Chapter Text
"I think I like Alex," a timid whisper escaped his lips. Jisang looked scared.
Of course, the first one who he came to was Apo. Apo looked at him surprised, not prepared to hear something like that in broad daylight.
"Not like a friend, you know," he said without even thinking. Frankly, he didn't know why he started that conversation with Apo. Now he thought that he just went crazy and didn't realize what he was doing. The only thing he could think about were his own feelings, which now consumed his every thought. But when he saw Apo's surprised stare and still didn't hear anything, he started to get really nervous. Maybe it wasn't a good idea at all. Maybe he should have kept his feelings to himself. Right… What could Apo do? "Well… Or I just got confused… I'm sorry," Jisang said, wanting to both drop the subject and vanish from embarrassment.
"Wait," Apo finally answered. He blinked a few times trying to find the right words. "Are you… Like, how did you come up with that idea?" But Jisang still seemed uneasy, hesitant to speak. Even though he had been the one who came to Apo. He settled quietly on the edge of the bed, collecting himself, when Apo’s gentle voice cut through the silence. "Hey, relax. That's okay. You can talk to me." After a moment, he added softly, "Or we don't have to talk at all. Whatever you need."
Jisang only smiled a little. "It's really confusing. Um… It's not like crazy teenage love and I don't even know how to describe it. It's like… One day I just woke up with that thought in my mind. And it's really weird because I've never had feelings for boys and, um…" It was only now when Jisang decided to look at Apo. He was listening to him attentively, and Jisang couldn't shake how absurd this whole situation felt. Why is he even here? "I'm sorry. I get the feeling I'm bothering you with my silly questions. I just… I'm not sure if I can talk about it with someone else."
"That's fine," Apo smiled at him kindly and touched his hand. "But I'm not really sure if I can help you with that. I think the one who you should talk to is Alex. Not me."
"Yeah, I know, I just…" Jisang bit his bottom lip, looking down. It was embarrassing, but what was he expecting? An idea crossed his mind, and he questioned whether it was over the top. But then he just looked at Apo sincerely interested. "How did you realize that you are… different? It's, um... I'm still not sure about everything. Maybe I really got confused?"
The room was silent for a moment before Apo spoke up, his eyes locked at Jisang's. "I just knew it. I don't know, I've never labeled myself, I followed the current. After all, it's just your feelings, it doesn't define you," Apo's soothing tone didn't help Jisang clear the confusion in his mind. What was the reality? Did he really have feelings for Alex? Was his feelings true or was it just a mind trick? Was it perhaps a dream that twisted his perception of his own feelings? Jisang wasn't sure.
"Thank you," he said, sinking in his thoughts. It was hard. "Don't tell anyone, please."
Of course, Jisang knew that Apo couldn't do that. Just as he knew what would fill his head for the next few days until he took action.
Jisang's focus at the next rehearsal was fractured by repeated glances at Alex — a distraction he felt utterly helpless to stop. His mind was burning. And he could come to his senses only when P'Min, with a worried look, shook his shoulder and asked if he was fine. At these moments Jisang noticed Apo's concerned stare and slightly nodded to him, trying to tell that everything was fine.
Things were getting really bad when Alex himself started to worry about him.
It wasn't okay at all. It wasn't a stupid dream that changed his feelings. It wasn't a mind trick, wasn't his delusion. It was terrifyingly real. And the worst part was the realization.
Jisang shouldn't feel that for him. They were close, but they were only friends. He shouldn't have gone out of bounds. It wasn't right.
He was sorry, but he couldn't bring himself to come to the next practice. He said he felt unwell and, honestly, he didn't even have to lie. He was sick. Sick of his stupid feelings, which he didn't want to have.
Mind was foggy. Jisang was lying wrapped in a blanket even though it was pretty hot in his room. He tried to sleep but his heart was beating too loud. Suddenly, there was a quick knock on the door before it opened. Jisang was afraid of looking at the person entering the room, but before he could decide what to do someone put a hand on his shoulder.
"You alright here?" It was Apo. Jisang immediately turned to face him and to smile slightly. "Seems like you are really struggling," Apo's voice was still worried and soft. It could soothe Jisang if he wasn't that crazy about everything that was happening in his mind.
