Archive of Our Own ^beta

/One

Delivered June 22
Your package was left near the front door or porch.

No matter how long Jungwon squints at the delivery notification on his phone, cradled between shaking hands, the letters remain unchanged, spelling out the last name he wants to see.  

SHIP TO
Park Jay

“This can’t be happening,” Jungwon whispers. From the moment he returned home to find his doorstep barren of the Amazon Fresh delivery he was promised, a sense of foreboding crept up on him. When even after an hour, there was no sign of his groceries, he opened the tracking details. 

And oh, his groceries were delivered alright. Delivered right to his ex-boyfriend’s doorstep.  

Jungwon drops his phone, burying his face in his hands. Damn it. He knew his greed—capitalizing on his ex-boyfriend’s Amazon Prime subscription—would backfire on him eventually. This is his karma for prioritizing convenience over his carbon footprint.  

Clasping his hands, he prays. He’ll donate the entirety of his paycheck—no, half of it—towards climate change. His prayer does little; when he peeks at the tracking again, it remains there plainly: Jay’s address.  

Alright. Time to parse through his options.  

Contacting Jay is out of the question. The two of them haven’t seen each other, let alone shared a proper conversation, since they broke up. Their text exchanges have been limited to Jay forwarding the Netflix verification code when Jungwon tries to log in. Or the Hulu verification code. Or the HBO Max verification code. 

So maybe Jungwon is still parasitizing on Jay’s subscription plans. It’s necessary in this economy.  

His next choice is Nishimura Riki. The guy is constantly taking on odd jobs around the city, from yard work to food delivery. It’d be easy for him to drop by Jay’s apartment, collect the groceries, and drop them off. Jungwon’s hands would remain clean.  

It’s a viable solution, so he texts Riki. Unfortunately, he forgets an important detail; Riki is willing to offer his services only when it doesn’t make good television.  

[4:53 p.m]

noshitmura
LMAOOO sounds like a personal problem
good luck
[wonnonly reacted with ‘thumbs-down’]

Jungwon blocks Riki.  

This leaves him with the last resort. Filled with dread, he halfheartedly swaps his scrubs for his only clean sweatshirt. He needs to do his laundry, but he’s currently unwilling to take on the behemoth task, especially considering what’s to come. 

Without traffic, Jay’s apartment is twenty minutes from him. When he maps the way, however, the whole route is drenched in red. Jungwon grits his teeth and starts the car.  

If his memory serves him correctly, Jay typically gets off from work at six. It’s five, which means even with the minutes’ worth of slowdowns, he has plenty of time to creep in and out. Jay would be none the wiser, and Jungwon would get off scot-free. No contact made.  

That odd sense of foreboding returns as he maneuvers into the parking lot of Jay’s apartment. Jungwon hasn’t been here since the breakup, and when he steps into the lobby, he almost expects to be escorted out. Or chased with torches and pitchforks. Or sniped.  

None of his fears come to life. The receptionist is the same guy who has been working here since Jungwon first helped Jay move in and his face lights up in recognition.  

“Yo, Jungwon! What’s up? Feels like I haven’t seen you around in a while.” 

Midway through creeping across the floor, Jungwon tenses. Turning slowly, he offers the receptionist a tight smile. “Hi. Yeah, I’ve been… busy. Haven’t gotten the chance to drop by.”  

The receptionist nods sympathetically. “Right, right, the new job. Jay was telling me about it. Congratulations, by the way.” 

Jungwon avoids asking about when Jay had this exchange about him. “Thanks. I’m going to…” He backsteps, ready to flee the conversation.  

“Go ahead. Jay isn’t back yet, though. I’ll let him know that-” 

“Actually,” Jungwon interrupts. “Can you not tell him that I’m here? It’s, uh, a surprise.” 

A puzzled expression passes over the receptionist’s face, but he nods. “Sure.”  

Jungwon takes the opportunity to scurry to the elevators before he can be consumed by guilt. His lip is chewed raw by the time he’s lifted to the fifteenth floor, but it’s too late to turn back now, especially as the elevator doors slide open to reveal familiar faces—the elderly couple next door to Jay, who express delight at seeing him again. 

“It’s good you’re here,” the old woman says, cupping a wrapped, hard candy into his palms. “That boy’s been looking very stressed but still refuses to let me cook him a meal.” 

All he can do is plaster a smile on his face and pretend he's not an impostor. It’s a relief when her husband finally detaches her from his arm and carts her into the elevator. Jungwon pockets the wrapped candy and swears to leave it untouched.  

Down the hallway, a few more residents greet him. Jungwon ducks his head and mutters replies, desperately hoping the whole floor will be hit with amnesia and forget about his presence.  

The assembly of plastic bags on Jay’s doorstep alleviates some of his concerns. Relieved, he rushes over to check the receipt, and here it is; his promised Amazon Fresh delivery. His relief is quickly waned by an obvious problem.  

Jungwon… underestimated how much was in his cart. 

Egg cartons, milk gallons, chip packets, and onion nets. Then there were the smaller items: tomato packages, condiment bottles, and canned soups. And a pint of mint chocolate ice cream, which Sunoo must have snuck in. Getting all of this down in a single trip would be a herculean task.  

He checks the time and hisses. It’s close to six. Even if Jay doesn’t get off until later, Jungwon would rather not risk making contact. Abusing his muscle groups, it is.  

One bag, two bags, three bags. Jungwon’s arms tremble slightly by the time he’s loaded them with groceries. “One, two, three,” he murmurs, and then exercises great effort to move forward. “Not bad.” 

With each count to three, slow, shuffling progress is made. He makes it to the elevators and faces a dilemma—pressing the button. Jungwon shifts to the side to use his elbow. He misses twice and, fed up, drives his arm forward as hard as possible. 

Fatal mistake. Plastic rips and Jungwon watches, horrified, as onions and tomatoes pour out. “Shoot!”  

Just as the elevator doors slide open, he drops to his knees, lurching forward to snatch a rolling onion—he will not let his overpriced, organic onions get away from him. He’s reaching to pick up another one when someone clears their throat.  

Oh, right. He’s blocking the elevator. “Sorry,” he says, moving to the side. Or the best he can with his grocery-laden arms. “Go ahead-” 

His eyes land on Prada loafers—polished, pricey, and painfully familiar—and the words catch in his throat. Slowly, he tilts his head up, taking in well-tailored slacks and a snug-fitting blazer. Jungwon’s heart sinks as at last, he’s looking into the very face he hoped to avoid.  

Wire-rimmed glasses settled over an acute gaze. Silk tie tangled loosely around the jugular. Park Jay is achingly handsome as he crouches down, retrieving a tomato off the floor. Wordlessly, he holds it out to Jungwon, who remains rooted to the spot. Finally, he jerks forward, snatching it while keeping his head down. Maybe, by some insane stroke of luck, Jay hasn’t noticed- 

“...Jungwon?” 

Jungwon is going to kill himself and Jeff Bezos.  

The jig is up. Jungwon tilts his face back up and smiles. “Hi,” he says, and hopes he doesn’t sound as strangled as he does to himself. “You’re back early.” 

In all of Jungwon’s fantasies about running into his ex-boyfriend, there were a lot more strobe lights and live orchestra, and a lot less vegetables and floor-crawling. Jay seems to mirror this opinion, forehead wrinkled as he picks up a stray onion.  

“What are you doing here? With…” He looks around, seemingly at a loss for words. On cue, another plastic bag slips off Jungwon’s arm, and they both flinch at the crunching sound which follows. There goes the eggs. “...A Kroger aisle?”  

“There was a… situation,” Jungwon mumbles. His face begins to heat as he recounts the story, embellished to make him look a little less stupid. “I forgot to change the delivery address from the default.”  

It’s the perfect opportunity for Jay to call him out for his parasitic behavior, but he doesn’t. Instead, he nods, as if it’s completely understandable for Jungwon to be leeching off of his subscription plan.  

“How did you get in?” 

“The receptionist remembered me.”  

Jay nods, again. He’s remarkably put together for someone who’s caught his ex-boyfriend creeping around his apartment. And he’s still picking up the spilled vegetables.  

“I thought I saw your car out front,” Jay says. “But I wasn’t sure.”

Right. He hadn’t bothered to park somewhere secluded, since he expected to be in and out. His red Honda Civic isn’t exactly the most indistinct of cars. “Uh, yeah. I didn’t expect you to be back so soon. Don’t you get off at six?” 

“I got off early today.” 

“Just my luck,” Jungwon mutters. He doesn’t mean for Jay to hear, but he does anyway, if the answering chuckle is any indication.  

“You still remember my schedule.” 

His ears go warm. “It isn’t exactly unique.” 

A hum. Jungwon takes the opportunity to peek at him, properly. Jay’s always been a good-looking guy, but somewhere over the last six months, something must have shifted. In his shiny shoes and iron-pressed suit, he exudes an adult-like appeal, and Jungwon can’t help but stare.  

He only realizes he is when Jay tilts his head, meeting his eyes. Jungwon immediately looks away, but Jay doesn’t. The weight of his gaze lingers as Jungwon hurriedly rams in the remainder of the groceries.  

Jay beats him to the last tomato, holding it out like an offering. Jungwon makes the fatal mistake of looking back up as he accepts it.  

“You look good,” he blurts. Like an idiot.  

Surprise crosses Jay’s face. It smooths out quickly. “So do you.” 

“Oh, please.” 

His ex-boyfriend is a hunky lawyer who represents clients while dressed in luxury brands on a daily basis. Meanwhile, Jungwon has worn the same, raggedy scrubs for a week now, hasn’t washed his hair in days, and is sneaking into said ex’s high-rise apartment building to steal back his delivery of three packets of sour cream and onion chips. He knows how this looks on paper.  

“I like the sweatshirt. It’s a bold design choice.” 

Fuck. Jungwon nearly forgot he’d put on whatever was on the floor of his closet; in this case, a gift from Riki during an unfortunate Secret Santa exchange. Burning with embarrassment, he hums, hoping his nonresponse will end this conversation.  

Unfortunately, Jay continues, oblivious. “How’s work at the hospital?” 

Exhausting. Mind-numbing. Horrifying. “Great.” 

“That’s good.”  

There’s a pause. A cue for Jungwon to take his turn and ask Jay about how his job at the law firm is going. He doesn’t, because there’s no need to; Jay’s appearance speaks for itself.   

When it becomes clear Jungwon won’t be following up, Jay clears his throat and rises to his feet. Thank god. Finally, Jay would leave him and he could be on his way home, where he’ll pick apart this interaction late into the night. 

His fantasy is interrupted abruptly by Jay stooping down again, beginning to hoist the plastic bags onto his arms.  

“What are you doing?” 

“I’ll help you take these down.”

”What?” Jungwon blinks rapidly. “You—you don’t have to do that. I can handle it myself.”  

“Was that what you were doing when I came in?” Jay says, and he splutters. 

“You’ll crease your suit.” 

This time, Jay cocks his head. The corner of his lip curls up. “I’ll be okay, I think.” 

“I-” 

Too late. He’s already hefted up two-thirds of the groceries and Jungwon scrambles to pick up the rest, before Jay can get to those, too. Jay doesn’t protest; in fact, he passes over the egg cartons before Jungwon can get them himself. “Heave-ho.”  

He uses an elbow to nudge the button panel, far more gracefully than Jungwon earlier, and keeps a foot between the doors until Jungwon is safely inside.  

Light, jaunty music fills the space between them. Plastic rustles as Jungwon shifts from foot to foot, watching as the fluorescent numbers tick down. Anytime he dares to peek at Jay, it’s to find him already looking. His stomach squirms, self-conscious.  

Maybe if he stands still without breathing, Jay won’t notice the grease stain which never washed out from his sweatshirt or the bits of lint that refuse to be picked up with a roller or his ragged jeans, ripped not from purchase but from constant wear… 

“I didn’t think I’d see you so soon,” Jay says, cutting through the gentle music

“How long has it been? Seven months?”

“Six,” Jungwon corrects. And seventeen days. Not that he’s been counting. “And that makes two of us.” 

If it was up to him and not his traitorous fingers, it would’ve been longer. Seeing Jay after all this time is stirring up strange, unwelcome feelings, not completely independent from Jay’s polished appearance. Unfortunately, he’s always been weak against men in suits. Especially if said man in a suit was his ex-boyfriend.  

The receptionist waves to them as they cross the lobby. “A great surprise for you today, Jay,” he says. 

Jay raises a brow before glancing at Jungwon. “Definitely a surprise.” 

Jungwon avoids eye contact and speeds up.  

“I’m sorry,” he says when Jay joins him outside. “I made a dumb mistake and ended up bothering you.” 

The apology seems to catch Jay off-guard, steps faltering. “It’s not a big deal,” he says, slowly. “I don’t mind.” 

“Still. I shouldn’t have been using your account in the first place. I promise I’ll log off after today, so-” 

“Jungwon,” Jay interrupts. He steps in, until his loafers are inches from Jungwon’s sneakers. “I don’t mind if you use my accounts. I need to make the most of my money, anyway.” 

“But-” 

“I didn’t mind seeing you today, either.” 

What? “Oh.”  

“So don’t beat yourself up over it.” Before Jungwon can request that he go into detail about I didn’t mind seeing you today, either and what it entails, Jay is trudging off. “The car’s over this way?” 

