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Scene One: The Routine of Being Ignored
The morning light filtered weakly through the kitchen window, casting a pale gold glow over the countertop. Seungkwan stood in front of the stove, humming softly to himself as he flipped the last pancake onto a plate. It was a little thing—breakfast—but it mattered. It was how he showed love. Acts of service. Quiet care.
He set the plate down on the table, pouring syrup in a slow, practiced spiral, then reached for the mug he’d already filled. Vernon’s favorite. Black coffee, just the way he liked it.
“Morning,” Seungkwan said, trying to sound light.
Vernon looked up from his phone, still tapping something out. “Thanks,” he muttered, grabbing the mug. His eyes barely lifted before he turned and disappeared down the hall to his studio room.
Seungkwan stood there for a beat too long, holding an empty plate in his hands.
He followed, lingering in the hallway.
“So… what are you working on today?” he asked, leaning against the doorframe.
Vernon didn’t turn around. His back was to him, hunched over his desk. “Mixing the demo I told you about.”
“Oh, right.” Seungkwan paused. “Need anything? Snacks? I could bring you lunch later.”
A beat of silence. Then: “I’m good.”
Seungkwan tried to laugh, light and easy, like this wasn’t the same conversation they had every day. Like it didn’t hurt the same every time.
“Okay,” he said. “I’ll just… be out here, then.”
Vernon didn’t respond. The door clicked shut behind him with a soft, final sound.
Seungkwan stood in the empty hallway, alone with his thoughts.
He stared at the door for a long moment, eyes lingering on the chipped paint near the handle. It was so quiet. No thank you, no conversation. Just the echo of a love that felt increasingly one-sided.
“I miss you,” he whispered, barely audible. His words floated to the closed door and went nowhere.
Scene Two: Another Failed Attempt
Seungkwan checked the time on his phone for the fifth time in ten minutes.
The building was unfamiliar, tucked in a quiet side street, the kind of space creatives booked last-minute for pop-up events or low-key industry showcases. He had taken two buses and walked six blocks with a box of Vernon’s favorite pastries carefully balanced in one hand.
He wasn’t invited. Vernon hadn’t mentioned it at all, actually—but Seungkwan heard about it through Dino, in passing. “He’s showing a couple new tracks tomorrow,” Dino had said, “might be a good vibe-check.”
So here he was, wearing Vernon’s old hoodie and a hopeful smile.
Inside, the space buzzed with quiet energy—industry people, other producers, friends of friends. Vernon stood near the back, headphones slung around his neck, nodding at something someone was saying.
Seungkwan’s heart jumped a little at the sight of him. God, he looked tired. He looked good.
He walked up slowly, careful not to interrupt too suddenly. “Hey.”
Vernon turned. His face fell the second he saw him.
“Seungkwan?”
“I brought you something.” He lifted the box. “Your favorite from that place by the station.”
Vernon glanced around quickly, voice lowered. “What are you doing here?”
Seungkwan blinked. “I—I just thought I’d come support you. I heard about it from Dino.”
“You can’t just show up,” Vernon muttered, pulling him a little to the side. “I’m working. There are people here.”
Seungkwan’s smile didn’t fully fade, but something in his eyes dimmed. “I know. I wasn’t trying to distract you. I just wanted to—be here. For you.”
Vernon sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “I appreciate it, but next time, maybe ask first.”
Seungkwan nodded slowly. “Right. Of course.”
He handed over the box anyway, even though he knew Vernon probably wouldn’t open it until later. If at all.
“Good luck,” he said quietly. “Hope it goes well.”
And then he turned and walked out, the warmth bleeding from his cheeks the moment the cold air hit him.
“I came all this way but it still doesn’t matter”
Scene Three: The Last Straw
The apartment smelled like lavender and something sweet—vanilla, maybe. Seungkwan had lit three candles, dimmed the lights, and queued up Vernon’s favorite movie on the TV. It was one of the rare nights Vernon didn’t have a schedule, or at least none he had mentioned. Seungkwan had checked twice.
The couch had a blanket already laid out, snacks on the coffee table, and a second mug of hot chocolate—this one with the marshmallows Vernon always said were “too sweet,” but always ended up finishing anyway.
Seungkwan checked his phone. 9:12 PM.
