Archive of Our Own

Jungwon is familiar with this scene.

He has watched it play out in his family’s living room when he was twelve years old, little hands holding on to his older sister’s in hopes that they’d make it out of there alive. He learned how to mend broken bones by himself, trying to upright the skeletons in his family closet just in case their neighbors decide to take a peek. He had known how to patch up wounds and cover up bruises, pretending as if it was only in his head as he tried his best to not pay attention to the pain.

Outside of his family, Jungwon has also seen it happen to his friends; how broken promises lead to broken hearts and broken dreams and broken wills. He remembers holding Jongseong in his arms as the boy cried his heart out when he broke up with Jaeyun, trying to understand how someone who had been selfless (as Jongseong put it) is also the one bearing the brunt of such selfishness. 

Sometimes, Jungwon wonders if they ever really healed from each other, made whole again. He knew that the human heart can only carry so much, but he didn’t worry about that. He had lived his life lifting the weight of others, basically training himself for the day when it was his turn to burden himself with all his wrong decisions.

Except Jungwon knows that whatever happened between him and Sunoo had never been a wrong decision — after all, wrong decisions should demand regret from him; instead, he only feels guilt.

“It’s not your fault, Jungwon-ah.”

Jungwon nods absentmindedly as he stands, awkward and exposed, in Sunoo’s dining area. It had always been a site of warmth, of awkward jokes and boisterous laughter. He had enjoyed being fed by and eating together with Sunoo, the latter making it a habit to ensure that Jungwon doesn’t stand from the table only half-full. Knowing how picky Jungwon was with his food as well as how sensitive his appetite was, Sunoo made the effort every single time to cook dishes that he knew Jungwon would enjoy. It was one of the favorite moments he had shared with him, one of the memories he didn’t want to forget—and might never get to.

Now, Jungwon can’t help but pay attention to the cold creeping under his skin. He tells himself it would be better if he focuses on that instead of on the way Sunoo is breaking open his chest and wrapping his delicate fingers around Jungwon’s aching heart. The space is awfully quiet, suffocating in the way that it had never been. They had just finished dinner, something so usual and common, when Sunoo, without any precursor nor tension hours before, shattered the mirage. The mundanity of their night, the promise of a tomorrow together.

It goes silent, and then, the world is still. It has been that way before Sunoo speaks again.

“You know I still love you, right?”

Jungwon wants to ask: Why now? Why tonight? Why this? Why me? Why us? Why, after all this time, this?

They were good. Jungwon is sure of it. Was sure of it hours before. They were having a good time. 

Within his two years of knowing Sunoo, Jungwon had one year worth of pining, and that had given him eight months worth of having. In those two years, they have had fights here and there, sure, but nothing too serious. He likes to think that maybe Sunoo gives in to him just as much as Jungwon does it. That is why he is sure that if he did choose to ask, Sunoo would give him the answer. Straightforward and direct, leaving no room for doubts whatsoever.

Unfortunately for Jungwon, the questions remain bitter in his mouth. Bubbling up and dying down like acid—turning his guts into a pool of deadlier substances that can potentially destroy his entire living ecosystem. He tells himself that he doesn’t want to make matters worse. He doesn’t want a counterfire. He doesn’t want to hurt Sunoo. 

After all, he is a man of his word. He made promises—like living his life to the fullest, as his mother asked of him, and never hurting Sunoo no matter what—and he intends to keep them. Jungwon just finds it amusing that as he swallows the poison Sunoo handed to him, he still manages to wish that it will be enough to not wake him up tomorrow morning.

“So, that’s it.”

He speaks matter-of-factly, completely detaching himself from the scene of the crime. Right now, Jungwon is watching his own body do what it does best from the corner of the living room, seven feet away from the corpus delicti. From an outsider’s perspective, it looks clean. They look clean. There is no mess whatsoever. That is, of course, only if one doesn’t look inside Jungwon’s chest. But that’s not the point. The point is that he’s not there anymore. Hasn’t been there since Sunoo looked at him differently.