“Huh? Oh. Yeah.” 

His Honda Civic is parked in the least inconspicuous spot possible. Thankfully, Jay doesn’t comment on it, shifting all the groceries into a single hand to crank open the trunk. Jungwon’s deceitful brain registers this as attractive. He wonders if Jay still hits the gym, debates on asking, before ultimately deciding that is a train of thought he does not want to go down. 

“I’ll heft these up right here.” 

“Mhm.”  

They make quick work of the groceries. Jay doesn’t allow Jungwon to do any true labor, plucking each grocery bag from his arms to load on his own. Before he knows it, the trunk has shut close, and they’re left standing, empty-handed.  

Jay adjusts his cufflinks. Jungwon shuffles his feet.  

“Do you-” 

“I’ll be-” 

Jungwon cringes. Jay chuckles. “Go ahead.”  

“I,” Jungwon says, and realizes he has nothing to say. Nothing appropriate, at least. Questions about Jay, how he’s doing, how he’s feeling, and how the breakup has been treating him are off the table. So he swallows and smiles, strained, instead. “I’ll be going now. Thanks for the help. Sorry for bothering you.” 

“Helping you out isn’t a bother,” is the instant reply. “Ever. Even now.”  

“Right.” Jungwon lacks the mental capacity to deal with this right now. He inches backwards. “It was good seeing you.” 

Jay hesitates. Some of that adultness wears off a bit, softening those intense features into something more familiar. More painful. “Jungwon.” 

The timbre of his voice, wrapped around the syllables of Jungwon’s name, kickstarts his gears. Jungwon rushes over to his car, clambering into safety and muting whatever Jay means to say. He fumbles for his keys, eager to leave this behind and not micro-analyze it to filth. 

Knock, knock.  

Jungwon’s fingers tense around his keys. Slowly, he turns his head to find Jay gesturing to him from the opposite side of the glass. He juts a finger until Jungwon takes the hint, rolling down the window. 

“Yes?” 

The seatbelt only gives him a little space to scoot back, keeping him in his seat as Jay rests his elbows on the beltline, ducking down. A snap of metal draws his eyes to the leather wallet tucked between Jay’s fingers, worn and awfully familiar… 

His pockets are lighter than they should be, he realizes.  

“Hold on-” Jungwon says, lurching forward, but it’s too late; Jay’s already flipped the wallet open, probably to check for an ID card. He can pinpoint the exact moment in which Jay realizes.   

For the first time, his expression is unreadable as he looks at the photo tucked into the first slot—a Polaroid, taken back in university. Even without looking at it, Jungwon can imagine it clearly: the two of them crammed together on the twin-size mattress of Jungwon’s dormitory, unaware of the lens focused on them.   

Jungwon’s hands hover, torn between returning to his lap or snatching the wallet from Jay. Or yanking on the steering wheel, wallet be damned. Before he can make up his mind, Jay clears his throat, holding it out.  

“Probably best you don’t leave this behind,” he says, completely overlooking Jungwon’s failure to remove their shared Polaroid from his wallet. “Or you might have to come back.” 

“Yeah. I’ll… try not to fuck up the address again.” 

Jay smiles. It’s a bit crooked but flusters Jungwon anyway, and he distracts himself by starting the car. The ignition roars to life, nearly drowning out Jay’s next words

“Can I see you again?” 

If Jungwon was flustered before, this question stuns him. He stares at Jay, who steadfastly holds his gaze. “I,” he says, at a loss for words. All he comes up with is an inarticulate, “Why?”  

It’s Jay’s turn to stammer. His earnest tone morphs back to coolness. “Never mind. Drive safely. Text me once you’re home.” 

Before Jungwon can puzzle out his expression, he turns on his heel. Strides out of the parking lot, taking his wire-rimmed glasses, silk tie, and Prada loafers with him. The rumble of the engine shakes Jungwon out of his daze, and he clumsily gropes for the gearshift.  

The drive lacks the usual background noise, whether a playlist or the radio. It’s as he brakes to a stop that the previous hour rewinds in his head, from crawling on the floor for his groceries to losing his wallet. 

Jungwon drops his head onto the wheel. 

[6:34 p.m]

wonnonly
this is all YOUR fault
[noshitmura reacted with ‘question-mark’]

/Two

[10:28 a.m]

p.jay02
[attachment: enjwjy106.img]
Hey, Jungwon.
It looks like I got your package again.

Jungwon has made a terrible mistake.  

Since the encounter at Jay’s apartment, the two of them have been tentatively exchanging texts. Granted, Jay initiates most of the conversation and risks being left on read, but it’s an adjustment from their months of radio silence.  

This development does little to help Jungwon’s already-tumultuous thoughts. His friend from university and current roommate, Sunoo, will call him out for his Thinking-about-Jay face, and Jungwon will loudly deny its existence.  

Except two nights ago, when the two of them had taken advantage of a shared day off and cranked open a couple of drinks, and Jungwon’s brain-to-mouth filter malfunctioned. If his memory serves correctly, all he talked about was his ex-boyfriend and his crisp clothing and shameless staring.  

“And he was wearing a tie,” Jungwon grumbled, chewing on the rim of his can. “In front of me! His ex-boyfriend! How is that appropriate?”  

Under his breath, Sunoo muttered something about Jungwon’s businessman kink.  

And now, as Jungwon rereads the texts, it becomes apparent he did more than talk and in fact, ordered another package to Jay’s doorstep. A sink drain pipe kit, overnight delivery. Seriously, what was drunk-Jungwon thinking? 

If he had any memory of his order, he would’ve gone ahead and cancelled it. It’s too late for that now. Jungwon groans. How does he explain ordering fixtures to his ex-boyfriend’s apartment, not out of need, but because he couldn’t get him out of his head?  

Before he can craft up some sloppy excuse, Jay’s status flickers to life, turning green. Three, little bubbles pop up. And disappear. And appear again, and this time, the texts finally come.

[10:28 a.m]

p.jay02
I’m going to be near your apartment today.
Do you want me to drop it off?
Or are you at work? 


Jungwon’s fingertips go still. Jay, coming over to drop off Jungwon’s package. It’s a terrible idea, especially since Jay hasn’t been here since seven months and three days ago. Yet, a louder, foolish part of Jungwon—the one which placed the order—nudges at him. 

He erases his last text. Writes out a new one.

[10:38 a.m]

wonnonly
i’m home
sure, works for me
[p.jay02 reacted with ‘thumbs-up’] 

p.jay02
Great :). 
I’ll be there at 12.  

Despite himself, Jungwon’s lip twitches upwards at Jay’s grammatically-flawless messages. He’s smiling, even, as he rolls out of bed and steps out of his room. The hum dies on his lips. 

The apartment is trashed. 

Crumpled fast food wrappers and crushed beer cans fill the carpet. The sink is full of dishes, from pots to plates. The half-full mug on the counter may display signs of life soon. When Jungwon swipes a thumb over the coffee table, a thick layer of dust comes away with it. Finally, splayed across the couch, ignorant to the surrounding mess, is Kim Sunoo, wrapped comfortably in a quilt as he dozes away.  

“Kim Sunoo,” Jungwon hisses, stalking over. Snapping his fingers does nothing, so Jungwon settles for poking his roommate’s immobile body. “Get up. Park Jay is coming here in-” 

He checks the time and goes pale. 

“Park Jay is coming here in an hour and he’s going to see that we live in a pigsty.” 

Finally, Sunoo groans. “Why is-” 

“It’s a long story. Get up! Go sleep in your room.” 

“Why does it even matter- ” 

“He has to know I’m doing great without him,” Jungwon says, to which he receives an unimpressed look. He ignores it.  

It takes a bit of pushing and pulling, but he manages to cart a sleepy Sunoo to his room. Jungwon doesn’t bother to check if he makes it to the bed, facing the horrific apartment instead.  

Fifty minutes to clean up this mess; he’s accomplished more in less time. Muttering a prayer, Jungwon goes to find latex gloves. It takes a bit of scavenging, but he manages to locate them, along with a broom and a mini vacuum, untouched since undergrad.  

Every bit of trash is eradicated. Ceramic is scrubbed until it sings. Granite is polished until it squeaks. The air becomes thick with the heady scent of cleaning agents. Jungwon gets fed up with brushing his bangs away and pins them back with hair clips, courtesy of Sunoo.  

He’s just peering into the refrigerator— why do they have so many expired condiments?—when his phone chimes with a text from Jay. A single word which makes his stomach roll.  

[12:03 a.m]

p.jay02
Here.

Abruptly, Jungwon is aware he’s still dressed in his pajama set—the one with little cats printed all over—stinks like Lysol, and is sweating profusely. No prayers can help him now. Swearing, he rushes to his room.  

A hoodie and a spritz of body mist is all he manages before there’s a knock on the door. The pajama pants will have to stay, but it’s fine. This man has seen him in worse. Granted, they were dating then, but that’s neither here nor there.  

Jungwon wrenches the door open. Any planned greeting shrivels in his throat. 

Standing outside his door, Jay looks unfairly put-together. His tweed blazer broadens his shoulders, a matching tie hanging around his neck. All of his dark hair has been smoothed back, save for a few rebellious strands, falling over his forehead.  

And those damn glasses.  

His blatant checking out would be embarrassing if Jay wasn’t doing the same thing. In his cat-printed pants, Jungwon has no choice but to hold his ground.  

Jay’s lip quirks up. “Did I come at a bad time?”  

“Not at all. You’re fine. You were in the area?” 

“Yes. I had to meet up with someone, so I thought I’d be your postman for the day.” 

Who dresses like that for a meet-up? “Someone,” Jungwon repeats. “Is this code for a love interest or-”  

“Oh, no,” Jay laughs. Jungwon relaxes. He hadn’t even realized he’d tensed up. “Not unless I suddenly had a thing for middle-aged men.” 

“You never know. But—it doesn’t matter if it was a date. Of course.”  

“Of course,” is the easy agreement. Jay’s eyes drift upwards. “I like the clips.” 

Jungwon’s hand flies to his hair; that’s what he forgot to take out. “These are… I’m experimenting with a new style.” It’s barely been a minute and Jungwon is already making a fool of himself. Hastily picking out the clips, he switches the topic. “Where’s the package?” 

“They suit you.” Before Jungwon can scrutinize the words too closely, Jay extends a bulked-up bubble mailer. “Special delivery, just for you.” 

Corny. Jungwon’s ears go warm anyway. “Thanks. For the mail. And the compliment.” 

He avoids checking Jay’s expression, focusing on the envelope in his hands, instead. Fantastic. Another task to fit into his cramped schedule. Now, he’ll have to go through the hassle of printing labels and reboxing and visiting the post office… 

“I need to know, though.” Crossing his arms, Jay settles lightly against the door frame. “Why do you need a sink drain pipe kit, anyway?” 

For some reason, Jungwon hadn’t anticipated Jay asking. He stares, trying to come up with something while Jay waits patiently, in no hurry to depart.  

The truth—drunk-Jungwon experiencing a small episode—is off the table. “The kitchen sink’s pipe burst,” he blurts. “I’m going to fix it.” 

“Damn. That’s the worst. The same thing happened to me a couple weeks back.” 

“Wow. What a coincidence.”  

This was a bad idea. Jungwon never should’ve let Jay invade his doorstep. His fingertips drum on the doorknob, eager to shut the door.  

“Isn’t it? I ended up fixing it myself.” Jay pauses, letting the words linger. “I could help you with yours.” 

Jungwon twitches. “No.” 

The refusal comes out harsher than intended, if the hurt which rolls over Jay’s face is any indication. It’s quick to pass, a smile taking its place.   

“Sorry. I overstepped-” 

“It’s not that,” Jungwon says, quickly. Like a broken dam, lies stream from his mouth. “I already contacted a plumber. They’re on their way to fix the sink. The broken sink.” 

“Oh.” Jay straightens, expression clearing. “Good call.” 

“Yeah.” 

“You’ve got that worked out, then.” 

“...Yup.” 

Jay opens his mouth, doesn’t say a word, and closes it. Finally, he clears his throat. “I’ll be going, then. Hopefully the plumber can sort it out.” 

Stepping backwards, he gives a little wave. Jungwon’s hand loosens around the knob. He means to wave back but finds himself rooted to place instead.  

Jay’s feet leave the doormat, and the motion propels him to action. “Wait, Jay.” 

As if he was waiting, Jay wheels around. Jungwon coughs. Another white lie won’t hurt, right? 

“The plumber said he might be too busy to come over today. Would you mind-” 

“Of course.” Even before he can finish his request, Jay is back on his doormat. “It’d be my pleasure.”  

“Right. Give me… Just a minute.” 

Slamming the door shut, he plasters his back against it. Panic threatens to creep in, and he wills it away. If Jungwon can pull through twelve-hour shifts in the emergency unit, he’ll survive fibbing to his ex-boyfriend. 

“Sink pipe,” Jungwon mutters, hurrying towards the kitchen.  

He throws open the cupboards. Unfortunately, none of the fixtures burst over the course of his and Jay’s short exchange. Ducking down lower, he grasps the nearest pipe and pulls. It squeaks and shifts. 

“Alright.” Sitting back, he rolls up his sleeves. “I can take out a pipe.” 

