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Yoon Dongju got up after five long hours of sitting daydreaming and stepped out of the train when the announcer said that they were arriving. The sound of door opening, the noisy chatters, the hurried steps, the suffocating crowds.
It was no longer Busan.
It was no longer breezy, salty air that embraced his face as he walked outside.
Seoul smelled different.
Too dry. Too dense.
And it was almost funny how Dongju could picture himself complaining to Jonghyun about the traffic before even getting out of the train station as the man rolled his eyes, giving barely any shits because he truly never needed to.
Dongju didn’t know why he was here in the first place and wouldn’t bother thinking about it. All he knew was that everyone was gone, and that he had nowhere at all to go.
He had been wandering around in the port city for days before, in a haze and alone, when he somehow found himself standing at the station, a train ticket in one hand, and a small bag slung over his shoulder.
In it, there was only a phone—too quiet, because there was no longer a need for the group chat, and a wallet that barely had any wealth in it.
The Team Leader texted him at the start of the week, saying that he didn’t need to come to work for the time being. Not only him, though, but everyone in their little team.
He didn’t complain.
Fuck all the justice shit, he wouldn’t. He couldn’t care less about the bastard Leo or Min Juyeong or whoever it was. He just… didn’t want to think of any of it.
On the other hand, Ji Hanna hadn’t replied to any of Dongju’s messages these past days. He kept asking whether she was okay and got nothing in response. Well, it wasn’t that he couldn’t understand why she did it. It was just that he wished she would talk to him so he could help. Because as much as it broke Hanna, it broke him, too.
The bullet.
Oh, God.
It didn’t have to land there.
It never had to pierce through Jonghyun’s chest.
Because now, Dongju had no idea how to take it.
For anything’s sake.
The poor man.
He never showed it but Dongju could tell that there was still so much Jonghyun wanted to say. Wanted to do. Wanted to dream.
And Dongju would never get to admit it, but there was just too many things he’d been wanting to tell Jonghyun. Now it all could only flood his mind as they had nowhere else to go.
It began from the smallest thing.
Had he not acted that way—clearly stubbornly infuriating and bothersome, maybe they could’ve talked more. And had they talked more, maybe Kim Jonghyun would’ve opened up to him and let him in. And had the man let him in, maybe they could’ve been something and Dongju could’ve said all the things he wanted to say. And had he said it all, maybe this wouldn’t have been as hurt.
Dongju sighed.
As his vision blurred and grew hotter, he decided to just follow where his feet brought him.
>><<
The sky had grown darker as the sun had long sunken between the tall buildings. Cold winds brushed over Dongju as he aimlessly strolled around the packed city. Good thing he wore a jacket, so it wasn’t all so freezing.
Brightly lit stores were everywhere he turned his head to. Chinese restaurants, cafes, chicken joints, another cafe, bookstores. He watched the cars lining up in the wide street, waiting for the light to turn green. He glanced at a group of students entering a convenience store, joking around like they had nothing at all to mind, and at a man with wrinkled shirt, shoulders dropped loose carrying a bag and a huge prettily packed teddy bear in both hands. He was drowning in the sight of everything that he had no business being in.
But what else could he do? What else would he do other than to wonder how if it was his little team that were out getting drinks in that rundown, little BBQ house? What if it was him and Hanna struggling to drag Jonghyun into the cute photo box despite the man being visibly annoyed? What if it was—
What if it was Kim Jonghyun, waiting for him by the cafe door, his tall figure shrunk in awkwardness, waving his hand reluctantly and hesitantly while mouthing his name, thinking Dongju hadn’t seen him yet?
God.
Goodness gracious.
Kim Jonghyun.
What did Dongju have to do so the thought would just stop choking air out of him?
He took long, lazy steps, silently straddling through the noisy Seoul night.
Then, something caught his eye.
No.
Someone.
Dongju looked once.
Then twice.
His next step never landed.
It was all too sudden. And even if it weren’t as sudden, nothing could have prepared him for it.
