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The phases of the moon are merely an illusion of transformation, a shifting silhouette dictated entirely by the vantage point of the earth beneath it.
(To Jaehyun, Sanghyeok was THE moon. He was the celestial body suspended in Jaehyun’s sky, an unspoken truth he intended to keep looking up at indefinitely.)
These phases are born from the moon's revolution, a silent, eternal waltz along a set orbit around the world.
(It wasn't a sudden epiphany. Jaehyun was sixteen when he realized the gravity of it all. His childhood neighbor was simply there, seamlessly woven into the margins of his periphery. Sanghyeok was a familiar figure slouching at the home dining table, a lingering shadow by the window of the local cafe, a steady gait navigating the crowded school corridors, and a constant presence occupying the cafeteria seats. He existed in every pocket of the town Jaehyun knew. More significantly, he occupied the vastest, quietest expanse within Jaehyun’s chest. It felt as though the older boy was continually circling him, tracing an orbit with Jaehyun at its center.
Not once did Jaehyun attempt to step out of that trajectory. The proximity was never suffocating; if anything, it left him parched. No matter how often Sanghyeok drifted into his line of sight, Jaehyun always found his eyes searching for more.)
The largest satellite in the solar system possesses no luminescence of its own; it exists merely to catch and reflect the blazing light of the sun.
(Jaehyun had long pitied the rest of the world for being so hopelessly blind to the marvel that was Sanghyeok.
There was a hidden melody in him. When he hummed, the low, soothing cadence of his voice, it’s easily put the crackling tunes of Jaehyun’s grandfather’s old radio to shame.
There was a rhythm to him, too. Jaehyun still remembered the brief shock of watching Sanghyeok move during one of their rebellious escapades into the dusty school storage room. What began as careless limbs thrown into the heavy air, effortlessly settled into a fluid and captivating beat.
And then, there was his grandmother’s kitchen. The cramped space frequently doubled as Sanghyeok’s personal laboratory, with Jaehyun serving as the ever-willing test subject. His pocket money would sit untouched for weeks, saved entirely because the lunchboxes Sanghyeok slid across the table tasted richer than any mythical five-star restaurant they had only ever heard of. Jaehyun would quietly gather those unspent banknotes and trade them for fresh produce at the market, handing them over just to watch the older boy turn them into something extraordinary.
Above all, there was that smile. It was a subtle, breathtaking curve of the lips.
Jaehyun would gladly sit through off-key notes, spontaneous storage-room dancing, and the occasional charred culinary disaster, purely to catch a glimpse of that expression.
Yet, everyone else seemed utterly oblivious, their vision obscured by a much louder brilliance.
Woonhak—Sanghyeok’s younger brother—was a veritable lightning thief.
If Sanghyeok was the quiet night sky, Woonhak was the blinding noon, radiating a ceaseless, infectious energy that drew the masses in. Unlike Jaehyun’s private universe, the entire town seemed to spin on Woonhak’s axis. He was the one with the sprawling circle of friends, the quick wit, the effortless charm. He was everything people failed to notice in his older brother.
But from his lifelong vantage point next door, Jaehyun knew the shadows cast by that brilliant sun. He knew Woonhak possessed a formidable knack for leaving a trail of catastrophes in his wake. More importantly, he knew who always swept in to clean them up.
It was always Sanghyeok, smoothing over the frayed edges of his brother's mistakes in total silence, asking for neither credit nor applause. He absorbed the chaos, mended the fractures, and seamlessly faded back into the background. Sanghyeok might not have generated his own blinding glow for the masses to worship, but watching him carefully catch the fallout and turn it into peace—that calm, enduring resilience—made him gleam brighter than anything else in Jaehyun's eyes.)
As the revolution unfolds, the moon’s visage appears to wax and wane. Yet, beneath the shifting shadows, its sphere remains constant, entirely unbroken.
(Twenty-three years of sharing the same roof provided Jaehyun with an extensive catalog of Sanghyeok’s subtle transformations. On the surface, the older man had undeniably weathered into a more particular version of himself. He had grown older, yes, and significantly more vocal about his grievances. He was now the kind of man who would spend a solid ten minutes rearranging a slightly skewed throw pillow, or launch into a lecture regarding the precise, acceptable way to hang a damp towel over the bathroom rack.
Yet, beneath the gentle nagging and the faint lines newly etching the corners of his eyes, Sanghyeok was remarkably untouched by time. He was still an absolute marvel.
