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It had been almost seven months since Seokmin and Jeonghan's breakup. Five long months filled with empty spaces where love used to live, where laughter once echoed through the walls of their shared home. They had been together for five years, since their university days—six years if one counted the time since they first met.
No, they didn't break up because of betrayal. There was no dramatic fight, no lies or infidelity, no sudden change in personality that made one unbearable to the other. It wasn't because they stopped loving each other either. If anything, love had always been there, quietly lingering in the way they used to wait up for each other, in the way they used to share stories about their day, even in the way Jeonghan would steal Seokmin’s food just to get a reaction out of him.
But love alone wasn’t always enough.
It was as if they had woken up one day to realize that they had become strangers sharing the same space. Was it miscommunication? Seokmin didn’t even know. It was hard to tell when things had started to crumble, but by the time he noticed, it was already too late.
They had both been too busy—too caught up in the whirlwind of their careers to notice the widening gap between them.
Jeonghan, with his demanding life as an actor and model, was always on the move. His name had become a staple in the entertainment industry, plastered on billboards and magazine covers. He was rarely at home, his schedule packed with overseas shoots, interviews, and events. His face was always in front of the camera, the moments he once shared with Seokmin faded into the background. Whenever he did have a rare day off, he was too exhausted to do anything but sleep.
Seokmin wasn’t much different. His job as a corporate manager meant long hours in the office, countless meetings, and piles of paperwork that never seemed to end. Overtime had become a habit, and eventually, it became the norm. There were days when he didn’t even return home—choosing instead to sleep at his desk just to meet deadlines.
At first, they still tried. They texted when they could, called when they had the energy. But conversations became shorter, replies took longer, and eventually, even those little updates became scarce. The silence stretched between them until it became deafening.
Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months.
There were mornings when Seokmin would wake up and realize he hadn’t seen Jeonghan in nearly a month. There were nights when Jeonghan would return home to an empty apartment, finding only untouched meals in the fridge and a lingering scent of Seokmin’s cologne on their pillows.
They had become ghosts in each other’s lives—present, but never really there.
And so, one night, after another missed dinner, another unopened message, another reminder that the person they once held closest was now out of reach, they finally sat down and asked the question they had been avoiding for months.
"Are we really still together?"
Neither of them had an answer.
There was no shouting, no accusations, no desperate pleas to stay. Just silence.
It was Jeonghan who finally spoke, his voice soft yet resolute.
"Let's just... break up."
And just like that, it was over.
Not with a bang, but with a quiet understanding that they had lost their way.
Seokmin had expected it to hurt more. He had expected himself to break down, to beg Jeonghan to stay, to make promises that they would find a way to fix things. But when he looked at Jeonghan—truly looked at him for the first time in months—he saw the exhaustion in his eyes. He saw the weight of their failing relationship sitting heavy on his shoulders.
Maybe this was for the best.
That night, Jeonghan packed a suitcase and left. There was no dramatic farewell, no lingering embrace. Just a quiet nod before the door clicked shut behind him.
And now, seven months later, Seokmin still found himself looking at that door sometimes, half-expecting Jeonghan to walk through it like he always did. But he never did.
Life went on.
Seokmin still worked late nights at the office. Jeonghan’s face still appeared on TV screens and in magazines. They were both doing well—thriving, even.
But when Seokmin lay in bed at night, staring at the empty space beside him, he wondered if Jeonghan ever thought about him too.
At first, Seokmin thought he was doing fine.
He buried himself in work, filling the spaces that Jeonghan left behind with endless meetings and late nights at the office. He told himself that it was just a phase, that eventually, he would stop noticing the quiet apartment, the way their bed felt too big now, the absence of another toothbrush next to his in the bathroom.
But it was five months later when it started to truly affect him.
It crept up on him slowly, catching him off guard in the quiet moments when he wasn’t busy distracting himself. He would wake up in the morning and instinctively reach out to the side of the bed where Jeonghan used to sleep, only to find it cold and empty. He would go about his day, half-expecting to receive a text from Jeonghan asking if he had eaten, only to remember that those messages didn’t come anymore.
The realization hit him in pieces, bit by bit, until it became unbearable.
He missed Jeonghan.
He missed the way they used to wake up together, Jeonghan refusing to leave the bed, curling himself around Seokmin and nuzzling into his neck, whispering sleepy protests whenever Seokmin tried to get up.
He missed the evenings when he would wait for Jeonghan to come home, setting the table with the meals he had cooked, only for Jeonghan to drop everything the moment he stepped through the door and wrap his arms around Seokmin first before even looking at the food.
He missed how, whenever they were in public, they would hold hands like it was the most natural thing in the world, like letting go of each other wasn’t an option.
He missed everything.
When did it even become like this?
No— how did it happen? How did they go from giggling in each other's arms one day to feeling like strangers the next?
And why didn’t he cry when everything ended?
That was the part that confused him the most. When they had sat down to talk that night, when Jeonghan had said, that they should break up, Seokmin had just nodded. He hadn’t begged, hadn’t fought, hadn’t even shed a tear. He had watched Jeonghan pack his things, had listened to the sound of the door closing behind him, and had gone to bed as if nothing had changed.
Had he lost interest back then? Had he truly stopped caring?
No.
He knew the truth, even if he didn’t want to admit it. He had been too numb to process it at the time, too caught up in his exhaustion to realize what was slipping through his fingers.
It wasn’t that he had stopped loving Jeonghan. He had just stopped noticing how much he needed him.
And now, five months later, it was all he could think about.
