Archive of Our Own ^beta

Wonwoo was about to mark another year with his girlfriend, Nari. Their anniversary was coming up and, like almost always, he hadn’t planned anything specific. It wasn’t out of a lack of interest—since the very beginning of their relationship, she had usually been the one in charge of making plans: picking the place, setting the mood. His part was to bring her a nice gift, something carefully chosen that showed he did think about her, and with that, Nari seemed satisfied. Or at least, that was what Wonwoo believed.

Their relationship was calm, stable, almost predictable, and Wonwoo liked it that way. He had never been particularly expressive, much less in public. Over-the-top gestures made him uncomfortable; he preferred simple things, unspoken agreements, the idea that you didn’t need to be holding hands all the time to know you loved each other. As long as she knew he loved her, everything was fine. As long as she understood him and respected the way he was, he felt like things were on the right track.

A week before their fifth anniversary, they went out for coffee in the afternoon. They chose a café inside a large shopping plaza, a spacious, busy place where they had been meeting up with friends for years. It was packed with people, the constant hum of voices mixing with the smell of freshly brewed coffee and the soft music coming from the speakers. They spent a nice while chatting about trivial things until, eventually, they got up from the table, ready to head home.

They were walking side by side when they heard a familiar voice calling out to them from a distance.

"Wonwoo, Nari!" The voice sounded upbeat, unmistakable. They both stopped almost at the same time and turned to see Seokmin approaching, smiling widely as he lifted a hand to wave.

"Hi, Seok!" Nari replied right away, full of enthusiasm. "How have you been? And how’s Hana doing?"

Hana was Seokmin’s wife. In fact… all of Wonwoo’s friends were already married. All of them, except him and—The thought appeared out of nowhere and caused a faint tightness in his chest. It was a little strange, wasn’t it? Five years together and they were still the same. Maybe it was time for him to get married, maybe that was what people expected of him, but Wonwoo still didn’t feel ready.

Even though he spent a lot of time at Nari’s apartment, even though he had dinner there almost every day and slept over many nights, the idea of taking that step weighed on him. He didn’t want to be an idiot or make her wait forever. Maybe this anniversary would be the right moment to propose. Just thinking about it made his stomach churn. Because a wedding also meant a lot of money, plans, commitments, expectations… and that only made everything more complicated.

Still, if he really thought about it, maybe it would be worth it. They could save up together, do something small, private, intimate—just to celebrate their union, not to show it off to anyone else. Something that truly felt like theirs. Wonwoo lingered on that idea for a moment, turning it over in his mind as a real possibility, until Seokmin’s voice slipped back into his thoughts.

"So, after all this time, Mingyu is finally coming back," Seokmin said, clearly excited. "We’re organizing something at the bar we always used to go to, to welcome him back. You’ll be there too, right?"

Wonwoo fell silent. The name echoed in his head in an uncomfortable way, like a sudden blow he hadn’t seen coming.

"Mingyu?" Nari chimed in, tilting her head slightly. "Oh… I don’t know him, do I?" She smiled. "Of course we’ll go. When is it?" Of course—she didn’t know Mingyu. She had come into everyone’s lives after Mingyu had already left.

"It’ll be next Friday," Seokmin replied. "Is that okay? I hope you’re free."

Wonwoo saw the perfect excuse right there, almost like a lifeline. "We can’t," he said, his tone more serious than he had intended. "That day is our anniversary."

"Oh…" Seokmin seemed to think about it for a second. "Right, that’s true."

But Nari was quick to step in. "We can celebrate it another day," she said casually. "I’m curious to meet Mingyu. The other day Soonyoung said you two were really close, but I’ve never seen him in person."

Really close. Wonwoo clenched his jaw slightly. Really close was a comfortable euphemism, a safe word for what Mingyu and he had actually been. Of course, no one knew. To the rest of the world, even to the rest of their friends, they had just been friends. Then roommates. And then… nothing. Or at least, that’s how it looked from the outside. But the story was very different from Wonwoo’s side, and he wasn’t ready to think about it—much less remember everything right now.

"Come on, Wonwoo," Nari insisted, gently touching his arm. "We can’t miss it. If he was your best friend, I really want to meet him. We can celebrate our anniversary later."

Wonwoo looked for another excuse, any excuse that could get him out of that situation, but he couldn’t find one. Not when his girlfriend was so excited, so genuinely interested. Throughout that entire week, she brought it up several times, talking about Mingyu with curiosity, imagining what he might be like, counting down the days until she could finally meet someone who had been so important in Wonwoo’s life.

One afternoon, while they were sitting together on the couch in her apartment, the TV on only as background noise, Nari turned to look at him. "But you’ve never told me anything about Mingyu," she said. "When did you meet him?"

"When I started college," Wonwoo replied flatly, almost automatically, hoping that would be enough to shut the topic down. He wished she wouldn’t want to dig any deeper, because he knew that doing so meant stirring up memories he had avoided for years—emotions he still didn’t know how to handle without them hurting.

"Uh-huh…" Nari tilted her head slightly, clearly intrigued. "Did you click right away? Were you really as close as Soonyoung said?"

Wonwoo just nodded, adding nothing else. His silence, however, seemed to invite more questions. "Okay, but… give me more context," she insisted. "Tell me more about him. Why do you never mention him? Why didn’t I know anything about Mingyu?"

Wonwoo pressed his lips together for a moment. He thought it might be better to give her some answers, even if they were incomplete, even if they were carefully edited. If he kept avoiding the subject, it could seem strange—suspicious, even. So he decided to tell her a softened version of what had happened, the story as everyone else had always seen it.

He told her he met Mingyu when they both started college. It was during the first orientation session, the one where they gathered all the freshmen in a huge auditorium to explain, in broad terms, how the school worked, where the main buildings were, and what was expected of them as students. Wonwoo was majoring in accounting and Mingyu in animation, so they didn’t share classes, but they saw each other there for the first time, sitting just a few rows apart.

Later on, almost by coincidence, they realized they were neighbors. Their dorm rooms were right next to each other, separated only by a thin wall. Each of them had a different roommate, but they started getting close because they ran into each other all the time—in the hallways, in the common areas—and because Wonwoo had a serious problem with his own roommate.

Sanghyuk was messy—disgustingly messy. He never cleaned up after himself, never cleaned the bathroom, and he didn’t even bother flushing the toilet most of the time. He cooked inside the room and then let the food rot there, filling the place with awful smells. Wonwoo hated him. He filed complaints, tried talking to him more than once, tried to come to some kind of agreement, but nothing ever changed. Living there became unbearable.

On the other hand, Mingyu’s roommate was almost never around. Apparently, he had a girlfriend who was older than them and had her own apartment, so he spent most of his time with her and rarely slept in the dorm. That’s how Wonwoo started using that empty bed more and more. One night turned into several, and several turned into a habit. He spent countless nights there, next to Mingyu, and little by little their closeness became more real, more obvious—even to other people.

The following year, the university announced they would be reassigning dorms. By then, Mingyu and Wonwoo were already "really close," and neither of them wanted to be separated. It was Mingyu who came up with the idea: they started working part-time at a convenience store, switching shifts, always together. The plan was clear from the beginning—rent an apartment together.

And that’s exactly what they did. They moved in together, and their closeness only deepened. From that point on, wherever Mingyu was, Wonwoo was there, and wherever Wonwoo was, Mingyu was too. They kept studying, each in their own major, still not sharing classes, but being each other’s constant support. They encouraged each other, listened to each other, and stayed by each other’s side.

They went out together, drank together, went to work together, came home together. They did everything side by side. To everyone else, it was just a close, strong, almost inseparable friendship. But the two of them had their own world.

Sometimes their other friends—Seokmin, Soonyoung, Jihoon, Seungcheol, and Hansol—didn’t get their inside jokes, didn’t share their routines, or understand how synchronized they were. They were just Mingyu and Wonwoo, moving at their own pace.

They even graduated together. They kept living together after that, until Mingyu found a job. He was really good at what he did. He had always been creative and proactive, and he helped that small animation company grow little by little. One day, an animation studio in the United States bought the Korean company.

In the meantime, Wonwoo was already working at another company, in the accounting department. The two of them were happy like that. Everything seemed fine. But the new owners wanted to take Mingyu to the United States.

Mingyu hesitated. He wasn’t sure he wanted to leave. It was Wonwoo who encouraged him: he would get paid more, see another country, have better opportunities. The advantages were big—too big to ignore. So Mingyu left.

And with that, little by little, they stopped being so close. They stopped talking as often, calls became occasional, messages grew shorter and shorter. To everyone else, that friendship simply faded over time.

Wonwoo let out a sigh when he finished telling all of that. He couldn’t say everything. He couldn’t tell her everything. In his mind, there were still too many beautiful memories with Mingyu—from the very first time they met, to that first night when, even though Mingyu’s roommate was still around, he let Wonwoo sleep in his room, saving him from the pig that was Sanghyuk.

݁˖𓂃☘︎˖.

Wonwoo was nervous—so nervous he could almost convince himself he was coming down with the flu. His head ached a little, his body felt heavy, as if any physical excuse could justify the uncomfortable knot in his chest. But Nari was excited, practically glowing, and once again, saying no would be strange. It would feel off, raise suspicions, plant unnecessary questions. If he refused, they would ask for explanations, and Wonwoo didn’t have the energy to give any that sounded convincing.

So he got ready. Not too much, not in an over-the-top way, but he did make an effort. He spent more time than usual in front of the mirror. God… it was going to be the first time in more than five long years that he would see Mingyu. Five years that had gone by both fast and slow at the same time, depending on the memory. He swallowed when he met his own reflection. He adjusted his clothes, ran a hand through his hair, and decided to style it differently, leaving his forehead uncovered. He looked good—he knew it. He looked good, and instead of calming him down, that only made him more tense. But it wasn’t because of Mingyu. No, he repeated to himself. It wasn’t because of him.

When he stopped by to pick up Nari, she looked him over for a moment that felt far too long, as if she were studying him more closely than usual. Then she smiled and leaned in to kiss him softly. "Wow, you look really handsome today—so, so handsome," she praised him with a sincere smile.

Wonwoo shook his head, a little uncomfortable, brushing it off, as if he didn’t want to accept the compliment or was afraid it carried more weight than it should.

He drove to the restaurant-bar where he usually met up with his friends, a familiar place that would normally make him feel at ease. But that day, he was still on edge. His fingers tapped against the steering wheel unconsciously, keeping an irregular rhythm that gave away his anxiety. He couldn’t think clearly, and at the same time, he didn’t want to. No clear image of what Mingyu might look like that day formed in his mind; it was as if his brain refused to complete that mental picture. He let out a long, tired sigh, and before he realized it, he was already there, parking in the plaza, his heart beating a little faster than normal.

Every step toward the meeting spot felt heavier, as if the ground were growing denser beneath his feet. Nari walked beside him, holding his hand naturally, talking about work, about small everyday problems—things Wonwoo usually listened to attentively. But this time, he couldn’t. He just couldn’t. His mind was too busy, too alert, trapped in an anxiety he couldn’t control.

When they arrived, he noticed that only Seokmin, Jihoon, Hansol, and Seungcheol were there, along with their respective wives. Everyone greeted him with open, genuine smiles, as if the reunion were something expected and happy.

"Wonwoo, we thought you weren’t coming after all…" Jihoon commented as Wonwoo took a seat at the large table they had specially reserved for that day.

"It’s just that Wonwoo took his time getting ready—look how handsome he looks," Nari cut in with a proud smile. Then she looked around the table, observing everyone. "Where are Soonyoung and Jiheon?" she asked curiously. "And I don’t see Mingyu or his wife either," she added after noticing who was missing.

"Soonyoung and Jiheon went to pick up Mingyu at the place where he’s staying, but he took a little nap because of the jet lag and ended up running late," Seokmin explained before laughing. "And Mingyu doesn’t have a wife—or a girlfriend, I think… He’s not coming with anyone."

Wonwoo felt a confusing mix of excitement and nerves tighten in his chest. Mingyu didn’t have a partner? The information got stuck in his mind, repeating itself without permission. He took a breath, trying to push that thought away. He really didn’t want to be there. He didn’t want to see him, because he knew that something inside him—something he had believed was asleep or gone—would wake up again the moment Mingyu appeared in front of him.

"Should we order some beers while we wait? Soonyoung says they’re already on their way from the apartment Mingyu rented," Seungcheol suggested.

Everyone agreed easily, and besides the beers, they ordered food and snacks to share. Most likely, by the time the others arrived, the servers would already be bringing everything to the table.

The beer was the first thing to arrive, and Wonwoo was so nervous that, without really thinking about it, he drank one quickly. He needed something to dull him a little, to turn down the volume of his thoughts, to get rid of that constant feeling of unease. The cold liquid slid down his throat and settled heavily in his stomach.

Then he opened another bottle, though this time he drank it more slowly, careful not to raise any suspicion. The conversation began to flow among everyone; they talked about their lives, their routines, their day-to-day experiences as parents. And as the conversation went on, Wonwoo felt more and more unsettled. He had never seriously thought about having children. It wasn’t something he wanted for himself—it never had been. Although, deep down, he had always thought that if his partner truly wanted them, then maybe they could have them.

