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It was supposed to be a romantic night in. Sanghyeon had cooked up a fancy new pasta recipe, set the table with candles and his nicest dinnerware, and he’d even brought out wine glasses and grape juice, since he knew Liyu didn’t like to drink. With a hand-selected playlist of jazzy classics Liyu had recently gotten him into playing softly in the background, it should have been the perfect date night. Their first in a month, at that.
Sanghyeon really didn’t want to let anything ruin it, especially not his own petty feelings, but it spills out of him anyway. Jealousy was the one thing Sanghyeon could never disguise.
“But it turned out pretty well,” Liyu says, twisting spaghetti around his fork. “After all that overtime Woojin and I did, if that client complained again I probably would have quit.”
Sanghyeon’s hand stills, fingers wrapped around the stem of his glass. “Do you really have to mention him right now?”
“Hm?” Liyu looks up, his fork halfway to his mouth. “Who?”
“Kang Woojin. I’ve heard his name five times already.”
Liyu gives a disbelieving huff of laughter. “He’s my coworker, if I’m talking about work I can’t help it.”
“I just don’t want to hear about him, okay?” Sanghyeon grits his teeth. He’s sulking and he knows it, but the discontent that’s been simmering for the last few months is rising to a boil. “It’s bad enough that you’d rather have dinner with him than me-”
“You know that’s not how it was. Our food had already arrived by the time you called, unless you were expecting me to just get up in the middle of our meal and leave?”
“I just hate the fact that you’re spending more time with Woojin than with me, your boyfriend. If I call you at work, he’s always lingering in the background. You tell me you’re going to be working late so we can’t meet again this week, but you’re with him the whole day. And now I have to hear about him again?”
“What’s your problem?” Liyu asks, tone incredulous. “He’s your friend too, why are you being so childish about this?”
“Am I wrong for wanting to spend more time with you? I just thought you’d put in a bit more effort to see me.”
“I told you this project was important and I’d be busier than usual, and you said it was fine. Besides, we just went to grab a quick meal after work, it wasn’t a big deal.” Liyu shakes his head. “If you were going to be this immature about it, you should have just been honest from the beginning.”
Sanghyeon scoffs, sitting back in his chair.
“I’ve been giving you space because I didn’t want to get in the way of your work, but if I don’t message first you really just don’t bother contacting me at all. Is it that hard to send a text? If you’re too tired for a call, I get it, but these days it feels like you don’t even care about me. But then we finally meet and you keep saying Kang Woojin this, Woojinie that, I’m sick of it.”
Sanghyeon’s tone is harsher than he means it to be, but he can’t stop the words from coming out, low and dripping with the insecurity he always did his best to hide. Even if he tries to scoop it back up, it falls through his fingers, revealing the ugly, disfigured core he usually masked behind a smile. He wants to be the considerate, easy-going boyfriend, but now it’s too late.
“If you like him so much, you should just date him instead,” Sanghyeon murmurs, his gaze fixed on the edge of the tablecloth. Ah, he’d managed to spill some pasta sauce, an unsightly red stain beginning to spread on the pure white linen.
Liyu sets down his fork with a sigh. He runs a hand through his hair, the sudden motion of his arm sending the candlelight flickering.
“Are you hearing yourself right now? You can’t actually believe there’s anything else going on with me and Woojin. Do you trust me that little?”
At some point things escalated, and their words turned louder, angrier, until they lost meaning altogether. Sanghyeon couldn’t even remember what he’d said, just that spewing venom was the only way he knew to get to get that wretched, acrid feeling out of him. And then Liyu had left, and Sanghyeon sat alone at the dining table with two plates still half-full, wishing he could take it all back.
It wasn't like they'd never fought before.
4 long years into their relationship and they'd seen their fair share of quarrels. They were both soft-hearted by nature, and they hated parting ways or going to bed still upset. Almost all of their arguments ended not too long after they started, amidst tears or apologies and promises to do better.
But this time Liyu had stormed out. The slam of the door behind him resounded like an earthquake, shaking the foundations of the steady relationship they had shared for so long.
Once their syrupy-sweet honeymoon phase ended, though it lasted much longer than most, they settled into their own routines, always keeping space for the other. He knew Liyu was terrible at getting up, so on weekdays Sanghyeon would call him in the morning. They’d sneak away from work to send selfies from the office and encouragements during the day. On days they couldn’t meet, they’d call before bed, even if one of them fell asleep on the other end of the line. Saturdays were for date nights, though they began to look more like lounging around at Sanghyeon’s apartment than doing something special. He didn’t mind though, he was happy doing anything if it meant spending time with Liyu.
But over the past few months Liyu always seemed to be busy with work, and as the time it took for him to respond to messages increased and his calls dwindled, Sanghyeon had been growing more and more restless. Was it so selfish to want to spend more time together? Since Liyu’s workplace was quite far away, they still lived apart. Liyu was seeing his coworkers far more than he saw Sanghyeon, and even their weekly dates were no longer held as something sacred.
