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One thing you always notice by the time you near the end of your twenties is that weddings start becoming a common event in your life. You’re either a guest or part of the ceremony itself. Maybe you’re only invited to the reception. Maybe you suddenly can’t go because there are two weddings on the same day, and you don’t want it to seem like you’re prioritizing one over the other. It could be your brother’s wedding, your cousin’s, or that distant relative you didn’t even know existed until your mom dragged you along. Maybe it’s your best friend, a close friend, or a friend of a friend. Sometimes, it’s even a friend of a friend of a friend.
Sometimes, you’re invited as the date. You may not know who the bride or groom is, but you end up attending because someone needs a plus one. Weddings have a strange way of making people feel painfully aware of their relationship status. It’s hard not to when every table is filled with couples who have been together for years, sharing private jokes and knowing glances. Being single doesn’t bother most people until they’re seated in the middle of all that. Suddenly, bringing someone along feels less like a choice and more like a survival tactic.
So Taesan’s brilliant idea was to bring his best friend—the guy he’d been in love with since high school. It wasn’t really that serious if you thought about it. They were still best friends, after all. You only had to ignore the fact that they’d been each other’s first for almost everything. Especially the first kiss. And maybe the way Taesan still looked for Sungho first in every crowded room. Or the way Sungho never questioned it when Taesan asked him to come along to things. Or the fact that neither of them seemed capable of drawing a proper line between friendship and whatever this was. Other than that, everything was completely normal.
The wedding belonged to a friend of Taesan’s who also happened to be a mutual friend of Sungho’s, so it wasn’t particularly awkward. The only issue was that Sungho hadn’t actually been invited himself. In fact, he hadn’t even known the friend was getting married until Taesan brought it up. Taesan had convinced him to come using the free food card, which was honestly unfair—who says no to free food?
The grooms were happy to see Sungho.
The moment Taesan and Sungho stepped into the venue, one of the grooms immediately spotted them from across the room and waved them over. Sungho barely had enough time to take off his coat before he was being pulled into a hug and congratulated for making it. It was strange because he was pretty sure he hadn't done anything deserving of congratulations. He wasn't the one getting married.
"See?" Taesan whispered beside him as they made their way toward their table. "I told you they wanted you here."
Sungho rolled his eyes, though a smile tugged at his lips. "They wanted you here."
"Same thing."
"It is not."
The venue itself was beautiful in the way most weddings tried to be. White flowers everywhere. Soft lighting. Too many candles that probably violated some fire safety code. The kind of place that looked expensive enough to make Sungho afraid of accidentally breaking something. He adjusted the sleeves of his suit and followed Taesan further inside.
The problem with weddings, Sungho thought, was that they always made people emotional, not immediately.
At first there was food and laughter and old friends reuniting after months or years apart. Then somebody gave a speech. Then another speech. Then suddenly everyone was talking about love and commitment and finding the person they wanted to spend the rest of their lives with. It sneaked up on you when you least expected it.
Sungho had attended enough weddings to know the pattern. Which was exactly why he was determined to enjoy the free food before the emotional damage started. Across from him, Taesan was already chatting with old friends, effortlessly sliding back into conversations as if no time had passed. He looked comfortable here. Familiar. Like he belonged.
Sungho watched him for a moment, the suit helped. That was probably it.
The dark suit fit him annoyingly well, and the sleeves were rolled up just enough to expose his wrists. His hair had been styled for once instead of being left to do whatever it wanted. He looked older than the seventeen-year-old boy Sungho still occasionally saw when he looked at him.
Which was unfair, because Taesan wasn't seventeen anymore, neither of them were. The realization hit harder than it should have.
Sungho supposes that one day, Taesan would be the one standing at the altar. One day, he'd probably receive an invitation with Taesan's name printed neatly on the front. One day, Sungho would sit in a chair just like this and watch his best friend promise forever to somebody else.
The thought arrived suddenly enough to make his stomach twist. He immediately reached for another piece of bread. If there was one thing Sungho had learned in his twenty-something years of life, it was that emotional avoidance worked at least eighty percent of the time.
The remaining twenty percent usually arrived during weddings.
