Archive of Our Own

Fam ❤️ (12 unread)

Dad:
Who’s bringing dessert this year?

Soojin:
Tell Jay he’s making cocktails again!!

Mom:
Can’t wait to see my favorite boys ❤️

Soojin:
Did you book the ferry?

Mom:
Is Jay still doing that spicy marinade for the fish? Your father dreams about it.

Dad: I do. I dream about it.

Jungwon stared at his phone. The screen glowed in the dark of his apartment like a cheerful, family-shaped bomb that wanted to blow up Jungwon.

He forgot.

He actually forgot about the annual family vacation that happened every July. The one that was happening in nine days. And he didn’t tell his family one other small, tiny and really insignificant little detail.

That he and Jay were no longer together.

They broke up a year ago, one month after Jay proposed on the beach during last year’s vacation.

They were together for six years. The first four and a half years were so perfect, they loved each other so much. At the end, they still loved each other but it became hard to love each other and love themselves inside the relationship. Life got stressful, they knew each other too well and little things started to bother them.

Jungwon had a habit of going quiet when something upset him. He needed the silence to think but in the last years Jay always thought the silence was a punishment.

Jay made jokes when he was stressed. Jungwon knew it was just his way but sometimes it felt like Jay wasn’t taking things seriously. Like he wasn’t taking him seriously.

The proposal was Jay’s way of trying to save everything with a big gesture and a desperate promise, which worked for a few days. Then they came home from the vacation, the high faded and they both felt like they were drowning.

So they stopped.

And Jungwon never told his parents or his sister. He meant to. He planned to. He just… couldn’t. It felt too big and too messy to say the words out over a phone call. His whole family really loved Jay and Jungwon couldn’t help but feel like he failed.

So he said nothing and let the weekly “how’re you guys?” texts get vague replies.

And now his phone was blowing up with dessert assignments and ferry bookings and cocktail requests for a man who was no longer his fiancé.

“Fuck,” he whispered to the ceiling. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”

His screen lit up again with a new message.

Jay:
My mom just called.

Jungwon watched the three dots dance in the corner of the chat until it felt like they were tapping frantically against his ribs.

Jay:
Apparently our moms rented a house together again this summer.

Jungwon closed his eyes and could already see the same big beach house with their two families together, just like always.

Jungwon:
…Fuck

Jay:
Yeah

A year of silence and careful distance. A year of healing (sort of) and moving on (not really). All about to explode in a shared vacation house with two very excited, very oblivious sets of parents. In the room with the balcony where they’d spent every summer night for the past five years tangled up in each other.

Jungwon felt a little dizzy.

Jungwon:
You didn’t tell them?

Jay:
I figured you hadn’t either
Jay:
So…

Jungwon:
What do we do?

Jay:
We could tell them

Jungwon:
And break my mother’s heart three days after her birthday? And make your mother bawl her eyes out like she did when we argued 2 years ago?

Jungwon:
We show up and say… what? “Hey, we’re not engaged anymore, but let’s still share a room for old times’ sake?”

Jay:
So we don’t tell them

The dots started dancing again and Jungwon hated how something as stupid as three little dots could make him hold his breath.

Jay:
We could pretend

Jungwon blinked at the word.

Pretend.

Pretend for a week like everything was still fine, like the ring was still on his finger and their future hadn’t quietly fallen apart.

Jungwon:
You want to fake being engaged
to me for a week

Jay:
It’s that or we cause four heart
attacks at the ferry

It was a terrible idea. It was a romcom movie idea. It was the kind of idea that started with a lie and ended with someone falling into the cake. But the alternative was watching his mom’s face crumple and watching his dad’s confused disappointment, then enduring a week of pity and questions instead of sun and salt air.

Jungwon:
We don’t exactly get along

Jay:
We get along okay

Jay:
We just also drive each other crazy

That was true. They could still talk. They just also knew exactly how to hurt each other without trying.

Jungwon:
This is insane

Jay:
I’ll make the cocktails, you handle dessert. We get through the week then tell them after.

Jay:
Gently.

Jay:
From a safe distance.

Jungwon scrolled back up to the family chat.

Soojin:
Hello??? Ferry???

He took a deep breath. Fuuuck.

Jungwon:
Okay.

Jay:
Okay?

Jungwon:
One week.

Jungwon:
No fighting or making it weird.

Jungwon:
We sell it.

Jay:
We sell it.

Jungwon:
And you’re still making the spicy
marinade. My dad dreams
about it. 

Jay:
I know.

Jay:
And you’re still baking that
lemon tart my mom loves.

Jungwon:
I know.

And just like that, Jungwon was planning a vacation with his ex-fiancé to pretend to be in love, in front of everyone they loved.

He opened the family chat after he quickly booked the ferry (the website reloaded just before he could pay so he almost had a frustrated screaming episode) and typed with a calm that made him slightly concerned for himself.

Jungwon:
Ferry is booked.
Jay’s on marinade.
I’ll get dessert.
See you next Friday.

Mom:
❤️❤️❤️

Jungwon put his phone down and looked at the empty space on the couch where Jay used to sit. He looked at the bare spot on his left hand’s ring finger.

“Fuck,” he said again, but this time a weird hysterical laugh bubbled up with it.

This was either a huge mistake. Or something else. He wasn’t sure what.

The week before the vacation was a special kind of hell.

Jungwon existed in a state of low-grade panic. He baked that lemon tart that Jay’s mom loved. He took out his suitcase. He bought travel sized toothpaste. Normal vacation stuff.

He also did less normal stuff.

He dug through the back of his closet and found the ring. It was in a little velvet box, tucked behind some old sweaters. He stared at it in silence for a full ten minutes. It looked the same; a simple silver ring with a little line of diamonds. He put it on and immediately understood why actors deserved awards.

He started to pack. He put in shirts, shorts and swim trunks, then his hand hovered over his socks when he automatically reached for more. He always packed extra because Jay never packed enough (he would run out by day three and would have to borrow Jungwon’s, complaining about the color or the fit but wearing them anyway.) Then he actually found one pair of Jay’s socks in the bottom of the drawer.

He stood there in the bedroom, squeezing the life out of that sock as tears streamed down his face silently. He cried for a good minute before he wiped his eyes, stuffed the sock into the very bottom of his bag and zipped it shut.

After that, he practiced his smile in the bathroom mirror until it looked less strained and crazy and more like someone who was simply having a nice day instead of actively losing his mind.

Later, he texted Jay.

Jungwon:
Would it be weird if we arrived separately?

Jay:
What do you mean?

Jungwon:
Like.
We’re supposed to be a happy couple living together.
But we’re driving two cars to the same place.
Won’t that look weird?

Jay:
Oh.
Right.
Yeah, that would look weird.

Jungwon:
We should probably arrive together.

Jay:
Okay.
Do you want me to pick you up at your place?

The idea of Jay coming to the apartment and seeing the space that was no longer theirs, felt too big.

Jungwon:
What if you pick me up halfway?
There’s that big parking garage by the highway mall. I’ll leave my car there.
We’ll go together from there.

Jay:
That works.
We can talk on the way.
Figure out the boundaries.

Jungwon:
Yeah.
Boundaries.
Good.

So they agreed. Friday morning, they would drive to the mall garage, put Jungwon’s bag and the lemon tart in Jay's car and then they’d drive the rest of the way to the ferry together.

One hour, just the two of them.

To discuss how to pretend to be in love.

Jungwon woke up early on the big day with his stomach already in knots. He went through his mental checklist like a flight attendant preparing for a crash landing. Tart? Check, in the fridge. Bags packed? Check. Ring on his finger? Check, a cold, metallic lie. Jay's sock secretly stuffed in his suitcase? That one was a secret check, a little piece of evidence he couldn't bear to leave behind.

He loaded his car, glancing at his apartment building as he pulled away. It felt like he was leaving his real life for some sort of weird, alternate reality game show.

The drive to the garage felt endless. He kept rehearsing things in his head. He'd say "Hi" normally. He'd maybe comment on the weather. He wouldn't look at Jay's hands on the steering wheel and remember how those hands felt everywhere else. That was the plan.

He saw the big parking garage ahead and there, leaning against his car, was Jay.

Jungwon's breath hitched a little. It was just a stupid physical reaction. Jay looked… good. He was in faded jeans and that same simple white tee with his sunglasses resting on the collar. He had one foot kicked back against his tire, scrolling on his phone and looking completely at ease in a way Jungwon never felt anymore. His hair was a little messy, like he ran his hands through it a lot on the drive over.

Jungwon parked a few spots away. He sat for a second, gripping the wheel. He could still back out. He could text Jay a lie about car trouble. He could drive straight to the beach house alone and just tell everyone the truth and deal with the reactions.

He unbuckled his seatbelt instead.

He grabbed the tart box, his hand a little clammy against the cardboard as he got out. The sound of his car door closing echoed in the concrete garage.

Jay looked up and his eyes found Jungwon immediately. For a split second, his expression was completely unguarded.

Jungwon saw it all in that unguarded second; a flicker of surprise, a jolt of something raw and sharp, then the careful, practiced calm sliding back into place. It was like watching a door slam shut right after you caught a glimpse of a messy, lived-in room inside. It made Jungwon’s own heart do a stupid little stutter.

“Hey,” Jungwon said. His voice sounded weird to his own ears, too high, too tight. He cleared his throat.

“Hey,” Jay said back. He pushed off from his car and slipped his phone into his pocket. His gaze dropped to the box in Jungwon’s hands. “You got the tart.”

“Yeah. Baked it yesterday.” Jungwon lifted it slightly, as if offering proof.

“Mom’s gonna be thrilled.” Jay’s smile was small, it didn’t reach his eyes. He popped the trunk of his car with a soft thunk. “You need help with your bag?”

“I got it.” Jungwon turned back to his car, grateful for a reason to break the eye contact as he wrestled his suitcase out of the backseat. The wheels clattered loudly on the concrete and that sound was so aggressively normal, the weird tension between them seemed more weird.

He wheeled it over to Jay’s car. Jay was just standing there, watching him with his hands in his pockets. Jungwon hefted the suitcase into the trunk, shoving it next to Jay’s neat duffel bag. The two bags side-by-side looked like strangers.

“Tart goes up front,” Jay’s tone shifted into something lighter, bordering on almost teasing. “Can’t risk it. It’s the most important passenger.”

“More important than me?” The words were out of Jungwon’s mouth before he could stop them. It was an old rhythm, a stupid joke from a thousand car rides past, but now he wanted to slam his head into the windshield for it.

Jay’s eyes snapped to his and Jungwon saw how his real smile touched his lips for a half-second before vanishing. “Don’t make me answer that, Jungwon. Get in.”

Jungwon’s face felt warm. He carefully placed the pastry box on the floor of the passenger seat and slid in, buckling up. The car still smelled exactly the same. That crisp, fake lemon scent from the little tree air freshener dangling from the rearview, mixed with the underlying scent of Jay’s cologne. It was a scent that used to mean home, safety, roadtrips with our fingers laced together over the center console. Now it just felt like a museum exhibit of a life he wasn’t allowed to live anymore.

Jay got in and started the engine. The radio was set low to the indie rock station they’d both liked. He backed out of the spot smoothly with his eyes on the rearview. He didn’t speak until they were merging onto the highway and the city was beginning to blur into green outskirts.

The silence was so fucking uncomfortable. It was thick and awkward and pressing against Jungwon’s eardrums. He stared out the window, watching gas stations and billboards whip by.

Finally, Jay cleared his throat. “So,” he started in a carefully neutral voice. “Boundaries.”

Jungwon turned to look at him. Jay’s profile was sharp against the bright window as he was focusing on the road, but Jungwon could see the tightness in his jaw. “Right. Boundaries.”

“We should probably… outline it. So there’s no confusion.” Jay tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. “Physical stuff. In front of people, I think we have to… I don’t know. Act like we used to.”

“Used to when?” Jungwon asked, because it mattered. “Used to when we were first dating and were all over each other? Or used to last year, when we were barely touching unless we were fighting or… you know.”

Or having angry, desperate sex that felt like the only way to connect. He didn’t say that part out loud.

Jay winced a little. “Somewhere in the middle, maybe. Hand-holding. Casual touches. Arm around the shoulder. That kinda stuff. Nothing that would… I don’t know, make anyone uncomfortable.”

“Our parents are going to be there, Jay. An arm around the shoulder isn’t going to scandalize them.”

“You know what I mean.” Jay’s voice had an edge now. “We’re not going to be making out on the porch swing.”

“Obviously,” Jungwon snapped back, then immediately felt stupid. He took a breath. “Sorry. I’m… this is weird.”

“It’s fucking bizarre,” Jay agreed and the shared admission loosened something, just a fraction. “Okay. Hand-holding is in. Casual touches. Maybe a… a quick kiss. Like, hello or goodbye. Cheek or… you know. Lips. But brief. Just for show.”

Just for show. He’d kissed Jay a thousand times. He knew the exact pressure of his lips and the way he’d always tilt his head just so. The idea of performing that and reducing it to a brief, empty gesture, felt worse than not kissing him at all.

“Fine,” Jungwon sighed.

“Sleeping arrangements,” Jay continued. “If I offered to take the floor, you’d insist on taking it instead, so… pillow wall?”

“Right.”

“Do you have a better idea?” Jay glanced at him with a flash of genuine frustration in his eyes.

“No,” Jungwon admitted. “Pillow wall is fine.”

“Good.” Jay nodded. “Also, we should probably… coordinate stories. About work. About our apartment. In case anyone asks specifics.”

“We can just keep it vague,” Jungwon suggested. “Work is fine. The apartment is fine. We’re fine.” He said the last word with a heavy dose of irony.

“We’ll have to be more fine than that,” Jay said, not catching the tone or choosing to ignore it. “We should seem happy. We should laugh at each other’s jokes. We should… I don’t know, share looks.”

“Share looks,” Jungwon repeated, deadpan. “What does that even mean?”

“You know what it means! The eye-roll when my dad tells his same old fishing story. The smile across the room when someone says something dumb. We used to do it without thinking.”

We did. We used to do everything without thinking. Now I’m thinking about every single breath I take around you.

“Okay,” Jungwon said softly. “We’ll… we’ll share looks.”

They drove in silence for another few miles and it honestly felt like they’d just negotiated a business contract for the world’s most emotionally fraught merger.

“What about…” Jungwon started, then stopped. He wasn’t sure he wanted to ask.

“What about what?”

“What about when it’s just us? In the room. With the… pillow wall.” The words felt ridiculous.

Jay was quiet for a long moment and the only sound was the hum of tires on asphalt and the quiet radio. “Then I guess we’re just… us,” he finally said in a quiet voice. “The us that exists right now. Two people who are… doing this.”

Two people who are doing this.

“Right,” Jungwon whispered. He turned back to the window, watching the signs for the ferry terminal begin to appear. The reality of it all crashed down onto him. In less than twenty minutes, they’d be walking hand-in-hand off this car, smiling and playing their parts for the most important audience in the world.

His left hand felt like it weighed a hundred pounds with the ring on his finger. He glanced at Jay’s hands on the wheel, he knew every inch of them. He wondered if Jay was as terrified as he was. He wondered if Jay’s heart was also beating a frantic, messy rhythm against his ribs.

He didn’t ask. Some boundaries, like it seemed, were better left unspoken.

The ferry terminal came into view, already packed with cars and families hauling coolers and beach chairs. The sight of it and the usual salty freshness in the air, the cry of seagulls and overall the general buzz of vacation excitement was enough to send a nauseating wave of anxiety through Jungwon again. This was it.

Jay navigated into the line of waiting cars then rolled down his window and let the warm air flood the car. The easy way he handled the ticket booth and flashed a charming smile at the attendant, was a masterclass in the performance they were about to give and Jungwon felt like a stiff, malfunctioning robot in comparison.

As they inched forward toward the loading ramp, Jay finally broke the heavy silence that settled after their "boundaries" talk.

"Okay," he said without looking at Jungwon, staring straight ahead at the massive ferry doors yawning open. "Showtime in about five minutes. You ready?"

"No," Jungwon answered honestly, his fingers picking at a loose thread on his shorts. "Are you?"

"Fuck no." Jay let out a short, humorless laugh. "But we're here. So. Deep breath. Remember the rules. Hand-holding. Casual touches. Share looks."

He recited it like a mantra and in the way his voice got quieter with every word, Jungwon knew it was a reminder more to himself than to Jungwon.

The car ahead of them moved onto the ferry. Jay followed, the tires thumping over the metal ramp. They were swallowed into the dim, echoing belly of the ship, parking in a tight row among a dozen other cars.

Jay cut the engine.

After that, they just sat there in the semi-darkness, listening to the distant shouts of crew members and the thrum of the ferry. This was the last moment of just them.

Jay turned his head. His face was all sharp angles and unreadable expression in the shadowy light. "We should probably… get into character. Or whatever."

He reached out but his hand was hovering over the center console. Not touching, just… there. Jungwon looked at that hand. He remembered the first time Jay held his hand, in a movie theater when they were twenty, both of them pretending to be brave. This felt nothing like that.

Slowly, he lifted his own hand and placed it in Jay's.

The contact was electric and awful. Jay's hand was warm and slightly calloused from the gym, exactly as he remembered. His fingers closed around Jungwon's.

"Okay," Jay’s voice sounded a little rough. He gave Jungwon's hand one brief, hard squeeze before letting go to unbuckle his seatbelt. "Let's go upstairs. Get some air. We'll be visible up on deck."

They climbed out of the car and walked side-by-side toward the stairs that led to the passenger decks, not touching now, but the ghost of that handhold seemed to linger on Jungwon's skin.

As they emerged into the bright sunlight and the wind whipped off the water, Jungwon instinctively squinted. And then he saw them.

There, at the railing near the bow and waving frantically, were their families. Both sets of parents, Jungwon's sister and Jay's younger brother. A welcoming committee beaming with unabashed joy.

"Jungwon! Jay! Over here!" His mother's voice carried over the wind.

Jay’s reaction was instantaneous; his whole posture shifted. The tension in his shoulders melted into an easy slouch and a wide and genuine-looking smile broke across his face. He lifted a hand in a wave.

And then he did it. He followed the rules.

His arm came around Jungwon's shoulders to pull him close in a side-hug. He leaned in and his lips brushed Jungwon's temple.

"Ready, baby?" Jay murmured against his skin.

The petname sent a shock through Jungwon’s system. Jay hadn't called him that since before the breakup.

Jungwon forced a smile on as he leaned into Jay's side, letting himself be guided forward. "Ready," he whispered back.

As they approached the group, the full force of their families' happiness hit them. After they hugged with everyone, Jay’s hand found Jungwon's again and laced their fingers together. His thumb rubbed a slow, absent circle over Jungwon's knuckle. It was a perfectly loving gesture and Jungwon knew it was calculated, but his traitorous heart still clenched.

"Look at you two!" Jungwon's mom sighed as she looked at their joined hands. "Glowing."

Jay laughed and pulled Jungwon even closer, tucking him against his side. "What can I say? He's stuck with me."

Jungwon forced a laugh, leaning his head against Jay's shoulder. He could feel the solid muscle beneath Jay's shirt, could smell his familiar shampoo.

He caught Jay looking down at him so he lifted his head – and for a nanosecond, the performance dropped as he recognized the way Jay’s eyebrow lifted.

Jungwon gave the tiniest, almost imperceptible nod.

Jay's mask slid back on, his gaze softening into fondness as he looked back at Jungwon's mom. But Jungwon saw the crack and the person behind the performance. It was terrifying. And it was the only thing that made any of this feel remotely real.

The ferry horn blasted, signaling their departure before the ship began to pull away from the dock, carving a path through the sparkling water toward the island. Jungwon stood at the railing with his fake fiancé’s arm around him, surrounded by the cheerful, oblivious chatter of their families.

The week stretched out before him as an endless series of scenes they’d have to act out. And all he could think, as Jay’s thumb kept tracing those slow, fake-caring circles on his skin, was that the pillow wall in their bedroom was going to be the flimsiest, most pathetic boundary in the history of the world.

The ferry ride felt like an eternity. Jungwon felt like a marionette with Jay pulling the strings and every string was attached directly to a raw nerve.

Jay was good at this. Unnervingly good. He kept a steady stream of easy conversation flowing with both families, telling a funny story about a client at work and gently teasing Jungwon’s sister about her new boyfriend. He was warm and engaged and the perfect son and the perfect future son-in-law. And his touch was constant. A hand on the small of Jungwon’s back to guide him through the crowd on the deck or fingers brushing through Jungwon’s wind-tousled hair, “fixing” it with a soft chuckle. Or an arm slung around his waist as they leaned against the railing, pointing at a distant pod of dolphins.

Jungwon’s skin felt hypersensitive, burning under the casual touch of Jay’s hands. He tried to reciprocate and lay his part. He leaned into the touches and smiled at Jay, hoping it looked adoring and not like a grimace. He rested his head on Jay’s shoulder during a lull, feeling the solid, steady rise and fall of his breaths.

It was excruciating. Because every performative gesture was the echo of the truth. The way Jay’s thumb instinctively found the dip at the base of Jungwon’s spine, a spot he’d always massaged when Jungwon was stressed. The particular cadence of his laugh when Jungwon made a dry comment under his breath. They were habits and muscle memory from six years of real love, now being cynically repurposed for a week-long con.

When the island finally came into view, Jungwon felt a bizarre mix of relief and dread. This whole thing would continue, but at least they’d be moving to a new set.

The beach house looked exactly the same as it did every year, all weathered wood and huge windows facing the ocean. It was chaos unloading the cars, coolers full of food, suitcases and bags of beach gear. Jay, of course, took charge effortlessly, hefting the heaviest luggage.

“I got the bags, you grab the tart, baby,” he said to Jungwon. The baby was becoming a regular part of his script, fuck.

Jungwon nodded, grabbing the pastry box and letting Jay carry his suitcase too. They all trooped inside the cool house.

“You two get the big room upstairs, as always,” Jay’s dad announced, clapping Jay on the back. “Ocean view for the almost-newlyweds!”

Jungwon’s smile froze in place. Jay just grinned, pulling Jungwon closer. “Best perk of being engaged,” he said with a light voice. “Come on, let’s dump our stuff.”

They climbed the stairs and their families’ cheerful voices faded below. The hallway upstairs was quiet as Jay pushed open the door to the last room.

Jungwon stepped over the threshold and the past memories rushed back in. It was the same. It was exactly the same. The same wide-plank wooden floors, worn smooth in the same paths. The same driftwood-grey walls. The same sliding glass door leading to the small balcony where they’d shared coffee and smiles a hundred mornings.

The king-sized bed was in the same position, angled to face the wall of windows and the ocean beyond. The same white duvet, probably freshly laundered, but he knew the exact weight of it, the way it smelled of salt and sun after a day on the beach. The same dresser of dark, scarred wood stood against the far wall.

His eyes went there immediately, involuntarily. To the exact spot on its cluttered surface between the ceramic lamp shaped like a seashell and a stack of old paperbacks – where the ghost of the ring box was a permanent stain on his vision.

Everything was the same. The balcony where he’d said yes. The shower where they’d washed off the sea and each other. The patch of floor by the bed where a suitcase had sat, packed for a future that had already begun to fracture.

It was all here. The entire geography of their love and its collapse, mapped onto this one sun-bleached room. The only thing missing was the version of them that belonged in it.

The door clicked shut behind them, sealing them in and causing the cheerful performance to drop. For a long moment, they just stood there in the middle of the room, surrounded by their luggage while the silence was screaming. The sound of the waves was a rhythmic shush in the distance, mocking their tension.

Jay let out a long, slow breath, running a hand through his hair and finally showing a crack in the effortless facade. “Okay,” his voice was stripped of its earlier warmth. It was just tired. “Okay.”

He walked to his suitcase and unzipped it with sharp movements. He pulled out a few t-shirts, a pair of sweatpants and walked to one side of the dresser, claiming his drawers without discussion.

Jungwon watched him and immediately felt useless. He loosened his deathgrip on the lemon tart box and placed it carefully on the desk. He should unpack. He should do something.

“So,” Jungwon’s own voice sounded too loud in the quiet room. “Pillow wall.”

Jay didn’t look at him as he busied himself with meticulously folding a pair of socks. “Yeah. We can use the two decorative pillows and that big bolster.” He nodded towards the pile of fancy pillows stacked in a chair.

