Archive of Our Own

Every story has chapters. It’s just that sometimes, you are not in it. But this time, let them tell you about the chapter they wrote. The chapter that might be put in the few last pages of the book, left unread, and could only be understood by some people.

Because finally now, it’s their time.

Neither Youngjae and Junghwan ever imagined life would bring them to this point. A bond that, years ago, didn’t even exist as a possibility in their mind. If someone had once sat in front of them and said, “One day you’ll look at each other longer than you should. One day you’ll wait for their message with a feeling you can’t name. One day their tired voice on the phone will keep you awake all night,” they would’ve laughed. He would’ve called it a terrible joke.

Because in Youngjae’s world, Junghwan had always belonged somewhere clear and safe. He was part of someone else’s story. Dohoon’s story.

As for Junghwan, Youngjae’s name forever engraved as Dohoon’s friend. That was how they met. And it has always been like that.

And that was exactly why everything felt complicated, even before anything had begun.

Maybe that was why, when the feeling started to grow, they spent years denying it.

Because it didn’t arrive like lightning splitting a clear sky.

It came like rain, falling drop by drop.

Until one day, they realized they were soaked through.

—

A few months after graduation, Youngjae moved to New York for his studies.

The decision was made with care, but it never felt easy. For the first time in his life, he was far from home. Far from family. Far from everyone who made the world feel familiar.

New York welcomed him with skyscrapers, a subway that never slept, and crowds that made loneliness feel louder.

In a city that big, Youngjae realized he barely knew anyone.

And the only name that came to mind was Junghwan. Junghwan, who lived a few hours away. Junghwan, who was also building his own life in America. When Youngjae told him, Junghwan thought he was joking.

“Wait. New York? That New York?”

“Is there another one?”

“Yes. The one in my head. And that one’s much closer than a three-hour trip.”

Youngjae still remembers laughing at that reply. So in his second month there, they met. The first meeting was ordinary. No romantic atmosphere, strange flutter in his chest, or gaze that lingered too long.

They just sat across from each other in a small, crowded pizza shop filled with students and office workers.

They talked about the weather. About classes. About how expensive life was. About how hard it was to find Korean food that actually tasted like home.

And for a few hours, Youngjae felt lighter.

For the first time since moving, he didn’t feel alone in a city of strangers.

—

By the next time they met, Youngjae’s life had changed a little.

He had a boyfriend.

His name was Gunwook. A Korean exchange student in New York.

Gunwook was warm, easygoing, easy to love. They met by chance, then slowly became close.

When Youngjae introduced Gunwook to Junghwan, it felt natural. The three of them spent the whole day together. They rode the train. Wandered from one place to another. Walked until their feet ached. Ate at restaurants they hadn’t planned to visit. Laughed at things they wouldn’t even remember later.

At the end of the day, as they sat side by side on an almost-empty train, Gunwook fell asleep with his head on Youngjae’s shoulder.

Youngjae still remembers how Junghwan looked at them and smiled faintly.

“Doesn’t he fall asleep too easily?” he asked.

Youngjae laughed. “That’s just who he is.”

“So he trusts you,” Junghwan said.

“I guess so.”

Junghwan nodded slowly. Then looked out the window.

“People only sleep peacefully next to someone who makes them feel safe.”

Youngjae didn’t think much of it then. He just still remembers those words perfectly.

—

Christmas came.

For the first time since leaving Korea, Youngjae felt homesick.

So when Junghwan invited him to spend it together, he said yes immediately.

They went to midnight mass. Walked streets strung with golden lights. Bought hot chocolate that was too sweet. Listened to a church choir echoing under old ceilings.

Gunwook came too. Even though he didn’t celebrate Christmas, he came because Youngjae wanted him there.

That night felt warm. As warm as the lights hanging above them. As warm as the laughter that slipped between them now and then. And none of them noticed that life was quietly writing a new chapter they weren’t ready to read yet.

—

The next time they met, Gunwook was not tagging Youngjae along anymore.

Not because of a fight. Not because love had ended. Life just pulled them in different directions. Gunwook had to return to Korea and Youngjae stayed in New York.

They tried to make it work. Then slowly realized that sometimes love isn’t enough to defeat distance and time.

The goodbye hurt. More than Youngjae admitted to anyone. Maybe that was why he went straight to Boston when he heard Junghwan was sick.

At first, he only meant to check on him. But the moment he saw him, he knew he couldn’t just leave. Junghwan’s face was pale. His voice was hoarse. His fever was high. His apartment looked like someone had given up on it days ago.

“I think this is it for me,” Junghwan mumbled from under the blanket.

Youngjae, replacing the compress on his forehead, sighed. “If you still have energy to joke, you’re not dying.”

“I’m dead serious.”

“So am I.”

“My body’s given up.”

“Then let it. I’ll handle the rest.”

Junghwan opened one eye. “That’s the kind of line a drama lead would say.”

“I’m trying to help you here.”

“I know.”

“Now shut up and take your medicine.”

Junghwan obeyed without arguing. Compared to how bossy Youngjae is, it is a hundred percent better than handling his fever season all by himself.