His previous partner hadn’t wanted kids either, so that had never been an issue. But with Nari… well, he hadn’t talked about it yet. He avoided it—pretty obviously, actually. And since she knew the topic made him uncomfortable, she didn’t bring it up again. Still, now, while everyone else talked about that kind of life, about responsibilities and family routines, Nari seemed more attentive, listening with a different kind of interest.

Seokmin had two kids. Seungcheol, Hansol, and Jihoon had one each. Wonwoo loved all those kids; they called him uncle, and he was happy spending time with them now and then—playing, babysitting for a few hours. But… having one of his own? That was something else entirely. That was a full-time job, with overtime included, with a constant responsibility you couldn’t pause. And if he was being honest with himself, it felt like too much for him to handle.

"So when will it be your turn, Nari?" Hana asked bluntly, with the kind of casualness only someone unaware of the tension could have.

Wonwoo tensed immediately, as if the question had been directed straight at him. He felt his shoulders stiffen and, almost on reflex, lifted the bottle to his lips, taking a long pull from his beer—longer than necessary.

Nari laughed, a touch of shyness in it, soft and calm. "Time will tell. It’s a huge responsibility," she replied evenly, as if she had read Wonwoo’s mind.

He smiled faintly before drinking again. That was something he liked about her, maybe one of the things he appreciated most: Nari understood him. She didn’t pressure him, gave him a sense of safety, of space. Being with her felt comfortable, stable. Though, if he was completely honest with himself, maybe he was being selfish. Because he didn’t always feel like he offered her that same understanding in return.

He set the beer down on the table just as he saw them arrive. Soonyoung walked in first, full of his usual energy, followed by Jiheon, her hand intertwined with his. And behind them appeared a taller figure, more striking, different from any other presence in the place. Wonwoo lost his breath the moment he saw him.

Kim Mingyu. It was Mingyu. The same one he knew… or maybe not. He had changed. He looked different, more mature, even though only five years had passed. His skin had a golden tone that stood out under the lights, making him look even more attractive. His hair was longer—much longer—falling naturally around his face, and Wonwoo had always liked it that way. He liked it far too much. Though when Mingyu wore it short, that had been his downfall too. God… why was he thinking about that?

Wonwoo dropped his gaze immediately and grabbed another beer, downing it in one go. His throat was dry, his mouth too. The alcohol went down fast, and his stomach began to feel full, heavy. His body was on edge, filled with a strange sensation, like a dull tingling he couldn’t tell was from the alcohol or from the person who had just arrived.

"Oh—" Nari stopped his hand before he could finish the beer completely. "Easy, the beer isn’t going anywhere, love."

Wonwoo nodded slowly. And no, maybe the beer wasn’t going anywhere, but an irrational part of him thought Mingyu was just a mirage, something that would disappear if he blinked or looked away.

Mingyu smiled. A devastating smile. So beautiful it made Wonwoo’s chest ache. He was sure he blushed just from seeing it. His teeth were different; the one that used to be slightly crooked was now perfect, but his canines were the same, giving him that familiar look that made him unmistakable. He looked so good. Wonwoo had forgotten about the mole on his nose… and the others scattered across his face, small details his memory had kept without permission.

Then Mingyu looked at him. His eyes landed directly on Wonwoo, and Wonwoo wanted to disappear. Literally. Gyu’s smile faltered for a second—something almost imperceptible, like he’d come to a sudden stop. Then, when he noticed Nari sitting beside Wonwoo, he stopped smiling altogether. Even so, he started talking, as if trying to justify that shift.

"Hi! Good evening. Did you wait long for me? Did you miss me?" he said as he took a seat at the far end of the table, opposite from where Nari and Wonwoo were sitting. Far away. That was good. "I see a lot of new faces—aren’t you going to introduce me?" His voice sounded different.

Before, Mingyu had a soft, low tone, one he seemed to reserve just for Wonwoo. Sometimes he sounded shy, even insecure. Not now. Now his voice was firm, clear, confident. That change made Wonwoo’s stomach twist, and he decided to take another long drink of his beer, this time finishing it in one go.

"Of course—well, you already know Jiheon because I introduced you before, but this is Hana, Seokmin’s wife, she’s…" Soonyoung took the lead, enthusiastically introducing each of the wives. "And this is Nari, Wonwoo’s wife."

Mingyu greeted them from a distance with a slight nod of his head, and Nari laughed. "Well, we’re not married yet, right?" she clarified. "But… yeah, I am with Wonwoo. I didn’t know you, though I’ve heard a few things about you."

She was the one who talked the most during her introduction. The other women limited themselves to polite greetings, but Nari seemed genuinely curious, as if there was something about Mingyu that sparked her interest.

"Ah… I hope they were good things," Mingyu replied in a cheerful tone.

Too cheerful. So much so that it irritated Wonwoo. He didn’t want to hear him interacting like that with other people, much less with his own girlfriend.

Nari laughed and nodded. Wonwoo didn’t even bother to look at Mingyu. He couldn’t. He grabbed another beer, and shortly after, the topic changed. They started asking Gyu about all the adventures he’d had abroad. And Mingyu talked. And talked.

He said the first few years had been hard, especially because his grasp of the language had been very basic. The company had enrolled him in English classes, which slowly made things easier. Thanks to that, he was able to integrate better and start working on several animated productions. None of them were very big, nothing that had been dubbed into Korean yet, which was why his work still hadn’t aired back home.

Mingyu also talked about what his life was like over there. He said it was good, even comfortable. He lived in an apartment that wasn’t very big, but big enough for him, close to the studio where he worked. He mentioned there was a Korean neighborhood relatively nearby, one he liked to visit in his free time, where they made food so authentic that, at times, it almost made him forget how much he missed his country. Freshly made kimchi, hot soups, dishes that reminded him of home.

"When I first got there, I thought it was going to be awful," he admitted with a light laugh. "But I found this tiny restaurant that stays open late. The owner’s Korean too—he always asks if I’ve eaten well."

"Really?" Seungcheol asked with interest. "Don’t you get tired of eating the same thing?"

"Sometimes," Mingyu admitted. "But it’s like… a safe zone. When everything over there feels too foreign, going there calms me down a bit."

He didn’t miss Korea as much as he’d thought he would—but he did miss the people. He said that in a lower, more honest tone. He missed his family, his friends, the routine he had left behind. Sadly, he hadn’t been able to take real vacations. Work had been constant—project after project for five years, without long breaks, without enough time to go back.

"There were years when I didn’t even know what day it was," he said with a laugh. "We just worked, slept, and started all over again."

"That sounds exhausting," Jihoon said.

"It was," Mingyu nodded. "But I guess it was worth it."

This was his first real break from work. And not just because of physical exhaustion, but because a new possibility was opening up in front of him. He mentioned that he might come back to Korea for a while, that he’d talked to the company about animating some manhwas. The idea had come from him himself—something that had been on his mind for a long time.

"If everything goes well, they’ll probably put me in charge of a team," he explained. "I’m still on a trial period, but… I won’t be going back to the U.S. for a while."

"Does that mean you’re staying here?" Seokmin asked.

"For now, yeah," Mingyu replied. "At least until this project is finished."

Wonwoo still didn’t make eye contact with him. He nodded when the others did, laughed at the right moments, as if he were actively part of the conversation. But he didn’t ask questions. He didn’t comment on his own life. And maybe no one noticed. There were too many people, too many voices, too much attention focused on Mingyu. The conversation was easy, flowing, and no one really seemed to need Wonwoo’s participation. Especially since everyone was hanging on to every word Mingyu said. Even Nari.

She listened with genuine interest, intrigued by all those stories about his life on the other side of the world. She asked about the cities he had visited, about what it was like to live so far away, about cultural differences. Mingyu answered patiently, sharing small anecdotes, everyday details.

"In some cities, everything moves way too fast," he said. "People barely even look each other in the eye."

"That must be lonely," Nari commented.

"Sometimes it is," Mingyu admitted. "But you get used to it, too."

It was hard to imagine that kind of life from where they were. Everyone had responsibilities in Korea—kids, jobs, routines they couldn’t just leave behind. Wonwoo listened to it all as if it were the story of someone completely removed from his life.

And yet, even without looking directly at him, he could feel Mingyu’s gaze on him. Constant. Insistent. He could still catch him out of the corner of his eye. But Mingyu didn’t push. He didn’t invite him to talk. He didn’t ask him anything. God… it was going to be awkward when they had to leave, right? One of them. Or maybe not. Maybe the group would just disperse, saying goodbye from a distance, without really having to face anything.

He waited. Kept listening to Gyu’s stories as if he were a stranger, like someone at another table talking about his wonderful life. He sighed now and then. Sometimes he drank—more slowly now. He felt invisible, even to his friends and to his girlfriend. Though not to Mingyu’s eyes.

At some point, he felt Mingyu following him with his gaze when he shifted slightly in his seat. He cursed under his breath. He’d had about four beers by then and definitely needed to go to the restroom. He excused himself, and tried to slip away toward the restrooms. But of course… it wasn’t hard for Gyu to follow him. Not at all.

Wonwoo was already washing his hands when Mingyu appeared behind him. He didn’t need to turn around. The reflection in the mirror gave him away before his voice did.

"Wonwoo…" The voice was low. Soft. Wonwoo hated the way he said his name, like it was something intimate, like it was a secret only the two of them shared.

"You look really good…" Mingyu said, still watching him through their reflection. "You look happy, with her," he added after letting out a sigh. Wonwoo only nodded.

"Thanks, I guess," he replied. His voice came out deeper than he intended, but at least it wasn’t soft. Not like before. Not anymore.

"I… I haven’t been with anyone else," Mingyu confessed, stepping a little closer. "No boyfriend, no girlfriend like you." His arms were close now, almost brushing against Wonwoo’s. In the mirror, the image of the two of them looked uncomfortably close.

"Good for you," Wonwoo answered flatly, stepping away to dry his hands.

"And you can handle your alcohol better now," Mingyu went on. "That’s unexpected… I thought you wouldn’t even make it back to the table. I got worried." That gentle tone was starting to get on his nerves.

"Don’t worry about me, Mingyu. I’m fine," Wonwoo said before leaving the restroom.

Wonwoo’s heart was pounding hard. His cheeks were flushed, but thank God he could blame that on the alcohol. Stupid Mingyu. And stupid effect he still had on him after five stupid years. And worst of all, Wonwoo wished he could hate him as much as he hated himself for feeling this way.

݁˖𓂃☘︎˖.

Nari told Wonwoo they should celebrate their anniversary on Sunday. She said it casually, like it was a simple plan with no complications: she’d cook something at home, he just had to show up, no need to bring anything. Wonwoo agreed, though deep down it didn’t feel simple at all. Even so, he bought a good bottle of champagne, the kind you only open for special occasions. He picked out a bouquet he knew Nari liked—soft colors, nothing flashy—and, almost as if it were something heavier than it should be, he carried with him the engagement ring he’d been planning to give his girlfriend.

Truthfully, he still didn’t know if he was going to propose or not. To be honest, he was only bringing it along in case he felt ready in the moment. In case something inside him finally clicked and told him yes, this is it, this is the next step. Because… he still wasn’t sure. Especially not after seeing Mingyu again. Ever since that encounter, he’d felt off, with an uncomfortable sense of hope lodged in his chest: the idea of seeing him more often, of running into him again, of—no. Wonwoo had to remind himself that he couldn’t forgive what Gyu had done to him. He simply couldn’t. Or at least, that was what he kept telling himself over and over, like a mantra that no longer sounded very convincing.

That day, he didn’t overdo it while getting ready. He didn’t spend too long in front of the mirror or try to change who he was. His hair fell loosely over his forehead, slightly messy, like always. He put on the glasses he’d kept for years—the ones Mingyu had recommended back when they were still together, the ones he’d later given him for his birthday. Wonwoo refused to retire them: besides being expensive, they were perfect for him, and maybe, deep down, they were also a way of holding on to something he’d never fully known how to let go of.

He chose one of the newer suits he’d bought for work, understated and elegant, just enough to look formal without seeming forced. He knew Nari liked to dress up a bit more for special occasions, and he didn’t want to look too casual when she had probably put more effort into her outfit. He took one last look at himself in the mirror, took a deep breath, and grabbed everything before heading out: the champagne, the flowers, and that ring that felt like it was burning a hole in his pocket.

He arrived at his girlfriend’s house at exactly 4 PM, just like she’d asked. He rang the doorbell, even though he usually didn’t—he had his own copy of the key—but this time he wanted to surprise her, to make it feel different. Nari took a moment to open the door, and when she finally did, the surprise was his.

"Wonwoo, you’re right on time, as always… did you bring me flowers?" she said with a genuine smile when she saw the bouquet in his hand. Wonwoo nodded as Nari carefully took the flowers. "Come in, please, and… I told you not to bring anything, but it’s fine, come in," she added with a small laugh. Wonwoo did as she said, without adding much else.

Inside, the house smelled like food. A warm, homemade, comforting aroma. Yes, his girlfriend was a good cook—she always had been. "Let’s go to the kitchen," she said, walking ahead of him.

The kitchen and dining area shared the same space, something Wonwoo knew well, and yet he felt oddly disoriented. Nari looked too relaxed, too normal, for what he had imagined an anniversary celebration would be like. Still, he followed her, and the moment he reached the dining area, Wonwoo froze completely.

