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The sound of the video game echoed through the living room — digital explosions, background music, the sharp clicking of buttons being pressed in rapid succession.
“Je. Over there,” Suho said, eyes tracking his character across the screen.
Seongje only hummed in response.
He wasn’t really into console games like this. Never had been. But Suho liked it. Had been talking about it for weeks — how he’d saved enough to buy it, how he just needed Seongje’s approval since it was technically Seongje’s apartment.
So one evening, after closing up at the auto repair shop, Seongje came home carrying the console in a plain plastic bag.
He hadn’t said much. Just placed it on the table.
Suho’s reaction had been worth every won. Shock first. Then disbelief. Then that slow widening of his eyes before the grin broke across his face — bright and boyish and unguarded. For a second, he’d looked exactly like he had in high school — before hospitals, before prison visits, before five years carved lines into both of them.
Suho wasn’t broke. The restaurant was doing well. There were even plans for a second branch. But this wasn’t about money. Because sometimes Seongje just wanted to spoil him. Not often. Not loudly. Just… when he felt like it. The price of the console was nothing compared to that smile.
“Seongje-ya… focus. You can beat that guy.”
The tapping of the controller quickened. Seongje had beaten this level dozens of times. He knew the combinations. Knew exactly when to dodge, when to counter. But today, his attention drifted. His gaze kept shifting sideways, to Suho.
Suho was sitting cross-legged beside him, hair falling slightly into his eyes, lips pursed in concentration.
He wondered — not for the first time — how Suho always knew when he was being watched. Because Suho’s eyes never left the screen. Maybe his fighter instinct was still intact in him.
“Seongje.”
This time Suho turned, eyebrows knitting slightly. “Stop staring at me.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.” His attention snapped back to the television like nothing had happened.
A low bark broke through the game noise.
Seongje glanced down at Gyeol, who was standing near the couch, tail wagging impatiently. He reached for the ball beside him and tossed it lightly across the room. Gyeol chased it immediately, nails clicking against the floor.
When Seongje looked back, Suho was pursing his lips in concentration, selecting a new character. His gaze shifted upward to Suho’s hair.
Three weeks ago, Suho had come home with it freshly permed. Loose waves framing his face.
“One of my employees suggested it,” he’d said casually. He had stood there waiting. Not for approval but for a reaction.
Seongje had only stared.
Suho had responded with a smug grin, like he’d already won something.
A week later, the piercing appeared. Small. Silver. Clean against his ear.
“Looks good on me, right?” Suho had asked.
Seongje had scoffed. But he’d looked longer than necessary.
Now, sitting beside him under the soft living room light, the curl of his hair and the glint of metal were distracting in a way Seongje didn’t like.
Another bark pulled him back. Gyeol returned triumphantly with the ball, dropping it at his knee. Seongje picked it up absentmindedly.
“There, Gyeol,” Suho said, tossing another toy in a different direction. Gyeol abandoned the first one immediately and sprinted happily after it.
Seongje rolled the yellow ball in his palm, fingers tightening around the yellow rubber.
Silence settled for a moment.
“Je.”
“Hm?”
Suho turned toward him fully now, controller resting idle in his hands. “Just tell me. What are you thinking?”
“Nothing.”
A pause.
“Lie.” Suho’s eyes narrowed slightly — not angry, just certain. “We’ve known each other more than five years, Je. We’ve lived together more than a year,” he said. “I know that look.”
Seongje tilted his head slightly, studying him back. “Fine.”
He set the controller down on the couch. “Are you seeing someone?”
Suho blinked. “What?”
“Are you seeing someone?” Seongje repeated.
“No.” The answer came too quickly. “No, I’m not. What makes you think that?”
“You changed your hair.” Seongje gestured vaguely. “You pierced your ear.”
He hesitated for half a second before adding, quieter, “I thought maybe I gave you bad influence.”
Suho stared at him.
“If I did,” Seongje continued dryly, “you’d be smoking by now.”
A beat.
“You don’t smoke, right?”
A soft laugh escaped Suho. “No, Seongje-ya. I still hate smoking.” His gaze softened faintly. “You’re the only one I tolerate.”
“Good.” Seongje leaned back slightly. “Don’t.”
He didn’t elaborate.
A quiet chuckle slipped from Suho as he leaned back into the couch.