Taesan confuses the hell out of Sungho sometimes—one minute, they're just friends, and the next, they're attending a wedding together that looks suspiciously like a date while Taesan casually talks about the future as if he's discussing the weather. He says things that shouldn't mean anything, yet somehow linger in Sungho's head for days afterward. Sometimes it's a joke about growing old, sometimes it's a comment about where they'll be in ten years, and sometimes it's the simple assumption that Sungho will still be around when those years arrive. It makes Sungho wonder if he's still holding onto whatever they had back when they were teenagers and stupid. Back when a first kiss could happen without requiring a conversation afterward. Back when they could spend hours together without questioning what it meant. Maybe he's the only one who keeps looking backward whenever Taesan starts talking about tomorrow. Or maybe Taesan is holding onto it too, and neither of them are brave enough to admit it.
Taesan eventually excused himself from his friends the moment he noticed Sungho zoning out, fingers absentmindedly fidgeting with the condensation on his drink. It was one of those things he still noticed immediately no matter how much time passed between them. They were still too close to be just friends, yet somehow too casual to be lovers, stuck in the same confusing space they'd occupied since they were teenagers. Taesan crossed the room without thinking twice and slid into the empty seat beside him. The gesture was familiar enough that neither of them questioned it.
“You okay, pumpkin?” Taesan asked, making Sungho snap out of it.
“Yeah,” Sungho said. “Sorry. Tired.”
“What movie were you thinking about?” Taesan asked, already knowing there had been one. Sungho always thought about movies when he drifted off somewhere else; it had been that way for years.
“27 Dresses.”
“Seriously?” Taesan asked. He'd seen the movie once on Netflix while scrolling through titles at two in the morning looking for something mindless to watch. He didn't remember much of it. Just the sad wedding planner. The depressed journalist. A lot of weddings. And Katherine Heigl looking perpetually exhausted.
Sungho nodded. “It's the perfect place to think about it.”
Taesan snorted into his drink. “Depressed journalist falls in love with sad wedding planner.”
“You sound like you hate it.”
“I don't,” Taesan said immediately. “It's—really? That movie out of everything?”
Sungho scoffed. “What? You'd rather I think about The Notebook out here? That's basically wishing harm on the newlyweds.”
A laugh escaped Taesan before he could stop it. “Fair.”
“Exactly.”
“Still,” Taesan continued, leaning back in his chair, “if we're talking wedding movies, there are better choices.”
“Wrong.” Sungho folded his arms across his chest and leaned back in his chair. The expression on his face carried the quiet confidence of someone who had already decided he was right and saw no reason to reconsider. Around them, a burst of laughter rose from one of the nearby tables before fading back into the general noise of the reception.
“There are.” Taesan lifted his glass slightly as if presenting evidence in a courtroom. His mouth twitched with amusement, clearly enjoying the argument more than he cared to admit. The warm glow from the string lights overhead reflected briefly against the rim of his drink.
“There aren't.”
“Mamma Mia.”
“That's not a wedding movie.” Sungho raised an eyebrow and gave Taesan a look that suggested the argument was fundamentally flawed. The corner of his mouth lifted despite himself.
“There's literally a wedding.” Taesan spread his hands in disbelief. He looked around the venue as though searching for support from the surrounding guests. When none came, he turned back to Sungho with an exaggerated expression of vindication.
“There's also three possible dads. The wedding is not the point.”
Taesan opened his mouth, paused, then reluctantly nodded. “Okay. Fair argument.”
“Thank you.”
“But 27 Dresses?”
Sungho looked around the venue. The flowers. The centerpieces. The bridesmaids laughing near the bar. The married couple being pulled in six different directions by relatives wanting photos. “Look around,” he said. “This is basically the opening act.”
Taesan followed his gaze. “That's kind of depressing.”
“That's kind of the point.”
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The music drifted through the room while conversations blended into background noise. Somewhere nearby, somebody dropped a fork and immediately apologized loud enough for half the venue to hear. The newlyweds were dancing with family members now, smiling so hard their cheeks probably hurt.
Then Taesan glanced at Sungho. “Would you wear twenty-seven dresses for me?”
Sungho nearly choked on his drink.
“Absolutely not.”
“Wow.” Taesan pressed a hand dramatically to his chest. He shook his head and stared off into the distance like he'd just received terrible news. A nearby guest glanced over before quickly deciding not to get involved.
“You'd look terrible in a tux anyway.” Sungho said, looking him up and down critically. He tilted his head as though genuinely evaluating the possibility before dismissing it entirely. The judgment in his face was immediate and ruthless.
“Pumpkin.” Taesan sat up straight, scandalized. He pointed at Sungho with the same offended energy Sungho had used moments earlier. The nickname sounded less like an insult and more like a reflex at this point.