One evening, after a particularly long day at work, Seokmin found himself grinning as he walked out of the office. He had just received a generous bonus and a glowing review from his superiors for the success of his latest project. He also got a promotion at the same day. It was one of those rare days where everything felt right—where, he felt like he was truly achieving something.
Without even thinking, his feet carried him home, excitement bubbling in his chest. He had gotten used to long nights at the office, but today, he wanted to celebrate.
And the first thought that came to his mind was Jeonghan.
He didn’t even hesitate. The moment he stepped into the apartment, he called out, “Hyung, you won’t believe what happened today—”
Silence.
The apartment was dark. There was no sound of soft music playing from Jeonghan’s speaker, no scent of his cologne lingering in the air. No half-full cup of tea left on the counter, no shoes carelessly kicked off by the entrance.
No Jeonghan.
Seokmin stood frozen in the doorway, the reality crashing into him all at once.
Jeonghan wasn’t here.
Because Jeonghan didn’t live here anymore.
His breath caught in his throat as the weight of it finally settled in his chest. He had gone five months convincing himself that he was fine, but now, standing in the middle of their empty home, he realized the truth—
He wasn’t fine at all.
That night, for the first time since their breakup, Seokmin cried.
Not on the day Jeonghan left.
Not the day after.
Not for five whole months.
But now, when it was far too late to fix anything.
Days passed, but the ache didn’t go away. If anything, it only got worse.
Seokmin started noticing the little things more—how cold their apartment felt without Jeonghan’s warmth, how empty his bed seemed without another body beside him, how quiet his life had become without Jeonghan’s voice filling the space.
He caught himself checking his phone too often, his fingers hovering over Jeonghan’s contact. He wanted to text him, to ask how he was, to tell him about his promotion, to tell him that he missed him.
But every time, he stopped himself.
What was the point? They had broken up. Five months had passed. Jeonghan had moved on.
Hadn’t he?
Seokmin told himself it was better this way. He told himself that even if it hurt, this was what they had chosen. That there was no use in reopening wounds that had barely begun to heal.
But deep down, he knew.
He knew that if Jeonghan walked through that door right now and asked him to start over—
He wouldn’t even hesitate.
.
.
.
.
.
Seven months had passed.
Seven months since the breakup. Seven months since Jeonghan had walked out of his life. Seven months since Seokmin had convinced himself that he would be fine.
But he wasn’t.
The ache never faded. If anything, it had only grown stronger with time. Since the day he had come home expecting to find Jeonghan and instead found only an empty apartment, the realization had settled deep into his bones—he had lost something irreplaceable.
Since that night, things have only gone downhill.
His promotion at work should have been a reason to celebrate, but it only made everything worse. More responsibilities, more stress, more sleepless nights. He worked tirelessly, hoping that if he drowned himself in paperwork, in meetings, in endless tasks, he wouldn’t have time to think about Jeonghan. But it didn’t work. Nothing worked.
The exhaustion caught up to him quickly.
He hadn’t even gotten a day off for New Year’s last month, spending the night alone in his office while the rest of the world celebrated. He barely noticed when January slipped away, barely cared as the days bled into each other, dragging him deeper into the darkness.
Then came February.
Tonight, Seokmin sat alone in his office, staring blankly at the calendar on his desk. February 16th.
It was past three in the morning, and the only sound in the room was the faint ticking of the clock. He had just finished his final paperwork. His last paperwork.
Because this was it.
His eyes dropped to the paper in his hands. His resignation letter.
For the past seven months, he had pushed himself beyond his limits, trying to fill the void that Jeonghan had left behind. But it was never enough. No matter how hard he worked, no matter how much he achieved, he still felt empty.
So he had made a decision.
Tomorrow, he would submit his resignation letter. He would leave everything behind—the long hours, the stress, the life that had consumed him whole. He had spent so long convincing himself that work was all he had left, but now, he knew the truth.
He couldn’t keep doing this.
He was falling deeper and deeper into a darkness he couldn’t escape, and if he continued, he knew he would lose himself completely.
His eyes burned as he exhaled shakily, gripping the paper a little tighter.
Then, his gaze flickered back to the calendar.
February 18th.
The day after tomorrow.
His birthday.
His 28th birthday.
The thought made his chest tighten. For the past five years, Jeonghan had always been the first one to celebrate with him. He would wake Seokmin up at midnight with a cake, insisting on singing the birthday song twice just to make him laugh. They would spend the whole day together, just the two of them, making simple memories that felt warmer than any grand celebration ever could.
But this year, there would be no Jeonghan. No warm laughter. No gentle teasing.
Just him. Alone.
A bitter smile curled at his lips. He had already decided—he would turn in his resignation tomorrow, and on his birthday, he would rest. For once, he wouldn’t force himself to keep going. He would just stop.
Let himself breathe.
Let himself feel.
The silence of the night settled heavily around him. Seokmin’s eyelids grew heavy as he lowered his head onto his desk, resignation letter still clutched in his hands.
Morning came faster than Seokmin expected.
A firm knock on his office door stirred him awake. He groggily blinked his eyes open, his body stiff from sleeping in his chair all night. The dim light filtering through the blinds told him it was already morning, but he still reached for his watch to check the time.
8:13 AM.
He sighed, rubbing his eyes before calling out a weary, “Come in.”
The door creaked open, and two familiar figures stepped inside—Seungkwan and Vernon.
Seokmin wasn’t surprised to see them. They had made it a habit to check on him every morning, bringing breakfast with them. He knew exactly why.
They were worried about him.
