Chapter Text
It was late autumn, the kind of season when the sky forgot it had ever been blue. The sun rose pale and reluctant, leaking through the thin curtains of Yeon Sieun’s room like an afterthought. Cold air clung to his bones before he even left the bed, but he didn’t shiver. He never did.
He lay still, staring at the ceiling as though waiting for a reason to move, then remembered he didn’t need one. Habit would move him. Habit always did.
With midterms closing in, Sieun buried himself in study. That morning he arrived at school far too early for classes, slipping into the empty classroom where the silence felt solid, grounding. Hours passed quietly until the door opened.
“Hey, Sieun,” Juntae’s voice broke the stillness.
A brief glance up, a nod, and Sieun was back to his notes. Juntae slid into the seat beside him.
Then came the storm.
“Yah! Sieun-ah!” Baku’s voice ricocheted off the walls, loud, energetic, and relentlessly irritating. “Midterms are coming! My father said he’ll kick me out if I fail!”
Beside him, Gotak looked half-dead with boredom.
Sieun’s face didn’t move. “So?”
“You have to tutor me. And Gotak too, he’ll fail as well.”
“Shut up, idiot,” Gotak grunted, looking mildly offended.
Juntae stepped in, peacemaker as always. “Sieunie, I also need help. Let’s just group study, yeah?”
Sieun exhaled through his nose. “Tomorrow. Afternoon. Local library. Bring your notes.”
Baku cheered like he’d won gold at the Olympics. Gotak pretended he didn’t care.
After school came cram class, and then late-night studying until the clock clawed past 1 a.m. Sleep didn’t come naturally to Sieun. When it did, nightmares ripped him awake.
It had been a year since he’d last seen Suho. The memory burned, his knuckles raw, breath ragged, blood that wasn’t his own on his shirt. Suho unconscious in the hospital bed. His own voice, breaking on the word “sorry.” He’d never gone back. Yeongi had tried to reason with him. He hadn’t listened.
Beomseok? Gone. And maybe Sieun had stopped looking because finding him would mean facing the fact that he’d failed them both.
By 5 a.m., he gave up on sleep entirely. Another early morning. Another day.
After classes, he and Juntae headed for the library. Baku and Gotak lagged behind for snacks, claiming they needed food to focus. Sieun didn’t argue. Juntae was busy talking about a manga he was obsessed with, voice bright, hands animated. Sieun didn’t really follow, but he let him talk.
At a turn in the road, Juntae spun around to face him while walking backwards, mid-sentence about the climax, only to collide with someone.
The man didn’t budge. Older. Taller. Broad shoulders under a worn leather jacket. His glare was sharp enough to cut glass.
“What the hell, kid?” The stranger’s voice was low and edged. His hand clamped onto Juntae’s collar. And raised a hand to punch him.
Sieun stepped forward, hands still in his coat pockets. Calm. Measured. His eyes locked on the man.
“Let him go.”
The man barely spared him a glance. “Mind your business.”
“He is my business.”
A smirk. “And what are you gonna do about it?”
Sieun dropped his bag. The sound was soft, but in the heavy air it landed like a warning.
What followed happened too fast for Juntae to process, Sieun’s hand snapping to the man’s wrist, twisting it until he let go. A step forward, an elbow to the ribs, a pivot, a precise strike to the knee. The man grunted, staggered, then swung wildly.
Sieun moved like water, slipping under the punch, a brutal kick into the ribs, the impact echoing on the pavement. The man hit the ground hard.
“You should walk away,” Sieun said, voice flat, eyes unreadable. “Before I stop holding back.”
Something in that tone cut deeper than any blow. The man scrambled up and disappeared down the street.
Juntae stared, still gripping the strap of his bag. “What… was that?”
Sieun slung his bag over his shoulder. “You talk too much when you walk.” He started forward.
Juntae was about to follow when movement caught his eye, a man across the street, glasses reflecting the dull light, a cigarette smoldering between his fingers. Watching them. Not casually. Not idly.
Interest.
Juntae blinked, and when he looked again, the man was still there.
He shook his head, pushed the thought aside, and caught up to Sieun.
Notes:
Thoughts?
So... Sieun doesn't see Suho daily. He feels guilty and thinks he doesn't deserve suho. so he stopped visiting. Yeongi stayed (she never confronted beomseok)
Chapter Text
The library’s main hall was almost too still. Rows of wooden tables stretched under the low hum of ceiling fans, the scent of paper and dust hanging in the air like a thin film. Afternoon light slanted through tall windows, striping the floor in gold.
Sieun claimed a desk by the window and dropped his bag onto it with a dull thud. He sat without a word. Across from him, Juntae unpacked his books and a pen case that rattled faintly when it opened.
They settled into an easy rhythm. question, answer, scribble, silence. It lasted nearly an hour before the peace broke.
Baku arrived first, lugging a ridiculous bag of snacks, Gotak trailing behind him with the look of a man who regretted all his life choices.
“Did you come here to study or eat?” Sieun asked without looking up.
“Both,” Baku said, grinning as he dropped into a chair. “Insurance against hunger.”
Sieun rolled his eyes and kept writing.
Time passed. Then Baku leaned forward, voice pitched low. “Don’t look back.”
Everyone immediately started to turn.
“I said don’t look back,” Baku hissed, the grin slipping off his face.
Gotak frowned. “Why?”
“That guy,” Baku muttered, jerking his chin toward the back left corner. “Been staring for a while.”
Juntae followed the motion, froze. “…It’s him.”
Sieun’s pen stopped mid-line. “Who?”
Juntae kept his head down. “The one from earlier. The guy who was watching when you fought that creep.”
Through the faint reflection in the window, Sieun looked.
Far back, a man sat alone. Glasses. Black hair in easy, deliberate disarray. Sleeves rolled up, silver chain catching the light when he moved. His posture was relaxed, but his gaze was locked, unflinching, deliberate.
When Sieun’s eyes met his in the glass, the man tilted his head in slow acknowledgment. His mouth curved just slightly, half a smile, half something else.
Sieun didn’t move.
They didn’t stay much longer. Conversation thinned; the air at their table had shifted. By the time they stepped outside, the sky was bleeding orange, heavy with the smell of rain that hadn’t fallen.
One by one, they split off until Sieun walked alone.
“Hey.”
The voice came from behind, calm, unhurried.
Sieun turned, slow as if pulled.
The man from the library closed the distance, hands in his pockets. Older by a few years, maybe more. He had that easy self-possession that didn’t belong to students. A smirk played faintly at his mouth, not mocking, just aware.
“I saw you earlier,” he said, tone light. “Throwing punches. Playing hero.”
“I wasn’t playing anything.”
“Mm.” A faint hum, as if he’d expected that answer. “I was curious. You’re… interesting.”
“That’s not a compliment.”
“That depends,” he said, stepping closer, voice measured. “Do you want me to stop being curious?”
Sieun’s fingers curled tighter around his bag strap. “What do you want?”
The man studied him, head tilted just slightly. “Haven’t decided yet. But I’d like to see you again.”
Sieun’s expression didn’t shift. “I’m not interested in weird older guys who stalk people in libraries.”
That earned him a laugh, low, genuine. “You say that now.”
From his pocket, the man drew a folded slip of paper and, without breaking eye contact, tucked it into the front pocket of Sieun’s hoodie. The movement was too familiar, as if he’d done it a hundred times before.
“Read it later. Or don’t.”
He turned away, walking back into the deepening dusk until his figure blurred into shadow.
For a moment, Sieun stayed where he was. Then he pulled the paper from his pocket. Didn’t open it.
Not yet.
Later, under the weak light of his desk lamp, the note lay on the table. A stupid piece of folded paper that had no business feeling significant.
He unfolded it.
The handwriting slanted lazily across the page:
You looked bored out of your mind.
Want to get coffee with a stranger who’s not boring?
A phone number. No name.
Sieun stared at it, the corner of his mouth twitching before he scoffed quietly. He set it aside and got up for a shower.
He didn’t throw it away.
Notes:
They met finally (kinda)
I don't know if the chapter was good. But I tried to do my best. English isn't my first language so forgive the mistakes.
Also Seongje is older than sieun and not a student..
Chapter Text
The next few days passed without any incident. Yet, in the quiet moments, the stranger remained lodged in the corners of Sieun’s thoughts. That smirk. That self-assured posture. It replayed, uninvited.
The note still lay on his desk, not pinned, not hidden. Just… there. Sometimes nudged aside when he cleaned. Sometimes stared at for too long when his mind wandered. But he hadn’t messaged. Couldn’t.
This felt like a luxury he didn’t deserve. Not when Suho lay unconscious, trapped in the sterile stillness of a hospital bed, because of him.
The guilt never faded. It sat heavy in his chest, dull and ever-present. He would go to the hospital, stand just outside the main gate, but never step inside. What if Suho didn’t want to see him? What if the silence inside that room was louder than his own self-loathing?
His Eunjang friends weren’t supposed to be friends either, not really. He tried to keep them out, build walls, but they barged in anyway. Loud, stubborn, and stupidly kind.
He was grateful. He loved them. He wanted to protect them.
He wanted to protect Suho. And Beomseok too, once.
But he failed.
Loser.
Wednesday.
The sky was grey, thick clouds looming over the city as Sieun left cram school, the straps of his bag tight on his shoulder. He walked toward the bus stop, earbuds in, half-lost in thoughts when-
“Hey,” a familiar voice cut through. “It’s you again.”
Sieun stopped.
Standing a few feet away, grinning like the universe had just played a prank for him alone, was that guy, him.
Seongje.
Sieun didn’t reply. Just stared, stone-faced.
“We’ve gotta stop meeting like this,” Seongje continued, hands tucked in his pockets. “You running. Me chasing.”
There was a lightness to his voice, but not in his eyes. They were too focused. Too knowing.
“Or rather,” Sieun said coolly, “me living my life, and you not minding your own.”
A low chuckle. “Well, I’m attracted to you. What else am I supposed to do but follow?”
Sieun's brows furrowed.
“I’m Keum Seongje, by the way.” He held out a hand, easy, casual.
Sieun looked at it. Then up at his face.
“And you are?” Seongje tilted his head. He already knew. Of course he knew. But it felt better hearing it directly.
“…Yeon Sieun,” he mumbled.
“Sieun,” Seongje repeated, like he was trying the name on his tongue. “Pretty name… for a pretty boy.”
Sieun blinked. “…What?”
“Hm?” Seongje asked innocently, like he hadn’t said anything strange.
Sieun narrowed his eyes. “You’re weird.”
“That’s fine. I’ll take it as a compliment.”
“I wasn’t complimenting-”
“Too late,” Seongje cut in with a grin.
They stood there for a second. The streetlight flickered on overhead.
“…You don’t give up easily, do you?” Sieun asked quietly.
“Nope,” Seongje said. “Not when I see something I like.”
Sieun sighed and looked away. “Then you’re wasting your time.”
Seongje took a step closer. “Let me be the judge of that.”
And for the first time in a long time, Sieun didn’t feel like walking away right away.
They stood under the dim orange glow of the streetlight, the silence stretching between them. The city hummed in the distance, cars, voices, life going on, but right here, time felt quieter.
Sieun looked at Seongje from the corner of his eye. He hated how casually this guy could say things. How easily the words fell from his lips, like it didn’t matter what effect they had.
“You’re persistent,” he muttered.
“I prefer consistent,” Seongje replied, hands still in his pockets, smile not quite as wide now. “But sure. I’ll take persistent too.”
Sieun rolled his eyes, but there was no heat behind it. Only exhaustion.
“…You don’t even know me.”
“I’m trying to,” Seongje said. “You make it really difficult, though.”
“Good,” Sieun replied, voice flat. “You should stop.”
Seongje tilted his head. “Why? Because you think you’re unlovable or something?”
Sieun’s jaw clenched. He looked away sharply.
“Sorry,” Seongje added quickly. “Too much?”
Sieun didn’t answer.
“…You don’t have to talk to me,” Seongje continued, quieter now, “but don’t lie to me either.”
That made Sieun pause.
“I’m not lying.”
“You are. You think pushing people away will protect them. But it just makes you lonelier. I can see it.”
Sieun's throat tightened.
Who was this guy? Why did he talk like he knew him? Like he could see through all the carefully built walls?
“…I have to go,” Sieun said, stepping back, the words clipped.
But Seongje didn’t stop him. He just nodded, a small flicker of something unreadable passing across his face.
“Okay. I’ll see you around.”
“You better not,” Sieun muttered, already turning.
As he walked away, the sound of footsteps didn’t follow him. For some reason, that made his chest ache more than if they had.
That night, Sieun couldn’t sleep.
He lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling, the note still on his desk. Still unpinned. Still waiting.
After Sieun walked away, Seongje stayed in place for a while, hands in his pockets, eyes still on the space where the boy had stood. The streetlight buzzed softly above, casting long shadows.
Then, with a sigh, he turned and started walking.
His apartment wasn’t far, a small place on the edge of town, too clean for how messy he felt inside. The night air was cool, but it didn’t help settle the quiet churn in his chest. Something about Sieun unsettled him in a way he didn’t expect. Not because he was mysterious, but because he was honest in his hurt. Raw. No performance. No masks.
His phone buzzed in his pocket.
[Baekjin-hyung]
>“ You’ve been quiet, Seongje.”
He stopped walking. The street around him was empty. Quiet.
He typed back after a pause.
> “Just taking a break, remember?”
The reply came quickly.
> “That’s what you said two months ago.”
> “Still true.”
> “You know Choi’s getting impatient. You disappearing like this isn’t a good look.”
> “He’s not my boss anymore.”
> “You didn’t say you were quitting, Seongje. You said ‘I need space.’ That’s not the same.”
Seongje stared at the screen, thumb hovering.
He didn’t reply.
Instead, the phone rang.
Of course it did.
He answered. “…Hyung.”
Na Baekjin’s voice was calm, low, measured. The kind of tone that always made it hard to tell if he was angry or just disappointed.
“You’re still in town?”
“Yeah.”
“Then you’re not really taking a break.”
“I’m not doing anything for Union,” Seongje replied quietly. “Haven’t been. You know that.”
A pause.
“Choi wants to see you.”
“No.”
Another pause. He could practically hear Baekjin’s sigh through the phone.
“You were one of our best guys. Smart, loyal, clean. You never made noise. And now you vanish. No warning. No message. You think that doesn’t raise questions?”
“I didn’t vanish, hyung. I just… stopped wanting to hurt people.”
Baekjin didn’t reply right away.
“You knew what we were from day one,” he said eventually.
“I know. And I believed in it, back then. You did too.”
“I still do.”
Seongje’s hand clenched around the phone.
“Yeah. I figured.”
“You don’t get to walk away clean, Seongje. Especially not like this.”
“I’m not trying to walk away clean,” he said. “I’m just trying to live differently. Quietly.”
“…This about that kid?” Baekjin asked suddenly.
The silence on Seongje’s end said enough.
Baekjin chuckled. “You’re soft, Seongje. You always were. That’s why I liked you.”
“I’m not coming back, hyung.”
“You will. One day.”
The call ended before Seongje could respond.
He stood there for a long moment, phone still in hand, breathing slow.
Back when he was still Union, he was known for being sharp, calculating, and obedient. While Baekjin had the presence and intimidation of a natural leader, Seongje worked quietly in the background, pulling strings, collecting intel, solving problems before they exploded. The Union respected him. Choi trusted him.
But something changed.
Maybe it was the slow, creeping realization that no matter how hard he worked, no matter how loyal he stayed, the Union never really cared about him.
He thought he belonged, that the bruises, the blood, the late-night calls were all part of being chosen, of being useful, of mattering. But when he needed them, when he hesitated just once, the silence was louder than any order he'd ever been given.
He wasn’t family. He was a tool.
And suddenly, all that loyalty, all that blind trust, it felt hollow. Like he’d been holding onto smoke.
That’s when he walked away.
Not out of fear.
Not even guilt.
But because staying would mean continuing to lie to himself.
And he couldn’t do that anymore.
So he told them he needed space.
But what he really meant was: I’m done.
He didn’t know how long he could keep pretending this life was behind him. But he knew one thing clearly:
The moment he looked into Sieun’s eyes, he didn’t see a weakness.
He saw someone still trying, even after everything.
And for once, Seongje wanted to try too, wanted to feel. Maybe Sieun was the missing part of his life.
Notes:
Since I only had the plot it mind, I am working on the detailing. so the chapters are short -.-
comments will be appreciated
Chapter Text
By the time Seongje reached his apartment, the sky had turned darker than usual, clouds swelling with the weight of oncoming rain. He unlocked the door, stepped inside, and let the quiet wash over him.
No voices. No orders.
No one calling him useful.
He sat down on the edge of the bed and ran a hand through his hair. His phone was still in his pocket, Baekjin’s voice lingering like a phantom.
“This about that kid?”
Seongje didn’t even know what to call it. It wasn’t love, not yet. It wasn’t friendship either. Maybe curiosity. Maybe recognition. Maybe the ache of seeing someone just as tired as he was, wearing the same haunted eyes.
He thought back to Sieun’s expression earlier, guarded, distant, like he was holding the world on his shoulders and daring anyone to try and take it from him. That kind of burden wasn’t unfamiliar.