When the morning sunlight caught the familiar slope of his jaw, or when he absentmindedly hummed while tending to the kitchen plants, Jaehyun still felt that exact, heavy pull in his chest. He was still the breathtaking boy from next door, still the miracle Jaehyun had spent his entire youth yearning to hold. Two decades of shared mornings hadn't diluted a single ounce of it; if anything, Jaehyun found himself loving the man with a silent, creeping madness that only grew deeper with every passing year.)
This shifting silhouette is born of cast shadows and wandering light, an alignment of celestial bodies that inevitably plunges a fraction of the lunar surface into obscurity.
(There were evenings when a palpable shift occurred, a subtle dimming of Sanghyeok's usual warmth. During those stretches, Jaehyun’s mind would race, dissecting every recent interaction to locate the source of the shadow encroaching upon the older man. He would observe the slight, uncharacteristic slump of Sanghyeok’s shoulders as he stood by the sink, wondering if the sheer weight of raising his younger brother without the safety net of their parents was finally taking its toll. Or perhaps it was the stifling confines of their surroundings, a reality that seemed determined to shrink his aspirations into nothingness.
Worst of all, a dread often clawed at Jaehyun’s chest: the fear that he was the very shadow he despised. He worried his own unwavering reliance was pulling Sanghyeok down, adding to the burden under the guise of devotion.
Whatever the origin of the gloom, Jaehyun firmly refused to let it consume his lover in solitude. He knew he couldn't always miraculously conjure a smile onto Sanghyeok's face, nor could he simply brush the harsh realities of their world away. But he could boil the water, brew a warm cup of tea, and slide it across the wooden table. He could pull up a chair and sit quietly beside him.
If the darkness insisted on staying, Jaehyun would simply make sure Sanghyeok never had to sit in it alone.)
The lunar cycle consists of eight distinct phases. What are they? Let us delve into the sequence.
("Fascinating." Jaehyun murmured to the empty air of the room. His index finger rolled the mouse wheel down. A faint, nostalgic curve pulling at the corners of his lips as his mind began tracing back the very beginning of his own love life timeline.)
The New Moon. This phase occurs when the moon positions itself directly between the earth and the sun, an alignment capable of casting eclipses. In this formation, the moon turns its unlit face toward the earth, effectively vanishing into the vast darkness of the sky.
(If asked, Jaehyun could paint a far more vivid picture of the exact moment he laid eyes on Sanghyeok than the moment Woonhak eagerly introduced himself.
The brothers were the new arrivals on the block. The neighborhood whispers painted them as a pair of displaced boys, suddenly thrust into the care of a widowed aunt and her remarkably younger new partner. The local adults had plenty to murmur over their morning tea, but young Jaehyun couldn't care less about the domestic politics. He was merely thrilled at the prospect of neighborhood same-age companions. Besides, the concept of an unconventional household wasn't entirely foreign; he had been under consistent, loving care of his paternal grandparents since his earliest memories, never truly knowing his own parents.
To him, family was simply who stayed.
"I hope we can be good friends," the slanted eyes boy had announced. He offered a handshake with a grin as triumphant as a kid unwrapping a towering birthday cake.
Jaehyun had met the gesture with an equally broad smile, immediately ushering him inside. They sprawled on the living room rug, diving into a chaotic pile of plastic bricks. Yet, amidst the clatter of building an uneven fortress, a flash thought nudged at Jaehyun.
"Where is the other one?" Jaehyun asked, snapping a blue block into place.
"The other what?" The boy—whom Jaehyun would soon learn was three years younger than him—tilted his head.
"The other boy. Aren't there two of you?"
"Oh, Sanghyeok Hyung." Woonhak’s gaze dropped to his half-finished plastic wall. "He’s helping Auntie clean our room."
"Oh. You aren't helping?"
Woonhak shook his head, a gesture devoid of guilt. "Hyung said I could go play outside. He told me he’d handle the unpacking."
Jaehyun paused, his hands hovering over the scattered pieces. "Should we go help him?"
Woonhak shrugged, clearly reluctant to abandon his newfound toys. "Should we?"
Instead of arguing, Jaehyun simply stood up, extending a small hand to haul the younger boy to his feet. "Come on. Let's go help your brother."
Jaehyun was eleven when he unknowingly stumbled right into a black hole gravity.