His whole body froze.
His breathing caught.
No way, he muttered in his mind.
Only in his mind, because those words that should’ve easily slipped out of his mouth dramatically under other circumstances had just happened to die off in his throat. Behind the clog. Beneath the heat.
Because he did not absolutely just—well, he did—see him.
He couldn’t have been mistaken—yes, he could and surely had—because he knew it all too well. It was the shoulders first. Then the muscular yet slender profile. Then it hit him that even from behind, Dongju could tell.
He would’ve known in a crowd of thousands.
It had to be him.
His irreplaceable sunbae. His precious coworker. His Kim Jonghyun.
But then again, he should’ve been wrong.
He had to be.
…He hoped he was.
Because there would better be no way for Jonghyun to be smiling that widely—that brightly—without him being around.
>><<
“Woojin-hyung!”
The voice snapped him back to reality.
Before he knew it, he was already standing right behind the man—the horrifyingly Jonghyun-like man—who currently looked like he was picking some ramyeon so seriously next to another man that had just shouted a name. Startled, Dongju immediately took a step back and had just happened to embarassingly bumped into the shelf and made the instant noodles on display fall.
It might be fine if it wasn’t loud.
But it was.
And he couldn’t blame the two guys in front of him for turning and looking right away.
Dongju swallowed hard. His eyes immediately locked on the ground as he crouched and started—as nonchalantly as he could—gathering his mess, wishing that would make him invisible.
But of course, it didn’t.
“Hey,” a familiar voice—a strange tone, though—paused his hurried, nervous hands. “Are you okay?”
…
Dongju opened his mouth, but nothing came out.
He cleared his throat.
“Yeah, totally fine.”
He laughed awkwardly as he averted his gaze because he could feel the two men’s worry stare digging holes on him. But then it got even worse, for them to get on their knees too and help Dongju pick up the noodle packs.
“You should be careful,” the younger looking man said, and Dongju could only nod in response.
He didn’t know them.
He had never met these people before.
That was why this person couldn’t have been the Kim Jonghyun he knew.
He couldn’t have been.
Because Jonghyun was dead.
“Gunwoo, isn’t that the flavour you said you like?” The man asked, a finger pointed at one of the packs Dongju was holding in front of his chest. Dongju glanced up at last despite all the efforts he had put to avoid looking.
“No, hyung, that’s the one you said tasted like shit,” the other guy—whose name seemed to be Gunwoo—replied lazily as he rolled his eyes.
“Oh, is it?”
Then that ‘hyung’ laughed.
He laughed, and when he did, it sounded too natural, too light.
And Jonghyun never laughed like that.
Without the usual slight restraint in each of his speeches. Without the usual stiffness in his every word.
And it hurt to hear.
Because that had just shoved it to Dongju right to his face, the fact that this ‘hyung’ was not his.
So his faint hope lasted for all three seconds, while reality stayed.
It was not Kim Jonghyun.
He was everything Jonghyun wasn’t.
Dongju’s vision, once again, blurred. He didn’t want it to. But it wasn’t like he could stop it.
Then to his horror, putting the last pack into the shelf, the man called Gunwoo turned towards him. His eyes immediately widened in an innocent surprise. “Excuse me,” he muttered quietly enough for only the two of them could hear. “Are you really okay?”
Dongju stayed silent as if a cat got his tongue.
His eyes locked on one familiar back, already walking away with a half-full trolley, his steps wide and free.
Then heat streamed down his cheek.
Gunwoo seemed more panicked and kept asking him whether he was okay.
But he wasn’t.
He couldn’t have been.
Then he felt the man’s hands landed awkwardly on his shoulders, giving him a few strangely gentle pats. He turned around and shouted,
“Hyung, come here!”
>><<
“So, Dongju-sshi, was it?”
The horrifyingly Jonghyun-like man, who just introduced himself as Hong Woojin, asked him with curious, bright eyes, and Kim Gunwoo beside him was leaning forward, listening with eyes as bright and attentive.
