Chapter Text
There really should be a limit on how many times one’s face gets to be plastered all over a public transportation station. Ever since Youngjae surfaced from that cursed basement, along with the other four of Dohoon’s almost-bandmates, a decade ago, Dohoon has never once forgotten their birthdays and anniversaries.
How could he, really? When it’s basically a part of his commute route.
Dohoon sips his coffee as he walks past another smiling Youngjae, shining on stage—the poster itself is covered with tens of colorful Post-its, welcoming the idol back from his enlistment. It’s good to see that he finished it well without any complications, especially since he was sent to active duty.
It was really surprising, considering the specific image of Youngjae that is still carved in Dohoon’s mind. He had these permanent eye bags underneath his lifeless eyes, perpetually tired and always looking like he was about to be blown away by the wind.
That is far from the Choi Youngjae the world was introduced to a year later. But the Youngjae stuck in Dohoon’s memory is forever 18. Sleepless, overworked, and underfed.
Dohoon passes another image of Youngjae as he enters his office—this time, he’s plastered outside the Yoajung store across the road. They used to order those a lot back then, even before the frozen yogurt place got as famous as it does now.
“Morning, Dohoon.” Manager Jung waves his hand as Dohoon enters their office. “The handbags have just arrived. The photo reference has been sent to your email.”
Dohoon’s eyes follow his manager’s finger to the storage room; its door is wide open, showing a collection of tiny handbags still wrapped in bubble wrap. “Alright, I’ll go check it. Thanks, hyung.”
As soon as the manager leaves, Roh Yuna rolls in on her chair—there’s a shit-eating grin plastered on her face. “Oppa, you’re free this Saturday, right?”
“Yeah,” Dohoon says, settling into his desk right next to Yuna’s. It’s probably another proxy photography request—he’s done a few of those for her after Yuna’s fansite account popped off over the past few months. “Is this Karina again?”
Yuna giggles like she’s the devil incarnate. She fondles the Karangie keychain hanging on her bag. “Nah, unnie is on a break right now! But a friend of mine, who’s a fan of TWS, needs a proxy photographer for this Saturday for their public fansign event, and I told her about you!”
TWS. Dohoon bites his lip, unsure of how to respond. No one really knows that Dohoon spent a significant amount of his youth within the system, along with some of the most recognizable figures in the industry right now. And he’s certainly not planning to let anyone know anytime soon, especially Yuna.
Before Dohoon can answer, Yuna adds, “She saw your pic on Karina-unnie—which, by the way, is the most liked post on my account right now. Crazy, right? It’s not even my pic. I don’t know how I feel about that—anyway, she says she really wants to use you.”
Dohoon walks to the storage room, still with Yuna trailing him—the smell of new products overwhelms his senses. “I don’t do boy groups,” he says as he collects the handbags.
“Wow, didn’t know that you’re a misandrist…” Yuna mutters, collecting the rest of the handbags and following Dohoon next door.
The light flickers as they enter the studio. The set is still exactly how they left it yesterday, with dried paint splattered across the white floor as a result of a gimmicky photoshoot for a new makeup brand.
“Eugh, we should’ve cleaned up.” Dohoon steps around the room to reach the workstation in the corner. “It’s dried, though, so it might be okay. Gyuvin-hyung would probably say that it adds character to the white void.”
Yuna snickers at the remark and starts setting up the bags on the table in the middle of the room, while Dohoon studies the references on the studio computer.
“But, oppa?” Yuna asks, “Didn’t a Woonhak fan commission you the other day?”
That was a while ago, and truthfully, Dohoon, too, has forgotten about it. The fact that Yuna remembers most of Dohoon’s commissions isn’t that weird, though, since most of his clients are Yuna’s acquaintances in some way or another.
“I’m a new misandrist.” Dohoon bullshits.
Yuna snorts, “You got your heart broken by a guy yesterday, or what?”
“That would convert me into a misandrist, wouldn’t it?” Dohoon laughs as he stops fiddling with the computer. He lifts his camera, snapping a few photographs to test the settings. He points at the monitor. “How’s the lighting?”
Yuna cranes her neck and holds out her thumb. “It looks good!” She then takes a seat in front of the monitor.
