Chapter Text
The Union has collapsed, and the aftermath leaves its mark on everyone. Dust catches in a gust of wind and scatters over boys who no longer know what they’re fighting for. At Eunjang, the kids are recovering - bruised, but alive. The wreckage hangs in the air like humidity: unspoken, but everywhere: you can hear it in the quiet moments between lunch table laughter, in the bruises no one bothers to hide. Gotak is loud as ever, Juntae tries to keep the peace, and Suho - newly transferred, newly awake - moves through it all with the hesitance of someone still figuring out how to breathe again. He stays close to Sieun, tied by something stronger than words.
Sometimes, the five of them sit on rooftops. Sieun and Suho form a kind of silent orbit around each other. Gotak shouts about basketball. Juntae flips through a manga he just borrowed from the library.
Humin laughs, sometimes.
His life hasn’t stopped. He still walks the school halls like he owns them. Still jokes, still has fun, still gets dragged into late-night runs with friends who orbit around him like he’s gravity.
But there’s something missing.
A silence that used to be filled by another voice.
Baekjin .
Always the Yeo-Il’s golden boy. He is never one of them, one of those Eunjang kids. Too clever. Too distant. Too perfect. He wears his uniform like armour and speaks like he’s always halfway out the door. But before the world turns cruel and complicated, before blood and business and betrayal, he is just Baekjin. Humin’s childhood friend. A boy who cries over cartoons and runs barefoot in the rain. A boy who looks at Humin like he’s something brighter than sunlight.
Now Baekjin lives alone in a high-rise apartment now. Not the mansion anymore - he left that place behind when the walls started echoing too loudly. Too many memories that didn’t belong to him. The apartment is sleek, cold in the way only money can buy - glass, polished steel, minimal warmth. Sometimes he forgets to turn the lights on until the sun’s gone. Sometimes he leaves the TV playing static just to fill the room with something. He earns his own money. Clean money - prestigious competitions, private scholarships. Dirty money - leftovers from the Union’s corpse, bones still warm. He’s always busy. Always moving. But no one sees him laugh anymore.
And Humin - he doesn’t call. Doesn’t ask. But he observes from a safe distance.
Sometimes he sees Baekjin walking to school alone, the weight of his bag digging into one shoulder like punishment. Sometimes he catches sight of him at a convenience store, buying energy drinks and grab-and-go meals like he’s barely surviving, not living. He never says anything. He doesn’t have the right anymore.
But he keeps noticing.
He notices everything, actually. Like how Baekjin looks thinner these days. Like he’s been hollowed out and no one stopped to notice. He wonders if anyone knows when Baekjin last ate a real meal. He wonders if Baekjin’s even talking to anyone.
And it shouldn’t matter - but it does. Time passes, Humin’s curiosity finally got the best of him
11:42 p.m : so, when'd you stop staying at the old house? i noticed you don't walk that way anymore.
Baekjin reads the message. His eyes linger on the words for a moment. There's a gentle push in them, almost like a question left lingering in the air.
He doesn’t reply immediately. Instead, he pulls on his jacket, grabs his keys, and heads out the door. He knows he’s been avoiding this moment for far too long, but he doesn’t know what else to do. It’s easier to drive, easier to make decisions in motion.
A few minutes later, he's in the car, the engine humming quietly beneath him. The city stretches out ahead of him, streets passing in blurry lines of light. The weight of the message, the weight of what’s unsaid, presses down on him, but he doesn’t stop. He just drives, thinking, waiting for something to click.
The phone vibrates in his pocket, interrupting his thoughts. Another Humin’s message comes through.
11:50 p.m: i’m here, you know. if you want to talk.
Baekjin swallows and lets out a heavy sigh. He types back quickly, as if trying to distance himself from the ache in his chest.
11:51 p.m: Where are you?
Humin’s reply is almost instant.
11:51 p.m: bet you know that playground’s corner near Eunjang. come find me.
Baekjin’s heart picks up its pace. He doesn’t wait for another second. With a sharp turn of the wheel, he heads towards the direction Humin pointed out, his grip tight on the wheel. The night outside has quieted, but it feels like the whole world is holding its breath.
He rounds the corner, and here he is - Humin’s figure is silhouetted against the light, like he’s been waiting for Baekjin this whole time.
Without a word, Baekjin pulls up beside him, the car slowing to a stop. Humin doesn’t say anything at first, but when the door opens, it feels like the unspoken conversation they’ve both been avoiding.