After the three left the supermarket with thick awkwardness and a weird atmosphere, they crossed the street, saw a convenience store, and got seated in front of it. Gunwoo then entered and came back quickly with a bowl of heated gigimbap.
Now, sitting around a round table, Dongju found himself struggling to swallow the food he just dumped into his mouth—despite his stomach’s angry protest—as the nervousness hit him.
He nodded slightly.
Of course, there was nothing to be embarrassed about. It was just him, crying in front of two strangers after making some mess in a supermarket in the middle of Seoul, following around those very men, getting free food and eating it, because he knew he wouldn’t survive otherwise. Yes. Absolutely.
“So, Dongju-sshi, you’re from Busan?”
It was almost annoying how Woojin was questioning him so carefully like he was a lost kid, when he was a complete grown up with a fully functioning mind and a healthy as fuck body.
But that man, doing it all with that face, tied a knot in Dongju’s stomach, and he could barely breathe. So all he did was nodded, again, finally gulping down his food.
“Wait,” Hong Woojin leaned closer all of sudden—too close, it almost knocked Dongju’s soul out of him—and eyeing him with too much seriousness. “You’re actually kinda familiar…”
The man hummed as he sat back and nudged Kim Gunwoo, who now also stared at him focused.
“Oh!”
Gunwoo exclaimed. One hand quickly grabbed Woojin’s arm and another pointed at Dongju excitedly. “Yoon Dongju!”
“He’s Yoon Dongju, hyung!”
Well, the guy was right.
Dongju nodded again like it was the only reply he knew of. He watched the confusion in the other man’s face through his swollen, heavy eyes.
“Who?”
He asked so stupidly, and it finally settled in Dongju that this man was in no way his Kim Jonghyun.
“Yoon Dongju, the Olympic boxing gold medalist!”
And it was honestly impressive how this Kim Gunwoo guy even recognized him, because it was so long time ag—
“Uh,” Hong Woojin visibly mumbled as his brows furrowed, trying hard to recall anything. He then shifted closer to the other man, whispering—though too loudly Dongju could still hear it clearly. “Which year?”
Dongju almost laughed at the man’s attempt to be polite, but quickly bit down his bottom lip. “It’s fine,” he said before Gunwoo could drown in thinking too. “It had been a really long time ago.”
The two laughed awkwardly as Woojin slightly flinched from Gunwoo’s small pinch on his side—yes, Dongju could see it.
“So,” Hong Woojin cleared his throat. He grinned with his mouth half-opened, obviously trying to find topics to fix the atmosphere. Then something perhaps crossed his mind because his eyes suddenly lit. “Hey, Dongju-sshi.”
He swayed his hand in front of him and Gunwoo. “We’re boxers, too.”
Oh, that was perhaps why Gunwoo could recognize him.
“He just won a championship yesterday,” he slung one arm over the other man’s neck excitedly. “He’s suuuper cool!”
“Hyung~” Kim Gunwoo protested as he struggled to break free, face reddened shyly. “Stop it, will you?”
Hong Woojin completely ignored it and continued.
“You know, this kid here,”
And for the next few minutes, it really felt like Dongju’s soul was leaving his body.
“He defeated me with a blow…”
All sound faded.
Because there was supposed to be no way for him to sit there and watch that man—with an appearance of Kim Jonghyun—blabbering non-stop about nothing and everything, laughing and all smiles, dramatically gesturing whatever shit he was spouting.
And slowly, other things seemed to grow further and further away.
And it was just the man in front of him.
And a wide, cheerful beam Dongju never thought that lips could make.
And glimmering sparks he never saw before in those eyes.
And relaxed shoulders he never thought was—
God.
What if…
What if he had a chance?
What if it turned out that he was already given a chance?
A chance to witness this sight before.
Not of Hong Woojin.
But of Kim Jonghyun.
A chance to hear him rambling nonsense though it might as well be unlikely.
