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Chapter Text

—

Dong-Ju left Han-na’s place feeling vaguely triumphant. Maybe not fully satisfied, but satisfied enough to make a detour.
Jong-Hyeon’s apartment wasn’t exactly on the way, but that had never stopped him in the first place. He had news, after all: Han-na had finally chosen him.
He’d won— won her over.

Not that it was a competition between him and Jong-Hyeon.

His feelings for her were real. This wasn’t about scoring points like back then.

Except, well… Dong-Ju was a little petty by nature.
So if annoying Jong-Hyeon just happened to be another part of this evening’s entertainment, who could really blame him?

Especially when he needed the distraction.
Han-na’s lips had been warm, her touch just bold enough to make him want more, but then her mother had knocked on the door like crazy, and whatever they’d started fizzled out with an awkward goodbye and a promise to “continue next time.”

Now he was left buzzing and restless and in need of somewhere to put all that unspent energy.
So showing up at Jong-Hyeon’s door like this: hair damp, grin tugging at his mouth, barely clothed, would definitely make Jong-Hyeon upset. 

That gave Dong-Ju another type of satisfaction, so yes— this wasn’t really about her anymore right now.
Not if he was honest.

It was about him, the look Jong-Hyeon would give him. That frown, that sharp little sigh like he couldn’t stand him, but also couldn’t look away.

Dong-Ju just wanted to get under his skin.

That was all. Surely.

 ⁃ 

Jong-Hyeon was elbow-deep in mucking up, lost in thoughts while the sound of his TV was echoing through his apartment, when a sudden pounding on his door made him drop whatever he had just been holding, followed by the doorbell being almost abused. He sighed at his disturbed peace and shoved the discarded stuff aside, heading toward the door.

Only one person would show up this late and be that obnoxious about it, he thought.
And, of course, he was right.

Jong-Hyeon frowned when he saw the screen of his intercom system, which showed him the sight of a giddy and smiley Dong-Ju at the front door of his apartment. 

“Hyung. Open the door, will you? It’s me— Yoon Dong-Ju! Hello? Can you hear me— does this even work…”

His voice quietly came out of the speaker while his face was barely an inch away from the camera. A towel was loosely dangling from his head and he was wearing nothing but shoes, shorts and a black tank top. 

What had he been up to this time again… at 11 p.m. on a Thursday night, no less? And why on earth had he chosen come to him and disturb his peace?

Jong-Hyeon ran a hand over his face, hesitated… and then opened the door reluctantly. He didn’t even know why he decided to open the door in the first place but already regretted that he did.

He also didn’t need to say a word when he opened the door just far enough for Dong-Ju to see him, because his face spoke for itself. You’re not welcome. 

Jong-Hyeon was forced to step aside and he reluctantly let Dong-Ju in, eyes following the droplets running down his face and neck irritated. Jong-Hyeon’s brows narrowed.

Dong-Ju on the other brushed past him, deliberately slow, the faint scent of Han-na’s perfume still clinging to his skin. He felt it when Jong-Hyeon’s gaze landed on his bare skin, charged. He smirked.

“I thought you’d be asleep,” Dong-Ju said, casual, too casual, letting himself fall onto the couch as if he owned the place.

“I was about to,” Jong-Hyeon replied, shutting the door with a quiet click. “Then you happened.” 

“Sorry about that.” Dong-Ju said absentmindedly and curiously looked around the room. 

Jong-Hyeon didn’t move. Arms crossed and one eyebrow lifted just enough to signal annoyance. Or maybe curiosity.
Inside, he was doing his damned best to stay composed.

He knew something had happened between Dong-Ju and Han-na. It was written all over him. Messy hair, smug grin, that restless energy he only ever wore when he was pretending to hide something. And of course her god damn perfume stuck on his body.

Jong-Hyeon figured that was why he was here.

To rub it in. To claim his victory.

But Jong-Hyeon wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction. Not tonight. He hated losing and Dong-Ju knew that too well.

Dong-Ju eyed him and noticed this too unfazed look on Jong-Hyeon’s face. 

Oh, so we’re pretending this doesn’t bother you at all? Sure.

But he hadn’t dragged himself over here to Jong-Hyeon, barely dressed and on the verge of going crazy, just for silence. 
He needed something tonight. Reaction, resistance, anything.
Otherwise, this restlessness coiled in his chest might just make him lose his mind. So he went further.

“So?” he asked, voice light. “Aren’t you going to ask how it went?”

Jong-Hyeon just stood there. “Don’t need to.”

Dong-Ju’s smirk faltered for a second, because that tone, low and quiet, wasn’t really jealousy. It was something else. Hurt? Anger? 

Whatever it was, it sent a jolt through him.
Because it meant he’d hit a nerve.
And that was exactly what he wanted. A reaction. A crack in Jong-Hyeon’s facade.

Dong-Ju’s smirk returned, sharper now, a little more dangerous and tempting. He was close to crossing the line.

He rose from the couch in one smooth motion and padded across the room, rolling his shoulders back as if he had all the time in the world. His eyes never left Jong-Hyeon’s.

“Touchy,” he murmured, his voice playful. “Didn’t think you’d take it so personally.”

Jong-Hyeon’s stare was unreadable, but the tension in his shoulders gave him away.
He still stood there, arms crossed, every line in his body tight like he was holding something back. Words, movement, feelings.

“Of course you did,” Jong-Hyeon said, voice barely above a whisper, but sharp and cutting. “That’s what you’re here for, after all.”

The air between them went still.
Not silent. Not calm. But charged.

Dong-Ju blinked, once. Then let out a short breath that wasn’t quite a laugh.

“Wow,” he said, almost admiring. “You make it sound like I crept in here just to get under your skin.”

Jong-Hyeon didn’t move.
“You didn’t creep,” he said. “You strutted in like you wanted to be praised for it… in your own weird way.”

That landed with a thud somewhere low in Dong-Ju’s chest. Not because Jong-Hyeon was wrong. 
No, because he was too right.

Because all Dong-Ju had ever truly wanted, was to be seen without having to beg for it. To be understood. Something Jong-Hyeon somehow threatened to offer right now. He had figured him out just like that, laid him bare, with a sentence and a stare.

Dong-Ju stepped closer like something pulled him in.

“Maybe I did,” he murmured, eyes locked with Jong-Hyeon’s. “Is that what you’re offering? Praise me and admit you lost?”

Jong-Hyeon’s jaw clenched. A beat passed.
He uncrossed his arms with a slowness that felt like a warning more than a gesture. Something shifted… like he’d just made a decision.

“I’m not offering anything,” he said. “But you keep pushing, and you’ll find out what happens when I stop holding back.”

Dong-Ju’s breath hitched. Not enough to be obvious, but enough that Jong-Hyeon would catch it if he was paying attention.
And he was.

Those words threw Dong-ju off, not just slightly. And to his unwelcome surprise, he noticed something that made his mind race uncomfortably fast. This consuming heat flared up inside him again. The same low-burning pulse that had started earlier that night too, when Dong-Ju had his hands on Han-na’s hips and her breath in his mouth. Right before it all got cut short. Interrupted. Denied.

It had been hunger then, desire for more. But now it came back distorted. Twisted by proximity, by the tension curling off Jong-Hyeon like static. It moved differently in his body this time. Sharper. More charged. Like something borrowed and misdirected.

He remembered that Jong-Hyeon had been with Han-na too. Wanted her. Still wanted her.

That knowledge hung between them like smoke. Neither of them said it. Neither of them had to. And right now, it was like fuel to the fire inside Dong-Ju‘s core.

Dong-Ju tilted his head, gaze flicking to Jong-Hyeon’s mouth and then back, unapologetically slow. His body was on fire, and his mind rebelled.

These feelings had no business being here.
Not with him.
Not like this.

And still, something in him didn’t really care anymore right now. Not if it was want. Not if it was revenge.
Not if it was just the unbearable pressure of being seen too clearly by the one person who shouldn’t.

Dong-Ju blinked hard, just once. He needed to reconnect with reality fast or else—

“Oh?” Dong-Ju said, voice barely above a whisper now. “Careful. That sounds a lot like a promise.”

— this would lead somewhere very dangerous.

Jong-Hyeon didn’t answer. He just took a small and controlled step forward, erasing almost all the space that was left between them.
Now they were so close that Dong-Ju could feel the heat coming off him, could sense the tension in his throat when he swallowed.

“I don’t make promises,” Jong-Hyeon said, voice low and rough. “I just follow through.”

A shiver ran down Dong-Ju’s spine, but he didn’t back off. He almost unnoticeably leaned in a little further, close enough that his lips ghosted Jong-Hyeon’s jaw. He was too caught up in this moment and couldn’t possibly think straight.

“You always have that big mouth when you’ve lost?”

That did it.

Jong-Hyeon snapped and all of a sudden his hand was on the collar of Dong-Ju’s shirt, pulling him in fast and rough.

Chapter Text

“You always have that big mouth when you’ve lost?”

That did it.

Jong-Hyeon snapped and all of a sudden his hand was on the collar of Dong-Ju’s shirt, pulling him in fast and rough.

Not a kiss.

A punch.

The crack of it was sharp and clean. Fair enough for an ex taekwondo disciple.

Dong-Ju stumbled back, shock overtaking pain for a split second. His hand flew to his face, breath shallow, mind scrambling to make sense of what had just happened.

Just for a second… for one brutal, weightless moment, Dong-Ju had thought Jong-Hyeon was going to kiss him.

But instead, Jong-Hyeon‘s fist had connected with his jaw.

At least that knocked him right back into reality.

His face was unconsciously betraying his thoughts.

“Fuck“ he quietly muttered to himself under his breath, not meeting Jong-Hyeon‘s gaze. The heat that was blooming across his cheek wasn’t just from the hit. It spread deeper and uglier. His stomach twisted around it, tight with shame. Not just for getting hit. But for what he’d wanted , for how close he’d come to wanting the wrong thing.

It was Han-Na‘s fault, Dong-Ju rationalized.

Jong-Hyeon had barely processed what just happened or what he’d done.

Dong-Ju had been too close, he realized startled. Way too damn close.

Of course he knew Dong-Ju for years. He had always been like this. Loud, cocky and invasive. The kind of person who lived in your space like it belonged to him.

And Jong-Hyeon hated that. Except when he didn’t.

And tonight, it hadn’t just been the usual arrogant bravado. There was something else threaded underneath it. Something tight. Something hungry and unfinished.

Was it Han-Na’s fault? Did she leave him wanting, and now he was here, trying to burn off the excess?

He had figured that Dong-Ju came to brag about how he‘d done whatever with Han-Na just moments before.

But the way he decided to do it, the way he looked at him while doing it, wasn’t something Jong-Hyeon could explain away. The only thing he knew was that it was very different from usual.

It wasn’t just about her.… couldn’t be.

And that stirred something up deep inside of him.

Jong-Hyeon’s jaw clenched so hard his teeth ached.

Dong-Ju’s voice was ringing in his ears, teasing and careless… on the surface. But his eyes were searching.

He was trying to find something in him. Trying to drag it out.

“You always have that big mouth when you’ve lost?“ 

That line. God. The arrogance.

The words echoed, but it wasn’t the arrogance that made him snap.

It was the eyes.

Those eyes weren’t mocking. They were searching. Digging. Asking. Begging, even… if Jong-Hyeon had been bold enough to think so.

Trying to drag something out of him that he’d spent years keeping locked down.

Jong-Hyeon didn’t even hear himself move. Didn’t register his body shifting, his fist curling or his weight shifting forward.

Because for just a split-second, he had thought…

He might kiss him.
Shut him up that way and make him regret that he messed with him.

And that would’ve been worse. Far, far worse.

So he did the only thing that felt less dangerous in that moment.

He hit him.

The sound of knuckles on bone snapped the air in half.

And the second his fist connected, everything inside Jong-Hyeon went dead silent.

Dong-Ju staggered back, wide-eyed. Not particularly angry, nor hurt.

Just… and Jong-Hyeon hated him for it… disappointed.
Then he lowered his head but his ears were glowing red.

„Fuck“ Jong-Hyeon heard him whisper to himself. He noticed something familiar in the tone of his voice…

This indeed led to something dangerous.

Silence settled over the room like a held breath. The uncomfortable kind, tension so thick you could cut it with a knife.

Normally, Dong-Ju would have somehow fought back.

Normally, Jong-Hyeon would humble him.

Yet, neither happened because they were both too caught up in the noise inside their own heads.

Dong-Ju’s fingers twitched near his cheek again, but he still didn’t look up. Then he let out a breath too fast, forced to say something now. He awkwardly cut the silence.

“Uh- I just… need to- bathroom. Mirror. You know, just… checking-”

The words stumbled out, half-formed and unconvincing. He was already backing away mid-sentence, words trailing off behind him. It was retreat disguised as motion, and he reached for the first door he could find.

For once the luck was on his side because it was the bathroom. Thank god. The door clicked shut behind him like a line being drawn, now he was isolated with his own thoughts.

His head was spinning, partly from being hit, partly from trying to piece together what the hell just happened.

The metallic taste hit him next. Blood. He prodded at his lower lip with his tongue and winced. Split open. Jong-Hyeon’s punch had landed harder than he thought.

“Shit,” he muttered, yanking a wad of toilet paper from the holder and pressing it to his mouth. His hand was shaking.

There was a weakness in his limbs that didn’t belong to pain. Not really. It felt deeper. Less physical. Like something had come loose inside him.

He let out a shaky breath, stalling.

He didn’t want to look up. Because he already knew, once he saw himself, there’d be no hiding from it. No reshaping the moment. No excuse convincing enough to dull the edge of what he felt .

Still, he forced his chin up. Slowly. The mirror met him like another slap.

There it was. The flush blooming on his cheek, stark against the pale of his skin. And beneath it, a thing he couldn’t name.

His fingers gripped the sink like it might keep him upright.

“Fucking hell,” he whispered. “What the fuck was that.”

His pulse hadn’t come down. His stomach was in knots. And his body still burned, not from rage, not from pain.

From something else entirely. Something far less explainable. Something he couldn’t explain or justify. Something he couldn’t stop.

No.

No, no, no.

Don’t go there.

Dong-Ju tore his gaze from the mirror, pacing in the cramped space like the motion might help scatter his thoughts. It didn’t. If anything, it stirred them up.

That moment. That look between them. The heat. The silence. The punch.

He was still half-hard.

His face twisted in disgust. What the hell is wrong with you.

But then, his mind, desperate for a way out, grabbed at the only excuse that made any sense.

You were already turned on before. At Han-Na’s.

Yeah. That was it. He’d been making out with her. Her lips, her breath, her skin. It was her that did this. That heat hadn’t gone away. He just… hadn’t gotten the release. His body was already wired. That’s why it got confused.

That’s why when Jong-Hyeon got in his face, all intensity and challenge and tension, his body reacted.

He nodded at his reflection like it owed him confirmation.

“Not him. Obviously not him. Jesus. It’s not like I… wanted that. I was already halfway there. My body just… reacted. That’s what happens. Chemical shit. Biology. Whatever.”

His hands were trembling. He gripped the sink tighter.

“Just a misfire. That’s all.” he whispered. “It wasn’t real. Just— your body being weird.”

He exhaled hard and tried to laugh, but it came out hollow.

You don’t want guys.

You don’t want him.

He glanced back at the mirror, daring himself to look into his own eyes. They didn’t look convinced.

The throbbing in his jaw and the heat lower in his body told a different story. He chose to ignore it.

- 

Outside, Jong-Hyeon stood still in the hallway, pulse hammering and brain frozen somewhere between fight and flight.

He still hadn’t moved and his hand ached from the impact, but that wasn’t what he felt most.

What he felt was shame. Thick, inevitable and suffocating.

He’d hit Dong-Ju. That was bad enough. But what made it worse, so much worse, was that it wasn’t the first thing his body wanted to do in that moment.

That thought made his stomach twist, bile sharp in his throat.

What is wrong with me. Why me.

He couldn’t even hide behind the excuse of confusion. He knew what that moment was. What it meant. He’d felt that electricity before. Buried it every time. Crushed it with control, achievement, superiority. Anything that could keep the truth at bay.

Because that truth?

It was rotting inside him.

He’d spent years trying to drown it out by being perfect. The best in class. The most composed. The one who never flinched. Never cracked. Because if he did , it would all pour out, messy and real and irreversible.

And now here he was, his body had sided with the very thing his mind despised.

He hated himself for it.

For the want. For the shame. For it happening again.

Jong-Hyeon dragged both hands down his face and backed away from the door.

He needed to get it together.

Say something normal.

Joke it off. Pretend it was nothing. Pretend he was nothing.

So he took a breath. A deep one.

And turned back toward the bathroom, courage clawing its way up from somewhere under the shame.

He raised a fist to knock, and then

Thud.

Chapter Text

A loud, dull crash from inside the bathroom. Not a stumble. Not a dropped item. A body hitting the ground.

Jong-Hyeon froze, eyes wide and breath caught.

“Dong-Ju?”

No answer.

Jong-Hyeon threw the door open.

And there he was.

Dong-Ju, crumpled on the floor, one arm twisted awkwardly beneath him. Blood stained his upper lip and streaked his shirt, the red dark and too much. His head lolled slightly to the side. Eyes closed. Out cold.

“Shit,” Jong-Hyeon breathed.

His body kicked into motion before his brain did, kneeling down and lifting Dong-Ju’s head.

Still breathing.

But his skin was pale, sweat beading along his temple, and Jong-Hyeon could see now how dazed he must’ve been before. How his stumble into the bathroom probably wasn’t just about shame or confusion or running away.

He was hurt.

And Jong-Hyeon had done it.

The blood on his shirt might as well have been on Jong-Hyeon’s hands.

“Hey. Hey, come on,” he said, voice tight and his fingers lightly tapping Dong-Ju’s cheek. “Don’t pull this with me right now. Wake up.”

No answer.

Just that shallow breath. That unconscious stillness. That red stain.

Jong-Hyeon stared down at him, heart pounding, shame coiling even tighter than before.

He closed his eyes, trying to keep a calm head and thinking about what to do next. 

A thought popped into his head.

Get him to the couch.

Yeah. Okay. He could do that.

Elevate his head. Cold towel or something. Just… do anything that makes it look like you know what you’re doing.

Something about moving felt safer than thinking.

His arms awkwardly slid under Dong-Ju’s shoulders and legs.

He was heavier than he looked.

“You better not be faking this, dramatic jerk.” He muttered under his breath. If he could still make fun of Dong-Ju, then things couldn’t be that bad, right?

Jong-Hyeon adjusted his grip as he crouched. He slid Dong-Ju’s arms over his shoulders and hoisted him up into a piggyback, murmuring under his breath the whole time.

“This is undignified,” he grunted. “For both of us.”

Dong-Ju didn’t respond. Obviously.

His head lolled against the back of Jong-Hyeon’s neck, his breath, annoyingly warm, ghosted against his neck with every exhale. Jong-Hyeon tried not to think about it. Or to feel it.

“Fantastic,” he mumbled, mostly to fill the silence. “You better not throw up on me or anything.“

No response. 

Then,

a groggy exhale that sounded almost… smug?

He stepped carefully out of the bathroom, adjusting his grip and making sure not to slam Dong-Ju’s knees into the doorframe. Even though he wanted to.

Had he woken up?

Jong-Hyeon risked a glance over his shoulder.

Dong-Ju’s eyes were closed, but his mouth curled faintly, too faint to be accidental.

Great. So he was awake. Just playing dead. Of course.

Jong-Hyeon walked slowly, carefully, each step bringing more awareness to how warm Dong-Ju felt against him.

Then a quiet groan near his ear.

“Oh, now you wake up,” Jong-Hyeon said through clenched teeth. 

Dong-Ju didn’t answer. Just mumbled something that didn’t sound like words and let his head slump deeper into the crook of Jong-Hyeon’s neck.

The heat from his skin was distracting. The silence between their bodies louder than any conversation could’ve been.

By the time Jong-Hyeon reached the living room and carefully lowered Dong-Ju onto the couch, his shirt was tugged halfway up his back and one of Dong-Ju’s sneakers had half-fallen off, flopping to the floor with a sad little sound.

Jong-Hyeon sat back on his heels, his breath uneven, staring at the ridiculous scene in front of him.

Dong-Ju, blood stained and barely conscious, draped on his couch like some dying Victorian woman.

He blew out a breath and shook his head.

“I liked this day better when I didn’t care if you were conscious.”

Then, silence returned once again and settled itself uncomfortably over them.

Jong-Hyun’s gaze lingered on the bloodstains drying on Dong-Ju’s shirt.

That should’ve been enough to keep his mind focused on the bizarre situation they were in right now and what he wanted to do. Get water and a towel…

But instead, his attention drifted. Deliberately slow and against his better judgment. Against every carefully built wall in his mind.

His eyes traced lower.

Not intentionally. Not consciously. Simply… slow and inherently.

Down over Dong-Ju’s neck, where sweat still clung faintly at his collarbone. Over his shoulder, the arm slack at his side.

