Work Text:
I’m unraveled
By the time Jungwon realized he was crying, the room had already gone quiet. Not silent, exactly. Seoul was never silent, not even this late at night. There were still cars passing outside his window, tires cutting through the rain-slick street below. Somewhere in the building, someone’s washing machine hummed with the tired persistence of a thing that had been left running too long. His phone buzzed once against his mattress, then twice, then stopped.
Jungwon didn’t pick it up.
He knew who it was. That was the worst part.
He knew exactly who it was.
Jay had probably gotten home by now. He had probably taken off his coat, placed his keys in the ceramic dish by the door, and stood in the entrance of his apartment for a second too long, staring down at his phone with that little crease between his eyebrows. The one Jungwon always wanted to smooth away with his thumb. The one Jungwon had put there.
Again. His phone buzzed once more.
Jungwon closed his eyes.
The day had been good. That was the thing. It had been such a good day. Jay had picked him up from campus because Jungwon had forgotten his umbrella, even though Jay had a deadline the next morning and shouldn’t have been wasting time crossing half the city just to keep his boyfriend from getting rained on. He had been standing near the front gates when Jungwon came out, one hand tucked into the pocket of his long black coat, the other holding an umbrella large enough for two. His hair was damp at the ends, curling slightly against his forehead, and when he saw Jungwon, his whole face softened. Like it always did. Like Jungwon was something worth looking at.
“You’re hopeless,” Jay had said, holding the umbrella higher when Jungwon stepped under it.
Jungwon had rolled his eyes. “The forecast said no rain.”
“The forecast also doesn’t know you personally.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means the universe likes bullying you.”
Jungwon had laughed then. A real laugh. The kind that came easily when Jay was there, warm and familiar beside him, his shoulder brushing Jungwon’s every few steps because he always walked close enough to make the world feel smaller.
They had gone to a small restaurant near Hongdae because Jay had remembered Jungwon mentioning it two weeks ago, once, half-asleep during a phone call. They had ordered too much food. Jay had given him the last dumpling without making a show of it. Jungwon had noticed anyway, because Jungwon noticed everything when it came to Jay. The way he pushed his sleeves up before eating. The way he always checked the temperature of soup before passing the bowl over. The way he listened like every stupid thing Jungwon said mattered.
After dinner, they had walked around without a destination. The rain had stopped by then, leaving the streets shiny and bright beneath the store signs. Jay had bought him a strawberry milk from a convenience store, then held it out with a straw already pushed through the plastic seal.
Jungwon had stared at it for a second. Jay had frowned. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“You looked weird.”
“I didn’t.”
“You did.”
“I was just thinking.”
“That’s dangerous.”
Jungwon had kicked him lightly in the ankle. Jay had laughed and stepped closer, bumping their shoulders together. It should have been enough.
That was the problem.
It should have been enough. A good day. A good boyfriend. A good love. The kind Jungwon had once thought would fix whatever was wrong with him.
His phone lit up again. This time, the screen stayed bright long enough for him to see the messages.
jjonseongie: are you sure you are okay?
jjonseongie: won?
jjonseongie: baby
Jungwon pressed the heel of his hand against his mouth until it hurt. He hated that one. He loved that one. Jay only called him that when he was being soft. When he was sleepy. When he was worried. When Jungwon had gone too quiet for too long and Jay knew better than to believe him when he said he was fine.
Jungwon turned the phone face down. The room went dark again.
For a while, he just lay there, staring at the ceiling. There were glow-in-the-dark stars stuck above his bed. He had put them there during his first year of university, back when he still thought becoming an adult meant outgrowing the parts of himself that felt small. Half of them were peeling off now, the corners curling away from the paint.
Jay had noticed once. “You should replace those,” he’d said, lying beside Jungwon with one arm tucked beneath his head.
Jungwon had glanced up. “Why?”
“They’re dying.”
“They’re stars. They’re already dead.”
Jay had turned his head to look at him. Jungwon had looked back.
Then Jay had smiled, slow and fond. “You’re so annoying.”
“You love me.”
“I do.” Too fast. Too easy. Like it didn’t cost him anything. Like saying it wasn’t terrifying. Jungwon had smiled then, because Jay had kissed him after that, and it was impossible not to smile when Jay kissed him like he meant it. But later, alone in the bathroom, while Jay slept in his bed, Jungwon had stared at himself in the mirror and thought, stupidly, viciously: For how long?