Or perhaps, a chance to hear the heart out of the man. The scars he had buried. The pain he had been carrying. The dreams he hadn’t dared dreaming. The truth—
His truth beneath the facade.
But now,
What was left for Dongju to do now?
Kim Jonghyun was gone.
He was really gone, and nothing could change it.
“Dongju-sshi?”
A soft shake on his shoulder pulled him back to the convenience store’s seat.
Hong Woojin and Kim Gunwoo were already half-standing, looking impossibly worried as one of the younger man’s hands rested on Dongju.
Dongju could feel his sinking heart rise, along with air flooding in his lungs. Tears kept dripping down and he couldn’t stop them.
“What’s wrong?” Woojin asked. And the gentleness in that voice had done nothing but break Dongju even more.
“I’m sorry,” he muttered between his hitched breaths. At this point, the two might have thought of him as a mentally ill person, and Dongju couldn't care less because he knew all the efforts he had put in to stop this crazy mess had gone downhill.
They stayed like that for quite a while. That silent part of Seoul’s noisy night was only filled with Dongju’s weak sobs and sniffles and mumbled apologies in between.
Dongju finally stopped after telling himself over and over that it must have been tiring for the two men to stay in that awkward position this long.
“I apologize,” he said, clearing his sore throat. “Uh… please have a seat.”
So they did, despite the growing uneasiness in the atmosphere.
This might not have been how they’d planned to spend the evening at all, but they went along with it nonetheless. And truly, set aside the embarrassment and regrets, Dongju was grateful for that.
“I’m sorry,” he sighed. He lifted both hands to rub on his wet face. When he had wiped away the remaining tears, he spoke again, but his voice came out quieter than he intended.
“It’s just… you look too much like someone I know.”
He kept his gaze down and at the long forgotten bowl of gigimbap—well, it was almost empty, though—as his fingers fumbled underneath the table.
The two men said nothing, maybe waiting for further explanation, so Dongju continued, “Not really—“
He looked up at Woojin.
“Yeah,”
“…Really.”
The man’s eyes—those exact ones with the pair that he had longed so much to be in—widened as they twinkled with some innocent glimmers Dongju couldn’t quite put into words. “Oh,” he scratched the back of his neck. “Well, that’s—“
“Cool…?”
Woojin immediately sealed his lips into a single line. He turned hesitantly and exchanged glances with Gunwoo, who now looked as nervous as he was. “Why—“
Kim Gunwoo himself seemed surprised by the words coming out of his mouth, but after a two-seconds pause, he decided to finish it. “Why did it make you… sad?”
“I mean—“ He stuttered, “Yeah, that’s—that has to be why you cried,”
“…doesn’t it?”
By the end of his question, his head was already hung low and his own voice sounded like he was about to cry.
“Oh, this little prick,”Hong Woojin exclaimed, looking too obviously desperate as he smacked the guy’s back lightly. “You can’t pry into someone’s business like that!”
He laughed.
Only him laughed.
So it lasted no longer than three seconds before silence settled back in.
For Goodness’s sake.
Dongju really hated how he was making things this way. He gulped hard and exhaled.
“I just kinda missed him,” he chuckled. “I’m sorry to bother you both.”
But instead of a judging look, what he got was something warmer.
“No, Dongju-sshi. Not at all!” They said.
But how could he not? They were practically strangers, yet they fed him and sat with him. They didn’t even know why he was there or what he was doing.
And they didn’t ask.
They never had to, and that was good. Really good.
Then a warm, soft smile spread across that face he missed so much, eyes staring right into his, and, God. That was all he could ask for. It was like a dream come true.
“This is hella amazing, though!” Hong Woojin smiled sheepishly. “You know that they say people have seven clones—“
“Yes,” Gunwoo diligently cut him before he could start spouting more nonsense, “Yes, talk all you want, hyung.”
“I’m serious!”
“I didn’t say you weren’t.”
Kim Gunwoo laughed when he saw that hyung shifted his chair closer to Dongju, a shoulder nudged his. “Dongju-sshi~”
Woojin whined dramatically.
