Archive of Our Own

PROLOGUE.

“Dongmin-ah.”

It was raining hard outside the cafe. It was very dark for four in the afternoon, and everything outside looked sad because of the dark clouds. It was like the sky was crying before the storm took over the cafe.

Donghyun invited Dongmin to the cafe to have a cup of coffee, and something along the lines of Donghyun telling Dongmin that they had to talk.

Dongmin wasn’t too nervous about it—he knew that the two of them had been on edge recently; their fights had led to the two of them not talking to each other for weeks, and all they needed to do to talk again was for Dongmin to reach out and apologize for lashing out. He had been feeling tired recently, and work hadn’t been the kindest to him. He knew Donghyun’s love language was quality time, but with how work had been treating Dongmin, he wasn’t really able to fulfill that promise, that gift to Donghyun.

He’d had a feeling this day would come sooner or later. He knew the next few words that would come out of Donghyun’s mouth. He knew this would happen, but nothing could have prepared him for this day.

Dongmin loves Donghyun, and he thinks he always will, but he’s never really said it out loud properly.

Right now, all Dongmin wants to hear is I love you.

The rain continued to pour outside. It was like it was mourning before Dongmin could even properly hear the words he didn’t want to hear come out of Donghyun’s mouth.

“Dongmin-ah, are you listening to me?” Donghyun asked, his voice gentle as ever. The same voice Dongmin had anchored himself onto for years. It was the same voice that soothed him after nights full of tears because of the hardships Dongmin had gone through.

He cleared his throat and avoided looking Donghyun straight in the eye. “I am.”

The atmosphere around them was usually warm. There was always love when it came to the two of them. Their friends would tell you that they were the definition of the word love itself; they knew how Donghyun serenaded Dongmin into his heart, and they knew how Dongmin opened his to let Donghyun in.

“I think we need to break up.”

Today, somehow, the warm atmosphere seemed to be cold. It wasn’t even because of the rain outside, but because things between them just weren’t right. They both knew it. They both knew they could easily fix it—but to fix it by putting a bandage on top would only open the wound again, which would lead to both of them getting hurt again.

Dongmin knew this was coming. He just didn’t want to face it right now; not when it was pouring outside and knowing that Donghyun had come without an umbrella.

He swallowed, his throat starting to tighten up. He took a deep breath and tried to pretend to be calm about this. “Okay.”

Donghyun’s eyes softened when he noticed, and Dongmin hated that the most. Donghyun could tell him the meanest things to his face right now, but Dongmin could just look into his eyes and fall in love over and over again.

“Are you okay?” Donghyun’s voice started to shake, too.

“No. I’m not,” Dongmin laughed. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. “But I will be.”

“Dongmin-ah…”

“Is that everything? Just the coffee and the breakup?”

The words came out harsher than Dongmin intended. He wished he could take everything back and pretend he had never said them out loud. He wished he didn’t have to see Donghyun’s face when he said that.

Why were they even breaking up if Donghyun still looked hurt by his words, anyway?

Donghyun’s lips parted, but nothing came out. For a moment, the only thing Dongmin could hear was the rain against the windows, loud enough to fill the silence that had settled between them.

He looked at Dongmin like he had just been caught off guard by the question, and somehow, that hurt more than anything else. Dongmin immediately regretted saying it; he lowered his gaze and rubbed his thumb against the side of his coffee cup, pretending that the small movement could somehow make the words disappear.

“You still do,” Donghyun finally said.

Dongmin looked up. “What?”

“I still love you.” Donghyun’s voice cracked, and he quickly looked away. “That’s the problem.”

Dongmin felt his chest tighten. Of all the things Donghyun could have said, that was the one answer he wasn’t prepared for.

“Then why are we doing this?”

Donghyun let out a shaky breath. He looked exhausted now, like he had been carrying this conversation around with him for weeks and had finally run out of strength. “Because loving you isn’t fixing anything anymore.”

Dongmin stared at him. He wanted to argue. He wanted to tell Donghyun that they could fix it, that he could try harder, that he could make time, that he could apologize for every stupid fight they’d had and every night they spent angry at each other. He wanted to promise him everything, anything, if it meant Donghyun would stay.

But the words wouldn’t come.

Dongmin looked down at the coffee that had already started to cool between his hands. “I would’ve tried,” he whispered.

Donghyun’s eyes immediately filled with tears. "I know.”

To other people, this may seem like a calm breakup—but this is one of those breakups that would normally drive you insane. It’s always the calmest heartbreaks that have you crying on your bed for days, because how can a love that was once so strong come to such a calm ending?

Maybe that was what made it hurt the most. There was no screaming, no slammed doors, no cruel words thrown at each other, and no one to blame. There was just two people sitting across from each other in a cafe, quietly accepting that the love they had spent so long building was no longer enough to keep them together.

Dongmin looked at Donghyun one last time. He wanted to memorize everything—the way his eyes softened when he looked at him, the way his hands wrapped around his coffee cup, the little crease between his brows whenever he was trying not to cry. He wanted to hold onto every part of him, even though he knew he had to let him go.

“I really did love you,” Dongmin whispered.

Donghyun smiled, though his eyes were still full of tears. “I know.”

And that was all they could give each other.

The rain had started to quiet down outside. Donghyun stood first, picking up his things and putting on the jacket he had left hanging on the back of his chair. Dongmin watched him do it, his chest aching with every small movement, because he knew this was the last time he would ever watch Donghyun leave as his boyfriend.

Donghyun stopped by the door, his hand resting against the handle as if some small, foolish part of him was still waiting for a reason to turn around, and for a second, Dongmin thought he might—he thought maybe Donghyun would look at him one last time, say his name, and somehow undo everything they had just said. But Donghyun didn’t turn around; he opened the door, and the cold air from outside slipped into the cafe before he stepped into the rain, leaving Dongmin sitting there with nothing but the sound of the door closing behind him and the quiet realization that this was really it. Dongmin stayed where he was, staring at the empty seat across from him as his coffee slowly went cold, the rain outside growing quieter as if the sky had finally finished crying for them, and for the first time in years, he was completely, painfully alone.

“I love you,” he whispered, even though Donghyun was already gone. He had finally said it out loud; just not to him.

IF DONGMIN EVER FINDS LOVE AGAIN, he hopes that they’ll allow him to open his heart in front of them.

There was this one time when Dongmin fought with his parents because he didn’t agree with the choices they were making for themselves. They were getting older, but they still had that young mindset people their age had, and Dongmin couldn’t help but worry about them more than he probably should have. He always promised that he’d take care of their expenses, especially now that he had a stable job that paid well, but his parents kept insisting that they could take care of themselves.

After the phone call ended, after all the arguing and slightly raised voices, Dongmin stayed where he was and quietly cried into his arms. He was frustrated, overwhelmed, and tired; he was the oldest in the family, and the pressure had always been on him, because he had spent years promising his parents that he’d be there when they got older, and now that they were, he had been trying his best to take care of them.

But people get more stubborn as they get older.

His parents kept telling him that they’d be okay, that they wouldn’t die just because he didn’t help them, which only pissed him off more. The topic of death coming from his own parents made his heart hurt in a way he couldn’t explain, because he couldn’t really imagine his life without them, especially when they had been such huge parts of his and his siblings’ lives. They were the first people to know about his relationship with Donghyun, and they were the first people to understand why Dongmin was the way he was with him.

While he was crying quietly in the corner, he felt a hand rest on his shoulder. The pressure was enough to ground him a little—his breathing slowed, even if the tears were still streaming down his face, and if he were in a better headspace right now, he’d probably push Donghyun away and tell him that he was fine, that he didn’t need to be comforted because he had grown up learning how to comfort himself, especially in moments like this.

Dongmin hoped that Donghyun hadn’t heard the argument with his parents. He didn’t want Donghyun to see this side of him, especially when his emotions were this high and he didn’t even know how to make sense of everything he was feeling.

“Dongmin-ah,” Donghyun gently said, soothing his back. He didn’t force anything out of him, not now.

Dongmin’s breath hitched at the gentleness. He didn’t look up; he didn’t want Donghyun to see how frustrated he was right now, how much he was struggling to hold himself together.

“I’m sorry…” he said out loud, his voice still shaky, his emotions pretty much all over the place.

Donghyun only shook his head. “No, don’t be sorry. Don’t apologize.”

Dongmin finally let out a quiet sob, his shoulders trembling underneath Donghyun’s hand. He hated how easily Donghyun could get through all the walls he had spent years building around himself, how a single touch from him could make Dongmin feel safe enough to fall apart when he had spent so much of his life convincing himself that he had to be strong.

“I’m supposed to take care of them,” Dongmin whispered, his voice barely audible. “I promised them.”

“I know.”

“But what if something happens?” His voice cracked. “What if one day they’re not here anymore and I—” He stopped himself, unable to finish the sentence.

Donghyun’s hand moved slowly up his back, gentle and steady. “Then you’ll deal with that day when it comes. You don’t have to lose them before you’ve even lost them.”