“Right.” Jungwon walked to the bed and grabbed the pillows. He arranged them in a line down the exact center of the mattress. It looked absurd. A sad little barrier in the middle of all that empty space.

He stepped back, surveying his work. “There. The Great Wall of… awkwardness.”

A snort escaped Jay before he finally turned and his eyes scanned the pathetic pillow barrier. “Looks sturdy. Should hold back any… accidental midnight cuddling.”

The joke was so typical of Jay when he was stressed. Jungwon couldn’t help the small, huffing laugh that escaped him. “God forbid.”

Their eyes met over the bed. For the first time since getting in the car that morning, it was just them. Two exhausted, heartsore people staring at a line of pillows that represented every broken thing between them.

“We should probably get changed,” Jay said, breaking the gaze. “Put on shorts or something. They’ll expect us downstairs soon. To… mingle.”

“Right. Mingling.” Jungwon moved to his own suitcase, turning his back to Jay. He heard the rustle of fabric behind him and the soft sound of Jay pulling off his shirt. He kept his eyes fixed on his own clothes as his fingers fumbled with the zipper.

The memory of a thousand times they’d changed in the same room, sometimes not even making it fully dressed before ending up in a tangled heap on whatever surface was nearby. Now, the simple thought of undressing felt like a violation of some unspoken rule.

He pulled on a soft grey tee and a pair of loose linen shorts. When he finally turned, Jay was dressed similarly, leaning against the dresser with his arms crossed, staring out at the ocean view. He looked pensive as the golden late-afternoon light caught the lines of his profile.

“Jay,” Jungwon said softly, before he could stop himself.

Jay turned and raised his eyebrows in question.

Jungwon swallowed. He didn’t know what he wanted to say. This hurts. I miss you. I hate this. I’m scared.

“Nothing,” he whispered instead. “Let’s go… mingle.”

Jay studied his face for a long moment as his dark eyes searched for something. Whatever he saw made his expression soften for a heartbeat. Then he pushed off the dresser and the moment was gone.

“Yeah,” he said, walking to the door. He paused with his hand on the knob and looked back at Jungwon. His face was a mask again, but his voice was low, almost gentle. “We’ve got this.”

He opened the door and the sounds of their family’s laughter and chatter immediately floated up the stairs.

Jungwon took a deep breath, squared his shoulders and followed his fake fiancé out of the room. As he passed the bed, his eyes caught on the stupid, lonely line of pillows and he couldn’t help but have a sudden, ridiculous hope that one of them would fall over in the night.

As they reached the bottom of the stairs, they walked straight into the warm chaos of their families – the clatter of plates from the kitchen, the booming laugh of their fathers and the excited ramble of their siblings. It made Jungwon feel like a fraud walking into a church.

Jay’s hand found the small of his back the moment they hit the bottom step. It was a practiced move, but Jungwon still jolted minutely at the contact. Jay’s palm was warm and his touch was steady, exactly as it should be for a fiancé. It was so absurd.

“There they are!” Jay’s mom called out from the kitchen doorway, wiping her hands on a towel. “Come help us decide if we’re having the steaks tonight or tomorrow. Your dad’s already trying to light the grill.”

“It’s never too early for steak,” Jay’s dad declared from the deck with a grilling fork already in hand.

Jay’s hand slid upwards, curving around Jungwon’s shoulder and pulling him snug against his side. Jungwon went willingly, molding his body to the familiar solidity of Jay’s frame. He tilted his head up to offer Jay a smile that he hoped looked fond and not frozen.

“We better supervise,” Jay said, his voice laced with playful warning. “Last time, Dad, you nearly set the patio umbrella on fire.”

“A little excitement never hurt anyone!” his dad retorted.

The next hour was a masterclass in performance art. Jay was in his element, moving through the spacious kitchen and out onto the backyard deck. He helped with the dinner, told stories and laughed at the right moments. And he never let go of Jungwon. Not really.

A hand on his knee as they sat together on the outdoor sofa. A casual arm slung around his shoulders as they stood by the railing and looking out at the sunset bleeding orange and purple into the sea. Jungwon played his part too, leaning into every touch, laughing at Jay’s jokes and adding comments into the conversation. He felt like he was floating outside his own body and watching a perfectly happy couple he used to know.

Inside, he was screaming.

Every brush of Jay’s fingers sent a shockwave through him, a confusing cocktail of memory and acutely painful longing. The scent of Jay’s soap was the same one he’d always used and it was everywhere, mingling with the salt air. It was the scent of his past, the scent of lazy mornings in this very house and the taste of Jay’s skin under his lips.

“You two are just so cute,” Jungwon’s sister, Soojin, sighed from her perch on a deck chair where she was sipping a glass of wine. “I can’t wait for the wedding. It’s gonna be so beautiful.”

Jungwon’s smile felt like it was cracking his face. Jay’s arm tightened around him.

“We’re taking our time,” Jay said smoothly, his thumb rubbing a slow, absent circle on Jungwon’s arm and it was agonizing. “Want everything to be perfect, right, baby?”

The baby again.

Jungwon turned his face into Jay’s shoulder, partly to hide his expression, partly to lean into the charade. He unconsciously inhaled the cedar scent.

“Right,” he murmured against Jay’s shirt. “Perfect.”

As dusk settled after dinner, the families began to drift inside, drawn by the tradition of board games on the first night. Jay and Jungwon lingered on the deck for a moment.

The performance dropped the second the sliding glass door shut behind Jungwon’s parents. Jay dropped his arm and took an awkward step away, putting empty space between them. He braced his hands on the wooden railing, his head bowed and his shoulders tense.

Jungwon stood frozen, the sudden absence of touch feeling more violent than its presence was. The cold sea breeze swept over his skin where Jay’s arm was.

“That was…” Jay began, then stopped. He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t need to. Excruciating. Torture. A fucking nightmare.

“Yeah,” Jungwon breathed out.

Jay straightened up, still not looking at him. “We should go in and keep up the… this.”

He didn’t wait for a reply as he turned and walked back inside and leaving Jungwon alone on the deck.

Jungwon watched him go, then turned back to the ocean. He gripped the railing as he replayed the last few hours of the touches, the looks, the easy laughter. They were all a beautifully convincing, soul-crushing lie.

And the worst part, the secret he would choke on before ever admitting, was that a traitorous, weak part of him loved it. Reveled in the feel of Jay’s hand on him and in the fantasy of being his again, even for just a show. It was the pathetic and humiliating truth that made him feel sick.

He took a few more steadying breaths but the salt air did nothing to cleanse the storm inside. Then he followed Jay’s path back into the brightness of the house, where he would have to pick up his role once more.

The Monopoly board was spread across the large wooden coffee table in the center of the living room, the little plastic houses and hotels scattered across it. Jungwon sat cross-legged on the floor, wedged comfortably between Jay’s knees where Jay sat on the sofa behind him. It was the same position they’d fallen into countless times during game nights, movie nights or lazy Sundays. Jay’s legs bracketed him.

For the first hour, Jungwon simply endured it. He leaned back when Jay’s hand came to rest on his shoulder, he smiled when Jay made a joke and he accepted the glass of wine Jay handed him. He kept himself busy with the game. But the combination of the wine and the surreal exhaustion of the day, began to blur the sharp edges of his pain into something softer. He needed to get past of how fucking strange this whole thing was and actually play his part.

So, when Jay rolled the dice for him, his hand enveloping Jungwon’s for a brief second before the dice clattered onto the board, Jungwon leaned his head back, resting it against Jay’s thigh and looked up with a playful pout.

“If you land me on Boardwalk with a hotel, I’m divorcing you before we even get married,” his voice was light and teasing with their old rhythm of back-and-forth.

The room erupted in good-natured oooohs. Jay’s fingers on his shoulder tightened for a fraction of a second in surprise before he let out a genuine laugh that vibrated through his leg and into Jungwon’s skull. He ruffled Jungwon’s hair. “You’d never. You love my terrible luck. It makes you feel superior.”

“It does,” Jungwon agreed, smiling as he turned back to the board.

And Jay matched him step for step. When Jungwon accidentally knocked over his own little silver racecar, Jay’s hand darted out to catch it before it rolled off the table. “Clumsy,” he murmured close to Jungwon’s ear. He righted the car on Illinois Avenue with a careful precision that was oddly tender.

It was so seamless that it terrified him how real it felt in some moments.

But beneath the performance, the old cracks began to show in Jungwon’s mind.

It was the way Jay narrated everyone’s turns.

Jungwon took a slow sip of his wine. Just play your own damn game, he thought as the old, internal grumble surfaced with startling ease. He used to find Jay’s enthusiasm endearing. Fuck, even Jungwon’s mother found it endearing as she was laughing with her whole heart right now too.

But now, as he watched Jay explain probability to a mildly annoyed Soojin, the feeling of annoyance was back. He couldn’t let it show, though. He just smiled and nudged Jay’s knee with his elbow. “Stop trying to intimidate my sister. She’s about to bankrupt you.”

Jay grinned down at him. “My fiancé, the traitor.” He dropped a kiss on the top of Jungwon’s head. The action was so natural and so fluid, that Jungwon’s breath hitched. The kiss was for show, okay he very much knew that, but the scent of Jay’s skin and the familiar pressure of his lips… it was a direct hit to his nervous system.

The game progressed. Jungwon bought Park Place, then Jay landed on it two turns later with a theatrical groan and had to hand over a massive stack of fake money.

“This is abuse,” Jay declared as he counted the bills. He slid an arm around Jungwon’s chest to pull him back more firmly against his legs. “I’m sleeping on the couch tonight.”

“You wish,” Jungwon shot back automatically, tapping the Boardwalk deed he held with a smug little smile and turned his head to look up at him. “You’d miss me too much.”

Jay’s eyes held his for a beat too long. The playful light in them flickered, then he blinked and the charm was back. “You’re right. I would.”

Fucking hell.

The game ended with Jay’s dad winning, as usual. As the group began to clean up the money and pieces, the energy winding down, Jungwon found himself still nestled between Jay’s legs with Jay’s chin now resting on his head. The position was so deeply comfortable, that for a few blissful seconds, Jungwon forgot. He relaxed into the warmth and into the solid wall of Jay’s chest at his back.

Then Jay shifted, stretching his arms above his head with a yawn. “I’m beat,” he announced to the room. “All that emotional trauma from being bankrupted by my own future husband.” He squeezed Jungwon’s shoulders. “Ready to turn in, baby?”

The spell shattered. Jungwon nodded, untangling himself and getting to his feet. He suddenly felt stiff and cold.

They said their goodnights before heading up the stairs in silence.

As soon as their bedroom door closed, Jay walked straight to the dresser and began pulling off his watch.

Jungwon stood by the bed, staring at the pillow wall. It looked even more ridiculous now, after an evening of such convincing closeness. A line of fabric between two people who just spent hours convincingly pretending no line existed.

He played his part. He even got lost in it for fleeting moments. But as he looked at Jay’s broad back, now tense and closed off, and then at the stupid pillows, a hollow victory settled in his chest.

As it turned out, survival felt an awful lot like dying by a thousand perfect cuts.

The silence after the shower was different than the one on the stairs. Up here, in the moonlit bedroom with the rhythmic waves of the ocean through the open balcony door, the silence was heavy and absolute. It was the sound of two people trying not to breathe too loudly.

Jungwon came out from the steamy bathroom with his hair damp and curling at his nape, dressed in soft sleep pants and a thin t-shirt. The cool air raised goosebumps on his arms.

Jay was already on his side of the bed. He was lying on his back, one of his arms thrown over his eyes and the other resting on his stomach. He’d changed into a pair of loose shorts and a tank top.

Jungwon padded silently to his own side. He carefully lifted the corner of the duvet and slid underneath, turning his back immediately to the barrier and to Jay. He stared out the window, then at the opposite wall, at a framed print of a sailboat he’d always thought was tacky.

The mattress shifted as Jay moved, probably turning onto his side and facing the center of the bed – facing the wall and by extension, Jungwon’s back. Jungwon could almost feel the heat of him and the weight of his gaze, though he was sure he was hallucinating it.

Minutes stretched. The only sounds were the distant crash of waves and the too-loud beating of Jungwon’s own heart. He squeezed his eyes shut. He was wound so tight he thought he might snap.

Then Jay’s rough voice cut through the quiet. “You were good tonight.”

Jungwon’s eyes snapped open in the dark. “You were better.”

A soft, humorless huff of air came from Jay’s side. “It’s not a competition.”

“Isn’t it?” The words were out before Jungwon could stop them, sharper than he intended. He winced and pressed his lips together.

The silence returned and it was thicker now. He heard Jay swallow. “I guess it is,” Jay said quietly. “And you won. The… the way you leaned back. The divorce joke. You sounded… you sounded like you used to.”

Like I used to.

The words were a dagger and Jungwon had to close his eyes against the sting. He sounded like he used to. Because for a moment, he was who he used to be. For a moment, he was comfortable and claimed and so in love. It was an act, but it came from a real place of happiness so deep it took over.

“It’s easier if I just… play along,” Jungwon whispered to the sailboat. “Instead of just standing there like a mannequin you have to pose.”

“You were never a mannequin,” Jay said and his voice was so close. He must have moved nearer to the pillow wall. Jungwon could picture him lying there with his head propped on his hand and staring at the back of Jungwon’s head. “Even when you were quiet. You were never just… there.”

The old, bitter thoughts rose, but he bit them back. That was a fight from another life.

Instead, he said, “Your narration during Monopoly is still insufferable.”

The moment the words left his mouth, he froze. It was such a stupid but domestic thing to say. The kind of minor thing you’d voice at 2 AM after a long day, rolling over to poke your boyfriend in the ribs about it.

From behind the wall of pillows, Jay went completely quiet. Then a shocked, genuine laugh burst out of him. “Oh my god,” he breathed, the laughter fading into a sigh that was almost fond. “You still hate that.”

“I don’t hate it,” Jungwon mumbled, feeling totally exposed. “It’s just… let people lose their money in peace, Jay.”

“I was trying to help!”

“You were trying to be the smartest person in the room.”

Another beat of silence before Jay’s voice, laced with a wistfulness made Jungwon’s chest ache. “You used to say you found it cute. That it was like having your own personal sports commentator.”

Jungwon remembered saying that. He’d meant it, once. “Things change,” he whispered.

“Yeah.” Jay’s agreement was a quiet thud. The mattress shifted again as he settled back. “They do.”

Jungwon laid there, staring at the sailboat until it blurred. He was hyper-aware of every detail: the inch of space between his back and the first pillow, the scent of Jay’s body wash clinging to his own skin and the deep, even sound of Jay’s breathing slowly evening out into sleep.

Here in the dark, with nothing but a row of decorative cushions separating him from the man he had loved – still loved with a desperation that terrified him – it felt less like survival and more like a slow burial. He was burying them both, layer by layer, under a perfect performance and a wall of stupid, striped pillows.

The first thing Jungwon registered was the sensation of falling. The world tilted as he rolled sideways and the crisp scent of clean sheets filled his nose. His eyes flew open just as his shoulder thumped softly against the wooden floorboards beside the bed.

He lay there for a moment, stunned, blinking up at the ceiling. The early morning light was pale and gray as it filtered through the gauzy curtains.

He pushed himself up on his elbows, wincing at the mild ache in his shoulder. The bed was a landscape of rumpled sheets and the absurd wall of pillows in the middle. He clung so fiercely to his own side trying to maintain maximum distance from both Jay and the humiliating barrier, that he literally rolled himself off the edge in his sleep.

From the other side of the fortress, he heard a soft, sleepy grunt, followed by the sound of rustling. Jay was waking up. Jungwon scrambled to his feet while his heart started pounding with a stupidly guilty fear of being caught in such a pathetic position. He straightened his sleep pants and ran a hand through his messy hair just as Jay’s head appeared over the top of the pillows.

His hair was a wild mess and his eyes were still puffy with sleep. He looked soft and disarmingly vulnerable. His gaze found Jungwon standing by the bed and a flicker of confusion crossed his face.

“Why’re you…?” he began, his voice gravelly with sleep. Then his eyes tracked from Jungwon to the space on the floor beside the bed and his lips twitched. Jungwon’s whole face must’ve looked just like the miserable irony reflected in Jay’s smile. “The wall held strong, I see.”

Jungwon felt his cheeks heat. “It’s a very strong wall,” he muttered while turning away to head for the bathroom. “Yep.”

The day unfolded under a bright, cloudless sky. The beach was a five-minute walk from the house, but by the time they got there, the families had already set up camp with umbrellas, coolers, towels and enough sunscreen to coat a small army.

Jungwon found himself starfished on a large beach towel next to Jay with their families fanning out around them. The sun was warm and the breeze was perfectly cool and salty. It should’ve been idyllic but it was a new form of torture.

Because it seemed like Jay decided that if they were performing, they were going all in. The hand-holding and the casual touches migrated to the beach. Only now, there was sand and sweat and swim trunks to contend with.

When Jungwon laid back to soak up the sun, Jay immediately shifted, dropping onto his side next to him and propping his head up on his hand. His shadow fell over Jungwon’s face. “You’ll burn, baby,” and before Jungwon could react, Jay squirted a dollop of cold sunscreen into his own palm. “Let me.”

Jungwon wanted to laugh in his face so fucking bad but he was too stunned to do it.

His breath caught as Jay’s palm landed on his shoulder. He worked the lotion in with slow circles and his touch was methodical and devastatingly thorough. His hand slid down Jungwon’s arm, his fingers tracing the delicate lines of his wrist. Then back up over the curve of his shoulder, his thumb brushing the sensitive hollow of Jungwon’s collarbone.

Jungwon kept his eyes closed, his sunglasses hiding the panic he knew was in them. He focused on the sound of the waves, the shrieks of children playing further down the beach and the feel of the sun on his legs. Anything but the sensual slide of Jay’s hand on his skin. Each stroke was a reminder of a thousand similar touches in this very spot, in this very sun, when the love had been real and not a desperate recreation of it.

Jay’s hand moved to his chest, spreading sunscreen over his sternum. His palm was warm and Jungwon jerked minutely and a tiny, involuntary gasp escaped his lips as Jay’s thumb grazed a nipple. Jay’s hand stilled for a heartbeat. When he spoke, his voice was a rough whisper for Jungwon. “Sorry. Ticklish?”

No, Jungwon wanted to scream. It’s you. He just shook his head slightly, not trusting his voice.

Jay’s hand gave a final, lingering sweep over Jungwon’s stomach before he withdrew but the absence of his touch was almost worse. Jungwon felt exposed and raw, his skin buzzing as if he was already sunburnt.

A few minutes later, Jay stirred beside him and sat up. “Okay, I’m roasting. I need the water.” He pushed himself to his feet.

Before Jungwon’s brain could even fully catch up, his body was moving. He sat up, his hand automatically reaching for the bottle of SPF 50 between their towels. “Your nose,” his voice came out flat. “And your shoulders. They’re already pink.”

Jay froze half-turned toward the ocean. He looked down at Jungwon, squinting against the sun as a complex expression flashed across his face. Old habits die hard; Jay would get excited to run into the waves and Jungwon would put sunscreen on him before letting him run off.

Jay sank back down onto his knees in the sand and turned towards Jungwon. He closed his eyes with a slight, long-suffering tilt to his mouth. “Yes, mom,” he muttered, but there was no bite to it. It was what he always said.

Jungwon squeezed a generous blob of the white lotion onto his fingers before he shifted closer on the towel and with a no-nonsense efficiency that belied the frantic beating of his heart, he began applying it to Jay’s face. His thumb smoothed over the high bridge of Jay’s nose, a spot that always burned first. His fingers swept over his forehead, his cheekbones then the sharp line of his jaw. He was close enough to see the faint dusting of sand on Jay’s eyelashes and the tiny, pale scar on his nose.

Jay endured it with a statue-like stillness, only the subtle tightening of his jaw betraying any tension. Then Jungwon moved behind him to tackle his back and shoulders. He spread the lotion over the planes of Jay’s shoulders, his fingers working over the solid muscles he knew as well as his own. He traced the line of Jay’s spine. The scent of coconut sunscreen mixed with the salt in the air. Jungwon applied the last of the sunscreen with an almost aggressive thoroughness, as if he could seal Jay in it and protect him from something neither of them could name.

“Happy?” Jay asked, his voice muffled slightly as he kept his face forward.

“You’ll thank me when you’re not a lobster tomorrow,” Jungwon replied mechanically while capping the bottle. He gave Jay’s shoulder a final, firm pat that was more dismissal than affection.

Jay stood up and shook out his limbs. He shot Jungwon a quick, unreadable look before he turned and sprinted down the beach toward the water to join his younger brother in a loud charge into the waves.

Jungwon’s fingers were still tingling as he watched him go. He stared at his own hand, then wiped it roughly on his towel, as if he could erase the feeling of Jay’s skin. But it was imprinted. Just like everything else.

Later, when the sun finally dipped lower and the heat became less oppressive, Jungwon decided to go into the water himself. The shock of the cool little waves was a relief around his legs, washing away some of the stifling tension.

He saw Jay further out, diving under waves with his brother. For a moment, he let himself just watch the familiar sight. He was about ten feet away from them when a larger wave unexpectedly rolled in. It was just strong enough to disrupt his balance. The world tilted, saltwater rushed up his nose and a spike of genuine panic lanced through him as the current tugged at his legs. As the water surged around him, his instinct kicked in.

His hand shot towards Jay.

And Jay, without a moment’s hesitation or without even looking fully – reached back.

Their hands found each other in the churning water. Jay’s grip was immediate and strong as he pulled Jungwon smoothly against him, steadying him as the wave passed. For a few seconds, they were chest to chest in the water, with Jay’s arm around his waist again and Jungwon’s hand clutching Jay’s shoulder.

When Jungwon found his balance and wiped the salt water out of his eyes, he finally realized how fast Jay was to be right beside him. He was steady as a rock in the surf. His other hand came up to clasp Jungwon’s elbow to hold him upright.

“I got you,” Jay's calm voice was so damn close. No baby this time.

Jungwon looked at him as water streamed down both of their faces. Jay’s gaze was clearly focused entirely on him, the usual layers of performance and irony stripped away entirely now. At that moment, there was no audience, no pillow wall, no sunscreen ritual, no carefully negotiated boundaries. There was just the two of them in the shifting sea, holding onto each other because it was the most unconscious reflex they had.

Jungwon’s throat closed up. He couldn’t speak. He just nodded, his fingers still clamped tightly around Jay’s arm, his other hand coming to rest on Jay’s shoulder for balance. Jay didn’t let him go. He stood there, braced against the retreating surge to keep Jungwon steady.

It lasted only a few seconds. The wave passed and Jay’s brother called out to him, splashing nearby.

Jungwon slowly loosened his grip as he felt Jay’s hands sliding away from his waist and elbow. The loss of contact felt like a new kind of wave pulling him under. They stood there with their chests heaving and water swirling around their waists, staring at each other with the bewildered shock of people who’d just survived a blast side-by-side.

Jay was the first to look away, turning his head toward the horizon. He ran a wet hand through his hair. “You okay?” he asked, his voice back to a careful tone.

Jungwon swallowed a mouthful of salt and regret. “Yeah,” he breathed out. “Thanks.”

Jay just nodded without meeting his eyes again and turned to wade back toward his brother, leaving Jungwon standing alone in the water, his skin still humming from the ghost of Jay’s grip, more unsteady now than the wave had ever made him.

The dinner left the air in the beach house smelling of garlic, lemon and Jay’s legendary spicy marinated grilled fish. Laughter echoed off the vaulted ceilings and the easy atmosphere wrapped around Jungwon like a warmly suffocating blanket. He laughed at the right moments and passed dishes as he unconsciously let his knee press against Jay’s under the long wooden table.

Jay was in fine form, the perfect host-son-fiancé, his charm turned up to a dazzling brightness that somehow made the shadows under his eyes seem deeper. He told a story about a work mishap that had everyone howling, his hand finding its way to the back of Jungwon’s neck and his thumb rubbing absent circles against Jungwon’s skin. It was such a casually intimate gesture, that Jungwon had to fight not to lean into it like a starving man.

When the plates were cleared and the others settled into the living room with coffee and the vague promise of a movie, Jay caught Jungwon’s eye. A subtle tilt of his head toward the stairs.

They made their excuses (long day, sun really takes it out of you) amidst a chorus of smiles. The silent walk up the stairs felt heavy with the unspoken weight of the day as the lines kept blurring.