Then,

his shirt had ridden up during the carry, bunched awkwardly at the waist, exposing a strip of skin that should’ve meant nothing. But Jong-Hyeon’s eyes locked onto it like it had called his name.

The skin there was smooth, taut over muscle. Not the careless kind, but rather the kind built from years of brutal consistency. No softness, no excess. Just clean lines, hard edges, that faint dip just above the waistband that hinted at strength buried deep.

He hadn’t realized it before, how clean Dong-Ju looked up close. The kind of body that didn’t need good lighting or posing to make itself known. Pale in parts, flushed in others. 

Sure, he could’ve guessed. Dong-Ju trained obsessively. Sparred like he still had something to prove after his scandal with the gold medal. Of course he was built like that. He was an athlete. But seeing it up close, like this, was… different.

Worse.

Jong-Hyeon swallowed hard. His jaw flexed.

His gaze dragged, uninvited, down the shallow groove between his abs. His breath caught in his throat, chest tight with something he didn’t want to name.

It wasn’t just the exposure that got to him, it was the ease of it. The unthinking way Dong-Ju’s body existed in his space, unashamed, unbothered, and so close.

Jong-Hyeon’s throat went dry.

Don’t. Don’t go there.

He stood up too quickly and looked away fast, as he noticed heat crawling low in his stomach. As if looking away might burn the image out of his head. His hands curled into fists, not from anger, but to stop them from doing something stupid. Like adjusting the shirt. Or… touching anything. His jaw locked so tight it hurt.

You’re disgusting. He’s unconscious.

Embarrassment rose inside him like bile, familiar and bitter. The acidic kind.

But it didn’t change the way his pulse beat inside his ears, or the flush creeping up the back of his neck.

He just couldn’t unsee it. Couldn’t unfeel it.

But this wasn’t what this was about.

Dong-Ju was unconscious. He needed help. That was the priority.

Not the curve of his waist. Not the sharpness of his collarbone. Not the fact that Jong-Hyeon was carefully studying each and every part of him.

He turned his back to the couch, pressing the heel of his palm into his temple like it might push the image out physically.

Deep breath. In. Out.

He’d get a towel. Water. Maybe find another shirt.

Something normal. Something safe.

Anything that made him feel less like a stranger in his own skin.

When Jong-Hyeon finally returned from the kitchen, with a glass of water in one hand and a wet cloth in the other, he saw Dong-Ju laying sideways on the sofa. A thin line of drool had started to soak into the fabric. His arms were loosely wrapped around a pillow and one leg was dangling from the edge.

Jong-Hyeon blinked, then sighed.

It should’ve surprised him.

But honestly? It didn’t.

This was still Dong-Ju, after all. Boyish, impulsive and reckless.

Sleeping and snoring soundly on his couch as if he didn’t just ruin Jong-Hyeon‘s evening, took a pretty decent punch to the face, passed out in his bathroom, and made Jong-Hyeon worry if he was going to have a full-on identity crisis before morning.

Stupid. Infuriating. Unshakeable Dong-Ju.

Jong-Hyeon stared at him for a long, quiet moment.

Then set the glass down carefully on the table, placed the cold cloth over Dong-Ju’s forehead, and muttered under his breath,

“…Idiot.”

But there was no anger or disappointment in it.

Just a resignation that sounded far too much like care.

He turned to leave.

“Thanks,” the word came sudden, soft and almost slurred from Dong-Ju’s direction, just as he stepped away.

Jong-Hyeon froze mid-step. He glanced over his shoulder.

Dong-Ju hadn’t moved at all. He was still sprawled, arms tangled with the pillow, drool glistening slightly on the cushion and eyelids slack. Definitely asleep.

Still… he’d heard it.

Jong-Hyeon huffed quietly through his nose, more breath than laugh.

“Talking in your sleep now too, huh.“ 

He lingered another second longer than he meant to.

Then turned off the overhead light.

And left him there, stained by blood, sleeping and completely unaware of the damage he’d done.

- 

“Here.” Dong-Ju had whispered as he placed the final bandage on Han-Na‘s arm.

“All done.”

He gently blew over the bruised skin, then looked up with a sincere smile.

Han-na held his gaze, but said nothing.

Until her hand came down, soft and sudden, settling lightly on the top of his head.

He blinked. “What’s this for?” he asked, startled and voice quiet. 

“Nothing.” She shrugged, eyes soft. “I’m just proud of you.”

Dong-Ju grinned, playful again.

“Then give me a prize.”

He leaned in, lips parted in exaggerated anticipation, teasing.

Han-na rolled her eyes but smiled.

“Go change your clothes,” she said, pushing him lightly away.

“What for?” Dong-Ju smirked. “It’s not staying on long anyway.”

Han-na froze for a second, thrown by the forwardness.

“What—?”

Before she could finish, Dong-Ju moved.

He gently eased her back onto the couch, his hand pressing softly at the base of her neck, eyes never leaving hers.

He paused.

Gave her time.

Waited for rejection.

There was none.

So he closed the distance.

Their lips met, slowly at first. Then faster. More urgent.

His thumb grazed her bruised cheek as he kissed her deeper.

Han-na didn’t move at first, she laid there simply returning the kiss. 

Then her hands slid down his sides, finding the hem of his jacket. She reached for his zipper, tugging lightly, her mouth still locked with his.

Dong-Ju broke away just long enough to strip the jacket off. He gripped the edge of the couch for balance as he leaned back in.

Their kiss deepened, messier now.

When his tongue brushed against her lower lip, she opened for him without hesitation.

He smiled into the kiss, one hand working the hem of his shirt.

As he pulled it over his head, Han-na’s hands skimmed his ribs, slow and certain.

Halfway through the motion, he stilled.

The couch was the same.

The room, dim. Still. Too still.

Han-na was beneath him again, her breath shallow against his lips, her eyes soft with permission.

He remembered this. The weight of her hands. The way she’d looked up at him without hesitation. The moment just before the knock on the door had ruined everything.

But this time,

There was no knock. No interruption.

Han-na smiled, eyes fluttering closed as she reached for his shirt, tugging it up. Her fingers brushed his ribs, and his breath caught like before.

Only this time, when she looked at him again, something was… different.

Her lips moved.

But the voice that came out wasn’t hers.

“You always want what you can’t have, right?“

It was low. Familiar.

Jong-Hyeon’s voice.

Dong-Ju blinked.

Han-na’s hands were still on his body, but her touch felt firmer now. Less delicate.Her grip shifted to a more confident one, grounding.

The way he touched.

Dong-Ju glanced down.

The fingers trailing up his sides were longer now. More calloused.

His breath hitched.

“What…“ he muttered under his breath.

But he didn’t move.

The shape beneath him changed subtly… then terrifyingly clear.

The line of the jaw.

The curve of the mouth.

The weight of the stare looking up at him through the frame of those thick black glasses.

Not her eyes.

His.

Jong-Hyeon.

Dong-Ju’s chest seized.

Panic bloomed under his ribs like heat.

“No“ he whispered, “No this isn‘t—”

But apparently his body didn’t care.

Jong-Hyeon’s hands moved to his waist, steady and warm.

The same lips parted beneath his.

And the same voice, now undeniable, whispered:

“Look at you, not stopping me at all. Just whining… don‘t deny it.“

His face was half in shadow, eyes unreadable, lips parted just slightly, breath hitting Dong-Ju’s cheek.

Jong-Hyeon leaned in slowly and brushed their mouths together.

Dong-Ju arched up into him. He couldn’t stop. Couldn’t even want to. Heat coiled so fast in his stomach it made him dizzy.

“You wanted this,“ Jong-Hyeon muttered under his breath, “You came here for this.“ 

Dong-Ju opened his mouth to argue or to deny it, to say anything at all…

but all that came out was a strangled moan.

Chapter Text

Dong-Ju woke up drenched in sweat.

His eyes darted around the pitch-black room, desperately scanning for something to anchor him and tell him where the hell he was.

A digital clock glowed faintly from a desk in the corner. 03:19 am

Jong-Hyeon’s desk.

He was still in Jong-Hyeon’s apartment.

Shit.

His stomach twisted and he noticed his body feeling exhausted as he tried to move.

“You always want what you can’t have, right?“

The words echoed inside his mind. They were too loud and too clear in the contrast of the nightly silence. They also didn’t really belong to anyone specific anymore. Maybe they were Han-Na’s. Maybe Jong-Hyeon’s. Maybe his own.

Didn’t matter.

They just stuck.

Dong-Ju blinked up at the ceiling, heart hammering and his whole body heavy and wet with sweat. His mouth was full of spit. It was too much, too sticky and too bitter. His tongue felt like it didn’t belong to him, laying uncomfortably in his mouth. Then came the cold on his skin, the sour edge of nausea crawling up his throat.

Next, a gag.

His body lurched forward before his brain could decide what to do.

He jolted himself up from the couch, half-tripping over the twisted throw blanket around his legs, like it was trying to keep him there.

Door. Bathroom door.

The same goddamn door he’d already crashed into earlier today. His only salvation.

He stumbled toward it, hand clamped over his mouth, trying not to breathe too deep. His throat burned with bile, but his stomach was hollow. There was nothing to throw up. It was solely a reaction. Just shame and confusion taking shape inside his gut like it wanted out.

His shoulder clipped the wall. Then his elbow slammed into the doorframe with a sharp crack that made him grunt, but he didn’t stop. He shoved the door open with more force than needed, stumbled inside, and kicked it shut behind him.

The slam echoed.

Jong-Hyeon‘s eyes flew open as his sleep was disturbed by weird noises.

Not the heavy, unconscious kind from earlier. Those were lighter and… hasty. Then the quick shuffle of socked feet against hardwood.

And gaging.

He sat up, fingers searching for his glasses on the nightstand. He paused after he put them on, staring into the darkness. 

Was that Dong-Ju?

He carefully shifted out of his bed and peaked his head slightly through the open slit of his bedroom door, eyes narrowing toward the hallway just as Dong-Ju hurried into the bathroom as if the floor burned his feet with each step. The door slammed.

Jong-Hyeon blinked.

…Had he thrown up?

He opened the bedroom door further and moved reluctantly to the hallway, hesitating just outside the bathroom. He could hear the faucet running. The occasional cough. One sharp breath like he was trying to get it together.

No vomiting sounds, though. Just… weird and choked breathing.

Maybe dizziness?

Or… did he hurt Dong-Ju’s head really that badly with the punch?

Jong-Hyeon pressed his fingers against the bridge of his nose.

Maybe I should’ve stayed by his side. He probably woke up disoriented. Thought he was dying or something.

He raised his hand, hesitated and thought about what to say. Then he lowered it again.

What would he say… “Hey, you good?” 

Obviously Dong-Ju was not good.

“You need anything—“

What? A towel? A new shirt?

His thoughts were cut when he heard the splashing water be turned off. Dong-Ju would probably step out any second.

And here he was.

Standing frozen in his shirt and boxers, glasses crooked, hovering outside the door like some perverted nighttime stalker.

He stepped back quickly. His pulse was hammering loudly in his ears and he was barely breathing, face flushed. Panic rose inside him.

Damn it.

The bathroom door opened with a soft creak.

Dong-Ju stepped out, his body trembling slightly and the cold air clinging to his damp skin. His shirt stuck to him in patches, some from sweat, some from water. His eyes were red and heavy-lidded, like he’d cried or at least come close. His body felt empty, like someone had wrung him out from the inside, leaving him with nothing but his thoughts.

He hovered in the hallway for a second, disoriented, blinking into the shadows like he didn’t quite fit into the frame.

The couch was there. The blanket still twisted, still smelling faintly of himself and tangy from the sweat.

He couldn’t go back to it.

A sudden and strong urge overcame him.

He really didn’t want to be alone right now, not with his thoughts. Not with the leftover taste of a dream he couldn’t talk nor think about. Not with the echo of his own voice moaning a name that didn’t belong to the name it should belong to.

His legs moved without permission from his mind.

Down the hall. Toward Jong-Hyeon’s room.

The door was cracked open.

Inside, Jong-Hyeon was laying in his bed, chest rising and falling quite unevenly under the sheets, turned slightly to one side.

Asleep.

Or pretending to be. His glasses were still on.

Dong-Ju stared at him for a moment, wavering from sleep deprivation.

His mind screamed at him to walk away, to be rational, to not do this.

But his body was aching for something warm. Something solid for him to cling to. He’d spent the last ten hours bouncing between humiliation, confusion, arousal, and shame. He needed to land somewhere. Even just for the night. Just for now.

He quietly padded further into the room.

Jong-Hyeon didn’t move.

Dong-Ju stood there for a moment, his breath shallow. He stared at the bed. The soft rise of the comforter. The faint sound of breathing. The space, enough for two.

He didn’t ask. Afraid of rejection. Of being confronted with his own thoughts through verbalizing them.

He just slipped under the covers, carefully slow, like he was afraid of waking up a predator. He kept to the very edge, his limbs pulled in and the side of his body barely brushing Jong-Hyeon‘s under the sheets.

It was still too much.

The warmth. The scent. The closeness.

He swallowed hard and stared at the ceiling. His heart wouldn’t slow down.

A minute passed. Then another.

And then, he whispered almost inaudible,

“…You ever felt like a stranger in your own skin?” 

The words slipped out, low and cracked at the edges, like they’d been waiting at the back of his throat all night, just looking for a crack to crawl through. His brain was too exhausted to hold them back. Too tired to filter or to defend.

More silence.

Jong-Hyeon didn’t answer. Or move.

Something in Dong-Ju curled tighter at the silence, like he’d exposed a raw nerve and the world had decided to politely look away.

He rolled onto his side to face away and pulled his knees in slightly beneath the blanket. His back to Jong-Hyeon, eyes burning.

The weight of the night pressed down on him in full now, heavy and unavoidable. Confusion, exhaustion and that stupid dream still clinging to his skin. He felt so damn small. 

So he gave in. To the weakness. To the gravity of it all.

And finally slipped into the sleep his body had been craving so bad.

He never saw Jong-Hyeon’s fingers twitch at his question. Never noticed how tightly he was gripping the sheet with one hand, breath shallow and mind racing.

“Yes.“ Jong-Hyeon finally admitted with a quiet whisper, as he heard Dong-Ju‘s breath become steady and felt his body relaxing through the mattress. Answering, when he knew it was safe to be vulnerable.

He laid there for what felt like an eternity, staring at the wall. His back turned to Dong-Ju.

Then, Jong-Hyeon made the mistake of letting his mind wander.

His thoughts drifted, brushing lightly against the many moments he’d shared with Dong-Ju since they started working together.

It came to a halt at one.

He remembered the time they, Han-Na, Man-sik, Dong-Ju and himself, had a meal together at the Insung pawnshop while they kept Sergei there.

Dong-Ju had been bragging about something, mouth full, when he’d looked over at him and said,

„Is it good?“ 

Jong-Hyeon had been a little caught off guard. He nodded without thinking, only realizing after a second that Dong-Ju was talking about the food.

„Look who knows how to smile.“ Dong-Ju grinned wide, laughing through another bite of pork.

A nice sound. Bright and infectious. The kind of laugh that made you laugh along no matter how hard you tried to keep it together. It forced a small huff of amusement out of Jong-Hyeon before he could stop it.

„Look at you, eating as sloppy as a kid,“ he teased, grabbing a napkin and whipping the corner of Jong-Hyeon‘s mouth.

His head tilted slightly with the force, and he pulled away on reflex, but the grin tugging at the corner of his mouth gave him away.

„Smile big and show your teeth“ Dong-Ju had said, his laughter becoming harder, so sure of himself.

Jong-Hyeon had looked down, trying to hide the real laugh that slipped out. He didn’t want to give him the satisfaction so easily of making him laugh. Truly laugh. Just by being his stupid self.

He pushed the memory aside.

But his mind kept wandering.

It stopped again, at the container hunt. The long, sleepless night they’d spent chasing Min’s money along the docks.

He remembered the two of them standing at the edge of the shore. The water lapping gently. The yellow light of sunrise soft and warm on their faces. There’d been a stillness there. A kind of peace he hadn’t felt in quite some time.

He breathed it in. His tongue tasted the salt from the water. He wanted to stay here just a little longer.

But the work wasn’t done.

„Lets go“ he said to Dong-Ju with a sigh and turned on his heel, even though he didn’t want to abandon this comforting feeling.

But an arm right before his chest blocked him. Dong-Ju didn’t look at him as he had it stretched out, instead he fumbled his phone out of his pocket.

„Let‘s take a photo together“ he demanded more than suggested, and gave him a small smile.

He slid his finger over the screen, opening the photo app and positioned himself right next to Jong-Hyeon. Their shoulders pressed against each other.

Click.

Jong-Hyeon wanted to be done with it. The closeness, the warmth after a sleepless night, was too much. His body hadn’t figured out how to handle Dong-Ju in moments like this.

But Dong-Ju grabbed him by the neck and pulled him right back into place.

“You have to smile in photos.“ He stated, thumb hovering over the screen. He didn’t look away from the screen but his hand tapped Jong-Hyeon’s back. Once. Twice.

Then it went still, resting on his back.

Jong-Hyeon risked a quick glance over to Dong-Ju, who gave the camera a smile. Teeth and all. Unguarded.

He felt his lips curling upward.

Dong-Ju had made him smile. Again.

And he liked it. 

And the more he liked it, the more he hated it. It was the only thing that made him feel comfortable in his own skin. Managed to push all of those draining thoughts right out of his mind. 

He knew he would grow attached to it. The feeling inside of him that came with it. That self-acceptance, because there was someone else accepting him.

He knew what would happen. If someone ever made him feel like that… he wouldn’t be able to let go.

He’d cling. He’d fall. And he’d break.

So no. He couldn’t like it.

He needed to hate it. Protect himself from the possibility of someone being able to make him feel good. Make him laugh. He needed to kill it before it became something he couldn’t survive losing.

He was halfway sleeping as the next memory crept into his mind.

Of course it was about Dong-Ju again.

But this time, his face wasn’t bruised or anything. His hair was also longer. And he was a good few years younger.

Chapter Text

He was halfway sleeping as the next memory crept into his mind.

Of course it was about Dong-Ju again.

But this time, his face wasn’t bruised or anything. It was bright and untouched. Just clean skin and a faint flush of exertion. His hair was longer, messy in a way that hadn’t yet learned how to be styled mature. 

He looked younger. They both did. Because they were. Faces unweathered, eyes still sharp with ambition and untouched by failure.

It was the day he’d first seen Dong-Ju smile.

Jong-Hyeon found himself watching from somewhere above, the edges of the memory too smooth to be real. 

A dream, maybe. One dressed up in the skin of a memory he hadn’t thought about in a long time because it carried one devastating realization about himself.

Back then, they were just two names on a list. Two rising stars, still figuring out how to run without tripping over their own pride.

He hadn’t spoken to Dong-Ju yet back then. Didn’t even know his voice or how he looked like, only his name. 

“He is the new boxer in the national team. Thinks you win gold if you run a hundred rounds here.“ A voice came from his side, dull and muffled, like it had to push through cotton walls to reach him. He didn’t register who said it. But it also didn’t matter.

He didn’t really listen anyway, just saw the way Dong-Ju moved across the field.

It was as if his body had already made a pact with victory and wasn’t going to wait for permission to earn it.

Jong-Hyeon had watched him with quiet skepticism.

He’s not going to last the hundred rounds. No one did before.

He had thought.

But then someone said he was already on his ninety-ninth.

Jong-Hyeon had stilled. Eyes now closely following every move Dong-Ju made. 

Seems like, he is not like anyone before. 

It had piqued his interest. 

He watched Dong-Ju’s body strain through the final stretch. Shoulders heaving and groans spilling from his mouth unrestrained, raw with effort. His jacket clung to him. “I AM KING“ written on the back of it. Vain

Jong-Hyeon’s gaze dropped slightly, against his will.

Dong-Ju‘s abdomen moved in waves that were taut and rhythmic. The kind of definition born not just from training, but obsession. Not sculpted to be seen, but earned through strict repetition. Through need. 

His waist tapered into strong hips, guiding the motion of his legs, thighs thick and corded with muscle, flexing beneath the thin fabric of his shorts with every pounding step.

Jong-Hyeon’s gaze was glued to his body, without really meaning to. The motion of Dong-Ju’s body was hypnotic. Purposeful, uninhibited and so… alive. Each groan that escaped his mouth as he pushed through those last few meters sounded too raw and intimate to be public.

He felt the back of his neck getting hot.

There was nothing elegant or graceful about it. Just drive. Just want.

And Dong-Ju was… mesmerizing.

Too much so.

Jong-Hyeon‘s thoughts had been interrupted by sudden shouts and whistles. Cheering. 

He found himself as part of a crowd that was watching Dong-Ju make his way to the finish line.

A wave of people had gathered along the edge of the field. His peers, coaches, strangers. All of them watching Dong-Ju like he was a rising star. Because he had been.

Jong-Hyeon stood among them, quiet.

Just a body in the background. Just another witness.

And he remembered hating it. Not the cheering. Not Dong-Ju hitting 100 rounds.