Dongmin closed his eyes. For once, he let himself lean into someone else, allowing the weight he had been carrying for years to settle somewhere other than his own shoulders, even if only for a little while. He didn’t have to explain why he was crying, didn’t have to apologize for being overwhelmed, and didn’t have to pretend that everything was okay just because he was the oldest and everyone had grown accustomed to seeing him as the person who always knew what to do. 

Maybe that was what Dongmin wanted love to feel like—not someone who expected him to always have the answers, not someone who needed him to be strong all the time, but someone who could sit beside him when he was falling apart and quietly remind him that he didn’t have to put himself back together alone. Someone who could look at him in his most frustrated, exhausted, and vulnerable moments and still choose to stay beside him without asking him to become easier to love. And maybe that was the kind of love Dongmin had always wanted, even if he had never known how to put it into words. Because sometimes, love wasn’t about finding someone who could save you from everything—it was about finding someone who could sit with you through the things you couldn’t fix. 

Donghyun would have waited for hours for Dongmin to calm down, giving him all the time he needed to let everything out without ever rushing him. He would listen to Dongmin vent about his frustrations, letting him go through every thought that had been weighing heavily on his mind without interrupting his train of thought or telling him that he was overreacting. He would’ve been the steady anchor Dongmin needed in that very moment, the person he could hold on to when everything around him felt too overwhelming, the person who would stay until the heavy feeling in his chest slowly began to disappear. He wouldn’t ask Dongmin to stop crying or tell him to calm down, because he knew that sometimes, Dongmin just needed someone willing to sit beside him and let him feel everything he had been trying so hard to keep inside.

Dongmin could talk about his parents, his responsibilities, his fears, and all the things he was too afraid to say out loud, and Donghyun would still be there, listening to every word as if none of it was too much for him to carry. Maybe that was why Dongmin always felt safest around him, because with Donghyun, he didn’t have to be the oldest son who had everything figured out, or the person everyone depended on, or the one who was always supposed to be strong. He could simply be Dongmin, someone who was tired and scared and overwhelmed, and Donghyun would still hold his hand through it all until he felt like himself again.

Maybe, in moments like this, Dongmin didn’t need someone to fix anything for him.

He didn’t need someone to tell him that everything would magically be okay, or give him an answer to a problem that didn’t really have one. He just needed Donghyun to be there, quietly reminding him that he wasn’t alone, even when the weight of everything made him feel like he was carrying the entire world on his shoulders. And Donghyun would stay, even if it took hours, even if Dongmin repeated himself, even if his voice cracked halfway through a sentence and he had to stop just to breathe. He would listen to every single word because he knew that sometimes being loved meant having someone who was willing to sit through the silence after the words were gone. Dongmin was always so, so lucky to have Donghyun as his boyfriend.

Dongmin never realized just how much those little moments meant until much later—Donghyun never made a big deal out of comforting him; he never treated Dongmin’s tears like something embarrassing or inconvenient, and he never made him feel like he was asking for too much simply because he needed someone to stay. He would just sit beside him, shoulder pressed against his, letting the silence exist whenever Dongmin ran out of things to say, his hand occasionally squeezing Dongmin’s just enough to remind him that he was still there.

Sometimes, Dongmin would look at him through blurry eyes and wonder how someone could be so patient with him. He had spent so much of his life believing that being strong meant handling everything on his own, that needing someone was something he should be ashamed of, and that asking for comfort meant admitting that he had failed somehow. But Donghyun never saw it that way; to him, Dongmin crying wasn’t weakness, and Dongmin needing someone wasn’t a burden, it was simply Dongmin being human.

And maybe that was why Dongmin loved him as much as he did; because Donghyun never asked him to become someone else just to be easier to love. He loved the stubborn Dongmin, the tired Dongmin, the frustrated Dongmin, and even the Dongmin who sometimes didn’t know how to explain what was wrong. He loved the version of him that could laugh until his stomach hurt and the version that needed to sit quietly in someone's arms until the world stopped feeling so overwhelming.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Donghyun whispered. He was sitting beside Dongmin now, letting Dongmin rest his face against his shoulder while his hand remained gently placed against his back.

There were so many things Dongmin wanted to say, but none of them seemed to be coming out of his mouth. His head still felt loud, like there were too many thoughts fighting to be heard at the same time, and somehow, it also felt so light that he couldn’t properly gather any of them into words. He felt a little dizzy from crying, his eyes heavy and his breathing still uneven, but Donghyun stayed right there beside him, quiet and patient, letting Dongmin take as much time as he needed to find the energy to speak.

“It’s really just… frustrating…” Dongmin finally whispered, his voice still shaky as he spoke. “I’m just fulfilling the promise I told them when I was younger, and… I don’t know—the… the moment they mentioned death just did something to me…”

Donghyun didn’t interrupt, he only rubbed his back slowly, letting Dongmin know that he was listening.

“I know they’re adults,” Dongmin continued, swallowing hard as he tried to organize his thoughts. “I know they can make their own decisions, and I know I can’t just keep telling them what to do because I’m scared something might happen, but… I just want them to be okay. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

Donghyun’s hand paused for a second before gently continuing its movement against his back.

“And when they said that they’ll be fine, that they won’t just disappear because I’m not there to take care of everything, I know they were trying to reassure me.” Dongmin laughed quietly, though there was no humor behind it. “But hearing them talk about it like that just made me realize that they’re getting older, and I hate that I can’t stop time.”

Donghyun finally turned his head slightly, looking down at him. “You don’t have to stop time,” he whispered.

“I know.”

“You don’t have to carry every possibility before it even happens.”

Dongmin stayed quiet. His fingers slowly curled around the fabric of Donghyun’s sleeve, holding onto him a little tighter as the heaviness in his chest returned.

“I just don’t want to regret anything,” he whispered. “I don’t want to look back one day and think that I should’ve done more.”

Donghyun looked at him for a moment before gently resting his cheek against the top of Dongmin’s head. “You’re already doing so much.”

And somehow, those five words were enough to make Dongmin’s eyes fill with tears again. Not because Donghyun had said anything extraordinary, but because he was the first person in a long time who made Dongmin feel like what he was doing was already enough.

Dongmin closed his eyes and let himself lean further into him. For once, he didn’t try to hold himself together; he just let Donghyun hold him instead.

IF DONGMIN FINDS LOVE AGAIN, he hopes they’ll listen to him nerd out about music and his favorite bands.

After Dongmin got his favorite LPs from a store nearby, he could barely contain his excitement, especially when he finally found the live versions of the records he had been wanting for so long. The thought of hearing Liam Gallagher’s live voice by his bedside before he went to sleep made him smile brighter than he had in a while, and he couldn’t stop himself from talking about it the entire walk home.

Donghyun followed him around the store and listened to whatever vinyls Dongmin told him to listen to because, according to Dongmin, it sounds better from the vinyl rather than a cheap speaker we find online.

Donghyun didn’t really understand what made one version sound better than another, but he listened anyway. He listened as Dongmin explained why the live recording sounded different, why certain albums felt better when played from an actual record, and why the little imperfections in a live performance were what made it feel more real to him. Dongmin would go on these long, passionate tangents about bands, albums, singers, and the smallest details that most people probably wouldn’t even notice, and Donghyun would just watch him with a quiet smile because seeing Dongmin get this excited about something was enough for him.

Sometimes, Dongmin would catch himself talking for way too long and immediately stop.

“Sorry,” he’d mumble, suddenly embarrassed. “I’m rambling again.”

And Donghyun would only shake his head. “You’re not.”

Because to him, it was never just music—it was Dongmin talking about something he loved with that little spark in his eyes, his hands moving as he tried to explain what he was hearing, his voice getting louder whenever he reached the part of a song he really liked. It was watching someone he loved become completely absorbed in something that made him happy, and Donghyun would listen to every single word even if he had heard the same story three times before.

Maybe that was what Dongmin wanted love to be, too. Someone who wouldn’t make him feel embarrassed for being excited about the things he loved, someone who would let him ramble; even when his explanations got too specific and his thoughts started going in ten different directions at once. It’s someone who would sit beside him late at night while the record played softly in the background, listening to Dongmin talk about his favorite bands until his voice slowly became quieter and sleep started taking over, and someone who would never make him feel like the things that made him happy were too much.

“It’s just—Liam Gallagher’s voice just sounds different, you know?” Dongmin continued, his excitement making his words come out faster. “And—it’s also the thought of how comforting it is to listen to it from the record itself because there’s this little sound from the record itself, and it just brings so much comfort. You know that comforting sound that comes from the vinyl whenever we listen to Sinatra? It’s exactly that!”

Donghyun looked at him and smiled. He always found it so intimate when someone talked to him about their own interests like this. There was something incredibly special about watching someone get excited enough to forget that they were supposed to be embarrassed about how much they knew, because they trusted you enough to let you see that side of them. It was like Dongmin was quietly telling him, I trust you enough to let you see what makes me happy, and Donghyun knew that, in its own way, this was Dongmin telling him I love you.