For months, they had watched him fall apart, piece by piece, under the crushing weight of his own struggles. They saw the way he drowned himself in work, skipping meals until his body couldn’t take it anymore. The last time he had gone nearly a week without eating, only a little snack and lots of coffee to cover his hunger, he had collapsed in his office, only waking up in a hospital bed with an IV in his arm. The doctor had told him his acid reflux had relapsed due to his lack of food, warning him that if he kept neglecting his health, things would only get worse.
Since then, Seungkwan and Vernon had taken it upon themselves to make sure he ate.
Even on days when he didn’t have the energy to care for himself, they cared for him.
“Morning, hyung,” Vernon greeted softly, placing a bag of food on Seokmin’s desk. “We brought breakfast.”
“Again?” Seokmin forced a small smile, trying to inject some humor into his tired voice. “You guys spoil me too much.”
“If we don’t, you’ll forget to eat,” Seungkwan shot back, crossing his arms. “You look like you barely slept again.”
Seokmin glanced at his reflection in the dark screen of his laptop. He looked as exhausted as he felt—dark circles under his eyes, skin paler than usual. He knew Seungkwan was right.
Vernon sat on the edge of the desk, watching him closely. “Did you stay here all night?”
Seokmin hesitated before nodding. There was no point in lying.
Seungkwan huffed in frustration but didn’t scold him. Not this time. Instead, he glanced down at the papers scattered across the desk—and his eyes landed on the resignation letter.
His breath hitched. “Is this what I think it is?”
Seokmin remained silent, but his lack of response was answer enough.
Vernon reached for the letter, skimming over it quickly before looking back at Seokmin. “You’re really doing this?”
“I have to,” Seokmin murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. He swallowed, looking away. “I can’t keep going like this.”
There was a heavy silence.
For months, they had watched him struggle, watched him slowly lose himself under the weight of everything—his work, his grief, his depression. They knew this wasn’t just about his job. It was about everything that had led him here.
The breakup. The loneliness. The pressure from family. The exhaustion that never seemed to go away.
“Have you talked to your family about this?” Seungkwan asked carefully.
Seokmin let out a bitter chuckle. “You think they’d understand?”
His family had always expected him to be perfect. A stable job, a successful career, a life that followed their carefully planned path. They had never approved of his relationship with Jeonghan, had always thought it was a distraction. And now that Jeonghan was gone, they expected him to bury himself in his work, to become the perfect son they always wanted.
They didn’t care if he was miserable. As long as he was successful, that was enough for them.
Seungkwan’s expression softened. He knew how much pressure Seokmin was under. He had seen it weigh on him for years.
Vernon, ever the quiet observer, finally spoke. “Then what happens next?”
Seokmin hesitated. What happens next?
He had no answer.
For the past seven months, he had let work consume him, filling the empty space that Jeonghan had left behind. Now, without his job, what was left?
Just him.
Alone.
Seokmin didn’t answer Vernon’s question. He simply smiled—soft, sad, and distant—as he stared down at his food.
Vernon and Seungkwan didn’t push him. They knew by now that Seokmin wasn’t ready to talk.
They sat with him for a little longer, making sure he ate at least a few bites. It wasn’t much, but it was something. When they were satisfied that he had eaten enough to avoid another health scare, they bid their goodbyes and left for their own works.
The moment the door shut behind them, the room felt unbearably empty again.
Seokmin set his chopsticks down, barely touching his meal. He wanted to be grateful—he was grateful—but his appetite had long disappeared. He sighed and leaned back in his chair, staring blankly at the food container.
He felt exhausted.
Not just from the lack of sleep. Not just from work. But from everything.
His mind drifted as he sat in silence.
But distractions could only last for so long.
A sharp beep from his watch pulled him back to reality.
8:50 AM.
He needed to submit his final work before 9:30 AM. After that, he had to meet the CEO to finalize his resignation.
Dragging himself to his feet, he grabbed his bag and pulled out a small pouch containing his toothbrush and facial wipes. Since he had been sitting under the air conditioner all night, at least he didn’t have to worry about sweat, but he still felt grimy.
He needed a moment to freshen up.
With sluggish steps, he made his way toward the restroom in his department.
The bright white lights flickered slightly as he entered. He walked over to the sink, set his bag on the counter, and finally looked at his reflection in the mirror.
And what he saw made his chest tighten.
His skin was pale, almost sickly under the fluorescent glow. His dark circles were prominent, evidence of the countless sleepless nights he had endured. His eyes—once filled with warmth and laughter—now looked tired, dull, and empty. His lips were dry, slightly chapped from how often he forgot to drink water.
He barely recognized himself.
Was this what he had become?
The thought lingered as he slowly washed his face, letting the cold water shock his senses. For a brief moment, he imagined Jeonghan standing behind him, laughing as he wrapped his arms around his waist, teasing him about how bad he was at waking up early.
But when he looked up again, he was alone.
As always.
He clenched his jaw, shutting his eyes tightly. Focus, Seokmin.
With a deep breath, he finished freshening up, grabbed his things, and left the restroom.
Time moved faster than he expected.
By noon, he had already met with the CEO.
To his relief, the conversation went smoothly. The CEO was an understanding man, and because Seokmin had been one of the most dedicated employees in the company, his resignation was accepted without much difficulty.
Still, walking out of that office, knowing he was no longer a part of the company he had given so much of his time to—it felt strange.
It’s over, he thought. This chapter of his life is over.
But instead of feeling relief, all he felt was empty.
Before he officially left, he made sure to say goodbye to his department.
He hadn’t expected it to be emotional.