"No. I don't know how to talk to him."
Apo nodded to him understandingly. "Firstly, you have to calm yourself down. Your feelings aren't the end of the world. And then… Just tell him everything as it is."
Huh? Jisang couldn't even imagine how embarrassing it would be.
"I'm afraid it can change the atmosphere in the group. I don't think he feels the same as me. I don't wanna bring problems," Jisang lowered his eyes, feeling stressed out. Why is everything that complicated?
Apo rubbed his shoulder soothingly. "I understand. You're right to be cautious. But you still need to talk to him."
Everything that Apo told him these days was obvious. It was just Jisang who needed to think properly. But he couldn't. He couldn't even understand what these feelings truly were. Maybe he just confused these feelings with ordinary closeness. "It's just your feelings," Apo had said back then, but what if the feelings were wrong?
Jisang stayed in bed alone, staring at the ceiling. He replayed every moment with Alex. The easy laughter, the happy high-fives after a good practice, the way Alex would sometimes throw an arm around him when he was tired. Were those moments special, or were they just… normal? Maybe he had taken their friendship and twisted it into something else in his head. Maybe his heart was just lonely and confused.
A few days passed like that — Jisang told everyone he was feeling unwell and lied in his bed, thinking about everything. It might not be good, maybe he'd better switch his focus to rehearsals and not think too much, but he couldn't bring himself to the practice room. The day they didn't have practice he came to Apo again and hugged him for a while. After that, he found the strength to come to the next practice. He was quieter and kept a careful distance from Alex, answering his questions with short smiles and focusing intensely on the choreography. It was safer that way.
One afternoon, they were the last two in the practice room, gathering their water bottles and towels. The silence was heavy.
"Hey," Alex said, breaking it. He sounded uncharacteristically serious. "Are you mad at me or something?"
Jisang's heart jumped. "No. Of course not."
"You've been… weird. Distant." Alex took a step closer, his forehead wrinkled in concern. "Did I do something?"
This was the moment. Apo's voice in his head said, "Just tell him everything as it is," but a louder, terrified voice screamed about ruining everything.
"You didn't do anything," Jisang said, forcing his voice to be light. "I've just had a lot on my mind. Family stuff." The lie tasted bitter.
Alex studied his face for a second, then his expression softened. He clapped Jisang on the back — a firm, friendly, normal gesture. "Okay. You know you can talk to me, right? We're friends."
Friends. The word seemed to seal Jisang's fate. It was a quiet confirmation, and it stung more than he had ever imagined.
"I know," Jisang mumbled, looking away. "Thanks."
He saw it then, clearly. Alex's eyes held only friendly concern. There was no hidden tension, no flicker of anything more. Alex didn't like him. He didn't look at Jisang and see anything but a bandmate, a friend. The closeness Jisang felt was real, but it was only closeness. His own feelings were a mistake, a one-sided fantasy he had built in a moment of weakness.
The realization didn't set him free. It just made the cage feel more real. He had to bury this. There was no other way.
"Let's go," Alex said, slinging his bag over his shoulder. "I'm starving."
Jisang nodded, following him out of the room. He walked beside his friend, listening to Alex talk about a new video game, and he tried to smile at the right places. But inside, he was quietly letting go of something he never really had.
The silence that settled after that afternoon in the practice room wasn't peaceful. It was a heavy, fragile thing that Jisang carried with him for the next two weeks. He went through the motions: rehearsals, meals, group outings. He laughed when he was supposed to laugh, focused when he needed to focus. But a part of him was always observing, analyzing every interaction with Alex, searching for a crack in his own conclusion.
He found none. Alex was exactly the same — warm, loud, casually affectionate with all their members. He'd ruffle Jisang's hair, steal a sip of his drink, throw an arm over his shoulders without a second thought. Each touch, which once sent a jolt through Jisang, now felt like a small, quiet punishment. Proof of how normal it was for Alex, and how broken it felt for him.
One evening, after a particularly long and silent dinner where Alex's laughter felt like needles, Jisang found himself at Apo's door again. He didn't even have to say anything. Apo took one look at his pale, tense face and pulled him inside.
"It's getting worse," Jisang said, his voice flat. He sat on the edge of the bed, shoulders slumped. "I can't stop thinking about it. I watch him, and I… I keep looking for something that isn't there. It's making me crazy."