Jungwon had never been good at acting, but he is good at pretending himself. 

“I’m sorry. I truly am.”

Sunoo sounds sincere. Raw, on the verge of breaking down. From afar, Jungwon notices the closed fist and avoidant eyes. His own head nods as a sign that he is listening, his body taking a deep breath as his lips offer a pitiful smile. It is clear to any spectator that Jungwon is in a state of limbo—the in-between of whatever it is that he wants to feel and is currently feeling.

He wants to let himself feel anger, to let his hands ball up into fists and smash the wall like some out-of-control testosterone-driven male who does not think twice before doing anything. He wants to stop being the better person, to choose violence for once and not let his body be the one stepped on again and again. He wants to grab Sunoo and shake him hard in an attempt to get him to confess his sins, perhaps throw it all up on the dining table along with the steak that they had just a while ago.

But most of all, he wants to get down on his knees and repent. To make amends and ask for penance, for another chance like some sinner seeking redemption in a dark confessional. Jungwon is not one to beg, but he knows he is close to doing just that. 

He is close to doing whatever Sunoo wants of him, whatever Sunoo demands from him, just to keep him. Something that his father should’ve done or what Jongseong told him he wanted to do but couldn’t. Jungwon would eat his pride if it meant undoing what happened. What is happening.

If only he was a little braver, he would’ve put himself up for slaughter if it meant keeping Sunoo satisfied. If only his heart can muster up the courage needed to admit that there is something to be fixed, something that can be removed from the equation in order to make everything right. If only he isn’t the Yang Jungwon that Kim Sunoo knows.

But that’s the thing, he thinks: there’s no going back. There is no return from darkness because the lights already burned out. There is no flame nor spark. There is only the altar abandoned and a home undone.

So, as Jungwon continues to watch Sunoo try his best to break his heart, Jungwon lets him. He gives up the fight because there is no fight in the first place. He had always been dancing on the palm of Sunoo’s hand, and now that the show is over, they both know that it is time to let go.

And so he does.

He lets himself surrender to the rising tide, a tsunami that is on its way towards everything Jungwon and Sunoo had built. He tells himself that it’s better this way—because that’s easier for him. Something he has learned from his childhood, something that his father has gifted to him before he left for another woman, something that his mother imprinted on him before she put herself somewhere far, far away from him and his older sister.

After all, Jungwon is familiar with this scene. He knows well enough how to play his part—and he decides to play it to the best of his ability.

Sunoo looks up at him with the eyes of a stranger, and Jungwon knows that there is nothing he can do anymore. He had always been Sunoo’s good boy. An obedient lover, a loyal worshiper. If this is what he wants from Jungwon, then this is what Jungwon will give him.

“I loved you, Jungwon-ah. I still do. Just not like how it was before.”

Sunoo spells out for him, but Jungwon doesn’t need that. He knows. There is no undoing of the years they had spent with each other, all the time they wasted for each other. What they had was good. They had been good, but that’s it. It is not meant to last forever despite their past wishes. If Sunoo wants to break his promise that one summer night, whispered against the skin of Jungwon’s neck like some prayer, then Jungwon lets it be.

He had always been the better person. He knows Kim Sunoo best, and he knows he shouldn’t be surprised by the turn of events.

So, Jungwon does what he does best: he lets the love of his life do what he wants.

Gathering all the love he still has for Sunoo, Jungwon offers him a smile. Genuine, warm, raw. He lets his eyes meet Sunoo one last time to let him know that despite everything, Jungwon is still there.

“I know, hyung. I know.”

Tomorrow, Jungwon will wake up to an empty bed, too big for one. The sheets will still smell like the last two years of his life. There will still be a closet, their closet, and he will realize that he might have to start separating what is his and what is Sunoo’s. There will be two toothbrushes by the sink, and Jungwon will feel sick again. He will have to change his toothpaste. There will be two mugs on the rack—one pink, one blue—and he will have to put one of those away too. The calendar by the front door will say it is still May. Jungwon will have to rip that month off and see a mark on the 24th of June. He will consider buying a new calendar. He won’t anyway.