When had they stopped being the most important thing to each other?
Sanghyeon’s anger faded quickly to guilt, and it gnawed at him the whole night. He slept fitfully and reached for his phone more than once, wondering if Liyu got home okay, drafting apologies and then deleting them again.
In the morning, Sanghyeon is groggy and bereft. He sits up in bed with much effort, eyes adjusting to the pale morning light. Two toothbrushes sit side by side in the bathroom, and the spare pyjamas he’d brought out for Liyu still hang over the back of his desk chair.
The brochure for the apartment he planned to suggest moving into together still sits untouched on his desk.
There are already traces of Liyu’s presence all over Sanghyeon’s space, and memories infused with every one that would be impossible to physically extract. He’s already forgotten what life was like before he met Liyu, and he doesn’t think he could ever go back.
This long into their relationship, he doesn’t bother himself with pride or stubbornness anymore. He fumbles for his phone on the dresser and finds Liyu’s contact at the top of his messages.
Hyung
I’m sorry for getting upset at you yesterday
You know I didn’t mean it, right?
We should talk
Sanghyeon sits there looking at his unread messages for all of two minutes before he’s grabbing a jacket and heading out of the door.
He puts in the password to Liyu’s apartment with a practised ease, but hesitates for a moment at the door.
What if his apology isn’t enough? What if this time around he’s taken it too far, and Liyu has finally gotten tired of him?
His grip tightens around the handle, knuckles turning pale.
No, they’d talk and they’d figure things out, like they always did.
Sanghyeon lets out a shaky breath and steps inside. He shucks off his sneakers at the door, calling out softly into the quiet of the living room. Immediately, he can sense something is off.
There’s usually a few pairs of shoes strewn near the entrance: Liyu’s work loafers and the crocs he slips on to throw out the trash or pick up something from the convenience store; two pairs of matching house slippers and his favourite comfy pair of trainers, or in winter, the uggs Sanghyeon bought him for his birthday.
Now, only Sanghyeon’s Air Force 1s sit on the polished tile, laces messily undone. He steps across the threshold into the apartment. It’s a modest studio apartment, average for an office worker in Seoul, and Sanghyeon can survey almost all of the living area from where he stands by the kitchen stove.
“Liyu-hyung?” He calls again tentatively.
There’s no reply.
The sink is empty, devoid of the usual dishes Liyu would forget to wash. Gone are the half-finished books and knick-knacks on the coffee table, the socks he’d kick off somewhere by the carpet and inevitably lose under the couch, and the jacket he’d leave on the back of his usual chair. Even the sofa is pristine, the throw cushions set up like something in a show room, all fluffed up and ready for someone else to waltz in and appraise it.
The door to the bedroom is slightly ajar, and through the tiny gap he can see sunlight filtering in from the windows. It’s not yet noon on a weekend, but if Liyu were still asleep the curtains would be drawn and there’s no way the apartment would be this clean, this still. Sanghyeon pushes open the door gently anyway, half-hoping to see Liyu curled up in bed, too absorbed on his phone or with a book to have heard Sanghyeon calling.
But as expected, there’s no one. Not even the sheets on the bed are there to greet him, the mattress scarily stark. The desk that would normally be littered with folders or sketches sits practically bare: a laptop stand with no laptop, a digital clock with its display blinking innocently up at him.
“Liyu?” Sanghyeon asks again, desperation rising in his voice.
He whips around to search the bathroom, but the door swings open easily to reveal it’s empty. Nevertheless, Sanghyeon peers round the shower curtain, checks in the wardrobe, the cabinet next to the boiler where Liyu usually stores his suitcases and winter coats…
There’s a suitcase missing. The small grey one Liyu had taken on their trip to Japan last year for their third anniversary. He’d decorated it with stickers and talked about how the price had been worth it because the wheels were so smooth, and yet Sanghyeon had been the one to carry it up and down the stairs because Liyu complained that his arms hurt.
Sanghyeon’s heart drops and he fumbles in his back pocket for his phone.
The messages he’d sent are still unread. Sanghyeon calls Liyu this time, and it rings once before an automated voice is echoing in the quiet apartment.
The person you are calling is not available. Please leave a message-
He tries twice more, but to no avail. And then Sanghyeon is cursing, stumbling over himself to get his shoes back on.
“I don’t want to fight anymore. Maybe it would be better for the both of us if we had some space.”
Sanghyeon calls a different number this time, as he’s rushing down the stairs and out of Liyu’s apartment block.
Haneum picks up after three rings, and he can hardly say hello before Sanghyeon is almost yelling down the line.
“Do you know where Liyu is?”