The night grew late while the fever didn’t fully break. Youngjae stayed awake. Sometimes he read something for class. Then he checked Junghwan’s temperature. Most of the time, he just sitting quietly, listening to rain hit the window.

And in the silence of that night, he heard something.

Junghwan was talking in his sleep. At first, it was just murmurs. Then words came too.

“I miss you… Mom…”

Youngjae turned toward him.

The voice was so soft. Junghwan sounds so strong yet so fragile. He is the Junghwan who was always steady and stubborn.

For a moment, Youngjae’s chest tightened.

Because he understood more than Junghwan would ever know. There were nights he’d lain awake staring at the ceiling, aching to go home just for one dinner with his family. Nights when missing home felt like he couldn’t breathe.

So he pulled Junghwan’s blanket up a little higher and whispered, even though he knew he couldn’t hear. “You’re not alone. I’m here.”

The next morning, when Junghwan opened his eyes, the apartment was quiet.

Youngjae has already gone.

But on the dining table sat a plate of pancakes, neatly covered and a small note saying: I have to go back for my morning class. Don’t forget to eat and take your medicine.

Junghwan stared at the handwriting for a long time then smiled faintly. He walked to the table and took a bite. A few seconds later, his expression changed.

He chewed slowly then sighed.

The pancakes looked perfect but they tasted like a failed science experiment.

Still, he ate every single one.

—

Months passed.

Then Junghwan’s birthday came.

If Youngjae hadn’t come, the day would’ve passed like any other. No celebration. No cake. No meaningful wishes.

Because Junghwan never cared much about his birthday.

But Youngjae still came to Boston with a small cake. With a presence that, without either of them saying it, had become something Junghwan quietly looked forward to.

That night they sat on the apartment floor, eating cake with plastic forks.

“What gift do you want?” Youngjae asked.

Junghwan raised an eyebrow. “You came all the way here. That’s enough.”

“Be fucking serious.”

“I’m being serious.”

“Tell me something you actually want.”

Junghwan was quiet for a long time before laughed softly. “I just want my research project to go well.”

Youngjae stared at him. “That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“You’re the most boring person I know.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

They laughed together in disbelief. The day ended with a video call with Kyungmin singing him a birthday song.

Junghwan thought that was it, until a few days later, while Junghwan was drowning in journals and losing hope, his phone lit up with notifications.

One file. Then another. Then ten. Then twenty. Suddenly his phone was filled with dozens of documents filled his inbox.

Opening it one by one, all of them were the compilation of research articles, academic references, and contact of other students working on similar topics.

Things he hadn’t even had time to look for himself.

Junghwan thought it was him daydreaming so he called Youngjae immediately.

The moment the call connected, he didn’t even say hello.

“Are you serious?” On the other end, Youngjae laughed. “How long did it take you to find all this?”

“Just a few days.”

“‘Just a few days,’ you said.”

“I wasn’t that busy.”

Silence for a moment. Before calling him, Junghwan had thought about several teasing words to say, but then Junghwan’s voice softened. “Thank you, really,” was all he could say.

For a while, neither of them spoke and only the sound of breathing from two different cities.

Then Youngjae said it, quiet and simple, in a way that made it mean more than anything else.

“I know you can finish it. I just want to help.”

Junghwan lowered his eyes, throat felt tight.

He never imagined that someone can quietly shifts from being a small part of your life to being the place you want to go when the world gets too heavy to carry alone.

—

The first time Junghwan noticed anything at all was on a Tuesday during a week that had been swallowing him whole with deadlines he could not outrun and a lab that seemed to forget his name the moment he stepped out of it.

And yet somehow when he returned to his apartment that night, his shoulders were not as heavy as they should have been because somewhere between the third failed experiment and the moment he gave up and closed his laptop, his phone had lit up with a message from Youngjae.

“Strolling around Boston, and the library on 42nd has a new study room. Quieter than yours. If you need it, I can save you a spot.”

Junghwan, who never accepted help unless it was offered three times and even then with suspicion, found himself typing back, “Okay,” without calculating the cost of owing someone anything.

Because with Youngjae it never felt like debt, it only felt like living.

He did not think about it then. He thought about it even less when it happened again.

When Youngjae started appearing in his life not as an event but as a rhythm, there would be a voice on the other end of the phone that did not try to fix him or cheer him up but simply stayed there, reading his silences the way other people read books, patiently, without flipping ahead to the ending.

“You’re still awake,” Youngjae called one night, not as a question, because he already knew, because he had learned Junghwan’s patterns the way he uploaded a story at midnight. “Is anything good?”

Junghwan, hunched over a paper that refused to make sense, answered without putting much attention on the phone, “I’m thinking.”

Youngjae, who never pushed, never demanded, only replied, “Then think. Do you need me here or do you need time to be alone?”

And so, for the next three hours neither of them ended the call or spoke of anything important.

Only after Junghwan decided to finish his study hour they talked about the way the city sounded different at 3 AM and whether instant ramen tasted better when you were exhausted, and when Junghwan finally closed his laptop and realized his mind was no longer a battlefield, he did not thank Youngjae for fixing him, because Youngjae had not fixed anything, he had simply refused to leave, and somehow that was better.

