Chapter Text
Jaehyun found him on the balcony, away from the noise, holding a drink he hadn’t really touched. The cool air sobered him instantly. Neither of them seemed in a hurry to go back inside. The night felt quieter out here, like it was giving them permission to slow down.
“Finally,” Jaehyun said, relief slipping into his voice before he could stop it. He leaned against the railing, studying Dongmin’s face, trying to read what he’d been missing. “You’ve been kind of distant lately. I—I was a little hurt. I didn’t know if I’d done something wrong.”
Dongmin apologized right away. Too quickly. His voice was low, almost frantic, and Jaehyun felt his confusion deepen as guilt spread across Dongmin’s expression. That wasn’t what he’d expected. He’d come looking for reassurance, maybe an explanation. Not this heaviness pressing between them.
“I just needed to think,” Dongmin said.
“About what?” Jaehyun asked gently.
Dongmin hesitated, then asked about dating. Jaehyun answered carefully—past relationships, something about finals, someone who’d asked him out recently. He felt a flicker of relief at the sound of his voice again. But before he could finish, Dongmin cut him off.
I like you.
The words landed all at once, sharp and disorienting. Jaehyun went still. His mind raced backward through late nights and easy laughter, through every quiet moment he’d thought he understood, trying to find the place where this had started without him noticing.
Jaehyun let out a quick, nervous breath and jabbed at a half-formed joke, grasping at something lighter before he could think it through.
Dongmin laughed, quiet and cracked, and Jaehyun felt a flicker of relief when the tension loosened— until it didn’t. When the humor faded and left something fragile behind.
Jaehyun didn’t step back. He didn’t laugh it off. But he couldn’t smile, either. He stayed frozen, caught between what Dongmin had just offered him and the sudden awareness of how unprepared he was to receive it. A cold knot of dread settled in his stomach— the thought that he might be the one to hurt Dongmin, the one who could break something he didn’t even fully understand he’d come to rely on.
He studied Dongmin’s face—the faint, tense smile, the way his throat worked as he swallowed— and felt the weight of what he was about to say press harder.
“I care about you.” The words came easily. What followed didn’t.
“I just don’t feel—” He stopped, forced himself to continue. “Not the way you mean. And I… I have feelings for someone else. I don’t know what that means for us now.”
The air felt colder after that.
“That’s okay,” Dongmin said, too quickly. “I didn’t tell you because I expected anything.”
Jaehyun searched his face. “Are you sure?”
“No,” Dongmin admitted. “But I’ll live.”
That earned him a small, conflicted smile. Relief twisted with guilt in Jaehyun’s chest. Seeing Dongmin so controlled, so careful even while clearly hurting, made something ache deep inside him.
“You matter to me,” he said. “I just need time to… reframe things.”
“Yeah,” Dongmin said. He nodded, like agreement was easier than honesty.
They stood there a moment longer, the space between them heavier than before. Jaehyun’s stomach felt tight, hollow. He could see the tension in Dongmin’s shoulders, the faint quiver in his jaw, and it gutted him. He had wanted so badly to say something— anything to take away the hurt, but there was nothing he could do. Because it was all his fault.
“I should go check on the others,” Jaehyun said eventually.
“Yeah. I’ll be there in a minute.”
Jaehyun hesitated, then reached out, squeezing Dongmin’s shoulder—gentle, careful—before turning back toward the noise inside. The touch was small and meaningless in the face of everything unsaid, but he hoped it carried some fraction of what he felt.
As he walked away, it finally sank in, sharp and undeniable:
Dongmin had handed him his heart, but Jaehyun had nothing to return.
The apartment buzzed with laughter and conversation, but Dongmin felt the weight of the balcony pressing down on him. He hadn’t moved since Jaehyun had left, staring at the darkened street below, chest tight, fingers gripping the railing.
Inside, Jaehyun murmured something to Donghyun, and a moment later the balcony door slid open.
“Hey,” Donghyun said quietly. “You okay?”
Dongmin shook his head, then steadied himself. “Yeah,” he said, too quickly.
Donghyun stepped closer. “You don’t sound okay. Come on, talk to me.”
