Chapter Text
It’s raining. You can hear it pounding against the window, rattling the glass in its flimsy frame. After leaving it open for several days in a row, trying to make the heat in the apartment feel less suffocating, they’d finally slid it closed around nine pm because of the rain, both of them working together to move it because it always got stuck, sticking stubbornly to the side of the frame, almost like it didn’t want to leave. Now they’re sitting in the stifling heat of an early August night, still smelling the rain on the air where it lingers on the floor despite having dried it off.
They could turn on the aircon, but it was expensive, and neither Junseo nor Geonwoo had very much money. If they did, they probably wouldn’t be living in this apartment in the first place. It wasn’t stuffy; they each had a room of their own, and the combined living room and kitchen was big enough to have at least three or four people over, but it was old, with outdated appliances and windows that got stuck. Sometimes the keypad on the door didn’t work and they’d have to call the building manager to let them inside, and he’d curse the landlord and Junseo and Geonwoo would have to politely look away, unable to meet each other’s eyes without laughing.
Junseo had taken over the apartment from his previous roommate when he’d graduated university and moved out into the countryside to teach at a middle school there. He’d started looking for a roommate, unable to afford the rent himself, and found Geonwoo through a messaging board for students at their university looking for a place to live. Geonwoo was just starting university then, while Junseo was already in his second year.
He remembers the first few months of living together so clearly, even now, two years later. Not because anything particularly memorable had happened, though a few things did stand out a little stronger than others. That first summer when Geonwoo had just moved in, Junseo had gone on a trip with his family for two weeks, and while he was away he got their electricity bill for the month and nearly had a heart attack. Geonwoo had left the aircon on for almost a whole week. He called Geonwoo freaking out, asking him to turn it off immediately. Geonwoo wouldn’t stop apologizing, and he insisted on paying off the whole bill, even when Junseo calmed down enough to realize it was his fault too, for not telling Geonwoo not to turn it on.
But he remembers small things too. The color of the first toothbrush that Geonwoo had placed in a mug in the bathroom. The mug itself was an old one, with the logo of the basketball team he was in when he was a kid plastered on the front. The toothbrush was blue. He remembers the first time Geonwoo cooked dinner for the two of them, how he’d burnt the meat and blamed the stove, the cheap beer they’d drunk and how they’d talked until long into the night. He remembers getting sick in the winter and Geonwoo buying him medicine and cooking him soup.
This is the third summer they’ve spent as friends and roommates. They were roommates first, of course, and friends later– Junseo isn’t sure when exactly they became friends, when they stopped being just roommates, but they’re friends now, somehow.
“Hyung,” Geonwoo says, peeling his hands off the floor with a slightly sticky sound and reaching over the coffee table to tap Junseo’s knee. “Are you still listening?”
“Yeah,” Junseo replies, shaking his head and looking back at Geonwoo. They’re sitting across from each other, Geonwoo on the floor with his long legs splayed out under the coffee table, feet on either side of Junseo’s where they’re planted firmly on the floor. He’s sitting on the very edge of the couch, the soft cushions not very inviting in this heat. “Sorry, go on. His name is Sangwon?”
“That’s right,” Geonwoo says, leaning back again. There’s a smile on his face that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, not because he doesn’t mean it, but almost like he’s afraid of appearing too happy, or is somehow apprehensive about the happiness he’s feeling. Like if he’s caught feeling it, it might be taken away, or that it’s wrong somehow. “He’s just transferred here from another university, we ran into each other on the first day. He’s…” his voice drifts off, and he looks away. “He’s really nice.”
“That’s… that’s good,” Junseo says, trying to mean the smile he pulls onto his face. He feels like somebody’s reached down his throat and is now trying to pull his heart right out of his chest, and he won’t let them. He won’t let Geonwoo see it, for fear of what hides in there. “Have you– have you been on a date yet?”
“No, not yet,” Geonwoo says. “I think I’m going to ask him soon, if he doesn’t ask me first, I just–” he pauses. There’s still something apprehensive about the whole thing, the way the words leave his mouth but he never seems satisfied with them. “I haven’t really dated for… in a long time, so…”
Junseo swallows roughly, trying to force his heart back down into his chest, trying to stop it from crawling right out of his mouth and revealing everything. He reaches for his beer, downing the last of it and squeezing his eyes shut, just for a second. He’s not drunk yet, at least not enough to make this any easier, just enough that his fingertips are buzzing and his tongue feels a little numb.