He hated how small he had felt. How invisible. Like his feelings didn’t matter. Couldn’t matter. Shouldn’t. 

Dong-Ju could have the world, with that chaotic charm. The embodiment of sunshine, that made people orbit without question. He belonged to the people, to everyone.

And Jong-Hyeon was… no one.

No one Dong-Ju would ever look at that way. Not when he had fangirls, attention and worst of all, Han-Na.

In the actual memory, Dong-Ju had never looked at Jong-Hyeon when he reached the finish line. He had barely even known he existed. Instead he just smiled at everyone, widely and beautifully, while getting celebrated.

But right now, inside this weird half-conscious dream, this twisted memory…

He did.

As Dong-Ju crossed the finish line, chest rising and lips parted, he looked up.

Not at the crowd.

Not at the coaches.

Not at Han-Na.

At him.

His eyes found Jong-Hyeon’s in the blur of motion and noise.

And then he smiled.

Not the smug grin he used when teasing. Not the cocky smirk from after a fight.

A real and beautiful smile. Bright. Soft. Direct.

Jong-Hyeon’s breath caught.

For a moment, just a moment, it was like he was the finish line. Like Dong-Ju had run all that way just to arrive in front of him.

And it broke something loose inside him.

Something that was locked away for years.

Something he had never dared to name, but that had been quietly pulsing beneath his skin ever since that day, waiting to be seen and acknowledged.

With that feeling bleeding out inside of him, his mind finally surrendered and drifted to a sleep that felt dangerously close to death. No more dreams followed. Not a single flicker of color. His brain shut down completely, like it, too, had given up the fight. Behind his closed lids, there was nothing but blackness.

Still, heavy and absolute.

-

Dong-Ju woke up to the soft hum of the AC and forced his eyes open, only to be met by the dark blue light of the early morning. That heavy, cloud-thick kind of light, the one that warned of bad weather, like the sky itself had decided to accompany Dong-Ju‘s mood.

He let out a heavy breath, his mouth tasted like sleep and blood. His tongue was dry. His stomach hollow. Everything felt sore in a way that wasn’t entirely physical.

The blanket had slipped off him sometime in the night, and cold air had settled into the space beneath his skin. He shivered a little but tried not to move too much. 

For another moment, he just laid there, blinking up at the unfamiliar ceiling.

The one of Jong-Hyeon‘s bedroom. All while trying to remember when sleep had finally pulled him under and how exactly he had gotten here.

He was thankful for the few hours of rest but when he tried to move, his limbs were heavy and he felt his bones aching, like his body hadn’t recovered a single bit.

How would he work like that? Fight crime like that? Face Han-na like that?

His fingers curled against the sheets before he realized he was gripping them. Tight. Like holding on to something that was already gone.

He finally turned his head.

Jong-Hyeon was still asleep, at least he looked like it. Lying on his side, glasses crooked and a hand resting near his face. Peaceful. Distant. 

Dong-Ju’s chest tightened.

How had he ended up here? In this bed. In this version of himself. One where weird things just slipped out of his mouth without permission, where embarrassment clung to his skin like sweat.

He carefully sat up, trying not to wake Jong-Hyeon, legs swinging over the edge of the bed. The cold hit him again, sharp and immediate this time.

His body ached. The kind of ache that went deeper than bruises or fatigue. He rubbed his jaw. Still sore. Still swollen. Probably bruised. 

He deserved that. Maybe.

A part of him wanted to look at Jong-Hyeon again. Just once.

But he didn’t. 

There was no reason to. Right?

He reached for his shoes, trying not to wince when his shoulder protested, then stood with a quiet grunt.

Dong-Ju really wasn’t the type to back off from anything. Not in the ring. Not in life.

But this?

This was different.

The urge to disappear was clawing at him, urgent, and for once louder than his pride.

He didn’t know what he’d say if Jong-Hyeon woke up. He also didn’t want to find out what Jong-Hyeon would say.

The air felt too thick. Too private. Like something had been shared in the dark of the night that daylight had no business to know or remember.

He tiptoed through the room and just as he made it through the door into the hallway, he hesitated.

Where was his phone?

He scanned the living room, panic rising. Not in his expression, but in the slight clench of his jaw and the barely-there hitch in his breath.

It wasn’t on the couch. Not on the coffee table, either.

Damnit.

His eyes flicked toward the bedroom door.

It must still be in there.

Dong-Ju cursed silently. Of course.

After shortly arguing with himself to wether just leave or get his phone, he carefully snuck back into the bedroom, pulse hammering in his ears. 

He prayed that Jong-Hyeon wouldn’t wake up now. Not now.

And when his eyes were hastily and desperately scanning the room, he saw it.

Right there.

Half-tucked under the pillow he’d slept on. Right beside Jong-Hyeon’s still frame.

Great.

Amazing.

He couldn’t help but wince, immediately biting his lip as the sound came out far too loud in the fragile morning quietness.

He carefully padded back to the bed, like the floorboards were waiting to betray him. Afraid that any sound might wake the other man.

When Dong-Ju eventually reached the side of the bed he had slept on, he gently reached over to grab his phone and get the hell out of here. 

And then he froze.

Warm air hit the back of his hand.

Jong-Hyeon’s breath.

Goosebumps rippled up his arm. 

He stood there for a second, eyes slowly tracing down from his own hand to the sight of Jong-Hyeon‘s sleeping face. He looked… peaceful.

That usual frown and tenderness of his body, the one he wore like armor during each and every day… gone. 

It made Dong-Ju smile.

Then he bit down on his lip.

What was he smiling for…?

He snatched the phone and began to straighten his bent back from the awkward lean.

That’s when his stomach grumbled.

And not just a quiet growl.

No.

It roared like he had been starving for days.

Of course. 

He felt his ears become hot.

Then,

Bedsheets began to shuffle.

Oh no.

A frown appeared on Jong-Hyeon‘s face. The one he wore on his face during lunchbreaks, meetings, and talking to people he disliked. The familiar one. The daytime version of Jong-Hyeon.

Dong-Ju froze, silently praying it was just a twitch. Just one of those half-dreaming, deep-sleep reflexes. Maybe he’d turn over and mumble something incoherent and that would be it.

But he didn’t wait to find out.

He bolted.

Out of the bedroom like a thief, socked feet sliding against the floor, phone clutched like it might explode, body jerky with panic and hunger. He cleared the hallway in two and a half panicked strides. He was back in the living room now, breath caught somewhere between his chest and throat.

He didn’t even realize he was holding it until he finally stood at the front door, exhaling like he’d just run a hundred miles.

Then he looked at his phone.

Still warm from the bed.

Battery at 8 percent. 6:28 am.

He thought for a moment.

Then, he typed. Fingers trembling slightly, though he’d never admit that out loud.

Something simple, maybe a little stupid.

Just anything that would ease the tension.

He hovered. Then sighed.

Not yet.

He decided it was best to, at first, leave this goddamn apartment. Just to be safe and think about what he could even message Jong-Hyeon.

So for now, he shoved the phone back into his pocket and walked out.

Afraid that the silence behind him might chase him down the street, and ask questions he couldn’t answer.

Chapter Text

Jong-Hyeon woke to silence.

Not the kind that soothed, but the kind that pressed. Dense and a little too clean, as if something had been scrubbed out of the room.

The first thing he registered when he opened his eyes was light.

Too bright for it to be 6:00 am, the time he usually got up.

The mid-morning sunlight spilled through the curtains, warm on his face and annoyingly comforting. He squinted against it, dragging a slow hand across his face. His glasses were still on, askew against his face. He sighed through his nose and removed them, placing them carefully on the nightstand. The bridge of his nose ached faintly.

His mind was still fogged from sleep.

Something felt… off.

The room was too quiet.

His bed… too cold on one side.

Fragments of last night were popping up in his mind. He carefully turned his head, expecting to see Dong-Ju curled awkwardly beneath the blanket, drooling into the pillow again like some overgrown child.

But the space beside him was empty.

No warmth. No breath. No sound.

Just the faint, undeniable dent in the pillow. Maybe still warm. And at the corner of the blanket, a small, and dried smear of red. Blood. Faint, but there. 

Proof.

Jong-Hyeon sat up slowly, pressing the heel of his palm into his eye socket.

So it hadn’t been a dream. Not all of it, anyway.

Dong-Ju had been here.

Had.

His jaw clenched as he looked toward the door, ajar now, just slightly, like someone had left in a hurry and didn’t want to wake the house.

No shoes on the floor. No phone in the bed.

Gone.

Of course he was.

Jong-Hyeon sat there for a long moment, elbows on his knees, hands clasped together loosely in front of him.

He didn’t say anything. Didn’t curse or sigh.

But his throat was tight and his mouth dry.

The weight of the night before continued to hit him in pieces. The closeness. The shared silence.  The whispered confession. That unwelcome memory-dream.

These new, lose feelings inside his chest…

And now, this.

Absence. Abandonment.

Eventually, he reached for his phone, realizing only now that he’d forgotten to set his alarm. Everything about last night had thrown him off balance.

The screen lit up.

9:46 a.m. Shit

Several notifications.

A few messages.

His eyes landed on one, sent an hour ago.

Yoon Dong-Ju

Was starving, went out to eat breakfast. Thanks for letting me stay the night. 

Won‘t happen again.

Jong-Hyeon started at it, not blinking once.

Won‘t happen again.

As if Dong-Ju hadn’t already stayed at his place a dozen times before. As if he hadn’t already made it a habit to show up unannounced on quiet evenings, annoying Jong-Hyeon with bragging and bad jokes, just because he was bored and needed to get on someone’s nerves. Or maybe to just have someone around.

Well yes, it had been… slightly different this time. Sure.

But still…

There was something about that last line that pressed somewhere low in his chest.

As if Dong-Ju regretted something. Not the fight or the punch. But getting a bit too close to him for a little too long.

And for reasons he couldn’t… or wouldn’t explain, that hurt Jong-Hyeon.

A dull, biting kind of disappointment that settled deep in his ribs.

His fingers clenched around the phone.

Suddenly Jong-Hyeon felt a strong urge to just rip his skin off of his own body.

Dong-Ju didn’t know. Of course he didn’t. Not about him. Not… about that. His preference.

But why did it feel like he did? 

Why did it feel like Dong-Ju had figured it out somewhere in the dark? Like he’d seen too much and was now doing what everyone always did when they found out:

Pulling back.

Creating space.

Pretending it had never happened.

Like people always did, when they happened to find out about him.

Jong-Hyeon wanted to crawl out of himself entirely. Wanted to scream, but a lump in his throat wouldn’t let him.

So instead, he just sat there.

Phone in hand and breath shallow.

Staring at the screen, thumb hovering over the keyboard.

After a while, he began typing.

You didn’t have to leave so fast.

Pause.

He stared at the words like they belonged to someone else.

Then hit backspace. Slowly and carefully, like undoing evidence.

Another attempt: 

You could have stayed for breakfast.

Backspace.

His jaw clenched.

Fingers moved again. A shorter one this time. Easier. Safer. Normal.

All good.

His chest tightened.

God, no. That was worse. That wasn’t him. That was someone trying not to feel anything.

Delete.

He let the phone fall to his lap, stared at the light filtering through the blinds. It didn’t feel like morning. Didn’t feel like anything at all.

Eventually, he opened the keyboard one last time.

Typed:

Next time just say goodbye properly.

Then he just… stared at it.

For a long time.

Didn’t send it.

Because next time? There shouldn’t be one.

But he didn’t delete it either.

He locked the phone and set it facedown on the bed beside him.

Then leaned forward, elbows on knees, hands braced against his jaw.

And sat in silence.

After a long while, he stood. Made the bed, pulled the blanket tight over the rumpled evidence, straightened his posture.

Reset himself.

And walked out of the room like it was any other morning.

Because if there was one thing Jong-Hyeon was good at, it was living like nothing happened.

Even when it had.

-

Jong-Hyeon finally entered the office building, after wrestling with himself for the entire morning about whether he should really come to work today or not.

Not only because Dong-Ju would most likely be there, but also because he was much too late anyways. 

But in order not to make things any worse than they already were, he decided to go. Besides, he had never been absent a day before. So it would definitely be noticed if he didn't turn up, and being called out for that was even more unpleasant than if he just went and pretended everything was normal.

As he reached the end of the hallway, he came to a halt right before their office.

The door was slightly ajar and Han-na’s voice cut through the air.

“So you just disappeared?“

Her tone was low and sharp. Not yelling, worse. Worry was burried beneath it.

Jong-Hyeon surely didn’t mean to listen. He told himself he was simply respecting their privacy by not barging in.

Which apparently meant standing right outside the door, ear angled toward the gap of the door... and then an eye peeking through it.

Inside, he saw Dong-Ju flinch at Han-na‘s sudden blame.

“After everything we… after last evening. Nothing? Not even a text? You could at least have let me know you got home safely.“

Her voice cracked. Just a little.

“It‘a not like that,“ Dong-Ju mumbled, voice hoarse. Still not looking up.

“Then what is it?“

There was no reply from the mouth that was usually impossible to shut up. Dong-Ju just shifted, turning slightly away. His hand went instinctively to his jaw, just for a second, before catching himself and lowering it.

Han-na’s gaze tracked the movement.

From the silver of space, Jong-Hyeon watched it all. He shouldn’t step in, even when Dong-Ju looked so helpless and defenseless.

“Seriously?“ she asked, frustration sharpening her voice. Her eyes found the dark bruise visible just below the line of his cap. 

“And you come back like this?” she exclaimed, “Did you pick another fight? Just after promising me you would take better care of yourself?“

She sounded desperate, expression full of worry. So so different from usual. It must tear Dong-Ju apart from the inside.

Jong-Hyeon couldn’t bear watching it.

„Dong-Jun slept with me.“

Jong-Hyeon didn’t plan to just step in. Or to speak.

He really didn’t.

But neither his legs nor his mouth had waited for permission.

Then, 

Silence. 

He heard a choked noise coming from his right. Dong-Ju looked startled.

Only then did Jong-Hyeon realize what exactly he just said. Heat flushed up his neck, impossible to stop.

„In separate rooms though.“ he added quickly. Far too quickly.

What an incredible save. Amazing, Jong-Hyeon.

Han-Na blinked. Her mouth hung slightly open from wanting to say something but apparently she couldn’t find the right words.

Dong-Ju’s head had jerked up slightly, just enough for Jong-Hyeon to see his eyes. It was a priceless expression. His eyes wide and jaw clenched as if he’d just bit his own tongue off. He looked mortified.

And then, no one said anything, for a long painful moment.

After a while, Jong-Hyeon couldn’t bear the silence anymore.

“I mean,” he added, more controlled this time, his tone flat but precise, “he stayed over. At my place. Yesterday.”

The weight of those first four words still hung heavy between them, louder than the clarification.

Jong-Hyeon couldn’t take them back. He just stood there, spine straight, eyes calm, like a man defending a position he’d chosen to die on.

Han-Na’s gaze flicked between the two of them. “You… explain the bruise then.”

Dong-Ju still hadn’t spoken.

And Jong-Hyeon didn’t say another word. He’d said enough already.

Instead, he gave Dong-Ju a quick side-eye, an unspoken shove to say something.

Chapter Text

“I mean,” he added, more controlled this time, his tone flat but precise, “he stayed over. At my place. Yesterday.”

The weight of those first four words still hung heavy between them, louder than the clarification.

Jong-Hyeon didn’t take them back. He didn’t flinch. He just stood there, spine straight, eyes calm, like a man defending a position he’d chosen to die on.

Han-Na’s gaze flicked between the two of them. “You… explain the bruise then.”

Dong-Ju still hadn’t spoken.

And Jong-Hyeon didn’t say another word. He’d said enough already.

Instead, he gave Dong-Ju a quick side-eye, an unspoken shove to say something.

“We… we just messed around and I just… dodged too late. It‘s nothing.“

The way Dong-Ju struggled to explain it made Jong-Hyeon uneasy.

Han-na wouldn’t believe that. Hell, he wouldn’t believe it too, if he didn’t know exactly what happened.

Dong-Ju couldn’t meet her eyes. Couldn’t meet his, either. He just stared at the ground, dumbfounded and… ashamed.

Something in Jong-Hyeon’s chest tightened.

The way Dong-Ju fumbled for words, pondered about what happened and tried to piece together a version of the night that fit, sounded less like an explanation and more like an act of self-convincing. Dong-Ju wasn’t just lying to her. He was trying to lie to himself. 

And it showed.

As if the bruise came from a harmless mistake. A punch he‘d dodged too late.

As if Jong-Hyeon had simply hit him to knock the pride out of his body. Not because a kiss would have hurt far worse than a punch.

He bit the inside of his cheek, trying to suppress a scoff. 

It wasn‘t about the fact that Dong-Ju had lied, but about the realisation that he should not have been disappointed, about the fact that Dong-Ju had lied.

And yet, he was.

But then again, what was Dong-Ju even supposed to say?

Jong-Hyeon himself could barely make sense out of yesterday's situation, let alone put it into words.

How on earth could Dong-Ju explain it to anyone else then?

The silence stretched. Han-Na’s expression grew cool, her posture locked tight.

Jong-Hyeon risked a glance at Han-na. Her eyes had narrowed, suspicion and disbelief shaping her gaze.

"All right, if you don't want to tell me what really happened, then don‘t bother."

Her tone was a lot cooler now. Formal. The kind people use when they’re holding something in.

It gave Jong-Hyeon chills.

Then, Han-na seemed to swallow whatever frustration and confusion was still left on her tongue, turned on her heel, and walked out.

The click of her heels was sharp against the floor, echoing as she walked away and shut the door behind her, with slightly more force than necessary.

The silence she left behind felt heavier than the sound.

And suddenly, Jong-Hyeon thought it might have been far less unpleasant if he’d just stayed home and been nagged for it, instead of… whatever this was.

Dong-Ju shifted beside him.

“I, uh… I bought you breakfast earlier,“ he said, breaking the quiet. He nodded toward the desk, where a foil-wrapped sandwich and a lidded cup sat untouched. “It‘s probably cold now though.“

Jong-Hyeon blinked. He had expected Dong-Ju to say anything. Anything. And of all the things he could’ve said it was… this?

„I told you to stop spending your money on me.“ Jong-Hyeon merely replied out of habit, voice more gentle than expected. He‘d meant for it to come out with his usual confident nag, but his voice landed softer than intended.

The relief of Dong-Ju talking to him about something normal, something they always talked about, had stripped the edge from his tone.

The familiarity of the exchange should have calmed him. But it didn’t. Not entirely. It was choked by something contradicting.

Dong-Ju was avoiding it. Avoiding yesterday.

And that stung more than it should have.

He must regret it, Jong-Hyeon thought.

Because Dong-Ju wasn’t the kind of guy to leave things unspoken. He always wanted to confront, to argue and to solve. Even if it was loud and stupid and clumsy. Silence and disregard weren’t his weapon.

So why now?

Sure, sometimes he stayed quiet to protect someone, but who would need protecting here?

No one. Which meant the only person he was protecting… was himself.

From the fact that he, too, had had the feeling Jong-Hyeon would maybe have kissed him yesterday?

But he didn’t do so right? So even just the idea that Jong-Hyeon had thought about doing so must disgust Dong-Ju…

Or maybe… he was just reading too much into all of this right now.

„Whatever. Just… think of it as a thank you for yesterday.“

Oh.

That should’ve confirmed, that Jong-Hyeon was reading too much into this.

But instead, it loosened the knot in his chest just a little. Not all the way. But enough.

Because truth be told, he might’ve done the same. Let whatever happened yesterday fade into silence. Let it die here, buried between coffee and paperwork, never addressed again.

Because naming it would make it real.

And what if it wasn’t real? What if it was nothing more than what Dong-Ju had said it was?

Just a punch Dong-Ju dodged too late after they messed around.

Then maybe they could go back to normal.

Ignoring that they had shared a bed. 

Ignoring that Jong-Hyeon had come to the realization of something terrible tonight, too.

Their heads spun as Man-Sik suddenly burst into the office, shattering the silence like a thunderclap, arms thrown into the air and eyes squeezed shut from excitement.

“Listen up everyone, drinks and dinner are on me tonight! I just managed to solve the series-of-bank-robberies-case before the Violent Crimes Unit could! The chief is gonna love hearing about this… take that, Dae Yong!“

As his announcement did not receive the expected applause but silence instead, Man-sik opened his eyes, disappointment marking his face.

„Oh, it’s just you two. Wait— Mr. Kim, I thought you’d taken the day off? I was told you weren’t here for your nine o’clock.“

Jong-Hyeon‘s jaw flexed and his posture became stiff, “Well—“

“Whatever. Where are the others? I’ve got news!“ Man-Sik cut him off with a wave, already on his way out of the office, when he suddenly turned on his heel.

“Ah, Dong-Ju, come with me. I need your opinion on a case file. You’re welcome to join in, Mr. Kim.“ he added, holding onto the doorframe as if he was in a hurry.

Jong-Hyeon thought for a second. 

“No, it‘s fine. I have work to catch up on. I’ll maybe take a look later.“

He actually had. This wasn’t an excuse. Not entirely.