He thought it would be simple—just a polite farewell, maybe a handshake or two.
But when he stood in front of his coworkers, their eyes filled with tears, one of them letting out a quiet sniffle, he realized just how much they cared.
“Seokmin-ah,” one of his colleagues, Jihyo, spoke, her voice tight with emotion. “Are you sure about this?”
Seokmin smiled faintly. “Yeah.”
Another coworker, Nayeon, bit her lip. “We’re going to miss you.”
He chuckled softly. “I’m going to miss you guys too.”
Then, one by one, they pulled him into hugs, their warmth pressing into his cold skin.
By the time he left the office for the last time, his coworkers had planned a farewell dinner for him. He hadn’t wanted to go at first, but when he saw how much effort they put into it, he couldn’t refuse. The dinner passed by in a blur of laughter, shared memories, and bittersweet goodbyes.
He smiled. He laughed. He even made a toast, thanking them for everything.
But deep inside, there was still a quiet, aching loneliness that refused to fade.
One by one, his colleagues started to leave, hugging him one last time before heading home. He wasn’t the last one to leave—some of them decided to stay longer—but eventually, he found himself stepping out of the restaurant, feeling the cool night air against his skin.
11:54 PM.
The sky was breathtaking that night, littered with stars that twinkled like scattered diamonds.
Instead of heading straight home, Seokmin found himself wandering toward the nearby park. His feet carried him to an old playground, where he sat down on one of the swings.
The cool metal chains felt familiar in his grip as he gently rocked himself back and forth, his gaze fixed on the night sky.
Few more minutes, he thought. Few more minutes until his birthday.
He should be happy. Birthdays were supposed to be special.
But all he felt was empty.
Then, as the clock struck midnight—his birthday officially beginning—something inside him broke.
The first tear fell before he even realized it.
Then another.
And another.
Until suddenly, he was sobbing, his shoulders shaking as he buried his face in his hands.
He didn’t know why he was crying.
Maybe it was the exhaustion. Maybe it was the loneliness. Maybe it was the weight of everything he had been holding inside for months.
Or maybe—just maybe—it was because, deep down, he wished Jeonghan was there.
He wished the older was beside him, wrapping him in his arms, whispering soft birthday wishes against his hair.
He missed him.
He missed him so much it hurt.
He tried to stop crying, tried to take deep breaths, tried to compose himself.
But he couldn’t.
Everything felt so heavy.
So in the end he let himself break.
February 18th, 2025 – His 28th Birthday
By the time Seokmin finally stopped crying, it was almost 1:00 AM. His body felt drained, his throat raw from sobbing, and his head pounded from the sheer force of emotions that had overwhelmed him. He wiped his face with the sleeves of his coat, but his eyes remained puffy, swollen from the tears that wouldn’t stop falling for the past hour.
Taking a deep breath, he pushed himself up from the swing. His legs felt weak, almost unsteady as he walked toward the direction of his car. The cool night breeze brushed against his damp cheeks, grounding him back to reality.
It was over.
His breakdown. His moment of vulnerability.
He had let himself break, but now, he needed to pull himself back together again.
---
By the time he arrived at his apartment complex, it was 1:26 AM.
The streets were eerily silent at this hour, only the distant hum of the city filling the air. Seokmin parked his car, stepped out, and walked toward the entrance of his building, his limbs heavy with exhaustion. His mind was too clouded to think, too tired to process anything except the overwhelming urge to collapse into bed and shut out the world for the rest of the night.
As he reached his apartment door, he reached into his pocket for his keys. But the moment he grabbed the handle and twisted, his heart nearly stopped.
The door was unlocked.
He froze.
His breath hitched as his exhaustion was momentarily replaced by a rush of unease.
Had he forgotten to lock it before leaving? No, that wasn’t possible. He always made sure to lock it before he left.
His grip tightened around the doorknob as his mind raced with possibilities.
A thief?
An intruder?
Or maybe—
He took a deep breath and forced himself to think logically.
Mingyu.
Or Minghao.
It wouldn’t be the first time his friends entered his apartment to retrieve something they had left behind. Maybe they had come earlier, taken their things, and simply forgotten to lock the door on their way out.
That had to be it.
He convinced himself of this reasoning as he cautiously pushed the door open and stepped inside. The apartment was dark, the only source of light coming from the dim glow of the city outside.
He closed the door behind him slowly and locked it.
Just as he bent down to take off his shoes, something made him stop.
Another pair of shoes.
Shoes that didn’t belong to him.
A pair of white sneakers sat neatly by the entrance, and his breath caught in his throat.
Those weren’t Mingyu’s or Minghao’s either.
His heart pounded in his chest. His hands instinctively reached for the golf stick leaning against the wall near the entrance. He wasn’t usually the paranoid type, but right now, after everything, he couldn’t take any chances.
With slow, cautious steps, he moved deeper into the apartment.
His senses were heightened, listening for any sound, any sign of movement.
And then—he saw it.
Just beyond the living room, near the large glass window overlooking the city, someone stood.
A lone figure, facing away from him.
The dim glow of the streetlights cast a faint silhouette, making the man’s presence feel almost ghostly in the dark.
Seokmin’s grip on the golf stick loose, his breath quickening.
The man was dressed in a simple white shirt. His hands were tucked into his pockets, his posture calm, almost too calm.
But Seokmin knew that back.
He remembered that back.
The shape of his shoulders. The way he carried himself. The quiet presence that always made him feel safe.
His chest tightened painfully.
Was he dreaming?
Was his mind playing tricks on him?
The golf stick slipped from his grasp, clattering loudly against the tile floor.