He curled up on the edge of the couch, heart thudding softly against his ribs. He could still fix this, right? Things had been off, yes, but it wasn’t too late. It couldn’t be.
The door finally opened at 9:47. Vernon walked in, keys jangling, a tired look on his face.
“Oh,” he said, stopping in the entryway. “What’s all this?”
Seungkwan stood quickly, brushing invisible lint off his pajama pants. “I thought we could have a movie night. You’re finally free tonight, and I figured… it’s been a while.”
Vernon didn’t move from the door.
“I just got back from the studio,” he said, voice flat. “I’m exhausted, Seungkwan.”
“I know, but—just a little bit of time together? We haven’t—”
“I don’t have the energy for this,” Vernon cut in. “God, Seungkwan-ah, have you always been this clingy!”
The silence that followed was instant and cold.
Seungkwan didn’t flinch, didn’t cry. He just… stopped moving.
Something inside him quieted.
“Right,” he said, nodding once. “Okay.”
He turned away, blew out one of the candles. His hands were steady, too steady.
Vernon stood in place, still by the door, not saying a word.
Seungkwan moved through the apartment calmly, gathering a hoodie, his phone charger, and a small overnight bag he hadn’t used in months. He didn’t slam any doors. He didn’t yell.
When he passed Vernon, he didn’t even look at him.
The front door clicked shut behind him with the same finality as every unanswered message.
Scene Four: Safe Haven
The door swung open after the third knock, revealing Jeonghan in pajama pants and a face mask halfway peeled off. His expression dropped instantly.
“Seungkwan?” His voice softened. “What happened?”
Seungkwan didn’t say anything. He just looked at him—eyes glassy, mouth tight—and Jeonghan understood.
Without another word, Jeonghan pulled him into a hug, one hand coming up to cradle the back of his head like he was something fragile.
Inside, the apartment was dim and warm, scattered with plush blankets and unfinished tea mugs. Seungkwan sat down on the couch without being asked.
“I brought you some of that honey ginger tea you like,” Jeonghan said, already moving toward the kitchen. “You okay staying here tonight?”
Seungkwan nodded once.
A door creaked open from the hallway. Seungcheol appeared, hair messy from sleep, shirt wrinkled. He looked between them, blinking.
“What happened?”
“Vernon,” Jeonghan said simply.
Seungcheol sighed and rubbed a hand down his face. He came over and sat beside Seungkwan, not touching him, just being close.
“You wanna talk, or you want to just sit?” he asked.
Seungkwan blinked hard. “I don’t know.”
“That’s okay,” Seungcheol said. “You don’t have to figure it out right now.”
Later, when the tea was gone and Seungkwan had finally told the story—each word a little harder than the last—Seungcheol looked at him with that older-brother weight in his eyes.
“Sometimes people don’t realize what they’re doing until the thing they love is gone,” he said. “You gave him so many chances. It’s okay to stop chasing.”
There was a knock at the door then, sharp and familiar.
Jeonghan opened it to find Soonyoung, hair still wet from a shower, holding two bags of food.
“Someone said comfort food emergency,” Soonyoung announced, stepping in without invitation. “And I bring rice cakes, dumplings, and questionable decisions.”
Behind him, Jihoon followed, more subdued. “I came to supervise the questionable decisions.”
Seungkwan blinked at them, stunned.
“How did you even know I was here?”
“Group chat,” Soonyoung said, like it was obvious. “Jeonghan typed in all caps.”
“I just said ‘SEUNGKWAN’S HERE AND I’M GONNA FIGHT VERNON.’”
Seungcheol sighed into his hands. “You guys aren’t subtle.”
Jihoon handed Seungkwan a dumpling. “You don’t need him to come to his senses. You need to decide what you deserve.”
Seungkwan chewed slowly, warmth settling into his chest for the first time in days.
Soonyoung plopped onto the couch beside Seungkwan with a dramatic sigh.
“So… is it Boyfriend Trouble Hour, or Full-On Heartbreak Emergency?”
“Somewhere in between,” Seungkwan muttered.
Jihoon appeared with a mug of tea, holding out a second one wordlessly. Soonyoung took it without looking, already reaching for the blanket at the end of the couch.