It was not attraction.

At least not the kind Junghwan recognized, because he had seen attraction before and it was always sharp and sudden and loud.

It was the way people looked at each other across rooms and feeling glad that the other exists.

It was the way he caught himself saving stories throughout the day that he knew only Youngjae would find worth listening to.

It was his mother who noticed before he did.

One day on a long holiday, Junghwan’s mother came to his place to celebrate New Year together with his youngest son. Youngjae was also invited.

Like mothers always did, the first thing she did after entering Junghwan’s place was making food. It was dinner that time when Youngjae stood at the sink washing dishes with his sleeves rolled up like he belonged there.

She did not say anything at first, she only watched the way Junghwan shared a light information with his shoulders dropped, the way his voice lost its edge when Youngjae scolded him, the way he looked at Youngjae not with a kind of peace that Junghwan himself had never noticed.

So later, when Youngjae had left and the house was quiet again, she touched her son’s arm and said, very gently. “Hwan-a, are you two dating?”

It was such an unexpected question Junghwan never expected coming from someone close to him.

“We’re just friends. Why’d you ask that?”

“It’s just that…” his mom smiled sweetly. “he looks nice.”

“What do you mean?” Junghwan found himself getting curius for that ridiculous idea.

“I have watched you spend your whole life being strong for everyone else, but I have never seen you look so unguarded. I don’t know what you call that feeling yet, but I know what it is worth, and I hope you don’t take it for granted, because people like him do not come often.”

Junghwan did not answer her, because he did not have an answer, because he was still telling himself that what he felt was gratitude, was friendship, was the natural result of having someone who showed up without being asked and stayed without being begged, because he had not yet named the way his chest tightened when Youngjae was quiet for too long or the way his first thought after any good or bad news was always, “I will tell Youngjae.”

So he smiled at his mother and changed the subject, and for months he continued to believe that what he felt was simply comfort, simply compatibility, simply the rare relief of being understood without having to explain. He tried to brainwashed himself like that.

—

“I’ll be back to Korea.”

Youngjae said it the way people say things they have rehearsed in their head a hundred times until the words lost their edges.

Junghwan had finished his studies a semester earlier than Youngjae and who had never once considered returning to the place he had left behind because America had never felt like exile to him, because it had always been a space wide enough for him to become whoever he was meant to be.

“Good for you,” Junghwan said, because it was the only sentence he could reach, “Why though?” even though he already knew the answer, even though he had seen it in the way Youngjae’s eyes softened whenever someone spoke Korean too fast for him to catch.

Youngjae smiled then, a honest smile that carried no bitterness and no apology, only the quiet certainty of someone who had finally admitted a truth to himself. “I just feel like I missed being there. New York feels good, but it never felt like home.”

Junghwan heard those words the way he would hear glass breaking in another room, because while America had never been home for him either, it had become a place that was bearable, a place that was almost warm, almost safe, almost something he could call his own, and the only reason for that, the only reason he had stopped counting the days until he could leave, was because Youngjae was there.

“When will you go?” Junghwan asked, and his voice did not shake, because he had learned how to hold himself together even when he was coming apart.

“Maybe next month?” as if next month was not an eternity, as if next month was not the moment Junghwan’s world would become larger and colder and infinitely more silent than it had been before Youngjae ever arrived.

After that meeting, after Youngjae had left with his usual unhurried steps and his promise to text later, Junghwan could not think of anything else except the arithmetic of absence, he could not stop calculating how many mornings he would wake up without Youngjae’s texts of going to the library, how many ordinary Tuesdays would pass without Youngjae recommended him the kind of tea he liked or sending him an article he had not asked for but desperately needed.

And so, Junghwan made a choice that felt less like a choice and more like gravity, he decided he would go back to Korea too.

Their return announcement made its way to their old circle of friends before Junghwan could find the right words to explain it to himself.

The reaction was immediate and loud and exactly what he expected, Kyungmin was the first to explode with excitement, sending voice notes that were half scream and half laugh and promising to throw a welcome party so big it would embarrass them both, Hanjin called him the moment he saw the message, his voice thick with disbelief and joy as he said, “You’re really coming back? We thought you’d become American forever,” and Jihoon, who had never met a group chat he could not turn into chaos, flooded it with memes and exaggerated GIFs and declarations that the world was right again now that Junghwan and Youngjae were coming home.

Through all of it Junghwan typed short replies and laughed when he was supposed to laugh, because it was easier to let them celebrate than to explain that he was not really coming home, he was just refusing to stay in a place that would feel lonely.

Only Dohoon said nothing.

No message, no call, no meme, no exclamation point, only silence. Junghwan understood that silence better than he understood any of the noise.

—

“How are you, Youngjae?”

It was only a brief moment, barely enough to be called an opportunity, but it was the first time in a long while that Youngjae and Dohoon were finally left alone together. No loud friends interrupting. No forced laughter from the others. Just the two of them, sitting across each other like strangers pretending they still remembered the shape of an old friendship.

Dohoon was the one who spoke first.