He looked over at Dong-Ju who jumped off of his chair, looking at Man-Sik like he was his guardian angel. He raced towards the door, and brushed past him and Man-sik like a bolt of lightning.

At least pretend you don’t mind being here with me.

Then, it was just him.

The office was quiet, an atmosphere he usually found himself most productive and comfortable in.

Usually.

But today, the silence scraped at the inside of his skull.

As he sat down at his chair, nagging at his lip, the foiled sandwich caught his attention. Dong-Ju had brought him an eggdrop sandwich. He looked at it. The edges of the brioche buns looked golden and crispy. There was bacon inside, too. 

He wondered if it would taste saggy from the sauce soaking the bread. It didn’t look like it.

It would be such a waste to throw it away.

Jong-Hyeon looked at the door, leaning slightly back in his chair. The hallway was empty, no sound coming from anywhere near.

He slowly leaned back forward, raising a hand to gently untie the sandwich from its foil. He was so careful with it that one might think he was committing a crime.

Then, he bit into it. The taste of bacon fried to perfection, fluffy scrambled egg and slightly spicy cheese came together nicely on his tongue.

He had almost rolled his eyes at how, besides it being in fact cold, delicious it tasted.

Not because Dond-Ju had brought it for him, apparently remembering Jong-Hyeon’s favorite combo. No, he brought him food all the time.

Then, another bite.

He ate so eagerly that he had a hard time swallowing each bite without almost choking. 

His eyes landed on the lidded cup beside his keyboard. He took it, taking a huge sip from it.

It was a plain black coffee. 

It tasted rich and slightly bitter, just the way he liked it.

It was room temperature instead of hot but that didn’t bother him either.

Not because Dong-Ju had remembered the way he liked his coffee the most.

After wiping his hands to get rid of the crumbles, he felt satisfied.

Definitely not about the fact that Dong-Ju had thought of him and brought him his favorite food, but also because it was his first meal of the day. And it was already 3pm.

Chapter Text

Dong-Ju followed Man-Sik down the hallway like a dog on a leash. Obedient in steps but completely absent in mind.

He kept his head low, hands stuffed into the pockets of his jacket and his bag swaying at his side. 

Man-sik was going on and on about the details of the case he wanted to show him, but Dong-Ju only caught bits and pieces of what the older man was saying. “Ledger discrepancies… connection to the Sangdo district bust… might be looking at a fake front…” It all skimmed off the surface of Dong-Ju’s brain like water on glass.

None of it stuck. He nodded anyway, just to avoid suspicion.

His thoughts were elsewhere.

“Dong-Ju slept with me.“ He couldn’t stop replaying it.

That phrasing. Those words.

He knew Jong-Hyeon. Knew how controlled his speech was, how deliberate he was about everything. That couldn’t have been a slip. That had to be calculated. Tactical. 

But for what reason would he have said it like that?

Did Jong-Hyeon want to cause even more trouble between him and Han-na?

No. That was stupid. It was just words. 

Maybe it was unintentional. A weird choice, sure, but probably nothing more. Jong-Hyeon was tactful yes, but not theatrical. He wouldn’t play with phrasing for drama.

Still…

Dong-Ju’s chest felt tight.

Han-Na had gone so quiet. The kind of quiet that made him fold in half. And she hadn’t looked at Dong-Ju again after what Jong-Hyeon had said. Not really. Not with the same softness he worked so hard for.

Not that he blamed her.

He had disappeared after what happened between them. After kissing her like there was no tomorrow and then vanishing into someone else’s bed. Into his bed.

What kind of boyfriend did that?

Even if all they did was sleep.

Even if he’d spent half the night dreaming about her.

Only for her to then melt into the face of someone else…

His stomach turned again at the memory. The embarrassment hadn’t dulled. It still flared up inside him like a rash he couldn’t scratch off.

He rubbed his face hard, as if he could scrub the thoughts out through his skin.

Instead of thinking about how to fix things with her, his thoughts kept circling back to… him.

But this wasn’t about Jong-Hyeon.

It couldn’t be. His only concern right now should be to figure out how to make up with Han-Na.

He was already pulling the strap of his bag tighter around his chest when they reached the archive where the case files were kept . Man-Sik swept inside like a gust of overconfidence, his hands already sifting through files and pointing at charts on a board. Dong-Ju took a seat near the end of a table, head low and eyes forward, trying to get his breathing under control.

Focus.

Numbers. Reports. Names.

Not Jong-Hyeon’s voice in his head.

Not Han-Na’s face when she asked about the bruise.

Not the echo of the silence that followed his pathetic attempt at a lie.

„We just messed around. It was nothing.“

What a joke.

It hadn’t just been messing around, even if that was Dong-Ju‘s intention. It turned out to be a misplaced challenge between two men who didn’t know how to talk about the thing sitting between them.

A punch that landed where a kiss almost did.

His fingers brushed the side of his jaw. The swelling was less sharp now, but the ache had set in deeper. More honest. Like a confession without words.

Dong-Ju sighed, which made Man-Sik glance at him for a brief moment before turning back to his rambling about the case.

No, Dong-Ju thought. This was just…confusion. A mental crash from too little sleep, too many bruises, and too much adrenaline. That was all. Of course he was thinking strange things. The entire day had been strange. That moment, the punch, it had all been strange.

Their whole dynamic was weird lately.

That didn’t mean he was weird.

Dong-Ju shoved that thought down hard, like cramming something into a drawer and forcing it shut before it could spill out.

Besides… Han-Na. He was with Han-Na. She made sense. She was stunning, smart, capable, fearless. She understood him.

She was the kind of person you built a life with. She grounded him. Gave him purpose.

He remembered her lips, the way she’d pulled him closer, the warmth of her body against his…

… but that dream wouldn’t let him go.

Right in the middle of that fantasy, it had stopped being Han-Na. Her face had blurred. Her voice had shifted. And then it was—

No. No no no. He wasn’t going to think about that again.

He shook his head once, harsh and fast, as if the motion could reset his brain.

Across the room, Man-Sik was gesturing wildly to a new printout, asking something about the flow of untracked cash.

Dong-Ju nodded, automatically. “Yeah, probably laundered. Through shell companies or fake clients.” His voice came out even and somewhat collected. The detective part of his brain still worked, even when everything else was failing to understand what was going on.

Man-Sik gave him a thumbs up, pleased. “Knew you’d catch that.”

Dong-Ju tried to smile. It was thin. 

Man-Sik turned back to the board, but Dong-Ju’s mind wandered again.

Had Jong-Hyeon read his message?

Did he think Dong-Ju regretted what happened?

Did Jong-Hyeon regret what happened?

Dong-Ju shifted in his seat, the memory of warm breath on the back of his hand flashing across his mind. The way his chest had fluttered and he had to stop himself from smiling, like he was some schoolgirl with a crush—

No. Stop. Just stop.

He wasn’t like that. He liked women. He liked Han-Na. Always had.

So what if Jong-Hyeon was… composed? Smart? Infuriatingly competent? Or if his shoulders had felt steady under the blanket? If his eyes made you feel like you were being seen without being judged?

That didn’t mean anything.

It didn’t. Never had.

Dong-Ju rested his elbow on the table and pressed two fingers to his temple.

He hated how sensitive he was being. He hated how much his thoughts spiraled back to the night, one look, one stupid almost.

They hadn’t even touched. Not really.

So why did it feel like he’d crossed a line he couldn’t uncross?

He wasn’t supposed to want to remember how warm Jong-Hyeon felt under the covers. He wasn’t supposed to notice the way his body relaxed in sleep, finally unguarded. And he definitely wasn’t supposed to smile at that.

But he had. And he was fighting it back right now too.

“Hey.” Man-Sik’s voice cut into the fog. “You alright?”

Dong-Ju blinked and looked up. “What? Oh yeah… just didn’t sleep much,” he said.

That part was true.

Man-Sik nodded. “Well, go grab a coffee or something if you need to. You’re no good to me if you keel over.”

Dong-Ju forced a grin. “I would never.”

Then he stood, muttering something about needing the coffee and the restroom, and stepped out of the case room. The door clicked shut behind him, sealing the hum of the overhead light inside.

The hallway was colder. Quieter. Empty in a way that made every sound of his shoes on the floor feel too loud.

He stopped beside the wall, leaning his shoulder into it. For a moment, he just stood there, the cool paint pressing through his jacket. Then he slid a hand into his pocket and pulled out his phone.

No new messages.

His thumb hovered over Jong-Hyeon’s name in his contacts. The familiar curve of the letters almost felt like they were staring back at him, waiting.

He shoved the phone back into his pocket, jaw tight.

Maybe he was imagining all of it. Maybe the real problem wasn’t what happened… or even what didn’t happen. Maybe it was the possibility of what it could have meant if it had happened differently.

That was the part that unsettled him most, though he’d never admit it. Not even to himself.

Because for all the he’s just a colleague and he’s just a friend, something in him knew that wasn’t entirely true anymore.

Something had shifted.

He didn’t know what it was yet.

But it had weight.

And he had no idea how long he could keep pretending it wasn’t there.

Chapter Text

After what felt like an eternity in the archives, Man-Sik finally waved him off. Probably realized he wasn’t really getting anything useful out of him.

Dong-Ju hadn’t been able to focus. His thoughts kept slipping away from the case files, dragging him back to earlier that morning, back to that bed, back to stupid Jong-Hyeon. No matter how hard he tried to pull them back in line, they kept slipping through his fingers.

So he’d eventually stopped trying.

On the way back to the office, his chest grew tighter with every step. The possibility to, either run into Han-Na or Jong-Hyeon, or worst of all both, made him anxious. 

And he wasn’t good at talking in moments like that. Hell, he wasn’t good at talking about feelings at all, especially when he hadn’t even sorted them out for himself yet.

So as he reached the window next to the door that made it possible to look inside, he risked a brief glimpse.

Relief loosened his shoulders and he let out a breath when he saw it was just Jae-Hong in there.

„Hey, where are the others?“ Dong-Ju asked as he stepped in.

Jae-Hong glanced up, offering a warm, easy smile. “Kim was called into a meeting a while ago. And Ms. Ji?” He frowned, scratching his head. “Haven’t seen her today. Maybe she’s working off-site?”

Dong-Ju just shrugged, trying to look clueless. But there was a weight in his chest that didn’t ease. Han-Na still hadn’t shown up again since earlier.

After the way she’d looked at him this morning, part of him was grateful for the distance. Another part itched with unfinished business.

As he made his way over to his desk, already reaching for his chair, he noticed something laying on his desk. A plastic bag. 

He frowned, leaning closer. “Did anyone leave this here?”

Jae-Hong barely glanced up. “Oh, that? Mr. Kim dropped it off. Said it was for you and you’d know what it was when you opened it.” Then his eyes returned to his screen, already lost in whatever he was working on again.

Dong-Ju nodded silently in response.

Jong-Hyeon left it?

He eased into his chair, still eyeing the bag like it might spring open and bite him.

Then eventually, he reached for it and peeked inside.

The bag contained bandages, cooling gel and a wound disinfectant.

A neat little kit to treat the bruise on Dong-Ju‘s  jaw. The same one Jong-Hyeon had given him.

His lips tugged at the corner of his mouth before he could stop them.

This was Jong-Hyeon’s way of saying “I‘m sorry“. So typical. No calls or messages. Just actions.

Dong-Ju sank further into his chair, staring down at the bag.

“You coming to the dinner Man-Sik is planning later? Mr. Kim told me about it, said he was going but didn’t know if you would. I‘m definitely going. Don‘t want to miss out on free food.“ Jae-Hong‘s voice cut the silence, ripping Dong-Ju out of his thoughts.

He thought for a second longer than necessary.

“Yeah, I‘m coming.“ 

He should. If he didn’t, people might notice. And who was he to turn down free food and drinks? Maybe a few glasses of soju would smooth things over. Let him patch things up with Jong-Hyeon and make it all seem like nothing. And maybe, after that, he could do the same with Han-Na. In a… boyfriend sort of way. 

“Great. I wonder if Ms. Ji’s coming,” Jae-Hong added. “Haven’t seen her all day.

“You’re right, I’ll let her know.”

The opportunity came just when he needed it. Dong-Ju pulled out his phone, thumb hovering over her name in his contacts.

Hoppang, Man-Sik says dinner and drinks are on him tonight, are you coming? 

Please

He stared at the please for a second before he hit send. For just a brief moment, something inside him doubted whether he really wanted her to come, and that made him realize something was seriously wrong with himself this time.

He shoved the phone deep into his pocket, as if burying it could bury the thought. No more distractions. He had an hour before dinner. Enough time to focus. 

Only, he already knew he wouldn’t.

-

Dong-Ju was late. He‘d spend the evening worrying about what to say in any possible situation that would be uncomfortable to face.

And he still didn’t figure it out.

He couldn’t for the hell of him, explain what him and Jong-Hyeon had gone through yesterday.

Sure he tried to convince himself that it was not his fault for feeling… weird about Jong-Hyeon.

But he came to the conclusion that it sooner or later wouldn’t work to justify his feelings with whatever felt best, when he was actually somewhere deeply aware of the horrific truth.

He would not have denied a kiss if Jong-Hyeon had given him one.

But he wasn’t ready to look at the mess inside him. Not when he still couldn’t decide if that night was a genuine mistake, or something dangerously close to not being one.

With that last line sitting somewhere deep in his core, he opened the door to their usual barbecue place.

The restaurant was already loud when he arrived. The air smelled of sizzling meat, garlic, and cheap beer. Laughter rolled over the clatter of chopsticks and the hiss of grilling pork belly.

Man-Sik was in the middle of telling a story loud enough for half the street to hear, arms spread wide as if measuring the size of a fish he’d caught. “…and that’s when the guy realized he’d been tailing the wrong car for two hours!” He slapped the table, wheezing at his own joke.

Dong-Ju more or less gracefully made his way around the tables, trying not to interrupt the lively conversation going on at his table nor to draw attention to himself.

He slid into an empty spot at the side, grateful the attention stayed on Man-Sik. He’d accidentally timed his arrival so he wouldn’t have to endure the awkward lull of early greetings.

But his relief was short-lived, when he saw her.

Han-Na sat directly across from him. She didn’t react at first. No smile, no greeting, just a slow glance up from her glass, the barest acknowledgment, before her eyes returned to the amber liquid inside. She swirled it once, as though measuring her thoughts before swallowing them with the next sip.

Dong-Ju had doubted that she would have come but after giving it a second thought, he knew she‘d be here even after not responding to his messages. Because just as with him, the team would be suspicious if she didn’t come.

Jong-Hyeon sat beside her, quietly tending the grill. He didn’t look at Dong-Ju, but he caught the way his shoulders shifted, barely, but enough to register he’d noticed.

Man-Sik, oblivious to the quiet undercurrent, shoved a plate toward him. “Eat before it’s gone,“ he jabbed a chopstick at Dong-Ju with a grin that left no room for refusal. 

“Yeah,” Dong-Ju muttered, reaching for a lettuce leaf. The noise around the table carried on. Cases retold with embellishment, harmless teasing volleyed back and forth, but he stayed in the quieter spaces, answering only when pressed.

He should participate in the conversations but couldn’t figure out how. His throat felt sewn shut.

Then Han-Na spoke. 

Not to him, exactly, but near enough that her words landed like a jab to the ribs.

Her tone was even, each word measured, but there was a weight behind it that drew the table’s attention like a string pulled taut.

“Some people,” she said, setting her glass down with quiet precision, “believe silence excuses them. That as long as they reappear eventually, they owe no explanation.”

Jong-Hyeon’s tongs paused mid-air.

Dong-Ju kept his eyes on the lettuce in his hands, face hot. He didn’t know if responding was a clever move but… had he ever been really clever before?

“I was busy.”

“With what?” she asked, the words calm but pointed. More an invitation to account for himself than an outright accusation.

Across the table, Jong-Hyeon lowered the meat onto the grill with deliberate care. “Han-Na. Not here.” His voice was low and steady, a reminder rather than a rebuke.

The atmosphere shifted. Dong-Ju silently cursed Jong-Hyeon for interfering their near-argument.

Her gaze shifted to him, unblinking. “Why? You think it’s fine too?”

Jong-Hyeon didn’t answer immediately, just slowly poured her another beer. “I think this isn’t the place. And you two should wait until each of you is ready to speak about this, preferably in private.”

A silence settled, short but heavy, before Han-Na leaned back and reclaimed her composure like a garment she had only briefly set aside. She reached for her glass again, but the faint narrowing of her eyes said she’d filed this moment away.

Dong-Ju kept chewing, though the food had turned dry in his mouth. He didn’t lift his head, didn’t challenge her.

Man-Sik, apparently oblivious to the undercurrent, launched into another story, pulling the table’s attention back toward him. Slowly, laughter began to rise again.

Han-Na listened, posture poised, but Dong-Ju could still feel the weight of her earlier words pressing against him. And beside her, Jong-Hyeon was still quiet, eyes fixed on the grill but with that same stillness that meant he was taking in far more than he’d ever say aloud.

A few more moments passed, glasses clinking and plates sliding across the table, but the tension didn’t dissipate.

Eventually, Han-Na’s glass was empty again. She set it down neatly, as though ending a sentence.

“I have an early briefing tomorrow,” she said, her tone perfectly even, though her eyes lingered on Dong-Ju for a fraction too long. Not accusing. Not pleading. Just… weighing him.

She rose smoothly, the chair legs barely scraping against the floor. Her coat was over her shoulders in one practiced motion. She bowed politely to the table, not a hair out of place.

“Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

And then she was gone, the click of her heels fading into the street noise outside.

Dong-Ju stared at the empty space she’d left behind. The noise at the table blurred, muffled by the sound of his own pulse in his ears.

Jong-Hyeon didn’t look at him, just kept tending the grill, but Dong-Ju felt his presence all the same. Solid and steady, like a wall he didn’t know how to get past.

Man-Sik shoved a shot glass toward him, breaking the stillness. “Come on, drink. You look like you just got dumped.”

Dong-Ju forced a smirk that didn’t reach his eyes. “Maybe I did.”

He downed the shot. The burn was sharp, almost welcome. Something to focus on that wasn’t the tightness in his chest.

Another glass appeared. Then another.

He wasn’t keeping count. He didn’t want to.

He laughed when the others laughed, louder than necessary. He gestured big, told stories with embellishments he couldn’t remember making. Every time the taste of soju hit his tongue, it chased away the thought of Han-Na’s look at the table, or at least blurred it enough to feel manageable.

But it kept coming back. The memory of her eyes. The way she hadn’t raised her voice, hadn’t made a scene… and somehow that made it worse.

By the time the plates were empty and the grill was cooling, Dong-Ju felt the room swaying just enough that he had to plant his elbows on the table to steady himself.

The laughter around him had softened into background noise. His mind, despite the alcohol, kept circling back to two things. Han-Na walking away. And the quiet weight of Jong-Hyeon sitting there, watching without saying a damn word.

He poured himself another shot.

He didn’t want to think about either of them anymore.

Chapter Text

From where Jong-Hyeon sat, he could tell exactly how far gone Dong-Ju was.

There was a looseness in his shoulders. His voice had gotten louder, the consonants slurring at the edges.

And that smile, too wide. The kind he wore when he was trying to hide how miserable he really felt.

Jong-Hyeon had seen it before. On him too, but mostly in the mirror. More times than he cared to admit.

His eyes flicked to the empty spot Han-Na had left behind. Of course he’d figured that the briefing was not the reason she left early. He didn’t need to guess what had caused her leaving. Dong-Ju surely knew too, therefore he was trying to drown himself in alcohol and self pity.

Across the table, he saw him pour another shot with more enthusiasm than coordination. Liquid sloshed over the rim and onto his fingers. He didn’t even notice.

Jong-Hyeon pressed his thumb and forefinger against the bridge of his nose.

Man-Sik laughed, slapped Dong-Ju on the back and muttered something about lightweights. He was just as far gone, but that wasn’t surprising.

Dong-Ju laughed too, but Jong-Hyeon caught the half-second delay before it, like it had to be dragged out of him.

He thought about telling him to stop.

He thought about getting up, grabbing the bottle, saying something sharp enough to snap him out of it.

Instead, he leaned back, arms folded, watching.

Because, since when was he Dong-Ju‘s caretaker?

He was a grown man, able to decide for himself.

Also, stepping in now, here, in front of the others, wouldn’t help. It would embarrass him. And Jong-Hyeon knew exactly how much Dong-Ju hated looking weak.

Still, he couldn’t quite shake the tight coil in his chest as Dong-Ju reached for the bottle again.

“Enough.“

The word finally left his mouth, his tone alarming but low enough that it didn’t carry past the table.

Dong-Ju looked at him, bleary-eyed, the corner of his mouth twitching like he was going to argue. Then he just huffed out a laugh and set the bottle down.

Good.

But the unease in Jong-Hyeon’s gut didn’t fade.

Because the truth was, he most certainly knew what kind of thoughts Dong-Ju tried to drown in alcohol right now.