“I'm helping.” Sungho spread his hands innocently. The expression lasted all of two seconds before he started laughing into his drink. Across the room, the newlyweds continued dancing completely unaware of the argument happening at table seven.
The ceremony went on around them. More guests found their way onto the dance floor as the music grew louder and the formal parts of the evening slowly gave way to something more relaxed. Relatives gathered around tables sharing stories that had probably been told a hundred times before, laughing just as hard every single time. The newlyweds moved from group to group, accepting congratulations, posing for photos, and somehow managing to look happy despite being pulled in every direction at once. Waiters drifted between tables carrying trays of food and half-finished glasses. The entire reception settled into that comfortable stage of a wedding where everyone was slightly buzzed, slightly sentimental, and unwilling to admit the night would eventually end.
Sungho asked for another drink sometime after that. Then another not long after, his glass rarely staying empty for more than a few minutes before he found himself reaching for it again. The warmth in his chest spread slowly, taking the sharp edges off his thoughts and making the music sound softer than it actually was. He wasn't drunk yet, not even close, but he was getting there in the careful, deliberate way people do when they're trying not to think too hard about something.
Across the table, Taesan noticed immediately and said nothing at all.
At this point in the ceremony, all of the traditional wedding activities were over. The speeches had been given, the cake had been cut, and the formal dances had long since ended. What remained was the softer part of the night: music, drinks, and couples finding their way onto the dance floor whenever a song they liked came on. Technically, the reception was finished, but nobody seemed particularly interested in leaving just yet.
Taesan eventually got up from his chair and wandered back toward Sungho, who was nursing another drink while absentmindedly watching people dance.
“It's over,” Taesan said. “Wanna leave?”
Sungho looked up at him. “Don't you wanna be with your friends?”
“You're my date.” Taesan shrugged. “I think my friends will be okay with me not being here.” he leaned one shoulder against the table. “You're important tonight.”
For a second, the music seemed louder, or maybe it was the alcohol.
Sungho stared at him, trying to figure out whether Taesan realized how insane the things he said sometimes were. The problem was that Taesan looked completely normal. No hesitation. No awkwardness. No sign that he'd just dropped a sentence directly into the center of Sungho's chest and walked away from the damage.
As far as Taesan was concerned, he was probably just stating a fact.
They ended up leaving together not long after that. Before heading out, they tracked down the newlyweds one last time to offer their congratulations and take a final photo that would probably end up buried in someone's camera roll for years. The grooms looked exhausted but happy, the kind of happy that only comes from surviving months of planning and finally reaching the finish line. After a few hugs and half-assed promises to catch up soon, Taesan and Sungho slipped away from the reception hall before anyone could convince them to stay for another drink. A few minutes later, the doors closed behind them, leaving the music and laughter inside.
The air outside was cold enough to immediately wake Sungho up. The alcohol was still there, settling warmly beneath his skin, but not enough to blur his thoughts or slow his reactions. He was buzzed in the pleasant way that made everything feel softer without losing its shape. The city lights reflected off the pavement from an earlier drizzle, turning the streets gold and silver beneath the streetlamps. For a while, neither of them said anything as they walked side by side. The quiet wasn't uncomfortable. It rarely was when it came to Taesan. Even after years of distance, silence still fit between them the way it always had. Maybe that was part of the problem.
“You know,” Sungho said, shoving his hands deeper into his coat pockets, “you say things that make normal friendship very difficult.”
Taesan glanced over at him. His hands were tucked into his own pockets, shoulders slightly hunched against the cold. For a second he looked genuinely confused, as though he had absolutely no idea what Sungho was talking about. The expression made Sungho want to throw something at him.
“What did I say now?”
Sungho let out a disbelieving laugh. He looked ahead at the empty sidewalk rather than at Taesan. The warmth from the drinks made him slightly braver than usual, though not brave enough to be completely honest. Just brave enough to complain.
“See? That's exactly the problem.”
Taesan frowned. His footsteps slowed slightly as he tried to sort through the evening in his head. The crease between his eyebrows appeared whenever he was concentrating too hard on something. Sungho hated that he still noticed details like that.
“Pumpkin, that explains nothing.”
“You told me I was important tonight.”
Taesan blinked.
The reaction was so immediate that Sungho almost laughed.
“Because you are.” Taesan said it like he was commenting on the weather forecast, like it was obvious, like Sungho was the weird one for questioning it.