Mingyu was there. Mingyu was sitting at his girlfriend’s stupid dining table, like he belonged there. Like he wasn’t a direct intrusion into everything Wonwoo had tried so hard to keep under control. Nari had her back turned, placing the bouquet in a vase, unaware for a second of the collision that had just happened.

"Hi, Wonwoo…" Mingyu said with a soft smile.

Wonwoo couldn’t respond the same way. In fact, he couldn’t smile at all. "May I know what’s going on?" he asked instead, his voice tight, restrained. He needed an explanation. There was no reason for Mingyu to be there. His presence irritated him, threw him off balance, made his stomach churn. Why was he there?

Nari laughed lightly before turning to face him. "I feel like… you were acting strange that night when we welcomed Mingyu, and… I don’t know, I feel like you two have something you need to sort out," she said, gesturing between them.

Wonwoo looked at her in disbelief, like he couldn’t quite process what he was hearing. Mingyu, meanwhile, was looking straight at him. "There’s nothing to sort out, we just—we’re not—" Wonwoo started, trying to shut it down before it fully opened up.

But Mingyu interrupted him without thinking. "I never cheated on you with any woman, Wonwoo. I swear I didn’t."

The words hit like a blunt blow. That was when Nari’s eyes widened in shock and she turned toward Mingyu. "Cheated on you with a woman? You two… you two…?" She couldn’t even finish the question. She was stunned. Had Mingyu actually been Wonwoo’s partner?

"You didn’t tell her about us, Wonwoo? I thought… I thought partners told each other these kinds of things…" Mingyu said, sounding uncomfortable, fully aware that he’d just ruined everything.

Wonwoo’s fist was clenched tight around the neck of the champagne bottle. He was gripping it so hard he didn’t even know how it hadn’t shattered. He didn’t know what to say. He felt exposed, vulnerable, miserable. He had never come out to anyone—no one at all—except Mingyu.

Nari sighed and shook her head. "I think… I think what you two need to resolve goes beyond me… God… Wonwoo, I really want you to be at peace, so sort out whatever you need to sort out with him. I… I’m going to go for a walk," she said at last.

She was probably more mature than the situation demanded. She bottled up all her questions, all her feelings, just so Wonwoo wouldn’t feel any weirder than he already did, so she wouldn’t pressure him further. She walked out the door, gently nudging Wonwoo inside as she passed. Silence fell heavily over the place. They looked at each other for a moment that felt far too long.

"I really want to explain everything to you, I swear… I… I don’t want you to hate me, Wonwoo, please… let me explain," Mingyu said, almost begging.

Wonwoo wanted to run. He wanted to escape because, truthfully, he didn’t hate Mingyu. He never had. How could he hate someone he had loved so deeply? How could he hate the only man he had ever loved?

From that very first day, during that orientation class, Wonwoo had arrived late. He sat in the farthest rows of the large auditorium, even though he couldn’t see very well from there. Still, his gaze locked onto Mingyu the moment he turned his head to the right. His profile caught his attention instantly. Wonwoo didn’t even know he had a type until he saw him.

Later, as everyone rushed out of the room, pushing and hurrying to leave as fast as possible, Wonwoo stayed behind for a moment. And then he saw him face to face. Kim Mingyu. He didn’t know his name yet, but he looked so handsome, so young, with eyes full of excitement and hope—something Wonwoo unexpectedly related to. Mingyu noticed him looking, maybe realized he was being watched, and smiled.

Mingyu smiled, showing those canines that—without Wonwoo knowing it yet—would completely make him fall in love. It was an open, genuine smile, the kind that didn’t seem rehearsed. He even lifted his hand and waved at him, like they’d known each other forever. Wonwoo, surprised and a little awkward, laughed and waved back. That was their entire first interaction: a simple gesture, a smile, something so brief it didn’t even seem like the first stone of everything they would later build together.

Later that day, when Wonwoo finally went to his dorm to settle in, there he was again. The guy from orientation. He was leaning near the door of the room next to the one Wonwoo would be staying in during his university years, casually checking his phone. When Mingyu saw him, he looked up and his eyes lit up, genuinely happy to recognize him.

He walked over without overthinking it. "Hey, you’re the guy from orientation. Is this your dorm?" he asked, pointing at the door.

Wonwoo nodded, still a little nervous. "Yeah… this is mine."

"Nice! Then we’re neighbors," Mingyu said, now pointing at his own door. "This one’s mine."

Wonwoo felt something like excitement, a small spark in his chest. "Sounds good, um… my name’s Wonwoo," he said, because he needed to know the name of the man who had already, without permission, taken over his thoughts and dreams.

"Oh, right… I didn’t introduce myself, sorry," Mingyu replied, rubbing the back of his neck. "I’m Mingyu. Nice to meet you, Wonwoo… Won-woo…" He repeated his name carefully, like he was testing it out. "Can I call you Won?"

Wonwoo wanted to tell him he could call him anything he wanted, even “the love of my life” if he felt like it, but he only nodded with a smile he couldn’t hide. "What are you studying, Won?"

"My major is accounting," Wonwoo answered. "Are you studying the same thing?" he asked, almost hopefully, already imagining shared classes, group projects, excuses to spend more time together.

Mingyu shook his head. "No, I’m majoring in animation… but that’s really cool. I can tell you’re really smart."

Wonwoo shook his head right away, a little embarrassed. "Not as much as it seems."

And just like that, without even realizing it, their friendship began. Though Wonwoo knew from the very beginning that he liked Mingyu. He was painfully aware of it, and things only grew more intense over time. Not exactly worse, but deeper. Mingyu wasn’t just incredibly handsome; he was sensitive, dedicated, intelligent. He always listened to Wonwoo with genuine attention, like nothing else mattered in those moments.

"I already talked to him and it’s like he doesn’t even listen to me," Wonwoo complained one afternoon. "He left his dirty clothes everywhere and decided to grow out his hair, so now the shower drain is clogged with his hair and he won’t even unclog it… I can’t stand him. He drives me crazy."

"Do you want to go file a complaint with the dorm manager?" Mingyu offered immediately. "Maybe they’ll move you somewhere better or get rid of that pig. Come on, let’s write a letter on my computer and print it at the library. We can even add photos, all the evidence of what he does."

That was probably the first time Wonwoo ever stepped into Mingyu’s room. And he was surprised by how different it was from his own: everything was neat, no clothes lying around, everything had its place. Mingyu helped him write the letter and print it, along with several photos of the disasters Sanghyuk had caused.

"I… well, my roommate is almost never around," Mingyu said afterward, thoughtful. "And now that I think about it… do you want to stay over tonight? You can bring your laptop and your books if you need to study. I’m sure you’ll sleep better here." Wonwoo accepted like the opportunity might slip through his fingers.

He was so painfully in love. And it was hard, because Mingyu was handsome—too handsome. The women at school knew it and made it obvious. At parties, girls practically lined up to talk to him. He was popular, charismatic. And sure, Wonwoo had his own appeal too: some women approached him, offered casual sex or even a serious relationship, but he never accepted.

And he wouldn’t lie—Mingyu probably broke his heart a couple of times before that night. He used to kiss several girls during drinking games, at parties, spin-the-bottle. Meaningless kisses, just for fun, but it hurt Wonwoo. It hurt watching the guy he was in love with kiss just anyone.

Everything changed one night. It was raining hard. Mingyu’s roommate hadn’t been able to go out with his girlfriend, so he was staying in the dorm. Sanghyuk had left a monumental mess in the room—pots with spoiled food, clothes everywhere, an unbearable smell. Wonwoo was fed up.

Can I come to your room? Mine is awful. Sanghyuk isn’t even here, but he left a complete disaster behind. Please, Mingyu.

He sent the message almost begging. The reply came immediately.

Yeah, it’s just that… we’ll have to figure out how to arrange things since Siwoo is here, but come over. Don’t stay there.

Wonwoo grabbed his laptop and went to the room next door. He knocked, and Mingyu opened the door.

"Come in, Won…"

Wonwoo did, then greeted Siwoo.

"Wow, it’s been forever since I last saw you, Wonwoo. So, is your roommate still trash?" Siwoo asked.

Wonwoo nodded. "Yeah…"

"That’s awful." Siwoo clicked his tongue. "But you can stay here with us. I’m sure Mingyu wouldn’t mind sharing the bed with you."

Wonwoo laughed nervously. Mingyu, on the other hand, looked a little annoyed.

"Shut up, man… Don’t worry, Wonu. Just come in, okay?"

"Wait," Siwoo cut in. "I’ve got a really good bottle of tequila my girlfriend gave me. Want a drink? This rain is boring me to death anyway." He sat down on the floor with the bottle, which looked expensive. Wonwoo and Mingyu sat down next to him. Siwoo pulled out three shot glasses.

"Let’s play Never Have I Ever." He poured the drinks. "Okay… let me think… Never have I ever kissed someone of the same sex." Siwoo and Mingyu drank. Wonwoo didn’t. His heart started racing. Had Mingyu kissed another guy?

"You’ve never done it, Wonwoo? Come on… I thought you and Mingyu were always doing that," Siwoo joked. Mingyu lightly hit him on the arm. "Alright, your turn, Mingyu."

"Never have I ever had sex," Mingyu said. All three drank—an easy one.

"God, you’re so boring, Mingyu… Okay, Wonwoo, your turn," Siwoo said, nodding at him as he refilled the shots.

Wonwoo took a few seconds to think. The rain kept pouring outside the dorms, hitting the windows and roof with a steady, almost hypnotic sound. The air was heavy with humidity, and the tequila was starting to warm his chest.

"Well, um…" he murmured. "Never have I ever fantasized about a famous person." All three drank again, almost at the same time, but Siwoo burst out laughing as soon as he lowered his glass.

"You two really are made for each other," he said, shaking his head. "So boring… Alright, my turn." He went quiet for a few seconds, like he was searching for something worth saying. "Okay," he continued. "Never have I ever fantasized about a friend."

They all drank again. Wonwoo looked away slightly. He didn’t want—didn’t need—to know which friend. Now he knew Mingyu had kissed at least one man in his life, so the idea wasn’t that absurd. Still, for him, the answer was obvious: Mingyu owned every single one of his fantasies. The innocent ones, the sexual ones, the ones about an impossible future, a shared life. Everything revolved around him. He almost sighed, but Mingyu interrupted him before he could drift off.

"Never have I ever… drunk so much that I threw up." They all drank again. Siwoo rolled his eyes dramatically and shook his head.

"Something fun, Wonwoo," Siwoo warned him. "I’m starting to fall asleep."

Wonwoo frowned slightly. Nothing really interesting came to mind—his head was way too full of Mingyu to think clearly. "Never have I ever… fantasized about a professor." Maybe that one was a little more provocative. Still, neither Wonwoo nor Mingyu drank. Siwoo did, without a shred of shame.

"God, you haven’t seen my film appreciation professor," he said after downing the tequila. "Alright, my turn… Never have I ever fallen in love with a friend."

Wonwoo drank. Mingyu did too. Their eyes met for barely a second, but it was enough to make Wonwoo’s stomach tighten. Right then, a bolt of lightning struck hard, and the power went out instantly.

"Ahhh, come on!" Siwoo complained. "Just when I was starting to have fun." He stood up clumsily and made his way to his bed, feeling around in the dark.

"I guess you’ll have to sleep with me, okay, Won?" Mingyu whispered before getting up.

Wonwoo nodded without really thinking. Carefully, Mingyu climbed onto the bed, and Wonwoo did the same, sitting down cautiously on the mattress.

"Which side do you want?" Mingyu asked quietly.

"Either is fine… which one do you usually take?" Wonwoo whispered back.

At that moment, Siwoo turned on his phone flashlight, dimly lighting up the room. "Get comfortable," he told them. "I’ve still got battery since my phone was charging. Turn yours off—we don’t know how long the blackout will last."

Wonwoo and Mingyu did as he said, using what little light the flashlight gave off. Wonwoo took the right side of the bed, next to the wall. Mingyu settled on the left. It was cold. The rain and the thunderstorm made the air feel damper and colder than usual.

Under the blankets, getting comfortable was a bit of a challenge. The bed wasn’t really big enough for two. Wonwoo’s shoulder ended up pressed against Mingyu’s. Mingyu’s leg rested on top of Wonwoo’s. Siwoo turned off the flashlight and rolled over, giving them his back.

"Maybe we’d fit better on our sides?" Wonwoo whispered.

He tried turning to the left, and Mingyu did the same to the right. Wonwoo’s knee ended up under Mingyu’s, then on top, then shifted again when Mingyu adjusted his leg once more. It was awkward, a little ridiculous, but sharing that warmth through the fabric of their sweatpants made the cold easier to bear.

They laughed softly, trying not to wake Siwoo, who was probably already asleep. Or maybe not—but either way, they’d always been discreet.

"I’m actually not sleepy," Wonwoo admitted quietly. "The tequila woke me up." He didn’t feel dizzy at all. He’d only had four or five shots—he hadn’t even been counting.

"Me neither," Mingyu replied. "I slept in today. A couple of morning classes got canceled."

Wonwoo nodded. They were really close. Their legs were still tangled, their breaths almost meeting. Not close enough to actually touch, but close enough to clearly feel each other’s warmth—the kind of warmth that made Wonwoo’s heart beat a little faster than normal.

