Chapter Text
The first time Gyuvin tells Ricky he loves him, it happens in the refrigerated aisle of a convenience store at two in the morning.
Not because the moment is beautiful.
Not because snow is falling dramatically outside or music is playing somewhere in the distance.
It happens because Ricky is standing in front of the drinks fridge arguing with a bottle of strawberry milk like it personally offended him.
“You always choose the ugly drinks,” Ricky says.
Gyuvin blinks. “What does that even mean?”
Ricky points accusingly. “That bottle looks haunted.”
“It’s milk.”
“It looks like it knows things.”
Gyuvin snorts hard enough to choke on his own breath.
The cashier glances up from her phone with visible regret.
Ricky keeps going, completely serious. “Look at it. That is not the face of a trustworthy beverage.”
“It doesn’t have a face.”
“It has an aura.”
“You have an aura.”
“Yeah,” Ricky says immediately, reaching for a peach soda instead. “Mine is expensive.”
And there it is.
That stupid little smile.
The one that always arrived half a second before Gyuvin could prepare for it.
The one that made him feel like somebody had quietly replaced his ribs with paper lanterns.
Ricky shuts the fridge with his hip. “Why are you staring at me?”
“You’re weird.”
“I’m beautiful.”
“You’re annoying.”
“I’m still beautiful.”
Gyuvin laughs again, softer this time.
The fluorescent lights buzz overhead. Somewhere outside, tires hiss against wet pavement. Their university jackets are damp from the rain, and Ricky’s hair is flattened crookedly against his forehead because he forgot their umbrella.
Again.
Everything with Ricky is always—
Again and again and again.
Gyuvin thinks, with terrifying clarity:
I could do this forever.
The realization arrives so suddenly it almost frightens him.
Not fireworks.
Not lightning.
Just this.
Wet sleeves.
Cheap drinks.
Ricky talking nonsense at 2 a.m.
A life so small yet it grew enormous.
Ricky nudges his shoulder. “You froze.”
“Hm?”
“You’re buffering.”
“I’m thinking.”
“That’s dangerous.”
Gyuvin stares at him for another second too long.
Ricky notices. Ricky always notices.
His expression softens around the edges. “What?”
And Gyuvin, who never means to say important things out loud, hears himself answer quietly:
“I love you.”
Silence.
Even the refrigerator hum suddenly feels too loud.
Ricky’s eyes widen just slightly.
Gyuvin immediately regrets having bones.
“Well,” he mutters, grabbing the cursed strawberry milk, “forget what I sa—”
“I love you too.”
Simple.
Immediate.
Like Ricky had only been waiting for Gyuvin to catch up.
The cashier coughs awkwardly into her fist.
Ricky, apparently unfazed, just grins.
“That was less romantic than I imagined.”
“You were bullying dairy products.”
“They started it.”
Gyuvin shakes his head, smiling helplessly.
Then Ricky reaches over and takes his hand.
Just like that.
Like it belongs there.
And maybe that is the moment Gyuvin really falls in love with him.
Not during the confession.
Not during their first kiss months earlier outside the library while Ricky tasted faintly like mint gum and winter air.
Not even during all the nights spent tangled together beneath cheap apartment blankets talking until sunrise.
It’s this.
Being held without hesitation.
Being chosen so naturally that it feels predetermined.
Like Ricky had looked at the chaos of Gyuvin’s heart and said:
Yeah. I’ll live here.
⸻
Ricky hates mornings.
Every morning is a performance.
At 8:13 a.m., Gyuvin wakes up to find Ricky halfway off the bed, face-first into the mattress, groaning like a Victorian ghost.
“You have class in twenty minutes.”
“No.”
“You’re majoring in architecture. Attendance matters.”
“No.”
“You said that yesterday.”
“And I was right yesterday too.”
Gyuvin laughs into his pillow.
Ricky blindly reaches backward until he finds Gyuvin’s wrist.
His fingers are warm.
Always warm.
“Five more minutes,” Ricky mumbles.
“You said that thirty minutes ago.”
“This is a new five minutes.”
Gyuvin watches him for a moment.
The sunlight slips through the blinds in thin gold lines across Ricky’s back. Their apartment is tiny enough that the kitchen practically touches the bed, and one of the cabinet doors only closes if kicked correctly near the hinge.
They can barely afford rent.
Their shower sounds like it’s dying.
The upstairs neighbor practices electric guitar with the confidence of someone profoundly untalented.
Still.
Gyuvin thinks this place contains more happiness than an entire palace.
Ricky peeks at him through messy blond hair. “Why are you looking at me like I’m about to be drafted into war?”
“You drool in your sleep.”
“Defamation.”
“You literally drooled on my arm.”
“That was affection.”
“That was saliva.”
Ricky gasps softly. “You wound me.”
Then he smiles.
God.
That smile.
Gyuvin feels it everywhere.
In his pulse.
In his throat.
Behind his ribs.
He rolls onto his side and kisses Ricky before he can say anything else.
Ricky makes a surprised sound against his mouth before immediately melting into it.
Slow.
The kind of kiss that belongs to people who believe they have endless time.
When they pull apart, Ricky keeps his eyes closed for a second longer.
Then quietly:
“If we stay like this long enough, maybe the world will leave us alone.”
Gyuvin brushes his thumb across Ricky’s cheek. “You’re dramatic in the morning.”
“I’m poetic.”
“You’re unemployed.”
“I have a part-time job.”
“You got fired.”
“They said I was distracting.”
“You tried to flirt with customers for tips.”
“It worked!”
“You flirted with a grandmother.”
“She tipped me twenty dollars.”
Gyuvin laughs so hard his stomach hurts.
Ricky watches him with sleepy fondness.
Like this is his favorite sound in the world.
Maybe it is.
⸻
By November, everyone knows about them.
Not because they announce it.
Because Ricky cannot behave normally for more than six consecutive seconds.
Gyuvin is studying in the campus café when Ricky appears out of nowhere, drops dramatically into the seat across from him, and says:
“I just saw the most beautiful person alive.”
Gyuvin doesn’t look up from his laptop. “Was it yourself in a reflective surface again?”
“It was you, actually.”
“Cool.”
Ricky kicks his shoe beneath the table.
Gyuvin finally glances up.
Mistake.
Huge mistake.
Ricky is wearing Gyuvin’s hoodie.
The dark gray one.
The one slightly too big on him.
The one that always smells like fabric softener and Ricky’s cologne afterward.
Gyuvin’s brain immediately powers off.
Ricky smirks slowly. “There he goes.”
“What?”
“That look.”
“What look?”
“The one where you stop functioning.”
“I function fine.”
“You stared at me for eleven straight seconds.”
“You counted?”
“I always count.”
Gyuvin hates him.
Not really.
Never really.
Ricky leans across the table. “Come over tonight.”
“I already live with you.”
“How scandalous.”
“You’re impossible.”
“And yet,” Ricky says softly, “you’re still here.”
Something about the way he says it makes Gyuvin pause.
Still here.
As if he’s surprised by it.
As if love is something temporary.
Borrowed.
Gyuvin reaches across the table and squeezes his wrist.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
For one strange second, Ricky just looks at him.
Then the moment vanishes.
“Good,” he says lightly. “Because I’d haunt you.”
“You don’t even believe in ghosts.”
“I’d make an exception.”
⸻
“You know what I think?” Ricky murmurs one night.
They’re lying on the rooftop of their building beneath a bruised-purple sky. Winter air curls cold against their skin.
“Hm?”
“I think we met too early.”
Gyuvin turns his head. “What does that mean?”
Ricky shrugs lazily. “I don’t know. Feels unfair.”
“How?”
“You’re probably supposed to meet the love of your life when you’re older.” He gestures vaguely upward. “When you have your shit together.”
Gyuvin smiles faintly. “We definitely don’t have our shits together.”
“We own exactly two forks.”
“One fork,” Gyuvin corrects. “You melted the other one.”
“That was science.”
“That was fire.”
Ricky laughs quietly.
Then silence settles between them again.
Comfortable silence.
The kind only possible between people who know each other thoroughly.
Ricky’s hand finds Gyuvin’s in the dark.
“I’m serious, though.”
Gyuvin watches their fingers lace together.
“You think you met me too early?”
“I think,” Ricky says slowly, “if soulmates exist, they should at least get stable incomes first.”
Gyuvin snorts— but Ricky keeps talking.
“What if we’re supposed to have more time before this part?”
“This part?”
“The forever part.”
The words hit something soft inside Gyuvin.
<i>Forever.</i>
It sounds impossible.
And easy.
At the same time.
Gyuvin squeezes Ricky’s hand. “You planning to marry me someday or something?”
Ricky grins immediately. “Maybe.”
“Maybe?”
“Don’t pressure me. I’m young.”
“Hey! I’m young too.”
Both were giggling into eachother arms now.
“Maybe we should get married one day,” Ricky says, quieter now.
The sentence drifts upward into the freezing night air.
Careless.
Weightless.
Like neither of them understands what it will eventually become.
Gyuvin smiles anyway.
“Your proposal needs work.”
“You’ll take what you get.”
“Buy me a ring first.”
“You’d lose it.”
“True.”
Ricky laughs.
Then he rests his head on Gyuvin’s shoulder.
And the world, for a little while, becomes unbearably gentle.
⸻
It starts with rain.
Cold February rain that turns the campus sidewalks silver.
Gyuvin wakes to the sound of Ricky cursing softly in the kitchen.
Instantly suspicious.
He drags himself out of bed and finds Ricky standing barefoot beside a smoking toaster.
“You burned toast.”
Ricky points defensively. “It attacked first.”
“You can’t keep blaming appliances for your crimes.”
“The kitchen fears me.”
“The kitchen wants you dead.”
Ricky grins.
There it is again.
That sunlight-smile.
That impossible, stupid thing.
Gyuvin leans against the doorway watching him move around their tiny apartment with sleepy chaos. Cabinet doors opening. Music humming quietly from Ricky’s phone. The scent of burnt bread and coffee filling the air.