“You can't just say things like that.”
“Why?” Taesan genuinely sounded curious now. He tilted his head slightly, looking at Sungho the same way he'd looked at impossible math problems back in high school. The worst part was that he wasn't being difficult on purpose. He honestly didn't understand.
Sungho stared at him for a long moment, then he looked away. “Never mind.”
The corner of Taesan's mouth twitched upward.
“Ah.”
“Don't.”
“Oh.”
“Taesan.”
“I think I understand now.”
Sungho groaned and started walking faster. Beside him, Taesan immediately broke into laughter before jogging a few steps to catch up, looking far too pleased with himself for someone who hadn't actually explained anything at all.
“You never change, do you?” Sungho asked. He shoved his hands deeper into the pockets of his dress pants, trying to warm them against the cold.
Taesan clicked his tongue.
“I don't think my feelings for you ever changed.”
Sungho laughed nervously. The sound came out thinner than he intended. He immediately looked down at the sidewalk to avoid eye contact, watching the reflections of streetlights shimmer across damp concrete instead.
“What do you want from me?”
The question hung between them longer than Sungho expected. It wasn't angry. It wasn't even defensive. It sounded tired more than anything else, like a man standing at the edge of a cliff asking whether the fall would be worth it. He wasn't asking what Taesan wanted tonight, or next week, or next month. He was asking what Taesan wanted after all these years of leaving and returning, of almosts and maybes and unfinished conversations. The question carried every missed opportunity from high school, every unanswered text, every visit that ended too soon. It carried the first kiss neither of them ever discussed and the years they spent pretending they could move on from it. Most of all, it carried the fear that Taesan would give him an answer he couldn't survive hearing. So Sungho kept his eyes on the ground and waited.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The city continued around them as if nothing important was happening at all. A car passed somewhere down the street, and music from the wedding venue drifted faintly through the closed doors behind them. Sungho could hear his own heartbeat louder than any of it. Beside him, Taesan slowed his pace until they were almost standing still.
“I want to be honest,” Taesan said. “I want to stop pretending that this is nothing. I want to hold your hand without feeling like I'm stealing something. And if one day you tell me that you can't do this anymore, I want it because you chose that, not because we were too scared to try.”
Sungho didn't know what to say to that. The problem wasn't that he had no answer; the problem was that he had too many. There was the version of him that wanted to laugh it off and keep walking. There was the version that wanted to remind Taesan that he'd disappeared for years and didn't get to show up one day talking about honesty. There was also the version that had been sixteen years old once, standing too close to Taesan in empty hallways, secretly hoping this exact conversation would happen. All three versions were fighting for control of his mouth at the same time. The alcohol wasn't helping either, leaving him just emotional enough to feel everything and just sober enough to understand the consequences. So instead of saying any of that, he stood there in the cold and stared at the sidewalk like it might provide him with a script.
“You can't just... say that...” Sungho said.
“I just did.”
“No shit...”
Taesan laughed quietly under his breath. The sound wasn't mocking, just warm, as if he'd expected that reaction from the beginning. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other and glanced toward the street before looking back at Sungho. There was something frustratingly patient about him tonight.
They eventually reached Sungho's apartment building. By the time they stepped into the hallway, the warmth from the wedding had long disappeared, replaced by the familiar quiet of a residential floor past midnight. Sungho glanced through the small gap beneath the apartment door and immediately noticed the lights were off. Leehan wasn't home, which meant he was probably with his boyfriend.
Sungho pulled his keys from his pocket and stepped toward the door. He was already halfway through the motion of unlocking it when Taesan suddenly reached over and gently nudged his hand aside. The interruption was so unexpected that Sungho just stood there for a second, staring at him.
“Why are you not letting me open my own door?” Sungho asked.
“I'm being a gentleman.”
Sungho looked confused. “But this is my house.”
Taesan looked at him as though that detail was completely irrelevant. The confidence on his face suggested he had already won whatever argument was about to happen. Sungho hated that expression because it usually meant Taesan was about to say something ridiculous.
“One day you'll have to choose a guy who opens doors for you every day,” Taesan said. “I have been volunteering since I was a sophomore.”
For a moment, Sungho simply stared at him. The statement was so absurdly sincere that his brain needed a second to catch up.
“You say things that would kill a Victorian man instantly.”
Taesan laughed. “That's not a no.”
“That's because I'm still trying to figure out what the hell is wrong with you.”