It takes a little tugging and a lot of swearing before he finally manages to yank the pipe free. Jungwon holds it up like a trophy, but his victory is short-lived. Behind him, someone clears their throat. 

Sunoo, freshly-emerged from hibernation, surveys the situation. His eyes shift from the yawning cupboards to the dripping, disconnected pipe to Jungwon, knelt on the floor. “There are other ways to spend time with him, you know.” 

“Shut up.” Scrambling to his feet, he shakes the pipe. “Help me find somewhere to hide this.” 

“No, thanks. Good luck.”

With that, Sunoo abandons him. Through thick and thin, Jungwon’s ass.  

He ends up stashing it in the nearest drawer before returning to the door. Steeling himself with an inhale, he peeks outside. A part of him expects Jay to have fled, but that notion is quickly eliminated.  

“Hey, again,” Jay says, waving.  

“Hi,” Jungwon says, doing his best to pretend he didn’t just rip a pipe off. “Come on in.”  

Jay follows him in, toeing off his shoes. Perhaps on instinct, he lines them up next to Jungwon’s sneakers. “Nothing’s changed at all.” 

“What did you expect?” 

“I’m not sure.” He studies the surroundings. “It’s really neat. Were you cleaning before I came?” 

A chill goes down Jungwon’s spine. Maybe the body mist hadn’t covered up the scent of Lysol as well as he hoped it would.  

“No,” he says, just in time for Jay to nearly trip over the cleaning supplies he failed to store. “A little.” 

“A little,” Jay repeats. He straightens a knocked-over bottle of disinfectant, no doubt noticing the mini vacuum and broom. Jungwon is spared from responding as they step into the kitchen. 

Jay gets to work immediately. He shrugs off his tweed blazer, revealing the button-up shirt underneath, tailored too well to the slopes of his body. When he crouches to peer into the cabinet, the cotton fabric strains over his shifting back muscles.  

“Huh.” Jay looks up, and he averts his eyes. “Where did the pipe go? The one that burst?” 

“I… threw it away. Since it didn’t work anymore.” 

“Hm. Well, it looks like the replacement you bought should work.” 

“Really?” Jungwon says, genuinely surprised; maybe drunk-Jungwon has some sense, after all. “I mean—I’d hope so.”

The other extends a hand. Absurdly, Jungwon thinks he’s asking for his hand, before the cogs begin turning. He quickly passes the package over, which, as it turns out, includes more than a pipe. There are nuts and attachments and washers, all of which Jay explains in detail. 

Jungwon sits and stares at Jay’s face for most of the explanation, nodding now and then. 

When Sunoo wanders back into the kitchen, it’s to find the two of them cross-legged on the tiles, fitting together fixtures.

“Hi, Jungwon and Jungwon’s ex,” he says, leaning over the counter. “How’s playing plumber going?” 

He ignores Jungwon’s withering look. Jay is gracious enough to not comment on the choice of address, inclining his head politely instead. “Hello, Sunoo. How’s it going?”  

“Good. Better if I still got my weekly mint chocolate ice cream delivery. Jungwon is stingy.” 

“Tragic. If only I remembered beforehand, I would’ve brought some with me.” 

“You could always mail some to the apartment. Right, Jungwon?” 

Jungwon refuses to take the bait. “Uh-huh.” 

Their chat extends for a bit longer, the topic flitting from family to work to Jungwon’s least favorite; relationships. “How’s the dating scene?” 

Jay coughs, taken aback. “Uh-” 

“Sunoo!” Jungwon snaps. He’s barely spared a glance. 

“What? He’s got a fresh dating pool now. I’m allowed to be a little curious.” 

“You shouldn’t-” 

“I, uh.” His mouth snaps shut as Jay interrupts. “I’m not sure. I haven’t thought about it yet.”  

Yet. There’s an implication that eventually, Jay will burn that bridge, and once that happens, his and Jungwon’s relationship will be nothing but history. Oddy, his stomach curdles.  

Sunoo picks up on the shift in mood. “Well,” he says, clasping his hands together. “Good luck with that. And the pipe. I’ll be waiting on that ice cream.” 

He makes a sweeping exit. Jay chuckles at his theatrics, although it does little to alleviate the tension smothering the room. If it was up to Jungwon, he would follow after Sunoo and bar himself in his room.  

Unfortunately, he doesn’t have much of a choice. Sticking his head in the cupboard under the guise of screwing the pipe on is the closest to an escape he’ll get.  

“Hold on,” Jay says. Placing a hand on his elbow, he reels him back. “I’ll attach it. You turn on the sink when I say so.”  

“Be my guest,” Jungwon says. If Jay wants to squeeze himself into a twenty-four by forty-two inches space, so be it. He fiddles with the tap as he waits for Jay’s signal, still stuck on the previous conversation.  

For some reason, since Jungwon wasn’t interested in pursuing a relationship after the breakup, he assumed Jay was in the same boat. Clearly, this couldn’t be farther from the truth.  

I haven’t thought about it yet. When would he think about it? When would he move forward and find a sweet girl or a charming guy to hang off his arm, the way Jungwon used to? He tries to think about it—Jay, with a new, faceless partner—but fails, the image blurring at the edges.  

“Jungwon,” Jay calls, muffled from where his upper half is buried into the cabinet. Oh, right. The signal. He lifts the tap. “What the hell— shit!” 

Jay bursts out, hair drenched, shirt soaked through. Jungwon stares, bewildered. 

“Turn it off!”  

Oh, no. Hurriedly, he does. The water peters out into a drip, plunging a standing Jungwon and a soaking Jay into silence. A puddle is beginning to form. 

“I was asking for a flashlight,” Jay says, without any anger. Jungwon winces anyway. 

“I thought you were giving me the signal,” he stammers. “Hold on, let me go get a towel-” 

“It’s fine. I didn’t get that wet.” Jungwon tries to protest, but upon closer inspection, Jay’s telling the truth; aside from his hair, which took the brunt of the damage, he’s relatively dry. “Could you pass me a paper towel?” 

He does. Jay mops his face, squeezing his hair dry. All of this mess because Jungwon decided he needed to see his ex again.  

“I’m sorry.” 

“It’s alright.” Jay peeks up from over the towel, smiling reassuringly. “Let’s get this finished up, okay?” 

“Yes, please.” 

Past brushed elbows and knocked shoulders, the pipe is installed without any further hiccups. “I didn’t expect it to go like this,” Jay says. Mine was nowhere near this intense.” 

A portion of his bangs has lost its gel-stiffness, hanging limply over his head. Jungwon watches the strands flutter, and out of everything, this is what settles his stomach.  

“Last time,” he begins, drawing Jay’s attention, “you asked to see me again. Why?”  

Thrown by the topic change, Jay only blinks at him. His hand, threading through his hair, drops to his lap. “...I’m not sure.” 

It’s the same answer Jay gave him last time. Before Jungwon can be disappointed, he keeps going.  

“It’d been so long. Seeing you again made me realize how you used to be a constant and how strange it is that you weren’t anymore. I wanted to feel normal again, I guess.”  

He admits all of this easily, like water off his back. 

“To feel normal again,” Jungwon repeats. He doesn’t want to read too deeply into Jay’s words and how they border on a confession, no matter how indirect.  “But… It’s weird between us.” 

“Is it?” 

He stares. Jay returns it, tilting his head. His bangs follow the movement. “You can’t be serious.” All he receives is a shrug. “I mean, we used to date. We don’t anymore. And…”

Jay should be angry. He should be livid. Instead, he’s sitting on the kitchen floor, sopping wet, helping his ex-boyfriend fix a pipe. Jungwon doesn’t understand him.  

“We were friends first.” 

“Still.” 

They hadn’t had the most typical of friendships, after all. Most friends didn’t take up space on each other’s mattresses for hours on end or have each other listed as their emergency contacts. 

Jay must pick up on his apprehension, because he turns to study the array of souvenir magnets and sticky notes stuck onto Sunoo and Jungwon’s shared refrigerator. “If it makes you uncomfortable, we can go back to how-” 

“No.” 

“...No?” 

“No,” Jungwon confirms. He’s starting to understand why Jay wanted to see him again. There was a good reason behind why he went cold turkey for months, limiting all contact. After only spending a handful of minutes with Jay, he can’t remember how he was ever out of his life. “I don’t mind seeing you.” 

It’s an echo of Jay’s words from last time, and based on his expression, he remembers it too. He doesn’t smile, but he gets close to it, brow relaxing and jaw softening. “Well. That’s a relief.” 

Although the tension remains, it’s lighter. Jungwon chews on his lip while Jay straightens a row of magnets. He doesn’t want to examine this situation too closely, whether it be their unorthodox meetings or their mutual understanding. 

All he wants is for Jay to linger a little longer. Preferably without a pipe to fix. 

“Jay,” he blurts. “Did you have lunch yet?” 

/Three

Texts ebb and flow between them. While they’re still mostly polite exchanges or requests for verification codes, sometimes, Jay will ask about his day, or, like last weekend, send a puzzling string of letters. 

[11:32 a.m]

p.jay02
myjhgwno ohgodiwsnyoubacjsobafpls
[wonnonly reacted with ‘question-mark’] 

p.jay02
I apologize.
I was a little tipsy last night and my fingers slipped. 
Please ignore.
[wonnonly reacted with ‘thumbs-up’]

He spends some time puzzling out the keyboard smash but only manages to decode his name, Jungwon. Meanwhile, when Sunoo peeks at the screen, he bursts into laughter and waves Riki over to join in his amusement. Both of them refuse to provide any explanation.  

“Ask Jay about it,” Sunoo says. “It’s about time you order something to his address again.” 

“I’m not going to do that,” Jungwon grumbles. He learned his lesson from last time’s fiasco. “I don’t want to see him either.” 

Sunoo doesn’t believe him, and he makes this clear with an incredulous look. He doesn’t push, however. “Maybe I should instead. We do need some stuff for Wednesday.”  

“Yeah, yeah.”  

Jungwon doesn’t take the casual threat seriously. Hence why he is completely blindsided when, midway through a grocery trip, Sunoo rings his phone and informs him he’ll need to go pick up a twelve-pack of beer from Jay’s apartment. 

“Heeseung is only coming for those drinks,” Sunoo chirps. “Don’t worry, I already told Jay that you’ll be coming by, so he’s expecting you.” 

“What?” 

“Maybe you can ask him about the texts. Let me know how it goes!” 

“Sunoo-” 

Click. The line goes dead, leaving Jungwon staring back at his warped reflection.  

“I should look for a new roommate,” he says. Something else occurs to him. “How did he even get into my phone-? 

On cue, a text pops up.

[6:23 p.m]

sun
your passcode is still his birthday :)  
[wonnonly reacted with ‘rage’]

Driven by half-embarrassment, half-fury, Jungwon immediately accesses the Settings app to change his passcode. Unfortunately, it’s too late for it to make a difference now. With a sigh, Jungwon heads to the register for check-out.  

The same, friendly guy greets him at reception, waving him forward. The trip up the elevator and across the hallway brings back the acute memory of three weeks ago, when he spilled both his groceries and dignity. Jungwon winces. 

It takes a bit of courage to lift a hand. His knuckles barely graze wood, and the lock turns, door opening. He goes stiff—he expected a bit more time to gather himself—as Jay’s face appears between the gap, fixed into a civil smile.  

On instinct, Jungwon backs up. “...Hi.”  

“Jungwon.” If his smile is polite, his tone is even more. “Sunoo said I’d be expecting you.” 

“Yes. I have to pick up the-”

“The package,” Jay finishes. He pulls the door open wider. “Come in, I’m almost done.” 

He must be mid-cooking, Jungwon realizes, noticing the tongs in Jay’s hands. What gives it away, however, is the recognizable apron wrapped around his torso—a disastrous Secret Santa gift from Jungwon— Good Lookin’ is Cookin’ embroidered across the breast. He never thought Jay would actually use it.  

“It’s fine. I need to be home soon.” 

Jay ignores him. “You haven’t had dinner yet, right?”  

Or lunch, but Jungwon isn’t going to bring that up. Especially not, as at the mention of food, his stomach gurgles. “Well-” 

With a knowing look, Jay gestures for him to come in. Jungwon accepts his fate.  

Nostalgia cripples him instantly. Little has changed since he was here last: pegs are chock full of coats and satchels, walls have all the same paintings, and the floor tiles are still in dire need of grout. Too many times, the two of them had passed this doorway, whether sober, tipsy, or drunk.  

Fingers against his elbow draw him out of thoughts. Jungwon looks up.  

“Sorry?” 

“How’s the kitchen sink?” Jay asks, and based on his tone, he must have already repeated this question. The reminder of their last encounter makes Jungwon flush. He mumbles some form of a reply, and Jay doesn’t push him for anything else.  

It’s strange to be back here, especially not as Jay’s boyfriend, barely even as a friend. Jay leads him to the kitchen and Jungwon pretends he hasn’t sat here a dozen times before, stressing over school work while Jay made tea.  

The scent of steamed garlic and soy sauce fills the air, the sound of sizzling joining the grumbling of the vent. Jungwon slides onto a barstool while Jay returns to the stove. “I didn’t think you’d use it.” 

Jay’s head twists to look at him. Jungwon waves a hand. 

