Archive of Our Own ^beta

Joshua and DK were part of the same circle of friends in school. They hung out almost every day—lunch breaks, walks home, group projects, movie nights.

They were close. Maybe too close.

Everyone thought they were just really good friends. And Joshua tried to believe that was enough. But the truth was, he liked DK—more than a friend should.

He never told anyone.

Whenever DK smiled at him, or shared his earphones, or fell asleep on his shoulder during late-night hangouts, Joshua’s chest would tighten. Not in a painful way. Not exactly. It was like holding your breath for too long and pretending it didn’t hurt.

DK was loud, cheerful, always making people laugh. But sometimes, he'd go quiet beside Joshua. Sit a little closer than needed. Look at him longer than he should. Those were the moments that made Joshua’s heart beat too fast.

One afternoon after class, they walked home together, like always. The sky was soft and pink, and the air smelled like rain.

DK kicked a small rock on the sidewalk.

“Hey,” he said suddenly. “Do you think there’s really… just one person meant for you?”

Joshua paused, startled.

He looked down at his hands. “I think so. But not everyone gets to end up with that person.”

DK didn’t say anything at first. He just looked at the sky.

“That’s kind of sad.”

Joshua smiled a little.

“Yeah,” he said. “It is.”

They walked in silence after that.

That night, Joshua stared at his ceiling for a long time, thinking about the way DK looked at him. How his voice sounded soft when he asked that question. How maybe, just maybe, he felt the same.

But if he did, he never said it.

Days passed. Then weeks. They still hung out. Still laughed. Still shared inside jokes no one else understood. But the silence between them grew heavier. Joshua started noticing when DK leaned his head on someone else's shoulder. When he laughed a little louder with others. When he stopped waiting for Joshua after class sometimes.

It wasn’t anything big. Just small things. Quiet changes. But they hurt.

One day, during lunch, DK nudged him. “You okay? You’ve been quiet lately.”

Joshua looked at him for a second too long.

“Yeah,” he said. “Just tired.”

DK smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

And in that moment, Joshua realized something:

It wasn't that DK hurt him by doing something wrong.

It was the things DK didn’t do. The words he didn’t say.

The space between them that had once felt safe now just felt empty.

That’s the thing about some pain—it doesn’t leave cuts or bruises.

It lives in silence. In unanswered questions.

In loving someone who might love you back, but never says so.

Joshua still smiled around DK. Still laughed. Still showed up.

But deep inside, there was a wound.

One that didn’t bleed.

One that no one could see.

And that kind of pain?

It stayed.

Long after everyone else stopped noticing.

Long after the smiles faded.

Long after the “maybe” turned into a quiet “never.”

Weeks passed.

Joshua kept his distance now. Not in an obvious way—but DK noticed. Fewer messages. Shorter replies. Less eye contact when they hung out. Joshua smiled less around him. And DK felt it.

He didn’t know when it started to feel so heavy between them.

One evening, their group had a small get-together at a friend’s house. DK kept watching Joshua the whole time, waiting for a moment when they could be alone.

Later that night, as most people started leaving, DK finally pulled him aside near the stairs.

“Hey,” he said softly. “Can we talk?”

Joshua looked tired. But he nodded.

They walked out to the front porch. It was quiet. Just the sound of crickets and a few distant voices.

DK hesitated before speaking.

“I think I know why you’ve been... distant.”

Joshua looked at him, unreadable.

DK took a deep breath. “I think I like you. I mean—I know I like you. I’ve just been... slow. Scared maybe. But I’ve felt it too. All this time.”

Joshua’s eyes didn’t change. His voice stayed calm.

“So why now?”

DK blinked. “What do you mean?”

“You only noticed when I started pulling away,” Joshua said. “When I stopped being easy to reach.”

“That’s not fair—”

“No,” Joshua said, cutting him off, still quiet. “What’s not fair is you ignoring everything I gave you. Every look, every moment I stayed, even when it hurt. And now you say you like me like it erases all the silence?”

DK stepped back a little, confused, defensive.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you. I didn’t know.”

Joshua looked down. Then looked at him again, and this time, his eyes were tired. Not angry. Just... done.

“You didn’t know because you didn’t try to know.”

DK didn’t say anything.

And then Joshua said it—softly, but like a final note in a song that had been playing too long:

“There are wounds that never show on the body… that are deeper and more hurtful than anything that bleeds.”

DK froze.

Joshua gave a small, sad smile. “You didn’t cut me, Seokmin. But you left me bleeding anyway.”

He turned to go.

“Wait—please. I can fix this,” DK said, stepping forward.

Joshua paused but didn’t turn around.

“Maybe,” he said quietly. “But not everything broken needs to be fixed. Some things just… end.”

And then he walked away.

 Regret. Healing. A second chance—if the heart is ready.

“Some people come back not to repeat the past, but to finally do it right.”

It had been weeks since that night.

DK thought about Joshua every day. He saw him in empty seats during lunch. In the way the group still laughed, but a little quieter now. In the spots he used to sit, hum, smile. Everything felt a little duller without him.

And every time he remembered what Joshua said, it stung.

“You didn’t know because you didn’t try to know.”

“You didn’t cut me, Seokmin. But you left me bleeding anyway.”

DK realized he’d been selfish. He liked the comfort Joshua gave—the loyalty, the warmth—but never gave it back in full. Not until he felt Joshua slipping away.