He had always been the first to speak between them. Somehow, Youngjae had never learned how to begin conversations whenever it came to Dohoon. Around everyone else, words came naturally. Around Dohoon, he became careful. Softer. Quieter.

Maybe because some people mattered too much.

Youngjae and Dohoon loved each other deeply, in the quiet and unconditional way only lifelong friendships could survive. They had grown up side by side, carrying pieces of each other’s lives no one else knew about. There were secrets even their families had never heard, memories stitched carefully between late-night calls, rainy bus rides, birthdays, funerals, broken dreams, and small victories.

They had seen each other at their ugliest and stayed anyway.

And never, not once, had either of them made a choice with the intention of hurting the other.

But perhaps that was exactly why this felt so painful now.

Because their bond had always depended on proximity. It only worked when life kept placing them beside each other, close enough to read each other’s silence before words were needed. Yet the moment life dragged them into different directions, everything between them became awkward and unbearably shallow, like trying to hold water with trembling hands.

“I’m good,” Youngjae answered quietly. “What about you, Dohoon?”

Dohoon nodded once. “I’m good too.”

The lie settled easily between them.

Youngjae didn’t tell him how lonely America had become after the excitement faded away. He didn’t mention the sleepless nights, or how every crowded street somehow made him feel even more alone. Meanwhile, Dohoon never spoke about how exhausting his life had gotten, how busy he kept himself just to avoid thinking too much.

They both lied because telling the truth would require reopening wounds neither of them knew how to touch anymore.

Their friendship had started falling apart after Dohoon and Junghwan’s breakup.

After that, Dohoon changed slowly, then all at once. He built walls around himself so high that eventually nobody could climb over them anymore. Youngjae had tried to understand it at first. Tried giving him space. Tried waiting.

But Youngjae had never been the type to force himself into someone’s life when it was obvious he was no longer wanted there.

So eventually, he stopped trying.

“So…” Dohoon leaned back slightly, forcing a small smile that looked tired around the edges. “Anything I need to know about living in America? You left too suddenly, you know. We should’ve thrown you a farewell party or something before you went.”

Youngjae let out a quiet laugh.

“I ran out of time back then,” he said. “I barely even had enough time to pack my things.”

“Still,” Dohoon murmured, looking down at the drink in his hands, “you never contacted me after that.”

Youngjae lifted his gaze at him. “You never contacted me either.”

Silence fell immediately after.

Heavy and painfully fragile.

Outside the window, the city kept moving like nothing inside that room was breaking apart.

Youngjae swallowed slowly before speaking again. “I thought you were trying to cut me off.”

Dohoon frowned almost instantly. “Why would I do that?”

“You distanced yourself from everyone after the breakup.”

No answer.

Youngjae continued carefully, “I thought maybe you just needed time alone. But then months passed, and you never really came back.” His voice softened at the end. “I thought maybe… you just didn’t want me around anymore.”

Dohoon’s expression shifted for a second and something small and wounded flickering across his face before disappearing again.

For a moment, it looked like he wanted to retreat back into himself like he always did. But this time, he stayed.

Then quietly, almost bitterly, he said,

“I wish I could’ve known it was actually a breakup.”

Youngjae blinked. “What do you mean?”

Dohoon laughed softly after that, but there was nothing warm about the sound.

“No goodbye. No explanation. Nothing.” He stared somewhere past Youngjae’s shoulder. “One day it was love, then suddenly it was gone. Just like that.”

The air suddenly felt colder.

Dohoon still didn’t say Junghwan’s name aloud, but Youngjae understood immediately. That realization hurt even more.

Because closure, at the very least, would have allowed grief to end eventually. But what Junghwan left behind inside Dohoon was something crueler. It was a wound forced to stay open because nobody ever told him where it was supposed to stop hurting.

Youngjae felt something sink heavily inside his chest.

All this time, he thought Dohoon had been avoiding them on purpose. Avoiding them.

But maybe it was never hatred.

Maybe it was simply too painful for Dohoon to stay close to people who still carried traces of someone that abandoned him without warning. That realization hit Youngjae like a stone straight to the ribs.

Suddenly, memories of how close he had remained with Junghwan after everything made him feel sick. Guilt crawled up his throat so fast he almost couldn’t breathe.

And yet, despite all of it, Dohoon was still sitting here with him.

Still looking at him.

Still trying.

Youngjae lowered his eyes, unable to hold Dohoon’s gaze any longer.

For the first time that night, he realized perhaps he should’ve been grateful that after everything that happened, Dohoon still hadn’t turned away from him completely.

—

Youngjae didn’t plan to avoid Junghwan. It just happened after Dohoon’s story.

One day he realized he was screening calls. The next day he was taking the longer route home so he wouldn’t pass Junghwan’s usual spot. Then he was pretending his phone was dead when it buzzed at 11:42pm, the time Junghwan always texted “You up?” like it was casual, like it didn’t mean anything.

It wasn’t just disappointment. It was disillusionment.

Youngjae had built Junghwan into someone safe in his head. Gentle hands. Gentle words. The kind of person who wouldn’t know how to disappear on someone. Learning that even gentle people could be cruel didn’t just hurt him. It made him doubt what he thought he knew about people.

