Chapter Text
────•⋅⊰༻❪ ∞︎︎ ❫༺⊱⋅•────
There’s a very specific genre of couples you will meet exactly once in your mid-twenties. It is imperative, dare say life-preserving, that you do everything in your will NOT (imagine in bold, red, underlined letters) to befriend them.
We all know the type.
College sweethearts who have already planned their wedding sometime between midterms and a shared Google Calendar and Pinterest board. The kind that starts off tooth-rottingly sweet and somehow ends the exact same way. At first, you think it’s cute. Endearing, even. You'd be tempted to feign bitterness and envy. But instead, you admire how they seem completely immune to the rest of the outside world.
Then time passes.
And without fail, they becoome painstakingly annoying.
They're not bad people. No, no. They’re probably the nicest people you’ll ever meet. Generous. Thoughtful. Almost like their love for each other awakened something Jesus-like in them. Granted, their cheesiness and horniness is usually misplaced, it’s usually done from the good of their heart.
(Yes—heart, singular, because they clearly share a grand total of one.)
They do not function independently. They won’t miss an opportunity to be attached at the hip. One always trailing after the other like a wet and devoted puppy. Jungwon insists a more accurate description would be two parasites choosing to live off each other in perfect, mutual delusion.
And if you’re particularly unlucky, you’ll witness the following ordeal beat for beat:
“No, you hang up first.”
“No, you!”
“No, okay, okay—together on three.”
Blah, blah, bleh.
It’s unsettling! Bordering revolting to the average onlooker.
But of course, you’ll still be happy for them.
You attend the wedding. You might even give a speech. You take great pleasure in recounting, in vivid detail, the long history of their grossly beautiful love story in front of an audience that loves them too (not nearly as much as they love each other, but enough to tolerate it). Years later, you’ll tell their children about it. You’ll bond with six-year-olds over shared, performative disgust at their parents’ relentless attempt to outdo every 2000s rom-com to exist.
Because, fine. At least someone is out there proving that human affection still exists in this jaded and aggressively capitalistic society.
The world had Romeo and Juliet. Gyeonwoo and Jiknyeo. Bonnie and Clyde.
But the world had nothing on Sunghoon and Sunoo.
—or at least, it did.
Because yes. They broke up. Five years down the drain.
And somehow, with them, the rest of the world followed.
People called. Emailed. Faxed (?). And not just friends— extended family, distant acquaintances, someone’s aunt —twice removed, carry the one —calling from God knows where. The Atlantic. The Sahara. Someone claimed the South Pole because apparently there's WI-FI connection there too.
All to confirm the news like it was a matter of national panic.
Eventually they had to post an official, PR approved (courtesy of Jay) statement that remains pinned on their respective Instagram accounts to this day. That read something along the lines of ‘after much consideration, we have decided it best to… etc, etc.’
Bottom line. 'Yes. We broke up.'
Jay swore he saw at least two articles mourning the loss. People started trending #bringSUNSUNback as if this was some decision made by a romance author and not the work of two fully functioning adults—and they weren’t even celebrities!
It made even more noise than the time they had shameless sex on a camping trip—in tents that Ni-ki, to this day, insists were not soundproof. (You had to be there. Actually, scratch that—no one would wish that on their worst enemy.)
The scariest part?
They were… 'civil' about it.
Or, at least, as civil as two people can be while exchanging passive-aggressive remarks and thinly veiled glares at every shared function. Jungwon—their unofficial, unlicensed marriage counselor—diagnosed them to be skipping straight to the acceptance stage of grief, disregarding all the former ones as unnecessary and for people who 'wasted time'.
“If they don’t do something about it,” he’d said, “they’re going to explode.”
Which, frankly, everyone was waiting for.
Because no one really knew why Sunghoon and Sunoo broke up.
Not for lack of trying. People had theories—God, did they have theories. There was a solid week where everyone was convinced it was cheating, which died quickly when both of them, separately, looked genuinely offended by the idea. Then came “irreconcilable differences,” which sounded respectable until you realized neither of them could actually define what those differences were.
In the end, the official statement—unspoken, but universally accepted—was simple:
It was bad.
Bad enough… that they handled it well.
Which, in hindsight, should’ve been the first red flag.
They didn’t fight publicly. No dramatic exits. No sign of Sunoo showing up at Jungwon’s apartment at 2 a.m., mascara halfway down his face, demanding ice cream and emotional validation while they both stared at his phone waiting for Sunghoon to call back. No Sunghoon drinking himself into a spiral, crying—arguably harder—in Jay’s arms and ruining a $100 polo that Jay would absolutely invoice him for later, asking in a hoarse whisper if Sunoo would ever take him back.
None of that.
Instead, they sat down and divided their lives—drawing an invisible red line through everything that used to blur together.
‘Three Days After the BREAKUP’
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“I get the ice cream maker.”
“I bought that,” Sunghoon shot back. “But fine.”
“And Gaeul stays with me.”
“That’s not—”
“You can have her Monday to Wednesday.”
“…You’re assigning me visitation rights to my own dog.”
“She loves me more. Be grateful you’re getting weekdays.”