The composure Dongmin had been clinging to cracked. He exhaled sharply, eyes stinging. “I just… needed to get it out,” he admitted quietly. “And now it’s like—I don’t know—”
Donghyun reached out, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Hey… it’s okay.”
Dongmin leaned slightly into the touch. He was gutted— not just by the confession, but by what came after. Even now, Jaehyun had cared enough to make sure someone was with him.
That quiet, constant care was why he’d fallen in the first place. Every small kindness, every thoughtful glance, had stitched itself into something deeper.
And knowing it hadn’t been meant only for him didn’t undo it.
The ache settled in, soft and persistent, a raw, unrelenting tug of love he couldn’t ignore.
The walk home felt heavier than usual. The streets were quiet, lit by the soft glow of streetlights, but nothing softened the tight ache in Dongmin’s chest. Seeing Jaehyun so confused, hurt, and uncertain had left its mark.
He had resolved, at least for now, to keep things steady once the semester started. He knew his feelings would weigh on Jaehyun. But for now he could be satisfied with the fact that Jaehyun knew. That weight was off his chest, even if it left a hollow where hope had been.
He still longed to be near Jaehyun, to see him happy, to share small moments, even just a smile. One semester with Jaehyun, though, felt painfully short.
He wanted more. He wanted them to be more— but he couldn’t have it.
His friends had noticed him leaving early, their concern barely hidden behind casual jokes. “You good, Min?” Sungho had asked, eyebrows raised.
“I’ll be alright,” he’d said, forcing a small grin.
Donghyun had lingered, a rare crease of worry on his face. “If you’re not okay… tell me.”
Dongmin had nodded. He didn’t need to explain yet; he barely understood it himself.
Step by step, the night stretched out before him, the ache in his chest a quiet companion. He had fallen fast and hard enough that he couldn’t bear to see Jaehyun hurt, even just a little, over the small matter that was his feelings—as much as those feelings themselves hurt.
The campus felt especially alive at midday—voices overlapping, trays clattering, someone playing music too loudly from an open window above the quad. Early autumn hadn’t committed yet; the sun was warm, but a breeze threaded through the trees, shaking loose a few yellowing leaves that skidded across the stone paths.
Classes passed in a blur of introductions and syllabus readings. Jaehyun found himself drifting more than usual, his thoughts circling back to that night every time Dongmin spoke or laughed. He caught small glances— Dongmin tucking his hair behind his ear, shrugging at something Woonhak said, smiling at a joke from Sanghyuk—and each time, it twisted something inside Jaehyun, a mix of longing, guilt, and helplessness.
The ease in Dongmin’s laughter, the calm in his gestures— it made Jaehyun’s head spin. Here he was, still shocked, replaying the confession over and over in his mind, and Dongmin moved through the morning as if nothing had happened.
At lunch, the group sprawled across their usual corner of the courtyard. Sungho was animatedly recounting some ridiculous summer story, flinging his hands around, while Donghyun chimed in with a running commentary. Sanghyuk and Woonhak were busy teasing each other over a dice game they’d started mid-meal.
Jaehyun sat beside Dongmin, careful not to crowd him, and for a moment let himself enjoy the normalcy.
Dongmin passed him a napkin without looking, the motion easy, familiar. Their knees didn’t touch. Jaehyun noticed that, too. He wondered if Dongmin had always been this aware of space, or if this was something new, learned overnight.
Sungho’s story reached its dramatic peak, something about getting locked out of his apartment in flip-flops, and the table erupted in laughter. Dongmin laughed too, head tipping back slightly, eyes crinkling in a way that used to feel like a small victory whenever Jaehyun managed to earn it. For a brief, dangerous second, relief washed through him.
Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, he thought.
Maybe this— easy laughter, shared lunches, nothing visibly broken— meant they could settle back into what they’d been.
The hope came so fast it startled him. And just as quickly, it soured.
Because wanting things to go back to normal meant wanting the hurt to disappear on his timeline, not Dongmin’s. It meant pretending last night hadn’t cost something real.
Jaehyun smiled when everyone else did. He chewed without tasting much of anything.
