Chapter Text
“I’ll see you later, Hannie,” Joshua said, his hands slipping like sand from Jeonghan’s grip. A tender graze of his fingers—the lingering heat of his skin sending one last, electric current up Jeonghan’s arm. It almost made Jeonghan’s finger twitch in desperation to hold it back. It took everything in him not to clasp his hands back, to trap that fading warmth against his own.
Joshua slipped into the morning light, his silhouette disappearing as he trudged away. Away from Jeonghan’s compass. The world, which was a moment ago, felt so impossibly full, purged. He was left standing, a vessel once more—an empty vase that had, for a precious moment contained the comfort of a sun.
This story was like many others; it had been told before. It had been read before. It was the oldest tale: boy meets boy, boy falls in love. The only variation, the only heartbreak, was in the timing. One always falls a little sooner. One always lets go a little later.
Jeonghan didn’t move. He was still in that restaurant, measuring time by the shape of Joshua’s absence. He should probably get to his class, he should probably pick up his own bag and leave, but Jeonghan was still at the restaurant. Waiting. Perhaps one day Joshua would find a beating heart in his bare hands, and he would recognise it by its rhythm, and then he probably would come back to return it to Jeonghan. Like a forgotten belonging, he had taken a few years back. But he never did.
His phone lit up across the table. A message from Seungcheol.
Cheol: Are we showing up for class, princess?
Jeonghan stared at the message. Normally, he would reply something similarly snarky, but today it felt heavy, even the pads of his fingers were concrete. The screen died down, reflecting Jeonghan’s face back at it. His phone buzzed again.
Cheol: Hey..
Cheol: Stop leaving me on read.
Cheol: Where are you? Oh, God Jeonghan, were you with Joshua again?
Cheol: You know, I can see you reading these messages.
You: Not coming.
Cheol: Okay. I’m coming to you then.
You: No.
Cheol: Too late. Already out of the class.
With a sigh that tore from Jeonghan’s soul, he placed his phone back on the table.
This was the tragedy of loving a sun; you were always destined to be burnt, and yet the warmth tempted you in ways like a soul craving for its body.
Jeonghan had been in love with Joshua since they were fifteen. He remembered the day with perfect, aching clarity—a mundane afternoon of studying for a test. Joshua had been on the floor, Jeonghan on the couch, when he felt the weight shift onto his legs. Joshua had simply laid his head on Jeonghan’s knees and drifted to sleep. In that quiet moment, with the gentle weight of Joshua anchoring him to the earth, Jeonghan realised with utter certainty: he didn't mind it. He didn’t mind a lifetime of this exact, mundane simplicity with him. Even if it were one-sided, even if it would be Jeonghan yielding his hands in an attempt to place Joshua’s hair back when the wind was too strong, and Joshua would smile, looking the other way. Especially then.
“Oh, dear God,” Seungcheol sighed as he dropped into the chair across from Jeonghan. “Why do you do this to yourself?”
Jeonghan dragged his gaze from the middle distance. “Do what?” he asked, though he knew exactly what.
“This,” Seungcheol said, gesturing vaguely at Jeonghan’s entire being—the slumped posture, the droopy eyes, the palpable aura of yearning. His entire state was a paradigm of someone asking to be loved by a heart that wasn’t his.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Jeonghan.” Seungcheol’s voice softened. He rested his hands on the table, “I’m not telling you to cut him off. But you’re actively pining for a guy who’s clearly dating someone else.”
Jeonghan’s fingers tightened around the edge of his chair. “It’s not that simple.”
“It kind of is,” Seungcheol insisted, leaning forward. “Why bother being at a station for a train you know isn't destined to come?”
“You think I don’t know that?” The words came out sharper than he had intended, “You think I enjoy sitting here tracing the shape of his hands on mine?” He looked away, his voice dropping to a murmur which meant more for himself. “It’s not a choice. That’s just how I function.”
