Work Text:
Sangwon always thought home was a place you arrived at.
A room. A light. A door you could finally close behind you.
That night, he walks without really knowing where he’s going.
Hands tucked into his sleeves, steps quiet, familiar streets passing him like memories he doesn’t dare to touch.
The city feels calmer than his chest.
Streetlights glow warm, then fade, one by one, as if guiding him somewhere he hasn’t named yet.
He thinks, Maybe this is enough.
He thinks, Maybe I can learn to belong to myself.
Geonwoo is walking too.
Not running.
Not escaping.
Just walking slow, deliberate, like if he stops moving, he might turn back.
The night air is cold against his face, but grounding.
His mind keeps replaying things he never said, moments he let slip because he thought there would always be time.
He always believed home was something you chose.
Something real. Practical. Safe.
But tonight, his chest aches in a way that feels deeply familiar.
They are moving toward the same quiet.
Different streets.
Same direction.
Sangwon stops at a crosswalk. The light is red. He waits, staring at the empty road ahead. For a brief second, a thought flickers through him, soft dangerous.
If he were here, he’d stand a little too close. Not touching. Just there.
Sangwon smiles faintly, then looks away.
Geonwoo pauses near a small convenience store, the neon sign humming above him. He considers going in, buying something he doesn’t need, just to delay the moment of arriving somewhere alone.
He doesn’t.
He keeps walking.
There is something cruel about how close they are.
Only a few turns apart.
Only minutes.
If either of them looked back
if either of them chose differently
But they don’t.
Because both of them believe letting go is the kinder choice.
Sangwon reaches the place he’s been unconsciously heading toward—a quiet corner of the neighborhood, where the noise fades and everything feels… steady. He sits on a low wall, breathing in slowly.
“This is fine,” he whispers to no one.
For the first time, the word home doesn’t feel empty.
Geonwoo arrives somewhere that looks almost the same.
A familiar stillness.
A sense of arrival that feels wrong in the most gentle way.
He realizes it then too late, painfully clear.
Home was never the destination.
It was the person he kept walking away from.
Two people.
One place they were both searching for.
Found separately.
Recognized too late.
And the cruelest part?
If timing had been softer
if courage had come earlier
they wouldn’t have had to search at all.
The room is dark, lit only by a dim lamp near the bed.
Sangwon sits on the floor, back against the mattress, knees pulled close. His phone lies face down beside him. It hasn’t vibrated all night.
He reaches for the lamp.
Click.
The light goes off.
The room falls completely silent.
On the rooftop, Geonwoo leans against the railing, the city breathing below him. The wind tugs at his jacket. His phone lights up in his hand—unlocked, unused.
He types something.
Stops.
Deletes it.
Locks the screen.
A car passes outside Sangwon's window. Headlights sweep across the walls for a brief second, then disappear. He doesn’t move. His fingers tighten slightly around the hem of his sleeve.
He exhales. Slow.
Geonwoo shifts his weight, sitting down against the cold concrete. He tilts his head back, staring at the sky. No stars tonight. Just clouds, thick and unmoving.
He presses his lips together.
Does nothing.
At the same time
two different places,
the same silence.
Sangwon — in his room with the light dim.
Sangwon sits on the edge of his bed,
the room quiet except for the low hum of the night.
The lamp beside him is dim,
soft enough to keep the world from feeling too close.
Geonwoo once told him everything.
So much that it felt like Sangwon knew every corner of him—
and yet, Geonwoo disappeared anyway.
Like shadows growing along the walls,
always there, never caught.
Geonwoo once said Sangwon was the most gorgeous person he had ever met.
Sangwon still remembers that sentence clearly,
and sometimes he wonders—
how could something that sounded so gentle
end up hurting this much?
Sangwon thinks about the things they did.
The walks.
The sound of waves in the distance.
Love birds overhead.
Warm, soft moments that never asked to be named.
Late-night meals.
Quiet hours.
Everything Geonwoo ever said he wanted to do,
he wanted to do with him.
Geonwoo could turn anything into something romantic,
even something as simple as eating noodles together.
He adored Sangwon like a puppy—
even though people never knew what Geonwoo really was.
Sangwon used to laugh at that.
Geonwoo was soft-hearted.
The complete opposite of how people saw him—
cool, distant, unreadable.
But Sangwon knew better.
Geonwoo was reliable.
Calming.
Someone who gave comfort without trying.
Beautiful in small ways—
two dimples,
a shy smile,
a quiet, puppy-cat kind of affection.
He always agreed with Sangwon,
not because he wanted to please,
but because he knew how to love.
And when Geonwoo loved,
he loved deliberately.
Sangwon has so many words for him.
Too many.
And still, none of them feel enough.
He loves Geonwoo.
He always has.
Geonwoo is the kind of person everyone wants to love.
And everyone does.
Maybe that’s why—
maybe Geonwoo is simply too realistic
to stay.
Meanwhile Geonwoo — on the rooftop, under the open sky
He sits on the edge of a rooftop,
legs pulled close,
the city spread out beneath him.
The wind is cold, but he doesn’t move.
He doesn’t know where he belongs.
Letting Sangwon go hurts.
It hurts more than he expected.
Because Geonwoo was the one who chose reality,
when he used to choose Sangwon.
He didn’t choose him.
It hurts.
It hurts.
It hurts.
That choice was his.
But his heart has always known
what it wanted, deep down.
Sangwon is an angel.
Sweet.
Caring.
He was never the type to say things easily—
“You look handsome today,”
or anything spontaneous like that.
He could have said it.
He just didn’t know how.
He was shyer than he ever realized.
That was exactly why Geonwoo loved him.
From Geonwoo's eyes,
Sangwon looked pure.
Soft.
Innocent.
And that was what made it hurt—
because Geonwoo fell deeper than he ever meant to,
for that one person.
They never communicated steadily enough.
Geonwoo liked being outside.
Sangwon chose staying in.
Geonwoo liked physical touch.
Sangwon hated it.
They were never lovers.
Not friends.
Not family.
So what was Geonwoo to him?
Sometimes he lets out a quiet laugh.
He was just someone who cared,
someone who tried to protect Sangwon
from a cruel world.
Geonwoo worries about him still.
And because of that worry,
he chose to let him go.
He adores Sangwon endlessly.
Beyond limits.
Beyond words.
Geonwoo looks up at the sky,
wide and unreachable.
Maybe—
after everything
they still have a chance.
Right?