“Thanks, Hoonie,” he said casually, like it was the hundredth time they’d done this.
Jihoon didn’t respond—just sat on the arm of the couch next to him, legs barely brushing.
Seungkwan glanced at them, narrowing his eyes slightly. “You two…?”
“What? No.” Soonyoung grinned too quickly.
Jihoon sipped his tea. “Just drink your chamomile, Seungkwan.”
The living room had turned into an impromptu safe haven. Plates of food were spread across the coffee table. The TV played some old drama no one was watching. Seungkwan sat curled into the corner of the couch with a pillow hugged to his chest, flanked by Jeonghan and Jihoon. Soonyoung was cross-legged on the floor, leaning against Seungcheol’s legs, still enthusiastically working through a bag of tteokbokki.
Jeonghan kept a hand resting lightly on Seungkwan’s shoulder, grounding. Protective. He looked like he was still simmering with rage, like if Vernon walked in right now, he’d throw hands.
“I swear to god,” Jeonghan muttered, “if he says one more thing like that to you, I will show up at his studio and make a scene.”
“You say that like you haven’t already,” Jihoon said dryly, sipping from his tea. “Remember that time you almost fought a trainee because they called Seungkwan ‘dramatic’?”
“They weren’t wrong,” Soonyoung said through a mouthful of food. “But still—loyalty.”
Seungkwan smiled faintly. It hurt, but he appreciated the chaos. The normalcy of it. The safety.
“You don’t have to laugh just to feel okay,” Seungcheol said suddenly. His voice was calm, but heavy in that way that made everyone go quiet. “You don’t have to perform being fine for us.”
Seungkwan’s smile faded, and his eyes flicked down to the tea in his hands. “I don’t know how not to,” he admitted, voice small. “I kept thinking—if I was just a little bit more patient, a little quieter, a little easier to be around…”
“That’s not love,” Jihoon cut in. “That’s shrinking yourself to fit inside someone else’s silence.”
There was a beat of silence after that.
“Okay,” Soonyoung said suddenly, standing up. “This is getting way too intense for me, and I refuse to sit in my feelings without at least a foot mask.”
He walked to the bathroom, calling over his shoulder, “Emergency spa night activated. No one’s allowed to cry unless it’s under a cucumber eye patch!”
Jeonghan smiled softly. “You know he’s right, though.”
“About the spa night?”
“No.” Jeonghan squeezed Seungkwan’s shoulder. “About not letting this version of you disappear just because someone else stopped looking.”
Seungcheol leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “What do you want to do, Seungkwan? Not about Vernon. About you.”
“I don’t know,” Seungkwan whispered. “I think… I want to stop waiting for him to notice me.”
“Then stop,” Jihoon said simply.
And just like that, it wasn’t about Vernon anymore—it was about Seungkwan finding his own space, in a living room full of people who already saw him.
Later that night while Jeonghan had taken Seungkwan into the bedroom to talk privately, out in the living room Jihoon was half-asleep against Soonyoung’s shoulder.
“You’re gonna get a crick in your neck,” Soonyoung murmured, barely audible.
Jihoon didn’t move. “You’re warm.”
Soonyoung smiled into his tea and said nothing.
Scene Five: Healing
The apartment wasn’t just a place to crash anymore—it became a sanctuary.
The next few days passed with no mention of Vernon. The group didn’t ignore the elephant in the room—they just refused to let it define Seungkwan’s presence. They let him be loud, quiet, tearful, exhausted, or goofy, without judgment.
In the mornings, Soonyoung dragged him into a morning stretch routine, claiming “oxygen to the brain cures heartbreak.” He slipped on a yoga mat, nearly faceplanted, and had Seungkwan laughing so hard he forgot how hollow he’d felt waking up.
In the afternoons, Jihoon roped him into helping rearrange his side-project workspace. They didn’t talk much, but it was comforting—quiet music, occasional mutters about cables, and the sound of someone trusting him enough to share space.
In the evenings, Seungcheol made dinner, and Jeonghan brought out wine. They sat around the table like a small, oddly functional family. Seungkwan didn’t say much, but no one rushed him. Every time he laughed or leaned into someone’s shoulder, it was met with a smile. No pressure. No pretending.