They even claimed custody over which friends would be "theirs". Because apparently, emotional damage was one thing, but social inconvenience? Unacceptable.
With the exception of Ni-ki, who outright refused to participate.
“I’m not picking sides,” he said, arms crossed. “I’m not a child of divorce and I’m definitely not co-parenting you two through whatever this is.”
He gave it two months. Three, tops.
“Jungwon’s mine,” Sunoo had said, not even looking up from his drink.
Sunghoon didn’t hesitate. “Jay.”
“Fine.”
“Fine.”
And that was that.
Everyone else just adjusted. All in an effort to respect their extensive measures. It was less like a breakup and more like a quiet, mutual evacuation. To be fair, Sunghoon and Sunoo were too detached from the reality of dating to know what a normal break up was supposed to look like anyway.
It was eerie. Impressive, some would say.
And completely, undeniably—a big, fat, fakeout.
────•⋅⊰༻❪ ∞︎︎ ❫༺⊱⋅•────
Jungwon and Jay were the only ones who saw through it.
Which was deeply unfortunate for them, because it meant they became unwilling participants in whatever this was.
‘A week After the BREAKUP’
────────────
“You can’t keep pretending he doesn’t exist,” Jungwon told Sunoo one night, arms crossed, patience hanging by a thread.
“I’m not pretending,” Sunoo said easily. “I’m thriving.”
“Thriving people don’t ask if he’s coming every time I invite you somewhere.”
Sunoo blinked, offended. “I do that out of courtesy.”
“Uh huh,” Jungwon nodded. “You’re the most courteous person I know, hyung.”
On the other side, Jay wasn’t faring any better.
“You still have his hoodie,” he pointed out, watching Sunghoon scroll through his phone obviously refreshing Sunoo's socials every five seconds.
“It’s comfortable.”
“It’s yellow.”
“And?”
Jay tilted his head. “Pretty sure it was white first.”
Sunghoon didn’t even look up from his aggressive reloading. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Jay stared at him for a long moment. “You’re actually insane.”
────•⋅⊰༻❪ ∞︎︎ ❫༺⊱⋅•────
Somewhere between managing their respective disasters, Jungwon and Jay developed a bond that could only be described as deeply earned.
It started with mutual and apologetic expressions across rooms whenever Sunghoon and Sunoo did something unhinged. Then came the late-night conversations—half venting, half analysis, and completely an effort to keep the company of someone who knows exactly what you're going through.
One Friday night, it turned into something else.
“I think they broke up for a stupid reason,” Jungwon said, downing his drink and immediately regretting it.
“I think they don’t even remember the reason,” Jay replied, quietly swapping Jungwon’s next drink for water.
Jungwon didn't fail to notice.
“…That’s worse.”
“Yeah.”
After a breath longer, the two looked at each other with a kind of mutual understanding that had nothing to do with their friends and more to do about the synchronized realization that they're two young and attractive men alone in a gay bar.
“…You wanna get out of here?” Jay asked, his face melting into a softer look. “My place isn’t far.”
“God, yes.”
Jungwon replied before immediately coming at Jay with a messy but, equal parts, sweet kiss.
And the rest? Was history.
────•⋅⊰༻❪ ∞︎︎ ❫༺⊱⋅•────
By the time Jungwon and Jay realized they were dating, it confirmed their suspicions of living in an alternate reality where nothing was quite where it was supposed to be.
By the time they got engaged (yup, Jay did not waste any time in pinning Jungwon down after what happened to his arguably most lovesick friend), it felt like redemption. Cupid at work to make up for the damage Sunghoon and Sunoo's breakup caused for the reputation of love.
Because, really—no one, not even in their most delusional moments, thought they’d be the ones engaged first.
They had gone from chaperoning dates, to managing the fallout of their friends' breakup, to waking up tangled with each other in Jay’s bed like it was the most natural progression in the world. The two had already liked each other, casually making out and calling each other in late hours, for as long as their friends had been together. The only thing that really stopped them was their mutual denial of their own queerness. They're not really sure why it took the breakup of a century for them to label it.
Love, apparently, had a sense of humor.
Which is how Sunoo found himself raising a glass at their engagement dinner, smiling like he had everything to do with it.
‘Two Months After the BREAKUP’
────────────
“You should be thanking us, by the way,” he said.
Jungwon froze. “I’m sorry?”
Sunghoon didn’t even look surprised. “He’s right.”
Jungwon turned to Jay, desperate. “Are we hearing the same thing or am I losing hearing in my right ear again?”
“No, no, let them finish,” Jay said, already exhausted.
Sunoo smiled. “If we hadn’t broken up, would you two have even gotten around to sleeping with one another? Be honest.”
“You’d still be third-wheeling your own relationship,” Sunghoon added, calm and genuinely believing what he was saying.
“We created the conditions,” Sunoo continued. “This—” making an exaggerated gesture, “this is basically our doing.”
There was a long, painful silence. Jungwon blinked slowly. “I want you both to know I could still uninvite you.”
“You won’t,” Sunoo said easily.
“You need us,” Sunghoon added.
Jay inhaled deeply. “Okay. That’s enough.”