The sound shattered the silence.
And the man in front of him turned slightly, his head tilting to the side.
That face.
Those features.
That gaze.
Seokmin’s heart stopped.
Shit, it was really him.
It was really Yoon Jeonghan.
He was standing right there.
After seven months.
After all the nights spent missing him.
After all the dreams where he wished to see him just once more.
Jeonghan was really here.
His hair was different now—cut short, no longer the long, flowing locks Seokmin used to brush his fingers through. It was back to black, the same shade it was when they first met.
But other than that, he hadn’t changed.
He was still breathtakingly beautiful. Still effortlessly elegant, even in the simplest of clothes.
Still Jeonghan.
Seokmin’s chest ached so badly he thought he might collapse.
His throat felt tight, his mind screaming with questions, but his lips refused to move.
All he could do was stand there, frozen, as Jeonghan turned fully to face him.
Their eyes met and time stood still.
Seokmin didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know how to react.
He just stood there, frozen, his breath shallow, his chest aching. His bag had slipped from his shoulder, landing on the floor with a soft thud, but he barely noticed. His wide eyes remained locked onto the figure before him—Jeonghan.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
The silence stretched between them, heavy, suffocating, filled with unsaid words and emotions neither of them had dared to voice in the past seven months.
Seokmin’s vision blurred slightly, his eyes threatening to well up with tears, but he refused to let them fall. He bit the inside of his cheek, trying to ground himself. Trying to convince himself that this was real—that Jeonghan was really here.
And then he saw it.
That small, familiar smile.
Soft, almost hesitant.
A smile he had once woken up to every morning. A smile he thought he had forgotten. A smile he had convinced himself he would never see again.
And just like that, his breath hitched.
His heart tightened so painfully in his chest that he felt like he might collapse.
Slowly, Jeonghan turned his body fully towards him. His posture was relaxed, his expression unreadable, but his eyes—his eyes—held something deep. Something warm. Something Seokmin wasn’t sure if he could handle right now.
Before he even realized it, Jeonghan had started moving.
His steps were slow, unhurried, but purposeful. And Seokmin?
Seokmin couldn’t move.
His feet refused to budge from where they were planted on the floor. His hands clenched into fists by his sides, his breathing uneven. He wanted to step back, to create distance, to protect himself from whatever this was.
But he didn’t.
Instead, he just stood there, frozen in place, as Jeonghan stopped directly in front of him.
So close.
Too close.
Another small smile graced Jeonghan’s lips, and Seokmin felt his stomach twist into knots.
"Happy birthday, Seok-ah..."
The words were gentle, spoken with an unmistakable softness, and yet, they hit Seokmin harder than he expected.
He felt like crying all over again.
His birthday.
Jeonghan remembered.
Not only did he remember, but he was here.
Right in front of him, saying those words as if they were still a part of each other’s lives.
Seokmin’s hands trembled at his sides.
Why?
Why now?
Why, after all this time, did Jeonghan come back?
He had so many questions, so many things he wanted to say, but no words came out. His throat felt dry, his emotions tangled into a mess too complicated to unravel in just one moment.
Then, Jeonghan moved again.
His hand slowly reached out in front of Seokmin, palm up—an invitation.
Seokmin stared at it.
He shouldn’t take it.
He should walk away, ask Jeonghan why he was here, demand an explanation before anything else.
But instead, his own hand moved on its own.
He didn’t know why, but his fingers reached forward, hesitantly, slowly—until they finally slipped into Jeonghan’s palm.
The warmth.
It was the first thing he noticed.
Even after all this time, Jeonghan’s touch was still the same—gentle, warm, grounding. It sent a shiver through Seokmin’s spine, a sensation so familiar yet so foreign after months of nothing but cold.
Jeonghan tightened his grip slightly, and without another word, he guided Seokmin towards the couch.
Seokmin followed numbly, his legs moving as if on autopilot.
And then, when he sat down, his gaze fell on the coffee table in front of him.
A cake.
His favorite cheesecake.
A single candle stood at its center, waiting to be lit.
Seokmin swallowed.
Jeonghan sat beside him, still holding his hand, his presence so steady it almost made Seokmin’s chest ache even more.
The older reached for the lighter sitting next to the cake, flicked it on, and carefully lit the candle.
The tiny flame flickered in the dim room, casting a soft glow over both of them.
"C’mon, make a wish and blow the candle," Jeonghan said, his voice quiet, almost coaxing.
A wish.
What was there left to wish for?
Everything had already fallen apart.
Seokmin stared at the candle, his thoughts an endless spiral. He had spent so long convincing himself that he had moved on, that he had let go of what they once had. But now, sitting here, with Jeonghan beside him, with his warmth seeping into his skin, he realized something.
He still missed him.
He still wanted him.
And he still loved him.
Seokmin closed his eyes for a brief moment.
He wished—
No.
He didn’t know what to wish for.
So instead, he simply took a deep breath—
And blew the candle out.
The room fell into silence again.
Neither of them spoke.
The only thing grounding Seokmin was the way their hands were still intertwined.
Sometimes, Jeonghan would squeeze his fingers gently, as if to remind him that he was still there. And Seokmin, without thinking, would squeeze back.
Almost ten minutes passed before Jeonghan finally broke the silence.
Jeonghan took a deep breath, his grip on Seokmin’s hand tightening slightly. His voice was quiet, filled with regret.
"I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything. I’m sorry for being selfish. I’m sorry for choosing my job over us. I’m sorry for letting my pride get in the way. I should have fought harder—I should have stayed. But instead, I let everything fall apart, and I hurt you more than I ever meant to."