And when Humin slides into the passenger seat, it’s like the world shifts, just a little.
Baekjin doesn’t ask why Humin’s here, and Humin doesn’t explain. Maybe they both know the answer already.
And maybe that’s all it takes.
Baekjin’s car is spotless. Cold leather. The faint smell of coffee and mint gum and something expensive Humin can’t name. The dashboard glows dim blue, throwing shadows on Baekjin’s face that make him look older. Or lonelier.
They don’t speak.
The city slides past them like a memory. Streetlights blur against rain-slicked windows. The wipers squeak every few seconds. Baekjin’s hands stay steady on the wheel, eyes fixed forward like if he blinks, the moment will disappear.
Besides, Humin doesn’t know why he got in.
Maybe he was waiting for this. Maybe he’s been walking in circles for weeks, waiting for Baekjin to offer something - anything. Maybe he just couldn’t take it anymore: the silence, the way Baekjin looks at him like he’s trying not to.
The car stops at a red light. The street is empty.
He leans over. His hand lands on Baekjin’s thigh like a question.
Baekjin doesn’t move. His breath becomes sharp and audible, but his eyes stay closed.
Not in pleasure. Not in relief. More like surrender. Like this is the only way he knows how to be touched.
Humin undoes Baekjin’s belt with his fingers.
It isn’t gentle. It’s not rough either. It just is - like a storm that already started before anyone noticed.
Wordless, messy, a little desperate. The air between them is humid with everything they’re not saying.
Outside, the street is empty. Inside, it’s suffocating. The windows begin to fog. The engine ticks softly in the silence, cooling after the short drive.
Baekjin tilts his head back against the headrest and lets his eyes flutter shut. His jaw clenches. His hands stay on the steering wheel like he’s trying to keep himself from falling apart. When he finishes, his exhale is a wound.
Humin wipes his mouth, slowly pulls his hoodie sleeve down over his hand.
“No attachment, alright?” Humin doesn’t look at Baekjin when he speaks.
Baekjin doesn’t flinch, casually nods once - small and careful. “Sure, if that’s what you want.”
And maybe Humin sees through the lie behind it. Maybe that’s why he doesn’t say anything else.
The silence between them feels too loud anyway.
Baekjin lets himself be used. Lets himself pretend he isn’t desperate for more. Because if this is all Humin can give, Baekjin will take it.
What Baekjin doesn’t know is that Humin glances at him, once, sideways - so brief it’s almost nothing. Like if Baekjin met his eyes, he’d see the lie for what it is.
Baekjin starts the car again with one hand, the other still trembling faintly on the wheel. Humin pulls his hoodie over his head like armour, staring out the window as if the blur of the city passing by might offer a distraction big enough to swallow the moment whole.
The ride to Humin’s place is short. It always is. But tonight, it feels long and strained, every red light a reminder of what neither of them can say.
When they reach the curb, Baekjin doesn’t put the car in park. He doesn’t look at Humin either. Just stares straight ahead, knuckles pale on the steering wheel.
Humin opens the door slowly. Pauses, one foot on the pavement. Then, without looking back, he mutters, “Thanks for the ride.”
Baekjin nods once. Doesn’t trust himself to speak.
The door shuts. Humin disappears into the night.
Baekjin stays there for a long time, engine running, hands still on the wheel.
He knows if he lets go, something in him might collapse.
───── ⋆ ꩜ ⋆ ─────
Sitting alone in the dark of his apartment, Baekjin realises he might be digging a hole for himself - a quiet place to bury all the things he’ll never say, all the love he’s never been allowed to claim. The joke is on him. Because he’s never been detached.
Not since they were kids. Not since Humin climbed into his life like he belonged there - bright, brash, brave.
Back when the world hadn’t gone to hell. Back when Humin still smiled brightly at him like he saw him.
Now, Humin barely smiles. And when he does, it’s always for someone else.
Baekjin wipes his face, irritated with himself. Disgusted by the way his chest aches, like something’s been carved out of it and left hollow. He picks up his phone again. Opens their chat, Humin’s last message is still glowing on the screen.
1:01 a.m: you okay?
Baekjin types, Of course and sends it.
Baekjin wipes his face, annoys at himself. Disgusts with the way his chest ached like something had been carved out of it and left empty.
He starts to write more - words that might finally crack the mask, let something real bleed through.
But every attempt fails miserably. He deletes them, one after another.
Something honest. Something sharp. But nothing sticks. Each sentence feels like a mistake before it even touches the screen.