Home.
That’s what this is.
Not the apartment itself.
Ricky.
Ricky is home.
“You’re staring again,” Ricky says without glancing back.
“You walk loud.”
“I walk beautifully.”
“You nearly killed breakfast.”
“I’m an artist.”
“You’re banned from touching electricity.”
Ricky laughs under his breath.
Then he walks over and presses a mug of coffee into Gyuvin’s hands.
Their fingers brush.
Tiny contact.
Still enough to make something ache softly inside Gyuvin’s chest.
Ricky notices the way he’s looking at him.
His expression gentles immediately.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“That’s a lie.”
Gyuvin shrugs.
The truth feels too large to say before nine in the morning.
I love you so much it frightens me sometimes.
Instead he says, “Your hair looks stupid.”
Ricky gasps theatrically. “I’m going to break up with you.”
“Dramatic much?.”
“Yes.”
Gyuvin smiles into his coffee.
Outside, rain taps softly against the windows.
Inside, Ricky exists everywhere.
In the sweatshirt hanging over the couch.
In the half-finished sketches scattered across the table.
In the warmth still trapped inside blankets.
In the ridiculous playlist currently playing low through his phone speakers.
Every inch of this apartment carries evidence of him.
I could spend the rest of my life like this.
The thought comes so naturally it barely feels like a thought at all.
Just fact.
Like breathing.
Ricky reaches over and wipes foam from Gyuvin’s upper lip with his thumb.
“You’re cute.”
“Don’t say things like that before class.”
“Coward.”
“You’re literally wearing pajama pants.”
“They’re fashionable.”
“They have ducks on them.”
“Fashionable Taerae ducks.”
Gyuvin laughs again.
Ricky watches him carefully while he does.
Like he’s memorizing the sound.
⸻
That afternoon, Gyuvin skips his last lecture.
Not intentionally.
Ricky texts him halfway through economics.
RWICK❤️:emergency.
????
RWICK❤️:come outside
if this is another pigeon situation im blocking you
RWICK❤️:rude
When Gyuvin steps outside the building, freezing wind immediately slaps him across the face.
And there’s Ricky.
Standing beside his motorcycle with two convenience store coffees balanced dangerously in one hand.
No helmet.
Idiot.
“Why are you here?”
Ricky beams. “Kidnapping.”
“You interrupted my education.”
“You looked miserable.”
“I was miserable.”
“Exactly.”
Gyuvin rolls his eyes but takes the coffee anyway.
Their fingers brush again.
Always.
Always touching somehow.
Ricky leans casually against the motorcycle. “Let’s go somewhere.”
“In this weather?”
“In this economy.”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“It makes emotional sense.”
Gyuvin stares at him for a second before laughing helplessly.
Ricky smiles triumphantly.
God.
There are moments when Gyuvin feels doomed by love.
This is one of them.
They end up by the river.
Rain drizzles softly over the city, turning everything blurry and silver-edged.
Ricky sits on the ground, sipping iced coffee like the freezing temperature is merely a suggestion.
“You’re gonna get sick,” Gyuvin says.
“You sound married.”
“You sound unemployed.”
“I freelance.”
“You got paid twenty dollars to design a nightclub flyer.”
“And it was beautiful.”
Gyuvin snorts.
The city stretches around them in muted winter colors.
Traffic lights glow in watery reflections across wet pavement.
Ricky’s cheeks are pink from the cold.
He looks alive in an unfair way.
Like something painted with too much care.
“You know,” Ricky says suddenly, “if we ever get rich, I want a balcony.”
“A balcony.”
“A dramatic balcony.”
“What makes it dramatic?”
“I stand there during rainstorms and contemplate existence.”
“You already do that.”
“Yeah, but poorer.”
Gyuvin shakes his head fondly.
Ricky hops down from the hood and steps closer.
Close enough that Gyuvin can smell rainwater and coffee and that stupid cologne Ricky overuses.
“You know what else?”
“What?”
“I think we’d survive marriage.”
Gyuvin blinks.
Ricky says things like this randomly sometimes.
As if tossing pieces of forever into conversation means they weigh less.
“You think so?”
“Definitely.”
“You leave cabinets open.”
“You cry during animated movies.”
“That happened once.”
“You cried during Toy Story 3.”
“Everyone cried during Toy Story 3.”
Ricky grins.
Then quieter:
“I think being loved by you would make anything survivable.”
The sentence lands directly in Gyuvin’s chest.
He reaches up automatically, fingers brushing damp hair away from Ricky’s forehead.
“You say things that make me insane.”
“You were already insane.”
“True.”
For a moment neither of them moves.
Traffic hums faintly in the distance.
Rain slips down Ricky’s eyelashes.
Gyuvin kisses him before he can think too hard about it.
Ricky immediately melts forward into him.
Cold hands against Gyuvin’s neck.
Warm mouth.
Breathless laughter between kisses.
The thing about Young love is that they never realize how quickly time can run out.
That blindness is part of its youth.
That night, Ricky falls asleep on top of him during a movie.
Again.
Gyuvin shifts slightly beneath the weight.
“You’re drooling.”
“No I’m not,” Ricky mumbles without waking.
“You literally are.”
“Lies.”
Gyuvin smiles softly into Ricky’s hair.
The television flickers dim blue light across the apartment walls.
Everything feels suspended.
Safe.
Ricky’s heartbeat presses slow and steady against his chest.
Gyuvin closes his eyes.
If he had known.
If he had known this was the last night he would ever hear that heartbeat.
Would he have stayed awake longer?
Would he have memorized more carefully?
Would he have said I love you one more time?
The movie keeps playing unwatched in the dark.
Outside, rain continues falling quietly over the city.
And somewhere beyond that night, unseen and merciless, grief is already walking toward them.
Morning arrives wrong.
Not dramatically.
Not with alarms or disaster or cinematic dread.
Just wrong in tiny, impossible-to-name ways.
Gyuvin wakes first.
The apartment is gray with early light, rain still whispering softly against the windows.
Ricky is usually impossible to wake gently. He clings to sleep like it owes him money. Normally Gyuvin has to pry him out of bed through bribery, threats, or physical violence.
But today Ricky is already awake.
Sitting at the edge of the bed.
Quiet.
Gyuvin blinks blearily. “You okay?”
Ricky turns slightly.
His expression softens immediately when he sees him.
“Yeah.”
But his voice sounds distant somehow.
Like part of him is standing somewhere else.
Gyuvin pushes himself upright, hair falling into his eyes. “You sure?”
“Mm.”
Ricky looks down at his hands.
Then suddenly smiles.
Small.
Crooked.
Beautiful enough to hurt.
“Skip class with me.”
“You literally said attendance matters yesterday.”
“I’ve evolved since then.”
Gyuvin squints suspiciously. “Who are you and what did you do with my boyfriend?”
“He died.”
Gyuvin snorts tiredly and throws a pillow at him.
Ricky laughs.
The sound settles warm inside Gyuvin’s chest.
There it is.
Normal.
Everything is normal.
⸻
They spend the morning wandering the city for no reason.
That’s always been their favorite kind of day.
No plans.
No destination.
Just movement.
Ricky drags him into random bookstores. Tiny cafés. Record shops neither of them can afford. At one point he spends fifteen straight minutes trying on ugly sunglasses while Gyuvin threatens to abandon him legally and emotionally.
“These make me look mysterious,” Ricky insists.
“They make you look unemployed.”
“I am unemployed.”
“Exactly.”
Ricky cackles loud enough for the cashier to laugh too.
God.
He’s radiant today.
That’s what sticks later.
Not pale.
Not tragic.
Not secretly doomed.
Radiant.
Like the universe accidentally made him too alive all at once.
Around noon they end up in a tiny noodle shop near campus.
Ricky steals food directly off Gyuvin’s plate despite ordering his own bowl.
“You’re unbelievable.”
“You love me.”
“Unfortunately.”
Ricky grins around stolen noodles.
An elderly couple sits near the window beside them sharing dumplings in comfortable silence.
Ricky watches them for a second.
Then says quietly, “That’s gonna be us.”
Gyuvin nearly chokes on his drink. “You’re twenty.”
“And already dreaming of retirement.”
“You can’t even keep plants alive.”
“That plant was dramatic.”
“You forgot to water it for a month.”
“It knew what it signed up for.”
Gyuvin laughs helplessly.
Ricky stares at him afterward with that look again.
That unbearably soft look.
Like he found something precious accidentally and still hasn’t recovered.
“What?” Gyuvin asks.
“Nothing.”
“That’s suspicious.”
Ricky shrugs lightly. “Just thinking.”
“Dangerous hobby.”
“Yeah.”
But he doesn’t elaborate.
Instead he reaches across the table and hooks their pinkies together briefly.
Tiny contact.
Hidden beneath the tablecloth.
Private.
Gyuvin squeezes once before letting go.
By evening the rain finally stops.
The whole city carried that washed-clean scent that only comes after rain.
Ricky insists on walking home instead of taking the bus.
“Your legs still function,” he says when Gyuvin complains.
“Barely.”
“You’re weak.”
Gyuvin laughs under his breath.
Streetlights flicker gold across wet sidewalks.
Cars hiss quietly through puddles.
Ricky walks half a step ahead like he always does, hands shoved into hoodie pockets, talking about absolutely nothing.
A movie he wants to watch.
A professor he hates.
Whether ghosts would survive capitalism.
Gyuvin listens to all of it.
Not because the conversation matters.
Because Ricky does.
That’s enough.
At a crosswalk, Ricky suddenly turns around and walks backward.
Dangerous.
Idiotic.
Very Ricky.
“You know what your problem is?” he asks.
“I’m dating you.”
“You’re emotionally constipated.”
Gyuvin scoffs. “I literally tell you I love you every day.”
“Yeah, but sometimes I think you’re feeling even more things and hiding them.”
“That sounds fake.”
“You looked at me in the convenience store yesterday like you were composing poetry internally.”
“I was thinking about toast.”
“Liar.”