His voice wavered slightly, but he didn’t stop.
"I told myself it was for the best. That you’d be better off without me, that I was doing the right thing by walking away. But I was wrong, Seokmin. I was so wrong."
Jeonghan let out a bitter chuckle, shaking his head.
"You know, for months, I kept convincing myself that if I just threw myself into work, if I just kept moving forward, maybe I wouldn’t think about you so much. But no matter how hard I tried—every time I came home, every time I closed my eyes—you were always there."
His free hand clenched into a fist on his lap.
"I missed you, Seok-ah."
The way he said it—so raw, so unguarded—made Seokmin’s breath hitch.
"I missed your voice. I missed your laughter. I missed the way you used to scold me for overworking myself, the way you always knew when I was stressed even when I tried to hide it. I missed the way you would hold my hand in your sleep, like you were afraid I would disappear."
Jeonghan inhaled sharply, his expression twisting into something that looked dangerously close to guilt.
"And I hated myself for realizing it too late."
Seokmin’s grip on his hand trembled, but Jeonghan didn’t let go.
"I don’t expect you to forgive me. I don’t expect things to go back to the way they were. But I needed to see you, even if it was just for tonight. Even if all I could do was say that I’m sorry. Because you deserve that, Seokmin. You deserved so much more than the way I treated you."
Seokmin clenched his jaw, trying to keep himself together.
"And I know—" Jeonghan continued, voice almost breaking, "I know that I probably lost the right to be here. To be the one standing in front of you like this. But I just... I needed you to know that leaving you was the biggest mistake I ever made."
His thumb brushed against Seokmin’s knuckles, slow and careful.
"If I could turn back time, I would do everything differently. I would have held on tighter. I would have fought harder. I would have never let you go."
And that was it.
That was all it took for Seokmin’s carefully built walls to finally crumble.
The first tear slipped down his cheek, and then another. Until, finally, he couldn’t hold them back anymore. His shoulders shook as silent sobs wracked through him, his body curling inward.
Jeonghan didn’t hesitate.
He reached forward, pulling Seokmin into his arms, holding him tightly as if to make up for all the times he hadn’t.
"I’m sorry," he whispered again, voice trembling against Seokmin’s hair. "I’m so, so sorry."
Seokmin clung to him.
Because despite everything—despite the heartbreak, the pain, the months of loneliness—he still missed Jeonghan.
Seokmin's sobs grew louder, his entire body shaking as he clung to Jeonghan. His fingers gripped the fabric of Jeonghan’s shirt so tightly that his knuckles turned white, as if letting go would mean losing him all over again.
"Why... Why? Why now?" Seokmin’s voice cracked between his cries, his breath hitching uncontrollably.
Jeonghan didn’t answer immediately. He just held Seokmin closer, his hand running soothingly along his back, as if trying to mend all the broken pieces with just his touch.
But it wasn’t enough.
"Why did you come back and say all of this?" Seokmin sobbed, his words tumbling out in a desperate, broken rush. "Why did you apologize when it’s not even your fault? It was mine too, right? I let myself get too caught up in work. I was so focused, so obsessed with proving myself that I didn’t even realize we were drifting apart. I didn’t see it—I didn’t see you slipping away from me, day by day."
Jeonghan tightened his arms around him, guilt flashing across his face, but Seokmin wasn’t done.
"I should have been the one to apologize. I should have fought for us when you asked for the break-up, but I didn’t. I just... let it happen. I didn’t say anything, I didn’t cry, I just stood there and let you leave. And I thought maybe that meant I was okay with it. But I wasn’t."
His voice cracked painfully, his body trembling harder.
"I wasn’t okay, Hyung. I wasn’t okay at all."
Jeonghan felt his chest tighten at the raw emotion in Seokmin’s voice.
"I should have cried that day. I should have told you to stay. I should have begged, screamed, done anything to make you stay. But I didn’t. I was so stupid, so blind. I didn’t realize how much it would hurt until it was too late. Until the days passed and I kept waiting for your texts, only to remember that they weren’t coming anymore. Until I came home from work expecting to see you, only to be reminded that you weren’t here."
Seokmin choked on a sob, his tears soaking into Jeonghan’s shoulder.
"This apartment—God, it was so empty without you. So cold. I thought maybe I could handle it, that I could just bury myself in work and move on, but I couldn’t. No matter how much I tried, no matter how busy I kept myself, I still missed you. I missed everything about you."
His grip on Jeonghan tightened.
"And I lost all of that because of that damn job." His voice dropped to a whisper. "I lost you because of it."
Jeonghan shook his head immediately.
"No, Seok-ah, don’t say that—"
"But it’s true!" Seokmin cried, pulling back just enough to look Jeonghan in the eyes, his own filled with grief and regret. "If I had just looked at you instead of my laptop, if I had just listened—if I had just fought for us—we wouldn’t have ended up like this."
Jeonghan exhaled shakily, his hands coming up to cup Seokmin’s face. He brushed his thumbs against the wet trails of tears on his cheeks, his own eyes glistening.
"Seokmin," he whispered, voice thick with emotion. "We both made mistakes. It wasn’t just you, and it wasn’t just me. It was us. We both got lost in the things that pulled us away from each other. We both let it happen."
Seokmin swallowed hard, fresh tears slipping down his cheeks.
"Then what do we do now, Hyung?" His voice was small, uncertain. "What happens now?"
Jeonghan hesitated, his gaze searching Seokmin’s face as if he were looking for the answer in his eyes. Then, slowly, he exhaled.