One night, as they sat bundled on the couch watching old music show performances, Jeonghan passed Seungkwan a mug of hot chocolate.
“You’re starting to sound like yourself again,” Jeonghan said softly.
Seungkwan held the mug tight. “I didn’t realize how long I’d been fading.”
Scene Six: Jeonghan Calls Vernon Out
Vernon texted. Then called. Then called again.
Eventually, Jeonghan picked up.
“Seungkwan’s fine,” he said flatly. “More than I can say for you.”
Vernon sounded tired, frayed around the edges. “Can I talk to him?”
“No.”
There was a pause. “I just… I didn’t know he felt that way.”
“You didn’t want to know,” Jeonghan snapped. “He begged for your attention in a hundred different ways. You treated him like background noise. I watched him tear himself down every time you brushed him off.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“But you did it anyway,” Jeonghan said. “That’s the part that matters.”
Silence stretched between them.
Then Jeonghan’s voice softened, just a little. “I don’t think you’re a bad person. But you got used to Seungkwan being there for you, and never once asked if he had anything left to give. You need to think about why that was okay with you.”
And he hung up.
Scene Seven: Reflection
Back at their shared apartment, Vernon sat on the edge of the bed, the silence deafening.
The plants Seungkwan cared for had started to wilt. His slippers were still tucked neatly under the couch. A box of his favorite tea sat unopened on the counter.
In the stillness, Vernon realized—Seungkwan hadn’t been loud. He had been visible. Present. Alive. And Vernon had ignored that light until it left the room entirely.
And now, all he could do was sit in the dark and wonder how to get it back.
Scene Eight: The Silence
The apartment wasn’t just quiet—it was soulless.
No more humming while cleaning, no more random singing at 2am, no more Seungkwan yelling “eat something that isn’t ramen!” from the kitchen.
Just the dull, mechanical hum of studio equipment Vernon couldn’t bring himself to turn on.
He tried. He sat in front of the mic, opened a project, layered a track. But it was lifeless.
Because Seungkwan wasn’t here to barge in and say, “You always overthink the bridge.”
He wasn’t here to roll his eyes, sit backwards in the desk chair, and stay until Vernon forgot the pressure.
Now, the silence wasn’t peace. It was punishment.
Scene Nine: Visitor
A knock at the door. Vernon opened it, surprised to find Jihoon standing there with a bag for Seungkwan’s things.
“Jeonghan said he’d forget them if I didn’t bring them,” Jihoon said flatly, brushing past him and went straight to the bedroom shoving things, that looked like they could only belong to Seungkwan, into the bag.
Vernon stood at the door awkwardly. “You want a drink or something?”
“No. Just water.”
In the kitchen, the silence returned. Jihoon watched Vernon fumble with the glasses, then finally spoke:
“You didn’t see it.”
Vernon blinked. “See what?”
“Seungkwan’s light dimming,” Jihoon said. “I saw it every time he visited the studio. Every time he asked me if he was being too needy. Every time he left without saying goodbye.”
Vernon’s hands tightened around the glass.
“I didn’t mean to—”
“I know,” Jihoon cut in, his voice cool but not cruel. “That’s the problem. You didn’t mean to. You didn’t notice. You thought he’d always be waiting.”
Vernon couldn’t look at him.
Jihoon sighed, setting the glass down. “You don’t fix this by apologizing once and crying. You fix it by changing.”
Vernon’s voice cracked. “Do you think he still loves me?”
Jihoon tilted his head. “That’s not the question you should be asking.”
“What should I ask?”
“Can I love him better than I did before?” Jihoon said simply. “If the answer’s yes—prove it.”
He picked up his coat and walked to the door. “Because he deserves someone who sees him, not someone who only misses him when he’s gone.”
The door clicked shut behind him, and Vernon stood in the wreckage of what he’d let fall apart.
Scene Ten: Change
Vernon doesn’t go straight to Jeonghan’s.
He starts by changing his habits—shutting off the studio by a set hour, making real food instead of skipping meals, checking in with himself emotionally for once.
It’s clumsy. It’s awkward. It’s quiet.
He walks past Seungkwan’s favorite bakery and goes in anyway. Orders the wrong thing. Orders Seungkwan’s usual. Leaves it on the bench outside and sits beside it for an hour. Doesn’t post about it. Doesn’t text. Just feels it.