And only after he stepped back did he see the shape of them.

The 3-minute voice notes Junghwan sent about nothing. The extra coffee he always ordered “just in case.” The way Junghwan would show up at his door with grocery bags when Youngjae mentioned he was sick once, three months ago.
All those small, ordinary things that didn’t look like love until you removed them.

Youngjae had to live with how close they’d gotten while he was busy pretending they weren’t.

He even started ignoring Kyungmin for a week, because every call from Kyungmin meant Junghwan was on the other end, asking to be passed the phone. And Youngjae hated himself for how his chest tightened either way — at the sound of Junghwan’s voice, or at the silence when he didn’t answer.

He hated the nights most. Lying in bed, thumb hovering over Junghwan’s contact. Not because he missed him. Because his body missed the habit of him. “Did you eat? Did you sleep?” Stupid, small things that had become his version of goodnight.

“Did you and Junghwan fight or something?” Hanjin asked over dinner, pushing pudding toward him like that would fix it.

“No,” Youngjae said. Too fast and flat.

“You’re a bad liar,” Hanjin said, not unkindly. “He’s been asking about you. A lot. You know that’s not normal, right?”

Youngjae stared at his melting ice cream. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

Hanjin sighed. “Then talk anyway. Before it gets worse.”

Before it gets worse.

Hanjin was right. He implied he doesn’t want the history repeated. One day Junghwan just did one thing too, he avoided Dohoon. Youngjae remembered how worse the situation was after that.

And he is nothing like Junghwan.

So that evening Youngjae found himself on a bench by the Han River, wind pulling at his sleeves, Junghwan sitting two feet away like they were strangers who’d run out of things to say.

Youngjae didn’t look at him.

“I’m sorry.” Junghwan’s voice cracked on the second word. When Youngjae finally glanced over, Junghwan wasn’t crying. He just looked exhausted, like he hadn’t slept properly in years. “I don’t even know what I’m sorry for anymore. But I am. For whatever made you look at me like that.”

Youngjae laughed once, short and humorless. “You’re apologizing to me. But I’m not the one who deserves that.”

Junghwan didn’t answer. He just stared at the river like it might give him the right words.

“I don’t understand why’d you do this,” Youngjae said, and now his voice was smaller. “You carry guilt for things you imagine. But for the real thing you did… you went quiet. You decided silence was the answer. Do you know how pathetic that is?”

Junghwan immediately understands the context.

“Is this about Dohoon?”

Youngjae went muted. If there’s an explanation, it’s Junghwan’s part.

“I was twenty-two and stupid,” Junghwan said. No excuses. Just fact. “I thought if I explained, it would hurt him more. So I chose the hurt I could control. Mine. I thought I was being brave.”

Youngjae shook his head. “Bravery isn’t leaving. Bravery is staying despite of being the bad guy. You left him with questions. Do you know what that does to a person? It makes them rewrite their whole history trying to find the moment they became forgettable.”

“I know,” Junghwan whispered. “I know, Youngjae. I think about it every night since, I could die carrying this guilt.”

The wind off the Han River was cold enough to make talking hurt. But Youngjae didn’t stop.

“You keep saying you’re sorry,” Youngjae said, voice low, not angry anymore. Just tired. “But you’ve never actually sat with what you did. You ran from it. You called it kindness and walked away before it could catch up to you.”

Junghwan stayed seated. Shoulders hunched. Like he already knew what was coming.

“Dohoon didn’t bleed because you left him,” Youngjae continued. Each word careful, deliberate, cruel in its honesty. “He bled because you made him believe he wasn’t worth an ending. You decided he didn’t deserve the truth. You decided his pain was easier to manage than your guilt. That’s not cowardice, Junghwan. That’s cruelty.”

Junghwan flinched. But he didn’t argue. Didn’t defend himself. Because Youngjae was right.

Youngjae finally turned to look at him then. Just once. And it was worse than any yell.

“You did that to someone who trusted you completely,” Youngjae said. “And now you’re doing the opposite to me. You show up. You remember things. You stay. You’re careful in a way that makes me feel safe. Do you know how terrifying that is?”

Junghwan’s throat worked. No words came out.

Youngjae exhaled, and it sounded like he’d been holding that breath for months. “That’s why I had to step back. Because if I keep letting you be gentle with me, I’ll forget what you’re capable of. And if I keep remembering what you did to him, I’ll never let you be gentle with me again.”

He didn’t wait for a reply. There wasn’t one to give.

Youngjae started walking. Slow at first, then faster, like distance could keep him from hearing whatever Junghwan might say. But Junghwan didn’t say anything. He just sat there on the bench, Youngjae’s words settling over him like ice.

—

This was something Junghwan never thought he’d do. Not until Youngjae’s words hit him like a slap and forced him to see.

It was a weekend. He didn’t just call and make plans with Dohoon. He drove to his place to pick him up himself.

Dohoon came out in something simple and neat; a white tee, an oversized jacket, jeans that hung a little too loose on his frame. Junghwan almost laughed at how different they looked. Him in his pressed blazer and tailored trousers, Dohoon looking soft and unguarded, like he hadn’t been rehearsing this meeting for years.