"I don’t know." He let out a soft, sad laugh. "I’ve spent so long thinking about the past, about all the things I regret, that I never let myself think about what comes next."
Seokmin’s fingers curled into Jeonghan’s sleeves. "Then… is there still a next for us?"
Silence filled the space between them, heavy and fragile. Jeonghan stared at him, his lips slightly parted, as if searching for the right words.
Then, instead of answering, Jeonghan did something else.
He reached out and pulled Seokmin into his arms again. But this time, it wasn’t just a desperate embrace. It was something more—something softer. His fingers gently ran through Seokmin’s hair, his cheek pressed against the younger’s temple.
"I want there to be," he murmured. "God, Seok-ah, I want there to be."
Seokmin’s breath hitched.
The apartment was dimly lit, the only sources of light coming from the soft glow of the standing lamps and the distant neon signs outside the window. The quiet hum of the city filled the silence, but inside, there was only the sound of Seokmin’s uneven breathing, the weight of his emotions pressing down on his chest like a heavy stone.
He sat there, his body trembling from exhaustion—not just from the long night of crying before he came home, but from everything. From the past few months, from the weight of regret that never seemed to leave him. And now, here he was, face to face with Jeonghan, the man he had loved so much and lost so painfully.
And yet, Jeonghan was here. Sitting in front of him, holding his hand like he was afraid Seokmin would slip away.
"Then Hyung, please… please just give us a second chance," Seokmin’s voice cracked as he spoke, his grip tightening around Jeonghan’s hands. "Let me fix this. I already resigned from my job, so I can finally focus on us again. You can continue your work—I’ll wait, I promise. I’ll be there. But just please don’t leave me again. I can’t do this anymore without you."
His eyes were red and desperate, pleading with Jeonghan to see just how much he meant it. He had spent so long trying to convince himself he could live without Jeonghan, but the truth was, he couldn’t. He didn’t want to.
Jeonghan looked at him, his expression torn between sadness and something unreadable. He sighed, squeezing Seokmin’s hands gently.
"Seok, I don’t want to force you. You didn’t have to resign—"
"I don’t care, Hyung!" Seokmin suddenly interrupted, his voice breaking. "I already did anyway. I made up my mind a long time ago. Even if you weren’t here right now, I still would’ve resigned because… because I really can’t take it anymore."
His grip loosened, his fingers slowly slipping away from Jeonghan’s shirt as fresh tears spilled down his cheeks. He wiped them hastily with his sleeve, but it was useless—his tears wouldn’t stop, and neither would the ache in his chest.
For a moment, Jeonghan didn’t say anything. He just watched Seokmin fall apart in front of him, his own heart clenching painfully at the sight. Then, before Seokmin could react, Jeonghan reached out, pulling him forward.
Seokmin gasped as Jeonghan shifted him effortlessly, making him straddle his lap. His breath hitched, his hands instinctively gripping Jeonghan’s shoulders to steady himself.
Before he could say anything, Jeonghan closed the gap between them, pressing their lips together in a soft, lingering kiss.
It was gentle, yet filled with so much unspoken emotion—regret, longing, desperation, love. It was a kiss that spoke of sleepless nights, of missed chances, of feelings that had never disappeared even when they thought they had lost each other.
Seokmin melted into the kiss, his fingers curling into Jeonghan’s shirt, holding onto him like he was afraid he would disappear. The warmth of Jeonghan’s hands on his waist, the way he pulled him closer—it was everything Seokmin had missed, everything he had tried to forget but couldn’t.
Minutes passed before they finally pulled away, their foreheads resting against each other as they gasped for air. Seokmin was panting, his face flushed, his heart racing. Jeonghan just smiled softly, brushing Seokmin’s hair out of his face.
"I’m the one who should be asking for a second chance," Jeonghan whispered, his fingers tracing the curve of Seokmin’s cheek. "I should be the one begging you to take me back. But instead, you asked me first."
Seokmin swallowed, his throat dry.
Then Jeonghan gave him a small, almost hesitant smile.
"For your information, I already quit modeling and acting."
Seokmin froze. His eyes widened as he stared at Jeonghan in disbelief.
"W-what? Hyung?" His voice wavered.
Jeonghan chuckled softly, pressing a kiss to Seokmin’s temple. "You heard me. I quit."
Seokmin shook his head rapidly, trying to process what Jeonghan had just said. "But… but why? Hyung, why would you do that?"
Jeonghan’s gaze softened. He sighed, his arms wrapping securely around Seokmin’s waist.
"Because at first, I thought that if I wanted to fix everything between us, I needed to let go of the thing that ruined us in the first place. So I did."
Seokmin felt his heart clench. His hands trembled as he gripped Jeonghan’s shoulders.
"But you didn’t have to go that far!" he cried, his voice breaking. "That was your dream, wasn’t it? You’ve wanted this since you were a kid! Hyung, you can’t just throw all of that away because of me!"
Jeonghan smiled sadly, his fingers gently tracing circles on Seokmin’s back.
"But what’s the point, Seok-ah?" He whispered. "What’s the point of me continuing if you’re not there anymore? It’s not the same without you. It never was."
Seokmin bit his lip, trying to hold back his tears, but it was useless.
"You were my reason, baby. You were the reason I worked so hard, the reason I pushed myself. But when you weren’t there anymore, it felt like half of me was missing. I didn’t even have the motivation to keep going after we broke up because I knew, deep down, that I was doing it for you. And if you weren’t there with me anymore… then what was the point?"
Seokmin let out a soft sob, his hands clutching Jeonghan even tighter.