Seongje stood up again, pacing the room.
“Dammit,” he muttered, grabbing a soda from the fridge, ignoring the food left untouched on the counter from last night.
He should stay away.
He should disappear properly, like he'd planned.
But the way Sieun looked at him, like he didn’t know whether to be curious or cautious, stuck with him.
Maybe that’s what drew Seongje in the most. Not the mystery. Not the challenge.
But the loneliness.
The same kind he tried to bury for years in the Union.
The kind that didn’t go away, even when you were surrounded by people calling you brother.
Sieun hadn’t been able to sleep.
The rain had started sometime past midnight, sudden, drumming softly against the window. The city always felt quieter in the rain, like it was holding its breath. Like everyone else got to pause while he kept replaying things in his head.
Suho.
Beomseok.
The fights.
The guilt.
And now… him.
That guy, Keum Seongje, kept showing up in his head like an itch he couldn’t scratch. Uninvited. Unwelcome. Unshakable.
It wasn’t even about what he said. It was how he looked at him. Like he wasn’t scared of what he might find beneath the surface.
No one ever looked at Sieun like that before.
And Sieun hated it.
But also… he didn’t.
The next afternoon, the rain hadn’t let up. Cram school let out early, and the clouds above threatened another storm. He didn’t feel like going home yet, the apartment was too quiet, too cramped with thoughts he didn’t want to face.
Instead, he wandered. Hood pulled over his head, hands deep in his pockets, feet moving without much purpose. He didn’t expect to see anyone.
But fate liked playing games.
He rounded the corner near the old bookstore, the one where the awning leaked, and no one ever went anymore, and nearly bumped into someone walking the opposite way.
Someone with an umbrella tilted low, a hooded jacket, and a face he recognized instantly.
Seongje.
They both froze, blinking in surprise.
Seongje was the first to speak, lowering the umbrella slightly.
“Well, well. If it isn’t fate again.”
Sieun exhaled sharply, annoyed at how fast his heart jumped. “Seriously?”
“I swear I’m not following you.” He held up a hand in mock surrender. “Scout’s honor.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“That’s fair.” A smile tugged at Seongje’s lips. “Still… nice to see you.”
Sieun hesitated. The rain fell harder around them now, the space under Seongje’s umbrella barely enough for one.
“Why are you always hanging around this part of town?” Sieun asked.
Seongje shrugged. “I used to come here a lot. Still feels familiar.”
Sieun narrowed his eyes. “Used to? What for?”
Seongje paused, then looked away, watching the rain bounce off the sidewalk.
“…I was part of a group,” he said finally. “Things changed. I left.”
Sieun didn’t respond. He knew what kind of group. He recognized the type, the quiet confidence, the way Seongje moved like he could throw a punch and not blink.
“And now?” Sieun asked.
“I’m just trying to figure things out,” Seongje said. Then added, almost too casually, “Like why a certain someone keeps popping into my head when I should be moving on.”
Sieun scoffed. “You’re not smooth, you know.”
“I’m not trying to be.”
A beat of silence passed. Then another.
Rain dripped down Sieun’s hood. Seongje stepped slightly closer and tilted the umbrella over both of them without saying anything.
Sieun didn’t move.
He should’ve. Should’ve stepped out from under the umbrella, muttered something cold, walked away like always. But he stayed. The rain tapped gently against the fabric above them, a quiet rhythm that filled the space between their silences.
Seongje’s shoulder was just close enough to brush his if he shifted.
But he didn’t.
“…So you really left?” Sieun asked after a pause.
“Yeah.”
A beat.
“No one believes it though. Not really.”
“Why?”
Seongje’s gaze drifted away. “Because people like me don’t just walk away. We get dragged back. Or erased.”
Sieun frowned, eyes narrowing. “Then why are you still here?”
Seongje looked at him. Really looked.
“I don’t know,” he admitted, voice low. “Maybe because for once, I want to see what happens when I don’t run. Or maybe I’m just stupid.”
“You are,” Sieun said, dry. But the corners of his mouth twitched, just barely.
Seongje caught it. “Is that a smile?”
“No.”
“It was.”
“You imagined it.”
“I imagine a lot of things,” Seongje said, eyes steady on him now. “But this-” he gestured vaguely between them “... doesn’t feel like imagination.”
Sieun looked away sharply, chest tight. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Make it sound like this is something. You don’t know me.”
“I’m trying to,” Seongje said again, softer this time.
Sieun didn’t answer.
The rain had lightened slightly, the sound less frantic on the pavement. A car passed in the distance, its tires slicing through puddles.
Finally, Sieun broke the silence. “I don’t want people close to me.”
“I figured.”
“They get hurt.”
“I’ve been hurt before.”
“That’s not the same.”
“No,” Seongje agreed. “But I’m still here.”
The umbrella shifted slightly as the wind blew. Sieun instinctively reached up to hold it in place. His hand brushed Seongje’s.
It was brief. Barely anything. But both of them felt it.
Sieun dropped his hand quickly.
“…You’re really not gonna leave, are you?” he muttered.
“Not unless you tell me to.”
Sieun looked up, eyes guarded. “I am telling you to.”
Seongje smiled. “You don’t mean it.”
“…Don’t be so sure.”
“I’m willing to be wrong.”
They stood there a moment longer, two strangers, soaked in rain, orbiting something fragile and unspoken.
Then Seongje asked, “Walk with me?”
Sieun hesitated. Thought of home. Of silence. Of guilt that never stopped chewing at his ribs.
Then, with a reluctant sigh, he nodded.
“Fine. But don’t talk too much.”
“Can I breathe?”
“…Barely.”
Seongje grinned, stepping back to make room under the umbrella.
And together, quietly, they walked, two steps apart, but closer than either of them had been to anyone in a long time.
They walked in silence for a while, footsteps soft against the wet pavement. The umbrella tilted slightly toward Sieun, Seongje holding it higher over his side, even though the wind kept tugging it away.
“Your hand’s gonna get soaked,” Sieun muttered.
“Yeah,” Seongje said. “But you won't.”
Sieun shook his head. “Idiot.”
“Probably.”
Another pause. The rain made a soft background hum around them, covering up the quiet awkwardness that neither of them quite knew how to break.
“…You don’t talk like someone who was in a gang,” Sieun said finally, eyes fixed ahead.
“That’s because I was the kind who thought too much.”
“You still do.”
“Guess some habits stick.”
Sieun glanced at him. “Why’d you really leave?”
Seongje didn’t answer immediately. His grip tightened slightly on the umbrella handle.
“Because it stopped feeling like I mattered,” he said after a beat. “I thought I had a place. I didn’t. It’s not loyalty when they forget you the moment you fall out of line.”
Sieun didn’t say anything. But his pace slowed just a little. His shoulders weren’t quite as tense.
[Across the street, a man leaned against a telephone pole, half-shielded by the shadow of a bus stop.
He lit a cigarette. Didn’t smoke it.
Just watched until the two figures disappeared into the fog of the rain.
Then flicked the lighter shut.]
The rain kept falling, steady and cold, but neither of them seemed eager to head home.
After a few more blocks, Seongje pointed toward the dim glow of a corner convenience store tucked under a rusted awning. The windows were fogged slightly from the heat inside.
“Want something warm?” he asked, half a suggestion, half an offer.
Sieun hesitated, then nodded once. “Whatever’s cheap.”
Inside, the air smelled like instant noodles and microwaved dumplings. The hum of the refrigerators filled the silence. Sieun headed straight for the hot water station while Seongje grabbed two cups of ramen and a pack of those weird fish-shaped chocolate snacks.
They didn’t talk much. Just moved side by side, wordless but not uncomfortable.
They sat by the front window on cracked plastic stools, steam curling from their noodle cups. Outside, the streetlights shimmered on the wet road.
Sieun blew gently on his noodles.
“…You always do this?” he asked.
“What?”
“Hang around kids like this. Pretend to care.”
Seongje leaned back slightly. “You think I’m pretending?”
“I don’t know what you’re doing.”
“I’m figuring it out.”
Sieun looked at him then, eyes narrowed slightly. “You’re weird.”
“You’ve said that before.”
“Still true.”
Seongje smiled, small and real.
“You’re not like I expected,” Sieun added after a while.
“Good or bad?”
Sieun slurped some noodles, swallowed. “I haven’t decided yet.”
“That’s fair.”
They lapsed into silence again, the kind that didn’t feel heavy this time. Just… paused.
After a while, Seongje spoke quietly.
“When I was in the Union, no one ever just sat like this. No talking unless it was about money or fights. No quiet moments.”
Sieun stirred his noodles. “Sounds lonely.”
“It was.”
Sieun didn’t look at him. But his voice softened.
“I get that.”
Seongje tilted his head. “Yeah. I figured you might.”
Outside, the rain continued, softer now — a hush over the city.
And in that little convenience store, under flickering lights and cheap heat, something tentative settled betwe en them. Not quite friendship. Not quite trust.
But something.
They finished the noodles slowly, the warmth lingering more in their fingers than their chests.
Sieun stood first, wiping his hands on a napkin. “I should go.”
Seongje didn’t argue. Just grabbed his umbrella and walked with him to the door. The rain had softened into a fine drizzle now, more mist than downpour.
Outside, they stood awkwardly under the neon glow of the store sign.
Sieun adjusted the straps of his bag. “Thanks for the noodles, I guess.”
“You’re welcome,” Seongje replied. He hesitated, then pulled out his phone. “You still haven’t texted me.”
“I never said I would.”
“Text me. Even if it’s just to insult me.” Seongje insisted.
Sieun stared at him, unreadable.
Then turned. “Don’t wait up.”
Seongje watched as he disappeared down the street, hoodie pulled tight, back hunched slightly against the cold.
He didn’t expect a message that night.
But still, he kept the sound on.
When Sieun reached home, the lights were off, like always. He didn’t turn them on right away. Just slipped off his shoes and stood in the dark, letting the silence settle.
His hoodie was still damp, and the back of his neck felt cold. But he didn’t move.
He could still hear Seongje’s voice in his head.
"Text me. Even if it’s just to insult me.”
Sieun scoffed quietly, dropped his bag near the desk, and sat on the edge of the bed. The city noise outside filtered through the half-open window, soft tires over wet roads, the occasional distant horn, rain dripping from a ledge.
He pulled out his phone.
Opened the note from the first day.
The note didn't have a name, but now that person's name is curved in Sieun's mind.
His thumb hovered over the keyboard.
He typed something.
Deleted it.
Typed again.
Paused.
Deleted it again.
Then, finally:
> Yeon Sieun [8:39 PM]:
You talk too much.He hit send.
Stared at it.
Then added, before he could overthink it again:
> Yeon Sieun [8:40 PM]:
But thanks. I guess.
He threw the phone on his pillow like it burned.
Then lay back, eyes on the ceiling, heart beating faster than he wanted to admit.
Across town, Seongje was half-asleep on his couch, TV flickering quietly in the background, when the buzz startled him.
He grabbed the phone.
Read it once.
Then twice — with a slow grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.
He didn’t reply immediately. Didn’t want to scare him off.
But he saved the texts.
Read them again.
And set the volume up louder.
Just in case.
Buzz.
Just as Sieun was turning over in bed, trying to pretend he wasn’t waiting for it.
He snatched the phone up quickly, screen lighting the dark.
> Keum Seongje [8:46 PM]:
you’re welcome, princess
Sieun stared at the screen.
Sat up.
Squinted.
“…What the hell.”
He typed slowly.
> Yeon Sieun [8:47 PM]:
?
Another message popped up almost immediately.
> Keum Seongje [8:47 PM]:
too much?
> Keum Seongje [8:48 PM]:
should’ve gone with “your highness”?
Sieun groaned and dropped the phone on his face.
But not before typing:
> Yeon Sieun [8:49 PM]:
I’m blocking you.
> Keum Seongje [8:49 PM]:
so dramatic for someone who texted first.
Sieun didn’t reply.
But the corner of his mouth twitched, just once, before he turned off the screen and lay back again, the faintest warmth blooming behind his ribs.
Sieun stared at the message, thumb hovering over the keyboard.
He could feel his face heating, not from embarrassment, but from… annoyance. Definitely annoyance.
Right.
He typed:
> Yeon Sieun [8:50 PM]:
go to sleep.
He didn’t wait for a reply. Didn’t want to give Seongje the satisfaction of knowing he was smiling, just a little.
But a few seconds later:
> Keum Seongje [8:51 PM]:
only if you do too, princess.
Sieun stared at the screen.
Then turned it face down on his pillow with a groan.
He didn’t reply.
But he did sleep better that night than he had in weeks.
Two days later
The texting had continued.
Not constant, not clingy.
Just… there.
A comment during lunch. A sarcastic “good morning” Sieun never responded to. A blurry photo of a cracked vending machine with the caption:
> “This you?”
Sieun had rolled his eyes and muted the chat, only to unmute it ten minutes later.
But that morning, something shifted.
Seongje was heading back from a convenience store, coffee in hand, hoodie up against the wind. He had barely rounded the corner near his apartment when he saw it.
A car.
Black. Expensive. Too clean for this side of town.
Parked where no one ever parked. Engine off. Windows dark.
His steps slowed.
He knew the kind of silence that surrounded it, like air held tight in a fist.
He didn’t go near. Just turned and walked the long way back. Coffee already cold in his hand.
At Midnight.
The blue light from his phone screen cast long shadows across the room.
Seongje lay on his back on the floor, mattress untouched, hoodie still on, the window cracked open just enough to let in the city sounds. Sirens far away. A dog barking. Rainwater dripping off the roof.
He stared at the last message from Sieun.
> “It just... is.”
Not a real answer. But it was something.
Sieun didn’t talk like someone looking for help.
He talked like someone who stopped expecting it a long time ago.
Seongje sighed. Then typed slowly, deliberately.
> Keum Seongje [12:24 AM]:
I don’t know what happened.
But you look like someone who’s trying too hard to be fine.
No response.
He waited.
Then:
> Yeon Sieun [12:27 AM]:
Maybe I am.
It wasn’t sarcasm. It wasn’t even defensive.
Just flat. Honest. Quiet.
> Keum Seongje [12:28 AM]:
Something happened.
School? Home?
> Yeon Sieun [12:28 AM]:
Doesn’t matter.
> Keum Seongje [12:29 AM]:
You still carrying it around like it does.
Sieun didn’t answer for a long time.
Then:
> Yeon Sieun [12:32 AM]:
People get hurt when I get involved.
That’s the pattern.
> Yeon Sieun [12:32 AM]:
So I don’t get involved anymore.
Seongje read those lines over and over. His chest felt tight.
He’d heard things like that before. From guys in the Union who built walls until they forgot how to take them down.
He used to think that kind of thinking made someone strong.
Now it just looked like bruises that never healed right.
> Keum Seongje [12:35 AM]:
You didn’t hurt them.
Did you?
Sieun didn’t answer.
He didn’t need to.
The silence said enough.
> Keum Seongje [12:36 AM]:
Then why blame yourself?
Another long pause.
Then finally:
> Yeon Sieun [12:39 AM]:
Because someone has to.
Seongje exhaled.
He didn’t reply this time.
Didn’t push.
Just let the screen go dark, the weight of Sieun’s words settling somewhere deep, somewhere familiar.
He didn’t know the full story. Not yet.
But now he knew the shape of it.
Guilt. Loss. Loneliness that wrapped around your ribs and stayed even when the wounds were old.
And he knew one more thing:
Whatever had happened to Sieun...
It wasn’t over.
Sieun's room was too quiet.
Not the comforting kind of quiet, the dangerous kind. The kind that let his thoughts grow teeth.
The screen of his phone had long since dimmed, but he was still staring at it, lying flat on his back, eyes wide open in the dark.
He didn’t know what was worse, the silence… or the buzzing in his chest that wouldn’t shut up lately.
“You look like someone who’s trying too hard to be fine.”
That’s what Seongje had said.
Like it was that easy to see.
And maybe it was. Maybe he was terrible at hiding it now.
He used to be better. Before everything.
Before Suho.
Before Beomseok.
Before the hospital visits he couldn’t bring himself to finish. Before the guilt that dug into his chest like it belonged there.
He hadn't even told Seongje their names. He couldn’t.
What would be the point?
What would he even say?
"Hey, one of my best friends is in a coma because I couldn’t protect him. The other went off the deep end and nearly killed someone. I’m the only one left standing, but it sure doesn’t feel like winning."
Yeah. That would go well.
He closed his eyes.
Tried to breathe.
Didn’t help.
The air felt thick. The guilt, heavier.
Sometimes he wanted to scream.
Sometimes he wanted to disappear.
Sometimes he wanted someone to shake him and tell him it wasn’t his fault, that he didn’t ruin everything just by being.
But he didn’t say any of that.
Not to his Eunjang friends.
Not to his teachers.
Not to Seongje.
And especially not to himself.
He didn’t know how to say it. Or if saying it would even help.
It felt… selfish. Like dragging someone else down into the dark with him.
He didn’t want that.
Especially not with Seongje.
That guy was weird. Annoying. Too observant.
Too patient.
Too close.
Sieun hated that. Hated how easily Seongje got under his skin, how he waited instead of pressing, how he looked at him like he knew, even if he didn’t know the details.