Because Donghyun did the exact same thing. He would nerd Dongmin’s ears off whenever it came to biology, especially when it came to fish, and Dongmin would sit there listening to him talk about them even when he probably understood absolutely nothing. Donghyun could spend an entire evening explaining some random fish fact he had recently learned, going off on completely unnecessary tangents about their behavior, habitats, or biology, and Dongmin would still listen because he knew that this was Donghyun’s version of saying, I want to share this with you.

Maybe that was why Donghyun never got tired of listening to him; love wasn’t always some grand confession or a perfectly written letter or a dramatic moment where someone finally said everything they had been keeping inside. Sometimes, love was simply sitting beside someone while they talked endlessly about the things that made their eyes light up, even if you didn’t understand every word they were saying.

Sometimes, love was remembering that Dongmin liked the little crackling sound of vinyl, it was knowing which Sinatra record made him feel the most comfortable, it was listening to him explain why Liam Gallagher sounded better through an old record player than through some cheap speaker he found online, and it was Donghyun talking about fish for twenty minutes while Dongmin listened with the same patient smile.

Neither of them had to say I love you; they had already been saying it in their own ways all along.

And maybe that was the kind of love Dongmin had been looking for all along, it’s not someone who would simply tolerate the things he loved, but someone who would remember them. Someone who would hear a song playing somewhere and think of him, who would see a record store and immediately wonder if there was something Dongmin would like, who would know that the tiny crackling sound from an old vinyl could make him feel strangely safe.

Because being loved, Dongmin was slowly realizing, was also being known—it wasn’t just knowing his favorite songs or his favorite bands, but it’s knowing the little things he probably never thought were important enough to say out loud. Knowing that he liked listening to music before bed, that he replayed certain records whenever he was having a difficult day, that sometimes he just wanted someone to sit beside him without asking him to explain why he was quiet.

Donghyun knew. maybe not all at once, and maybe not perfectly, but he was learning him in the same way Dongmin was learning him through fish facts and vinyl records, late-night conversations and stupid little tangents, and the things they said without realizing they were saying them.

Every time they went to a vinyl store, they’d go to the aquarium, too.

For Dongmin, if he was going to spend an entire afternoon nerding out about his favorite bands, his favorite songs, and the little details in music that made him fall in love with it in the first place, then he wanted to hear Donghyun do the exact same thing. He wanted to listen to Donghyun ramble about his favorite fish and how they lived in the wild, where they came from, how they behaved, and all the little things about them that Donghyun somehow knew by heart. More than that, he wanted to watch him while he talked—the way Donghyun’s eyes would immediately get brighter whenever he spotted one of his favorite fish swimming across the glass, the way his face would soften whenever one came closer, and the little smile that would appear whenever he realized the fish had stopped near him.

Dongmin would always joke that Donghyun was basically a Disney princess.

“Why do they keep coming to you?” Dongmin would ask, laughing as another fish swam closer to the glass where Donghyun was standing. “Do you have, like, a secret fish language or something?”

Donghyun would roll his eyes, but he’d still be smiling. “They don't come to me.”

“They do.”

“They just happen to be swimming this way.”

“That fish literally followed you.”

And Donghyun would laugh, shaking his head as he moved to another tank, only for another fish to swim toward him again.

“See?” Dongmin would say immediately. “Disney princess.”

But secretly, Dongmin loved it. He loved watching Donghyun become so completely absorbed in something he cared about, just like Donghyun loved watching him get excited over a new record. There was something comforting about knowing that they could spend an entire day going from one thing they loved to another, taking turns saying, Look at this, and Did you know this? and You have to listen to this, without ever feeling like they were talking too much.

Maybe that was their version of a date.

And somewhere in between, the two of them walking side by side, carrying a record in one hand and pointing excitedly at fish with the other, both of them getting to say, in their own little ways, I want you to know why I love this.

Maybe that was what made these little trips so special to them. Dongmin would get to talk about music until he ran out of things to say, and Donghyun would get to talk about fish until he ran out of things to say, and neither of them ever had to wonder if the other person was actually listening. They were, because they knew that listening was part of loving someone; remembering the things they loved, asking questions about them, and letting them get excited without ever making them feel like they were being too much.

The vinyl store was Dongmin saying, I want to share the things that make me happy with you. 

The aquarium was Donghyun saying, I want to share the things that make me happy with you, too.

And somewhere between the records and the fish tanks, the endless rambling and the stupid Disney princess jokes, the two of them were constantly saying the same thing without ever having to say it out loud.

I love you.

In other words, this was their version of saying I love you when they weren't saying it out loud.

IF DONGMIN FINDS LOVE AGAIN, he hopes they’ll understand why he is the way he is.

Since Dongmin is the oldest in his family, he puts too much pressure on himself. He wants his younger brother to idolize him, and he wants his youngest sister to grow up knowing that she should never settle for less. He always tried to be the good example for his siblings, the person they could rely on whenever they needed him. He always wanted to be the son his parents could brag about at family reunions whenever he wasn’t there.

Because he puts so much pressure on himself, there are times when he doesn’t even realize that he’s slowly damaging himself.

To love Dongmin is to understand why he is the way he is, and sometimes, understanding that can take a very long time. But Donghyun understood it only a few months into their relationship.

Donghyun was good at reading people. He could understand body language easily, notice the smallest changes in someone's expression, and read the room almost immediately after stepping into it. A few months into their relationship, when they were still learning how to love each other, Donghyun began noticing the subtle change in Dongmin whenever he talked about his achievements and his family. His voice would change, his smile would become a little more restrained, and somehow, the things he was supposed to be proud of always sounded like things he had simply done because he was supposed to.

It took Donghyun a while to understand what he was seeing. Dongmin didn't really know the difference between enjoying something and doing something because it would make his family proud. He knew how to succeed, he knew how to be responsible, he knew how to become the person everyone could depend on, but he wasn't always sure if he knew how to ask himself what he actually wanted.

“Hey,” Donghyun would say the moment he started noticing Dongmin slowly shutting down in front of him. “What’s going on?”

“No, it’s nothing—sorry.”

Donghyun never believed that.

A few months into their relationship, they were still learning about each other as lovers, still figuring out the little things that made the other person tick, but he already understood how to read Dongmin like an open book. He knew when Dongmin was genuinely tired and when he was pretending to be fine, knew when his smile was real and when it was something he put on because he didn't want anyone asking questions. This was not nothing; there was definitely something going on inside Dongmin’s head, but he just didn't know how to open up about it yet.

So Donghyun didn't push. He didn't ask again or corner him with questions or tell him that he had to talk about it. He simply stayed beside him, close enough for Dongmin to know he wasn't alone, but far enough that he could still breathe. And after a moment, when Dongmin finally glanced at him with that familiar look of someone who wanted to say something but didn't know how, Donghyun simply smiled and said, “You don't have to tell me right now.”

That was when Dongmin looked away, that somehow made it harder; not because Donghyun was demanding an explanation, but because he wasn't.

Dongmin was so used to believing that being loved meant being useful, being dependable, being the person who always had an answer. He was used to fixing things before anyone could notice they were broken, swallowing his worries before they became someone else's problem, and turning every difficult feeling into something he could simply deal with. He didn't know what to do with someone who was willing to sit beside him and let him be quiet.

And Donghyun was willing to wait. Understanding someone wasn't about knowing every answer immediately.

And maybe that was the first time Dongmin realized that Donghyun wasn't asking him to perform being okay.

He didn't have to make himself smile just because Donghyun was there. He didn't have to turn whatever was bothering him into a funny story or brush it off with a quiet I'm fine just to keep the evening from becoming heavy. Donghyun wasn't going to think less of him for being overwhelmed, and he wasn't going to love him any less simply because Dongmin didn't know how to explain what was happening inside his head.

It took Dongmin a while to understand that. For so long, he had thought that being the oldest meant he had to know what to do. His siblings looked up to him, his parents trusted him, and somewhere along the way, he had convinced himself that being a good son and a good brother meant never letting anyone see him struggle. Even when he was exhausted, he would tell himself that there were other people who needed him more, that he could rest later, that he could deal with his own feelings once everything else was taken care of.

Donghyun noticed. He noticed every time Dongmin apologized for being tired. He noticed how quickly Dongmin changed the subject whenever someone asked if he was okay. He noticed how uncomfortable he became whenever someone praised him too much, almost as if he was already thinking about what he needed to accomplish next to deserve that praise again.

And slowly, Donghyun began learning that loving Dongmin meant reminding him that he didn't have to earn his place in people's lives.

“You know you don't have to be impressive all the time, right?” Donghyun would tell him one evening, almost casually.

Dongmin would laugh because he didn't know what else to do. “I'm not.”

“You are.”

“I'm really not.”

“You're doing it right now.”

That would make Dongmin go quiet.

Donghyun wasn't teasing him; he was looking at him with that same patient expression he always had whenever he noticed something Dongmin wasn't ready to say out loud.

“You don't have to be the best son,” Donghyun continued softly. “You don't have to be the best brother. You don't have to be the person everyone brags about. You can just be Dongmin, my Dongmin.”

To love Dongmin is to understand him.