Gyeol padded over immediately, climbing onto his lap like it was the most natural thing in the world. Suho adjusted without thinking, one hand coming up to rub behind the dog’s ear.
“I’m not seeing someone,” he said, voice easy. “If I were, you’d know.”
Seongje didn’t answer right away.
“Then what’s with the change?” he asked after a beat.
Suho tilted his head slightly. “I told you. One of my employees suggested it.” A small shrug. “And… I liked it.”
“Does it help with sales?”
A pause. Then Suho nodded. “Turns out it does.”
Seongje frowned faintly. “How?”
Suho scratched Gyeol’s neck, thinking.
“There was a reel,” he said. “Someone filmed me working. It went a little viral.” A small, embarrassed laugh. “People got curious. They came to my place.”
“To see the food,” Seongje said flatly.
“To see me,” Suho corrected, not even trying to hide the smirk.
Seongje’s eyes narrowed. “You turned your family restaurant into a host club.”
Suho burst out laughing, head tipping back. “Not like that,” he said, still grinning. “Think of it like a mascot. When a restaurant has a character handing out balloons, kids beg their parents to go there, right?”
“And what are you handing out?” Seongje asked. “Your company?”
Suho shook his head, amused. “They come because they’re curious. Then they stay because the food’s good. That’s all.”
A small pause.
“So you think you’re that attractive?” Seongje asked.
“I am that attractive,” Suho replied immediately. The confidence in his voice wasn’t new — but it had sharpened lately. Settled differently on him. Less reckless. More assured.
“You’re ugly,” Seongje said automatically. He would never compliment first. That rule had always existed between them.
“But you keep staring.”
“Because you’re weird.”
“And ugly?”
“And ugly.”
Suho’s lips twitched like he knew exactly what that meant. He didn’t argue further. Just kept rubbing Gyeol’s ear, satisfied.
The room fell into a comfortable quiet again — game sounds, soft tail thumps, the hum of the evening.
Then Suho’s phone rang. He eased Gyeol off his lap gently and picked it up.
Seongje glanced at the time.
10:45 PM.
“Yes, Hakho-hyung?”
The name landed like something bitter. Seongje didn’t move. Didn’t react outwardly. But something in his jaw tightened.
Ji Hakho. Nine years older. Potential investor. The man who had conveniently appeared two weeks after Suho changed his look.
Since then, the calls had been frequent. Consistent.
Suho always answered politely. Professional tone. Light laughter—the one he used for customers. Measured and careful.
Seongje knew Suho wasn’t naïve. He knew Suho treated Ji Hakho as business. But still. There was something about the consistency. The subtle gifts from the person. Although Suho had brushed it off as business courtesy.
“Sunday? Yes… I can.” A small pause. “No, I don’t have plans. Just monitoring the restaurant. I can assign it to someone else.”
Seongje’s gaze lowered to his own hands.
Sunday.
February 14th.
Gyeol barked twice and jumped off the couch. Seongje’s eyes followed him briefly before shifting back to Suho, who had already ended the call.
“You’re meeting him Sunday?” Seongje asked, keeping his voice neutral.
“Yeah.” Suho typed something quickly, frowning at his screen.
“It’s February 14.”
“I know,” Suho said, already typing something on his phone. “It’ll only be a few hours. There’s a promotion at the restaurant, so it will be packed. But I think I can ask Baku to cover it.”
Seongje didn’t respond. Valentine’s had never meant much to him before. He’d called it commercial nonsense. A scam to sell chocolate and flowers.
But that changed inside prison. Every year, on that day, Suho showed up with chocolate. “To sweeten your day,” he would say.
They had spent those visits quietly. No big declarations. Just sitting across from each other, sharing time like it was something fragile.
Now Seongje was out. And that date was just another Sunday.
It shouldn’t bother him. It shouldn’t. Suho’s voice drifted as he called Baku, explaining logistics. No mention of plans with him.
Seongje swallowed once. It felt stupid. Petty. He should understand that Suho had responsibilities and business to handle. So did he. The auto shop didn’t run itself.
He wasn’t some teenager waiting for a date. But still. His chest felt tight.
Maybe he should cancel his day off on that day.
Maybe he’d been expecting something without saying it out loud.
He stood slowly. “I’m going to bed,” he muttered.