The bedroom was dark, lit only by the dim sky streaming through the balcony doors. It felt like returning to the scene of a crime. The pillow wall still stood proudly in the center of the bed.

Jay closed the door softly behind them, then he just stood there for a moment with his back to Jungwon before he moved to the dresser with drained movements. He pulled off his shirt, the pale moonlight washing over the planes of his back that Jungwon had so meticulously sun-screened just hours ago. Jungwon watched, unable to look away, his own skin prickling with awareness.

“I’m going to shower,” Jay announced before he disappeared into the adjoining bathroom. The lock didn’t click. It never had, between them.

The sound of the shower spray hitting the tiles was a white noise invitation to madness. Jungwon stood frozen in the middle of the room, the memories assaulting him. Memories of following Jay into that shower, of steam and slick skin and laughter swallowed by kisses. Of Jay pushing him against the cool tile, water sluicing over them both as he–

He shook his head violently. No. Nope. No.

He thankfully had a quick shower after they got back from the beach so now he could change into his sleep clothes but his fingers kept fumbling on the buttons. He was in bed on his side facing away from the center by the time the shower stopped.

Jay emerged minutes later and Jungwon really hated his brain for flashing the picture in his mind of Jay with a towel slung low around his hips and his hair dark and dripping. Jungwon squeezed his eyes tightly shut and tried to feign sleep as he kept listening to the soft sounds of Jay drying off, then the rustle of fabric as he pulled on his own sleep pants.

The mattress dipped as Jay got into bed. There was the usual careful shuffle, then silence.

But it was a different silence tonight. The events of the day hung in the space between them, thicker than the pillows. The feel of Jay’s hands steadying him in the water and the automatic way Jungwon reached for the sunscreen.

Jungwon lay there, achingly awake. He could hear Jay’s breathing and it wasn’t the even rhythm of sleep. It was so painfully controlled. Jay was awake too, lying on his back, Jungwon could feel it.

After what felt like an hour but was probably only ten minutes, Jay spoke into the darkness. His voice was low and stripped of all pretense.

“You reached for me today.”

Jungwon’s eyes opened. He stared at the dark wall. “The wave was bigger than I thought.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Jay’s voice was closer. He must have turned his head toward the pillow wall. “Before that. The sunscreen. You just… did it. Like you used to.”

Like I used to. That phrase was becoming a mantra, a knife turned in the same wound.

“Habit,” Jungwon whispered.

“Yeah,” Jay breathed out. “Habit.”

Was that all this was now? Habit. But if it was only habit… why did it still hurt this much? Why did it still feel like tearing something open every time they touched?

“It felt…” Jay started, then stopped. He let out a short, frustrated breath. “Forget it.”

It felt real. That’s what he didn’t say. Jungwon knew, because it felt real to him too. It all came from a place that wasn’t acting.

They lapsed back into silence. The pillow wall felt flimsy and laughable because the real walls were the ones they were speaking through now, the ones made of unsaid words and years of loneliness.

Jungwon listened to the ocean. He thought about reaching out, to bridge the inch of space between his back and the first pillow, to see if Jay’s skin on the other side was as warm as he remembered.

His hand stayed fisted in his own sheet.

But for the first time since they arrived, the pillow wall didn’t feel like a boundary. It felt like a dare.

The third day was seriously testing Jungwon.

He woke to the light of early morning filtering through the balcony doors. His back was to the center of the bed and for one blissful second, he felt the solid and familiar heat of another body behind him. Then his waist brushed against the stiff bulk of a pillow and the reality crashed back in. Right. He was alone on his side of it.

He heard a muffled sigh from the other side. Jay was awake too. They lay there in the quiet without moving and Jungwon was suddenly painfully aware of Jay on the other side. The distance of a few inches felt like a canyon.

Then someone knocked on the bedroom door and Jungwon’s heart jumped. His eyes flew open and he pushed himself up on his elbow, meeting Jay’s wide, panicked gaze over the summit of the pillow wall.

“Shit–” Jay hissed as he was already moving. He threw himself at the pillows, grabbed two and hurled them toward the foot of the bed. One bounced off the mattress and onto the floor.

Jungwon scrambled to his knees and his legs tangled in the sheets but he couldn’t care about it as he shoved at the remaining pillows with both hands, his heart hammering against his ribs. One pillow got caught between the headboard and the mattress so he yanked at it, trying very hard to not tear it.

In the haste, Jay must’ve misjudged the edge of the bed because Jungwon heard a muted thump and a choked-off curse and as he looked over, Jay landed on the floor with a groan.

“Jay!” Jungwon whispered. He lunged toward the edge, but his own feet were still tangled in the sheets. He pitched forward and landed half on the bed, half off, his torso dangling over the side where Jay was now pushing himself up, rubbing his elbow.

Their faces were inches apart, eyes wild with shared panic. The knocking came again.

Jungwon snapped out of his momentarily haze and sat up to yank his legs out of the sheets and scrambled fully back onto the bed, just as Jay hauled himself up and practically crawled onto the mattress from the floor. They threw themselves toward the center of the bed and toward each other.

Jungwon rolled onto his side until his head landed against Jay’s chest and Jay’s arm slipped around him immediately to pull him in tight. He wrapped an arm around Jay’s waist and let his fingers curl into his shirt as he hooked one leg over his until they were tangled together again.

“Ow,” Jay whispered with a sharp intake of breath.

Jungwon realized he managed to kick Jay in the shin with his other foot. “Sorry,” he whispered back, his voice muffled against Jay’s shirt, which smelled like sleep and his specific clean scent.

They froze for a second, both panting lightly and their hearts pounding a frantically synchronized rhythm against each other. The position was intimate and cozy, like a perfect picture of a couple who just woke up. The wreckage of pillows around the bed could be explained away as… Jungwon didn’t let his mind to finish that thought.

Jay cleared his throat, his arm tightening minutely around Jungwon. “Yeah? Come in!” he called out and his voice got miraculously smooth.

The door opened slowly.

Jungwon’s mom peeked in. “Oh, sorry boys, did I wake you?”

Jungwon nuzzled instinctively deeper into Jay’s chest to hide his probably-flustered face and he felt Jay’s chin come to rest gently on the top of his head.

“S’okay, Mom,” Jungwon mumbled, hoping he sounded drowsy and not like he was having a cardiac event. “What’s up?”

“Just wanted to ask if you wanted pancakes for breakfast.” Jungwon heard the smile in her voice and that was the exact reason why he couldn’t look into her eyes without feeling terribly guilty. It was the same tone she’d always given them when they were curled up together on the couch.

“Pancakes sounds great,” Jay’s voice was a soft rumble beneath Jungwon’s ear. His hand stroked a slow, absent circle on Jungwon’s back and Jungwon felt the goosebumps race down on the path Jay’s fingers drew.

“Wonderful. Come down in an hour, you two.” She pulled the door closed and left them in the dim room once more.

The click of the latch echoed.

But they didn’t move.

Jungwon’s ear was pressed to Jay’s chest and he could hear the strong, rapid beat of his heart gradually slowing. He could feel the rise and fall of Jay’s breathing beneath his cheek. Jay’s arm was a warm weight around him as his hand still rested on the small of Jungwon’s back. Jungwon’s own leg was still thrown over Jay’s, their feet brushing together under the sheets.

It was so quiet. So still. So good. It felt like coming home after a long, cold journey to a fire already lit. Every cell in Jungwon’s body sighed in relief, even as his mind screamed in warning.

He didn’t want to be the one to break it. He wanted to sink into this and never resurface.

The words came out of Jay then, so soft they were almost just a shape of breath against Jungwon’s hair. “It’s been so long since you touched me like this.”

The confession hung in the air between them and it made Jungwon nuzzle deeper into Jay’s neck. He squeezed his eyes shut as he felt a tremor run through Jay’s body, or maybe it was his own.

He knew exactly what Jay meant. It was how naturally Jungwon still fit against him and how neither of them thought about where their hands landed or whose leg was hooked over whose. It was over a year since touching Jay stopped being something Jungwon did.

Jungwon’s throat worked. His voice caught in his throat before it came out as a whisper, but he couldn’t lie like this. “I know,” he breathed into Jay’s shirt. “I… I know.”

Jungwon’s usually scattered mind went quiet, lulled by the steady heartbeat beneath his ear and the comforting scent of Jay’s skin. He could feel the exact moment Jay’s breathing shifted from the controlled pattern of performance to something deeper and more relaxed.

Jay’s hand started to move on Jungwon’s back. His fingers spread almost hesitantly, then curled slightly, his thumb starting a slow stroking motion along the ridge of Jungwon’s spine, right through the thin cotton of his t-shirt. A shuddering breath escaped Jungwon, one he didn’t realize he was holding.

Jay stilled his hand. “Sorry,” he murmured, the word vibrating through his chest into Jungwon’s cheek.

“Don’t be,” Jungwon whispered back. He was past pride right now, past the careful rules they’d set on the drive here. He tilted his head back, just enough to look up. Jay was already looking down and his dark eyes were unreadable in the dim light, but Jungwon saw the softness deep inside them. So soft.

“The pillows are a mess,” Jungwon murmured suddenly.

“Your mom probably thinks we had a war in here,” Jay replied, a ghost of a smile touching his lips.

“We did,” Jungwon’s gaze dropped to Jay’s mouth. He remembered the brief kisses for show they’d agreed to but this didn’t feel like that. This felt like standing on the edge of a cliff with no safety net.

He watched Jay’s throat work as he swallowed. “Jungwon…” The way Jay said his name made it sound like he needed Jungwon closer and as far away as possible at the same time. That was Jungwon’s undoing.

He untangled his leg from Jay’s and turned fully onto his side to face him, Jay’s arm moving with him until it settled around his waist again. Their faces were close now, sharing the same air.

“Jay,” Jungwon breathed back, and he didn’t know if it was an answer, a question or a permission slip.

Jay’s eyes searched his face, darting between Jungwon’s eyes and his lips. The early morning light was strengthening, painting Jay’s features in shades of grey and gold, highlighting the tired lines Jungwon loved, the curve of his bottom lip.

The hand on Jungwon’s waist slid up on his back, over his shoulder blade to cradle the back of his neck. It sent a bolt of desperate need straight to Jungwon’s core. His breath hitched.

Jay’s gaze dropped to Jungwon’s mouth again as his own lips parted slightly. He was leaning in, slowly shrinking the distance between them, and Jungwon felt himself tilting forward too.

Then, as if a switch flipped, Jungwon’s eyes widened. He saw the same realization mirrored in Jay’s face a split-second later and the soft haziness in them sharpened into panic. They were both standing on that edge and they were both about to freefall.

Jay’s hand jerked away from Jungwon’s neck as if it was burning and he pulled back sharply, breaking the pull between them, his chest heaving.

The sudden loss of contact was a physical shock for Jungwon and he scrambled backwards, his own movements clumsy with adrenaline and shame. He practically launched himself off the bed, stumbling to his feet on the side where he’d almost fallen earlier. He stood there, breathing hard, his back to Jay, staring at the wall as if it could offer an explanation or an escape.

The silence was deafening and heavy with everything they almost did. The ghost of Jay’s hand burned on Jungwon’s neck.

He heard Jay let out a long, shaky exhale. The mattress creaked as he sat up. Neither of them spoke for a full minute. The only sounds were the distant cry of seagulls and the frantic drumming of Jungwon’s own heart.

“We should…” Jay began, his voice coming out rough. He didn’t finish the sentence. We should what? Put the pillows back? Pretend this didn’t happen?

Jungwon finally turned around and forced himself to meet Jay’s eyes. Jay looked as wrecked as he felt – hair messy, lips still flushed, eyes dark with a turmoil that mirrored the chaos inside Jungwon.

“We got carried away,” Jungwon sighed.

“Yeah,” Jay agreed hoarsely. He ran a hand through his hair, making it even more disheveled. “The… the performance. It messes with your head.”

Is that all it was? Jungwon wanted to scream. Just the performance? But he couldn’t ask. He was too afraid of the answer, whether it was yes or no.

He looked at the disaster zone of their bed; the pillows strewn across the floor and the sheets tangled like a crime scene. “We should clean this up. Before someone else comes in.”

It was a retreat into practicality, a lifeline they both grabbed. Jay nodded, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “Right.”

They worked in a tense silence, picking up the pillows, but they didn’t rebuild the wall, just stacked them neatly at the foot of the bed. The space between them on the mattress now just looked empty, but it felt more charged than ever.

As Jungwon placed the last pillow on the stack, his fingers accidentally brushed against Jay’s. They both froze. A tiny spark, a jolt of that same electricity from moments before ran through Jungwon’s whole being. He snatched his hand back.

He couldn’t look at Jay. He just straightened and headed for the bathroom. “I’ll shower first,” he announced and he was surprised at how steady his voice was.

“Okay,” Jay said quietly from behind him.

Jungwon closed the bathroom door and leaned against it, pressing his forehead to the cool wood. He squeezed his eyes shut but the image of Jay’s expression was seared into his eyelids. The feel of his hand cradling his neck. The way his own body arched into the touch, ready and in desperate need for anything or more.

He was a breath away from kissing him. From ending the pretense, the separation, everything. And Jay was a breath away from letting him.

They did the right thing by pulling back. But as Jungwon turned on the shower and stepped under the punishingly hot spray, he couldn’t shake the feeling that they didn’t avoid the disaster. They just postponed it. And the countdown was ticking louder than ever.

He turned the shower knob all the way to the right and the water turned icy, a brutal shock that made him gasp. But he welcomed it. He stood under the cold needles with his head bowed and let them pelt his head and shoulders, hoping the physical discomfort could numb the pain inside his chest.

It didn’t work.

The first sob tore out of him without warning. He slapped a hand over his mouth, trying to muffle the sound that echoed off the tiles, but it was too late. He slid down the wall and crumpled onto the shower floor with his knees drawn to his chest. He buried his face in his arms and the tears came in a hot flood as his shoulder shook with it, mixing with the cold water that cascaded around him.

How? How was he supposed to be over this?

He’d spent the last year trying. God, he’d tried so fucking hard. He’d packed away every photo and every stupid souvenir. He’d deleted their shared playlists. He’d forced himself to go out, to smile, to tell his friends he was fine and it was for the best. He’d laid awake in a bed that felt painfully empty and told himself, over and over, that the silence was better than the arguments and the distance was safer than the slow, painful destruction of what they’d had.

He’d built a life, a fragile but functional one around the gaping hole where Jay used to be. He’d almost convinced himself he was moving on.

And then this week. These two fucking days.

It was all still there. Every bit of it. It was muscle memory. His body remembered Jay’s before his mind did. The way his hand reached out to smooth sunscreen on Jay’s back. The way his head found the perfect hollow of Jay’s shoulder without thought. The way his breath hitched when Jay touched him with the old, unconscious muscle memory.

And the way his heart leapt into his throat when Jay whispered that confession. The way his entire being leaned into that touch on his neck, like a flower turning toward the sun after a long winter.

He reached up to turn the water hot again.

What the fuck is my problem? Why couldn’t he just shut it off? Why did his traitorous body still move for a man he’d spent a year teaching himself to live without? Why did the fake engagement feel more real than any of the lonely, “free” days of the past twelve months?

Those twelve months felt like a pathetic joke now. He was crying for the sheer, exhausting difficulty of pretending in front of their families when every casual touch from Jay sent electric shocks through his system. He was crying because he was so, so tired of being strong, of being “over it,” when the truth was he was still drowning in it.

He cried until his eyes burned, until the water began to cool again and the violent storm of tears subsided into shaky breaths. He felt hollowed out and scraped raw.

He finally pushed himself up, his limbs heavy. He washed his face mechanically, the soap stinging his swollen eyes. He avoided looking in the fogged-up mirror. He didn’t want to see the wreck he was.

When he turned off the water and stepped out, wrapping a towel around his waist, the room was steamy and quiet. He could hear faint, muffled sounds from downstairs, like the clatter of pans and a burst of laughter. The normal, happy sounds of a family vacation.

He leaned on the sink, head hanging. He had to go out there. He had to face Jay. He had to smile and eat pancakes for breakfast and pretend that his world hadn’t just been cracked open again, that the carefully sealed wound hadn’t just been ripped right back apart.

He took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to pull the fragments of his composure back together. The face he saw in the clearing mirror was pale, eyes red-rimmed and haunted. It was the face of a man who was very, very far from being over anything.

One day at a time, he told himself and desperately grabbed onto the old, useless mantra. Just get through today.

But the problem was, every day with Jay in it felt like both a gift and a fresh form of torture. And he had five more to go.

Jungwon dried off with tired movements, then dressed in the most casual, safe thing he could find; a faded grey t-shirt and loose shorts. Nothing that Jay had ever complimented. He ran his fingers through his damp hair and took one last steadying breath before opening the door.

Jay was sitting on the edge of the bed with a neatly folded stack of clothes in his lap, scrolling through his phone. He looked up when the door opened, and for a split second, his eyes searched Jungwon's face, lingering on the telltale redness around his eyes. Something flickered in his expression but he smoothed it over quickly and stood up.

"All yours," Jungwon said in a carefully neutral voice as he stepped aside, gesturing toward the bathroom.

"Thanks." Jay's voice was equally measured. He slipped past Jungwon and closed the bathroom door behind himself.

Jungwon stood there for a moment, before he forced himself to move. He remade the bed, smoothing out the wrinkled sheets and arranging the pillows before rearranging them again. He opened the curtains to let in the bright morning sun and stood at the window, watching the ocean.

When Jay came out of the bathroom, Jungwon was sitting on the chair by the window, still staring at the waves and actively trying not to think.

"Ready to go down?" Jay asked.

"Yeah," Jungwon said without looking up. "Let's go."

They walked down the stairs side by side with a careful six inches of space between them. The chatter from the kitchen grew louder as they approached, the smell of butter and maple syrup and fresh coffee wrapping around Jungwon like a warm blanket.

"There they are!" Jungwon's mom called out, beaming at them from the stove. "Sleepyheads! We thought you'd sleep through breakfast entirely."

"Sorry, Mom," Jungwon forced a smile onto his face. "We stayed up late. Talking." The word felt like a lie, even though it was technically true.

Jay's hand found the small of his back in a brief but light touch as he guided Jungwon toward the table. It was such a natural and automatic gesture that Jungwon's step faltered for just a second before he recovered.

They took their seats, Jay pulling out Jungwon's chair for him. Jungwon felt his face heat and he busied himself with reaching for a napkin. He was so fucking mad at himself for reacting like this.

The table was packed full with food; pancakes stacked high, bowls of fresh fruit, a platter of crispy bacon, scrambled eggs and a pitcher of orange juice. Their families were already halfway through their meal in the chaos of overlapping conversations and easy laughter.

Jungwon's mom set a fresh plate of pancakes in front of him. "Eat up, sweetheart. You look like you've lost weight."

"Thanks, Mom." He picked up his fork, even though his appetite was gone.

Jay was piling food onto his own plate next to Jungwon, engaging in easy conversation with Jungwon's father about his latest fishing trip. He sounded so normal and so perfectly at ease, and Jungwon couldn't fathom how he did it.

During a lull in the conversation, Jay's hand found his under the table, his pinky brushing against Jungwon's and it made his throat tighten. He kept his eyes on his plate, but he let his pinky press back, just once.

They ate the rest of the meal in a careful dance of avoidance and proximity, passing syrup and butter, laughing at the right moments, their hands never quite touching again. But Jungwon was acutely aware of every inch of space between them and every glance Jay threw his way when he thought Jungwon wasn't looking.

Jungwon had no idea how much longer he could hold it together.

After breakfast, the chaos of clearing the table and washing dishes gave Jungwon a blessed break from the suffocating closeness of sitting next to Jay. He scrubbed pans vigorously, letting the hot water scald his hands as he listened to his mother chatter happily about the day’s plans.

“The trail will be lovely today,” she said, handing him a dripping plate to dry.

Jungwon’s hand tightened around the dish towel but he managed a noncommittal hum.

Upstairs, they went back to their room to change for the hike. Jungwon pulled on a pair of shorts and a shirt, tying his hiking boots before untangling the strings just so he could tie them again.

Jay was rummaging in his duffel, pulling out a worn navy baseball cap. “Remember the water bottle game?” he asked without looking up.

Jungwon paused. The water bottle game was one of their oldest, stupidest traditions. On this particular hike, they’d always shared one large water bottle, passing it back and forth until the water was warm and tasted faintly of each other. They always set a record for how fast they can drink it throughout the hike and it’d felt so funny back then. Now it just felt like another landmine.

“Yeah,” Jungwon said finally. “We’ll… we can just bring two.”

Jungwon saw the way Jay’s jaw tightened as he gave him a nod. “Good call.”

Silence stretched again as they stuffed their backpacks with sunscreen, a light rain jacket just in case and snacks. It was Jay who broke it again, his voice carefully casual as he zipped up his backpack.

“Your sister will probably want to take the photo again. At the lookout point.”

Jungwon was trying really hard to not think about this, but yeah, they had to discuss this too. Every year, at the end of the trail where it opened up to a breathtaking view of the coastline, his sister would take a picture of them. And every year, it ended the same way with Jay dipping him playfully, or with them kissing. The picture was always a little sun-drenched but full of genuine, breathless joy.

Jungwon’s mom had the first year’s photo framed in their living room. It was the one that haunted Jungwon’s phone gallery, the one he could never bring himself to delete.

“Right,” Jungwon sighed. “The photo.”

“We don’t have to…” Jay trailed off, turning to face him. He leaned against the dresser and crossed his arms. “I mean, it doesn’t have to be… what it was. Obviously.”

“Obviously,” Jungwon echoed.

“We can just… I don’t know. Stand close. Or I can just…” Jay swallowed, his eyes drifting to Jungwon’s cheekbone and then away again. “I can just press a small one to your face. Your cheek or temple. Something quick. For show. It’ll look affectionate without being… too much.”

The words were meant to be a solution, but all they did was paint a vivid picture in Jungwon’s mind about Jay’s lips pressing against his skin. The scent of sunscreen and pine and Jay’s sweat filling his senses.

He wanted to say no. He wanted to say they could just hug, or hold hands or not even touch at all. But he knew his sister. She’d pout and tease them until she got her perfect, traditional shot. And anything less than the usual display would raise questions they couldn’t afford.

“Yeah,” he heard himself say. “That’ll work. A quick one on the cheek. Then we break apart fast.”

Jay nodded and pushed off the dresser. “Fast,” he agreed as he grabbed his pack and slung it over one shoulder. “Ready?”

Jungwon took a deep breath, shouldering his own bag. “Ready.”

The trailhead was the usual, sun-dappled hike into the cool green woods. The family fanned out ahead of them, chattering and pointing at wildflowers, leaving Jungwon and Jay to bring up the rear. The silence between them was thick at first, broken only by the crunch of gravel under their boots and the distant calls of birds.

The first real test came about twenty minutes in, at a steep, rocky section where you had to scramble up a small boulder to continue.

Jay was a few steps ahead of Jungwon so he reached the top first. Then before Jungwon could do his plan of pulling himself up after a running start (it was a solid plan, he even had his steps counted out) Jay turned and extended his hand to Jungwon without a word. It was the exact same gesture he’d made six years ago on their first hike here, and every year since.

Jungwon stared at the offered hand. His mind screamed at him to find another way or to turn around and get ready for running, but his traitorous body moved before he could stop it. His hand slid into Jay’s and Jay’s fingers closed around his, before he hauled Jungwon up the rock. Jungwon landed beside him, feeling breathless from the climb and from the shock of the contact. They stood there for a second with their hands still linked, before Jungwon took his back and shoved it into his pocket.

“Thanks,” he muttered, carefully avoiding Jay’s eyes.

“Anytime,” Jay replied, then he turned and continued up the trail.

The rhythm of the hike slowly took over. The sun grew warmer, filtering through the canopy in shifting patterns of light and shadow. Jungwon’s shirt began to stick to his back.

“You’re not drinking,” Jungwon heard himself say after a while, the words slipping out on autopilot. He nodded toward Jay’s backpack. “Your water. You’ll get a headache.”

Jay glanced back and a faint smile touched his lips as he reached back for his bottle in the side of his backpack, then unscrewed the cap and took a long swallow. “Better?”

“It’s a start,” Jungwon mumbled.