He pushed open the door to the neighboring house's spare bedroom, sending a faint cloud of dust swirling into the afternoon sunbeams. There, kneeling amidst a sea of cardboard boxes, was Sanghyeok. He was tediously pulling folded shirts from a suitcase that seemed comically large, easily dwarfing Woonhak's small frame.
At the sudden creak of the hinges, the older boy paused and looked up.
Time seemed to stretch, pulling the air thin around them. Light brown irises collided with entirely pitch-black ones. Jaehyun simply stood at the threshold, his eleven-year-old mind utterly arrested by the intensity of the boy staring back at him.
He didn't know it then.
He couldn't have possibly grasped that years down the line, he would intimately understand the profound ache of a New Moon—the desperation of trying to trace the silhouette of a boy who deliberately chose to fade into the dark, obscuring his own gentle glow just so the sun could take the sky.)
The Waxing Crescent. As the moon drifts from the alignment between the earth and the sun, the light it catches dwindles to a mere sliver. Only a fraction of its surface is illuminated, leaving behind a fragile, curved crescent suspended in the vastness.
("My brother is gone!" Woonhak's voice was a frantic tear in the evening air.
Sanghyeok had always possessed a wandering soul, retreating into solitude whenever the weight of the world demanded it. But he always left a trail. He always let them know.
At twenty, that unspoken rule shattered.
Woonhak had hammered furiously on the front door of Jaehyun’s grandparents' house, the erratic rhythm echoing his panic. His cuticles were chewed raw, his eyes darting frantically at the shadows as if expecting his brother to materialize from them.
Jaehyun had been the one to pull the door open, absorbing the younger boy's terror. Leaving Woonhak with strict instructions to contact the authorities by dawn if they didn't return, Jaehyun grabbed his grandfather's motorcycle keys and bolted.
There was only one destination that made sense. The abandoned construction site at the edge of town—a sprawling concrete skeleton meant to be a shopping center, now drowning in a sea of overgrown tall grass. It had been their sanctuary, a secret base interlaced into the periphery of the city. Too far to be a convenient hangout, yet hilariously close for someone trying to erase themselves from the map. Jaehyun rarely knew the exact topography of the older boy's mind. Sanghyeok had always preferred the safety of the backstage, letting his internal monologues remain a private dialogue between himself and whatever higher power was listening.
The sputtering engine died as Jaehyun parked the inherited motorcycle in the dirt. His instinct, as always, proved unerring. There, perched on the edge of an unfinished fourth-floor balcony without a railing, sat Sanghyeok. He was a fragile silhouette painted against the bleeding colors of dusk.
Jaehyun swallowed hard, the sight of him—so small against the vast, indifferent sky—stealing the air from his lungs. Respecting that invisible boundary, Jaehyun didn't climb the concrete stairs. He leaned against the leather seat of the bike, staring blankly into the rustling weeds. His mind worked in grueling overdrive, desperate to decipher the puzzle of the boy above him. Hours melted away until the fading light signaled surrender. The crunch of gravel eventually broke the silence, and Jaehyun caught the familiar steps approaching from his peripheral vision.
"Should we head back?" Jaehyun asked, the syllables cautious.
"Walk with me," Sanghyeok replied simply, turning toward the rusted front gates.
Jaehyun wordlessly obliged, pushing the heavy motorcycle alongside him as they navigated the uneven path. For five hundred meters and a grueling half-hour, the only soundtrack was the rhythmic crunch of their sneakers and the hum of tires on dirt.
Then, Sanghyeok shattered the quiet. "What would you do if you were me, Jaehyun-ah? Leave, or stay?"
Jaehyun, who had been bracing for any form of communication, didn't hesitate. "I wish you always choose to stay."
With me, is what Jaehyun choose not to saying it out loud.
"I don't want to."
Jaehyun let his gaze drop to the asphalt.
"I refuse to let it keep going like this, Jaehyun-ah," the older boy whispered, his voice trembling at the edges. "I don't understand how my life's trajectory ended up here. Everything is ugly. Everything is a blur."
In their nine years of shared existence next door, those sentences were the most unguarded, raw fragments Sanghyeok had ever offered. Jaehyun remained a silent, steady pillar, letting the words spill over.
