Archive of Our Own

Dear Sunghoon,
There are days you live through without realizing they aren’t a beginning but an attachment. That day was like that. The sky wasn’t any different, nor was the direction of the wind. Everything was exactly as it should have been. But I… I was standing in the right place in the wrong way. Inside me, something I didn’t yet have a name for was quietly taking root. It didn’t hurt not yet but it already carried the promise of permanence. As if something had decided to settle inside me without ever asking for permission.

The park was ordinary.
Painfully ordinary.

The rusted swing chains groaned with the wind, their sound like an old song worn thin by time. Children ran across the concrete, fell, wiped the blood from their knees with their palms, and returned to their games as if nothing had happened. Pain was only a brief stop for them. Mothers shouted from afar, their voices dissolving into the crowd. Fathers chose not to look, placing an invisible distance between themselves and life. Everything was moving, everyone seemed to be on their way somewhere. Life flowed forward, waiting for no one, caring for no one. And yet I, at just ten years old, stood still in the middle of all that motion. For the first time, time didn’t pass me by.

Then I saw you.

I was ten. A child who hadn’t quite settled into the world yet, who feared taking up too much space even in their own body, who tried to carry their existence quietly. And you were too tall by my measures. Too real. Too calm. Too complete. You were sitting alone on a swing, as if the swing wasn’t carrying you but you were the one holding it in place. Your feet didn’t touch the ground, and to my ten-year-old mind, that was the strangest and most beautiful thing. Until then, everything I had called beautiful was either colorful, bright, or fleeting. You were none of those. You were quiet. Unassuming. The sunlight rested on your face as if it had chosen you, as if it no longer wished to be anywhere else. Your features weren’t sharp, but they weren’t vague either. There was a simplicity to you, the kind you don’t get lost in when you look at it. I could see the mole on the bridge of your straight nose. There was a faint ache in my fingertips. It wasn’t the urge to touch not yet. It was more like a need to confirm your existence. As if I needed to be sure you were real. That you were there. That you wouldn’t disappear in the next moment, that you wouldn’t turn into something else when I blinked. My gaze tried to pin you in place, as if you were being nailed to the world so the wind couldn’t carry you away.

As I watched you, I unknowingly shrank into myself on the bench beside my mother. My body folded inward, as if it had learned not to take up space. My shoulders slumped, my chest tightened, my breath grew shallow. I could feel my mother’s gaze on my back, sharp, cautionary, that familiar weight that had spent years teaching me everything I shouldn’t do. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to. That look reminded me again and again that I shouldn’t talk to strangers, that I should stay where I was, that boundaries were invisible but absolute. Those looks had always stopped me. Made me step back. Buried my eagerness. Trained my curiosity into silence.

But you… You didn’t feel like something meant to be stopped.

The park suddenly stopped feeling foreign. The trees, the benches, the rusted swings, everything became familiar, as if we had once stood here together long ago, drifted apart, and were now meeting again just to remember. This wasn’t an introduction. It was a belated encounter.

My mother’s voice faded. The hum of the crowd dulled. The world seemed to decide not to rush me. Time didn’t run past me for once. As my feet carried me toward you, there was a strange certainty inside me. No excitement, no fear. I didn’t think I was doing something wrong. I didn’t weigh right or wrong. At that age, you don’t weigh things anyway. You just know you’re going. And you go.

I can’t forget the expression that crossed your face when you noticed me approaching. First, a brief surprise. Then a stillness, pulling back as if you were afraid of being hurt. Even now, I can’t fit what I felt in my chest at that moment into a single word. I loved you in the furthest way a child can love another person, like something unnamed growing inside me, something that needed to be protected. As if by getting a little closer to you, I could save your childhood. As if I could convince one of your lonely moments to stop being lonely. I felt like I could share all my toys with you. Maybe that’s why I wanted to draw you in my notebook later with one of my worn-down pencils, to multiply you, to be sure you wouldn’t disappear. But I didn’t. Because you weren’t a drawing. You were too real to be entrusted to paper, too fragile to be anywhere but inside me.

I sat on the swing beside you. The chains moved at the same time. The sound of metal lined up with the place my heart was beating. I felt my mother’s gaze on my back, sharp, warning, calling me back, but I didn’t turn around. Everything behind me had lost its importance. You looked at me. You didn’t look away. You didn’t step back. You stayed exactly where you were, as if you had been waiting for me.

And you smiled. It was like the moment a child finds the world safe for the first time. Even now, it’s deep enough to wake me from my sleep. “What’s your name?” you asked.

And Sunghoon… That was the moment a quiet door opened inside me. There was no noise, no fear, just an irreversible acceptance. I didn’t know what was on the other side, but I felt this much. If I crossed that threshold, I would never experience any feeling on the surface again. Still, I didn’t stop.

That day, at just ten years old, I had no idea that a tiny step taken toward you would keep me inside this moment even years later.

I hadn’t learned how to love you yet. But my heart had already learned your absence, as if it had been written that way from the start.

With hope,
Sunoo

 જ⁀➴

Dear Sunghoon,
It had only been a few days since I met you. Between us stood a familiarity that had no name yet but could still be felt. The faint flutter that rose in my chest whenever I thought of your name felt like the impatience that builds up before a game begins. As if something was about to start, the rules not yet decided. I didn’t know what I was supposed to do, but I was certain there was something waiting to be done.

The day I came back from the park, I was strangely afraid of forgetting your name. It felt as though forgetting you and losing you were the same thing. So I repeated your name over and over inside my head. I didn’t say it out loud. I didn’t want anyone else to hear it. I whispered it to myself, breaking it into syllables. I repeated it while walking. I repeated it while taking off my shoes. That night, lying in bed, I said it one last time before closing my eyes. With a child’s mind, I believed some words kept people alive. Your name felt like one of them.

A few days later, when the doorbell rang, I didn’t know it would be you. They had only said, “The neighbors.” They had said, “They’re coming to meet us.” In the world of adults, those words meant poured coffee, half-asked pleasantries, and polite smiles paired with welcomes. I thought it would be the same. An evening where voices blended together and I disappeared somewhere in between. One of those moments where I was present but didn’t quite count.

But when the door opened, the air inside the house changed. Sounds echoed differently. First, your family stepped in. Faces, voices, introductory phrases. And then you. Heeseung was the first to catch my attention. He was holding a small touchscreen phone, his head slightly bowed, his shoulders loose. His fingers slid across the screen again and again, repeating the same motion with patient focus. While the adults’ conversation flowed in the background, he seemed to listen only halfway. Learning that you had an older brother suddenly made me feel like I understood many things about your life.

Every so often, Heeseung lifted his head and glanced around, then returned to his game as if nothing had happened. His expression didn’t change when he lost, and he didn’t show much joy when he won. That calmness soothed me in a strange way. His presence made you seem safer to me. As if the world might hurt you less when someone stood beside you. As if, even if you fell, there would be someone ready to catch you.

If you were ever left alone, someone would still be watching over you.
And knowing that comforted me more than I expected.

Then there was you.

You were shy. I understood that immediately. But it wasn’t a shyness that wanted to hide. You didn’t avoid eye contact; you just didn’t linger in it longer than necessary. You looked, but you didn’t retreat. And yet, you didn’t fully open yourself while looking either.

You looked at me.
I looked back at you.

For the first time, I thought that shyness didn’t make a person smaller. On the contrary, it made some people more real. More tangible. More different, and because of that, more precious.

We sat side by side at the table. There was barely any space between us, yet the closeness didn’t feel rushed or uncomfortable. Sometimes our shoulders brushed lightly, and then we both went still, as if we had noticed at the same time.

We stayed quiet for a while.
Then you asked, your voice so soft it barely seemed to reach the table,
“Do you like the park?”

The question was simple. But it felt like someone was asking me something that truly mattered for the first time.
“Yes,” I said. “Especially the swings.”

You smiled. It wasn’t a big smile, nothing showy. But it was as if you were relieved, as though I had given the right answer.
“Me too,” you said. “I get dizzy when I swing too fast, but I still like it.”

As you said this, your eyes dropped to the table, then lifted back to me. You were shy, but you weren’t hiding. In that moment, it felt like you were sharing a secret with me the way children do. Something small, something unimportant, but something that belonged to you. Our knees touched under the table. I couldn’t tell whether it was on purpose or by accident. I didn’t want to tell. I accepted the warmth exactly as it was.

You moved your glass back and forth on the table.
“Maybe,” you said, as if you were saying something very important, “one day we can swing together.”

My heart beat like that brief sound at the start of a game.
“Okay,” I said. I didn’t add anything else. There was no need to.

There was a childlike joy inside me at that moment. I was thinking about the games we could play together. Would you be good at hide-and-seek? Would you run faster than me? Would you sulk when you lost, or would you laugh it off? Would we support the same team, or would you choose the opposite one just out of stubbornness? Would we pick the same character in a game and then argue about who played better?

These weren’t big questions. But for a ten-year-old, they were serious enough. Serious enough to decide whether someone would enter my life, whether a game would begin.

As I watched you, the thought that passed quietly through me was this:
If we want to, we can be friends.
If we’re a little brave, we can be playmates too.
If we stay in the same game, maybe we can be happy without calling anyone else.

We were neighbors, Sunghoon. Living in the same building, walking up and down the same stairs, maybe closing our doors at the same hour on some evenings. In my child’s mind, each of these turned into its own small miracle.

After you left that evening, I retreated to my room. My toys were all in their places. Nothing had really changed. And yet I had. The thoughts moving around my room were different now. The front door came to mind. The stairwell. The sound of footsteps.

Maybe I would see you in the yard tomorrow.
Maybe one day we would play together.

That night, I understood something.
For the first time in my life, a “maybe” left hope inside me instead of fear.

With love,
Sunoo

જ⁀➴

Dear Sunghoon,
I learned in the weeks that followed that we went to the same middle school.

At first, it didn’t feel like a big deal. In the adult world, it was just a coincidence. Addresses, streets, enrollment lists lining up. But for me, it was as if someone had quietly said, “You won’t walk alone.” As if the weight inside me had lightened a little when I slung my bag over my shoulder in the mornings. Because now there was a path. And on part of that path, there was you.

In the mornings, I would get ready early and wait for you in front of the building. I couldn’t even admit it to myself. Saying I was waiting felt like opening the most fragile corner of my heart. I always came up with an excuse. I had left early. My bag was heavy. My mother had rushed me. But no excuse could explain the silence that settled inside me the moment I saw you coming down the stairs.

Your bag swung from your shoulder, your hair still carrying traces of sleep, your eyes looking at the world with a certain distance. Watching you like that, something inside me grew. An indescribable warmth, and at the same time, a hollow space. Seeing you every morning made my heart stumble as if I were seeing you for the first time. It twisted my words, left my tongue locked, sent my hands drifting uselessly at my sides.

“Good morning,” you would say. And every time, I would look at you as if you had invented that word yourself. With innocent curiosity, with unintentional admiration. The small child inside me looked at you the way one looks at their favorite toy, afraid and enchanted at the same time. In those moments, time stopped. The world became only you and me. And my heart fluttered inside that quiet with a sweet kind of hopelessness.

We learned how to walk side by side. No one taught us. We didn’t decide. We didn’t plan it. We barely even spoke. Our steps matched on their own, as if they had known each other long before we did. You didn’t make me walk faster. I didn’t slow you down. For the first time in my life, I walked in the same rhythm as someone else. It was more intimate than I had imagined. Like a closeness that comes before holding hands, one without a name. Maybe no one saw it, but I felt it in the most defenseless corner of my heart.

The things you said on the way to school
God, Sunghoon, you didn’t even realize.

The way you changed your voice to imitate teachers, the way you spoke even the most ordinary sentence as if it were a special memory. There were times I bit my lip to keep from laughing. But I couldn’t. I always laughed. And every time, you looked surprised, as if asking, “Was that really funny?”
Yes. Because you were there. That was funny enough. Beautiful enough to hurt my heart.

Sometimes, watching you, the thoughts that passed through me frightened me. It felt as if naming them, admitting them out loud, would drag me somewhere with no return. The certainty in your hand when you drew, the way your pencil moved across the paper as if it already knew its path. As if the possibility of making mistakes had been denied to you from the start. The way you didn’t try not to fall when you ran, how balance found you without effort. Life seemed as if it had been arranged to protect you from the beginning, keeping you away from sharp edges, smoothing out what was excessive. Watching this, a quiet admiration began to bloom inside me.

I don’t know if calling it divine is too much. Maybe it isn’t. Because there was a completeness to you, the kind that makes a person look for a while and then want to avert their eyes. You were too balanced. Too perfectly in place. And I was the messy one standing at the edges of that balance. Whenever I came closer to you, I slowed down. I chose my words carefully. I held back my laughter. It felt as if, if I were a little too happy, something about you might change. What I felt for you was less a desire to be near you and more a need to protect you as you were, to leave you untouched.

Heeseung usually walked with us too. Sometimes ahead, sometimes behind. He barely spoke. But he was there. It felt as though if anyone ever tried to hurt you, the world itself wouldn’t allow it. He could protect you. That thought brought me peace. Because the idea of not being able to protect you kept a constant ache alive inside me, one I couldn’t name.

One day after school, we went into a small convenience store. The weight of the day was on us. Even the light between the shelves seemed tired. As we walked, your shoulder brushed against mine. You didn’t notice. I did. And I quietly let that touch grow inside me, without naming it, without moving it from its place. You wanted to buy something, but you didn’t have enough money. You hesitated. In that moment, without giving myself time to think, I reached into my pocket and made up the difference. It was a small thing. Insignificant for you. Light enough to disappear into the rest of the day.

But for me, as I held that money out, something inside my chest expanded strangely. As if a place that had long been closed opened in silence. I had given you something. Smaller than money, but like a piece torn from me. Loving you was always like that for me. Unnoticed. Without expecting thanks. Without expecting anything in return. Always from invisible places, from afar, from corners no one ever turned to look at.

“I’ll pay you back later, I promise,” you said. “No need,” I said.

On the way home, there was a quiet happiness inside me. Something I couldn’t tell anyone, something that would break if I did. The thought of my shoulder touching yours through that thick, rough fabric left both warmth and a thin ache in my heart. Because the place I touched didn’t belong to me. It was temporary, destined to pass without leaving a mark. Still, in that moment, I was willing to settle for that.

It was enough for me.
It had to be enough.

“You laughed a lot today,” you said one day.
“Because of you,” I said.
“I didn’t do anything,” you said.
“You did,” I said.

You stopped and looked at me.
You didn’t answer.

That was when I realized, Sunghoon
from my family, at a very young age, I had learned that love could sometimes turn into a shackle rather than a blessing. A weight crushing my shoulders, so heavy that breathing often felt impossible. And yet, it was still worth trying. Because Sunghoon, even if love is invisible, silent, and fragile, you taught me that it is the only real thing a small child can hold on to in this world.

Still with hope,
Sunoo

જ⁀➴

Dear Sunghoon,

Here I am again, sitting and writing to you. Years… how quickly they have passed, almost in the blink of an eye. I am now thirteen, about to step into fourteen. We are on the brink of finishing middle school. This transition stirs a strange storm of melancholy inside me. As if the texture of life is about to change, the old patterns erased, and I, in the middle of this transformation, will be tossed like a leaf. But then I remember those golden days we shared, and a warm light, like spring sunshine, wraps around me, melting each of my doubts one by one.

Do you remember those endless afternoons in the small park, playing hide and seek beneath the rustling leaves? We would disappear among the shadows of the trees, our laughter racing the wind. Or the day we discovered that secret corner… as if the universe had placed us there to hide. Sometimes we would sit for hours by a stream, on moss-covered stones, gazing into the infinite blue of the sky. Clouds would form on the canvas of our imagination. You would see a dragon, I would see a castle. Without thinking of anyone else, we would get lost in the magic of that moment.

I would make silly jokes at you, so childish and meaningless, and you would laugh with such pure joy that your laughter felt like a breeze, cleansing me and lighting up every dark corner of my soul. In those moments, the world consisted only of us; time would pause like a silent river, and the universe revolved around our small steps.

Those little gifts… like the tiny notebook you gave me. Its pages were filled with sketches in messy lines, imaginary worlds woven with colored pencils. Those worlds came alive inside us so vividly that if they were real, we could have lived in them. Your drawings… Ah, even describing them ties my tongue in knots. There was always a kind of magic in everything you did. Even in your gaze, there was a deep, masterful touch, as if you were recreating the world with your eyes. To not admire you was impossible, like trying to swim against a current, Sunghoon. That notebook was not an ordinary stack of paper. It was a hidden sanctuary where we took shelter from storms, a little oasis filled with colors and dreams, where our spirits could soar freely.

Sometimes, in the silence of the night before falling asleep, I would think… Would you study art in college? Would you spend hours in a studio, your hands covered in paint? In those rooms filled with the scent of color, would I be by your side? Would you draw me too, perhaps in a corner, a shadow no one noticed, just for your eyes? A high school without you, a university without you, already opened a void inside me; walls tall and empty, windows letting in light but no warmth, a hollow shell.

This attachment gripped me like a chain, frightening me; as if my soul would shatter without you.

The chocolates I gave you during recess… I knew you didn’t like mint, you would wrinkle your nose at the sharp taste, yet you still ate them for me. Your face would scrunch up, then you forced a smile onto your lips. I would watch with my eyes full, as if witnessing the greatest sacrifice in the universe. Those moments left an indelible mark in my memories, sticking like honey, refusing to let us part. Each moment, each smile, made the most sensitive strings of my heart quiver, echoing inside me like a mournful song.

Sometimes, in the evenings when you went out with Heeseung and his friends, a part of my soul wanted to break away and go with you. Watching you play football through the fogged-up glass of my window, I wanted to accept the game I had buried in a dark corner of my childhood with anger, with my heart. Every kick of the ball, the wind tossing your hair, your laughter illuminating the field from end to end… In those moments, the world shrank until only you remained. It did not matter if I fell and scraped my knees or rose in pain.

Yet I would still think… Would my clumsy steps, my feet missing the ball, make you laugh? Would that laugh shine in your eyes like stars? If my incompetence could give you a fleeting joy, I wanted to be there without hesitation.

When I was about to turn fourteen, with the permission I had begged from my mother, you led me to that familiar river we often went to. You were holding a tiny fruit cake in your hand, and for the first time in your life, as you called forth a lighter’s flame, your trembling fingers brought the candle to life. I read the heat in your hands from the furrow of your brows. In that moment, I wanted to wrap your hands in the warmth of my palms and whisper, “It won’t hurt, it will pass,” but my tongue tied, my voice stuck in my throat.

There, by the river, we laughed a lot, but those laughs now sting my heart like shards of broken glass. In the moments when the wind tangled our hair, time seemed to stand still. Then, when one of the tiny plastic forks slipped into the river, we shared that small cake from a single fork. As our bites mingled, it felt like such a shameful, forbidden closeness; my heart thrashed like a stormy sea, lost in the whirlpool of that excitement.

I did not feel disgust, not even aversion. On the contrary, that sharing was life in its purest, wildest rhythm; like breathing, like bleeding, like dying. I realized that for the rest of my life, I could gladly share a bite, a breath, a pain with you. If the entire cake were yours, knowing you were satisfied would fill me like a feast stuck in my throat.

There, in the dim light by the river, you handed me a small gift. That yellow, beaded bracelet you made with your own hands glimmered in your palm as if you had captured sunlight. In that moment, I realized for the first time that you knew my favorite color; that yellow I had kept hidden inside me for years, you saw with your eyes. In my short fourteen years, that bracelet felt like the most precious thing I had ever held. It was not just a gift, it seemed like a unique piece torn from your heart.

When I tried to put it on my wrist, my heart trembled with fear. I felt that the slightest bump, the smallest touch could scatter the beads to the ground. Your warmth was still hidden in the beads, your breath still trapped in the knots of the thread. I hated the thought of ruining it. Yet I wore it. Even if it squeezed my wrist, rubbed my skin, drew blood, I never took it off. I only wished it to fit, not to hurt. As if, by shrinking my body, I could protect that bracelet from harm. Carrying the piece you gave me was not about owning it; it was about making myself worthy of it. To be worthy of your love, your effort, your presence, I melted myself into it.

That day, as the sun slowly sank below the horizon, hours passed meaninglessly; we played silly games. In that card game you brought, far better than me, you constantly let me win; your moves were hesitant, your victories seemed fake. For years I wondered whether this was a conscious sacrifice or coincidence, never finding the answer. Behind the flickering, sparse light of the candle on the small cake, you looked at me with your sharp, dark eyes. That gaze was an arrow piercing my soul. You told me to make a wish before blowing out the candle, your voice drifting softly around me. Until that moment, I had never wished for anything truly real in my life; in previous birthdays, I wished for my favorite toy, my sibling’s laugh, my family’s peace… innocent, childish desires. For the first time, I wanted something so deeply, so painfully; to make a wish about you while you were in front of me, in your sight… as if you could truly see, as if you could watch the inside of my heart. This thought caught me so unprepared that shame spread across my face like a burning fire. I felt my face flush.

My thoughts were scattered. Words tangled inside me. You said nothing, just looking at me, and I thought time had stopped. At that moment, I doubted if my mind belonged to me. What if you could read it? What if my innermost thoughts were leaking out through the corners of my eyes, the trembling of my lips, the involuntary openness of my face… I hated feeling so exposed, so defenseless.

The candle’s flame still flickered faintly. That tiny light you had sparked with your hands was weak and fragile compared to the brilliance in your eyes. The flame, like my heart, quivered once more before going out. At that very moment, I whispered a wish, folding all I had hidden inside me into a single breath.

“I wish to always be close to you, like a breath of fresh air filling my lungs.”