Frustrated, he tosses the phone onto the bed. It lands with a soft thud, face down - like even the light off its screen is too much.
Instead, he opens his textbooks. Clicks into his laptop. Sinks into the comfort of maths - Because numbers don’t lie.
Numbers don’t pretend to want you one second and pull away the next.
Numbers stay where they are supposed to.
Unlike what Humin does.
───── ⋆ ꩜ ⋆ ─────
It becomes a rhythm. Not frequent. Not planned. Just something that happens, like nightfall. Like forgetting to lock the door.
Sometimes Humin calls. Sometimes he doesn’t. Sometimes Baekjin just finds Humin leaning against his car, arms crossed, hood pulled low. No words exchanged. No instructions needed.
Baekjin drives, and they pretend the destination matters.
Sometimes it ends in the back seat. Sometimes on the couch, on the polished floor of the entryway, against the glass of the window in Baekjin’s bedroom that looks out over a city neither of them feel part of.
The first time Humin comes up to the apartment, he doesn’t look around much. Just casually toes off his shoes and steps inside like it’s any other night. Baekjin’s voice is low: “It’s small, isn't it.”
Humin glances around - at the high ceilings, the sleek designer couch, the marble countertops that still smell faintly of new polish. “This is small?”
“Smaller than the house,” Baekjin says. But he doesn’t elaborate. Doesn’t mention how the silence in the mansion used to echo. How the space swallowed his footsteps and made every room feel like a memory.
The sex with Humin is never sweet or soft. They don’t kiss. They don’t look each other in the eye. It’s friction and escape and the ache of never quite touching what they actually want. And when it’s over, Humin leaves. Usually.
But then one night, he doesn’t.
He’s still in Baekjin’s bed, curled away from him, one arm thrown over his face like he’s shielding himself from something. The sheets are tangled around his waist. The window’s open. The curtains shift like they’re breathing.
Baekjin lies still, doesn’t dare to make a move. Outside, the sky is bruised purple. Inside, Humin sleeps like he hasn’t in years. And Baekjin watches him, every inch of him, like he’s memorising the shape of a dream he knows he’s not allowed to keep.
He thinks: You’re going to leave eventually.
He thinks: I’ll still wait for you.
He thinks: I’d let you destroy me if it meant you’d stay just a little longer.
Later, when Humin leaves - quietly, like a secret - he forgets his hoodie draped over the back of the chair.
Baekjin folds and places it neatly on the stair rail.
───── ⋆ ꩜ ⋆ ─────
After that, Humin starts staying longer.
He doesn’t say why. But sometimes he lingers in Baekjin’s kitchen after, eating leftovers from the fridge like he lives there. He plays with the laces of his sneakers at the foot of Baekjin’s bed. He leaves behind gum wrappers, stray coins, a toothbrush in the guest bathroom that neither of them acknowledges.
He starts texting. Late-night-nothing-messages.
12:18 a.m: yooo. still awake? i’m out here in your fancy-ass hallway turning into elsa. if i start singing "let it go" it’s on you.
12:19 a.m: let me innnnnn.
Baekjin never asks why he comes. Never asks what it means. He just lets him in.
And still - Humin never kisses him.
Sometimes Baekjin thinks he might be okay with that. He’d take the scraps. The half-version. He’d keep pretending it doesn’t matter that Humin never looks at him after. That he wipes his mouth like erasing something shameful.
Until one night, in the quiet lull of post-midnight, Humin sits on the end of the bed and says, “You ever think about the past?”
Baekjin’s throat closes. He manages a nod.
“Back before everything.”
Back when they were just two boys who played video games and split convenience store candy. Back before the bruises, the betrayals, the Union, the weight of wanting.
Baekjin says, “I think about it all the time.”
And Humin just… sighs. Like he’s too tired to answer honestly.
───── ⋆ ꩜ ⋆ ─────
One morning, Gotak leans against Humin’s locker and says, “Baku ah, you’ve been acting too weird lately.”
Humin blinks. “What do you mean? I’m like always weird.”
“Not like this.” Gotak folds his arms, eyeing him. “You’ve got that look. Like something’s wrong, but you won’t admit it. I didn't meet you yesterday, man.”
“I’m fine.”
“Sure. Real fine. Is the phone supposed to blink first or what?"
Humin shuts the locker a little too hard. “Drop it.”
Gotak lets him. Doesn’t push any further.