And he had the sinking feeling they weren’t all about Han-Na.

“Let him drink! Poor guy nearly got dumped!“ Man-Sik slurred, reaching for the bottle Dong-Ju had just set down.

Dong-Ju just nodded along, pouting as his eyes shifted between Jong-Hyeon and Man-Sik.

Jong-Hyeon wouldn’t let Dong-Ju try to drown whatever he didn’t want to face in alcohol.

“No,” he said, voice firm and deliberate. “He’s had enough. And with all due respect… so have you.”

Man-Sik blinked at him, then waved a hand with mock offense.

„Fine, fine. Come on, Dong-Ju, we‘ll keep the party going at my place if Mr. Killjoy doesn’t want us to have any fun.“  Man-Sik reached for Dong-Ju’s arm, tugging at it.

Jong-Hyeon exhaled slowly, catching Jae-Hong’s gaze, who gave him a subtle nod, the kind that said I’ve got you. 

“Let’s call it a night,” he said, rising and gently but firmly peeling Man-Sik’s hand off Dong-Ju. “I’ll take him home.”

After a brief, half-hearted protest, Man-Sik finally gave in and let himself be steered toward the exit by Jae-Hong, tossing an exaggerated pout over his shoulder as they left.

When the door shut, Jong-Hyeon’s focus settled on Dong-Ju.

Whether he’d asked for it or not, he was his responsibility now.

He turned to him.

Dong-Ju was slumped in his seat, staring at the empty glass in front of him like it might offer answers.

“Let‘s go,“ Jong-Hyeon said quietly.

Dong-Ju didn’t move. Not at first. Then he slowly pushed to his feet, swaying just slightly before steadying himself.

He didn’t look at Jong-Hyeon.

Neither of them said anything as they stepped outside into the quiet night air.

Neither said anything when they got into Jong-Hyeon’s car.

The drive home was silent as well. Not the kind filled with mutual understanding.

Rather the kind that buzzed with everything left unsaid, sharp-edged and tight, like the inside of a sealed jar about to pop.

Jong-Hyeon kept his eyes on the road, hands steady on the wheel.

Beside him, Dong-Ju slumped against the passenger-side window with his cheek pressed to the cool glass, breath fogging a small patch every few seconds. His eyes were half-lidded, fingers twitching restlessly in his lap.

There was no music. No talking. Just the hum of the engine and the sound of the city slipping past outside.

They didn’t look at each other, not even a quick glance.

And when Jong-Hyeon finally pulled into the lot and killed the engine, neither of them moved right away.

Finally, Dong-Ju exhaled slowly.

“You didn’t have to do that.“, he said, voice raspy from alcohol.

“Do what?“

“Stand up for me.“

“You couldn’t.“

“… Fair, I guess.“

Jong-Hyeon felt a grin forming on his face and he quickly faced away from Dong-Ju. It was rare for him to get drunk, but even rarer to admit he might have been in the wrong.

Then, they finally got out of the car. Dong-Ju had a little trouble walking straight.

Back at Jong-Hyeon’s place, the air was thick with unsaid things.

Dong-Ju kicked his shoes off lazily and dropped onto the couch like gravity was extra cruel tonight. He didn’t say a word. Didn’t reach for the remote. Didn’t ask for water or aspirin.

Just stared blankly at the wall in front of him.

Jong-Hyeon hovered in the kitchen for a moment before silently setting a glass of water on the table in front of him.

Dong-Ju didn’t even glance at it.

“You can sleep here again… if you’d like.“ Jong-Hyeon muttered quietly, avoiding his eyes.

“Is this becoming routine now?“ Dong-Ju chuckled, the alcohol too far up in his mind to think about what he was saying.

Jong-Hyeon stared down, ears hot. His voice stuck in his throat.

“Thanks.“ Dong-Ju said eventually at the previous offer, after he had caught Jong-Hyeon off guard.

Then, another silence.

This one somehow… worse.

It was so loud that Jong-Hyeon wanted to cover his ears.

He leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching Dong-Ju’s still form.

His hair was a mess. His cheek flushed, not just from the alcohol. That same bruise still faintly visible along his jawline, and Jong-Hyeon couldn’t stop seeing the moment his fist had connected.

Couldn’t stop wondering what it had interrupted.

“You usually don’t drink so much.“ he pressed carefully.

If he wasn’t going to address this whole thing somehow, they would probably both go insane. Perhaps it was the best moment to do it now, with Dong-Ju intoxicated and most likely telling the truth about how he felt.

Dong-Ju looked over at him for the first time since they’d walked through the door. His expression was unreadable.

Then he scoffed, not unkindly. Just… tired.

„You think I know why? I wasn’t planning on doing so.“

Jong-Hyeon didn’t answer. He waited for Dong-Ju to eventually talk further. 

Dong-Ju slouched further into the couch, elbows resting on his knees now, head bowed like he was studying the cracks in the floorboards.

“I was just… I don’t know,” he muttered. “Trying to not feel anything for a bit.” His thumb brushed over the rim of the water glass, but he didn’t lift it.

“Worked?” Jong-Hyeon asked, voice neutral.

“Yeah...”

A beat.

“But not for long.”

The corners of Jong-Hyeon’s mouth twitched, barely visible. Something like a smile, but thinner. Wary.

“That tends to happen,” he said quietly, watching him.

Dong-Ju’s eyes flicked up at that. For a moment, they met.

Then Dong-Ju laughed, dry and humorless.

“So what? You’re an expert in drowning out thoughts?”

Jong-Hyeon exhaled slowly through his nose, turning his gaze toward the kitchen tiles.

“I used to be,” he said. “Until I realized that running away from your thoughts won’t make them go away.”

Dong-Ju let that sit. Then nodded, barely. Like he understood more than he wanted to admit.

Then, he leaned back against the cushions again, the motion slow and heavy. His head tilted up, eyes fixed on the ceiling like it might hand him an answer.

“I…“

He hesitated.

„I didn’t really mean to go to your place last night, you know,” he said, voice quieter now. “I wasn’t even thinking. My legs just… I don’t know. Moved.”

Jong-Hyeon didn’t move either. He just listened, jaw tight, like any shift in expression might scare Dong-Ju off.

“And then I said stupid shit. And then you said stupid shit. And then after we got all up in our faces… you hit me.”

That pulled a reaction, Jong-Hyeon’s shoulders tensing.

“I didn’t mean to—”

“I know,” Dong-Ju cut in silently. 

A heavy silence followed, thankfully not as long as the other ones.

Then, Dong-Ju admitted softer but with heavy eyes,

“That’s the worst part.”

Silence again.

It settled thick and suffocating.

Jong-Hyeon stepped forward without realizing, just one step, like his body reacted before his mind could catch up.

“You’re… You’re not the only one who doesn’t know what yesterday was.”

Dong-Ju turned his head toward him, eyes dark, searching.

“Then why doesn’t it feel like we don’t know?”

Jong-Hyeon opened his mouth. And closed it again.

No answer came.

Because the truth was, he knew.

For a moment. A split-second, he’d known exactly what that moment was.

And then he’d punched it out of existence.

But he still knew.

“Forget it,” Dong-Ju muttered, eyes dropping again. He leaned his head back against the couch, staring blankly upward. “I don’t know why I said that.”

Jong-Hyeon’s hands curled slightly into fists where they hung by his sides.

“Don’t…do that,” he said, quieter than intended. “Don’t say something, and then walk it back like it meant nothing.”

Dong-Ju huffed a breath, but there wasn’t much fight in it.

“What do you want me to say? That I don’t know what’s happening to me? That everything feels off?… That I thought about you last night, and it fucked with my head so much I had to convince myself I was just… horny and confused?”

Jong-Hyeon’s breath caught in his throat, the confession too much to handle.

“I…”

“Don’t.” Dong-Ju sat forward suddenly, elbows on his knees again, both hands gripping the back of his neck.

“Just… don’t say anything yet. I can’t hear it if it’s something I don’t wanna know. Or something I wanna know…“

His voice cracked on the last word. He tried to hide it by swallowing fast, breathing slower. Like that could bury the vulnerability crawling up his spine.

Jong-Hyeon stepped forward again.

Then stopped.

He could see the outline of the bruise on Dong-Ju’s jaw in the soft kitchen light more clearly. 

His voice came out rough, almost low enough to vanish between the couch cushions.

“I didn’t hit you because I was angry, you know. I… hit you because I was scared.”

That made Dong-Ju go still.

“Of what?” he asked, not looking up.

“Of doing something worse,” Jong-Hyeon said, hands slightly trembling.“Something I wouldn’t be able to take back.”

Dong-Ju’s hands fell into his lap. His voice was almost inaudible.

“Like what?”

Another silence.

The words laid on his tongue.

But Jong-Hyeon didn’t dare to say them out loud.

And somehow… that was the worst answer of all.

Dong-Ju let out a shaky breath. He didn’t look up.

“You should’ve done it…,” he said. “Then maybe I’d know if I’m just losing my mind or if this… whatever this is… is real.”

Jong-Hyeon’s fingers twitched at his side.

He didn’t move. He couldn’t.

Not yet.

“Maybe you still want to,” Dong-Ju whispered, his voice unpleasantly quiet now. And it was less a question, more a guess, not exactly directed towards him.

A hope, maybe.

Just his thoughts slipping away from his mouth.

“Maybe I do.” 

A pause.

“But… I won’t.”

That pulled Dong-Ju’s head up. Their eyes met again.

Heat. Hurt. Longing. All the wrong emotions wrapped in all the wrong bodies.

“Why…not?” Dong-Ju asked.

“Because I just… I can’t,” Jong-Hyeon said, “it would be wrong.”

“Why?”

“You know why. It would lead nowhere good… and you’re with Han-Na.”

Dong-Ju bit the inside of his cheek.

Right.

And then, like he’d used up the last of his honesty for the night, he let out a bitter laugh and dropped back against the couch again.

“Well,” he said, his voice distant.

“Good thing I’m drunk enough to forget most of this by morning.”

Jong-Hyeon didn’t answer.

Because he wouldn’t forget. Not a single word of it.

Dong-Ju rubbed a hand over his face, slow and shaky. “I should sleep,” he said, not really asking. Not really meaning it either.

Jong-Hyeon nodded, but didn’t move. His feet felt nailed to the floor.

“Yeah. I should too.”

Dong-Ju didn’t rise yet. He just sat there, still slouched into the couch like the cushions were holding him together.

The air buzzed with leftover words. But both of them were already sealing up again, retreating from whatever crack had just opened between them.

Finally, Dong-Ju pushed himself up, slower than usual. He barely made it three steps before he turned slightly, his voice low again.

“Thanks. For… earlier. With Man-Sik. The kit and… everything else.”

Jong-Hyeon nodded again, still silent.

“And sorry for being a mess.”

“You’re fine.” Jong-Hyeon said quickly, surprising even himself.

Dong-Ju blinked at him.

“You just don’t like what you’re feeling. Doesn’t make you a mess.”

That earned him a look,  brief and unreadable, but not ungrateful.

“Still sucks.”

“I know.”

Dong-Ju hovered in the hallway, like he wasn’t sure where he was going. Then turned left, toward the guest room.

Just before he disappeared through the door, he hesitated.

“Hey,” he said.

Jong-Hyeon looked up.

“You‘ve got a blanket for me? I was freezing last night.”

A pause.

Then, Jong-Hyeon huffed, caught by surprise. Finally, the tension inside him eased a bit.

“Sure.” He chuckled, grabbing a blanket from a close drawer, handing it over to Dong-Ju.

“Thanks.“

Then the door closed behind him with a soft click.

Jong-Hyeon stood in the middle of the living room.

His pulse throbbed in his ears. His jaw ached from clenching it so much and his stomach hurt from the laugh. He stared at the door Dong-Ju had just vanished behind.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, only now beginning to grasp what they just talked about, all while he was completely sober.

And then he stood there for a long time, still not moving. Because the worst part wasn’t that he told Dong-Ju he still wanted to kiss him.

It was that… he didn’t know anymore if he could stop himself next time he got all up in his face again even if it was so wrong.

Chapter Text

Dong-Ju had fallen asleep almost instantly, sunk into the guest room’s narrow bed, which was just a thin mattress, surrounded by the stacks of boxes Jong-Hyeon kept pressed into every spare corner. The alcohol had been warm in his blood, pulling him under fast.

But it didn’t last. When he stirred again, his mouth was dry, a bitter tang coating his tongue, and a dull pounding had taken root behind his eyes. The room was still dark, the streetlamp outside barely bleeding through the curtains.

His limbs felt heavy, like the night before.

But his mind felt lighter.

And then the memory came.

His jaw went slack. He’d actually talked to Jong-Hyeon about last night. About… what it felt like.

God, he‘d made a fool out of himself. And Jong-Hyeon?

He was perfectly composed, as if none had rattled him.

Which somehow made Dong-Ju feel even more ridiculous.

No, actually if he was honest, he didn’t feel entirely ridiculous… he also felt… relieved.

“You just don’t like what you’re feeling. Doesn’t make you a mess.”

Why did he have to say something like that?

It made Dong-Ju‘s chest ache. He felt seen. Understood. Even when he couldn’t understand himself quite yet.

He exhaled slowly and pushed himself upright, pulse drumming in his ears.

His eyes moved to the boxes again. He’d been curious since the first time he stepped into this room. He’d even asked if Jong-Hyeon was moving once, only to be met with that flat, clipped silence.

It had appeared to be a sensitive topic for him. 

But curiosity got the better of Dong-Ju once again.

He slipped out from under the blanket, the cold floor biting at his bare feet, and reached for the small lamp in the corner. A dim, yellow glow illuminated the room.

Dong-Ju stilled, listening into the darkness beyond the door trying to make out if Jong-Hyeon was awake. 

Then, a faint snore. Steady. Out cold.

Dong-Ju began to gently unstack the boxes, careful not to scrape cardboard or topple anything over.

The first three boxes were unremarkable: chipped mugs, old jackets that looked like they belonged in the 80s, rolled-up fencing posters, a stack of worn sports magazines.

Then he opened the fourth.

Books. Mostly old, hardcovers with frayed edges and underlined pages. He picked one up, flipped through it without focus, then another.

On the third, something slipped free.

A thick paper envelope landed in his lap with a muted thud.

Dong-Ju raised his eyebrows, holding it up to the lamp. The paper was stiff, worn at the corners, weighty with whatever was inside. He tilted it, trying to guess the contents from its shape, but the light revealed nothing.

He swallowed. His fingers twitched against the seal.

He shouldn’t.

It was Jong-Hyeon‘s personal space. His things. And Jong-Hyeon had given him a place to sleep. He owed him that much respect.

But… then again…

You leave someone alone in a room full of boxes, you take the risk of someone rummaging through your things, don’t you?

The thought made him smirk faintly, almost against his will.

He slid a finger under the flap and opened it.

Inside was a small stack of photographs.

He slipped them out carefully, angling them toward the warm yellow glow of the lamp.

They were a few years old. Not faded exactly, but aged. The kind of color and texture that photos got after years in a drawer.

The first picture showed him a much younger Jong-Hyeon standing on a podium, fencing mask tucked under his arm, and a medal hanging from his neck. His posture was straight, his expression unreadable even then, but his eyes… they looked softer.

Dong-Ju lingered on it a little longer than he meant to.

The next photo was in motion. Someone had caught him mid-bout, body twisted, foil extended in perfect form. It was precise, almost surgical. You could tell by the angle of his wrist, by the tension in his shoulders, that he’d been trained within an inch of perfection.

Dong-Ju’s chest tightened.

He wasn’t sure why.

There were more: team photos, him shaking hands with other fencers, him at what looked like an awards dinner. In most of them, he wasn’t smiling. And when he was, it was small and reserved, like he only gave enough for the camera to think it got something real.

Then one picture stopped him cold.

Two boys stood in the frame, wearing sportswear. Teenagers. One of them Dong-Ju recognized instantly.

Even back then, Jong-Hyeon had that serious glint in his eye. Not quite a scowl, but close. His hair was shorter, messier. He stood stiffly, like he wasn’t sure how to smile.

Next to him, a taller boy with an arm slung lazily around his shoulders, grinning wide. 

Dong-Ju stared at him. He didn’t recognize the second boy. But the closeness in the photo said enough.

They couldn’t just be teammates.

His stomach twisted, sharp and strange.

He pulled another photo.

Same two boys. This time in fencing gear, masks tucked under their arms, each of them a small trophy in their hand. Jong-Hyeon’s expression was softer here, and the taller boy leaned into him like it was second nature.

Dong-Ju reached for a third. This one… was different.

A candid shot. The other boy asleep on Jong-Hyeon’s shoulder, somewhere indoors. A party maybe. Jong-Hyeon wasn’t looking at the camera. He was looking at him.

Not glaring. Not annoyed. Just watching. Quietly.

Something tender in it.

Dong-Ju felt like he’d stepped into something that wasn’t meant for him.

He swallowed again, this time harder. His hand trembled slightly as he tucked the photos back inside the envelope, slower now, like he was undoing evidence.

He didn’t know what he had expected to find. But it wasn’t this.

And it made something in his chest ache again, not sharp like before. But duller… heavy.

He set the envelope back in its place and closed the box, stacking the others on top like he’d found them.

Then, he sat on the edge of the mattress for a long time.

At first, it was just quiet. The kind that wraps around your ears until you can hear your own pulse. His hand still tingled from holding the envelope, like the past had physically burned itself into his skin.

Jong-Hyeon and that boy…

That boy, with the easy smile and the hand that clung to Jong-Hyeon like he belonged there. Who was he?

A Teammate? A friend?  Maybe even his best friend? But… Jong-Hyeon hadn’t looked at him like a best friend.

Were they even… just friends?

He hadn’t quite looked at anyone like that before.

Dong-Ju scrubbed a hand down his face. What the hell was he even doing? Snooping through boxes? Getting drunk to forget something he still didn’t understand? And now sitting here, in the middle of the night, thinking about Jong-Hyeon’s high school friend-maybe-boyfriend?

Fuck.

The word rang out too loud in his mind.

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor like it had answers. Like it could tell him whether he was imagining all of this, or if maybe, somewhere in the cracks, there was something.

Something more.

And then it hit him, like a memory delayed on purpose.

Jong-Hyeon.

Earlier this night.

“Maybe I do.” He’d said, like it was nothing. 

Then yesterday.

That breathless, electric moment between them.

The space closing. The tension thick enough to bite into. The way Jong-Hyeon had looked at him, eyes dark and sharp and close.

He’d leaned in.

Only to punch him instead?

Dong-Ju gritted his teeth, breathing sharp now. His heartbeat had gone frantic.

Then, earlier again.

He hadn’t made it up. Hadn’t imagined it in a drunken haze.

Jong-Hyeon had offered to… kiss him.

After… Dong-Ju told him he should have done it yesterday already.

What the hell was wrong with himself?

And then the worst part. The one his mind had tried to avoid from the start.

Han-Na. His girlfriend.

But… also Jong-Hyeon‘s ex girlfriend.

So, if Jong-Hyeon had once been in love… or something…  with a boy, then what had he felt for Han-Na?

Had it been real?

Or…

Had it been easier?

The thought made his throat tighten. Maybe Jong-Hyeon had tried to push whatever he’d once felt down. Maybe Han-Na had been part of that. A chance to feel normal. Straightforward.

Safe.

And now he, Dong-Ju, was here, complicating it all again. Like a glitch in a system that had finally learned how to function.

And yet…

He couldn’t stop thinking about that moment. Not the punch. Not the kiss that never happened.

But the pause before it.

That split second where it could’ve. Where it almost did.

And suddenly, he was terrified.

Because he didn’t know what scared him more:

The possibility that Jong-Hyeon had wanted to…

Or that he, absolutely, undeniably… had wanted to, too.

He sucked in a shaky breath and tipped his head back, eyes catching on the ceiling, where the light from the lamp cast a soft, fractured glow.

What the hell was this.

Why had any of it happened.

Why had he let it happen.

He wasn’t like that. He wasn’t confused. He wasn’t questioning. He wasn’t—

His stomach turned.

Because maybe he was.

That was the truth, wasn’t it?

This thing gnawing at the edges of his chest. This pressure in his throat. The heat that flared when Jong-Hyeon got too close, the sharp pang in his gut when he saw him talking to Han-Na.

It wasn’t nothing. It hadn’t been nothing all this time.

And it hadn’t been nothing last night, either.

God. He’d practically begged for it. Got all up in his face. Then twisted it into a joke. Into anger. And Jong-Hyeon turned it into violence.

Just to run from the truth.

Because if they had kissed…

If he wanted to kiss Jong-Hyeon…

What would that mean?

About everything?

About who he was?

About all the things he’d let himself believe until now?

Dong-Ju pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes until colors sparked behind them. But it didn’t make it go away. None of it did.

Not the picture of Jong-Hyeon and that boy.

Not the pause before the punch.

Not the look in Jong-Hyeon’s eyes tonight when he had said “Maybe I do.”

He had said it so quietly. Like he meant it but was ashamed..

And maybe… maybe he had really meant it.