Most of the handbags are average, if Dohoon were to say so himself. They’re small, black leather bags that barely fit anything. Right up his alley, but nothing that he hasn’t seen.
“Whoa, this one is pretty.” Yuna, however, seems to take an interest in the bag that he’s done shooting. “I’m totally gonna buy this one—I’ll talk to the client to see if I could get early access!”
“By the way, how’s the coat that we shot yesterday? Did you end up getting it?” Yuna asks as she sets up the next bag.
Dohoon shakes his head. “Too expensive.”
Of course it is. Dohoon knew it was out of his budget when he felt the materials and got a closer look at the stitching. It was Yuna who hyped him up enough that they ended up having an impromptu photoshoot in the dimly lit studio after work with said coat. 10/10 pictures, by the way—it is now Dohoon’s KakaoTalk profile pic.
“Then maybe it's time to reconsider your misandry,” Yuna says. “She pays a lot, you know. And the fact that it’s their first ot5 public fansign post-service? The… uh, crowding? Inconvenience fee? Yeah, that is gonna be high.”
Finished with the last handbag, Dohoon places his camera on the table and takes Yuna’s place to review the shots while she stands up to pack the bags, taking photos of the one she has been eyeing—she’s probably already on her way to contact the brand associate.
It’s so nice to see a passionate, young woman with total financial support and so much disposable income…
Dohoon sighs, “Okay, I’ll do it. Send my contact to her…”
Yuna pulls up her phone with a small ‘Yay!’, clearly excited that she has once again succeeded in hooking people up.
“Is she like, an all-fan? Or is it a particular member?” Dohoon asks, his eyes still on the monitor.
“Oh, she likes Youngjae!” Yuna answers.
Ah. Fuck.
That fuckass coat better be worth it.
The fucking coat probably isn't worth a 2-hour, double-transit journey where Dohoon has to ride the rush-hour crowd just to photograph his ex-boyfriend of 2 years for ₩250.000. Nor is it worth standing in a crowded mall full of adoring fans of said ex-boyfriend and his teammates. But beggars can’t be choosers, and Dohoon is, unfortunately, a beggar.
Dohoon stands at the far right, leaning against a support wall in the atrium, wearing a navy cap and a mask. He has managed to get quite close—but not front and center—to the stage, thanks to his ‘arriving almost a full 3 hours before the event’ shtick. Now that the crowd is forming, Dohoon’s own little corner also gains some other inhabitants, most of them being fansites who didn’t win the fansign slot or proxy photographers like him. But otherwise, it’s a pretty secluded corner.
As Dohoon scrolls on his phone to pass the time, the five members of TWS enter the scene with a deafening scream following them. Dohoon lifts his head and pockets his phone, ready to capture his fucking ex-boyfriend like he’s any other subject for his client. Crazy how, after almost 10 years of strategic avoidance, he is now willingly approaching the same group of people.
But TWS’ fandom has grown a lot—Dohoon no longer has to hide now, as the large crowd naturally drowns him out. Blending in is a privilege that he didn’t have when they first debuted.
Seeing a 29-year-old Choi Youngjae in the flesh for the first time in years from his viewfinder, complete with his newly gained military muscles, all underneath the spotlight, is apparently enough to take Dohoon’s breath away.
“It’s been so long, hi everyone!” Jihoon greets. Even at 28, he’s still jumping around as he did back when they were in the basement.
Everyone looks the same, yet different enough to bug Dohoon as he tries to focus on Youngjae’s every move. Apparently, photographing your almost-group that achieved peak stardom while you’re taking on jobs you would rather avoid—because a decent, high-quality coat is something you couldn’t afford otherwise—is not for the weak.
“It’s so nice to see everyone back together, finally. How are you, 42?” Junghwan asks, and the entire mall echoes back. They’ve truly made something out of themselves.
Another proxy photographer, judging by the lack of merch and all-black outfit, behind Dohoon curses—it seems like people from the back are starting to push. He shifts around, trying to find an opening between Dohoon and the pillar. “Sorry, would you mind not leaning against the pillar? You’re blocking my view.”