It was understanding why he checked on his siblings even when he was exhausted. It was understanding why he felt guilty whenever he couldn't help his family, why he took every compliment as another standard he had to live up to, why he always felt like he had to have his life together even when he was quietly falling apart. It was understanding that sometimes when Dongmin said he was tired, he wasn't just talking about sleep.

Donghyun didn't love the version of Dongmin who could do everything; he loved Dongmin. He loved he son who worried too much. The older brother who tried too hard. The person who carried responsibilities that weren't always his to carry and convinced himself he was supposed to be strong enough for all of them.

To love Dongmin is to understand him.

There was another memory that stayed with Dongmin—a family dinner, and he had invited Donghyun for the first time, even though he already knew his relatives wouldn’t be too happy to find out that the golden son of the Han family had a boyfriend.

Dongmin had spent the entire afternoon worrying about it. He kept telling himself that it would be fine, that his family would eventually get used to it, that maybe he was overthinking everything. But every time he looked at Donghyun sitting beside him in the car, he could feel that familiar knot forming in his stomach. He knew exactly what his relatives would ask, exactly what kind of comments might be made, and exactly how quickly the room could become uncomfortable if someone decided to remind him of the person they thought he was supposed to be.

“You don't have to come,” Dongmin had said quietly before they walked inside.

Donghyun looked at him. “Do you want me to?”

Dongmin hesitated. “Yeah.”

“Then I'm coming.”

Donghyun didn't ask him to defend their relationship. He didn't make some grand promise that everything would be okay, because he knew neither of them could guarantee that. He simply reached for Dongmin's hand and squeezed it once, as if to remind him, I'm here because you asked me to be.

The dinner itself wasn't terrible, although it wasn't too easy, either.

There were questions about school, work, their future, and eventually, inevitably, questions about Donghyun. Dongmin watched the way his relatives looked at them, watched the small pauses between questions, the careful way some of them chose their words. He could feel himself slipping into that familiar role again—the good son, the polite grandson, the person who smiled and nodded even when something hurt.

But Donghyun noticed. Underneath the table, Donghyun quietly nudged his knee against Dongmin's.

Dongmin looked at him, and Donghyun didn't say anything; he didn't need to. It was the same thing he'd been telling him all along. You don't have to pretend with me.

Maybe that was another part of loving Dongmin, it was understanding that sometimes, he would walk into a room already carrying the weight of everyone else's expectations, it was also understanding that sometimes, he would smile because he had spent his entire life learning how to, and understanding that when Dongmin finally stopped pretending, he didn't need to be fixed.

He just needed someone who would stay.

To love Dongmin is to understand him.

IF DONGMIN FINDS LOVE AGAIN, he hopes they’ll give him time to talk after an argument.

Dongmin finds feelings hard to navigate sometimes.

There would be days where he’d be the reason why it would take time for the two of them to talk again after an argument. Arguments used to scare the fuck out of Dongmin, especially when they ended with words they never meant to say to each other. He hated how quickly anger could turn into something sharper, how one sentence could hurt more than either of them intended, and how difficult it became to figure out what he was actually feeling when everything inside him was happening at once.

“I don’t understand myself sometimes, okay?!” Dongmin would yell. “Sometimes I wish you’d just be quiet and understand that I need time to myself!”

And every time, he’d see Donghyun get hurt. It would only break his own heart more, but he’d be too angry to calm down, too overwhelmed to take back what he said, too caught up in the moment to explain that what he meant wasn't leave me, but please give me a second to understand what I'm feeling before I say something I'll regret.

So sometimes, Dongmin would walk away. He'd sit somewhere alone and replay the argument over and over in his head, remembering every word, every expression on Donghyun's face, every moment where he could have chosen a different sentence. The anger would eventually fade, leaving behind the guilt, and the guilt would eventually turn into that familiar fear that maybe he'd ruined everything this time.

But Donghyun learned not to chase him, not because he didn't care, and not because he wanted to leave him alone forever, but because he understood that Dongmin needed time to untangle everything inside his head before he could explain it to someone else.

There was one fight neither of them forgot. It started over something neither of them could remember properly anymore. Maybe that was the worst part. It wasn't some enormous betrayal or some unforgivable mistake; it was a collection of small things that had been piling up for weeks, frustrations neither of them had said out loud because they kept telling themselves they could handle it. Then one night, something finally snapped.

“You're fucking lying to me.”

Dongmin froze. “What?”

“You heard me.”

“No, I didn't lie to you.”

“Yes, you did!”

“I didn't!” Dongmin shouted back, his voice already cracking. “Why the hell would I lie to you about that?”

“Because you keep doing this!” Donghyun yelled. “You tell me you're fine, you tell me nothing's wrong, and then you act like I'm supposed to magically know what's happening in your head!”

“Because every time I try to tell you, you make it about yourself!”

Donghyun stared at him. “What?”

“You heard me.”

“No, I want you to say that again.”

“I said you make everything about yourself!”

“That's bullshit!”

“Then what the hell do you call this?!”

“I call it trying to understand you!” Donghyun shouted, tears already spilling down his face. “I'm trying to understand you, Dongmin, and you keep shutting me out and then getting angry at me for not knowing what you need!”

“Because I shouldn't have to explain every single fucking thing!”

“Then what do you want me to do?!”

“I don't know!”

“Exactly!”

Dongmin's chest was rising and falling too quickly. His eyes burned, his throat hurt, and he hated that he was crying because somehow the tears only made him angrier. “You don't understand me.”

Donghyun went quiet for half a second. Then he laughed, except there was nothing funny about it. “Maybe I don't.”

“Maybe you never did.”

The words landed harder than either of them expected.

Donghyun wiped his face with the back of his hand, staring at him like he was trying to recognize the person standing in front of him. “You know what? Maybe you're right.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

“You're always doing this!”

“Doing what?”

“Acting like you're the only one who's hurting!”

“And you're acting like you're the only one trying!”

“I am trying!”

“So am I!”

“Then why does it feel like I'm the only one fighting for us?!”

“Because you don't fucking see me!” Dongmin yelled, his voice breaking completely. “You don't see how hard I'm trying to keep everything together!”

“And you don't see how hard I'm trying to stay beside you!”

For a moment, neither of them said anything. They were both crying now, both breathing heavily, both too angry and too hurt to take back what had already been said.

Then Dongmin whispered, “I don't even recognize you anymore.”

Donghyun's face crumpled. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “I don't recognize you, either.”

And that was the moment the anger finally started turning into regret. It wasn't because either of them had stopped being angry, but because beneath all that rage was the awful realization that they had managed to hurt the one person they had been trying so desperately not to lose.

They would both remember those words later.

Liar.

You don't understand me.

I don't recognize you anymore.

Words that had never been true when they were calm, but had felt painfully real in the heat of the moment. When two people love each other deeply enough, an argument isn't about wanting to hurt each other. Sometimes it's two scared people trying to be understood at the same time, both speaking too loudly because they're terrified the other person won't hear them.

And later, when the anger was gone and all that remained was the exhaustion, they would both realize the same thing.

When Dongmin got into his car after slamming the door of Donghyun’s apartment, he dropped his face into his hands and just cried. The anger that had kept him standing only a few minutes ago was gone, leaving behind nothing but exhaustion, guilt, and the horrible realization of what he had said. He kept hearing Donghyun’s voice in his head, kept remembering the look on his face, and no matter how many times Dongmin told himself that he had been angry, he knew that didn't excuse any of it. He stayed there for a long time, crying into his hands until he could barely breathe through the weight of everything he had just done.

It took them about five days to talk again.

Dongmin would open their messages, stare at Donghyun's name, type something, delete it, lock his phone, and then repeat the same thing an hour later. He wanted to apologize, but every apology he came up with felt too small for what he had said, and every attempt to explain himself sounded like an excuse. He missed Donghyun so badly that there were moments when his hand would instinctively reach for his phone just to send him something stupid, only for the memory of their last conversation to stop him. I don't even recognize you anymore.

Donghyun wasn't doing much better. He'd catch himself looking at his phone whenever a notification came in, hoping it was Dongmin even though he knew it probably wouldn't be. He'd replay the argument too, remembering the things he had yelled, the way Dongmin's voice broke, the moment they both stopped sounding like themselves. More than anything, he hated that their last conversation had ended with both of them believing things that weren't true.

The silence was agonizing.

Five days had never felt so long.

Dongmin had gotten used to hearing from Donghyun every day, even if it was something stupid, something as simple as a picture of something he saw on the way to work or a message asking if he had eaten yet. Now, his phone could stay quiet for hours, and every time it did, Dongmin felt that awful emptiness settle deeper into his chest. He missed him in all the smallest ways—the sound of his voice, the stupid little comments he would make, the way he would send him something completely unrelated just because it reminded him of Dongmin.

And the worst part was knowing that Donghyun was probably feeling the same thing.

There were moments when Dongmin would almost convince himself that he should leave things alone. Maybe Donghyun needed time. Maybe he needed time. Maybe five days wasn't that long after everything they had said to each other, and maybe forcing a conversation before either of them was ready would only make things worse. But then night would come, and Dongmin would lie in bed staring at the ceiling, remembering Donghyun's face when he said, Maybe I don't recognize you either, and the loneliness would become unbearable.