But later, when Humin glances at his phone again - nothing from Baekjin - he wonders if he’s starting to become the one waiting.
───── ⋆ ꩜ ⋆ ─────
Baekjin keeps it together on the surface. His test scores are still at the top. His name’s called at prestigious competitions, featured in articles, praised in committee meetings like he’s already destined for something higher.
He nods. Smiles. Nails the part. But his fingers tremble when he’s alone.
He eats less. He sleeps worse. He lies awake staring at the light under the bathroom door, waiting to hear Humin’s footsteps, even when he knows they aren’t coming.
He dreams in half-memories. Wakes up with a name on his tongue and no one beside him.
There’s no one to talk to. No one who’d understand.
He lets the silence devour him slowly.
It’s a Wednesday. Or maybe a Thursday. Baekjin doesn’t know anymore.
Time’s been blurring lately, the weight of expectation pressing into his spine like a dull knife. He solves equations like a machine. Answers questions before they’re asked. People congratulate him like he’s invincible.
He hears about the date from someone else.
A girl in his class - one of those who never really looks at him, not properly - mentions Humin in passing, her voice light, careless. Laughing. “I think he’s seeing someone? Or trying to. They had dinner at that barbecue place near the station.”
She doesn’t know. No one does. To her, Humin is just another name. Another boy who smiles and flirts if he’s bored enough. Nothing special. Nothing worth watching for closely.
Baekjin doesn’t flinch. He’s good at that.
He smiles, just the right amount. A twitch of his mouth, rehearsed. Polite. He tilts his head a little, lets out a hum of acknowledgement like it’s barely worth noting. Distant, like her words are travelling through glass to reach him. He nods, eyes flicking back to the textbook in front of him.
Says nothing. Not because he has nothing to say - but because if he opens his mouth, he’s not sure what might come out.
A laugh too sharp. A question too desperate.
Or worse: nothing at all.
He scribbles something in his notes that doesn’t matter. Doesn’t look up again.
He doesn’t let himself think about the thought of Humin laughing with someone else. Or how long it’s been since he last called.
The ache crawls up from somewhere behind his ribs and settles in his throat. But he swallows it, like always.
Because no one is supposed to know.
Because this - whatever this is - was never his to mourn in public.
He walks out of the classroom and doesn’t remember how he gets home.
───── ⋆ ꩜ ⋆ ─────
The cigarette trembles just slightly between his fingers. Baekjin lights it like it’s routine, like his heart isn’t clawing at his ribcage.
He doesn’t smoke often - not anymore. But tonight, the silence in his chest is too loud.
He stands on the balcony of the apartment; whole body lends strength from the railing just to stand still; the sky is dark, no stars visible. Smoke drifts from his mouth in thin, deliberate curls.
Humin went on a date. Just dinner, someone had said. Just a night out.
But Baekjin knows how Humin smiles when he’s nervous, how he fidgets with his drink, how he leans forward without noticing when he wants to be liked.
He imagines someone else seeing that.
He closes his eyes. Inhales deeply. The smoke burns.
All the restraint in him is paper-thin. All the pretending, the silence, the nodding along to “no attachment” - he can’t keep swallowing it down.
The cigarette hisses as he grinds it into the step. He’s going to say something. This time, he’s not going to hold back.
───── ⋆ ꩜ ⋆ ─────
Baekjin’s waiting in the car when Humin slides into the passenger seat like nothing’s changed. Like he didn’t offer someone else the kind of time they’ve never named between them.
They drive in silence. The tension is thick enough to chew. Baekjin’s knuckles whiten on the wheel. Humin’s leg bounces restlessly, a habit Baekjin used to find endearing. Now it feels like percussion against a funeral drum.
When they reach the apartment, Humin moves first - like always - his fingers curling around Baekjin’s wrist with too much certainty. He backs him against the inside of the door, breath hot against his neck, hurried, hungry, like this is the only language he knows how to speak anymore.
Baekjin doesn’t close his eyes this time.
He keeps them wide open, staring past Humin’s shoulder at the wall. At the framed print that’s slightly crooked. At nothing, really.
He stays rigid, spine straight, body compliant but not yielding.
Humin doesn’t notice.
Or maybe he does, and pretends not to.
After, they lie side by side, still not touching. Not even close enough to pretend.
The distance isn’t physical - it’s something quieter. Meaner.
And Baekjin thinks, not for the first time, that maybe this is what it means to be wanted, but not seen.
He shifts slightly, turns his head away - and Humin’s voice cuts through the quiet atmosphere. "You smoked?”