Tomorrow, Jungwon will tell Jongseong what had happened. He will try not to cry in front of his friend because he will not want him to hate Sunoo. He will convince him that it was also his decision. He will feel like it was a lie, and only then will Jungwon actually cry. He will realize exactly what goodbyes meant, that he will have to live through it. He will tell himself that the presence of absence will be temporary, that he will be able to find love again. He will tell himself that he will find someone to love harder, love softer, love exactly the way in which he didn’t love Sunoo. Jungwon will tell himself that he will be able to unlearn the love he had—and he will know that he is only lying to himself.

Sunday arrives, and Sunoo is bones full of guilt, flesh made of grief.

The open window above his head glows over his misery, sunlight peeking through the mess of his heart. There is a profane sense of emptiness beside him as he runs his hand over the vacant right side of the bed. His phone by the bedside table dings once, twice, thrice. His eyes are still closed, picturing himself in the arms of someone familiar, someone who knows him better than himself. He faintly hears a familiar voice calling out his name, an endearment attached at the end, sweetly dragging him out of his sleep. Vaguely, he tries to remember how summertime warmth feels on his skin despite the February chill. He tries to relive how another heartbeat feels against his chest, a reminder that he is not alone.

At the thought of a spoilt possibility, his heart stings. It surprises him, having forgotten that he still has one after all this time.

Heaving himself from his grave, the resting place that he dug himself into, Sunoo glances at his phone. More than the notifications from his friends, he stares longingly at the date. For a brief moment, he holds his breath. Death would’ve been kinder than the coldness under his skin.

It had been months since he tore himself apart. A self-sacrifice, a self-servitude—Sunoo tells himself that it was for the best.

Jungwon wouldn’t get anywhere if Sunoo stayed where he was, and so, for the sake of the both of them, he let go.

Throughout the months that had passed, Sunoo kept telling himself that what he did was good. He found out through his friends that Jungwon was doing good as well. He has seen his smile and heard his laugh in his friends’ Instagram stories. Even if Sunoo didn’t want to know, he still managed to find out. With how intertwined their lives had become, Sunoo was bound to know what Jungwon had been up to. He was bound to know what happened to Jungwon after.

The early days were rough. That was a given, and Sunoo knows that he might never forgive himself for what he put Jungwon through. He had half the heart to take back what he said. To undo what he had done, to call off the prank and tell Jungwon that it was an April fools joke. Except he knew that even if Jungwon did allow him to come back, things wouldn’t be the same.

Sunoo had seen what he had done to the younger boy. He has watched Jungwon tremble in the middle of his dining room, stunned and frozen under the water that Sunoo had drowned him with. It was the first time Sunoo had seen Jungwon like that, and it shattered his heart to know that it was his doing. He had reduced Jungwon into a wordless state, all because he assumed he knew better. After all, it was for the best, or so Sunoo told himself over and over again.

“I don’t think we’re getting anywhere with this.”

He told himself that it was the truth. That he was sparing Jungwon from a life of stagnation with him. That he was being the martyr for ripping himself to shreds, for choosing to be selfish again. Selfishness in a sense that he chose what’s best for the two of them. Selfishness in a sense that he decided to do what was best for Jungwon. It was painful to know that he was hurting Jungwon, but it hurt more to know that he was doing nothing about it.

That was why Sunoo had fired the loaded gun. He intended it to be for himself, but in hindsight, he had it aimed towards Jungwon. In his effort to bite the bullet, he forcibly made Jungwon take the brunt of the blow. His martyrdom had costed him everything, including and especially the love of his life.

And now that he thinks of it, as Sunoo went about his routine of making himself a cup of coffee, he doesn’t even know what he meant by ‘this.’ He doesn’t even know if he was referring to the relationship or himself. Looking back, Sunoo can’t point out exactly what he meant to say, what he intended to do.

