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The airplane cabin was filled with a gentle hum, the kind that settled into the body and made thoughts drift slowly. Overhead lights were dimmed, but excitement still buzzed through the space, refusing to be contained.
“Hyung! Sit beside me!”
Xinlong’s voice cut through the low chatter, bright and full of life. He leaned halfway into the aisle, patting the empty seat next to him enthusiastically, as if Leo might vanish if he didn’t act fast enough.
Leo turned, momentarily surprised, before a small smile curved his lips. He walked over and sat down, placing his backpack beneath the seat.
“There,” Xinlong said triumphantly, eyes shining. “Now it’s perfect.”
Leo chuckled. “You really don’t waste any time, do you?”
“Nope,” Xinlong replied instantly. “Because I love Leo.”
He said it so naturally, so openly, that Leo’s chest warmed without permission. He reached over and ruffled the younger’s hair gently.
“Thank you, Xinlong-ah.”
Xinlong leaned closer, satisfied, and began talking animatedly about everything he wanted to see in Norway—the snow, the lights, the food, the cabins. Leo listened, nodding along, laughing softly at the right moments.
A month-long vacation.
Even now, it didn’t feel real.
ALD1 had been running nonstop for years. Comebacks, practices, tours, recordings—life had blurred into schedules and exhaustion. When the manager announced the break, none of them spoke for a full five seconds, stunned into silence.
Norway had been Leo’s idea. Somewhere quiet. Somewhere beautiful. Somewhere far away from expectations.
He glanced around the plane.
Sanghyeon and Anxin were already arguing over who deserved the window seat more, their voices rising dramatically. Geonwoo leaned across the aisle, deliberately stirring them up. Junseo and Jiahao sat close together, whispering and smiling softly, lost in their own small world.
And then—
A few rows ahead.
Sangwon.
He sat beside Geonwoo, his shoulders relaxed, head slightly tilted as he laughed at something said quietly between them. It wasn’t loud laughter. It never was. Sangwon’s laughter was subtle, almost shy, like something he offered only when he felt comfortable.
Leo’s gaze lingered longer than it should have.
There was a time when that laughter had been meant for him.
He had wanted to sit beside Sangwon. The thought had come instinctively, as natural as breathing. But staff had assigned seats quickly, efficiently, without room for preference. And now Sangwon was there—visible, but unreachable.
A strange, dull ache formed in Leo’s chest.
He turned his eyes away before Xinlong could notice his distraction.
Something had changed between them.
There hadn’t been an argument. No harsh words exchanged. No single moment that could be pointed to as the beginning of the end. Instead, it had happened quietly.
Conversations shortened. Shared moments faded. Late-night talks disappeared.
And now, even eye contact felt difficult.
Leo slipped his earbuds in, pressing play on a familiar song, and closed his eyes. He told himself to sleep. To rest. This journey would be long.
But his mind refused to follow orders.
When did it start feeling like this?
When did Sangwon start feeling so far away?
The plane climbed higher into the night sky, carrying them toward a land of light and wonder—while Leo carried questions he hadn’t dared to voice.
Norway welcomed them with cold air sharp enough to sting the lungs and a landscape painted entirely in white. Snow stretched endlessly, softening every edge of the world.
As they moved through the airport, laughter echoed again, boots crunching against frost. Leo retrieved his suitcase and began walking—only to notice Sangwon several steps behind, struggling to balance his side bag and suitcase.
Without thinking, Leo stopped.
He turned back.
“Here,” he said, reaching for the handle.
Sangwon looked up, surprised. “Hyung, you don’t have to—”
“It’s fine,” Leo replied calmly, already lifting the suitcase. “Go ahead.”
For a moment, Sangwon simply stared. Then he nodded, a small smile touching his lips.
“Thank you, hyung.”
Their fingers brushed briefly as Leo adjusted his grip.
Both of them pulled away too quickly.
The silence that followed felt heavier than words.
They walked together—but not together enough. Close in distance, far in feeling.
The cottage appeared ahead, warm lights glowing softly against the snow-covered surroundings. It looked like something from a storybook.
“OMG, it’s so beautiful!” Sanghyeon shouted, grabbing Geonwoo’s hand and dragging him forward without warning.
Anxin immediately scooped up snow, launching it at Xinlong, who yelped and chased after him. Junseo and Jiahao ran toward the entrance, nearly slipping as they laughed.
Leo slowed his steps.
Sangwon had stopped walking.
He stood quietly behind the others, head tilted upward, eyes fixed on the sky.
Above them, the aurora borealis shimmered—soft green and blue waves moving slowly, like the sky itself was breathing.
“It’s so romantic,” Sangwon murmured, barely louder than the wind.
Leo heard it.
His breath caught in his throat.
For a moment, the world narrowed. Sangwon beneath the aurora. Snow reflecting light around him. Silence wrapping the scene like a secret.