Forever with you,
Sunoo

જ⁀➴

Dear Sunghoon,

If every beautiful thing has an end—and it does—then thinking that the fragile bond between us would eventually shatter was like a poison gnawing at me. That feeling I was afraid to name, the one I felt I had no right to name; that damned thing that was a safe harbor for me and only a “deep friendship” for you, the terror that it could slip from my hands in a fleeting gust of wind, felt like a dagger buried in my chest.

Sitting shoulder to shoulder by the river, playing games, matching our steps on the way to school… Every time you asked why my gaze trembled, why my voice caught in my throat, why my eyes filled with a dark fog, I wanted to tell you the truth. I wanted it so wildly that the words collided with my lips and stayed there, trapped in blood and bruises, unable to fall.

But Sunghoon… I could not bring myself to taint your untarnished heart, your soul untouched by evil, your innocence unsoiled by the world, with my own tired heart that barely knew its own darkness. I could not. Your smooth, fair-skinned face was the purest, clearest thing I had ever seen. Before me, an endless whiteness stretched, where not a single blemish dared to approach. And I… I did not even have the courage to touch that flawless page.

I feared that if I poured out my heart, I would lose you; if I stayed silent, I would curse myself forever. I was crushed between these two hells and remained silent. The more I held back, the more I grew, the storms inside me raged, I shattered, I bled. I could not tell you what I felt because I feared that the price of loving you would be hurting you. I feared so much that the fear strangled me every night and resurrected me every morning.

Yet Sunghoon… I must admit that ever since you seeped into my life, every second with you was the brightest memory, while every moment without you was a bottomless pit, a hell beyond mediocrity. I hated being so powerless and fragile that I could never shout these lines to your face. In this cursed house, where words of love are whispered only within four walls, I also hated scribbling these secretly affectionate letters to you.

When you and Heeseung would recount your family’s joyful, ridiculous memories in your home, and you would fix those hopeful eyes on my face waiting for a story from my family… I hated that too. I loved you so fiercely, Sunghoon, that I wished all my cursed bonds broken, that I might be reborn from your blood, I begged my fate. On weekends, when the cheerful, boisterous shouts from your home echoed in the stairwell, I learned to be an invisible ghost, dodging my father’s poisonous shadow. I discovered hide and seek by hiding from his rage. While he hurled curses at my mother for the most absurd, insignificant things, I chased after her, breathless, trying to stop him, learning pursuit. When my unaware little sister woke crying at night, I comforted her with lies, telling her “it’s okay,” and played my first role.

But Sunghoon, you took my fake, hollow childhood and, with your warm hands and patience, kneaded it into something real. As if I had only ever been a shadow, you gave me weight. I learned to stand firmly, to leave a mark, because of you. You hid so skillfully that the panic swelling inside me when I could not find you rose all the way to my eyes. My heart would pound as if it might burst from my chest. The thought of losing you, even at that age, weighed heavily enough to collapse me to my knees. And then, when you suddenly appeared just as I was about to cry… that moment. That relief. That unraveling. The rhythm of my heartbeat changed for the first time. For the first time in my life, someone’s presence was stronger than their absence. I learned from you that hide and seek is really about being found, but the true miracle is returning. When you grabbed my hand and said, “Faster, Sun!” and pulled me after you, it felt as if my feet no longer touched the ground. Running was no longer escaping; it was catching up. With every step, it felt like a bond was being woven inside me. When you ran ahead and I tried to catch up, even exhausted, I did not want to stop.

When you opened your sketchbook and started drawing my face, the world grew silent. The soft sound of your pencil touching paper awakened something that had slept inside me for years. You were drawing me not as an artist, but as a person. Without erasing my flaws, without hiding my shortcomings. With each line, a forgotten feeling returned.

To be valued.
To be worthy of being looked at.
To be worthy of being remembered.

Sunghoon, you did not just make me love games. You gave me meaning. My childhood took flesh and bone because of you. And perhaps that is why… the thought of losing you still feels like burying my childhood a second time.

And yes, it hurts a little too much.

With patience,
Sunoo

જ⁀➴

Dear Sunghoon,
The day I told my family I wanted to go to the same high school as you, I thought it was the most innocent request I’d ever made.

I just wanted to see you a little more, to leave the house at the same time in the morning, to create a world where I could search for you whenever I felt lost in a crowd. But the moment those words left my mouth, the very air in our home shifted. The walls seemed to lean in on me, and my family suddenly felt like strangers.

Just mentioning your name was enough, Sunghoon. Faces tightened as if I had whispered a sin, voices grew harsh, and in that moment, I realized that what I had nurtured inside me was nothing but a source of fear in their world. They didn’t see you as a person; they saw you as the reason I was "broken," "changing," and "straying from the path."

My father’s words hit like fists, making me feel smaller with every sentence. My mother approved of it all with her silence, a silence more cruel than any shouting because not a single hand reached out to defend me. I couldn’t find the strength to tell these people that you weren't dragging me into the darkness; on the contrary, you were the one who pulled me out of it for the first time.
To them, being in the same school as you was a deviation, a wrong turn. They told me I had "changed," flinging the word at my face like an accusation.

My wish to attend high school together was just a matter of logistics to them, but for me, it was my only chance at holding on. Because breathing the same air in the same building, the mere possibility of our eyes meeting at some point during the day was a reason strong enough to get me out of bed every morning. I couldn't explain it, and as I remained silent, the weight inside me only grew heavier.
They thought they were protecting me from you, when in reality, it was a blatant desire to tear me away from myself. "He isn't good for you," they said, as if they had ever cared about what was good for me before. My voice trembled, the words catching in my throat. I knew if I tried to explain you, they would only tarnish your name further, so I stayed silent. Sacrificing myself to protect you had become a reflex.

For my family, love was conditional. It existed if you were "right," if you were quiet, if you remained invisible. But there was no room in that house for anything that resembled you. They expected me to memorize how a man should stand, how he should speak, where he should look, and what he should never want. Being loved and accepted depended on me playing this role perfectly. No matter how hard I tried, I was always the "wrong piece," the one that never quite fit, always overflowing, always being crushed a little more.

They labeled you as the one who "corrupted" me, Sunghoon, yet you were the first person who made me feel like I was walking on a straight path. I learned from you that the ground beneath my feet was solid, that my steps actually led somewhere, and that it was possible to walk without staring at the floor. When I was with you, I didn’t have to keep my shoulders tense; for the first time, my body stepped out of its defensive stance. I realized through you that laughing wasn't a mistake and feeling light wasn't a crime.

As I write this, the duality growing inside me expands every day. They tell me that by getting closer to you, I am burning myself, walking into the fire on purpose. They whisper that if I stay away from you, I’ll be saved; I’ll become "normal," I’ll be "fixed." But no one asks me about the silence of the void that opens up inside me when I'm without you, how deep and lethal it is. No one wonders what it’s like to lie motionless in bed at night, feeling lifeless despite drawing breath. No one wants to see that your absence doesn't burn me; it slowly extinguishes me.

Days later, partly due to my sister’s influence, they "allowed" me to go to the same school as you, Sunghoon. They presented it not as a right, but as a probation period. Even if they didn't say it outright, their eyes reminded me a thousand times that every step would be watched, and at the slightest mistake, this permission would be revoked. This wasn't a victory for me; it felt more like a surrender accepted under heavy terms.

But still, haven't I won?

Perhaps I paid the price by leaving pieces of myself behind at that table, but being able to walk through the same school gates as you, hearing the same bell ring for class, knowing you are there in the crowd; despite everything they took from me, those are the only truths I can cling to.

If I can enter those doors at the same time as you, if I can see you every day even from afar, it won’t be a miracle. It will be a small right to survival, won by pretending I had given up. And maybe for the first time, even within the boundaries they set, I will be one step closer to my own path.

With love,
Sunoo

જ⁀➴

Dear Sunghoon,
That summer vacation flowed by like a dream where time showed me mercy for the first time. It felt as if the accumulated weight of years had finally slipped off my shoulders, leaving me free. Life treated me with a kindness I had never known until that day; it pulled its hands back and invited me to simply breathe. The sun lingered in the sky with the air of a lazy lover, scattering its light without any rush. The evenings descended upon us like a velvet shroud, wrapping us beneath the stars and offering a warm embrace in the cool of the night.

When you were by my side, the ticking of the clock went silent and the relentless chase of time halted. We melted into that moment, drifting away from the world’s frantic pace. Even in those minutes at sunset when we swallowed our words and fell silent, our stillness wasn't a burden. It was filled with a deep sense of security, like a warm breeze caressing our skin where hidden emotions whispered. In those moments when we sat side by side doing absolutely nothing, my eyes never left you. Watching you filled the deepest corners of my soul, satisfying me with that rare, perfect sense of pure sufficiency.

I would notice the way your shoulder dropped ever so slightly, as if you were releasing your weight into yourself rather than the world. Your thick eyebrows would knit together instinctively when you were lost in thought while walking, and in those moments, the shadow of sentences you never spoke would flicker across your face. I don’t know if this is how one looks at someone they love. But Sunghoon, I think I loved you by watching you. I clung to what you didn't say more than what you did, to the things you did unconsciously, and to the versions of yourself you showed to no one else. I memorized every detail of you with a frantic care, as if you might be taken from me tomorrow.

We spent most of the summer lost in the magic of games during those days that seemed to stretch forever. Sometimes we played with a childish innocence, our laughter mixing with the sky, and sometimes with a needless gravity, as if we were in the middle of a war deciding the fate of the world.

I remember that day, the moment our feet got tangled while running and time stopped for a heartbeat. We both stumbled, embracing the earth and rolling through clouds of dust. My knee was throbbing with a sharp sting, but I remember that the shame burned more than the pain itself, like a branding iron. It was as if that fall had exposed my soul in its most naked state. You, without a moment’s hesitation, pulled a bandage out of your bag. It was Spiderman, that small, colorful piece carrying our childhood hero. A look of sculptural seriousness settled on your face as you pressed it to my knee. "Don't move," you said, your voice soft yet firm, reaching my ears with the precision of a surgeon.

In that moment, it was as if you were performing the most critical operation in the universe. A simple bandage had turned into a miracle in your hands. As for me, I bit my lip to suppress the laughter rising inside me. Because that seriousness, the moment your small hand touched my knee, made me feel for the first time that someone truly accounted for me.

It was as if the world had grown still and every insignificant thing had receded, leaving only my pain and the way you took it as seriously as if it were your own. It hurt, yes, but my real fear wasn't the pain itself. It was the fear of that moment passing, of you standing up and walking away, of this small act of care turning into just an ordinary memory.

That is why I didn't laugh. That is why I didn't move. I felt that if I shifted, the spell would break and the few seconds you had gifted me would shatter. Even after that superhero bandage had long lost its function on my knee, I carried it in a corner of my heart for years. Childish as it may be, for me, it was a silent evidence, precious beyond words.

Then, I noticed that thin scratch near your eyebrow that almost no one would see. It was minor; it wasn't bleeding or stinging, it didn't draw attention. But I saw it. I think this is a strange side effect of loving someone: feeling even the smallest wound on another person's face as if it were on your own.

Without speaking, I reached into my pocket. It was a bandage left over from my sister, far too pink and far too cheerful. The kind that almost challenged the world with its lack of seriousness. You stopped the moment I pressed it to your brow. In that pause, there wasn't just a moment of surprise, but a hesitation caught between acceptance and protest. "Are you serious?" you asked. Your voice was close to laughter but hadn't quite surrendered yet. "Very serious," I replied.

I can never forget the expression on your face when you looked in the mirror. Your face seemed suspended between two states: one that wanted to object, and another that wanted to laugh at the strangeness of the moment. Finally, with an almost silent resolve, you said, "Fine, I won't take it off." Your words hung in the air like a declaration of victory. In that moment, a meaningless but magnificent joy sprouted in my heart, branching out and growing. It was as if that little bandage symbolized the purest, most fragile bond of our friendship, and by accepting it, you had invited me into an infinite happiness.

One day, our path took us to the riverbank. The air was hot like a fire scorching our skin, but I still carried that deep, aching shame within me. You said you wanted to swim. I didn't have the courage to take off my shirt, so I entered the water with it on. As the fabric grew heavy with the water, my self-consciousness intensified. The wet cloth clung to my skin, making the alienation and deep insecurity I felt toward my own body even more prominent with every movement. It felt as if I couldn't escape myself even under the water.

You, however, didn't hesitate for a second. As if it were the most natural ritual in the world, you shed your clothes one by one until you were in your underwear and leaped into the river like a free spirit, merging with the current. In that moment, my face caught fire and my cheeks flushed. I averted my gaze immediately, filled with a sense of guilt as if I had peeked behind the curtain of a forbidden secret.

But the "shameful" thing wasn't you. It never was. The shame lay in my deep, uncontrolled gaze at you as you shimmered in the water with your brave nakedness. It was in the way I lost myself while watching you amidst that storm of complex desire and embarrassment. When you turned to me from the water and said, "Come in, it’s not that cold," your voice echoed like an invitation blending with the river's flow. That call was a command that melted my shame and pulled me toward freedom, toward you.

I still remember the day we made cookies at your house like it was yesterday. The kitchen had turned into a small battlefield; the counters, the floor, even the air itself was covered in flour. That fine white dust suspended in the light was like a veil of memory draped over the moment. We had over-kneaded the dough; our hands were sticky, and our laughter blended into the mess, but we felt no need to fix anything. Then we left the cookies in the oven a little too long. As the scent filled the kitchen, we didn't know yet that this would remain as a "burnt memory" in the future.

When Heeseung came by and tried one, he winced. "These are overcooked," he grumbled, looking as though he had encountered a small disaster. In that moment, you turned away and bit your lip to keep from laughing, thinking you could hide the way your shoulders were shaking. Once Heeseung left the kitchen, we both burst into laughter. That laugh echoed off the walls, hanging in the air for a long time like a secret that was free, sincere, and belonged only to us.

Sometimes in the late afternoons, we would stay in the room instead of going out. You would sit on the edge of the bed and I would lie on the floor; the weight of the day would drain away from us unnoticed. There was a moment when you played with my hair; your fingers wandered through the strands without you even realizing it. The lightness of that touch left an indescribable peace within me. "If you're sleeping, I'll stop," you said, your voice scattering like a gentle whisper in the silence of the room. "I'm not sleeping," I answered.

How could I sleep? In that moment, even breathing felt like an exquisite torment. Even my own voice sounded like a stranger's. Then, we both fell silent.

Another day, an August rain started suddenly. The sky was covered with a grey blanket, and as the drops hit the ground harshly, we took shelter under a ledge to keep from getting wet. As the water splashed near us, you pulled your jacket a bit closer toward me. With that movement, your shoulder brushed against mine. "Don't catch a cold," you said. It was just a few words, but it felt as if the entire summer was contained within them: protective, warm, like a silent shield against the storm outside.

Writing this letter, I realize, Sunghoon, that for me, that summer wasn't just lived. That summer settled somewhere inside me; it took root, branched out, and wove itself into the fabric of my soul. I memorized you in every corner of that summer: your voice, your gaze, your wounds, your laughter. I still carry those days when time took pity on us with the same warmth inside me. They are like small, unquenchable fires; they warm me on cold nights. And perhaps that is why, no matter how much time passes, that summer never ends. Because I never learned how to leave you there.

Always loving you every summer,
Sunoo

જ⁀➴

Dear Sunghoon,
With the last breath of summer, that crushing weight was born, rolling inside me like a boulder. As every leaf turned yellow and fell, hurricanes howled in the depths of my soul, snapping my branches and uprooting my very core. The gates opening to high school were a simple passage for others, but for me, they were a bottomless abyss. Even the mere thought of falling shook me like an earthquake, crushing my bones to dust.

Imagining you in those crowded corridors among foreign silhouettes, knowing that the moments I could not share with you would turn into a tsunami, was enough to wake me at night with a sharp ache that turned like a poisoned dagger in my chest. With every breath I took, the tip of that blade sank a little deeper, flowing the acid of jealousy through my veins instead of blood.

What if others draw close to you with those captivating gazes and I become a ghost fading behind a veil of mist? What if I slowly gather dust in your life like an old letter forgotten on a shelf? What if you soar into the sky while I remain like a root struggling in a swamp? These questions spread through my mind like a lethal forest. Poisonous vines extended their branches to choke me, taking root the more I stayed silent. As they rooted, their branches tore my flesh and poisoned my spirit, hollowing me out until only an empty shell remained. The green monster of jealousy grew wilder with every sprout, turning into a jade thorn that blinded my eyes, leaving behind nothing but the endless echo of the wounds it carved.

The day we took our first step into high school, I realized that the storm inside me wasn’t an empty delusion but a reality that had taken shape in flesh and bone. As soon as my feet touched the stony courtyard of the school, anxiety followed me like a shadow. Heeseung was waiting for us at the entrance. With that relaxed, confident aura of his, it was as if this massive building was a home from his childhood, a fortress built with his own memories. His smile shone like the sun, warming the air around him.

He introduced us to his group of friends: Jay, Jake, Ni-ki, and Jungwon. Being introduced to everyone at once made me feel as if I were standing under spotlights on a stage. It made my presence visible, yet it left me vulnerable like a naked soul. Every gaze pierced my heart, which was already wrapped in the barbed wire of jealousy. There, in the middle of that crowd, the fear of losing my place by your side circulated in my veins like a toxin, seeping deeper with every heartbeat. Only that ruthless echo remained: What if they become your stars in this new world while I am forgotten like a pale meteorite?

You were in the same class as Jake. When that news hit my ears, the green poison of jealousy spread silently through my veins, seeping deeper with every pulse. It was as if Jake’s warm smile would rise like a sun in your world while I remained in the shadow of a dark cloud, falling to the ground and evaporating like a forgotten raindrop.

As for me, I had been placed in the same class as Jungwon. By a cruel irony of fate, I grew close to that boy with the quiet gaze, reaching out to him like a person desperately grasping a branch to avoid falling into the abyss of loneliness. As time flowed, we grew closer each day because I knew that if I didn't hold onto someone, I would be lost in the vortex of that deep void. The pieces of my soul would be scattered by the wind. Jungwon was kind to me; he listened to my words with that soft voice without judgment, gathering my pieces as if repairing a broken vase.

But Sunghoon, the gazes of those in that classroom... Oh, those looks were like stones, like a mountain loaded onto my back, crushing my shoulders every time. They found me delicate, too polite, too soft. Like a shadow that didn't fit into the rigid, iron molds of masculinity, they threw this in my face silently. Not with words, but with those cold distances and whispers. Each one stung my skin like a thorn, poisoning my insides even more. No one said anything directly; no, they weren't that kind. They simply didn't approach. They built an invisible wall around me, their whispers circulating like the wind to fill my ears. And so, I retreated behind those walls, seeking refuge in the silence.

You, however, became the apple of everyone’s eye from the very first week. As we walked the hallways, I watched silently as heads slowly turned toward you. Those gazes stayed on you for a long time, as if pulled by a magnet. There were those who admired you without even knowing your name, moving through the crowd like hidden shadows. Some made up ridiculous excuses just to pass by you and see your smile, trying to synchronize their steps with your rhythm.

I watched all of this from afar, from a corner, Sunghoon. More than jealousy, a strange sense of admiration began to sprout within me. It didn't surprise me that you were loved so quickly, for your charisma and warmth already invited it. I only trembled at the fear that one day this intense love would exclude me entirely, at the dread of being unable to share you. I worried about being lost among the waves of that affection, turning into a small shadow in your life.

Living every day in the shadow of the possibility of losing you was slowly breaking me down from the inside. That uncertainty created a silent erosion in the depths of my soul, making every moment a little more fragile. Even when you were right beside me, I couldn't stop thinking about you for a single second. Your presence echoed endlessly in my mind, and with every look, every touch, a new longing blossomed.

When I watched you laughing with others, the melody of that laughter seemed to drift further away from me. It was as if those cheerful sounds were building an invisible wall between us, leaving me on the outside. The more I wanted to hold onto you tightly, the more I feared suffocating you or restricting your freedom. This dilemma made my hands tremble. To avoid losing you, I stayed silent and swallowed my words. But that silence only amplified the voices inside me, turning them into a stormy choir, into outcries that stole my sleep at night. Sometimes, I thought that the price of loving you was tasting the deepest kind of loneliness.

But still...

I cherish you so much, Sunghoon.

Despite all these fears, or perhaps precisely because of them. Because they prove the depth and the indispensability of my love.

They wrap around me like a chain, binding me even closer to you.

With sorrow,
Sunoo

જ⁀➴

Dear Sunghoon,
Sometimes I hold the pen in my hand for minutes before writing to you. It feels heavy, as if the words are going to flow from between my ribs rather than from my fingers. I’m afraid that if I write, you will become a little more real. Your voice, your gaze… they will all be fixed upon the paper. I won’t be able to escape. But if I don't write, you rot inside me. Memories grow moldy, and sentences stay caught in my throat, unfinished.

I can't decide which pain is more honorable.

Writing has felt like a strange thing lately. I think about this often. It doesn't bring you to me, but it doesn't allow me to deny that you are lost, either. I try to hold onto you with words; as if the sentences are beautiful enough, or if they hurt enough, it will finally be fair for you to see me. Funny, isn't it? As if the universe cares.

Some days, staying silent burns less; I bury the words inside me, covering them with the layers of daily life. But the earth remains loose, and memories leak to the surface in ways that hurt. Some days, writing hurts less; I imagine my heart lightens when I pour it into words, but with every sentence, I realize I am pinning you down a little more. I am nailing myself to a reality I cannot escape.

Whatever I write, you diminish; whatever I keep silent, you fade. You remain in the same place. You are like a point untouched by time, unvisited by forgetting. It is I who grows thinner, more transparent with every memory. But one gets used to this, too. Though, it turns out that what we think of as getting used to something isn't the same as healing. And yes, a person gets used to everything… to the one who doesn't go, the one who doesn't return, even to the one who was never ours to begin with.