He listens to the voice memos Seungkwan used to leave him. All the soft little “you got this,” and “you sounded really good today.”
He starts journaling. Feels weird. Does it anyway.
When Jeonghan texts, “He’s still hurting. You need to be ready for that,” Vernon replies, “I know. I’m hurting too. But I want to be better—even if he never comes back.”
Scene Eleven: Healing
At Jeonghan’s, things are different.
Seungkwan starts cooking again—not for anyone else, just for himself. Jeonghan insists on morning walks. Hoshi blasts music and dances terribly in the living room until Seungkwan joins in. Scoups makes hot chocolate without asking when he senses Seungkwan getting quiet.
They don’t tiptoe around his sadness. They hold it with him.
One night, while folding laundry, Seungkwan looks up at Jeonghan.
“Did I expect too much?”
“No,” Jeonghan says. “You expected love to look like care. That’s not too much.”
Seungkwan tears up. “But maybe I wasn’t patient enough—”
Scoups, sitting in the doorway, interrupts: “Stop that. Don’t excuse someone not showing up just because they said they loved you.”
Seungkwan blinks.
“You showed up. Every day. In a hundred ways. If he wants you back, he has to match that. And if he can’t… you’ll be okay. Because look at you—you’re still here.”
Scene Twelve: Missed Opportunity
Vernon stood at the door of Jeonghan’s apartment for a long moment, fingers hovering over the doorknob before he finally knocked. When Jihoon answered, there was no judgment in his gaze, just a quiet expectation.
“You’re late,” Jihoon said plainly, but his voice didn’t hold any malice—just truth.
Vernon hesitated, trying to find his footing. “I… didn’t realize there was a schedule.”
Jihoon didn’t respond right away, just stepped aside to let him in. “There isn’t. That’s the problem.”
Vernon didn’t know how to respond to that. He swallowed, pushing past the wave of guilt crawling up his throat. “Is Seungkwan here?”
“Asleep,” Jihoon said simply, then, as if noticing something, added: “Jeonghan told him not to wait up.”
From the living room, Soonyoung looked up from his phone, his gaze piercing for a moment. “He’s hurting, you know.”
Vernon felt a pang in his chest. “I know.”
“Does it matter if you know if you aren’t doing anything about it?” Jihoon added.
Vernon’s throat tightened.
Soonyoung shifted, getting up from the couch and walking over to Vernon. “The thing is, Seungkwan’s not some side project to come back to when it’s convenient. You don’t get to be busy and then just expect him to always wait.”
Jihoon’s eyes were soft but steady. “It’s not about apologies. It’s about noticing. Really noticing him.”
Vernon felt the weight of their words sink in, but there was still a sharp edge of guilt behind his every breath.
“I didn’t mean to—” he started, but stopped. The words felt empty, hollow.
Jihoon gave him a look—like he understood. He didn’t say anything more, but it was the unspoken understanding that made Vernon’s insides twist.
“You’re going to have to do more than say sorry,” Soonyoung finally murmured. “But I think you might already know that.”
Scene Thirteen: A Possible Second Chance
It’s raining when Vernon finally shows up again—hood soaked, breath shallow. Jeonghan lets him in with a warning glare.
Seungkwan meets him in the hallway.
They stare at each other for a long time.
Vernon speaks first. “I didn’t come here to beg. I came here to tell you I was wrong. About everything. I thought giving you space would make me better—but I realized I should’ve been with you from the start.”
Seungkwan crosses his arms. “And now you want me back.”
“I want to earn you back,” Vernon says. “If that takes time—if it never happens—I’ll understand. But I want to try.”
The silence between them is heavy. But it’s not cold.
Finally, Seungkwan says, “I’m not the same person who left your apartment.”
Vernon’s eyes shine. “I know. And I want to meet this version of you, too.”
Scene Fourteen: The Bridge Between
It’s late. Jeonghan and Seungcheol have gone to bed. Soonyoung and Jihoon have gone back to their apartment for the night. The apartment is quiet, lit only by a string of soft lights above the kitchen.
Seungkwan finds Vernon standing by the window, watching the rain.
“You always liked the rain,” Seungkwan says, voice gentle but unsure.