Apo sat beside him, quiet for a moment. "You're torturing yourself," he said finally, his voice gentle but firm. "This… this guessing, this analyzing, it's eating you alive."
"What else can I do?" Jisang whispered, desperation creeping in. "I tried to ignore it. I tried to believe it's just friendship. But my heart doesn't listen to my head…"
Apo sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Look. I told you before, the only one who has the real answer is Alex. Not me, and not the voices in your head," he turned to face Jisang, his expression serious. "Maybe… you need to hear the answer from him. To stop the 'what if'.”
Jisang's breath hitched. "You mean… confess?"
"I mean get an answer," Apo corrected softly. "Right now, you have a question mark. And it's poisoning everything. Maybe if it becomes a period, even a painful one, you can start to… move."
The idea was terrifying. It was the scenario Jisang had been trying to avoid at all costs — the rejection, the awkwardness, the potential ruin of their dynamic. But as he sat there, feeling the constant ache in his chest, the terror of confession began to feel smaller than the torture of not knowing. The 'what if' was a monster, and maybe only the truth could slay it.
"What if he hates me after?" Jisang's voice was very small.
"He won't hate you," Apo said, though he didn't sound completely certain. "He's a good guy. It might be weird for a while, but… he values you as a friend. That won't just disappear. And… I can talk to him if anything."
Jisang left Apo's room that night with a resolve that felt more like a sentence. He would do it. He would find a moment, say the words, and accept whatever came next.
The opportunity came a few days later. They were walking back to the dorm after a late-night snack with their group, just the two of them now. The streets were quiet, washed in the orange glow of the streetlights. The normal, comfortable silence between them now felt charged to Jisang, like the calm before a storm. Jisang couldn't do it outside, under the indifferent streetlights. It felt too exposed. The words felt too big for the open air.
"Alex," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "Can we talk? In private."
Alex looked at him, the concern from the practice room returning to his eyes. "In private?" His eyes were interested. "Yeah, sure. My room?"
Jisang just nodded, his throat too tight to speak. The walk to the dorm and up the stairs felt like a march to an execution, each step up the staircase heavier than the last. Alex pushed open the door to his room. Everything was in its usual order. The air hung with the familiar scent of his cologne and laundry detergent — a smell that was, unmistakably and painfully, him.
Alex closed the door and leaned against it, crossing his arms. "Okay, talk to me. You've been acting weird for weeks. What's going on?"
Jisang stood in the middle of the room, feeling utterly lost. He wrapped his arms around himself, a poor substitute for comfort. The rehearsed words vanished. All that was left was the raw, messy truth. Jisang took a deep breath.
"I… I have feelings for you." The words tumbled out, clumsy and blunt. "Not like a friend. Real feelings. Romantic feelings."
There. It was out.
The silence in the room was immediate and absolute. It wasn't the quiet of the street; this was a heavy, suffocating stillness that seemed to swallow all sound. Alex didn't move from the door. His arms slowly uncrossed and fell to his sides. His expression wasn't one of anger or disgust. It was pure, blank shock. He just stared, as if trying to translate the words into a language he could understand.
Jisang couldn't bear it. The silence was worse than any reaction. He felt the heat of humiliation crawl up his neck. His eyes began to burn, and he looked down at the floor, feeling that tears could escape down his cheek any moment. He was breaking apart right there in the middle of Alex's room, and he was powerless to stop it.
The first tear uncontrollably rolled down his face.
He heard Alex move. A shuffle of feet. Then Alex was standing right in front of him, close. Jisang kept his eyes fixed on the pattern of the floorboards, wishing he could disappear into them.
He saw Alex's hands come up, not to push him away, but to gently frame his face. The touch was so unexpected, so tender, that Jisang's breath hitched. Alex's thumbs brushed the tears from his cheeks, his own face a mask of confused anguish.
And then Alex leaned in and kissed him.
It was soft. Brief. A gentle, closed-mouth press of lips that lasted only five heartbeats. It was not a kiss of passion, but of something else — desperation, pity, a wild attempt to bridge an impossible gap. It was an answer without words.