"From my father drinking himself to ruins and abandoning my sickly mother, up to this very second... I had to be the immovable rock so my brother wouldn't have to carry any of it. I poured everything into erasing his mistakes, desperate to ensure he wouldn't become another failure tied to our parents' legacy. I placed all my impossible hopes on his shoulders, needing him to shine. To earn the world's praise. To be the undeniable proof that I succeeded in raising him. I never realized my pride was suffocating him. And now?" A bitter, broken breath hitched in his throat. "Now he's using drugs?"
Sanghyeok abruptly halted. His knees buckled, sending him crashing onto the unforgiving edge of the asphalt. He buried his face in his hands, drawing his knees to his chest as his frame shook with violent, muffled sobs—a man thoroughly ashamed of his own unraveling, terrified of being witnessed by the world. By Jaehyun.
The kickstand of the motorcycle snapped down in a heartbeat. Jaehyun dropped to the road beside him, his hand gently finding the trembling curve of Sanghyeok's shoulder before pulling the older boy into a grounding embrace.
"It's my fault he's going to rehabilitation tomorrow," Sanghyeok choked out into Jaehyun’s jacket. "My fault I didn't trace his steps after his classes. My fault I didn't filter the company he kept. I stopped paying enough attention to his life. It’s on me, Jaehyun. It’s all on me."
"No, Sanghyeok-ah," Jaehyun murmured against his hair, his hold tightening. "It was never your fault Woonhakie made those choices. None of this is on you."
The fractured cries and rhythmic reassurances became the sole occupants of the night, grounding them until the first pale streaks of dawn bled over the eastern horizon.
Back home, Woonhak was a second away from dialing emergency dispatch when the low rumble of the two-wheeler finally cut through the driveway. The younger boy scrambled out the front door, immediately dropping to his knees on the pavement, desperately begging for his only brother’s forgiveness.
Sanghyeok didn't flinch. Jaehyun watched from a few paces back, observing the terrifyingly blank slate of Sanghyeok's eyes and the white-knuckled fists at his sides. From that morning onward, the older boy forged an icy, impenetrable armor, adopting a hardened edge that had never been there before.)
The First Quarter. During this phase, the moon presents itself as a perfect half-circle. It is a moment of tension and balance, positioned precisely at a ninety-degree angle between the earth and the sun.
(Woonhak’s rehabilitation spanned a grueling twelve months. It was a turbulent era that dragged Sanghyeok’s emotions through exhausting highs and devastating lows. True to form, Jaehyun made sure he was a constant fixture by his side, an unwavering presence weathering the storm with him.
Yet, unsurprisingly, Woonhak had effortlessly cultivated a new orbit within those clinical walls. He had found a companion—someone close, from what Jaehyun could gather. Regardless of the setting, Woonhak remained a sun; people naturally gravitated toward his warmth. Sanghyeok was no exception to this rule, a fact he was intimately aware of. Or rather, a fact he was recently forced to confront.
"Are all the clothes packed?" Sanghyeok asked.
"Every single one, Your Majesty," Woonhak replied lightly.
"Toothbrush, towels, phone—"
"Yes, yes, and yes, my beloved brother," Woonhak cut in, playfully tugging Sanghyeok’s arm back and forth.
Sanghyeok hummed, his gaze sweeping over the modest room that had housed his brother for the past year, still struggling to fully process the reality of his departure.
"Woonhak-ah, is everything sorted? Can I start moving these to the trunk?" The voice came from the doorway. It was Ohyul—a former patient who had been discharged three months prior and the newfound friend Woonhak had tethered to himself in this place of healing. He glanced between the two brothers, waiting.
Sanghyeok scanned Ohyul briefly before offering a polite smile, pointing to the luggage by the door. "We're all set, Ohyul-ssi. If you could help with that suitcase, I'd appreciate it."
"On it," Ohyul chirped, smoothly lifting the bag and disappearing down the hall.
Sanghyeok let out a soft breath, turning back to his younger brother who was zipping his toiletries into a duffel bag. "He looks much better than the last time I saw him."
Woonhak spun around, his eyes shining. "Right? I kept telling him the air outside is so much better than in here, just to get him to leave. Look at the effect it had. It's great, isn't it?"
Sanghyeok nodded. "His scars seem to be healing well, too."
"For the record, I helped him apply the ointment on his arms," Woonhak stated proudly. "Though the marks under his arms are incredibly stubborn. I still don't understand how he even thought to go that far down."