“The apron.” 

“It’d be a waste not to. It was a gift from you, after all.” 

Jungwon doesn’t know what to take from that and chooses not to ask. Instead, he watches Jay move around with practiced movements—eggs cracked with a single hand, spices added without any measurement.  

“So,” Jay begins. Casual. Measured. “Hanging out with anyone new lately?”  

It’s an abrupt change in topic, and although Jungwon frowns, thrown by the segue, he doesn’t think much of it. “Not really,” he says. “The only person I see often is Sunoo, but he doesn’t count because he lives with me. Heeseung’s a workaholic and never takes a day off. And Riki is… Riki.” 

“No interesting coworkers?” 

Jungwon thinks. “Not that I can think of… Oh, wait. There’s a new phlebotomist at the hospital. Everyone’s obsessing over him because he looks like a model. He’s a nice guy, I think.” 

What was his name, again? Sangwon? Sungwoo? Jungwon can’t recall. What he does remember is that the guy was well-mannered, if not a bit awkward. Somehow, their shifts ended around a similar time, and Jungwon offered to buy him lunch.  

“Pale face, dark hair? Moles?” 

“Yeah, actually. You know him, or something?” 

A pause, a bit too long. “...Or something.”  

“How do you know him?” There’s no answer and suddenly, Jay’s back, hunched over the stove, looks quite meek. “Jay.” 

“Riki mentioned it to me,” Jay confesses. “He must have seen you two together.” 

“ Riki? ” Jungwon sputters, suddenly fearful. “What did he say, exactly?” 

“It really wasn’t anything-” 

“Tell me. Word-for-word.” 

Jay clears his throat. “Something about you and a guy ‘cozying it up’ at a restaurant.” 

“I swear to-” Jungwon massages his temple. He’s going to have a long conversation with Riki about the information he spreads around. “No. That was not what was happening.” 

“I hear he is a good-looking guy, though. Riki was pretty insistent on that fact.” 

“I mean, sure. But I’m not—I don’t even know if he likes guys.”  

Jay doesn’t follow up, occupied with a rice-filled pan. With his slouched back facing Jungwon, it’s impossible to see his face. All which is visible are his ears, peeking out from under his hair. They’re flushed, red at the cartilage, either because of the heat or… 

A slow, sure realization sinks in.  

“I’m not seeing anyone.”  

The sound Jay releases is equivalent to a deflating balloon. He doesn’t respond immediately, but as Jungwon watches, his body unwinds, spine relaxing and shoulders sagging. His chest does something funny.  

“I see,” Jay says. Further conversation ends up being unnecessary as he switches off the stove, delicately arranging the steaming food onto ceramic plates.  

Soy-soaked rice, embedded with peas and topped with chopped nuts, forms a perfect lump. Stacked alongside it are morsels of chicken, panko-breaded and deep-fried before being drenched in dark, amber sauce. Tucked over all of it is a poached egg, lacy-crisp at the edges and yellow-soft in the center. Jungwon’s mouth waters.  

“You make food like this on a daily basis?” Jungwon asks, fiddling with his chopsticks instead of digging in. While Jay enjoys cooking, he doesn’t recall him putting so much effort into a simple dinner.  

“Sometimes.” 

“...And you usually cook like you’re doomsday prepping?”  

This time, Jay cracks a smile. Instead of answering, he nudges the plate closer. “Enough questions. Eat up.”  

Jungwon is tempted to keep up the teasing but drops it in favor of digging into the meal. He expects it to be good, but he’s pleasantly surprised when it’s great . The rice is savory, melding well with the sweet chicken. Like meringue, the egg melts into his mouth.

Across the counter, Jay still hasn’t moved. His expression is a little anxious, like he can’t eat until he gets Jungwon’s approval.  

“You got better.” 

Jay’s features crinkle, turning warm. It unnecessarily flusters Jungwon, who shifts his eyes to his plate. “I’ve been practicing a lot.”  

His traitorous brain adds in two extra words: for you. But that’s ridiculous, so Jungwon brushes off the thought. “Are you going to keep watching me eat or join in?” 

“Both are tempting,” Jay says, but finally, he moves. Jungwon doesn’t expect it when he takes a seat beside him, almost choking on a pea when Jay’s knee brushes his own. He manages to cover it up with a cough.  

As soon as he’s scraped his plate clean, he hops off the stool, desperate to put some space between them. “I’ll do the dishes.” Predictably, Jay begins to protest and Jungwon waves it off. “Just rest, old man.” 

He relents, eventually. Jungwon rolls up his sleeves and scrubs, dries, and sorts. Nothing has changed in the layout of the kitchen, either. Cookware still goes underneath the stove, utensils in the drawer next to the sink. 

One of the mugs is familiar. It’s the one Jungwon got from orientation, back in freshman year, and he’d once forgotten to take it with him. He never ended up bringing it back, opting to use it in Jay’s apartment. 

The thought of taking it back crosses his mind briefly and leaves just as quickly. Jungwon quietly closes the cabinet and turns around to find Jay watching him, an unreadable look on his face. 

“What is it?” 

“Nothing.” Jay ignores his quizzical look, moving over to wash his plate. But then: “I was just thinking about how you still know your way around the place.” 

“I did spend most of my time in university here.”  

Jay hums. He looks as if he wants to say more. Jungwon wants to hear him say it too, what else he is thinking about. Before he can press, however, his phone rings, and the opportunity passes.  

He doesn’t check the caller ID as he presses the phone to his ear. “Hello-” 

“Bad news,” Sunoo’s voice, dampened by static, comes through. “I just got called in.” 

“You’re kidding. No way.” 

“Yes, way. I knew I should’ve checked who was calling. God forbid I ever get a day to myself, apparently. I’m literally running to the hospital with my ass hanging out.” 

“What about Heeseung tonight? And the drinks? I already drove to Jay’s apartment to pick them up-” 

“It’ll happen another time.” 

He snorts. “With Heeseung and his schedule?”  

“I’ll blackmail him into coming. Let Jay have the drinks. Or, even better-” His tone takes on a teasing edge. “-have them with him. Maybe it’ll bring back the spark in your relationship.” 

Jungwon’s hand flies up, cupping over the phone. “Hey-” 

“Ugh, they’re calling me again. Sorry, Jungwon, I’ve got to go. Good luck.” 

His voice cuts off, leaving Jungwon to digest this new information. Jay, who’d made himself scarce during the call, steps back into the kitchen. He’s finally gotten rid of that ridiculous apron. “Sunoo?” 

“He got called in.” 

Jay clicks his tongue, sympathetically. “That’s unfortunate,” he says before hefting up a box. Sunoo’s twelve-pack. “Here’s the package, by the way.” 

“About that…” Jungwon breathes in, steadying himself. “Are you doing anything for the rest of the night?” 

“Not particularly, no-”  

“Let’s drink.” Instead of the casual offer he mentally prepared, a demand slips free. Immediately, his face heats while Jay, to his credit, only lifts an inquisitive eyebrow. “Even if the party’s cancelled, it shouldn't go to waste, and drinking alone isn’t-”  

“Sure,” Jay says, effectively ending his spiel. “I don’t have work tomorrow; it’s fine if I drink a bit.” 

Huh. He expected to be politely rejected, but instead, Jay agreed to his foolish suggestion. Even now, he continues speaking, ignorant of Jungwon’s fumbling.  

“Give me a minute to change. I’ll be right there.” 

Just like that, he’s gone. Jungwon doesn’t let himself ruminate over what he’s getting himself into. Instead, he debates lingering in the kitchen and waiting for Jay to return, but ultimately deviates to the living room instead. 

It’s a reflection of the last time he was here. Same television, same throw pillows, same misshapen yarn blanket back from Sunoo’s crocheting phase.  

The couch he dozed off on countless times. The table he spilled coffee on even more. The photo collage is unchanged, too, and Jungwon runs his fingertips over a photo of Jay in his graduation gown, flowers in hand. Another with his arms slung around his university friends, broad grins all around. And one more. His fingertips still.  

Jay and Jungwon, curled up on a twin-sized mattress. The matching Polaroid to the one in his wallet, taken just a few moments after his. In this one, they’ve noticed the cameraman, with Jungwon pointing accusingly, mouth half-open. Jay’s got a blithe grin, one arm curled around Jungwon’s torso.  

“He didn’t take it down,” he murmurs. Instantly, explanations—excuses—fill his head.   

Maybe he forgot to. Maybe he was too lazy. Maybe it wasn’t that big of a deal.  

Or, maybe, he wanted to keep it up. Jungwon isn’t sure which explanation comforts him most.  

Gentle footfalls tear him away from the collage. He busies himself with a can of beer instead, popping it open just as Jay returns. His heart lurches.  

Gone is the crease-free blazer and slacks, replaced by a wool sweater and trousers. His wire-rimmed glasses rest low on the nose, through which he peers at Jungwon, who is cross-legged on the carpet with a can of beer. For once, his bangs are left to lie loose, and Jungwon can’t help but ache. 

Jay looks too soft. Intimate, somehow. Like something which should be reserved only for someone deemed special to him. 

Someone who Jungwon used to be, and no longer is.  

“Someone’s getting a headstart,” Jay says. He sits on the opposite end, which Jungwon is eternally grateful for. He doesn’t know if he’d be able to handle it if he was next to him.  

“You were taking too long.”  

“Was I? No wonder your face is already red.” 

“No, it’s not. I barely get tipsy off of these.” 

“Of course.” Jay’s tone is playful as he cracks open a can with one hand. His fingertips lay against the rim, middle finger pulling up the metal tab with little to no effort.  

Show-off. Jungwon lifts his own can, concealing the lower half of his oddly-warm face.  

Jay brings the opening to his nose, inhaling deeply. Whatever he discovers must not impress him because his forehead wrinkles. “If these weren’t going to waste, I’d get us out something much better.” 

“Yeah, yeah.” Jungwon rolls his eyes. “Bottoms-up.”  

He obeys, easily guzzling it down entirely, but not without making a show of grimacing afterward. “I’m surprised this is what Sunoo likes.” 

“Pretty sure it’s the price point he likes more, over the taste. Some of us have to be frugal.” 

“You sure do a lot of online shopping, though,” Jay chuckles. “I might have to turn my delivery notifications off.” 

His face warms even further. “You have them on?” No, that’s not the question he should ask. What’s important is- “Have you been tracking everything I’ve bought?” 

“Not purposefully. It is my account, though. You’ve never ordered anything embarrassing, at least.”  

Jungwon groans. Throwing his head back, he downs the rest of his can, immediately reaching for another one. Mentally, he goes through his previous months of purchases, desperately hoping Sunoo hadn’t snuck anything odd in. Jay watches him as he does, the corner of his lip twitching.  

Three cans in, the embarrassment loses its edge, replaced by an indistinct buzz. Jungwon rests his cheek on the table, blinking blearily at the man across from him. Jay, also on his third, remains clear-eyed, if not a little reserved. The can hangs loosely from his fingertips, his jaw pressed to his knuckles.  

He looks thoughtful. Jungwon has many thoughts, too. Mostly centered on the photo collage and Jay’s flushed ears and the mug in the cabinet. Later, he’ll blame his mouth opening on the beer. 

“Are you seriously not dating again?”  

Jay’s jaw lifts from his knuckles. He appraises Jungwon quietly, who props himself up on an elbow. It takes more effort than it should. Maybe he’s more tipsy than he thought.  

“I’m not,” he confirms.  

“Why, though?” Jungwon wonders. He doesn’t buy Jay’s previous excuse of I haven’t thought about it —especially not when he even considered it several times. “There must be some pretty accountants at your firm.” 

“None at all,” Jay says, snorting. He sets down his drink, mouth half-curled into a smile. “What about you? No handsome doctors at the hospital?” 

It’s teasing, but Jungwon doesn’t miss how Jay dodges his earlier question. “Maybe if I had a thing for scrubs. I’ve always preferred suits.” 

No sooner does the admission leave him and his face burns, humiliated. To make matters worse, Jay laughs—openly, loudly. Then- 

“I know. That’s why I wore business casual every day back in junior year. Even during spring.”  

“No way. I thought you were finding your style.”  

“That was a part of it,” Jay admits. “But mostly it was because you really, really liked my outfit during New Year’s.” 

“Oh, God.” Jungwon’s memory of that party is spotty. Mostly because he drank himself to darkness, but what little he can remember induces a full-body shudder. “I don’t want to talk about it.” 

“It was a pivotal point of our relationship, though. You were very cute.”  

“I was cute when I threw up all over your new shoes. Which you bought with your first paycheck.”  

A shrug. “It was an act of love. You were trying to fix my tie.” 

Jungwon doesn’t remember that part. He does remember that the day after, he woke up in Jay’s bed, hung over and half in love. Distantly, he wonders how that Jungwon would feel, finding out about what he’s thrown away.  

Not completely, though. Jay, across from him, is a testament to that, even if Jungwon still can’t figure out why he’s alright with this. Can’t understand why Jay is okay with the bits and pieces of Jungwon left embedded in his life.  

Even now, he’s smiling as he reminisces, as if it all hadn’t ultimately led to nothing.  

“I don’t get it.” Jay, midway through finishing his drink, glances up. “How can you talk like that?” 