Donghyun was going through the same thing. He missed Dongmin so much that it became almost embarrassing. He'd reach for his phone without thinking, open their messages, and stare at their last conversation until his eyes hurt. Sometimes he'd scroll upward just to see their old messages, little conversations that had meant nothing at the time but suddenly felt precious now. He'd see Dongmin complaining about something stupid, sending him a picture of his dinner, asking if he wanted to go somewhere that weekend, and he'd have to put his phone down because the realization that he couldn't simply answer anymore hurt too much.

Neither of them knew how to break the silence. They were both waiting for the other person to make the first move, both terrified that reaching out would mean admitting that they were the one who cared more, even though neither of them actually believed that. Pride had nothing to do with it anymore. It was fear. Fear that the other person had meant every word. Fear that five days of silence had changed something between them. Fear that maybe this time, the apology wouldn't be enough.

It was raining when Dongmin finally decided to walk to Donghyun's apartment. He didn't care about his clothes getting soaked or about the possibility of waking up sick the next morning; he just walked, letting the rain soak through everything as he tried to gather enough courage to say what he should have said five days ago. He wanted to fix this, wanted to stand in front of Donghyun and tell him that he didn't mean any of it—that he didn't mean that Donghyun didn't understand him, that he didn't recognize him, that he wasn't trying, because none of those things were true. He loved him, and the thought of letting five days of silence become the thing that finally separated them terrified him more than the rain ever could.

By the time he reached the apartment building, his clothes were completely soaked, his hair was dripping onto his forehead, and his hands were shaking from the cold. He stood underneath the entrance awning for a moment, staring at the familiar windows above him, suddenly wondering if this had been a terrible idea. What if Donghyun didn't want to see him? What if he opened the door and looked at Dongmin the same way he had five days ago? What if five days had been enough for him to decide that maybe they really were better apart?

Dongmin almost turned around, but then he remembered the silence. He remembered how unbearable it had been to wake up every morning knowing that the person he loved was somewhere out there, probably hurting just as much as he was, and neither of them was doing anything about it. So he walked inside, took the elevator upstairs, and stood in front of Donghyun's door with his heart pounding against his ribs.

For a few seconds, he just stared at it, then knocked onto the door.

Nothing.

Dongmin swallowed, and knocked again, quieter this time.

“Donghyun?”

The door opened slowly.

Donghyun stood there in an old shirt and sweatpants, his hair messy, his expression immediately changing when he saw who was standing outside. His eyes dropped to Dongmin's soaked clothes before slowly returning to his face, and for a moment, neither of them said anything.

“Why are you wet?” Donghyun finally asked.

Dongmin's lips trembled. “Because I walked here.”

“You walked?”

Dongmin nodded.

“In the rain?”

Another nod.

Donghyun stared at him, disbelief slowly giving way to something softer, something that looked dangerously close to tears. “You're an idiot,” he whispered.

“I know.” Dongmin's voice broke. “I know, and I'm sorry.”

Donghyun looked away, pressing his lips together as his eyes filled.

“I didn't mean any of it,” Dongmin continued, his voice shaking now. “I didn't mean that you didn't understand me. I didn't mean that I didn't recognize you. I didn't mean that you weren't trying. I was angry, and I was scared, and I didn't know how to say what I was actually feeling, so I said the worst things I could think of.”

Donghyun's eyes finally met his again. “And I shouldn't have said those things either,” he whispered.

Dongmin shook his head immediately. “You were hurt.”

“So were you.”

“I hurt you.”

Donghyun's expression softened, and for a moment, he just looked at him standing there, completely soaked from head to toe, looking exhausted and miserable. He sighed quietly before stepping aside, opening the door a little wider.

“Get in,” he said. “You might get sick.”

Dongmin stood there for another second, almost like he couldn't believe Donghyun was still letting him inside.

Then he stepped through the doorway, and the door closed behind him, and for the first time in five days, neither of them was alone with the silence anymore.

Donghyun sighed, then disappeared into his bedroom before coming back with a clean towel and a change of warm clothes. “Here,” he said, handing them to Dongmin. “Go change before you actually get sick.” 

Dongmin took them with shaky hands, still trying to explain himself between breaths, telling Donghyun that he had been overwhelmed, that he didn't know how to handle everything he was feeling, and that none of the things he said during the fight were what he truly believed. Donghyun listened while quietly gathering another towel for his hair, making sure Dongmin had everything he needed before finally sitting down across from him.

“I should've told you I needed space instead of yelling at you,” he said, his voice quieter now. “I should've told you that I was scared and overwhelmed instead of making you feel like you were the problem.” He rubbed his hands together, staring down at the floor as the tears started coming again. “You were never the problem, Donghyun. You were just trying to understand me, and I made you feel like loving me was some kind of mistake.”

Donghyun's expression immediately softened. “Hey,” he said quietly.

Dongmin looked up.

“Don't say that.”

“But it's true.”

“No,” Donghyun said, shaking his head. “It isn't.”

Dongmin swallowed hard, wiping his face with the towel Donghyun had given him. “I was so angry that I forgot who I was talking to,” he whispered. “I forgot that you were the person I love.”

Donghyun looked down for a moment, his fingers tightening around the edge of the towel in his lap. “And I forgot that you weren't trying to hurt me,” he finally admitted. “I was so hurt that I started believing every awful thing you said.”

“I didn't mean them.”

Donghyun nodded. “I know you didn't mean them.”

And somehow, hearing that made Dongmin cry harder.

Donghyun reached over and gently pushed the towel toward him again. “Dry your hair first,” he murmured. “You can cry after.”

A broken laugh escaped Dongmin through his tears. “You're still taking care of me.”

“Of course I am.”

“Even after everything?”

Donghyun looked at him for a long moment.

“Especially after everything.”

And that was when Dongmin finally understood that the five days of silence hadn't meant that Donghyun stopped loving him. It meant they had both been hurt, both needed time, and both had been desperately waiting for someone to finally say, I'm still here.

IF DONGMIN FINDS LOVE AGAIN, he hopes they love him gently.

If you asked their friends what love looked like, they’d always point to Dongmin and Donghyun.

Their love isn’t big on grand gestures or public displays; their love exists in the quiet and gentle touches, in the soft-spoken words, in the little things they do for each other without ever needing to be asked. It lives in Donghyun fixing Dongmin’s collar before they leave the house, in Dongmin remembering exactly how Donghyun likes his coffee, in the way they instinctively reach for each other’s hands underneath the table. It was something that only belonged to the both of them, something they never felt the need to explain to anyone else.

Donghyun loved Dongmin gently. He never made him feel like he had to be louder to be heard or bigger to be loved. When Dongmin was tired, Donghyun let him be tired; when he was quiet, he never forced words out of him; when Dongmin needed reassurance, Donghyun gave it without making him feel guilty for asking. There was no expectation that Dongmin had to earn the softness he received from him.

And Dongmin loved Donghyun the same way. He listened to every story about fish even when he didn't understand half of what Donghyun was talking about. He remembered the little things Donghyun mentioned once and forgot he'd ever told him. He'd reach over during a movie just to squeeze his hand, or quietly leave his favorite snack beside him because he knew Donghyun would eventually get hungry.

Their love wasn't always perfect. They argued. They hurt each other. Sometimes they needed days apart before they could find their way back to the same conversation. But even in the middle of all that mess, there was always something gentle waiting underneath it—the knowledge that neither of them wanted to win against the other. They wanted to understand each other.

Their love came in the quiet mornings of each other's apartments. It came in the sleepy smiles they gave one another before either of them had fully woken up, in the lazy eye contact that lingered for a little too long, in Donghyun reaching over to fix Dongmin's hair because he had woken up with the worst case of bedhead. It came in the small, almost meaningless questions that somehow meant everything—Do you want coffee? Did you sleep well? Are you hungry?—the kind of questions that sounded ordinary to everyone else but carried an entire language between the two of them.

Sometimes, they didn't even need to say anything. Dongmin would look at Donghyun from across the room, and Donghyun would already know what he wanted. A hand would find the other underneath the blanket. A cup of coffee would appear beside someone before they even had to ask. A jacket would be draped over tired shoulders. A quiet come here would be enough to make the other person cross the room.

Those were the words that replaced I love you, not because they didn't say it, but because they had spent so much time showing it that the words almost felt unnecessary.

Maybe that was what their friends saw when they looked at them. They were just two people who had learned each other's little habits, their silences, their moods, their favorite things, and all the tiny ways they could say I'm here without ever having to say it out loud.

And maybe, for Dongmin, that was what love was supposed to feel like; it’s something that didn't ask him to prove anything.

He spent so much of his life believing that love had to be earned somehow—that he had to be a good son, a good brother, a good friend, a good person before anyone could look at him and decide that he was worth keeping around. He thought he had to be useful, dependable, impressive; that if he stopped being those things for even a moment, someone might realize that there wasn't much left to love underneath all of it.