Suho looked up briefly but nodded. Phone still on his ears
Gyeol had already settled near the bedroom doorway.
Seongje walked past him, brushing his fingers lightly against the dog’s head before entering the room.
“Je.”
Seongje stopped mid-step. He didn’t turn immediately.
Footsteps approached from behind, unhurried. “Are you okay?” Suho asked, tilting his head slightly the way he always did when he was trying to read him.
“Yeah,” Seongje replied without looking back. “Just tired.”
Suho didn’t move right away. He stepped closer instead, studying his face carefully. Not suspicious. Just attentive. As if memorizing small cracks.
“Okay then,” Suho said after a moment, tone light again. “I’m gonna tidy up first.” He stepped back, giving space easily, and walked toward the couch.
Seongje let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Then he turned into the bedroom and closed the door halfway behind him.
He took off his glasses, placed them on the bedside drawer then dropped onto the bed without bothering to change.
The mattress dipped under his weight, still firm, still new. They had gotten lucky finding this place—the king-sized bed, the sofa bed in the living room, everything reasonably priced like the universe had decided to give them a break for once.
He stared at the ceiling. Another slow exhale left him. He couldn’t blame Suho. Valentine’s Day was just another day. They weren’t the type to make a fuss about it. The only days that truly mattered between them were birthdays. They had agreed on that. Those days were sacred. Non-negotiable. And that should have been enough.
Maybe it was his own expectation that made it sting. Back then, inside prison, almost every special date—birthdays, holidays—Suho had shown up. Even when it wasn’t convenient. Even when he looked exhausted.
And now that Seongje was free, days that once felt precious had become… ordinary.
“You’re pathetic,” he muttered under his breath. “What kind of man sulks over this?”
He closed his eyes.
Footsteps outside. A faint scraping sound—probably the coffee table being nudged back into place. Then the bedroom door clicked open.
“Seongje-ya,” Suho’s voice came softer now. “Do you want me to sleep here or outside?”
Seongje didn’t open his eyes. “I thought we were past the stage where you need to ask that.”
A quiet chuckle.
The door closed fully this time. Footsteps approached, then the bed dipped gently on the other side as Suho slid under the blanket in his usual spot.
“I was afraid you were mad at me,” Suho admitted, voice quieter now that the lights were off.
“I’m not.”
“Then what?” The mattress shifted slightly as Suho turned toward him.
Seongje opened his eyes this time, staring into the dim outline of Suho’s face. “Just tired, Suho-ya. Customers keep coming with weird requests. I need to hire more people. And I can’t solve problems by punching someone anymore.” He let out a dry breath. “I hate it.”
A small smile spread across Suho’s face in the dark. “You used to manage a fight club.”
“Yeah.” Seongje snorted softly. “And I fucking hated that job too. At least back then I was allowed to hit people if they annoyed me.”
Suho laughed under his breath.
“Be patient,” he said gently. “No violence unless it’s really needed.” His voice softened even more. “I can’t lose you again.”
That did something to him.
Even in the darkness, Seongje could see it—that restrained sadness in Suho’s eyes. The same look he used to carry during prison visits. The one that never spilled over but was always there.
“I won’t leave you,” Seongje said quietly.
“I know.” A pause. “Then no secrets, okay?”
“No secrets.”
“Including no secret plan to save me.”
Seongje huffed a faint laugh. “Can’t promise that.”
“Seongje.” There was no teasing in Suho’s voice now. “If there’s a problem,” Suho continued, steady and firm, “we talk. Not sacrifice. Not disappearing. Talk. Together.”
Seongje looked at him properly this time.
The determination in Suho’s eyes was steady and firm.
Seongje held it for a long moment and he couldn’t break it.
“…Okay,” he said at last. “I promise.”
The tension eased from Suho’s shoulders. “Good,” he murmured. “Night, Seongje-ya.”
“Night, Suho-ya.”
Suho turned onto his side, back facing him. The room grew quiet.
But Seongje didn’t close his eyes immediately. He watched the slow rise and fall of Suho’s back. He always did that now. Just to make sure. Just to reassure himself that the distance between them was only the width of a mattress — not glass, not walls, not years.
He looked down at the gift in his hands. It wasn’t expensive. It wasn’t grand. Just a windbreaker — red and black. Almost identical to the old one Suho used to wear everywhere. The one that had faded at the cuffs, the one that had grown too tight across his shoulders.