“Lots of things.”
“Good. Self-awareness.”
Taesan took the keys from Sungho's hand before he could protest and unlocked the door himself. The lock clicked open with a quiet sound that echoed down the empty hallway. Then, with entirely too much satisfaction for a man opening somebody else's front door, Taesan pulled it open and stepped aside.
“After you, pumpkin.”
Sungho rolled his eyes so hard it physically hurt. But he walked inside first anyway.
The apartment was quiet in the way shared apartments rarely were. No television running in the background. No music leaking out of Leehan's room. No evidence that another person lived there besides the extra pair of shoes by the entrance and the jacket hanging on a hook near the door. Sungho slipped off his dress shoes and immediately felt some of the tension leave his shoulders. Home always did that to him.
Taesan followed him inside and shut the door behind them. For a second, neither of them moved. The reality of being alone suddenly settled over the apartment, replacing the noise of the wedding and the cold of the walk home. It wasn't awkward exactly. They'd spent countless hours alone together throughout their lives. Still, after everything that had been said outside, the silence felt different now.
Sungho loosened his tie as he walked toward the kitchen. The knot had started to annoy him somewhere around his third drink, and now it felt impossible to ignore. He tossed his phone onto the counter and opened the refrigerator without really looking for anything specific. Mostly, he needed something to do with his hands.
Taesan leaned against the kitchen island and watched him. The posture was relaxed, familiar, like he'd occupied that exact spot a hundred times before. Maybe he had. Back in high school, before everything became complicated, Taesan had practically lived at Sungho's place whenever he could get away with it. Looking at him now felt strangely similar, as if the years in between had quietly folded in on themselves.
"You know what's annoying?" Sungho asked eventually, grabbing a bottle of water.
"I have a feeling you're about to tell me."
"You confess your feelings and somehow I'm the one having a crisis."
The smile fully appeared this time. Taesan lowered his head for a second, laughing softly to himself before looking back up. There was no embarrassment in him. No panic. If anything, he seemed lighter than he had all evening.
"Well, I've had years to think about it."
"That's not helping."
"It wasn't supposed to."
Sungho twisted the cap off the water bottle and took a long drink. The cold water did absolutely nothing to cool down the heat creeping up his neck. Across from him, Taesan looked unfairly calm for somebody who had just detonated a bomb in the middle of their friendship. The fact that he was comfortable made Sungho even more uncomfortable.
"What did you think was going to happen?" Sungho asked. "Honestly."
Taesan considered the question seriously. He looked down at the countertop for a moment before lifting his gaze back to Sungho. Whatever answer he settled on, it was clearly the truth.
"I thought you'd panic."
Sungho pointed at himself. "I am panicking."
"No, this is your mild panic." Taesan's grin widened slightly. "Your serious panic involves pacing, reorganizing furniture, and opening Excel spreadsheets for reasons nobody understands."
Sungho stared at him from across the kitchen counter. There were very few people in the world who could make him feel irritated, embarrassed, fond, and completely out of control of a conversation all at once. Unfortunately, Taesan had spent most of his life perfecting that skill.
The worst part was that he wasn't even trying to be charming. He wasn't leaning dramatically against the counter like a lead in a romance movie. He wasn't making grand declarations anymore either. He was just standing there, looking entirely too comfortable after casually admitting he'd been in love with Sungho for years. The normalcy of it somehow made everything worse. Sungho hated him a little for that.
"You're looking at me like you want to throw something."
"I do."
Taesan laughed immediately. The sound echoed through the quiet apartment, warm and familiar. Sungho regretted answering the moment he saw the look on Taesan's face. Now he looked pleased with himself, and that was always dangerous. It was the exact same expression he'd worn in high school whenever he'd successfully gotten under Sungho's skin.
"You're taking this suspiciously well."
Taesan tilted his head slightly. "You mean my own confession?"
"Yes."
"I've rehearsed this conversation for years."
The amusement disappeared from Sungho's face. That answer landed harder than anything else Taesan had said tonight. It wasn't a drunken confession after a wedding. It wasn't some impulsive decision made because emotions were running high. This was something Taesan had been carrying around for a very long time.
Years. Years of visits, phone calls, random appearances, and invitations. Years of showing up at Sungho's apartment whenever he was in town. Years of opening doors, buying coffee, and looking at him in ways that made less and less sense now that everything had finally been said aloud. Suddenly, every memory felt different.