It was for the best, he tells himself, but what was ‘it?’

As Sunoo moves aimlessly from the kitchen back to the living room, his too-bitter coffee in hand and his phone on the other, he tries to get comfortable with the silence. He pays attention to the sound of the street, the usual stress of the morning rush absent. Having lived in this one-storey townhouse that his family gifted to him for almost three years, Sunoo has only noticed the sounds of people outside. He had never realized how lively it was. Probably because he was content with the sounds he used to have inside.

Loud laughter at nine in the morning, light feet padding from the bedroom to the living room, and his name echoing throughout the small of his home—Sunoo had gotten used to it. It had been music to his ears, and only then did he realize that after everything, his home doesn’t sound like a home anymore. Once full of life, now quiet and still. The couch doesn’t speak to him like they used to, asking him if he had eaten dinner already or if he wanted to watch some indie film that Sunghoon recommended. The dining table don’t call out to him anymore, luring him with the colors and smell of cooked ramen for two. The bed doesn’t seem too inviting these days, losing sleep to the absence of another body holding on to him like tomorrow was worth having.

Sunoo’s heart hurts at the reminder of what once was, and he feels sick. As he takes a sip of his too-bitter coffee, he pulls up his music app and puts on whatever song he had on before. Some love song starts to fill the space, and Sunoo tries to drown himself in it. He can’t be left alone with his thoughts. He doesn’t trust himself to be alone with himself. Especially today. Because as he opens his phone again—some messages from Sunghoon, some from James, and one from Jongseong—he is forced to remember what could’ve been.

Sunday evening comes earlier than Sunoo wished it to, and he is standing a couple of feet away from Sunghoon’s apartment. He is still bones full of guilt, flesh made of grief.

From across the street, Sunoo can already see that the party is at its peak. It is already 11 in the evening, and he is late by an hour. There are blue and red lights flashing through the window on the second floor, the bass of whatever song is playing faint but present enough to feel from the street. Inside, the place looks alive. Sunoo doesn’t know if he dares to step foot in it.

Outside, the February breeze blows harshly. He has a thick layer of clothes on, but it does nothing to take the chill off of his bones. Standing under a broken streetlamp in the dark, he preoccupies himself with a cigarette. It is the second one he has had since May. With a stick between his fingers, he digs through his pocket with his other hand for his lighter. The very same one that Jungwon had given him around the time they met, exactly one week before he quit smoking. As he puts the cigarette between his lips and proceeds to light it, he cups the flame to keep it from going out.

The short sound from the lighter sends a rush of memories down his neck, towards his spine, where he suddenly feels the weight of all his broken promises. His eyes, still on the flickering flame as its kisses the end of the cigarette, starts to sting. He blames it on the cold of the night, on the heat of the light. As he inhales a drag and kills the flame, Sunoo fights the urge to abandon the party and break a promise once again.

If only it isn’t for the small figure that steps out of the house, Sunoo might’ve done so. The silhouette, too familiar, begins walking away from Sunghoon’s apartment and towards the sidewalk. Sunoo holds his breath. He must be hallucinating. It must be the consequence of him smoking right now.

Except as he takes in another drag of smoke, he watches the figure turn his head towards him and freeze. Sunoo has seen it clearly. The shoulders of the figure lock up in a way that Sunoo had called out too many times, telling him to relax and drop his shoulders before his back starts to ache again.

A heartbeat of a minute passes by. Then, Sunoo watches as the figure begins walking. He crosses the empty street with ease, attention focused solely on him. Closer, closer, closer—until Sunoo can make out a face. Except he knows that he didn’t need a face to know who it is.

Jungwon stops right in front of him, his back to the apartment and the streetlight across the street that has been Sunoo’s only source of light the entire night. Like this, there is a halo around Jungwon. Sunoo is sure that he is seeing things. The younger boy, a mirage, is dressed in dark jeans and a thick gray hoodie. Too familiar. There is a waft of peaches and vanilla in the air all of a sudden. Again, too familiar. It’s starting to hurt in places he doesn’t want it to, so Sunoo inhales his cigarette and tries to shake himself out of it.