But Donghyun never asked him for any of that --- Donghyun loved him on the mornings when Dongmin could barely keep his eyes open. He loved him when he was quiet, when he was overwhelmed, when he was stubborn, when he was wrong. He loved him when Dongmin had nothing to offer except his tired smile and a sleepy good morning.

And somehow, those were the moments that made Dongmin believe him the most.

Because there was no audience, no one to impress, no family gathering where he had to be the perfect son, no friends watching to see if he was doing everything right, no expectation that he had to have an answer ready. There was just Donghyun standing in the kitchen with messy hair, holding out a warm cup of coffee and asking, "Do you want sugar?"

And Dongmin would look at him, still half-asleep, and smile. “Yeah. Two.”

“I know.”

I know.

And maybe that was the gentlest thing anyone had ever given him.

Most of the time, the gentlest moments came after a long, frustrating day.

Dongmin could come home exhausted, dropping his bag by the door with a sigh that told Donghyun everything he needed to know. He wouldn't have to explain what happened right away; Donghyun would simply walk over, pull him into his arms, and press soft kisses against his forehead, his cheeks, anywhere he could reach while quietly asking if he wanted to talk about it. Sometimes, they'd put on a movie and Donghyun would hold onto him the entire time, letting Dongmin sink into his chest until the frustration slowly left his body. Other times, there wouldn't be a movie at all—they'd just lie beside each other in bed, tangled underneath the blankets, saying nothing until the exhaustion finally won and they both fell asleep.

And sometimes, it was Donghyun who came home carrying the weight of a difficult day, and on those nights, Dongmin already knew what to do. He'd order food for the both of them before Donghyun even had the chance to say he was hungry, clear the table, and turn off the big light because he knew how overwhelming the bright, white light could feel after a particularly exhausting day. Instead, he'd light a few candles around the apartment, letting the room stay warm and dim, the kind of lighting that made everything feel a little softer. When Donghyun finally came through the door, Dongmin would look up from the couch and simply say, “Come here,” as if he had been waiting for him all evening.

And Donghyun always did.

That was the thing about them.

They learned each other's softness so carefully that taking care of one another eventually became instinct. They knew when to talk and when to stay quiet, when to hold each other and when to simply sit nearby. They knew that sometimes love was a kiss against a tired forehead, and sometimes it was remembering to turn off the big light.

Sometimes, love was just knowing.

The gentle love was one of Dongmin’s favorites, and he couldn't imagine having a partner without it anymore. No one had ever done it quite the way Donghyun did; there was something about the way he cared for him that felt almost effortless, like he had learned every softest part of Dongmin and knew exactly how to hold them. Donghyun talked to him like a drizzle of rain against the ground—quiet, steady, never demanding, the kind of sound that didn't ask to be noticed but somehow made everything feel calmer just by being there.

Even when Dongmin was upset, Donghyun never made his voice sharp. He spoke gently, letting his words fall between them one at a time, giving Dongmin enough room to breathe before answering. Sometimes, Dongmin would close his eyes and simply listen to him talk, letting that familiar voice wash over him until the weight in his chest became a little lighter. It reminded him of rain against the window on a quiet afternoon, soft enough to lull him into believing that maybe the world didn't have to be so loud all the time.

And perhaps that was why Dongmin loved it so much. Donghyun never tried to make his problems disappear; he simply stayed beside him while they passed, offering warmth without asking for anything in return. His love was never something that demanded attention—it was something that settled gently into the spaces between them, like rain soaking into the earth. For Dongmin, that was enough; to be loved softly, patiently, and without having to become anyone other than himself.

The memory that stuck with Dongmin was the night they watched some romantic-comedy movie together. He couldn't really remember the title anymore, only the feeling of it—the story of two people who found each other at the right time and in the right place, who continued choosing each other through their flaws, their mistakes, and all the hardships that came with loving someone for a long time. The word soulmate was mentioned countless times throughout the movie, almost enough to make Dongmin roll his eyes at how cheesy it was.

But then the word was said again, and Dongmin looked up at Donghyun. I love you.

Donghyun looked back at him and smiled. I love you, too.

Neither of them really understood why saying it out loud had always been so difficult. They had been together for so long, had shared so many mornings and bad days and quiet nights, had learned every little way the other person asked to be loved without ever having to say it directly. Somehow, the words themselves always felt heavier than the actions; saying I love you was frighteningly vulnerable, while making coffee for each other, holding hands underneath a blanket, turning off the big light, or staying beside one another after a terrible day felt almost instinctive.

Because those things were real - they could feel the love in the warmth of Donghyun's hand around his, in the soft kisses after a long day, in the food waiting on the table, in the quiet come here that meant I'm here, I'm not going anywhere. They had been saying I love you to each other for years without realizing how often they said it.

They had already built an entire language around them.

And when Dongmin looked at Donghyun that night, both of them smiling at each other in the dim light of the television, he realized that perhaps being someone's soulmate had never been about saying the words perfectly.

When the movie ended, the room went quiet, and neither of them moved. They were still holding onto each other, Dongmin's head resting against Donghyun's shoulder while the faint light from the projector flickered across the walls. Outside the window, they could hear the rain tapping softly against the glass, the low hum of the projector as it continued running, and the occasional sound of someone walking down the hallway. It felt almost strangely peaceful, as if the entire world had gone quiet just long enough to leave the two of them alone with a thought they had somehow spent years avoiding.

The movie had said something they already knew; they just never said it out loud.

Dongmin looked at the blank screen for a moment before finally turning his head toward Donghyun. “So, what do you think of the movie?”

Donghyun was quiet for a second, still looking at him. “I think it was cheesy.”

Dongmin laughed softly. “Yeah. It was.”

“Really cheesy.”

They both smiled, but neither of them looked away.

Donghyun's fingers moved gently against Dongmin's sleeve, almost absentmindedly, before he finally said, “But I liked it.”

Dongmin's smile softened. “Me, too.”

For a while, neither of them said anything else. Dongmin could feel Donghyun's thumb moving slowly against his sleeve, a small, absentminded gesture that somehow made the silence feel warmer instead of awkward. The rain continued outside, steady and soft, and Dongmin found himself thinking about all the years they had spent together—every argument, every apology, every morning coffee, every quiet night where neither of them needed to say a word. Maybe the movie hadn't taught them anything new after all; it had only put a name to something they had already been living.

“Do you think people really have soulmates?” Dongmin asked eventually.

Donghyun hummed, considering it. “I don't know.”

Dongmin smiled. “That's a very Donghyun answer.”

“I’m serious.” Donghyun turned toward him. “I don't know if there's only one person you're supposed to find.”

“Then what do you believe?”

Donghyun was quiet for a moment. “I think it's someone you keep choosing.”

Dongmin's expression softened. “Even when it's difficult?” he asked. 

“Especially then.”

The answer sat between them for a moment. Dongmin looked down at their hands, at the way their fingers had naturally found each other without either of them thinking about it. He squeezed Donghyun's hand once, and Donghyun squeezed back.

Neither of them said I love you.

The answer sat between them for a moment. Dongmin looked down at their hands, at the way their fingers had naturally found each other without either of them thinking about it. He squeezed Donghyun's hand once, and Donghyun squeezed back, just as gently, and somehow that tiny gesture said more than either of them could have managed to put into words. They had spent so long loving each other through the little things that their hands already knew what their mouths struggled to say.

Donghyun reached over and fixed the piece of Dongmin's hair that had fallen across his forehead. Dongmin smiled and leaned into his touch, then pulled the blanket a little higher over Donghyun's shoulders when he noticed him shivering. It was the same language they had always spoken—come here, eat something, get some rest, I'll stay, I'm here—all of it carrying the same meaning underneath. Every cup of coffee, every hand held underneath the table, every kiss after a difficult day, every candle lit instead of the big light was another quiet way of saying I love you.

They weren't only saying it when the words finally came out, they were saying it every time they remembered, every time they stayed, every time they reached for each other without thinking. They said it in the softness of their mornings and the quietness of their nights, in the way they took care of each other when the other was too tired to ask. Their love lived in all those little actions, repeated so often that they had become instinct.

AND IF LOVE EVER FINDS DONGMIN AGAIN, he hopes its name is Donghyun.

The day Dongmin realized he was in love with Donghyun was the same day it heavily poured outside. It was one of those kinds of weather that could deceive you; the morning had been sunny and bright and warm, the kind of day that made you leave the house without a second thought about bringing an umbrella, only for the sky to change completely by the afternoon. The rain came down so heavily that the streets blurred behind the sheets of water, and everyone who had been caught outside suddenly found themselves searching for somewhere to hide.

Donghyun, of course, didn't have an umbrella. He almost never did.

Luckily, Dongmin had brought one that day.

They weren't particularly close to begin with. They only knew each other through their mutual friends, and most of the time, they only ended up hanging out because everyone else happened to be there too. They knew a decent amount about each other—enough to have conversations without feeling like strangers, enough to know what the other liked and disliked, enough to have quietly noticed that they were both very good-looking the first few times they met—but neither of them had ever really made the first move.