He’s been vaguely aware of Geonwoo’s dating life only because they lived together, because they were friends. But it’s something he’s been trying not to look at, trying not to think about, like if he pretended it wasn’t there it couldn’t hurt him. Geonwoo’s never mentioned anyone before, and he’s never brought anyone home either, though Junseo doesn’t know if it’s because he hasn’t slept with anyone since he moved in or because he hasn’t brought any of them home out of courtesy to Junseo. He doesn’t want to know either, not really. Just hearing Geonwoo talk about someone he might go on a date with is enough to make him feel sick, something ugly twisting and coiling in the pit of his stomach.
“And I don’t know, I guess it’s stupid, but I…” Geonwoo hesitates, eyes flicking to Junseo’s face and then away again. Junseo’s never heard him stumble over his words like this. He supposes he really likes this Sangwon, because it’s certainly not because of him– it can’t be. “I don’t know, I just want you to like him too, hyung. You… you’re…” his words fail him here, and he looks back at Junseo, as if expecting to find the answer hidden in the lines of his face.
But whatever Geonwoo sees when he looks at him, it doesn’t help him, and Junseo, for his part, doesn’t help either. He doesn’t know what to say. There’s things he wants to say, sure, but Junseo has known for a long time that wanting something doesn’t mean you’ll get it, and in fact, the act of wanting something was often only reassurance that you wouldn’t ever get it.
So he swallows down what he really wants to say, lets it settle somewhere next to every other thing he’s hidden from Geonwoo. For how long has he lain awake in silence, wanting, haunted by the sheer size of that want? Long enough that he’s gotten used to it, at least. It’s just how he exists now. He’s not even sure he’d know how to live any other way, knowing what it would mean to let it show. He might lose Geonwoo. He can bear a lot of things, but he can’t bear that.
Sometimes, he catches a flicker of something in Geonwoo’s eyes, something sad and soft but always gone too soon for Junseo to place it. It looks almost like he’s sorry about something, like he does know about Junseo’s feelings and he feels sorry for him, and maybe this, telling Junseo about a guy he’s met, is his subtle way of drawing a line between them and signal to Junseo to move on. Or maybe he really doesn’t know, maybe he just wants to talk to his friend about a boy and Junseo is the one trying to put meaning into something simple, something that should be easy.
But it’s never easy with Geonwoo, and regardless of his intentions, Junseo doubts this will change anything. He’s long since come to terms with the fact that Geonwoo doesn’t like him back, that he never will, and it hasn’t changed a thing, Junseo is still stuck in the same place, waiting and wanting. It’s not for lack of trying; he’d gone on dates, he’d tried, he’d really tried, but he never made it past the first one. The one time he kissed someone else, all it did was make him feel worse, sick with the memory of a kiss that never should have happened.
But it had happened, a few months after Geonwoo moved in, sometime in November. It had been cold, then, but they’d been sitting here in the living room together like this, although both of them had been on the floor. They’d ordered takeout and were eating together, drinking beer and soju, getting a little too drunk while their relationship was still a little too new. It wasn’t quite friendship just yet, but something fresh and soft and malleable. They were still trying to figure each other out, still not sure exactly what they were going to be.
And then, one of them had closed the gap, and it was— it was childish, too much tongue, noses bumping, restless hands that didn’t know where to go. Junseo remembers how Geonwoo tasted like sweet and sour chicken and cheap beer, he remembers the feeling of Geonwoo’s hand against his cheek, on his shoulder, fumbling to get a hold on his waist in their slightly awkward seated position. He remembers moving, or being moved, and then the sound of glass breaking and something wet and cold seeping into his sweats.
Just like that, it had ended, kiss broken by nervous laughter and mumbled apologies. They’d both tried to take the blame for breaking the glass and insisted they be the one to clean up, and Junseo never was sure who actually broke it. He’s not even sure who kissed who. And then they just… they didn’t talk about it. Not really. They’d cleaned everything up and gone to bed, and Junseo had lain awake half the night, fingertips brushing his lips, trying to shake the feeling taking root in his heart to no avail. The morning after had been awkward, neither of them sure how to navigate the situation, but they’d managed somehow, both of them apologizing all though neither seemed quite sure for what part.