Like he was just… waiting for Sieun to stop pretending.
And that was the scariest part.
Because for a second, a split second, Sieun wanted to.
He wanted to tell someone how heavy everything was.
How tired he was of carrying all of it.
How he didn’t know who he was anymore when he wasn’t trying to survive someone else’s choices.
But he couldn’t. Not yet.
So he sent vague messages and short replies. He hid behind sarcasm. Behind cold stares and sharp words.
Because that’s what he knew. That’s what was safe.
And maybe, just maybe, he was still waiti ng, too.
Waiting to believe that if he ever did open up…
Someone might actually stay.
The wind was crisp, the sky stained with the faint pink of late afternoon. Plastic bags rustled in the breeze, inside them, sodas, cheap triangle kimbap, and one overpriced convenience store cake Baku insisted on buying.
"Because we passed," Baku said proudly, punching the air. “Midterms! We didn’t flunk. That’s a miracle worth celebrating, no?”
Gotak scowled as he opened a soda. “Yeah. But I paid for the miracle.”
“You always complain, but you still pay.” Baku grinned, jabbing a thumb at him. “That’s called friendship.”
“No, that’s called robbery,” Gotak muttered. “I want a refund on this friendship.”
Juntae chuckled from where he sat on the ledge, peeling back the corner of his kimbap. “You guys argue like an old married couple.”
Baku choked on his soda. “Hah?!”
“See?” Juntae said calmly. “Exactly that.”
Everyone laughed. Even Sieun managed a breath of amusement, barely audible, but there.
He sat slightly apart from them. Not far, just enough. Back against the railing, eyes focused on the sky more than the people.
He was listening. But he wasn’t… in it.
Not really.
His fingers curled around the can of soda he hadn’t opened.
Juntae noticed. Of course he did.
He didn’t say anything, not directly, just glanced at Sieun now and then with that quiet awareness he always had.
But when the laughter died down a little, he asked gently, “You okay, Sieun?”
Sieun blinked. Looked over. Forced a nod.
“Yeah.”
It wasn’t convincing.
Juntae didn’t push. He just offered a small smile and said, “You’ve barely touched your food. Baku might steal it.”
“I will,” Baku added with a mouth full of cake. “No regrets.”
Sieun gave a tiny smirk. “Let him.”
The rooftop felt light, noisy, familiar. But inside, Sieun felt like he was pressing on a bruise, trying to act normal even when everything still ached underneath.
He didn’t want to bring them into it. They had their own lives, their own worries. And honestly… they’d done enough just by being here.
They were loud. Obnoxious. Kind.
He didn’t deserve it.
But he stayed anyway.
Let himself sit there, surrounded by voices that didn’t demand anythin g from him.
Not right now.
And maybe that was enough.
The sky was fading into charcoal, tinged with orange just above the rooftops. The streetlamps flickered on, casting long shadows against the pavement.
Sieun stood alone under the metal shelter, hands tucked into his jacket pockets, his bag heavy on one shoulder. The quiet after the rooftop celebration felt too still. Too thin.
Then his phone buzzed.
He glanced down.
>Yeongi [6:37 PM]:
you should visit Suho.
Sieun blinked.
His thumb hovered.
The guilt surged immediately, cold and familiar.
>Yeon Sieun [6:38 PM]:
I’m not going.
>Yeongi [6:39 PM]:
Why?
Just a single word. Like Yeongi already knew the answer and didn’t want to hear it confirmed.
>Yeon Sieun [6:39 PM]:
It won’t change anything.
He wouldn’t want to see me.
There was a long pause.
The bus hadn’t arrived yet.
Another message came through.
>Yeongi [6:42 PM]:
He’s in that hospital bed because of you, you know.He jumped in because he wanted to protect you.
Sieun’s grip on the phone tightened.
His breath caught, but he didn’t move.
>Yeongi [6:43 PM]:
And now you’re too scared to even face him?
>Yeongi [6:43 PM]:
You act like you’re carrying all this weight.
But you won’t even show up for the one person who would’ve never walked away from you.
The cold hit harder than the wind.
>Yeongi [6:44 PM]:
He trusted you.
And now he’s lying there, unconscious -
while you keep pretending you’re doing the right thing by staying away.
Sieun swallowed.
His chest felt hollow. Everything Yeongi said echoed what he already whispered to himself every night.
But hearing it aloud made it real.
>Yeongi [6:44 PM]:
You say you didn’t mean for it to happen.But if it had been you in that bed, Suho would’ve been there every damn day.
>Yeongi [6:45 PM]:
But you?
You just disappear.
Like always.
The final message came in sharp.
>Yeongi [6:45 PM]:
You’re selfish, Sieun.
No more typing.
No more buzz.
Just the sound of a bus pulling up to the stop, brakes hissing, doors opening with a tired wheeze.
Sieun didn’t get on.
He stood there, motionless, screen dimming in his hand.
His reflection in the bus window looked like someone else. Pale. Tired. Fractured.
He wasn’t angry at Yeongi.
Not really.
Because the worst part was…
He agreed..
Yeongi probably hadn’t meant it like that.
Maybe it was just heat-of-the-moment anger. Maybe grief. But it didn’t matter.
Because the words landed. And they stayed.
Selfish.
So… it really was his fault?
He’d always wondered, always feared.
But hearing it from Yeongi, someone who had always been the calm one, the reasonable one… it cracked something open in Sieun’s chest that hadn’t healed to begin with.
Now it was just bleeding again.
The buses came and went. People passed. Lights changed.
But Sieun stayed seated on the cold bench, unmoving, empty-eyed, staring at the sky like it might swallow him whole.
He didn’t realize how long he’d been sitting there.
Not until-
"Sieun?"
A familiar voice. Gentle. Careful.
A hand brushed his shoulder. “Hey.”
Sieun flinched, breath catching as if waking from a nightmare.
Seongje took a small step back, hands up in quiet apology. “Sorry… I didn’t mean to startle you.”
Sieun turned his head slowly. His gaze was blank, not angry, not surprised. Just distant.
Like he wasn’t here.
Seongje’s chest tightened.
He crouched down in front of him, trying to meet his eyes. “Princess?” he said softly. “What’s wrong?”
Sieun didn’t respond.
But then, a single tear slid down his cheek.
And then another.
Until, suddenly, his shoulders shook.
He tried to stop it, pressed his lips together, fists clenched in his lap, but it hit too fast, too deep.
The dam broke.
A quiet, broken sob escaped him. Then another.
And before he could hide it, he was crying, really crying, like he hadn’t let himself do in weeks. No more silence. No more control. Just pain unraveling all at once.
Seongje didn’t say anything.
He just moved beside him on the bench, slid an arm around Sieun’s shoulders and gently pulled him in.
Sieun didn’t resist.
He leaned in, or maybe collapsed, pressing his face against Seongje’s shoulder, fists gripping the fabric of his jacket like he might fall apart without something to hold onto.
“I’m sorry…” he choked out. “I didn’t mean for any of it- I didn’t-”
“I know,” Seongje whispered, his hand stroking softly along Sieun’s back. “I know.”
Sieun couldn’t stop shaking. Couldn’t stop sobbing.
Everything he’d been holding in, the guilt, the fear, the shame, poured out in hiccuped breaths and trembling hands.
And Seongje just held him.
Steady. Warm. Quiet.
When the worst of it had passed, when Sieun’s sobs had softened to silent trembles, Seongje leaned closer, careful, tender, and pressed a light kiss to his temple.
“You’re not selfish,” he said softly, lips still near Sieun’s hair. “You’re hurting. That’s not the same.”
Sieun clung tighter, wordless, a tear sliding down the bridge of his nose.
And for the first time in what felt like forever,
he didn’t feel like he deserved to be alone.
Notes:
am I rushing it? or is it going on a proper pace? when I wrote it, it seemed ok but now I don't know 😭
Chapter Text
The street had gone quiet after the buses stopped running. The neon signs blinked lazily in the distance, and the rain had turned into a light mist that hung in the air like breath.
Seongje didn’t rush Sieun.
After the sobs had quieted, he just held him, arms wrapped securely around the boy curled into his chest, one hand slowly brushing Sieun’s back, the other resting protectively behind his head. And when the shaking faded into silence, and Sieun just… stayed there, eyes open and distant, Seongje whispered:
“Let’s go somewhere else”
They didn’t go far. Just two stops away, to a rooftop where nobody really comes. But seongje sometimes crashes in this place.
Sieun's eyes still looked bruised. Not from fists, from whatever haunted him inside.
Seongje was sitting on the floor, back against the wall, pulled a blanket and wrapped around his shoulders.
Sieun wondered why there was blanket in a rooftop, but didn't ask.
Seongje patted the space beside him. “Come here.”
Sieun didn’t argue. He sat down wordlessly, letting the blanket fall around both of them.
They sat there for a while, listening to the occasional car passing by the road. Then:
“…Sorry,” Sieun said. His voice was hoarse.
“For what?”
“For… that.” He gestured vaguely, like the word breakdown physically hurt to say.
Seongje looked at him. “You think I’d be mad you cried?”
“I think people don’t know what to do when I do.”
“Well,” Seongje murmured, “then maybe those people don’t deserve to know you.”
That made Sieun glance sideways, brows knitting faintly, not angry, just… unsure how to take it.
After a beat, Seongje smiled. “I’m not scared of your mess.”
“I’m not used to saying things out loud.”
“You don’t have to. Just sit here. I’ll talk enough for both of us.”
That pulled the tiniest smile from Sieun, almost invisible. But Seongje noticed.
“See?” he grinned. “There’s that pretty face.”
Sieun rolled his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall. “You never stop.”
“I know,” Seongje said, softer now. “But I’ll stop if you want.”
A pause.
“…No,” Sieun said. “It’s okay.”
Seongje didn’t say anything else. He just let the silence settle again. Then he shifted, just slightly, and rested his head gently on Sieun’s shoulder. Sieun froze, for a moment, but didn’t move away.
“Is this alright?” Seongje asked, voice muffled.
“…Yeah.”
“Good. You’re warm.”
“You’re annoying.”
“Also true.”
The corner of Sieun’s mouth twitched. He didn’t realize he was leaning back until their heads rested together.
No confessions. No heavy promises. Just two tired people sharing the weight of the night.
Seongje hadn’t moved from where he leaned against Sieun’s shoulder, arms loosely crossed under the blanket. His breathing had evened out. Calm. Present.
Sieun sat upright, staring ahead at nothing in particular. His fingers were lightly curled in his lap. Tense. Still.
“I’m not… used to this,” he said suddenly. His voice was low. Fragile, like it might break if he spoke any louder.
Seongje stirred a little. “To what?”
“This,” Sieun replied after a moment. “Quiet that doesn’t feel… heavy.”
Seongje turned his head slightly, watching him. Letting him speak without interrupting.
“I think I forgot what it feels like,” Sieun continued, eyes still forward. “To not be angry. Or scared. Or guilty.” A pause. “…Or alone.” His voice dipped on the last word, like he hadn’t meant to say it. Seongje didn’t try to fill the silence that followed. He just reached out under the blanket and gently wrapped his hand around Sieun’s, slow, certain.
Sieun didn’t pull away. Instead, he looked down at their hands. His fingers trembled slightly before curling back around Seongje’s, just once. Like a test. Like permission.
“I don’t know how to be normal anymore,” he admitted. “Or soft. Or… okay.”
“You don’t have to know,” Seongje murmured, squeezing his hand lightly. “You just have to keep showing up.”
Sieun swallowed. He didn’t speak again after that. But he didn’t let go, either. And that was it. Not a flood. Not a confession. Just a crack in the dam. But for someone like Sieun, that was a whole earthquake.
Next morning, classroom buzzed with quiet conversation and the occasional scrape of chair legs. Sunlight slanted in from the windows, making half the desks glow gold and the other half look like they belonged in a prison.
Sieun sat near the back, chin propped on his hand, trying very hard to pretend he was paying attention to the textbook in front of him. He wasn’t. His phone vibrated once in his lap. He glanced down.
>Seongje [12:43 PM]: Did you eat? Or are you surviving off angst again?
Sieun rolled his eyes, thumbs typing before he could stop himself.
>Princess⭐ [12:44 PM]: Don’t text me during school.
Vibration. Again.
>Seongje [12:44 PM]: Too late. I’ve already committed a crime of love.
He blinked. Then frowned at the screen.
>Princess⭐ [12:45 PM]: What the hell does that mean.
>Seongje [12:45 PM]: Idk. I read it on a coffee mug. Sieun exhaled through his nose.
A weak snort, almost a laugh. He shut the textbook without realizing it.
>Princess⭐ [12:46 PM]: You’re annoying.
>Seongje [12:46 PM]: But you’re smiling. Caught you.
Sieun immediately wiped the hint of a smirk off his face and looked around. None of his classmates were paying attention, but Juntae, two desks over, arched a brow at him.
“You good?” Juntae mouthed.
Sieun nodded, flipping his book open again with a little too much force. Juntae didn’t press.
His phone buzzed again.
>Seongje [12:47 PM]: You thinking about me? I know you’re thinking about me. Aren’t you supposed to be the cold one? This is embarrassing for both of us.
Sieun muttered under his breath, “Unbelievable…” He typed a reply.
>Princess⭐ [12:48 PM]: Shut up before I block you.
>Seongje [12:48 PM]: Go ahead. I’ll just show up outside your classroom window with a boombox. Wearing a school uniform.Skirt included.
Sieun nearly choked. He covered his mouth fast, muffling a laugh. A classmate turned to glance at him, and Sieun gave the most neutral face he could manage.
Deadpan. Blank. Cold. Totally not trying not to smile.
His phone buzzed again.
>Seongje [12:49 PM]: Bet you are smiling again. I’m winning.
Sieun didn’t reply this time. But his hand stayed resting on the phone longer than it needed to.
Later that day, outside a convenience store near the cram school, Sieun was sitting on the low concrete ledge in front of the shop, sipping from a banana milk, his bag beside him.
He was alone, for the moment, waiting.
The sunlight had started to fade, and the sky was turning that soft orange-gray just before dusk.
He looked up at the sound of footsteps. Baku, Gotak, and Juntae were approaching from the other side of the street, mid-argument as usual.
“I’m just saying,” Gotak was grumbling, “every time we pass a food stall, Baku pretends he forgot his wallet.”
Baku held his hands up dramatically. “I never pretend! I genuinely forget! It’s a medical condition!”
“You’re gonna have a medical bill if I keep paying for you.”
Sieun raised a brow. “What are you guys doing here?”
“Came to grab snacks before heading back” Juntae said, looking over at Sieun with mild concern. “You alright?”
“Yeah,” Sieun muttered. “Just waiting for someone.”
Gotak squinted. “Someone?”
And just then, like bad timing made manifest, Seongje strolled into view from around the corner. Gray hoodie. Casual posture. The usual lazy smirk on his lips.
Sieun didn’t even look up. “You’re late.”
Seongje stretched, shameless. “Had to dodge traffic and children. It’s tough out here.”
The three Eunjang boys turned to stare at him. Baku blinked. “Wait. That’s- That guy from the library.”
“Oh crap,” Juntae muttered under his breath, eyes narrowing.
Seongje noticed their stares and tilted his head slightly. Sieun said nothing. Just sipped his banana milk.
“I’m Keum Seongje,” Seongje said casually, giving a little wave. “You guys his fan club or something?”
Gotak stepped up, eyeing him. “You are the guy from the library, who kept staring at Sieun"
“That does sound like me,” Seongje said without shame.
Baku leaned toward Juntae. “Didn’t that sound… threatening before?”
“It still kind of does,” Juntae whispered back.
Seongje chuckled. “You’re the loud one,” he pointed at Baku. “And you-” he nodded at Juntae, “-you’re the one who looked like he wanted to call the cops last time.”
Juntae bristled. “I don’t- Okay, maybe a little. You appeared very suddenly and had... a vibe.”
“A vibe,” Seongje repeated with amusement.
Gotak crossed his arms. “So what’s the deal? You’re not messing with Sieun, are you?”
Seongje looked at Sieun, who still hadn’t said anything. Then back at the others.
“Nope. Just sticking around until he finally admits he doesn’t hate me.”
Sieun gave him the slowest side-eye imaginable. “I do.”
“That’s the spirit,” Seongje grinned.
Baku leaned toward Gotak. “Are they flirting? Is this flirting?”
Gotak: “I don’t know, but I feel like I’m intruding.”
Seongje stretched his arms behind his head. “Anyway, if you’re all done interrogating me, I’m gonna steal your friend now.”
“You’re not stealing anyone,” Sieun muttered, grabbing his bag and standing.
Seongje only smirked. “Right. He’s coming willingly.”
Juntae stared after them as they walked off. “Why does that make it sound worse?”
Baku tilted his head. “You think they like, like-like each other ?”
Gotak sighed. “I think we’re gonna have to pay for our own snacks tonight.”
They walked in silence for a while, not awkward silence, just the kind that lived between two people who didn’t feel the need to fill every moment with words. Seongje let it stretch.
“Your friends are interesting,” he said eventually.
Sieun sighed. “They’re loud.”
“Mm. Loud. Protective. Suspicious.” A pause. “…Kinda cute, actually.”