They reached a small clearing where the trail leveled out, a known resting spot with a fallen log to sit on. Jungwon’s parents and sister were already there, taking photos of the view. Jungwon and Jay leaned against a sturdy pine tree, catching their breath.

The sun was directly overhead now, and sweat beaded on Jungwon’s temples. He pulled the collar of his shirt away from his neck, fanning himself weakly with his hand.

Jay must’ve seen the motion, because he immediately reached up to pull his navy snapback off his head. Then he began fanning Jungwon’s face with the cap, creating a small breeze. It was such an instinctive habit of his – born from countless hikes, beach days and hot summer afternoons where Jungwon would complain about the heat and Jay would silently find a way to cool him down.

Jungwon closed his eyes for a second, surrendering to the relief without thinking. When he opened them, Jay’s dark hair was clinging to his damp forehead in messy strands, freed from the hat.

Jungwon reached out. His fingers brushed Jay’s skin, pushing the sweaty hair back from his forehead and tucking it behind his ear. His thumb grazed Jay’s temple in a fleeting touch and Jay went utterly still, his fanning motion stopping. His eyes locked onto Jungwon’s, wide and dark and full of a startled recognition.

Jungwon froze, his hand still hovering near Jay’s face. He could see the pulse jumping in Jay’s throat, could feel the phantom echo of Jay’s skin against his fingertips.

A loud laugh from his sister shattered the moment. Jungwon snatched his hand back and started fanning himself with the collar of his shirt while looking around like it was his first time seeing the view from up here. He saw Jay put his snapback back on from the corner of his eye, pulling the brim low over his eyes.

“We should… keep moving,” Jay cleared his throat.

“Yeah,” Jungwon breathed, his heart hammering against his ribs.

They fell back into step behind the others, but the distance they tried so hard to keep that morning was gone. It disappeared so easily that it scared him. One familiar gesture turned into another until he couldn’t tell where instinct ended and pretending began. Jungwon couldn’t shake the feeling that they were running out of room to keep acting like everything was under control. The lookout point waited ahead, along with the quick kiss they agreed on and it felt closer every time he looked up.

The rest of the hike felt like walking through a dream. Jungwon’s sister, Soojin, and Jay’s brother, Jake, fell into step beside them, their chatter creating a buffer against the silence. They talked about work, about a new restaurant in town and about the ridiculous price of avocados. It was so normal and so easy.

And for a few stretches, Jungwon forgot. He laughed at Jake’s stupid joke. He argued with Soojin about the best way to layer a backpack. He pointed out a bird to Jay and Jay nodded, squinting at the sky. They were just two people on a hike, surrounded by family. The weight in his chest lightened.

They reached the lookout point; a flat, rocky outcrop that opened to a breathtaking view of the coastline where the ocean was a glittering blue under the sun. The group scattered, taking photos or sitting on rocks to eat snacks and pointing at sailboats far below.

Jungwon and Jay found a spot slightly apart from the others and sat down on a sun-warmed boulder. Jungwon stretched his legs out and leaned back against the rock while Jay opened a bag of trail mix and offered it to him first. Jungwon took a handful of almonds and dried cherries.

"Remember that year it poured?" Jay asked, a real smile starting to touch his eyes. "We got caught right at the start. You were convinced we should turn back."

"And you said getting caught in the rain was part of the adventure," the memory pulled a genuine laugh from Jungwon. "We were soaked through in minutes. My shoes squelched for days."

"We found that little overhang," Jay continued, his voice dipping into a nostalgic tone. "Crammed under it with that family. You shared your granola bars with their kids."

"You were shivering. I gave you my extra layer." The words were out before Jungwon could think about it. It was just a fact, though. Jay was cold and Jungwon had a dry shirt. That was what you did.

Jay looked at him, the smile lingering.

"Your mom still packs those awful, chalky protein bars, doesn't she?" Jay asked.

Jungwon groaned. "And she’ll still try to force them on you first, because you're too polite to say no."

"I still have a stash of them in my glove box from three years ago. I think they're fossilized."

They laughed, and it felt so normal that for a second Jungwon forgot everything else. They were just talking and laughing like they always had and it was almost enough to make him forget why they’d stopped in the first place. It was just Jay beside him on a rock, smiling at something stupid, and it felt so easy to slip back into that version of themselves.

Then Soojin’s bright voice cut through the moment. “Okay, photo time! You two, over here!”

The reality slammed back into Jungwon’s chest as he stood up with suddenly stiff legs. Jay stood beside him. They walked to the edge of the lookout and Jungwon’s heart started hammering as their whole family looked at them.

Soojin positioned them. “Perfect! Now kiss!”

Jay’s arms came up around him and Jungwon tilted his head back to look up at Jay’s face. The sun haloed his features and made his eyes seem softer. Jay leaned down, his breath a whisper against Jungwon’s skin when he pressed a small kiss to Jungwon’s temple. They both turned to Soojin and Jungwon could imagine how funny they both must’ve looked like.

Soojin groaned. “Nooo! An actual kiss! That’s just a peck! Come on, you’re engaged! Give us a proper one!”

Everyone laughed. Jungwon’s mom chuckled, “Don’t be shy, boys!” Jake made a teasing whistle.

The laughter died around them. Jay’s arms tightened minutely around Jungwon’s waist and Jungwon felt the world narrow to the circle of Jay’s embrace, to the warmth of his body against his back and to the faint scent of pine and sweat on his skin.

Jay’s head dipped again, but this time, his lips hovered a millimeter from Jungwon’s own and his eyes locked onto Jungwon’s. The noise of the family faded into a distant hum. There was only Jay’s gaze and the unbearable, charged space between their mouths.

Jay’s voice was so quiet it was almost a thought. “…Can I?”

The air left Jungwon’s lungs.

He didn’t have to ask before. For six years, he never had to ask. He’d just kissed Jungwon whenever he wanted to because he knew the answer before he even leaned in. It had never crossed Jungwon’s mind that he could say no, just like it had never crossed Jay’s mind that he would.

Now he did.

Now, after a year of silence and after two and a half days of pretending, he was asking and waiting for permission.

Jungwon’s heart hammered against his ribs frantically. He looked into Jay’s eyes and saw the same storm of uncertainty mirrored there.

His voice failed him. All he could do was to give a single, nearly imperceptible nod.

Jay’s lips met his.

Jay’s mouth was warm and familiar in a way that tore a hole straight through Jungwon’s heart.

He felt Jay’s arms tighten around him and pulling him closer until there was no space between them at all. Jungwon’s hands, which hung limp at his sides, came up to clutch at Jay’s shoulders, holding on as if the ground might disappear.

The kiss deepened, just for a second. Just enough for Jungwon to feel the sigh that escaped Jay’s chest, and to feel the slight tremble in his own hands. Then Jay pulled back but he still kept his arms around Jungwon, his forehead now resting against Jungwon’s temple.

Around them, the family cheered. Soojin whooped. “Yes! That’s the one! Perfect!”

But Jungwon couldn’t hear them. All he could hear was Can I? repeating in his head.

Can I?

He said yes.

And now, he didn’t know what that meant for the rest of the hike, for the rest of the week or for the rest of his life. The cliff edge wasn’t ahead of them anymore. They were already falling.

For the next hour, Jungwon tried to focus on the picnic instead. He ate, smiled for the photos and pointed out landmarks with everyone else, but it all felt strangely distant. Every time he glanced at Jay, he caught himself wondering if Jay was thinking about the kiss too, and judging by the way Jay kept looking away whenever their eyes met, he had a feeling he wasn’t the only one.

As they began the hike back down the trail, Jungwon knew it for sure.

Before, Jay’s affection was a performance, but it was a smooth one at least. Now, it was… clumsy.

When the path narrowed, Jay’s hand came up to guide Jungwon, but his touch was hesitant, his fingers barely brushing Jungwon’s elbow before pulling back like Jungwon’s skin shocked him. When Jungwon stumbled slightly on a loose stone, Jay’s arm shot out to steady him, but the grip was too tight and too urgent, and he let go too quickly afterwards.

Jungwon was sure that he’ll hear a few of his stressed out jokes, but he was silent, his brow furrowed in concentration. The easy chatter he maintained with Jake and Soojin died out. He just walked with his gaze fixed on the ground a few feet ahead.

The most telling sign was his distance. The entire week, Jay was a master of being Jungwon’s shadow-in-love, but now, he seemed to be actively measuring the space between them. He’d fall a step behind before catching himself and walking beside Jungwon again, only to drift away a minute later as if he couldn’t decide where he was supposed to be.

Jungwon felt a strange pang in his chest as he watched Jay. He spent the last few days trying to hold himself together while Jay carried them both so effortlessly that it almost felt unfair. Seeing Jay struggle now should’ve made him feel less alone. Instead, it only scared him. If Jay couldn’t keep pretending anymore, Jungwon wasn’t sure either of them would make it through the rest of the trip.

At one point, Jungwon slowed to let his sister pass on a tight switchback, turning around so she had enough space. Jay, right behind him, didn’t adjust his pace in time and nearly walked into him just as Jungwon was about to turn back ahead. They ended up chest-to-chest for a breathless second on the narrow path.

“Sorry,” Jay mumbled with comically wide eyes. But he didn’t move an inch, he just stood there with his hands hovering at his sides and looking utterly lost.

“It’s okay,” Jungwon whispered back. He could see the pulse racing in Jay’s throat and that combined with the panic in Jay’s eyes made Jungwon want to say something, even if it was a reassuring lie like it’s okay.

But Jay finally seemed to remember himself. He cleared his throat, stepped carefully around Jungwon and continued down the trail, but his shoulders were rigid with tension.

He’s scared, Jungwon realized with a jolt.

Jay, who made jokes when stressed, who always had a smooth retort, who was so steady in the past days… was scared. And Jungwon was scared too, but for a totally different reason.

The rest of the hike down was spent in this strange, new silence. It was the silence of two people who just stepped off the path together and were now waiting to see which one of them would be the first to scream.

Dinner was at this loud seafood place with bright blue walls right on the pier. Their families had shoved two tables together and it was total chaos in the best way. Jake was already planning tomorrow, waving a fry around. "Jet skis! We gotta do jet skis tomorrow. Last year sucked with the rain, but come on, look at that sky. It's gonna be perfect."

Soojin was already on her phone. "On it. Early bird slot, before all the tourists wake up."

Everyone was talking over each other, laughing, arguing about who'd ride with who, bringing up that time Jay's dad wiped out in the slowest, most dramatic way possible.

But at their little corner of the table, the faking part just sort of… stopped.

Jungwon wasn't even thinking, he was just on autopilot. When the plate of jeon landed between them, he took one, broke it and just put the bigger half on Jay's plate, like he always did. Jay always said he didn't want any, then would end up picking at Jungwon's.

Jay, who was in the middle of telling Jungwon's dad why one boat engine was better than another, just picked up the half wordlessly, dunked it in his sauce and ate it. Then his hand drifted over and pushed Jungwon's iced tea glass a little closer, because Jungwon always got talking and forgot to drink.

A minute later, a single pea escaped from Jungwon's plate. Before Jungwon could even look down, Jay's fork zipped over, stabbed the pea and dumped it on his own bread plate. Tidying up after Jungwon's mess was a habit so old it was basically a reflex.

They weren't looking at each other. They were laughing with their moms and nodding along to jet ski plans while acting totally normal. But under the table, it was like their bodies had a totally separate meeting going on.

Jay reached for the salt and Jungwon passed him the pepper without looking because he knew he’d want it next. Jungwon went to take a sip of his tea and found a lemon wedge already squeezed in there. He didn't see Jay do it.

When a huge laugh from the other end of the table made Jungwon jump, his knee bumped Jay's under the table and Jay just pressed his leg back against Jungwon's, holding it there for a few long seconds before letting go.

To everyone else, it probably just looked like a cute couple being in sync, sharing food and sitting close, tuned into each other's vibe. But the acting part broke down hours ago on that cliff. This wasn't putting on a show anymore. This was just… old habits and muscle memory. Stuff they'd done a thousand times before a year of silence, bubbling back up because it was easier than trying to figure out how to be fake.

Jungwon nodded along as his sister talked about the best jet ski coves, but his whole world shrank down to the spot where his arm was touching Jay's. To the smell of Jay's laundry soap, the same kind he'd always used. To the way Jay's thumb was rubbing a line in the condensation on his glass, something he did when he was thinking hard.

They were talking and joking with their families about tomorrow's plans and last year's weather, about nothing important. But the whole time, with the shared food and the quiet touches and the stuff they did without thinking, it felt like they were having a whole other conversation nobody else could hear. And it was screamingly loud.

The walk back to the beach house was quiet. The families were full and sleepy, talking about turning in early. Jungwon and Jay trailed behind them, the silence between them now heavy and full of things that needed to be said.

Upstairs, they didn't turn on the big light. Jay went straight to the balcony, sliding the glass door open and stepping out into the cool night air. Jungwon followed after a minute, leaving the door open behind himself.

They sat in the two worn deck chairs, looking out at the dark ocean and listening to the distant, steady crash of waves. Jungwon couldn't take the silence anymore. It was the old, punishing kind of silence and he was done with it.

"You asked," Jungwon’s voice sounded too loud in the quiet. He couldn’t look at Jay. "Back on the cliff. You asked if you could kiss me."

"Yeah," Jay finally said. "I did."

"Why?"

Jay let out a slow breath. "Because it didn't feel right not to."

"That's not an answer."

"It's the only one I've got, Jungwon." Jay's voice was tired. "You looked at me and... I couldn't just do it. Not after everything. Not without checking."

"So it was just about being polite?" Jungwon asked, a bitter edge creeping in.

"No," Jay snapped, finally turning his head to look at him. The moonlight caught the frustration on his face. "It wasn't about being polite. It was about... God, I don't know. It was about the fact that for a year, I haven't had the right to just kiss you. And suddenly we're pretending I do, but I don't, and I... I had to ask. Okay? I had to."

Jungwon swallowed. "It messed you up. The whole way down the mountain, you were... off."

"You noticed that, huh?" Jay asked dryly.

"I notice everything about you," Jungwon shot back, the words slipping out before he could stop them. "I always have. Even when I hated it."

Jay looked away, back at the ocean. "Yeah. Well. It messed you up too."

"It felt real," Jungwon whispered.

Jay didn't say anything for a long time. "It was real."

"Then what are we doing?" Jungwon's voice broke a little. "What is this whole week? We're faking it for them, but then we have moments like that and it's not fake and I'm so... confused. And angry. I'm angry at you for asking. I'm angry at myself for saying yes."

"I'm angry too!" Jay said, his voice rising. He stood up abruptly, his chair scraping on the wood. "I'm angry that we're here! I'm angry that we're doing this stupid play! I'm angry that I proposed to you on this beach and it was the best night of my life and then a month later it was the worst, and now we're back here and you're wearing that stupid shirt I bought you and you still break your jeons in half and I don't know what any of it means!"

"So what, you regret it?" Jungwon stood up too to face him. "The proposal?"

"No! God, no, I don't regret it." Jay ran a hand through his hair. "I just... I thought it would fix things. I thought if I made the biggest promise, it would make us remember how to be us again."

"And instead it just showed us how broken we were," Jungwon finished quietly.

"Yeah." Jay's shoulders slumped. "Yeah, it did."

Jungwon was still catching his breath when they went quiet again. It was almost embarrassingly familiar, the way they could go from talking to arguing so quickly that he never knew exactly when it happened.

"You went silent on me," Jay hesitated before continuing. "After we got home. For days. You just... shut down."

"I was processing," Jungwon said, falling back on the same defence he always used.

"See, there it is," Jay said, but whatever anger had been in his voice before was gone now and all Jungwon heard was exhaustion. "That's what you always say. 'I'm processing.' And I'm over here, dying, because it feels like you're punishing me. You're mad or you're hurt and instead of telling me, you just go quiet and I have to guess what I did wrong this time."

"And you made jokes!" Jungwon fired back. "When I finally did try to talk, when I said I was scared, that the ring felt heavy, you made a joke about my fingers being small! I was trying to be serious, to tell you I was drowning and you couldn't just be serious with me!"

"I make jokes when I'm stressed! You know that! It's how I cope!" Jay's voice was raw. "I was drowning too, Jungwon! You think I wasn't terrified? You think I didn't feel it all falling apart? But when I get scared, I try to lighten it. And you took it as me not caring."

They stared at each other after they ripped the old wounds wide open. It was the same fight they'd had a hundred times in their last years together.

"I loved you so much," Jungwon felt his throat tightening as he choked the words out. "I still do. I love you and it's so hard to love you sometimes. It's so hard to be loved by you."

Jay looked like he'd been punched. He leaned back against the balcony railing and dropped his head. "I know," he whispered. "It got so hard. Loving you felt like a fight I was losing every day. And loving myself... I couldn't do it in that relationship. I forgot how."

Jungwon sat back down as his anger faded and all he could feel underneath it was how fucking sad he was. "So what was the point of all of it? Six years. The proposal. Any of it?"

Jay slid down to sit on the deck floor with his back against the railing, facing Jungwon's chair. "I don't know," he admitted. "But today... the hike. The way you pushed my hair back. The way you still know I want the pepper after the salt. The kiss..." He shook his head. "It didn't feel hard today. It just felt... I don't know, like when it was easy. And sad. And good, in a really messed up way."

"It felt like coming home to a house that's falling apart," Jungwon said softly. "You know where everything is, but the floorboards are rotten."

Jay let out a weak laugh. "Yeah. That's it exactly."

They sat in the quiet again, but Jungwon couldn’t find any anger left in him. All he could think about was how tired Jay looked and how obvious it seemed now that the past year hadn’t been any easier for him either.

The ocean kept doing its thing, waves coming in and going out. Jungwon watched them, feeling empty and full at the same time. He could feel Jay looking at him, but he kept his eyes on the water.

Jay finally broke the silence with a voice that sounded rough in the dark.

"I love you so much," he said so softly, Jungwon almost didn't hear it over the waves. "So much that I don't want to watch us destroy each other again."

Jungwon’s throat tightened as he kept his eyes on the water and blinked fast against the tears threatening to come. "That’s what we did, wasn’t it?" he whispered back. “The last year. We were just… destroying what was left.”

That was what scared Jungwon the most. He loved Jay and he knew now that Jay still loved him too, but they already knew what loving each other could turn into when everything else went wrong. Jungwon remembered what it felt like to stay because he loved him and still feel himself getting more angry and desperate until leaving seemed easier than letting them keep hurting each other.

Jungwon finally turned his head. Jay was still sitting on the floor, his head resting back against the railing, looking up at the sky. His profile was sharp in the moonlight and he looked so tired. Jungwon knew exactly what that kind of tired felt like. It was the tired you got from loving someone in a way that left you bruised.

Jay nodded slowly. “We were so good at it. I could make you shut down with one wrong joke. You could make me feel like the worst person alive with one long silence. We were experts at hurting each other.”

“Because we knew each other too well,” Jungwon said.

“Yeah,” Jay let out a slow breath. “If it means hurting each other again, then I’d rather love you from apart.”

The words hit Jungwon right in the center of his chest. It was the opposite of moving on. It was admitting the love was still present and so big, that the only way to protect it and to protect themselves from it, was to keep a distance.

“Is that what we’ve been doing this past year?” Jungwon asked. “Loving each other from apart?”

“I think so,” Jay said. “I hated every second of it, but I hated the way we were together at the end more.”

“So what does that mean for us?” Jungwon asked. “Now? Here?”

Jay was quiet for a long time. “I don’t know. But I know I can’t go back to pretending. I can’t do the hand-holds and the fake kisses for the family. Not after today.”

“Me either.”

“So we just… get through the week,” Jay said. “We be the people who used to love each other, who maybe still do, but who can’t be together. We help with the dishes. We go on the jet skis. We smile for the photos. And then we go home. To our separate homes.”

Jungwon looked at him, at the man he’d planned a life with, sitting on the floor looking up at him, offering a peace treaty made of painful honesty.

“Okay,” Jungwon let a shaky breath out. “Okay, Jay.”

Jay gave him a small smile. “Okay.” They didn’t say anything else and after a while, Jay pushed himself up off the floor. "I'm gonna go take a shower," he said, and Jungwon noticed that his voice sounded normal again despite the exhaustion in it.

"Yeah," Jungwon nodded. "Okay."

Jay paused in the doorway with one hand on the frame as he looked back at Jungwon. For a second, Jungwon thought he might say something else. But he just gave a small nod and then he was gone, sliding the balcony door shut behind himself.

Jungwon stayed outside, listening to the waves. He felt wrung out and exhausted down to his bones, but for the first time in a year, he didn't feel like he was carrying the weight of their entire past alone. Jay was carrying it too. They were both just sitting with it in the quiet, learning what it felt like to hold it without it crushing them.

Jungwon had a hard time falling asleep. He lay stiffly on his side, listening to the sound of Jay’s breathing gradually even out into sleep and replayed every word from the balcony on a loop in his head.

He must’ve drifted off eventually, because the next thing he knew, grey morning light was filtering through the blinds.

At some point in the night, they must’ve shifted. Jungwon was on his side, facing the center of the bed and Jay was facing him with one arm curled under his own head. Their bodies were close enough that Jungwon could feel the warmth radiating from Jay. Close enough that the tips of his fingers, resting on the mattress, were almost brushing Jay’s forearm.

Jungwon froze, not daring to breathe. He watched the slow, steady rise and fall of Jay’s chest. His face was relaxed in sleep, all the frustration and sadness smoothed away. He looked younger. He looked like the Jay from years three and four, the one Jungwon used to watch sleep just because it made him happy.

His chest ached at the sight. Apparently, six years of sleeping beside each other wasn’t something their bodies had forgotten just because they’d broken up. They could keep their distance when they’re awake, but in their sleep, they still wanted to find each other.

He knew he should move. Scoot back and rebuild the barrier and pretend it never happened. But he couldn’t make himself do it. For just this one, stolen moment in the quiet morning, he let himself look. He let himself feel the proximity without the panic.

Then Jay’s breathing hitched and his eyelids fluttered. Jungwon watched, paralyzed, as he slowly woke up. Jay’s eyes opened slowly, blurry with sleep, and focused directly on Jungwon’s face.

For a second, there was nothing, just two people waking up too close.

Jay’s eyes widened. He didn’t jerk back, he just stared and Jungwon stared too, watching how his sleep-soft expression hardened into startled and vulnerable.

“Hi,” Jungwon whispered, the word escaping before he could stop it.

Jay blinked. He looked down at the nearly nonexistent space between them, then back up at Jungwon’s face and a faint pink tinged his cheeks. “Hi,” he murmured back with a voice rough from sleep.

They lay there for another heartbeat, suspended in the strange quiet. Then Jay cleared his throat softly and slowly, carefully, shifted onto his back, putting a few inches of cool sheet between them.

“Sorry,” he muttered, staring up at the ceiling. “Old habit.”

“Yeah,” Jungwon rolled onto his back as well, staring at the same ceiling. The spell was broken, but the memory of that closeness and Jay’s sleep-soft face inches from his own, lingered in Jungwon’s mind.

Jay got out of bed first and went straight for the bathroom without a word. Jungwon listened to the sound of the shower starting and only then did he sit up, rubbing his face.

By the time Jay came out, Jungwon had his own clothes laid out. They moved around each other in the small room like satellites with a broken orbit – aware of each other's path, avoiding collision, but the pull was still there.

Jay was pulling on a t-shirt when he paused and looked at the clock on the nightstand. "It's the fourth day."

Jungwon glanced over from putting on his socks. "Yeah."

Which meant it was their turn. For six years, it had been the routine: on the fourth day of the family vacation, Jungwon and Jay were in charge of breakfast. It had started as a joke their second year together and then it just stuck. It was their thing.

They finished getting ready and headed downstairs together, the silence between them a little less heavy than last night, but still filled with all the things they'd agreed not to say.

The kitchen was quiet and cool, the morning sun just starting to stream through the big window over the sink. For a minute, they just stood there, two ex-fiancés in a space that felt too full of old memories.

Then, without discussing it, they got to work. Jungwon went to the fridge and pulled out the eggs, bacon and the carton of orange juice he knew Jay’s mom liked. Jay went to the pantry for flour and the big mixing bowl.

Jungwon started cracking eggs into a bowl. He heard the scrape of Jay pulling the griddle out from under the stove.

"You want pancakes or French toast?" Jay asked with his back to Jungwon as he plugged in the griddle.