Maybe Dong-Ju hadn’t imagined any of it.

But it didn’t help. It didn’t make things less terrifying. Because the truth wasn’t just about Jong-Hyeon.

It was about him.

And he wasn’t ready to say it. Not out loud. Not even in his own head.

The only thing he could admit. Barely, shakily, beneath a dozen layers of denial, was that he wanted to rewind the moment. Just once.

To not dodge it.

To not ruin it.

To… know.

Really know.

And that was a dangerous thought.

He exhaled again and finally dragged the blanket back over himself, curling onto his side. The room was darker now, quieter. The shadows had settled.

But the ache hadn’t.

Not yet.

And he had the sinking feeling… it wouldn’t anytime soon.

-

The light was dim when Jong-Hyeon opened his eyes.

Not the kind of dim that came from a sunrise. No, it was the in-between kind, the one where the streetlights were still on and the world hadn’t fully committed to being awake yet.

He lay still for a while.

The apartment was quiet, save for the distant hum of the fridge and the occasional creak of settling walls. His mouth was dry, tongue thick with the bitter taste of too many swallowed words.

His first thought wasn’t about himself.

It was him.

Dong-Ju.

Still asleep, he assumed. Curled up under too-thin blankets in the spare room he pretended wasn’t really a storage unit. Jong-Hyeon hadn’t even put a real pillowcase on that pillow. He hadn’t expected him to stay.

He pushed himself upright slowly, joints stiff, and sat on the edge of his bed with his elbows on his knees. He exhaled through his nose, scrubbing a hand over his face.

That conversation…

He’d meant to say less.

But somehow, everything had cracked open anyway.

He still wasn’t sure if it was a relief or a mistake.

“You should’ve done it…. Then maybe I’d know if I’m just losing my mind or if this… whatever this is… is real.”

“Maybe you still want to.” 

Dong-Ju couldn’t have meant that. He had been sleep deprived, fighting constant fatigue and dizziness and on top of that he was drunk… and perhaps a little sexually and emotionally frustrated after Han-Na had sort of dumped him.

“Maybe I do.”

His own voice echoed back at him now with more weight than when he’d said it. At the time, it had felt like a release. But now, in the sober silence of morning, it felt like a confession. One he’d never meant to speak out loud.

Jong-Hyeon rubbed the back of his neck. The bruise on Dong-Ju’s jaw flashed through his mind again like a slap of guilt. That moment was supposed to snap them both out of it.

It didn’t.

He stood, padded toward the kitchen quietly. No lights yet. Just the faintest blue-gray wash from the windows. He reached for the electric kettle, not because he needed tea, but because boiling water gave him something to listen to. Something other than his own thoughts.

He moved slower than usual. Not from tiredness, but from the heavy fog of what now hung over him.

And then, just as the water began to murmur, he noticed it.

The guest room door wasn’t shut the way he’d left it. It was ajar, the light inside faintly on.

He blinked, the kettle forgotten.

Was Dong-Ju awake already?

He approached slowly. The floor didn’t creak, but his heart still sped up like he’d been caught doing something wrong.

The bed was empty.

Covers tossed back. One of the boxes near the closet looked slightly off, not in a way anyone else would notice, but Jong-Hyeon… he knew the pattern of that clutter like the back of his hand.

He stepped inside.

One glance was enough.

The box, the one he never touched, wasn’t quite flush with the others. 

He moved closer. The top boxes weren’t stacked the way he remembered. 

His pulse climbed.

No.

He swallowed hard. Told himself it didn’t matter. Maybe Dong-Ju just looked. Maybe he didn’t really look.

But something in his chest twisted anyway.

Not because he didn’t trust Dong-Ju.

But because if he saw the photos, those ones… then he knew.

About him. About that time. About what Jong-Hyeon had tried for years to forget.

And if he knew… then maybe last night meant something different to him now. Maybe he understood. Or thought he understood.

Jong-Hyeon stepped back, fingers curling into his palm.

He didn’t want to see him. Not yet.

Didn’t want to know if he’d left. Or if he was still here, pretending like he hadn’t seen a thing.

So instead of knocking on the bathroom door or calling his name, Jong-Hyeon turned around, heading toward his bedroom again.

“Jong-Hyeon?“

Chapter Text

Instead of knocking on the bathroom door or calling Dong-Ju‘s name, Jong-Hyeon turned around, heading toward his bedroom again.

“Jong-Hyeon?“

He froze, his blood running cold.

Shit.

For a moment he considered pretending he hadn’t heard, just walking away. But that would be pointless. Dong-Ju had already seen him, even called out his name. And he had acknowledged him by freezing immediately like caught in the act of trying to get away.

So he straightened his posture, forcing his face into something neutral, something that didn’t scream please don’t hate me for being different. Slowly, he turned towards the direction where Dong-Ju‘s voice had cut through the quiet night air.

They stared at each other for a moment. Neither moved. The silence was too full.

“…Couldn’t sleep either?” Dong-Ju asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Jong-Hyeon slowly shook his head. “Not really.”

Dong-Ju gave a small nod, arms folding over his chest. “Same.”

A beat passed. 

Jong-Hyeon had never been more grateful for the night because through the lack of light, Dong-Ju couldn’t see the flush of his face.

Then he shifted, gesturing toward the kitchen.

“Coffee?”

Dong-Ju followed without a word.

They sat in silence at the small table, the only sound the faint drip of the coffee machine and the low hum of the fridge. The air was heavy, not with tension anymore, but with the things they’d said. The things they hadn’t. Still raw and humming under their skin.

Jong-Hyeon poured two cups, slid one over, and took a seat across from Dong-Ju. Both of them clutched their cups like anchors.

It was too quiet again.

Dong-Ju stared at the rim of his coffee cup, letting the bitter steam rise into his face, trying not to think.

But of course, that never worked.

He wanted to ask. About the photos. About the boy with the smile and the warmth in his eyes, the one who seemed to fit into Jong-Hyeon’s space like it had been made for him. He wanted to know who he was. What he’d meant.

But something held him back. Maybe it was fear. Maybe it was respect.

He thought about whether Jong-Hyeon had maybe been affectionate with other boys before. 

He didn’t know.

He wondered what Jong-Hyeon‘s type in women might be or if he was even into them at all.

Apart from Han-Na he didn’t know if he ever dated another girl… or boy.

He asked himself if Jong-Hyeon had friends to talk about his love life to.

And he didn’t know.

He didn’t know anything at all about him, the man he knew for years and actually knew nothing about.

Except that he was great at fencing, Han-na‘s ex boyfriend and a real dick if he didn’t like you.

“You know… for how long we’ve known each other, I actually don’t know that much about you.”

His voice even caught himself by surprise, it sounded awfully loud and embarrassing in the silence.

Jong-Hyeon blinked. A slow, surprised smile, if you could call it that, tugged at the edge of his mouth. 

“Isn’t that your fault? You talk enough for both of us most of the time.“

“…True I guess.” Dong-Ju tilted his head, growing more curious. “So. Tell me something.”

“Something like what?”

“I dunno. Just something. Favorite color? Favorite animal? Favorite restaurant?“

Jong-Hyeon blinked, thinking for a second.

„Light blue, fox and… Jungsik in Seoul. I went there often back in the day.“

Dong-Ju wondered if he had gone there with someone dear to him. That boy maybe.

“Your turn.” Jong-Hyeon said, ripping him from his thoughts.

“Hm. I like navy blue… or orange. For an animal…Dogs, maybe? No idea why tho.”

“Because they’re loud and needy?” Jong-Hyeon teased him, taking a sip from his coffee with a slight smirk on his lips.

“Asshole.” Dong-Ju replied, sarcasm in his voice.

The moment was fragile but safe. Something each of them needed so desperately after their last several encounters had been almost nothing but tense, awkward and emotionally overwhelming.

After a long pause, Dong-Ju asked incredibly softly and careful, “Did you… ever think about quitting fencing earlier?“

Jong-Hyeon looked at him for a second too long. Then nodded. “Once.”

“Why didn’t you?”

Jong-Hyeon hesitated.

“…Because I wasn’t ready to let go of what it gave me. Even when it stopped making me happy.”

Dong-Ju nodded slowly, biting the inside of his cheek.

He wondered if Jong-Hyeon was referring to the boy in the pictures.

He wanted to ask more. But he was afraid to press too hard, ruining the moment.

“…What did it give you?” he asked finally, his voice low. Curious, not prying.

Jong-Hyeon’s gaze dropped to the rim of his coffee mug, his thumb brushing over the edge. For a moment, he didn’t answer.

Then, he exhaled, voice quiet.

“Control.”

Dong-Ju blinked. “Control?”

Jong-Hyeon gave a small, almost sheepish shrug. “Over myself. My thoughts. Over how people saw me. I was just… the guy who was good with a foil. No one cared what else I was.”

Dong-Ju looked at him for a long moment, and something shifted behind his eyes. “That sounds… lonely.”

“It was sometimes,” Jong-Hyeon admitted. “But it was also calm and easy. Like there was a rulebook. Boundaries. If you won, people praised you. If you lost, you trained harder. Simple.”

Dong-Ju leaned back in his seat a little, absorbing it. “Is that why you don’t talk much about yourself? Because you were never required to?“

Jong-Hyeon raised an eyebrow at him.

“I mean,” Dong-Ju said, a little defensively, “we’ve known each other for years and I still don’t know what your favorite movie is. Or if you even like movies.”

Jong-Hyeon snorted softly. “I do.”

“Yeah? What kind?”

“…Weird ones.”

Dong-Ju leaned forward, mock incredulous. “Define ‘weird‘.”

Jong-Hyeon thought for a second. “Ones where no one says what they really mean. Where nothing is spelled out. Just… feelings. Tension. Arthouse movies in particular.”

Dong-Ju gave him a long look. “That checks out.”

Jong-Hyeon rolled his eyes. “What about you?”

Dong-Ju blinked. “Me?”

“You’re always talking, but you never really say anything about yourself either, you know.”

Dong-Ju chuckled. “That’s because I’m mysterious.”

“No,” Jong-Hyeon said flatly. “You’re deflecting.”

Dong-Ju laughed again, but there was a nervous undertone to it. He toyed with the edge of his cup for a moment before replying.

“…Action movies.“

Jong-Hyeon frowned, seemingly disappointed by his boring answer.

“Well actually… I guess I like slice-of-life movies where people figure out who they are,” he said. “Even if it’s messy. Even if it hurts.”

That earned him a look from Jong-Hyeon. Not mocking. Just… focused. Intent.

“You always been like that?” Jong-Hyeon asked.

Dong-Ju shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

They sat with that for a while.

The silence was different now. Not heavy, but full. Like it had meaning.

Then Jong-Hyeon asked, carefully, “Why’d you join the police?”

Dong-Ju tilted his head. “What, now you’re the one being nosy?”

Jong-Hyeon didn’t blink. Just waited.

Dong-Ju sighed. “I wanted to be somewhere that mattered. Do something that… I don’t know. Proved something, after what happened at the Olympics.“

“Prove what?”

Dong-Ju went quiet. He blinked hard, inhaling.

“That I’m not just loud. Or reckless. Or a fuck-up.”

Jong-Hyeon’s jaw tightened slightly. 

“You’re not.”

Dong-Ju looked up at that, smiling tired. “You’ve punched me enough times. You’re allowed to think otherwise.”

Jong-Hyeon didn’t smile back. His voice was quiet when he said, “I didn’t punch you because of that.”

Dong-Ju looked over, eyes narrowing slightly.

“Your bragging just made me lose my mind.”

Dong-Ju held his gaze for a beat. Then shook his head, eyes soft. “You’re really bad at saying things, huh?”

Jong-Hyeon huffed. “Look at you.“

Dong-Ju raised an eyebrow.

“Working on it.” Jong-Hyeon eventually admitted, defeated.

“Try harder,” Dong-Ju muttered, sipping his now-lukewarm coffee.

A pause.

“I don’t like sweet coffee.” Jong-Hyeon said, voice too tense for this simple information.

Dong-Ju frowned. “That’s your version of opening up? I already knew that.”

Jong-Hyeon smirked, tension in his shoulders fading. “Progress.”

“Okay. Fine.” Dong-Ju tapped his mug. “I like sweet coffee. The kind that’s basically dessert.”

“Obviously.”

“I used to sneak two extra sugar packets when we had night shifts. Thought no one noticed.”

“I noticed.”

Dong-Ju gaped. “You never said anything!”

“I liked watching you pretend you were being subtle.”

“Idiot.”

Their laughter was quiet but real this time. It curled into the corners of the room and loosened something that had been too tightly wound.

Talking to Jong-Hyeon was almost easy again, comforting even.

Until,

Bzzz.

Dong-Ju flinched as his phone buzzed against the table.

He grabbed it, glancing at the screen.

Han-Na.

He didn’t open it right away. Just stared.

Jong-Hyeon noticed. He didn’t say anything.

After a few seconds, Dong-Ju clicked it open.

“…She wants me to come over,” he muttered.

“Now?”

“Says it’s work-related. And it’ll only take a minute.”

“Will it?”

Dong-Ju glanced at him, then looked down again.

“…I don’t know.”

The warmth between them faded slightly. Pulled back like a tide.

He stood up slowly, stuffing the phone into his pocket.

“I should go.”

Jong-Hyeon gave a tight nod, standing as well. “Yeah. Sure.”

Neither of them moved for a second. 

It felt like the night had been cut into two halves. Before the message. And after.

Dong-Ju shifted awkwardly, hand at the back of his neck.

“I’ll… see you around?”

“Yeah,” Jong-Hyeon said. “Bye.”

Dong-Ju lingered a second longer like he might say something. But then he left.

And the door clicked softly shut behind him.

For a long moment, Jong-Hyeon just sat there, staring at the space where Dong-Ju had been. The chair still held the shape of him somehow, shoulders hunched, fingers curled around the mug like it might steady him.

The fridge hummed. The coffee machine dripped once, twice, before going still.

Too quiet again.

He exhaled, trying to relax his muscles that were sore from tensing up whenever Dong-Ju had opened his mouth to speak.

Just now had been the first time in a long while they’d managed something close to normal. It had been awkward and difficult to address the night each of them got a little too close to something neither of them was really ready for earlier, but in the end, it had soothed the tension that had lingered between them since then.

At least on the surface.

Because beneath it, Jong-Hyeon knew better. 

He was now, to his displeasure, incredibly aware of the feelings he had developed for Dong-Ju over the whole time of knowing him. They were sitting heavy in his chest, waiting to crawl out of his throat and slip from his mouth to expose him.

He tried to shove them further down whenever he was reminded of them, so that he eventually could forget about them, but every time he did so, they only grew painfully stronger.

He liked Dong-Ju.

Liked liked him.

And he had been so afraid that Dong-Ju had figured him out because of the photos.

But the conversation seemed normal. Right?

There was nothing harmful buried beneath the way Dong-Ju had treated him during their conversation a moment ago.

He exhaled slowly, but the air didn’t loosen the knot in his chest. His gaze drifted to the second mug on the table, steam already fading into nothing.

He reached for it, wrapping his hand around the ceramic, palm brushing the faint heat still left. 

It wasn’t the coffee he wanted. It was the touch of someone else’s grip.

The mug was lighter than he expected when he lifted it. He took a sip anyway. Lukewarm and bitter, not the way Dong-Ju liked it. He swallowed it down.

Jong-Hyeon set it back down carefully, his fingers lingering against the rim. A thought pressed against him, unwelcome but insistent:

If Han-Na hadn’t texted, would Dong-Ju have stayed?

He pinched the bridge of his nose, shutting his eyes like that might erase the image of Dong-Ju sitting across from him, laughing at his jokes and hiding nerves behind sarcasm.

He should have said more. Or less. Or something different.

Instead, all he’d done was sit there, letting Dong-Ju slip away again.

Jong-Hyeon leaned back in his chair, arms crossed tightly over his chest. The silence was too big, the apartment too small.

On the table, the two mugs sat side by side. One full, one half-drained. Like the night itself, unfinished.

-

Dong-Ju stood outside Han-Na’s door, the cold air biting at his neck where his jacket didn’t quite reach. He hesitated before knocking, jaw tight.

She opened quickly, like she’d been waiting by the door.

“Morning,” she said, stepping aside.

Her expression wasn’t cold. Just tired. Her makeup was off, hair tied back, a laptop open on the coffee table behind her in the living room. Work purposes, probably.

“Thanks for coming,” she added.

Dong-Ju just nodded and slipped off his shoes.

For a while, they talked about work.

Apparently she had ordered him around because of a briefing she needed help preparing. And a file she couldn’t find. 

It was surprisingly easy to slip back into their rhythm. First, colleagues. Then, friends. Then,

that rhythm eventually slowed.

And then stopped.

Han-Na sat cross-legged on the couch, fingers wrapped around a lukewarm mug, not drinking.

“I’m sorry,” she said suddenly. “About earlier. I didn’t mean to come at you like that.”

Dong-Ju blinked. “You were worried. It’s okay. I—”

“No, it’s not,” she said quietly, cutting him off. “I didn’t even let you explain. I just assumed you were being reckless. Again.”

He gave a half-shrug, staring at the edge of the carpet. “I didn’t really explain anything, to be fair.”

“Still.” She paused. “I… I know how much I hurt you when things aren’t easy between us. I wasn’t always fair to you. I once again took it out on you… my confusion and… my guilt.”

Dong-Ju looked up at her now.

“I didn’t know how to say this before,” she continued, “but I do now. I’m sorry. For how I handled us. Especially yesterday.”

Dong-Ju sat back, breath slow. “I’m sorry too. I… should’ve talked to you sooner. It wasn’t fair to just disappear like that.”

There was a quiet between them now. Not uncomfortable. Just… honest.

He broke it after a while, something was nagging at him. Eating him alive, actually.

“Can I… ask you something?”

Han-Na subtly raised an eyebrow. “Sure.”

“Back then, when you were with Jong-Hyeon. How was it?”

The question seemed to catch her off guard. Her eyes flickered briefly, just for a split second.

Then she set her mug down and folded her arms loosely.

“It was… normal,” she said after a beat. “We liked each other. We got along. We fitted. But somewhere along the way… we stopped growing together. He started pulling away. And I didn’t want to admit it, so I kept pretending nothing had changed. Until it had changed too much.”

Her voice was calm, almost too calm.

“We just became… distant,” she finished. “There was no big fight. No betrayal. Just two people who slowly stopped being right for each other.”

Dong-Ju nodded. But something in his chest still tightened.

She watched him for a moment. Then asked, gently but directly,

“Why do you want to know?”

He opened his mouth, but no answer came.

“You’re not jealous again, are you?”

Her tone was teasing, but her eyes weren’t.

Dong-Ju wanted to laugh it off. Joke about it. Dodge it.

But the words didn’t come.

Because no, he wasn’t jealous.

Not of Han-Na.

His throat tightened, stomach twisting with the awakening.

It hit him slowly, but with frightening clarity.

He wasn’t jealous because Han-Na had been with someone else.

He was jealous… because Jong-Hyeon had.

Because Jong-Hyeon had once been close enough to someone he knew so well, giving her the version of himself that Dong-Ju had never known.

Because even now, after all this time, between all the walls and awkward glances and arguments and punches…

He desired to be that person to Jong-Hyeon.

The realization made him shiver.

He swallowed, hard.

Han-Na tilted her head slightly. “Dong-Ju?”

He shook his head, forcing a smile. “Nah, just… curious. That’s all.”

She looked like she didn’t believe him.

But she let it go.

Dong-Ju stayed a little while longer, finishing the work she’d asked about. 

Eventually, they parted with a brief and soft hug and the kind of silence that says “we’re okay,” even when not everything is said. But without a kiss.

As he walked home, the city quiet around him, one thought looped through his mind like a curse.

Maybe I’ve always liked him somehow.

And maybe I just never let myself see it.

Until now.

Because now, there was no denying anymore. Even for him.

Dong-Ju felt something towards Jong-Hyeon that was far from platonic.

Chapter Text

The apartment was quiet except for the occasional soft buzz of Jong-Hyeon’s phone in his hand. He lay stretched across the couch, one arm bent over his forehead while scrolling without focus. His body was tired, but his mind hadn’t slowed for days, weeks even.

Two whole weeks, to be exact.

Two weeks had passed since Dong-Ju last stayed over and then had left in a hurry because Han-Na had ordered him around.

Nothing had happened after that. No text, no call, no nothing.

When he had walked into the office the following Monday, everything had seemed the same. 

Nothing was out of the ordinary. They bickered occasionally, went to lunch breaks where Dong-Ju ate nothing but hard-boiled eggs, worked cases outside the station, and typed side by side at their laptops. 

Every encounter was part of a routine they had built throughout the time they had worked together. 

But now, they were carrying a different weight than before.

Passing each other in the hallways at the station with just a second of eye contact, for example. Nothing anyone else would particularly notice, but it was enough to leave Jong-Hyeon replaying the shape of Dong-Ju’s mouth when he smirked, or the way his shoulder brushed a little too close in passing.