────•⋅⊰༻❪ ∞︎︎ ❫༺⊱⋅•────
The rest of the party descended in similar conversation and formalities. There was some crying of course, heels thrown, and drinks downed. It was only when the night quiet downed, that they pulled them aside.
“Listen,” Jungwon said, hands on his hips. “We are asking for one thing.”
“Be normal,” Jay added.
“We are normal,” Sunoo said immediately.
“The best at being normal actually,” Sunghoon nodded.
Jungwon just stared.
Jay sighed. “My parents are funding this wedding.”
“That’s great,” Sunoo said.
“We’re talking about Jay’s parents here,” Jungwon cut in, giving him a look. “Chaebol. Conservative. The same people who tried setting him up with four different women a month after he came out. Think again.”
Jay nodded, long-suffering. “They said, and I quote, ‘if you’re going to get married gay, it better be the best gay wedding the whole of South Korea’s ever seen.’”
Sunoo blinked. “That’s definitely… a sentence.”
“So this—” Jay gestured, already exhausted by the scale of it, “this is not even our real wedding.”
“Our real one,” Jungwon added, “is going to be after. Intimate and personal. Just us and a few people, you both included.”
“So please,” Jay finished, looking at them both, almost maternal. “We just need you to survive this one first.”
“We get it,” Sunoo said, nodding seriously.
“We’ll be normal,” Sunghoon agreed.
Jungwon and Jay looked at each other. Then back at them.
And, in perfect sync, shook their heads in quiet disappointment.
“We trust you to survive one wedding,” Jungwon said.
Jay exhaled. “Two might be pushing it.”
The wedding, of course, was a destination. Because if you’re going to stage the best gay wedding anyone’s ever seen, you might as well make it inconvenient and European.
“A week,” Sunghoon repeated, staring at the itinerary like it could magically rearrange itself.
Sunoo leaned over his shoulder, still processing the three page, single spaced document presented to them. "Five days…"
And then, the final blow.
“Oh, and you’re both our best men,” Jungwon added so casually in an effort to distract from that bomb of a revelation.
Silence.
You could see the moment realization hits their shared brain cell.
The calculations followed.
Five days. 120 hours. 432,000 seconds.
Rehearsals.
Pictorials.
Dinners.
Flights.
And whatever “sunset bonding experience” meant.
Proximity.
The new couple held their breath for what was to follow.
Sunoo, still clearly stunned, said “Well, isn’t this great! It should be… fun." The confidence in his voice, clearly fading.
Sunghoon nodded slowly. "Yeah… So, so fun."
And for the first time since they got engaged, Jay and Jungwon feared for their lives.
────•⋅⊰༻❪ ∞︎︎ ❫༺⊱⋅•────
“Okay,” Sunoo started the second they stepped into their apartment—Jungwon’s apartment, technically (Sunoo moved in after the breakup but now Jungwon was in the process of moving out to move in with Jay, so in a sense, it was Sunoo's apartment now? It's better not to ask, they don't understand it either).
Though with the state the place was in, it didn’t feel like it belonged to anyone anymore. Boxes were everywhere. Some half-opened, some still taped shut, a few just sitting there as a result of the pair giving up prematurely. Jungwon’s things were slowly disappearing into them, while Sunoo’s had only just begun to take up space. It had already been two months since he left Sunghoon, and somehow, they still hadn’t finished unpacking.
“I get it,” he continued, toe nudging a box out of the way as he dropped onto the couch exhausted. “Mama Jongseong is terrifying. Like, genuinely. Did you see the way she held onto my arm when she asked if you believed in the ‘gift of children’? I thought I was being recruited into something.”
“Did I see it?” Jungwon let out a dry laugh, stretching out beside him like a cat claiming what little space was left. “You don’t think I went through that ten times worse when we first met?”
“I don’t think I’ve ever prepared that hard for anything in my life,” Jungwon went on, staring at the ceiling. “Not even job interviews had me stressed like that. I had handwritten notes, hyung. Handwritten.”
Sunoo laughed properly at that, the sound bouncing lightly off the cluttered room.
“Fine,” Sunoo said, getting up and wandering toward the bathroom, grabbing his toothbrush along the way. “But a week? Even the gods don’t celebrate that long.”
He heard a scoff in response.
"This isn't even about the wedding for you, hyung." Jungwon called from the couch, not unkindly. "This is about you not being able to breathe the same air as Sunghoon-hyung for any more than four hours."
That hurt more than it should have. Sunoo paused, toothbrush halfway to his mouth. He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he turned the tap on, busied himself with something small, —anything that didn’t require him to confront what Jungwon had just said. By the time he came back out, his face was damp, hair pushed back, and body a little lighter.
“Well seeing him all dressed up and handsome in Europe will definitely not be doing me any favors."
“What happened to your confidence from earlier? Mr. ‘If we hadn’t broken up, would you two have even gotten around to sleeping with one another?’ ”
“Fine, that was cocky of me! But the only reason I’ve survived the past months,” he said, voice steadier than he felt, “is because we never had to see each other that much. If at all, actually. And in the rare occasion that we do, I can resort to the few lines of nonchalance I've prepared to avoid actual conversation.”