"Pancakes," Jungwon said automatically. "We have blueberries for your dad."

Jay nodded and walked to the fridge for the box of blueberries before he set it on the counter near Jungwon.

They worked in a silence that wasn't exactly comfortable, but at least they could busy themselves with tasks. Jungwon whisked the eggs and added milk and melted butter, while Jay measured the flour, spooning it into the big bowl. Then Jungwon reached for the baking powder, his hand brushing Jay’s wrist and they both froze.

"Sorry," Jungwon mumbled, pulling his hand back.

"It's fine," Jay mumbled back.

Jungwon went back to his side of the counter to fry the bacon in a skillet. The sizzle and smell filled the kitchen. He heard the whisking sound as Jay stirred the pancake batter and the most fucked up thing was that the rhythmic scrape against the glass bowl was what made Jungwon’s chest hurt. He must’ve gone mental.

After a minute, Jay spoke again. "You still make that face."

"What face?"

"When you're focusing on not burning the bacon. You bite the corner of your lip."

Jungwon didn't even realize he was doing it. He forced himself to stop, feeling suddenly exposed. "Old habit," he echoed Jay's words from this morning.

"Yeah."

The coffee maker dinged its cheerful sound to announce the finished cycle. Jay moved to get mugs from the cupboard. He pulled down two; the chipped blue one Jungwon always used and the plain white one he preferred. He set the blue one by Jungwon's elbow, then poured the coffee.

"Thanks," Jungwon said.

Jay just nodded, sipping from his own mug as he poured the first circles of batter onto the hot griddle.

They fell back into the rhythm. Jungwon plated the crispy bacon onto a paper towel-lined plate. Jay flipped pancakes with a practiced flick of his wrist. Jungwon got out the butter and the syrup and set them on the table. Jay called out, "First batch is up," and Jungwon brought over a plate to place them onto.

It was so normal. So painfully, perfectly normal. It was the ghost of a hundred mornings together, playing out in this sunny kitchen. They weren't pretending for anyone. The families were still asleep. They were just two people, doing a task they did together for years, because the calendar said it was their turn.

It somehow felt worse than the fighting. The fighting had fire, but this just felt like a funeral for something that died a long time ago and they were the only two mourners.

Jungwon was reaching across Jay to grab the salt when it happened. Jay was flipping a pancake and his arm brushed against Jungwon’s chest. It was the briefest contact, a whisper of cotton against cotton, but it sent a jolt through Jungwon.

He froze with his hand on the salt shaker. Jay must’ve felt it too, because his flipping motion stuttered for a second before he completed it, setting the perfectly golden pancake onto the growing stack.

Jungwon’s skin felt too tight. He could smell Jay’s scent, mixed with the sweetness of the pancakes. It was a smell that lived in the deepest, most instinctive part of his brain.

He looked at Jay’s back, at the way his t-shirt stretched across his shoulders as he reached for the bowl of batter again and a sudden memory slammed into him with the force of a physical blow.

Four years ago. This same kitchen, on the fourth morning. They were doing this same dance, but it was playful, full of stolen touches and soft laughter. Jay was making the pancakes and Jungwon was leaning against the counter next to him, stealing blueberries from the box.

“Stop that, you’ll ruin the ratio,” Jay swatted at his hand.

“What ratio? It’s a handful of berries,” Jungwon laughed, popping one into his mouth.

Jay put the whisk down then and stepped into Jungwon’s space, crowding him back against the counter. “You’re annoying,” he murmured.

“Do something about it then,” Jungwon whispered back, his heart already pounding.

Jay’s hands found his hips and lifted and Jungwon let out a gasp of surprise as he was seated on the cool granite countertop. Jay stepped between his legs, his hands sliding up Jungwon’s thighs, pushing his pajama pants up a little. The kitchen was bright with morning sun, and they could hear Jay’s dad coughing upstairs. It made it more illicit and more urgent.

“We have to make breakfast,” Jungwon breathed, even as he wrapped his legs around Jay’s waist.

“This is more important,” Jay murmured against his mouth before capturing his lips in a kiss that was desperate and deep, all tongues and teeth. Jay’s hands were everywhere; gripping his hips, sliding under his shirt to palm the small of his back and tugging at his hair to tilt his head for better access.

Jungwon clung to him, grinding down against the hard line of Jay’s bulge straining against his own sleep shorts. They were kissing like starving teenagers, like the world outside the circle of their arms didn’t exist. The pancakes burned and they had to make a whole new batter.

The memory was so vivid Jungwon could almost taste the blueberries and feel the cool counter under his thighs with the heat of Jay’s body pressed between them. A flush crept up his neck, heating his face as his breath hitched in a soft, audible sound in the quiet kitchen.

Jungwon saw the way Jay went completely still. He was standing with his back to Jungwon, but he could see how his shoulders tensed. He heard it. And he knew that sound.

Slowly, so slowly, Jay turned his head just enough to look at Jungwon over his shoulder. His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide despite the morning light. His gaze dropped to Jungwon’s lips, which were slightly parted, then traveled down his body before snapping back up to meet his eyes. He remembered too. Every desperate kiss and every frantic touch.

The space between them was crackling with the ghost of that morning and the screaming tension of this one. The forgotten pancake on the griddle began to sizzle, but neither of them moved to save it. They just stared at each other, trapped in the past and the unbearable present.

The smell of burning batter finally broke the spell. Jay flinched and turned back to the griddle with a muttered curse. He scraped the blackened pancake into the trash with a harsh clatter, letting the noise jarr in the thick silence. He didn't look at Jungwon again, but his knuckles were white where he gripped the spatula.

Jungwon forced himself to move, to turn off the burner under the bacon skillet, but his hands were trembling slightly. The memory clung to him, he could still feel the ghost of Jay’s hands on his hips.

He leaned against the counter, facing away from Jay, staring at the sun-dappled floor. “We can’t,” his voice was barely a whisper, as if saying it louder would make it less true.

From behind him, he heard Jay’s sharp, humorless exhale. “We shouldn’t.”

“Yeah,” Jungwon agreed, closing his eyes. “We talked about it yesterday.”

“Yeah,” Jay’s voice was rough and closer than Jungwon expected. He must’ve turned around. “It’s over.”

“Yeah,” Jungwon breathed out.

Silence descended again, but it was weighted with everything they were denying. Jungwon could hear Jay’s breathing growing a little unsteady. He could feel the heat of his own body and the ache that was simmering since he woke up inches from Jay’s face.

He didn't hear Jay move, but when he opened his eyes, Jay was standing there, maybe two feet away. He took a step closer. His arms hung at his sides, but they were tense as he clenched and unclenched his fists. His gaze was fixed on Jungwon’s profile, and Jungwon saw a storm of conflict in his dark eyes. The ‘no’ was written in the tight line of his jaw, but his body was telling a different story. It was leaning in, drawn by the same invisible string that was pulling Jungwon’s own body away from the counter.

“Jay,” Jungwon whispered, a warning and a plea all in one.

“I know,” Jay rasped. “I fucking know, Jungwon.” But he took another half-step. Now he was close enough that Jungwon could see the faint pulse in his throat and could smell the coffee on his breath.

The rational part of Jungwon’s brain was screaming. It was listing all the reasons, replaying the balcony argument, the heartbreak, the destruction. But that part was being drowned out by the need that remembered exactly how Jay tasted and how his hands felt and how his body fit against his own.

His own body betrayed him. He turned fully to face Jay, his back leaving the support of the counter. The movement brought them inches apart and Jungwon could feel the heat radiating from Jay, could see the rapid rise and fall of his chest.

“This is a bad idea,” Jungwon’s voice was trembling.

“The worst,” Jay agreed, his eyes dropping to Jungwon’s mouth. His own lips were slightly parted, his tongue darted out to wet them.

They were saying all the right things, but their bodies were having a completely different conversation. Every ragged breath was a confession. Every flicker of their eyes was a promise. The air was so thick with unsaid want it was hard to breathe.

Jay’s hand came up hesitantly, as if he was moving through water. He didn't touch Jungwon yet, he just lifted it, his fingers hovering near Jungwon’s jaw.

“We’ll regret it,” Jungwon breathed, but still leaned imperceptibly into that almost-touch.

“I already do,” Jay whispered and the raw honesty in it shattered the last of Jungwon’s resistance.

Jay’s hovering hand finally cupped his jaw, his thumb stroking over Jungwon’s cheekbone with a tenderness that belied the storm in his eyes. Jungwon’s hands flew up and fisted in the front of Jay’s t-shirt to pull him closer.

And then there was no more talking.

Jay’s mouth was on his and the world dissolved into a single, overwhelming point of contact. It wasn't like the staged kiss at the lookout. This was a wildfire, catching instantly on the dry tinder of a year of loneliness and three days of torturous proximity.

Jungwon’s mind went white. All the careful logic, the rational agreements and the painful truths they’d laid bare on the balcony were burned in the heat of Jay’s lips. He tasted the same, a flavor so deeply ingrained in Jungwon’s memory that it felt like coming home to a house that was already burning down.

A desperate sound escaped Jungwon’s throat, muffled against Jay’s mouth. His fingers tightened in the soft cotton of Jay’s shirt, knuckles aching. He kissed back with a frantic, starving intensity, his lips parting instinctively to let Jay in. And Jay did, his tongue sweeping into Jungwon’s mouth with an urgency that made Jungwon’s knees buckle.

Jay’s other hand came up to cradle the back of Jungwon’s head, fingers tangling in his hair, holding him in place as if he might vanish. The kiss deepened, turned messy and wet. Jungwon could feel the hard line of Jay’s body pressed against him, the planes and angles fitting against his own like a key turning in a lock he’d thought was welded shut.

A flood of sensation crashed over him, drowning out thought. The scrape of Jay’s stubble against his chin. The solid warmth of Jay’s palm against his jaw. The scent of him filled Jungwon’s lungs. It was a sensory overload, every one of them branding itself onto his skin.

And beneath it all, a wave of emotion so powerful it was dizzying. It was grief for the last year they lost and a furiously helpless love that never actually died. It was the terrifying and exhilarating feeling of jumping off a cliff knowing the ground was far below, but being unable to stop the leap.

This is a mistake, a tiny, rational voice screamed from a distant corner of his mind. You’re going to get hurt. You’re going to hurt him. Again. But a louder, more primal voice roared back. Mine. He’s mine. He always has been.

Jay broke the kiss with a gasp and let his forehead drop to rest against Jungwon’s. They were both panting, their breath mingling in the small, heated space between their mouths. Jay’s eyes were squeezed shut, his expression a mask of pained ecstasy. Jungwon could feel the rapid and heavy thud of Jay’s heart where their chests were pressed together and it matched his own.

“Jungwon,” Jay breathed. It wasn't a question but Jungwon didn’t know if it was a plea, a prayer or a curse.

He couldn’t speak. He could only feel the ache in his chest that was a void that only this man could fill. He was terrified and elated. He was already ruined and he knew that he would let Jay ruin him all over again.

He tilted his head up, his lips seeking Jay’s once more in a soft, desperate press, giving a silent answer to Jay. And it was the most terrifying, most right thing he ever did.

The soft press of Jungwon’s lips against Jay’s was a whisper of a promise and a fragile bridge over the chasm they’d just reopened. Jay shuddered against him, as his hand slid from Jungwon’s jaw to cup the nape of his neck, his thumb stroking the skin there.

They hovered there, foreheads touching, breaths mingling, on the edge of falling back into the kiss and the fire of it. Jungwon could feel Jay’s lips parting again, could sense the shift in his body as he started to lean in again. His own body was screaming to close the gap and let the fire rage until it consumed them completely.

Then, he heard the sound of a door creaking open upstairs. It was a mundane sound, but it sliced through the atmosphere like a knife and they both froze.

A laugh echoed down the stairwell – Jungwon’s mother’s cheerful tone, followed by the heavier tread of Jay’s father.

The cold reality crashed back in. The kitchen, with its smell of burnt pancake and bacon grease. The morning sun, now feeling harsh and exposing. The fact that they were not alone in this house, not by a long shot.

Jay’s eyes flew open, meeting Jungwon’s and Jungwon saw his own panic mirrored in them, along with a dawning horror. They were still clutching each other, Jay’s hand in his hair and Jungwon’s fists twisted in his shirt. They looked like exactly what they were: two people caught in the act of something they’d sworn was over.

A second before the footsteps reached the landing, Jay wrenched himself back almost violently, as if touching Jungwon felt like getting struck by lightning. He stumbled a step, putting a good three feet of safe distance between them. His chest was heaving.

Jungwon felt the loss of his warmth and the morning air suddenly became frigid on his skin where Jay was touching him. He swayed before bracing himself against the counter again, gripping it until his knuckles turned white.

Just as Jay’s mother’s head appeared around the corner into the kitchen, followed by Jungwon’s mom, Jay turned sharply towards the sink and grabbed a sponge to attack the burnt griddle with a ferocity it didn't deserve.

“Morning, boys!” Jungwon’s mother chirped as her eyes swept over the scene. “Oh, did something burn?”

“Just one pancake,” Jay’s voice turned miraculously light, almost normal. Only Jungwon could hear the faint tremor underneath. “My fault. Got distracted.”

Distracted.

Jungwon’s mom smiled, coming over to peer at the pancake stack while Jay’s mother moved to the coffee pot. The kitchen was suddenly full of warm, harmless energy, which under normal circumstances would’ve been lovely, but Jungwon still felt vaguely under attack and he wanted them out immediately.

“You okay, Won?” his mom asked, looking at him with mild concern. “You look a little flushed.”

“Fine,” Jungwon nodded, and he was so fucking proud of himself for managing a voice that sounded only slightly strangled. He turned to the fridge, pretending to look for the orange juice, just to have something to do, somewhere to look that wasn't at Jay. “Just… warm. From cooking.”

The rest of the morning passed in a blur of excruciating normalcy. Jungwon moved through it on autopilot, his body performing the tasks while his mind screamed on a loop.

What did we just do? What the fuck did we just do?

The kiss replayed behind his eyes in vivid detail; the taste, the feel, the desperate, hungry sounds. The way his entire being screamed yes even as his logic screamed no.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

It was a mistake. A catastrophic, monumental, potentially mind-destroying mistake. They had a clear agreement. Civil exes. They drew a line in the sand last night and before the sun was even fully up, they not only crossed it, they set it on fire and danced in the ashes.

He stole glances at Jay whenever he could, which was often, because their families naturally placed them next to each other at the breakfast table. Jay was trying too, laughing at his dad’s jokes, asking Jungwon’s mom about her plans for the day, but Jungwon could see the cracks in the performance.

He saw it in the way Jay’s hand shook slightly when he lifted his coffee mug. In the too-tense line of his shoulders. In the way his eyes, when they accidentally met Jungwon’s, held a storm of confusion, guilt, and a lingering heat that made Jungwon’s stomach flip. Jay would look away quickly, his jaw tightening and forcing his focus on buttering his toast.

He was thinking about it too. Reliving it. Regretting it? Maybe. But also, Jungwon could see wanting it. The conflict was etched into his every movement.

Every time their arms brushed as they reached for the same dish, a shockwave went through Jungwon. The air between them at the table was humming with a private chaos beneath the cheerful family chatter.

Jungwon pushed his food around his plate. He thought a week of pretending to be engaged was hell, but this limbo of tasting what he couldn't have again and seeing the same war reflected in Jay’s eyes was a new kind of torture.

And the worst part? The most shameful part? The traitorous part of him, the part that melted against Jay in the kitchen, wasn't screaming fuck in panic.

It was whispering again.

Breakfast ended in a flurry of cleared plates and plans about jet skiing on the beach. A day of fun under the bright sun. Jungwon felt like he was moving through syrup with heavy limbs while his mind was a chaotic, screaming mess.

He followed Jay up the stairs in silence. Once inside their bedroom, the door clicked shut and Jay went straight to his suitcase, rummaging with frantic energy.

“So, jet skis,” his voice was too loud in the quiet room. He pulled out a pair of swim trunks, holding them up. “Remember that time you fell off and came up like a drowned cat? Your hair was plastered to your forehead, you looked so pissed.” He attempted a laugh.

Jungwon just stood by his own bed, staring at the rumpled sheets where they woke up and he wanted to cry. He couldn’t muster a response. The usual numbness was creeping in, a defensive fog rolling in to blunt the sharp edges of his panic. He felt himself shutting down and retreating into the quiet, internal space where he processed things – or more accurately, where he let them fester.

He heard the rustle of fabric as Jay changed, the soft thump of discarded clothes. He couldn’t look at him.

“Bet I can still outrun you on the water,” Jay continued, his tone aiming for playful teasing but landing somewhere near strained mania. “My reflexes are sharper. Age before beauty and all that.”

Age before beauty. An old, stupid joke from their early days. Jungwon used to roll his eyes and shove him playfully.

Jungwon finally moved, mechanically pulling his own beach gear from his bag. A towel, sunscreen, the blue swim trunks Jay bought him three summers ago. He held the fabric, the memory of Jay’s hands on his hips as he’d helped him adjust the drawstring that first time flashing behind his eyes. He dropped them like they were on fire.

“You gonna say anything?” Jay’s frustrated voice cut through the silence, without the forced humor now. He was facing the window, pulling a t-shirt over his head. Jungwon risked a quick glance at him and saw how rigid his back was. “Or are we doing the silent treatment again? Classic.”

Three days. Three fucking days. That was apparently all it took for them to become themselves again. Jungwon went quiet when things got too much and Jay joked when he got stressed.

Jungwon flinched. He wanted to snap back, to say something cutting, to explain that his silence wasn't a treatment, it was a survival instinct, the only way he knew to stop himself from either screaming or begging. But the words were trapped behind the wall of ice forming in his chest. He just shook his head in a tiny, miserable motion.

He heard Jay sigh and Jungwon could hear the defeat in that little sound. “Right. Of course.”

They got through the rest of getting ready in completely different ways. Jay was buzzing with nervous energy and made a show of packing a beach bag, commenting on the weather, then humming a tuneless snippet of a song. He was practically sparking with unspent tension, trying to laugh it off and joke it away.

Jungwon, in contrast, moved with a quiet efficiency. He folded his towel. He applied sunscreen to his arms in slow, methodical strokes, trying to drown himself in the scent of coconut. He stared at his reflection in the dark screen of the turned-off tv, seeing nothing but the hollow look in his own eyes.

He could feel Jay’s eyes on him sometimes, flickering over like a searchlight, looking for a crack or a sign, anything. But Jungwon kept his gaze down with his expression carefully blank. It was the only solution he had.

When they were both ready and standing by the door in their beach clothes, the distance between them felt like an ocean. Jay had his bag slung over his shoulder with a forced bright smile already plastered on his face for the benefit of anyone they might meet in the hallway.

“Ready to face the music?” Jay asked, the joke falling flat. His eyes, when they finally met Jungwon’s, were pleading and scared. Talk to me. Yell at me. Something.

Jungwon looked at him, at the man he kissed with a year’s worth of starving desperation just an hour ago. The man he’d loved and broken and who’d broken him in return.

The silence was a living thing between them and Jungwon felt the weight of it, the suffocating pressure of all the things he never said, all the times he’d retreated into this very quiet while Jay flailed in the noisy void he left behind. This was their pattern.

And suddenly, staring at the forced smile on Jay’s face, at the fear and pleading in his eyes, something inside Jungwon shattered.

“I’m so sorry, Jay,” the words slipped out in barely a whisper.

The air in the room seemed to freeze. Jay’s smile vanished and all the nervous energy, the joking and the performative brightness seemed to bleed out of him in an instant. He just stared at Jungwon with wide eyes filled with a torrent of emotion. There was shock at first, then something vulnerable that was quickly swallowed by a deep sorrow. Love, yes, always that, but also a kind of bewildered pain, as if Jungwon had just reached into his chest and squeezed his heart.

Jungwon suddenly didn’t know what the fuck was happening. He broke the script. He spoke from the quiet place and the world didn’t end, but the look on Jay’s face was somehow more terrifying. He let something out and now he didn’t know how to stop the rest from following.

He felt exposed. The apology felt like the only true thing in the universe a second ago, but now, under the weight of Jay’s gaze, it felt weak. He grasped for it again, it was the only anchor he had.

“I’m so sorry,” he repeated, his voice a little stronger, but trembling at the edges.

He kept saying it, like repeating the words could somehow make the confusion and vulnerability in Jay’s eyes easier to face. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” For the silence. For the distance. For the kiss. For the breakup. For every time his quiet felt like a rejection. For all of it.

Jungwon blinked through the blur in his eyes and watched Jay step closer. His hands came up to cradle Jungwon’s face. His palms were warm and slightly rough against Jungwon’s skin, his thumbs brushing over the arches of his cheekbones with a tenderness that stole the breath from Jungwon’s lungs.

He held Jungwon’s face, forcing their eyes to meet, not letting him look away. His gaze was a dark, stormy sea and Jungwon was drowning in it.

Jungwon was so scared. His heart was a frantic bird trapped in his ribs. He didn't understand. This wasn't how this went. Jay was supposed to make another joke or get more frustrated. He wasn't supposed to… to hold him like this, to look at him with an expression that held every shattered piece of their six years and the lonely year that followed.

“Stop,” Jay whispered in a wrecked voice. “Stop apologizing.”

But Jungwon couldn’t. The words kept coming in a broken stream. “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry…”

Jay’s thumbs stroked his cheeks again in a soothing motion as he leaned in, his forehead coming to rest against Jungwon’s.

“I know,” Jay breathed and Jungwon felt the words in a warm puff against his lips. “I know you are. And I’m sorry too. For everything. For all of it.”

In the quiet room, with the distant sounds of their families gathering beach supplies downstairs, they stood like that; foreheads pressed together, Jay holding Jungwon’s face as if it was the most fragile thing in the world and both of them trembling on the edge of an abyss they just carved open with two simple but impossible words.

Jungwon didn't understand what was happening, what this meant and where they went from this. But for the first time in a very long time, he wasn't alone in the silence. Jay was right there in it with him, holding him steady and that was somehow more world-shattering than any kiss had ever been.

His world narrowed to Jay’s palms against his jaw, the warm press of his forehead and the ghost of his breath. Jungwon’s own apologies died in his throat, choked off by the overwhelming reality of Jay’s touch and his whispered words.

He was frozen in this moment that felt both intimate and unstable. He could feel the slight tremor in Jay’s hands matching the one racing through his own body.

Jay’s thumbs continued their slow, hypnotic strokes along Jungwon’s cheekbones. His eyes were closed, his long lashes casting faint shadows on his cheeks. He looked pained and beautiful and so heartbreakingly familiar that it cracked something else open inside Jungwon.

“You never say sorry,” Jay murmured. His eyes opened and searched Jungwon’s. “You go quiet. You shut down. You let me fill the space with all my stupid noise until neither of us can hear ourselves think. But you never… you never just say it.”

He said it with a soft wonder that made Jungwon’s chest ache. He was right. In all their fights, Jungwon internalized every apology and every regret, until they festered into resentment or distance. He never gave them voice, never offered Jay the simple grace of hearing it.

“I’m learning,” Jungwon whispered back, the words scraped from somewhere deep. It was all he could manage.

A sad smile touched Jay’s lips. “Yeah,” he breathed. “Me too.”

He still didn't let go. His gaze dropped to Jungwon’s mouth and for a heart-stopping second, Jungwon thought he was going to kiss him again. His own lips parted instinctively.

But Jay took a shuddering breath and slowly, so slowly, he pulled his forehead back. His hands remained though, softly cupping Jungwon’s face. “We can’t do this now,” Jungwon heard the strain in Jay’s voice as he spoke. “Not with everyone downstairs waiting. Not… not until we know what this is.”

Jungwon nodded helplessly in a jerky motion within the cradle of Jay’s hands. He was right. Of course he was right. But the thought of Jay letting go and stepping back into the brightness of the day, felt like being sentenced.

Jay’s thumbs made one last stroke over his skin before he lowered his hands and took a step back, putting that careful distance between them again. He ran a hand through his hair and his expression shifted, though it was visibly cracked. “We should… uh. Beach. Jet skis. The whole… thing.”

He was trying. Trying to be normal. Trying to navigate the earthquake that just rocked their world.

Jungwon just stared at him, his face still tingling from Jay’s touch while his heart was beating against his ribs. He broke the silence and he spoke and Jay… Jay held him. It changed everything and it changed nothing.