“Sorry, no can do. Should’ve arrived earlier.” Dohoon answers without taking his lens off Youngjae.
The guy snickers. “What an asshole.” he then pushes through between Dohoon and the pillar anyway. “You don’t need to be sticking your ass there—give way.”
And just like that, Dohoon loses his weight-support privilege. He wobbles before stabilizing himself, clutching his precious camera to his chest as the throbbing pain gets worse in his left leg.
It isn’t too chaotic, but the unusual movement definitely catches some of the members’ attention, and the ones standing on the far right are now turning their heads in Dohoon’s general direction.
“You’re the asshole,” Dohoon mutters. He raises his camera again to capture Youngjae, who is now sitting, only to discover that he’s staring straight into Dohoon’s lens with that confused expression of his.
To be fair, Youngjae doesn’t look like he recognizes him—if anything, he looks like a lost guinea pig. The fans really do know what they’re doing when they assign him that fucking emoji. But Youngjae does look at him for longer than necessary, which is weird.
After almost a minute of Youngjae staring into his soul through his viewfinder, he turns to the member sitting beside him, Kyungmin. He was about to whisper before the first fan in line got in front of Kyungmin. Yet Youngjae is still committed to his investigation. c’mon, dude, look away.
But then again, an idol looking at his lens specifically? Now that’s a perfect shot. His cover might be almost blown, but right now, this shot of Choi Youngjae looking like a confused rodent as he’s staring into the camera’s soul? That’s Dohoon’s money shot for the day.
Monday comes around faster than Dohoon would have liked, as he spent the entire Sunday lying flat and icing his left leg thanks to that asshole in the mall. But at least he’s a payday away from finally purchasing that damn coat, with all of its neat stitching glory.
“Oppa, look!” Yuna exclaims as Dohoon opens the heavy door to the second floor leading to their office space. She lifts her new handbag, the one from their shoot yesterday—already sporting a tiny Karina photocard hanging from its side. “They say I can just buy the one they sent for the shoot!”
Dohoon drops his bag on his desk with a heavy thud—it creaks under the weight. He glances at the bag as he pulls up his leg rest. “Nice, I just overworked my leg for the coat this weekend.”
Yuna grimaces. “Was the crowding that bad?”
“A fucking asshole pushed me from a pillar that I was leaning on after I spent hours standing on the train,” Dohoon complains. “But I’m checking out that fucking coat first thing next Monday.”
“Yay!!” Yuna claps her hands. “You look cunty in that thing.”
Dohoon turns on his desktop, opening his emails and making himself look busy. “Ohh, the streetwear jewelry is coming in tomorrow. Those are gonna be so fun.”
Yuna peers at Dohoon’s computer screen, showing the reference photos for said jewelry. “Wow, they sure do like their reds.”
“Oh, by the way, Stella-unnie? The one who commissioned you Saturday? She’s still abroad until next month. If TWS has more activities this month, she’s probably gonna commission you again.” Yuna swivels back to her desk to continue working—her long nails click against the keyboard.
Dohoon deadpans, “Fuck. They just reunited—they probably have a shitton of activity coming up.”
“Isn’t a returning customer generally a good thing?” Yuna asks, raising her eyebrows. “You used to ask me to promote you everywhere…”
“Yes, it is.” Dohoon sighs. It really is, unfortunately. Now that he doesn’t have to stretch his lunch into a whole day’s worth of meals for one frivolous purchase, it reminds him of why he willingly takes the job even after swearing off the entertainment industry. He slams his face onto his desk. “Thank you, Yuna-yah… Oppa owes you a lot.”
True to Yuna’s word, Stella does chat the following day, asking for another Youngjae who’s appearing on a radio schedule Friday afternoon. So here Dohoon is, walking to Mapo-gu after work to sit in some spot in front of a glass wall separating a little radio studio from the outside with his camera.
“Fuck.” Dohoon curses as he arrives, seeing the crowd already gathering. There aren’t a lot of them this time, and the ones that are here are mostly dedicated fansite masters or people like him.
Generally, a small crowd is great, obviously. But again, Choi Youngjae will be his subject for the day.