He sat down slowly again. “I don’t know if I can handle doing any more than that right now.”
Jungwon didn’t answer immediately, and somehow that made it worse. The silence stretched just long enough for an unwelcomed guilt to start creeping in Sunoo's moral conscience.
He exhaled, rubbing at his face. “No, I’m sorry,” he said quickly, turning to him. “That was so wrong. This is your moment. I'm in no place to be making it about me.”
He reached over, nudging Jungwon’s hand with his own. “Don't mind me, okay? I'm overdramatic but I get over shit.”
"I just don't get it." Jungwon finally said. “You guys were doing so well. You were… happy.”
Sunoo let out a breath that almost sounded like a laugh.
“Weren’t you thinking about getting married next summer?” Jungwon added.
“Mhm. Exactly. ‘I’ was thinking about it.” Sunoo breathed out heavily.
“It was supposed to be somewhere warm,” he said slowly. “Somewhere pretty. Maybe somewhere near the water.” A faint smile tugged at his lips. “We said we’d take a long honeymoon—go to all the places he used to travel to. Places he never really got to see properly when he was still an athlete.”
“Then we’d come back and…” Sunoo hesitated, feeling tears threaten to spill from the corner of his eyes. “Settle down, I guess. Nothing big. Just… a house. Two stories, maybe. A picket-fence like in the movies.”
He let out a small breath. “A kid, eventually. Maybe.”
“A girl,” Jungwon added.
Sunoo huffed a quiet laugh. “Yeah. Definitely a girl…”
“With Gauel running around the yard,” Jungwon continued when Sunoo didn't. “and you two getting old, insufferably in love and still making it everyone's problem.”
Sunoo’s smile faltered, but it didn’t disappear completely.
"I guess I've recited that fantasy a little more than once."
"That's generous. I'm pretty sure that exact vision has been engraved in anyone who knows you two."
“At least between you and me, one of us gets to live that kind of love story,” Sunoo said after a moment, not looking at him. “Not bad, right?”
Jungwon hated seeing Sunoo like this.
He turned fully, reaching for Sunoo’s hands this time, squeezing them a little tighter than before.
“You will too,” he said, firm. “You’re a blessing to love. Don’t ever forget that.”
He might not have known it then, but Jungwon had said the exact words Sunoo needed to hear at that moment. Even if his fortune in love seemed all but spent, he was glad his platonic relationships were spared to get him through the rest of life.
────•⋅⊰༻❪ ∞︎︎ ❫༺⊱⋅•────
‘Three Months After the BREAKUP’
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To Sunoo’s mild surprise (and frankly, mild disappointment—his mental preparation for battle had gone to waste), the month of planning passed without any dramatic implosions. They worked together—together—planning the bachelor’s party with a few others. Sunoo threw out ideas left and right, some questionable, some brilliant, all delivered with the confidence of someone who refused to be perceived as emotionally compromised. And in the most annoyingly familiar way, Sunghoon backed every single one of them.
Sunoo found himself having to mentally tug on an invisible leash, reminding himself that things were different now. That there was a very evident, very necessary distance between them. That this version of cooperation was circumstantial, and absolutely not an invitation to feel whatever it was he kept almost feeling.
Still—purely from a logistical standpoint, obviously—it helped. Sunghoon had a way of grounding the chaos that tended to spiral inside Sunoo’s head. It was convenient. Nothing more, nothing less.
And then, before either of them had noticed, the dreaded day arrived.
Now, to set the records straight, Sunoo was excited. A wedding in Austria? Objectively incredible. Practically cinematic. If he had to endure emotional turmoil, at least it would be set against a backdrop of European architecture and overpriced pastries. Truly, the bare minimum.
What he was significantly less thrilled about, however, was the twelve-hour flight from Seoul to Vienna.
Twelve. Hours. In a pressurized metal tube. Suspended in the sky. Where turbulence existed. And thoughts had nowhere to go but louder. Must he keep going?
Sure, they had Business Class tickets—but no amount of reclining seats or artisanal in-flight menus could distract from the far more pressing issue: he would be trapped in a flying metal cylinder with nowhere to go, nowhere to hide, and very limited options for pretending someone didn’t exist when they were, in fact, seated within a polite conversational radius.
It wasn’t even just about Sunghoon. It was about the flight, the length of it, the way his thoughts tended to spiral when given too much time and altitude.
And Sunghoon, if the past month had taught him anything, was unfortunately still the only one who had the patience and understanding to get him through most of it. Which meant, purely from a practical standpoint, Sunoo needed necessary intel.
The night before the flight, after an unreasonable amount of pacing and one too many failed attempts at convincing himself that he could simply “figure it out,” Sunoo did something he would later classify under temporary lapses in judgment.
He unblocked Sunghoon.
His thumb hovered over the screen, looking stupidly at his phone like an answer would miraculously appear.
Sunoo exhaled sharply, annoyed at the hesitation more than anything else. This wasn’t complicated. He needed advice (or reassurance) about the flight. And Sunghoon had experience.