The one Gyeol had torn while tugging at it one afternoon, thinking it was part of a game.
Suho hadn’t gotten mad. Of course he hadn’t. He had crouched down, rubbed Gyeol’s head, and said lightly, “It’s old anyway. Too small. Time to throw it out.”
But Seongje had seen it.
The brief pause before Suho smiled.
The way his fingers lingered on the torn seam. That jacket had survived high school. The fights. The hospital visits. The mornings before school when Suho still looked half asleep and soft.
So Seongje bought another one. Not exactly the same. But close enough. He had planned to give it on Valentine’s Day. It felt strange to give it randomly. And since Suho hadn’t mentioned any plan for the day, Seongje thought maybe—
“Je, how do I look?”
The drawer slid shut almost too quickly.
“What?” He turned. And froze.
Suho stood in the middle of the room wearing a red long-sleeve jacket and jeans. His hair was styled, pushed back in that deliberate wet look that made him appear older, sharper. The piercing caught the light when he tilted his head.
“This,” Suho gestured to himself casually. “How do I look?”
Seongje’s eyes dragged over him before he could stop himself.
“Are you going on a date,” he asked flatly, “or a meeting?”
“A meeting.” Suho rolled his eyes. “Hyung said I don’t need to dress formal. It’s just a restaurant.”
That was it.
Something small and tight pulled in Seongje’s chest.
“I’ll give you a ride.” He moved past Suho before the other could respond, reaching for his shoes.
“Don’t you need to go to the shop?” Suho asked.
“No. I took the day off.”
“You didn’t have to.”
Seongje straightened, then looked at him.
“Why?” The word came out sharper than intended. Too sharp.
Suho straightened automatically. The shift was subtle but immediate — shoulders squaring, posture steady. The same stance he used to take before stepping into a ring. Before deciding whether to fight or wait.
“Are you angry with me?” Suho asked quietly.
“I’m not.” It sounded clipped. Even to his own ears. “I’ll drive you there. And if you don’t want me to, give me a good reason.”
The air changed.
Even Gyeol stopped moving.
Suho watched him carefully now. Not scared. Not defensive. But to read him. His eyes were flat in that familiar way — calculating, assessing the next move.
“…Okay,” Suho said at last.
“Let’s go,” Seongje added, grabbing his bike keys. “Wouldn’t want to keep your important partner waiting.”
The sarcasm lingered.
Suho didn’t move immediately. His gaze stayed on Seongje a second too long.
“Gyeol,” Seongje called. The dog flinched slightly at the tone. “I’m going out. Be good.”
Then he stepped outside. The door slammed harder than necessary.
His footsteps were heavier down the hallway. His hand instinctively moved toward his pocket, fingers brushing against the cigarette pack. He paused. Then withdrew his hand.
Not tonight.
The craving scratched at his throat. But he didn’t want the smell clinging to him while Suho sat behind him on the bike. Didn’t want to see that faint crease in Suho’s nose when smoke lingered. So he swallowed the urge instead.
By the time he reached the bike, the afternoon air hit his face, hot and sharp. He climbed on, turned the ignition, and let the engine hum beneath him.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
Again.
The sound of footsteps approached. Then he looked up.
Suho was walking toward him now — helmet in hand. No smile. No playful expression. Just quiet seriousness.
“You have to apologize to Gyeol later,” Suho said while putting on his helmet. “You scared him.”
Seongje exhaled slowly. “Okay.” The word came out softer this time.
No more arguing. Suho climbed onto the bike behind him. And this time, he didn’t wrap his arms around Seongje’s waist like he sometimes did when they rode together. He kept his hands on either side of the seat.
A small distance. Not dramatic. But there. And Seongje felt it more than if Suho had shoved him.
He could feel the upset radiating from Suho because of his unreasonable behavior, and he knew it wasn’t subtle. Suho hadn’t said anything during the ride, hadn’t protested again, but the absence of touch behind him on the bike had been louder than any argument. Still, Seongje didn’t let it soften him. Right now, what mattered was seeing Ji Hakho with his own eyes.