"Hey…" Mingyu started in a whisper, hesitating for a few seconds before continuing. He stared up at the ceiling, as if weighing whether it was okay to ask, but Wonwoo was his friend, and it didn’t feel wrong to be honest. "Have you really never kissed a guy?" Wonwoo slowly shook his head, almost shyly. "Are you completely straight?" Mingyu asked next, a small smile forming—more curious than teasing.

Wonwoo shook his head again. This time he took longer to answer, as if organizing his thoughts took extra effort. "Actually, no… quite the opposite, I mean… I’m sure I don’t like women."

Mingyu’s eyes widened at that. It wasn’t rejection or discomfort—just pure surprise. He shifted a little closer to Wonwoo, resting his head more comfortably on the pillow.

"Ah… I didn’t know," he admitted. "I thought that… well, now it makes sense why you never, ever kiss anyone at parties. Even when a bunch of girls ask you to dance or try to steal a kiss from you…" He let out a small laugh. "Wow… I get it now, Won." He went quiet for a few seconds before continuing, like he needed to take a breath. "Actually… I’m not completely straight either." Wonwoo held his breath without realizing it. "I’m bisexual," Mingyu confessed. "But… I’ve never really had the courage to be in a serious relationship with a man." He sighed softly, as if those words had been stuck in his chest for a long time.

For a brief moment, Wonwoo’s heart filled with a dangerous kind of hope. If Mingyu was bisexual, then there was a chance he might like him, right? The thought made his stomach flip. Still, he didn’t want to get his hopes up—he knew that cruel trick of the mind too well. He sighed too.

"It’s hard…" he said. "I get it." Those two words carried everything with them: the country they lived in, the lack of rights, the constant fear, normalized homophobia, the looks, the forced silences.

"Wonwoo…" Mingyu said after a moment. "And about the other question… you drank when Siwoo asked if you’d ever fallen in love with a friend. Who’s the lucky guy?"

Wonwoo let out a small, nervous laugh. "I can’t tell you who it is…" Because it’s you, he thought.

"Ah, come on, tell me," Mingyu insisted. "Do I know him?" By then, they shared the same circle of friends. Jihoon and Seungcheol had been Mingyu’s friends, while Seokmin, Soonyoung, and Hansol were Wonwoo’s. Over time, everyone had blended into one inseparable group. It made sense for Mingyu to assume the guy Wonwoo liked was one of them.

Wonwoo slowly shook his head. "I don’t know…" Even though, in his mind, the answer was very different: you know him better than anyone.

Mingyu chuckled softly. "What if we make a deal?" he suddenly suggested.

"What kind of deal?" Wonwoo asked, attentive, his voice barely audible.

The space between them felt smaller and smaller. The warmth they shared under the blankets was comforting, and their breathing slowly started to sync.

"I give you your first kiss with a guy…" Mingyu said, turning a little more toward him. "And you tell me who you like." He smiled as he said it, like it was something simple, almost a game. But Wonwoo’s heart started pounding hard.

What was the worst that could happen? Mingyu was suggesting a kiss. He was giving clear consent. And Wonwoo could lie… or he could tell the truth. If he told the truth and things went wrong, Mingyu would reject him, they’d stop being friends, and his heart would shatter. But maybe that was better than this—loving him in silence, watching him kiss other people, pretending it didn’t hurt. At least if they stopped being friends, they’d drift apart. Wonwoo wouldn’t have to see him every day anymore.

"Okay," he answered in the softest whisper he could manage. Mingyu heard him perfectly.

Mingyu leaned in first. His movements were awkward at first, like he didn’t want to scare him. He lifted his hand and gently placed it on the back of Wonwoo’s neck. His fingers were warm. Then he closed the distance and kissed him. It was a calm, patient kiss. Soft. Almost tentative.

Wonwoo melted instantly. His whole body reacted to the contact, like it had been waiting for this moment without even knowing it. The kiss lasted longer than a typical first kiss, but it stayed slow, delicate, filled with an unexpected tenderness.

Wonwoo was the first to pull away, his heart racing. He was afraid he was doing it wrong. Afraid of getting too lost in Mingyu’s lips.

Mingyu let out a low laugh. "Alright…" he said before sighing. "You kiss really well, Wonwoo. You must have had a lot of practice." Then he looked at him carefully. "So… who’s the friend you fell in love with?"

"You," Wonwoo said, without warning, without giving himself time to regret it.

Mingyu didn’t say anything. He simply leaned in and kissed him again. This time it was different—more certain, more grounded. Still unhurried, still gentle, but carrying a quiet confidence that made Wonwoo’s breath catch. Mingyu lingered there, letting the moment stretch, his lips moving slowly against Wonwoo’s as if he had nowhere else he needed to be. He got closer until there was no space left between them, until Wonwoo could feel his warmth, the steady reassurance of his presence. For Wonwoo, it felt perfect—safe, familiar, and overwhelming in the best possible way, like everything had finally fallen into place.

And from then on, things changed. Every time they saw each other, they kissed. Mingyu stopped playing spin the bottle with his girl friends at parties. There were no more random kisses. What they had was exclusive, even if they never said it out loud.

The months went by, and their relationship only grew stronger. They were practically living in their own little world. Wonwoo spent so much time in Mingyu’s room that he’d basically become his roommate. Siwoo barely showed up anymore, and everything seemed fine.

Until, before spring break, they finally talked about it.

“So…” Mingyu started one night. “You and me… we’re in a relationship, right?”

“I… I think so,” Wonwoo said, his voice low but steady. “I mean… I only spend time with you, I only kiss you… I was already in love with you before and—”

Mingyu didn’t let him finish. He interrupted him with a kiss, like he always did when Wonwoo said things like that. Like he didn’t want him to keep talking because words weren’t necessary anymore. God… Wonwoo said it freely now, without hesitation: he was in love with him, and with no one else. And Mingyu always answered the same way—with his lips, with his body, with that way he had of silencing him without ever invalidating him.

Mingyu finally pulled back, just a few centimeters, enough to look him in the eyes. He stopped kissing him. His boyfriend. Officially. “Alright, then…” he said, taking a deep breath. “Do you think we should tell our friends? We can do it separately if you want… or would you rather we tell them together?”

Wonwoo thought about it for a few seconds. The idea made him nervous, but it also filled him with a strange sense of excitement. “Together would be better,” he said. “Maybe at the next party… we could pull them aside a bit and tell them.” They were always all together anyway. It didn’t seem impossible.

But that same week, something happened. Something that showed them, all at once, that most of the students on campus were living in a very uncomfortable closet… or were outright homophobic.

Photos and videos leaked of guys from the dance program. Private parties where they kissed, touched each other, laughed without fear. For them, it was normal. For the rest of the campus, it wasn’t.

The scandal was immediate. And the worst part wasn’t what strangers said, but what came out of the mouths of people close to them. Friends.

“How can you do that with a man?”

“My dad always told me that was unnatural, so…”

“What did we expect from someone who majors in dance? Those guys scream faggot just by existing.”

Wonwoo listened to those comments with a knot in his throat. Mingyu pressed his lips together, holding back things he didn’t say. And just like that, without even needing to talk about it too much, their plan to come out completely fell apart.

They never considered breaking up. That was never on the table. Because they were happy together. They were good. They had a stable relationship, mutual support that held them up even when the world seemed like it wasn’t made for them. So they made another decision: they would pass what they had off as a friendship. A very close friendship. And they would keep their relationship a secret.

With time, even that became easier than they expected. When they announced there would be a dorm reassignment, Mingyu was the first to react.

“I can’t be away from you, Won…” he complained, pouting so hard he almost looked sulky. “So… we should rent a place just for the two of us. Look—one of my classmates told me they’re hiring two part-timers at this convenience store. We should go. With what we earn, we can rent our own place.”

Wonwoo agreed. And they did it. They started working at that store, almost always in the afternoons. Sometimes they worked extra hours until midnight. They’d get home tired, smelling like cheap coffee and fried food—but together. Always together.

And no one questioned it. Maybe because everyone had seen Mingyu in his playboy phase, kissing any girl at parties. Maybe because they knew they worked together and were roommates. Maybe because no one ever thought or imagined anything else.

They graduated. They started working. From the outside, everything still looked normal. They got a bigger place, just for the two of them. And once again, they had the perfect excuses.

“That’s how we save more,” they’d say. “You know how awful salaries are right after you graduate. Sharing an apartment helps, especially if it’s someone you trust.” No one ever questioned it.

Meanwhile, they grew. Wonwoo supported Mingyu in everything. The apartment filled up with sketches, drawings, ideas taped to the walls. Mingyu created; Wonwoo gave feedback, corrected things, made suggestions. They were a team. They were home.

There was no way they were ever going to separate. Until the studio where Mingyu worked was bought by a company from the United States.

Even then, Wonwoo felt proud. Happy to see him move forward, to see him stand out. Mingyu had always been talented, creative, different. And now someone else was seeing it too.

“They’re offering me a chance to move to the US…” Mingyu told him one night. “I’d work there. They say it’d be on a trial basis, you know… then I’d come back, but…” He swallowed. “I don’t want to leave you. I don’t want to go without you.”

And it was complicated. Wonwoo had a stable, steady job in Korea. The pay Mingyu was being offered was better than what he had there, yes—but not enough to support both of them while Wonwoo looked for something in the US.

Wonwoo raised his hand and gently cupped Mingyu’s cheek. “Distance won’t make me stop loving you,” he said. And it wasn’t just a pretty line said for comfort. It was a promise. One he was willing to keep.

“I’ll think about it, but… I don’t know, it’s hard if you’re not by my side,” Gyu admitted, making a tired face, like just imagining it already weighed on his chest. Wonwoo looked at him in silence, then nodded slowly, understanding all too well what that meant.

“But we’ll always stay in touch, okay?” Wonwoo said, trying to sound more confident than he actually felt.

And Mingyu accepted the offer. Not because he wasn’t scared, but because he also wanted to grow, to test himself, to prove he could do it. A couple of weeks later, he had to leave.

Getting mentally ready was the hardest part. It wasn’t just packing clothes or documents; it was accepting that he wouldn’t wake up next to Wonwoo anymore, that he wouldn’t hear his voice in the kitchen in the mornings, that he’d come home to an empty place after work. It was accepting that they wouldn’t be able to talk all the time like before, that the time difference would turn their calls into something planned, measured, stolen from sleep.

Still, everything seemed fine at first. The trip was long and exhausting, but he arrived on the other side of the world without any issues. During his first week in California, he settled quickly into the small apartment the company helped him rent: a simple place, basic furniture, white walls, and a silence that at first felt bearable. He focused on work, on getting to know the city, on meeting the expectations they’d placed on him.

Everything was fine… until he’d been away from Wonwoo for a month. That Friday afternoon, Wonwoo got an email. It wasn’t long. No embellishments, no beating around the bush. But it was enough to completely destroy him.

Mingyu didn’t tell me he had a husband, but I found out, and all I can say now is that he cheated on you—and on me too. I’m so sorry to tell you like this, but it’s the truth… He came here saying he was single, and that’s why what happened, happened.

Wonwoo felt his heart hit the floor. With shaking hands, he opened the attachments. Photos. Videos. Mingyu in a club—colored lights, music that seemed to scream even through the screen. He was dancing with a blonde girl, looking more handsome than ever, wearing that smile Wonwoo knew so well. Her body was dangerously close to his. Too close.

There were more images. Photos taken from far away, clearly zoomed in, pixelated, blurry… but clear enough to make it look like Gyu was kissing her.

Wonwoo cried. He cried like he hadn’t in years. It felt like his soul had been ripped out of his body, like everything he’d built for so long had fallen apart in seconds. He had trusted Mingyu. He had loved him for five years. They’d grown together, planned a life together. They were about to reach their sixth anniversary when everything shattered.

It was early morning in California when he called Mingyu. Crying, his voice broken, desperate to let out all his rage and pain.

“Mingyu, Mingyu, why did you do this to me? Mingyu…” he sobbed, completely unable to control himself.

“Wonwoo, no—” Gyu had just woken up, disoriented, his heart racing. He didn’t understand anything. All he could hear was Wonwoo crying on the other end of the line, repeating his name, asking him why.

“That’s not fair, Mingyu,” Wonwoo went on. “I wanted you to go so you could be happy, so you could grow… not so you’d forget about me with the first woman who crossed your path. But it’s my fault too, because you are bisexual and I…” He wouldn’t stop talking. He was hurt, devastated. The images were still burned into his mind, the memory of Gyu kissing that woman digging into him like a knife.

“I don’t want to know anything else about you…”

“Wonwoo, no, wait, it didn’t even—”

“I don’t care, Mingyu. I don’t ever want to see you again in my life, I don’t want to hear about you ever again. I don’t love you.” He hung up. And it took Wonwoo a long time to recover.

“But that never happened,” Mingyu said now, pulling them back to the present. They were sitting across from each other at Nari’s dining table. “I never cheated on you, Wonwoo…” He sighed, exhausted.

The truth was different. When Mingyu arrived in California for work, that woman was already there. From the very beginning, she became obsessed with him. Like a good husband, Gyu made it clear he was married. He told everyone about Wonwoo, without shame or fear. In the United States, people were more open; seeing men in relationships was common, and same-sex marriage was legal. His coworkers understood. She didn’t.