They’d been drunk, that was all. It was a mistake, even if neither of them called it that. It didn’t mean anything, it couldn’t mean anything, not if they were going to keep being roommates.
“You know,” Geonwoo continues, eyes now falling into his lap where his hands lie folded neatly. “You actually have a lot in common. He likes reading too, and he likes taking pictures of the sky, he’s… I don’t know, sentimental? Like you are, hyung.”
“That’s… he sounds great, Geonwoo,” Junseo replies, although his heart says something else entirely, something that sounds like then why not me? Why not me?
Geonwoo smiles again, with a familiar sheepishness that makes Junseo’s heart ache. “I think he is. He’s… I don’t know, we’re still just talking, but– he’s nice. It’s nice.”
“Yeah,” Junseo says. He’s trying very hard to keep his voice even, to not let Geonwoo hear the shake in it. “I hope it… I hope it keeps being nice.”
“Thanks, hyung,” Geonwoo says, and there it is, just for a split second— that flicker of sadness, of tenderness.
Junseo pours himself another shot of soju.
…
The next two weeks are just as hot as the ones before them, humid and sticky, the heat turning oppressive. Geonwoo mentions Sangwon a couple of times, in an offhanded sort of way, like he can’t help but bring him up; Sangwon said this, Sangwon did that.
Junseo wonders if Geonwoo talks about him to other people, if he’s told Sangwon about him, and what he might’ve said, what he might’ve told him. He’s not sure which he’d prefer. He’s tried to convince himself he’s not important to Geonwoo so that the inevitable heartbreak might hurt less, because the thought of being important, of being someone of note, but not how he wants to be, not in the same way that Geonwoo is to him, that’s somehow worse. He’d rather miss by a mile than by a few inches. But he couldn’t bear to be nothing either.
A breeze hits him as the door is opened; it’s another hot Friday afternoon and Junseo is sitting in a nicely air conditioned corner of the cafe he frequents, trying to finish a book before classes start back up in earnest and he won’t have time. And some smaller part of him, a part he doesn’t want to acknowledge, wants to be doing anything that distracts him from thinking about Geonwoo.
Earlier that day, Junseo had been in the kitchen making himself breakfast, and Geonwoo had come out of his room wearing only a pair of old basketball shorts. Junseo had tried very hard not to let his eyes linger, to keep them above Geonwoo’s shoulders, to not think about the scar on the small of Geonwoo’s back that he knows is there and how soon he might not be the only person who knows it’s there.
Geonwoo shuffled around the kitchen, fooled by Junseo’s act of indifference, when in truth, indifference is the last thing Junseo would feel about Geonwoo. He’s just used to living with his hands balled into fists, never taking, careful not to be seen wanting anything. He’s almost afraid of what it would mean, now, to hold them open. To be caught wanting. To be seen.
There’s the soft sound of footsteps approaching and Junseo looks up from his book, finding the barista who’d made him his coffee standing right beside him, peering into the book in his hands.
“Would you say it’s any good…?” the barista asks in a soft voice, a small frown on his face.
Junseo hesitates for a moment, taking in the sight of the boy in front of him. His hair is bleached blonde, the roots showing a little, nails painted but almost all of it chipped. He’s new, probably hired over the summer, because Junseo has only seen him around a couple of times before this— he remembers him well, though. He’s very pretty.
“If you like sci-fi, then definitely,” Junseo replies. “Although, to be honest, even if you don’t like sci-fi I’d recommend it. It’s not too… science heavy, if that makes sense. It’s more philosophical.”
The barista hums thoughtfully. “I’ve been meaning to read more sci-fi, and I heard this author was good– I just got curious what you thought about her… I always see you reading when you’re here and, well, you have good taste,” he smiles, the tips of his ears going pink. “Sorry, I hate it when people interrupt while I’m reading too.”
“No, it’s alright,” Junseo says, waving a hand and smiling back. “I don’t mind, really. I like talking about books, so…” his voice drifts off and he looks down at the book for a moment, then back up at the barista. “If you want, you can borrow my copy once I’m done with it. I’m here all the time anyway, so you can just return it when you’re done. And then you don’t have to waste any money on a book you might not like.”
“Oh! Are you sure?” the boy asks, face lighting up.
Junseo nods, “yeah, of course. I’ll finish it up and give it to you the next time I see you.”