Sieun glanced at him. “You calling my friends cute now?”
“Just an observation.” Seongje smirked. “Gotak looked like he was ready to fight me with moral outrage alone.”
“He could take you.”
“Bold of you to assume I wouldn’t let him win just to earn your sympathy.”
Sieun snorted despite himself, the corner of his mouth twitching. “That’s pathetic.”
“I never claimed to have pride.”
More silence followed. This time, something a little heavier settled in the air..
After a few more steps, Seongje tilted his head. “You okay?”
Sieun didn’t answer right away. “…Not really.”
That was it. Quiet. Honest. Seongje didn’t push. He just nodded, the smirk gone now, replaced by something gentler.
“Want to talk about it?”
“No.”
Another beat.
“…Want to not talk about it, but still stay around me?”
Sieun looked over at him and something in his shoulders eased.
“…Yeah.”
Seongje smiled, but it was softer than usual. No teasing. No performance. Just him.
“Cool,” he said. “I can do that.”
They walked in silence again, this time slower. Closer. The space between their arms narrowing every few steps. Eventually, they ended up at a quiet spot, the side steps of a closed flower shop. Faint scent of wet soil in the air. Neon signs buzzing in the distance. They sat. Sieun hugged his knees loosely, chin resting on them. Seongje sat beside him, arms stretched behind his back, head tilted up at the sky.
“…Do you miss it?” Sieun asked suddenly.
Seongje blinked. “Miss what?”
“The Union. That life.”
A pause.
Seongje looked at him, searching his face for a moment. “No,” he said. “Not the life. But… sometimes the purpose. Even if it was fake.”
Sieun was quiet.
Then he said, almost to himself:
“I used to think I knew what I was supposed to do.”
“And now?”
“I just feel lost.”
Seongje nodded. “Yeah. That makes two of us.”
They didn’t speak for a while. But then Seongje nudged his knee gently with his own.
“Hey.”
“Hm?”
“You’re doing okay. Even if it doesn’t feel like it.”
Sieun looked at him. Eyes a little tired, but not as hollow as before.
“…Thanks.”
A small smile touched Seongje’s lips. He didn’t say anything else. Just sat beside him, close enough to feel real. And that, in the quiet of the evening, surrounded by nothing in particular, was enough
But it didn’t last long.
Sieun’s phone buzzed in his pocket, the vibration sharp and jarring in the stillness. He glanced at the screen.
Mom.. His body stiffened almost instantly. Seongje noticed. “You okay?”
Sieun didn’t respond, just stood up, moving a few steps away before answering the call.
“…Yeah?” He paused, listening.
“No, I’m not out late, I was just-”
Another pause.
“I didn’t forget. You didn’t say you’d be home tonight.”
Whatever his mother said next made him flinch. Not loudly. But enough.
“No, I didn’t mean that,” he said quietly, voice more tense now. “I just- I wasn’t expecting you, that’s all.”
There was a longer pause. His fingers clenched around the phone. “…Yeah. I’ll be home soon.”
He hung up. Seongje didn’t ask anything when Sieun turned back, he didn’t have to. Sieun’s face had already hardened, the warmth from earlier tucked neatly back behind the walls he always carried.
“Everything okay?” Seongje asked anyway, careful.
Sieun nodded once. Too fast. “Need to go home”
“…Do you want me to walk you back?”
“No,” Sieun said quickly. Then, softer, “…Thanks. I’m fine.”
It wasn’t a lie. But it wasn’t the truth either. Seongje didn’t press. He just looked at him for a moment, then gave a small nod.
Sieun turned to leave, hands deep in his pockets, hood half-up. Before he rounded the corner, he glanced back once.
“I’ll text you later,” he muttered.
Then he was gone..
At home, the air was different. Tighter.
His mother had left her bags by the door, shopping, maybe. A jacket hung neatly over the back of a chair, like her presence needed to be folded and sharp even in her absence.
They spoke only a little. About grades. About his schedule. She barely looked up from her tablet.
Sieun stood in the kitchen for a while after, hands gripping the edge of the counter. His face was unreadable, eyes fixed somewhere on the floor. He wasn’t sure why he felt worse now than he had all week.
Later, in his room, he didn’t turn on the light. He just sat on the bed, staring at his phone.
A part of him wanted to text Seongje. Another part wanted to throw the phone across the room.
He did neither.
Instead, he lay down, pulled the blanket up to his chin, and stared at the ceiling in the dark. Trying to breathe. Trying not to feel like he was eighteen years old and already crumbling at the edges.
Next Morning, Sieun sat in homeroom with one headphone in, the other dangling from his collar. He hadn’t slept much. His eyelids felt like bricks, and the pen in his hand hovered above his notebook without writing a single thing.
The class was noisy around him, desks scraping, people laughing, someone shouting about lunch already.
He didn’t hear any of it. His mind was somewhere else. His house. The weight of words left unsaid. The look on his mother’s face when she asked if he was wasting his time. He exhaled slowly, tapping the back of his pen against the desk, trying to zone out.
Then. Buzz.
He blinked, glancing down at his phone in his lap.
>Seongje [08:17 AM]: What do you call a depressed high schooler with trust issues and nice cheekbones?
Sieun stared at the screen, genuinely confused.
>Princess⭐ [08:18 AM] What?
>Seongje [08:18 AM] You. Just woke up thinking about you. Like a loser.
Sieun blinked again, cheeks warming despite the deadpan expression on his face.
He started typing, Paused. Deleted it. Then typed again.
>Princess⭐ [08:19 AM] Do you ever consider being normal? Just once?
>Seongje [08:19 AM] I did once. Cried for three days.
>Seongje [08:20 AM] You okay though? For real.
Sieun’s fingers hovered over the keyboard. Okay. He wasn’t. Not really. But somehow, the fact that someone even asked chipped a crack in his armor. He didn’t know what to say. So he settled on the safest thing.
>Princess⭐ [08:21 AM] Yeah. I’m fine.
He stared at it for a long time after sending. Then, after a moment, he added-
>Princess⭐ [08:22 AM] Thanks, though.
Seongje's POV:
Seongje woke up to the sound of construction outside and the sun slanting through his half-open blinds like it had no respect for hangovers or insomnia.
Not that he was hungover. Just… exhausted.
Sleep had come in short bursts, full of vague dreams. He sat up slowly, rubbing the back of his neck, and checked his phone out of habit.
No new messages from Baekjin. Good.
No calls from Choi. Even better.
But his fingers itched toward Sieun’s contact anyway. He stared at it. Princess⭐. Seongje thought the nickname matched the younger boy. Sieun doesn't have to know tho. He might try to strangle seongje, if he found out.
After a second of hesitation, he typed out a dumb message, 'What do you call a depressed high schooler with trust issues and nice cheekbones?' and sent it before he could overthink.
If Sieun hated it, he’d ignore it. But he didn’t. The reply came fast. Dry. Cold. Classic Sieun. And yet… not cold enough to hide the warmth underneath.
Seongje grinned, stretching as he stood. His apartment was small, but it was his.
No one knocking. No one yelling. No orders barked from the hallway. No "brothers" pretending loyalty meant love.
He threw on a hoodie and padded barefoot to the kitchenette, pouring water into a cracked electric kettle. As he waited for it to boil, he leaned against the counter and stared out the window.
Down below, the street was already alive. Kids running late to school. A grandma watering her sidewalk plants. Delivery bikes zipping past.
Seongje watched them all with a strange detachment. He could've been one of them. He almost was. But Choi made sure he never would be.
He poured his coffee and sat at the table, foot resting on the chair opposite. His eyes flicked back to his phone. He didn’t know what it was about Sieun. He’d met a lot of angry kids, sad kids, violent ones, scared ones..
Sieun was a little bit of all of them. And yet somehow… different.
Sharp like broken glass. But maybe that was what made people like Seongje want to touch him anyway. Even if they bled for it.
He took a sip of coffee. Bitter. Lukewarm. Then his phone buzzed again, this time not from Sieun.
A message from an unknown number.
[09:02 AM] “Still playing babysitter?”
Seongje’s jaw clenched. He didn’t respond. Just deleted the message and dropped the phone face-down on the table.
That evening, Outside Cram School, The street buzzed with its usual mix of tired students, honking cars, and neon lights flickering to life in the dusk.
Sieun stepped out of the cram school building, shoulders hunched under the weight of the day, bag slung carelessly over one shoulder. And then he saw him.
Leaning casually against the wall across the street, hands in his pockets, hood pulled up just enough to hide but not disappear-
Seongje.
He hadn’t said he would be here. Sieun froze. Just for a second. Because the sight, someone waiting for him after class, hit harder than it should’ve.
For a terrifying moment, his brain conjured a different image.
Suho, standing outside the same gates. Waving at him with that stupid grin, trying to look cool even while yawning. Offering him canned coffee he hated. Asking dumb questions like “What did you learn today, genius?”
Gone. He wasn’t here anymore. Sieun’s breath caught in his throat. He blinked, and Seongje came back into focus. Still there. Still waiting. His presence didn’t fill the Suho-shaped hole, but it tugged him back to now.
He crossed the street slowly. Seongje straightened up. “Hey. Long day?”
Sieun didn’t answer right away. Just stood in front of him, eyes unreadable.
Then, finally, “Why are you here?”
“You didn’t text.”
“That doesn’t mean you have to show up like a stray dog.”
Seongje grinned. “But you looked like you could use one.”
Despite himself, Sieun huffed a tiny breath, not quite a laugh, not quite annoyance.
They started walking without deciding to. The streetlamps buzzed above them. A few minutes passed in silence.
And then,
“…He used to wait for me too,” Sieun said quietly.
Seongje glanced at him. “Who?”
“…Suho.”
He didn’t stop walking. Didn’t look at Seongje. But his voice took on that distant tone again, not flat, just hollow. Like he was speaking through a tunnel made of memories he never wanted to revisit.
“He always waited outside cram school. Said the vending machine here had the best drinks. He was lying. He hated the coffee ones, but drank them anyway to look cool.”
A small breath left his chest, almost like a laugh, but it broke on the way out.
“I was alone. Always. Kept my head down. Avoided people like it was a survival instinct. But things changed when I became a target. The school bullies, they picked me as their new favorite.”
He rubbed his thumb across his palm unconsciously.
“Beomseok was new. A transferee. They made him drug me during a test. I guess they thought it’d be funny. I lost it. I snapped. Fought them. Too hard. Too much.”
He paused. His voice quieter now.
“That’s when Suho stepped in. He stopped me before I could do something I wouldn’t walk away from. He looked so, annoyed. But he didn’t walk away. None of them did. After that, Beomseok apologized. I thought we were good.”
His voice shook.
“They saved me. One day, outside school, those same assholes tried to hurt me again with some hired thugs. Suho and Beomseok… they showed up out of nowhere. Dragged me away. And suddenly, I wasn’t alone anymore. They became my friends. My first friends.”
He blinked hard, like he could blink away the tightening in his chest.
“It was good. I was…happy. I didn’t even recognize myself.”
Then his hands balled into fists in his sleeves.
“But things went wrong. Slowly. Quietly. I didn’t see it until it was too late. Beomseok… he changed. Got bitter. Twisted. I kept telling myself he’d come around.”
Sieun’s voice dropped even lower.
“It was Suho’s birthday. Me and Yeongi were celebrating, nothing fancy, just a small thing. That’s when Beomseok called Yeongi. Lied to her. Got her alone. Took her hostage.”
Seongje’s eyes darkened, but he didn’t say a word.
“He messaged Suho, but I went instead. I couldn’t let Suho get involved. They broke my hand. And Beomseok… he just stood there. Didn’t stop them. Didn’t say a word. Just watched.”
Sieun’s breath hitched.
“I ended up in the hospital. I didn’t tell anyone. Not even Suho. I ghosted him. I thought… if he didn’t know, he wouldn’t get involved.”
Another beat.
“But he found out anyway.”
He stopped walking now. A tremor ran through his frame.
“He went after them. Alone. I don’t know what he was thinking. Maybe he was angry. Maybe he wanted to protect me.”
His voice broke.
“They cornered him. And Beomseok… he kicked him. Over and over. His head-”
Sieun shut his eyes.
“He’s been in a coma since.”
Silence stretched for a long, heavy moment.
“When I found out, I went after all of them. Every single one who laid a hand on Suho. But Beomseok?”
A bitter laugh escaped.
“I couldn’t. Even after everything, I-”
“I cared. He was my friend. I wanted to save him. I tried. I failed.”
His shoulders slumped.
“I barely dodged juvenile. They transferred me to Eunjang. Clean slate, they said.”
But nothing ever feels clean, he didn’t say.
He stood there, shaking slightly, like the weight of it all had finally crushed him under its full force.
And still, he didn’t cry.
Until Seongje stepped forward.
He didn’t say anything. Just pulled him into a quiet, firm hug, the kind you give someone who’s been holding everything in for too long.
Sieun froze. Then he folded. Slowly. Like something gave out in him. His hands clutched at the front of Seongje’s jacket, and his forehead pressed into his shoulder. His breath hitched again, and then it all spilled out, the muffled sobs, the shame, the grief, the anger he never knew where to put.
Seongje held him tighter, one hand cradling the back of his head. And in the middle of it all, he pressed a wordless kiss on Sieun’s temple.
Not out of romance. Not yet.
But out of care. Out of understanding.
Out of the promise:
I’m still here. And I’m not going anywhere.
Seongje promised himself that night, no matter what happens, he will never let Sieun get hurt again. He will protect him with everything he has. They stood there like that, under the pale light of the streetlamp, in a silence no one dared disturb.
Notes:
Sieun finally let Seongje in👩🏻🦯
poor baby didn't deserve all this.
Seongje is so emotionally mature in this fic just how I imagine him in my mind. and this is only reserved for sieun🤭
Chapter Text
After the breakdown that night, when Si-eun’s voice cracked and the walls finally crumbled around him, something shifted.
He didn’t magically open up overnight. He still struggled to find the right words when his chest felt too full.
But ever since then, Seongje had become… something steady. A presence. Like quiet sunlight creeping through the blinds, reminding him every morning: Hey, I'm still here.
And that terrified Si-eun more than anything. Because that night, after everything he confessed, everything he showed, he lay awake thinking: What if it was too much? What if I scared him off? What if Seongje leaves too?
He wouldn’t blame him.
But Seongje didn’t leave. Instead, he texted more often, random stupid memes, the occasional “Eat something, idiot,” or a blunt “I know you’re ignoring me but I’m still talking.”
Sometimes he waited outside the school gate, slouched against his bike, pretending like it was no big deal. Once, he even stood outside cram school in the pouring rain with an umbrella in one hand and a bottle of strawberry milk in the other. Just like that, Seongje carved out a space in Si-eun’s day, piece by piece, without asking for permission.
Tonight was one of those nights. The streets were dark, damp from a light drizzle earlier. Si-eun stepped out of cram school, his backpack slung lazily over one shoulder. His eyes scanned the crowd instinctively, as if he wasn’t looking for anyone in particular.
But there, by the vending machine near the front gate, stood Seongje. A shopping bag in his hand. A familiar lopsided grin on his face.
Si-eun didn’t smile, but his eyes did. Just for a second. Just enough for someone like Seongje to catch it.
“Hey, princess. Missed me?” Seongje called out, walking over.
Si-eun rolled his eyes. “Don’t call me that, idiot.”
Seongje snorted. “Don’t act like you hate it.”
“I do.”
“Too bad,” Seongje said cheerfully. “It suits you. You’re secretly high-maintenance and emotionally unavailable. Classic princess behavior.”
“Are you here just to be annoying?”
“Nope,” Seongje said, holding the shopping bag out toward him. “I brought you something.”
Si-eun raised an eyebrow. “What’s this?”
“See for yourself.”
He took the bag hesitantly, peeking inside. His brows furrowed. “…A sweater?”
The color caught him off guard. Peach amber. Soft and warm, like a sunrise captured in cotton. It looked new, still folded neatly, still holding the scent of detergent.
“Yes,” Seongje said, dead serious now. “I’m done seeing that gray damn hoodie every day. It’s like you’re trying to blend in with a crime scene.”
He paused for dramatic effect, then added with a theatrical sigh: “At this point, even shadows are begging for variety.”
Si-eun blinked. “…You bought me clothes?”
“No,” Seongje said dryly. “I bought a peace offering. For the crimes your hoodie commits every day against basic fashion.”
Si-eun pulled the sweater out slowly. His fingers lingered on the fabric.
“…You didn’t have to.”
“I wanted to.”
There it was again. That word. Wanted. Like Seongje did things not out of obligation, but choice. It made Si-eun’s chest feel too tight.
“…It’s kind of ugly,” he said quietly.
“Liar,” Seongje said, grinning. “You like it.”
Si-eun didn’t reply. His fingers kept brushing the sleeve.
“You didn’t have to come tonight,” he mumbled, voice low. “You know that.”
“I know.”
“…Then why?”
Seongje stepped closer, his voice softer now. “Because I wanted to.”
“That’s not a good reason.”
“It’s the only one that matters,” Seongje said. “You think you’re too much. That if you let someone see all of it, what’s inside, they’ll leave.”
Si-eun looked away, jaw tightening.