Leo forced himself to turn away.
If he kept looking, he was afraid he wouldn’t be able to stop.
Behind him, Sangwon watched Leo’s back retreat into the warm glow of the cottage.
A quiet ache settled deep in his chest.
What happened to us?
____
Dinner filled the cottage with warmth.
Steam rose from the dishes, fogging the windows slightly. Laughter bounced off wooden walls, blending with the clatter of utensils and soft music playing somewhere in the background.
Leo entered a little late, shrugging off his coat. His eyes scanned the table automatically.
There.
The seat beside Sangwon was empty.
“Leo-ya, sit here,” Junseo said casually, patting the chair.
Leo paused.
Just for a second.
Then he sat.
Sangwon looked up.
Their eyes met.
The moment stretched—too long to be accidental, too short to be intentional.
Then, almost in unison, they both looked away.
They ate quietly.
Too quietly.
Leo became acutely aware of Sangwon’s presence beside him—the warmth of his arm, the faint scent of soap, the way he moved carefully, like he was afraid of taking up too much space.
When their fingers brushed reaching for the same dish, both flinched, pulling back immediately.
Neither apologized.
Neither laughed it off.
Something fragile hovered between them, unspoken and tense.
Night arrived gently, wrapping the cottage in stillness.
One by one, everyone drifted away. Sanghyeon and Anxin went outside to build a snowman, voices loud and cheerful. Geonwoo and Xinlong climbed to the rooftop, lying side by side as they stared at the sky. Junseo and Jiahao bundled up for a walk.
Only Leo and Sangwon remained inside.
Leo sat by the window in his room, staring out at the aurora as it rippled slowly across the sky.
Beautiful, he thought.
And then—
Like Sangwon.
He exhaled deeply, rubbing his face with both hands.
Something was wrong.
And it needed to be fixed.
____
The cottage was quiet now.
Not the peaceful kind of quiet—this one felt heavy, like something waiting to be spoken but refusing to surface. The walls creaked softly as the wind brushed past outside. Somewhere in the distance, laughter echoed faintly, carried by the cold night air.
Leo remained by the window longer than he realized.
The aurora flowed across the sky in gentle waves, green bleeding into blue, blue dissolving into darkness. It was beautiful. Almost unreal. A sight people traveled across the world to see.
And yet, Leo’s thoughts were nowhere near the sky.
They were stuck on the room down the hallway.
On the quiet presence that had been beside him at dinner.
On the distance that had grown between them without permission.
He closed his eyes slowly.
I can’t pretend anymore.
The feeling in his chest had been building for months—small at first, easy to ignore. But it had grown heavier with time, settling deep in his bones. He missed Sangwon. Missed him in ways that went far beyond friendship, beyond familiarity.
Missed us.
Leo grabbed his coat, hesitating only for a moment before stepping into the hallway.
Sangwon stood in front of the mirror, towel draped loosely around his shoulders. His hair was still damp, curling slightly at the ends as he absentmindedly ran the dryer through it.
His reflection stared back at him—eyes tired, expression blank.
He didn’t recognize himself like this.
When the dryer shut off, the silence returned, loud and overwhelming. His gaze drifted to the bedside table.
The bracelet.
He froze.
Slowly, he reached for it, lifting it with careful fingers. The metal was cool against his skin, familiar in a way that made his chest ache.
Matching bracelets.
They had bought them together on a whim years ago, laughing about how childish it was, how obvious it would look. And yet they wore them everywhere. Practice rooms. Airports. Award shows.
Until one day, they didn’t.
Sangwon swallowed.
When had he taken it off?
And why hadn’t he noticed how much it hurt?
A sharp, quiet pain bloomed in his chest, spreading until it felt difficult to breathe. He set the bracelet down carefully, as if it were something fragile, something that might shatter if handled too roughly.
I hate this, he thought.
I hate being like strangers.
Before doubt could stop him, Sangwon pulled on a sweater and stepped toward the door.
Leo raised his hand to knock.
At the exact same moment, the door opened.
They nearly collided.
“Oh.”
“Oh.”
Both froze.
For a brief second, neither moved. Neither spoke. The air between them felt thick, charged with everything they hadn’t said.
Leo pulled his hand back, fingers curling awkwardly as he scratched the back of his neck.
Sangwon tightened his scarf, a nervous habit he hadn’t even realized he still had.
They avoided each other’s eyes.
“Um…” Leo started, then stopped.
The silence pressed in again, heavy and uncomfortable.
Leo exhaled slowly, then lifted his head and looked directly at Sangwon.
“Do you want to go for a walk?” he asked quietly.
Sangwon looked up, surprised.
For a moment, he hesitated.
Then he nodded.
“Yeah,” he replied softly. “Of course.”