Dohoon sits on the tiny stool he brought with him—his camera on his lap as he warms his hands with a hot pack he managed to get from a Junghwan fansite right next to him. Despite it being the middle of summer, it’s pretty cold outside after raining all day—and Dohoon clearly isn't ready, judging by his casual workplace attire.
Just then, the members come into the room, greeting the fans before the show starts. Dohoon gets up from his tiny stool, positioning himself above another fansite’s head. There are some perks to being tall, and one of them is being able to photograph your ex-boyfriend from the middle of a crowd without any visual obstruction.
“Did you guys eat?” Hanjin shouts, waving at the crowd outside. A part of Dohoon feels like a proud parent hearing him talk. He used to hold the guy’s hand while trying to get him to roll his R’s, but he sounds so natural now.
Youngjae waves in his direction, where, apparently, another Youngjae fan is standing—complete with her banner and guinea pig plushie. He looks exactly like how he used to wave through the glass door of their practice room before going home.
Dohoon spams his shutter, capturing the moment. And just like last time, Youngjae’s eyes meet his through the viewfinder—except this time they’re no longer crowds apart, and Youngjae is no longer a figure under the spotlight on the stage.
That bastard. Even after a decade, he still has an effect on Dohoon.
Dohoon instinctively lowers his camera. Partly because his arms are hurting, and another because he’s dumb and this job is, admittedly, too personal for his taste.
It’s also precisely because he’s stupid, and maskless, that Youngjae’s expression changes—there’s a glint of recognition in his eyes. His eyes widen as he processes what’s happening.
And that’s when Dohoon snaps out of his trance.
“Shit.” He curses, ducking behind the Youngjae fan as he gathers himself. Choi Youngjae has just recognized him.
Dohoon rummages through his bag, searching for any means of disguise that could help him finish his job. He might be a coward, but he’s not a scammer. Stella is getting her money’s worth.
Fuck his own obsession with bold, primary colors. The only thing he can find is a pink beanie and another red one. There’s one, technically trash, disposable mask from who-knows-when, but the thought of putting that thing on makes Dohoon’s skin crawl. So rawdogging it is.
So what if Dohoon looks like a pathetic ex-teammate who’s still stalking his old team’s activities, or a money-hungry ex-boyfriend who’s scraping by through unstable jobs? The five of them can construct and discuss a neat little theory about his reappearance in their warm and cozy waiting room after they finish their paid yapping session.
Thus, Dohoon emerges from squatting without any meaningful alteration to his look. Fuck it.
After that encounter at the radio show, Dohoon completely ditches his mask and lowkey attitude whenever he has to photograph Youngjae. Youngjae surely recognizes him by now—the smile aimed at him during a departure to MBC for a special stage that day secures Dohoon’s suspicion, but then what? The public eye and crowd control are there to stop them from having any means of interaction.
There’s a sense of cockiness in Dohoon’s stance when he photographs a departing TWS from a distance in a bustling airport. Being shameless has always been liberating. He snaps a quick picture of his camera, displaying Youngjae smiling in his direction, and sends it to Stella before rushing to the bathroom—he really shouldn’t have gulped an entire cup of iced tea in one sitting before this.
Dohoon: I’m done, here’s a preview for today!
Stella: Ahh, thank you, Dohoon-nim! Oppa always looks at the camera when you’re the one behind it >.<
Dohoon: Haha, it’s probably a coincidence. I’ll edit it and send it to you ASAP.
Stella: Okii, thank you again for your work!
Dohoon puts his camera down on the counter to readjust his red beanie and wash his hands. The heavy door opens, interrupting the sound of the tap water echoing through the empty bathroom and making Dohoon instinctively look up, only to find Choi Youngjae entering the bathroom.
Choi Youngjae—who he was sure should have passed the immigration gate just a while ago—now stands still in front of the door with his mouth agape.
Before any word could be spoken, Dohoon gathers his things, trying to escape the suffocating bathroom as quickly as he can. What a fucking weird way to meet your ex from when you were in high school.
But things never go well when you’re rushing, and Dohoon, too, is a victim of this, seeing how the lens cap that was in his hands a second ago starts to roll in front of Youngjae’s boots.