"You're an idiot."
Taesan smiled. "Probably."
"No. Definitely."
"Okay. Definitely."
Despite himself, Sungho laughed. He shook his head and looked down at the water bottle in his hands. The label had started peeling from where his fingers kept picking at it. Across the counter, Taesan stayed quiet, letting the laughter fade naturally.
"Do you know what's really unfair?" Sungho asked after a moment.
Taesan's expression softened.
"What?"
"You've had years to think about this."
The apartment grew quiet again. The refrigerator hummed softly in the background. Somewhere outside, a car passed through the street below. Neither of them looked away.
Then Taesan nodded.
"Yeah."
"I've had about forty minutes."
For the first time that night, Taesan looked nervous. The confidence that had carried him through the walk home finally cracked around the edges. He glanced down at the countertop before looking back at Sungho, suddenly looking much closer to the seventeen-year-old boy who used to wait outside classrooms after school. The realization should have made Sungho feel better.
"Okay, fine." Sungho rubbed a hand over his face and let out a long breath. His heart had been beating too fast for the past hour, and at this point he was exhausted from fighting every thought that entered his head. He looked down at the water bottle in his hands before finally forcing himself to meet Taesan's eyes. "Let's try it."
For a second, Taesan didn't react.
"Seriously?"
The question came out quieter than expected. Not because he didn't believe Sungho, but because he'd spent so many years imagining rejection that acceptance seemed harder to process. He stared at him from across the kitchen island as though waiting for the punchline.
Sungho immediately regretted saying it, not because he didn't mean it, but because now Taesan was looking at him like that.
"Don't do that."
"Do what?"
"Look at me like I just told you I discovered the cure for cancer."
A laugh escaped Taesan before he could stop it. He dropped his head for a second, one hand covering his mouth as he tried and failed to hide his smile. The relief on his face was impossible to miss now. Years of tension seemed to leave his body all at once.
"Sorry."
"No, you're not."
"No." Taesan looked back up. "I'm really not."
Sungho groaned.
The smile that followed was small, but it stayed, which was annoying. Sungho had spent years imagining this moment would feel dramatic. Life-changing. World-shifting. Instead, they were standing in his kitchen at nearly midnight, half-dressed from a wedding, arguing like they always did. Somehow that felt more right than anything else could have.
“So what happens now?” Sungho asked.
The question slipped out before he could stop it. Up until this point, neither of them had really discussed anything beyond the fact that Taesan had feelings for him and that, somehow, Sungho had agreed to try. Now that the initial panic was wearing off, practical concerns were starting to creep in. He wasn't asking about tonight. He was asking about everything that came after.
Taesan blinked. For a moment, he looked genuinely caught off guard by the question. Then a smile slowly spread across his face, the kind that always appeared whenever he found something amusing. It wasn't arrogant or teasing this time. If anything, it looked a little helpless.
“I have absolutely no idea.”
Sungho stared at him for a second before a laugh escaped his mouth. The answer was ridiculous. It was probably the least reassuring thing Taesan could have possibly said after confessing years of feelings. Yet somehow it sounded honest enough that Sungho couldn't even be mad about it.
“That's reassuring.”
The smile on Taesan's face widened immediately. Some of the tension disappeared from his shoulders, and he looked younger for a second, closer to the boy Sungho remembered from high school than the man standing in his kitchen. The fact that neither of them knew what they were doing should have terrified Sungho. Instead, for the first time that night, it felt strangely manageable.
"I know how to do the liking-you part." he shrugged. "I've been practicing that since I was fifteen. The boyfriend part is new territory."
Boyfriend.
It was such a normal word. People used it every day without thinking twice about it. Yet hearing it now felt strangely dangerous, like something fragile that could break if either of them moved too quickly. Sungho found himself staring at the kitchen counter rather than at Taesan.
Neither of them spoke for a moment. The refrigerator hummed quietly in the background while distant traffic drifted through the apartment windows. After everything that had been said tonight, this was somehow the part that made Sungho's stomach twist. Not the confession. Not the years of unresolved feelings. Just one simple word that suddenly made everything real.
Then Taesan cleared his throat. He looked almost embarrassed for the first time all evening, rubbing the back of his neck before glancing over at Sungho. The confidence he'd carried through his confession had softened into something much more nervous. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter than before.
"So... can I hold your hand now?"
Sungho stared at him. After everything that had happened tonight, after years of unresolved feelings and confessions and emotional crises, that was the first thing he asked for.