They followed the location Hakho had shared, and when they arrived, Seongje realized this was not an ordinary restaurant. The entrance was framed by tall glass doors and warm golden lights, the kind of place that had security standing by the side and staff ready to greet guests the moment they stepped inside. It looked polished, expensive — controlled. The kind of place where intentions were rarely casual.
His grip tightened around the handlebar.
“Je, you can drop me here.”
“No.” The word came out flat, immediate.
Suho exhaled slowly. “Je.”
“Look,” Seongje said, finally turning his head slightly toward him. “I have a bad feeling about this guy. When it was Moon Baek, I was always there for you. So why are you stopping me now?”
“Because this person is not Moon Baek,” Suho replied gently. “And I’m not seventeen.”
He climbed off the bike and removed his helmet, fingers brushing through the soft waves of his permed hair. Seongje’s eyes followed that movement longer than he intended.
“I still want to see him,” Seongje insisted, voice lower now but firm. “If he’s going to be your partner long term, I need to know who he is.”
Suho shook his head, letting out a quiet, almost disbelieving chuckle. “It’s kind of surprising you’re this possessive,” he said, though there was no mockery in it. He stepped back, helmet in hand. “I’ll go in first. I’m already late. Find another table, okay? You said you just want to see him.”
“Yeah. Sure.”
“Remember to behave, Seongje-ya.”
Seongje glared at him behind the visor.
“Be a good boy, Je,” Suho added with that infuriating smirk before turning and walking toward the entrance.
Seongje watched him go, the red jacket standing out against the neutral colour of the building, and the anger that had flared moments ago dimmed into something else — something more to inconvenient.
“Why can’t I stay mad at him…” he muttered under his breath before riding toward the parking lot.
--
Inside, the lighting was warm and steady, the kind that softened faces and disguised sharp expressions. The hostess led him to a corner table not far from Suho’s, close enough that he could see clearly but far enough not to intrude. He ordered sparkling water and a small appetizer without much thought, his attention already fixed across the room.
Ji Hakho didn’t look old, not really. Late thirties, maybe. Neatly styled hair, blue button-up shirt, the sort of composed appearance that suggested comfort and stability. His posture was relaxed, but his eyes were attentive — too attentive.
Seongje disliked him instantly.
The waiter poured water into his glass, but Seongje barely glanced down. He wasn’t pretending not to watch. In fact, he made no effort to hide it.
Suho smiled at something Hakho said — the polite smile he used for customers and business partners. Controlled. Measured. His shoulders relaxed as he spoke, hands moving lightly as he explained something. Investment plans, probably.
Hakho leaned forward slightly whenever Suho talked. His gaze lingered longer than necessary.
Seongje picked up his glass and took a slow sip, setting it down carefully this time. His fingers remained around the stem for a second longer than needed.
Minutes passed. Ten. Fifteen. Thirty
The appetizer in front of him slowly disappeared, though he couldn’t have said whether it tasted good or not.
Then Suho reached for his glass.
And Hakho’s hand moved, resting briefly over Suho’s.
Seongje’s grip tightened against the edge of the table.
The instinct to stand up — to cross the distance and break that hand to correct the boundary — flashed through him.
Before he could move, Suho pulled his hand back immediately. He leaned slightly away in his chair, creating space, hands on his lap, and said something calm. It ended with a small polite bow.
Hakho smiled. Nodded. He said something else, then glanced toward Seongje.
Suho followed the glance. Their eyes met across the room. Then his gaze was back to Hakho again. He smiled faintly and nodded at the person in front of him had said. They spoke for another minute.
It tugged at his curiosity though — the way both of them had glanced in his direction earlier. The look hadn’t been accidental. It had been measured. But before Seongje could think further, both Suho and Ji Hakho stood up from their table. They didn’t rush. They didn’t hesitate either. They simply began walking toward him.
Suho’s posture looked calm from afar — shoulders relaxed, steps even. But Seongje knew him too well. There was something in his eyes. A flicker. A tightness that only appeared when he was bracing himself for something.
And when the two of them stopped right in front of his table, Seongje didn’t stand. He remained seated, leaning back slightly, one arm resting against the chair like he had all the time in the world. If this man decided to pull out of the investment, so be it. Seongje would find someone else for Suho. Someone without wandering hands and polished smiles. Someone who didn’t look at him like that.
“So,” Ji Hakho said, polite smile firmly in place, “he’s your boyfriend?”