“Well, I saw it,” Seongje continued. “All of it. That night. And I’m still here.”
Silence.
The streetlamp above them buzzed faintly, casting long shadows on the wet pavement.
“…You shouldn’t be,” Si-eun finally said.
“Too bad,” Seongje whispered, just loud enough. “You’re stuck with me.”
For a moment, Si-eun said nothing. Then he clutched the sweater a little tighter.
“It’s still ugly,” he muttered.
“Sure,” Seongje said with a grin. “But it’s yours.”
They started walking. The street was mostly empty, the shops closed and windows dim. The occasional car hummed past, headlights washing over the pavement in long streaks. A breeze picked up, tugging gently at Si-eun’s hair, making the plastic of the shopping bag crinkle softly in his hand. Neither of them spoke for a while. But it wasn’t an awkward silence. It was that rare kind of quiet, the kind that settles between people who don’t need to fill the air just to prove they’re there.
Seongje shoved his hands in his pockets, glancing sideways every so often.
“You gonna wear it tomorrow?” he asked eventually.
“No.”
“Rude.”
Si-eun didn’t look at him. “It’s peach.”
“And?”
“I don’t wear peach.”
“You will now.” Si-eun sighed.
“You’re impossible.” Seongje grinned.
“And you’re predictable. I knew you were gonna complain. I almost bought it in lavender just to mess with you.”
“…Peach is fine,” Si-eun muttered after a second.
“Huh?”
“I said it’s fine. Better than lavender.”
Seongje laughed, shoulders shaking. “Look at you. Admitting defeat already.”
They reached a crosswalk, the red man blinking. Si-eun stopped at the edge of the curb, staring at the passing headlights.
Seongje stood close beside him, just enough that their sleeves brushed. Not touching, but nearly. Like always.
“I was serious earlier,” Seongje said after a pause. His voice was low again, gentler now that they weren’t in front of anyone. “About not leaving.”
Si-eun’s eyes didn’t move from the road.
“You don’t have to say that every time.”
“I’m gonna keep saying it anyway.”
“…Why?”
“Because maybe one day you’ll believe it.”
The light turned green. They crossed. Halfway across, Si-eun murmured, almost to himself
“You’re not scared of me?”
Seongje didn’t answer right away. When he did, his voice was soft. Honest.
“No. I’m scared for you sometimes. But not of you.”
Si-eun looked down at his feet. His shoes were soaked from a puddle they’d stepped through earlier.
But for some reason, all he could feel was the sweater in his hand, warm and peach-colored and real.
“...You say weird things.”
“Yeah,” Seongje said.
“You like it.”
Si-eun didn’t deny it. They kept walking. Past closed restaurants, dim alleyways, and the tiny convenience store that always left its lights on too late.
Seongje hummed something under his breath, some old pop song that Si-eun pretended not to recognize but absolutely did. When they finally reached Si-eun’s apartment building, they stopped at the bottom of the stairs.
“You gonna go in?” Seongje asked.
“In a bit.”
They stood there under the yellow porch light, the air quiet again. Si-eun glanced at the sweater one last time, then, without a word, opened his backpack and carefully folded it inside.
“…Thanks,” he said softly. Barely audible.
Seongje smiled. Not smug this time. Just... soft.
“Anytime, princess.”
Si-eun rolled his eyes, but this time, he didn’t argue.
And when he finally turned to head up the stairs, he paused halfway, just enough to glance over his shoulder.
“You better not get me socks next.”
“No promises,” Seongje called, grinning. “Maybe I’ll knit you a scarf.”
“God help me.”
But there was a flicker in Si-eun’s expression again. That rare, fleeting lift at the corners of his mouth.
Not quite a smile. But close.
And Seongje, he’d take close. For now.
The door clicked shut behind him. Si-eun stood in the hallway for a second longer than necessary, the hum of the elevator still fading behind him.
The apartment was dark, just the dim glow of the streetlights filtering through the curtains. His mom wasn’t home. Probably working the night shift again.
He slipped his shoes off, dropped his bag by the door, and padded into his room without turning on the lights.
Everything was where he left it: bed unmade, books stacked haphazardly on the desk, a half-empty bottle of water by the windowsill.
Familiar. Still. Lonely.
He sat on the edge of his bed, exhaling slowly. The shopping bag was still in his hand. He stared at it in the low light, the plastic rustling softly when he finally reached in and pulled the sweater out again.
Peach amber. Soft. Simple. No logos. Just... warm.
He didn’t know why it made his chest feel tight. It was just a sweater. Just cotton and thread and color.
But it wasn’t. Not really.
It was proof. Of being seen. Of someone noticing. Of someone, him, of all people, being thought of.
He held it up to the light, his fingers brushing over the fabric like it was fragile. He half expected it to vanish in his hands.
Then, slowly, he stood. Took off the gray hoodie, the one he wore almost like armor, and pulled the sweater over his head.
It fit. Perfectly..
The sleeves were a little long. The fabric brushed his skin like a whisper. He looked at himself in the mirror, half-expecting it to look ridiculous. Too bright. Too soft. Not him.
But it didn’t. It looked like something that didn’t belong in his life, and yet... somehow did.
He sat back down, curling his fingers into the hem. He didn’t cry. But he could have. Because it hit him, then.
All the nights he’d sat in this room, convincing himself no one would ever stay. That if anyone saw what was underneath, they’d turn around and walk away.
And then came Seongje. Loud. Careless. Stupidly persistent. Stupid enough to stay.
Sieun lay back on his bed, arms folded behind his head. The sweater clung gently to his frame, warmer than his old hoodie ever felt.
And in that silent room, wearing a peach-colored sweater he never asked for, Sieun didn’t feel quite so alone anymore.
The Next Morning, The morning sun filtered through the tall school windows, casting slanted light across the corridor floors.
Sieun walked in like he always did, quiet, head down, earphones in.
But something was off. Or rather different. Because today, instead of his usual gray hoodie, Sieun was wearing color. A soft peach amber sweater, sleeves slightly long, fabric swaying gently as he walked.
He didn’t act any different. Still stone-faced. Still quiet. Still that unreadable stare beneath thick lashes. But the sweater stood out like a drop of warmth in a cold room.
And naturally, it didn’t go unnoticed.
Baku was the first to spot him. He blinked once, then again, like he was seeing an illusion.
“…Yo. Is that Sieun?”
Juntae leaned forward from his desk. “No way. Someone check if he’s running a fever.”
“Bro’s glowing,” Gotak said seriously, munching on a packet of chips.
“Like a calm sunset.”
Juntae snorted.“More like a shy apricot.”
Sieun slid into his seat wordlessly. His jaw clenched slightly when he noticed their stares. He pulled at his sleeve. “I swear to god, say another fruit and I’m leaving.”
“Dude. I’m not even judging,” Baku said, hands up.
“You look nice. Unexpected. But nice.”
“Yeah,” Juntae added, grinning.
“Did someone dress you at gunpoint?” Gotak leaned in dramatically.
“Or is it that guy?”
That got them all laughing.
Si-eun stared straight ahead. “It’s laundry day.”
The three stared. Then erupted again.
“Laundry day my ass!”
“Man, just say someone cares about you, it’s okay!”
Sieun sighed, sinking slightly into his seat as they kept throwing peach-related jokes and wild guesses.
He didn’t respond. But at some point, he caught his reflection in the window. And maybe, he didn’t mind how it looked.
After School, The final bell rang. Students filed out in clumps, the noise of chatter and shoes echoing through the hallways.
Sieun stepped outside alone.
And there, waiting near the school gate like it was the most casual thing in the world, leaning back against the rail, one foot crossed over the other, earbuds in, was Seongje.
When he spotted Sieun, he straightened up immediately, pulled one earbud out, and grinned.
“Well, well. Look at you.”
Sieun narrowed his eyes. “What?”
Seongje walked up, giving him an exaggerated once-over.
“You actually wore it. I was 90% sure you’d burn it.”
“I almost did,” Sieun said flatly. “Got lazy.”
“Uh-huh,” Seongje smirked. “And you just happened to look like a soft marshmallow today?”
“Don’t say that.”
“I mean, it’s fine. You’re pulling it off,” Seongje continued, circling him like a smug stylist. “Could use better shoes, but we’ll work on that.”
“I’m not your makeover project.”
“Too late. You’re my fashion redemption arc.”
Sieun let out a tired sigh and started walking.
“Why are you here again?”
Seongje followed, hands in his pockets. “Felt like walking you home.”
“I didn’t ask.”
“I didn’t wait for permission.”
Sieun glanced at him. “You’re annoying.”
“And yet,” Seongje said, stepping beside him with a grin, “you wore the damn sweater.”
Sieun looked away, his voice low. “It was cold.”
“Sure. And it just happened to be the first thing you grabbed?”
“…It was soft.” Seongje bumped his shoulder lightly. “Admit it, you like it.”
“No.”
“Your eyes say otherwise.”
Sieun shook his head but didn’t move away from the slight bump.
The breeze caught the edge of his sleeve, and for once, he didn’t tug it down to hide his hands.
They walked on, side by side. The usual banter between them never stopped. But under the teasing and eye-rolls, there was something warm.
Easy.
Like color slowly bleeding into grayscale.
And this time, Sieun didn’t feel the need to walk ahead or push it away.
The Next Day, After School Sieun stepped out of the school gates, adjusting the strap of his bag over his shoulder, already mentally mapping his route home.
He had no cram school today, no plans, and no particular energy to deal with,
“…You again?”
There he was. Leaning against the same spot near the school wall like he owned it.
Seongje raised a hand in greeting, grinning lazily as if he hadn’t been standing there for the past twenty minutes checking the time every three seconds.
“You sound so thrilled to see me.”
“I’m not.”
“Liar,” Seongje said, falling into step beside him as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
“You free today?”
“…No.”
“No cram school, right?”
Sieun glanced at him. “…You stalk my schedule now?”
“Duh,” Seongje said, with zero shame..
“Anyway, I found this café. It’s near the riverside. Super quiet. Cozy. Let’s go.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t go to cafés.”
“You do now.”
Sieun shot him a flat look. “You just ‘found’ a café?”
Seongje shrugged.
“Yeah. Just happened to stumble on it online. And check the menu. And the interior photos. And read like twenty reviews.”
“…You’re such a freak.”
“It’s not a crime to want good pastries,” Seongje said with mock innocence.
“Besides, I figured you could use a change of scenery. Something less depressing than your bare-ass room and that apocalypse hoodie you finally retired.”
“I didn’t retire it. It’s in the laundry.”
“Sure it is,” Seongje grinned.
“Now let’s go before the sun sets. I’m not missing golden hour with your moody face."
“I said no.”
“Cool. We’re going anyway.”
20 Minutes Later, They sat by the window of a small café tucked between a bookstore and a flower shop, low lighting, soft indie music, and the distant clatter of cups behind the counter. The windows were slightly fogged from the air conditioning, and everything smelled faintly like cinnamon and roasted beans.
Si-eun sat stiffly, arms crossed, while Seongje studied the menu like a man on a mission.
“I don’t drink coffee,” Si-eun mumbled.
“They have tea. And hot chocolate. And pastries. You eat bread, right?”
“I’m not five.”
Seongje looked up with a smirk. “Could’ve fooled me.”
Si-eun glared, but didn’t protest when Seongje ordered for both of them, black tea for him, matcha latte for Si-eun, and two slices of warm honey toast with whipped cream.
“Don’t expect me to come here again,” Sieun said as he leaned back, eyes scanning the room.
It really was cozy. Wooden furniture. Plants in corners. A shelf of worn books in the back. It smelled like peace.
“Of course not,” Seongje replied, stirring his drink.
“This isn’t a thing.”
“It’s not.”
“Exactly. Just two dudes. Drinking overpriced tea. Sharing toast. Totally heterosexual behavior.”
Si-eun snorted. “You’re an idiot.”
“Yep,” Seongje said, popping a piece of toast in his mouth. “But I’m your idiot for the afternoon.”
Si-eun looked out the window, hiding the small twitch of his lips.
Outside, the sunlight slanted through the trees, golden and slow. People walked by without looking in. The world was busy.
But inside, it felt like time had stilled just a little. And somehow, against his better judgment, Si-eun didn’t hate being here. Didn’t hate the quiet music, or the warm mug in his hands, or the fact that Seongje kept stealing the corner pieces of toast.
“…This place isn’t bad,” he muttered, not looking up.
Seongje beamed. “That’s the highest compliment I’ve ever received.”
“You didn’t make the toast.”
“Yeah, but I brought you here.”
Si-eun finally looked up. “Don’t expect me to say thank you.”
“I won’t,” Seongje said. “But I’ll know anyway.”
They sat in silence for a few minutes, the good kind.
Sieun picked at his toast while pretending he didn’t like it, and Seongje pretended not to stare.
Because maybe it wasn’t a date. But maybe it didn’t need to be.
The sun had already begun its slow descent, painting the sky in soft hues of lavender and rose-gold. The streets were quieter now, the hum of the city settling into its early evening rhythm.
Si-eun walked beside Seongje in silence, hands stuffed into his pockets, the last of the café’s warmth still lingering on his skin.
He hadn’t said much after they left, just let out a grunt and gave a side-eye when Seongje payed for both of them, then followed Seongje out without another word.
But he hadn’t walked ahead either. Hadn’t said he hated the place. And he wasn’t rushing to get home.
That alone was… something.
Their footsteps matched naturally on the pavement, the rhythm comfortable. Familiar.
“I told you the toast would be good,” Seongje said after a while, tossing a tiny rock ahead of them with his foot.
Si-eun gave a noncommittal hum. “You’re still annoying.”
“And yet you ate every bite.”
Si-eun didn’t respond, but the smallest upward flicker ghosted at the corner of his mouth. Seongje noticed. Of course he did.
They reached the edge of Si-eun’s apartment complex.
He slowed near the bottom of the stairs, turning just slightly, as if hesitating. Not quite ready to go in. Not quite sure why he was hesitating.
Seongje stopped with him, rocking on his heels a little.
“Well,” he said lightly. “This was a nice not-date.”
“It wasn’t a date,” Si-eun mumbled, eyes trained somewhere on the pavement.
“Exactly,” Seongje said with a grin. “That’s why I said not-date. See? We agree.”
Si-eun sighed. “You’re exhausting.”
“But you had fun,” Seongje teased.
“…It wasn’t terrible,” Si-eun said quietly.
And in his language, that was practically a love letter.
Seongje’s grin softened. “Hey,” he said.
Si-eun looked up. Before he could register it, Seongje stepped in, just half a step closer, and gently reached out, brushing Si-eun’s hair back from his forehead. And then, He leaned in and pressed a soft kiss right to the center of Si-eun’s forehead.
Sieun froze. Every part of him locked up for one stunned second, like time hit pause.
When Seongje pulled back, there was no smugness in his expression. Just a quiet certainty. His eyes were steady.
“See you tomorrow,” he said. And then he turned, walking off into the fading evening light like it was the most casual thing in the world.
Sieun stood there for a long moment.
Still. Silent.
One hand unconsciously lifted to his forehead. His heart thudded once, too loud in his ears.
He didn’t know what the hell that was.
It wasn’t the first time Seongje kissed his forehead. But this time, it wasn’t to calm him down. It wasn’t comfort.
It meant something.
Sieun sat on his bed, hand brushing his forehead. Still warm.
But he couldn’t stop thinking about it. His face was burning.
He didn’t stop thinking about it.
Not for the rest of the night.
The air inside the dim office was heavy with smoke and tension. The single overhead light cast long shadows across the cluttered desk where Choi sat, silent, his fingers drumming against the armrest like a ticking clock.
Across from him stood Baekjin, expression unreadable, jaw tense, posture straight, but eyes flickering.
On the other side of the room, a younger member, Kang Hojin, barely nineteen, stood with his head lowered. Blood still stained the corner of his shirt. His right knuckle was swelling.
“You call that clean?” Choi finally said, voice like gravel and rust.
“I asked you to deliver a warning, not leave the guy half-dead in front of a goddamn noodle shop.”
Hojin didn’t speak. He knew better.
“He got the message,” Baekjin offered, trying to defuse. “The debt’s clear now, no one’s going to run-”
“That’s not the point.” Choi’s voice was still calm, too calm.
“The point is control. Precision. That was supposed to be Seongje’s job.”
He shot Baekjin a look. Sharp. Calculated. “But I hear he’s still on vacation.”
Baekjin stiffened. “Didn’t want to push him,” he replied carefully. “He said he needed time.”
“He needs reminding where he belongs.”
Baekjin didn’t answer.
Choi leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk, eyes fixed like blades.
“You trained him. Brought him in. I respected that. But you’re not keeping him on a leash anymore, are you?”
Baekjin flinched, not visibly, not to most. But Choi caught it.
“I want him back,” Choi said, low. “I don’t care what it takes. Bribe him, threaten him, sweet-talk him, whatever you’ve got. But he comes back, Baekjin. No more little boys trying to play wolf.”
Baekjin’s throat tightened. He forced a nod. “I’ll talk to him.”
Choi gave a humorless smile. “Talk faster. He’s been gone too long. People are watching.”
With that, the meeting was over. Choi turned away, reaching for the remote to the security screens. The conversation was dismissed, but the message wasn’t.