Since my mother’s illness relapsed, time flows differently in our house. Minutes stretch, hours grow heavy; the calendar leaves fall from the walls, but nothing changes, no wound heals. My mother sometimes smiles like a memory of old days, a spark appearing in her eyes. She sips her coffee at the breakfast table and tells her old stories, as if the illness were a dream, a delusion. But in other moments, she cannot get out of bed; her body curls up like a weary leaf, her breath wandering the room like a wheezing wind. In those times, I approach her like a silent shadow, holding my breath, as if even a sound or a whisper would break that fragile balance and drag everything into a deeper darkness. My heart flutters in my chest, and my hands turn to ice.

My sister never sheds a tear in front of our mother. Her face is like a mask, hard and determined; her eyes are like the calm surface of a stormy sea, hiding the waves beneath. She always stands strong, her shoulders straight, her voice steady. "I'm fine," she tells our mother while holding her hand, "and you will be too, we all will." Those words surround our house like a shield, but I know that in her room at night, she is trying to silence the storm inside her, just like I am.

As for me, I gather my own strength beside her; I pull myself back together. I approach my mother’s bed and wrap my arms around her; her skin is warm but fragile, like an autumn leaf. "Mom, it will pass," I say, without my voice trembling or my eyes tearing up. In those moments, my words hang in the air like a prayer, falling to the ground like seeds of hope. But the nights betray me in the solitude of my room. The door is closed, the lights are out; I curl up in my bed, and that sentence knots in my throat ; a knot that doesn't loosen, but only grows. The lies I whisper to myself lose their believability, like a faded fairy tale. "Everything will be okay," I say, but the voice inside me asks like an echo, "What if it isn't?" My tears soak into the pillow, disappearing into the dark; while the world sleeps, I remain awake.

It is in those desolate moments that I cling tightly to the affection I feel for you, like someone who has fallen into the sea during a storm grasping at a final piece of wood. Not to your concrete, tangible presence, but to the love itself, to that flame burning inside me that won't go out. Because in this world, while being drifted here and there like leaves blown by the wind, the only thing I can still shape with my own will, the only thing I can knead with my own hands, is loving.

This love doesn't heal my mother’s pale body; it doesn't bring the light back to her eyes or ease her breath while she curls up in that bed. It doesn't protect my sister either; it doesn't lighten the load she carries on those small shoulders or wipe away the tears she hides in her room at night. But it keeps me from falling apart. While I break a little more with every blow like shattered glass, that love becomes the glue, holding me together. It reminds me of a corner deep in my heart that is still soft, still alive.

You know, Sunghoon, when a person is collapsing at home but forced to stand tall against the outside world, it’s as if their soul and body are split in two. One half of me is at home, by my mother’s bed. While her breath wanders the room like a wind, I am in that half, trying to stop time and praying for healing. The other half is on the way to school, at school, in the park, by the river, by your side. But neither is whole. Even when they come together, they cannot merge; there is an abyss between them.

Yet, in this dividedness, a resilience is born. A person learns to survive even while being torn apart. This might seem distant to someone like you, someone who shines on a stage, but in my world, every step is a struggle. The half at home reminds me of love, and the half by your side reminds me to keep going. I hope that one day, this rift will close and the pieces will unite.

But for now, I try to breathe in the space between that duality, spinning around in this ruthless dance of life.

Just
Sunoo,

જ⁀➴

Dear Sunghoon,
Everything moved so fast in high school. Especially you.

It was as if a hand had reached down from the heavens, plucked you up, and placed you right in the center of the light, at the most dazzling spot on the stage. The school walls rang with your name, whispers circled around you; girls stole glances while hiding their laughter, and boys clapped your shoulder with admiration. Everyone loved you. That natural charm of yours, that ice-cold yet sincere smile, drew crowds like a magnet. Everyone wanted to talk to you; they practically lined up for a single word, a single look.

As I open the packet of gummy bears Jay hyung handed me, my fingers slip on the shiny packaging. Red, green, yellow… the colors are like a carnival, but in my world they turn into a faded festival. The moment I pop one into my mouth, sweetness spreads, fluid like honey, sharp like cherry. My palate celebrates, yet for some reason it leaves a knot in my throat. He says “here.” His voice is a casual kindness, reaching out his hand like a brother, like a friend. I take it, but my thanks remains unfinished. My lips move; I say “thanks,” but the words hang in the air like a missing note.

Everyone thinks of me. Everyone sprinkles a bit of kindness over me, a smile, a gesture, a small gift, but your gaze is elsewhere, Sunghoon. Your eyes have drifted to a distant horizon, perhaps to a dream or a memory, but not to me. I can see it. The gummy bear passes through my throat and settles in my stomach, but it does not pass through my heart. There, in the depths of my chest, a void remains, and the sweetness does nothing to fill it.

When I take refuge under the warm jacket Ni-ki gave me, the fabric wraps around my shoulders, thick and woolly, like a shield. While the cold winter wind blows outside, I grow warm inside, my skin tingling. There is the scent of someone else lingering on it; perhaps Ni-ki’s heavy cologne, or traces of the grass from the school courtyard. For a moment, I feel protected in a fortress, far away from the storm. But then, beneath that warmth, it hits me. The cold has passed, yes, but the void inside me is still exposed, still vulnerable to the winds. And I cannot tell this to anyone. Carrying the jacket on my back, I look strong from the outside, but inside that void grows, widening like a rift.

Playing that silly game Jungwon and I secretly discovered, my laughter echoes off the walls. I really do laugh. My stomach cramps, my eyes water, and those moments are etched into my mind like a dream filled with a surreal joy. Cards are dealt, dice are rolled. Jungwon’s face flushes in defeat while mine shines in victory. For a brief moment, life pretends to be normal. I forget the stress of school and the shadow of my home. But then your voice mixes into the laughter, Sunghoon. Perhaps it comes from the hallway, or echoes in a memory, but a single look from you is enough, and the game is over. The cards scatter. The dice stop. I retreat back into myself, pulling into my shell like a turtle. The joy flickers out, replaced by that familiar sorrow. Jungwon might not notice, but I feel it. Even in that game, you are there; your shadow stretches across it.

Heeseung, Jay, Ni-ki, Jungwon, Jake... you are all there, circling around me like a ring. I have a memory, a bond, a warmth with each of you. Heeseung’s wise advice, Jay’s generous gestures, Ni-ki’s energy, Jungwon’s cheer, Jake’s loyal smiles. You are like a family, a group, standing shoulder to shoulder. You laugh, and your laughter rises like a symphony; you look like you belong somewhere.

And then, being on the same football team as Jake made you even more visible. As if you were not noticed enough already, that jersey clings to your body, soaked with sweat. Your hair is messy from the wind, your breath quickening, like a warrior, like a god, as you run across the grass. You look infuriatingly, excessively handsome. In those moments, heartbeats accelerate, eyes drift toward you, girls whisper, and boys watch with admiration. Everyone looks at you. The stands by the field overflow with people, and you are aware of it. That ice-cold expression, that indifferent stance, acts as if this admiration slides off you like a raindrop.

Jake is there by your side, that loyal friend, that cheerful soul. He hands you water, and as the cool of the plastic bottle passes from his hand to yours, he touches your shoulder. A friendly pat. A gesture of brotherhood. He whispers something in your ear, maybe a joke, maybe a tactic, and your laughter mingles with the wind. I cannot be mad at him because he is perfect. He can get close to you. He can run side by side with you in the dust of that green field. He can be himself, unmasked, uncalculating, in a natural flow. I, however, just watch, as I always do. From behind the fence at the edge of the field, like a figure lost in the crowd, my heart tightens as my eyes follow you. In those moments, as Jake’s hand rests on your shoulder and your smile turns to him, a wall is built between us. Invisible, but solid. I am on the outside; you are on the inside.

When I see you lift your head as someone calls out to you while you are laughing on the field, something inside my heart collapses. It deepens like a cave. The void expands. Because seeing you like that is beautiful beyond words, your energy, your vitality, fresh like a spring rain. But it does not belong to me. I watch you like a stranger, like a fan, without being able to touch you. Perhaps it is not an injustice, just the cards life dealt at random, but it does not feel fair.

I usually stay in the classroom. I do not want to step out because the world outside flows like a river that will drag me down and drown me. The sound of the hallway seeps in. Laughter erupts. Shouts rise. Footsteps beat the floor like a rhythm. Life flows for everyone as if it is meant to be, in a perfect symphony. The fact that they are so normal suffocates me, Sunghoon. While the world is in its place, something inside me is constantly glitching, ticking like a clock mechanism that never shows the right time.

I feel selfish.

Jungwon comes sometimes, taking my arm gently, his fingers light as a butterfly’s wing. “Come on Sunoo, let’s go out,” he says. There is no rush in his voice, no insistence, as if he is not there to save me, but to remind me. That voice pulls me from the darkness like a thread. It is hard to refuse because there is a loyalty in Jungwon’s eyes, a friendship that makes saying no feel like scaling a wall. I go out, yes. My feet move. The door opens. But something inside me stays behind. I walk, but my soul is dragged along, as if someone is pulling me into life while I am still sitting in that empty classroom, on that lonely chair.

The hallway stretches out, becoming infinite like a tunnel. Voices increase. Names fly through the air. Feet pass like an army. I feel crowded. My chest tightens. My breath shortens. No one notices because from the outside I am walking. My feet are in the right place. My steps are rhythmic. My face is a normal mask. My smile is a fake grin. But my inside… my inside is still behind the door, in the lap of silence. The noise of that hallway hits me like a wave. My eyes drift to the crowd, but my gaze is empty. My hands are in my pockets, but my fingers are trembling.

In that moment, I realize, Sunghoon, sometimes a person goes outside, opens the door, takes their steps, and blends into the crowd, but they leave themselves inside. The body moves forward, but the heart stays behind. Life flows, but you remain frozen, one half outside, one half inside.

Still, with Jungwon’s hand, through those small gestures, I hold onto life. Maybe one day I can bring that piece left behind outside too. Maybe one day I will be whole.

Something happened in class the other day, Sunghoon. From the outside, it might seem like an insignificant moment. It started with a look. Then came the words. The laughter. I was not in that laughter. Or rather, I was there, but it was as if I was not being treated as a human being. They spoke, looked, and had fun as if I were not there. I was stuck in a strange place between being seen and being erased.

I stayed silent. As usual. Because I knew if I spoke, I would cry. My voice would tremble. My sentences would remain unfinished. And they would find that even more entertaining. So I stayed silent. You know how people think they stay silent to protect themselves? It turns out you just get crushed even more. Jungwon could not take it. He suddenly stood up. His voice rose. His words grew sharp. A fight broke out. The classroom turned into an arena. Everyone looked at us. Eyes turned toward us like spotlights.

The walls closed in. The air grew heavy. Gazes lunged at me like a pack of wolves, hungry and curious. Even knowing that someone was fighting for me made me feel ashamed, Sunghoon, because I could not do it for myself. While Jungwon’s anger rose on my behalf, I sat there, motionless as a stone. Shame circulated in my veins like a toxin. My face flushed. My heart fluttered.

I ran to the restroom and locked the door. That metallic click echoed in my ears like a prison gate. My hands were shaking. My fingers were frozen, trembling like a leaf. My breath was irregular, like the wheeze of a storm. My chest heaved. I looked in the mirror and did not recognize myself. That reflection did not seem to belong to me. My eyes were red. My jaw locked tight like a vice. I cried from anger. The tears flowed like a flood. I cried from shame. Those hot drops burned my cheeks. I cried for everything I wanted to say but had to swallow.

For not being able to defend myself. For not being able to raise my voice in those moments. For every time I said “never mind.” For every time I swallowed those poisonous words. For learning to dim my voice until it became a habit, wrapped around my neck like a chain. For having to swallow constantly, tightening that knot a little more every day.

It all came together to suffocate me in the cramped space of that restroom. Tears dripped into the sink, mixing with the water and washing away.

There was a knock on the door. Soft. Like a whisper, as if the world outside was gentle, afraid of amplifying the storm inside me.

It was Heeseung.

His familiar silhouette appeared in the doorway. “Sunoo,” he said slowly, pronouncing my name like a prayer. “I’m here.” That word was like casting an anchor, but I was not even in that harbor.

“I don’t want to talk to anyone,” I said. My voice sounded more broken than I expected. My throat burned, and as the words fell from my lips, the void inside me grew. That brokenness circulated in the room like an echo. I fell silent, waiting for him to leave, but Heeseung answered without hesitation. “Okay,” he said. His voice carried acceptance, surrender. There was a moment of silence. Then he added, “I can stand behind the door if you want.” That sentence reached across the void between us like a bridge.

He acknowledged my loneliness, but he did not abandon it. He just waited there, beyond the door, like a sentry.

I opened the door slowly, my fingers trembling on the latch. He came in and sat beside me, pulling his knees to his chest. He did not look at me. He looked straight ahead, as if he knew that if our eyes met, I would fall apart. As if he felt he could turn my fragile pieces to dust with a single look. He did not ask anything. He did not say “What happened?” or “Who did it?” He just slowly rubbed my back, steadily, without rushing. Like a rhythm. Like a lullaby. Trying to soothe my pain. That touch was soft like the flow of a river, yet persistent. He did not untie the knots inside me. He just stood by them.

“You know,” he said after a while, his voice almost a whisper, light as a falling leaf, “sometimes people get tired of having to be strong.” He paused. That pause held the weight of the words like a breath. Then he added, “That doesn’t make you weak. It just makes you human.” In that moment, my throat knotted, tightening like a fist, because for the first time someone was standing by me without trying to figure me out. Without wanting to cut the wound open to look at it. Without naming it. Without trying to fix it. He was just there. Like a presence. Like a shadow. A silent companion to my pain. That presence solidified my melting insides just a little. It did not share my loneliness, but it lightened it.

We sat there for a while longer, time flowing like an hourglass. I cried. The tears traced my cheeks and dripped to the floor, silent but persistent like rain. Heeseung sat there, knees pulled up, eyes forward, watching my pain but not touching it, like a witness, like a protector.

I didn’t tell you about these things, Sunghoon. I didn’t want you to know because I know you. Your deep gazes. The way you lock your jaw. How your silence can be a dangerous storm. Do you remember… we were little, back in those childhood days, and a kid pushed me into the river. The water was cold. Fear caught me like a claw. Everyone froze. You went off without saying a word and kicked that kid’s bike. The chain snapped, and it fell to the ground with a metallic scream. In that moment, for the first time, someone had gotten angry in my place. You burned my pain with your own rage. That day I realized you are silent, but for those you love, you could tear everything down. You could erupt like a volcano and turn everything to ash.

I was afraid you would do the same now, Sunghoon. That you would release your anger like a flame, burning yourself and everything around you. So I stayed silent. I hid myself. I buried that pain inside. I isolated myself like an island. I was used to doing that anyway.

My inside is very tangled lately, Sunghoon. Like a labyrinth, the paths are twisted, and the exit is nowhere to be seen. I am invisible in the crowd, moving like a ghost. Voices circle around me but do not touch me. In the silence, I am so loud. The storm inside me howls like a symphony, deafening me. People move forward, adding things to their lives. New memories. New smiles. New steps. I, however, am always in the same place, circling in your orbit like a wheel that spins but does not advance. Time passes, but it is as if it does not visit me. I stand like a rock by the water’s edge, without getting wet, without changing.

Writing to you is my only constant. These letters are like a string, keeping my beads from scattering. Without my letters, I do not think I could find a single sentence to pour the chaos inside me into words. That silence would swallow me like a black hole.

When you remember me, please do not just remember the moments I smiled. Those bright, fake moments. If you truly want to know me… see these lines too. These dark corners. These broken pieces. And please, accept my shadows as well.

Always loving you,
Sunoo

જ⁀➴

Dear Sunghoon,
As I write these lines, I’ve been thinking about how long I’ve known you. The truth is, there is no beginning to it. It’s not as if I woke up one morning and the word "you" suddenly became a refrain on my tongue. No. You were always there. It’s as if you were added to my life the very moment I was born. Even in the oldest photos, your shadow seems to fall across the frame. Even in that blurry shot of me in my mother’s arms, it feels like somewhere, there was someone breathing the same air, sweating in the same summer heat, and shivering under a blanket on the same winter nights as me.

You were in the most secluded corners of my childhood. Even when I didn’t know your name, I knew you. On a summer evening, in the sound of a ball echoing through the apartment stairwell; in the dusty soda bottles behind the grocer's glass; in the spoon where my mother said "eat slowly"; in the spare change my father forgot in his jacket pocket… You were there. You didn't have a name, but you had a scent. The scent of hot asphalt, of wet laundry, of the rain that falls in the late afternoon.

You were all of it.

We didn’t meet in high school. Because instead of colliding with me, you seeped into me gently. Like the first fever of an illness, rising unnoticed. By the time I started looking for you, you had already settled in. And yet, you were me. You were growing inside me without me realizing it. As I write this now, I understand that there was never a moment of "getting to know" you. You were a part of my growing up. You were something that grew with me, broke with me, mixed into the salt of my tears when I cried, and settled at the corners of my lips when I laughed.

Maybe that’s why I’m so afraid of losing you, Sunghoon. Because if I lose you, I feel like I’ll lose my childhood, my youth, and myself. It’s as if, once you’re gone, all that will remain is an empty street, a silenced ball, a dusty soda bottle, and a void that doesn't even have a name.

But I keep writing anyway. Because you are still here. In these lines, at the tips of my fingers, in every breath I draw while my eyes fill with tears… You are still here. And I have still known you since the moment I saw you in that park.

Do you remember those days in high school when you failed math? I doubt it. For you, it was a source of shame, yes. A momentary stumble. You’d make it up in the next exam, everyone would forget, and life would go on. But for me, that moment was something else entirely. For the first time, I stopped seeing you as invincible. Until that day, you were a kind of constant for me. You were unbreakable. You had to be unbreakable. But that day, I saw a fracture in you for the first time. I imagined that I could help, that I could stand by you. These were dreams I built not with you, but in spite of you.

I saw you walking in the hallway after school. You had your bag over one shoulder, the other shoulder slanting slightly. Your steps were heavier than usual. You told a friend, "My mom isn't home," with a laugh. As if that sentence were an ordinary thing, as if no one being home was the most natural thing in the world. You weren't saying that sentence to me. I knew that. Yet my ears caught it. They took it in. Somewhere, right in the center of my chest, they held it tight.

We were neighbors anyway. Our houses were side by side. Our lives flowed side by side. The windows of our homes looked at each other. When the light in your room turned on, mine did too. In the evenings, when you went out onto the balcony to smoke, I watched from behind the curtains. You would tilt your head back slightly as you exhaled the smoke. In those moments, I wanted to say something to you. I wanted to say, "It’ll pass." I wanted to say, "One grade doesn't change everything." I wanted to say, "I’m here." But I couldn't say any of it.

That day, we sat side by side at the table. The math book was open in front of us; the pages were orderly, the lines straight, the numbers looking as if they were nailed in place. Pencils, erasers, a ruler… everything was where it was supposed to be. But my mind wasn't there. My eyes touched the formulas, pretending to solve equations, but they understood nothing. Letters and digits slipped away; it was as if there was a layer of fog on the page and I was trying to walk through it.

My attention was on your hands.

Your fingers sliding slowly toward the edge of the notebook. The tips of your nails lightly touching the paper, then pulling back. The way you leaned against the table… your right elbow resting on the wood, your shoulder slanting slightly forward, the weight of your body seemingly concentrated on just that one spot. Your fingers gripping the edge of the paper, not tightly, but loosely, almost just touching.

And that small gap.

That distance of a few centimeters between your hand and mine, not quite enough to be touching, yet not enough to be truly apart.

I was staring at that gap.

As if something could exist there. As if that gap were a door, and if I looked long enough, something would emerge from it. A word, a breath, a movement… Maybe your fingers would slide toward mine, maybe you’d touch me by mistake, maybe our eyes would meet at the same point for just a second. That gap felt both very close and very far away. It was as if all the unspoken sentences, all the untouched moments were gathered there.

You were saying something. I think you were explaining a question. Your voice was low, calm, a bit tired. I was nodding, though I understood nothing. My ears were locked not on your voice, but on the slight rustle of your fingers on the paper, the small breaks in your breathing, the thin creak of the wood where your arm touched the table.

But nothing happened. You kept solving questions. And I kept staring at that gap. That gap was growing inside me. Expanding every second, yet getting closer at the same time. It felt like no matter how fixed that distance remained, somewhere inside me was trying to close it. My heart wanted to fill that void, with a word, a movement, a moment of courage.

"Alright, did you get it, Sun?" you asked with a slight smile. I said "yes," struggling to keep my voice from trembling.

How easy it was to hold your hand when we were little. While running in the street, I’d stop for a second and take your fingers in my palm as if to say "come on." Or in a crowded market, walking behind our mothers, I’d grip your hand tight so we wouldn't get lost in the crowd. Sometimes just because we felt like it. While sitting in the yard, pulling our knees up together and looking at the ground, I’d slowly reach out my hand; and you, without saying a word, with or without a smile, would place your hand in my palm. Back then, a hand was just a hand. No meaning was attached to it, it carried no danger, there was no fear of withdrawal. No one asked, "What does this mean?" No one listened to the beat of our heart.

On the table, our hands rested on either side of the open book. Your right hand held the left edge of the page, and mine sat by my pen, motionless.

I wanted to hold your hand.

Just like I did when we were kids: without thinking, without hesitation, just because I felt like it. To slide my fingers slightly, to place them gently over yours, then close my palm… It looked so simple in my mind. But my body didn't obey. My hand didn't move from its spot. It felt as if someone was pressing down on my shoulder; an invisible, heavy, cold hand. My wrist locked. My fingers grew heavy as if numb. My breath grew short.