The word landed heavier than it should have. For a fraction of a second, Seongje forgot to react.
“He is,” Suho answered before he could, voice steady. He gave Seongje a brief look — not asking for permission. Just confirming.
Seongje blinked once, then a small smile curved at the corner of his mouth.
“I am,” he said.
Only then did he rise from his seat, sliding his hands into his jacket pockets as if none of this had surprised him at all. “Nice to meet you, Ji Hakho-ssi.”
“Nice to meet you too.”
The handshake never came.
They didn’t need one.
Their eyes met instead — quiet, assessing. No raised voices. No open hostility. Just a silent understanding that neither of them intended to back down.
After a moment, Hakho let out a soft chuckle, as if amused by something only he found entertaining. He shifted his attention back to Suho.
“My secretary will contact you on Monday, okay, Suho-ya.”
Suho blinked. “So… it still continues? You still want to invest?”
“Of course.” Hakho adjusted his cuffs casually. “It’s a good investment.”
He began to step away, but not before resting a hand briefly on Suho’s shoulder.
“If you break up with him,” he added lightly, “tell me.”
A dark, amused laugh slipped from Seongje before he could stop it. “Keep wishing.”
Hakho only laughed in return — unbothered, unoffended — then walked off, disappearing into the crowd of well-dressed diners.
The low murmur of conversation and clinking cutlery returned around them. A couple brushed past, laughing softly, unaware of the tension that had just unfolded.
Seongje’s gaze remained on the direction Hakho had gone for a second longer before he looked at Suho.
“So,” he said evenly, “I was right. You’re selling your service with your looks.”
Suho let out a soft laugh, the kind that wasn’t fully amused. “I didn’t expect him to be that direct.”
“But you knew he was attracted to you.”
A small smile tugged at Suho’s lips. Not proud. Not shy. Just honest. “I knew,” he admitted. “But I’m an adult, Seongje-ya. I can handle it. I’ve been in worse situations.”
There was something in his expression when he said that. And Seongje felt the edge of his irritation dull slightly.
Suho had been there for Moon Baek. He had been there when things were dangerous. This wasn’t that.
He exhaled slowly instead of arguing.
“Come on,” Suho said after a moment, already turning away. “Let’s go.”
Seongje frowned. “Go where?”
“I booked somewhere else for us.”
“What?”
Suho glanced back over his shoulder, a smile breaking through properly this time. “For our Valentine’s Day.”
And just like that, the tight knot in Seongje’s chest loosened.
He hated how simple he was when it came to Suho.
Hated it. And still followed.
##
Suho was the one who drove this time. He didn’t tell Seongje where they were going. Just handed him the spare helmet, waited until he climbed on, then pulled away.
Wind rushed over Seongje’s face, carrying the faint smell of late afternoon and street food and something familiar he couldn’t quite name. He didn’t ask where they were going. If Suho wanted it to be a surprise, he’d let him have that.
When they finally slowed down in front of a small restaurant with a faded sign that read Open Since 5AM, Seongje’s brows knit together.
He hadn’t expected this place.
“I’ve been wanting to come back here,” Suho said as he killed the engine and pulled off his helmet. His hair fell slightly out of place, the styled wet look softening under the daylight. “Since you were detained.”
He held the helmet at his side, gaze drifting toward the glass door.
“I remembered the dessert here was good,” he continued, quieter now. “But I couldn’t bring myself to visit. The last time we were here… it was before the raid. Every time I passed by, that morning just kept replaying.”
Seongje went still.
Suho smiled then — not bright, not playful. Just something fragile around the edges.
“So,” he said, drawing in a breath, “I want to replace it. If I’m going to eat something sweet here again, I want a different memory attached to it.”
Seongje stared at him for a moment longer than he should have. He remembered that morning too. He remembered Suho ordering kimchi jjigae. Remembered how it was the first proper meal Suho had finished in weeks — after Halmeoni passed. He remembered watching him eat slowly, cautiously, like food still felt heavy inside his chest. He remembered the way Suho had looked at him that day. Confused. Searching. Because Seongje had been acting differently; softer and more attentive. As if he was trying to memorize everything — the steam rising from the bowl, the way Suho’s fingers curled around the spoon, the light falling across his face. That morning Seongje had wanted something sweet and ordinary to carry with him into prison.