"I felt the exact same bewilderment when I found out you were using drugs," Sanghyeok replied dryly.
Woonhak bit his lip, then offered a small, knowing smile, fully aware there was no true malice in the older boy’s words.
"It's good that he's making progress," Sanghyeok added softly. "Thanks to you."
This time, Woonhak nodded in agreement. He reached out, gently pulling Sanghyeok to sit next to him on the stripped mattress. "Things are changing for the better, aren't they? I'm changing, Ohyul's changing... we're all changing. Don't you think it's time you change how you feel about Jaehyunie hyung, too?"
Life had indeed been kinder lately. With Woonhak receiving professional care, Sanghyeok no longer had to act as a full-time guardian, allowing him to finally breathe and focus on his own work and studies. The facility wasn't the grim, cinematic horror one might expect. But amidst it all, there was Jaehyun.
Jaehyun, who quietly trailed behind Sanghyeok. Jaehyun, who offered silent encouragement, ensuring Sanghyeok didn't slip back into the dark. Jaehyun, who stepped up to care for Woonhak on the days Sanghyeok simply lacked the strength to feign resilience.
Woonhak might have been confined, but he was far from blind. He had seen the lingering looks and the fierce devotion the neighbor harbored for his older brother during those exhaustive weekend visits. And so, Woonhak had begun planting impossible ideas into Sanghyeok’s mind. Ideas that suddenly felt dangerously plausible once Sanghyeok actually opened his eyes to Jaehyun's unwavering presence.
Sanghyeok shook his head, lightly flicking his brother’s forehead. Woonhak dramatically clutched his head, feigning injury.
"Just because you're dating someone doesn't give you the right to spout nonsense at me. I haven't given you my blessing yet, you know," Sanghyeok teased.
"Who's dating? Ohyul isn't my boyfriend!"
"Did I say Ohyul?"
"Hyung—!"
"Ahem."
The throat-clearing didn't belong to either brother. It came from the man leaning against the doorframe, wearing an incredibly satisfied smirk at having successfully captured their attention.
"Are we ready to head home? Ohyul said you were done packing, so why are you two gossiping in here?"
Woonhak dissolved into giggles while his brother immediately stood up. Sanghyeok grabbed a plastic trash bag, moving toward the door to dispose of it and escape the sudden heat creeping up his neck.
"I'll take that," Jaehyun said smoothly.
In one fluid motion, he snatched the plastic bag from Sanghyeok’s grasp and replaced it by intertwining their fingers together.
The bold maneuver sent Sanghyeok’s eyes wide, instantly drawing a teasing whistle from Woonhak. Ohyul, who had reappeared behind Jaehyun, watched the familiar antics of the close-knit group with a widening grin.
Meanwhile, the instigator of it all kept his expression perfectly stoic to mask his violently racing heart. Jaehyun tugged Sanghyeok forward, leading the way down the hall before his courage could completely evaporate. After all, he wasn't going to miss the chance to freely hold the hand of the person he had finally admitted to loving for the past five years.)
The Waxing Gibbous. In this phase, the lunar sphere slips slightly behind the earth, allowing the sun's rays to wash over three-quarters of its expanse. From the ground, it swells into a soft, convex curve, heavy with quiet anticipation.
("You mentioned there was something on your mind?" Jaehyun prompted.
They had retreated to their designated sanctuary: the unfinished fourth-floor balcony of the abandoned commercial project.
Sanghyeok kept his gaze carefully fixed on the horizon. "Are you still swamped these days? Is your poetry club still roaming around looking for inspiration?"
Jaehyun shook his head, though he voiced his reply anyway. "No, we're taking a break to focus on our final papers. Why?" He tilted his head, studying the older man's profile.
"Are there any decent films showing at the theater lately?"
A crisp, effortless laugh tumbled from Jaehyun's lips. "You're full of questions today. What's going on? Did you mix up your vitamins, or did Woonhak pull another stunt?"
Sanghyeok clicked his tongue, a soft sound of mild exasperation. He resolutely refused to meet Jaehyun’s dark eyes, letting his gaze wander aimlessly across the drifting afternoon clouds instead. "Annoying. I am trying to ask you out on a date, and you’re not really helping at all."
"WHAT?"
The sheer force of Jaehyun's shock sent his center of gravity completely off-kilter. Sitting entirely too close to the ledge of the railing-less concrete, he teetered dangerously frontward. It was only Sanghyeok’s sudden, vice-like grip on his forearm that yanked him back to solid ground. For a breathless second, they both stared at eachother, chests heaving from the spike of adrenaline.