Donghyun stood underneath the shade, staring up at the sky as though he was genuinely contemplating whether he should wait for the rain to calm down or simply accept his fate and run underneath it. Dongmin spotted him while opening his umbrella, and for a moment, he just watched him. There was something about the way Donghyun looked at the rain, his hair slightly messy from the humidity, his hands tucked into his pockets as he waited, that made Dongmin want to walk over.

“Hey,” Dongmin started, his umbrella already open above him. He knew it was big enough for two people, even if his heart suddenly seemed to be beating like it wasn't. “Do you… need to go somewhere?”

He wasn't very good at starting conversations, but that should be okay; they knew each other.

Donghyun turned toward him and let out a small laugh. “Yeah, I do. My place is just nearby, and I don't think this is going to calm down any time soon.”

Dongmin smiled. “Yeah,” he said, glancing at the rain. “Probably not.”

And for some odd reason, his heart kept beating as he listened to Donghyun's voice. Maybe it was because they had never really talked like this before. Maybe it was because Donghyun suddenly seemed different when it was just the two of them, without their friends around to fill the silence. Or maybe it was simply the rain making everything feel slower, quieter, like the world had narrowed down to the small space beneath Dongmin's umbrella.

Dongmin noticed that Donghyun was cold. It was subtle at first—a slight shiver, his shoulders pulling in whenever the wind blew rain beneath the edge of the shelter.

“You're cold,” Dongmin said.

“I'm fine.”

“You're literally shivering.”

Donghyun laughed. “Okay, maybe a little.”

Without really thinking about it, Dongmin shrugged off his jacket and held it out to him.

Donghyun blinked. “You don't have to—”

“Just take it.”

“Then you'll be cold.”

“I'll survive.”

Donghyun hesitated before taking it from him, slipping it over his shoulders with a quiet smile. “Thanks.”

And that was the moment. It wasn't some dramatic realization. or a sudden rush of music or a feeling that the entire world had stopped. It was just Donghyun standing beside him in his jacket, smiling beneath the rain, while Dongmin looked at him and thought, Oh.

Because he suddenly wanted to know everything. He wanted to know what Donghyun did when he was having a bad day, what kind of coffee he ordered when nobody was watching, what movies made him cry, what songs he listened to when he couldn't sleep. He wanted to know what made him laugh like that, what made him quiet, what made him feel safe.

The rain kept falling around them.

And Dongmin, standing beneath the umbrella with Donghyun beside him, realized that somewhere between offering him shelter and giving him his jacket, he had already started falling.

“Okay, on the count of three,” Dongmin said, trying to liven up the atmosphere between them. He knew something had changed; he could feel it, even if he couldn't quite put it into words yet. There was something warm happening between the two of them, something that had only started after this one conversation beneath the rain.

Donghyun looked at him and smiled. “Alright. Okay.”

Dongmin put his arm around Donghyun's waist without thinking. He tightened his hold and pulled Donghyun closer to him so that he could keep him from getting wet, their shoulders brushing beneath the umbrella as they prepared themselves to run.

“One… two… three!”

They both walked quickly through the rain, trying not to slip as they hurried toward Donghyun's place, both of them smiling and giggling even though there was nothing particularly funny about it. Maybe it was the rain, or maybe it was the fact that neither of them seemed to know what to do with the strange new feeling settling between them. There was some sort of intimacy behind sharing the same umbrella with someone you could already sort of picture a future with after one one-on-one encounter with them.

“Okay, on the count of three,” Dongmin said, trying to liven up the atmosphere between them. He knew something had changed; he could feel it, even if he couldn't quite put it into words yet. There was something warm happening between the two of them, something that had only started after this one conversation beneath the rain.

Donghyun looked at him and smiled. “Alright. Okay.”

Dongmin put his arm around Donghyun's waist without thinking. He tightened his hold and pulled Donghyun closer to him so that he could keep him from getting wet, their shoulders brushing beneath the umbrella as they prepared themselves to run.

“One… two… three!”

They both walked quickly through the rain, trying not to slip as they hurried toward Donghyun's place, both of them smiling and giggling even though there was nothing particularly funny about it. Maybe it was the rain, or maybe it was the fact that neither of them seemed to know what to do with the strange new feeling settling between them. There was some sort of intimacy behind sharing the same umbrella with someone you could already sort of picture a future with after one one-on-one encounter with them.

Donghyun kept laughing beside him, occasionally bumping his shoulder against Dongmin's whenever they had to step around a puddle. Dongmin laughed too, but every few seconds, his eyes would drift toward him without meaning to. He watched the way Donghyun's hair was already starting to stick to his forehead despite the umbrella, the way he kept trying to shield Dongmin from the rain even though Dongmin was the one holding the umbrella. It was almost ridiculous how quickly he had started noticing things about him.

“You're getting wet,” Donghyun said suddenly.

“So are you.”

“I'm wearing your jacket.”

“That doesn't mean anything.”

“It means I'm warmer than you.”

Dongmin laughed. “You're seriously arguing with me about who is wetter right now?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because you're stubborn.”

Dongmin looked at him for a second before smiling. “You barely know me.”

“Maybe I want to.”

It was such a simple sentence. Donghyun had said it so casually, like it hadn't just landed somewhere deep inside Dongmin's chest and stayed there. Maybe he didn't even realize what he'd said, but Dongmin did, and suddenly the rain didn't seem quite as loud anymore.

Maybe I want to.

Dongmin looked ahead again, trying to hide the smile that had started forming on his face.

Maybe he wanted to, too.

By the time they reached Donghyun's apartment building, the rain had soaked the edges of their shoes and left tiny droplets clinging to their clothes. Donghyun stepped underneath the covered entrance and turned toward him, holding out the jacket.

“You should take this back.”

Dongmin shook his head. “Keep it.”

“Dongmin.”

“Seriously. Keep it.”

Donghyun looked down at the jacket before looking back at him. “Then how are you getting home?”

“I have another one.”

“You do?”

“No.”

Donghyun stared at him while Dongmin tried not to laugh.

“You're an idiot.”

“I know.”

“You're going to get soaked.”

“I'll survive.”

Donghyun shook his head, but he was smiling again. He held the jacket a little tighter around himself before saying, “Thank you.”

Neither of them moved for a moment. The rain continued falling behind them, loud against the pavement, while the entrance light above them flickered softly. It should have been the part where they said goodbye, where Dongmin turned around and walked home and let this strange afternoon become nothing more than a memory.

Instead, Donghyun asked, “Do you want to come up?”

Dongmin looked at him, his heart did that thing again. “Yeah,” he said, almost too quickly. “Yeah. Okay.”

And maybe that was where it really started. It was an umbrella, a borrowed jacket, a rainy afternoon, and two people who had suddenly decided they wanted to know each other a little more.

That was the first time they said I love you without actually saying it. Dongmin said it when he opened his umbrella and made room for Donghyun underneath it, when he noticed the way Donghyun was shivering and gave him his jacket without thinking twice, when he pulled him closer beneath the umbrella so the rain wouldn't reach him. Donghyun said it when he kept trying to shield Dongmin from the rain even though he was the one being taken care of, when he asked him to come upstairs instead of letting the afternoon end there, when he looked at Dongmin with that small, quiet smile that made him feel like maybe he had found somewhere he wanted to stay. Neither of them knew what they were doing yet, neither of them knew what this would eventually become, but somehow, their actions already understood what their words hadn't caught up to.

That was what made it so special—the fact that love didn't arrive loudly for them, didn't announce itself with some grand confession or a moment so perfect that they would remember every single detail years later. It arrived quietly, disguised as a rainy afternoon and a borrowed jacket, hidden somewhere between I'll walk you home and come upstairs, between the way Dongmin kept the umbrella tilted toward Donghyun and the way Donghyun kept checking to make sure Dongmin wasn't getting soaked. It was in the laughter they shared while running through the rain, in the way neither of them seemed particularly eager for the walk to end, and in the strange certainty that had settled somewhere inside Dongmin's chest that he wanted to do this again. Maybe tomorrow, maybe the day after that, maybe for as long as Donghyun would let him.

They didn't know it then, but that afternoon would become the beginning of all the little things they would eventually do for each other—the coffee left waiting on difficult mornings, the favorite snacks remembered without being asked, the hands reaching for each other underneath tables, the jackets placed over shoulders when one of them was cold, the quiet text me when you get home messages that meant I worry about you, the soft eat something that meant I care about you, the simple come here that meant you don't have to carry this alone. Years later, they would look back at that rainy afternoon and realize that they had been practicing how to love each other long before either of them had the courage to call it love. They had been saying it in the only language they knew at the time—the language of staying, of noticing, of reaching for each other.

Perhaps that's why Dongmin would always remember the rain. Not because it was the day he met Donghyun, because technically, he had known him before that, but because it was the day knowing him started to feel different; it was the day Donghyun stopped being someone he happened to know and became someone he wanted to know everything about. It was the day a borrowed jacket became an excuse to stay a little longer, an umbrella became a place for two, and a simple walk home became the first chapter of something neither of them had planned for. It was the first time they said I love you through their actions, and even though neither of them knew the words yet, somehow, they both understood.