“Sunoo hyung.”

Jungwon speaks plainly, and only then does Sunoo realize that it is real.

Jungwon is standing right in front of him outside of Sunghoon’s party. Jungwon is right in front of him.

Taking the cigarette from his lips, Sunoo tries to find the words. He doesn’t know what his expression looks like right now, but Jungwon is frowning at him. At that moment, Sunoo feels an atonement forming inside his mouth. He’s not sure why or for what, but it keeps on growing every millisecond that Jungwon is looking at him displeasingly. It lies hot and heavy against his tongue, bitter like the coffee he had that morning. Without thinking, he spits it out.

“I’m sorry.”

Jungwon looks taken aback by the sudden apology. Sunoo can’t understand why. Fleetingly, the memories of knowing Jungwon flies over his head. He used to always know why when it came to Jungwon. He always understood, even without the younger boy saying a word nor sending a look over at him. Now, it’s different.

Jungwon is different, and so is Sunoo.

“Why’re you apologizing?”

The question catches Sunoo off-guard like a fish bone lodging itself inside his throat. It makes it harder for him to swallow, harder for him to muster up the words to give an answer. Looking down at the cigarette in his hand, he thinks about how he has broken the promise he made to Jungwon of quitting. Then, he looks down at his shoes and recalls what day it is, thinking about apologizing for the fact that he hasn’t wished the younger boy a happy birthday yet. Forcing himself to go on, Sunoo raises his gaze and meets Jungwon’s eyes—and it shocks him to see them full of tenderness.

Or pity.

Sunoo can’t distinguish the two anymore, but what matters to him right now is that Jungwon is looking at him.

Jungwon is looking through him. In him. Within him.

Like Jungwon still knows him—understands him—despite the time that passed.

And for a split second, it makes Sunoo hopeful. To know that Jungwon still has something for him, he basks in the sliver of light in his stirring demise, allowing himself a small reprieve. It is almost as if he is able to take a deep breath after losing oxygen for months, his withering body grasping at the relief Jungwon has offered him.

Having fallen from grace, Sunoo is desperate for mercy, and he knows that only Jungwon can grant him that.

“I…”

Sunoo starts and ends. Jungwon waits for him in-between. He thinks about what he wants to say, what he owes to the younger boy standing in front of him. As the seconds pass, nothing forms. Still, Jungwon is there—and Sunoo has never felt more alone.

Sunoo has never realized how the pronoun ‘I’, the one that is lingering between them like a broken lighthouse on an abandoned island, is lonely by itself. It makes sense, given how Sunoo had spent his time without Jungwon.

“Sunoo hyung, are you okay?”

Jungwon’s voice is soft, and Sunoo almost crumbles right then and there. He knows what he’s doing is selfish. Greedy with the way he is keeping Jungwon rooted in place, waiting for him. Sunoo almost doesn’t want to speak just to keep him there forever, but he has to make amendments. To atone for his sins, he knows what he must do.

After all, he is the reason why he is here in the first place. It is his fault why there are no more loud laughter at nine in the morning or sounds of light feed padding across his floor. It is his fault why his couch doesn’t seem inviting anymore, nor his dining table and his bed. It is his fault why hearing Jungwon say his name feels more like a crucifixion than a redemption.

His home is not much of a home without Jungwon, and he knows it is all because of him.

So, with bones full of guilt and flesh made of grief, Sunoo repents by sinning again.

“I’m okay, Jungwon-ah.”

Because he knows that if he speaks his truth, Jungwon will feel bad. That the younger boy’s tender heart will ache because of him. That the younger boy—the love of his life—will blame it on himself once more, all because of him.