Because I knew now. If I reached out, I wouldn't just be holding your hand.

So my hand stayed motionless. Your fingers moved softly on the page, and mine sat as if frozen. In that moment, that small distance felt like an abyss. I realized how far we had come from the streets we walked holding hands as children to this abyss opening between us now.

Your scent lingered in the room. As soon as the door closed, it was as if your presence had decided to stay there. It seeped into the walls, the folds of the curtains, the bedspread, the edge of the table. That scent filled the room but never suffocated me. It was the kind of thing that didn't disturb you with its presence but was immediately noticed by its absence. I drew it in as I breathed, without realizing. Then I’d suddenly catch myself and think "slower, shallower." As if by taking a breath too deep, I would be pulling too much of that scent into myself. As if I would be crossing a line. I felt as if I were taking something that belonged to you without permission, like a thief.

Your eyebrows would knit together when you got a question wrong. The expression on your face in those moments was like a habit from your childhood. A tiny line would form between your brows, your lips would pout slightly, and your eyes would scan the numbers more carefully. While trying to be serious, you actually looked even more familiar, even more childlike.

In those moments, I would laugh. While you focused on numbers, formulas, and the tip of the pen, I was memorizing every tiny change in your face. The slight shadows on either side of your straight nose, the tiny flushes on your cheeks that were almost invisible but appeared when the light hit them, your thick but perfectly shaped lips, the shadow of your eyelashes under your dark brows, the single lock of thick black hair falling over your forehead… I recorded each one in my mind. As if one day they would all be erased and I could recreate you by holding onto these details.

I felt like I was making myself too obvious. As the duration of my gazes stretched, an unease grew within me. My heart beat faster, my palms sweated slightly, my throat went dry. I felt that if I looked a little longer, if I laughed a little more, everything I kept hidden would suddenly overflow. From my eyes, my lips, my breath… You didn't notice. Or you noticed and didn't care, I don't know. Maybe you were so used to someone looking at you like that that you no longer saw it. But I knew at every moment that I had to pull myself back.

Then Heeseung came. When the door opened, the air in the room shifted instantly; it was as if someone had turned on a lamp and everyone’s attention turned to him. He sat in the middle of the family, smiling even as he put his phone on the table. That smile was both playful and a bit arrogant, as always. He took it upon himself to embarrass you; it was as if this were one of the unwritten articles of the brotherhood contract.

"They gave Sunghoon another love letter at school today," he said suddenly, his voice loud, clear, and confident enough to reach every corner of the room. "Someone asked him out, someone wrote their number. They even drew a heart on it, just like a high school movie."

The words hung in the air. It was light, careless, the kind of thing everyone would laugh off. But in that moment, the same expression appeared on everyone’s face: amusement. Your mother laughed, your father nodded and chuckled as if to say "again?" Laughter rose, short, easy laughter that they thought hurt no one. Heeseung’s voice was still echoing; he was having fun as if your popularity were his victory too.

You bowed your head.

I couldn't see your face in that moment. I only saw the front of your hair, that single lock falling over your forehead, the slight clenching of your jaw. Your shoulders dropped softly. It wasn't a dramatic collapse, just like when a person says "here we go again" a tired, accustomed, silent surrender. Maybe you didn't know what to say. Or maybe there was nothing left to say. Had you turned red, were you bored, or did you truly feel nothing… I never knew. Because you bowed your head and the subject was considered closed.

I stayed silent. Because I had nothing to say. I hadn't written any of those letters. Not a single heart, not a single number, not a single "I love you" had come from my hand. But still, it all somehow collapsed onto me. Every possibility of love revolving around you was silently cutting into something inside me. It was as if every line others wrote to you was taking the place of the sentences I couldn't write. As if your lovability was something everyone could talk about freely, laugh and joke about, while mine stood only inside me, in the dark, like a crime that had to be hidden. And in that silence, I realized once again how lonely I was in loving you.

Something twisted inside me. Suddenly, unexpectedly, it spread like poison. But it wasn't just jealousy. Jealousy was a more familiar, more acceptable emotion. This was harder to name. It was something darker, something that had to be hidden more. A sense of deficiency mixed with shame. A weight that knotted in my throat, swelling more as I breathed, sinking deeper as I swallowed. They spoke your name so easily; they laughed, no one was hurt, no one was ashamed. Your lovability is so natural, so accepted… It’s spoken of recklessly, as if your beauty, your smile, your presence were the common thoughts of everyone. Meanwhile, I clench my fists under the table. My nails dig into my palm, maybe blood is seeping out, but I don't feel it.

In that moment, I remember truly, deep down to my bones, wishing I were a girl. Truly. Not like a wish, but like a plea from the heart. Even if just for a moment. I believed everything would be simpler.

If I were a girl, maybe none of this would be so dirty, so heavy. These feelings of mine could suddenly be labeled as innocent, even cute. I believed this chaos inside me would suddenly gain meaning. The moment that thought crossed my mind, my father’s face appeared before my eyes. His harsh gaze. The definitive sentences he’d deliver without needing to weigh them as he changed a movie he was watching at lightning speed. The way he’d say, "Men aren’t supposed to do things like that." In a tone of voice that was closed to discussion, suffocating possibilities before they even began. Before I even understood what was happening, before I solved what I was feeling, everything was declared wrong.

If I were a girl, maybe it wouldn't be a problem.
Maybe I wouldn't have to stay silent so much.
Maybe it wouldn't always be you having to bow your head, and it wouldn't be me either.

Maybe as I wrote these letters, I wouldn't tremble as if I were committing a secret crime. Maybe mentioning your name wouldn't make my heart leap. Maybe I would wake up every morning in a world where loving you wasn't a wrong in itself. Maybe if I were a girl, I wouldn't have to silence myself at night. I wouldn't live with an inner voice raised on "can'ts," "shouldn'ts," and "don't even thinks." Maybe then loving you would just be painful.

Not shameful.
Not forbidden.
Not secret.
Not dirty.

Then you changed the subject.

You talked about paintings. You said you wanted to study fine arts at university. Your voice sounded a bit more vivid then, a bit lighter, as if you had stepped into a space of your own. Your eyes lifted from the table and fixed on a corner of the wall; maybe the window, maybe somewhere inside.

"I’m going to take the talent exam," you said. "I need to work harder. I need to complete my portfolio." Between the words, there was a finely woven hope. Something of your own, small, fragile, but real. A future you were building for yourself. The smell of paint, the stretching of the canvas, the moment the brush touches the paper, maybe working in a studio until morning, maybe a label with your name on it at an exhibition…

And I was listening to you. I was wondering if I was in that future too.

I probably wasn't.

Then, as if it were the most ordinary thing, you said you draw me after school. Your voice was normal as you said the sentence, almost not even a whisper, but as soon as the sentence ended, you looked away. Right at that moment. As if what you said had suddenly become too much, as if you regretted letting those words out of your mouth. Maybe you were embarrassed. Or maybe it just felt like explaining an unnecessary detail to you.
But in that moment, something locked in my chest. Air wanted to get in but couldn't. My heart was beating so fast that a roar started in my ears, as if everyone’s voice in the room had suddenly been muted, leaving only the noise inside me.

You drawing me…
Those words echoed inside me.

Drawing me as I was. By looking at me. By staying. By thinking. In front of a piece of paper, by choosing me. By lingering on my face, trying to understand my lines. Without wanting anything, just by looking. There was a version of me somewhere that had passed through your eyes and onto the paper. With a closeness I hadn't dared to imagine. How could I take that as normal?

How could I hide that the moment I heard that sentence, everything inside me shifted, my heart began roaring in my ears, and my breath was cut short?

So, in the places where we collapsed with exhaustion after school, on that old bench by the river, on the cold pavement in front of the house, sometimes just on the grass; while I hurriedly opened my notebook and tried to save the last minute of my homework, you were beside me, quietly taking your sketchbook into your lap and sketching me without me noticing, without me knowing. And the moment I learned those sketches were of me, something broke inside me. A very quiet, very deep, irreversible break.

Because when someone draws you, they truly see you. And you had seen me.

In that moment, I understood something else: you could look at me. But you weren't seeing me from where I was looking at you.

I was in your notebooks. This knowledge became a burden on its own in the following days. I was there. In my version that didn't speak, didn't want anything, didn't object, didn't burden you. Maybe that’s why drawing me was easy for you. I was silent. I was harmless. I was just an image.

Meanwhile, as I looked at you, I still couldn't hold the pen in my hand. My fingers were shaking. The pen felt so heavy that it seemed as if I touched its tip, it would give away everything inside me. If I tried to write a sentence, I would have to face myself. While I couldn't pour into words how much I loved you, you were describing me with lines.

And I was jealous of that version of me that fit on that page.

Because that version could exist in your eyes.

Meanwhile, I was still afraid to even carry my own existence beside you.

It was unfair.

For you, drawing was a talent, maybe an innocent inspiration, maybe just a habit of your hand. My existing among your notebooks didn't mean I truly existed in your life. But still, knowing was enough. Somewhere, in the traces of your fingers, there was me. And this fact was like a searing flame that both warmed my heart and made my bones ache.

I still remember that night. The first night you drank with Jay. You weren't resilient. You never had been. After a few sips, your eyes grew heavy, your words rolled, and your smile dissolved. Heeseung and I hurriedly picked you up. Without anyone noticing, without lingering too long. We were as careful as if we were carrying a piece of glass that would break.

On the way, you rested your head on my shoulder.
Without thinking.
Without asking for permission.

You were drunk. You had no filters. The moment your weight touched my shoulder, it felt like something inside me snapped. I didn't know what to do. I couldn't move. For you, that moment was maybe just trying to find your balance. For me, it was a moment where everything between breath and pulse mixed together, where time stopped.

"Your cheeks are so soft," you said. Without attaching any meaning to it. Then you laughed. A short, dissolved, childlike laugh.

I… forgot to breathe. A void opened in my chest. It was as if the air had been drawn out for a moment. That sentence, in that tone of voice, caught me so unprepared. I could neither answer nor move away. I just stayed there.

Heeseung was walking ahead. He didn't hear. Even if he did, he wouldn't care. Your head on my shoulder, your hair touching my cheek, your breath warm and ragged. Nonsense, half-sentences were falling from your lips. Words got tangled, meaning was lost, but that familiar softness in your voice was still there. A tone from our childhood, never spoiled, never alienated. As if time had never passed. As if it were a summer evening again, the yellow light of the streetlamps spilling onto the pavement, crickets chirping, the bark of a dog heard from afar, and you are walking beside me.

My heart beat faster that night than it ever had before. It wouldn't fit in my chest. I was afraid. Because this kind of closeness wasn't something I could handle. I was happy. Because for the first time, I felt you were so unfiltered, so belonging to me. As if all the walls had been torn down, all the distances erased, as if you truly, even if just for a second, existed beside me, for me. That happiness was sharp and ruthless because I knew it was temporary. But I would remember. Every second of it. I was ashamed. So ashamed. Because what you could say, I could only carry by staying silent. Every moment I wanted to touch your cheeks, every night I wanted to stroke your hair, every afternoon after school I wanted to hold your hand…

The next day, you probably remembered none of it.

I also wanted to go to the same university as you. At first, I didn't tell anyone. If I had, I wouldn't have been taken seriously anyway; they’d hear the tremble in my voice, see that crazy spark in my eyes, and immediately say "don't be ridiculous."

I wanted to study fine arts. To walk the same hallways you walked, to look at the same walls you looked at, to breathe the same smell of paint, the same play of light. To stop for a moment on the stairs you passed and imagine that the railing my fingers touched still held the warmth of your hand.

I had an interest in theater. The stage always felt safe to me. Because I couldn't keep the pain inside me anymore. I couldn't carry that heavy, silent thing piling up in my chest any longer. I couldn't stay without speaking, without shouting, without seeking refuge in a role. If I put it on the stage, if I said it through someone else’s mouth, maybe it would lighten a bit. Maybe the pain would stop belonging to me. It would turn into a script, be divided into lines, and belong to someone else under the lights. It would dissolve amidst the applause.

But my family…
They never learned the language of dreams.

"It’s not a future," they said.
"Nonsense," they said.
Their voices were clear. Definite. Closed to discussion.

I didn't defend myself. Even if I had, my words would have been feeble. They would have melted as they left my throat anyway, dripped to the floor, and no one would have heard. Still, I stayed silent. As usual. Because staying silent bled less than fighting. Because I was always used to giving up on my inner self.

Sometimes I think, Sunghoon. Maybe the reason I love you so much was your courage. Your desire to be yourself, being able to say what you wanted out loud, being able to take risks, not turning from your path even if you looked away. You could dream. Meanwhile, I could only do it from within. As if wanting were a luxury I didn't already possess.

You were looking toward the future.
Your eyes open, your steps determined, your pen ready.

And I was hiding myself while watching you.
Behind the curtain, in the shadow, on the reverse side of the mirror.

My hands are shaking as I write this letter. The pen feels heavy. I write some sentences and then erase them. Because even the words are too naked. They stand too close, too real, too me. Maybe you will never read these lines. Maybe they will stay in a drawer, grow dusty, turn yellow. Maybe even I won't have the courage to open them years later. But I wanted you to know. I wanted it to stand somewhere, written, at least. I wanted there to be a trace on a piece of paper that starts with your name and ends with your name.

I love you.
Without making big sentences.
Without expecting anything in return.
Silently.

With the pain of every moment I couldn't hold your hand while sitting side by side. With every word I kept silent the night you slept on my shoulder. With the weight of existing in your notebooks but failing to have a place in your life.

And I know that this love is not small enough to fit into a line, a sentence, or a night.

But still, because it belongs to you, it will be mine forever.

With love,
Sunoo

જ⁀➴

Dear Sunghoon,
High school is ending; that bell will ring for the last time and we’ll graduate. But I see that moment as a gallows. It feels as if my heart will stop because those doors will swing wide open and we will be separated, perhaps forever. You will head in one direction, and I in another. That invisible bond between us will snap, shattering into pieces that will pierce my insides, making me bleed and leaving me sleepless for countless nights.

While I was trying to convince my family to let me study theater, I was simultaneously battling the terror of not being able to go to the same university as you. Every night as I toss and turn in bed, that thought swallows me whole, a monster gnawing at my insides, a poison slowly spreading through my veins. I cannot imagine a life without you. I don’t know how I’ll breathe or survive in those empty campuses and silent hallways without hearing your laughter, without feeling the echo of your melodic voice, or without hearing your light footsteps behind me. Because I have never been without you.

Some days, I don’t even go to school. I just curl up in bed. But Jungwon is always there, helping me so I don’t fall behind. He shares his notes generously and smiles at me with that warm, comforting grin. I am grateful to him, so deeply grateful that sometimes I want to hug him tightly and cry on his shoulder. But then I remember the moments when we’re all sitting together; Jay, you, Ni-ki, Jake, Jungwon, and I. When I get lost staring at your face, at your beautiful features and haunting silhouette, I feel Jungwon’s gaze on me. It pierces through me like an interrogation. I hope and pray that he doesn't understand, that he doesn't sense the storm inside me, because keeping this secret from him tears me apart.

After school, the moment the old gates swing open, the air feels suddenly filled with the scent of freedom. Your voices, the laughter, the teasing, and the plans echo through the crowd, pulling us out like a magnet. We used to do everything together, didn't we?

First, we’d stop at that little coffee shop; the steam from the pastries in the window would fog the glass, and the rich aroma of roasted beans would fill our lungs. We’d grab a cup of coffee, laugh at the heart shapes in the foam, and then wander the streets. In those narrow alleys under the shadows of old buildings, we’d talk while the wind mussed our hair; school gossip, dreams, tomorrow’s exams... Time seemed to stop, and we were wrapped in the sweet, frantic energy of youth.

And Heeseung hyung. He used to be the quietest among us. He’d sit in the corner, scanning the room with his eyes, rarely speaking. He was addicted to those silly games on his phone. In whatever time was left, he’d play basketball until he nearly collapsed from exhaustion. But now, he has emerged from his shell like a butterfly. He’s already in university, studying journalism. Since getting his license, that old but reliable car—the one with the fading blue paint his father kept in the garage for years—became our adventure vessel. He picks us up and drives us around; he honks at the school exit, shouting, "Come on kids, hop in!" There’s a sweet hint of showing off in his voice, but it’s natural, not forced. He turns on the radio, plays old K-pop songs, and rolls down the windows to invite the wind in. He laughs with that deep, sincere voice, his teeth flashing and his eyes crinkling. In those moments, it feels as if the whole world is his toy.

Journalism suits him; I even find it cool. He looks like someone stepped out of a movie; notebook in hand, microphone ready, the person who illuminates the city's dark secrets. Maybe one day he’ll break a huge story, his name will be in the headlines, and I’ll say with pride, "That’s my hyung."

Once, while we were driving and the sky was covered in a crimson shroud at sunset, the words just spilled out of my mouth. Rain was tapping lightly on the glass, a ballad was playing softly on the radio, and I said from the back seat, "Heeseung hyung, journalism really suits you, you’re so cool." My voice was shaky, perhaps from excitement. He paused slightly at the wheel, looked at me in the mirror, and then burst into laughter. "Whoa, a compliment from Sunoo? I should record this and set it as my alarm; hearing it every morning would be good for me," he teased.

But there was a warmth in his tone; it was genuine. My face flushed instantly, my cheeks burned, and my ears rang. But a warmth spread inside me like a soft breeze. In that moment, I thought of you again, of that vague but deep longing. I wanted you to laugh at me like that; I wanted to feel the heat of that laughter on my face, maybe through a look or a touch. I don’t know why, but in Heeseung’s laugh, I felt as if I were seeing you. It feels like a distant yearning, like a fragment of a dream; it’s clear you were born from the same soul.

But I am afraid of growing up, Sunghoon. It’s a fear so deep that it steals my sleep. While everyone around me talks about being free and becoming adults as if they are opening a door to excitement, independent homes, careers, endless possibilities… I feel the opposite.

There is a storm inside me. Adulthood feels like an iron cage, its cold bars touching my skin like a prison with no escape. It’s a place where I will never be able to express my thoughts or these complex emotions; I will be trapped between society’s rules, expectations, and judgments. As I grow, these feelings overflowing from my heart will grow too, flooding like a river and putting me on an irreversible path where I will be lost. Why am I so afraid? I don't know. Maybe I miss the innocent days of my childhood, the irresponsible laughter. But mostly, I think about the goodbyes that come with growing up. Every time I touch this thought, something inside me freezes and never thaws.

My mother is weak; she can’t get out of bed anymore. Her room is like a dim cave, the curtains half-drawn so even the sun can’t reach her. Doctors come and go, medicines pile up on her nightstand, but her pale face and thin hands break my heart every time. My father doesn't even stop by the house anymore. Who knows if he’s at work or lost in his dark secrets, but on the rare occasions he returns, the scent of that foreign woman—that disgusting, nauseating perfume—poisons our home. it gnaws at my mother’s soul from within, weakening her even further. Every time I catch that scent, I feel sick.

That’s why my sister and I cook more. The kitchen has become our new sanctuary; the smell of flour lingers in the air, and the pots remind us of our existence with small sounds. She is so talented, doing everything perfectly, and watching her gives me a strange sense of security. She swings the knife skillfully while chopping vegetables and mixes sauces to the perfect consistency. The food tastes like it came from a chef’s hands.

I, on the other hand, seek refuge in desserts. As the dough takes shape in my palms and the sugar dissolves, my pain seems to flow away with it. The dark scent of chocolate, the rhythmic sound of the cream, the heat rising from the oven... The world narrows, fading at the edges, leaving only a soft, warm, safe feeling. Sometimes I offer a slice to my mother, saying, "Mom, try this," and she accepts with a weak smile. " Thank you, sweetheart." she says, her voice trembling. Those moments bring the broken pieces of our family back together.

And you... You are still drawing me for your portfolio, or the places we’ve visited together, the river whose waters flow like a fluid song, the parks where we sat for hours on benches whispering to the reeds, leaves dancing in the wind. When your pen touches the paper, it feels like you are capturing my soul. Every line, every shadow makes me feel special. It’s as if I am a figure in a Renaissance painting, a work of art in your eyes, a precious pearl, an untouchable statue, a flawless dream.

In those drawings, I rediscover myself: the smiling me, the thoughtful me, and your image in the background. Sometimes I look at them, my fingers tracing the lines as if I can feel your touch; it warms my heart. In those moments, these works born from your vision turn into miracles. This bond gives me strength, sweeping away my fears like an autumn wind; when you are here, the colors on the canvas of my soul never fade.

That spring day we last went to the river, I made your favorite dessert. I prepared every layer with meticulous care; I spent hours in the kitchen, my hands trembling as I tried to prepare the best version of myself, losing track of time. I was terrified that you wouldn't like it, that a shadow would appear in those dark eyes or your smile would fade. My heart beat like a drum, making me feel like I was taking a test before your judgment at the most critical moment of my life.

My sister leaned against the counter, teasing me with that mischievous look: "Why all this effort? It’s like you’re making it for your lover," she laughed. I stayed silent, the words knotting in my throat, my face flushing like snow melting under a summer sun. How did she know I had a lover? Even if this love is one-sided... couldn't I call you my lover? Even though I couldn't say it to you, that’s how I addressed you at night, and I reserved such a place for you in my heart that I put all the words I couldn't fit anywhere else there.

Then I continued, because that tiramisu wasn't just a dessert; it was the tangible form of my feelings. Every layer held a confession, every drop of coffee a longing; it was a crystallized piece of my secret love for you.