And that wasn’t love. That was taking love for granted.

So this time, he didn’t rush.

He gave space. He started showing up differently—not to beg, but to grow. He listened more, talked less. Reached out to others. Focused on his own heart.

Until one afternoon, under the same tree where they used to wait for their friends, Joshua sat quietly reading a book. Alone.

DK approached slowly.

Joshua looked up, surprised—but calm.

DK stood for a second, unsure. Then sat down beside him, leaving space.

“I’m not here to fix anything,” DK said softly. “I know I broke something that meant a lot to you. I was slow. Blind. Maybe careless.”

Joshua didn’t speak, but he listened.

DK continued. “But I think about you every day. Not just about what I lost, but who you are. How patient you were with me. And how I didn’t see it until it was too late.”

Silence again. Not heavy like before—just waiting.

“I still like you,” DK said. “But I’m not asking you to forgive me right now. I just wanted you to know… I finally see it now. All of it.”

Joshua closed his book gently. Looked at him.

“You really hurt me,” he said. No anger. Just truth.

“I know,” DK nodded, eyes low.

Joshua looked up at the sky, then back at him.

“I’m not ready to forget everything. But I think… I’d like to try again. Not to go back. But to move forward. Slowly.”

DK’s breath caught. “Really?”

Joshua gave a small, sad smile. “You said something true. Not everything broken needs fixing. But sometimes… people grow. And when they do, maybe they deserve a second chance.”

DK smiled too—genuine this time.

“Then I’ll be patient,” he said. “I won’t rush you.”

Joshua nodded. “Good. Because this time… I need to know you’re staying, even when things aren’t easy.”

“I am,” DK promised.

They sat in silence, watching the sun go down.

And though the wound hadn’t fully healed, it didn’t hurt as much anymore.

Because for the first time, they were speaking the same language.

And that made all the difference.

Two Weeks Later

The awkwardness didn’t disappear overnight.

Sometimes DK would say something and Joshua would just blink at him, the silence stretching longer than it used to. Other times, Joshua would laugh at a joke DK made, and DK would catch himself staring too long—remembering a time when that laugh had come so easily.

But they were trying.

And in a strange, quiet way, that meant everything.

One evening, Joshua waited after school instead of heading straight home. It wasn’t something he planned. His feet just took him to the old courtyard bench where they used to meet. He sat down, hands in his lap, heart unsure.

A minute later, DK arrived—he always checked the courtyard now. Just in case.

He stopped when he saw Joshua, surprised but hopeful.

“Hey,” he said, soft.

Joshua tilted his head, smiling faintly. “Hey.”

DK sat beside him, not too close, but not far either. The breeze played with the leaves above them. The sun cast everything in gold.

They sat in silence, just breathing. Just being.

Then Joshua spoke.

“You said you liked me,” he said slowly. “Back then. When we talked.”

DK nodded, careful. “I meant it.”

Joshua looked down. “I know. I just don’t know what to do with it. Not yet.”

“I’m not asking you to,” DK replied. “I just want to be someone who deserves to say it again someday.”

Joshua looked at him then—really looked at him. There was something steadier in DK now. Still the same bright-eyed boy he knew, but quieter around the edges. Softer where it mattered.

“I think you’re starting to be.”

They shared a small, tentative smile.

The Little Things

It was in the way DK started texting Joshua without expectations.

Saw this and thought of you, he’d write, attaching a photo of a cat in a cardboard box or a lyric scribbled on a napkin.

No pressure to reply. Just wanted to share.

Joshua didn’t always reply. But he always read it.

It was in how DK stopped trying to fill every silence with words, and started letting the quiet be comfortable.

And when Joshua was ready, he started leaning in again—slowly, carefully.

He’d brush DK’s hand on purpose when passing him a pen. He’d wait by the classroom door even when DK was running late. He’d sit beside him during movie nights again, their knees barely touching.

Some days hurt more than others.

But the ache wasn’t as sharp now. Not when DK looked at him like he saw him.

One Night in Late September

The air had a bite to it. The school year was winding down. People talked about college and goodbyes. Futures.

DK and Joshua sat on the rooftop, wrapped in a shared blanket. It was quiet.

“You remember that time you asked me if I believed in just one person meant for you?” Joshua asked suddenly.

DK turned to him, surprised. “Yeah. You said not everyone ends up with that person.”

Joshua nodded. “I still think that’s true. But I also think... if you’re lucky, you get a second chance. Not with someone new. But with the same person—just at the right time.”

DK’s heart thudded.

“Are we lucky?” he asked, barely above a whisper.

Joshua looked at him. His voice was quiet, but sure.

“I think we’re trying to be.”

And then he leaned his head on DK’s shoulder—just like he used to.

But this time, it meant something new.

Something healing.

Months Later

They weren’t perfect. They argued sometimes. Joshua still had bad days. DK still had moments of guilt.

But they chose each other now.

They learned how to say things out loud: I’m sorry. I miss you. You matter to me.

DK still had a note Joshua wrote him folded in his wallet. It read:

“You didn’t save me. I saved myself.

But you waited for me to come back.

And that’s what made all the difference.”

And Joshua still wore the hoodie DK gave him before Christmas. Even though it was too big. Even though it still smelled like him.

They’d walk to class side by side, and when their hands brushed, Joshua wouldn’t pull away anymore.

Because this time, the silence didn’t hurt.

It felt full.

Full of things they now knew how to say.

-END-