The thought had returned tonight. Not loudly at first. It never started loudly; it started as something small. A tiny, ugly thing. It had actually happened a few weeks ago too, a memory that his mind decided to dig up right now. They had been waiting for a pedestrian light to change when Jay laughed at something on his phone. Jungwon had looked over and seen the name at the top of the screen—someone from Jay’s music production class. A girl. Pretty, probably. Funny enough to make Jay laugh. Jay had shown him the message a second later; he hadn’t been hiding anything. It was just a meme about one of their professors. Jungwon had laughed too, because it was funny, because there was nothing wrong, because Jay had done nothing wrong. And still.
And still, for the rest of the night, that old memory sat somewhere beneath Jungwon’s ribs. Quiet. Patient. Waiting.
By the time Jay walked him home tonight, Jungwon had already started counting. Not intentionally. He hated that he did it. He hated the way his mind could turn love into arithmetic. Pretty girls in Jay’s classes. People Jay had dated before him. People who probably didn’t need this much reassurance. People who probably didn’t go quiet after perfect dates and ignore messages because their own brain had decided to swallow them whole.
At his building entrance, Jay had pulled him close by the sleeve of his jacket. “You sure you’re okay?” he had asked. Jungwon had nodded. Jay’s eyes had searched his face. It was unbearable, being known like that. It was worse being loved through it. “You’re doing that thing,” Jay said.
“What thing?”
“The thing where you look like you’re trying to leave your own body.”
Jungwon had forced a laugh. “That’s dramatic.”
“It’s accurate.”
“I’m just tired.”
Jay didn’t look convinced. Jungwon hated him for that a little. Not really. Never really. But sometimes Jay’s kindness felt like standing beneath a light he hadn’t asked for. Sometimes it made every hidden, ugly part of him visible. Jay had touched his cheek then, thumb brushing lightly beneath his eye. “You’d tell me, right?”
No.
“Yeah.”
Jay had kissed his forehead. Jungwon had almost cried right there. Instead, he had smiled, gone upstairs, locked the door behind him, and fallen apart.
Now, hours later, he was still in his clothes. His jacket laid on the floor. His socks were damp at the toes. His chest hurt in a way that felt both dramatic and humiliating, like his body was trying to make a tragedy out of something that only existed inside his head. That was the worst part. Jay had done nothing wrong. Not one thing. He had never made Jungwon feel unwanted. Never made him feel difficult. Never looked at him like loving him was work, even when Jungwon knew it had to be. Because how could it not be? How could loving someone like him ever be easy?
His phone started ringing. Jungwon flinched. The sound cut through the room, bright and violent. Jungwon reached out, blindly gripping the phone and flipping it over in his hand. Jay’s name glowed on the screen. Jungwon stared at it until his vision blurred. Then he let it ring out. A second later, a message appeared.
jjonseongie: i’m coming over
Jungwon sat up so fast the room tilted. His hands shook as he grabbed the phone.
wonie: don’t
Jay read it immediately. Of course he did.
jjonseongie: open the door when i get there
Jungwon’s throat tightened.
wonie: jay
jjonseongie: please
That was worse.
Jay never said please unless he was scared. Jungwon placed the phone beside him and pressed both hands over his face.
He should reply. He should tell Jay he was okay. He should apologize. He should say he was just tired, or overwhelmed, or being stupid. But his hands wouldn’t move. His body felt too heavy. His thoughts too loud. He sat there in the dark, breathing through his mouth, listening to the distant sound of rain beginning again. It was almost funny. The forecast had promised clear skies. A choked sound left him. It wasn’t a laugh.
He didn’t know how much time passed before there was a knock at the door. Not loud. Not angry. Just three soft taps. Then Jay’s voice. “Wonie?”
Jungwon closed his eyes. For one terrible second, he considered staying quiet. He imagined Jay standing outside, soaked from the rain, worried and tired and still there. He imagined making him wait. He imagined Jay eventually leaving. The thought was so painful it finally made him move.
His legs felt strange beneath him as he crossed the apartment—too weak, too far away, like he was walking through water. He stopped by the small entryway, his hand hovering over the lock in the heavy shadows. He couldn't face Jay like this, not in total blindness. With a quiet, hesitant click, Jungwon reached out and flipped the switch for the small lamp near the door. The sudden warm light flooded the tight space, casting long, sharp shadows across the floor and making him squint. His chest tightened as he finally turned the lock.