“Liyu? I thought he would have told you.” Sanghyeon waves an arm frantically to get the attention of a passing taxi, and he’s huffing into the phone as he runs over towards it. “He asked me about the quickest route this morning, he’s probably on his way to the airport right now.”
“Shit, I knew it. Gimpo or Incheon?”
“Incheon, terminal 2. Didn’t he tell you, he’s-”
Sanghyeon clambers into the back of the taxi, telling the driver he’ll pay extra if he can get him to the airport in under an hour.
“Thanks, hyung. I’ll talk to you later,” Sanghyeon says hastily, his thoughts in disarray as he hangs up and buckles his seatbelt with trembling hands.
Sanghyeon hated raising his voice, but he’d done it yesterday. He’d seen Liyu flinch at the sound of it, something akin to fear flickering in his eyes for the briefest of moments, and then Sanghyeon had backed down instantly after that. They had both said some things they didn’t mean, but he never wanted Liyu to be hurt.
Had he really gone too far this time?
Sanghyeon’s mind races the whole journey there, and he barely registers paying and getting out of the taxi before he’s sprinting through the doors into the airport. Holiday-goers and frantic families scramble around him, pushing trolleys piled high with luggage, but Sanghyeon runs past all of them, not even knowing where exactly he’s going.
He stops to catch his breath in front of a display board, eyes scanning the rows for a familiar city name. Milan, Paris, Shanghai…Taipei. If Liyu wanted space, there’s nowhere else he’d rather go. Back to his home, where his family would accept him with open arms, to a place that he’d said suited him more than Seoul, with its endless artificial bustle and its unfeeling cityscape.
But Liyu loved Seoul too. He’d captured its beauty in photos and talked about how much he loved the food and the people, and said that he was glad to have found a second home there, with his friends and with Sanghyeon.
When Liyu had been too busy to go back to Taiwan over the new year, he had spent the holiday with Sanghyeon back at his parents’ place, and they’d made it clear that Liyu was always welcome. Sanghyeon wanted to be like home to Liyu, and he was even planning their next steps together, if only he hadn’t gotten so upset yesterday and ruined everything.
Sanghyeon rakes a hand through his hair and curses again under his breath. Boarding has already closed for the next earliest flight to Taipei. Even if he could sprint his way through security, what use would it be?
He sinks down in front of the departures board, burying his head in his hands. He’d imagined everything he might say to Liyu, all the things he needs to apologise for, but in the end he won’t be able to say them. Not for at least another 3 hours, when Liyu will arrive in Taipei and maybe decide he doesn’t want anything more to do with Sanghyeon.
He’d gladly give Liyu an ocean’s worth of space, but only if he’s sure Liyu will be coming back to him.
Sanghyeon thinks of Liyu’s apartment and its eerie spotlessness. He thinks of a Seoul without him, of waking up alone and heading to bed without hearing his voice before he slept.
Fuck it, he’ll get on the next flight to Taipei. He’d been once, with Liyu guiding him the whole way, and charmed his way into favour with Liyu’s family, even their grumpy pet cat.
He’d scavenge Liyu’s address from somewhere and make it there with online maps and a translator app, and then he’d get on his knees in front of him and beg for forgiveness, if that’s what it took. Sanghyeon had really wanted the next time he saw Liyu’s parents to be when he was asking for permission to marry their son, but if he didn’t do this, he wouldn’t even get the chance.
He feels the familiar prick of tears just thinking about it. He can’t envision a future without Liyu by his side. Never thought he’d have to, when he’d been so sure Liyu was the one. How could he have messed things up this badly?
“Sanghyeon? What are you doing here?”
He lifts his drooping head in disbelief. It takes a moment for the tears welling in his eyes to subside and Liyu’s figure to become clear in front of him, and then Sanghyeon really is falling forward onto his knees at his feet.
“Hyung!”
He grabs weakly onto the leg of his jeans, and Sanghyeon’s vision swims again as relief floods him all at once.
“I thought you left- When I went over, all of your stuff was gone- I was so scared you wouldn’t come back!” Sanghyeon wails. When Liyu bends over to put a reassuring hand on Sanghyeon’s shoulder, he clutches on tight and doesn’t let go.
“Wha-I’m not going anywhere, Sanghyeon-ah. Now come on, stand up.”
“I was wrong, hyung. It was all my fault. You’re right, I was being selfish and immature. I know you’ve been busy, and that I was just making things harder for you. It’s not Kang Woojin’s fault that he works with you and he gets to see you all the time, but it’s just because I missed you so much. That’s why I-”
“Okay, okay, let’s talk about this later.” Liyu crouches down in front of him, giving his hand a squeeze. He puts his free hand under Sanghyeon’s elbow, guiding him to stand.
“I can’t help but get jealous because I love you so much!”