Shit, okay. Dohoon crouches to retrieve it, being careful not to aggravate his bad knee. But Choi Youngjae, with all of his functional dancer limbs, comes swooping in first, picking up his lens cap just before he reaches it.
Youngjae lowers his gaze and extends his hand, showing off his successful steal right in front of Dohoon’s face.
As Dohoon is about to take it from him, Youngjae retracts it. “Give me your number.”
This is it. The most fucking shameful moment of Dohoon’s whole 29 years of living. Crouching and having to stand up slowly in front of Choi Youngjae after cockily flaunting his existence just minutes ago.
Dohoon stumbles as he gets up, and despite his previous dick move, Youngjae is, as always, kind enough to help him stand up. Dohoon’s wrist burns as Youngjae’s hand touches it.
“What the fuck are you doing here? I saw you went towards the fucking immigration gate already.” Dohoon asks.
Youngjae shrugs his shoulders, still with Dohoon’s lens cap in his hand. “Passport problems. It’ll be quick, though. I don’t have much time.”
“So?” Dohoon raises his eyebrows, slightly offended by how casual Youngjae is being. “Give it back, asshole.”
Youngjae holds out his phone instead. “Your number, Dohoonie.”
Stunned by this supposedly familiar man standing before him, Dohoon takes Youngjae’s phone and types in his number. He considers typing in the wrong one, but Dohoon, too, has the impulse to see what became of the man standing in front of him.
“Done.” Dohoon shoves Youngjae’s phone to his chest. “Now give it back and let me go.”
Only after Youngjae sees the number for himself does he give the lens cap back. There’s a small, satisfied smile plastered on his face as he places the cap in Dohoon’s hand. “Great job, puppy. Don’t ghost me this time.”
And just like that, the fucking guy leaves, taking Dohoon’s dignity along with him.
Dohoon laughs to himself, lens cap still sitting in his hand. “Who the fuck… That fucker didn’t even pee yet…”
Dohoon forgets how easy talking to Choi Youngjae can be, with all of his dry remarks, mundane conversation, and silly emoticons. Dohoon smiles to himself as he widens his strides into his office building in the cold of autumn, eyes glued to his phone, wearing the newly bought long coat after the last of Stella’s commissions.
Youngjae had messaged him right away that day, on a plane to Tokyo for a festival. Dohoon had wanted to ignore the whole interaction altogether, act like the message wasn’t sitting in his inbox as he rode the train home.
The whole encounter annoyingly sticks with him, and sure, there’s a larger question to be asked about their life, career, and whatnot. But Dohoon has built an entirely new thing out of himself, one that’s far from any trace of his old life crawling back, so much so that once it does, he’s surprised to discover that it no longer touches an open wound.
It’s almost like an old injury that acts up sometimes.
And Dohoon is, theoretically, content, even if he doesn’t reactivate that old node in his life.
Even if that message from Youngjae stays unopened.
But the Choi Youngjae that he met back in Incheon is no longer eighteen and green. This Choi Youngjae is playful, confident, and is not above cornering his ex of 10 years in an airport bathroom while said ex is crouching pathetically.
So once he got back to his apartment, heart racing as he settled on his bed, he replied to the 29-year-old Choi Youngjae.
Dohoon climbs the last of the chipped concrete flight of stairs—still typing away on his phone.
“Well, aren’t you a darling today?” Yuna chirps. She eyes Dohoon up and down. “Are you going on a date with your new coat?”
Dohoon approaches his desk, taking a break from his phone for a little while as he waits for Youngjae’s reply. “Oh, shut up. Can’t a guy just be jolly for once?”
Nothing crazy was said through the texts over the past few days—not even any big questions were asked. Youngjae does a really great job of keeping things light and not scaring the heck out of Dohoon. But Youngjae had made it clear that he would like to get to know Dohoon again, and do things right this time—if Dohoon allows it, and Dohoon finds himself open to the idea.
Youngjae: Is it okay if I just pick you up in front of your office this evening?
Dohoon glances at the notification, trying hard to focus on the screen in front of him—displaying an unpolished picture of the shoes that he shot yesterday, instead.
