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No one expected Sangwon to be at the airport barely an hour after winning his first Academy Award.
The whole cast and crew organized a victory party in a nearby 5-star hotel, but Sangwon felt no urge to attend. Celebration required a joy he simply did not have.
When he held on the trophy as he was giving the speech he prepared for so many nights, it felt weightless—like it meant nothing. Applause washed over him, loud and endless, but none of it reached his chest.
So when his mother called moments later, her voice trembling with pride, Sangwon left without hesitation. He placed the trophy into his manager’s hands.
Sangwon's manager was glowing, too drunk on triumph to notice that Sangwon was already halfway gone.
Back at the hotel, he changed into borrowed clothes that he always carried with him. Leo’s clothes. A sweater he never returned. A leather jacket that still remembered the shape of Leo’s shoulders. Both lost Leo’s scent a long time but Sangwon could still feel his warmth. He packed nothing except his passport, wallet, and phone, then went straight to the airport without telling a soul.
The airport staff stared. Whispered. Doubt bloomed across their faces. They convinced themselves he was only a look alike, someone unfortunate enough to share a face and name with actor Lee Sangwon. Because surely the real one would be celebrating. Surely he would not be here.
On the plane, the universe played a trick on him. The screen in front of him flickered to life. Leo’s face filled it. A promotion for AU5A (아우라)’s first world tour. Bright lights. Confident smiles. A future unfolding without him.
Every time Sangwon saw Leo on a billboard, on a screen, on an advertisement meant to be ignored, something inside him ached. He hadn’t even known Leo dreamed of singing. Back then, Leo only sang softly to him at night, voice low and careful, meant for no one else. Sangwon never realized that voice carried a wish to be heard beyond the four walls of their bedroom.
Sangwon thought, how much of Leo’s dreams was he trading away just to keep them together?
Sangwon felt had grown too comfortable. He mistook devotion for contentment. Failed to see that Leo wanted to be more than someone trailing behind his success.
As the plane took off, Sangwon felt the exhaustion creeping in. He tried to turn the screen off, but it only made the ads play on loop. He stared at Leo's face over and over again. Sangwon did not sleep at all.
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By the time he arrived in Korea, the sun was already sinking. The sky was painted in quiet oranges and blues, the kind that felt like endings. He took a cab straight to his parents’ house, a place he had not returned to in three years.
“Wonie, what are you doing here?” his mother exclaimed as she opened the door, apron dusted with flour, ladle still in her hand.
“I missed you,” Sangwon said, and wrapped his arms around her before she could ask more. He held on like a child again, as if her embrace could mend anything broken.
“You were just in LA,” she scolded, disbelief lacing her voice, but she hugged him back all the same. “I talked to you on the phone.”
“Come inside. Dinner’s almost ready.” His mom said after she pulled back.
As Sangwon set his things down, his eyes caught on an orange envelope resting on the dining table. His mother followed his gaze.
“Leo came by a few days ago to leave that,” she said gently. “He said it was for your dad and me. But I know that boy. Just like I know you. That was meant for you. I didn’t open it.”
She squeezed his hand. “Go. Open it. I’ll call you when dinner’s done.”
Sangwon didn’t need to be told twice.
In his childhood bedroom, the air felt frozen in time. Posters still on the wall. A desk too small for the man he had become. The moment the door closed, tears slipped free.
It was only an envelope, but it weighed more than the award he had abandoned thousands of miles away.
With trembling fingers, he opened it.
Two concert tickets.
No letter.
No explanation.
Just complimentary passes to AU5A’s show.
Three years had passed. And yet this felt final. Like a quiet confirmation that there truly was no way back.
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Spring was near. The air had begun to soften. And yet, that day, it snowed.
The flakes fell slowly, almost deliberately, like the sky was hesitating. It almost felt like a sign.
He pulled out yet another of Leo’s coat hidden at the back of his closet, and wrapped a scarf around his neck. It wasn’t cold enough to need it, but he wanted to be invisible. He didn’t want to draw attention to himself.
He hadn’t wanted to go but his parents had convinced him over dinner.
“For closure,” they said.
But if he could be honest to himself, closure was not what he wanted.
Still, he went. The desire to see Leo, even from afar, was too intense, he felt like he would combust if he didn’t give in.
He second guessed himself every 3 steps. At one point, he would have turned back and left. But he thought that he owe it to himself to at least come. Even for a while. Even for glimpse.
He entered the arena late, lights already dimmed, music already pounding. He realized that it was easier to be invisible this way.