He tapped into the chat, already deciding that this was strictly situational. And the moment it stopped being either of those things, he would block him again without a second thought.
Sunoo: you've flown this route before, right? anything I should know?
The reply came faster than he expected.
Sunghoon: unblocked just for aviation advice? I’m touched
Sunoo: don’t start
Sunghoon: you and I know I haven't even started
Sunoo: then don’t
A typing bubble. Disappearing. Reappearing.
Sunghoon: it’s a long flight. you’ll hate it, but you’ll survive
Sunghoon: just sleep through most of it
Sunoo scoffed out loud.
Sunoo: I don’t sleep on planes
Sunghoon: right
Sunghoon: because you think turbulence will be the end all be all for you
Sunoo: it is
Sunoo: the plane will be perfectly fine one second and then suddenly decide to ruin my life
Sunghoon: you’re dramatic
Sunghoon: but fine
Sunghoon: I get it
There was a brief pause—
Sunghoon: get those chewing candies
Sunghoon: the ginger ones
Sunoo: I don’t get nauseous
Sunghoon: you get something
Sunghoon: you go quiet and start gripping anything within reach
Sunoo froze, fingers hovering over the screen.
Sunoo: i do not
Sunghoon: you do
Sunghoon: trust me, I would know
Sunghoon: just get them, okay?
Sunghoon: they help
Sunoo: fine
Sunoo: if they don’t work, i’m blaming you
Sunghoon: that’s fair
Sunghoon: i’ll take responsibility
For some reason, that did it.
It wasn’t even what Sunghoon said, just how easily he said it. The way he remembered, the way he knew small, specific things that Sunoo himself sometimes tried to ignore, and it slipped through so naturally it caught him off guard.
And that, more than anything, made something in his chest pull tight.
Sunoo stared at the screen, eyes tracing over the same messages like they might change if he looked at them enough times. It would’ve been easier if Sunghoon had been colder and more akin to a stranger. But everything about this reeked of how they used to be.
He exhaled slowly, locking his phone with a soft click and then, begrudgingly, he went out and bought the candies. He didn’t think much of it at first. Just grabbed a pack, tossed it into his basket like it was any other last-minute necessity.
But when he reached the counter, something in him stalled.
His gaze dropped, almost involuntarily, to the row of identical packs sitting just beside it. For just a split second, he hesitated. Fingers brushing lightly against the edge of another. It lingered there. That small, ridiculous pause.
Then, before he could think too much about it, he added it to the pile.
One for himself.
And one extra.
Just in case.
────•⋅⊰༻❪ ∞︎︎ ❫༺⊱⋅•────
The morning of the flight came in waves—rolling suitcases, overlapping voices, boarding announcements. Their group was already gathered near the gate, half of them talking over each other, the other half pretending to listen, all of them carrying that restless, pre-trip excitement that made even standing still feel like movement.
Sunoo fit into it seamlessly.
Or at least, that’s what it looked like.
He had perfected the art of appearing just engaged enough—laughing at the right moments, nodding when needed, adjusting his bag strap like it was a task that required his full attention. Nothing about him suggested that he had been awake longer than necessary, or that he had spent an unreasonable amount of time staring at his ceiling the night before feeling like a teenager all over a few text messages.
His hand slipped into the pocket of his coat, fingers brushing against the small crinkle of plastic. The candies.
He hadn’t meant to think about them again, but there they were—two packs, side by side. One slightly more dented than the other, from where he’d unconsciously held onto it on the way here. His thumb pressed lightly against the edge, feeling the shape of it through the wrapper.
Ridiculous.
And yet, his grip lingered for a second longer than it needed to.
A faint smile threatened at the corner of his lips. He exhaled, pulling his hand out like the moment hadn’t happened at all.
They started moving toward the luggage drop, a loose cluster forming as everyone shuffled forward. Sunoo followed along, but his attention had already begun to drift. His gaze kept slipping, scanning the space too carefully.
His eyes moved past strangers, past other travelers, past people who were very much not who he was looking for.
Dark eyebrows. A tall, recognizable frame. That obnoxiously commanding presence he couldn't mistake for anyone else.
But, nothing.
Sunoo clicked his tongue quietly, shifting his weight already uneasy.
He adjusted his sleeve, then, as casual as possible, made his way toward Jay, who was busy checking something on his phone.
“Hey,” he started, tone light, almost absentminded. “Did Sunghoon already go ahead? I didn’t really see him come in with the rest of the group…”
It was a weak start. A stupid one, honestly. But it was out in the open now, hanging between them.
Jay looked up, and for a split second, something flickered across his face. Sunoo already dreaded what was going to come next.
“…Did he not tell you?” Jay asked, brows pulling together slightly.
Something in Sunoo’s chest tightened, quick and sudden.
“Tell me what?” he replied, still easy, still unaffected.
Jay hesitated again, longer this time, like he was choosing his words with more care than the situation seemed to require.
“Ah—he, uh… something apparently came up,” he said finally, the earlier energy in his voice dipping into something more restrained, almost apologetic. “He’s taking a flight tomorrow instead.”
For a moment, everything stayed exactly the same.