Ricky smiles softly then.
The teasing fades around the edges.
“You love me so hard it scares you a little.”
The honesty of it punches straight through Gyuvin’s ribs.
Because yes.
Yes.
That’s exactly it.
Loving Ricky sometimes feels like standing too close to the ocean at night.
Beautiful.
Massive.
Capable of ruining him completely.
Gyuvin exhales slowly. “You make it difficult not to.”
For one brief second Ricky stops walking backward.
Stops joking.
His expression flickers into something unbearably tender.
Then a car horn blares somewhere nearby.
The moment breaks.
Ricky grins again immediately. “Damn right.”
He turns around before Gyuvin can answer.
⸻
That night, Ricky can’t sleep.
Gyuvin feels him shifting beside him around 3 a.m.
“You okay?”
“Mm.”
“You keep moving.”
“Thinking.”
“About?”
Silence.
Then quietly:
“Do you think people know when they’re happy?”
Gyuvin opens one eye.
“What kind of question is that?”
“A real one.”
Gyuvin rolls onto his side to face him.
The room is dark except for faint city light leaking through blinds.
Ricky’s face is half-shadowed.
Beautiful even now.
Especially now.
“I think,” Gyuvin says slowly, “people will realize it afterward.”
Ricky watches him carefully.
“After?”
“Yeah.” Gyuvin brushes his fingers lazily across Ricky’s wrist. “When it’s gone.”
The silence afterward feels strange.
Heavy somehow.
Ricky looks away first.
“Huh.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re weird tonight.”
“I’m always weird.”
“True.”
Ricky smiles faintly.
Then shifts closer until their legs tangle beneath blankets.
Gyuvin wraps an arm around his waist automatically.
The shape of him fits there perfectly.
Like habit.
Like instinct.
After a while Ricky says quietly into the darkness:
“If something ever happened to me, you’d keep on living, right?”
Gyuvin immediately groans. “You can’t ask terrifying questions at three in the morning.”
“I’m serious.”
“You’re dramatic.”
“Qubin.”
There’s something fragile in his voice now.
Gyuvin opens his eyes again.
Ricky is watching him with an expression he can’t quite decipher.
Fear maybe.
Or sadness.
Or love stretched too thin.
“You’d keep living?” Ricky repeats softly.
Gyuvin reaches over and flicks his forehead.
“Ow.”
“Don’t talk like that.”
“Why not?”
“Because nothing’s happening to you.”
The answer comes too quickly.
Too certain.
As if certainty itself can become protection.
Ricky studies him for another long second.
Then finally smiles.
“Okay.”
Gyuvin pulls him closer after that until there’s no space left between them.
As if closeness itself could keep terrible things away.
Outside, somewhere beyond their apartment windows, dawn slowly begins preparing itself.
⸻
Morning arrives wrong.
Not dramatically.
Just quietly enough that Gyuvin almost ignores it.
He wakes reaching toward the other side of the bed out of habit.
Cold sheets.
He frowns sleepily.
“Ricky?”
No answer.
The apartment is silent except for rain tapping softly against the windows.
Gyuvin sits up slowly, rubbing his eyes.
Usually Ricky is loud in the mornings. Cabinet doors slamming. Music playing from his phone speaker. Complaints about existence before 10 a.m.
Today there’s nothing.
Probably out already.
Gyuvin grabs his phone from beneath the pillow.
No messages.
He types anyway.
did you abandon me
Three dots never appear.
Gyuvin snorts softly to himself.
wow okay
toxic behavior honestly
Still nothing.
He tosses the phone beside him and drags himself toward the kitchen.
Ricky’s mug is still in the sink from last night.
His hoodie still hangs over the couch.
A half-finished sketch sits abandoned on the table.
Gyuvin stares at the sketch absentmindedly while making coffee.
The drawing is unfinished architecture lines and messy pencil smudges. Ricky always leaves things half-done when inspiration disappears halfway through.
“You’re allergic to completion,” Gyuvin mutters automatically.
Silence answers him.
Not uncomfortable silence.
Just familiar.
The kind that settles naturally after loving someone long enough.
His phone buzzes suddenly.
Matthew.
Gyuvin answers with the phone trapped between his shoulder and ear while searching for clean spoons.
“What.”
“Have you eaten?”
Gyuvin pauses.
“What kind of greeting is that?”
“You should eat.”
“…Okay?”
There’s a strange pause on the other end.
Then Matthew says carefully, “You going to campus today?”
“Later probably.”
Another silence.
Too long.
Gyuvin frowns slightly. “Why are you talking like a guidance counselor?”
“Just asking.”
“You sound weird.”
Matthew laughs softly, but it sounds tired somehow. “You haven’t been answering much lately.”
“I answered literally right now.”
“You know what I mean.”
Gyuvin opens the fridge. Empty except for energy drinks, leftover noodles, and three sauces of questionable origin.
“Ricky was supposed to buy groceries,” he says distractedly.
The silence afterward stretches oddly.
Then quietly:
“Gyuvin.”
“Hm?”
“You should go outside today.”
“What.”
“Just… outside. Somewhere.”
“You’re acting ominous.”
“Am not.”
“You absolutely are.”
Matthew exhales softly through the phone.
“Call me later, okay?”
Before Gyuvin can answer, the line disconnects.
Weird.
He stares at the phone for another second before setting it down.
Rain continues whispering outside.
Gyuvin picks up his coffee and walks toward the balcony.
Gray clouds stretch low over the city.
Everything looks washed-out today.
He opens his messages again.
The last conversation with Ricky sits pinned at the top.
Gyuvin smiles faintly.
Then types:
Matthew is being weird again
He locks his phone.
⸻
By evening, the rain has stopped.
Gyuvin finds Ricky exactly where he expects him to be.
At the convenience store near campus.
Leaning against the drinks fridge with his sleeves pulled over his hands.
Like always.
Relief settles through Gyuvin immediately, irrationally warm.
“There you are.”
Ricky glances up.
Smiles.
“There you are.”
Gyuvin walks toward him, annoyed despite himself. “You vanished all day.”
“You survived.”
“Barely.”
“Damn. Thought you were stronger than that.”
Gyuvin rolls his eyes automatically.
Ricky looks unfairly pretty tonight.
Soft blond hair falling into his eyes.
Black hoodie.
Silver rings catching fluorescent light.
The convenience store hums quietly around them.
A couple argues softly over instant noodles.
The cashier scrolls through her phone.
Rainwater glimmers on the window planes.
Ordinary.
Everything is painfully ordinary.
Gyuvin grabs a strawberry milk from the fridge.
Ricky grimaces instantly. “That drink still looks haunted.”
Gyuvin laughs before he can stop himself.
“There’s something deeply wrong with you.”
“Yet you remain obsessed with me.”
“Debatable.”
Ricky steps closer then.
Close enough for Gyuvin to feel warmth radiating from him.
Or maybe remember it.
“You missed me?” Ricky asks softly.
The teasing tone is still there.
But quieter now.
Something underneath it feels fragile somehow.
Gyuvin shrugs.
“A little.”
Ricky smiles.
Small.
Beautiful.
Brief enough to hurt for reasons Gyuvin can’t explain.
Then the cashier suddenly calls out:
“Sir? Are you buying that?”
Gyuvin blinks and looks down.
He’s still holding the strawberry milk.
When he looks back up, Ricky is already walking away toward the exit.
“Hey,” Gyuvin calls instinctively.
Ricky lifts a hand without turning around.
“Catch up later.”
And then he’s gone into the rainy evening before Gyuvin can answer.
The bell above the convenience store door rings softly behind him.
The cashier gives him an odd look.
“You okay?”
Gyuvin stares at the door for another second too long.
Then forces a small smile.
“Yeah.”
⸻
Three days later, Gyuvin finds him outside the architecture building.
It’s freezing.
Students crowd past in loud winter jackets while weak sunlight spills pale gold across campus sidewalks.
Gyuvin exits class exhausted and immediately spots Ricky sitting on a concrete ledge near the bike racks.
One leg bouncing idly.
Headphones around his neck.
Like he’s been waiting forever.
Relief blooms instantly through Gyuvin’s chest.
Annoying.
Automatic.
“You ignored me all morning.”
Ricky glances up from his phone.
“You survived.”
“You keep saying that like it’s shocking.”
“It is.”
Gyuvin stops in front of him, shoving cold hands into his pockets. “Taerae thinks I’m depressed.”
“Are you?”
“What kind of question is that?”
Ricky shrugs lightly. “A real one.”
Gyuvin exhales through his nose.
Students pass around them constantly, voices overlapping in blurry waves.
Nobody looks at Ricky.
At first that means nothing.
Why would they?
Then a girl nearly walks directly through where Ricky’s legs are stretched out.
Gyuvin instinctively flinches.
But at the last second she swerves away absently without noticing either of them.
Weird.
“You hungry?” Gyuvin asks.
Ricky smiles faintly. “Always.”
They walk toward the campus café together.
Or mostly together.
Ricky drifts half a step ahead the entire time, hands in hoodie pockets, talking about some movie he wants to watch.
Gyuvin listens automatically.
He always listens.
That’s part of loving Ricky.
Even nonsense becomes sacred eventually.
“You’re not paying attention,” Ricky says suddenly.
“I am.”
“What did I just say?”
“You hate subtitles because you’re illiterate.”
“That’s not what I said.”
“That’s what I heard.”
Ricky laughs under his breath.
God.
That laugh still does something unbearable to him.
Inside the café, warmth and coffee scent hit immediately.
The line stretches nearly to the door.
Gyuvin turns toward Ricky automatically. “What do you wa—”
Empty space.
He pauses.
Ricky is gone.
Gyuvin scans the café instinctively.
No blond hair.
No black hoodie.
Nothing.
His chest tightens strangely.
A barista calls, “Next?”
Gyuvin blinks hard.
Right.
Coffee.
He orders automatically, still glancing toward the door every few seconds.
Maybe Ricky got distracted.
Bathroom maybe.