Sanghyeon’s words seem to reverberate louder than any PA announcement. A hush falls around them, conversations in multiple languages coming to a pause to listen in on what this tall, teary-eyed man is yelling brazenly in the middle of an international airport.
“Sanghyeon-ah, please,” Liyu’s cheeks heat up. “Not right now, people are staring.”
Sanghyeon takes both of Liyu’s hands in his, looking nowhere but into his eyes, because truly nothing else matters to him right now.
“Even though it’s already been four years, to me, you’re still my clumsy first love. That’s why I know I keep making mistakes and doing things that upset you. I can’t promise you that I’ll never make another mistake, but I can promise that I’ll do anything and everything to learn from them and become better until you can forgive me.”
Liyu’s gaze wavers in the face of Sanghyeon’s sincerity.
“I get jealous because I know just how lovely you are, and I know other people can see it too. But I won’t let those feelings make you feel suffocated or guilty. I’ll become a better person for you, so please… please don’t go.”
A tear rolls down his cheek, and Liyu frees a hand from Sanghyeon’s loosening grip to wipe it away.
“You big dummy, I was never planning to go anywhere. Where would I even go without you?”
Sanghyeon leans into the touch, taking a step closer. “Really?”
“Yeah, I wanted to apologise too. I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that.” Liyu brushes his thumb along Sanghyeon’s lower lashes, catching another tear before it can fall. “I’m sorry, I should have considered your feelings more. You know I only have you, right?”
Sanghyeon nods, basking in the warmth of Liyu’s palm, the knowledge that he’s here and real and not going anywhere.
“But I can’t believe you’d come running all the way here to cause such a big scene…” Liyu looks around and the people that had stopped to watch push their suitcases away again, averting their eyes. “Don’t you feel embarrassed saying that kind of stuff?”
“No, it’s all true anyway-ow!” Liyu pinches his cheek, before lowering his head to rest on Sanghyeon’s shoulder.
“I’m never going to live this down…” Liyu sighs, as Sanghyeon wraps his arms around him.
“Hyung, what-”
“Long time no see, brother-in-law.”
It’s a female voice, her Korean accented but still clear, and somewhat familiar.
Sanghyeon looks up, and sees two women waiting with suitcases behind Liyu. They have the same almond-shaped eyes and mischievous smile, and they wave at Sanghyeon while he waits for the situation to sink in.
“I came to pick my sisters up, not to get on a plane out of the country.” Liyu says, stepping back again. “And now they’re going to make fun of me the whole time they’re here, no thanks to you.”
Sanghyeon wipes his eyes hastily, suddenly remembering where he is and what he’s just done in a very public place. He gives an awkward wave back, and the two women laugh at him.
“Don’t mind us, it sounds like you two still need a minute. We’ll just be waiting over here.”
Liyu opens his mouth to protest when his eldest sister motions for them to continue, but Sanghyeon takes his hand again. His eyes are still all big and round and glassy and impossible to ignore.
“So you’re really not going anywhere? What about your room? Your stuff? Where did it all go?”
“Oh, I cleaned it out to let those two stay at mine rather than getting a hotel. Actually, I was going to bring it up yesterday, but…” Liyu scratches the back of his neck sheepishly. “I was hoping to stay with you for a bit, just while they're in Seoul.”
Sanghyeon brightens up like the sky after a sudden downpour, smile stretching wide enough to burst.
“Yes! Of course you can stay with me. As long as you need, whenever you want.” Sanghyeon says in a rush.
“Really? If you’re covering the rent and the groceries I might just move in,” Liyu teases, but Sanghyeon nods enthusiastically.
“Let’s live together. I want to come home to you and make you dinner and wake up next to you in the morning,” Sanghyeon blurts out in a single breath. “Actually, I was looking for a place in between both of our workplaces. There’s this new building not too far from the subway station, I thought-”
“Hold on, hold on,” Liyu stops Sanghyeon with a hand. Sanghyeon blinks down at him like a temporarily placated puppy waiting for a treat. “We’ll talk about this properly later, okay, not here. And not when my sisters are filming us.”
Liyu spins on his heel, barking out in flustered Mandarin for them to cut it out, and it’s a testament to Sanghyeon’s studies that he can understand him. They lower their phones, laughing despite being caught in the act.
Liyu doesn’t miss a beat in grabbing the handle of one of their suitcases with one hand and Sanghyeon’s hand with the other, tugging him along towards the exit.
“You get the other one,” Liyu says, pointedly avoiding Sanghyeon’s eyes. His face is redder than Sanghyeon has ever seen it, but he keeps his gaze forward as they leave the airport terminal hand in hand.
The suitcase drags heavily behind him, but Sanghyeon’s steps are lighter than ever. He could put Liyu on his back and sprint full-force with the energy he’s recovered just having him by his side. Instead, he settles for giving Liyu’s hand a squeeze, the pressure against his fingertips a reminder that there’s a future together to look forward to.