“Like what?” 

“Like you’re not angry.” 

Clink. Jay sets down his can. Carefully, he asks, “Who or what should I be angry with?” 

“Me. The breakup. I pushed you, even though you didn’t want to.” 

“We held each other back,” Jay says, and hearing his own words repeated back to him burns. And it wasn’t even the most hurtful out of them all. “That’s what you said.” 

“Yeah. Don’t you hate me, even a little?” 

“No.” The answer is immediate. 

“What about seven months ago?” And twenty-three days. “You didn’t hate me then, either?” 

“I didn’t.” 

“But-” 

Before he can keep going, Jay interrupts. “It hurt. But I never hated you. Especially after I understood where you were coming from. I didn’t get to say it then but… You had a point.” 

“...I did?” 

“Planning our entire lives around each other was exhausting. You felt trapped. You deserved to live more freely than that.”  

No, Jungwon thinks, throat fluttering, it was Jay who deserved to live more freely. He still remembers, too-clearly, the look on Jay’s face as he juggled his new job and tried to hold their relationship together. The exhaustion as they planned their move-in together, to a bigger, better apartment, something which they had eagerly whispered about back in university.  

Jay’s still talking. “You did what you had to do, and I don’t hold it against you. If you wanted to do it again, I would still-” 

“Stop,” Jungwon says. Immediately, he falls silent. “Stop talking like that.” 

His throat pulses around everything he needs to say. But it’s too early. The words are barely corporeal, nothing but a wisp.  

In the end, all he manages is another, defeated, “I don’t get it.”  

Under the table, Jay nudges his ankle. His cool fingers wrap around the bone, gently, squeezing as if to provide comfort.  

“This is what you looked like.” 

His murmur is so soft that Jungwon nearly misses it. “What?” 

“On New Year’s. You were playing with my tie and whispering something. I leaned in to hear you.” 

Even with his gaping memory, Jungwon can envision it. The two of them, standing in Heeseung’s balcony, his shoulder pressed to Jay’s chest. The tie tucked between his fingers and no matter how many times he tugged, Jay didn’t sound a complaint.  

“I don’t remember what I said.” 

“That’s the thing,” Jay says. “I don’t either. Because all I was looking at was your face.”  

Jay’s elbow comes to rest on the table. The hold around his ankle doesn’t grow tighter, but suddenly, Jungwon is too aware of every finger and the skin they’re pressed to. Suddenly, he wonders how this situation might’ve been different if Jay sat beside him. It’s a dangerous train of thought.  

He swallows, audibly. The sound recovers Jay, his fingers falling away as he clears his throat. 

“...Sorry.” 

“It’s fine,” Jungwon says. He can still feel the touch on his skin.  

Desperate to keep himself busy, Jay grabs his can. It’s empty. Sighing, he gestures to the half-finished pack next to Jungwon. “Baby, can you pass me another-” 

Jungwon stops breathing.  

By the look on Jay’s face, he does too. For a moment, both of them stare at each other.  

“I’m sorry,” he exhales. “Force of habit.” 

“Oh,” Jungwon says.  

“I think I’ve had too much to drink,” Jay says, reeling back his arm. Jungwon knows full well that he’s bluffing. “Might be heading into drunk territory.” 

Jungwon nods. His face burns. The beer is starting to sour his mouth and there’s an odd sting behind his eyes. Slowly, he pushes himself up onto wobbly feet. “...I should go.” 

Jay scrambles to follow him. His hands twitch, like he’s about to hold Jungwon steady, before falling to his sides. “I… You’re right. It’s getting late.” 

A speedy exit isn’t possible, not when he needs to skitter around strewn beer cans. Another glaring problem presents itself as Jungwon reaches the door.  

“I can’t drive.”  

He looks at Jay, who is having the same realization.  

“You can’t drive either.” 

Well, shit.  

Twenty-seven minutes. That’s how long they stand outside. Jungwon would feel bad if he hadn’t told Jay to stay inside but he had insisted on coming, and now, they were waiting, shivering in the cold.  

Jungwon checks his phone for the nth time. His notification center is empty. 

“Damn it, Ri-” 

The growl of an engine, getting closer, drowns him out. Jay, a little ahead of him, remains blissfully unaware, staring off into the distance. Gut instinct prompts Jungwon to grab the corner of his sleeve, reeling him back.  

And not a moment too late, as a motorbike skids over to where they were standing. “I don’t know how you still have your license," Jungwon says in greeting. “One day you’ll actually hit someone.” 

“As long as I get away in time, it doesn’t matter,” is the muffled response. The rider hops off, gloved hands pulling off his helmet and revealing a mischievous, impish face. “What an interesting pair.” 

Jungwon releases Jay’s sleeve immediately, marching over. “Let’s go, Riki.” 

“Aw, what? You’re not going to even let me say hi to my best friend?”  

“Best-” Jungwon splutters. “No, you’re not. Especially since you’ve been doing more than saying hi, apparently.” 

“Oops. Guess he told you. How was the date, anyway?” Without waiting for a response, Riki cups a hand around his mouth. “Sorry, man! Jungwon says you’re ‘off-limits’ for social interaction, or something! Kind of hypocritical, honestly.”  

“First of all, it wasn’t a date-” 

“Oh, shit, really? You mind passing over his number, then?” 

“And second, we’re leaving.” 

He manages to push Riki back to the motorbike, who clicks his tongue but relents. “Geez, fine.” 

Riki doesn’t bother with helping him up, nor does he offer his helmet. “What a gentleman,” Jungwon says, trying to fit himself between the other and the carry box.  

“Thanks. I’ve been practicing.” 

The whole time, Jay stands there. Hands in his pocket, chin tucked into his collar. Riki leans back to stage-whisper to Jungwon.  

“Did you break up with him again?” 

“Shut up,” Jungwon hisses back. He musters the last bit of his energy to wave, raising his voice so Jay can hear. “Thanks for dinner!”  

Jay might reply but he isn’t sure, especially over the engine. Riki squeezes the throttle and that’s Jungwon’s only warning before they’re speeding off. Soon, Jay’s figure is nothing but a pinprick.  

“What’s going on, anyways? You guys cozying it up?” 

“You think I’m ‘cozying it up’ with any man. It’s none of your business.” 

It’s a short-term solution; sooner or later, Riki will badger Sunoo for the details. “Fine. I’m not clocked out yet, by the way. I’ve got three deliveries left.” 

“Damn it, Riki!” 

The night air is cool, condensing Jungwon’s thoughts. Riki is a warm anchor which he clings to, keeping him from drifting off. Instead, he relieves the night, from Jay’s red ears to his warm fingers, curled around Jungwon’s ankle.  

“He called me baby,” Jungwon whispers.   

“Dang. At that point, he should’ve jerked you off too.”  

Jungwon lurches. Without hesitation, he shoves Riki, who squawks.  

“I’m about to break my delivery record!” 

“And I’m going to break your bones.” 

“Thanks, but I’m not really a fan of that sort of stuff. Try asking Jay.” 

Jungwon doesn’t wait for them to come to a full stop before dismounting. Riki hollers after him. 

“Hey! You’re going to send me that guy’s number, right? Jungwon!” 

/Four

There’s a pounding beneath his temple, steadily intensifying underneath the harsh, fluorescent lights of the hospital, even more so at the lingering scent of antiseptic. Coupled with the pressure building up around his ears and nose, thanks to his face mask, Jungwon is well on his way to a horrific headache.  

His eyes flick to the clock. Five-thirty. Still thirty more minutes before he can throw in the towel and call it a night. Or rather, day, considering that the sun will rise once he’s outside. Distantly, he wonders how this is Sunoo’s daily life.  

Working the night shift is something Jungwon avoids at all costs. At this moment, however, his roommate is down with a cold and out of the goodness in his heart, Jungwon volunteered to cover for him. He completely forgot how slow everything became at night, especially in the surgical unit.  

Patients slept and hallways remained quiet. Most of the time, Jungwon monitors vital signs and walks the hall, giving the illusion of occupation. Some have given up on pretending to work, gossiping in hushed voices. If Jungwon knew them well, he might have joined in on the conversation. 

His only respite is the phlebotomist—Sunghoon, he remembers his name now—who’d also been called in for the night. Unlike him, however, Sunghoon seems to have more to do, only able to spare a greeting before hurrying off.   

So Jungwon is exhausted, bored, and lonely. The thought of coffee is what gets him to his feet. Maybe caffeine will alleviate his headache. Excited murmurs greet him as soon as he steps into the breakroom. An LPN and PCT, whispering frantically to each other.  

“...Looks like he stepped out of a movie screen-” 

“...Didn’t know handsome faces like that existed in real life-” 

“...His manners!" 

Any other day, Jungwon would have ignored them. Today, however, without any mental stimulation for hours, he leans in closer, curious. “What’s going on?”  

It’s the PCT who answers. “A guy came in a while ago, but not to be admitted or to visit a patient. He said he’s waiting for someone.” 

“A handsome guy,” the LPN whispers, as if it needs to be a well-kept secret. A shiny stone winks from her ring finger. “If I wasn’t already engaged…” 

This sends the two of them into a fit, full of giggles and nudges. Jungwon shakes his head, amused, before turning his attention to his coffee. It’s not too exciting and the watery brown doesn’t make any promises.  

Just as he lifts it to his mouth, prepared for the worst, the door swings open. A familiar face peeks in; Sunghoon, looking even more drained than he did three hours ago. “Jungwon.”  

At his appearance, the whispering takes on another level of frenzy. Forget caffeine. Jungwon needs to take whatever they’re on. “Hi. How’s the shift going?” 

“It’s going,” Sunghoon says blandly. “I passed by the reception and they’re looking for you. Someone’s been waiting for you.” 

Jungwon blinks, setting down the coffee cup. “Me? Who-” 

A shrug. He begins to move out of the room right as Jungwon recalls Riki’s request.  

“Wait, hold on-”  

Sunghoon’s head reappears. Jungwon considers how much he values his friendship with Riki. The two of them have been friends since middle school and he would probably take a bullet for him.  

“Never mind,” he says. Though clearly confused, Sunghoon takes it in stride. Jungwon takes a swig off his awful, muddy coffee, pulls up his mask, and heads over to the reception. 

It’s quiet here, too. There are a few stragglers—families, partners—many of whom are dozing off. One, lone figure stands out, however. Jungwon’s heartbeat goes thick.  

Draped in a thick, wool coat, a magazine spread open on his lap, Jay is gorgeous in a way which almost hurts. His eyes move slowly across the paper, absorbing every word, and when he flips to the next page, his fingers are careful, light. 

Jungwon doesn’t know how long he stands there but eventually, Jay’s chin lifts. He does a double-take when he notices Jungwon, immediately getting to his feet. Little things jump out at him—Jay’s tousled hair, the scarf wrapped around his throat, the silver studs winking from his ears.   

“Hey,” Jay says. Jungwon echoes the greeting, some of his initial astonishment melting into confusion. 

“Did something happen? Why are you…” 

Instead of answering, Jay turns his phone screen. It takes Jungwon a moment to realize he’s looking at a delivery notification. “Your package.” 

From his pocket, he withdraws a white bottle—Tylenol. Jungwon accepts it, his exhausted brain struggling to keep up. “But I changed it to my address-?”  

At least, he swears he did, but now, he can’t remember clearly. Jay shrugs. “It came to my place. I thought you might need it so I thought I’d drop it off.”  

“Oh,” Jungwon says. A lot is missing from Jay’s explanation. He begins with the most obvious question. “How did you know I’m working?” 

“Sunoo.” 

His friends enjoy divulging information about him too much. Jungwon stares at the bottle in his hands. Twenty-four capsules. Extra strength. “You got up to give this to me?” 

“The delivery woke me up. I couldn’t go back to sleep.” 

“You didn’t need to come so early. My shift is over in a little bit.” 

“I know. But I wanted to check on you. Sunoo mentioned you might’ve caught his cold.” 

Oh. Jungwon is aware of his heartbeat once more, thudding dully. “It’s only a headache. Why did you worry so much?” 

Jay shrugs. He’s got that half-smile, the one which makes his stomach twist and turn.  

“...Thanks.” 

Before Jay can respond, Jungwon’s sleeve is tugged on, followed by urgent whispering. He doesn’t process a word, only nodding his head.  

“Sorry, I need to go-” 

“No worries,” Jay says. “I wasn’t supposed to bother you during your shift. Get back to work.” 

Jungwon nods. He turns on his heel, ready to leave, but something stops him.  

“I get off in twenty,” he says, and then darts off.  

Almost immediately, he’s ambushed by the two from earlier: the LPN and PCT. For some reason, Sunghoon is with them. All three of them share an expression of vague amusement. 

“So this is what you’ve been hiding,” the LPN says. “No wonder you didn’t bat an eye when Sunghoon came in.” 

At this, Sunghoon colors, humbly denying. Jungwon rolls his eyes, trying to brush past them. “Am I actually needed, or did you all want to gossip?” 

“Hold it right there.” The PCT snags him by the collar of his scrubs, reeling him back. “Throw us a bone. How long have you been dating? How did you meet? Does he have a brother?” 

“He’s an only child. At university. And we aren’t dating-” 

“Yet?” The LPN asks hopefully.

“-anymore.” 