“Look at that mean guy,” he cracked a small giggle. “He hurt me.”
Dongju, feeling the knot in his chest loosen, could finally smile. And it was light, like he could now cope up with the heaviness.
“I am a cop,” he said. “I can arrest him for you.”
“What?”
The two were clearly interested in that, because curious bright eyes were directly looking at him at the moment.
“So you’re a cop…”
“And you were also an athlete?”
They finished each other’s sentences and it sounded kinda funny. Dongju snickered, “Yeah, true.”
And after that, the three talked.
But now with ease and comfort.
They talked about how Woojin and Gunwoo had first met, about how Dongju had become a policeman, about how they got into boxing, how Dongju’s team was disbanded and he was off from work, and all. By the end of their conversation, everything was already so casual and natural. Leaving honorifics off and any other awkwardness as they discovered that they weren’t so far in age.
It was almost—no, it was really weird how things had shifted so quickly. Just a few hours ago they were complete strangers, and now, they were gulping cans of soda—a strict diet, they decided not to get alcohol—and chatted like they were friends for years.
“So, hyung, you’re going back to Busan right away?”
Woojin asked as they three walked side by side to the train station.
Dongju shrugged, “Well, I guess I should.”
“But there is no train at this time that goes there,” Gunwoo said as he scrolled down his phone, probably searching.
“I’ll wait a bit and there must be one in the morning.”
“…You’re right.”
Woojin hummed as he nodded his head, listening. “Anyway,” he spoke at last. His hand lifted and rested on Dongju’s shoulder. “Contact us often,” he grinned, playful and bright.
“Or visit us often,” Gunwoo continued.
“Or invite us over,”
“Or treat us to a meal sometimes.”
Dongju could only laugh at the pair. They were unexpectedly adorable, and it was not bad at all.
“Most importantly,” Woojin added. “Take care, hyung.”
The genuineness stung, but Dongju could take it now. “I will,” he chuckled.
“And take a shower, hyung.”
“…I will.”
“And take a leak—“
“Hey, this little—“
Woojin only laughed.
“Do you… even have the money for the train, hyung?” He frowned his brows dramatically and Gunwoo was giggling and shaking next to him.
Dongju huffed, “I do.”
“Gosh.”
He sighed.
“These brats…”
But a smile clearly rose on his face, along with a quiet relief in his chest.
He was content.
Seriously, it was enough.
But after a while, as they got closer to the ticket counter, Dongju could feel his steps gradually get heavier.
More and more in each one…
Until he completely stilled.
“Hyung?” A hesitant voice called.
“What’s—“
And before he knew it, he had already found himself standing on his toes, both arms wrapped around the taller figure of Hong Woojin, stifling whatever he was trying to say just a moment ago as he buried his face in the crook of his neck.
“Sorry, Woojin,” he muttered under his breath.
He knew it was crossing lines, but fuck personal space, he needed this.
“…It’s okay, hyung,” Woojin’s muffled voice vibrated softly as he stayed still and didn’t pull away.
Woojin might be smiling, and Dongju could tell from how he chuckled.
Yes. Woojin’s laughter.
Not Jonghyun’s.
Absolutely not Jonghyun’s.
Silly, and so unmistakably his.
He wasn’t Kim Jonghyun, and somehow…
Dongju was grateful for that.
And at that moment, he prayed.
He prayed for his stupid head to remember every second of this. So he could replay it again and again in his dream. So he could walk through scenes where Kim Jonghyun would end up in his arms. So he could embrace the man in his warmth. So he could wash away the loneliness clouding the good man.
So he could, at least in one of his imaginations, hold that man he never had the courage to hold.
Kim Jonghyun.
His precious Kim Jonghyun.
Now all he had to do was go back to Busan.
Everything else would be simple. Maybe try calling Ji Hanna again, or come to the office and beg for work, or have a nice, long sleep and dream.
Everything would be easy.
He just needed to come home first.