He risked a glance sideways. Dongmin was focused on the table, pushing rice around his container with the edge of his fork, listening more than speaking. He looked… fine. Better than fine. If Jaehyun hadn’t been there the night before, hadn’t heard the tremor in his voice, he might’ve believed nothing was wrong.
That made his chest tighten— not with guilt this time, but with uncertainty. How much of it was composure, and how much was distance?
“Hey,” Donghyun said suddenly, pointing his chopsticks at Jaehyun. “You good? You’ve been zoning out all morning.”
Jaehyun blinked. “Yeah— yeah. Just tired.”
Dongmin’s eyes flicked to him then, quick and unreadable.
“First week always does that,” Sanghyuk said. “Give it three days and we’ll all be dead inside again.”
“Speak for yourself,” Woonhak replied, rolling the dice dramatically. “I’m thriving.”
Dongmin snorted before he could stop himself. The sound was quiet, surprised, and it hit Jaehyun harder than it should have. Not pain—something closer to longing.
He leaned back, tilting his face toward the sky, letting the sun sit warm on his skin. He wondered, briefly, if this was how Dongmin had felt all this time— holding something unspoken, hoping it wouldn’t change anything when it finally surfaced.
When he looked back down, Dongmin was already standing, packing up his lunch.
“I’ve got to meet my TA,” Dongmin said casually.
“Oh—okay,” Jaehyun said, a beat too fast.
Dongmin hesitated. Just a fraction. “Later,” he said, softer, and then he was gone, slipping back into the flow of students.
The space beside Jaehyun felt strangely exposed.
As conversation picked back up, Jaehyun stayed quiet, his gaze following the path Dongmin had taken until he disappeared completely. The hope from earlier lingered, thin and fragile, tangled up with the knowledge that things wouldn’t reset just because he wanted them to.
Comfort, once shifted, didn’t snap back into place.
Jaehyun didn’t know yet what it would take to keep them from drifting further apart. He wasn’t even sure he was ready to find out.
But he knew that he didn’t want to stop trying.
So that afternoon, Jaehyun went looking for Dongmin.
He found him where he’d half-expected to—outside the arts building, sitting on the low concrete wall by the steps, earbuds in, backpack at his feet. Dongmin was scrolling through his phone, one leg hooked casually over the edge like he had nowhere urgent to be.
Jaehyun slowed as he approached, nerves fluttering despite everything he’d already decided. “Hey.”
Dongmin looked up, surprised for a split second before his expression smoothed out. “Hey.”
“Can I—” Jaehyun gestured vaguely. “Talk to you? For a minute.”
Dongmin popped one earbud out. “Sure.”
They stood there, the space between them familiar but newly charged. Students passed in and out of the building, the doors hissing open and shut behind them.
“I just wanted to check in,” Jaehyun said. “After… everything. I didn’t want to guess how you were feeling.”
Dongmin studied him for a moment, then shrugged lightly. “I’m okay.”
Jaehyun searched his face. “Like… actually okay?”
Dongmin huffed a quiet laugh. “As okay as I can be, yeah.” He shifted, bracing his hands behind him. “I just need time.”
Jaehyun nodded, relief loosening something in his chest. “Okay. I can do time.” He hesitated. “How do you want me to act? I don’t want to make things weird. Or worse.”
Dongmin tilted his head, considering. “Just… be normal. Don’t be weird. I can handle you liking someone else.”
Jaehyun winced. “I didn’t mean for—”
“I know,” Dongmin cut in gently. “You can like who you like. That part’s not on you.” He smiled, crooked and self-aware. “It’s my fault for falling too fast.”
The tension eased enough for Jaehyun to breathe again. He grinned, the words slipping out before he could stop them. “Like I said, I’m just too charming.”
Dongmin snorted. “Sure.”
They laughed, real and easy, the sound cutting cleanly through the last of the tightness. For a moment, it almost felt like nothing had happened.
Dongmin sobered just slightly. “I will be okay,” he said. “Just— don’t forget that I do have feelings for you. So maybe… tread lightly.”
He said it with a teasing lilt, like a warning wrapped in humor.
Jaehyun nodded, smiling softer now. “I think can do that.”