Outside smoking even though he promised he quit.
Possible.
All possible.
Yet unease keeps prickling beneath his skin.
When the drinks arrive, the barista sets down only one cup.
Gyuvin stares at it.
“…I ordered two.”
The barista checks the receipt. “No, just one.”
“No, I said two iced americanos.”
“You only said one.”
Gyuvin opens his mouth immediately.
Stops.
Did he?
The conversation suddenly feels slippery in his memory.
The barista gives him a careful look. “You okay?”
Gyuvin forces a laugh. “Yeah. Sorry.”
He takes the single coffee and leaves quickly.
Outside, snow has started falling lightly.
Tiny white flecks drifting through gray air.
Ricky is nowhere.
⸻
That night, Gyuvin texts him thirteen times.
Not because he’s worried.
Just irritated.
At least that’s what he tells himself.
where do you keep disappearing to
rude honestly
Gunwook keeps trying to psychoanalyze me btw
call me
A long pause.
Then:
you’d hate this weather
Gyuvin stares at the screen for a while afterward.
The messages look strange somehow.
⸻
The others start watching him differently.
That’s what bothers him most.
Not pity exactly.
Something softer.
Careful.
As if everyone around him is handling glass.
Jiwoong comes over randomly with food twice in one week despite usually being incapable of functioning before noon.
Hao starts texting every morning.
Hao Hyunggg: did you sleep
Hao Hyunggg: eat something today
Hao Hyunggg: answer me or im coming over
Even Yujin, emotionally constipated for eighteen years straight, keeps asking weird questions.
“You been home much lately?”
“Yes?”
“You still going to the convenience store?”
“…Yes?”
Long silence.
Then:
“You should stop doing that.”
Gyuvin frowns. “Why?”
Yujin grips his cup too tightly.
“I don’t know.”
⸻
A week later, Gyuvin finds Ricky at the arcade downtown.
Their arcade.
The one with flickering lights and broken claw machines and carpets permanently smelling like dust and sugar.
Gyuvin hasn’t been there in months.
But after another suffocating day of classmates whispering around him and friends staring too carefully, his feet carry him there automatically.
The moment he walks inside, he sees Ricky near the racing games.
Of course.
Where else?
Relief crashes through him so fast it almost hurts.
“There you are.”
Ricky glances over his shoulder.
Smiles immediately.
“You look terrible.”
“You vanished for a week.”
“Dramatic.”
“You literally disappeared in the middle of coffee.”
Ricky shrugs like this is somehow reasonable.
Arcade lights flash shifting colors across his face.
Blue.
Red.
Gold.
Beautiful.
Unreal almost.
“You wanna play?” Ricky asks.
Gyuvin snorts softly. “You cheat.”
“I do not.”
“You committed vehicular manslaughter in Mario Kart.”
“That child drove into me first.”
Despite himself, Gyuvin laughs.
The sound echoes strangely in the near-empty arcade.
Ricky watches him afterward with quiet fondness.
Like he missed it.
Like he misses him.
They play three rounds.
Gyuvin loses all of them because Ricky cheats with the confidence of a war criminal.
Halfway through the fourth game, Gyuvin notices something strange.
The employee behind the counter keeps glancing toward him oddly.
Not at them.
At him.
Just him.
When Ricky gets up to grab drinks, the employee finally walks over carefully.
“You here alone tonight?”
The question lands strangely.
Gyuvin blinks. “No?”
The employee looks confused.
Then quickly apologetic. “Sorry. Thought you were talking to yourself earlier.”
Cold spreads slowly through Gyuvin’s stomach.
“What?”
“You were standing by the machines talking and I just…”
He trails off awkwardly.
Gyuvin stares at him.
The arcade noise suddenly feels distant.
Muffled.
Wrong.
Behind him, Ricky returns carrying two sodas.
“You ready to lose again?” he asks lightly.
The employee’s expression changes instantly.
Blank.
Like nothing happened at all.
“You okay?” Ricky asks.
Gyuvin looks at him.
Really looks.
The fluorescent lights blur faintly around the edges of Ricky’s figure for one disorienting second.
Then everything snaps back into place.
Normal.
Perfectly normal.
Gyuvin swallows hard.
“Yeah,” he lies quietly.
But for the first time, fear begins breathing softly at the edge of his love.
——
Two weeks later, Gunwook practically kidnaps him out of his apartment.
Not metaphorically.
Literally.
Gyuvin opens the door wearing sweatpants and yesterday’s hoodie only for Gunwook to shove directly past him with the energy of an exhausted social worker.
“You smell like grief and instant noodles.”
“That’s offensive.”
“It’s accurate.”
Gyuvin shuts the door slowly behind him. “Why are you here?”
“Intervention.”
“I’m not doing drugs.”
“You’re doing worse.”
Gunwook points accusingly around the apartment.
The place is dim despite it being midafternoon. Dishes crowd the sink. Laundry forms questionable mountain ranges across the couch.
Ricky’s things still exist everywhere.
Untouched.
A jacket hanging near the door.
A pair of rings beside the bathroom sink.
Sketches scattered across the table.
Gunwook notices all of it in one glance.
His expression flickers briefly.
Hurt maybe.
But it disappears too quickly to examine.
“You’re coming out with us.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“I hate both of you.”
“Hanbin already made a reservation.”
“That makes it worse somehow.”
Gunwook folds his arms. “You haven’t left this apartment voluntarily in days.”
“I went to the convenience store.”
“At two in the morning.”
“Romantic hour.”
“You’re becoming concerning.”
Gyuvin scoffs softly and walks toward the kitchen.
Gunwook follows him immediately like a parole officer.
“You still talking to Ricky?”
Gyuvin opens the fridge. Empty again.
“Sometimes.”
Gunwook goes quiet.
“He’s busy lately,” Gyuvin continues absentmindedly. “I think he’s avoiding everyone.”
Silence.
When Gyuvin glances over, Gunwook is staring at the floor.
His jaw tight.
Something strange twists beneath Gyuvin’s ribs again.
That same awful feeling that’s been following him for days now.
Like everyone around him knows something he doesn’t.
“He’ll come around eventually,” Gyuvin says lightly.
Gunwook closes his eyes briefly.
Then forces a nod. “Yeah.”
The agreement sounds painful somehow.
⸻
The restaurant is warm and crowded and loud enough to make thinking difficult.
Hanbin hugs Gyuvin too tightly when he arrives.
“You look skinny.”
“What a beautiful greeting.”
“Have you eaten actual food this week?”
“I had ramen yesterday.”
“That’s not food.”
“It literally is.”
Hanbin smiles faintly but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
That look again.
Everyone keeps looking at him like they’re waiting for something fragile to collapse.
Gyuvin hates it.
They slide into a booth near the window.
Gunwook orders for the table immediately because apparently everyone has collectively decided Gyuvin can no longer be trusted with basic survival.
Rude.
Halfway through dinner, Hanbin asks carefully, “You been sleeping okay?”
“No.”
“Any better than before?”
Gyuvin shrugs.
“Sometimes Ricky stays over.”
The words leave naturally.
Hanbin’s chopsticks pause midair.
Gunwook looks down immediately.
The atmosphere shifts so subtly most people wouldn’t notice.
But Gyuvin does.
Because suddenly the air feels heavy.
Like breathing through fabric.
“Is he still snoring like a dying lawnmower?” Gunwook asks.
Gyuvin laughs softly.
“Worse actually.”
And just like that, relief flickers across both their faces.
Hanbin pours Gyuvin more water that he never asked for.
“Have you talked to him properly yet?”
“Not really.” Gyuvin picks absently at his food. “He keeps disappearing.”
Nobody answers immediately.
Gyuvin continues anyway.
“I saw him at the arcade last week though.”
Gunwook freezes.
Just slightly.
Hanbin notices too.
Their eyes meet for half a second.
A silent conversation.
Then Hanbin smiles carefully. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Gyuvin leans back against the booth. “Still cheating at racing games. Some things never change.”
Silence again.
God.
What is wrong with everyone lately?
Gyuvin frowns. “You guys are being weird.”
“We’re not,” Hanbin says immediately.
“You absolutely are.”
Gunwook grabs his drink too fast, nearly knocking it over.
“Work’s stressful,” he mutters.
“You don’t even have a job.”
“I got one, last week.”
"Oh really?"
The conversation shifts after that.
Classes.
Money.
Some professor Gunwook hates with religious intensity.
Normal things.
Yet something underneath the entire dinner feels off-beat.
Like music missing a note.
Hanbin keeps watching Gyuvin when he thinks he won’t notice.
Gunwook barely touches his food.
And every time Ricky’s name enters conversation, even casually, the room seems to tense around it.
Halfway through dinner, Gyuvin excuses himself to the bathroom.
The restaurant hallway is dim and overly warm.
He stares at himself in the mirror while washing his hands.
Tired eyes.
Messy hair.
Exhaustion settled deep beneath his skin.
“You look awful,” Ricky says from the doorway.
Gyuvin glances up automatically.
Ricky leans against the frame with his sleeves pulled over his hands.
Beautiful as ever.
Relief floods through Gyuvin instantly.
“There you are.”
“You say that every time.”
“You keep vanishing.”
Ricky smiles faintly.
“You came out tonight.”
“Against my will.”
“Still counts.”
Gyuvin dries his hands slowly. “They’re acting weird again.”
Ricky tilts his head. “How?”
“Like they’re scared to say something.”
At that, Ricky’s expression changes briefly.
Not much.
Just enough to unsettle something deep inside Gyuvin.
But then Ricky smiles again and the moment disappears.
“You think too much.”
“That’s your thing.”
“Damn. Identity theft.”
Gyuvin laughs quietly.
When he steps closer, Ricky reaches up automatically and fixes the collar of his hoodie.
The gesture feels so familiar it physically hurts.
“I missed you,” Gyuvin admits softly.
Ricky stills.
“I know,” he says quietly.
The restaurant door swings open somewhere behind Gyuvin.
Voices echo down the hallway.