Nicole worked in the office, in the social media department. She wasn’t an animator or an illustrator, but she was always there, always nearby. She started flirting with Mingyu shamelessly, and he rejected her over and over again, repeating that he had a husband.

But she planned everything. On that night out they organized, she didn’t just slip something into Mingyu’s drink—she also became more pushy. She asked him to dance, and trying not to cause a scene in front of everyone, Mingyu agreed. After that, she didn’t leave his side all night. She tried to kiss him several times. Gyu managed to dodge her almost every time, even though he didn’t feel right—more drunk, more dizzy, without having actually drunk that much. Almost every time, he avoided her… except once.

And unfortunately for him, everything had been coldly calculated. Nicole had already looked up everything about Wonwoo: his phone number, his email, even his social media. She had friends at the club, ready to record at exactly the right moment.

That pixelated video didn’t even show a real kiss. It was just another attempt by Nicole to steal one from Mingyu, but he didn’t kiss her back. Later, when Gyu told his coworkers that Wonwoo had broken up with him, one of Nicole’s friends felt guilty and confessed everything. He sent Mingyu the full videos—the ones they’d shared in a group chat she had created exclusively to send “proof” to Wonwoo.

The full versions showed the truth: Mingyu rejecting her, pulling away, clearly uncomfortable. He kept them. Because he never lost hope that one day he’d be able to explain to Wonwoo what had really happened.

Now, Wonwoo was watching those videos. All the proof that Mingyu had never been unfaithful. That they had broken up in the most unfair way possible. Wonwoo was shocked. Hurt. Confused.

And, above all, aware of something that had never changed: he had never stopped loving Mingyu. Not even when he saw those photos. Not even when he kept telling himself he’d been cheated on.

Maybe, deep down, he had always known it was a lie. But he let him go because missing him, loving him that much and not having him close, hurt more than believing that Mingyu had broken his heart.

݁˖𓂃☘︎˖.

When Nari came back home, after a walk that had lasted about an hour—a walk without any real destination, more to clear her head than out of genuine interest in where she was going—only Wonwoo was there. The silence greeted her first, a silence that wasn’t normal when both of them were home. He was sitting on the living room couch, slightly hunched over, elbows resting on his knees, hands loosely clasped together. The moment she walked in, she saw him.

He looked… sad. Nari had seen him cry before, yes, on rare occasions—small arguments, bad days that could be fixed with a conversation and a bit of time. But not like this. Not this way. This time he looked devastated, like something inside him had shattered and he no longer knew how to hold himself together. Worry tightened her chest immediately. His eyes were red and swollen, and tears kept falling, without him doing much to stop them, as if he no longer cared about hiding them.

“Wonwoo…” she said softly, carefully, almost afraid her voice might break him even more.

He lifted his head when he heard her, his expression tired, lost.

“You didn’t fix anything, did you?”

She sat down beside him slowly, leaving a small, cautious space between them before closing it. She ran her hand over Wonwoo’s back, an awkward but sincere gesture, trying to comfort him. The truth was, this was the first time she had ever done something like this for him. Normally, Wonwoo was the stoic one, the strong one—the one who listened and held her together when she fell apart, the one who found calm words when she didn’t know what to say. But this… this was different.

“Why didn’t you ever tell me you’re bisexual?” she asked calmly, without harshness. It wasn’t a reproach or an accusation; it was a genuine question, born from confusion and a real desire to understand him.

Wonwoo wiped his tears with the back of his hand, leaving his already irritated skin feeling rough. He sighed shakily.

“Because…” His throat sounded tight, raw; he had to clear it a couple of times before trying again. “Because I’m not bisexual, Nari.” He said it with a trembling voice, almost a whisper, and Nari froze, increasingly surprised as she processed his words.

“Then…” she started slowly. “Why did you have a relationship with Mingyu?” she asked directly. There was no hardness in her tone, only the need to understand, to find some kind of logic that would allow her to help him.

“Because…” Wonwoo opened his mouth, but the words wouldn’t come out. He couldn’t say it. Saying it meant admitting that everything they had lived through over those five years had been a lie, a façade he himself had carefully built, held together by silence and half-truths. He swallowed and sighed. “I can’t…” he murmured at last, defeated. “I can’t say it.”

“Hey… it’s okay, Wonwoo,” she said right away, leaning slightly toward him. “You don’t… you don’t have to let it all out at once. I just… I don’t want you to be sad. And I really wanted you to fix things with Mingyu. I felt a strange tension between you two that night; you barely talked… and you never do that when we’re with your friends, because I know you trust them.” She paused briefly before continuing. “So I tried to look into it. Soonyoung told me you were best friends, so… I wanted to help.”

She told him everything honestly, without embellishing anything, and Wonwoo could only nod slowly, without the strength to say anything else.

And once again, Wonwoo was grateful that she was like this: calm, careful, respectful even in the middle of confusion. Maybe inviting Mingyu to her house had been impulsive—something Nari had never really done before—but Wonwoo assumed she had done it for him, thinking it might fix something he himself didn’t dare to touch. Ah… and Wonwoo loved her. He did. But not in the same way he loved Mingyu.

Nari and Wonwoo had met at the office, six months after Mingyu broke Wonwoo’s heart. By then, he felt a little better—or at least that’s what he told himself. She had started working in the company’s HR department, and they ran into each other in meetings, at lunch, at internal activities that forced them to interact, even if only superficially.

A coworker officially introduced them, assuring Wonwoo that she liked him. Nari was very shy at first, and so was Wonwoo, so it was hard to hold long conversations or spend too much time together without silence getting in the way. But later, at an office outing, there was alcohol involved, and she gained some courage thanks to a good number of beers.

Nari asked Wonwoo out, and he said yes. He said yes because he felt a bit of social pressure, because their coworkers were watching them from afar, hoping it would turn into something. So they started dating. And Wonwoo thought she was a great friend—even when they kissed, even when they had sex.

Wonwoo liked Nari’s company. She quit her job some time later because she found something better, but they stayed together. He had gotten used to living in the moment with her, because he felt like he didn’t really have another option. Still, if he was honest with himself, he never pictured a future by her side. He never imagined having kids with her, or getting married, or even living together.

He told himself he just needed his space, maybe even a break from what they had. That was why he avoided talking about moving in together or taking the next step—and when he did bring it up, it was only because of outside pressure: because his mother asked, because his mother-in-law hinted at it, because his friends’ wives talked about it like it was natural, inevitable.

But it never came from him. And that was strange, because whether he wanted to or not, he compared everything to Mingyu… Mingyu, whom he hadn’t hesitated for even a second to move in with; Mingyu, who had been the container for all the romantic love Wonwoo had ever been capable of feeling. It was a subject that scared him, something he preferred to hide and bury as deep as possible.

After he became Nari’s boyfriend, it seemed like everyone had different expectations of him. Everyone thought he was finally on the right path, that he was doing what he was supposed to do. Everyone wanted to see him in a future with her, and no one really understood him, no one truly listened. Everything boiled down to advice on how to maintain his relationship, to plans he “should” be making with her, to a future other people had already decided for him.

So Wonwoo had to hide his true self all that time: the man who loved another man, the man who missed Mingyu, who longed to see him again, even from afar. Bottling all of that up only made it worse. It led him to develop a love-hate relationship with the idea of Mingyu, sometimes bordering on intense aversion—though he didn’t even know if that rejection was toward Gyu… or toward himself, for not having been able to purge all of it from his system.

He thought about going to therapy. He seriously considered getting professional help, sitting in front of someone who didn’t know him and finally letting out everything he’d been carrying in his chest for years. He imagined it many times: walking into an office, closing the door, and stopping the act. But… if he said he was seeing a therapist, everyone would worry. His mother would ask uncomfortable questions, his friends would try to “cheer him up,” Nari would want to know what was wrong and why he hadn’t told her before. And then he’d have to explain too much, lie again, or tell half-truths. So he went back to what he knew best: pretending everything was fine, that he was happy with what he had, that his life was in order. Even though it really wasn’t.

And the idea of Mingyu coming back to Korea hit him hard. It wasn’t a pleasant surprise or a spark of hope; it was a blunt blow to the stomach, news that stirred up everything he thought he’d buried—badly. That night, he cried at home like he hadn’t in years. He had an anxiety attack; his chest hurt, he couldn’t get enough air, his heart was racing like it wanted to burst out of him. He got tachycardia and did his best to control it, leaning against the wall, breathing awkwardly, counting seconds, trying not to completely panic.

But he had carried his lie for almost five years. Five years of pretending, acting, holding together a version of himself that others accepted without question. He had pretended long enough for everyone to believe everything was fine. Breaking that façade, killing the illusion he himself had built, felt worse than continuing to suffer in silence. He felt like if he tore it down, there would be nothing left of him standing.

That was why he chose to go to the gathering to welcome Mingyu back. And it felt awful. He loved him. He loved him just as much as before—maybe even more—because love that’s repressed doesn’t disappear, it only grows stronger. He was as beautiful as ever. Gyu was even more attractive than Wonwoo remembered, as if time had been kind to him. Wonwoo was grateful for the alcohol, which dulled him and, at times, made him less sensitive. If he hadn’t been drinking, he knew he would’ve spent the entire night crying, falling apart in front of everyone.

He held it together. He smiled when he had to, spoke when necessary, pretended everything was normal—even when they ran into each other in the restroom, even when he heard Mingyu’s words and everything felt normal. But inside, he was a mess. A complete mess. A knot of emotions, a chaos that wanted to burst out violently, like vomiting words, feelings, confessions he’d been holding in for far too long.

Still, his body responded. It did what it was supposed to do. He left the restroom before Gyu could keep talking, before he got too close, before his muscle memory kicked in and made him kiss him or hug him like he’d wanted to for so, so long. He walked away because he knew that if he stayed one more second, he wouldn’t be able to control himself.

And when Nari brought them together at her house, it was a little worse. Much worse, actually. There was no alcohol filter to help him, no background noise, no people watching. No social pressure forcing him to behave. They were alone—just the two of them—and that made everything harder. Talking about all those things. Looking each other in the eye. Remembering.

He had gotten it out of his system, at least partly. He had forgiven Mingyu, yes… but he had also rejected him in some way, and that hurt almost as much as losing him the first time.

"No, Mingyu… we can’t just go back like nothing happened. I… I’m with Nari, and I can’t just leave her like that, especially when she’s doing this for me," he said, refusing—not just Mingyu, but the possibility of rebuilding a relationship that had once been so precious to both of them.

"But she’s in love with an illusion. She doesn’t actually know who you are, and—" Mingyu shot back, and it was true. It hurt to admit it, but it was true. Still, Mingyu didn’t have the right to just show up and turn Wonwoo’s life upside down like that, as if nothing else mattered.

"Even so, it’s hard for me. You have to understand that… I love you in a different way, but maybe this is not right at all." Wonwoo shook his head, unable to meet his eyes. Gyu, on the other hand, looked furious—frustrated and hurt.

"Wonwoo… Wonwoo, you need to let go of that way of thinking. You need to free yourself. I want us to be together and to be able to say it openly. I don’t want to hide with you… or with anyone. Do this for me."

And Wonwoo could do it for Mingyu. He could do it for himself too—he knew that. But Mingyu was asking for too much. Wonwoo didn’t feel ready. Not yet. Everything was happening too fast, after so many years of silence.

"I can’t promise you anything, Mingyu. I need time and space to think. I’d really appreciate it if you left…" he said, his voice shaking. He couldn’t stay firm after saying so much without filters. He felt exposed, vulnerable, almost emotionally naked.

And it felt like Gyu wasn’t meeting him halfway. He was only demanding, only wanting to take and take, to cling to Wonwoo without weighing the consequences. Yes, he had explained how everything had been a huge misunderstanding. He had apologized for not being able to come back sooner to clear things up. He had said he was still hopelessly in love with him and had no intention of letting him go.

But he wasn’t considering where Wonwoo’s life stood right now. He wasn’t thinking about how selfish, impulsive decisions—made without considering others—would affect more than one person. Especially Nari, who had invested so much in the relationship, who had been patient, understanding, careful with Wonwoo. She didn’t deserve for him to just walk away because the love of his life had come back and, suddenly, the misunderstanding that had shattered his heart had been cleared up.

"I think I need a bit of time, Nari. I need to… think and calm down. I need to be alone," Wonwoo told her, his voice trembling, barely more than a weak whisper.

Nari nodded without reproach. "That’s okay, Wonwoo. Take your time… I’ll be here if you need help, all right?" Her voice was soft and calm, offering that steady understanding Wonu had always received from her.

"Okay, thank you, Nari… and I’m sorry about the mess," Wonwoo replied. The mess is me, he thought. With that idea circling in his head, he drove back home—careful behind the wheel, gripping it tightly, trying not to cry anymore so the tears wouldn’t blur his vision.

݁˖𓂃☘︎˖.

Nari had to go check on Wonwoo at his apartment the following week. At first, she didn’t see it as something alarming. He hadn’t answered her calls or messages, but for a moment, she understood. She thought maybe he really was taking the time and space he had asked for from the beginning—that he needed silence, solitude, distance to sort out his thoughts. She tried to respect that, even though the uneasiness never fully left her.

