arrival at the hospital.
Jung Gun stared blankly at his shaken wife, unable to breathe as his lungs constricted. His voice, when it finally emerged, was barely audible.
“…What?”
The explanation was repeated, but the words no longer made sense. His vision blurred and his knees nearly buckled.
He didn’t even realize Sheritt was holding onto him until he heard her choked sob.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I’m so sorry…”
Jung Gun turned to her slowly, confusion and grief twisting painfully inside him.
“Why are you… apologizing?”
Sheritt covered her mouth with her tears streaming uncontrollably down her cheeks.
“Because I was trying to help him. I– I delayed the ceremony. I made excuses, I asked the priests to redo the verses. I even pretended my dress tore so I could stall for more time.”
Her voice cracked as she continued.
“He was supposed to come for you, Jung Gun. He was on his way.”
Her words sliced through him like a knife, causing him to stumble in his steps.
“He said he would take you away. He already bought land overseas… He was building a company there and your home. He said... he wanted a future for both of you.”
Jung Gun’s breath broke and something inside him crumbled completely, leaving only raw aching grief.
“So he didn’t… choose to stay away,” he tremblingly asked.
“No,” Sheritt whispered back. “he died trying to reach you.”
He felt his world spin as he sank to his knees, fingers digging into the floor as if trying to anchor himself. A choked sound escaped him and Sheritt knelt beside him, holding him as he fell apart.
After that day, Jung Gun moved like a ghost.
He never consummated his marriage with Sheritt. She never asked him to and they both agreed that once he became head of the family, they would divorce and go their separate ways.
They lived as companions burdened by the same tragedy, bound not by love but by shared loss.
And still, every night, Jung Gun found himself staring at the last message he sent.
[I’m getting married in an hour.]
[If you want to change something, come over.]
He now knew the truth that Yeomra had been trying.
He had been trying to reach him and build a life where they could be free. But the world had cruelly snatched that chance away.
“Why?” Jung Gun whispered into the silence of his empty room. “Why is this world so cruel… to two people who were simply in love?”
There was no answer that came.
Only silence and the pain of a future that would never be.
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