The cold hit them immediately as they stepped outside, sharp and biting. Snow crunched beneath their boots, the sound echoing loudly in the stillness of the night.
They walked side by side.
Not touching.
The aurora shimmered above them, painting the sky with slow-moving light. Their breaths came out in soft clouds, disappearing just as quickly as they formed.
Neither spoke.
The silence stretched longer with every step, becoming unbearable.
They walked farther from the cottage than either of them realized.
Finally, Leo stopped.
“Let’s sit here,” he said, lowering himself onto a snow-covered bench and brushing the snow aside.
Sangwon followed, sitting beside him. Their shoulders were close—but still not touching.
The aurora illuminated their faces softly.
“It’s beautiful,” Sangwon whispered.
Leo turned slightly toward him.
“It is,” he replied.
There was a pause.
“And… romantic,” Sangwon added, voice barely audible.
Leo’s chest tightened.
He looked at Sangwon then, really looked at him. The way his eyes reflected the lights above. The faint redness at the tip of his nose from the cold. The familiar curve of his lips.
“Sangwon-ah,” Leo said quietly.
Sangwon looked back.
“Yes, hyung?”
“We should talk.”
The words hung between them.
Sangwon swallowed, his throat tight.
“Yes,” he said again, softer this time.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
The aurora continued its slow dance above them, indifferent to the storm building quietly below.
Leo let out a breath that sounded almost like a laugh—but it was hollow.
“I can’t believe this,” he murmured, shaking his head slightly.
“Believe what?” Sangwon asked gently.
Leo looked up at the sky, then back at Sangwon.
“Us.”
The word alone felt heavy.
“We used to talk so much,” Leo continued, voice unsteady. “We used to laugh about everything. Spend time together without thinking about it.” He paused, fingers curling into his coat. “We were good back then.”
Sangwon listened silently, heart pounding.
“But now…” Leo swallowed hard. “Why don’t we talk anymore? Why does it feel like I don’t know how to be around you? We barely even see each other at the dorm.”
His voice began to shake.
“Why can’t I look at you properly anymore? Why does everything feel so wrong?” He laughed softly, bitterly. “What happened to me? What happened to us?”
He hesitated, then asked the question he’d been afraid of since the thought first crossed his mind.
“Do you feel uncomfortable with me?”
The words fell between them like shattered glass.
Leo closed his eyes, bracing himself.
When he opened them again, he froze.
Sangwon was crying.
Tears streamed down his cheeks silently, his eyes red, lips trembling as he struggled to breathe evenly. His shoulders shook slightly, like he was trying desperately not to fall apart.
“Sangwon—” Leo’s voice cracked. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
He stopped abruptly when Sangwon reached out and grabbed his hand.
“Hyung,” Sangwon said, voice broken.
He tried to speak again, but his breath hitched, tears spilling faster now. He lifted both hands to his face, covering it as quiet sobs escaped him.
Leo stared, heart shattering.
Sangwon was crying.
Because of him.
Slowly, gently, Leo lifted his hand and placed it on Sangwon’s shoulder.
His own vision blurred.
Sangwon lowered his hands, tear-streaked face turning toward Leo.
“Hyung…” he whispered, voice trembling. “How could you even think that?”
Leo’s breath caught.
“How could I feel uncomfortable with you?” Sangwon continued, shaking his head slightly. “You’re not just anyone. You’re Leo. My Leo hyung.”
He clutched the fabric of Leo’s coat tightly.
“You’re my home.”
The words hit Leo harder than anything else.
Sangwon took a shaky breath.
“I know things aren’t like before,” he continued softly. “We don’t talk as much. We don’t laugh like we used to. Something changed, and I don’t even know when.”
His voice broke again.
“But I hate it, hyung. I hate this feeling.” He leaned forward suddenly, resting his forehead against Leo’s chest. “I miss us. I miss you.”
Leo’s hands trembled as they moved on their own, wrapping around Sangwon.
He held him tightly.
Too tightly.
As if afraid he might disappear if he loosened his grip.
“I’m not okay without you,” Leo whispered, voice breaking completely as tears finally fell. He buried his face in Sangwon’s neck, shoulders shaking as he cried silently.
Sangwon hugged him back just as tightly, fingers threading into Leo’s hair.
“I’m here,” Sangwon murmured through tears. “I never left. I won’t ever leave.”
They stayed like that for a long time.
Breathing each other in.
Healing something neither of them realized had been broken for so long.
Under the aurora, the distance between them finally dissolved.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
The aurora continued its slow dance above them, indifferent to the storm building quietly below.
They stayed like that for a long time.
Neither of them knew how much time passed—minutes, maybe more. The cold crept into their clothes, numbing fingers and toes, but neither moved. The warmth between them was enough. It always had been.