As Baekjin stepped out of the office, his calm cracked just slightly. He lit a cigarette with a trembling hand.
Seongje’s absence was more than an inconvenience now. It was becoming a threat.
And the worst part? Baekjin couldn’t shake the feeling that if he reached out…
Seongje might not reach back.
Notes:
Fluffy yeongeum😋
Peach amber was very random cause I like this color and I know it will suit Sieun. Trust.also Seongje, should have gone for the lips, but Sieun might have short circuited if he did. so we are walking slow 🚶🏻♀️
Chapter Text
The next day, Sieun was feeling wierd in a way he couldn't understand. He has been acting weird at school, Juntae noticed.
Juntae leaned against the locker beside him, eyes narrowing. “Okay. Spill. You’ve been staring at the same math problem for ten minutes, and I saw you walk into the wrong classroom this morning. You’re acting like a ghost in a Sieun costume.”
Sieun blinked. His brain scrambled for a response that wasn’t “I can still feel Seongje’s lips on my forehead.”
Instead, he deadpanned, “I think I touched a cursed vending machine.”
Juntae squinted. “…What?”
Sieun nodded solemnly. “I asked for iced coffee. It gave me hot corn soup. Nothing’s been right since.”
Juntae stared at him, then burst out laughing. “Bro. That’s not a curse. That’s just bad luck.”
“Tell that to my internal temperature,” Sieun muttered, shutting his locker with unnecessary force.
But even as Juntae kept teasing him, Sieun’s mind slipped again, uninvited, to the memory of Seongje’s hand brushing his hair back. The warmth of that kiss still lingered like static, like a quiet hum just under his skin.
Meanwhile, Seongje stood alone on the rooftop of a convenience store. Cigarette between his lips, untouched. He wasn’t smoking, just holding it like a habit he couldn’t break.
He hadn’t gone home last night.
Didn’t feel like he could.
His burner phone buzzed, a short, sharp vibration. One new message from a number he didn’t have saved, but knew by heart.
>Baekjin-hyung: We need to talk. Tonight. I’ll come alone.
Seongje didn’t answer right away.
He just stared out across the rooftops, past the haze of heat and concrete. Toward the place where he used to be someone else. Someone useful. Controlled. Feared.
But now?
Now there was a boy with a quiet gaze and stiff shoulders who made him hesitate.
Who made him want something else.
Back in school, Sieun sat in the cafeteria, picking at his lunch with all the enthusiasm of a wet sock. Juntae was still ranting about the vending machine curse theory when his phone buzzed.
Sieun glanced at it lazily. Then froze.
>Seongje: Can I see you after class? Just us.
His heart jolted, a clean, bright thump that echoed all the way up to his throat.
He typed back:
>Yeah. Sure. Where?
The reply came quick.
>Seongje : Rooftop.
Si-eun swallowed hard. The rest of the school day passed like fog, blurring, dragging, filled with too much noise he couldn't process.
By the time he climbed the last flight of stairs to the rooftop, the sun had started to dip, throwing everything into that warm amber-gold.
Seongje was already there, leaning against the railing, back to him.
He didn’t turn around right away. Just said, “I wasn’t sure you’d come.”
“I did,” Sieun replied. His voice was soft. Honest.
Seongje turned then. His expression was unreadable, guarded but gentler than usual.
“I’m leaving soon,” he said quietly.
The words hit like a sucker punch.
“Leaving?” Sieun’s voice cracked just a little. “Where?”
“I don’t know. Away from… this.” Seongje looked up at the sky, then down at Sieun. “But before I go, I needed to tell you something.”
The silence stretched. Wind brushed past them, light and aching.
“That kiss yesterday,” Seongje said, his voice low but steady. “I meant it.”
Sieun stared. His pulse was a mess. “You- what does that mean?”
Seongje stepped forward, not too close, just enough.
“It means I’m not just running from who I was anymore,” he said. “I’m trying to run toward something.”
“And… you’re part of that, Sieun.”
The rooftop felt suddenly too quiet. Too still. Sieun couldn’t breathe.
“I don’t expect anything,” Seongje added, softer now. “I just wanted you to know before I disappear again. Because even if I do, I want you to remember that. That it was real.”
Silence again. Tense. Open.
Then, very quietly, Sieun asked, “What if I don’t want you to go?”
Seongje’s expression faltered.
And for the first time in a long time, he looked unsure.
“…Then I might stay.”
And that changed everything.
Something that could tip either way.
Seongje’s words hung in the air, fragile and trembling like a string pulled too tight.
Sieun took a slow breath. His hands were cold. His heart wasn’t.
“Then stay,” he said, quietly. But every syllable was steady.
Seongje’s eyes lifted to his.
“I don’t care where you’ve been,” Sieun continued, voice low but certain. “Or what you think you have to run from. I just-” He stopped, trying to gather the right words. He hated this part. The vulnerable part. But he kept going. “You matter to me. That kiss… it messed me up.”
He gave a short laugh, soft and self-conscious. “I didn’t sleep. Couldn’t think. And I don’t know what this is. Or what it’s supposed to be. But I want to figure it out.”
There was a beat.
Then another.
Seongje stared at him, something shifting in his face, like a crack letting in light.
“You want me to stay,” he echoed, like he still couldn’t believe it.
Sieun nodded. “Yeah. I do.”
Seongje didn’t move at first. Just looked at him. Looked through him, even. Like he was trying to memorize every edge of Sieun’s face in this light. His lips parted, but no sound came out.
Then suddenly, like something inside him had just snapped loose, he stepped forward.
And pulled Sieun into a hug.
Not rough. Not casual.
Just warm. Careful. Full of everything he hadn’t said yet.
Si-eun froze, startled by the closeness.
Then slowly, surely, his arms came up. One wrapped around Seongje’s back. The other clutched his shirt like if he let go, the boy in front of him might vanish again.
“I don’t know how to be this,” Seongje whispered near his ear.
“Me neither,” Sieun whispered back. “But we’ll figure it out.”
Seongje’s breath hitched. His grip tightened. Just a little.
And on that rooftop, in the gold spill of fading daylight, something shifted.
Eventually, Seongje pulled back, but only slightly. Just enough to look at Sieun properly. His hands still rested on Sieun’s shoulders, steady.
His gaze flicked between Sieun’s eyes and lips, then back again. .
“I thought I was too far gone,” he said softly. “Too deep in the mess I crawled out of. But then you… You looked at me like I wasn’t.”
Sieun’s voice came out quieter than he expected. “Because you weren’t.”
Seongje gave a small, breathless laugh, more relief than humor. “You really are the worst liar.”
“I’m not lying,” Sieun said, raising an eyebrow. “You are a mess. But you’re not… broken.”
He reached out, fingers brushing over Seongje’s wrist.
“Not to me.”
For a second, Seongje just stared at him like that sentence had knocked the air clean out of his lungs.
Then he leaned forward again, slowly, carefully.
He kissed his cheek.
A soft, lingering press of lips just below the eye, so close to his mouth it made Si-eun’s breath hitch.
Not rushed. Not hesitant.
Just honest.
When Seongje pulled back again, their faces were still close, close enough to feel the warmth between them, the nerves, the quiet promise of something more.
Sieun stared at him, his heart pounding loud in his ears. Then, before he could stop himself, he muttered-
“Can’t you fucking see my lips?”
His voice was low. Rougher than intended. “Why do you keep kissing everywhere else?”
Seongje froze. His eyes widened just slightly, caught off guard.
Then he blinked. And something in his expression shifted.
Like the hesitation finally cracked open.
“I was trying to be decent,” he said, voice almost a whisper.
“Don’t,” Sieun breathed. “Not with me.”
For half a second, it was silent again.
Then Seongje leaned in.
And this time, he didn’t miss.
Seongje’s lips brushed Sieun’s, slow, tentative at first. Testing. Asking without words.
And Sieun didn’t hesitate.
He leaned in, closed the space between them fully, and kissed him back like he’d been holding his breath for weeks.
It wasn’t perfect, too new, too full of nerves and heat and everything they hadn’t said, but it didn’t need to be.
Because it was real.
It was them.
Seongje’s hand slid up to cup Sieun’s jaw, thumb grazing his cheek as if grounding himself in the moment. Sieun’s fingers curled into Seongje’s hoodie, pulling him just a little closer, like he was afraid the rooftop might vanish if he let go.
When they finally broke apart, barely a breath between them, Sieun was flushed. Dazed.
Seongje looked like he’d just seen the sky for the first time.
“...That's what you were asking for?” he murmured, trying for a smirk, though his voice was still wrecked from the kiss.
Sieun blinked up at him, lips still tingling. “Took you long enough.”
Seongje huffed a quiet laugh, brushing a knuckle under Sieun’s chin. “You really are a brat.”
“You kissed the brat,” Sieun shot back, voice soft, defiant.
“I’d do it again.”
Their eyes met. Locked.
Sieun’s gaze softened. “Then stay. For real. No more running.”
Seongje nodded, slow and certain. “For real.”
Below them, the world kept moving, traffic, people, noise, but up here, it didn’t matter.
Not now.
Because the boy who never asked for anything had finally spoken.
And the boy who thought he didn’t deserve anything-
Stayed.
Another Day
Late afternoon, outside a quiet convenience store. Warm light, faint cicada buzz, two drinks sweating on the metal table.
They sat in companionable silence. The occasional car rolled by, but the street was mostly empty. A bag of chips lay open between them, barely touched. Seongje sat with one leg up on the chair, spinning the cap of his soda bottle between his fingers. Sieun had been poking at the condensation on his can for the last five minutes.
Neither of them said much.
Until Seongje finally broke the quiet.
“Are you going to see him?” he asked, eyes still on the bottle cap.
Sieun’s fingers froze.
He didn’t look up. Just let out a slow breath and leaned back in his seat. “You mean Suho.”
“Yeah.”
There was another pause. This one heavier.
Sieun stared at the rim of his drink, jaw tensing. “I don’t know.”
Seongje didn’t press. He nodded slowly, like he’d expected that answer. He let the cap fall onto the table with a soft clink.
“It’s okay,” he said, voice gentle. “You don’t have to.”
Sieun didn’t respond right away. He shifted in his seat, staring off toward the edge of the parking lot. The sky was starting to change, orange bleeding into blue, that soft hour of indecision between day and night.
“I just…” he began, then trailed off.
Seongje waited.
“I don’t know what I’d even say or do,” Sieun admitted, his voice small. “He’s lying in a hospital bed because of everything I didn’t do. Because I didn’t stop it. Because I let it all fall apart.”
“That’s not true,” Seongje said, quiet but firm.
“You weren’t there.”
“I know,” he replied. “But I’ve heard enough.”
Sieun looked at him then, sharp and tired and vulnerable in a way only Seongje ever really saw. “It’s not just guilt,” he said. “It’s shame.”
Seongje exhaled through his nose, leaned forward a little, elbows on the table.
“I’m not gonna give you some cheesy line like ‘he’d want you to visit.’ I don’t know what Suho wants,” he said plainly. “But I think you want to. Even if it scares you.”
Sieun didn’t deny it.
He just looked away again, blinking a little too fast.
“I can come with you,” Seongje offered after a moment. “If you want.”
Sieun turned back slowly. “You would?”
“Yeah. Not for him. For you.”
The quiet returned, softer this time.
Sieun didn’t say yes. But he didn’t say no either.
Instead, he nudged the chip bag toward Seongje, without looking at him and muttered, “You’re annoying.”
Seongje smirked. “You like that about me.”
Sieun gave a tiny huff. Barely a smile. But it was something.
“I’ll think about it,” he said at last.
“Okay,” Seongje nodded. “Take your time.”
Seongje took a slow sip from his soda, his eyes half-lidded with that usual bored expression. Sieun sat across from him, stirring the ice in his cup with the straw, barely touching the drink.
They hadn’t spoken in a while, not since that question about Suho. But the quiet between them wasn’t tense anymore.
Still, it was Sieun who broke it.
“You know,” he said, tone deceptively casual. “You’ve been acting your age lately.”
Seongje raised an eyebrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I mean…” Sieun looked him up and down with mock consideration. “You used to feel like some laid-back weirdo who hung around convenience stores and slept through life.”
Seongje didn’t even deny it. “Fair.”
“But now,” Sieun went on, leaning back in his plastic chair like he was making a grand judgment, “you talk like someone who reads self-help books. You give me actual advice. You listen. You even ask before showing up.”
He squinted. “It's suspicious.”
Seongje let out a soft snort. “Sorry for growing up, I guess.”
“No, no. I’m impressed. Really.” Sieun took a sip of his drink, trying to keep his expression neutral.
Then, as he set the cup down, he added lightly,
“Very hyung-like of you.”
Silence.
Seongje blinked. “What?”
Sieun didn’t look at him. “You heard me.”
A pause.
“You’ve never called me that before.”
“Exactly. That’s what makes it powerful,” Sieun replied coolly. “Gotta keep you humble.”
“You’re five years younger than me,” Seongje said, clearly thrown off. “You were supposed to be calling me that this entire time.”
Sieun shrugged. “You didn’t act like one.”
“I literally bought you lunch just now.”
“Doesn’t count.”
Seongje gave him a look. “Do you want me to behave like one?”
Sieun smirked. “No, I like you better when you’re pretending not to care.”
Seongje leaned forward, arms crossed over the table, narrowing his eyes. “Say it again.”
“What, hyung?” Sieun teased, eyes gleaming.
Seongje groaned and dropped his head into his arms. “This is a nightmare.”
“You’ve only just earned it,” Sieun said smugly, taking another long sip. “Don’t waste your moment.”
“You’re never saying it again, are you?”
“Probably not.”
Seongje turned his head just enough to look at him from under his arm. “You’re a menace.”
Sieun smiled faintly. “You still like me, though.”
There was a pause. Then,
“Unfortunately,” Seongje muttered.
Seongje eventually lifted his head from his arms, eyes narrowed but the smile tugging at his lips giving him away.
“You’re lucky I don’t take things personally,” he muttered.
Sieun looked at him over his straw, deadpan. “You absolutely take things personally.”
“Okay, but I don’t show it.”
“That’s a lie.”
Seongje pointed at him. “I’m starting to regret staying.”
“Too late,” Sieun said, grinning now. “You kissed me. You’re trapped.”
Seongje let out a breath, leaned back in his chair, and tilted his head toward the sky. “How’d I fall for someone this annoying?”
“You said you like brats,” Sieun said without missing a beat.
“I meant in theory.”
“I’m the real-world test.”
Seongje shook his head, but there was no edge to it. Just quiet amusement. He watched Sieun from the corner of his eye, watched the way his lips curled around the straw, how his fingers tapped lightly on the cup, how his expression softened when he wasn’t trying to be difficult.
“Hey,” he said after a moment, voice low.
Sieun looked up.
“I meant it, you know,” Seongje said. “If you ever decide to go see Suho… I’ll go with you. No pressure. I’ll just be there. Even if you don’t say a word.”
Sieun’s fingers stilled on his cup.
For a second, he didn’t respond. Just stared down at the melting ice in his drink, eyes unfocused.
Then, quietly, “I know.”
Seongje waited.
“I’m not ready,” Sieun said, voice even softer now. “But I think… I want to be. Someday.”
Seongje nodded. “Take your time.”
Sieun gave a small, tired smile. “You’re being mature again. Should I say it?”
“Don’t.”
“Hyung-”
“I swear to god, Princess-”
But Seongje was already laughing as he threatened him, and Sieun was grinning into his drink like he’d won something.
And maybe he had.
Because in that corner of the world, with vending machines humming and the sky turning purple-blue above them, they weren’t just two people carrying too much anymore.
They were something steadier. Quieter.
The kind of almost that slowly became real.
They were at a small snack shop near the school.
Plastic chairs. Greasy trays. The smell of tteokbokki in the air. Laughter louder than it needs to be.
Sieun sat at the far edge of the plastic table, chopsticks hovering over the steaming tray of food, not quite sure how he ended up here.
Across from him, Juntae was already talking a mile a minute, flicking fish cakes into his bowl like he was born for this kind of chaos.
“... and then the dude actually tripped over the mop bucket,” Juntae said between bites, barely swallowing. “Like full-on cartoon flip, legs in the air. I almost died laughing.”
Gotak groaned, “That’s not even the best part. Didn’t he land on the teacher?”
“On his back! Like a turtle!” Baku wheezed.
Everyone burst out laughing. Sieun gave a faint smile. Just a little one. He hadn’t said much since he got here. Didn’t usually.
But he didn’t feel out of place, either.
That was… new.
“Sieun,” Gotak said, nudging his arm with a chopstick. “You’ve been quiet. You okay?”
Sieun blinked. “...I’m fine.”
“Liar,” Juntae chimed in, slurping up some ramyeon. “You always say that.”
Sieun gave a tired sigh, but it wasn’t irritated. “I’m not lying. Just… tired.”
“From what? You’re not even doing club stuff.”
“I’m doing life stuff,” Sieun deadpanned.
Juntae nodded sagely. “Valid.”
Then, “So. Have you seen your scary friend lately?”
Sieun looked up.
“You mean Seongje?”
“Yeah, him.” Juntae leaned in dramatically. “He still shows up out of nowhere like he’s about to rob a gas station?”