Silence follows. His co-workers look positively shocked—even Sunghoon’s thick eyebrows disappear beneath his bangs—and Jungwon shifts from one foot to another. 

“...What?” 

“He’s the one who broke up with you. Right?”  

“No. I broke up with him.” 

The LPN and PCT look faint. Without saying a word, they reach out, patting Jungwon’s shoulders. The whole display is frankly demeaning and desperately, Jungwon seeks out Sunghoon. He’ll be on Jungwon’s side, right? 

“...Wow.” 

Nevermind.  

“Oh, whatever.” Shrugging off their touch, Jungwon stomps away. “I’m going to go do my job.” 

“It’s not too late to go back to him!” One of them calls after him. He doesn’t check who it is.  

The rest of his shift is spent brooding. Jungwon grumbles as he checks IVs and adjusts dressings. He’s never been so relieved to wash his hands, scrubbing until the skin goes pink, and to discard his mask, the backs of his ears sore to the touch.  

His coworkers bid him farewell with too-wide smiles. Seems like news got around already. Jungwon steadfastly ignores them.  

It’s still dark outside, although the sky has taken on the faintest bit of light. Jungwon shivers in his thin jacket, wrapping his arms around himself to glean a little warmth. Each time he exhales, his breath condenses into puffs.  

He spends a little time standing there, shivering. A wisp of gray tears his attention away and Jungwon, bleary-eyed, follows the curling smoke across the sky, down to a figure, slouched against the wall. Tucked between their fingers is a paper-wrapped roll, the end glowing. In the darkness, Jungwon latches onto the light like a moth, feet leading him closer. 

“Smoking outside of a hospital has to be some form of irony.” 

Jay startles, the cigarette nearly slipping from his mouth. Upon noticing Jungwon, he smiles, a little guilty and a lot apologetic and without being asked, he snuffs it out. “I didn’t think you’d be out yet,” he says, voice hoarse.  

“I thought you quit that." 

“I did. Mostly.” 

“But?” 

“The urge comes back sometimes. Usually when I have a lot to think about.” 

Jungwon draws closer, watching the still-glowing cigarette. He stops moving only once the light goes out. When he looks up, he finds Jay watching him. Condensation clings to the lenses of his glasses, concealing his gaze.  

With a knuckle, Jungwon swipes away at the fog. Clearing it away reveals Jay’s eyes, usually intense, and yet, as Jungwon moves on to clean the other lens, they’re achingly soft.  

Job done, he drops his hand. Steps back. Allows a beat to pass before turning around. He doesn’t check to see if Jay is following.  

“You didn’t have to wait.”  

“I thought I’d make sure you got to your car safely.”  

“I’m tired, not crippled,” Jungwon says. He shivers, again.  

“You’re cold.” 

“It’s not that bad.” The sound of shuffling fabric gives him pause. “Keep your coat on.” 

The sound stops. “You should take the Tylenol.” 

“I was going to. I can take care of myself.” 

“Of course you can,” Jay says. “But I can’t help it, especially because of how you were in university.” 

Jungwon knows what he’s talking about. Of course he does. His nursing program wasn’t easy by any means, and it would reach the point where skipped meals and nights up meant extra time to study. Throughout it all, Jay was there, in the form of a plastic-wrapped meal, still warm to the touch, or a blanket, tucked over his shoulders. He was there during quiet encouragement and loud congratulations. 

“That was back then. We’re not together anymore, you don’t have to…” 

The words die in his mouth. Jay doesn’t have to… What? 

Send the verification code every time Jungwon tries to log into his accounts? Escort him with his groceries? Help him fix up his sink? Ask him about dates? Hold his ankle under the table while he murmurs a vignette which should be long-forgotten? Drive over to deliver over-the-counter painkillers, as if Jungwon doesn’t work at a hospital? 

Look at him with gentle eyes?  

“...Treat me like I’m special.” 

The words are soft. Too soft for anybody but Jungwon to hear. Because no sooner do the words crystallize out of his mouth and he realizes the truth. 

An ex-boyfriend doesn’t have to be treated like this, but Jungwon does. He wants to be special to Jay. He can’t imagine a world where he isn’t the nucleus of Jay’s cigarette-warm eyes.   

“Did you say something?” Jay, finally stepping into line with him, asks. When there’s no response, he bends his head, trying to glimpse his face. “Jungwon? Are you feeling sick?” 

“I’m cold after all,” Jungwon says. “Give me your coat.” 

Without a word, Jay shrugs it off. Jungwon’s shoulders dip, slightly, from the weight of the wool coat. It’s even thicker and warmer than it looks, going all the way to his shins and smelling faintly of smoke. Guided by Jay, he pushes his arms through the sleeves.  

Jay beats him to the buttons. He begins midriff, working his way upwards. By the time he gets to the collar, Jungwon needs to tilt his chin up, consequently meeting Jay’s eyes. He’s been looking at him this entire time.  

“Your face.” 

Confused, Jungwon blinks. Only when a thumb comes to rest over the groove left by his mask does he understand what Jay is referencing. “Oh. My mask. I was wearing it for the whole day.” 

He expects Jay to retract his thumb. Instead, it moves. Glides over the groove of his cheek, to his nose, down to the other cheek. Lingers briefly underneath his ear and finally, drops away.  

“Your skin’s a little warm,” he says. “Let’s get you to the car.” 

With space put between them, Jungwon can finally breathe. Except his first inhale is filled with the scent of Jay’s cologne, the same one he’s worn since university. Wood sap and vanilla overwhelm his senses.  

Suddenly, he’s fresh from an awful Anatomy exam, seeking out Jay in a study room. Without a word, he’s slumping into Jay’s lap, letting his boyfriend’s raspy-soft voice lull him to a restful sleep.  

His feet stutter. He can’t see properly and briefly, he wonders if a fog has settled. It takes him a moment to realize it’s tears. When Jay’s careful fingers brush over his spine, they nearly spill. 

“Hey. Everything okay?” 

“Yeah.” He doesn’t put on a convincing act, voice splitting. “Better take those pills.”  

Desperately, he rubs away the wetness. If Jay notices, he doesn’t comment.  

The remainder of the way to the parking garage is quiet. Jungwon buries his face in the coat, until only his eyes peek out. Jay stays steadily in line with him. As if coming to an understanding, neither of them speaks.  

Jungwon climbs into his car. His numb fingers seek out his keys, fitting them into the ignition.  

Knock, knock. 

It’s a mirror of them outside Jay’s apartment. Jungwon in his seat, Jay’s knuckles pressed to the glass. Today, however, Jungwon can feel the lump of his wallet in his pocket. Frowning, he rolls down the window.  

“What did I drop this time?”  

Unlike last time, Jay doesn’t rest his elbows on the beltline. He hovers, instead. Thoughtful.  

Jungwon can envision what he looks like. Messy hair. Wrinkled scrubs. Wet eyes. Drowning in a coat which isn’t his. He wonders, though, what Jay sees, and if it will make him reach for a cigarette.  

…Usually when I have a lot to think about… 

“Nothing,” Jay answers, finally. “Sleep well, Jungwon.” 

With full force, the threat of tears returns. Jungwon wills himself to stay strong. “You too, Jay.” 

Glass divides them once more. Jungwon doesn’t turn his head as he backs out, keeping his eyes trained in front of him. Once he’s a couple of feet away, however, he gives in, checking the rearview mirror. 

Jay hasn’t moved from his spot. The farther Jungwon gets, the smaller he becomes. 

Perhaps it’s a figment of his imagination, but when he checks the mirror one last time, he swears he glimpses the yellow-soft glow of a lit cigarette and finally, Jungwon acknowledges that maybe, just maybe, he isn’t over Park Jay at all.  



/Five

Pinned to the wall is a whiteboard. Drained from Jungwon’s constant chattering, Sunoo retrieved it from the depths of his closet, along with a set of dry-erase markers, neither of which had seen the light of day since senior year. He went ahead and sketched two columns, one labeled pros , and another cons. 

Over the last few days, each column steadily lengthened. While Jungwon’s handwriting is neat and close together, Sunoo’s is loose and slanted.  

Cons
He might not want to get back together.
Highly unlikely.

I broke us up.
Oof. 

He hasn’t brought me my ice cream yet.
That doesn’t count.

Pros
You’re still in love with him.
No, I’m not.
We are literally making a list on whether you should get back together with him. 

He looks good in suits.
That damn businessman kink of yours. 

He’s still in love with you.
We don’t know that.
I do.
Me too.
Can someone fill me in on what I missed out on? 

Heeseung and Riki’s additions bring the list to an end. As predicted, the latter does wrangle the story out of Sunoo, who is only too willing to divulge each of Jungwon’s “accidental” deliveries.  

Jungwon is teased. He is ridiculed. He is humbled. He is coming to recognize his friends’ true natures.

“We’re all rooting for you,” Sunoo insists. 

“Really? I’m getting the impression this is a free comedy show for you guys.” 

“I’m not rooting for him. I’m laughing at him.” Riki says, earning him an elbow in the ribs.  

He can handle Sunoo and Riki’s juvenile antics, but what is truly humiliating is Heeseung patting his back reassuringly. 

“I’ll put in a good word for you,” he says, and if it wasn’t the twitch of his mouth, Jungwon would assume he was serious. 

Huffing, Jungwon brushes off Heeseung’s hand. “I don’t know how I’d even bring it up. ‘Hey, I know I dumped you eight months ago and stomped all over your heart. How likely would you be willing to  give that another try? Choose between one to ten.’” 

“Eight,” Riki says.  

“Five,” is Heeseung’s neutral answer. 

“Two,” Sunoo says. 

“You’re the one who’s been telling me to get back with him?”  

Sunoo ignores his splutter. “I don’t see the problem. You’ve been mailing stuff to his address to have an excuse to see him. Just do it again.” 

“Those were accidents!”

“Right. And you tore off our fully-functional sink pipe on ‘accident,’ too.” 

“He did what?” Heeseung says, interest piqued. 

Jungwon hastily advances. “Let’s say I do that. What happens next?” 

“You ask the how-likely to question,” Riki says. “My answer’s changed to nine.”  

“No. You ask to talk. Based on this-” Sunoo taps the whiteboard, “Jay will be receptive to hearing you out. And based on this,” he taps his temple, “he’ll be more than happy to get back together.” 

So a few lines of dry-erase marker and Sunoo’s intuition were determining Jungwon’s probability of success. “I don’t know,” he says. “Do you really think it'll be that easy?” 

“There’s always a last resort.”  

“Which is?” 

“Jump him.”  

Riki cackles while Heeseung cracks a smile. “Well, that will definitely work.” 

Jungwon groans. “Never mind. This was a bad idea. Can we make fun of Sunoo now?” 

It works like a charm. The conversation drifts to Sunoo’s expansive list of situationships, although Jungwon’s thoughts never stray too far from the whiteboard, from you’re still in love with him. 

Their rendezvous extends into the night, until they’ve exhausted themselves from talking and laughing. Riki skips out whistling while Heeseung lingers behind to squeeze Jungwon’s shoulders.  

“You should go for it,” he says. Before Jungwon can brush him aside, his grip intensifies so he can lean in to whisper into his ear. “I only know a little about what happened, but Jay never let anyone say a bad word about you.” 

With that, he lets go, ducking out and leaving Jungwon alone in the doorway. Mostly alone, at least. Deep in thought, Jungwon turns around and startles at Sunoo, cross-armed with a knowing smile.  

“You decide on what to order?”  

“I haven’t decided whether I’ll even talk to him,” Jungwon grumbles. Sunoo allows him to step past him, smile never waning. 

“I can help you come up with ideas. Maybe more beer. Or maybe a pack of-” 

Jungwon shuts the bedroom door behind him, cutting off the rest of Sunoo’s sentence. Immediately, his eyes fall to wool fabric, folded over his chair—Jay’s coat. His fingertips run over it, followed by his palm, and then he’s scooping it up with both hands, burying his face into the softness.  

Wood sap. Vanilla. A whiff of cigarette smoke.  

The look in Jay’s eyes after he swept condensation off his lens.  

He’s still in love with you.  

Jungwon reaches for his phone. Navigates through his apps. Chooses the wrong address. Ruminates in silence for a few minutes before finally placing his order.  

When he throws open his door, his roommate is waiting, expectant. 

“Two days,” he says, and Sunoo’s face lights up. Jungwon has a sinking suspicion that most of his excitement is rooted in the promise of ice cream, but he doesn’t voice it.  

It’s the most nerve-wracking forty-eight hours of his life. If he isn’t checking the tracking details, Jungwon is coming up with delusions, each wilder than the last. He gets to one in which he presents a bouquet and Jay leaps into his arms when he’s interrupted by a chime—the delivery notification.  

Scratch the bouquet, then.  

Armed with nothing but Jay’s coat, hope, and their Polaroid burning a hole in his pocket, he heads for the other’s apartment. Initially, he thought of texting Jay, but the idea filled him with anxiety. If anything, catching Jay off-guard might be the way to go about this.  

“I’m right about this,” Jungwon tells himself as he crosses the reception floors, too frazzled to even spare the receptionist a greeting. “I have to be.” 