“Yeah,” Jungwon echoed, his own voice sounding foreign to him. “The whole thing.”

They stood there for another second and Jungwon had no idea what they were supposed to do now. Apparently, the answer was going downstairs and pretending everything was normal. Jay moved, so Jungwon followed, still trying to wrap his head around the fact that something between them changed even if he had no idea whatever the hell they were now.

The sun was already blazing by the time they reached the beach. Everything around Jungwon looked like a postcard, all blue water, colorful umbrellas and people having a suspiciously normal amount of fun. He could smell salt and sunscreen in the air and hear kids yelling somewhere near the water. It probably would’ve been relaxing if his brain wasn’t still stuck upstairs with Jay’s hands on his face.

His family and Jay’s were already set up near the water, towels and coolers spread everywhere. Jungwon’s mom spotted them first and waved with a bright smile. “There are my boys!”

Jungwon forced a smile even though it felt wrong on his face as he walked toward their families with Jay half a step behind him, close enough that he couldn’t stop noticing him.

Put it aside. For today. For them.

Jungwon could do that. He could smile for six hours. He could talk and laugh and pretend there wasn’t something raw and terrifying sitting between him and Jay. Their families didn’t deserve to have their day ruined because the two of them couldn’t get their shit together. They were already lying to everyone anyway. He could at least make the lie pleasant.

He dropped his bag on the sand beside his sister. “Sorry, took forever finding my sunglasses,” he said, his voice aiming for light and landing somewhere near normal. He pulled the said sunglasses on to hide his eyes.

“No worries!” Jay’s dad boomed, slathering lotion on his shoulders. “Jay, you ready to get humiliated on the jet ski? I’ve been practicing my turns in the bathtub.”

Jungwon watched Jay, already waiting for the strain behind whatever joke came next, but when Jay smiled at his dad, Jungwon couldn’t find it. The smile was small, but it looked genuine. “You wish, old man. Last time you ‘practiced,’ you got seasick on the paddleboard.”

Jungwon took a deep breath of salty air and decided to distract himself too. He waded into the water with Soojin, letting the shock of the cold waves chase some of the numbness from his limbs and he actually laughed at a stupid story Jay’s brother told, surprising even himself.

And through it all, he was hyper-aware of Jay. He saw Jay helping his mom with her beach chair. He saw him accepting a cold beer from Jungwon’s father with a grateful nod. He saw him, from the corner of his eye, looking over at him sometimes.

When the first jet ski was finally fueled and ready, the inevitable happened. “You boys take the first run!” Jay’s dad insisted, handing over the key. “Show us how it’s done.”

Jungwon’s stomach clenched. Trapped together on a jetski, his body pressed against Jay’s back and the open water around them – it was a thing he always loved, but now he didn’t know what to expect.

But Jay just caught his eye and gave a small shrug. We can do this.

Jungwon swallowed hard and climbed on behind him after he pulled on his rash guard. The engine thrummed to life beneath them and as Jay guided them away from the shore, Jungwon had no choice but to wrap his arms around Jay’s waist to hold on.

Through the thin material of Jay’s rash guard, he could feel the heat of his skin, the muscles of his stomach and the shift of his body as he maneuvered. He pressed his forehead between Jay’s shoulder blades for a second, closing his eyes behind his sunglasses.

Then Jay opened up the throttle.

The world exploded into speed and wind. The jetski leapt over the waves and the force of it pushed Jungwon tighter against Jay’s back. The roar of the engine was too loud for his thoughts and he was forced to focus on the sting of salt on his lips, the pull of gravity as they banked a sharp turn and the man in front of him holding them steady.

And somewhere in all that blue, with the beach a distant strip of color, Jungwon felt a genuine flicker of joy. The uncomplicated thrill of speed and freedom. A memory of who they used to be before everything got so complicated.

He didn't know if Jay felt it too. But when Jay let out a loud and exhilarated whoo that was carried away by the wind, Jungwon found himself smiling, pressed into the fabric of Jay’s shirt.

Jay was driving like he used to. He’d lean into a turn, cutting a sharp arc that sent a curtain of water sparkling into the air, then straighten out and gun it, the jetski surging forward with a growl. He’d spot a bigger swell on the horizon, aim for it and just as they reached the crest, he’d give the throttle a subtle twist.

The jet ski left the water.

For a weightless second, they were in the air. The world dropped away and it was just the blue sky above and the impossible sensation of flying.

And Jay let out that loud, full-throated shout he always did when they were in the air. It was the boyish outburst of a man completely in the moment and it punched right through Jungwon’s chest.

His laugh burst out of him then. It wasn't because it was funny but because it was just so Jay. That was the sound of a hundred carefree memories; road trips with the windows down, stupid jokes that caught Jungwon off guard and that first time they sat on a jetski six years ago. It was the sound of the man he fell in love with.

And in the echo of that laugh, they slammed back down onto the water with a splash and the constant overthinking in Jungwon’s head just stopped. There was only now.

The sting of the sun on his arms. The powerful vibration thrumming up from the jet ski through his own body. The smell of salt and gasoline and Jay’s waist under his locked arms.

He was enjoying the speed and the freedom. The uncomplicated, physical reality of holding onto Jay as he played, as he reminded them both what pure joy could feel like.

And for the first time in over a year, what he felt was a clean spark of happiness, fanned by the wind and Jay’s laughter as he took another turn, sending another spray of cool water over them both.

Jungwon tightened his hold and pressed his smile into Jay’s shoulder blade. He was, against all odds and reason, having fun. With Jay. And for now, that was enough. More than enough.

The return to shore was a slow drift, the engine purring softly as Jay guided them through the shallows. The beach felt too loud and crowded after being out on the open water and Jungwon already missed the freedom of it. He reluctantly loosened his arms from around Jay’s waist as they bumped against the sand.

They waded out, water streaming from their shorts. Jay’s dad was already waving the key fob for the other jet ski. “Our turn! Prepare to witness art!”

“Try not to capsize, Dad,” Jay called back, his voice still carrying a trace of that easy, windblown energy. He shot a sideways glance at Jungwon with a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes before he looked away and shook the water from his hair.

Jungwon’s parents claimed the jet ski he and Jay rode, his mom laughing as she climbed on behind his dad. “Don’t you dare try any of those jumps!” she exclaimed while wrapping her arms tightly around his waist.

Jungwon watched their parents speed away from the shore until their shouts faded beneath the sound of the waves.

With their parents gone, Jungwon followed Soojin, Jake and Jay a little further up the beach, where they dragged their towels into the sun and dropped onto them.

Soojin flopped onto her stomach and propped her chin on her hands, her eyes tracking the distant speck of their parents’ jetski. “I give Mom five minutes before she’s screaming and Dad is pretending he meant to do that sharp turn.”

Jake laughed. “My dad’s gonna try to race yours. He’s been talking trash since breakfast.”

Jungwon laid back on his towel and closed his eyes against the sun, letting the warmth soak into his skin while the light breeze caressed the cool salt drying on his body. He could feel Jay’s presence beside him but his body didn’t tighten like it did in the last few days.

And then they started watching. It was impossible not to. Their parents, usually so composed and adult, were out there behaving like oversized kids. Jungwon’s dad did indeed take a turn too fast, sending up a huge plume of spray that completely drenched Jungwon’s mom, who shrieked with a mixture of outrage and laughter they could faintly hear. Jay’s dad, true to Jake’s prediction, gunned his engine to pull alongside them, gesturing wildly in what was clearly a challenge.

A snort escaped Jungwon because it was ridiculously adorable.

A chuckle came from his left from Jay. “Oh my god, my dad’s chest is puffed out so far he’s going to fall backwards off that thing.”

Soojin giggled. “Look at Mom! She’s swatting at Dad’s shoulder! She’s gonna make him drive them right into a wave.”

Jungwon squinted against the sun to watch the chaotic scene. He saw Jay from the corner of his eye, shaking his head with a wide smile on his face, his gaze fixed on his parents’ jetski.

Jungwon felt his own smile settle on his face. He was just here, on a sunny beach, laughing with his sister and his… and with Jay, at their families. The simplicity of it was enough to just bask in the sun and the shared laughter.

Their parents eventually made their way back to shore, still arguing over who won whatever competition they invented out there. Jungwon watched his mother shake water from her hair before someone mentioned drinks and somehow that turned into all four of them heading for the beachside bar.

Soojin got to her feet almost immediately, her attention snapping to the jet skis they left behind. “You’re going down, Park!” She shouted, pointing a playful finger at Jake as she climbed on.

“In your dreams, Yang!” Jake fired back, grinning.

Jungwon watched Soojin and Jake take off, their engines roaring as they raced toward the open water. Their yelling carried back for a few seconds before the wind swallowed most of it.

And then, suddenly, it was quiet.

Well, quieter. Jungwon still heard the waves breaking against the shore and Soojin and Jake yelling somewhere out on the water, but without everyone talking over each other, the space was empty save for the two of them.

Jungwon and Jay were alone.

Strangely, Jungwon didn’t feel the need to fill the silence. He rolled onto his side and propped his head on his hand. Jay mirrored him, their faces now only a few feet apart on the sand.

Jungwon watched Soojin and Jake tear across the water, throwing spray behind them as they tried to overtake each other. It reminded him of themselves. Of how many afternoons they’d spent doing exactly that, turning everything into a playful competition just because they could.

“Remember,” Jay began, “that time we rented jet skis in Jeju? The crappy ones that kept stalling?”

A genuine smile touched Jungwon’s lips at the memory. “God, yes. Yours died in the middle of the channel and you had to paddle it back with your hands while I laughed myself sick.”

“You laughed so hard you almost fell off yours,” Jay countered with a soft chuckle. His eyes were crinkled at the corners, fixed on Jungwon. “And then yours stalled too and we were both just… adrift.”

“We had to get towed back by that grumpy old man in the fishing boat.”

“He called us ‘city idiots,’” Jay said through a laugh that pulled one from Jungwon too. “And you were so sunburnt you glowed for a week. I had to put aloe vera on your back every night.”

Jungwon remembered lying facedown on the bed every night while Jay spread cool aloe over his sunburnt back, teasing Jungwon whenever he flinched away from his cold hands. He cleared his throat and looked back out at the water where Soojin narrowly avoided a collision with Jake. “She’s going to kill him if he doesn’t stop cutting her off.”

“Jake’s always been a cheater,” Jay agreed easily as he followed his gaze. “Remember that Mario Kart tournament? The one where he ‘accidentally’ unplugged my controller?”

“You sulked for a day,” The corner of Jungwon’s mouth pulled up. “I had to bribe you with tteokbokki to get you to speak to him again.”

“You bought me the good kind from that stall by the university,” Jay’s voice softened, the amusement giving way to something more nostalgic. “With extra fish cakes.”

Jungwon almost forgot how easy this used to be. They were talking about nothing important but those were the things most of their life together had been made of. Stupid stories, inside jokes and little things they still remembered years later.

The sun beat down and the ocean roared while Soojin and Jake raced somewhere out on the water but Jungwon barely paid attention to any of it. He just kept talking to Jay, letting one memory lead into another. And for the first time since the breakup, it didn’t feel like they were picking at a wound. They were just talking about the good parts.

Jungwon met Jay’s eyes again and there was a soft, open warmth in Jay’s gaze, a reflection of the same nostalgia Jungwon felt glowing in his own chest.

Jungwon turned his attention back to the water. Soojin and Jake apparently gave up the racing and started chasing each other instead. Jake sped up until he was almost beside her, then cut the jet ski into a sharp turn that sent a wall of water straight at her.

“Oh, she’s going to murder him,” Jungwon said, but he was grinning.

“Classic,” Jay agreed, his own smile widening. “He never knows when to quit.”

Soojin whipped the jet ski around and went straight after him. Just like that, the race turned into splash tag, a game Jungwon knew all too well. A game they played countless times.

A memory sliced through the haze of nostalgia. A lake house, years ago. Jungwon, shrieking with laughter, trying to outmaneuver Jay, who was relentlessly cornering him against the dock, leaning over to give him a splash that drenched Jungwon completely. Then he managed to catch Jay off guard and send him straight into the water. Jay came up laughing, pushed his wet hair out of his face, then swam over and hauled himself onto the back of Jungwon’s jet ski just to kiss him.

“God,” Jungwon breathed out with a laugh tangled in the sound. “We were so bad at that.”

Jay’s head snapped towards him. “Bad? We were masters. I remember a certain someone being the undisputed champion of Lake Seorak, 2019.”

“Only because you let me win,” Jungwon shot back and felt the old, playful competitiveness sparking to life in his gut.

“Let you?” Jay scoffed, sitting up fully now. “Oh, you were highly motivated after that bet.”

Jungwon remembered that bet a little too well. The massage had stopped being about sore muscles pretty quickly and just thinking about where it went from there made his face feel warmer. He looked away, but the smile wouldn’t leave his lips.

Just then, Soojin and Jake came back towards the shore, cutting their engines and sliding off the jet skis into the shallows, breathless and laughing. “You guys are up!” Soojin called, wringing water from her hair.

Jake staggered onto the sand, pointing a finger at Soojin. “You’re going down in the next round,” and just like that, they were bickering again and laughing hard about each other’s playful threats.

That was all it took.

Jungwon glanced at Jay and immediately knew where this was going. They’d turned things like this into competitions too many times before. Jay was on his feet in one motion, offering a hand down to Jungwon and he took it, letting Jay pull him up.

“You’re on,” Jay said.

They waded out to the jet skis and Jungwon climbed on his, then looked over at Jay, who was already settled on the other with a grin spreading across his face. Then Jay revved his engine and Jungwon’s own competitiveness flared to life.

Jungwon met Jay’s gaze with his own wild grin. “Catch me if you can!” He yelled before he twisted the throttle, shooting the jetski forward.

He leapt over a small wave and the acceleration slammed him against the seat. The wind screamed in his ears and he heard Jay’s answering shout behind himself.

He sped into the open water with his heart hammering against his ribs from the wild feeling of being alive. He was running and he was being chased by Jay, and for the first time in over a year, Jungwon didn’t want it any other way.

The roar of the engines was a scream across the water. Jungwon leaned into the turn, carving a wide arc away from the shore and sending a fan of spray glittering in the sun. He could feel the vibration of Jay’s engine through the water too as he got closer and closer.

He risked a glance over his shoulder. Jay was maybe thirty yards back, low over his handlebars and gaining on him fast. The grin on his face only made Jungwon want to push harder.

Catch me.

He gunned it and aimed for the choppier water further out where the waves could give him cover. He hit a swell at speed, launching the jetski into the air for a second before slamming back down. The water splashed his whole face and the salt slightly stinged his eyes but he could only let out a laugh as his mind went blank with the whole feeling.

He saw Jay’s shadow to his left as he cut closer with a tighter line. He was pulling alongside. The rules were simple: you had to get your jetski close enough that the wake or a targeted turn would drench the other.

Jay edged closer but Jungwon veered right hard, trying to break the parallel. But Jay matched him and mirrored his move so they were side-by-side now, engines howling in unison.

“Getting slow, Won!” Jay shouted, his voice barely audible over the din.

Jungwon gritted his teeth in a grin. He suddenly cut his throttle, letting Jay surge ahead by half a length. It was a feint. As Jay began to turn, Jungwon slammed the throttle back open and jerked the handlebars left, aiming to cross directly behind Jay.

It was a perfect move. The water from under Jungwon’s jetski erupted directly into Jay’s path and a wall of saltwater crashed over Jay’s back, soaking him from shoulders to waist.

Jungwon whooped when he saw Jay shake his head like a dog, water flying everywhere around him. But he was already spinning his jetski around and the game officially began.

Jay used the jetski to herd Jungwon towards the open water. Jungwon pushed his own to its limits, his muscles burning with the effort of controlling the machine on the water. He actually forgot how perfectly matched they were in this. How it felt to have Jay’s entire attention focused solely on him.

Jay forced him into a wide turn. As they came around, Jay angled his jetski sharply, using his own wake as a ramp. He caught air and for a moment, he was suspended above Jungwon. Then he came down with a cannonball. A huge, targeted wave of water erupted sideways and it hit Jungwon, soaking him instantly.

He sputtered, laughing and coughing while wiping his eyes. He was drenched. Thoroughly, completely tagged.

“Payback’s a bitch!” Jay was circling him now like a victorious shark, but he was cheesing like an idiot.

But Jungwon was already moving. “That all you got, Park?” He turned into Jay’s circle with a sudden, aggressive move that clearly surprised him.

They were close again, water dripping from their hair and lashes. The adrenaline and the way they kept pushing each other made everything between them feel more charged. Jungwon was too busy trying to beat Jay, too caught up in the rush of having him right there again.

Their eyes met across the water. Jay was grinning, eyes bright with the same rush Jungwon felt and he couldn’t help grinning back. The game just became something else entirely.

“My turn,” Jungwon breathed, though Jay couldn't possibly hear him after he revved his engine.

And they were off again.

They waded out of the surf, dragging the jet skis onto the sand. Their families were already settled on their towels with the cooler open beside them, condensation gleaming on bottles and cans.

“Look what the tide washed in!” Jungwon’s dad called out laughing. “A couple of soaked cats!”

And they were. Water streamed from their hair, their clothes were heavy and dark with saltwater and sand clung to their wet legs. Jungwon caught Jay’s eye and they both broke into breathless grins. It was a mess but it was perfect at that moment.

“Get over here and hydrate before you shrivel up,” Jay’s mom held out two cold bottles of water.

They accepted them, and Jungwon immediately cracked his open and drank, the fresh water a shocking contrast to the salt coating his throat. He collapsed onto a towel next to his sister, who immediately leaned over to flick water from his arm at him.

“You two looked insane out there,” Soojin said with wide eyes. “Like a marine chase scene.”

“Jake was convinced you were going to collide and die,” Jay’s dad added, taking a sip of his beer. “I had to remind him you’ve been doing this to each other since you got together.”

The easy teasing wrapped around them like it did on every vacation they’d ever shared. Jungwon leaned back on his elbows, letting the sun dry his skin. Jay settled nearby, close enough that their damp shoulders almost touched when one of them moved.

Jay’s mom began passing out drinks, handing the parents their usual before tossing Soojin and Jake each a cold can. She handed Jay a beer and Jungwon a citrusy hard seltzer, his favorite, without even asking.

“So,” Jungwon’s mom began with a mischievous glint in her eye as she looked between them. “Who won?”

Jungwon and Jay spoke at the same time.

“He did,” Jungwon said, nodding toward Jay.

“He got me first,” Jay countered, pointing his beer bottle at Jungwon.

They stopped, looked at each other and a fresh burst of laughter spilled out of them, mingling with the laughter of their families.

“It was a draw,” Jungwon finally conceded, smiling at Jay. “A very stupid draw.”

“The best kind,” Jay agreed, taking a long pull from his beer. Jungwon watched his Adam's apple bob, then caught sight of a drop of water at his temple and followed it as it traced the strong line of his jaw.

Jungwon caught himself and quickly looked away, only to feel Jay’s eyes slide toward him a second later. Shit. He lifted his seltzer and took a long drink, suddenly very interested in absolutely anything that wasn’t the man sitting beside him. Maybe if he looked occupied enough, Jay wouldn’t realize he’d just spent several seconds openly staring at his throat.

Snap the fuck out of it, Yang Jungwon.

The stories started then, flowing as easily as the drinks. Jake dramatically recounted the moment he thought he saw Jay’s jet ski flip (he hadn’t). Soojin teased Jungwon about his “war cry” when he launched his counter-splash attack. Their parents reminisced about their own youthful water battles, which inevitably led to gently embarrassing stories about their kids.

Through it all, Jungwon existed in a quiet bubble with Jay, their laughter mixing with everyone else’s as they kept looking at each other whenever someone got a detail wrong. At some point, Jungwon stretched his legs out in the sand and his foot brushed Jay’s ankle. He almost moved it, but Jay shifted beside him, his ankle settling against Jungwon’s instead.

At one point, Jungwon’s seltzer can almost slipped from his damp fingers. Before it could hit the sand, Jay’s hand shot out and caught it, his fingers closing around Jungwon’s to steady the can. The touch was quick, but it sent a bolt of heat straight up Jungwon’s arm. Jay handed the can back, his gaze holding Jungwon’s for a second too long.

“Thanks,” Jungwon murmured.

“Anytime,” Jay replied and okay, Jungwon didn’t know if he imagined it or not, but his tone was impossibly soft.

The sun began its slow descent, painting the sky in streaks of orange and pink as the conversation mellowed into a comfortable hum. Jungwon felt full of sunshine, of laughter, of the crisp taste of his drink and of something else, something fragile and hopeful expanding in his chest. He was surrounded by his family and the loving chaos he missed.

And right beside him was Jay, laughing at his dad’s bad joke before immediately jumping into whatever argument he and Jake had going now. He looked completely relaxed, one leg stretched out in the sand, his shoulder close enough that Jungwon could feel the warmth of his skin whenever he moved.

The evening air was cooler now, carrying the rhythmic crash of the waves in the distance and the vibrance of the nightfair. Strings of multicolored lights crisscrossed above the sandy boardwalk and casted a carnival glow over everything. The smell was an intoxicating blend of sizzling meat from Korean barbecue tents, sweet funnel cakes, salty ocean breeze and the sugary scent of cotton candy.

The parents led the way with a slow stroll but Soojin and Jake darted ahead after five minutes like excited kids towards the flash and clatter of the game booths. Which left Jungwon and Jay walking side-by-side a few paces behind in the swirling energy of the fair.

It was overwhelming in the best way. There was only the sensory overload, the press of the crowd and the unspoken agreement to just exist.

“God, I haven’t been to one of these in forever,” Jay said, his eyes scanning the scene with a boyish wonder that made Jungwon’s heart do a stupid little flip. He looked younger like this, the stress lines around his eyes softened by the colorful lights.

“Remember the one in Busan?” Jungwon asked without thinking. “With the terrible haunted house that was just a guy in a sheet? You screamed and almost jumped into my arms.”

Jay snorted, bumping his shoulder gently against Jungwon’s. “I did not!” He protested but he was laughing. “I stumbled into your general direction.”

“Sure, Jay. Sure.”

They drifted past a stall selling light-up headbands and neon bracelets. Jungwon stopped with a mischievous glint in his eye. “We have to.”

“We’re grown men,” Jay said, but he was already reaching for his wallet.

Minutes later, they were walking again, Jungwon sporting a glowing red cat-ear headband and Jay wearing a pair of ridiculous, winking emoji sunglasses that lit up. They caught their reflection in a darkened food truck window and dissolved into laughter again.

They kept drifting from one thing to the next together. Jungwon stopped at a stall selling hand-painted seashells and Jay waited beside him. A few minutes later, Jay caught the smell of something good and veered toward a takoyaki stand, and Jungwon followed.

They got electric-blue slushies that stained their tongues and made Jay shiver dramatically. Jungwon reached out on instinct, wiping a drip of blue from Jay’s chin with his thumb. The pad of his thumb lingered for a fraction of a second on Jay’s lower lip. He saw the way Jay’s eyes glinted and his breath hitched. The noise of the fair faded into a distant buzz.

Then Jake’s voice cut through the moment. “Hey! You guys have to try this!”

The spell broke and they pulled apart but the warmth of it lingered on Jungwon’s skin as they wandered towards the games. Soojin was aggressively trying to win a giant stuffed dolphin at a ring toss, while their parents watched from a bench nearby.

“Bet I can win you something better than that,” Jay leaned closer as they passed a basketball shoot-out game.

“Oh yeah?” Jungwon challenged, turning to face him. The neon lights danced across Jay’s face, painting him in shifting hues of pink and green. “What’s the bet?”

Jay leaned in even closer and Jungwon almost had a sudden urge to count his eyelashes. “If I sink three in a row,” Jay started in a conspiratorial whisper, “you have to ride the Ferris wheel with me.”

Jungwon’s pulse kicked. The Ferris wheel. High above everything, just the two of them, suspended in the night sky. It was a classic move. It was their move from a hundred other fairs and a hundred other dates.

“And if you miss?” Jungwon asked but his own voice almost came out as a whisper.

Jay just smiled at him. “Then I’ll ride the Ferris wheel with you anyway. But I’ll be a loser about it.”

Jungwon felt a flutter of nervous anticipation low in his belly. He nodded, trying very hard to look nonchalant. “Deal.”