Baku groaned. “He’s not that bad. Just looks like he’s always planning something illegal.”
“Probably is,” Gotak added flatly. “But he’s hot, so no one says anything.”
Sieun choked on his water.
Everyone turned to look at him.
Juntae’s eyes widened. “Wait a minute.”
“I’m fine,” Sieun said too quickly.
“You are not fine,” Baku said, pointing. “Why is your face red?”
Gotak raised an eyebrow. “Wait, are you two, like… a thing?”
Sieun looked away, ears burning. “I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t deny it either,” Juntae said, leaning closer with a wide grin. “Oh my god. I knew something was weird when he walked you home that one day!”
“He’s not weird,” Sieun mumbled, then instantly regretted it.
Silence.
Then the whole table exploded.
Juntae fell sideways into Baku. Gotak covered his face with one hand, muttering something like “Unbelievable.”
Sieun buried his face in his hands.
“I’m leaving.”
“You’re staying,” Baku said, grabbing his sleeve. “This is so much better than I thought today would be.”
“I hate all of you,” Sieun muttered, but he didn’t actually move.
They kept teasing him for a while, because that’s what friends do.
And weirdly… it didn’t feel heavy.
It didn’t feel like the kind of attention he used to run from.
It felt real. Loud. Annoying.
And warm in a way he hadn’t let himself miss.
Maybe he could get used to this.
Just a little.
Just enough.
A narrow street, just past the school zone. Dim streetlights. The smell of asphalt after a warm day.
“Man, I think I ate too much,” Juntae groaned, stretching his arms as he walked beside Sieun, his backpack slung low on one shoulder.
“You always eat too much,” Sieun said without looking, hands tucked in his hoodie pocket. “And then complain like it’s new information.”
Juntae nudged him with his elbow. “Let me live.”
“You’re dramatic.”
“I’m full,” Juntae whined. “My body’s shutting down. I need to lie down on the pavement. Just leave me here-”
“No.”
Juntae sighed but grinned. “Cold-hearted.”
Si-eun didn’t answer. His head had turned slightly, not toward Juntae, but toward the faint sound of footsteps behind them.
Not loud. Not fast.
But there.
Consistent.
Matching their pace.
He glanced over his shoulder casually.
Nothing. Just the street. Dim stores. A flickering light above a barber shop.
But his skin prickled anyway.
They kept walking.
“Hey,” Sieun said suddenly, tone low. “You hear that?”
Juntae blinked. “Hear what?”
“Shh.”
They stopped walking.
The footsteps stopped, too.
Juntae’s brows drew together, his voice dropping. “...That wasn’t you?”
“No.”
Sieun turned slightly, his eyes sharp now, scanning the dim stretch of road behind them. A shape moved just behind a parked van, too fast to catch clearly.
Juntae’s voice tightened. “Creepy.”
Sieun stepped forward, placing himself slightly in front of Juntae, subtle but protective. His voice was steady, but quiet.
“Keep walking. Don’t run. Just act normal.”
Juntae nodded, now fully serious.
They started moving again, just a little faster. The sound behind them picked up too, still faint, but undeniably there.
Sieun reached into his pocket and gripped his phone.
No messages. No calls. Just static nerves and instinct buzzing in his chest.
They turned a corner. Sieun’s eyes immediately scanned the alleyway they were about to pass, a gap between buildings with no exit. He grabbed Juntae’s sleeve and yanked him forward, skipping the turn entirely.
“Shortcut’s the other way-” Juntae started, confused.
“That’s what he wants,” Si-eun muttered.
Another corner. A second pair of footsteps, a little heavier now, a little closer.
Si-eun’s mind worked fast. He could fight if he had to, but not with Juntae here. Not on a narrow street with bad lighting and no cameras.
Then,
A blur in the corner of his eye. A figure stepping out just a few feet behind them.
Juntae froze.
Sieun didn’t.
He spun around in one sharp motion. “Hey,” he called out, voice loud and clear now, echoing against the empty buildings. “You lost?”
The figure paused. Half-hidden in shadow.
Male. Tall. Hood pulled up. Face obscured.
Didn’t answer.
Didn’t move.
Sieun’s tone dropped lower,dangerous, cold. “You’ve been following us for six blocks. You wanna talk, or should I call the cops and let them talk to you?”
A beat.
Then the figure turned and walked away. Not rushed. Not panicked.
Just gone.
Sieun stood there, fists clenched at his sides until the figure was fully out of sight.
Juntae let out a long, shaky breath. “What the hell.”
Sieun was still watching the corner. His heart was calm, but his brain was alert.
“He wasn’t just some creep,” he said. “He was tracking us. Like he knew who we were.”
“You think he was waiting for something?”
“No,” Sieun murmured, finally turning back toward Juntae. “I think he was watching us.”
They walked the rest of the way in silence, close, careful.
And Sieun couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t the last time that man would appear.
Only the first.
Like the start of something.
Or someone.
They didn’t say much for the rest of the walk, Juntae kept glancing behind them, but Sieun didn’t.
He was already thinking three steps ahead.
When they reached the corner near Juntae’s apartment, the street dipped into a quieter, more residential area. Porch lights flickered on one by one. A dog barked in the distance.
“I’m good from here,” Juntae said, voice low.
Sieun didn’t move. “Text me when you’re inside.”
Juntae paused. “You gonna be okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re doing the thing again.”
“What thing.”
“The ‘I’m fine but clearly planning a manhunt’ thing.”
Sieun didn’t deny it.
Juntae gave a faint smile, nervous around the edges. “Thanks. For earlier.”
Sieun gave a short nod. “Go.”
Once Juntae disappeared around the corner, Sieun pulled his phone out again and checked the reflection in the dark screen, nothing behind him. Still, he could feel it. That subtle pressure at the back of his neck, like someone’s eyes hadn’t left him since that alley.
Sieun didn’t head home.
Not right away.
He cut through backstreets instead, letting muscle memory guide him, the kind of paths that curved behind old buildings, where no one installed cameras, and streetlights flickered like dying bugs.
And even though the footsteps weren’t loud anymore, he knew.
Someone was still there.
Trailing him.
Carefully.
So Sieun slipped into the side entrance of an old storage building with a rusted service stairwell, the kind of place no one looked twice at. He mohved fast and silent up the concrete steps and waited just beyond the second landing.
Pressed into shadow.
One hand at his side.
He didn’t have to wait long.
The footsteps paused just outside the stairwell. Then, slowly, someone stepped inside.
As soon as the figure reached the first landing, Sieun moved.
He didn’t slam or punch, just hooked an arm tight around the man’s neck and shoved him into the wall hard enough to knock the breath out of him.
The guy grunted in surprise. Not a total amateur, he didn’t flail, didn’t panic, but he hadn’t expected to be caught this fast.
Sieun’s voice was ice. “You’ve been following me since the convenience store.”
No response.
“Who sent you?”
Still silence.
Si-eun shifted his grip slightly, just enough to make his point. “I’ll ask again-”
“I’m not here to start anything,” the man muttered finally. “I wasn’t told to touch you.”
“Then what were you told to do?”
A beat.
Then, quietly, almost bored: “Watch.”
Sieun’s grip didn’t loosen.
“Why?”
Another beat.
“Because Seongje’s been watching you.”
That made Sieun pause.
His jaw clenched. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
The man tilted his head slightly against the wall. “It means someone’s getting impatient. Doesn’t like how far he’s drifted. And wants to know why.”
Sieun’s heart kicked hard once in his chest, not fear.
Anger.
Understanding.
He didn’t say it out loud, but he knew. Who else would send someone like this?
“You think tailing me’s gonna fix that?” he muttered.
“I don’t make the plans. I just follow orders.” The man gave a faint shrug. “And right now, the only order is: keep an eye on the boy Seongje’s been clinging to.”
Sieun hated how coldly he said it. Like he wasn’t a person, just a variable. A threat. A weakness.
He stepped back, finally letting go.
The man didn’t run. Just straightened his collar like it was nothing.
“You’re not very subtle,” Sieun said flatly.
“Wasn’t trying to be,” the man replied. “We just wanted you to know. That we’re looking.”
Sieun stared at him, fists tight at his sides.
“I’m not part of your game.”
“Doesn’t matter.” The man started down the stairs. “You’re in it anyway.”
And with that, he disappeared into the dark below, leaving Sieun alone on the landing.
Still. Quiet.
Burning.
Because now it was real.
Whatever Seongje left behind,
Was trying to reach back in.
And Si-eun had no idea if Seongje even knew
he was being dragged.
The stairwell was silent now.
But Si-eun didn’t move.
His chest still heaved faintly, not from the fight but from the words left behind.
“I’m just here to keep an eye on the boy Seongje’s been clinging to.”
Not you.
Not Sieun.
Just a title. A reason.
Like he wasn’t a person, just part of Seongje’s orbit.
But what gripped Sieun harder than anger was fear.
Because that man hadn’t just followed him.
He’d followed Juntae, too.
Walked their exact path.
And if Sieun hadn’t noticed,
If he hadn’t listened for the steps behind them would Juntae have been safe?
The thought made Sieun sick.
Juntae didn’t belong in this.
Neither did Hyuntak . Or Baku
They were just… people who cared.
And now they were exposed.
Because of him.
He pulled out his phone.
There was already a message waiting.
>Seongje : you home?
Sieun hesitated, thumb hovering over the screen.
Then typed:
> Princess⭐: someone was following us. me and juntae. he wasn’t subtle.
The dots appeared almost instantly.
> Seongje :Where are you?
Si-eun didn’t answer with words.
He just dropped a pin.
A few minutes later, the stairwell door creaked open again.
Fast footsteps.
“Sieun.”
The voice was tight. Low. Not angry, but heavy with something that made Sieun’s stomach twist.
He looked up from where he sat on the concrete landing.
Seongje was already there.
No dramatic entrance. No swagger.
Just urgency.
He crossed the stairwell in three quick strides, crouching down in front of him. His eyes scanned Sieun’s face immediately, hands hovering like he wasn’t sure where to start.
“Are you hurt?” he asked, breath short. “Did he touch you?”
“No,” Sieun said quietly.
But Seongje didn’t stop looking. His hand reached out and tugged at the sleeve of Sieun’s hoodie, pulling it up like he expected to find bruises underneath. Then the other arm. Then his chin, gently tipped so he could check his jawline, his neck.
Sieun didn’t move. Didn’t stop him.
“You don’t believe me?” he asked, voice flat.
“I do,” Seongje said, fingers brushing his wrist. “But I need to see.”
His hands were warm. Careful. Too careful, like even the idea of hurting Sieun made something in him rattle loose.
When he didn’t find anything, he exhaled, like he’d been holding it the whole time.
Sieun finally looked him in the eye. “He said he was sent to watch me. Because of you.”
Seongje flinched at the word. “I know.”
“No, you didn’t. That’s the problem.”
Seongje leaned back, guilt shadowing his face. “I didn’t think Baekjin would go this far. I thought if I kept my distance from them, they’d stay out of my personal life.”
“You call this distance?” Sieun asked. “They followed us after school, Seongje. They watched Juntae. He’s just a kid-"
“You’re a kid,” Seongje said before he could stop himself.
They both froze.
Regret hit his face instantly.
But Sieun just looked away, something in him folding up quiet and sharp.
“I can take it,” he muttered. “But they don’t get to touch them.”
“I won’t let them,” Seongje said quickly. “I’ll talk to Baekjin. I’ll tell him-”
“What?” Sieun cut in, gaze finally locking back on him. “That I’m off-limits? That I’m not your weakness?”
Seongje didn’t answer.
Because they both knew he couldn’t lie about that.
Instead, his voice dropped low. Almost trembling.
“I never wanted you to be involved in any of this. I tried to keep it separate.”
“You should’ve known better,” Sieun said. “You’re not just some guy who used to fight. You’re still part of it. And now it’s bleeding into me.”
Seongje didn’t argue.
Didn’t deny it.
He just looked at him, like he wanted to say a hundred things but none of them would make this right.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.
It wasn’t enough.
But it was real.
Sieun looked at his own hands. They were steady now.
But his voice cracked just slightly.
“Just promise me they won’t go near my friends again.”
Seongje nodded. “They won’t.”
“I mean it.”
“So do I.”
The stairwell was quiet again.
But now it wasn’t fear holding them still.
It was the weight of a line they couldn’t uncross.
And maybe never meant to cross at all.
The stairwell had gone quiet again.
Not cold, not sharp, just… still.
Seongje hadn’t moved from where he crouched in front of him.
And Sieun, after a long beat of silence, leaned forward, slowly, and rested his forehead against Seongje’s.
It was subtle. Barely a touch.
But it felt like all the weight in his chest shifted there, between them.
Seongje went still. Eyes fluttering closed for a second, like the contact knocked the breath out of him.
Sieun’s voice was soft. Barely above a whisper.
“I still think about it, you know.”
Seongje didn’t ask. He didn’t need to.
“Suho,” Sieun said, closing his eyes too. “Every day. Every time things get quiet.”
His voice wavered just slightly. “I didn’t see it coming. I should’ve. I should’ve done something. Anything.”
Seongje stayed still, hands resting lightly on Sieun’s knees now. Not holding. Just there.
“And now Juntae almost got pulled in because of me,” Sieun whispered. “I can’t- I won’t let it happen again.”
He pulled in a shaky breath. “I don’t care if Baekjin sends ten more guys. I don’t care what they want from you. If they even look at my friends-”
“They won’t,” Seongje said, quiet but firm. “I won’t let them.”
But Sieun didn’t back off. His forehead still pressed gently to Seongje’s, like that tiny touch was holding him upright.
“I don’t need protecting,” he murmured. “But they do.”
“I know.”
“I can’t lose another one.”
“You won’t.”
This time, Seongje reached up, fingertips brushing Sieun’s cheek- just barely. Like he was scared touching too much might make him crumble.
“I’m not gonna let that happen,” he said again. “Not to them. Not to you.”
Sieun didn’t say anything.
But he stayed close.
Forehead against forehead. Breathing syncing. Heat shared between skin and silence.
And for the first time in a long time, he let himself feel how scared he actually was.
Because being strong didn’t mean being numb.
And carrying guilt didn’t mean carrying it alone.
Neither of them moved.
Forehead to forehead. Breathing slow. Close enough to feel every flicker of hesitation, every word left unsaid.
Seongje didn’t pull away.
Didn’t crack a joke.
Didn’t treat this like something temporary.
He just stayed there.
With him.
And for Sieun, who’d always been surrounded by people who left, people who broke promises with silence,
This stillness felt louder than any apology.
Eventually, Sieun pulled back. Just slightly.
His eyes were rimmed red, but dry.
Tired, but sharp.
“I don’t forgive easily,” he murmured.
“I know.”
“I’m not asking you to fix it.”
“I’m not trying to.”
There was something strangely steady in Seongje’s voice. No guilt, no pity, just a quiet understanding.
“You’re not alone in it anymore,” he said simply.
Sieun looked at him. Really looked at him.
And for the first time since Suho,
Since everything fell apart,
He didn’t feel like he was standing at the edge of something,
But maybe, just maybe, at the start of something else. Something he didn’t have to carry by himself.
He nodded once. Small.
Then stood up, brushing off his hoodie, already shrinking back into his usual self.
“Walk me home,” he said casually, like none of that had just happened.
Seongje stood too, falling into step beside him.
“Obviously.”
“…And don’t walk like a bodyguard.”
“No promises.”
Their footsteps echoed softly as they left the stairwell behind.
And though the street ahead was still dark,
Neither of them walked like they were alone anymore.
The street was calm by the time they stepped out of the building. A light breeze moved through the leaves above, rustling faintly in the otherwise still night.
Sieun shoved his hands in his pockets. “You’re really not gonna stop hovering now, are you?”
Seongje glanced sideways. “Not a chance.”
“I figured.” He kicked at a pebble on the pavement. “So this is it now? I get a personal stalker for the rest of the school year?”
Seongje smirked faintly. “Only after dark. Daylight surveillance costs extra.”
Sieun rolled his eyes. “You’re so full of yourself.”
“I prefer to think of it as… tactically present.”
There was a beat of silence, then, finally, a huff of a laugh from Sieun.
It wasn’t big. But it was real.
And Seongje looked over like it was the only sound he’d been waiting for all night.
They turned a corner. The road narrowed here, familiar buildings on either side. A laundry shop with its lights off. The crack in the pavement where Sieun once tripped when he was ten. Everything looked the same.
But something felt different.
“Earlier,” Sieun said suddenly, eyes still ahead. “What he said- about me being the one you’re clinging to.”
Seongje’s steps didn’t falter. But he said nothing yet.
Sieun continued, voice low. “It wasn’t wrong, was it?”
Silence again.
Then, finally, “I don’t know if ‘clinging’ is the word,” Seongje said. “But… I guess you’re the only thing that hasn’t felt temporary in a long time.”
Sieun blinked. Stopped walking.
Seongje stopped a step ahead, glancing back.
“You say heavy things like that way too easily,” Sieun muttered.
“I don’t mean to.”
Sieun started walking again, slower now. “…I haven’t figured out what this is.”
“Me either.”
“But it’s not nothing.”
“No,” Seongje said softly. “It’s not.”