He wonders how Jay will react to opening his door and finding Jungwon standing there. Will he be confused? Or surprised? Perhaps even pleased? Maybe, and the idea leaves a tingle on his skin, Jay will take a look at him and understand immediately. He’ll pull the door open wider, invite him in, all without a single word. 

A resident gently reminds Jungwon about his floor. Bowing in gratitude, he scampers out. His heart beats in his throat and Jay’s coat grows heavier as he makes his way down the hall. Too soon, his feet trample over Jay’s doormat.  

It’s the memory of Jay, not recently, but rather, eight months ago, his expression soft even as Jungwon detailed his reasons to break up, which gets him to knock. 

Three steady raps, a contrast to his shaking hands. For an excruciating half-minute, there is no sign of life, and Jungwon wonders if he wound up unlucky and Jay isn’t home. And then the door swings open, filling the shadowy hallway with light.   

He’s hit with the scent of smoke, not unlike the one left on Jay’s coat. However, here, it’s magnified tenfold. Coupled with the onslaught of light, Jungwon is left disoriented, untethered. Jay’s coat, draped over his shoulders, is his only anchor, and he stuffs his fingers into the wool, inhaling deeply.  

“Jungwon?” 

Jay. Barefaced, barefoot, standing between the crack of the door, staring at Jungwon as if he can’t believe what he’s seeing. Jungwon swallows. 

Definitely surprised.  

“Hi,” he says, voice small. 

The door slips open wider, bringing the rest of him to view. Jay’s fingers fall from the knob as he steps closer, eyes sweeping from his flushed face to the coat resting over his shoulders. “What are you doing here? Did something happen?” He searches Jungwon’s face. “Are you okay?” 

“Can we talk?” 

The words tumble out. Jungwon watches how Jay’s features warp around micro-expressions: astonishment, confusion, disbelief, and finally, the barest hint of expectation. He doesn’t reply, and with every passing moment, insecurity crawls closer. 

Is Jay… hesitating? 

“Or if it isn’t a good time, I’ll go. I can come back later.” 

It’s a half-lie. Inwardly, Jungwon knows this is it. If Jay turns him away now, he’ll never gather the courage to approach him like this again. Jay, somehow, picks up on this, lurching forward. His fingers catch Jungwon’s sleeve, hooking him in place.  

“No,“ Jay says, quickly. “Of course, we can talk.” And then, in a tone which sends shivers up Jungwon’s spine: “Don’t go.”  

Jungwon opens his mouth. I won’t leave this time, is what he means to say, but no sooner has he begun to speak when another voice joins the fray, accented and distinctly masculine. “Hey, who’s at the door?”  

There’s someone in Jay’s apartment. At ten in the evening. Although it’s hardly cold tonight, Jungwon’s limbs go numb, beginning from his neck, down to his knees.  

Without turning his head, Jay answers. “It’s—it’s just my…” 

He sees Jay’s mouth form around the word ex , then friend. In the end, neither comes out, and the two of them are left staring at each other.  

Because Jungwon isn’t a friend. Despite what Jay said, they could never be friends again. And yet, Jay isn’t willing to call him an ex, either. Is it because of whoever is inside his apartment right now?  

Jungwon doesn’t know what face he’s making. It can’t be good because Jay’s forehead wrinkles, his fingers digging in deeper, flitting across skin. Somehow, it hurts. As if Jungwon is a fish, gutted open on a hook.  

“Hey,” Jay says, too soft. “It’s not like that.” 

He barely hears him. Before Jay can continue, he butts in. “I ordered my package here by accident again. That’s what I came for.”  

His lie lacks in delivery and based on Jay’s expression, it’s obvious. His throat works violently.  

“Jungwon-” 

The warmth of the coat, previously comforting, turns suffocating. Hurriedly, Jungwon shrugs it off, shoving the wad of fabric into Jay’s chest. The other stumbles backward.  

“Your coat. I don’t need it anymore.” 

Jungwon stares at his feet, shivering and small and stupid. He flinches when the warmth he disposed of returns, draped back over his shoulders. A protest rises but gets stuck in his throat. 

“Something did come earlier. Wait here.” 

For once, Jay’s touch doesn’t linger. He steps back into the warmth of his apartment, abandoning Jungwon, draped in a final act of pity, at his doorstep. A conversation between Jay and whoever is inside drifts outside, dampened by the ringing of Jungwon’s ears.  

Something hot prickles behind his eyes. He is so fucking stupid.   

Did he really fool himself into believing that he was still special to Jay? That these encounters between them were anything more than chance meetings? Had he seriously convinced himself that a few delivery mishaps would be enough for Jay to take him back? 

Somehow, he failed to consider something obvious. Jay, who didn’t owe him anything, was trying to move on, and Jungwon, lost in his delusions, was meddling by showing up, again and again.  

The sound of approaching footsteps kickstarts him into motion, sneakers squeaking. He flees down the hallway, pulse going uneven. He thinks he hears the call of his name and he doesn’t dare to turn around or check if Jay is following after him.  

Doesn’t trust himself to turn around or check.  

Somehow, his shaking hands maneuver him back to his apartment. Somehow, his shaking legs carry him up the stairs. It’s as he steps into his apartment, however, and catches sight of himself, wrapped in Jay’s coat, that the tears come. 

He rips it off but can’t bear to let it go. All he can do is press his back flush to the wall and slide down, until he hits the floor with a lapful of wool. 

When he breathes in, only the scent of his lotion remains. No matter how much he searches, wood sap and vanilla are nowhere to be found.  

“Damn it,” Jungwon whispers.  

This is how Sunoo, returning from his night shift, finds him—curled up on the tiles, sunken into Jay’s coat.



Jay stands at the threshold until hasty footsteps taper off into nothing. A bubble mailer—Jungwon’s package—dangles uselessly from his grip. The realization that Jungwon won’t be returning gets him moving back into his apartment. Each step feels sluggish. 

“What was that about?” 

His colleague-turned-friend, Sim Jake, tilts his head, expectant. Jay runs his tongue over his teeth and considers how to reply. It’s the same predicament from earlier, when he found himself tongue-tied between calling Jungwon an ex or a friend. Neither sounded quite right.  

Perhaps that was his greatest mistake. Now Jungwon was gone and Jay hadn’t even gotten to hear what he wanted to talk about. 

“It was Jungwon,” he says, finally.  

Jake’s eyebrows lift. “Oh-ho. An ex-boyfriend at this time. Did he beg you sweetly to take him back?” 

“As if,” Jay scoffs. “He was here for his package. Like always.” 

A bit of disdain creeps into his voice. Upon glimpsing Jungwon on his doorstep, foolishly, he thought that he’d come for him. He was quickly disproven, of course. This was clear from how Jungwon returned his coat. 

Ah, shit. His coat. Jungwon must have taken it back with him. 

“Like always,” Jake repeats. “This has happened before? Multiple times?” 

“Uh-huh. Four or five times, I think.” 

“Your ex-boyfriend mailed his packages to you five times.” 

“On accident, yeah,” Jay says. He jumps when he turns around; Jake is frowning at him with disapproval. There’s a little bit of pity in there, too. “What’s with the look?” 

“Jay,” Jake groans. “For a lover boy, you’re oblivious as fuck.” 

“Whatever.” He doesn’t have the mental capacity for this conversation, especially not when Jungwon appeared at his apartment, asking to talk, only to turn tail and leave. Jay doesn’t understand what’s going on in his head. “He left without taking his package, anyway.”  

“Probably because it wasn’t what he came for,” is the answering mutter. “What’s in it?” 

“No clue.” After the last few deliveries, Jay has become accustomed to opening Jungwon’s packages. He doesn’t hesitate now either, peeling open the bubble mailer. Out tumbles a familiar, brightly-packaged bag. Jay’s brow furrows. “Corn chips?” 

“Huh. Aren’t those the ones you always eat at the firm?” 

“Yeah. They’re my favorite. But Jungwon doesn’t like them. Why would he…” 

He trails off. Plastic crinkles underneath his touch as his frown deepens. Why would Jungwon order his favorite snack? Furthermore, he showed up to Jay’s apartment, unannounced, to pick it up when he could have easily purchased it from the nearest 7/11.  

There was no mention of the package first, either, he realizes as he backpedals through their short interaction. Jungwon only brought it up after overhearing Jake, as if it was a secondary thought. A convenient excuse.  

An arm slings around his shoulders; Jake, grinning.  

“Dude,” he says. “Your ex wants you back.” 

“That’s not what’s happening here.” 

Jake laughs, releasing him. He gestures to the chip packet. “Yeah? Then explain that. Explain why he’s ordered to your address five times and you still won’t take the hint. Do you really think he showed up today to pick up snacks?” 

Jay would point out how this began because of Jungwon’s groceries but wisely keeps his mouth shut. Except—Jake has a point. Little things begin to return to him. 

The Polaroid in Jungwon’s wallet. His spotless apartment with the poorly-hidden cleaning supplies. Their discussion about the break-up. Warm knuckles against his lens, cleaning away frost.  

And finally: Jungwon, stuffed in his coat, asking to talk. The look on his face when he overheard Jake. 

A slow, sure realization sneaks in.  

“He didn’t come for his package.” And then: “He hasn’t been coming for his package. I think… he‘s been coming for me.” 

Without a doubt, he knows he’s right. Jay snorts. It transforms into a chuckle until eventually, he’s laughing, to the point of stomach cramps. He can’t help it. Everything about this situation is hysterical, including—and this sends him into another fit—Jungwon’s supposed conviction of his and Jake’s romantic entanglement. No wonder he ran away. 

“Want another smoke?” Jake offers, already with a roll of paper stuck between his grinning teeth. Jay dismisses it. He’s done enough thinking.  

“Save it.” 

Instead, once the laughter dies down, he reaches for his phone.  

He’s got an order to place. 



/Plus one

Clumps of hair cling to his mouth and Jungwon spits them out. His skin is clammy with sweat and beneath his skin, his pulse races. He lays prone, attempting to figure out where he is.  

For a frantic moment, he thinks he’s looped back to eight months ago, to the aftermath of his and Jay’s breakup. When he shifts up, he discovers why he’s so warm. The wool coat, the one he was meant to return to its owner, is tucked over him.  

Last night comes back to him. This isn’t eight months ago, back when the pressure of upholding their relationship tore him down, spurring him to make the worst mistake of his life.  

Jungwon had finished his nursing program while Jay had been freshly sworn in. They’d hit a little over a year into their relationship and maybe because of their previous years of friendship, things progressed quickly. Plans to move in together were enacted and apartments were browsed. Somewhere along the way, an unease emerged.  

It was well-known that Jay was sacrificial to the point of self-sabotage. Jungwon hadn’t seen it quite in action like this, however. Instead of prioritizing his promising future, he placed more emphasis on preserving his and Jungwon’s relationship. 

“There’ll always be more opportunities,” Jay said, once, after Jungwon caught him turning down an offer from a prestigious firm. “But there’s only one of you.” 

It was corny, cheeky, and got Jungwon to chuckle. The unease didn’t leave.  

If Jungwon was the reason why Jay stifled his dreams… If this relationship resulted in keeping him from reaching his full potential… Then maybe Jungwon didn’t want it at all.  

And once the thought crept in, it didn’t leave. Like a cold which wouldn’t leave, it lingered, keeping him up at night and leaving a bitterness in their interactions. Jungwon lasted a month. 

Let’s stop seeing each other , because he couldn’t bear to say the alternative.  

Jay begged. He asked what he did wrong. He sobbed. He sank to his knees, pressing his face into Jungwon’s knees, pleading with him not to leave. Jungwon told half-lies, half-truths. He said they were holding each other back. He pushed Jay off of his lap.  

Eventually, Jay caved in, with those haunting words: I can never win against you. 

This isn’t then, however. This is about Jungwon’s wayward desires, leading him to where he is now. Heartbroken of his own accord, with only a crumpled coat to show for it. He rolls over, and pauses as he’s greeted by a plate, crammed full with sweets. There’s a note at the very top. 

Sorry for not being here, Riki got a flat tire. I’ll be back after beating his ass. Eat up.  

At the bottom is Sunoo’s name. Jungwon’s lip twitches before he reaches for a wrapped candy. The sweetness coats the bitter taste in his mouth. He reflects on how lucky he is that he’s not working today.  

Well. He’s eight months (and twenty-four days) overdue. Heaving, he reaches for his phone, planning to browse for articles such as Ten Ways To Get Over Your Ex or similarly-adjacent. His breath catches instead. 

[12:01 p.m]

p.jay02
Hey.
You left without your package. 

His eyes dart over to the timestamp. It’s recent, barely an hour ago. Jungwon could ignore it. The chips were no longer necessary, after all. Just as he makes up his mind, another text appears.  

[1:13 p.m]

p.jay02
What did you want to talk about? 

wonnonly
don’t worry abt it

There. Now Jay could take the hint and Jungwon could begin moving on, like he was supposed to all along. To further cement his conviction, he swipes to the chat settings, switching off notification alerts.  

He rolls back over, but not without popping a few more sweets. By the time he’s crunched through the fourth, his stomach has begun to ache unpleasantly. His phone lies quietly in his palm. For once, it’s blissfully silent. 

Knock, knock. 

From where he’s halfway to dozing off, Jungwon lifts his head. Neither he nor Sunoo are expecting anyone and typically, the only one to barge into their apartment unannounced is Riki. Based on the note, however, it can’t be him.  