He wants to, really—they have talked about meeting today, after Dohoon’s work, but they were supposed to meet at a restaurant near HYBE’s old building, the one next to a cheaper one they used to frequent as starving teenagers with pocket money.
Dohoon sighs as he finishes touching up another picture. Bored, he peeks at the unusually quiet spot beside him, where Yuna should have been. Instead, he only sees her things haphazardly sprawled across her desk—she must have followed Gyuvin to that outdoor shot that they’re planning to do today on the rooftop. And Manager Jung is currently in a meeting with their newest client regarding the contracts and whatnot.
Having the entire office to himself, Dohoon’s attention managed to find its way back to his phone, now lying upside down beside his keyboard. He stares at Youngjae’s message
Youngjae: Is it okay if I just pick you up in front of your office this evening?
Dohoon: Nah, it’s fine. I wouldn’t bother you with a detour. We can just meet there.
Dohoon: I have somewhere to stop by anyway.
He does not, obviously. The thought of Choi Youngjae having to see their modest studio above a bakery in a rundown building, tucked in an alleyway far from the nearest open road in Dongmyo, is just not something that Dohoon particularly likes.
Youngjae: Are you sure? I don’t mind the detour.
Youngjae: And I can just wait for you in the car.
In moments like this, it hits Dohoon that they are no longer teenagers who date just because they’re horny and within a meter of each other. Youngjae is making time for them, and he’s actively trying to guide them towards a more deliberate version of their relationship.
And maybe Dohoon has gotten sloppy with his guards, but the thought of getting picked up by Youngjae before their promised dinner is something that he would love to experience. Maybe not in front of his office, though. So he opted for something else.
Dohoon: Can you just pick me up near Itaewon Station at around 5?
He’s doing mental gymnastics for nothing, really. Logically, Dohoon knows that Youngjae probably doesn’t care about where he works. Dohoon happens to like Dongmyo—for all of its old-timey feel, bustling flea markets, and creaky doors—but for now, Dohoon will take every opportunity to use vague wording to his advantage.
Youngjae: Yeah, I can do that.
Youngjae: See you!
Dohoon stares at the center console of Youngjae’s white G80 with the resignation of a man who has somehow stumbled across an entirely different tax bracket.
For once, he thanks his pride for preventing the imagery of Choi Youngjae showing up in front of his office, parking the car near the Yoajung shop that has his fucking face in the window.
He left his office as soon as he finished emailing the results of his work to their client, leaving a still-busy Yuna and Gyuvin without any explanation. He could hear Yuna snorting in the background, saying something along the lines of, ‘Wow, he definitely has a date,’ to Gyuvin, who was sitting across from her.
He threw her a quick middle finger, slamming the door in the process. He could hear Gyuvin screaming about how Dohoon should stop slamming doors, but he couldn’t care less then—he needed to reach Itaewon fast.
But now that he’s sitting politely with his work bag on his lap on the white leather of Youngjae’s car seat, driving across Seoul’s evening traffic, he’s starting to miss the familiar streets of Dongmyo, full of bicycles and street food vendors with no regard for pedestrians’ rights.
Youngjae is still, after all these years, content with sitting in silence. And Dohoon has always been slow to warm up. So despite how easy it is to talk to Youngjae via chat, as soon as Dohoon gets in the car, his mind loses all of its go-to conversation starters.
Dohoon shuffles his feet as Youngjae pulls up at another red light. “So, how’s your day been?”
Youngjae lets out a small chuckle. “Oh, you know… same old, same old. How’s yours?”
“Me too. Same old, same old.” Dohoon nods stiffly, pressing his lips together.
And the conversation dies before Dohoon’s eyes, right as they turn towards the destination.
“Wow, look at what they’ve done to this place,” Dohoon mutters as they sit face to face in one of the private rooms. “To be fair, it’s not like I’ve been here plenty of times.”
Youngjae smiles at the sentence, and it’s the first time Dohoon gets to take a good look at what has become of him, outside of all the cameras and spotlights.
“I wonder why that is?” Youngjae tilts his head, feigning innocence.
Dohoon knows the question is coming. Heck, it is precisely why he was tossing and turning on his bed at 1 am last night. He thought that, well, he’d figure it out later. But now it’s later, and he hasn’t figured shit out.