He hadn’t realized he was leaving a wound behind.
“Why didn’t you ask before?” Seongje asked, taking off his helmet.
Suho’s smile shifted — lighter this time. “Sweet things on Valentine’s Day, right?”
Seongje huffed a quiet laugh. “Come on, princess.”
“There you are,” Suho shot back immediately. “I know it. You were jealous earlier.”
“Shut up.”
Their shoulders brushed lightly as they walked inside.
The restaurant hadn’t changed much. A few small renovations. Brighter lights. Different tablecloths. But the bones were the same. The air still carried the faint sweetness of fried dough and red bean.
It was crowded — couples filling tables, soft laughter rising and falling around them. Suho spoke briefly with a waiter, then led Seongje to a small table near the side.
They ordered without much discussion. The same desserts as before.
When they sat, Seongje watched Suho type something on his phone. “How’s your restaurant?”
“Packed,” Suho replied.
“Going there after this?”
“I want to, but—”
His phone buzzed.
“Yah, Baku. How’s it going?”
Seongje could only catch fragments. “Couple… handle… no… just—”
“With Seongje,” Suho said casually. “After this I’ll—”
A loud protest crackled from the speaker.
Suho snorted. “Just shut up. Nothing’s going to happen. Stop your dirty thoughts and handle my restaurant.” He laughed, glancing at Seongje before lowering his gaze again. “No, you can’t talk to him. And no, I won’t put you on speaker.”
He ended the call with a soft chuckle.
“What did he say?” Seongje asked.
“He said he can handle it. I don’t need to go there.” Suho leaned back in his chair, exhaling in relief.
Almost immediately, Seongje’s phone buzzed. He checked the notification. There were messages from Baku.
[Baku Loudmouth]
Dude. When are you going to say it?
You two are such dumb stubborn assholes.
Even a blind person can see you want each other.
He upgraded his whole look for you and you still do nothing?!
He looks hotter right? That’s because of me!
So do something or my advice will go wasted!
If you don’t move, someone else will.
Someone with money.
Seongje’s jaw tightened slightly. When he looked up, Suho was already watching him. He slid the phone back into his pocket and leaned back lazily.
“Who is it? Sunbin Ahjussi?”
“No.”
“Then who?”
“Why are you so curious?”
“Because your face says you’re hiding something.”
“Only...someone,” Seongje replied, letting a smirk curl at the corner of his mouth.
Suho blinked. “…You’re seeing someone?”
A shrug.
“Do I know them?” Suho asked carefully.
“Yes.”
The shift in Suho was subtle but immediate. “Oh.” He looked away. Jaw tightening almost imperceptibly.
When their food arrived, Suho focused on it a little too intently. He answered Seongje’s attempts at conversation with short responses. Hums. Nods. No initiative to expand conversation or a new topic.
Seongje’s lips twitched seeing him like that.
When the waiter cleared the table, Suho turned his face slightly to the side again, not meeting him at all.
Seongje watched him for a few seconds. Then said, quietly:
“It’s you.”
Suho stilled. “What?”
“I’m seeing you.”
For a moment, Suho didn’t move. Then the smallest smile began to form. He tried to bite it back, but it escaped anyway.
“There’s your smile, Princess,” Seongje murmured. “Been waiting for it.”
“Just shut up,” Suho muttered, but his ears were red.
“So who’s jealous now?”
“Asshole.”
“I am,” Seongje agreed easily. “But I’m your asshole.”
Suho looked down at the table, fighting the grin. “…You are,” he admitted under his breath.
The desserts arrived then. Two bowls placed carefully between them.
Hotteok ice cream for Suho.
Red bean bingsu for Seongje.
Just like six years ago.
Seongje stared at them for a second. Something inside him eased.
The noise of the restaurant faded into a soft background hum. Cutlery clinked. Someone laughed at another table. A child complained about melted ice cream.
Across from him, Suho looked up. And their eyes met.
No walls.
No glass separator.
No guards.
No borrowed minutes.
“Happy Valentine’s Day, Suho-ya,” Seongje said quietly. This time, he said it first.
Suho’s smile was warm. Steady. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Seongje-ya.”
And for once, nothing felt unfinished. The windbreaker was still waiting in the drawer at home. He’d give it to him later. And Seongje couldn’t wait for the smile that Suho would give him.