When Gyuvin turns back around, Ricky is gone again.
Just empty space beside the doorway.
⸻
When Gyuvin returns toward the table, he slows instinctively before rounding the corner.
Hanbin and Gunwook are arguing.
Not loudly.
“You can’t keep pretending this is normal,” Hanbin hisses.
“What do you want me to do?” Gunwook shoots back quietly. “Rip it away from him?”
“He’s getting worse.”
“He’s surviving.”
“At what cost?”
Gyuvin’s stomach twists.
Something cold slips beneath his skin.
Before he can process why, he steps forward.
“What’s going on?”
Both of them freeze immediately.
Gunwook straightens too fast.
Hanbin’s face empties instantly into something artificial and calm.
“Nothing,” he says.
Too quick.
Gyuvin stares between them slowly.
The air around the table feels thick now.
Uncomfortable.
Like smoke after a fire.
“You guys were literally fighting.”
“We weren’t.”
“You were.”
Gunwook forces a laugh. “Hanbin’s just dramatic.”
“I heard my name.”
Silence.
Tiny.
Sharp.
Then Hanbin reaches for his water glass without meeting Gyuvin’s eyes.
“You’re overthinking.”
The answer lands wrong immediately.
Gyuvin feels it.
That awful wrongness again.
The same feeling from the café.
The arcade.
Every unfinished conversation lately.
Like reality itself keeps stuttering around him.
His chest aches suddenly.
A deep invisible bruise pressing beneath bone.
Then Gunwook says carefully, “You wanna get dessert?”
The topic changes so abruptly it almost gives Gyuvin whiplash.
And somehow that’s the worst part.
Not the argument.
Not the silence.
The fact that neither of them will look him directly in the eye anymore.
After dinner, Hanbin insists on walking Gyuvin home.
“I know where I live,” Gyuvin complains as they step into the freezing night air.
“And yet I don’t trust you unsupervised.”
“Harsh.”
“Accurate.”
Gunwook mutters something about an early class and leaves quickly, shoulders tense beneath his coat.
Too quickly.
Gyuvin watches him disappear down the sidewalk.
Weird.
Everything feels weird lately.
The city glows silver after rain, streetlights reflecting across wet pavement like smeared paint. Cars drift past slowly. Somewhere nearby, someone laughs too loudly outside a bar.
Life continues offensively normal.
Hanbin walks beside him quietly for a while.
Hands shoved deep into coat pockets.
Like he’s rehearsing sentences internally and discarding all of them.
Finally:
“You should come stay at my place for a few days.”
Gyuvin blinks. “Why?”
“I don’t know. Change of scenery.”
“My apartment’s fine.”
Hanbin hesitates.
Then softly:
“You spend too much time alone there.”
The words scrape strangely against Gyuvin’s chest.
“I’m not alone.”
The answer arrives instinctively.
Hanbin goes silent again.
That awful careful silence everyone keeps giving him.
Gyuvin’s irritation spikes suddenly.
“What is with all of you?”
Hanbin glances over. “What?”
“You guys keep acting like I’m about to break.”
“No one thinks that.”
“You literally dragged me out of my apartment like a hostage.”
Hanbin exhales visibly into the cold air.
“You haven’t really been yourself lately.”
“What does that even mean?”
“It means…” Hanbin stops walking briefly. “You disappear sometimes.”
Gyuvin frowns. “I disappear?”
“You stop answering messages for days.”
“So does Ricky.”
The sentence drops between them.
Hanbin’s face changes instantly.
Gyuvin suddenly feels exhausted.
“I don’t know why everyone’s making such a big deal lately,” he mutters. “He’s just busy.”
Hanbin looks at him then.
And for one horrible second, Gyuvin sees unmistakable grief in his eyes.
Not concern.
Not pity.
Grief.
The sight sends something cold curling violently through his stomach.
Before he can ask about it, Hanbin looks away.
“You cold?” he asks instead.
The topic changes so abruptly it feels almost violent.
Gyuvin stares at him.
“…What?”
“I said are you cold.”
“No.”
“Okay.”
Silence settles again.
By the time they reach Gyuvin’s apartment building, both of them seem relieved somehow.
“You gonna be okay tonight?”
Gyuvin snorts softly. “You sound like I’m dying.”
Hanbin’s expression flickers.
“I’ll call you tomorrow,” he says quietly.
“Okay?”
Another pause.
Then unexpectedly:
“You know we love you, right?”
The sentence catches Gyuvin off guard.
He laughs awkwardly. “That sounded terrifying.”
“I’m serious.”
“Yeah,” Gyuvin says slowly. “I know.”
Hanbin nods once.
But he still looks unbearably sad.
⸻
The apartment feels colder than usual when Gyuvin steps inside.
Silent too.
Not peaceful silence.
The kind that presses against your ears.
He drops his keys onto the counter and shrugs off his jacket.
Ricky’s hoodie still hangs over the couch exactly where it always does.
For some reason, seeing it tonight hurts.
A sharp invisible ache beneath his ribs.
Gyuvin walks over and picks it up automatically.
Soft fabric.
Faint cologne.
Home.
His phone buzzes.
A text from Gunwook.
Guneku: you home?
yeah
Three dots appear instantly.
Disappear.
Return.
Guneku: okay
That’s it.
Gyuvin stares at the message in annoyance.
are all of you in a secret cult now or what?
No response.
Weird.
He tosses the phone aside and wanders toward the bedroom.
Halfway down the hallway, he freezes.
The bathroom light is on.
He doesn’t remember leaving it on.
For a second he just stands there staring.
Then quietly:
“Ricky?”
No answer.
Still.
Gyuvin’s pulse jumps anyway.
He walks closer slowly.
The apartment creaks softly around him.
The bathroom door is slightly open.
Warm yellow light spilling across the floor.
His chest tightens strangely.
Anticipation maybe.
Relief maybe.
Fear maybe.
He pushes the door open.
Empty.
Just the light humming softly overhead.
Gyuvin exhales shakily through his nose.
“Jesus.”
He turns the light off.
The hallway plunges dim again.
And then, from behind him:
“You’re jumpy tonight.”
Gyuvin spins around so fast his shoulder slams into the wall.
Ricky stands near the kitchen.
Hands shoved into hoodie pockets.
Like he’s been there the entire time.
Relief crashes through Gyuvin so hard it almost makes him angry.
“You scared the hell out of me.”
“Skill issue.”
“You vanished again.”
Ricky shrugs lightly.
“You okay?” Ricky asks.
Gyuvin leans back against the wall, trying to calm his heartbeat.
“Everyone’s acting weird.”
“How weird?”
“Like they know something.”
At that, Ricky goes quiet.
His expression softens slowly around the edges.
“You should sleep,” he says instead.
“There,” Gyuvin says immediately. “That. You just did it too.”
“Did what?”
“Changed the subject.”
Ricky looks away briefly.
And suddenly Gyuvin is terrified.
No reason.
No logic.
Just sudden catastrophic fear blooming beneath his skin.
“Ricky.”
The name comes out quieter than intended.
Ricky looks back at him.
Beautiful.
Soft-eyed.
Distant somehow.
Gyuvin steps closer.
“Please stay tonight.”
For one awful second, Ricky looks like he’s about to cry.
The expression vanishes almost immediately.
“You know I can’t.”
The answer lands strangely.
Something final hidden carefully beneath the words.
Gyuvin’s chest aches.
“Why not?”
Ricky smiles then.
“You know why.”
Cold spreads slowly through Gyuvin’s body.
Because no.
He doesn’t.
The apartment suddenly feels too quiet again.
Too still.
Gyuvin reaches for him instinctively.
His fingers brush Ricky’s wrist.
Warm.
Real.
And yet not fully.
Ricky glances down at their hands.
Then back up at him.
“You should sleep, Gyuvin.”
The way he says his name nearly breaks something open inside him.
Soft.
Devastated.
Loving.
A month after Ricky starts disappearing strangely, the others begin trying harder.
Too hard.
That’s how Gyuvin notices something is wrong.
People become unbearably gentle when they think you’re fragile.
⸻
“You’re coming,” Matthew announces over the phone.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“I’m busy.”
“You’ve been wearing the same hoodie for four days.”
Gyuvin looks down at himself.
Ricky’s hoodie.
“…That’s unrelated.”
“Hanbin said if necessary we’re legally allowed to drag you outside.”
“That sounds fake.”
“It’s emotionally real.”
Gyuvin groans into his pillow.
By some miracle, they eventually bully him into agreeing.
Barely.
⸻
The bar is crowded and warm and painfully alive.
Music rattles softly through dim neon lighting while groups of university students spill laughter across tables sticky with spilled drinks.
Gyuvin already regrets coming.
Matthew talks too loudly.
Gunwook keeps watching him when he thinks he won’t notice.
Hanbin practically flinches every time silence settles too long.
Everything feels strained lately.
Like everyone’s performing normalcy instead of actually living it.
Gyuvin sits half-curled into the corner booth checking his phone every few minutes.
Nothing.
No messages.
Still.
His thumb opens Ricky’s chat automatically.
where are you
Sent two hours ago.
No reply.
The ache beneath his ribs sharpens quietly.
Across the table, Matthew notices.
“You texting someone serious?” he asks jokingly.
Gyuvin barely looks up. “Hm?”
“You’ve been glued to your phone all night.” Matthew wiggles his eyebrows dramatically. “Got yourself a new partner?”
The entire table goes still.
Instantly.
Violently.
Like someone cut music wires inside the room.
Gunwook’s head snaps upward.
Hanbin’s expression drops so fast it almost hurts to witness.
Matthew realizes too late.
“Oh,” he says immediately. “Wait, I didn’t mean—”
“Why would I cheat on Ricky?”
The answer leaves Gyuvin naturally.
A horrible silence.
Matthew looks like he wants the earth to swallow him whole.
Gunwook grips his drink hard enough his knuckles whiten.
Hanbin stares at the table.
Nobody answers.
And suddenly irritation flares hot inside Gyuvin’s chest.