"You are unbelievable."
The words came out with far less bite than Sungho intended. At some point during the last hour, he'd lost the energy required to be properly annoyed at Taesan. Maybe it was the drinks. Maybe it was the confession. Maybe it was the fact that Taesan had somehow managed to remain exactly the same person he'd always been despite turning Sungho's life upside down.
But he crossed the kitchen anyway.
The distance between them wasn't very far. A few steps at most. Yet it felt strangely significant, enough that Sungho became painfully aware of every movement. He stopped in front of Taesan and immediately regretted it because now he had nowhere else to look except directly at him.
Taesan didn't move. For somebody who had spent the entire evening saying insane things with complete confidence, he suddenly seemed hesitant. His hands remained at his sides. His shoulders were tense. There was a carefulness to him now that hadn't existed before, like he was afraid one wrong move would make Sungho take everything back.
That realization made something in Sungho soften. For most of his life, Taesan had been the brave one. He was the one who spoke first, who crossed rooms without hesitation, who showed up unannounced and somehow expected the world to adjust around him. Seeing him hesitate felt unfamiliar. Seeing him hesitate because of Sungho felt even stranger.
"You asked to hold my hand." His voice came out quieter than before. The teasing edge was still there, but it had dulled around the corners. Across from him, Taesan lifted his head slightly, watching him carefully.
Taesan nodded. "I did."
The answer was simple. No joke attached to it. No attempt to dodge the moment with humor. Somehow that made Sungho more nervous than anything else that had happened tonight.
"Then why are you standing there like I pointed a gun at you?"
The image was ridiculous enough that Taesan immediately laughed. He dropped his head for a second, one hand coming up to rub the back of his neck as he shook it. The sound filled the kitchen, warm and familiar, but the nervousness never completely disappeared.
When he looked back up, it was still there. Not fear exactly. Just uncertainty. A carefulness that Sungho wasn't used to seeing from him. It was the expression of someone who had spent years imagining a moment and still had no idea what to do once it finally arrived.
"Because I don't want to mess this up." The honesty of that answer hit harder than expected.
Sungho had spent years thinking Taesan moved through life without fear. He left. He came back. He said whatever he wanted. He walked into rooms as though he belonged there. Seeing him nervous felt strange. Seeing him nervous over this felt even stranger.
Sungho folded his arms across his chest as he stared at him. The accusation should have sounded harsher than it did, but somewhere along the way he'd lost the energy required to be genuinely annoyed. It was difficult to stay irritated when Taesan looked nervous. That alone felt wrong enough to make Sungho suspicious.
"You're being weird."
"I'm trying to be respectful."
Sungho let out a disbelieving laugh and shook his head. The answer arrived so quickly that it was obvious Taesan had rehearsed it beforehand. Of course he had. Apparently he had rehearsed everything else too. The realization made Sungho want to lock himself in his room and refuse to come out for a week.
"You confessed your love to me outside a wedding venue."
Taesan tilted his head slightly as though reviewing the statement. His expression remained completely serious for about three seconds before he nodded once. There wasn't even a hint of embarrassment in him. Somehow that made the entire thing worse.
"That was respectful."
"No, it wasn't."
"It was responsible."
The laugh escaped Sungho before he could stop it. It came out louder than intended, bouncing through the quiet apartment and immediately ruining whatever argument he had left. Across from him, Taesan visibly relaxed. The tension left his shoulders in stages, like he'd been carrying it around all evening and had finally received permission to put it down.
The smile that followed was smaller than the ones from earlier. It wasn't teasing. It wasn't smug. It was just happy. The sight of it hit Sungho harder than any confession had.
Then, slowly, Taesan held out his hand. There was nothing dramatic about it. No speech, no grand declaration, no attempt to turn the moment into something out of a movie. He simply extended his hand toward Sungho and waited.
Sungho stared at it for far longer than necessary. The funny thing was that they'd held hands before, plenty of times, actually. Crossing streets, getting separated in crowds, sitting too close during horror movies neither of them wanted to admit scared them. Back then, friendship had always given them an excuse.
This felt completely different now. There was no pretending anymore, no hiding behind technicalities or years of confusion. If Sungho took Taesan's hand, he'd be doing it knowing exactly what it meant. For some reason, that terrified him more than the confession ever had.