When we reached the river, the murmur of the water playing like a lullaby in the background, we spread the picnic blanket. On the green grass, among the leaves, I felt as if we had stepped into a painting made by your hands. I opened the box with trembling hands, and when you saw the tiramisu, your eyes lit up. Your dark eyes sparkled instantly; stars were born within them. "Whoa Sun, this looks amazing!" you said, your voice like soft velvet, wrapping around me like a sincere embrace.

You took a spoonful slowly, as if tasting a treasure, and brought it to your lips. "The taste is perfect," you added, smiling. You lit up the world with that smile; you delayed the sunset and banished the darkness. I laughed on the inside—a silent laugh—because in that moment, I thought you might prefer a piece of tiramisu over me. Your expression was so happy, as if that dessert were a piece of a dream you had been waiting for; your eyes closed, your eyelashes trembling slightly as you swallowed with pleasure, a wave of delight spreading across your face with every bite, your eyebrows lifting, your lips enslaved by that flavor.

That image both squeezed and warmed my heart; was it jealousy, or pure admiration? As the creamy texture of the tiramisu and the bittersweet trace of the coffee danced on your palate, I sat on the side, watching you. Sunlight filtered through the leaves, hitting your face and turning you into a masterpiece. In that moment, while the leaves swirled around us and the wind stroked our hair, time seemed to stop. The pulse of the universe slowed down, the noises receded, and only you and I remained. Two souls in one flow, mingled together like the river water.

My fears drifted away, dispersing like mist; growing up, separation, loneliness… it all faded, replaced by an infinite peace. That feeling filled me: was it the seed of a love, or the purest form of friendship? I didn't know, but in that moment, I was nourished by your happiness. I was blooming like a flower, and that was enough. It made me forget everything.

Then you wanted to paint me on a canvas, not just a sketch, but a real painting. I lay down on the grass, giving myself over to the arms of the soft, damp earth. The sun hit my face like golden arrows, warming my skin like the touch of a lover. That heat seeped deep inside me. I felt like I would melt under the soft wool of my pink sweater; my body was becoming fluid. My breath grew tight, my gasps short, as if the very air had grown heavy with your presence and choked my throat. Because you were seeing me.

You were scanning behind the masks, seeing the nakedness of my soul; you traced every line, every curve, every contour of my body like a poet scans for words. As I lay there in the cool of the grass, I felt the weight of my love; that hopeless longing as deep and dark as an ocean, its waves beating against my insides like an agonizing pain I couldn't give up. I watched your hands dance with the brush; as your fingers wandered across the canvas, every stroke was like a heartbeat. As the colors blended, it was as if my emotions blended with them. A fire burned inside me; I melted in those flames, crumbling into ashes that scattered in the wind. But still, I wanted that moment to last forever. "God, stop the threads of time," I pleaded internally. I wanted to exist in your world, in your art; as permanent as a brushstroke, as vivid as a color, living eternally as a work born from your eyes.

You plucked a large white rose from the side, its petals as soft as velvet and its edges slightly curled, like nature’s purest gift. You approached me slowly, your steps leaving a slight rustle in the grass, and with your gentle fingers, you placed it in my hair. That touch—your fingers brushing against my skin—made me shiver like an electric spark.

When the cool petals of the rose touched my forehead, it felt as if the deepest layers of my soul were being exposed, bringing my hidden wounds to light and leaving me vulnerable. "Now it’s perfect," you said in a soft voice. I was deeply ashamed; that shame filled me like an ocean, making me feel as if I were drowning. My face flushed, my cheeks caught fire as if a blaze had started inside me, burning every cell. My heartbeat echoed in my ears, its rhythm accelerating, every beat shaking my body like an earthquake, a storm erupting in my chest. Because that touch, that small gesture, shook me to my core; it felt like a secret, a hidden message; but for me, it felt like a declaration of love. Standing there adorned with that rose, I felt naked, vulnerable and exposed, as if the layers of my soul had been peeled back and every secret was on display. The whiteness of the rose seemed to emphasize my innocence, yet it couldn't hide the storm inside me. That storm was violent, its waves tearing me apart.

You finished the painting but refused to show it. "Not yet, it’s a surprise," you said. I asked with a trembling voice, "Fine, then can I draw you too? To make it fair." You laughed and said, "Alright, let’s see your talent." You lay down on the grass just like I did, and I took my pencil and began to draw you, silently praising your beauty in my mind: Oh Sunghoon… You are like a statue of a god, but one that is alive, breathing, with warm blood circulating in his veins. That sharp jawline... my hand grows heavy when I move the pencil there because it’s so sharp it feels as if I’ll bleed if I touch it. Your eyes... that deep, bottomless gaze. Your eyelashes cast shadows on your cheeks, and with every stroke, I make that shadow darker because all your secrets and all your softness are hidden in those shadows. Your lips are slightly parted as if you’re about to let out a word, a whisper. Your hair waves in the wind... it seems to move even on the paper. I refine every single strand because I’ve dreamed of touching that hair so much that now I am touching it with my pencil. Your skin glows like gold under the sun. I erase and redraw it many times to catch that brilliance because no color can truly capture your warmth.

You are perfect. Your elegant nose, your strong shoulders, the thin curve of your neck, your long fingers... I fill the page with every detail in admiration. Watching you this closely, in such detail... I know I can never truly have you. The 'you' on the paper is mine, only mine. But the real you... the real you is so far away from me. With every line, I want you more; in every shadow, I miss you more. My heart breaks; I praise this beauty, I worship it, but I cannot touch it.

Then, in that gentle heat under the sun, you fell asleep. Your eyelids grew heavy and closed, your eyelashes resting with a slight tremble, your breath rising and falling in a steady rhythm. As your chest moved, it was as if you were in harmony with nature itself. I felt a pull—strong as a magnet, an irresistible force. I had seen you sleep many times before; when we were little, we used to sleep by this riverbank often, our heads side by side, our dreams mingling. But in that moment, you appeared to me like a forbidden fruit, an untouchable sacred thing, and so inviting that your scent filled the air and your skin glowed.

I approached slowly, as if my heart were going to leap out of my chest with every step. My feet weren't touching the ground anymore; there was only you, only that distance, only that terrifying, sweet pull. My heartbeat thundered so wildly and ruthlessly in my ears that it felt as if the whole world were trembling to that rhythm.

I leaned over your face, examining your soft features; the smoothness of your brow, the light pink of your cheeks, your eyelashes fluttering slightly in the breeze. Your lips... slightly parted, pinkish, standing there like a wet invitation.

Your breath hit my face like a warm breeze; it was like a longing knotted in my throat. My eyes filled with tears. And I… I couldn't stop myself. I pressed my lips against yours.

Very lightly. I kissed you softly.

The velvet mixture of the tiramisu was on your lips: it all spread across my palate at once. For the first time, I felt drunk. Truly drunk. My head spun, my eyes closed, and tears trickled from my lashes. The world vanished in an instant. Time froze. The universe shrunk until only that contact remained: the tiny, miraculous point where my lips touched yours.

My first love, my first kiss, my first friend, my first confidant, my everything.

I didn't want the world to turn. I didn't want anything else.

That thought burned through me like fire, filling my soul. That taste remained on my lips, my body was awakened; a wave starting from just my lips, but so powerful it stirred a storm inside me. I was ashamed, so ashamed; I was terrified of how I’d ever look at your face again. I panicked, thinking what if you woke up, what if you got angry? My heartbeat was exploding in my ears. My hands were ice cold and trembling; I curled up to hide myself, to hide that involuntary hardness, that animalistic betrayal. I hated myself in that moment. I was afraid of being something disgusting, perverted, and uncontrolled in your eyes.

The sun had already set, the sky painted with a crimson sorrow. I woke you gently, placing my hand on your shoulder. "Hoonie, get up, it’s getting dark," I said, my voice trembling, my throat knotting. You rubbed your eyes and sat up, asking in a sleepy voice, "What? Did I fall asleep?" Your eyes were still misty, still full of that innocence. I quickly made up a lie. "My sister called me, I have to go urgently," I said, my voice broken, and I ran away, my feet stumbling in the grass, the river water murmuring behind me as if mocking me. I thought you understood everything.

I was suddenly crushed under that gaze, as if you entered inside me with your eyes and exposed every one of my secrets. My face was like an open book. Did you really read every line? That shame, that desire, that hopeless love… did you see it all?

I reached home with my desperate questions. The moment I walked in, my knees shook and I couldn't hold myself up. I began to sob, the cries overflowing from my throat. As the tears traced my cheeks, my nose ran, my lips trembled, and my whole body shook. The shame was so heavy it felt as if gravity had doubled; I leaned against the wall, my back against the cold plaster, but even that wall couldn't hold me. I slowly slid down and collapsed onto the floor, pulling my knees to my chest and covering my head with my arms. I wanted to shrink, to vanish.

I thought of that moment. Over and over, ruthlessly. That thieving second when my lips touched yours. The moment your warm breath hit my face. The moment I felt that velvet, bittersweet taste on my tongue. The trembling of your eyelashes, the slight parting of your lips, that pinkish wetness… I amplified every detail in my mind. I crawled to the bed and threw myself onto the comforter. I buried my face in the pillow. I noticed the white rose still in my hair. My trembling fingers reached out and slowly pulled it out. I took it in my palm. Its petals were cool, almost cold. I stroked every single petal with my thumb; as that smooth texture touched my skin, I thought for a moment the fire inside me had lessened. But it was a lie. The fire was still there; deeper, hotter, more ruthless this time.

I brought the rose to my nose. A light, clean, slightly sweet scent spread. It reminded me of you. Of the scent that filtered through your hair. "What have I done?" I whispered into the darkness. Questions spun in my brain, but there were no answers. and in that silence, I felt even smaller, even dirtier.

I pressed the rose to my chest. The petals were crushed in my palm with a slight crackle. Its scent filled my nose more intensely. My tears dripped onto the petals, soaking them. Still, I didn't let go. Because letting go of that rose felt like letting go of you.

I curled up where I lay, pulling my knees to my chin. My tears continued to soak into the pillow. My hair stuck to my face, wet and messy. My breath was ragged. Somewhere inside me was burning; shame, regret, longing, desire, fear… it had all mingled into one searing knot.

But at the very center of that knot, there was still you.

Then I began to touch myself. Slowly. Very slowly. As if by rushing this movement, all the guilt would collapse on me at once. My trembling fingers touched the edges of my clothes, and I slid them down. Cold air hit my naked skin, but the fire inside me was so intense that the thought of being cold never even crossed my mind. I cupped my chest with my palms; as my fingertips traced circles around my nipples, stroking those hardening, sensitive points, the tremor rising from the depths of my body reached my soul. In every touch, I remembered you. The heat of your lips, your breath hitting my face, the unforgettable trace of your hands. My tears flowed again.

My fingers slid further down. When they reached that wet, warm place, a moan broke from my throat; it was as if everything I had suppressed for years was bursting out at that moment. I closed my eyes tight and saw you. Only you. The trembling of your eyelashes, the slight parting of your lips, the pinkish wetness… The taste left from that kiss was still on my palate, still in my nose, still circulating inside me. My fingers found a rhythm; slow, deep, almost an agonizing rhythm. Every movement was like a confession: for kissing you, for wanting you this much, for not being able to touch you, for not being able to have you, for loving you so deeply.

My body tensed. My hips rose involuntarily, my back arching like a bow. My moans were no longer silent; they broke from my throat and scattered into the darkness of the room. My tears traced my cheeks, reached my chin, slid down my neck, and dripped onto my chest. Shame and pleasure were so intertwined that it was impossible to distinguish between them. My body was burning, and my soul was shattering, as if I were being broken into pieces, yet simultaneously merging with you. As if in that moment, I was taking you inside me, living you, consuming you.

When that peak came, my whole body shook. For a moment, everything stopped; my breath was cut off, time vanished, and there was only that violent, searing wave. Then it slowly dissipated. My body relaxed, my hands were still wet, and my chest was heaving.

The white rose by the edge of the pillow lay shriveled, its petals scattered. I reached for it, gathering its broken pieces with my trembling fingers. I pressed it to my chest. While missing you, while wanting you, knowing I could never have you, I was surrendering myself to you.

Night fell again, spreading over the city like a heavy, suffocating darkness. The stars were distant, cold, and indifferent, as if even they didn't want to see me.

Every cell in my body whispers your name, Sunghoon. Your name circulates in my veins instead of blood. I want you, the warmth of your skin, the calm depth in your eyes, the slight curve of your lips, the moment your breath touched my lips… But this desire no longer feels like just a wish; it feels like an affectionate, sweet, yet lethal poison. It starts from my heart and wraps around my whole being, seeping deeper with every breath.

Pain stabs my chest like a dagger, growing sharper with every breath. Because I know: this is impossible. The wall rising between us is reality itself; society’s invisible chains, the thick stones woven from my own fears. That kiss... it was a theft. While you were asleep, completely vulnerable, in your most delicate state of innocence, I stole that moment from you. The warmth of your lips, the faint scent of vanilla in your breath... I experienced it all alone, I dirtied it all alone. I stained that sweet moment within myself, leaving a black mark on my conscience.

Every time I remember, my heart twists, and waves of regret knot my throat. I can’t sleep at night; I writhe in bed, wondering what if you noticed, what if you opened your eyes at that moment and saw me, what if only disgust remains in your gaze now. The fear of losing you burns me like a flame, growing hotter every day. Our friendship, that small, precious, fragile bond... I tremble thinking it will be destroyed forever because of a moment of stupidity.

This love is swallowing me. Like a monster growing inside me, getting hungrier and wilder every day. It will tear my soul apart and turn me into an empty shell. But still, I endure.

I will remain in this pain, in this longing forever. Maybe one day it will fade, or maybe it will define me forever, but you will always be at the center of my heart, like an unreachable star.

I am sorry, Sunghoon.
I am sorry for stealing that kiss from you without your knowledge.
I am sorry for touching you while you were asleep, in your most innocent state.
I am sorry for not being able to silence the cry of my heart and for not being able to silence my conscience in that moment.
I am sorry for giving in to the greed inside me while watching you.
I am sorry for not being able to prevent my hands from trembling and my lips from touching you.
I am sorry for loving you truly, madly, searingly... but for not having the courage to show it or to say it as you deserve.

I wish I could take that moment back.
I wish I could stop time and keep my lips away from you.

Please forgive me, Sunghoon...
Because without you, this fire will truly destroy me.

With shame,
Sunoo

જ⁀➴

Dear Sunghoon,
The thirteenth letter. Perhaps the last. Because I don't know how to live with this shame anymore. I haven’t been able to look at you since that night. Looking at you, letting my eyes graze yours, has turned into a torture that I both crave and cannot endure. That evening, in the dimness of my room, in the middle of my bed, buried in the cool touch of the sheets, I whispered your name.

First softly, then hungrier, greedier, more reckless. Your name melted in my mouth, mixed with my saliva, slid down my throat, and from there, spread through my entire body. My fingers belonged to me, but it was as if they were your hands; with every touch that wandered over my skin, I imagined you, I called for you, I dirtied you.

In that short, sharp moment of void, shame came down on my head like a sledgehammer. The wet stain I left on the sheets stood like an invisible crime scene with your name written all over it.

From that moment on, everything became stained for me. The sheets, the pillowcase, the air in the room, my face in the mirror, your last message on my phone, the coldness of the metal on my school bag’s zipper… your name was smeared onto all of it. It was as if I were sticking my state from that night onto everything I touched. I’ve asked myself a thousand times if you realized. Did you see that darkness in my eyes? Did you hear that tremor in my voice? Or am I still just someone "sweet, shy, a bit weird" to you? If you understood, how can you still smile at me? How can you still say my name in the hallway, and why is your voice still warm as you roll those syllables in your mouth? Doesn't the thought of me make you sick?

Shame is such a thing; it seeps into the bones. From that day on, every time I saw you at school, I bowed my head as if my neck were broken. I took the longest way through the corridors, sat near the back door of the classroom, and locked myself in the furthest stall of the restroom during breaks. My stomach would churn when your phone screen lit up. My hand would tremble when I saw your name upon opening it. I didn’t reply. I didn’t answer. I said "I’m busy." I said "I have to take care of my mother."

There was just a wound in the center of my chest with your name carved into it, and it bled with every breath. I knew you were waiting for me after school. Most times, I didn’t even put my bag over my shoulder; with the zipper open and my things dangling as if about to fall out, I escaped through the back door. I didn’t even run, fearing I’d draw attention. Quickly, with my head down, I slipped away through the shadows. I stopped for a moment under the streetlights and looked back. You weren't there. But still, it felt as if you were exactly where I had left you.

Then one evening, the doorbell rang.

My sister was washing dishes in the kitchen, and I was slumped on the edge of my bed, my phone turned over, trying not to look at it. The sound of the bell echoed through the house. My mother called out, "Who is it?" There was no answer. The bell rang a second time, harder.

When I opened the door, you were there.

Holding that small glass bowl my mother had given you last week. But your face… your face was like stone. Your lips were a thin line, your jaw so clenched that the vein in your temple was prominent. Your eyes weren't fixed on me, but on something inside me. For the first time, I saw you so raw, so angry.

"Come in," I said.

Without a word, you walked inside. You placed the bowl on the hallway table so hard that the sound of glass hitting marble echoed through the corridor. Then you grabbed my wrist. Your fingers were like iron. My bones were pressed together, a stinging began under my skin, but that sting… it turned into something beyond pain. While my heart beat in my ears, the warmth of your hand squeezing my wrist, the strength, the determination… it made me feel as if I actually mattered. As if I meant something to you. As if this 'me' that I was running from, hiding, and loathing still held some meaning in your eyes.

You pulled me into my room. Our footsteps didn't even echo in the hallway; it was as if we were gliding over the carpet. The moment you closed the door, the house went silent. Even the sound of my sister’s plates and forks in the kitchen cut off, as if the whole world remained behind that door.

You still hadn't let go of my wrist.

You were holding it so tightly that I thought your fingerprints would be etched into my skin. I prayed for them to leave their mark. There was pain, yes. But there was something greater than pain: surrender. Your anger, your strength, the way you held me like this… it was as if finally someone had truly seen me, truly caught me, truly stopped me. In the middle of everything I was running from, I stood under your hand. It was dirty. But still, something inside me clung to it hungrily.

And you still hadn't let go of my wrist.

In that moment, I realized that no matter how much I ran, no matter how much I hid, it was impossible for me to escape from you.

You were looking into my eyes. There was such a pure, naked reproach in that gaze; as if you hadn't slept all night, asking yourself the same question, gnawing at the same lack of an answer. Your voice was trembling, yes, but this tremor was less of anger and more of a pain trying to cover that anger.

"Why have you been avoiding me for days?"

The sentence hung in the air. The words were heavy, as if each one wounded something inside you further as it passed through your throat. You continued:

"Is it something I did? Did I make a mistake?"

I was silent. Silent because in that moment I realized how loud my own silence was. I looked away for a second. Under your innocent, fragile, almost childlike gaze, I felt so disgusting. You weren't guilty. You weren't guilty of anything. I owed all this distance, all this coldness, all this escape not to your face, but to mine. The darkness inside me, that heavy, unspeakable weight.

I swallowed. My throat felt like it was full of sand.

I lied. "My mother…" I said finally. My voice was cracked, foreign. "She’s been sick for a long time, I’m taking care of her."

It wasn't a lie, really.

Your face changed. First surprise, then a shadow, and then that familiar, deep-seated, bleeding resentment.

"You could have told me that," you said. Your voice was still angry, but the anger was like a shield now; there was something else underneath. "Did you think it was something to be ashamed of? Did you really think I wouldn't understand, Sunoo?"

You didn’t call me Sun. I bowed my head. My eyes were full, but I wasn't going to cry. I couldn't.

"I don't know," I said softly. A silence followed. Long, deep, heavy as bone.

I apologized. I apologized a thousand times. I said I was sorry. You just said, "Okay." That word was heavier than a full sentence. There was a crack in that "Okay" thin, but deep and bleeding. When your eyes dropped to the floor, I saw the trembling of your eyelashes. Your lips tensed, that usual soft curve vanished, replaced by a sharp line. It was as if something inside you had silently broken at that moment, and you were standing with all your might to keep from showing it to me.

Then you turned. You walked toward the door. Your steps were silent, but each one landed like a blow to my chest. When the door closed softly, the void left in the room was so sharp that I lost my breath.

Something between us had broken.

Sleep became a stranger to me for days. The nights grew longer, the darkness deeper; every hour, the same scene played over and over before my eyes: your hurt gaze, the flickering out of that short, sharp light in your eyes, as if someone had blown out a lamp inside you. I replayed that moment in my mind repeatedly, getting angrier with myself each time.

It was I who stole your smile. It was I who extinguished that light, sincere joy in your voice. It was I who slowly, unnoticed, stripped away the trust in your eyes. A stone sat in my chest. Even breathing was exhausting. When I lay down at night, such a lump settled in my throat that I couldn't swallow. My eyes burned, swelled, and grew wet. I buried my face in the pillow and cried silently so my mother wouldn't hear. Sometimes I cried so long that when I got up in the morning, my face was unrecognizable. I couldn't look in the mirror.

I couldn't forgive myself. I had no right to forgive myself anyway.

Then a few days passed. We weren't fighting. The resentment had seeped between us like a silent smoke; even if we didn't speak, or look, or move, it was there. We breathed it in with every breath.

When we locked eyes at school… you would immediately turn your head. It was as if making eye contact with me caused you physical pain. I would freeze in that moment. I would stare for a long time at the void where your gaze had fled; as if the trace left by your eyes were still there. But it wasn't.

When the bell rang for break and everyone scattered to the hallways, the garden, the cafeteria, you wouldn't take a single step toward me. Jay, Ni-ki, Jungwon, Jake… even when everyone came together, that invisible distance between us caught everyone’s attention. It was something tangible, hanging in the air. No one named it, but everyone knew. Aside from those small, quickly forgotten arguments we had as children over toys, balls, or turns, this was our first real rift. For the first time, we were learning that silence between us could be such a sharp knife.