The noise, the movement, the chaos of people passing by—it all continued, uninterrupted.
Sunoo pressed his tongue against the inside of his cheek, then let out a quiet click, the sound sharper than intended.
He nodded once, expression smoothing over with practiced ease. “Right,” he said, almost to himself. “Got it.”
But nothing about it sat right with him.
Call it intuition or his sixth sense, but he couldn't accept that fact just yet.. And before he could remind himself that this wasn’t his place anymore, that he didn’t need to know, his thoughts had already started running ahead.
‘Something came up’ could mean anything.
A missed flight. A last-minute emergency. Something worse.
What if he overslept? No, Sunghoon didn’t oversleep. What if there was an accident? That was stupid, Jay would've told him straight up. But then why wouldn’t he say anything? Why wouldn’t he—
Sunoo exhaled sharply, jaw tightening as the spiral picked up pace, each thought stepping over the next.
He didn’t think. He didn’t give himself the chance to.
His phone was already in his hand, unlocked in seconds. The contact pulled up like muscle memory, like it hadn’t been blocked just the night before.
He pressed call.
The ringing barely lasted long enough to breathe through, but it felt longer, stretched thin by the tension sitting tight in his chest. His grip on the phone tightened slightly, eyes fixed on nothing in particular.
Pick up. Please.
The line clicked.
“Hello?”
Sunoo stilled.
That wasn’t—
“Hi—uh, is this for Sunghoon?” the voice continued, young and unfamiliar, edged with a polite sweetness. “Who is this?”
A woman’s voice.
For a second, his mind went completely blank.
“Sunghoonie!” she called, a little away from the receiver now. “There’s someone on the line for you.”
Something in Sunoo’s stomach dropped.
It wasn’t even a full thought, just fragments of a larger piece. Why does she have his phone? Who is she? Why didn’t he say anything? The easy, stupid conclusions came first, before anything reasonable had the chance to catch up.
He didn’t wait after that. Didn’t let her say anything else.
The call ended before she could come back.
Just like that.
Sunoo lowered the phone slowly, the noise of the airport rushing back in all at once, louder than before, like it had been waiting.
He didn’t even give himself the luxury to think or process.
Because if he did, he already knew exactly where his mind would go. And those were thoughts he'd rather keep unentertained.
────•⋅⊰༻❪ ∞︎︎ ❫༺⊱⋅•────
Sunoo didn't remember much of what happened next. One moment, he was standing in the middle of the airport, mildly dissociating and willing for the protective comfort of his own bed, preferably bundled with the last five years of his life back, like some kind of emotional return policy. The next, he was seated in the middle row of the plane, posture stiff, staring right through anything physical in front of him, and still carrying that stubborn, lingering feeling of grief he’d been trying to avoid.
He had always told himself he’d be fine—happy, even—if Sunghoon ever found someone after him. That was the mature thing to want, wasn’t it? Growth, closure—whatever emotionally well-adjusted people were supposed to call it.
And if he was being honest, he had always assumed, with stupid naivety, that if either of them were to move on first, it would be him. Only because Sunghoon had made such a big deal out of promising him that freedom—back when it was all hypothetical, when Sunoo would ask what would happen if they ever broke up, never truly believing it would become anything more than a question asked when he felt sulky and in need of verbal reassurance.
Sunghoon had always been… Sunghoon. The kind of person people gravitated toward without trying, the kind who never seemed to lack options. Men, women—honestly, given enough time, probably entire demographics of his choosing. That was the version of him available to the rest of the world. What always felt more genuine however, was the version Sunoo had been exclusively granted—the stubbornly passionate and devoted man he had fallen in love with first, and, inevitably, fell that much harder for him.
And maybe that should have been enough of a warning on its own—the uneasy understanding that the version of Sunghoon he loved had never really belonged to him in the way he wanted it to.
What they had was real, undeniably so, but it was still something shaped by the fragile agreement of two people choosing each other for as long as it made sense. Sunoo had mistaken that choice for permanence, had taken something fleeting and treated it like it came with terms and conditions that meant the sleepy promises made to him still held some validity after their expiration date. As if something being genuine meant it would also be enduring. As if wanting it badly enough could make it stay.
Which, in hindsight, felt a tad bit more dramatic than he was willing to forgive himself for. But he’d like to think it’s reason enough to excuse the feeling of rage and injustice corrupting every ounce of kindness left in his body.
He let out a quiet breath, eyes still fixed ahead as he mentally drafted a list for his future self.
(Number one) : Anticipate the world's cruel inclination for surprise and chaos. Maybe even assume things will go wrong preemptively so nothing ever catches you off guard again.
(Number two) : Never—ever—be foolish enough to believe in Park Sunghoon again. Or the concept of love for that matter!
The third one, Sunoo decided, would be grabbing a drink the second the cabin crew so much as hinted at beverage service. Anything strong enough to make him forget why he was feeling anything in the first place. He briefly considered watching horror movies during the flight (and don’t make that face, it was a perfectly valid coping mechanism). If he scared himself enough, maybe his brain would finally pick a struggle and commit to it, the terrors of that woman on the call and the possibility of wherever and whatever Sunghoon was doing completely relegated to a passing thought.