When he opened the door, Jay was there. Hair damp. Coat wet at the shoulders. A convenience store bag hanging from one wrist. His eyes found Jungwon’s face, and something in them broke so quickly Jungwon almost looked away.
“Hey,” Jay said softly.
That was all. Hey. Like Jungwon hadn’t ignored his calls. Like Jay hadn’t run through the rain because Jungwon couldn’t answer a text like a normal person. Like love could be that simple. Jungwon’s mouth opened, but nothing came out.
Jay stepped inside and set the bag down by the door. He took off his shoes without asking, like he had done it a hundred times before. Then he reached for Jungwon, slowly enough that Jungwon could move away if he wanted to.
He didn’t.
Jay’s hands settled on his arms. Warm and careful.
“Did I do something?” Jay asked. Jungwon shook his head too quickly. Jay’s expression shifted. Not relief. Pain. That was worse. “Then what happened?”
“Nothing.”
“Jungwon.”
The way Jay said his name made his eyes burn again. Jungwon looked down. Jay’s thumbs moved gently over the sleeves of his sweater, back and forth, back and forth. It was such a small gesture. So stupidly tender. Jungwon hated that it helped. He hated that it helped immediately. He hated that Jay could touch him once and make the noise quiet down, even for a second, because it made him want to crawl inside that feeling and live there forever. It made him want to be saved. It made him want to ask for things no person should have to give.
“Do you ever…” Jungwon started. His voice cracked. Jay waited. Jungwon swallowed. “Do you ever wish I was easier?”
Jay went still. Outside, a car passed through a puddle. The sound rose and faded. “What?”
Jungwon laughed weakly, wiping at his face with the heel of his hand. “Never mind.”
“No.” Jay’s voice was quiet, but firm. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Say something like that and then try to take it back.”
Jungwon looked away.
Jay ducked his head slightly, trying to catch his gaze. “Wonie.”
The nickname ruined him. Jungwon’s shoulders started shaking before he could stop them. Jay pulled him in immediately. No hesitation. No impatience. Just arms around him, one hand coming up to the back of his head, holding him against his chest while Jungwon stood there and cried like a child in the entrance of his own apartment.
“I’m sorry,” Jungwon whispered.
Jay’s grip tightened. “Don’t.”
“I don’t know why I’m like this.”
“Baby—”
“I don’t,” Jungwon said, and it came out sharper than he meant it to. Desperate. Humiliating. “I know you love me. I know that. I’m not stupid. I see it. I feel it. I know you’re good to me, and I know you’re trying, and I know I should be happy. But sometimes it’s like there’s something wrong in my head, and no matter what you do, it comes back. And then I feel worse because you’re doing everything right, so if I still feel like this, then it’s just—”
My head is full of poison
And my heart is full of doubt
He stopped.
Jay’s hand moved slowly through his hair, a gentle, devastating attempt to clean a wound he couldn't see. “It’s just what?” he asked.
I got toxins in my bloodstream
You tried hard to suck 'em out
Jungwon squeezed his eyes shut.
Me. The word sat behind his teeth. For a second, Jungwon thought he might leave it there. Then he laughed weakly.
"It's just me. It's always me," Jungwon whispered against his shoulder, the words tasting like copper.
Jay’s face changed. For the first time tonight, he looked hurt in a way Jungwon couldn’t pretend not to see. “I’m not trying to fix you,” Jay said. Jungwon’s breath caught. Jay looked at him for a long moment. Then he laughed once, quietly, without humor. “I don’t even think I can.”
The sentence landed between them with devastating softness. Jungwon stared at him. Jay seemed to realize how it sounded a second too late, because his eyes widened. “That’s not—” He stopped, frustrated with himself. “I mean, I don’t think I’m supposed to. I love you. I want to help you. I want to be here. But I don’t want you to need me to be okay.”
Jungwon stepped back. Jay let him. The apartment suddenly felt too small. Too bright, even in the dark. Jungwon wrapped his arms around himself. “So you’re tired.”
“No.”
“It’s okay if you are.”
“I’m not tired of you.”
“But you’re tired.”