“Good,” Dongmin said, slipping his earbud back in. “I’d hate to have to dramatically pine again.”
“So that’s what it was,” Jaehyun said, enlightened.
Dongmin blushed and Jaehyun pretended not to notice.
They parted easily after that, no awkward pause, no forced distance. As Jaehyun walked away, he realized his shoulders felt lighter than before.
The days that followed settled into a strange, manageable rhythm.
Jaehyun and Dongmin fell back into old habits—walking to class together when their schedules overlapped, trading snacks, sitting side by side at lunch. They joked, bickered, complained about professors. From the outside, nothing looked different.
But underneath it all, there was an awareness that hadn’t been there before.
Jaehyun noticed the way Dongmin sometimes pulled back first, how he chose seats with a little more space. Dongmin noticed when Jaehyun grew momentarily careful, when his laughter lagged by half a second.
It wasn’t uncomfortable exactly.
Some nights, Dongmin stayed up late working, headphones on, focused. Other nights, he was exactly the same as always, easy and sharp and warm. Jaehyun learned not to read too much into either.
By the end of the week, the tension hadn’t disappeared, but it had softened, settling into something livable. Something honest.
They weren’t the same as before. But they were still them.
The second Monday into the semester, Jaehyun found himself killing time with Donghyun outside the student center, both of them half-watching the steady stream of people cutting across the plaza. Donghyun sat on the steps with his coffee balanced between his knees, scrolling aimlessly on his phone.
“You look suspiciously unbothered,” Donghyun said. “What, no existential crisis today?”
“Give it an hour,” Jaehyun replied. “I’m pacing myself.”
Donghyun laughed, then let the silence stretch comfortably between them. Jaehyun rocked back on his hands, staring at the sky before speaking.
“Hey,” he said. “How’s Dongmin? Like… really.”
Donghyun didn’t answer right away. He took a slow sip of coffee. “He’s okay,” he said. “Not great, not terrible. He’s doing what he always does.”
Jaehyun nodded. “I’m glad.”
Donghyun glanced sideways at him. “You feel guilty?”
Jaehyun huffed. “Is it that obvious?”
“A little.”
Jaehyun hesitated, then asked, “Can I ask you something too?”
“Hit me.”
“Do you think I should’ve seen it coming?”
Donghyun shrugged. “Maybe. But that doesn’t mean you led him on.”
Jaehyun absorbed that, then went quiet again.
After a moment, Donghyun spoke. “Let me ask you something a little unfair.”
Jaehyun tensed. “I’m listening.”
“Would you really never consider Dongmin?”
“I… have feelings for someone else,” he said. “That’s definitely part of it.”
Donghyun waited.
Jaehyun stared at his hands. “But if I’m being honest? I never really asked myself that question before. Because I was just happy with what we had.”
Donghyun raised an eyebrow. “Meaning?”
“Meaning I didn’t feel like I was missing anything,” Jaehyun said. “Being with Dongmin the way we were— it felt comfortable. I didn’t need to imagine it turning into something else.”
Donghyun watched him carefully. “So if there hadn’t been someone else?”
Jaehyun swallowed. The answer didn’t come cleanly.
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “Maybe I would’ve thought about it. Maybe not. I never gave myself the chance to find out.”
Donghyun nodded slowly. “That’s more complicated than a no.”
“Yeah,” Jaehyun said quietly. “I guess it is.”
They sat with that for a moment, the sounds of campus filling the space between them—laughter, footsteps, the distant thud of a basketball on pavement.
Donghyun exhaled. “For what it’s worth, I think Dongmin would prefer that answer. It means what you had was real.”
Jaehyun’s chest tightened. “It is. don’t want him to think he imagined it.”
“He won’t,” Donghyun said. “He knows you meant it. He just hoped it meant more.”
Jaehyun nodded, a familiar ache settling in his chest.
As Donghyun stood and stretched, he added lightly, “Just don’t overthink yourself into hurting him twice.”
Jaehyun managed a small smile. “I’ll try not to.”
The night stretched on longer than Jaehyun expected. Someone had dragged a table out onto the patio behind the off-campus café, the air buzzing with overlapping conversations and half-empty cups. Laughter rose and fell in uneven waves, music humming softly from someone’s speaker.