Jokes that weren’t funny left him laughing anyway. Dong-Ju always had that reckless way of throwing words out just to fill silence, but now, every laugh Jong-Hyeon gave in return tasted different. Like he was betraying himself just by letting it slip out.

Briefings where they stood side by side. Before, it had been just proximity, nothing worth thinking about. 

Now, Jong-Hyeon noticed how their arms sometimes lined up at the same angle, how the heat of Dong-Ju’s body seemed to spill over that last inch of space. It wasn’t accidental. Or maybe it was. He couldn’t decide which possibility made it worse.

Even the silences had changed. Once they’d been a shield. His quiet against Dong-Ju’s constant chatter. Now they pressed against him like a weight. Every pause between them felt like the air might break open with what neither dared to say.

He couldn’t be too sure about Dong-Ju, but the way he got slightly nervous when they were alone in the office or the way he was nagging at his lips when another silence stretched out, like he was dying to say something, suggested that he wanted to but didn’t dare either.

It was all so… strange. And it sometimes hurt him. 

Being kept at a safe distance and not being told how Dong-Ju felt about this whole situation. Just continuing like before as if nothing had changed.

Jong-Hyeon told himself he should be used to this ache by now. He had lived with it before, years ago, when he’d trained himself to bury every flicker of feeling until it turned to stone in his chest. But this was different.

This wasn’t like butterflies in his stomach whenever he saw his ‘crush‘.

This was heavier. And painful.

It cut at him every day, piece by piece, every time Dong-Ju looked at him without knowing how Jong-Hyeon truly felt about this situation. About him.

And no matter how hard he had tried, he wasn’t getting used to it.

So once again he scrolled aimlessly on his phone to get his brain busy with something else.

Until a post stopped him cold.

A photo popped up in his feed with one very recognizable figure in it.

Him.

The boy from the old pictures Dong-Ju had hopefully no idea existed.

Jong-Hyeon’s thumb froze on the screen. The face staring back was older now, but familiar enough that his stomach tightened.

His name was San Dae-Won.

His once best friend from high school.

The memories rose before he could push them down.

The hours they spent fencing shoulder to shoulder, bodies moving in practiced rhythm, their breath echoing in the same cadence. The way they’d collapse on the bleachers, sweat cooling on their necks as they shared snacks and water bottles. Late nights with movies and video games, afternoons bent over textbooks, shifts side by side in a convenience store.

Dae-Won had always laughed too loudly, always leaned in too close, and Jong-Hyeon had never thought to question why it made his chest ache in a way nothing else did.

It had felt natural and harmless to him.

Until it wasn’t.

This one night still haunted him in sharp flashes. 

He could still smell the varnish of the empty gym, hear the echo of his own heartbeat crashing against his ribs. His palms had been damp, jacket clenched in his fists. He had forced the words out, low and trembling. 

“I… I like you.“

He’d been certain Dae-Won shared his feelings. How could he not? Those lingering glances, the way Dae-Won’s arm always found its place slung lazily across his shoulders, the quiet moments when their laughter died down and the silence between them hummed with something unspoken. None of it had ever felt casual. Not to Jong-Hyeon at least.

But Dae-Won had looked at him like he’d just confessed to a crime.

Like he was something vile and monstrous.

The slurs came next, spat sharp and cold.

“What the hell? You… you’re a freak! That isn’t normal! No one will ever love you if you stay like this! Fix yourself for fuck‘s sake…. Can’t believe I waisted my time with some fag! You know what? Find a good woman, marry her, and forget this ever happened!“

The memory was so sharp it made Jong-Hyeon’s throat close. 

That night, something inside him had changed. And he never dared to truly like anyone ever again.

Not until Dong-Ju apparently.

Not until someone loud and reckless and stubborn had crashed into his life and slowly shattered the walls he’d spent years building, without even noticing, and suddenly the ache was alive again.

His chest felt tight. His hand shook as he locked the phone and set it aside, dragging both palms over his face.

Knock Knock.

Jong-Hyeon’s head jerked up. 

He wasn’t expecting anyone. For a moment he sat there, frozen with his heart stumbling against his ribs.

Another knock, heavier this time.

He pushed himself up, his legs unsteady and moved to the door.

When he pulled it open, the sight before him made his stomach twist.

Dong-Ju.

Soaked through from rain, dark hair plastered to his forehead, water dripping from his jacket onto the floor. 

Jong-Hyeon didn’t even notice that it had begun to rain.

Dong-Ju had his eyes on the ground, his chest rose and fell too fast and his expression was raw, almost… desperate. His eyes wide and burning with emotions Jong-Hyeon couldn’t name all at once. Anger, guilt, sorrow, desperation and something sharper tangled beneath it all.

For a heartbeat, neither of them spoke.

Then Dong-Ju’s gaze shifted up while he exhaled deeply, landing on Jong-Hyeon’s face.

“Jong-Hy—“

He stopped abruptly.

Because when Dong-Ju finally looked into his face, Jong-Hyeon looked like he was on the verge of falling apart.

His jaw was clenched tightly and his eyes… there was a shine in them, unspoken grief rising too close to the surface.

Dong-Ju had never seen him like that.

Not once.

It nearly undid him.

The tightness in his own chest snapped, and he wanted… no needed to ease it.

Do something, anything, to stop that expression from sitting on Jong-Hyeon’s face.

He didn’t think. Not really.

Just felt the weight of everything. Their silences, their fights, the nights that pressed too close, the weeks of aching.

And before he could second-guess himself, his body moved. One reckless thought in his head: Cheer him up. Fix this.

The next thing he knew, his lips were on Jong-Hyeon’s.

Warm, trembling, and absolutely reckless.

It should have been careful and gentle but it wasn’t. It was rather something close to a collision. One that was born from weeks of silence, denial, stolen glances and words that were left unsaid.

For a few seconds, it was just their mouths forcefully pressed together, no one really moving. Shock had each of them in a tight grip.

Jong-Hyeon broke it first. He slowly pulled back, painfully slow and noticed the way Dong-Ju’s body leaned further in, chasing after him until their lips parted.

Dong-Ju stared at him wide eyed, after opening them. Jong-Hyeon knew what was going through his mind right now.

His face spoke volumes.

‘What have I done…’

But he didn’t want Dong-Ju to think that he made a mistake. He shouldn’t regret his decision to kiss him… if it even was a decision and not some reckless impulse… or worse, a mistake…

No. 

Jong-Hyeon shoved all his thoughts aside for just a second to savor this moment.

He moved to shut the door behind them and gently lifted his hand to place it at the back of Dong-Ju’s neck. His skin was hot against his palm, wet from rain and sweat.

Dong-Ju didn’t flinch. His eyes followed the movement like a moth drawn to flame.

Jong-Hyeon tugged him forward again, gentler this time, his thumb grazing over wet strands as he pulled him in without any resistance.

Now it was careful. He felt Dong-Ju melt against him, eyes sliding shut, a shaky breath leaving him as though surrender was the only choice left. His trembling began to ease, his weight tipping into Jong-Hyeon’s hold.

Then, movement.

Dong-Ju’s hand rose, tentative at first, before carefully cupping Jong-Hyeon’s cheek. His fingers spread, thumb faintly brushing his jaw. The other hand buried itself in his hair, clumsy and desperate, before sliding down to rest at his waist like he couldn’t choose where to hold on.

Jong-Hyeon didn’t let him go, instead pulled him closer. His fist gripped his collar, dragging him in as he deepened the kiss with aching restraint.

It felt good. Really good. It was a relief, like the dam they had silently built over however long they’d actually liked one another had finally bursted.

The heat of it rushed through Jong-Hyeon too fast. Up his throat, down his spine, into the hollow of his chest where he’d stuffed everything he hadn’t dared to admit. 

His lips parted before he could stop them. He caught Dong-Ju’s bottom lip gently between his teeth, a boldness he wasn’t quite familiar with himself. The sound that spilled out of Dong-Ju, another shaky exhale, made him make his lips part too.

Jong-Hyeon’s heart was racing, his pulse loud in his ears as he let his tongue trace lightly over Dong-Ju’s surprisingly smooth lips.

He didn’t want to admit it, but it felt nowhere near the way he’d imagined. It was raw and innocent. The taste of him dizzying. A kiss driven by affection and not by lust.

It was everything. So much more than what he’d ever dared to hope for.

The rain pounded mercilessly against the windows, but inside, time held its breath.

Dong-Ju’s lips were warm against his, his tongue shy but insistent and his hands were digging into his skin, terrified of letting go and desperate for more.

More closure, more affection, more of him.

And Jong-Hyeon’s body gave in.

He shifted forward, firmly holding onto Dong-Ju’s shoulders to press him back until his back hit the wall with a muted thud.

Dong-Ju grunted into his mouth as his body hit the wall, a sound that made Jong-Hyeon’s knees threaten to give in.

Their breath mingled, hot and uneven.

Jong-Hyeon cracked his eyes open just barely, enough to see Dong-Ju’s dark pupils blown wide, staring at him through lowered lids before fluttering shut again.

The sight stole what air he had left.

A fierce urge surged through him. He slid both hands into Dong-Ju’s soaked hair, gripping hard and tugging his head to angle their mouths better. Rougher, eagerly.

Their tongues hungrily brushed against each other, sharp breaths and strangled moans echoing through the quiet of the apartment.

It got messier and messier.

Eventually, Dong-Ju pulled back, face flushed and lips swollen, looking delicately. He was panting heavily, his chest rising fast to catch his breath against Jong-Hyeon’s mouth.

Jong-Hyeon still held him tight, his fingers buried deep into his dark locks. 

“You…” Dong-Ju whispered, voice hoarse and almost dazed, “smell really good.”

Jong-Hyeon let out a breathless huff that almost resembled a laugh. His prickly lips curved, a grin forming on them. And before the cold of distance could sink in, he dragged Dong-Ju back in again.

“Come here.”

Dong-Ju whined out as Jong-Hyeon shoved his tongue back into his mouth, blandly sucking and teasing, his teeth pulling on Dong-Ju’s lower lip every now and then with just enough bite to draw breathy noises out of him. 

Jong-Hyeon had never done that before. His body was on fire, a passion setting him aflame that burned for Dong-Ju only. 

And maybe he was starting to get a little aroused by it all.

He felt the grip on his waist tighten, and then, a hand on his bare, hot skin.

Dong-Ju’s hand had slipped below the hem of his shirt, wandering painfully slow up his spine, sending jolts of pleasure through Jong-Hyeon’s flushed body that made his stomach clench with wanting.

Suddenly, every fiber of fabric felt like too much.

His hands slid from Dong-Ju’s hair, running down his sides and tugging fiercely at the edges of his soaked shirt.

He was desperate for more. Wanted to feel the heat of their bodies collide, flushed skin bearing against each other.

“Take this damn thing off…” Jong-Hyeon breathed rasp against Dong-Ju’s jaw between eager kisses.

Dong-Ju wasted no time. He yanked the shirt over his head so fast water droplets scattered, his hair sticking in dark strands across his forehead. The shirt landed somewhere forgotten, and a smirk tugged at the corner of Jong-Hyeon’s mouth. 

Good. Seems like Dong-Ju was only obedient when he made him feel weak in the knees. 

Jong-Hyeon went still for half a heartbeat to take in the sight. The cut of Dong-Ju’s collarbone, the rise and fall of his chest, the way rain still clung to his skin in shining drops.

Then, before he could fully savor it, Dong-Ju was tugging at him again, palms cupping his neck, dragging him down into another kiss that was rough and messy. Clearly, Dong-Ju had no time to waste.

His hands twitched against Jong-Hyeon’s neck, falling to the hem of his shirt. His trembling fingers were hastily and useless with urgency, fumbling with the buttons of Jong-Hyeon’s shirt. Dong-Ju made a noise of frustration against his lips, a high and desperate sound that had Jong-Hyeon’s entire body shuddering.

Enough.

Jong-Hyeon gripped the fabric of his shirt tight, and with one violent motion, ripped it open.

The sound of buttons hitting the floor along with his shirt landing in a wrinkly mess blurred under the sharp and breathless moan Dong-Ju let out in response to the move.

The torn shirt that had slipped off Jong-Hyeon’s shoulders bared flushed skin to the cold air of the apartment and to Dong-Ju’s hands.

His palms spread wide, tracing over Jong-Hyeon’s chest, down the lines of muscle and across damp, flushed skin until his fingers dug into his waist. 

The movement was hot and alive. Too much and not enough all at once.

Dong-Ju groaned low in his throat and surged forward, crashing their mouths together again. This time he was far from shy. 

His tongue met Jong-Hyeon’s, fierce and insistent, and his hands… god, his hands… roamed with a hunger that made Jong-Hyeon’s knees go weak. They slid from his jaw to his chest, down his stomach, before clawing at the fabric of his pants as if to anchor himself.

Jong-Hyeon pressed harder, his body pinning Dong-Ju to the wall. Their hips aligned and the shock of heat that shot through Jong-Hyeon nearly made him lose his balance.

Dong-Ju gasped into his mouth, a shudder running through his body, but he didn’t pull away. He leaned in, grinding subtly, testing. 

The friction was electric.

Jong-Hyeon’s breath caught sharp in his throat. He broke the kiss just long enough to drag his lips deliberately slow down Dong-Ju’s jaw, his teeth grazing the soaked skin of his neck and sucking faint marks into his soft skin until Dong-Ju let out a shaky, startled moan that sent fire ripping through his veins.

“Shit…” Dong-Ju muttered against his skin, the word muffled and desperate.

Dong-Ju’s hands clawed at his shoulders, then slipped, sliding down his ribs and hot skin. His palms dragged up his back, hot and slow, nails scratching enough to sting. Jong-Hyeon’s entire body arched into it, chasing that burn.

It was skin against skin now, hot and unyielding.

The sensation made Jong-Hyeon’s head spin. Every line of their bodies seemed to fit perfectly together in ways he hadn’t dared to imagine. His chest pressed tight to Dong-Ju’s, slick with sweat and rain, every breath and tremor shared.

Dong-Ju tilted his head back, panting and lips swollen from the kisses, eyes blown wide with pupils swallowing the light. His hands slid down again, settling at Jong-Hyeon’s hips, dragging him closer with a force that left no space between them.

The friction was unbearable. So perfect.

Between moans and sucking marks, Jong-Hyeon caught his mouth again, this time slow. Almost punishing in its depth. Their tongues tangled, teeth clashed, and he swallowed every broken sound Dong-Ju gave him, greedy and insatiable. 

His hands roamed without direction. Hair, jaw, chest, waist, like he needed every piece of him at once.

Dong-Ju’s breath hitched, his hips jerked against him with instinct, want and need. Jong-Hyeon groaned low and rough, his grip tightening around him until he wasn’t sure where one of them ended and the other began.

The rain battered the windows, steady and merciless, but it was nothing compared to the storm inside the apartment.

Messy. Breathless. And unstoppable.

Neither of them cared where the line was anymore.

Their mouths crashed together again, again and again. Reckless, open and wet. No space left, strings of saliva bridging the gap between them when they parted to chase after their breaths.

Jong-Hyeon groaned low in his throat as Dong-Ju dragged him closer by the hips until they were fiercely grinding against each other, hard and undeniable. The friction tore a gasp out of both of them. Weeks of silence and denial shattered into raw sounds, swallowed up between their mouths.

Jong-Hyeon’s hands were everywhere all at once, skimming over rain-damp skin, gripping at his waist, dragging up his ribs until his thumbs brushed the sharp edge of Dong-Ju’s nipples, hard under his touch.

Dong-Ju bucked, a strangled noise escaping him, his nails raking down Jong-Hyeon’s back hard enough to hurt.

It only spurred him on.

He shoved him tighter against the wall, grinding down with his hips. “Fuck—” Jong-Hyeon hissed, his voice breaking into a groan.

He couldn’t stand it, not the barrier of leftover clothes, not the way Dong-Ju writhed against him like he was burning alive. 

His hands fumbled at the waistband of Dong-Ju’s pants, yanking at the button, dragging the zipper down with urgency. Dong-Ju’s own hands shoved at his belt in return, tearing at the buckle like if he didn’t get it off now, he’d go insane.

Ring Ring.

The out of place sound cut sharply through the air.

It was the faint echo of his phone ringing, coming from somewhere near the couch.

Jong-Hyeon froze, his breath jagged and his body trembled from how close they’d been. His forehead rested against Dong-Ju’s temple, his lips still slick and swollen with his chest pressed tight against him.

But the ringing dragged at his brain, sobering him in brutal, uneven strokes.

The realization crashed down heavy.

What the hell were they doing? About to do?

His hands froze at Dong-Ju’s waistband, still half-hooked in the undone zipper. His body yelled to finish what they had started. His pulse, his skin, his cock, all aching for more. But his sudden clearing mind mercilessly urged him to stop immediately. Two men, soaked, desperate, pressed against a wall, about to—

“Jong-Hyeon…” Dong-Ju’s voice was shaky and ruined, his lips brushing against his ear. His hips shifted instinctively, grinding once more like he couldn’t stop himself. The sound he made at the contact nearly dragged Jong-Hyeon under again.

But the phone kept ringing.

Too loud. Insistent.

He squeezed his eyes shut, forcing himself to breathe, to think.

“Fuck,” he whispered, the word guttural, torn between frustration and anguish. He braced his hands against the wall beside Dong-Ju’s head, caging him in, muscles shaking from restraint.

Dong-Ju blinked up at him, dazed, lips swollen and red. He didn’t move his hands from Jong-Hyeon’s belt, didn’t move at all… like he hadn’t yet realized that the moment had already begun to collapse around them.

Jong-Hyeon’s jaw tightened, every line of his body vibrating with the effort not to just give in. He leaned his forehead against Dong-Ju’s, eyes shut, and whispered, voice rough and torn,

“Give me a second.”

The phone stopped ringing.

Then it rang again. It seemed to be an urgent matter.

Chapter Text

The phone kept ringing.

Too loud. Insistent.

He squeezed his eyes shut, forcing himself to breathe, to think.

“Fuck,” he whispered, the word guttural, torn between frustration and anguish. He braced his hands against the wall beside Dong-Ju’s head, caging him in, muscles shaking from restraint.

Dong-Ju blinked up at him, dazed, lips swollen and red. He didn’t move his hands from Jong-Hyeon’s belt, didn’t move at all… like he hadn’t yet realized that the moment had already begun to collapse around them.

Jong-Hyeon’s jaw tightened, every line of his body vibrating with the effort not to just give in. He leaned his forehead against Dong-Ju’s, eyes shut, and whispered, voice rough and torn,

“Give me a second.”

The phone stopped ringing.

Then it rang again. It seemed to be an urgent matter.

He really wanted to ignore it. To drown it out with another kiss, another touch, another desperate sound. His body begged him to.

But the ringing mercilessly drilled through his skull, dragging him closer to the truth he’d been fighting: this couldn’t last. Not like this.

He exhaled sharply, forehead still pressed to Dong-Ju’s, and muttered, almost to himself, “I have to…”

Dong-Ju’s eyes widened, like he’d just been yanked awake. 

His hands dropped from Jong-Hyeon’s belt as if burned, retreating to his sides, his chest heaving. The distance wasn’t much, an inch, maybe, but it was enough to feel like a goddamn ocean.

Jong-Hyeon forced himself back, palms sliding from the wall with slow, agonized restraint. His whole body screamed at him for the loss of contact. 

He couldn’t look at Dong-Ju right away. He didn’t trust himself if he did.

The phone’s relentless ring filled the silence.

Finally, he pushed himself off the wall, chest rising and falling in sharp jerks, and staggered toward the couch. His pants clung heavy to his body, his skin still burning from where Dong-Ju’s hands had been.

The screen lit his face.

Caller ID flashing.

Man-Sik.

He swallowed hard. Work. Of course.

He had wished it had been a wrong number. Anything but this reminder of reality clawing back in.

Behind him, Dong-Ju was still pinned to the wall with his lips parted and his hair plastered to his forehead, chest heaving like he’d run a marathon. His eyes followed Jong-Hyeon’s every move. Wrecked, confused, wanting and terrified.

Jong-Hyeon’s thumb hovered over the screen.

Answer. Don’t answer.

Pick reality. Pick him.

The phone kept ringing. 

He pushed the button.

“Yeah?”

“Mr. Kim! We’ve got an emergency. Homicide. The body’s at the river docks. They need us there now.” Man-Sik’s words were rushed and sharp with urgency.

Jong-Hyeon swallowed, his throat tight. “We’re on our way.”

He hung up and finally turned to look at Dong-Ju. Really look. At the mess of his hair, the red bloom on his mouth and cheeks, the confusion and want battling in his eyes. His own chest clenched. For a second, Jong-Hyeon wanted to lie. Say it could wait. Say nothing mattered except them.

But the words stuck in his throat. He forced out: “Get your jacket.”

-

They didn’t speak on the drive. The sirens did it for them, washing the car in blue and red, painting over the heat still clinging to their skin. But both of them felt it, the way the silence vibrated with everything unfinished.

The night air was bitter when they arrived. Floodlights cut the docks into patches of harsh white and deep shadow. Officers milled about, rain slicking their uniforms and their voices low.