What truly set off her alarm bells was the call from Wonwoo’s workplace. She was listed as his emergency contact, so they didn’t hesitate to call her. They asked about him in a professional but clearly concerned tone: Wonwoo hadn’t shown up to work all week, and no one had been able to get in touch with him. That didn’t sound like “I need time.” That sounded like something was wrong.

As soon as her shift ended, she stopped by a convenience store almost on autopilot. She walked straight to the fridge and grabbed a Monster, remembering that Wonwoo liked them, that he always had one in the fridge or sitting on his desk. It was a small, almost automatic gesture, but it gave her something to hold onto as the nervousness tightened in her chest. Then she hurried to his apartment, driving faster than usual, scattered thoughts racing through her mind.

She didn’t bother knocking. She’d had a copy of the key for a long time—something that had once felt like progress in their relationship, a sign of trust. She used it to go in and was met with absolute silence, a thick, heavy quiet that didn’t feel natural. At first glance everything looked fine—nothing broken, nothing obviously out of place—but she noticed dust here and there, dirty dishes, clothes that hadn’t been put away. Small details, but unusual for Wonwoo, who was usually neat and meticulous.

"Wonwoo?" she called from the doorway, moving carefully into the living room. No answer. The silence answered back, making her grip the convenience store bag a little tighter. "Wonwoo?"

She walked toward the bedroom and stopped in front of the closed door. "Wonwoo?" she called again, knocking softly, unsure of what to expect.

This time, she heard something from inside. "Yeah? Nari?" he replied. His voice sounded strange—rough, heavy, like he’d just woken up after sleeping too much, or not sleeping at all.

She opened the door almost without thinking, driven more by worry than by respect for his space. And there was Wonwoo. Paler than ever. His skin looked dull, sickly. His lips were dry and swollen, as if he’d been biting them for hours, maybe unconsciously. His eyes were red and puffy, marked by entire nights of crying. His hair fell messily over his forehead, and his posture was hunched, defeated.

"God… Wonwoo, are you okay?" she asked when she saw him like that, her voice barely a thread.

Wonwoo shook his head immediately, not even trying to pretend. "Nari, I don’t know what to do," he said, and before he could say anything else, he broke. Tears started falling again, even though he thought he had none left.

The room was dark. No light had come in for days. The curtains were still closed, the window shut tight, as if Wonwoo had tried to completely shut the world out. The air was stale, and it was obvious he hadn’t showered in days, that he’d barely had the strength to get out of bed.

"Wonwoo, it’s okay… calm down," Nari said softly. She stepped a little closer, but not all the way, careful not to invade his space, giving him the room she sensed he needed. "I’m sure that whatever is going on… it can be worked out." She said it with conviction, with that steady, calm tone she used when she wanted to offer reassurance. But he shook his head again, more desperately this time.

"Nari, I… I’m not who you think I am…" Wonwoo swallowed hard. Tears streamed down his face uncontrollably. "Nari, I don’t even like women…"

She froze. Didn’t take another step. Didn’t say anything right away. The words took a moment to sink in, but they didn’t hit her like a completely unexpected revelation. Maybe she had already suspected it. The truth was… God, throughout her entire relationship with Wonwoo, she had never felt that intense spark everyone talked about when you found the person you’d love deeply. With him there was affection, stability, respect… but something always felt incomplete.

Wonwoo tended to drift off sometimes. Not with words—he didn’t lapse into awkward silences—but she felt his attention went elsewhere, like his mind was far away. As if he disconnected at times, as if he dissociated. She noticed it many times: during quiet dinners, everyday conversations, even in intimate moments. But she never said anything about it because… maybe she, too, had expectations to live up to. Maybe she, too, had been pretending a little.

In the end, Wonwoo’s company was good. Sometimes cold, yes—distant—but many other times warm and comforting. Wonwoo was a gentleman: attentive, polite, and there were so many women who envied her. Her coworkers, her friends, even her family—her cousins, her aunts—kept telling her over and over that she had landed the perfect guy: Wonwoo, so handsome, so calm, so devoted to his work.

And she felt lucky too. Or at least, that’s what she told herself. But at the same time, she felt there was a void in their relationship, an empty space she didn’t know how to fill. She wasn’t very proactive about looking for answers either. Maybe, over time, she had become complacent, and just to keep Wonwoo by her side, she let things keep flowing, hoping that one day that emptiness would simply fill itself.

But now, hearing that Wonwoo didn’t like women at all… on one hand, it felt like the missing piece she needed to solve the mystery he had always been. Everything suddenly made sense: the absences, the emotional distance at certain moments, that constant feeling that something was always just slightly off. But on the other hand, fear showed up almost immediately. Fear of losing everything. Fear of looking back and wondering if those five years had been a waste, if it would hurt too much to accept that she had loved someone who could never love her in the same way.

"Uh… I mean… so you only like men?" Nari asked cautiously. She knew it sounded awkward, even obvious, but she needed to hear it clearly. She needed to know where she was standing, what truth she was dealing with.

"Yes… I only like men, Nari…" Wonwoo replied, his voice breaking. "All the time we were together, I had to pretend…"

The sob that tore out of his chest was so raw it hurt Nari just to hear it. Her heart clenched. More than feeling betrayed, she felt deeply sad for him. Imagining someone living for so many years hiding something so essential… Maybe Nari was too empathetic, because in that moment she felt worse for Wonwoo—for having to pretend for so long that he no longer even knew who he really was—than for herself, who had half-believed that lie.

"I’m sorry… I…" Wonwoo shook his head, struggling to breathe. "There’s no excuse, no pretty words for this. And no… don’t think I was ever unfaithful to you with a man. Never. I just… I’ve only ever loved one man in my entire life, and… that’s it. But there was a misunderstanding, it broke my heart, and when I was still trying to put myself back together… you came along. It was nice. I always thought you’d be a great friend, and I know things moved forward even though… God, no, it’s horrible to say it… I just… I’m sorry, Nari. I’m so sorry… please forgive me," he begged through tears, completely undone.

Nari had never seen him like this. So vulnerable, so broken, so far from the steady, contained Wonwoo she had always known. It was the first time he had been this honest with her, and Nari believed him. Completely. And more than anything, she wanted to help him.

Maybe what they had was never meant to be a romantic relationship. Maybe it had always been a friendship in disguise, mutual companionship during lonely moments. And that didn’t make it useless or fake. She could still support him, because he had also been a great support to her during those five years.

"Okay…" she finally said, discreetly wiping away a tear. "Look, you don’t have to apologize. Don’t worry about me. I hate seeing you sad, Wonwoo, and… I’d much rather see you happy. See you being yourself, not that man with a mask I fell in love with. I know…" She paused briefly. "No, really, don’t worry about that. Think about yourself." She looked at him with a mix of sadness and tenderness. "I think I suspected something for a while, but… everyone loved you. My friends, my family, my parents…" She sighed. "For me, it was easier to keep that lie going too. But I think it’s time to put an end to all of that."

Wonwoo was deeply grateful that Nari was so mature, so grounded. In the middle of his internal chaos, she became his compass, the only fixed point when everything else seemed to be falling apart. He needed to recover, he needed to truly start healing. And Nari, true to her word, helped him find a psychologist. She was an old school acquaintance of hers—professional, discreet.

Of course, Nari wouldn’t know anything about what they talked about. Even so, at first Wonwoo struggled to open up. In the first session, he sat stiffly, hands clasped together, feeling like every word weighed too much.

"What brings you here, Wonwoo?" the therapist asked in a calm voice.

He hesitated. "I’m… tired," he replied after a long silence. "Tired of not being myself, of feeling empty."

He didn’t talk about his sexual orientation specifically in that session. Nor in the second. Mostly, he talked about Mingyu.

"He was the great love of my life," he confessed in another session, staring at the floor. "With him… everything felt real."

"And how did you feel when that relationship ended?" she asked.

"Like something was ripped out of my chest," he answered without hesitation. "Like I was the one who was wrong for feeling so much."

In another session, his voice cracked. "Now he’s back… and I don’t know what to do. Part of me wants to run straight to him, and another part of me is terrified."

"What scares you the most?" the therapist asked gently.

Wonwoo took a while to answer. "Being myself," he finally admitted. "And losing everything because of it."

Little by little, session after session, the knots in his mind began to loosen. His emotions stopped feeling so tangled, so violent. He started to understand himself, to recognize who he was. To accept things he had been denying for years.

It wasn’t until several weeks later that he finally said it out loud.

"I’m gay."

And nothing happened. The world didn’t end. The therapist didn’t judge him. She simply nodded and smiled calmly.

"Thank you for trusting me with something so important."

Something shifted inside him. It was time to stop pretending. He still had time. That identity crisis, that fracture caused by years of lies, had to end. And he wasn’t alone. He researched, he read, and he came to understand that many gay men in South Korea lived double lives—married, with children, cheating on their wives just to keep up appearances.

That terrified him. Maybe it really was hard to be openly gay in South Korea. But if he had a support system, if he took care of himself, if he learned to be braver… maybe things could get better. After the first month of therapy, Wonwoo felt a little less weight on his shoulders. He wasn’t okay yet, but he was better.

Still, there was something unresolved: Mingyu. What if Mingyu had already gone back to the United States after being rejected? What if he already had someone else? Wonwoo didn’t know. He also didn’t know if it was too soon to reach out again.

Maybe first he had to heal for himself, not for Mingyu. He had to make himself a priority. Because only then could the love he might have with Gyu—or with anyone in the future—be real, honest, and free. A love that would no longer have to hide out of fear of what others might think.

݁˖𓂃☘︎˖.

After six steady months in therapy—of uncomfortable conversations, long silences, and half-truths that slowly turned into whole ones—Wonwoo finally gathered the courage to take the next step: coming out to his friends. It wasn’t an impulsive decision. He thought about it for weeks, rehearsed what he would say in his head, imagined a thousand different scenarios, from outright rejection to awkward indifference. Even so, he knew he couldn’t keep hiding.

He also knew he wasn’t alone. Nari supported him unconditionally; she had become a fundamental pillar in his support system. She was the first person who truly reached out to him without judging, without demanding impossible explanations, without asking him to be anything other than who he was. Her steady presence gave him reassurance, even when the fear crept back in.

For a while, they even kept up appearances a little. When they were invited to one of Seokmin’s kids’ birthday parties, Nari explained that they hadn’t broken up, that they were just taking some time to think things through. It was easier to say that than to face uncomfortable questions in a crowded setting. By then, Hana already sensed that their relationship was over; she knew them both too well not to notice the distance, but she didn’t say anything. She respected their space.

It was Soonyoung who suggested meeting up at their usual bar-restaurant, the place they’d been going to for years, where the tables felt familiar and the staff recognized them as soon as they walked in. Wonwoo took it as his chance. Mingyu couldn’t make it that day, which stirred mixed feelings in him: part of him felt relieved, another part wondered if it meant something. Nari had already warned him that Gyu tended to show up when his friends got together; she hadn’t seen him at Seokmin’s baby party because he’d left early, but she mentioned it anyway, just in case he appeared that night. He didn’t.

The conversation flowed between laughter, scattered anecdotes, and people talking over one another. There was a familiar chaos at the table, that kind of comfortable noise that only exists among friends who know each other too well. Wonwoo listened, smiled, drank slowly. He’d had a couple of beers—enough to feel a light warmth in his body and a faint flush on his cheeks, but not enough to lose control.

At one point, almost without realizing it, he stood up. "Are you giving a toast?" Soonyoung joked, raising his glass.

"Something like that…" Wonwoo replied with a nervous smile. He took a deep breath before continuing. "So… I have a confession to make. I… I don’t actually like women. I like men, and, well, colloquially speaking… I’m gay."

The silence was immediate. Not awkward, but heavy. For a second, no one quite knew what to say. Hana leaned toward Jiheon and whispered something in his ear, barely audible, before someone finally broke the stillness.

"Well then… congratulations," Hansol said, lifting his beer with a genuine smile. "I never really know what to say in these situations—and you’re actually the second person to tell us something like this after all this time."

"The second?" Nari asked, surprised. She had no idea, and not even Hana—who usually knew everything—had mentioned anything about it.

"Yeah…" Seungcheol replied with a shrug. "The other day Mingyu told us. Well… he didn’t say he was gay, he said he’s bisexual. He likes both men and women, so… yeah, I guess it’s kind of similar." The revelation landed casually. Everyone nodded, as if it were just another piece of information that fit into place without any issue.

"It’s fine, Wonwoo," Soonyoung said with a wide smile. "You’re our friend because you’re awesome. It doesn’t matter if you like guys or girls—that doesn’t change anything. But… hey…" he added, tilting his head mischievously. "You and Nari ended things properly before this, right?" Laughter erupted around the table. "I don’t want things to get awkward when we all adore her," Soonyoung continued, still laughing.

Wonwoo let out a genuine laugh, the kind that didn’t feel forced. For the first time in a long while, the weight in his chest felt a little lighter.

"We’re good. She’s my best friend," Wonwoo clarified in the end, with a calm smile that finally felt real.