“There you all go again.”
“Gyuvin—” Hanbin starts softly.
“No seriously, what is wrong with everyone lately?”
Matthew looks panicked now. “I just meant because you’ve been on your phone a lot, I wasn’t saying—”
“I’m literally dating someone.”
The words come out sharper than intended.
Not angry.
Desperate maybe.
Again, nobody responds correctly.
Nobody rolls their eyes.
Nobody makes a joke.
Nobody says obviously.
Just silence.
That awful careful silence.
Gyuvin feels suddenly nauseous.
Like the room tilted slightly sideways without warning.
Gunwook speaks finally, voice strained. “Maybe we should head out.”
Nobody argues.
Outside, the city air is freezing.
The streets glow gold and white beneath traffic lights while late-night crowds drift past in blurry motion.
The group walks together aimlessly.
Or tries to.
Conversation keeps dying halfway through.
Matthew attempts jokes that collapse awkwardly.
Hanbin keeps checking on Gyuvin every thirty seconds with his eyes alone.
Gunwook looks exhausted beyond language.
Gyuvin trails slightly behind them, staring at his phone again.
Still nothing.
His chest hurts tonight.
A deep invisible ache spreading wider and wider.
Then suddenly:
There.
Across the street.
Blond hair.
Black hoodie.
Ricky.
Walking through the crowd beneath a flickering streetlight.
Gyuvin’s entire body reacts before his brain does.
“Ricky!”
The name tears out of him instantly.
The figure keeps moving.
Not turning around.
Panic detonates violently in his chest.
“Ricky!”
And then Gyuvin is running.
Behind him, someone shouts his name.
Tires scream suddenly against wet pavement.
Bright headlights explode across his vision.
A horn blares.
Too loud.
Too close.
Hands grab him violently backward just before a car flies past close enough for wind to whip against his face.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?!”
Gunwook.
The voice cracks like breaking glass.
Gyuvin stumbles hard against the sidewalk, heart slamming wildly against his ribs.
Across the street, the blond figure is gone.
Gone.
Gone again.
“No—”
“Are you insane?” Gunwook is yelling now, hands gripping Gyuvin’s shoulders hard enough to hurt. “You could’ve died!”
“He was right there!”
Silence.
Everyone freezes.
Hanbin’s face drains of color instantly.
Matthew looks horrified.
Gunwook closes his eyes briefly like he physically cannot endure another second.
“He was there,” Gyuvin repeats desperately, trying to twist free. “I saw him!”
“Gyuvin.” Hanbin’s voice sounds shattered already. “Please.”
“No, you guys never believe me!”
“Because he’s gone!”
The sentence rips through the street.
Everything stops.
Completely.
Gunwook’s expression changes immediately.
Regret.
Horror.
Panic.
Like he didn’t mean to say it aloud.
But it’s too late.
Too late.
Gyuvin stares at him blankly.
Gone.
The word echoes strangely inside his skull.
Gone.
Something fractures.
Like ice splitting across a frozen lake.
“No,” Gyuvin whispers.
And suddenly memories begin slamming into him without mercy.
Not memories.
Truth.
Him crying in the apartment doorway.
Matthew shaking during the funeral.
Black clothes.
Flowers.
Ricky’s mother collapsing against somebody’s shoulder.
A photograph framed beside candles.
Ricky laughing yesterday.
No.
No.
No.
No no no.
“Gyuvin—”
Ricky’s coffin.
The memory arrives whole this time.
White flowers.
Trembling hands.
The unbearable stillness of someone who used to move constantly.
“I said no.”
His voice sounds wrong now.
Thin.
Panicked.
Childlike.
More flashes.
Ricky died this morning.
Hanbin crying in a hospital hallway.
The taste of vomit afterward.
Cold hands grabbing his shoulders while he screamed.
“No no no no—”
His breathing breaks apart completely.
The city blurs violently around him.
Someone is holding him upright.
Someone else is crying.
Gunwook keeps saying his name over and over like prayer.
But Gyuvin can’t hear properly anymore because suddenly Ricky is everywhere.
Ricky laughing in convenience store aisles.
Ricky asleep against his chest.
Ricky saying maybe we would marry one day.
Dead.
The truth finally tears through every layer of denial all at once.
And it is unbearable.
Because Ricky didn’t disappear.
He died.
Months ago.
Gyuvin collapses hard against the pavement.
The last thing he hears before darkness swallows him completely is Hanbin screaming for someone to call an ambulance.
And somewhere beneath all the noise, buried deep inside unraveling memory, Ricky’s voice echoes one final time:
You’d keep living, right?
Warmth returns first.
It curls around Gyubin slowly, gently, like sunlight through blankets on winter morning. Soft fingers drift through his hair in unhurried strokes.
The faint scent of coffee and laundry detergent and Ricky’s cologne.
A heartbeat rests somewhere close beside him. Breathing.
Home.
Gyuvin exhales shakily before he even opens his eyes.
“There you are,” Ricky whispers.
The voice folds around him gently.
Familiar enough to hurt.
Gyuvin opens his eyes slowly.
Sunlight spills gold across the apartment in long hazy stripes. Dust drifts lazily through warm afternoon air. The blankets tangled around him smell like sleep and Ricky and something heartbreakingly safe.
And there he is.
Ricky.
Curled beside him like nothing terrible has ever happened.
Relief crashes through Gyuvin so violently his chest aches from it.
“Oh my god.”
His voice breaks instantly.
Ricky’s expression softens with immediate concern. “Hey.”
Gyuvin grabs him without thinking.
Desperate.
Hands shaking as he pulls Ricky against him hard enough to bruise.
Ricky makes a small startled sound before immediately melting into his arms.
“There you are,” Gyuvin says again, this time like prayer.
“It’s okay,” Ricky murmurs softly.
But Gyuvin can barely breathe.
Because he remembers now.
The street.
The headlights.
Gunwook yelling.
The horrible horrible truth clawing its way upward through his chest.
Dead.
Ricky died.
Except no.
No, because he’s right here.
Warm.
Breathing.
Holding him back.
Gyuvin pulls away just enough to cup Ricky’s face between trembling hands.
“You disappeared.”
Ricky smiles faintly. “I know.”
“I looked everywhere for you.”
“I know.”
“Everyone kept acting weird and I thought…” Gyuvin laughs shakily, tears already burning his eyes. “I thought I was losing my mind.”
At that, something inside Ricky’s expression fractures briefly.
Hurt flickers across his face so openly it steals the air from the room.
But then he leans forward and kisses Gyuvin softly.
Tenderly.
Like he’s been wanting to for centuries.
Gyuvin breaks apart against his mouth.
The kiss tastes like salt and grief and love stretched unbearably thin.
He kisses Ricky back desperately, one hand tangled in soft blond hair while the other grips his waist like he’s afraid the universe might steal him again if he loosens his hold even slightly.
Ricky kisses him slowly.
Carefully.
Like memorizing.
When they finally separate, Gyuvin rests his forehead against his.
“You scared me.”
Ricky’s breath catches softly.
“I’m sorry.”
"No, don’t say that.."
Ricky frowns. “Baby…”
Ricky reaches up and brushes tears from beneath his eyes with shaking fingers.
Only then does Gyuvin realize tears are already slipping down his face.
He laughs shakily through them. "you scared the hell out of me.“
“You need to eat properly again.”
Gyuvin blinks. “What?”
“And sleep.” Ricky smiles weakly. “Actual sleep. Not those two-hour naps you keep taking on the couch.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You stopped taking care of yourself.”
The ache returns instantly.
That strange awful ache.
Because Ricky’s voice sounds wrong again.
Gentle in the way people become gentle before leaving.
Gyuvin grips his wrist tighter. “Ricky.”
“You need to answer your friends more.”
“Baby.”
“And stop going to the convenience store every night waiting for me.”
The room goes very still.
Gyuvin’s heartbeat stutters painfully.
Ricky’s eyes shine suddenly.
“You need to keep living.”
“No.”
"You keep texting me."
"Please…"
"You keep chasing me."
"Stop talking like that."
Ricky laughs softly through tears. “You always do that.”
“Do what?”
“Decide loving me means destroying yourself too.”
Gyuvin shakes his head violently. “Stop talking like this.”
At that, Ricky inhaled unevenly
Then suddenly pulls Gyuvin closer again.
So close there’s no space left between them.
His face pressed into Gyuvin's shoulder. And for one terrifying moment, Gyuvin realizes Ricky is trembling too.
He presses a slow kiss against Gyuvin’s throat.
Then another against his jaw.
Then finally his mouth.
The kiss is soft.
Achingly soft.
Like Ricky is afraid too much force might break something.
Gyuvin melts instantly.
One hand tangling in blond hair while the other grips Tickys waist hard enough to leave marks.
“I tried staying,” Ricky whispers.
The sentence cracks apart midway through.
Gyuvin feels fear blooming again.
Cold.
Catastrophic.
“What do you mean?”
Ricky smiles.
God.
That smile.
Broken now around the edges.
Wet with tears.
“I stayed as long as I could.”
“No.”
“I wanted more time too.”
“No.”
Gyuvin’s voice trembles violently now.
He grabs Ricky’s hands harder like pressure alone can anchor him here.
“You’re here right now.”
Ricky starts crying quietly.
Not dramatic sobbing.
Just silent tears slipping helplessly down his face—and somehow that hurts worse.
“My time is up,” he whispers.
The words split straight through Gyuvin’s chest.
“No, no, no—”
“I need to go.”
“No!”
Gyuvin pulls him closer desperately, panic rising so fast he can barely breathe now.
“You can’t.”
Ricky closes his eyes briefly.
When he opens them again, they’re devastated.
“You need to let me go, Gyuvin.”
The sentence shatters him completely.
Because suddenly he understands.
This isn’t a reunion.
It’s goodbye.
A real one this time.
“No,” Gyuvin sobs instantly. “Please don’t do this again.”
Ricky’s face crumples.
“I’m sorry.”
“You promised.”
“I know.”