From that day on, Dongmin made a quiet promise to himself: he would always be the person with the umbrella. He would remember to check the weather before leaving the house, he would keep one in his bag even on days when the sky was perfectly clear, and if it suddenly started raining while they were together, he would be the one reaching for it before Donghyun even had the chance to worry. He wanted to be the person who made sure Donghyun never had to stand underneath an awning alone again, watching the rain fall and wondering how long he would have to wait before it stopped. If Donghyun was cold, Dongmin would give him his jacket; if he was tired, Dongmin would slow down; if the rain came down harder, Dongmin would simply pull him closer and make the umbrella cover him a little more.

It wasn't a grand promise, and Dongmin never told Donghyun about it because somehow saying it out loud would make it feel too serious, too much like something that needed to be proven. Instead, he would just do it, over and over again, until it became second nature—the umbrella always tilted toward Donghyun, his shoulder getting wet before Donghyun's did, his hand reaching for Donghyun's whenever the pavement became slippery. He would tease him about never remembering an umbrella, even though he secretly loved being the one who remembered for him. And every time Donghyun looked at him with that soft smile and said, “You're always prepared,” Dongmin would only shrug and pretend it was nothing.

But it wasn't nothing. To Dongmin, the umbrella became another way of saying I love you. It meant I've got you, stay close to me, you don't have to face this alone, and I'll make sure you get home safely. 

Dongmin would smile, take his hand, and pull him a little closer beneath it, because the promise had never really been about the rain in the first place.

It had always been about Donghyun.

EPILOGUE.

Dongmin didn’t feel too well after Donghyun left him and his heart back in the cafe, and it unsettled him even more when he remembered that Donghyun didn’t have an umbrella with him. He got up from his seat with the intention of chasing after Donghyun and giving him an umbrella, even if he knew he would be drenched in the rain right now—but he forgot about the umbrella the moment he stepped outside. The rain immediately poured over his head and soaked through his jacket, cold water running down his face and neck as he looked around frantically, trying to find the person who had just walked out of his life. For a moment, he stood there in the middle of the rain, breathless and confused, before his eyes finally caught sight of Donghyun a little farther down the street.

“Donghyun!” he yelled.

The rain was pouring onto his head and jacket, and he knew he was probably going to wake up with a cold the next morning, but that was the last thing he was thinking about right now; he just needed to go to Donghyun, he wanted to be with Donghyun, even if being with him now meant nothing more than standing beside him for a few more minutes. Donghyun stopped when he heard his name, his shoulders tensing as he slowly turned around, and the sight of Dongmin running toward him through the rain made something inside his chest ache all over again. Dongmin slowed down when he finally reached him, breathing heavily as he tried to catch his breath, his hair dripping and his clothes completely soaked through, and Donghyun could only stare at him as though he couldn't understand why he had followed him.

“What are you doing?” Donghyun asked, his voice barely audible beneath the rain.

Dongmin looked at him for a long moment. “You didn't take an umbrella.”

Donghyun blinked. “That's why you ran after me?”

“I—” Dongmin looked down for a second, suddenly realizing how ridiculous he must have looked, running through the rain after the person he had just broken up with because he was worried about him getting wet. “I don't know.”

Donghyun's expression softened.

Dongmin swallowed. “I just… I couldn't let you walk home alone in this.”

There it was again, rhat stupid, familiar feeling, the one that had always made Donghyun believe that maybe, somehow, Dongmin loved him more through what he did than anything he could ever say.

Donghyun looked at him, rainwater mixing with the tears already sitting in his eyes. “You know you can't keep doing this.”

“I know.”

“You can't keep chasing after me every time you realize you miss me.”

“I know.”

“You can't keep making me think we're going to be okay.”

Dongmin's lips pressed together as he nodded. “I know.”

For a few seconds, neither of them said anything. The rain continued falling between them, heavy and relentless, just like it had been when they first met beneath the umbrella. Dongmin suddenly remembered that day—the borrowed jacket, the laughter, the way he had pulled Donghyun closer so he wouldn't get wet, the way Donghyun had looked at him as if he had already become someone worth knowing. It felt cruel that the same rain that had once brought them together was now standing between them, reminding them of everything they had become and everything they had lost.

“I just wanted to make sure you got home safe,” Dongmin whispered.

Donghyun looked down. “I know.”

Dongmin didn't ask him to come back. He didn't ask him to forgive him, and he didn't make another promise about how he would change, because he knew that sometimes love meant understanding when the other person needed to walk away. So instead, he took off his jacket and held it out toward Donghyun, just like he had years ago, when everything between them had still been new and warm and full of possibility.

Donghyun stared at the jacket. “You'll get cold,” he whispered.

“I'll survive.”

Donghyun let out a small laugh through his tears. “You're still an idiot.”

“I know.”

For a moment, Donghyun looked like he might take it, but then he gently pushed Dongmin's hand back toward him. “Keep it.”

Dongmin's smile faded. 

“I'll be okay.” Donghyun stepped backward, putting a little more distance between them, and Dongmin forced himself not to follow. Every part of him wanted to reach out, to pull Donghyun close, to tell him that he could still fix this somehow, but he knew that doing so would only make the goodbye harder.

“Go home, Dongmin-ah,” he said softly, though his voice was shaking.

Dongmin shook his head. He didn't want this to be the last time they saw each other; he didn't want this to be the last time he saw Donghyun. He didn't want the last memory of them to be Donghyun walking away from him in the rain, and he didn't want to go home knowing that the person he loved was somewhere out there without him, even if he knew that chasing after him couldn't undo everything that had happened between them. Before Donghyun could even turn back and continue toward his apartment in the rain, Dongmin reached out and caught his hand.

Donghyun stopped. For a moment, neither of them moved. Dongmin's fingers tightened around Donghyun's hand, trembling from the cold and everything else he was trying so desperately to keep inside, and Donghyun slowly turned around to look at him. Dongmin looked at him the way he had looked at him that first rainy afternoon years ago, except this time there was no umbrella between them, no borrowed jacket, no nervous laughter, and no promise of tomorrow—just two people standing in the rain with a love that had somehow survived even after everything else between them had fallen apart.

“I love you, Donghyun-ah.”

The first time Dongmin had finally said it out loud was after the relationship had already ended. He had spent years saying I love you through every cup of coffee he remembered to bring home, every jacket he placed over Donghyun's shoulders, every umbrella he tilted toward him, every hand he reached for underneath the table, every quiet text me when you get home and every did you eat? that really meant I worry about you. He had said it when he stayed up late listening to Donghyun talk about his day, when he remembered the smallest things, when he made room for him even on the days when he barely had room for himself, and when he kept choosing to reach for him after every argument.

But he had never actually said the words, not until now.

Donghyun stared at him, his lips trembling as his eyes filled with tears again. “Dongmin-ah…”

“I should've said it before,” Dongmin whispered. “I should've said it so many times.”

Donghyun looked down at their hands, still held together despite everything. “I know.”

“I love you.” Dongmin said again, because now that the words had finally left his mouth, he couldn't understand why he had ever been so afraid of them. “I love you, and I'm sorry I didn't say it enough. I'm sorry I thought you would always just know.”

Donghyun squeezed his hand once. “I know,” he said again, his voice breaking this time. “I know you love me.”

Dongmin swallowed. He couldn't tell the difference between the rain and the tears falling down his eyes. “I loved you, too, Dongmin-ah.”

The words settled between them, quiet and final, and Dongmin felt something inside his chest crack in a way that even the breakup hadn't managed to do. He had spent all this time wishing he could finally say the words out loud, thinking that maybe if Donghyun heard them, maybe if he knew just how deeply Dongmin loved him, there would still be something left for them to hold onto—but Donghyun had already moved past the place where those words could save them.

Donghyun squeezed his hand one last time before slowly letting go. “You were the love of my life,” he whispered.

Dongmin's lips trembled. “You still are."

Donghyun smiled through his tears, and somehow that smile looked almost exactly like the one Dongmin had fallen in love with years ago, underneath an umbrella on another rainy afternoon. “Maybe in another life.”

Dongmin wanted to tell him that he didn't want another life. He wanted this one. He wanted the coffee dates and the late-night conversations and the jackets left on chairs and the umbrellas tucked inside his bag. He wanted every ordinary morning they had taken for granted, every argument they thought they could fix tomorrow, every little moment they had assumed would still be waiting for them when they woke up.

But he didn't say any of it. For once, Dongmin understood that loving Donghyun meant letting him go.

So he loosened his fingers, and Donghyun walked away.

This time, Dongmin didn't follow. He stood there in the rain and watched the person he loved disappear down the street, until Donghyun became nothing more than a figure blurred by the rain. His hand still felt warm where Donghyun's had been, and for a moment, Dongmin almost convinced himself that if he reached out again, he could bring him back.

But he didn't. He had finally said I love you

And Donghyun had finally answered, just not in the present tense.