"Is the prospect of going out with me truly that dreadful that you'd rather plunge to your demise?" Sanghyeok deadpanned, though his own pulse was racing just as fast.
Jaehyun frantically shook his head. Scrambling to his feet, he carefully set his poetry book onto the dusty concrete before surging forward, enveloping the older man in a crushing embrace.
"Hey, we aren't even officially dating yet! Stop using your brute strength!" Sanghyeok yelped futile protest as the younger boy effortlessly hoisted him up like a stray kitten scooped off the pavement.
"Yes! Let's go! Let's go on a date!"
Jaehyun’s smile stretched so wide his dark eyes vanished into joyful crescents. A faint dusting of pink painted his cheeks, and the late afternoon breeze gently whipped his growing black hair around his face.
The residual panic from the near-fall completely evaporated. Sanghyeok let out a defeated, affectionate sigh, a small smile finally gracing his lips. He surrendered to the warmth, draping both arms over Jaehyun’s shoulders and pulling the taller boy close to properly return the embrace.)
The Full Moon. In this culmination, the lunar sphere aligns itself in the vast shadow of the earth. Yet, instead of being swallowed by the dark, it catches the unobstructed brilliance of the sun, rendering it a flawless, unbroken sphere.
(Sanghyeok was flawless. If humanity had managed to invent a concept surpassing perfection, Jaehyun would have dedicated his entire life to rewriting the dictionary just to place it beside the older man's name.
Sprawled beneath him, stripped entirely bare of the world's heavy fabrics like a soul newly born into the universe, Sanghyeok was a magnificent sight. Jaehyun had often convinced himself he never dared to fathom arriving at this exact, vulnerable reality.
The way the older man yielded entirely to the mattress, his fingertips blindly seeking and tracing the taut lines of Jaehyun’s stomach; the way his breath hitched and unraveled the second Jaehyun’s arms firmly claimed his waist. How he murmured mindless syllables as Jaehyun meticulously pulled his composure apart, discovering how every single contour of Sanghyeok’s frame interlocked flawlessly with his own, like two halves of a long-lost riddle.
It was a lie, of course. Jaehyun had visualized this with staggering frequency. He had lived in this vivid daydream a thousand times over—in the seclusion of his sleep, under the scalding rush of the morning shower, and while staring blankly through the droning lectures of his university professors.
"You are beautiful, Sanghyeok," Jaehyun murmured, his voice a low, gravelly rasp against the heated air as his hips found a more demanding, desperate rhythm. "Utterly breathtaking."
Beneath him, Sanghyeok trembled, an involuntary arch of his spine as the relentless friction found that one devastating, hidden center over and over again. The boundary between a searing ache and pure, blinding euphoria had long since dissolved, leaving him entirely unmoored in the heavy tide of it all.
"Jae–Jaehyunie," Sanghyeok gasped out, the syllables fracturing midway. "Please.. I’m gonna–"
"Me too," Jaehyun breathed out, bearing his weight down, matching the urgency. "Together?"
Sanghyeok couldn't rely on his own vocal cords to form a coherent reply. Instead, his fingers dug fiercely into the forearms caging his head. With a sudden, desperate strength, he pulled the younger man down, crashing their lips together to exhale the overwhelming truth of his feelings.
When the precipice finally gave way, it was a blinding, silent explosion behind their closed eyelids. The tension snapping left them completely drained, two chests collapsing heavily against each other like sails abruptly starved of the wind.
As their ragged breathing slowly synced in the euphoric aftermath, Jaehyun felt a profound wave of gratitude wash over him. He was infinitely thankful that the familiar walls of his own bedroom were the first witnesses to this profound, beautiful shift in their universe.)
The Waning Gibbous. As the moon sails past its zenith, it begins its descent westward. The earth’s shadow gently encroaches upon the surface, leaving behind a convex curve—three-quarters of a waning glow fading into the dark.
(Ohyul was gone. It was a suffocating, immutable truth that left them utterly powerless.
The attending physician had delivered the news in sterile, muted tones. The wound was too deep, severing the primary vessels. By the time Ohyul was found, the clock had long run out.