The funny thing was that they'd held hands before. Crossing busy streets. Walking through crowded festivals. Sitting through horror movies when they were younger and neither of them wanted to admit they were scared. There had always been excuses back then. Friendship gave them an endless supply of those.
This felt completely different now. Every other time they had held hands, there had always been an explanation waiting nearby. Friendship was convenient like that. It could disguise almost anything if two people were determined enough.
There was no pretending anymore. No technicalities. No hiding behind years of ambiguity, confusion, and unfinished conversations that neither of them had been brave enough to name. Whatever happened after tonight would be real.
If Sungho took that hand now, he'd be doing it knowing exactly what it meant. Not as a best friend. Not as somebody caught up in nostalgia after a wedding. He would be taking it as someone who had agreed to try.
The realization made his stomach twist. He lifted his gaze from Taesan's outstretched hand and looked at him instead. Taesan wasn't pushing, wasn't rushing him, wasn't even asking again. He was simply standing there and waiting.
Taesan wasn't pushing. He wasn't asking again. He wasn't trying to convince him. He was simply standing there waiting, giving Sungho the choice he'd claimed to care so much about.
That somehow made it easier.
Sungho let out a slow breath and stepped forward. His hand slipped into Taesan's almost cautiously, like he was testing something fragile. The second their fingers touched, he immediately understood that he'd made a mistake.
Taesan's fingers closed around his hand with such natural certainty that it felt practiced. Familiar. Like his hand already knew exactly where it belonged. There was no hesitation in it.
This felt completely different now. Every other time they had held hands, there had always been an explanation waiting nearby. Friendship was convenient like that. It could disguise almost anything if two people were determined enough. A crowded street, a dark movie theater, a packed festival—there was always a reason. Tonight, for the first time, there wasn't one.
There was no pretending anymore. No technicalities. No hiding behind years of ambiguity, confusion, and unfinished conversations that neither of them had been brave enough to name. The space between them had been stripped down to something painfully simple. Taesan liked him. Sungho knew it. Taesan knew that he knew it. There was nowhere left to hide.
If Sungho took that hand now, he'd be doing it knowing exactly what it meant. Not as a best friend. Not as somebody caught up in nostalgia after a wedding. Not as two former teenagers trying to recapture something they lost. He would be taking it as someone who had agreed to try. The thought should have terrified him more than it did.
The realization made his stomach twist anyway. He lifted his gaze from Taesan's outstretched hand and looked at him instead. Taesan wasn't pushing, wasn't rushing him, wasn't even asking again. He was simply standing there and waiting. The patience in that alone made Sungho's chest ache. After everything he'd confessed tonight, he was still giving Sungho room to choose.
That somehow made it easier.
For years, Sungho had assumed that if this moment ever happened, it would be dramatic. There would be some grand confession, some impossible decision, some movie-worthy scene that changed everything in an instant. Instead, it was just the two of them standing in his kitchen after a wedding. The refrigerator hummed softly in the background. Taesan's suit jacket was draped over one of the chairs. Reality had never looked less cinematic.
Slowly, Sungho stepped forward. The movement felt embarrassingly significant despite how small it was. His fingers slipped into Taesan's hand, and for a second neither of them moved. Then Taesan's hand closed around his, warm and familiar, as though it had been waiting to do exactly that for years. The ease of it nearly knocked the air from Sungho's lungs. That was the truly dangerous part—not that it felt new, but that it felt like coming home.
For a few seconds, neither of them said anything. The apartment remained quiet around them, the city lights spilling faintly through the kitchen window. Sungho stared at their joined hands as if they might suddenly explain what came next. Unfortunately, they didn't.
Then he looked up and immediately regretted it.
Taesan was smiling. Not the annoying smile he used when he won arguments. Not the smug smile he wore when he managed to embarrass Sungho in public. This one was softer. Smaller. The kind of smile that appeared when someone had been hoping for something for so long that they forgot what it felt like to finally have it.
"Oh, don't make that face."
Taesan blinked. "What face?"
"That one."
The smile somehow widened. Sungho groaned and looked away, which only seemed to make things worse. He could practically feel Taesan becoming happier by the second. It was unbearable.
The realization settled between them quietly. Their hands remained linked, neither of them making a joke or finding an excuse to pull away. Outside, the night carried on exactly as it always had. Inside, however, something had shifted.
It was simply the beginning of something they should have stopped running from years ago. And standing there in the middle of his kitchen, with Taesan's hand wrapped around his, Sungho decided that maybe beginning was enough.