I didn't want to leave the classroom. Going down to the garden, blending into the crowd, laughing, talking… I wanted none of it. I just wanted to bury myself at my desk. To put my head between my arms, close my eyes, and vanish. Truly vanish. In a world where you didn't see me, in a time where you didn't think of me.

But I couldn't stop thinking about you.

While smoking on the balcony, I watched you through the thinnest gap in the curtains. Your profile hit by the light, the trembling of the fire at the tip of the cigarette, the smoke rising slowly… everything was so familiar, so painfully yours. I tried to hear your voice while you were talking on the phone. The walls were thin; the words didn't come through clearly, but I caught the tone of your laughter, that slightly cracked tone where your voice rose when you were angry, your impatience when saying "fine, whatever" to someone.

That sharp, determined movement of yours while kicking the ball during football practice… your hair sticking to your forehead as you ran, drenched in sweat. The dampness of your jersey, you being out of breath, your tired but still stubborn stance as you knelt to drink water… I watched you every moment.

I was going mad with longing. Truly.

Then one day, I saw you in the furthest corner of the garden. You were just standing there; your back to me, hands in your pockets, head slightly bowed. The wind was tossing your hair; the nape of your neck visible under your jersey collar was still the same. In that moment, something inside me snapped. I couldn't take it. My feet ran on their own. My heart was beating in my ears, my chest felt like it was going to tear open.

When I reached you, I didn't stop. I threw my arms around your neck and buried my face in your shoulder. My tears wouldn't stop. Sobs tore at my throat. Words forced their way out of my mouth:
"I’m sorry… I’m sorry Sunghoon… Please forgive me… Please…"

At first, you froze. Your body tensed; I felt you hold your breath. For a moment I was afraid. What if you pushed me away, what if you pulled back? But then…

Your arms wrapped around me slowly, hesitantly, but with determination. Your warmth seeped into me. It was a warmth I had missed for so long, had yearned for so much, that it felt as if a frozen vein was suddenly thawing.

"Stupid," you said. Your voice was shaky, muffled, but there was such a soft, familiar affection in it that my crying increased even more. "Why do you upset yourself so much? I missed you too."

Every stone inside me melted at once.

You stroked my hair. Your fingers wandered so softly, so slowly, as if you were afraid I was something that would break. I buried my head further into your shoulder, breathing in your scent. Sweat, grass, you… everything was one now. The world stopped. The noise in the garden, the children’s laughter, the bell, it all faded. There was only you. There was only being in your arms.

That day, we walked home together after school. For the first time, I felt so light. It was as if my feet weren't touching the ground. Our shoulders brushed slightly as we walked side by side, just like before. You started talking. You told me how Heeseung slipped while mopping the floor and broke his arm. How he cried in the hospital saying, "It’s not my fault, the floor was very slippery," whining like a child in front of the nurse… Seeing that mischievous spark in your eyes, I burst into laughter. I really laughed. It was a laugh that overflowed from my throat, one I had forgotten for a long time.

Middle school days suddenly rushed into my mind. Walking home side by side in the mornings, telling each other nonsensical things on the way to school, sharing the wafers we bought from the canteen, sitting back to back during breaks pretending to study but actually just enjoying being close to each other… everything was so simple back then. Broken things were repaired quickly. Apologies were truly apologies. Forgiving was easy.

But when I entered the house…
The real hell was here.

My father’s voice shook the walls; curses, threats, the accumulated poison of years spewed out in a single shout. My mother, shrunken under the duvet in bed, was trying to breathe. Her chest didn't seem to rise and fall, as if every breath were tearing her lungs apart. Her eyes were half-closed, her hands tightly gripping the sheets. In that moment, something inside me snapped. Broke. Shattered.

I went mad.
I grabbed my father by the collar. My fingers clenched so tightly that my nails dug into his flesh. "Shut up!" I screamed. My voice sounded foreign even to my own ears; muffled, predatory. "Leave her alone! Leave her alone!"

It was the first time I had screamed at him so harshly. The first time I looked into his eyes and shouted fearlessly. All the silence, all the fear, all the submissiveness I had accumulated over the years exploded at that moment.

But he didn't stop. He couldn't anyway. "You’re late because you were hanging out with those faggots again, aren't you?" he said. His voice was like poison. The words came out as if vomited, each one like a knife stabbing into me.

I completely lost my control from anger. I clenched my fist and hit him in the face with all my strength. It had no effect. I wasn't that strong. I wasn't that big. I wasn't…

I was nothing.

He struck back. The slap was so violent that a ringing started in my ears. My head hit the wall; the coldness of the concrete spread to the back of my neck. I was thrown back, my knees buckled, and I collapsed to the floor. A warm, metallic taste spread from my lips; blood was seeping out. My head was throbbing, everything was spinning. The world had tilted; the ceiling seemed to be getting closer to the floor. I couldn't breathe. My tears were flowing but I wasn't crying; my body was just reacting now.

My sister came running. Her small hands clung to my arm, her voice trembling. "Oppa… Oppa, are you okay?" Her eyes were full of fear, her cheeks wet. She was trying to protect me with her tiny body. Just then, there was a violent knock on the door. It was being pounded as if it would break. Heeseung and his father. They had heard everything from the neighboring apartment. It was impossible not to hear; the walls were thin, the shouts were loud, the pain was too raw.

The door opened. Heeseung’s father burst in, his eyes red with anger, his jaw locked. He grabbed my father by the scruff of his neck. "Get out!" he roared. His voice was so sharp, so authoritative that even my father paused for a moment. Heeseung was behind him; his face was pale, his hands were clenched into fists, but he didn't know what to do. His eyes drifted to me. He saw the blood on my lips, the scratch on the wall, my slumped form on the floor. He didn't say a word. He just looked.

Everything was in that look: anger, pity, helplessness.

They dragged my father out. The shouts overflowed into the hallway, then to the stairs, then to the street. When the door closed, the house suddenly grew silent. I collapsed onto the floor. I leaned my back against the wall and pulled my knees to my chest. Blood was dripping from my lip to my chin, then onto my t-shirt. My head was still spinning. But the place that hurt the most wasn't my lips or my head.

The one that hurt the most was that child inside me. It was my mother’s fear-filled state in that bed. It was my sister’s hands, trembling with fear.

Heeseung knelt beside me. He put his hand on my shoulder, but he didn't squeeze. He just placed it there. To let me feel he was there. "Sunoo…" he said softly. His voice was broken, hushed. I lifted my head. Our eyes met. There wasn't a single thing in those eyes accusing me. There was only concern. And maybe… shame.

Heeseung took my face between his palms. I felt his hands trembling; his fingers were cold, but their warmth seeped into me.

"Sunoo… God, are you okay? Look at me, please."
His fingers gently touched my cheek, checked the wound on my lips, seeing if the blood was still seeping. His breath was ragged, as if he were trying to breathe in my place.

He took the first aid kit from my sister. When she handed it to Heeseung with her small hands, her eyes were still wet, but Heeseung smiled at her softly and said, "Thank you, princess." Then he turned to me. He soaked the cotton with alcohol and touched the wound on my lips so cautiously, so slowly that instead of feeling the pain, I felt the softness of his fingers even more. He put a cold compress on the back of my head; his hand stayed on the nape of my neck for a while as he placed the ice pack among my hair. He made me feel like a nurse. Even a doctor. Even… like someone talented in everything. How could he stay so calm?

My throat knotted. Not just from gratitude; in that moment, in that room, at a time when the whole world had turned its back on me, someone still looking at me with such attention, such care… it tore me apart.

"Thank you…" I whispered. My voice barely came out. "Truly… thank you, Heeseung hyung."

He smiled. But that smile didn't reach his eyes. His eyes were still worried, still weighing me, clearly thinking "it could have been worse."

"It’s nothing." he said softly. "Come on, let’s go to our place. My mother isn't home, and my father will be back late. There was a movie Sunghoon wanted to watch; we can watch it together if you want."

My heart stopped for a moment. I was going to see you. Maybe I’d feel the warmth of that moment again, the one in the garden where we hugged, where he stroked my hair and said, "I missed you too." But at the same time… I didn't want to be a bother. Being this wounded, this broken, I didn't want to enter their home like a burden.

"I don't want to be a bother…" I murmured.
Heeseung shook his head and looked into my eyes. "A bother? Besides… Sunghoon would be worried about you too. You know that."

That sentence settled inside me. Sunghoon would be worried about you too. Maybe you were sitting on the balcony right now, looking at my house from behind the curtains. Maybe you were thinking deep down, "is he okay, what is he doing." Maybe you… missed me.

I nodded. I accepted.
In that moment I looked at Heeseung; he was so natural, so protective… It was as if even in the middle of all this chaos, he could create an order.

We left the house. He took my arm while walking in the hallway to keep me upright. We went down the stairs slowly. My head was still throbbing with every step, but his presence, the slight support, seemed to take all the weight off my shoulders.

When Heeseung opened the door, we entered the house. And in that moment… a heavy, foreign perfume scent hit my nose. It wasn't Heeseung’s scent. And it wasn't your scent either, Sunghoon.

This was something else. Heavy, sweet. It was a scent I had never smelled in this house before. And the scent, like a stranger hanging in the air, suddenly sucked away all the warmth, all the security.

We entered the living room. You were sitting in front of your canvas. Across from you was Jake.

Sunghoon, you were drawing Jake.

The pencil was dancing softly between your fingers, in that same familiar, slightly tilted posture. Just like in the old image etched into my mind. Your brows were slightly knit, your lips slightly parted, and your eyes were wandering over Jake’s face;
Slow, heavy, almost as if touching. Everything was there. In the same way.

What you did with me…
Those long, silent hours you spent drawing me for your portfolio; the moments you poured the streets, bridges, and desolate park corners we walked together onto paper; those times we sat side by side on the bench at sunset and took each other in without using words, only with gazes; the special, fragile sacredness that I thought belonged only to me, existing only in the shadow of my skin, only in the rhythm of my breath…

You were doing it with Jake.
My head spun. So violently that it was as if gravity had suddenly reversed, all my blood was drawn from my feet, and the whole world was hanging over my head. A sting burst in my heart, a thousand times sharper, a thousand times more poisonous than my father’s slap. That slap would seep into the skin, the bone, the blood; when it passed, a bruise would remain, the bruise would fade, its trace would dim. But this… This wound had been opened from a completely different place. From the deepest, most unprotected layer of the soul. Sharp, deep, bleeding.

I couldn't name it. Was it jealousy? Yes, it was jealousy; seeing that same soft light falling on Jake’s face, that same head bowing with attention, those same fingers holding the pencil not belonging to me… it made me nauseous.

Was it betrayal? Yes, it felt like betrayal too; because I thought those moments had only been lived with me, only gained meaning with me. We hadn't made a promise, maybe, but weren't our looks, our touches, our silence a silent contract?

Was it worthlessness? Perhaps it was mostly this. Because my place had been filled so quickly, so easily, so ruthlessly… As if I had never existed. As if all those hours, all those gazes were a delusion.

It was everything. It was all together.
Intertwined, unsolvable, a ball of needles pressing into me. I couldn't breathe.
My eyes filled with tears. I felt like I was going to die.

Then you lifted your head. You saw me. For a moment your eyes widened. Then the light smile on your lips froze. The pencil slipped from your hand and fell to the edge of the canvas. Jake turned too, looking at me with surprise.

Something broke in the air.

“Sun…”
There was so much in your voice… But I didn't want to hear any of it.

Both of you came to my side with hurried, almost running steps. You in the lead, Jake right behind you. The distance between you closed in an instant; as if those few steps wanted to carry the accumulated apology of years.

“Sunoo?” Jake’s voice was cracked, as if his throat had gone dry. He reached out his hand but stopped halfway. “What happened? Are you okay?”

You appeared right beside me too, touching my shoulder lightly, but even that touch was too much at that moment. “Your face… God, your lips are still bleeding. What happened to your head? Who did this?” There was real concern in your voice; sincere, frantic, almost guilty. But I couldn't accept that concern.

“Sunoo, speak to me please,” you said, your voice sounding even more broken. Your eyes were wandering over mine; in an unsolvable state. “When did you come? Why didn't you say anything?”

Had they not heard a single sound?

I remember the aftermath vaguely. Heeseung took my arm and almost forced me to sit on the sofa. “Stay here,” he said, his voice low but determined. He was afraid that if I took one more step, I would truly fall apart. I didn't resist. I didn't have the strength to resist anyway.

The movie started. Which movie it was, I don’t remember. Maybe a sci-fi, maybe a drama; the blue light of the screen was hitting my face but I saw nothing. Voices came from afar, the dialogue muffled, the music rising and falling like a lump knotted in my throat. But my eyes… my eyes were drifting somewhere else entirely.

Sunghoon.
You were leaning forward slightly from where you sat, looking at Jake. That deep, soft, almost worshiping gaze, like someone giving all their attention to transfer another person’s soul onto paper.

Your gaze was wandering over Jake’s face. When Jake laughed, your lips involuntarily curved too. When Jake said something, you tilted your head slightly to the side and listened. When a lock of Jake’s hair fell over his forehead, you reached out your fingers and gently pushed it back.

Jake. Jake. Jake.

I had never seen that look on anyone else before. Or maybe I had seen it and… I hadn't wanted to accept it.

Maybe that look was always there, and I had just ignored it. Maybe that look was something you carried inside; something that was revealed when you got close enough to someone, anyone; poured out like a light when you touched enough, trusted enough, loved enough.

I was between life and death in that moment.

I couldn't breathe. Something was breaking in my chest, silently, slowly, but irreversibly. With every heartbeat, the break deepened, with every breath, sharp shards of glass filled my lungs.

The movie continued. Jake laughed in one scene. Sunghoon, you laughed too. That laugh stabbed into me like a dagger. Heeseung quietly got up from beside me, maybe went to the kitchen, maybe just to leave me room to breathe. But I didn't get up. I couldn't.

So I sat. Silently. Biting my bleeding lips. Holding my shattered heart in my chest. Knowing I still loved you. Knowing I was still afraid of losing you.

But in that moment, on that sofa, while the movie was playing,
I thought for a moment the small, flickering fire inside me had gone out completely.

But no. It didn't go out. It was just buried in ashes. In the depths, in an invisible place, it was still burning. Very weak, very fragile, very wounded.

And under those ashes, maybe one day it would grow massive again. Or maybe… it would stay like this forever.

Because some wounds don’t heal. They are just learned. And you learn to walk carrying the wound.

Step by step. Bleeding. Silently.
But still, you walk.
Because if you stop, you truly die.

Sunoo,

જ⁀➴

Dear Sunghoon,
Even writing this word feels like a betrayal, a sin, a profanity now. The moment I address you as "dear," a noose tightens around my throat, the letters on my tongue turn to poison, and that delicate garden I’ve nurtured inside me for years instantly turns to ash. I feel as if I am taking God’s name in vain; as if I’m saying it without deserving that sanctity, merely out of habit, and it disturbs me.

After what happened recently, for the first time—truly for the first time—I felt so utterly worthless. In thatmoment, a void opened inside me; it was as if my existence had turned into a faint shadow, crushed under the weight of everything around me. People have those little hopes they secretly feed for years; you don't share them with anyone, you can't even fully confess them to yourself, because their fragility terrifies you.

Those tiny possibilities you whisper "maybe, just maybe" to, waiting silently at the edges of your life like secret pillars keeping you upright. Well, even those are gone now. To say they just died isn't enough, because they’ve been erased so completely it's as if they were never born. There isn't even a trace of them left in me. That void expands with every breath, swallowing the dreams of the past and leaving only a cold reality behind. In place of those hopes, there is now a nothingness, and this nothingness grows larger every day, enveloping me and poisoning every thought of the future.

Perhaps this feeling of worthlessness is love’s deepest wound; the thing you love most becomes the thing that hurts most, and you are left there, in the middle of that pain, all alone.

After that day, leaving the house began to feel impossible. Opening the door, stepping outside… it was as if I were being blocked by an invisible wall, a wave of fear rising inside me with every attempt. Looking at your face, letting my eyes meet yours, now caused an unbearable pain. I avoided seeing the reflection of what happened in those eyes, because every time, my heart broke a little more. I felt as if even breathing the same air or walking on the same pavement was forbidden to me. The streets had become a labyrinth full of memories; I was afraid of encountering your shadow at every corner, so I imprisoned myself within four walls.

I felt so angry; that rage swelled inside me like a volcano, but I knew I had no right to let it out, because that anger felt like the result of an illusion I had created myself. I was hurt, yes—a deep resentment was gnawing at me—but even being hurt didn't belong to me, for you were not to blame. Everything was the product of my one-sided emotions.

I couldn't even expect an apology from you; that expectation would be an unfair demand, because I was the one who loved you only in my dreams for years. I was the flawed one. Nurturing those dreams, trying to turn them into reality; that was my greatest mistake, and now I was having to pay the price. I had to suffer the punishment for a crime you never even knew about. But this path stretched out before me like an eternal torment.

And then...
Then one of those days, suddenly, Jungwon called. The persistent ringing of the phone pierced the silence of the room, and when I answered and his voice filled my ears, I realized that everything was terrifyingly normal. Too normal, too calm, as if the flow of life hadn't been interrupted at all, even though my world had long since turned into a wreckage.

"By the way," he said, his tone so light, so indifferent, as if sharing a detail in the middle of a casual conversation, "Jake and Sunghoon are together." As the words fell from his mouth, he spoke with the ease of someone saying it would rain tomorrow. In a tone so natural, so insignificant, as if the balance of the universe hadn't been disturbed and everything was continuing to turn as before. But in that moment, I felt like I was alone in a crowded room, every sound around me fading away.

But for me...
This was news of a death. That simple sentence suddenly shattered the dreams and fragile hopes I had accumulated for years. It was as if during a burial, the last piece of me left above ground was being shoved under the earth. Every syllable stabbed into my heart like a knife, deepening the darkness a little more.

It was someone telling me "the life you lived is over." That life was one that revolved entirely around you, tied tightly to your smile, your gaze, your presence. And now those bonds were snapped, leaving only a ruthless void. That void expands with every breath, swallowing me, filling my inside with a cold wind.

In that moment, it felt as if my heartbeat would stop, my breath was caught, and my throat was knotted. While Jungwon’s voice was still roaring in my ears, the phone trembled as if it would slip from my hand, but I only stayed silent. Because that silence was the most desperate cry of the storm, of that unbearable pain inside me.

From the outside, it seemed as if nothing had changed in the order of the world; people continued to laugh and have fun, continued with their lives. But a tsunami had risen inside me. That news tore my soul into pieces, filling each piece with a separate pain. To gather myself, to stand up again, now felt like an impossible dream, because everything related to you had vanished forever at that moment.

After that point, I turned into a living corpse. My body was still breathing, but the spark of life inside had long since gone out. Every movement was a mechanical imitation, as if a puppet were being controlled by strings. I was breathing, yes—my lungs filled and emptied of air—but this was just a physical necessity. I wasn't living in any real sense, because in every moment, that void, that deep absence, enveloped me. Colors had faded, sounds grew distant, everything remained behind a veil of gray mist.

Days passed, weeks followed one another, but I stayed in place, like a piece of rock resisting the flow of time. As the hours advanced, I froze in the corner of that room, refusing to keep pace with the rhythm of the outside world. Time flowed, advancing passionately like a river, but I was like something frozen, motionless like a lake iced over in the middle of winter, every emotion inside me solidified and made brittle.

I was like a thought rotting inside the bed. While lying there for hours, for days, my mind drowned in its own darkness, memories slowly decaying and scattering. With every awakening, I shattered a little more. My heart was working, perhaps, keeping the body upright with its rhythmic beats, but my soul had long since departed.

It had emptied like an abandoned house, leaving only an echoing sorrow behind. And inside that void, I questioned the meaning of my existence, as if observing an eternal mourning.

When I closed my eyes, you were always there. Behind the dark curtain of my mind, your silhouette appeared, pulling me into the warm but distant memories of the past. Those memories still fill me with a slight ache, awakening more longing with every recollection. Those moments we laughed together, where our laughter became a faint echo, where our eyes met but those gazes are now just memories…

While those laughs ring in my ears, they make my heart ache with a soft sorrow every time. Our silences, those peaceful moments where we understood each other without needing words. In those silences, even our heartbeats had turned into a serene rhythm, like a reflection of the past. Our walks side by side, wandering the streets with the rhythm of our steps, but those paths have now turned into nostalgic trails… as the wind mussed our hair, every step felt like a memory, and those memories made me think a little more every night.

Then, I slowly tried to pull myself out of those memories and put Jake in my place. With the soft play of my imagination, it came to life in my mind as if your hand were in his, your fingers touching, and your smile turned toward him; that bright smile that has now grown distant from me, shining only for him. Every image filled me with a slight ache.

But... I couldn't even be jealous of Jake. That emotion withered before it could sprout inside me, because even jealousy felt unnecessary beside this situation; it was such a natural and justified union. He truly was a good person. Always smiling, helpful, someone who gave happiness to those around him. He had always treated me kindly too, reaching out a friendly hand, and this goodness made me think a little more now.

He was like one of those people standing in the most correct place in the world; a piece maintaining the balance of the universe, every movement fair and sincere. Because of this, it was impossible to blame him.

That’s why the pain inside me was even more shameful. That pain sat on my shoulders like a light burden, because everything was the product of my one-sided dreams. And this shame deepened every night, making me think, making me question myself. That feeling was so intense that sometimes even breathing became difficult.

Yet I couldn't stop myself. That question swelled inside me like a storm, completely taking over my mind and practically pleading to come out. Then I asked, but I didn't do it out loud; I did it silently, only from within, as a whisper echoing in the darkest corners of my soul.