"You didn’t have to," he whispered brokenly.
Jeonghan smiled, wiping Seokmin’s tears gently with his thumbs.
"But I wanted to," he murmured.
Seokmin’s chest ached. He leaned forward, burying his face in the crook of Jeonghan’s neck, his entire body trembling from the weight of his emotions.
Jeonghan held him close, rubbing soothing circles on his back, pressing soft kisses to his temple, his cheek, anywhere he could reach.
"We’ll figure it out together, Seok-ah," he whispered. "This time, we won’t let go."
The apartment was quiet now, the tension from earlier slowly melting into something lighter, something warm. Seokmin sniffled, rubbing his eyes as the remnants of his tears dried against his flushed cheeks. His hands were still loosely curled around Jeonghan’s shirt, not quite ready to let go.
For the first time in what felt like forever, Seokmin could finally breathe.
He pulled back slightly, blinking up at Jeonghan with a small chuckle, breaking the silence. “So… we’re both jobless now?” he said, his voice still hoarse from crying.
Jeonghan let out a soft laugh, his thumb gently brushing over Seokmin’s cheek. “I guess so? Guess we really are soulmates.”
Seokmin chuckled again, shaking his head before resting his forehead lightly against Jeonghan’s. “We’re such a mess.”
"Maybe, but at least we’re a mess together," Jeonghan murmured, his hands still resting on Seokmin’s waist, holding him close.
A comfortable silence settled between them before Jeonghan spoke again, his voice softer this time.
"Let’s fix everything again, should we?" he said, looking into Seokmin’s eyes. "Let’s start over. From the very beginning. Maybe this time, we can do things right. And now that we don’t have to worry about work, we can finally spend more time with each other. We could go on vacations without worrying about getting days off. We could go anywhere we want, for as long as we want."
Seokmin’s lips curled into a small smile as he listened to Jeonghan’s words, his heart fluttering at the thought.
"And maybe…" Jeonghan hesitated for a moment before continuing. "I’ve been thinking of opening our own café together—the one we used to dream about back in our university days."
Seokmin’s eyes widened slightly, his fingers unconsciously playing with Jeonghan’s hand. "The café? Really?"
Jeonghan nodded. "Yeah. Just the two of us. A quiet little place where we don’t have to worry about anything else but making good coffee and serving good food. No tight schedules, no exhausting late nights. Just us, building something together."
A spark of excitement flickered in Seokmin’s chest, his mind already racing with ideas. "That… that would be great, Hyungie." He grinned, squeezing Jeonghan’s hand.
Jeonghan smiled back, his eyes filled with warmth. "And… I’ve been thinking about something else too."
"What is it?" Seokmin asked, tilting his head.
Jeonghan hesitated for a brief moment before speaking again. "I’ve been thinking about adopting a child, baby. Should we?" His voice was soft but filled with sincerity. "At least we’d have someone to take care of. A little family of our own."
Seokmin’s breath hitched, his eyes widening in surprise. Of all the things he expected Jeonghan to say, this wasn’t one of them.
"You… you really want to adopt a child?" he whispered, his voice trembling slightly.
Jeonghan nodded. "Yeah. I mean, we’ve talked about it before, haven’t we? Back when we used to dream about the future. I still want that, Seok-ah. And I want it with you."
Seokmin swallowed hard, his heart pounding in his chest. He had always thought about raising a child, but hearing Jeonghan say it now, knowing that they were serious about rebuilding their future together—it made everything feel so real.
A bright, genuine smile broke across Seokmin’s face. "I would love to, Hyung!" he said, practically bouncing in excitement. "Maybe we should adopt twins! And—oh! Maybe four cats too! One for each of us and one for the kids!"
Jeonghan let out a loud laugh, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Four cats? Seriously?"
"Yes! We need company, Hyung!" Seokmin pouted, crossing his arms. "Imagine how cozy it would be—a little café, two kids running around, and a bunch of cats keeping us company."
Jeonghan hummed thoughtfully before smiling. "Okay, okay. We’ll adopt twins and four cats. But only if you take care of them when they get too hyper."
Seokmin giggled, nodding eagerly. "Deal!"
And just like that, the weight on their chests began to lift. The past no longer felt as heavy, and the future no longer seemed so uncertain.
They talked for hours—about the things they wanted to do, the places they wanted to visit, the name of their future café, what kind of desserts they would serve, what they’d name their kids, what kind of cats they wanted.
By the time they realized how much time had passed, the sky outside was already shifting into the soft blues and purples of dawn.
Seokmin yawned, stretching his arms before lazily leaning against Jeonghan’s chest.
"We’re back together again, right?" Jeonghan teased, nudging Seokmin playfully.
Seokmin pouted, playfully glaring at him. "Of course we are, Hyung! Why would you even ask that?"
Jeonghan chuckled, wrapping his arms around Seokmin’s waist. But then his expression softened, his voice dropping to something quieter.
"Baby…"
Seokmin hummed sleepily, tilting his head slightly. "Hmm?"
Jeonghan cupped Seokmin’s cheek gently, his thumb brushing over his skin. "I love you, I’m sorry."
Seokmin blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the sudden shift in Jeonghan’s tone. But then, he smiled—a soft, understanding smile, mirroring the one on Jeonghan’s face.
"Me too," he whispered, pressing his forehead against Jeonghan’s. "And I love you too, Hyung."
Slowly, they closed the distance between them again, their lips meeting in a slow, lingering kiss—one filled with warmth, forgiveness, and the quiet promise of a future they would build together.