Seungcheol watched him, the anger replaced by a weary concern. “That’s how you function? This?” He nodded toward Jeonghan’s phone, face down on the table. “This is self-inflicted. It almost feels like a form of self-harm at this point. You’re rereading old texts like they’re holy scripture, looking for a meaning he never intended. Cheol he called me drunk, cheol he asked me out for dinner, cheol he broke up, and he needs me, cheol this cheol that.”
The silence after felt harsher than any words Seungcheol had said all morning. It was all true, of course, it was.
“He rested his head on my knees once,” Jeonghan said suddenly, a quiet ache from the past. “When we were kids. And in that stupid, ordinary moment, my entire future just… rearranged itself around him. I think of him when I wake up… even now, I know when I’ll go to bed tonight, I’ll still be moronically thinking of him. Do you know how fucking easy it is to love him? How lovable he is! He’s all that I need to survive. How do you un-learn that? Hmm? How do you convince your heart that its blueprint is wrong?”
Seungcheol sighed, the sound heavy with helplessness. “I don’t know what to say.” He reached out, tapping the back of Jeonghan’s hand. “You should start dating someone. Someone who isn’t a breathing embodiment of Joshua. Find someone new, pass your time for a while. Maybe your heart will start to unlearn Joshua the same way it had remembered it.”
Jeonghan didn’t answer. He had no answers.
Then his phone lit up again; it was a call. In one frantic motion, Jeonghan snatched it from the table, his chair scraping back as he turned on his heel and strode toward the door, the call already connected to his ear.
Seungcheol followed his movement. He saw the exact moment his phone screen brightened; Jeonghan's entire face lit up with it. He saw the clumsy, desperate fumble of his fingers, the way he nervously tucked his hair behind his ear as he pushed out into the street, the restaurant door swinging shut behind him.
He didn't need to know who called. The name was written in the sudden change in Jeonghan’s entire being.
Jeonghan returned, and there was an abrupt rosiness in his energy. He didn’t dare meet Seungcheol’s eyes as he scooped his bag from the floor.
“What?” he said. He could feel the weight of Seungcheol’s disappointed stare without having to see it.
“I didn’t even say anything,” Seungcheol shrugged, his tone flat. He leaned over the table, his palms holding one side of his cheek, “Let me guess.. Something happened with Mr Hong again, right?” His voice was laced with sarcasm.
“Can you not?”
“Jeonghan-na.. You have to see it yourself. I’m not saying Joshua has malicious intentions, but he isn’t being portrayed as the best guy around here, is he?” He studied Jeonghan's expression for a beat. He probably should let it go and let it be. But the circus had grown exhausting, a cycle of repetitive grief that Seungcheol was tired of witnessing. He took a steadying breath and continued, “He’s not that much of a fool. I’m sure he’s aware of what you feel. And yet choose to do this. This dancing of needs and desire from a heart he knows is dying to be his.”
Jeonghan chewed his lower lip, fingers nervously working the strap of his bag. “What if..” He sighed. He felt the presence of his own words pressed against his ribs in stone. “What if… I’m okay with this. I’m okay with being used. Not that I agree he is using me, but you know… so, what if he is?”
So, what if he is?
The words echoed in Seungcheol’s head. He felt the words twist inside him. He shouldn’t be surprised, he knew how stubborn, how fervent, Jeonghan was. And yet the resignation in his voice still landed like a blow.
Seungcheol leaned back, his hands curled up over his chest, a gesture of surrender. “Alright.. do what you want to do.” His voice came soft and feather, “I'll still be here.”
Jeonghan nodded, already gathering himself to leave. “Um… I should go. Thanks, Cheol.”
“Mm. And stop skipping classes. Next time I’m not asking nicely—I’ll drag you there myself.”
“As if you could.”
“Wanna try me, Jeonghan-ssi?”
A flicker of a smile passed between them, the easiness of their past lingered for a while, before Jeonghan turned and walked out, leaving Seungcheol alone in the silent restaurant.
The greatest tragedy of all was you can cut yourself open for someone and yet the agony they feel would still, broodingly, be theirs to burn.