In the car, Dohoon barely spoke. Junghwan watched from the corner of his eye instead, the way Dohoon’s pupils widened sometimes when he got nervous, the same old habit. Dohoon coughed a few times, and Junghwan wordlessly passed him the water bottle on the console. Dohoon took it with awkward fingers, murmured thanks, and that was the rhythm of the drive. Quiet. Like they were both afraid of breaking something.

They stopped at a city park.

“Why here?” Dohoon asked, confused, looking at the gates.

“There’s a public library inside,” Junghwan said. “I wanted to go in for a bit.”

Dohoon didn’t understand, but he followed anyway. “Alright.”

Inside, Junghwan browsed science books while stealing glances. Dohoon kept looking at him when he thought Junghwan wasn’t watching. But the moment Junghwan turned, Dohoon would quickly grab a fantasy novel from the shelf and pretend to be engrossed. He nodded to himself like the pages held something profound. Sometimes his eyes widened, like he’d been pulled into another world.

Junghwan smiled at that.

They spent the next hour reading in companionable silence. Junghwan focused on his book. Dohoon yawned over the same page for the tenth time, eyes drifting shut.

“Finally,” Dohoon exhaled when they stepped back out into the daylight, stretching his arms like he’d survived something.

“Was it that boring?” Junghwan asked.

Dohoon dropped his arms fast. “No. Not really.”

Junghwan hid a smile.

“Next, we’ll go wherever you want,” he said.

“Why? I didn’t say the library was boring.” Dohoon tried to sound firm, but his voice betrayed him.

“Just tell me,” Junghwan said lightly. “I just want to.”

“You sure?” Dohoon pressed, like he needed permission to choose.

Junghwan had no other answer to give.

So they went to an amusement park. The kind of place that made Dohoon’s whole face light up the second they passed the gates.

“I’ve wanted to come here forever,” Dohoon said, grinning. “But that idiot Jihoon always complains about being tired.”

Junghwan laughed and followed him onto the first ride. But Dohoon wasn’t as loud as Junghwan expected. For someone so excited at the entrance, he was surprisingly quiet. He didn’t scream. He just held on, jaw tight, eyes forward.

“Are you okay?” Junghwan asked, worried.

“I’m fine,” Dohoon said. “Just a little hungry.”

“Then let’s eat.”

They picked a small restaurant inside the park. Junghwan ordered a salad. Dohoon got a sandwich. Conversation was sparse, just Dohoon admitting he’d been terrified on that one ride, and Junghwan saying he hadn’t looked scared at all. Dohoon smiled and said he was good at hiding it.

By late afternoon, the air cooled and they both relaxed. Talking came easier then.

“Honestly,” Dohoon said suddenly, like he couldn’t hold it in anymore, “I’ve been wondering why you asked me out today. But you still haven’t told me.”

Junghwan didn’t answer right away. He watched the way the light hit Dohoon’s profile.

“Thank you,” Junghwan said finally. Soft, but certain. “For saying yes to today.”

Dohoon blinked, unsure. “You’re welcome, I guess?”

“You probably hated me all this time,” Junghwan said. Not a question. A truth he’d carried too long.

Dohoon went quiet. His shoulders loosened slowly. His hands slid into his jacket pockets.

“I thought I did, at first,” he admitted, glancing at Junghwan with a faint, crooked smile. “But I don’t think I do anymore.”

“Since today?” Junghwan tried to keep his tone light.

Dohoon laughed. “It’s been years. A long time makes you forget a lot of things.”

“You’re amazing, Dohoon.”

Dohoon smirked, pleased. “Was that a real compliment?”

Junghwan nodded. “One I wanted to give you the moment I met you. But back then, I was too proud of myself.”

Dohoon laughed again, easier this time.

“You don’t even have to say it,” he said. “I’ve heard it from plenty of people already.”

The conversation ended the way it began . After Junghwan drove him back to his apartment, he handed Dohoon a small paper bag. Nothing expensive. Just a bottle of whiskey, and a folded letter tucked underneath.

Dohoon didn’t open it there. He just looked at Junghwan, nodded once, and disappeared inside.

Later that night, he read:

Dohoon,

I don’t expect you to read this. I don’t expect a reply. I’m not writing to make myself feel better. I’m writing this because I couldn’t find a better way to reach you.

I left you without an ending, that was cruel. I told myself I was protecting you by staying silent, but really I was protecting myself from guilt.

I decided that you didn’t have to receive an explanation, and that really was wrong.

I know now what that did to you. It made you question yourself. It made you think the problem was you. It wasn’t. The problem was me being too much of a coward.

I’m sorry. I really do. But I don’t want forgiveness. I apologize because you deserved better from me, and you didn’t get it.

I hope you’re okay. I hope you’ve found peace and happiness in any way you belong.

Junghwan.

—

Junghwan never thought he would have to watch Youngjae and Gunwook get back together. It hurt more than he expected, but there was nothing he could do about it. He and Youngjae had always just been friends. Even his own mind kept reminding him of that fact. Friends don’t get to feel jealous or upset about their friend’s relationship, no matter how much it hurts.