Jay paid the carnie and picked up the too-small, under-inflated basketballs. He bounced one a few times and Jungwon watched as Jay took the first shot. It dropped cleanly through the hoop.

“One,” Jungwon said.

Jay grabbed another ball and shot again. Another clean basket.

“Two.” Jungwon folded his arms, fighting the smile already pulling at his mouth. “Don’t get cocky.”

Jay only looked at him as he reached for the third ball. The carnie raised an eyebrow. Jay bounced the ball once, the stupid lit-up sunglasses hiding his eyes until he tipped his chin down just enough to look at Jungwon over the top of them.

Jungwon’s smile widened when he realized Jay wasn’t even looking at the hoop. The show-off held his gaze as he lifted the ball and took the shot, only looking away when it dropped cleanly through the net.

“Looks like you’re riding with me,” Jay said triumphantly.

He was awarded a small, sad-looking keychain, which he presented to Jungwon with a flourish. “For you. A token of my pro-ness.”

Jungwon laughed as he took it, their fingers tangling around the cheap plastic. He was holding his breath. The noise and the lights and the crowd all seemed to be funneling towards the Ferris wheel at the end of the pier, its lights reflecting like fallen stars on the dark water.

Without another word, Jay took his hand, pulling Jungwon gently through the crowd towards the ride.

Jungwon went willingly, the glowing cat ears on his head feeling suddenly less silly and more like a signal flare in the neon night. He’s holding Jay’s hand and they’re going to ride the Ferris wheel.

The line for the Ferris wheel was a slow-moving snake of couples and families bathed in the light from the ride’s giant spokes. The air here was a mix of lingering sweetness of everyone’s fair treats. Jungwon’s hand was still warm in Jay’s, their fingers loosely interlaced.

It was easy to get lost in the sensation, in the gentle weight of Jay’s thumb stroking over his knuckles. But then his gaze drifted and landed on the couple two places ahead of them in line.

They were young, maybe early twenties. The girl had her head tucked under the boy’s chin, his arms wrapped around her from behind as they shuffled forward. He was whispering something into her hair and she tilted her head back to laugh up at him, her entire face alight with a kind of unselfconscious joy. He pressed a kiss to her temple, then her cheek, then finally, when she turned her face fully to his, a kiss on her lips.

Jungwon felt a sharp pang in his chest as he watched them. He saw the way the boy’s hand came up to cradle the girl’s face after the kiss and his thumb brushed her cheekbone.

We used to look like that.

The thought slammed into him. He could remember it; the feeling of Jay’s arms around him from behind, his chin hooked over Jungwon’s shoulder. The stupid, whispered jokes that were only for him. The way Jay would kiss his temple, his cheek, his lips, just because he could. Just because he wanted to. The effortless and unthinking claim of each other’s space, each other’s bodies, each other’s hearts.

Now, even holding Jay’s hand felt different. Jungwon was aware of every point where their fingers touched, of Jay’s thumb resting against the side of his hand, of the fact that neither of them had let go yet. A year ago, he wouldn’t have thought twice about any of it. Now, apparently, holding his hand was enough to make Jungwon painfully aware of his own heartbeat.

The contrast was a knife twist. That couple ahead lived in the easy and sunlit love that just was, while he and Jay were exes wandering a borderland of ‘what if’ and ‘almost.’

He must’ve stiffened or let out a tiny, unconscious sigh, because Jay’s hand tightened around his. “Hey,” Jay murmured, his voice close to Jungwon’s ear, pulling him back from his painful thoughts. “You okay?”

Jungwon couldn't bring himself to look at him. He just nodded and continued staring ahead at the back of the couple’s heads. The girl was now feeding the boy a bite of her churro and laughing when he pretended to bite her fingers.

“Just… taking it all in,” Jungwon managed in a rough voice.

Jay quietly followed Jungwon’s gaze and Jungwon felt the exact moment Jay saw what he was seeing. A subtle tension ran through Jay and a slight tightening of his jaw before a soft sigh escaped his lips.

He shifted their joined hands, turning Jungwon’s palm upward. Then, with a tenderness that made Jungwon’s eyes burn, Jay began to trace slow, idle patterns on his palm with his fingertips. It was something Jay used to do during boring movies or long car rides when Jungwon was driving.

It wasn't the easy pda of the couple ahead but it was enough for Jungwon’s heart. It was more than enough.

The line moved forward. The young couple was ushered into a gondola, their laughter trailing behind them as the door closed. Jungwon finally turned his head to look at Jay. The lights from the ride cycled over his face – highlighting the beautiful lines of his features, the quiet sadness in his eyes and the set of his mouth.

Jay met his gaze and offered a small, wry smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. He gave Jungwon’s hand a gentle squeeze. “Our turn next,” he said softly.

And Jungwon realized that he didn't want the easy and sunlit love of that other couple. Not if it wasn't with Jay. He wanted this, he wanted the complicated and terrifying thing they were rebuilding in the neon-dark, with the scent of the ocean and fairground food around them, and Jay’s thumb drawing secret promises on his skin.

It was harder and it was messier, but it was real and it was theirs; and as the attendant swung the gondola door open for them, Jungwon knew he would follow Jay into that tiny, suspended box high above the world, ready to face whatever silent truths waited for them in the sky.

The attendant ushered them into the cabin. It was a tight space, just a padded bench facing outwards on both sides with the door latched shut, enclosing them in a bubble of quietness. The sounds of the fairground muffled instantly and got replaced by the steady creak of the massive wheel.

They sat opposite each other but the space between them felt both vast and impossibly small. The gondola gave a lurch before they began their slow ascent, the world falling away below them and the colorful sprawl of the fair shrank into a twinkling mosaic against the dark sand.

Jungwon watched the view unfold before he finally got the courage to tear his gaze from the window and look at Jay. He’d taken off the stupid light-up sunglasses. His face was in profile as he was gazing out at the view, the lights from the fairground painting soft colors across his face.

A few minutes passed without either of them saying anything. Jungwon watched Jay instead, wondering if he was waiting for him to speak first.

When Jay finally spoke, his voice was soft, almost lost in the hum of the ride. He kept his eyes on the dark water below instead of looking at Jungwon.

“Were you happy today?”

Jungwon opened his mouth and his first instinct was to say I don’t know. He nearly did. But the words never made it past his lips, because when he thought back over the day, the answer was embarrassingly easy.

He thought about the jet ski. The wild, weightless feeling of catching air, his arms locked around Jay’s waist, the sound of his own laughter ripped from his throat by the wind.

He thought about the beach, the easy back-and-forth and tteokbokki. The way talking felt like slipping into a favorite, worn-out hoodie.

He thought about the slushie drip on Jay’s chin, and his own thumb reaching out to wipe it away without a single thought.

He thought about the walk here, the glowing cat ears on his head and the feel of Jay’s hand in his as they walked through the fair.

Holy shit.

Yeah.

I was.

He was happy.

The truth of it scared him. It felt like a betrayal of the past year, of all the lonely nights, of the story he’d told himself that Jay and happiness could no longer exist in the same room.

But his body spent the whole day telling a different story. His heart was quietly and stubbornly happy, miles ahead of his brain, which was still back on the balcony arguing about who destroyed what.

He looked at Jay’s profile, taking in the tired slope of his shoulders and he knew this wasn’t a test. Jay was just asking because he was probably trying to make sense of the day himself.

Jungwon’s throat tightened and he swallowed before he could make himself answer. “…Yeah,” he whispered, the word rough but clear in the quiet gondola. “I was.”

He saw Jay’s shoulders slowly rise and fall with a deep breath before he gave a small, almost sad nod, still keeping his eyes on the horizon.

“Me too,” Jay said quietly.

And somehow, that made Jungwon’s chest ache worse.

Because they weren’t okay, he knew that. One good day didn’t magically fix anything and tomorrow they would still have everything waiting for them that they managed not to talk about today.

But maybe that wasn’t what Jay was asking.

And when Jungwon let himself really think about it, he couldn’t remember when he stopped bracing himself around Jay today. For a few hours, being around him didn’t hurt. He wasn’t measuring every word against the past or waiting for the next thing to go wrong.

They were just Jungwon and Jay again.

And fuck, he missed that.

The Ferris wheel began its slow descent, carrying them back down toward the noise and the light. Jungwon looked out the window as the ground crept closer.

The attendant unlatched the door and they stepped out, the solid ground feeling strange under Jungwon’s feet after the swaying cabin.

The immediate noise was overwhelming. A group of laughing teenagers pushed past them and someone’s balloon popped nearby. Jungwon blinked hard, thrown by how loud everything felt after the quiet of the ride.

Jay stood beside him like a solid presence in the swirling crowd. He bumped his shoulder lightly against Jungwon’s. “You good?” he asked, his voice pitched just loud enough to be heard over the din.

Jungwon took a breath, centering himself in the noise and in the reality of Jay standing next to him. “Yeah,” he said and the word felt a little less terrifying now.

Jay gave him a nod that seemed a little unconvinced, so Jungwon reached for his hand and laced their fingers together while keeping his eyes on Jay’s. He gave his hand a small squeeze before letting go of his hand and Jay nodded again.

“The others are probably by the ring-toss or the fried everything stand,” Jay said, scanning the crowd, then as they began to weave through the throng of people, Jay’s hand came up to rest lightly on the small of Jungwon’s back, guiding him gently through the crowd.

Jungwon let the touch guide him, but his heart did a complicated little flip.

They found the families clustered around a takoyaki stand where their parents were debating whether to get extra bonito flakes or not. Soojin spotted them first and waved a stick of dango.

“There you are!” she called. “How was the view?”

“High,” Jay said.

Jungwon felt a small smile pull at his lips. “It was nice,” he added.

The rest of the evening passed in a blurry haze. They ate more delicious fair food. Jungwon’s dad tried and failed to win a giant stuffed dolphin. Jay’s mom got sugar powder all over her shirt and laughed about it. Jungwon found himself laughing too, the sound coming easier now, mixing with the family noise.

He was aware of Jay beside him the whole time. The way you’re aware of your own breathing. He noticed when Jay got him a water without being asked, passing it over during a lull in conversation. He noticed when Jay leaned in to hear something his own father was saying, his profile lit by the neon of a nearby game.

The walk back to the beach house was slower with everyone full and tired, the cooler night air and ocean breeze a welcome change after the crowded fair. Jungwon naturally fell into step with Jay at the back of the group and he realized they went several minutes without saying anything. Usually, he would’ve started wondering what the silence meant, but tonight, walking beside Jay was easy enough that he just let it be.

When they reached the house, they splintered off towards their bedrooms with yawns and muttered goodnights. Jungwon stood in the doorway of the room he was sharing with Jay, the reality of the closed door hitting him once again. The pillow wall was gone, but the bed was still there.

Jay came up behind him but stopped a step away. “You want to shower first?” he asked.

Jungwon shook his head. “You go ahead. I’m just… gonna get some air on the balcony for a minute.”

Jay nodded. “Okay. Don’t stay out too late. It’s colder now.”

It was such an easy thing to say. The kind of thing you say to someone you share a life with. Jungwon just nodded as he felt his throat suddenly tighten and he slipped out onto the small balcony.

The sound of the shower starting up inside was a faint white-noise in the back of his mind. He gripped the railing and replayed the day in his head.

Four days passed.

Four days of this strange, liminal space where they weren’t fiancés, weren’t just exes, but something else entirely. Jungwon still had no idea what that something was. He only knew that he and Jay were rebuilding something between them and the weirdest part was how quickly he started getting used to it.

He heard the bathroom door open and the shuffle of Jay’s footsteps inside. Jungwon took one last deep breath of the salty night air, then he turned and went inside, closing the balcony door softly behind himself.

The shower was a cascade of too-hot water washing away the sticky residue of slushie and fairground dust. Jungwon stood under it for a long time, letting the heat seep into his muscles, trying to quiet the whirlwind in his head. Happy. I was happy.

He toweled off, the soft fabric feeling rough against his oversensitive skin. He brushed his teeth, avoiding his own eyes in the foggy mirror. When he finally pushed the bathroom door open, a cloud of steam followed him into the darkened bedroom.

Jay was already in bed, lying on his side facing the window. The only light came from a sliver of moonlight slicing through a gap in the curtains, painting a silver stripe across the rumpled sheets. He was still, but Jungwon could tell by the rhythm of his breathing that he was awake.

Jungwon padded silently to his side of the bed and slid under the covers. He laid on his back, staring up at the dark ceiling and listening to the distant crash of waves mixing with the much closer sound of Jay breathing.

Minutes ticked by as the moonbeam crept slowly across the floor.

Jungwon’s mind replayed the feeling of Jay’s hand in the ferris wheel line. He thought about the easy guide of Jay’s hand on his back in the crowd. His body yearned to turn and face the familiar shape in the darkness and to close that open space. But his mind held him still.

Suddenly, Jay let out a slow, deep breath and Jungwon’s heart started racing.

“Goodnight, Jungwon,” his voice was low and rough with sleep.

Jungwon closed his eyes. He was still scared, sure, but apparently his brain made room for something other than panic.

For some reason, saying it back suddenly felt like a whole thing. Which was stupid. It was goodnight, not a marriage proposal again.

“Goodnight, Jay.”

The first thing Jungwon was aware of was warmth. Not just the warmth of the sun through the curtains, but a living, breathing heat radiating beside him. The second thing was the soft and rhythmic sound of breath that wasn't his own.

Jungwon blinked a few times. He was on his side, facing the middle of the bed, which was weird, because he definitely remembered falling asleep much closer to the edge.

Apparently, sometime during the night, his sleeping body made decisions without consulting him.

His gaze focused and his breath caught.

Jay was facing him and he was watching Jungwon with an expression so unguarded that it almost felt like a physical touch. It was a look Jungwon hadn't seen in years. Not since lazy Sunday mornings in their first apartment, before the pressures of life and careers and the slow drift began.

The tenderness of it made Jungwon’s heart flutter. Jay was seeing him, in the soft morning light with sleep-tousled hair and pillow creases on his cheek.

The world narrowed to the space between their pillows, to the quiet hush of the house still asleep around them and to the stillness in Jay’s eyes.

Usually, this was where Jungwon’s brain stepped in with a dozen reasons why this was a terrible idea, but now it was so quiet that it probably should’ve concerned him more than it did.

Jungwon lifted his hand from where it rested near his own face. He watched his own fingers reach across the short distance between them.

Jay’s eyes held Jungwon’s with that tender look in his gaze deepening. Jungwon noticed how he held his breath too.

Jungwon’s fingertip touched the space just below Jay’s eye, where a faint laugh-line was etched. His skin was warm, soft with sleep. He traced it down with a feather-light caress over the curve of Jay’s cheekbone, then followed the line down to his jaw.

Jay’s eyes drifted shut at the contact and a shuddering breath escaped him, his long lashes fanning against his cheeks. Jungwon almost pulled his hand back on instinct. Almost. But Jay leaned into his palm instead, which did absolutely nothing helpful to Jungwon’s heart rate.

So he stayed there, watching Jay’s face like it might tell him what the hell he was supposed to do next as his finger came to rest at the very point of Jay’s jaw, where his pulse beat steadily against the pad of his thumb. He held it there for one more heartbeat, two, feeling it thrum beneath his touch.

Then, with the same slowness, he let his hand fall to the pillow, right next to Jay’s cheek, his fingers curling softly against the pillow.

Jay’s eyes opened again, and something about the way he looked at Jungwon made him forget what he was doing for a second. His gaze dropped to Jungwon’s hand resting so near his face, then flicked back up to meet his eyes.

Jungwon’s own breathing felt shallow and his heart was a frantic drum against his ribs. He knew he should probably move his hand, because there was no reason to leave it there, inches from Jay’s face, while Jay looked at him like that.

So naturally, he left it exactly where it was and he looked back, letting Jay see everything in his eyes he usually kept so guarded.

Outside, a seabird cried and a pipe groaned down the hall as someone else in the house turned on a shower.

But in their room, in the space between two pillows, Jungwon didn’t know what they were supposed to do with this fragile thing they somehow managed to rebuild between them with a single touch or why something so scary could feel so right.

His lips parted. He wanted to say something, though he wasn’t even sure what. What is this? Where are we? But the air felt too thick to push words through and his mind was a blank, white static, overridden by the sensation still humming in his fingertips and the openness in Jay’s gaze.

Before any sound could escape, Jay moved.

Slowly, mirroring Jungwon’s own tentative reach, Jay lifted his hand from where it laid on the sheet between them. His movements were just as careful. His eyes never left Jungwon’s face as his fingers rose through the morning light.

The first touch was a whisper. The backs of Jay’s knuckles grazed Jungwon’s temple, brushing aside a stray strand of dark hair that had fallen across his forehead. The touch was so light it was almost not there, yet it sent a shockwave of sensation straight to Jungwon’s core. He couldn’t suppress a shudder.

Emboldened, or maybe helpless to stop, Jay let his fingers trail down. Jungwon’s breath hitched and he let his eyes slip shut, surrendering to the sensation. Jay traced the arch of Jungwon’s eyebrow, then his touch drifted over the closed lid of Jungwon’s eye, feeling the delicate flutter of movement beneath.

Jay’s thumb swept over the high curve of Jungwon’s cheekbone, then he mapped the slope down to the corner of Jungwon’s mouth, which was parted slightly, trembling. His thumb hovered there, a breath away from Jungwon’s lower lip.

Jungwon was waiting for Jay to touch his lip, but he continued downwards and traced the line of Jungwon’s jaw. His fingertips brushed over the sensitive skin just below Jungwon’s ear and a soft, involuntary sound escaped Jungwon’s throat.

Jay’s breath stuttered in response. His hand stilled, cupping the side of Jungwon’s face, his palm warm against his cheek. His thumb began to move again, stroking back and forth over the crest of Jungwon’s cheek.

Jungwon opened his eyes. The world came back in a blur of soft light and Jay’s face, impossibly close. Jay’s expression shattered completely. The adoration was still there, but it was cracked open now and Jungwon could see a raw vulnerability beneath. His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide. Jay was laid bare in front of him, his heart in his eyes and in the tender hold of his hand.

The silent conversation was deafening.

Jungwon’s own hand twitched near Jay’s face. His fingers uncurled, wanting to reach out again. The few inches of space between their bodies felt too much and barely anything at the same time.

He was falling into Jay’s gaze, drowning in it. They’d agreed to keep their distance, but whatever passed between them now made that agreement feel pretty useless.

Jay’s thumb stroked one last, lingering pass over Jungwon’s cheekbone, then stilled and his hand remained a warm weight against Jungwon’s skin.

Jungwon’s own breathing was ragged. He could feel the faint tremor in Jay’s fingers where they curved around his jaw. He watched as Jay’s gaze dropped from his eyes, down to his own hand cradling Jungwon’s face, as if seeing it for the first time. A muscle ticked in Jay’s jaw, the one Jungwon just traced.

Then Jay’s eyes lifted again and the look in them was now edged with a desperate question. His lips parted.

“Won…” The name was a breath, a broken syllable that held six years of history. It was the old nickname, the one from the good years, the one that fell out of use when things got hard. And just hearing Jay call him that again told Jungwon everything he needed to know. Jay missed this too. He still wanted it too.

It shattered the last of his resistance.

Jungwon’s hand finally moved. He surged forward to close the distance between them. His palm slid around the back of Jay’s neck, letting his fingers tangle in the soft hair at his nape. He pulled.

Jay came willingly, a soft gasp escaping him as their foreheads met. Jungwon pressed his forehead against Jay’s and squeezed his eyes shut. He could feel Jay’s pulse hammering against his palm, matching his own.

“Jay,” Jungwon whispered back.

Jay’s other hand came up to frame Jungwon’s face, holding him as if he were something fragile. His thumbs stroked Jungwon’s temples. Their noses brushed. Everything else faded into the background. Jungwon only noticed Jay’s hands on his face, their foreheads touching and the warmth of his breath against his lips.

Jungwon tilted his head, just a fraction.

Jay’s breath hitched. Then he closed the final gap.

The kiss was slow. It was soft lips rediscovering their perfect fit, a gentle press that immediately deepened into something more. Jay’s mouth was warm and he tasted like Jay and Jungwon wanted to laugh, cry, pull him closer, tell him he missed him, tell him he loved him, tell him he was still scared. All of it crowded together until kissing him was the only thing Jungwon could actually manage.

A low sound vibrated from Jungwon’s throat into the kiss. His fingers tightened in Jay’s hair, pulling him closer. Jay responded with a groan, his tongue sweeping along the seam of Jungwon’s lips, asking, and Jungwon opened for him without a second thought.

The kiss caught fire. Jay rolled slightly, shifting his weight, pressing Jungwon deeper into the mattress without breaking the seal of their mouths. Jungwon arched up into him, his free hand coming to clutch at the back of Jay’s t-shirt and fisting the soft cotton. The careful distance was replaced by the full length of Jay’s body aligning with his own, thigh to thigh, hip to hip, chest to chest.

Jay’s hands left Jungwon’s face, one sliding down to grip his waist, the other threading into his hair, angling his head to deepen the kiss impossibly further. It was messy now, wet and breathless. It was teeth and tongue and shared gasps for air. It was six years of love and one year of silence poured into a single, consuming point of contact.

Jungwon was drowning in it, in the familiar weight and scent of him, in the way Jay’s tongue moved against his own. Every rational thought, every fear, every reason they’d ended, was burned away in the sheer physical reality of this. Of Jay, hot and solid above him, kissing him like he was the only source of oxygen in the world.

When they finally broke apart, it was only far enough to drag in ragged, shuddering breaths. Their foreheads remained pressed together, their lips swollen and glistening, still sharing the same air. Jay’s eyes were dark pools and his pupils blown so wide the brown was just a thin ring.

“Won,” he rasped again.

Something in the broken sound of his own name in the raw tremor of Jay’s voice made Jungwon pause. He went perfectly still, his hands resting on Jay’s back beneath his shirt, feeling the rapid rise and fall of his ribs.

He looked into Jay’s eyes and saw the storm there. Jay wanted this so badly it was almost frightening, but beneath it Jungwon could still see that same vulnerable awe from before, now mixed with a desperate fear. Fear of ruining this. Fear of moving too fast and watching it all shatter again.

And Jungwon understood, because his own heart was a wild thing in his chest, but his mind, for once, wasn’t shutting down. It was whispering the same thing Jay’s eyes were saying.

Jungwon loosened his grip on Jay’s shirt. He slid his hands out from under the fabric and brought them up to frame Jay’s face instead, mirroring the hold Jay had on him moments ago. His thumbs stroked Jay’s cheekbones.

He leaned in and pressed his lips softly to the corner of Jay’s mouth, then he drew back just enough to see his eyes again.

“Slow,” Jungwon whispered. “We have to go slow.”

Jay’s eyes searched his, then he gave a tiny nod and the tension in his shoulders bled out a fraction. He didn’t pull away, but he settled his weight more gently against Jungwon.

“Okay,” Jay breathed out. “Slow.”

He shifted, rolling onto his side but keeping his body curved around Jungwon and brought one hand up to gently brush Jungwon’s hair back from his forehead, his fingers lingering in the dark strands.

Jungwon turned into the touch, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment and let his head rest more fully against Jay’s pillow. The warmth he felt was a glow that started in his chest and seeped into his limbs. This was the quiet after the storm. The shared space in a bed that no longer had a wall.

Jay’s thumb traced Jungwon’s eyebrow again, then drifted down to trace his lips, swollen and sensitive from their kiss.

“I missed this,” Jay whispered, his voice so low it was almost inaudible. “Just… this. Waking up with you.”

Jungwon’s throat tightened. He didn’t trust his voice, so he answered by turning his head and pressing a soft, closed-mouth kiss to the pad of Jay’s thumb where it rested on his lip. “Me too,” he murmured, the vibration humming against Jay’s thumb. “So much.”

They laid like that for long minutes, as the sun strengthened and painted golden stripes across the rumpled sheets. Jay’s fingers were tracing the shell of Jungwon’s ear while Jungwon’s fingertips were drawing idle patterns on Jay’s shoulder through his shirt.

It was terrifying in its sweetness.

The rest of the morning felt strangely normal. Jungwon sat through breakfast with their families, listening to everyone talk while he and Jay ate pancakes and passed things back and forth across the table. At one point, Jay handed him the syrup without Jungwon even asking, and Jungwon took it just as automatically.