"What if I were your lover?" I asked myself or rather, "What if I were him?" I corrected internally. Because that imaginary scenario, a world where I stood in Jake’s place became a little more vivid, a little more tangible with every thought, yet at the same time, it drifted toward an unreachable horizon, fading like a dream I could not attain.

What if the one holding your hand, gripping your fingers tightly with that soft touch, was me? What if the one looking into your eyes, sharing every secret, was me? What if the one touching your lips, sealing love with those light kisses, was me?

As those moments came to life in my mind, every touch created a wave of longing, every look burned like a fire, and every kiss enveloped my body with an imaginary warmth. I wanted to feel you so close, so indispensable, that reality itself felt dull and meaningless beside that dream.

Fuck, Sunghoon.
I wanted this so much.

It was such a deep, searing desire that as I tossed and turned in my bed every night, it gnawed at me, tore my soul into pieces, stole my sleep, and wouldn't leave me alone even during the day. I asked even while knowing I never wanted the answer to this question. I knew that the answer could crush the last crumbs of hope inside me, perhaps hitting me with a truth I already knew deep down and destroying me completely. But still, thatcuriosity—that ruthless and unstoppable curiosity—didn't stop me. It made me ask that question over and over every night, living those imaginary scenarios repeatedly.

Dreaming of you being with me, finding consolation for a moment in the warmth of that dream, but finally hitting the cold and sharp wall of reality.

It had all become a cycle, enveloping me like an endless circle, and I was getting lost in that cycle, getting more tired every time.

I can't sleep at night.
I don't leave the house.

Opening the door, stepping outside, feels like entering a foreign world, because every street, every corner, reminds me of your absence.

My mother and sister stand outside the door, constantly trying to talk to me. Their voices seep through the wooden door, their worry evident in every word. "Sunoo, eat something," says my mother, her voice soft but insistent, as if hoping I’ll regain a bit of strength with food.

"Just opening the door is enough," says my sister. "We’re here," they say, those words repeated like a mantra. Still, accepting that support, sharing my pain, feels difficult to me. And I fend them off in my most natural way. "I’m fine," I say, but as that word falls from my lips, it feels like a lie. "I’m tired," I say, more realistic this time, because that tiredness envelops my soul, not my body. "We’ll talk later," I say.

I draw the curtains tight, even covering the gaps with an old blanket now. I want no light to enter. Because light seeps into everywhere. It seeps between the walls, from the edges of the curtains, from under the door, and it brings you with it.

My phone keeps vibrating on the table; that small, bright screen flashes like a wound. Group messages. Each one stabbed into my soul like an arrow. They all asked the same question: "How did Jake and Sunghoon happen?" "Who confessed first?" and more.

I turn off the phone. My fingers tremble as I press that button, as if I am sealing a door forever. But the storm inside me doesn't subside; on the contrary, it intensifies. I don't want to breathe. Every breath reminds me of you; the air filling my lungs still carries your scent.

I’ve even turned away from mirrors. Every mirror in the house looks at me like an enemy. The big one in the bathroom, the small one in the bedroom; they all reflect the same lie. Because there, someone who still loves you is standing.

I wonder, how did you do it?
How did you cross those mountains of fear?
How did you step so bravely into those abysses?

I was so afraid that every breath grew heavy like a shackle, and every step felt like falling into a bottomless well. Afraid of being rejected, of those poisonous looks tearing my soul apart. Afraid of being looked down upon, of being crushed underfoot like an insect. Afraid of my family, of their ice-cold silent judgments, of the winter frozen in their gazes. Afraid of the looks of people, of the whispering shadows hidden in the streets. Afraid of society, of those invisible iron chains, of the judgments... I was afraid of everything.

But you... where did you find that inner strength, that fiery will? Or did that judgment belong only to me? Was it just the crushing weight on my broken shoulders? Was it only me who was so delicate, so forgotten in the nooks of the darkness?

Then I am filled with rage toward myself. I whisper internally, like a curse: "I didn't deserve you anyway." Someone like you should be with someone like Jake, not with a coward like me, a shadow ghost.

Jake, who can do push-ups in front of everyone in the gym.
Jake, who can dance at the front at parties, drawing the lights to him, whose laughter fills the whole room.
Jake, whose fingers don't sweat while holding your hand.
Jake, who doesn't look away while stroking your hair.

When you stand side by side, you look like you’ve been torn from the pages of a legend; as the wind strokes your hair, your eyes are fixed on the horizons, on endless tomorrows, standing bright and invincible.

I, on the other hand, was always a hidden wound; bleeding, afraid of healing, a prisoner of a pain wrapped in its shell. Maybe I should have stayed there, in that deep pit, because stepping outside, reaching for the light, was a blinding flame for me, a searing reality.

But no matter how much it hurts, I cannot erase our memories, Sunghoon. They have taken root in the oldest layers of my soul. To uproot them with a single touch would be to tear myself apart. Because if I erase you, I will erase my childhood. I will erase those innocent days. I will erase those pure times we ran together in the streets. I will erase those moments we fell and got back up. I will erase the moment our laughter rose to the sky. I will erase my youth. I will erase those times I found your eyes among the crowds. I will erase those years we shared a secret in every look. I will erase my adolescence. I will erase those years I saw you as a harbor in the chaos of the world. I will erase those days I buried myself in my pillow and whispered your name at night.

I’ve known I loved you since the times I couldn't even run properly. In the yards where those tiny steps stumbled, I was watching over you deep down. Those moments are the most precious treasures of my memory. They have turned yellow like a faded photograph. But the warmth inside them has never faded.

Sometimes I think that maybe God created me just for this. He created me to love you. Maybe that supreme will wanted to weave this love into the fabric of the universe. He dedicated my heart to you like a temple. He dedicated it to echo your name with every beat. Pain, yes, it circulates in my veins like a poison. But that love keeps me upright like an antidote.

There are twenty-one days left until our high school graduation. 3 weeks. The calendar leaves are falling one by one. Everyone is overflowing with excitement. Those going to school for the last time are treading the paths. Those taking photos are immortalizing the moments. Those rehearsing are preparing for the future. Inside me, nothing moves. Silence reigns there. It’s as if I’ve already graduated from life. I departed without waiting for that ceremony, that applause, those new beginnings. My heart stands like an empty stage. The lights are out, the curtain is down. The enthusiasm around me feels foreign.

I wander the hallways like a shadow. Even my memories are growing pale. Those school days spent with you now seem like a distant dream. Maybe that’s why I can't get excited. In twenty-one days, I’ll receive my diploma. But I’ve already experienced my real graduation. I’ve already graduated from your school.

After these past few weeks, I understand now, Sunghoon. From the very beginning, there was never a chance. It wasn't enough to be a "man" for you.

It wasn't enough to be "me." For someone as silent as me, as cowardly as me, someone who looks away like me, someone even afraid of loving you like me… There was never a chance.

Jake was the one who was meant to be your lover.

I was always afraid.
And because of my cowardice, I lost you like something I never actually possessed.

In truth, I never possessed you anyway. But still, I lost you.

I wish I had been brave just once.

Maybe then you would have stopped and looked at me.
Maybe then you would have truly seen me with your eyes.
Maybe then there wouldn't have been a Jake.
Maybe then I... I would have been me.
And you would have been you.

But it didn't happen.
And now nothing will ever happen.

I love you, Sunghoon.
There is still a place inside me that trembles while saying this; as if every time I mention your name, something cracks in my chest, but it has long since learned not to make a sound.

Take good care of Jake. He deserves you. You deserve happiness too. I know this better than anyone, because I was the one who couldn't give it to you.

And I... maybe one day, I’ll make peace with what I didn't do rather than what I did. Maybe one day when I look in the mirror, I can forgive this cowardly little boy left behind by you.

Maybe one day I can grow enough to carry this fear, this silence, this pain.

Sunoo,

જ⁀➴

Dear Sunghoon,
Realizing how time has slipped away is sometimes as painful as a blade sinking deep into the skin. Months have passed since our high school graduation; do you remember? That night, the cherry blossoms in the school yard hadn't fully bloomed yet, but the air held that damp, promising scent of spring. You stood there under your black gown with your usual calm smile; while your hair wafted slightly in the wind, your eyes looked far off, perhaps into the future. It felt as if, at that moment, the curtain was falling on one stage of our lives, and a new one was opening with uncertain shadows.

Since that day, life has been flowing like a river, but I stand on its bank, collecting the memories the waters carry. But isn't the pain in this separation itself? Letters, messages... they aren't enough. Time tears us away from each other, just as the wind scatters leaves. Last night, I looked at our old photos. In one, from the school festival, I was applauding in the background while you sang on stage. Your face was so bright it felt as if the stars had been born just for you. Tell me, Sunghoon, how do your nights pass? What color are your dreams?

Mine are growing pale.
That night, in the suffocating dimness of the large hall, as a period of our lives closed like a heavy door, a deep rift opened within my inner world. This rift was a bleeding void, filled with the sharp thorns of the past.

I had never desired to see you and Jake; in fact, I had avoided even sensing your presence, because those memories still surrounded me like a mist poisoning my soul, growing more stifling with every breath.

However, the others insisted. With a fake surge of excitement in their voices, they said, "Come on, Sunoo, you only graduate from high school once," as if this ceremony were a forced confrontation rather than a celebration for me. Perhaps they were right in a way, as I felt I had gathered myself a little more in those days; although my wounds were slowly scabbing over, the infection beneath was still stinging.

This partial healing had happened thanks to those exhausting, soul-searching sessions with the psychologist. I had asked Heeseung hyung for the number. I caught him in the yard on my way home; while my feet felt heavy as if nailed to the ground, my eyes remained fixed on the floor as if carrying the weight of the whole world on my back. "Hyung," I murmured, my voice trembling and words knotting in my throat, "Can you... give me a psychologist's number? Someone good, someone I can really trust." Heeseung asked no questions; he didn't even give me a judgmental look. There was only a look of deep understanding on his face, as if he felt my pain within himself.

He took his phone from his pocket, scribbled the number on a piece of paper, and handed it to me. "Take it, Sunoo. Call if you need to. I’m always here, don’t forget that," he said, his voice calm but carrying a hidden weight. In that moment, his unquestioning support had calmed the storm inside me for a brief time; a violent hurricane had suddenly settled, replaced by a heavy silence.

Still, that graduation night, despite all this fragile progress, was an evening where suppressed emotions erupted like a volcano. The air in the hall was filled with applause, laughter, and fake smiles, but for me, it became a battlefield where a deep internal reckoning—and perhaps new wounds—were opened.

Then I saw you and Jake on the dance floor. In the vortex of that crowd, under the deceptive glow of the lights, you were so close to each other that you turned into a single silhouette; even your shadows danced in inseparable harmony. Your hands wandered over Jake’s waist, a touch that was both gentle and carried a possessive claim. Your laughter dissolved in the noise around you, as if the world had faded away and only you two remained as the masters of that magical moment.

I, however, stood in the corner, my back against the ice-cold wall of the hall. My body had turned to stone, and my soul was fluttering in the grip of a storm. I watched you; although I was filled with a desire to escape, my feet were rooted to the ground. That image drew me in like a curse; ruthless and inevitable.

Every laugh, every smile was a sharp dagger stabbing into my chest; every time it went deeper, making me bleed more, yet I still stood there, upright under the crushing weight of the pain.

And yet, at that very moment, when I noticed the elegant closeness budding between Jay and Jungwon, a spark of true happiness ignited within me. Like a beam of light suddenly appearing in a dark cave, it revived hope in me. Jungwon was my friend who was always by my side, embracing me with unconditional loyalty even though he knew none of my secrets... My heart was filled with a sincere joy for him; that shy smile on his face, the sparkle in his eyes, he deserved it all. The soft expression in Jay’s eyes radiated a protective and warm aura; Jungwon’s hesitant but sincere responses were a tangible reflection of the happiness they deserved.

Even in my shattered heart, this new relationship burned like a beacon of hope. Among the broken pieces, it shone perhaps as a harbinger of healing.

But you and Jake... Oh, Sunghoon, that image still flickers behind my eyelids, following me like a ghost. It becomes a nightmare poisoning my sleep, leaving a darker shadow every time, dragging my soul into a deeper abyss.

I never forgot that day.
Then came university, didn't it? That inevitable, suffocating turning point tossed us into the same campus, the same faculty, as it opened a new stage of our lives. Into that place that carries the heavy shadow of creativity in every corner, the labyrinthine corridors of Fine Arts.

You had gotten into the painting department; you fell into the bottomless well of brushes, colors, and canvas that had poisoned your dreams since childhood. With every stroke, you poured yourself out, making your soul bleed; in that dark realm where colors screamed, every tone deepened another wound.

I, on the other hand, found my sanctuary in theater, choosing to lose myself on stage. Under the searing brilliance of the spotlights, I wore masks, turned my real pains into lines, and hoped to forget for a moment in the applause of the crowd. But that applause was just a hollow echo, an illusion that only amplified the void within me.

You had said to me with a laugh, "How nice, we’re at the same school, we’ll see each other very often." Your smile was bright like the sun, but for me, it was sharp as a dagger, opening a wound that sank deep and wouldn't stop bleeding.

I couldn't feel happy; a void was growing inside me, expanding like a precipice. Those words did nothing but pick at the wound, bringing not healing, but only more bleeding.
Seeing you every day was a trial, every step on the stone-paved paths of that wide campus was an agony. Our encounters in the hallways were like a ruthless game of coincidences, a cruel joke of fate. Knowing that Jake was waiting for you at the classroom doors was an endless torture; I felt bound by chains with every step, the load getting heavier with every breath.

Sharing your smiles, watching your happiness from afar made me feel like a ghost. It was as if the poison inside me flowed deeper every time, circulating in my veins, spreading with every heartbeat, taking over my body and tearing my soul apart.

I tried to keep our communication to a minimum, keeping our greetings short. I counted my words stingily, averted my gaze; every syllable was like a burden on my shoulders. But still, it hurt. Every encounter opened a wound anew, leaving an ache that wouldn't scab over, a constant stinging. The momentary flash of every look of yours was burning like a flame; the moment your fingertips touched me in every accidental contact flared up like a fire inside. This fueled my platonic blaze like a fire born from the ashes; the more I wanted to extinguish it, the larger it grew, swallowing me whole.

Why, Sunghoon? Why was loving you like such a ruthless punishment, a curse that wouldn't leave me be, poisoning my every night?

But theater... theater became a sanctuary for me, the safe harbor for my stormy soul. I go to classes and lose myself on stage; under the searing brilliance of those spotlights, I forget myself completely. I merge with my characters, their pains swallow mine, absorbing the ache inside me like a deep ocean, and I memorize theirs in return.

While memorizing a role, while repeating the lines, it feels as if the wounds in my soul are slowly scabbing over. Every word is a balm, every gesture a healing touch. Theater has become a ritual of healing for me, like a sacred ceremony; every tear I shed on stage lightens my pain in real life, melting that heavy load drop by drop. Do you remember how I used to tremble in those first rehearsals?

My hands were ice-cold, my voice nothing more than a broken whisper. But over time, I feel stronger with every play; my steps are more certain, my gaze deeper, as if I am born again with every curtain call. Theater has begun to bind my wounds. At least, I hope so.

And then, that moment finally arrived; a memorable turning point that came to life under the enchanting curtain of the theater. The play we chose was "Hamlet." That eternal epic telling of the bottomless wells of loneliness, the pointed daggers of betrayal, and the burning flames of revenge. I portrayed Hamlet; standing under the spotlights, when I said the line "To be or not to be," it was as if I were shouting my own pain. Every word was like a scream rising from my throat.

That deep melancholy, that internal conflict... It was almost like my own story. Every verse reflected my own wounds. The prince's loneliness was my loneliness, his betrayal was my shattered heart, and his revenge had become a storm that wouldn't subside inside me. I invited all of you, you know; Jake, you, Jay, Jungwon, Ni-ki, Heeseung hyung. All of you, with the hope—and perhaps a bit of fear—of seeing you among the crowd.

Jay and Jungwon came and watched from the front rows. Jungwon was so excited that he approached me before the curtain opened and whispered, "Sunoo, you’re magnificent! My heart is going to jump out of my chest!" Pure joy shone in his eyes, a vibrating enthusiasm in his voice, as if my victory were his own.

Jay praised me with his calm but sincere voice: "This role fits you perfectly, Sunoo. You’re a natural star." His gaze was full of support, his words touching my wounds like a balm. Ni-ki couldn't come because he was in Japan with his family, but he called at the end of the play; even from afar, his voice sounded warm: "Kim Sunoo, I heard you cried on stage? Haha, I’d love to tease you about those emotional states of yours, but congratulations, truly. I missed you." Our laughter mingled on the phone, those light laughs melting the distance for a moment.

While the dusty and heavy scent of the stage burned my throat along with the final applause I drew into my lungs, Heeseung hyung also appeared from the darkness. The bouquet of flowers in his hand stood like fresh crumbs of hope sprinkled upon a defeated soul.

When he wrapped his arms around me, the coldness of the tragic character lingering on me hadn't dissipated yet. His whisper echoed in my ears: "Sunoo, for your first play... You were magnificent. That depth on stage, the pain... I was truly moved. These flowers are for you; keep going like this." My eyes grew moist with the weight of this sincerity, my words knotting in my throat.

However, with Jake’s arrival alone, that fragile joy inside me began to fade. Because you... You weren't there, Sunghoon. You were late.

At those final, agonizing minutes of the play, the moment I picked out your silhouette slipping like a shadow into the very back row of the hall, it wasn't a storm that rose inside me, but a massive wreckage. Those few minutes you arrived just as the lights were about to go out were, in fact, a summary of an entire lifetime we had already lost.

While the applause broke out like a typhoon, I was drowning in those late glances of yours. Why? Why couldn't you arrive on time and watch the most naked state of my soul?

That terrible thought, filtering into my mind like a poison, began to circulate in my veins: Your lateness was, in fact, a silent declaration. You were shouting to me that my existence was nothing more than a faint point on your map of priorities. My heart, which waited to shine in your eyes and be blessed by your appreciation, shattered into thousands of pieces at that moment. Wasn't this the deepest, most infected wound of an unrequited love?

When I returned to the bleak loneliness of my room that night, I couldn't find the courage in myself to look at the stranger in the mirror. While my tears fell in that cold void left by your absence and your lateness, a single question was gnawing at my soul: How can I love someone who ignores me to this extent with such unshakable persistence?

As I reach the end of my letter, I face this relentless truth of my soul once again.

I cannot stop loving you.
But this love is no longer a sun warming my heart; it is no different from a curse circulating slowly in my veins, silently gnawing at my every cell.

Inside this dungeon I built with my own hands, I adorn my bars with your image. Loving you is like standing at the edge of an endless abyss, knowing the wind will push me down. It’s an ivy that sinks me deeper as I want to escape, tightening the knot in my throat with every struggle.

This curse condemns me to the shadow of your existence. I diminish when you don't come, I shatter when you are late, but I vanish when you are gone.

And yet, I don't know if I want this anymore.

Sunoo

જ⁀➴

Dear Sunghoon,
Today, the sky is leaden, like the final, heavy verses that a suicidal poet failed to pour onto paper; it is as if even the clouds are afraid to descend to the earth, hanging motionless above us. As I stand before my window and feel my horizon narrowing, the news of you going to America—beyond the fierce waves of that vast ocean—has been pressed into my soul like a searing seal. This isn't just a decision to leave; it is the scream of a silence I have nurtured inside me for years finally breaking free.

You’ve received your equivalency. Your success, your dreams, and that ambition I have always envied are tearing you away from me, from us, and from this city, tossing you into the embrace of that glittering but foreign future. Thousands of miles... This number isn't just a length on a map; for me, it is the beginning of a new era where breathing will become difficult and my voice will only echo in a void. While you take the first steps of a new life there, I will be forced to memorize the geometry of the void you leave behind here.

This news, Sunghoon, isn't just a simple declaration of distance; it is a silent fuse placed at the foundations of that magnificent but lonely palace I built patiently over the years, drawing strength only from your existence. While I walked through the corridors of that palace with your image, I now watch as the ceiling cracks and the pillars crumble one by one like sand.

I am proud of your success, yes, but this pride isn't enough to soothe that sharp ache in my chest.

To say I am devastated would be too light a word for the apocalypse I am experiencing. I had met your absence long ago, but your departure this time is the kind that will sweep away even the crumbs of your presence from this land. Somewhere inside me, I hear my spine cracking under the massive weight of this one-sided love.

This sacred burden I have carried on my back for years is no longer a healing elixir; it is a poison seeping into my marrow with every passing second. I am being crushed, Sunghoon; I am losing my own self under the weight of this great love that your soul hasn't even sensed. I want to heal now; I want this unceasing pain to go numb. I don't want to carry a heart that is tired of searching for your scent in the first cold breath I draw in the morning, or tired of trembling with the possibility of seeing you when I turn a street corner. I want to stop sacrificing myself and just be "me."

Yet, every decision I make to leave you behind is equivalent to burying myself alive while I am still drawing breath. This isn't a simple giving up or an ordinary dilemma, Sunghoon; this is a soul murdering its own innocence, its own childhood, with its own hands. Trying to forget you isn't just erasing a name from my mind; it means abandoning our childhood voices echoing by that riverbank where we scraped our knees, and leaving the unspoken promises we made to each other without a home.

To whom will I entrust all our "firsts," those dusty streets, and the sanctuary we found in each other's eyes?

Do you remember? How we glided through the cool waters of that river without fearing the future... It was as if the world consisted only of that shore and we would hang suspended over that water forever. Now, if I erase you, that river will dry up and the sky will turn dark. The fairy-tale games we built together, the lucky stones we stuffed into our pockets, and that first gift you gave me...