Until then, he leaned back and shut his eyes. It’s just a week afterall, he repeated to himself, over and over, like a mantra he was trying very hard to believe. He would show up, be a good friend, execute his best man duties with flawless precision, get whatever closure he apparently still needed, and—if the universe had even a shred of decency—find some pretty thing to serve as a distraction.
How hard could that be?
And as if the universe had been waiting for its cue, the empty seat beside him shifted.
Maybe redemption wasn’t that hard after all.
Sunoo opened his eyes.
Oh.
Well.
That was promising.
The man settling in next to him was tall, easily so, with softly dyed brown hair and such gentle features that reminded Sunoo of a pretty doe caught in headlights. Still, he looked put together and clean. It felt a little unfair actually, given Sunoo’s current state.
Was this divine intervention? A consolation prize? An apology?
Whatever it is, whoever had sent him, Sunoo wasn’t about to question it too hard.
Catching his piercing gaze, the man offered a small, polite smile before speaking.
"Are you here for the wedding?" He spoke softly.
Sunoo blinked once, twice, processing.
“Yes,” he said, perhaps a second too late. “Friend of the grooms.” A pause. “Sorry, have we met before?”
“Maybe,” the man replied with a light chuckle. “I’m Jay’s family friend. Known him since high school.”
That tracked.
Before Sunoo could respond, an announcement crackled through the speakers—the pilot, calmly informing them that takeoff would be in five minutes. The man startled slightly, shoulders tensing before he let out a small, embarrassed laugh.
“Sorry,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I never really got used to flights. I get nauseous way too easily. It’s honestly a little embarrassing.”
Before Sunoo could overthink it, he was already reaching for his hoodie, disregarded in his side, fingers digging into the pocket until they found what they were looking for. The crinkle of plastic felt oddly grounding in his hands.
He paused for half a second, glancing down at the stupid pack of candies that started all of this anyway.
Sunghoon was allowed to move on. Of course he was. He deserved to, regardless of how shitty that made Sunoo feel. He knew that much. Knew, too, that he still cared enough, to want that for him.
And if he what he felt was genuine, then— He had to allow himself the same.
Even if he wasn’t entirely ready. Even if it felt a little forced. Even if it was, admittedly, fueled by at least thirteen percent pettiness.
“Here,” Sunoo said, extending the candies toward him. “I don’t do well with planes either. Someone told me these apparently help.”
The man blinked, surprised, before his expression softened into something warmer. “Wow—thank you,” he said, taking them carefully. “I’ll have to owe you one…”
“Sunoo,” he supplied.
A smile. “Nice to meet you, Sunoo. I’m Heeseung.”
Sunoo nodded, settling back into his seat.
Was he ready to move on?
Not in the slightest.
Would he force it anyway to not look like he’s still yearning for his ex?
Hell yeah.
Call it petty, call it misguided, call it whatever you wanted—but he refused to spend an entire week in Europe moping over a man he had already let go of. A man who, apparently, was doing just fine letting him go the very same.
Sunoo exhaled slowly, a small, determined smile tugging at his lips.
How his life had ended up here, he wasn’t entirely sure.
But one thing was certain. The following week was gonna be anything but boring. And Sunoo is going to do everything in his power to make sure it goes in his favor.
──── To be continued… ☂︎༺⊰‿̩͙
epilogue:
‘Ten Long & Sunghoon-Distressed Hours Earlier’
“Remind me again—why are you here right now?” Sunghoon muttered under his breath. He pushed his hair back in frustration before shoving two suitcases he hadn’t planned for into his trunk, right beside his own.
“When did you get so mean, Sunghoon-yah?” Dahyun said, already making her way to the passenger seat.
“Oh, this is me being nice,” Sunghoon replied, clicking his seatbelt into place as he started the engine. “You’ll know when I get mean.”
She rolled her eyes. “I’m sorry! But did you really expect me to miss Jjong’s wedding? I never thought he’d have it in him to ask a guy out, let alone get married!”
“I don’t think he expected it either.”
“Plus, how could I say no when it was his parents who invited me?” Dahyun shuddered. “You know how scary they get.”
“You mean the same parents who practically forced you two to go on a date after he came out?”
They hummed in unison at that.
Sunghoon hadn’t seen Dahyun since that ‘date’ almost five years ago—when she and Jay had sought asylum in his apartment to escape their double date with Jay’s parents. Which, in a stroke of truly terrible luck, had been the same night as his and Sunoo’s third monthsary. Sunoo had been giving him those eyes—the kind he got when things were about to get very steamy—making coy remarks about the heat while slowly unbuttoning his shirt… right before the doorbell rang.
The rest of the night had turned into an awkward, tension-laced dinner over the pizza they brought as a peace offering.
Since then, their interactions had dwindled to secondhand updates through their parents—long-winded retellings of childhood antics and shared misdemeanors. Dahyun had always felt like the older sister Jay and Sunghoon never had (and never asked for). They hated her teasing as much as they respected her uncanny ability to predict their romantic downfalls.