“You promised we had time.”
At that, Ricky breaks.
A soft horrible sound leaves him as tears spill faster down his face.
“I thought we did.”
Silence collapses around them.
Heavy with everything unfinished.
Everything stolen.
Gyuvin kisses him again desperately.
Messy now.
Crying into each other’s mouths.
Holding on with terrified hands.
Ricky kisses him back like someone dying of thirst.
Like someone trying to memorize love before disappearing from it.
When they part, Gyuvin presses their foreheads together, shaking violently.
“I don’t know how to do this.”
Ricky’s thumb brushes beneath his eye one final time.
“Yes you do.”
“No.”
“You keep living anyway.”
“I don’t want to.”
“I know.”
Ricky says it so softly it nearly kills him.
Then quietly:
“But I need you to try.”
The sunlight around them starts fading strangely now.
Blurring at the edges.
The apartment becoming hazy and indistinct.
No no no no—
Gyuvin clutches him harder immediately. “Ricky.”
Ricky is crying openly now.
So beautiful it hurts to look at.
“So much of me stayed with you,” he whispers. “You know that, right?”
Gyuvin can’t answer.
Can’t breathe.
“I loved you enough for a lifetime,” Ricky says shakily. “Even if mine ended early.”
The world begins unraveling around them softly.
Like waking up underwater.
“I have loved you for a thousand years and I’ll love you for a thousand more.“
Ricky presses one last kiss against Gyuvin’s forehead.
Tender.
Lingering.
Then whispers for the last time against his skin:
“Maybe we would’ve married one day and I would have been the happiest person alive.”
.
.
.
.
Sound returns before sight does.
Soft beeping.
Footsteps somewhere distant.
Fabric rustling quietly.
The world feels heavy.
Like Gyuvin has been buried beneath water for centuries and somebody is slowly dragging him upward by force.
His eyelids ache when he tries opening them.
Everything is white at first.
Blurry ceiling lights.
Pale walls.
A shape moving beside the bed.
Voices drift in and out around him like radio static.
“…waking up…”
“…get the doctor…”
“…Gyuvin?”
That voice.
Hanbin.
Reality crashes back violently.
Not all at once.
In shards.
The street.
Ricky crying.
Warm hands against his face.
You need to let me go.
Pain spreads instantly through Gyuvin’s chest.
Raw.
Unbearable.
His breathing stutters.
Someone grabs his hand immediately.
“Hey,” Hanbin says softly. “Easy.”
Gyuvin blinks slowly until Hanbin’s face comes into focus.
Red eyes.
Exhaustion.
Relief breaking apart around the edges.
Behind him stand Gunwook and Matthew.
Both looking terrified.
Like they’ve been holding their breath for hours.
Gyuvin stares at them blankly.
Hospital.
Right.
The realization settles cold inside him.
Not a dream then.
Not entirely.
His throat burns when he finally speaks.
The words barely come out.
Small.
Hoarse.
Half-conscious.
“He’s really gone…”
Silence swallows the room instantly.
Gyuvin’s eyes drift slowly between their faces.
Nobody answers.
And somehow that becomes the answer.
His mouth trembles.
“…is he?”
Hanbin breaks first.
A sharp breath catching painfully in his throat before he covers his mouth with shaking hands.
Gunwook looks away immediately, jaw clenched so tightly it shakes.
Matthew starts crying quietly near the window.
No one says yes.
No one says no.
Because they don’t need to.
Gyuvin already knows.
That’s the worst part.
He knows.
The denial that kept him breathing for months has finally cracked open completely, and underneath it sits something monstrous and final.
Ricky is dead.
Not missing.
Not avoiding him.
Not somewhere waiting to come home.
Dead.
The word tears through him fresh every single time.
Gyuvin laughs suddenly.
A horrible tiny sound.
Disbelieving.
His eyes fill immediately.
“He really left.”
Hanbin moves closer instantly. “Gyuvin…”
“He promised me.”
The tears come silently at first.
Just slipping sideways into his hairline while he stares up at the ceiling like maybe if he looks anywhere else this will become survivable.
“He promised me we had time.”
Gunwook presses the heels of his hands hard against his eyes.
Matthew turns fully away, shoulders shaking.
And Gyuvin realizes with devastating clarity that this pain didn’t only happen to him.
They lost Ricky too.
But somehow Gyuvin had been the only one refusing to bury him completely.
Because if Ricky stayed alive in conversations, in texts, in late-night sightings and imagined warmth, then maybe the universe hadn’t truly stolen him yet.
Maybe love had been enough to keep somebody alive.
But it wasn’t.
It wasn’t.
Gyuvin presses the heel of his palm hard against his mouth as a sob finally tears free.
Everything hurts.
His chest.
His throat.
Even breathing.
Hanbin grabs his hand tightly.
“You don’t have to do this alone.”
Gyuvin squeezes his eyes shut.
Immediately he sees Ricky again.
Laughing in convenience store aisles.
Standing beneath arcade lights.
Crying softly while saying goodbye.
I‘ll love you for a thousand more.
Another sob wrecks through him.
“I can’t feel him anymore.”
The confession destroys the room.
Hanbin bends forward instantly, crying openly now.
Gunwook curses shakily under his breath and walks toward the wall like he physically cannot stand still.
Matthew wipes at his face violently.
And Gyuvin finally understands why everyone looked at him with such unbearable sadness these past months.
They were watching someone drown beside a grave he refused to see.
The hospital room blurs again through tears.
“He said his time was up,” Gyuvin whispers brokenly.
Hanbin stills.
“What?”
Gyuvin’s breathing shakes unevenly.
“He told me…” His voice cracks apart. “He told me he tried to stay.”
Silence settles softly afterward.
Like everyone in the room understands this grief is bigger than language now.
After a long moment, Gunwook finally speaks without turning around.
“He loved you a lot.”
The understatement nearly kills Gyuvin.
A lot.
As if that phrase could contain years of laughter and late-night convenience store runs and rooftop conversations and whispered future plans.
As if a lot could explain why half of Gyuvin’s soul feels missing now.
Gyuvin starts crying harder.
Not loud.
That’s the terrible thing.
Real grief is often quiet.
It leaks out slowly.
Endlessly.
Like something inside the body refusing to stop bleeding.
“I don’t know how to do this,” he whispers.
Nobody tries to lie to him.
Nobody says it gets easier.
Hanbin just strokes his hair carefully and says through tears:
“We’ll figure it out with you.”
And somewhere deep inside the wreckage of Gyuvin’s chest, beneath all the devastation and unbearable absence, something tiny begins aching toward survival.
Not hope.
Not yet.
Just the faint understanding that love does not end simply because someone does.
Even now, Ricky exists everywhere.
In memory.
In habit.
In the shape of Gyuvin’s heartbeat itself.
Gone.
And still loved.
Maybe forever.
Night settles slowly over the hospital.
The others leave only when nurses practically force them to.
Matthew hugs Gyuvin so tightly before going home that it hurts both of them. Hanbin keeps asking if he needs anything every thirty seconds with red swollen eyes. Gunwook stands awkwardly near the door for a long time like he wants to say something enormous and impossible but can’t figure out how.
In the end, he only says quietly:
“You scared us.”
Gyuvin nods weakly.
Because yes.
He thinks maybe he scared himself too.
After they leave, the room becomes unbearably silent.
No laughter.
No voices.
No Ricky.
Just the soft mechanical beeping beside his bed and the distant squeak of hospital shoes in hallways.
Gyuvin stares at the ceiling for a very long time.
The grief feels different now.
Worse somehow.
Cleaner.
Before, denial had blurred the edges enough to survive inside.
Now the truth sits fully exposed in his chest like shattered glass.
Ricky is dead.
The sentence no longer slips away from him.
It stays.
Heavy.
Permanent.
Gyuvin turns his head slowly toward the bedside table.
His phone rests there plugged into a charger.
For a while he just stares at it.
Then reaches for it with trembling fingers.
The screen lights up immediately.
Notifications crowd the lockscreen.
Messages from everyone.
Mostly variations of:
please answer
we’re here
don’t scare us like that again.
But Gyuvin barely reads them.
Because Ricky’s chat still sits pinned at the top.
Of course it does.
His chest caves inward painfully.
He opens it slowly.
Months of messages fill the screen.
One-sided conversations.
Tiny pieces of denial dressed up as routine.
where are you
you’d hate this weather
I found your charger
Gyuvin presses his hand against his mouth.
Every message suddenly looks horrifying.
Like evidence.
Like watching someone build a house around grief instead of entering it.
His thumb scrolls upward shakily.
Further.
Further.
Until eventually the messages change.
Real replies.
Real conversations.
Ricky alive inside text bubbles.
skip class
marry me first
Love you❤️
Gyuvin lets out a broken sound instantly.
Because there he is.
Still joking.
Still existing.
Frozen forever inside pixels and memory.
A nurse enters quietly to check his vitals and pauses immediately upon seeing his face.
Gyuvin doesn’t realize he’s crying again until she hands him tissues softly without a word.
Humiliating.
He laughs weakly through tears. “Sorry.”
“You don’t have to apologize.”
The kindness nearly destroys him too.
After she leaves, the room feels colder.
Gyuvin stares down at the chat again.
Then slowly types:
i miss you
The message sends.
Delivered nowhere meaningful.
For the first time, no part of him expects an answer.
And somehow that hurts more than anything else.
⸻
Around 2 a.m., he finally falls asleep again.
This time Ricky doesn’t appear.
No warm apartment.
No soft kisses.
No sunlight tangled in blond hair.
Just darkness.
That hurts too.
⸻
When morning comes, grief is still there waiting for him.
That becomes the most horrifying realization.
The world didn’t stop.
People still laugh in hallways.
Coffee still brews somewhere nearby.
Sunlight still spills through windows like nothing catastrophic happened.
Meanwhile Ricky no longer exists anywhere on earth except memory.
How can both things be true simultaneously?
Hanbin arrives first carrying coffee and a hoodie.