Jaehyun sat shoulder to shoulder with Dongmin, knees brushing whenever one of them shifted. It felt easy—almost deceptively so. Enough that he forgot, for a moment, to be careful.
The music crept louder as someone changed the playlist. The conversations blurred together, voices rising to compete. Jaehyun noticed Dongmin’s shoulders tense before he said anything.
Dongmin leaned in, voice low. “It’s getting kind of loud.”
He didn’t wait to be asked.
When Dongmin stood, Jaehyun followed without comment, murmuring a quick excuse to no one in particular. They slipped away while the group was mid-argument over a song choice, unnoticed. The noise dulled with every step they took, until they reached the edge of the lot and the low railing overlooking the street.
The city hummed below them—cars passing in steady streams, headlights stretching into soft lines of light. Compared to the patio, it felt like stepping into quiet water.
Dongmin rested his forearms on the railing, exhaling. “Better.”
They stood there side by side, not touching, but close enough that Jaehyun could feel Dongmin’s warmth through the thin space between them. Behind them, the group laughed loudly at something someone had said. Out here, everything felt muted. Like the world had turned the volume down.
Jaehyun rocked back on his heels, hands shoved into his pockets. “Donghyun talked to me today.”
Dongmin didn’t look over. “Yeah?”
“I asked how you were.”
A corner of Dongmin’s mouth lifted. “Let me guess. You looked guilty.”
Jaehyun huffed. “Is it that obvious?”
“Yeah,” Dongmin echoed, teasing—but softer than usual.
The silence that followed wasn’t heavy. Just thoughtful.
Dongmin tilted his head slightly, gaze still fixed on the street. “He worries,” he said. “About both of us.”
“I know.”
Dongmin finally glanced at him then. “You don’t have to keep checking in, you know. I’m not going to fall apart if you blink.”
Jaehyun met his eyes, something earnest and apologetic tugging at his chest. “I just… don’t want to hurt you.”
Dongmin turned toward him fully this time. “Jaehyun. You won’t.” He waited until Jaehyun met his eyes. “You didn’t make me feel anything. I did that all by myself.”
Jaehyun’s breath caught.
“You were just… you,” Dongmin continued. “It’s really not your fault.”
Jaehyun let out a slow breath, shoulders easing a fraction. “Okay,” he said. “But I just don’t want this to turn into distance.”
“Me too.” Dongmin said. “That’s mostly why I told you how I felt. I didn’t want to keep hurting you.”
Jaehyun blinked. “You weren’t hurting me,” he said. Then, after a beat, he added, “If anything, you were probably hurting more. I just… didn’t know.”
Dongmin huffed a breath, half a laugh. “Yeah. I wasn’t exactly subtle, though.”
“You were subtle enough,” Jaehyun said. “I’m kind of oblivious.”
“Shocking,” Dongmin deadpanned.
Jaehyun smiled, the tension easing out of his shoulders.
From the patio, someone called Dongmin’s name, laughter spilling after it. Dongmin sighed, pushing off the railing. “Duty calls.”
Jaehyun smiled, a little crooked. “We should go back before they start speculating.”
“God forbid,” Dongmin said dryly.
They headed back together, shoulders brushing this time—not accidental, not quite deliberate either. Just familiar enough to feel safe.
They slipped back into the noise easily, like they hadn’t been gone long enough for anyone to notice. Someone shoved a drink into Dongmin’s hand. Someone else complained about an assignment. The music got turned up a notch.
Jaehyun laughed at the right moments, nodded along, let the rhythm of the group carry him for a while. Still, he kept finding his attention drifting back to Dongmin—how he leaned in when someone spoke, how his smile came quicker now, less guarded than it had been earlier.
His phone buzzed in his pocket.
Jaehyun glanced down, expecting a group chat notification, and paused.
Hanbin hyung: You busy tomorrow? Thought about grabbing food later if you’re around.
Warmth spread through his chest before he could stop it. Giddy, unmistakable. He smiled at his phone like an idiot, then immediately frowned.
He felt like an asshole.