He wasn’t one who had good eyesight. But even from afar, his eyes immediately focused on Leo.
He had never seen Leo dance before.
Under the stage lights, Leo looked like someone else entirely. Flashy clothes he would have once avoided. Hair longer, movements confident, unrestrained. A stranger shaped like the man he loved.
After the song ended, the other members went back to the backstage. The spotlight found Leo alone, sweat glistening on his skin as he caught his breath.
“Are you having a great night, Auroras?” Leo asked causing the crowd to roar in screams and applause.
“It hasn’t been long since our debut,” Leo continued, smiling, “but these 500 days with you have been crazy. The boys and I wanted to give you something special. Tonight, you’ll hear our solo songs for the first time.”
Screams erupted.
“My song is called Tenderly,” Leo said, voice softer now. I wrote it when I was a trainee, imagining a different life where I could have been braver to hold on to love.”
Sangwon’s breath caught.
“It’s my could’ve been,” Leo went on. “It’s about a love that lasts through every season. It’s realizing you don’t want to rush or repeat old mistakes, to “take it slow” and to hold on tighter than before. At its core, it’s a promise: no more heartbreak, no running away. Just loving someone gently, fully, and honestly, loving them tenderly, with your whole heart.”
The music began.
Sangwon’s scarf darkened as tears soaked through. Every day, he returned to the night where he didn’t fight for them. The night he let love slip away because he was tired, and because he thought Leo would take it back.
He wiped his eyes, tugging the scarf down by accident.
Whispers stirred.
“Isn’t that Lee Sangwon?”
“No way. He’s in LA for the Oscars.”
Before the attention could grow, Sangwon slipped out of his seat and fled.
The hallway was empty, echoing with his uneven breaths, when a door suddenly opened. A hand grabbed him, pulled him inside.
He nearly screamed.
Then he was staring at Leo.
“Why were you crying?” Leo asked, voice low, face dangerously close. Sangwon’s back hit the door.
“What are you doing here? You have a concert,” Sangwon snapped. “Go back out there.”
“I have ten minutes,” Leo said. “The others are doing their solos.”
“I saw you coming in. You’re wearing my coat. Everyone looked happy while I was singing. Yet you were crying. Why were you crying? It’s not a sad song.”
Because it could have been ours, Sangwon thought. Because I didn’t fight.
“I’m just happy you found something worth pursuing,” he said instead.
Leo laughed bitterly. “Yeah. I didn’t even know this was my dream.”
You were the reason I found it, Leo didn’t say.
“Maybe breaking up was good for you,” Sangwon murmured. “You’re doing so well.”
“Good for me?” Leo snapped. “You just won an Oscar. You’re everything you dreamed of.”
“It feels empty,” Sangwon whispered. “I couldn’t even be happy.”
“Why?” Leo demanded. “Didn’t you tell me you wanted me to be happy? Why can’t you be happy for yourself?”
“Because everything I worked for lost its meaning.”
Leo went still. “It’s been three years. I thought you moved on.”
“I buried myself in work,” Sangwon said. “I was scared to face reality. Then you debuted. Suddenly you were everywhere. TV, Olive Young. Heck, even on ramen packages. How could I have moved on?”
Leo laughed shakily. “That’s not fair. I see you everywhere too. You have a billboard outside my apartment. You’re the first face I see every morning. Like a ghost reminding me of the dumbest mistake I ever made.”
Their breathing grew loud. Hearts thundered between them.
The door opened.
“Two minutes,” Junseo, Leo’s manager, said. “Outfit change.”
Leo looked at him, eyes red. Junseo sighed, spoke into his walkie talkie. “Tell Xinlong to extend his ment.”
He turned back. “Five minutes. That’s all I can give. Fix this. I’m tired of you mopping around.” Then he left.
“Are you seeing someone?” Sangwon asked quietly.
“No. Dating ban. Two years. You?” Leo answered.
“Single. When does it end?” Sangwon asked.
“Two hundred thirty days,” Leo said, smirking. “But what they don’t know won’t hurt them, right?”
“Okay,” Sangwon said. “Date tomorrow?”
Leo shook his head. “Not soon enough. We’ve already wasted so much time. I won’t forgive myself if I lose you again. Please, watch me from backstage. We leave together after.”
“Okay.” Sangwon replied. He didn’t think about his career, or Leo’s. Or that there was double the risk now, since they both had so much to lose. At this moment, he wanted to be selfish.
Leo turned to go. Sangwon stopped him, pulling him close, arms wrapping around the man who had never really left his heart.
And for the first time in three years, Leo held him back.