Watching Woonhak shatter, Sanghyeok felt as though he were staring into a cruel mirror reflecting himself three years ago—back when the school counselor first revealed his brother’s descent into pills. Woonhak was now drowning in the exact same agony, desperately shouldering the blame for a tragedy entirely out of his hands.
"It was never going to be your fault," Sanghyeok murmured, his voice aimed at his brother’s rigid back as Woonhak stared blankly through the bedroom window. "There is no blame to carry."
Woonhak shook his head, a violent tremor taking hold of his lower lip. "I should have answered when he called me that last time. I should have read between the lines when his messages started changing. I should have been the first face he saw. I should have been there."
"Woonhak—"
Then, the crack gave way completely. It was the third episode this week. The younger boy erupted, violently hurling a desk lamp to the floor and kicking the bedside table. He let out a raw, guttural scream, his hands flying up, fingers curled and aiming blindly at his older brother.
He never reached Sanghyeok.
Jaehyun intercepted the blow, his hands locking around Woonhak’s wrists with an unyielding iron grip. He forced the thrashing boy to meet his commanding gaze.
"Woonhak-ah. You are not the only one mourning in this room. Everyone is grieving. Do not make this heavier than it already is."
Woonhak writhed, desperate to tear himself out of the hold. "But Ohyul, hyung... Ohyul is gone—"
"He is here. He is always be here. Right there." Jaehyun’s voice was an unshakeable grounding force. "In your heart."
The dam broke, heavy tears flooded Woonhak's vision, spilling rapidly down his flushed cheeks.
"He didn't leave, Woonhak-ah. He never really left. How is he supposed to rest peacefully if you are constantly tearing yourself apart like this? Still trapped in this misery?"
Woonhak fought the restraint, his feet kicking out erratically against Jaehyun's shins. Jaehyun absorbed the frantic blows without flinching, standing as a resolute barrier against the storm.
"Woonhak, please. Ohyul would hate seeing you like this. You look nothing like the bright boy he fell in love with. Do you understand?"
"If he loved me, why did he leave?" The scream tore from his throat, though the feral edge in his eyes was rapidly hollowing out, exhausted by days of relentless insomnia since the funeral dirt was settled.
"He left because he loved," Jaehyun answered softly. "He didn't want you to drown in his sorrow, and he couldn't bear his own anymore. That is why he went somewhere kinder."
"Was being here with me not kind enough for him?"
"Woonhak, you aren't the only entity capable of loving him. Perhaps out there, wherever he is, there is a peace that holds him far closer than we ever could. Don't let your grief make you selfish, love."
The fight entirely drained out of him. Woonhak’s knees buckled, his frame going completely limp in Jaehyun’s steadfast grip as the explosive sorrow dissolved into broken hiccups.)
The Third Quarter. During this phase, the sun casts its light upon exactly half of the lunar surface. From the vantage point of the earth, it manifests as a perfect, illuminated half-circle suspended against the dark.
(Two years slipped through their fingers like sand. Then, it was Woonhak's turn to leave.
He was setting off to chase dreams and mend his impending education across the ocean in Canada. He wouldn't be alone; their perpetually dramatic aunt was tagging along, firmly holding the hand of her latest—and wealthiest—romantic pursuit.
Naturally, the logistics fell onto Sanghyeok’s shoulders. He diligently navigated international lease agreements and scrutinized enrollment forms, leaving only the flight itineraries and visa applications to the deep pockets of their aunt's new partner. A silent, enduring relief settled over Sanghyeok; the aunt who had reluctantly but dutifully sheltered them was finally catching a break of her own.
"Are you entirely sure you don't want to go with me?" Woonhak asked, pushing his lower lip out in a blatant, albeit overgrown, imitation of a child demanding holiday presents.
Sanghyeok merely shook his head, reaching out to affectionately ruffle the younger boy's hair. His palm had to travel higher now; Woonhak had outgrown him somewhere amidst the chaos of the past few years. A fleeting wonder brushed against Sanghyeok's chest at how ruthlessly fast time moved.
“I would love to, but the kitchen would probably descend into absolute chaos without me,” Sanghyeok reasoned mildly. His evenings were now entirely consumed by the rhythmic clatter of pans and the meticulous orchestration of flavors at the most favorite, upscale restaurant, while Jaehyun spent his hours weaving coming-of-age screenplays that miraculously captured the pulse of the youth.
"Who's going to make sure you actually eat, then?" Woonhak pressed, his brow furrowing.