Baekjin doesn’t respond at first.
Humin turns his head, eyes narrowing. “People only do that when they're trying not to crash out.”
Baekjin laughs - low and bitter. “Guess I ran out of other options.”
The air sharpens with something unsaid, the scent of smoke lingering like proof between them. Humin doesn’t press. Maybe he doesn’t want the answer. Maybe he already knows.
Baekjin speaks instead. “So, did that girl treat you like a real boyfriend? Or just another charity case?”
Humin stiffens beside him; his head turns slowly on the pillow, eyes narrowing. “What the hell man?”
“What? It’s a fair question. Thought maybe someone else would finally get the part of you I never could.”
There’s a beat of silence. Then Humin sits up, the sheets rustling around him.
“You don’t get to say that,” he snaps, voice low but trembling. “You said nothing. You let this happen. Don’t act like you were helpless.”
Baekjin turns away, eyes on the ceiling like it might offer him mercy.
“I was trying to survive it,” he says quietly. “You came into my life like a fire, and I just… stood there. I let it burn.”
“So what? You never even tried to stop me.” Humin’s voice isn’t angry anymore. Just tired.
“Maybe I thought if I stayed quiet,” Baekjin says, “you’d stay.”
“I think I’ve been in love with you since we were kids, maybe you knew it. ” Baekjin blurts, too loud, too raw. The words come out before he can stop them - truth, sharp and aching.
Baekjin is breathing hard now, trembling all over, the dam finally split wide open. When he speaks again, his voice is barely holding: “You think I wanted any of this to be casual?”
“You said "no attachment", and I said nothing. Because I thought…” A pause, a swallow. “I thought scraps of you were better than nothing at all.”
The words hang heavy between them, raw and burning.
Humin is frozen. Like the wind’s been knocked out of him. His face shifts - guilt flickering across it, chased quickly by something softer, sadder. Grief, maybe. Or regret.
“I didn’t know,” he says at last. Quiet. Wounded. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
Baekjin looks at him like he’s seeing him for the first time. Or maybe for the last.
Not anger. Not pain. Just empty.
“Then maybe,” he says, calmly, “you shouldn’t have come back.”
Baekjin doesn’t yell at Humin. Doesn’t cry either. He just turns, slow and sure, stepping out of the room like he’s finally done bleeding.
He grabs his keys on the way out, hands trembling just enough to fumble the lock. The apartment door clicks shut behind him like an echo, like a line being drawn. He doesn't have a destination, not really. Just the hum of the engine and the dull flicker of streetlights as they streak past. The city feels too loud, the air too thick, and his chest - his chest is a weight he can't shake off. He drives because it's the only thing left to do, the only action that might pull him away from this ache, even if only for a moment.
The Han River appears in front of him like a quiet answer to a question he hasn't yet asked. He parks near the water, engine ticking as it cools, and just sits on one of the chairs. His phone buzzes in his pocket, but he doesn’t reach for it.
Maybe he should. Maybe it’s Humin. Maybe it's someone else. But Baekjin already knows what it will say.
He exhales slowly, like he’s been holding his breath since the moment Humin walked away. The last time he felt this empty, the world was simpler - back when they were kids, back when Humin would lean on him, reckless and bright, and Baekjin would let himself believe that maybe, just maybe, that could be enough.
But it wasn’t enough. And maybe it never was.
The silence feels different here. There's no pressure. No expectations.
He’s always been good at pretending - pretending it didn’t hurt when Humin pulled away, pretending he could settle for scraps, pretending it wasn’t more than he could handle. But there’s no pretending now. Not with the river in front of him. Not with the hollow feeling that is currently in his chest.
The river doesn’t care about his brokenness, doesn’t care that his words are trapped behind his teeth, doesn’t care that he still can’t stop hoping - hoping that someday, Humin will be the one to stay.
But the river will always stay. Its currents are steady, unchanging. No matter how much time passes, it’s always there. Always moving. Always waiting.
And Baekjin waits too, because maybe, just maybe, it’ll be enough. Maybe one day, Humin will stop running. And maybe that day, Baekjin won’t have to pretend anymore.
By the time he drives back, dawn is starting to crack open the sky.
The apartment is quiet when he steps inside. A bit too quiet.
He knows it before he even sets down the keys. Humin is gone.
No note. No message. Just air that still smells like him - faint cologne, sleep-warm skin, something familiar and impossible to hold.
The air tastes sour.