The knocks resound again, interrupting his musings. Groaning, Jungwon slithers off the couch, or tries to. His foot tangles into fabric and he falls face-first instead. Ouch. 

Pulling his foot free, he glares at the offending object—the coat—before dragging himself to the door. He’s rubbing his face, about to peek into the peephole, when- 

“Jungwon?” 

He freezes. Desperately, he hopes he’s imagining things. Maybe this is how the moving on process goes. Hallucinations the first day, tranquility the second.  

Except the voice filters back in, coaxing, similar to one used on a wild animal. Jungwon doesn’t have to check the peephole to know who it is. Even through the door, he recognizes the timbre, the rasp edged along each syllable. “Hey, can you hear me?”  

Careful to not make a noise, he slides a foot backwards. If he stays quiet for long enough, maybe Jay will assume he isn’t home and leave. Although… 

What is Jay doing here? 

Another knock, more insistent than the last. “Sunoo told me you’d be home.”  

Jungwon curses. Leave it to his friends to throw him to the wolves.  

“I tried to let you know I was coming but you weren’t responding. I think your phone might be off.” 

Turning off his notification alerts wasn’t the smartest plan long-term. Now Jungwon was unmoored, floundering by the abrupt appearance at his door. He has all but committed to his plan of remaining silent when Jay speaks again.  

He sounds closer now, as if he’s pressed against the door. “Please. I need to talk to you.” 

Jungwon exhales. A whistle of breath which signals his ruin. Maybe if he was able to prepare himself beforehand, he would have held his ground but right now, like this—shameful, torn down—he finds himself reaching for the door. 

Before he can think better of it, he twists the knob. 

Backlit by the sun, Jay’s half-smile does nothing to soothe the burn. If anything, it intensifies it into a crackle and Jungwon has to squeeze his fingers around the doorframe, forcing himself to stay grounded. He refuses to let himself be swept away this time. 

“You’re here,” Jay says, his relief palpable. There is an air of untidiness about him. His collar is unbuttoned, silk shirt crumpled, and hair hastily finger-brushed. Not that Jungwon can speak, still in his sleep-creased sweater from last night. 

“I thought you knew I was home.”  

“I did. But I wasn’t sure if you’d open the door or not.” 

There’s a look in his eyes Jungwon can’t quite decipher. Swallowing, he averts his eyes. “I’m here now. What is it?” 

He can’t imagine what brought Jay over here. Maybe he came for his coat. Or maybe he was here to inform Jungwon of his newly-established relationship. Both options leave a bitter taste in his mouth. 

What he doesn’t expect Jay to say is, “My package. I accidentally mailed it to you.” 

“...Come again?” 

Jay repeats himself. Jungwon furrows his brow and squints. 

“How?” 

The same way your packages ended up at my place, I suppose.” 

Jungwon avoids mentioning that only two of those situations were accidents. “So you’re here to get your package.” 

“Yes,” Jay confirms. Absurdly, he seems to be overcome with embarrassment, cheeks filling with color. “It’s important. I need it for someone. Before it’s too late.” 

“Someone,” Jungwon says. “Is this code for a love interest, or…” 

He doesn’t finish. Jay hesitates but barely. He nods. 

“Oh,” he says. As if his stomach hasn’t dropped. As if this—Jay fidgeting over someone else—isn’t a special form of torture. Belatedly, he regrets opening the door at all. His mouth keeps moving, attempting to distract himself. “It’ll be in the mail room. Let me…” 

Helplessly, he gestures to himself. Crumpled sweater, unwashed face, bare feet. When Jay only raises an eyebrow, apparently failing to see the issue, he flushes. 

“One moment.” 

Frantic, Jungwon flits through the apartment. He pauses to slap his cheeks, the sting briefly bringing him to his senses. “Get it together.” 

Jay isn’t here for him. He’s here for his faceless, fresh paramour, who will inevitably fill in the empty spaces, overwriting each place Jungwon left his mark. The thought makes him ill.  

Changing into clothes he’s half-sure belong to Sunoo and unearthing his keys from beneath the couch cushions buys him a little time but eventually, he can’t delay any longer. All he can do is steel himself and step back out. 

Without checking if Jay is following him, he heads for the elevators. He hears footsteps follow, speed up, and fall in line with him. Still, he doesn’t look up. Jay doesn’t let him get away with it for long. 

“Hey. Are you going to ignore me this whole time?” 

Jungwon hesitates. Finally, he turns his head. Jay is closer than he expected and he has to bite his lip to smother a surprised noise.  

“I’m not ignoring you,” he says. It’s true. The issue is that he can’t look at him too closely.  

Jay studies his face but doesn’t say anything. Jungwon shifts his gaze, relieved when the elevator doors slide open. All he needs to do is get Jay’s package, send him on his merry way, and he’ll be free to mourn in peace.  

Unfortunately, Jay doesn’t share the same plans. As soon as they enter the mailroom and Jungwon begins to search for his mailbox, he leans backward, facing him. “I figured it out.” 

Jungwon grunts. Why did he always forget where it was? 

“The reason why we broke up.” 

This does catch his attention. Flinching, he looks at the other but his face is impassive, giving away nothing. Jungwon swallows. He doesn’t know why Jay is bringing this up now, when he is knee-deep in digging out a package for his new someone. “You did?” 

“It wasn’t about us holding each other back at all. It was about me.” Jungwon’s breath catches. Whatever look on his face must confirm Jay’s suspicions. “I knew it. I’ve been thinking about it and it’s so clear now. I rushed us.” 

“Jay-” 

“Moving in together was my idea. I said I love you first, too. Hell, it was me who insisted we date, even though you wanted to focus on studying.” Jay chuckles. It lacks any humor. “Now I wonder what else I pushed you into.”  

“Jay,” he says sharply. The other goes silent. “What are you talking about?” 

No response. Jungwon abandons his mailbox search, facing Jay instead. His heartbeat condenses.  

All the untidiness from earlier—loose cooler, creased blazer, rumpled hair—seems to be illuminated. But the greatest indication of something being wrong is Jay’s face. Pinched and pale. Still, his eyes remain steady on Jungwon’s. 

“Did I make you put up with too much?”  

He lays out the question with a vulnerability which knocks down all of Jungwon’s defenses. His heartbeat only grows louder, disrupting his ability to think properly. His tongue twists, trying to find the words.  

“You don’t have to say anything,” Jay says, and this, his understanding despite everything, spurs Jungwon into speaking.  

“Are you kidding me? It’s me who you had to put up with.”

Jay frowns. “Jungwon.” 

“I saw it all. You kept yourself from things you wanted to do because of our relationship. Because of us. Everyone saw it too. They saw and wondered why you’d hold yourself back for someone like me.” 

“I never thought-” 

“Of course you didn’t!” Jungwon bursts. “That’s the type of person you are. You’d sacrifice yourself to keep others happy. Because you’re too good for me. I didn’t deserve that.”  

The last two sentences squeeze themselves out of his throat. It’s true. From the very beginning, Jay was too good for him. When Jungwon strung him along for a year, fully aware of his feelings, Jay remained by his side. Over the course of their relationship, he made countless sacrifices, all to keep Jungwon happy. Within these last few months, even after Jungwon left him stranded, he treated him with the same warmth.  

As if nothing happened. As if Jungwon was still special.  

“Is that how you really feel?” 

Wincing, Jungwon returns to his mailbox search, finally hunting it down. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”  

“It does to me.” 

“It shouldn’t,” Jungwon twists the key. “Since you’ve moved on.” 

Like he should have, eight months prior. The mailbox pops open and he reaches inside. It’s empty and Jungwon frowns. Ducking lower, he peers into the compartment. A dark, vacant space greets him.  

“There isn’t anything-” He begins, looking up. And stops. 

Jay doesn’t look surprised. If anything, it seems as if this turn of events doesn’t stun him at all, and somehow, he seems a bit…  

Guilty? 

“I might have lied when I said I came for the package,” Jay says. Shifting from his reclined position, he pushes himself up. “To be honest, it’s you I came for.”  

“...Huh?”  

Jungwon can’t wrap his head around what Jay means. His eyes dart between the empty mailbox and Jay’s face, a suspicion beginning to take root.  

“It was the only thing I could think of to get you to talk to me. You’ve been doing the same thing, right? All the  packages these last three months—I should’ve known. You don’t even like those chips.” 

“The first time was an accident.” 

Jay’s laughs, or at least something close to it. He’s still getting closer, in small, careful movements. “I wish I had come up with that idea. Maybe I’d have figured this out before.”  

“This,” Jungwon repeats. Without realizing, he’s mirroring Jay’s moves, stepping backwards. His shoulders bump against the rows of mailboxes.  

When Jay’s touch creeps over his skin, he doesn’t resist. Jungwon remains perfectly still as fingertips brush up over his wrist, from the surface to the interior.  

“Jungwon,” Jay says, his tone too intimate for a mail room. “It matters to me. You matter to me.” 

A beat. Jungwon’s throat bobs. “Why?”  

It’s the only thing he can come up with. Because—how could he still say that, when it’s become clear that not only did Jungwon abandon him, but he did it under pretenses as well, no matter the reason. He tries to say as much, but the words remain stuck. Jay seems to understand anyway. 

His thumb swipes over Jungwon’s cheekbone. “Because I haven’t stopped thinking about you since you left, Yang Jungwon, and I’m finding it hard to remember how I ever let you go.”  

Then his head bends. Just barely, enough to replace his thumb with a barely-there kiss.  

“And I think you are too.”  

Those devastating words, reading him to filth, do it. Gracelessly, Jungwon crumbles.  

“I’m sorry,” he says, the belated apology rattling out of him. “I’m sorry-” 

Jay kisses him. He snatches the apology right from the source, transforming it into another sound, a cross between a squeak and a gasp. Too quickly, it’s over, and Jay’s breath over his mouth is the only proof of it taking place at all.  

“If only you told me how you felt,” Jay murmurs. “I would’ve never let you leave eight months ago.”  

His lips move, forming around breathless words. “And twenty-four days.”  

“What?” 

“Eight months and twenty-four days. That’s how long it’s been.” 

Jay’s features contort around an expression too complex to examine. What Jungwon derives is the following: fingers are digging into his hips and like a memory, Jay’s mouth is back over his. This time, he is not wasteful. 

His hand anchors to the nape of Jay’s neck, bringing him closer to softly nibble over his bottom lip. It’s all the encouragement Jay needs. Within moments, the length of his body crowds against Jungwon’s, eliminating any remaining space. His head spins, not only from their shared heat, but from the heady notes of wood sap and vanilla—the scent he’d fruitlessly searched for.  

“Don’t keep count anymore.” Even as Jay speaks, he doesn’t draw back. Every word skims their mouths together in another kiss. Each brush sends a skitter of shocks down Jungwon’s spine but more importantly, makes it difficult to think.  

The implication behind the request isn’t lost on him. He shivers when Jay takes hold of his chin, tilting it enough to grant him easy access into Jungwon’s mouth. “I won’t.” And again, “I’m sorry.”  

“It’s okay.” 

“I should’ve tried harder.” Jay’s firm touch finds his waist, his attention dropping to Jungwon’s cheekbones, his jaw, his neck. It’s a race between Jay’s pecks and Jungwon’s words. “I should’ve explained my reasoning. It was never, ever about you.”  

“I know that now. But neither of us was right.”  

Finally, he puts space between them. Enough for Jungwon’s bovine ears to work properly.  

“I’m not too good for you, Jungwon.”  

Jungwon’s heart swells. Jay isn’t done yet. 

“I deserve you,” he says. He enunciates this with one, final kiss, onto Jungwon’s brow bone. “The same way you deserve me.” 

He says it with conviction. Like fact. Jungwon doesn’t know how true it really is. Not when Jay has proved to be so much more than him, time and time again. But here, engulfed in his sorely-missed warmth, Jungwon finds he wants to believe it. 

So he nods. “Okay.” 

When Jay reels him in, he goes willingly. A gutted fish on a hook, but he finds he’s content with it.  

“We’re long overdue for a talk, I think,” Jay says. “Come back to my place?”  

Despite the lack of indecent connotations, Jungwon blushes. He makes to answer, but is interrupted by a cleared throat. They flinch apart.  

Hovering by the entrance, saddled with parcels, is the mailman. He looks physically pained.  

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” he says. “But you’re blocking the way.”  

They apologize profusely. When it's clear all he’s interested in is finishing his work, they scuttle out. Jay’s hand remains clamped on Jungwon’s waist.  

In the daylight, Jungwon bolsters himself. He looks at Jay. Really looks, at his shiny shoes, his flushed ears, his cigarette-warm eyes. Without warning, he tips forward, bestowing the tenderest of kisses. 

“Alright,” he says. “Let’s talk.” 

(They talk. But only after Jay crowds him against the foyer and ravishes the breath out of him first.) 



The whiteboard has become a permanent fixture in his and Sunoo’s apartment. Several new lines of text have appeared beneath the original columns. 

I’m never letting you go again, Yang Jungwon.
That’s sweet, Jay. Maybe tone down on the possessiveness.
I’m free! Worst experience of my life!
Day 32 of asking for the Sunghoon guy’s number.
Give up, Riki.