They used to know everything about each other—especially in high school, when the boys would ask her how she knew she liked girls, and whether that meant they could like boys too. But time, distance, and responsibility had done what they always do: quietly pull people apart.
Which explained why Sunghoon had no idea Dahyun now had a three-year-old daughter—adopted with her wife, who was currently in Japan for work. Leaving Dahyun free to spontaneously fly across the globe with said child (who was now fast asleep in the car seat Sunghoon had nearly lost his mind trying to install).
The absurdity of it all made him pause.
What exactly had he been doing all these years to miss this much?
Oh. Right.
Their lack of involvement in each other's lives also meant he hadn’t told Dahyun that he and Sunoo had broken up.
And Dahyun being Dahyun meant she definitely wasn’t going to take it as calmly as Sunoo had.
“Hey, did you and Sunoo really break up?!” she asked after a while.
And there it was.
“Uh, yeah. We did,” he said casually, eyes fixed on the road.
He was met with a sharp smack to the shoulder. “Yah! How could you let him get away?!”
Sunghoon winced, at both the sting of her hand and her words.
“And I had to find out through a hashtag petition telling you two to get back together??”
“I forgot about that part…” he muttered. “And we weren’t trying to make a whole thing out of it. The rest of the world did that enough.”
“Oh, because everything between you two has always been so lowkey,” Dahyun scoffed. “I don’t buy it.”
Sunghoon let out a disbelieving laugh. “Well, I’m not asking you to. Things just change. People… change.”
“God, please tell me you didn’t do anything stupid.”
“You think I caused this?”
“Sunoo is literally Sunoo. He knows better than to fumble you. You, on the other hand—”
“Okay, enough.” He sighed, and the car fell into silence.
“He was the one who wanted to break up,” Sunghoon added quietly. It was the first time he’d said it out loud. “I just… wanted to respect his choice.”
Five long seconds passed.
He risked a glance at Dahyun, half-expecting her to be winding up to hit him again, harder this time.
Instead, she was staring at him with something far worse.
Pity.
“Screw that,” she said finally. “Do you still love him?”
“I’ll always love him.” That, at least, was certain. “But you can only go so far when the person you love doesn’t feel the same anymore.”
He also felt the pity deepen to something pathetic.
“Tell me you at least tried to fight for him.”
Sunghoon’s silence answered for him.
“Oh, Hoon…”
“You do realize you’re still that emotionally constipated loverboy from ten years ago, right?” she sighed.
“I don’t know what happened between you two, but have you ever considered that maybe he wanted you to ask him to stay? Just once?”
That… actually landed.
Sunghoon frowned slightly, the thought settling uncomfortably in his chest. Why hadn’t that occurred to him before?
And suddenly he felt very, very stupid.
His chest tightened at the possibility—at the idea that he might have missed something that could’ve changed everything.
“If this trip ends with both of you still broken up,” Dahyun continued, “I seriously don’t know what to do with you anymore.”
He groaned.
“Well,” he said flatly, “I would’ve been sitting next to him in business class right now—holding his very beautiful hand through turbulence—if you hadn’t shown up at my door asking for a ride and forcing me to reschedule my flight.”
“I already said I’m sorry!” Dahyun shot back. “I’ll make it up to you. I’ll be your wingwoman again, just like the old days.”
He scoffed. “For all I know, he’s sitting next to some pretty guy right now—probably taller than me—bonding over whatever it is people in meet-cutes talk about.”
“Oh, he definitely is,” she said, closing her eyes like a psychic. “Yep. I can see it. Tall. Brunette. Wow—soft-spoken too.”
Sunghoon snapped his head toward her. “Wow. Thanks. Incredible support.”
“Good. Use that anger! That passion!” Dahyun clapped her hands triumphantly. “You’re gonna need it.”
And weirdly enough… it worked.
Sunghoon felt something in him come to life—something dangerously close to determination.
Who knew all it took was his aggressively gay and meddling childhood best friend to make him feel hopeful again?
A rustle sounded from the back seat as Jia stirred awake.
Dahyun turned carefully, while Sunghoon glanced at her through the rearview mirror. “Sorry, kid. Were we too loud?”
The girl only grunted, her tiny face scrunching into a pout.
“Sorry, honey. We’re just plotting how to make Sunghoon-samchon’s boyfriend fall in love with him again.”
Sunghoon shot her a hard side eye.
“Go back to sleep.”
He exhaled, exhaustion catching up to him as his thoughts spiraled.
Sunoo unblocking him the night before. Sunoo talking to him like nothing had changed. Sunoo calling him—supposedly to check on him when he wasn’t at the airport…
(He chose to ignore the possibility that it might’ve been a butt dial. Because Sunoo hadn’t said anything. But still—actions speak louder than words. Right?)
There was too much on his mind.
Most importantly—how had he ended up here?
Driving Dahyun and her (admittedly adorable) child to his best friend’s wedding… where his ex just so happened to be the best man.
At this point, he didn’t know what to expect from life anymore.
But one thing felt certain.
The next week would be his last chance at closure.
And if he got lucky—
Maybe even a second chance at—
…No.
Better not jinx it.