“Then your next coffee will be on me,” he says, and he’s about to say something else when what Junseo assumes is his manager calls for him from behind the counter. “Sorry, I have to get back to work. But thank you, really– I’ll see you around, then?”
“It’s alright,” Junseo says, still smiling softly. “Yeah, I’ll see you around.”
The barista flashes one last smile at him before hurrying back behind the counter to help, and Junseo follows him with his eyes, studying the shape of him; the fold of his shoulders, angular and thin, and how restless his hands are even when he’s working with them. When he’s not talking to a customer and putting on a smile, his expression softens into something almost melancholic, sort of soft and blurry, like the tone of his voice.
Realizing he’s been staring, Junseo looks away and down at his book. He’d completely forgotten to ask for his name, but he could do that next time. Something unfamiliar flutters in his stomach at the thought.
By the time he finishes his drink, he only has two chapters left, and it’s raining outside. As he’s packing up his things, he makes eye contact with the barista, who gives him a soft smile, one that’s somehow different than before, a little more reserved, not as pulled on as a customer service smile. Something flutters again, warm and strange. He waves back, offering a smile of his own in return.
He goes back to his bag, digging around for an umbrella, when suddenly he remembers taking it out to make room for his book, and swears under his breath. He’d just have to hurry. He pulls the strap of his messenger back over his head, then ducks out into the rain, using a hand to shield his eyes.
He’s halfway home when he hears someone call out for him– “Yah, Junseo hyung, wait up!”
“Yah?!” He shouts back, laughing as Geonwoo comes running towards him, umbrella in hand. “Who do you think you are, Geonwoo-ssi?”
“I,” Geonwoo starts, grinning as he wraps an arm around Junseo’s wet shoulders, “am the person with an umbrella. What are you doing out in the rain, hyung?”
“I left mine at home,” Junseo sighs.
“Let me guess,” Geonwoo says, “you had to make room for a book?”
“Maybe.”
“You could’ve called, hyung,” he says, with that sort of casual bravado that made it hard to tell how serious he’s being, if he really means it, and if he does, in what way. “I would’ve come.”
“What are you even doing out anyway?” Junseo says, unsubtly attempting to dodge whatever Geonwoo was fishing for. Geonwoo’s arm is still wrapped around his shoulders, and it’s making it hard to think straight, and he’s afraid of saying something he shouldn’t. “I thought you were staying home today.”
Geonwoo looks at him for a moment, as if considering whether or not to let him get away with it. In the end, he does, and he says, “I got bored,” and shrugs.
Then he asks Junseo what book he’s reading, and Junseo tells him, and they talk about this and that as they walk through the rain together. Geonwoo’s arm stays around his shoulders almost the whole way, and although Junseo knows he should shake it off, he can’t make himself do it. It’s fine, isn’t it? Friends do this, don’t they? Can’t Junseo let himself have this, just this one thing— even if it doesn’t mean what he wants it to mean?
They make it to their apartment building and Geonwoo’s arm finally slips from Junseo’s shoulders in the rickety elevator, and Junseo looks at him out of the corner of his eyes, and sees to his surprise that Geonwoo’s right shoulder has gotten wet.
“You should shower first, hyung,” Geonwoo says as they walk into their apartment. The door closes behind Junseo with a soft click, and he looks over at Geonwoo, who’s looking right back at him. His face has changed, settled into something difficult to read, but distantly familiar. His voice is different when he speaks again, softer somehow. “You’ll catch a cold.”
“You got rained on too,” Junseo replies, nodding towards Geonwoo’s shoulder. And why was Geonwoo’s shoulder wet? He’d had the umbrella with him the whole time.
“It’s not too bad,” Geonwoo says, shaking his head. He covers the wet patch with a hand, looking almost embarrassed that Junseo had noticed. “I’ll be fine, don’t worry about me. Just… worry about yourself.”
“Worry?” Junseo says, “there’s nothing to worry about, Geonwoo, I’m fine.”
A beat. Geonwoo has walked behind the kitchen counter now, leaving Junseo standing in the living room, soaked down to his skin.
“You should’ve called,” Geonwoo says, with no bravado this time. There’s only that emotion Junseo can’t quite read, and something soft and somehow tender in his voice. “You should’ve called me, hyung, and told me you forgot one. I would’ve picked you up.”