The thought came uninvited, reflexive. He hadn’t even replied yet, and still—here he was, giddy, heart tipping forward, when he’d just had a conversation about not hurting someone.
You didn’t make me feel anything. It’s not your fault.
Dongmin’s voice echoed in his head, annoyingly reasonable.
Jaehyun exhaled and typed a response, erased it. Typed another. Paused. He didn’t want to pretend he wasn’t excited—but he also didn’t want to act like Dongmin didn’t exist.
He looked up.
The group had started to splinter, the way it always did. A few people headed inside for refills. Others clustered around the speaker, arguing about what song should play next. Dongmin had drifted back toward the edge of the patio, half-turned toward the street, phone in his hand like he was considering slipping away again.
Jaehyun took a breath and followed.
“Hey,” Jaehyun said.
Dongmin looked up. “Hey.”
Jaehyun hesitated, the moment suddenly feeling more fragile than it had a few minutes ago. He rubbed his thumb against the seam of his sleeve. “Can I ask you something?”
Dongmin studied him for a second, then nodded. “Sure.”
“Would… would you be okay if I hung out with Hanbin hyung sometime?” Jaehyun said. “Just the two of us.”
Dongmin blinked, then snorted softly. “Wow. Straight to the scary questions.”
“I’m serious,” Jaehyun said quickly. “I just— I wanted to ask instead of assuming.”
Dongmin leaned back against the railing, considering. When he spoke, his voice was light, but not careless. “Thanks for asking. But that’s your choice.”
Jaehyun let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Dongmin tilted his head, a familiar glint in his eyes. “I will get jealous though. So don’t have too much fun.”
Jaehyun laughed, nervous but relieved. “Right. I’ll keep it under control.”
Dongmin smiled, softer this time. “Good.”
From somewhere behind them, someone called Jaehyun’s name, asking if he wanted another drink. Dongmin nudged him lightly with his elbow.
“Go,” he said. “Before they start asking questions.”
Jaehyun nodded, then paused. “Hey.”
Dongmin looked at him again.
“Thanks,” Jaehyun said. “For being… like this.”
Dongmin’s smile didn’t waver.
Dongmin watched Jaehyun disappear back into the cluster of people, his laugh rising easily above the rest. It still did that—caught Dongmin’s attention without effort, like his body recognized the sound before his brain could intervene.
It’s okay, he’d said. Dongmin believed it. Mostly.
He turned back toward the street, resting his elbows on the railing again. The night air was cooler now, carrying the faint smell of coffee and exhaust. Somewhere behind him, music thumped, too loud, too cheerful.
Jealousy crept in anyway. Not sharp. Not the kind that made his chest burn. Just a dull, persistent ache, settling low and familiar. He’d expected it. Had even joked about it. That didn’t make it easier.
Hanbin hyung. The name sat uneasily in his mind.
Dongmin wasn’t stupid—he knew Jaehyun’s feelings wouldn’t vanish just because they talked. If anything, they felt more real now. More dangerous. He wondered what it would look like, Jaehyun with someone who could actually meet him where he stood. Someone who wouldn’t need so much careful space.
The thought stung. He let it.
Behind him, someone laughed too loudly. Dongmin straightened, schooling his expression before turning back to the group. He accepted another drink he hadn’t asked for, listened with half an ear as the conversation drifted from classes to weekend plans.
But his attention kept slipping.
He caught Jaehyun’s eye once from across the patio. Jaehyun smiled—quick, reflexive, like it belonged to Dongmin as much as it did to himself. Dongmin felt something in his chest ease at that. Not hope exactly. But reassurance.
You’re okay, he told himself. He wanted honesty. This is what it looked like.
Later, as the night began to thin out and people gathered their bags, Dongmin found himself walking a few steps behind Jaehyun as they headed toward the street. Close enough to follow, far enough not to crowd.
He wondered, briefly, what it would be like to reach out. To close the distance. The thought lingered, warm and impossible.
Instead, he shoved his hands into his pockets and kept walking.
Jealousy would pass. Feelings could be managed. He’d always been good at that. But he really hoped they wouldn’t last.
What mattered was that Jaehyun had asked. He’d cared enough to ask.
And for now, that was enough to hold onto.