So instead, he’s hiding his face in a menu book, pretending to contemplate dinner instead of looking at Youngjae in the face. “You know why.”
“I don’t,” Youngjae says. “To this day, I don’t think I have ever heard a clear, conclusive answer to why you suddenly disappeared.”
Dohoon flips the menu book a second time. “I know for a fact that they told you guys why I have to quit.”
“The only thing they mentioned is that it’s related to your health.” Youngjae puts his menu book down.
“Remember how you still went to Everland with Park Seeun that July, even when he transferred to another agency a month before?” Youngjae asks. “Why am I suddenly not your boyfriend after you quit the group?”
That is, admittedly, something that Dohoon never consciously pondered himself.
Back then, their relationship existed as part of being together in the group, and when Dohoon quit training, it was only natural to end things with Youngjae too. Perhaps Dohoon never felt as if there were something substantial hiding beneath all their youthful stupidity and indulgent romance.
After all, most of their great romance chronicles happened as a result of Kim Dohoon’s impulsivity. Choi Youngjae was just a willing participant in Dohoon’s greater-than-life fantasy.
But Youngjae must have felt otherwise, seeing how he is so adamant about reconnecting with him, even almost a decade later.
“We never formally broke up, you know?” Youngjae adds, the corner of his lips rising. “We’re entering our twelfth year this month, Dohoon-ah.”
Dohoon lifts his head—he can feel his face burning red as he looks Youngjae in the eyes. “I’m sorry. I guess I never thought we mattered that much to you.”
Youngjae, for all of his composed facade, sits straighter. He sighs, rubbing his eyes as he grabs the tablet in the middle of the table, submitting their orders as if they’re not in the middle of sorting years of emotional baggage.
He used to do that a lot, too, back when they were eighteen—hiding behind silence in loaded moments. Dohoon doesn’t know what to make of it now that they are trying to rebuild their relationship at twenty-nine.
“I thought my life was ending, you know.” Dohoon starts, seeing as Youngjae has no intention of breaking his silence. He laughs, “Well, not actually ending. But you get what I mean. I was promised this life—I invested years of my life working towards it. I thought being an idol is all that I’ll ever be good for.”
“So, yeah, I cut off contact with you guys because I was fucking embarrassed about being the guy who left the group after being groomed to be the center for 6 years,” Dohoon says. “They thought I’d be the next big thing, Youngjae-yah.”
Even after 8 years of Dohoon’s career as a photographer, he still gets street-cast. He secretly collects those cards, though he has no intention of ever contacting them—maybe as a way to commemorate the road not taken. Maybe to serve as proof that, yes, there is still a place for him there, and people do see something in him.
Dohoon lowers his gaze. “The thing with you, however… I have no excuse. I’m sorry.”
The server enters the room with two bowls of gukbap, along with the side dish and their drinks, and only then does Dohoon feel like he can breathe.
But it doesn’t stay that way for long, though. And the door slides closed, returning all the still air inside the room with it.
Dohoon glances at Youngjae, who has not spoken a word for a while—Youngjae is now sipping his iced tea, staring emptily at the dish before him. He thought that maybe this new Choi Youngjae, who’s brave enough to demand his number during a tiny encounter, would be a little different than the pressured teen Dohoon used to drag around Seoul. But perhaps not even ten years can change someone that drastically.
“I was never that great at saying things, sorry,” Youngjae says, lowering his glass. “I never want to impose, while you always wanted to be read. Weren’t we tragic?”
“Yeah.” Dohoon laughs. In no world would Choi Youngjae admit that ten years ago, so maybe Youngjae has really changed for the better. “Yeah, we were.”
Youngjae looks at Dohoon right in the eyes, looking up as he stirs his gukbap. “Still interested in trying again?”
There’s so much conviction that Dohoon has never seen in Youngjae’s eyes, and Youngjae clearly has been repenting for his past sins.
Dohoon, however, isn’t convinced that he, too, has grown enough to stand side by side with the twenty-nine-year-old Choi Youngjae.
But if this is really where the trajectory of Dohoon’s life differs, he dares to walk the unpaved road.