Alex pulled back as quickly as he had leaned in, his own eyes wide, as if surprised by his own actions. He didn't let go of Jisang's face. They stood there, frozen, breaths mingling in the small space between them.
Jisang's mind was white noise. Then, a torrent of questions burst through the static. His voice was a ragged whisper. "Why… What do you mean?..”
Alex finally dropped his hands, taking a full step back. He ran a shaky hand through his hair, his gaze darting anywhere but Jisang's face. "I… I don't know." He sounded lost. "You were crying. And you looked so… shattered. I just… I wanted to fix it." He finally looked at Jisang, his eyes pleading for understanding. "I didn't know what else to do."
The explanation landed like a physical blow. "I wanted to fix it." It was a kiss of consolation. A medical intervention for a broken heart. It wasn't a revelation of shared feeling; it was the ultimate proof that Alex felt nothing but a friend's helpless distress.
"Fix it?" Jisang repeated, the words hollow. A bitter, broken sound that was almost a laugh escaped him. "You think that fixes it?"
"No," Alex said quickly, his voice strained. "No, I know it doesn't. It was stupid. I'm sorry. I just… I hate seeing you hurt. And I'm the cause of it." He looked utterly miserable. "You're my best friend. The thought of you being in pain because of me… it's killing me."
There it was. The period. The brutal, definitive full stop, delivered in the kindest, most devastating way possible. The kiss hadn't been a beginning; it had been a farewell. A merciful, mistaken goodbye to a possibility that never existed.
Jisang wiped his face with his sleeve, the last of his tears drying into a cold, tight feeling on his skin. The initial shock was fading, replaced by a deep, weary emptiness.
"I understand," he said, his voice flat and final. "Thank you for being honest."
He didn't wait for a reply. He turned, pushed Alex out of his way, opened the door, and walked out. The hallway was empty and quiet. He didn't go to Apo. He went straight to his own room, closed the door, and sat on his bed in the dark.
He touched his lips. They still tingled from the phantom pressure. He would remember the softness, the warmth, the shocking gentleness of it. But he would also always remember the look in Alex's eyes afterward — the confusion, the pity, the regret.
It was over. The question mark was gone, replaced by the painful, permanent shape of an answer he had always known, but now felt in the very core of his being. Alex could only ever be his friend. And even that friendship now had a hairline crack running straight through its center, born from a moment of pity that felt, to Jisang, like the loneliest thing in the world.
The silence that followed his return to his room was heavy, but it was a different kind of quiet. It wasn't charged with fear or hope anymore. It was the flat, hollow quiet of a finished thing. The next day at practice, Jisang was a model of professionalism. He arrived exactly on time, his focus laser-sharp. He listened carefully to their choreographer, executed the moves with precision, and when he messed up, he simply said "Sorry, let me try again," without any of his usual frustration.
He didn't avoid Alex. That would have been too obvious, too painful for them both. Instead, he treated him exactly as he treated P'Min, Apo, or any of their members — with a polite, friendly distance. He smiled at his jokes, but it didn't reach his eyes. He passed him the water bottle when asked. He was present, but he was not there. It was as if a thin, clear sheet of glass had slid down between them. Alex could see him, but the boy he knew was just out of reach.
Alex tried, at first. He'd approach Jisang during breaks, his expression cautious, his words hesitant. "Hey, you good?" "Need help with that step?" Jisang's replies were always the same: a small, closed-lipped smile, a nod, a "I'm fine, thanks." Nothing more. After a few days, Alex stopped trying.
Jisang threw himself into work. He stayed late at the studio, long after everyone else had left, practicing until his muscles screamed and his mind was too tired to think. The physical exhaustion was a blessing. It pushed the memories of the confession, of the kiss, into a dark corner where he didn't have to look at them. He slept deeply, dreamlessly, from pure fatigue.
Sometimes, in the quiet moment before sleep truly took him, he'd feel the ghost of that kiss. Not the softness, but the reason behind it. The pity. It was a cold ache, familiar now, like an old injury that acted up when the weather changed. He would take a slow breath, turn over, and wait for the exhaustion to pull him under, or practice choreography a few more times.
He put his feelings in a box, locked it, and promised himself he would never, ever try to open it again.
It wasn't a happy ending. It was just an ending. His new reality, which he had to live in.