The families split up after breakfast. Jay left with his parents and Jake for mini-golf, while Jungwon went with his family to the botanical gardens.

He spent the next few hours following his mother around while she stopped to admire what felt like every flower in the place and taking increasingly ridiculous photos of Soojin posing beside statues, fountains and one remarkably tolerant squirrel. It was easy enough to let himself get dragged along and not think too hard about anything.

They got back to the beach house in the late afternoon, and Jay’s family still wasn’t back. Jungwon followed his parents out to the garden and dropped into a chair at the table beneath the magnolia tree while his dad went inside for lemonade. A minute later, he came back with a pitcher, ice clinking against the glass as he set it down.

“So, the prize-winning squirrel?” his dad asked with a playful glint in his eye as he handed Jungwon a glass.

Soojin immediately launched into a dramatic retelling of her staring contest with the “judgy-looking” squirrel near the rose garden, waving her phone around as evidence. Their mother joined in to talk about the flowers, and somehow that turned into Soojin’s upcoming semester, then stories from old family vacations.

Jungwon mostly listened, adding something whenever someone pulled him into the conversation. After a while, he took his glass and moved to the garden swing a few steps away, settling into it while his family kept talking.

The front door slammed open, shattering the quiet. The sound of boisterous laughter, good-natured arguing and the clatter of what sounded like golf clubs being dumped in the hallway spilled into the house.

“–and I’m telling you, the windmill was rigged!” Jake’s voice carried clearly through the screen door.

“You just have a terrible short game, son,” Jay’s father retorted with a fondly teasing tone.

The screen door squeaked open and Jay’s family emerged onto the patio, bringing a wave of energy with them. Jungwon’s gaze, as it always did, went straight to Jay.

He was smiling, shaking his head at something his brother was saying, one hand raking through his windswept hair. He had a pair of sunglasses pushed up on top of his head and it made Jungwon’s breath, the lemonade glass freezing halfway to his lips.

They were the sunglasses. The vintage, tortoiseshell aviators with the subtle green gradient in the lenses. Jungwon saved for two months to buy them for Jay’s birthday four years ago, after Jay pointed to a similar pair on an old movie poster and sighed, “Now those look cool.” Jay wore them constantly that entire summer, calling them his “good luck charm.” Jungwon hadn’t seen them since before the breakup and he assumed they were lost or thrown away or buried in some box of painful mementos.

Seeing them now, sitting so casually on Jay’s head like no time passed at all, sent a sweet pang straight through Jungwon’s chest.

Jay’s eyes scanned the garden and landed on him. The smile on Jay’s face softened as he gave a nod to Jungwon.

The garden erupted into the overlapping chaos of two families sharing the highlights of their days. Jungwon’s mother was asking Jay’s mother about the mini-golf course; Jake was already trying to show Soojin a video of his hole-in-one (which his father loudly claimed was a lie). Through the cheerful noise, Jungwon watched as Jay accepted a glass of water from his mom, took a long drink and then, without a single glance around he simply… drifted.

He moved away from the cluster of his family and crossed the few feet of the flagstone patio, the heels of his sneakers scuffing softly. Then he sank down onto the wide, cushioned garden swing right beside Jungwon.

The swing dipped under his weight and his thigh brushed against Jungwon’s. Jay leaned back and stretched one arm along the back of the swing, just behind Jungwon’s shoulders. Then he pushed off lightly with one foot, setting them into a slow rocking motion. He reached up and pulled the sunglasses back down over his eyes.

He just sat there with Jungwon, wearing the sunglasses Jungwon gave him, sharing his space, his silence, his peace.

Jungwon looked down at his own hands curled around the cool glass. The earlier warmth in his chest bloomed into something dangerously like hope.

He let the gentle rocking of the swing lull him for another moment, the quiet solidity of Jay beside him more comforting than any words could be. He finally tilted his head to look at Jay’s profile. The late afternoon sun caught the edge of the tortoiseshell frames.

“How was your day?” he asked in a soft voice, meant only for the space between them on the swing.

Jay turned his head, the sunglasses now hiding his eyes but not the slight, genuine smile that touched his lips.

“Good,” he said, his voice equally low. “Really good, actually. My dad cheated on the seventh hole, he moved his ball when he thought I wasn’t looking. Jake nearly had an aneurysm.” A soft chuckle escaped him. “It was… nice.” He paused, the smile lingering. “How about the gardens? See any award-winning flowers?”

Jungwon felt his own lips curve in response. “A few. Mom was in heaven. Soojin declared war on the local squirrel population. I have approximately two hundred photos of her looking spiritually one with nature while a rodent tries to steal her hair tie.”

Jay’s chuckle was a quiet rumble that vibrated through the swing. “Sounds about right.” He shifted slightly, his arm on the back of the swing settling a fraction closer, his fingertips now just barely grazing the fabric of Jungwon’s t-shirt sleeve. “Sounds peaceful.”

“It was,” Jungwon admitted, the truth of it surprising him a little. He enjoyed it. He met what he could see of Jay’s gaze behind the shaded lenses. “Peaceful.”

The word was describing more than just the botanical gardens. It described this moment right now, on this swing. The chaos of their families swirled around them (Soojin was now demonstrating her squirrel-calling technique to a bemused Jake) but here, in this small pocket of space, there was just the gentle creak of the chains, the brush of Jay’s thumb against his sleeve and a peace that felt fragile and infinitely precious.

Jay’s fingers pressed lightly against his shoulder and Jungwon knew what he was asking.

He felt his breath still for a second, before he slid a little lower on the plush cushion of the swing, his body shifting subtly closer to Jay’s. His shoulder came flush against Jay’s side and then he let his head drop, resting his temple against the curve of Jay’s shoulder.

He pulled one leg up onto the swing, bending his knee and curling slightly into Jay’s space, making himself smaller, fitting himself closer.

He felt Jay’s soft exhale as it brushed over his hair before his head tilted, coming to rest gently atop Jungwon’s. Jay’s arm curled a little tighter around Jungwon’s shoulders, his hand settling securely against his upper arm.

But it was his other hand that made Jungwon’s breath catch. Jay’s free hand drifted down from his own thigh, his fingers brushing over the bare skin of Jungwon’s bent knee before his palm settled there, his thumb beginning a slow, absentminded back and forth stroke along the inner curve of his knee.

The creak of the swing, the distant laughter of their siblings and the buzz of late-summer insects all faded into the background. Jungwon only listened to the steady beat of Jay’s heart beneath his ear and felt the slow movement of his thumb against his knee.

Jungwon closed his eyes, letting the peace of it wash over him. He shifted a little closer, pressing his cheek into Jay’s shirt, and Jay’s arm tightened around his shoulders in response.

The morning of their last day was bright and clear. Sunlight streamed through the bedroom curtains, warm against Jungwon’s face when he opened his eyes.

For a few seconds, he didn’t move because he felt strangely calm. There was no tightness in his chest or immediate rush of thoughts about what came next, just Jay, warm beside him.

Sometime during the night, Jungwon curled up against Jay’s back, his face tucked between his shoulder blades. One of his arms was wrapped around Jay’s waist, his hand resting against his stomach and Jay’s fingers were curled loosely around his wrist.

They woke slowly. Jay shifted first and Jungwon lifted his head enough to let him turn. They untangled one limb at a time, lingering whenever they could, until there was finally space between them again.

As he woke up properly, Jungwon realized the reason for the ache in his chest was no longer having Jay so close, but knowing that soon, he wouldn’t be.

Breakfast was loud, mostly because everyone seemed determined to fit as much conversation as possible into their last morning together. Both families crowded around the dining table, finishing off the leftover pancakes and fresh fruit. Jungwon mostly listened, trying not to think too much about the fact that this was the last time they’re all sitting here like this.

“I’m not ready to look at a spreadsheet,” Jay’s father groaned, pouring more syrup. “This was heaven.”

“Tell me about it,” Jungwon’s mother agreed as she sipped her coffee. “Back to the grind. I’ll be dreaming of this view from my cubicle.”

Soojin and Jake were already comparing notes on which friends they were going to spam with vacation photos first. Laughter bounced off the walls, stories from the week were retold and plans to do it again next year were made with enthusiasm.

Jungwon smiled and nodded along. He stole a glance at Jay across the table, who was nodding as his mother rambled about the nightfair. Jay’s eyes met his and his smile faded just enough for Jungwon to know that Jay was thinking about the same thing he was. Then Jay looked away and took a too-big bite of his pancake.

They didn’t have to pretend anymore and that was the worst part.

Upstairs, they started packing.

The door to the bedroom clicked shut behind them, muffling the happy sounds from below.

Their suitcases were still open on the floor from earlier. Jungwon went to the dresser and pulled open the drawer they’d been sharing all week. His grey shirts were mixed in with Jay’s black ones, some of them folded over each other.

He started pulling his own out one by one, folding each before placing it into his suitcase. By the time he was done, only Jay’s clothes were left in the drawer.

Jungwon stood there for a second, looking at them while he watched Jay from the corner of his eye.

Jay was pulling his things from the bedside table before he walked to his suitcase and paused, looking down at the contents. Then, without a word, he reached over to Jungwon’s pile of freshly folded jeans, picked up a pair and refolded them more neatly, tucking a stray belt loop in before placing them gently back on Jungwon’s stack.

It was an old habit. Jay had always been the better folder, so of course he still did that. Jungwon didn’t know why that was the thing that got to him.

He turned and walked into the bathroom. Two toothbrushes, one blue, one green, stood together in the ceramic holder. He took his green one and tucked it into his toiletry bag, then he stared at the blue one standing alone. A moment later, Jay’s reflection appeared beside his in the mirror, who wordlessly reached past him, picked up his toothbrush and dropped it into his own bag. Their eyes met in the glass before they both looked away.

“Did you pack your charger?” Jungwon heard himself ask, his voice strangely normal when he was back in the bedroom, zipping up a compartment.

“Yeah,” Jay hummed. “You got yours?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.”

They moved around each other without having to say much. Jungwon gathered the spare pillows from the bed and stacked them on the armchair. Jay stripped his side of the sheets, then hesitated, looking at Jungwon’s still-rumpled side. Jungwon gave a small shake of his head.

Leave it.

Jay nodded and folded the sheet in his hands instead.

It was agonizing. It was almost easier when they were angry. At least then Jungwon had something to hold onto. Now Jay was folding his jeans for him and asking if he’d packed his charger and Jungwon had no idea what to do with that.

So he kept packing. A shirt into his suitcase. A sock he found under the bed. His book from the nightstand. One by one, everything that ended up mixed together over the week went back into two separate bags.

Jungwon zipped his bag closed. It was done. He stood there, looking at the now neat bed, the clear surfaces and the empty drawers. By evening, they would be in separate cars, driving to separate apartments. They would sleep in separate beds and the closeness of this morning would be just another memory to haunt the empty space in Jungwon’s mind.

Getting the cars packed was the usual last-minute mess. Jungwon’s dad had to run back in for a phone charger. Soojin realized she’d left her favorite hat on the deck. It was all normal, vacation-end stuff, but it felt to Jungwon like the universe was stalling.

The drive to the ferry terminal was quiet. Jay drove with both hands on the wheel while Jungwon looked out the window, watching the same route they’d taken a week ago pass by in reverse. The radio stayed off, leaving only the hum of the engine and the occasional sound of another car passing them.

Neither of them said anything. Jungwon thought about it a few times, but every time he turned his head toward Jay, he couldn’t figure out what he was supposed to say or how to say any of it without making the lump in his throat any bigger.

They followed the line of cars onto the ferry, tires thumping over the metal ramp. A crew member directed them to a spot among the other cars. Jay parked and turned off the ignition, leaving them with the distant noise of cars still being directed into place.

They both just sat there. Jungwon looked at his hands in his lap. He could feel Jay looking at him and he knew he should say something. Well, that was a week. Or I’m sorry. Or What the fuck is happening?

He glanced over at Jay who was still watching him. His lips parted like he was about to say something, but then he closed his mouth again. His eyes dropped for a second before finding Jungwon’s again.

So instead, they just looked at each other until Jay finally gave a small shrug, his mouth pulling slightly to one side like he didn’t know what else to do. Jungwon felt the corner of his own mouth lift in response and Jay’s expression softened into the faintest smile.

The sound of doors slamming closed nearby broke the spell. People were getting out of their cars to head up to the passenger decks. Jay blinked and nodded towards his door. “We should… go up.”

Jungwon took a deep breath. “Yeah.”

They got out of the car and joined the people heading toward the stairs, walking side by side through the ferry until they reached the open deck where their families were waiting.

The wind caught Jungwon’s hair the second they stepped outside, blowing it into his face. He pushed it back with one hand as he followed Jay toward the others.

Their families had already claimed a spot along the railing. Jungwon’s mom was pointing at something in the water. Jay’s dad was trying to get a family selfie with his arm stretched out awkwardly. It was a normal scene. It looked nothing like the end of the world.

Jungwon still didn’t know how his mom always seemed to sense him coming, even with her back turned. Right as he and Jay reached them, she turned around.

“There you are! We were wondering if you got lost in the car park.”

“Just… taking our time,” Jungwon said, pushing his hair out of his face again when the wind immediately blew it back. He gave up after the second try and shoved both hands into his pockets instead.

He looked over at Jay, catching the small twitch at the corner of his mouth before Jay turned toward the water.

They leaned against the railing, a few feet of space between them. The ferry’s horn was loud enough that Jungwon felt it in his chest just as the dock began to move away beneath them.

Jungwon watched the island get smaller. He could still make out the beach house from here, then the lookout point farther up, and somewhere beyond it, the nightfair. It was weird how quickly a whole week could turn into something he was just looking back at.

Jungwon glanced at Jay again and found him staring straight ahead with one hand curled around the railing and his jaw tight.

A week ago on the drive to the ferry, they were figuring out how often they were supposed to touch, whether they should hold hands and how close they should stand without making it obvious they were thinking about it. They spent the whole way there worrying about how to look like they wanted to be close.

It seemed stupid now, when Jungwon had to keep reminding himself not to move closer without thinking.

They just had to stand here, side by side and do nothing. Let the distance grow back. Let the island disappear. Let the week become a memory.

It was the hardest thing he’d ever done, harder than any argument.

The ferry picked up speed as they headed for the mainland and Jungwon watched the island get smaller until he couldn’t pick out the beach house anymore. He kept looking anyway, even when there wasn’t much left to see.

The rest of the ferry ride passed somehow. Jungwon laughed when his dad made a bad joke, helped his mom find the sandwiches she’d packed and nodded along while Soojin told him about some guy she’d seen at the nightfair. It was all fine. It was all terrible.

Jay was doing the same thing on the other side of their little family cluster. Laughing a little too loud at something Jake said and leaning over to point at a passing boat with his dad. It was like watching a mirror version of his side.

Eventually, the mainland came back into view and Jungwon found himself watching it get closer with a feeling he couldn’t quite place. He recognized the dock before he could make out much else, then the parking lot behind it and suddenly there was no pretending they still had hours left.

By the time they were back in the car, nobody seemed to have much to say. Jungwon watched the cars ahead of them roll down the ramp one by one until it was their turn and Jay followed them off the ferry.

Jay parked in the lot just off the dock, where they’d all agreed to say goodbye before splitting up. The second they were out of the cars, everyone seemed to start hugging everyone.

Jay’s mom pulled Jungwon in first. “Come for dinner soon, okay?”

“Yeah, of course,” Jungwon said automatically, and somehow managed to sound like he meant it.

Jake was next, squeezing him hard enough to knock a little air out of him before giving him a thump on the back and Jay’s dad caught him with a handshake that turned into one of those half-hugs halfway through.

By the time Jungwon stepped back, Jay was already surrounded by his family. His mom had both hands on Jay’s face while she told him to take care of himself, because apparently six years of knowing him still hadn’t convinced her that he could manage that on his own. Jay laughed softly and let her fuss over him anyway.

His dad clapped Jay on the shoulder and Soojin squeezed herself in next, wrapping both arms around him.

Jungwon watched from a few feet away and tried not to think about how natural all of this was. Their families stopped feeling separate years ago but now they were supposed to somehow separate them again.

Jungwon watched their families split off toward their cars, his parents heading one way and Jay’s another, until the two of them were left standing beside Jay’s car.

Jay scuffed his shoe on the asphalt. “So.”

“So,” Jungwon echoed.

“Your car’s still at the garage,” Jay said.

Jungwon almost said I know, but that wasn’t really the point, was it? They both knew where his car was. They also knew that it meant another hour in Jay’s passenger seat before they actually had to go their separate ways.

“We should… get going.”

“Yeah.”

They got back into Jay’s car and Jungwon dropped into the passenger seat, pulling the door shut behind him as Jay started the engine.

Jungwon looked out the window as they pulled away from the terminal, catching one last glimpse of their families’ cars before traffic split them in different directions.

And then it was only them again.

The first twenty minutes passed without either of them saying much. It was strange seeing all of it again. A week ago, they still had the whole trip ahead of them. Jungwon stared out the window, watching the green blur of the landscape, the same billboards, the same gas stations.

Now every familiar place meant they were getting closer to home.

His left hand felt strangely light. He looked down at where it rested on his thigh and found the ring still sitting exactly where it was all week, which somehow made the feeling worse. He knew he should take it off. There wasn’t really a reason to keep wearing it anymore, but when his thumb brushed over the band, he couldn’t bring himself to pull it past his knuckle.

A week was enough for him to get used to catching the silver on his hand whenever he reached for something. Taking it off now felt like admitting the week was actually over and Jungwon wasn’t ready to do that yet.

He couldn’t sit in silence like this anymore. It felt too much like all the times before the trip, when they let an argument end without actually resolving anything and then simply stopped talking until enough time passed that they could pretend it was fine. Jungwon promised himself he wouldn’t let them do that again, even if he hadn’t managed to tell Jay that part yet.

He looked over at him, hesitated for another second, then finally let out a soft breath. “We can’t just… go back, can we?”

Saying it out loud scared him, but he needed Jay to know that was what he was afraid of. Jungwon looked down at his hand again, his eyes settling on the ring. They already tried this once and it fell apart.

Jay’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. He was quiet for so long Jungwon thought he might not answer.

“I love you,” Jay finally looked over at him. “I never stopped. Not for a second.”

Jungwon already knew. He felt it in every look, every touch and every quiet moment they shared over the past week. But actually hearing Jay say it made his chest tighten.

“I love you too,” he breathed out.

“But,” Jay continued. “I don’t think we can go back.”

Jungwon’s stomach dropped. There was only one way his brain knew how to take it. Jay didn’t want this. After everything that happened between them this week, he was still saying no.

Jungwon pressed his lips together and turned toward the window, trying to keep his face under control before Jay could see how much the words hurt. He’s saying no. After everything, he’s saying no.

He felt Jay glance at him and felt the weight of his gaze. “Won,” Jay said softly. “Look at me.”

It took every ounce of strength Jungwon had to turn his head. Jay’s eyes were on the road, but his face was a mask of pained concentration.

“I don’t think we can go back,” Jay repeated and then he turned his head, his eyes meeting Jungwon’s and the desperation on his face caught Jungwon off guard. “I don’t want to go back.”

Jungwon clung to the correction, his heart hammering as he tried to make sense of what Jay was saying. “What?”

“The ‘us’ we were… that ended. It ended in a really shitty, painful way. We were experts at destroying it.” He took a shaky breath, the words coming faster now, as if Jungwon’s initial statement just unlocked the floodgate. “If we just pick up where we left off, move back in, pretend the last year didn’t happen… we’ll be walking right back onto those bad habits a we’ll fall through again.”

The relief that flooded Jungwon was dizzying. “So what are you saying?” He asked in a trembling voice.

“I’m saying I want to start again,” Jay’s voice dropped into something more vulnerable. “Not from a year ago. Not even from this morning. From right now. From two people who love each other so much it hurts and who finally know how badly they can hurt each other if they’re not careful.”

He looked at Jungwon again. “I don’t want to just be with you, Jungwon. I want to be with you.”

Jungwon nodded slowly. “And that means… it means we go home separately,” he said, picking up the thread. “We go on dates and we talk. Even when it’s uncomfortable.”

“Especially then,” Jay agreed, a ghost of a smile touching his lips. “I’ll try. I’ll try not to make a joke when I’m scared. I’ll try to just… be in the quiet with you.”

“And I’ll try to talk,” Jungwon whispered, his throat tightening around the words, but he pushed them out anyway. “I’ll tell you when the silence isn’t about you. I won’t let it build a wall.”

“Yeah,” Jay breathed out.

He saw Jay’s gaze flicker down. Just a quick, almost unconscious glance towards Jungwon’s lap, where his hand laid curled around the metal band on his finger. He was looking at the hand he held as they fell asleep, the skin he traced in the morning light.

Jungwon turned his hand over without thinking. He opened his palm, so his hand was open on his thigh in the afternoon light cutting through the windshield.

He saw Jay’s breath catch from the corner of his eye and saw the subtle tightening of his jaw too before he reached across the center console carefully. His fingers hovered for a second just above Jungwon’s open palm, as if asking permission one last time.

Jungwon just waited while his heart stared a heavy drum in his chest.

Jay’s fingers brushed against Jungwon’s palm before his hand settled, his palm warm against Jungwon’s skin. His fingers curled and Jungwon let his fingers curl in response, his thumb coming to rest against the side of Jay’s hand, where he could feel the steady beat of Jay’s pulse against his skin.

They drove like that, as the exit signs counted down the miles to the parking garage. When they arrived at the garage, Jay pulled his car into the spot right next to Jungwon’s. The sudden absence of the car’s hum left a ringing quiet in its place.

They sat for a few minutes, hands still loosely linked on the console, listening to the faint echoes of outside traffic.

Finally, Jungwon took a deep breath to steady himself and gave Jay’s hand one last squeeze before he let go.

“I should…” he started.

“Yeah.”

Jungwon reached for the door handle and stepped out into the cool air of the garage. A second later, he heard Jay’s door open and close.

Jay came around to the trunk and popped it open. He reached for Jungwon’s suitcase before Jungwon could, his hand brushing against Jungwon’s as they both went for the handle.

“I got it,” Jay murmured.

Jungwon nodded. He watched as Jay hefted the suitcase out, setting it down smoothly on the concrete. The wheels made the same clatter they did a week before.

Then they were just standing there, a foot apart between their cars. Jungwon’s keys were a cold weight in his pocket. Jay’s hands were shoved into his jeans pockets, his shoulders slightly hunched.

Jungwon memorized the tired lines around Jay’s eyes, the set of his mouth, the way a strand of hair fell across his forehead. He looked like home, but a home Jungwon couldn't move back into today.

“So,” Jay shifted his weight and cleared his throat. His eyes, which had been roaming Jungwon’s face, finally settled on his eyes. “Wanna go on a date with me, Jungwon?”

The question was so simple and so absurdly normal that it bypassed Jungwon’s brain and went straight to his heart. A choked half-laugh escaped him and his vision blurred instantly, hot tears welling up and spilling over before he could stop them. He laughed again, swiping at his cheeks with the back of his hand.

“You’re such an idiot,” Jungwon whispered as he took a step forward.

Jay met him halfway and Jungwon barely had time to open his arms before Jay pulled him in. Jungwon buried his face against his shoulder and held on just as tightly, breathing in the salt and sunscreen that still clung to his shirt underneath his faint cologne.

He felt Jay’s arms tightening around his back, one hand sliding up to cradle the back of Jungwon’s head, his fingers tangling gently in the hair at his nape.

Jungwon’s lips were pressed against the cotton of Jay’s shirt. He breathed the word into the fabric. “Yes.”

They stayed like that for a while, neither of them seeming ready to let go. Eventually, Jungwon loosened his arms and pulled back, though he didn’t go far.

His face was wet but Jay’s eyes were shiny too as he gave Jungwon a small and a little unsteady smile.

Jungwon sniffed and wiped at his face with a shaky laugh before reaching down for his suitcase. “Call me.”

“Tomorrow,” Jay confirmed, nodding. “Not too early.”

“Not too early,” Jungwon agreed. He took a step backward, towards his car door. Then another. Jay stayed by his own car, watching him go.

Jungwon got in, started the car and rolled down his window. Jay, still leaning against his own car, lifted his chin in a question.

“Pick me up?” Jungwon called out, his voice still a little rough. “For the date?”

Jay’s smile widened and it reached his eyes. “Yeah,” he called back. “I’ll pick you up.”