And it was true. Nari hadn’t just supported him from the very beginning—she even went with him a few weeks later when he decided to tell his parents. He didn’t want to do it alone. He needed a familiar presence, someone who could remind him that no matter what happened, he wasn’t going to completely fall apart.

It was… intense. Way too intense. Wonwoo didn’t even like going over it in detail, because every time he did, that tight knot in his throat came back. His mother cried almost immediately. At first she cried quietly, her hands shaking, and then it turned into open sobs that broke his heart. She asked him if he’d really thought it through, if he was sure, if he couldn’t reconsider everything. If he couldn’t reconsider Nari.

And Wonwoo, his voice trembling but firm, told her again and again that yes, he’d thought about it, that he was sure, that he was okay, that Nari knew, that there was nothing to reconsider. That it wasn’t a phase, or some passing confusion.

His father, on the other hand, stayed silent. Too silent. He didn’t yell, he didn’t argue, he didn’t ask questions. He just retreated into a heavy, uncomfortable silence, one that lingered in the room even after Wonwoo left. Since then, he barely spoke to him.

Of course it made Wonwoo sad. That silence weighed on him more than he admitted out loud. But he understood it. Or at least, he tried to. His therapist had been very clear about it: everyone had their own timeline, their own process for accepting things like this. Not everyone reacted the same way or at the same pace. She warned him not to feel guilty, that carrying that guilt would only make his anxiety worse, that it wasn’t his responsibility to manage everyone else’s emotions.

Wonwoo listened. Or at least, he tried to. Despite his father’s silence and the way his mother cried every time the topic came up, he kept moving forward. Because this felt bigger than fear. He chose honesty. He didn’t want to live a double life. He didn’t want to hide again. It was time to be a little selfish, at least for the first time in his life.

He had spent far too long trying to meet other people’s expectations, giving everyone else the version of himself they wanted to see, forcing himself into molds that were never his. He had been exactly what others imagined him to be… and almost never who he really was.

So now it was his turn. His turn to be free, even if everything around him exploded like a grenade. With time, it would pass—he knew that. Or at least, that’s what he told himself so he wouldn’t falter. And Nari was always there to remind him, to hold him steady when doubt crept back in. She kept her word: she truly supported him, stayed by his side, no conditions, no reproaches.

And still, Wonwoo felt like one piece was missing. Mingyu. Damn it. More than half a year had passed since the last time he’d seen him. More than six months since that night loaded with emotions, half-spoken confessions, and hard decisions. He knew Mingyu was nearby; he could sense it through offhand comments, through names that popped up in other people’s conversations. And yet, he didn’t dare ask directly.

Should he reach out first? Should he tell him that maybe he was finally ready, that he felt a little more at peace with himself? Or should he simply wait until, inevitably, their group of friends brought them together again, as if fate itself were pushing them back to the same place? Wonwoo didn’t know. And that uncertainty—quiet but persistent—kept him company.

݁˖𓂃☘︎˖.

It was Saturday, and Wonwoo had nothing to do. That sense of suspended time felt strange to him, almost uncomfortable. The workweek had been heavy—long hours in front of the computer, meetings that dragged on far longer than necessary, and a constant pressure that had quietly settled onto his shoulders without him noticing. His friends were busy with their own families; some had left the city, others just didn’t have the energy for spontaneous plans. Nari, for her part, was out on a date with a guy from work who’d been pursuing her—something Wonwoo had known about for days and didn’t mind, but that still, inevitably, left him alone. So he had nothing to do. Or at least, that’s what he thought at first.

Because even so, Wonwoo felt like going out. He didn’t want to stay cooped up in his apartment staring at the ceiling or mindlessly scrolling through social media. He needed to get out for a bit, do something—even if it was alone—distract himself and unwind after a week where he’d given more than he felt he had. He wasn’t looking for anything extraordinary. Just a breather.

That’s when he remembered the old camera. He’d had it tucked away for years, stored in a box he almost never opened. Nari had given it to him on their second anniversary, back when they still shared a closer routine. He’d used it a lot back then, but over time—work, life—it had ended up forgotten.

He took it out carefully, like it was something fragile and loaded with memories. He checked that it still worked, wiped the lens with his T-shirt, and decided that would be his spontaneous plan for the day. He dressed lightly because it was hot outside—an airy T-shirt and comfortable pants—slung the camera around his neck, and headed out.

He started by walking through a nearby park. The sun was strong, but there was a pleasant breeze rustling the leaves in the trees. He took a few photos at random, without overthinking it: the fountain in the center with water sparkling in the light, pigeons wandering around without a care, a dog happily chasing a rock its owner threw again and again. Nothing extraordinary, but it all felt genuine, real. Wonwoo realized he’d missed that feeling—observing without rushing.

And then he saw it. A café across the street that immediately caught his eye. It wasn’t very big, but it had a particular charm. Latte Letters, the large sign read, in an elegant, simple font. Wonwoo didn’t hesitate to cross the street. The weather was perfect for an iced coffee and maybe finding a good book to go with it. Honestly, it sounded like a great idea—especially since he’d been wanting to read something new for days, something to pull him out of his own head.

He walked into the café, pushed the door open, and a little bell announced his arrival. The place smelled like freshly ground coffee and something sweet—maybe vanilla. He ordered his drink at the counter, an iced coffee without much thought, and while he waited, his gaze drifted to the bookshelf against the wall.

He scanned the titles slowly, letting his fingers trail along the spines. In the trending section, one book immediately caught his attention: Heated Rivalry. He picked it up and paused to read the synopsis, absentmindedly resting the camera against his chest.

It told the story of the hidden relationship between Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov, two rival stars of ice hockey who, after years of maintaining a public rivalry, shared an intimate and deeply emotional bond off the ice. What had begun as constant tension evolved into an emotional and physical connection that, if exposed, could put everything they’d worked for at risk. The story delved into love, denial, and the construction of identity within a fiercely competitive environment marked by homophobia.

Oh. Wonwoo raised his eyebrows slightly, surprised. Actually… that sounded good. It sounded exactly like something his therapist would recommend: a story that explored internal struggles, fear, and the issues faced by people who, for different reasons, couldn’t speak openly about their sexual orientation. The irony of it wasn’t lost on him.

Wow. That book couldn’t have been more perfect for him. Without thinking twice, he grabbed it decisively. He turned, looking for a place to sit, and then… Mingyu was right behind him.

Wonwoo almost had a heart attack. The air got stuck in his chest for a second, his hand tightened around the book, and his whole body went rigid, like he’d been caught doing something forbidden. He hadn’t seen it coming, hadn’t expected it at all, and yet there he was—so real it actually hurt a little.

"Ah… I—I wasn’t here, like, stalking you or anything, I—" Mingyu spoke fast, tripping over his own words. "I was just waiting my turn to grab a book. I’m sorry, Wonwoo… I’m sorry." He looked visibly embarrassed, cheeks slightly flushed, eyes darting around. Wonwoo, on the other hand, couldn’t help letting out a soft laugh and shaking his head, trying to ease the tension that had settled between them.

"It’s okay, don’t worry, um…" he said in a calm, genuine tone.

Just then, a voice from the counter cut in. "Order for Wonwoo!"

"Well, I’ll go get my order…" Wonwoo said, hugging the book he’d just found—the one he was already planning to read—even though his feet didn’t seem to respond right away. He stayed there for another second, as if moving would mean fully accepting that this encounter was real.

"Are you going to read here? Uh… I wanted to ask—can we talk?" Mingyu said quietly, quickly, looking straight into his eyes.

And Wonwoo thought, almost against his will, that maybe this was fate. Fate finding the simplest, most unplanned way to bring them together again after so long.

Wonwoo nodded. "Okay, let’s talk… but let me grab my order first," he replied at last.

Only then was he able to move. He walked up to the counter, where the barista greeted him with a warm smile and handed him his drink. Then Mingyu was called too, and he picked up his order as well. The two of them stood there, trays in hand.

"Look, that spot over there looks good to talk," Gyu said softly, leaning slightly to the side as he nodded toward a table at the back of the café, tucked away in a quiet corner, far from the noise of the counter and the constant flow of people coming and going.

Wonwoo followed his gaze and nodded right away. It seemed like a good place—discreet, almost intimate, as if that corner had been made specifically for conversations that needed calm and time. He walked over without saying anything else, careful not to spill anything, and set his tray down on the table. On it sat his iced coffee and the order of chocolate chip cookies he’d asked for almost on impulse, thinking something sweet might help him relax.

Mingyu arrived a few seconds later. He’d also ordered an iced coffee, but unlike Wonwoo, he’d paired it with a sandwich, which he placed in front of him before sitting down. They settled across from each other, leaving just the right amount of space between them—not too close, not too far—and for a few seconds, they simply looked at one another in silence. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was heavy, filled with memories, unasked questions, and emotions they’d both tried to tuck away for far too long.

"Wonwoo… how have you been?" Gyu asked at last, in a casual tone that tried to sound light, before lifting his cup and taking a sip of his iced coffee.

Wonwoo blinked a couple of times, as if he needed to organize his thoughts before answering. "Good… better than before," he said at first. "Well, I went to therapy. I came out." Mingyu smiled immediately at that, a genuine smile that lit up his face. "I think things have been better since then," Wonwoo continued. "Not so much pressure… some sadness, yeah, but…" He paused briefly, shrugging slightly. "Anyway, what about you? How have you been?"

Mingyu set his cup down on the table and let out a slow, thoughtful sigh. "Well… really busy," he replied. "But… I guess I’m okay too. I mean, as long as I’ve got the basics, you know… a job, food on the table, clothes, a roof over my head…" He sighed again, this time with a hint of exhaustion he didn’t try to hide. "I guess everything’s fine, although…" He looked up and fixed his gaze on Wonwoo. "Won, are you happy?"

The question caught him completely off guard. Wonwoo froze for a moment, as if he hadn’t expected something so direct. Being happy… that was at the very top of Maslow’s pyramid, right? Self-actualization. Something everyone aspired to, but few could honestly say they’d achieved.

Now it was Wonwoo who sighed, lowering his gaze slightly. "Honestly, I don’t think so…" he admitted. "I think something’s missing in my life for me to be completely happy."

He didn’t look at Mingyu as he spoke. Instead, he distracted himself by fiddling with the straw of his iced coffee, spinning it between his fingers as if the right answer might be hidden in that small gesture.

"What do you need, Won?" Gyu asked without hesitation, his voice soft and sincere.

He reached out and brushed Wonwoo’s hand lightly with his fingers, a gentle, almost shy touch, but one full of intention. It was a silent request for him to look up, to stop hiding—maybe also to be completely honest.

Wonwoo lifted his gaze and met his eyes. In that instant, he remembered the first time he’d ever seen him—that immediate feeling, that crush that had caught him off guard and now came rushing back with the same intensity. It felt like déjà vu, but at the same time like something new, something he’d never experienced quite this way before. He smiled, small at first, then a little wider.

"You," he said plainly. "I’m missing you, Mingyu." The confession came out more easily than he’d imagined. His smile widened even more afterward, as if he’d finally let go of a weight he’d been carrying for far too long.

Mingyu slowly shook his head, incredulous, but he was smiling too. "I can’t believe it, Won…" he murmured. "Seriously, what did you do to me? What did you give me that I never could…?" He stopped for a second, searching for the right words. "That I never could get over you," he continued. "That I was always in love with you. I always knew we were supposed to be together, because otherwise… I don’t know, the center of the universe just didn’t work right."

He closed his eyes and sighed, this time calmly. When he opened them again, he was still smiling, and he looked genuinely happy, as if saying all of that had brought him some peace too.

"Maybe I should be asking the same thing," Wonwoo replied softly. "Because even when I tried, even when I had a partner all that time, all I wanted—everything I longed for—was you…" He paused, his expression turning a little more serious, more thoughtful. "But… I think we should start over, don’t you?" he reasoned. "So many years have passed, and we’ve changed, so… maybe it’s better to start from zero."

He finally brought the cup to his lips and took a sip of his iced coffee. The ice had melted a bit by now, softening the bitterness and making it easier to drink.

"Alright, then…" Mingyu said with a small laugh. "I’m Kim Mingyu, an animator at K-AN. I like drawing, and I like you." He held out his hand as if it really were the first time they were meeting, smiling openly and honestly.

"I’m Jeon Wonwoo," Wonwoo replied, taking his hand. "An accountant at TSB Industries. I like numbers, and I like you."

As they shook hands, Wonwoo realized something simple but powerful: it wasn’t too late to start again, or to keep writing their love story from a new place, carrying everything they’d learned and everything they’d felt along the way.

݁˖𓂃☘︎˖.

Wonwoo and Mingyu maybe hadn’t changed as much as they once thought they would after everything they’d been through, but there were still new details to discover, small layers of each other they’d never explored before. It wasn’t an awkward or forced rediscovery; on the contrary, being together felt almost startlingly easy, as if their bodies and routines remembered before their minds did. It was like their souls recognized each other in shared silences, in long looks that needed no explanation, as if they both knew—without saying it—that they were picking up something they’d left unfinished a long time ago, something that had never truly been closed.

And it felt natural. Right. Like when a piece that’s been out of place for years finally fits without resistance. They worked a little differently now, that much was clear. They had grown, made mistakes, lived separate lives, and gathered experiences they hadn’t shared, but even so, they adapted with quiet patience, adjusting to each other and to every change without blame. They weren’t trying to be who they used to be; they were learning how to love who they were now.