"I think the real question is who's going to make sure you don't start a riot over there," Jaehyun’s voice drifted in, seamlessly inserting himself into the sibling dynamic as he leaned against the doorframe.
Woonhak crossed his arms, lifting his chin indignantly. "Watch your mouth, hyung. I am a grown man. I am perfectly capable of maintaining my own survival."
Jaehyun pushed off the frame and strolled closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur near Sanghyeok’s ear—though explicitly projected enough for the younger boy to hear. "Don't worry. I've already dispatched my distant cousin who lives there, Dongmin, to keep a very watchful eye on him."
Woonhak's eyes widened in disbelief. "Unbelievable. I haven't even boarded the plane and I already have an assigned stalker. Tell him if he tries anything funny, I bite."
"Is he actually a decent guy?" Sanghyeok murmured under the cover of Woonhak's ongoing, indignant rambling.
Jaehyun arched a brow, feigning deep offense. "Do I strike you as the sort of villain whose bloodline needs questioning?"
A soft, wicked smirk played on Sanghyeok's lips. "I don't know. You felt remarkably mean last night."
Jaehyun didn't miss a beat. "And who’s exactly requesting it? I distinctly recall someone asking to be handled with a little less mercy."
"Okay, enough!" Woonhak groaned loudly, shoving himself forcefully between the two of them to escape toward the staircase. "I refuse to listening to your bedroom escapades!"
Pausing with one foot on the bottom step, Woonhak looked back over his shoulder, his expression entirely too smug. "Just text me when you two finally decide to get married. I'll book a flight back to help with the catering."
He disappeared up the stairs, leaving the words hanging heavily in the quiet room. An immediate, mirroring flush crept up both of the couple’s neck.
Marriage? Was that where this trajectory was pulling them?
They hadn't yet dared to map out that particular constellation, leaving the question lingering beautifully in the unspoken space between them.)
The Waning Crescent. The moon narrows into a delicate, fading sliver. In this quiet stretch, it has nearly completed its long revolution around the world. Once this final phase softly passes, the cycle resets, surrendering once more to the hidden obscurity of the New Moon.
(The faint, familiar creak of the bedroom door hinge signaled that his life partner was awake. At the sound of the slow, approaching footsteps, Jaehyun smoothly closed his browser windows and powered down the monitor. The study room was immediately enveloped in a soft, wavering darkness, illuminated solely by the gentle, blue-tinted glow of the fish aquarium in the corner.
"Why aren't you sleeping?" Sanghyeok’s voice was thick and heavy with exhaustion. He shuffled slowly toward his husband, who simply offered a warm, little smile in response.
"Did you wake up cause I’m not there?" Jaehyun murmured.
Sanghyeok offered a minute nod, “The bed is cold.”
Closing the remaining distance, he naturally settled himself onto Jaehyun's lap, curling into the familiar contours of his chest without a second thought.
"What were you doing?" Sanghyeok lifted a hand, his thumb sleepily brushing against Jaehyun's jawline. The skin felt slightly rough with a fresh layer of stubble; a gentle, tactile reminder that it was almost time for their shared monthly shaving routine in front of the bathroom mirror.
"Reading up on moon phases. I'm thinking of weaving the concept of a full moon into the script for the new movie."
Sanghyeok tilted his head, his hazy mind trying to piece together the correlation. But at two in the morning, any cognitive effort proved entirely futile, leaving his thoughts blissfully blank.
"Are you done reading, then?"
Jaehyun hummed an affirmative, burying his face into Sanghyeok's light brown hair. It still carried the subtle, comforting scent of their shared shampoo.
"Will you come back to bed?" Sanghyeok mumbled into his neck, the question blurring as he melted deeper into the embrace, not really needing an answer.
A soft, devoted smile graced Jaehyun's lips. He pressed a long, infinitely tender kiss to Sanghyeok's temple. The older man leaned into the affection, his eyes fluttering shut as a profound, heavy warmth enveloped them both in the dim room.
Jaehyun let his lips linger against the soft skin, his chest swelling with an immense gratitude. He was profoundly thankful to have witnessed the myriad of phases Sanghyeok had cycled through.
And within that journey, Jaehyun knew he had weathered his own shifting phases alongside him.
Sanghyeok would always be THE moon, and Jaehyun would endlessly choose to be THE earth beneath his eternal orbit.)