Junseo stares at him for a moment, and then, earnestly, says, “I didn’t think of that, I just…”
Geonwoo sighs, deflating, shoulders furling inwards and gaze cast downwards as he turns away. There’s something almost like grim acceptance in the way he does it, like someone resigned to his fate. He goes over to the sink, making himself a glass of water.
“‘Course you didn’t,” Geonwoo says, very quietly. He says something else too, but Junseo doesn’t hear it over the sound of the running water. Then, louder, he adds, “please just take a shower, hyung.”
Whatever had been under the surface of Geonwoo’s bravado when they were out in the rain was peaking through the surface now. Junseo can see it in the shape of Geonwoo, the curl of his spine, how his chest rises and falls with a stutter. His eyes drift back to Geonwoo’s shoulder, the white fabric of his one wet sleeve sticking to his skin. He realizes Geonwoo must have been tipping the umbrella to one side to cover Junseo entirely, even though Junseo had already been soaked through when they ran into each other.
Junseo opens his mouth to say something, then closes it again, hesitating. It feels like they’re prodding at something dangerous, and Junseo gets the feeling that if he keeps pushing, he’s going to be the one that ends up disemboweled. He’s the one hiding things, after all. So even though he wants to ask what Geonwoo means, he’s more afraid of the answer. He’s afraid of what it would mean, and that it might let Geonwoo see right through him, into his heart.
So Junseo gives in, he doesn’t push. Even though it feels like only half a conversation, something unfinished, he takes the out that Geonwoo gives him. He’s always been a coward.
He grabs a towel and a change of clothes from his room and takes a hot shower, forehead pressed to the tiles. His mind wanders through their conversation, and he wishes he’d brought his umbrella. But then, he wouldn’t have brought his book, and he wouldn’t have talked to that barista— the barista. He’d almost forgotten about that, the deal they’d made, but it comes rushing back to him now, all of it. He should finish the book tonight, he thinks vaguely, guessing that he won’t be able to fall asleep anyway. There’s too much on his mind that he doesn’t want to be there.
When he comes back out into the living room, now in dry clothes, he finds Geonwoo sitting on the couch with his head in his hands. He looks tired in a way that Junseo’s rarely seen him.
“Geonwoo-yah,” Junseo says softly. “The shower’s free.”
Geonwoo startles slightly, like he’d slipped off somewhere distant and has suddenly been pulled back. It’s strange. Geonwoo is usually so… there. All the time. What has made him feel so out of it?
“Right,” Geonwoo says, getting up. He’s a little unsteady on his feet, and Junseo steps closer, putting a hand on his upper arm, but Geonwoo removes it, squeezing Junseo’s hand before letting go. He smiles, just barely. “I’m okay, hyung, really.”
Junseo wants to believe him, but he doesn’t. Not really. He knows Geonwoo too well, and maybe it’s because of that he doesn’t push it any further either. He just lets this be too, unfinished, undone.
“Alright,” Junseo says. “I’ll order us something to eat. I don’t feel like cooking.”
Geonwoo nods, and then he slips past Junseo and goes to the bathroom to shower. By the time he comes out again, the delivery man is on the doorstep, handing Junseo their food. They put on a random channel in the background and eat together sitting on the floor in the living room, falling back into routine. They always were good at that.
…
The following evening, Junseo leaves his room to make himself something to eat and finds Geonwoo standing in the entryway, staring into the mirror. He’s wearing dress pants and a loose button up shirt, his hair styled, and he looks good. Ashamed, Junseo looks away.
“Hyung,” Geonwoo says, probably spotting him behind him in the mirror. “Do I look okay?”
“What?” Junseo says, faltering slightly on his way towards the fridge.
“Do I look okay?” Geonwoo asks again.
Swallowing roughly, Junseo turns to look at Geonwoo again. It’s a stupid question. Geonwoo always looks good, even when he doesn’t, even when he shouldn’t. Even when he’s hungover and shuffling around the kitchen with his t-shirt inside out and his boxers on backwards, hair a complete mess, cheeks still flushed from alcohol. Maybe especially then, in the quiet, with his guard down. The side of him that only Junseo got to see, because he’s his roommate. His friend. It gives Junseo the same feeling of shame, with the accompanying sensation of a punch to the gut, as when Geonwoo looks like he does now. Junseo would like to look at Geonwoo and not feel ashamed.
“Yeah,” Junseo manages finally. “You look fine, why?”