Vernon turns. “I like it more now. It makes me slow down.”
They sit on the couch, two mugs of tea between them. Silence stretches—familiar, but no longer uncomfortable.
“I’ve been thinking,” Vernon starts, “about how you used to wait for me to notice you. And how I kept asking you to be quiet… when all I ever wanted was for you to stay.”
Seungkwan stares down at his mug. “I felt like I was disappearing in our relationship.”
Vernon swallows hard. “I think I made it a habit to take love for granted. Especially yours.”
Seungkwan sighs, not sad but exhausted. “I didn’t leave to make you miss me. I left because I was missing me.”
That hits Vernon like a wave.
“I see that now,” he says. “You gave me so much, and I just… took. Not because I didn’t care, but because I thought I had time. Thought you’d always be there waiting.”
He shifts, searching Seungkwan’s face. “But I don’t want to be someone you have to wait for. I want to catch up. Be beside you.”
Seungkwan’s eyes glisten. He doesn’t move closer, but his voice softens. “You have to understand… I’m scared. I’m scared of going back and ending up right where we were.”
Vernon nods. “Then don’t go back. Let’s start from here.”
A pause. Then:
“Can we take it slow?” Seungkwan asks, tentative but hopeful.
“Slow, careful, honest,” Vernon promises. “Whatever you need.”
They don’t kiss. Not yet. But their hands find each other, fingers interlacing—not tightly, but enough to say this isn’t the end.
Scene Fifteen: Three Months Later
The apartment is different now. Brighter, somehow. Not because of the decor—but because the silence isn’t heavy anymore. It’s peaceful. Comfortable. Shared.
Vernon wakes up to the sound of a kettle boiling and soft humming from the kitchen.
He walks out, still groggy, and sees Seungkwan wearing his old hoodie, barefoot, flipping pancakes.
“Morning,” Seungkwan says, smiling—small but real.
“Morning,” Vernon echoes, stepping closer. He doesn’t reach out. He waits.
Seungkwan places a plate in front of him, then leans against the counter. “I still like doing this, you know. Making breakfast.”
“I still like waking up to it,” Vernon replies, voice softer than the steam curling from his cup.
They sit at the table. No rush. No pressure. Just quiet conversation, and the occasional shared glance that says we made it through.
Later that day, they walk to the bookstore. Seungkwan drags Vernon to the poetry section; Vernon pulls Seungkwan to the music memoirs. Their fingers brush. Sometimes they hold hands. Sometimes they don’t.
And that’s the thing—it’s not perfect. But it’s honest. Mutual. Steady.
They’re not what they used to be.
They’re better.
Scene Sixteen: Bonus
It’s movie night at Jeonghan and Seungcheol’s apartment.
Soonyoung is curled up on the floor with a blanket and way too much popcorn. Jihoon is already regretting showing up. Seungcheol is trying to fix the speaker system that Jeonghan insists is just fine, and Jeonghan is yelling instructions from the kitchen like he’s running a restaurant.
Then the door opens.
Seungkwan walks in first, smiling a little. Vernon follows behind him, not clinging, just present. A step back—but always watching.
The room falls silent for half a second.
Then Soonyoung gasps. Loudly. “You’re back together?!”
“We’re… figuring it out,” Seungkwan says quickly, cheeks pink.
Vernon nods, offering a soft smile. “One day at a time.”
Jihoon raises an eyebrow. “So you finally pulled your head out of your ass.”
Vernon just shrugs. “Working on it.”
Jeonghan walks over, hugs Seungkwan tight, then smacks Vernon on the shoulder—not hard, but not soft either. “If you mess this up again, I’m stealing him and moving to the countryside.”
“Duly noted,” Vernon says, rubbing his arm.
Scoups claps once. “Okay, emotional moment over. Everyone sit down. I fixed the sound.”
“You didn’t fix anything!” Jeonghan shouts.
They all pile onto the couch and floor, snacks everywhere. Seungkwan ends up with his head on Vernon’s shoulder. Soonyoung rests his feet in Jihoon’s lap until Jihoon throws them off.
It’s loud. Warm. A little chaotic.
And for the first time in a long time, Seungkwan feels like he’s exactly where he’s supposed to be.