Maybe this was just how things worked. He had hurt Dohoon in the past by leaving without an explanation, and now he was the one being hurt in return. Before he even realized he had feelings for Youngjae, he had already realized that Youngjae was his own kind of punishment. They were never more than friends, but the heartbreak still felt unbearable.

Since then, even the most normal parts of his life felt different. He couldn’t eat properly anymore. Reading his research didn’t hold his attention the way it used to. Nothing felt exciting or interesting. Everything reminded him of Youngjae. Going to the library, eating alone, watching movies, all of it used to mean having someone to talk to afterward, someone to argue with about the plot or share the blanket with. Now his phone was quiet at night. There were no more late-night texts or calls from Youngjae.

Even when he talked to Kyungmin, it didn’t feel the same. He kept seeing Youngjae in everything he did.

But there was nothing he could do. Youngjae had a boyfriend now.

One night, when he was drunk, he called Youngjae without thinking. Youngjae didn’t pick up at first. But after one of the staff at the bar used Junghwan’s phone to call for help, Youngjae came immediately to get him. He brought Junghwan back to his apartment and helped him to bed. He couldn’t just leave Junghwan passed out on the floor, it felt like a reflex to take care of him.

While he was changing the blanket, Youngjae noticed how messy the apartment had become. It was never like this when he used to visit often. As he was about to leave, Junghwan grabbed his sleeve. His face was pale and covered in sweat. “Don’t go,” he mumbled. “Stay… Youngjae.”

But he still pulled his hand away and stood up.

—

Youngjae walked home slowly after leaving Junghwan’s apartment. The cold air hit his face and made his thoughts feel clearer, but it didn’t make things any easier.

He couldn’t stay. If he did, he would start hoping for something that could never happen. He needed to close the door before that small part of his heart convinced him otherwise.

He kept replaying the moment Junghwan grabbed his sleeve and whispered “Don’t go. Stay… Youngjae.” His voice was weak and unsteady, but Youngjae still heard it perfectly. It stayed in his head the whole walk home.

The truth was, Youngjae and Gunwook had never gotten back together. After everything that happened between them, they decided it was better to stay as friends. It was calmer that way. Less painful. Gunwook was still important to him, and Youngjae cared about him a lot, but not in the way Junghwan probably thought. They went out sometimes, talked a lot, and people around them assumed things, but there was nothing romantic between them anymore. Youngjae had never corrected anyone because it felt like too much effort to explain. Letting people believe they were a couple was easier than dealing with questions.

But Junghwan believing it hurt in a way Youngjae didn’t expect.

He thought about how Junghwan looked at him when he said those words; tired, drunk, and completely unguarded. Like Youngjae was the only person he wanted in the world at that moment. And Youngjae had just let go of his hand and left. Because staying would have been unfair. Because giving Junghwan false hope when there was nothing he could offer would have been cruel.

Youngjae stopped under a streetlight and let out a long breath. He felt guilty, but not for leaving. He felt guilty because a part of him wanted to stay. Not because he loved Junghwan romantically, he wasn’t even sure what he felt yet, but because he hated seeing Junghwan break like that. He hated that Junghwan thought he had no right to be sad just because they were “only friends.”

He took out his phone and opened Junghwan’s chat. The last message was from weeks ago. He typed “Are you okay?” and stared at it for a long time before deleting it. Junghwan was probably embarrassed now. He would wake up, remember what he said, and avoid Youngjae for a while. And Youngjae didn’t know if he should reach out or give him space.

In the end, he locked his phone and kept walking. He told himself he did the right thing by leaving. But as he turned the corner to his own apartment, he couldn’t shake the feeling that closing that door might have been the most selfish thing he had ever done.

—

A week later, Dohoon texted Youngjae out of nowhere. He invited Youngjae to chat at a new café near his workplace.

Youngjae wasn’t the type to initiate plans. But he was surprisingly good at saying “yes.” Maybe it was because he sucked at turning people down. Or maybe, deep down, he actually liked it when someone pulled him into their world. Probably both.

What he didn’t get was why Junghwan was there, sitting next to Dohoon and looking like he’d just swallowed a lemon. Especially when Dohoon waved at Youngjae all casual, like nothing was weird at all.

“What are you getting? Coffee?” Dohoon asked, flipping through the menu. “They’ve got this amazing roast here. You have to try it.”

Youngjae listened with full attention and nodded, soaking up his best friend’s enthusiasm.

“You can’t even drink coffee, Youngjae.” Junghwan’s voice made both of them jump. He looked just as startled by their synchronized reaction. So he just cleared his throat awkwardly. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“I can drink coffee, Dohoon,” Youngjae said quickly, trying to save face and convince Dohoon to order him one anyway.

“You sure?”

“You’ll be up all night,” Junghwan jumped in again.

Youngjae quietly groaned. Seems like Mr. Shin become so invested in his caffeine choices.

Dohoon pressed his lips together. Without another word, he shoved the menu across the table and let everyone order for themselves.

“I invited you both here so you’d talk.”