“I have my first date with Sangwon tonight,” Geonwoo says, a little sheepish as he scratches the back of his neck. “We’re going to a jazz bar, and I don’t… I have no idea what to wear to a place like that.”
Oh. Junseo nods. “You look… you’ll be fine, Geonwoo. You clean up nice.”
Geonwoo smiles, and though it’s probably just a trick of the light, Junseo swears he sees Geonwoo’s cheeks flush.
“Thanks, hyung,” he says. “I’m… I have to get going soon, I just wanted to–” he pauses, something complicated in the lines of his face as he looks at Junseo.
Geonwoo shifts, hands flexing at his sides; it’s like there’s something he wants to say, but he won’t say it, and Junseo doesn’t know how to ask him to. He looks at Junseo almost like he did back then, the morning after they’d kissed, down to the way he’s carrying himself, like he’s afraid of doing something wrong. It makes Junseo scared too, seeing him like this again. He can’t place Geonwoo’s expression, can’t read it, and so doesn’t know what to do with it.
So he ends up not asking, and Geonwoo never says it, and then he’s grabbing a jacket and leaving, waving goodbye, something complicated still in the furrow of his brow. Junseo waves back, but he can’t bring himself to wish him good luck.
He stands there for a while, staring at the door, the outline of Geonwoo’s body flickering in tired eyes. He supposes he should move, but he can’t make himself, his feet feel like lead and his arms don’t move no matter how much he tries. He just stands there, like that’s going to change anything. What had Geonwoo wanted to say? What did that look on his face mean? He supposes he’ll never know now.
When he finally manages to make himself move, it sends a wave of nausea washing over him, like the action had dislodged some emotional block, and it’s suddenly all he can do to stay upright. He doubles over, clutching his knees, breathing hard. He feels sick, actually sick. His chest hurts. It’s like his heart is trying to crawl out of his mouth, like it wants to run after Geonwoo and tell him not to go.
Junseo isn’t jealous. It’s not that, not exactly. He’d spent the past many months coming to terms with the fact that Geonwoo didn’t like him back, learning how to be okay with it, because what he wants most of all is for Geonwoo to stay in his life. And he thought he’d done a pretty good job, but now that it’s really happening, now that Geonwoo is so decidedly stomping out the ashes of any hope Junseo might’ve left alive in his heart— it hurts. It hurts like hell.
He sucks in a deep breath, and forgetting all about making dinner, he takes a bottle of soju from the fridge and sits down on the kitchen floor, opening the bottle and taking a sip.
It’s stupid. Junseo had always known how it was going to end, he’d always known Geonwoo was going to meet someone someday, but maybe he’d been relying on that indefinite concept of time. He takes another sip, grimacing. It’s stupid, he knows it’s stupid. It still hurts. It still feels like someone is tearing his chest open. Maybe he hadn’t done as good of a job as he thought killing the part of him that had hope, that thought that the kiss might’ve meant something to Geonwoo too. Maybe he hadn’t killed it as much as he’d ignored it.
He’s unsure of how long he sits there, but at some point when he lifts the bottle to his lips, he finds that he’s emptied it. He frowns slightly, hand falling back into his lap. He’d thought drinking might help, that it might make him forget about Geonwoo and what he’s doing, but it hasn’t. All that’s changed is that his head is starting to hurt, and his fingers are buzzing. He still feels sick, he still can’t Geonwoo out of his brain, nor his heart. When Geonwoo had moved into the apartment, he’d moved into Junseo’s heart too and made what he’s coming to learn might be a permanent home there.
He pulls himself to his feet, body feeling weak, the alcohol rushing through him, overwhelming his senses. Little colorful lights float around in the edges of his vision. He puts the empty bottle away for recycling, then turns and goes straight to his bedroom, falling onto his bed with a thud. It’s stupid, he knows it’s stupid, but it doesn’t stop it from hurting.
Junseo rolls onto his side and curls up into a ball in the middle of the bed, arms wrapped tightly around himself as he stares unseeingly into the dark of his room. It’s fine, he’s… he’s fine. He’ll be fine. This was always going to happen, Junseo knew that from the beginning.
He falls asleep eventually, his dreams flickering images of things that aren’t and things that have been. Junseo has always had vivid dreams. He dreams of waking up one day and wanting Geonwoo less than he does; this is a dream, though. It’s never going to come true.