And then Jong-Hyeon saw the sheet.

It was too white under the floodlights, glaring against the black slick of rain-soaked wood. A corner had slipped back, revealing a strip of pale skin, mottled and already cooling in the night air. Blood had seeped outward in a dark bloom, soaking into the planks until it looked like the river itself was bleeding.

The shape beneath the tarp was unmistakable. It was small. Fragile. Human.

A young man. Twenty-something, maybe. Far too young to be here, lifeless in the rain.

Dong-Ju froze beside him, the cocky energy completely drained from his face. His voice was hoarse when he asked the investigator on scene, “What happened?”

“Looks like he was beaten and dumped,” the investigator’s reply was clipped, as if softening it would only make it worse. 

Jong-Hyeon’s stomach twisted. He’d told himself once that at least their job dealt in the aftermath of murder, not prevention of death. That they only saw the dead when saving was no longer possible. But it never got easier.

The investigator hesitated, then added, “Witnesses heard slurs. Called him a homo. That’s all we’ve got so far.”

The words struck like a blow, sharper than the rain cutting into Jong-Hyeon’s coat. Homo.

The sound of it seemed to thicken the air around him, drag it heavier into his lungs. The syllables clung ugly and violent, until his chest ached.

Dealing with murder cases was one thing but this?

This was too close. 

Suddenly he saw himself in that sheet, in the years he’d buried his feelings, in the danger of being seen, in the way the world carved shame into people like him.

And then his mind betrayed him.

He imagined the sheet being pulled back, but it wasn’t a stranger. Nor him.

It was Dong-Ju. Bruised. Bloody.

Gone.

The thought ripped the air from his lungs.

It hit him like a bolt, the realization of what they had actually just done earlier. Both of them.

Dong-Ju’s voice tore him from his thoughts.

“He’s not even our age yet.” he said, after eyeing the scene for a while, his voice cracking slightly.

Jong-Hyeon forced his eyes shut, his jaw tight.

The thing was, people like them weren’t safe. Not here. Maybe not anywhere. Loving the way they did wasn’t wrong, but the world punished it all the same.

It made Jong-Hyeon’s blood boil with rage.

 “You don’t know how much time you’ve got,” he muttered, almost to himself.

It was a horrible thing to know, that they didn’t know how much time they actually had at all. Not until people decided to ruin their lives over who they loved.

Dong-Ju’s gaze snapped to him. Rain streaked his face and clung to his lashes, but his eyes burned clear. “What?”

Jong-Hyeon hesitated, but the words came anyway. “One second you’re here, next second you’re under a sheet. Doesn’t matter how strong you are, how loud you are. You keep waiting, thinking you’ve got time, and then—” His voice cracked, sharp with the force of it. “You don’t.”

Silence pressed between them heavy, both aware of the terrible truth at hand.

Then Man-Sik came over to them.

“Kim! Yoon!”

Man-Sik’s voice carried across the rain-slicked docks. Both of them stiffened, the fragile moment between them shattering under his approach.

He jogged over, holding a file in one hand and shielding it with his jacket from the downpour. His expression was grim. “Got more from the witnesses. Kid was supposed to meet someone here tonight. A date, maybe. Didn’t make it before he got jumped.”

Jong-Hyeon’s chest constricted. A date. A chance. One moment too late.

Dong-Ju shifted beside him, his fists clenching at his sides. He didn’t say anything, but the word seemed to hang in the air between them like it might belonged to them too.

Man-Sik sighed, rubbing his forehead. “Poor boy. Life cut short like that… Over nothing. Over who he loved.” His voice softened briefly, uncharacteristically. “We’ll get the bastards that did it. Count on it.”

With that, he turned, already barking new orders at the other officers, his voice fading into the chaos.

The rain filled the silence he left behind.

Dong-Ju exhaled, shaky, his gaze locked on the body bag being zipped shut. “He must have thought that he had more time,” he whispered, almost to himself.

Jong-Hyeon looked at him, every muscle in his body wound tight. The thought from earlier crashed back with brutal clarity, Dong-Ju under a sheet. Gone before Jong-Hyeon ever said the words out loud that were burning inside his heart.

Something in him broke at that.

He reached out to grip Dong-Ju’s wrist, not rough, but firm enough to anchor him. Dong-Ju’s head snapped up, his eyes wide.

And before Jong-Hyeon could say whatever he was about to say, another investigator cut him off.

“The body will be taken to the local hospital mortuary now and be examined by the coroner. You’re free to go. We’ll send you the information as soon as we receive the results of the autopsy report. Thank you for coming.”

They stood there, unmoving, as the others packed up around them. The moment was over.

The rain hadn’t let up. It tapped steadily against their shoulders, running in rivulets down the lines of their coats.

Jong-Hyeon let his hand fall away, fingers brushing against the soaked fabric of Dong-Ju’s sleeve before slipping back to his side. The absence stung more than he expected.

For a long beat, neither spoke. The weight of the zipped bag being carried off seemed to follow them, lingering like a shadow at their feet.

The silence was so very different now. Not avoidance. Not the heaviness of denial. It was the silence of two men standing at the edge of something, knowing one more step would send them over.

Finally, Jong-Hyeon muttered, his voice low enough it could’ve been mistaken for the rain, “Let’s go.”

Then he turned and started walking toward the car, half-afraid Dong-Ju wouldn’t follow.

But the sound of footsteps behind him, hesitant but steady, told him he did.

-

The drive back was swallowed in silence too.

Rain blurred the windshield, the wipers dragging across glass in slow, rhythmic strokes. The siren was off now, but the echo of it still rang in Jong-Hyeon’s ears, a phantom pulse that made his grip on the steering wheel too tight.

Dong-Ju sat slumped in the passenger seat and water was dripping from his collar onto the seatbelt. He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just stared out the window like the rain outside was easier to face than what sat between them.

But Jong-Hyeon could feel it.

The tension humming under his skin, clinging to every shallow breath. The weight of his own words back at the dock. You don’t know how much time you’ve got.

It pressed in, thicker than the storm outside.

At a red light, Jong-Hyeon risked a glance sideways. Dong-Ju’s jaw was tight, his lips pressed into a hard line. His hands were balled into fists against his thighs, knuckles white. Not drunk anymore. Not reckless. Just… shaken. Disturbed maybe.

Jong-Hyeon’s throat burned with the things he hadn’t said. He almost spoke, but the light turned green, and the car surged forward, swallowing the moment.

It was Dong-Ju who finally cracked first.

“Han-Na and I broke up.” His voice was rough, like gravel dragged across concrete. He didn’t look away from the rain-streaked window.

Chapter Text

It was Dong-Ju who finally cracked first.

“Han-Na and I broke up.” His voice was rough, like gravel dragged across concrete. He didn’t look away from the rain-streaked window.

Jong-Hyeon’s chest tightened along with his grip on the steering wheel. “…What?”

Dong-Ju’s fingers flexed restlessly against his thigh.

“That’s why I came to you earlier. She broke up with me, found someone new apparently and those past few weeks haven’t exactly been…” he trailed off, his words a shaky mess. After drawing a deep breath, Dong-Ju continued while his mind was troubled. “...good for our relationship at all. So we decided to break up. A mutual decision.”

“I’m… sorry, Dong-Ju.” 

Which was true, Jong-Hyeon was very sorry. Sorry that Dong-Ju had to endure all of this mess just because they decided to be reckless. Sorry, that he might have ruined Dong-Ju’s life. There was also so much more to say… to admit. But this was all that Jong-Hyeon managed to say. His voice was tight and his tongue heavy, keeping him from speaking.

“Don’t be. Sooner or later we would have broken up anyway. I was a coward and couldn't admit to her what I was truly feeling.”

Dong-Ju’s vulnerability made Jong-hyeon anxious. He was hesitant to answer, searching for the right words. The car filled with the sound of the rain hammering the roof, relentless, as Jong-Hyeon’s pulse roared in his ears. Think. Think.

“You’re not a coward,” he began, his voice nothing more than a quiet hush. “You’re strong, Dong-Ju. And you’re allowed to be afraid, but remember that you don’t have to go through this alone.”

Jong-Hyeon could see Dong-Ju shift in the corner of his eye, but he kept his gaze locked on the road, even though every part of him ached to turn, look and hold.

“You meant it, didn’t you?” Dong-Ju’s voice came suddenly, trembling but sharp. He kept his eyes on the windshield, the rain streaking down in chaotic rivers.

 “…Meant what?”, Jong-Hyeon asked, the crease between his brows deepening.

“Back there.” Dong-Ju said, while he leaned his head against the window. “When you said you don’t know how much time you’ve got. You weren’t just talking about the body.”

Jong-Hyeon could lie. Brush it off. Say it was just about the job, about mortality, the body. But his grip on the wheel betrayed him, knuckles pale, hands trembling with restraint. Dong-Ju would hear it, would feel it, if he tried to deny it.

“…No,” he said finally, his voice low with honesty. “I wasn’t.”

Dong-Ju turned at that, slowly, like he already knew the answer but needed to see it on Jong-Hyeon’s face. Their eyes locked across the dim car, the streetlights cutting gold into the shadows.

Something raw and unguarded flickered between them, too sharp to take back and remain unnoticed.

“Pull over.” Dong-Ju demanded suddenly. His voice was steadier than his eyes, which burned with something Jong-Hyeon couldn’t place.

He obeyed without hesitation.

Jong-Hyeon guided the car toward the shoulder, tires hissing against the wet asphalt. The rain hammered louder on the roof as they rolled to a stop beneath a half-dead streetlamp. The light buzzed faintly, throwing their faces into alternating shadow and glow.

The engine idled, a low hum against the storm. Neither of them moved for a moment. Just the rain. Just their breathing. Just everything they hadn’t said pressing close, demanding space.

Dong-Ju’s hand twitched against his thigh. His lips parted. Then,

wet lips pressed against Jong-Hyeon’s slight agape mouth.

It was a desperate kiss, uneven and soaked with everything Dong-Ju couldn’t put into words. Jong-Hyeon felt the tremor in him immediately, saw the tears forming behind Dong-Ju’s fluttering lids, sliding down hot on his rain-chilled cheeks.

Jong-Hyeon cupped his face with both hands, thumbs brushing against his damp skin and wiping the running tears away.

Dong-Jus kissed too eagerly. His movements were betraying his thoughts. He wanted to be distracted, comforted and reassured. He was overwhelmed by what he felt, and what they just saw. His mouth was frantic, as if the act itself could drown everything else.

It wasn’t romantic. It was plea.

Dong-Ju needed distraction, needed comfort, needed to believe that someone could hold him up when everything else pressed down too heavy. He needed Jong-Hyeon’s strength like a shield, a wall against the ugliness of the world and the terror of his own heart betraying him.

Jong-Hyeon’s chest ached with it. With him. With the sheer weight of being needed like this. He pulled back just enough to tame the hungry press of lips, their breaths breaking into the silence. His forehead rested against Dong-Ju’s, their noses brushing.

“Hey… hey,” Jong-Hyeon murmured between ragged breaths and broken kisses. “It’s okay. I’m here.”

Dong-Ju had never been this vulnerable. Jong-Hyeon could taste salt on his lips from his tears, the rain or sweat… he couldn’t tell. It didn’t matter. Dong-Ju clung to him like a drowning man, the kiss more broken than whole, their mouths colliding and parting in uneven rhythm.

Every sob that shuddered through Dong-Ju spilled into Jong-Hyeon, vibrating in his chest, making his own breath stutter. It wasn’t lust. It was grief, fear and loneliness. All of it funneled into the desperate press of lips that refused to let go.

He sobbed into his mouth, digging his hands into Jong-Hyeon’s back not to necessarily pull him closer, but to hold on to something solid, something real. Something that wouldn’t just slip away.

And Jong-Hyeon let him. His arms steady and his hands gentle, anchoring him in the storm of his mind. Kissed him back, not because desire demanded it, but because not kissing him felt impossible. Because if this was the only way to tell him I’ve got you, you’re not alone, then he’d let Dong-Ju take as much as he needed.

The kiss eventually grew clumsier and wetter. Their teeth knocked once. Dong-Ju didn’t care. He pressed harder, hands fisted in the back of Jong-Hyeon’s shirt, knuckles digging like he could carve his anchor into bone.

Jong-Hyeon’s heart twisted painfully. He tightened his hold, one hand sliding to the back of Dong-Ju’s neck, the other around his trembling shoulders, guiding him closer, steadying his frantic urgency.

When Dong-Ju finally tore his mouth free, he stayed close, gasping against Jong-Hyeon’s jaw, sobs hitching in his throat. His face pressed into Jong-Hyeon’s neck, hot tears soaking the collar of his shirt.

Jong-Hyeon closed his eyes, chin resting gently against rain-matted hair. He didn’t speak this time. He just held him. Firm, steady, and unshaken… even while everything inside him threatened to break.

“I don’t know how to feel…”

He felt Dong-Ju’s hot breath hitting his neck as he whispered the silent confession.

Jong-Hyeon sighed, all too familiar with the feelings Dong-Ju must have right now.

“I know. I understand… but it will get better, eventually. Just know—no, be sure, that you don’t have to do this alone. I’m here. I got you, Dong-Ju.”

“Jong-Hyeon, have u been… did you ever like a man before?” 

The question came surprising. He did not prepare an answer for it either. He needed to be honest now, no going around it. “Yes.” His voice was low but steady. “Always, only.”

That alone would have been enough. But Jong-Hyeon gave more. Because for the first time, he wanted to. No half-truths. No shields. “My childhood best friend. I thought… I thought he might feel the same. He didn’t. It went bad. After that, I didn’t dare to like someone again. Not really. Until… now.”

Dong-Ju shifted suddenly, pulling back to sit upright. The loss of weight made Jong-Hyeon’s body ache, it felt useless without Dong-Ju’s weight pressing into him. But when their eyes locked in the dim glow of the street lights, it was enough to steady him again.

“I’m sorry,” Dong-Ju whispered, his voice raw and thick with emotion. “I’m sorry you were hurt like that. Sorry that you thought you had to give up on love. That’s… that’s terrible.” He swallowed, his jaw tense and eyes burning with something fierce. “The truth is… I do know how I feel. I’ve just been too scared of it. But, Jong-Hyeon…” His voice cracked, yet he didn’t look away. “…I really, really want this to work out. Whatever this is between us right now.”

Jong-Hyeon’s breath caught. For a second, just one, he let himself imagine it. The warmth of those words wrapping around him, the simplicity of letting them in. Of saying yes.

But then the weight of reality pressed down cold and merciless.

His pulse stuttered in his throat. Fear slid sharp into his chest, the same fear that had followed him since he was sixteen, since Dae-Won’s voice had turned to poison in his ears, since he’d been told no one would ever love him if he stayed like this.

Dong-Ju’s words, “I want this to work out.”,  they felt too bright. 

Too dangerous.

Jong-Hyeon’s jaw tightened. He looked away, staring hard at the windshield, at the streaks of rain chasing each other down the glass. His hands curled into fists in his lap, knuckles pale.

“You don’t know what you’re saying,” he murmured finally, his voice rough and stripped of its usual confidence. “You’re scared, you’re hurting… you’re not thinking this through.”

The silence that followed was brutal. He didn’t dare glance at Dong-Ju, didn’t want to see the way those words landed. His throat burned with the lie of it… because deep down, he wanted to believe Dong-Ju knew exactly what he was saying.

But fear kept his mouth shut. 

Fear kept his body rigid. Fear told him that if he let himself reach out, if he accepted even an inch, he’d lose everything when Dong-Ju woke up tomorrow and realized he hadn’t actually meant it.

Jong-Hyeon forced in a shaky breath, pressing his palms flat against his thighs, grounding himself. His chest ached like something inside had cracked again.

“Don’t…” he whispered, softer now, almost pleading. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

The words hung there like a wall between them.

Dong-Ju froze, then slowly shook his head. Something in his face crumpled… like betrayal, like exhaustion, like he’d just been told he wasn’t enough. And before Jong-Hyeon could say anything else, the passenger door cracked open.

And the slam of it echoed like a gunshot.

Gone. Gone.

The sound ripped through Jong-Hyeon’s chest, too loud and unbearable. An ugly noise tore out of him, as his mind flashed back to the body on the docks. The blood. The pale skin. The thought that had haunted him all night.

They don’t have forever.

His hands shook violently on the steering wheel. He slammed his fist against it once, twice, trying to breathe through the panic clawing its way up his throat. His heart felt like it might tear itself apart.

Why? 

Why would he let fear gut him like this? Why would he chain himself to old ghosts, when here, right here, was his one chance at something alive and real?

Why would he reject the only person who’d looked at him like he wasn’t broken?

Why the hell would he let Dong-Ju walk away?

His chest convulsed with the answer he didn’t want: because he was a coward. Because it was safer to bleed quietly than risk bleeding out in the open.

But not this time.

Not anymore.

He yanked out the car keys, slammed his door open and bolted into the rain.

“Dong-Ju!” His voice cracked as it tore from his throat. “Dong-Ju, wait!”

The downpour swallowed the sound and turned it into something ragged and desperate. He sprinted anyway, shoes splashing through puddles, lungs burning like fire. The streetlamps blurred with the rain, everything slick and distorted.

But there was a shadow just ahead, blurred at the edges but unmistakable.

“Dong-Ju!”

His legs screamed, his chest heaved, but he pushed harder until he reached him. His hand shot out, fingers clamping tight around Dong-Ju’s arm, refusing to ever let him go again.

Dong-Ju spun, startled, and Jong-Hyeon saw his face in full. The red-rimmed eyes, the rain streaking down like tears, the pain twisted so raw it made his stomach lurch.

Pain that he had caused.

“Don’t…” Jong-Hyeon’s voice broke, water streaming down his own face, whether rain or tears he couldn’t tell. His grip only tightened. “Don’t walk away from me. Not like this.”

Dong-Ju yanked his arm halfway free, but Jong-Hyeon’s grip wouldn’t budge. He didn’t fight it, not really. Just stood there his chest heaving and his eyes flashing with hurt that cut sharper than any blade.

“You don’t get it, do you?” Dong-Ju’s voice was raw, almost shredded. “I came to you. Not Han-Na. Not anyone else. You. And you looked me in the face and told me not to make promises I can’t keep?”

His laugh was hollow and jagged. “Do you know how fucked up that feels? To finally, finally, say what I want, only to have you shove it back at me like it’s some empty promise? Like I’m some kid who doesn’t know what it feels?”

The words hit harder than the rain pelting down around them. Dong-Ju’s fists clenched at his sides, his knuckles white. “You think I don’t know what’s waiting for me if I do this? If I want you? The looks, the whispers, the… the shit people will say? I’m not stupid, Jong-Hyeon. I know. That’s why I’m scared. But shit, I—” His voice cracked, his chest hitching like the rest of what he wanted to say almost tore him apart. “But I’d still choose it. I’d still choose you. Even if it’s hard. Even if it’s ugly. Because…”

His words faltered and his shoulders trembled. He wiped at his face, though it was useless against the rain. “…Because I don’t want to keep pretending I don’t feel this. Not when I could lose you before I even get to try. It’s just like you said, we don’t have forever.”

For a moment, all Jong-Hyeon could hear was the rain hammering around them, the echo of Dong-Ju’s words burrowing into his chest. He had no defense. None.

The dam inside him broke.

He surged forward, both hands gripping Dong-Ju’s face now, rainwater slick against his palms. His forehead pressed hard to his, his voice breaking in the space between them.

“You think I don’t want this? I’ve wanted this for so goddamn long it feels like it’s killing me. You just don’t know what you’re signing up for,” Jong-Hyeon said quietly. His voice was rough, but it carried a strange steadiness, like he’d finally decided. 

“I’m not easy. I’ve spent years convincing myself I couldn’t want this. That I didn’t deserve it.” His chest rose and fell with a sharp breath. “And I was so scared. Scared of ruining you, of ruining us… that I thought pushing you away was better than letting myself hope. But if you’re telling me you want this… want me…” He swallowed, thumb pressing lightly against Dong-Ju’s cheekbone. “Then I’ll fight like hell to make it work. I will. I want you too. I want this. And if it destroys me… fine. If it destroys both of us… fine. But I’m done pretending I don’t want this… want you.”

Dong-Ju’s breath hitched while his eyes widened. The tension in his shoulders broke into something softer, shaky but real, like he’d been waiting his whole life for someone to say exactly that.

And Jong-Hyeon didn’t give him time to answer. He leaned in, closing the space, and kissed him, sure and deliberate. 

Not reckless. Not desperate. 

A promise, sealed in the rain and silence.

And when they parted, Jong-Hyeon rested his forehead against Dong-Ju’s. “We’ll figure it out. Together.”

Dong-Ju closed his eyes, exhaling a breath that sounded almost like relief. His hand rose, gripping Jong-Hyeon’s wrist where it still cupped his face, holding it there like he was afraid it might slip away.

And for the first time in maybe forever, Jong-Hyeon believed he didn’t have to keep running from what he wanted and could share it with the person he loved who truly loved him back.

fin.