Gyuvin recognizes it instantly.
Ricky’s.
His breath catches.
“I washed it,” Hanbin says carefully. “Figured you’d want it.”
Want it.
As if language still functions normally around grief.
Gyuvin takes the hoodie slowly.
Soft gray fabric.
Faint traces of cologne nearly washed away.
His chest aches so sharply he almost folds in half.
“He wore this all the time,” he whispers.
Hanbin smiles faintly through tired eyes. “Yeah.”
“He kept stealing my clothes.”
“He said your hoodies smelled comforting.”
The sentence lands directly in Gyuvin’s ribs.
For a second neither of them speaks.
Then quietly, Hanbin sits beside the bed.
“We were scared to push you.”
Gyuvin stares down at the hoodie in his lap.
“I know.”
“We thought maybe…” Hanbin exhales shakily. “Maybe you just needed time.”
Gyuvin laughs weakly.
“Turns out I needed psychological intervention.”
Hanbin’s expression crumples immediately. “Don’t joke like that.”
“Sorry.”
After a while Gyuvin says quietly:
“I really saw him.”
Hanbin looks over immediately.
“I know.”
“No, I mean…” Gyuvin struggles for words. “I knew he was dead somewhere deep down, but when I saw him it felt so real.”
His throat tightens painfully.
“I could feel him.”
Hanbin’s eyes shine again.
“Grief does strange things.”
“But he felt real.”
The desperation in his own voice embarrasses him instantly.
Like part of him still needs someone to confirm he hasn’t completely lost his mind.
Hanbin reaches over carefully and squeezes his wrist.
“I think,” he says softly, “when you love someone that much… your brain doesn’t know how to exist without them immediately.”
Gyuvin stares at the blanket tangled across his lap.
“He kept showing up in places we used to go.”
“The convenience store.”
“Yeah.”
“The arcade too?”
Gyuvin looks up sharply.
Hanbin smiles sadly. “Gunwook told me.”
A long silence follows.
Then Gyuvin whispers:
“He looked lonely.”
The sentence nearly breaks Hanbin apart.
Because maybe Ricky had looked lonely.
Or maybe loneliness had simply become the shape of Gyuvin’s love after loss.
“I think,” Hanbin says carefully, “you were carrying all the things you still needed to hear from him.”
Gyuvin remembers Ricky crying softly in that fading apartment dream.
<i>You need to keep living.</i>
His chest tightens.
“He told me to let him go.”
Hanbin looks down immediately.
And somehow that reaction hurts too.
Because it means even that sounds believable.
Even that sounds like Ricky.
After a while, Hanbin asks quietly:
“Do you think you can?”
Gyuvin doesn’t answer immediately.
Outside the hospital window, morning traffic moves steadily through sunlight.
Life continuing.
Relentless.
Ordinary.
He thinks about Ricky laughing in convenience store aisles.
Ricky asleep against his chest.
Ricky saying maybe we would marry one day beneath freezing rooftop skies.
Then he thinks about the last thing Ricky said.
“You keep living anyway.”
Gyuvin closes his eyes briefly.
“I don’t know how.”
Hanbin squeezes his wrist again.
“That’s okay.”
The words settle gently into the room.
You don’t magically survive losing the love of your life.
You survive minute by minute.
Breath by breath.
Sometimes ugly.
Sometimes screaming.
Sometimes barely at all.
But slowly, painfully, life grows around grief instead of beneath it.
And maybe that’s what healing really is.
Not forgetting.
Not moving on.
Just learning how to carry someone without mistaking the weight for your own death too.
Years later, grief no longer feels like drowning.
It feels more like an old scar beneath weather changes.
Still there.
Still part of him.
But survivable.
⸻
Gyuvin moves apartments three years after the hospital.
Not because he wants to.
Because eventually he realizes he cannot keep living inside a mausoleum disguised as home.
The old apartment held too many ghosts.
Ricky’s mug still hidden in cabinets.
The mark on the wall from when he nearly fell trying to change a lightbulb.
The corner of the couch where he used to fall asleep during movies.
Some griefs grow into physical space.
So Gyuvin leaves.
The new apartment is smaller.
Warmer somehow.
Sunlight reaches the kitchen in the mornings. There’s a tiny balcony barely large enough for one chair and several aggressively dying plants. The upstairs neighbors own a very enthusiastic golden retriever that barks at absolutely nothing.
It feels alive here.
That matters.
So does the dog.
Gyuvin adopts her impulsively one rainy Thursday after accidentally making eye contact at a shelter.
A scruffy little grey mutt with crooked ears and deeply unfortunate posture.
The volunteer says, “She’s kind of anxious.”
Gyuvin laughs quietly.
“Yeah,” he says. “Me too.”
He names her Eumpappa because Ricky once said if they ever got a dog, he wanted “something dignified.”
This dog immediately eats part of Gyuvin’s shoelace during the ride home.
Perfect.
Life keeps happening after that.
Cruelly.
Miraculously.
Gyuvin graduates.
Gets a job.
Learns how to sleep without waking up expecting someone beside him.
Some days are still catastrophic.
Certain songs still destroy him unexpectedly.
Convenience stores at 2 a.m. still feel haunted.
But he laughs more now.
Real laughter.
And sometimes, when sunlight hits the apartment just right while Eumpappa sleeps beside him on the couch, Gyuvin can almost believe happiness is allowed to return in pieces.
Not the same happiness.
Never the same.
But something softer.
Something rebuilt.
⸻
The department dinner is loud enough to make thinking difficult.
Coworkers crowd around long restaurant tables littered with half-empty plates and too many beer bottles while somebody argues passionately about office coffee quality like national policy depends on it.
Gyuvin sits near the end of the table listening with quiet amusement.
Five years ago he would’ve hated this.
Now it feels… nice.
Ordinary.
There’s comfort in ordinary things.
Across from him, Soojin nudges his arm lightly.
“So,” she says with a teasing smile, “are you ever going to bring someone to these dinners?”
Several coworkers immediately join in.
“Seriously.”
“You’re suspiciously private.”
“He’s definitely hiding a romance.”
Gyuvin snorts softly into his drink.
“No romance.”
“That sounds exactly like something who hides it.”
“Damn,” he mutters. “You got me.”
Laughter spills around the table.
Warm.
Easy.
Then someone asks casually:
“So are you seeing anyone?”
The question lands gently.
No pressure behind it.
Just curiosity.
Years ago, the question would’ve gutted him instantly.
Now the pain arrives softer.
Manageable.
Gyuvin leans back slightly in his chair, turning the condensation-covered glass slowly between his hands.
“Nah.”
“No interest?”
He smiles faintly.
“I think…” He pauses briefly. “I’m happy how I am.”
The words surprise even him slightly.
Because they’re true.
Not fully.
Not perfectly.
But honestly.
One of his coworkers grins. “That sounds suspiciously emotionally mature.”
“Don’t insult me.”
“Still,” another says carefully, “you’ve really never wanted another relationship?”
For a moment, Gyuvin looks toward the restaurant window.
Rain streaks softly against the glass outside.
City lights blur gold beneath it.
And suddenly he remembers:
A convenience store at 2 a.m.
A rooftop in winter.
Maybe we would marry one day.
The ache comes gently now.
Like touching an old bruise.
Still tender.
No longer fatal.
Gyuvin smiles quietly to himself.
“I think,” he says slowly, “some people stay with you even after they’re gone.”
The table falls softer after that.
Not awkward.
Just thoughtful.
Soojin reaches over eventually and steals fries off his plate.
“You’re weirdly poetic for an architect.”
“My greatest flaw.”
Laughter returns.
The conversation moves on.
And somewhere inside his chest, grief shifts quietly beside love instead of swallowing it whole.
⸻
A week later, Gyuvin visits the cemetery.
The sky is pale gray.
Early autumn wind drifts softly through rows of headstones while Eumpappa trots beside him wearing a tiny yellow sweater she profoundly resents.
“You look ridiculous,” Gyuvin tells her.
Eumpappa sneezes in protest.
Ricky’s grave rests beneath a oak tree near the back.
Gyuvin still has to pause for a second before approaching sometimes.
Not because he can’t handle it anymore.
Because part of him still expects movement.
A smile.
A joke.
Blond hair catching sunlight.
But grief stopped hallucinating miracles a long time ago.
Now it simply remembers them.
“Hey,” Gyuvin says softly as he crouches down.
Eumpappa settles beside him immediately.
The headstone is slightly covered in fallen leaves.
Gyuvin brushes them away carefully.
His fingers linger against Ricky’s name afterward.
The cold stone no longer shocks him.
He starts talking eventually.
About work.
About Eumpappa chewing through another charger cable.
About Gunwook finally learning how to cook without endangering society.
Small things.
Ordinary things.
That’s what love becomes after death sometimes.
Continuing to tell someone about your days anyway.
The wind stirs quietly through the cemetery.
Gyuvin smiles faintly while adjusting the flowers he brought.
“You would hate my coworkers,” he murmurs. “They’re all emotionally stable.”
Silence answers gently.
Not empty silence.
Never empty.
After a while, he sits down fully in the grass beside the grave.
Eumpappa curls against his leg sleepily.
And for a long moment, Gyuvin simply exists there.
Breathing.
Living.
Still carrying him.
Then slowly, carefully, he reaches into his coat pocket.
Pulls out a small velvet ring box.
His hands shake only slightly now.
That feels important somehow.
The box is old.
He bought it years ago.
Back when forever still looked guaranteed.
Gyuvin stares at it quietly for a moment before setting it gently against the headstone.
Right beneath Ricky’s name.
His throat tightens instantly.
“You know,” he says softly, eyes fixed downward, “I really would’ve married you.”
The wind moves through the maple branches overhead.
Somewhere nearby, Eumpappa shifts in his sleep.
Gyuvin laughs quietly to himself.
Then after a long silence, he whispers:
“Maybe we would’ve gotten married one day but who knows...”
And for the first time since losing him, the sentence no longer sounds like devastation.
It sounds like love.