You never knew how that thin ache beneath my skin turned into an earthquake, how my heart shook as if wanting to shatter my ribcage, when I held that small memory in my palm for the first time. You handed it to me merely as a token of friendship, but I made it the very first foundation stone upon which I would build the rest of my life. To forget you now means to abandon that small gift, that pure and stainless memory, to the deepest, most sunless, and darkest cellars of the earth with my own hands.

And yet... How long can a person prostrate before the brilliance in the eyes of their own executioner?

The well-being of my soul depends on me averting my eyes from your unreachable light. If I don't end this letter here, my pen will make your name bleed onto the paper for a lifetime.

Therefore, Sunghoon, let this letter be my final struggle within my own wreckage, the last lifebuoy I extend to myself.

These lines are the final sob of my addiction to you. Until this fire inside me turns to ash and your name evolves into an ordinary word on my lips, my pen will never weep for you again. My ink will dry, my letter papers will turn yellow, and I will lock all images of you into the most remote, most forgotten dungeons of my mind.

I will bury myself in silence until I release myself from this cursed love.

When I have completely moved past you, when your name no longer echoes as an ache in my heart but only as an old and faded memory; on that day, when that inevitable end arrives, I will return. The final letter I write to you then will not be a lover’s plea, but a declaration of victory for a free soul released from its chains.

Until that moment, I will exile myself from you and everything that belongs to you.
Find yourself a new sky across the ocean, one that doesn't include me, Sunghoon. I will be here, within this ruin that you destroyed but left the wreckage to me, trying to rebuild myself.

I say goodbye by loving you enough to destroy me, but giving up on you to save myself.

For the last time with hope,
Sunoo

જ⁀➴

Dear Sunghoon,
How long has it been since I last wrote those dark, farewell-laden lines to you? Almost two whole years... It felt as if time had stopped while I finished that letter and waited for the ink to dry, but it continued to flow.

Now, I am about to graduate from university; with only a few days left until my commencement ceremony, I stand before you with a pen in my hand, but as a completely different version of myself. As I walk through the wide courtyards of the campus and the wind musses my hair, I remember those old pains, but they no longer define me.

I am graduating from the theater department. This path, where I chased my dreams, has taught me how to manage emotions both on stage and in life. I rehearsed for nights on end for my final play, discovering a bit more of myself in every scene. I am no longer that broken boy; I am a man who stands firm on his feet, shining on the stage. These years spent among costumes, lights, and the breath of the audience have reshaped me.

These two years were the greatest storm of my life, Sunghoon. In the first months, waking up every morning was a struggle. Do you remember the feeling of emptiness I mentioned in my last letter? To fill that void, I took on new roles: I joined an independent theater company and expressed my emotions by inhabiting different characters on stage.

I traveled a few times. Away from the bustle of Seoul, I went to small towns and rehearsed in old theaters. There, in the silence of the applause, I found peace. My friends were by my side, but most of all, I leaned on myself. I rose slowly. Recovering from the grip of depression was like rehearsing for a play; every mistake was a lesson, every fall was a chance to rise.

I feel healthier, more balanced, and most importantly, more "whole" than I have ever been. I do my stage warm-ups in the mornings, eat healthy, and quiet my mind with meditation. I no longer have nightmares at night; I imagine new roles in my dreams. I’ve even received an offer from a talent agency. I’ll be taking a role in a series, inspiring others from the screen. This sense of "wholeness" isn't just about you; it’s about making peace with myself.

When I last wrote to you, I said I wouldn't return until I was truly healed. While writing that letter in the silence of my room, I felt so alone. That word was like a vow, an irreversible commitment I made to myself. To truly heal was to shed the past, layer by layer.

This became the first and most challenging promise I have ever made and kept in my life. The promises I made before would blow away like the wind. Keeping them wasn't easy. But this was different.

Every day, I reminded myself: "Hold on, Sunoo. You’re strong." Its difficulty came from manifesting at every stage; like exposing emotions in therapy or reflecting during long nights.

When making that promise, there was a fear inside me: What if I fail? What if I stay in that darkness forever? I wondered what would happen if I got lost in that void. Fear followed me like a shadow; failure weighed on me like the heaviest burden. But I turned that fear into an opportunity: recognizing it was the first step to overcoming it.

And I succeeded. I stood up every time I fell, and I took a lesson from every tear. Falls were like the stumbles of life, one step back, but then two steps forward. The tears flowed away, but the marks they left made me stronger. Over time, I changed: I became more resilient, more peaceful.

The first months following that letter were like my soul being stripped away layer by layer; a ruthless and naked purification. Every day, I felt another piece of my being break off and fall into the void. That innocent joy of my childhood, the fragile dreams I built for the future, even my simplest pleasures were slipping through my fingers. Waking up in the morning was like starting the day with a massive boulder crushing my shoulders.

It took me hours to convince myself to get out of bed and join life. While the world outside flowed with a brazen appetite, I stood right in the heart of the storm within me, diminishing a little more with every gust of wind.

What I experienced wasn't ordinary sadness; it was a total wreckage. Every balance within me was being leveled like falling dominoes.

Staring at empty walls for hours, I didn't realize how time passed; I’d hurl my phone into the darkest corners of the bed to avoid hearing the noise of the world. I was like a building with shaken foundations and cracked walls that finally crumbled under its own weight; I was in the middle of a collapse I thought I wouldn't survive.

Psychologically, I had reached such a threshold that I could no longer see myself as a human being. I was now a massive void defined only by your absence, my boundaries drawn by your departure. My silhouette in the mirror had become foreign to me; the light in my eyes had gone out, and my heart had become like an empty room echoing my own cries. My identity had dissolved within your existence; there was no "Sunoo," only "a deficiency consisting of Sunghoon-lessness."

Then, I knocked on that heavy door and began to receive professional support. Every session was like carving a piece away from that massive "Sunghoon" statue I had erected in the center of my heart. Taking the first step, sitting in that chair, and pouring my mute pains into words was the hardest thing in the world. But every conversation made that statue a little smaller. A memory broke here, a hope turned to dust there. As the stone pieces fell into my soul, I grew lighter. Over time, that insurmountable structure shrunk, its sharp edges vanished, and it finally left behind a fresh and empty soil where flowers could bloom.

Now, I can't help but wonder what you are doing in those streets I have never known, beyond that infinite ocean.

What stage of your life are you in, Sunghoon? Were you finally able to open that dream exhibition you crafted detail by detail?

And what about your social circle? How are things with Jake? Are you still that unshakable and inseparable duo? Or has the wind of the ocean added new distances between you as well? These questions occupy my mind not because they are in desperate need of an answer anymore, but just because I want to know that your light is still shining somewhere.

I hope you are happy, Sunghoon. I truly wish this from the purest and now painless corner of my heart.

Your happiness, your peace; it means that the little boy waiting by that riverbank with bleeding knees in my past has finally found peace as well. If you are well, our childhood fairy tale will be considered to have ended with a beautiful conclusion. Your success will be the greatest proof that the great love I once took on the world for wasn't in vain.

Now, as I write this letter, I look at you not as a stranger watching your glittering world from afar, but with the most honest farewell of two friends who once looked at the same sky. Be happy, because as long as your light doesn't go out, my memories that remain in the dark will continue to be illuminated, even if just a little.

Now I come to the real matter that gives me the courage to write this letter. Life sometimes draws such inconceivable, such strange paths, Sunghoon; while a person searches for a light in their greatest darkness—in that blind well where they are lost—they fail to realize that the hand reaching out to them has actually been by their side for years.

Heeseung... that unique architect who built a brand new universe upon my ruined world.

At first, I questioned myself a lot; these thoughts gnawed at my mind like rodents. I grew tired of asking myself, "Did I only take refuge in him because I was lonely? Am I trying to close this gap with him because Sunghoon is no longer here?" I pulled back for months out of fear of this possibility. But over time, I realized that what I felt wasn't a "replacement" or an escape; it was the most real awakening of my life.

Heeseung’s affection, that healing kindness infused into his every word, didn't just repair my broken pieces; it raised me up from the beginning with a sturdier soul. His love was so different from your unreachable and fierce light, which was both enchanting and searing. You were the storm; he was the quiet harbor I took refuge in amidst the storm. He was like a blanket of mercy draped over my soul when I was cold.

I waited silently within myself for months to confess this truth; I neither wanted to damage my respect for him nor did I want to fit a lie into my own heart. But finally, I saw that I wasn't just holding onto Heeseung so he could fill the void in my heart, but because I was captivated by his presence, just for being "Heeseung." His hand was the only one that could touch my soul in its deepest, purest form.

Looking back, I see much more clearly now that Heeseung’s silhouette was woven into every frame of my life.

On those paths to school, the person walking in front of me wasn't just a body; he was a reassuring shadow.

On that first day of high school, while the roar of the crowd constricted my soul, he became the harbor where my eyes could take refuge.

In those moments when everyone turned their heads and I met the cold face of bullying, I wasn't alone; I was armored by his steadfast presence.

When I took the heaviest blow from my home, from my father; in that pitch-black darkness where I felt homeless and abandoned, it was Heeseung who wrapped my bleeding wounds with his compassion and reassembled me from my pieces.

In my first theater play, it wasn't just my knees trembling under the stage lights, but my entire being; yet there he was in the front row, looking at me with that reassuring smile.

I shared my most childish joy with you, Sunghoon—the excitement of that impossibility, the pain, and that massive, secret love I nurtured inside. I always showed you my brightest, smoothest face. Yet when I was lost in the dark dungeons of my soul, when my breath was cut off by pain and my tears could no longer be hidden, I never realized Heeseung was there.

He was always the one to whom I fearlessly laid out all my naked desperation, my unmasked sobs, and every piece of my brokenness. Laying it out before him was liberating, because I knew he wouldn't judge; he would only accept. Heeseung felt more real than any letter, more real than a mere scrap of paper.

He wasn't the one who held my hands as I fell; he was the one who lay down beside me while I was on the ground and shared my silence. He was beside me like a silent shadow; so natural, so unnoticed that I couldn't see him through the mist of my pain. But he was there, always; like a lamp waiting without illuminating the darkness.

What I feel for Heeseung is a different kind of love than what I felt for you. It was like a great tree growing with patience, its roots holding deep. He loved me in pieces; without fixing my fractures, but accepting them as they were. He loved the light that seeped through the cracks.

When my feelings deepened, he opened up to me as well: he confessed that he had been interested in me in the past. He didn't see my story with you as an obstacle, but as a part of me, and he accepted it silently with great kindness. The fact that he kept that silent admiration within himself without staining it with the dust of jealousy was proof of how free and elegant his soul is. That confession brought us even closer; because he was wounded too, but we were healing together. Heeseung is now a part of my life; the name of a love whose seeds were sown with reality, with whom I heal together.

Sunghoon, I can now confess my love loudly to that reality standing right in front of me, without fear and without whispering. There is no description for this lightness; it was a miracle that could only be experienced.

I never regret that years-old love I felt for you. That love was like a wine matured over time; sharp at the first sip, but enriching as it aged. Every memory of it became a turning point in my life. Instead of regret, I carry it like a gift. Those feelings shaped me, forced me to face my mistakes, but never became a burden. On the contrary, having experienced that love made me richer; it revealed the layers of my emotions.

That love grew me; it taught me depth. Starting from a childish whim and turning into a stormy passion, that love matured me. Every argument, every hug was like a lesson. It showed that love isn't just about happiness, but about pain and growth as well.

You will still be carried in a corner of my heart as a part of our childhood by that riverbank. That corner will be preserved like a dusty chest.

You are still present in the smile of that child.

But that piece no longer bleeds. In the past, there would be a sting with every recollection; the wound would open and bleed before the scab could form. Now, time has wrapped that wound and woven new tissues over it. I smile when I remember; I feel gratitude. Because that bleeding brought me here; it created a stronger version of me.

Since I know you are still in America, I am sending these letters (the old ones and this final one) to your old address in Seoul.

Either burn them or keep them in a box. For me, they are no longer wounds, just the dusty pages of a story lived and finished. They all belong to you, just like our childhood memories.

I don’t expect an answer from you; I am not in search of regret or validation. In fact, whether these letters reach your hands or whether those lines find an echo in your mind won't be enough to shake this perfect balance within me.

I am free, Sunghoon. I have released my soul from my own shadow, from your image, and from those endless expectations. I am healed; that sting seeping from my deepest cracks has subsided. Now, I walk without looking back, remembering the sound of that childhood river only as a beautiful melody.

Farewell, my playmate; may your soul always swing on the swings of the most beautiful parks.

Here is my goodbye,
Sunoo

જ⁀➴

- The first and last letter from Sunghoon to Sunoo -

Dear Sunoo,
The moment I returned from America and stepped into that old house in Seoul, I saw a pile of envelopes gathered at the threshold, and the sight made my heart stop for a beat; it was as if a forgotten wound had begun to bleed anew.

It took me a while to understand what those envelopes were or whom they were from. But as my fingers reached out tremblingly to the first envelope and I opened the letter within, I recognized your familiar, soft handwriting. In that instant, the room was suddenly filled with the air of our childhood by that cool riverbank; it enveloped my soul like a fresh, bittersweet breeze.

As I began to read, every line and every word dragged me into a deeper emotional storm. Sunoo, believe me, with every letter I felt my chest tighten, my breath catch, and my heart flutter desperately, as if the accumulated pains, regrets, and longings of years were flowing over me like a flood.

These letters were like confessions torn from the dusty shelves of the past, representing the heaviest and most wearing burden I have ever carried in my life.

You know, I still remember that moment I first saw you in the park like it was yesterday. In that brief second, time seemed to stand still, my heartbeat quickened, and everything around me blurred. The second I asked your name, a deep intuition awoke within me, as if I knew you would be—and needed to be—by my side for the rest of my life. I felt that invisible path fate had drawn for us right then, and my soul was filled with a warm sense of security.

If it weren't for you, a side of my childhood would have always been missing, always colorless; those play-filled days would have faded, our laughter would have lost its echo, and I would have felt a void in every moment, as if half of my soul were lost.

You weren't just my best friend; you were the safe haven that soothed the growing pains of my soul. You were my sanctuary on stormy nights, the hands that wiped my tears, the confidant who shared my dreams; the indispensable piece that made me who I am. Words are not enough to explain how much I loved you or how much I valued you. This love was infinite and unconditional.

But seeing this love turn into pain for you has shattered me. Realizing that I unintentionally wounded you while wanting to make you happy has become the greatest regret of my life, settling over me like a weight that keeps me sleepless for nights on end.

I never wanted to make you feel bad; on the contrary, with every look and every smile, I strove to protect you and lift you up. But as I now understand the existence of those deep wounds I failed to notice, a storm erupts inside me. I was always close to you, always there in every moment; in our laughter, our silences, even on the most ordinary days.

But I will never forgive myself for being so blind, so insensitive. That blindness follows me like a curse, keeping me awake at night and gnawing at my conscience. If I had looked a little more closely, if I hadn't been so "stupid," if I could have seen behind the veil over my eyes, I would never have allowed you to waste away so silently, to swallow your inner storms and try to smile at the world, to feel worthless, broken, and alone.

For causing you so much sorrow, for every single tear and every single resentment, I apologize to you a thousand times over.

I had truly beautiful memories with Jake, I cannot deny that; those days still burn in my heart like a bright, warm light. Every memory stands preserved in my soul like a precious jewel. He was good for me; he bound my wounds and nourished my soul. I loved him dearly; I was filled with a deep, pure love, feeling reborn with every look he gave. He made me laugh, lighting up my world with his laughter and filling even my darkest moments with joy. I didn't realize how time passed with him; the hours melted away as if we were floating together in an infinite bubble of happiness. I will always remain grateful to him.

However, just before I left for America, things spiraled out of control. That moment erupted between us like a storm, everything shattered in an instant, and I was shaken by a rising wave of panic. Everything changed when Jake saw those old sketchbooks and unfinished canvases in my room. Those dusty pages, those half-finished brushstrokes, had exposed a secret, and the change in his eyes froze my heart like ice.

He wouldn't even listen to me; the wall of his anger was so thick my voice couldn't reach him. He went mad with jealousy when he saw that every single line in those notebooks, every canvas, consisted only of you. The emotions hidden in those lines, the longings kept in those colors, burned him like a flame, sparks flying in his eyes, his voice trembling with rage.

He had actually noticed the bond between us before I did, but he hadn't interpreted it merely as a "friendship." On the contrary, he perceived it as the most intimate confessions of my heart. This drove him mad and caused him to leave me in that way. He went away, tearing my soul apart with the void he left behind, and that separation started an endless storm of pain inside me.

In that moment, a light turned on in my mind.

Everything became clear at once, but that clarity was like a blade cutting through my soul.

I couldn't believe it… how could I have been so blind? I walked in the dark with my eyes wide open. It turns out you were on every page of my life, in every sketch, in every breath I drew. You seeped into my memories like a secret ink, signing your name under every recollection.

You were like breathing to me; so natural, so unnoticed, but just as vital. I could only understand the depth of your presence when I fell into the massive void your absence created, while drowning in longing. I lost my sense of reality as your absence ached in every cell. The world blurred, colors faded; it was as if the ground was pulled from under my feet and I was left suspended in an infinite void.

You were in the next apartment, in my house, at school… in every brushstroke I made, your shadow danced between those lines. The regret of seeing you everywhere and yet seeing you nowhere was searing my insides.

That was the heaviest part; facing this truth while I had just broken up with Jake, before the blood of that fresh wound had even dried, terrified me. My soul was imprisoned in darkness. Feeling like I was betraying him, writhing with that guilt… I couldn't find a way out of that chaos; I drowned in my helplessness.

And the fact that the first kiss was with me… it ignited a place inside me I didn't even know existed. It was an unstoppable fire; a blaze that turned my heart, my past, and all my defenses to ash.

I ran away from you with that sense of guilt. That heavy, suffocating shame tore me a little further from you with every step. I was even late to your first theater play on purpose, knowing how precious it was to you. I deliberately let the hours melt away, slowed my steps, and made my path longer and longer…

Because I couldn't find the courage in myself to look at your face. I couldn't endure the slightest disappointment or the silent reproach I would see in those eyes. My fear was so deep that even feeling you from a distance was enough to break my heart into a thousand pieces.

I am sorry I wasn't there by your side, Sunoo. I should have been there in the front row that day; the person who first noticed your unique light, who heralded your victory with applause, and who shared your pride to the bone… But my cowardice put invisible chains on my feet, leaving you alone in that crowd. This mistake of mine opened a wound in my soul that will never close.

I essentially escaped to America. That transoceanic journey wasn't just to be swept away by the bright lights of my career; my real escape was from the storms inside me, from that searing feeling, from suffocating regret, and from the fear of losing you forever.

I thought I would forget you there, that everything would return to normal as if it had never happened. While walking through foreign streets, getting lost among faces I didn't know, I believed I could heal the wounds of my heart and tear out that deep longing. My dream of closing the void inside me with new beginnings dispersed like a mist when reality hit me in the face.

However, your letters proved one thing to me: some things are never forgotten. The words spilling from those envelopes rose like ghosts of the past and shook my soul again; in every line, I felt you, the power of that unshakable bond once more. I realized that some loves burn eternally beyond time and far above distances.

I am not writing these with an expectation anymore; not a single crumb of hope for the future remains in me. I only wanted to open the dusty pages of the past and share those silent confessions with you; please do not misunderstand me. That old fire in my heart is now just an ember; it doesn't burn, it just vaguely warms the memories. I know it’s too late now, that the river has long since flowed by and its waters have tossed us to completely different shores. The flow of time swallowed our years, drawing an irreversible path for us.

I want to walk with strong steps like you, but I see that I haven't grown up as much as you yet. That child inside me is still resisting.

I congratulate you and Heeseung with all my heart. Because the union of the two of you shines before me like one of the most beautiful miracles life has to offer. Heeseung is the most honest, most reliable person in this world; his character is unshakable like a fortress, and his words are as valuable as gold. My respect for him as a brother is infinite; this deep admiration will live eternally in the cleanest corner of my heart.

I am sure the two of you will be very happy, and this thought makes me strangely peaceful. Seeing you beside someone who deserves you, happy and safe—though it is a ruthless consolation—soothes my soul. I want you to be happy.

Sunoo, you are the strongest person I know. I say this truly from the heart; every word of mine is kneaded with the deep admiration I feel for you. I bow with respect before that unique strength I draw inspiration from whenever I see you. You deserve to be happy until the very end. Even imagining you within the light fills my heart with warmth. Because your smile, your rebirth after every pain, is the most beautiful gift this world has ever seen.

Thank you for the time you spared for me, for sharing your most precious moments with me, and for giving me that warm, intimate place in your heart. But most of all, for our childhood. The riverbanks where our laughter echoed, the secrets we shared, and our innocent dreams will continue to live eternally in the deepest layers of my heart.

Now, your letters are my most precious trust. Every time I touch them, I will feel your soul, and I will relive our past in every line. They will be kept in the safest chest of my heart, like a treasure shining despite the dust of time.

If you allow it, I would like to remain in a corner of your life, perhaps in a calmer, clearer way, just as your friend. Let that corner be a harbor far from storms, where our emotions have settled. It is enough for me to remain as a peaceful reflection of that old bond, supporting you even from a distance. Witnessing your happiness in this new beginning is my greatest consolation and desire.

I am not sure yet if I will truly send this letter to you. However, for the sake of all those years and the unique childhood we shared, it would be the greatest injustice to you if I didn't express my feelings in all their nakedness just once.

Therefore, I think I will be sending it very soon.

Please, let us remain just Sun and Hoonie, forever.
Thank you for being the oldest witness to my soul, Sun.

With love,
Sunghoon