And it eats Sunoo alive, how badly he still wants to get his hands on Jungwon. His filthy bruised hands, undeserving of Jungwon’s touch, continue to ache just to feel the warmth of Jungwon’s flesh and know for himself that he is real, he is here. The possibility of Jungwon wanting to hold Sunoo again, just as badly, just as tenderly, is a rotting mass at the back of Sunoo’s throat, as if he deserves Jungwon’s kindness. As if he is worthy of Jungwon’s attention, just as what he is giving Sunoo right now. As if it is right that Sunoo gets a space back into Jungwon’s world after tearing himself away.

It is in this burden that Sunoo realizes this is all they can ever be, all that he’ll ever allow them to be. In his desire to love Jungwon just like how he had the privilege before, in his need to be loved by Jungwon the way the younger boy did before, Sunoo arrives at the conclusion that if he wants to make things right, he will not put Jungwon through that excursion again.

If he wants to make amends, Sunoo has to punish himself for wanting Jungwon and for not ever deserving him.

Jungwon looks at him, light in his eyes, and Sunoo makes up his mind. There is no going back to how things were before, and he will not be responsible for dragging Jungwon back with him.

“I just wanted to say, not that I forgot…”

Sunoo watches Jungwon’s face change. He doesn’t know how else to word it, but he says it anyway. The look in Jungwon’s eyes, however, tells him that maybe it isn’t a good idea. If things were the way they were a couple of months ago, Sunoo is sure to see light in Jungwon’s eyes. He knows that everything might be better if they were fine.

But they aren’t—and Sunoo knows this.

At the end of the day, he knows that it’s all his fault. He is the only one to blame for the mess they are in. If he could, he would fix it. But he knows that only time will heal the two of them, Jungwon most especially. He can only hope that it’s true.

Sunoo, then, swallows back all that he wanted to say, looks into Jungwon’s eyes filled with pain and regret, and musters up all the courage he can to conceal the guilt eating him whole.

“Happy birthday, Jungwon-ah.”

The greeting feels more like murder, another bullet to Jungwon’s chest, another casualty on Sunoo’s list. The silence lingers, and Sunoo is bones full of guilt, flesh made of grief. Then, he hears Jungwon sigh.

“Thanks, hyung.”

It is just as much kindness that Sunoo expected Jungwon to allow him, and yet it doesn’t ebb the stinging ache in his chest.

Sunoo will regret not saying ‘I love you’ in his message just as he used to always do, but he will have to learn how to live with it.

In the following weeks, Sunoo will still hurt. He will continue going on about his life and pretend that he is one day closer to moving on, one step closer to letting go. He will tell himself that he is inching away from his past and know that he is lying through his teeth. His friends will be happy for him, tell him that what has happened happened, and that there is no point in lingering. Sunoo will feel the cold under his skin, raw pain gathering in the cavern that is his chest. He will often forget that he has a heart as he will still be convinced that Jungwon has taken it with him. He will say he’s fine. He won’t be.

He will continue to keep up with his friends and, in consequence, Jungwon’s whereabouts. He will find out what the love of his life will be up to, feel only joy for him and sorrow for himself. He will have to greet Jungwon another happy birthday, except he will make sure to never show his face to him ever again. He will never be able to stomach the thought of being in Jungwon’s presence, so he will never want to hang out when Sunghoon throws another party. He will tell himself that he will find love elsewhere, but he knows that he can never. Jungwon has taken his heart, remember?

Sunoo will have to move elsewhere. He will settle in Hong Kong. He will miss his friends, his mother’s cooking, his older sister’s nagging. He will travel to the Uffizi Gallery in Florence, Italy to see the Primavera. He will stare a little too long at Chloris and Zephyrus, and he will wonder if Jungwon is warm and free wherever he is. He will start sleeping with other people, and afterwards, once he is alone again, he will cry. Every time. The quiet will get to him, the darkness will be his friend. His bones will still feel the weight of guilt against them, his flesh will suffer the burn of his own grief. He will tell himself that he only needs time.

Mondays will arrive, and yet he will still feel as if February has never left.