One quiet afternoon, Wonwoo watched him from the couch. Mingyu was sitting in front of the computer, focused, his brow slightly furrowed as he finished up some leftover work. He was wearing a pair of simple-framed glasses he hadn’t used before, and Wonwoo couldn’t help but notice.

"Oh… you look really good in glasses. You don’t have to wear them all the time, right?" he commented casually, though his smile gave away how much he liked the sight.

Mingyu looked up from the screen and smiled softly, as if the comment had pulled him straight out of his concentration. "Yeah, I only use them when I’m on the computer. My eyes get tired sometimes," he said, shrugging. "I guess it’s damage from staring at a monitor for so long."

"Huh…" Wonwoo murmured, moving a little closer. "That’s definitely a change, but I like it. I really do… I love how you look."

There was no embarrassment or shyness in his voice. He didn’t have to hide what he felt anymore; there was no fear in admitting his love for Mingyu. Saying it, showing it, living it freely felt almost unreal—and that was exactly why it was so wonderful.

"I always loved that you wore glasses," Mingyu replied, turning slightly to look at him better. "God, I even used to add glasses to characters I drew, and my coworkers would tease me, saying it looked like I had a kink or something. But that was totally your fault."

Wonwoo couldn’t help laughing, light and genuine. "You say ‘my fault’ like it’s a bad thing," he shot back. "Just say I was your inspiration."

Wonwoo sat down beside him, close enough to lean into him, resting his shoulder against Mingyu’s just to see what was on the screen. Mingyu glanced at him from the corner of his eye, his expression soft and honest.

"It’s not that you were my inspiration," he said. "You still are. My muse. My everything."

He didn’t say it with embarrassment or exaggeration. That’s how it had always been with him, even years ago, when they shared an apartment much smaller than the separate places they had now. That intense, open way of loving had never left him.

"I forgot how cheesy you can be, God…" Wonwoo murmured, shaking his head. "But I like you like that. I love it."

He didn’t wait for a response. He leaned in and kissed him first on the cheek, then on the neck, leaving soft, almost distracted kisses before returning to his cheek again. There was no rush, no urgency—just affection.

They still didn’t live together. They hadn’t made that decision yet, hadn’t set dates or concrete plans about it. But they were free in a different way now. They went on dates, walked hand in hand wherever they went, allowed themselves gestures that once felt impossible. They met up with friends, and although at first some wives were scandalized to see them kiss or even just lace their fingers together—and some even decided their children couldn’t see them—little by little that discomfort eased. It never disappeared completely, but it became more tolerable, quieter.

Over time, it mattered less and less to the two of them. They chose to focus on what they were building together. They made new friends with other men who, like them, had decided to be free—to stop hiding, to stop living double lives the way it had been the norm in the country for so long.

"Well, we’ve got two hacks," Dongkyu told them one night, laughing over drinks. "We got married in Taiwan because it’s legal there, even if it doesn’t count here. Just to feel married. And here we’re registered as roommates—it’s the only thing the law allows." Dongkyu was Seungyoun’s partner, and they went out with them pretty regularly. Hearing him say it so casually made Mingyu fall quiet, thoughtful.

"Oh… that’s actually a good idea…" he murmured, more to himself than anyone else. From that moment on, the thought didn’t leave him.

Maybe they didn’t have to get married in Taiwan. There were other countries where same-sex marriage was legal. Maybe he could surprise Wonwoo. They could go to the United States under the excuse of a vacation, of visiting the place where Mingyu had lived and worked before. It could be something simple, intimate, just the two of them… and then, get married.

So he planned everything carefully. Just one week. Wonwoo requested his vacation without suspecting a thing, and not long after, they were flying to Los Angeles. Right there, where Mingyu used to live, where he knew the streets, the cafés, the less touristy corners. This time, he would be the guide, showing Wonwoo not just the city, but a part of his life he’d never shared like this before.

Los Angeles welcomed them with a completely clear sky and a kind of light Wonwoo had never seen before. It was wide, almost golden, wrapping around everything and exaggerating the colors, as if the city were designed to feel more alive than usual. From the very first moment, Wonwoo noticed that Mingyu walked with a soft nostalgia resting on his shoulders—not heavy or painful, but calm. There was a quiet familiarity in the way he moved through the streets, in how he said the names of places, in the way he weaved through people without even thinking about it.

They stayed at a small but cozy hotel, simple without feeling impersonal. It wasn’t too far from downtown, and from the room’s window they could see tall palm trees cut against the blue sky, swaying in the wind, with the constant murmur of the city drifting up from below. They barely left their suitcases open, not bothering to unpack properly, and went out almost immediately, as if staying inside would mean wasting time they felt was precious.

On the first day, they walked with no real destination. Mingyu pointed things out naturally, as if the memories were switching on by themselves. He showed Wonwoo small cafés where he used to spend hours with his laptop open, focused, surviving on coffee and music. He took him to hidden bookstores tucked between busy streets, the kind you’d walk right past if you didn’t know they were there, and to massive murals painted on old walls that looked abandoned but were bursting with color and stories. They ate tacos from a street stand Mingyu swore—completely serious—were the best he’d ever had in that area, and Wonwoo believed him after the first bite. They ended up sitting in a nearby park, sharing a cold drink, watching people go by—couples, families, tourists—all completely unaware of them.

"I never thought I’d bring you here like this," Mingyu admitted at one point, staring ahead, his arms resting on his knees. "Before… everything felt so different. I thought I’d never be able to explain it to you. I thought I’d lost you forever."

Wonwoo sighed. "Ah… that’s really sad. I’m sorry you thought that, Min…" he said softly, gently rubbing Mingyu’s back.

"I feel like you had it worse," Mingyu whispered, thinking about all the time they’d spent apart. "But hey, now everything’s okay. We’re together." He smiled, then leaned in and kissed him softly, the sunset behind them sealing that moment.

On the second day, they decided to visit more iconic places. They walked along the Walk of Fame, laughing at how surreal it felt to step on stars with names Wonwoo vaguely recognized while other tourists stopped to take pictures. They went up to a lookout point where the city stretched out like an endless map, streets and buildings fading into the distance.

Mingyu pointed out neighborhoods, avenues, specific corners where important things had happened in his life; some were filled with good memories, others not so much. He didn’t hide anything or soften the truth. He let himself be honest, and Wonwoo listened quietly, without interrupting, grateful for that trust.

They ate at a small restaurant near Hollywood Boulevard—nothing fancy, but with comforting food and flavors that stayed with you. By the end of the day, they went back to the hotel exhausted, feet sore and skin warm from the sun. They shared the bed with their legs tangled together, talking quietly about random things until sleep finally won and they drifted off like that—close, calm.

The third day felt different from the moment it began. Wonwoo noticed it even before fully opening his eyes. Mingyu was already awake, moving with a contained, nervous energy. He walked carefully around the room, as if he didn’t want to wake him, but Wonwoo opened his eyes anyway and watched him from the pillow, curious.

"Where are we going today?" he asked, his voice still rough with sleep.

Mingyu turned to him and smiled. It was a soft smile, but there was something else there—a spark Wonwoo couldn’t quite identify right away. "Just trust me," he said simply.

They had breakfast near the hotel, something light. Mingyu barely touched his food, distracted, lost in his own thoughts, and Wonwoo watched him with curiosity, though he didn’t really suspect what was coming. Then they rented a car and drove toward the coast. The ocean appeared suddenly, wide and endless.

They walked barefoot along the beach, letting the sand slip between their toes. The steady sound of the waves drowned out everything else, and for a moment it felt like no one else existed but the two of them. Mingyu stopped near the water, took a deep breath, and firmly took Wonwoo’s hand.

"There’s something I want to do today," he said, lowering his voice slightly. Wonwoo looked at him, his heart starting to race for reasons he didn’t quite understand yet. "I want to marry you." There were no long speeches or elaborate words. Just that sentence—direct and honest. Wonwoo’s heart leapt, as if time had stopped for a second. "Here," Mingyu continued. "Today. Just you and me."

Wonwoo didn’t answer right away. His eyes burned and emotion squeezed his chest tight. He nodded slowly, squeezing Mingyu’s hand as if he needed to make sure this was real. "Yes," he finally said. "Of course, yes."

There were no expensive rings or guests. Mingyu had prepared everything quietly. A small arrangement with simple flowers, someone who could legally officiate the union, someone who understood that this didn’t need an audience. They stood facing the sea, the wind playing with their clothes and the sound of the waves as their only witness. When they said their vows—improvised, clumsy, but completely sincere—Wonwoo couldn’t hold back his tears.

They promised to walk together, to choose each other even when things were hard, to never run away again. And when they kissed, it was slow and deep, like sealing something that had always belonged to them, something they had waited a long time for.

They celebrated afterward with food by the ocean: burgers wrapped in paper, fries, cold sodas. They didn’t need anything else. As evening fell, they went back to the hotel hand in hand, still a little in disbelief, still smiling.

The days that followed were light and easy. They went back to the beach, walked at sunset when the sky turned shades of orange and pink, ate fresh seafood and huge ice creams that melted way too fast. They visited Santa Monica, rode the Ferris wheel, took blurry photos, and kissed without caring who might be watching.

At night, back in the hotel room, they stayed wrapped up in each other, talking about small things, about plans that now felt more real, more possible. They didn’t need to say it out loud, but they both knew it clearly. They were going home as something more than boyfriends. They were going home as husbands, even if the world wasn’t ready to recognize it yet.

But the surprises didn’t end when they returned to South Korea. Well… not right away. First came the slow, heavy days, the kind where your body still doesn’t know what time zone it’s in. They spent a couple of days alternating work with unavoidable afternoon naps, waking up at odd hours, falling asleep with their phones in hand after a “good night” that sometimes didn’t even get finished. Even so, there was something different in the air—a new calm, a feeling that they had crossed a point of no return.

Mingyu, however, still had one more proposal for Wonwoo. They were both wearing their wedding bands now. It was a small, discreet detail, but for them it meant everything. Wonwoo was surprised to notice that his coworkers were the first to realize. Quick glances at his left hand, seconds of silence that said more than any question. No one commented. No one congratulated him. No one even dared to mention it. They knew Wonwoo had a male partner, not a wife, so they simply chose indifference.

And that was fine. Sometimes, Wonwoo preferred that polite silence over awkward comments, unnecessary questions, or those judgment-filled looks he already knew too well. In that context, indifference felt like a kind of peace. So they both eased back into their routines after vacation at a slow, careful pace, as if they didn’t want to shake the bubble they had built in Los Angeles.

They worked during the day, sent each other short messages, made brief calls, and at night exhaustion usually won before they could even see each other. It wasn’t a lack of desire—it was just their bodies catching up.

Until the third night. That was when Mingyu invited Wonwoo out to dinner. He had made a reservation at a nice, pleasant restaurant, without any over-the-top pretensions. It wasn’t fancy or exclusive, but it was somewhere they hadn’t been before and were curious to try. There was something intentional about that choice, something Wonwoo couldn’t quite identify at first.

They met on a Wednesday after work. Mingyu picked Wonwoo up at his office, waiting patiently outside, and when Wonwoo walked out and saw him leaning against the car with that calm smile that always managed to disarm him, the exhaustion of the day felt a little easier to bear. They greeted each other with a quick, discreet kiss and headed to the restaurant together.

The place was cozy, with warm lighting and a relaxed atmosphere. They sat across from each other and ordered something to drink while waiting for their food.

"How was your day?" Mingyu asked. "Is the jet lag and time difference still hitting you?"

"More or less…" Wonwoo replied, letting out a small sigh. "I’m still tired. But I wanted to see you today. It’s not the same seeing you only on FaceTime, where we always end up falling asleep." He smiled before taking a sip of his water, looking at Mingyu over the rim of the glass.

"You miss me that much?" Mingyu asked, a hint of amusement in his voice. Wonwoo didn’t say anything. He just nodded, without overthinking it, without embarrassment.

Mingyu watched him for a few more seconds, as if confirming something to himself. "I have a solution for that…" he said then, pausing just long enough to capture all of Wonwoo’s attention. He gave him a soft, warm smile and lifted his left hand, casually showing his wedding band as the light briefly reflected off the metal. "What if we move in together already?" he suggested. "I mean… we’re married."

He lowered his hand slowly and placed it over Wonwoo’s, lightly threading their fingers together. "And before, we were already roommates and…" he added with a small laugh. "Even if we can’t get legally married here, we can register as roommates. It’s the only thing the law allows. Don’t you think it’s a good idea?"

Wonwoo didn’t even need to think about it. From the moment Mingyu started talking, he was already smiling, already ready to nod, ready to say yes. Ready to live with the love of his life, as if it had been written from the very beginning, back in their university days when they didn’t share a room by choice, but life ended up forcing them to sleep together, to learn each other in the intimacy of everyday life.

"Of course!" he answered enthusiastically. "It’s the best idea you’ve ever had."

He nodded several times, turning his hand to stroke Mingyu’s with his thumb. Their wedding bands lightly tapped against each other, making a sound almost imperceptible—but for Wonwoo, it was enough. In that small, simple gesture, the future looked clear. And for the first time in a long while, it looked good for both of them.