Jay didn’t answer fast enough. That was answer enough. Jungwon nodded, once. His face felt numb. Jay looked like he wanted to reach for him again, but didn’t know if he should. “I’m scared,” Jay admitted. Jungwon looked at him then. Jay’s jaw tightened. “I’m scared of saying the wrong thing. I’m scared of missing something. I’m scared that one day you’ll disappear into your own head and I won’t know how to pull you back. I’m scared you think love is supposed to hurt this much.”
Jungwon wanted to be angry. It would have been easier. Cleaner. He wanted Jay to say something cruel so he could turn this into a fight. He wanted a reason to push him away that didn’t make him feel like a coward. But Jay just stood there, soaked from the rain, looking at him like leaving was the last thing he wanted to do. And Jungwon loved him. God. He loved him so much it felt unbearable.
And it feels like medication
And it's good for me, I'm sure
“I thought you would make it stop,” Jungwon whispered. Jay’s face crumpled. Jungwon looked down. “Not on purpose. I know that’s unfair. I know. But when I’m with you, it’s quiet. And I can breathe. And I don’t hate myself as much.” He laughed, small and broken. “So I thought maybe that was it. Maybe I just needed to be loved right.”
Jay said nothing. Jungwon wiped his face again. “But then it comes back.” His voice broke on the last word. Jay crossed the space between them. This time, Jungwon didn’t let him touch him. Not because he didn’t want it. Because he wanted it too much. Jay stopped. Jungwon looked at the floor. “I don’t know what to do if your love isn’t enough.”
Jay was quiet for a long time. Then he said, “Maybe it doesn’t have to be.”
Jungwon gave a weak, disbelieving laugh. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”
“No.” Jay’s voice was soft. “I don’t know how to make you feel better right now.”
That honesty hurt more than any comfort could have. Jay took a careful breath. “But I can stay.”
Jungwon closed his eyes. There it was. The terrible, beautiful thing. Jay could stay. Jay could hold his hand. Jay could show up in the rain. Jay could memorize his coffee order and kiss his forehead and notice when Jungwon started leaving his own body. Jay could love him. But Jay could not climb inside his head and clean out every ugly thought by hand.
Jay would never be the cure.
Jungwon opened his eyes. Jay was still there. Waiting. Not smiling. Not pretending everything was okay. Just there. And maybe that should have made Jungwon feel safe. Maybe it did. Maybe it didn’t. Both things felt true. His chest hurt. His head hurt. He was so tired of being a person someone had to be patient with.
“I don’t want you to leave,” he said, barely audible.
Jay’s expression softened. “I’m not leaving.”
“You say that now.”
“I say that now,” Jay agreed. “And I’ll say it tomorrow. But I need you to believe me enough to let me be a person too.”
That was the part that made Jungwon cry again. Not loudly this time. Just tears slipping down his face, quiet and endless. Because Jay was right. Because Jay had always been a person. Not medicine. Not an antidote. Not a miracle. A person. A boy standing in his apartment with wet hair and tired eyes, asking to be loved without being turned into something holy.
Jungwon covered his face. “I’m sorry.”
Jay stepped forward again. This time, Jungwon let him. They ended up on the floor somehow, backs against the side of Jungwon’s bed, the convenience store bag forgotten by the door. Jay’s coat was still damp. Jungwon’s socks were still wet. Neither of them moved to fix it. Jay held his hand above the blanket Jungwon had dragged down with them. Their shoulders touched.
For a while, they didn’t talk. The rain kept falling. The washing machine in the building stopped humming. Eventually, Jay’s thumb brushed over his knuckles. “You don’t have to know how to fix everything tonight,” he said.
Jungwon stared at their hands. “I know.”
He didn’t know. Not really. But Jay was tired, and Jungwon was tired, and the night had stretched them both thin enough. So he said it anyway. Jay leaned his head back against the bed. Jungwon watched him from the corner of his eye—his nose bridge scar, the damp strands of hair near his temple, the exhaustion he was trying not to show, the love he wasn’t trying to hide. Something inside Jungwon twisted. Not healed. Not even close. Just quieter.
At least for now.
Jay’s hand tightened around his. Jungwon closed his eyes. For a moment, it almost felt like enough. And because he was tired, because he was selfish, because he loved Jay more than he knew what to do with, he let himself lean into that almost. Just for the night. Just until morning. Just until the thoughts came back.