Dohoon’s line dropped like a bomb. Youngjae and Junghwan both froze.

“I heard it from Hanjin. You’ve been acting childish since our last meeting. I don’t know why, but I feel responsible for that fight.”

“What? You’ve got it wrong, Dohoon. Me keeping my distance has nothing to do with you,” Youngjae explained.

“So you admit you were avoiding me?” Junghwan stared at him, eyes all soft and hurt.

“We talked about this already, Junghwan.”

“But you’re still ignoring me.”

“So, you two really can’t live without each other.”
Not a question. A statement. And of course, Dohoon said it with the confidence of the main character.

Youngjae looked down. Junghwan just sat there, fingers twisted tightly together on the table.

“That’s not how it happened. I thought… I thought you broke up on good terms,” Youngjae mumbled. “So I figured it was fine to stay close to Junghwan. I didn’t realize I was hurting you by doing that.”

“Hurt me?” Dohoon gave him the classic ‘are you serious?’ look and snorted. “Youngjae. You hurt me when you ghosted me while you were in America. Then you came back and looked at Junghwan like he hung the moon. Yeah, that hurt. Not because I’m jealous. Because I’m your friend, and I had no clue what was going on.”

Junghwan flinched. “You knew?”

Dohoon sighed, tired, and glanced between the two of them.

“You’re both so transparent. You think you’re hiding it, but repressed love has a smell. And mind you, it’s strong. I’ve just been waiting for you two to announce it yourselves.”

Then Dohoon looked straight at Junghwan, eye to eye.

“Thanks for the letter, by the way. I got the message loud and clear. I let you go a long time ago, Junghwan. So stop torturing Youngjae now.”

When neither of them said anything, Dohoon leaned back and switched to a lighter tone.

“Why do you keep hurting each other when you’re clearly in love? We’re all too old for this kind of drama.”

What Dohoon didn’t know was that his words that day cracked open a brand new door for the two idiots sitting across from him.

A door called hope.

—

“Stop smiling like an idiot.”

That night, they walked side by side after spending the whole day plotting things to do together. Youngjae called it hanging out. Junghwan, shamelessly, called it a date.

Their first real date, after they’d finally stopped dancing around the truth and admitted what they both already knew: they liked each other. Really liked each other.

“I’m really happy,” Junghwan said softly. His voice was low, like he was telling a secret only the night air deserved to hear. His hand drifted, slow and a little nervous, until his fingers found the spaces between Youngjae’s. Youngjae didn’t flinch. He didn’t overthink it. He just slid his hand in and laced their fingers together like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Especially since you haven’t let go of my hand,” Junghwan added, thumb brushing over Youngjae’s knuckles.

Youngjae immediately tried to yank his hand back, not because he didn’t like it, but because he did. Too much. He wanted to see Junghwan panic, just a little. But Junghwan was faster. He tightened his grip, catching Youngjae’s fingers and holding them like he’d been waiting years to do exactly that.

“I promise I won’t tease you about it,” Junghwan said quickly, almost pleading.

Youngjae smiled, the satisfied kind that he tried to hide. Old habit, whenever he was trying not to grin like a fool, he’d turn his face away and stare at something random like a streetlamp, a passing cat, the moon. Junghwan probably missed it. Probably.

“Before we go home, I just remembered there are a few books I need to buy,” Junghwan said after a quiet stretch of comfortable silence. His thumb kept moving in lazy circles over Youngjae’s skin, like his hands didn’t know how to be still when they were this close.

Youngjae blinked at him. “Again? You already bought, like, five books this afternoon. Your bag looked ready to file for worker’s comp.”

Junghwan shrugged, and the corner of his mouth twitched up. “I have a lot of reading to catch up on at home.”

Youngjae went quiet for a beat, head tilting like he was running calculations. Then his eyes lit up with that idea-face Junghwan knew too well.

“Next time, let’s not do dates like this,” Youngjae declared. “It’s a waste of time going back and forth. I’ll just come to the library with you. We can read together. All day, if you want.”

Junghwan snorted before he could stop himself. A library date? For a whole day? Who willingly signed up for that kind of torture? The thought of Youngjae sandwiched between dusty shelves and the ‘keep silent’ signs was almost funny.

But Youngjae was serious. He was looking at Junghwan with those wide, round eyes, shining under the soft glow of the streetlamps and the moon above them. And to Junghwan, those eyes were unfairly beautiful, brighter than the moon itself.

Junghwan laughed, quiet and a little breathless.

It hit him all over again, the reason he’d fallen for Youngjae the first time. Not because Youngjae was loud or flashy. But because Youngjae made the world feel softer. Easier. With him, Junghwan didn’t have to rehearse his words or hide the parts of himself he thought were too much. Youngjae turned complicated things into simple ones. He turned doubts into “oh, that makes sense.”

Maybe love wasn’t supposed to be grand gestures and dramatic confessions. Maybe it was this. Someone who’d happily spend hours in a boring library with you, just because you asked. Someone who made staying feel better than leaving ever did.

Or maybe, Junghwan thought, watching Youngjae’s profile lit by moonlight, this was the kind of love he’d been waiting for without even knowing it.