Sangwon’s breathing slowly steadied, though his arms remained wrapped firmly around Leo, as if letting go might undo everything they had just repaired. Leo’s tears soaked into Sangwon’s scarf, his grip tight and desperate.
Eventually, Leo’s shoulders stopped shaking.
He pulled back just enough to breathe, forehead resting against Sangwon’s temple. His eyes were red, lashes wet, expression stripped of every carefully built wall.
“I didn’t know how to say it,” Leo whispered hoarsely. “I didn’t even understand what I was feeling. I just knew… it hurt.”
Sangwon nodded slightly, eyes closed.
“It hurt me too,” he admitted quietly. “Every time you walked away. Every time we sat in the same room and didn’t talk.” His fingers tightened briefly in Leo’s coat. “I kept thinking maybe I was the problem.”
Leo flinched.
“No,” he said immediately, pulling back enough to look at him. “Never you.”
Sangwon met his gaze, searching.
Leo cupped Sangwon’s cheek gently, thumb brushing away the remnants of tears. The touch was careful, reverent—like he was afraid of hurting him again.
“I should’ve said something earlier,” Leo continued. “But every time I tried, I got scared. Scared that if I spoke, I’d lose you completely.”
Sangwon’s lips trembled.
“You won’t lose me,” he said firmly. “Not like that.”
The aurora shifted above them, casting soft light over their faces. For the first time that night, the silence didn’t feel heavy. It felt… safe.
They sat shoulder to shoulder now, no space between them.
Sangwon leaned his head against Leo’s shoulder, hesitating only for a moment before fully settling there. Leo exhaled, instinctively wrapping an arm around him.
“This feels familiar,” Sangwon murmured.
Leo smiled faintly.
“Yeah. It does.”
They sat quietly, listening to the distant sounds of wind and snow. Leo’s thumb traced small, unconscious circles against Sangwon’s sleeve, grounding himself in the simple act.
“I missed this,” Sangwon said softly.
“So did I,” Leo replied without hesitation.
____
They eventually stood, brushing snow from their clothes, and walked back slowly. This time, their steps matched. This time, their hands brushed—and neither pulled away.
Inside the cottage, the warmth wrapped around them immediately. The lights were dim now, the space peaceful. Everyone else was still outside or asleep.
They paused in the hallway.
Sangwon hesitated, then spoke.
“Hyung… do you want to sit for a bit?”
Leo nodded.
“Yeah.”
They sat on the couch in the common room, close enough that their knees touched. Neither commented on it.
Sangwon stared at his hands for a moment, gathering his thoughts.
“I’ve been scared,” he admitted quietly. “Not of you—but of myself. I didn’t understand why the distance hurt so much. Why I felt jealous when you laughed with others. Why I felt empty when we didn’t talk.”
Leo listened, heart pounding.
“I thought maybe it was just stress,” Sangwon continued. “Or exhaustion. But no matter what I told myself, it didn’t go away.”
He finally looked up.
“Because it was you.”
Leo’s breath caught.
Sangwon’s voice trembled, but he didn’t stop.
“You’ve always been my safe place, hyung. My constant. When that started slipping, I panicked. But I didn’t know how to hold onto you without sounding selfish.”
Leo reached for his hand, intertwining their fingers.
“You’re not selfish,” he said softly. “You’re honest.”
Sangwon squeezed his hand, eyes shining.
Leo swallowed, then spoke—slowly, carefully.
“I think I was scared too,” he admitted. “Of wanting you more than I should. Of realizing how much I depend on you.”
The words hung in the air.
Sangwon’s heart skipped.
Leo turned fully toward him, eyes earnest.
“I don’t just miss you,” Leo continued. “I feel incomplete without you.”
Silence followed—not awkward, but charged.
Sangwon’s breath came shallow.
“Hyung,” he whispered. “What are we doing?”
Leo searched his face, thumb brushing over Sangwon’s knuckles.
“Being honest,” he said. “Finally.”
The space between them felt impossibly small.
Sangwon leaned forward first.
It was hesitant, unsure—but real.
Leo didn’t pull away.
Their foreheads touched, breaths mingling.
“I love you,” Leo whispered.
The words were soft, fragile—and true.
Sangwon froze for half a second, then let out a shaky laugh that sounded dangerously close to a sob.
“I was hoping you’d say that,” he murmured.
He lifted his head slightly, eyes meeting Leo’s.
“I love you too, hyung.”
Something in Leo finally broke—not in pain, but in relief.
He leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss beside Sangwon’s lips. It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t desperate.
It was careful.
Sangwon closed his eyes, leaning into the warmth, then turned just enough to let their lips meet fully.
The kiss was soft, unhurried—full of everything they hadn’t said before.
When they pulled back, their foreheads rested together, smiles small but real.
“We’ll be okay,” Sangwon whispered.
Leo nodded.
“As long as we’re together.”