They walked the rest of the way in silence—this time, not out of tension or avoidance, but something quieter. More settled.
When they reached Sieun’s gate, he paused with his hand on the latch.
“Don’t follow me inside,” he said without looking.
“I wasn’t going to.”
“Liar.”
A faint grin tugged at Seongje’s lips. “I’ll wait till you’re inside.”
Sieun turned, lingering just a little too long on the step. The porch light cast a soft glow across his face.
He looked at Seongje one last time,
Not searching for answers.
Not demanding promises. Just letting him be there.
“I’m serious,” he said. “If they even breathe in my friends’ direction-”
“I know,” Seongje said. “And they won’t.”
“…Good.”
And with that, Sieun pressed a soft kiss on the corner seongje's lips and stepped inside. Closed the door.
Seongje stayed there on the sidewalk for a few seconds longer, staring at the door like it was the first thing in years that he didn’t want to walk away from.
Then he turned.
And disappeared into the night.
Notes:
Hmm, Seongje's past is calling 🤞
Chapter 8
Notes:
🔞, contains slight smut, Blowjob, makeout. (do not read if you are uncomfortable with these)
also I don't really write mature content, so I don't know how it turned out, I tried to pour things I learned by reading fan fiction 💀
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The rooftop was quiet.
No wind. No distant traffic. Just the low hum of the city lights below and the sharp click of Baekjin’s lighter as he lit a cigarette, the flame briefly illuminating the edge of his face.
He didn’t look surprised when Seongje walked up behind him.
Didn’t turn.
Didn’t need to.
“I was wondering when you’d show up,” Baekjin muttered, exhaling smoke into the night air.
Seongje stopped a few feet behind him. Arms crossed.
“You crossed a line.”
Baekjin gave a slow shrug. “You’re going to have to be more specific.”
“Sieun. His friends. You had someone tail them.”
Finally, Baekjin glanced over his shoulder. “I didn’t touch them.”
“You watched them. Same thing.”
“It’s not.”
“It is to me,” Seongje said, voice calm, but coiled. “You don’t get to send your little watchdogs into his life just because you’re impatient.”
“He’s not the one I want back,” Baekjin said, turning now. “You are.”
“Then come after me. Not the people I give a damn about.”
Baekjin exhaled again, the smoke curling between them. “You were never meant to stay away this long.”
“I told you I was done.”
“No.” Baekjin stepped closer, lowering his voice. “You told me you were tired. That’s not the same.”
Seongje didn’t flinch. “Whatever it was, it was still a choice. And you’re making it harder for me to pretend like I still owe you anything.”
That hit something in Baekjin, just briefly. His eyes flickered.
“I didn’t send them to hurt the boy,” he said. “Just to watch.”
“You didn’t send them to protect him either.”
Another silence.
Then, quieter, but sharp: “Since when do you take orders from Choi anyway?”
Baekjin’s jaw twitched.
Seongje tilted his head. “He’s been using Union to pad his own pockets. You know it. I know it.”
“He built the system.”
“You built the strength. The loyalty.” Seongje stepped closer now. “Choi wouldn’t last two weeks without you calling the shots underneath.”
Baekjin said nothing.
But he didn’t deny it.
“I remember when people listened to you first,” Seongje added. “Not to some old man with outdated plans and a temper problem.”
“You trying to flatter me?”
“No.” Seongje’s voice was steady. “I’m trying to remind you what you used to be. Before he started pulling strings.”
Baekjin looked at him for a long moment, unreadable.
Then, “You’re angry about the boy. I get it. But don’t twist it into a power play.”
“I’m not,” Seongje said. “But maybe it should be.”
Baekjin turned back toward the edge of the roof, watching the city lights again.
“You think I don’t see it?” Seongje added. “How careful you have to be now. The way you second-guess every order. That’s not you. That’s his leash tightening.”
“You want me to cut it?”
“I want you to remember who you were without it.”
A long silence.
Baekjin tapped ash over the edge, watching it scatter down into the dark.
“You’re still not coming back,” he said finally.
“No,” Seongje replied.
“But you want me to make noise.”
“Not yet,” Seongje said. “Just… think.”
Baekjin didn’t answer.
Didn’t need to.
Because the seed was already planted.
And Seongje turned and walked off the rooftop, knowing Baekjin would let him go.
For now.
But next time…
things might be different.
12:09 AM
The city was quiet now. Rooftops empty. Smoke long gone.
Seongje sat on the steps outside a closed laundromat, elbows on his knees, phone in his hand. He hadn't moved in a while.
He opened Sieun’s chat. Stared at the blank space for too long.
Then finally typed:
>Seongje : you asleep?
He watched the screen.
Nothing.
Typed again.
>I keep thinking about that night. the stairwell.
what you said.
Pause. Then,
>i’ve never had anyone say things like that to me. not without expecting something back.
He deleted it. Too much. He started again,
>Seongje : you always say things like you don’t want anyone to see how much it hurts. but i see it.
He paused.
>and it doesn’t make you weak. just means you still care.
Sent.
A few seconds passed.
Then another message,
i didn’t know people like you existed before.
He stared at that last line.
Didn’t delete it.
Didn’t take it back.
He just let it stay.
And somewhere, behind that cold screen, he hoped Sieun would read it when the world felt too quiet again.
And maybe feel a little less alone.
12:26 AM
The screen lit up.
>Princess : why are you being weird.
Typical.
But not cold.
A minute later, another message followed.
>Princess : …i’m not asleep.
Seongje exhaled, a faint smile tugging at his lips. He leaned back against the wall, thumb moving.
>Seongje : i figured. you don’t strike me as someone who sleeps at normal hours.
>Princess : you’re one to talk.
>Seongje : fair.
A pause. Neither of them texted for a moment.
The silence in between wasn’t awkward, it just sat there, full of unsaid things.
>Princess : i don’t say things like that to just anyone.
Another one came almost immediately after:
>Princess : and i don’t want to be seen either. but you keep doing it.
...annoying.
Seongje stared at the screen for a long time.
He didn’t reply right away.
Didn’t want to say too much. Or not enough.
Then,
>Seongje : want me to stop?
A beat.
>Princess : no.
>Seongje : can i come over?
The message hung there for a second.
Too open. Too bare.
Seongje stared at it, suddenly unsure if he should’ve sent it.
Then,
Typing…
>Princess : why?
Blunt.
Classic Sieun.
But it wasn’t a no.
Seongje didn’t hesitate this time.
>Seongje : don’t know.
just feel like being near you right now.
The screen stayed quiet. For a long time.
Then finally,
>Princess : bring snacks. I’m out of banana milk.
Seongje let out a quiet laugh through his nose. Relief softening the tension in his chest.
>Seongje :on my way.
He stood, slipped his helmet on, and pocketed his phone. Because sometimes, being seen didn’t need a reason. And tonight, Sieun was letting him in. Not just into the apartment but into the quiet parts of him.
The ones that didn’t ask for help, But didn’t push it away, either.
It was nearly 1 AM when Seongje slipped off his shoes outside the door to Sieun’s apartment.
The hallway was dim and quiet, the world outside fast asleep, but Seongje’s heart felt awake in a way that had nothing to do with adrenaline or tension. It was a quieter pulse. Something more fragile.
The door opened before he could knock.
Sieun stood there in a hoodie too big for him, sleeves hanging over his hands. His hair was slightly messy, eyes a little puffy either from exhaustion or that lingering weight he always carried behind them.
“You’re slow,” he mumbled.
Seongje held up the bag in his hand. “They were almost out of banana milk. I had to fight a child for the last one.”
Sieun gave him a look. “You didn’t actually—”
“I didn’t,” Seongje grinned. “But he looked at it, and I looked back harder. So.”
Sieun rolled his eyes and stepped aside wordlessly, letting him in.
The apartment wasn't too big, seongje knows by now that his mother doesn't stay home most of the time. The apartment looks lonely, not lived in. A few scattered textbooks on the desk. A hoodie draped over a chair. A half-eaten bag of chips on the table. And the faint scent of laundry detergent lingering in the air.
Seongje set the snacks on the counter and followed Sieun into the living room. Neither of them said much. They didn’t have to.
Sieun sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the low table, pulling the milk from the bag and sipping without looking up.
Seongje sat beside him, a little too close, just enough to feel the brush of their shoulders when Sieun shifted.
The silence settled easily between them. Minutes passed like that. Quiet. Comfortable.
“You okay?” Seongje asked, voice low.
Sieun didn’t answer at first. He just stared down at his hands.
Then, quietly: “No.”
The word hung there.
Soft. Honest. Vulnerable.
Seongje didn’t try to fix it. Didn’t reach for him right away. He just said, “Okay.”
Sieun turned to him after a long moment, expression unreadable, but his gaze lingered on Seongje’s mouth, just for a second. Barely a flicker. And Seongje saw it. Neither of them moved.
Until Sieun whispered, “Why do you keep doing this?”
“Doing what?”
“Looking at me like that.”
“I don’t know how else to look at you.”
Another silence. This one deeper. Charged.
Then, slowly, tentatively, Sieun leaned in.
Sieun kissed him. Soft. Barely there.
But real.
Seongje breathed in sharply, the taste of banana milk and exhaustion and Sieun settling into him like gravity.
When they pulled apart, barely inches between them, neither of them spoke.
“You kissed me,” Seongje murmured, lips brushing his with every word.
“Only because you looked like you were thinking too hard about it.”
Another beat.
Then Seongje pushed a hand into Sieun’s hair, gently, fingers sliding through the strands, and kissed him again. Deeper this time. Slower.
Sieun melted into it like he didn’t know how not to.
And when they broke apart, breaths shallow, hearts loud between them, Seongje leaned their foreheads together and whispered,
“You sure you want me here?”
Sieun’s fingers gripped the front of Seongje’s shirt.
“I told you,” he said quietly. “No one else gets to see me like this.”
Sieun didn’t let go of his shirt.
Not when their lips parted again.
Not when their foreheads touched once more.
Not when the silence settled in between them like a held breath.
He didn’t say anything else. But his grip said it for him.
Don’t move.
Don’t go.
Don’t leave me in this alone.
Seongje brought one hand up, brushing Sieun’s hair gently back from his face again, like he’d done that day, only this time with no hesitation, no hidden meaning.
Just intention.
“I can stop,” he murmured. “If you need me to.”
But Sieun didn’t pull away.
Instead, he whispered, “Then stop thinking.”
And he kissed him again.
Deeper this time. Slower.
Like he didn’t want it to be a moment,
He wanted it to be real.
Seongje responded just as carefully. He didn’t rush, didn’t take, didn’t press too far. Every movement asked without asking.
His hand settled against the side of Sieun’s neck, thumb brushing just beneath his ear. The other slid around his back, tugging him closer until their knees bumped, chests aligned, and the air between them was replaced with heat.
Sieun exhaled against his mouth, a breath that trembled.
“You’re warm,” he said softly, almost like it surprised him.
Seongje’s voice dropped lower. “So are you.”
Their bodies leaned into each other naturally now. Sieun shifted, swinging one leg across Seongje’s lap until he was straddling him. Not bold. Just seeking. More contact. More closeness. More proof that this was real.
The hoodie slid slightly off Sieun’s shoulder as he leaned down again, revealing the curve of his collarbone.
Seongje kissed that spot gently, without a word. Then just below it.
Then a little lower, where the skin was softer, thinner, more sensitive.
Sieun’s breath caught.
His hands clenched in Seongje’s shirt again, still unsure, still holding on like it might disappear.
“I don’t do this,” he said, quiet. “I’ve never…”
“I know,” Seongje murmured.
He leaned his head back just enough to look up at him.
“You don’t have to prove anything.”
Sieun swallowed. His eyes flicked away, then back. “I want to remember this. Not regret it.”
“You won’t.”
A pause.
“I won’t let you.”
That did something.
Sieun leaned forward again, slower this time, letting himself melt into it, into the kiss, into the warmth of Seongje’s hands finding the small of his back, the way their bodies fit like they’d been waiting for the right moment.
Seongje's fingers curled gently into Sieun's shirt as the kiss deepened, parting lips meeting parted lips in a dance that felt both familiar and exhilaratingly new. The room around them faded away, leaving only the soft sounds of their breathing and the gentle rustle of clothing. Sieun's hands found Seongje's waist, pulling him closer until there was no space left between them. He could feel the warmth radiating from Seongje's body, could feel the beat of his heart matching his own. The kiss became more urgent now, more hungry.
Seongje's hands moved from Sieun's back to his hair, tangling in the strands as he tilted his head to deepen the kiss even more. He could feel Sieun's breath hitch slightly as their bodies pressed tighter together, the sensation sending a wave of heat through him.
"Seongje..." Sieun whispered the name against Seongje's lips, his voice filled with desire. He could feel Seongje's strong hands in his hair, pulling gently as they kissed. The sound of his own name on Seongje's lips sent a shiver down his spine.
"Mhm?" Seongje hummed softly, not breaking the kiss. His lips curved into a small smile against Sieun's as he traced his fingers down Sieun's neck, feeling his pulse quicken. The sound of his name in that breathy whisper made his heart race.
Seongje's hands dropped from Sieun's hair to his hips possessively. He pushed his fingers underneath his shirt slowly, testing the waters. "Can I touch?" He whispered between kisses, his thumbs brushing against Sieun's bare waist. He was always so careful, so considerate.
"Yes please" With a soft murmur of approval, Seongje slowly lifted Sieun's shirt, breaking the kiss only long enough to pull it over his head.
His hands immediately returned to Sieun's skin, tracing patterns up his sides and across his chest as he pressed gentle kisses along his collarbone and neck. Seongje's lips moved back to Sieun's, the kiss slow and deep as his hands continued their gentle exploration.
He could feel Sieun's heart beating rapidly beneath his touch, could hear his soft gasps and whimpers. It was driving him crazy in the best way possible. Sieun's hands found their way to Seongje's shirt, tugging at it impatiently until Seongje took over himself pulling it off quickly leaving him shirtless too. They pressed together chest-to-chest now feeling each other skin-on-skin sending another wave heat between them.Seongje groaned softly against Sieun's lips, his hands tightening around his waist. Feeling Sieun's bare skin against his own was almost too much.
He pushed Sieun down onto the couch gently, following him down so they were sprawled together."So impatient..." he whispered with a small smile, but there was no teasing in his voice, only affection. His lips found Sieun's again while his hands explored lower, tracing the line of his hips. He could feel Sieun's breath catch beneath him. Sieun let out a low whimper and it made his own heart pound. "Shh..." he hushed softly, pressing feather-light kisses down Sieun's jaw and neck, trailing lower. His fingers hooked under the waistband of Sieun's pants, asking a silent question. Their eyes met, and he could see the trust and desire burning there. Seongje slowly pulled down Sieun's pants, his eyes never leaving his own. He tossed them aside before returning his attention to Sieun, kissing along his thighs and hips. His hands trailed up Sieun's legs, pushing them apart slightly. "Look at me," Seongje whispered, his voice low and husky. Sieun looked down, meeting Seongje's gaze as he knelt between his legs. Seongje leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to Sieun's belly before wrapping his fingers around his erection.
Seongje began to slowly move his hand up and down, watching Sieun's face as he moaned softly. He leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to the tip before parting his lips and taking him into his mouth. Sieun's hands flew to his hair, gripping tightly.Seongje hummed around Sieun's length, the vibration making him twitch in his mouth. He took him deeper, one hand still moving where his mouth couldn't reach. His other hand reached up to pinch and roll Sieun's nipples gently, eliciting soft cries from him. Seongje moaned softly at the sound, the vibration sending a clear message of pleasure to Sieun.
He increased his pace, taking Sieun deeper into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the sensitive tip before pulling back slightly to suck gently. "Ah- fuck-" Sieun moaned louder, his hips jerking slightly as Seongje's mouth and hands worked together to drive him crazy. Seongje's tongue pressed against the vein on the underside of Sieun's dick, sending electric shocks through his entire body.Seongje could feel Sieun getting closer, his own cock aching in his pants. He pulled off briefly to unbutton his own pants, freeing himself before taking Sieun back into his mouth with renewed fervor. He reached down to stroke himself as he sucked Sieun off.
"Mmph..." Seongje moaned softly with Sieun in his mouth, taking him deeper. He could feel Sieun's thighs tightening around his shoulders, hear his soft cries. His own hand moved faster between his legs. He loved reducing Sieun to these messy, needy noises.Suddenly, Sieun let out a choked cry, his body tensing as he came suddenly. Seongje swallowed quickly, taking everything Sieun gave him. He kept sucking gently through Sieun's aftershocks, his own hand moving faster and faster until he found his release as well.
Seongje gave a final lick before pulling off, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He smiled up at Sieun, who looked completely spent and dazed. "M'kay?"
Sieun nodded slowly, his eyes fluttering closed. Seongje cleaned both of them with tissues and picked him up in princess style, carrying him to the bed. He crawled up beside him, pulling him into a soft embrace. He kissed Sieun's forehead gently before settling into the bed beside him. Their bodies pressed together perfectly, fitting like puzzle pieces.
"Comfortable?" he whispered softly, running his fingers through Sieun's hair as they lay there. Despite the obvious exhaustion, he couldn't help but smile at how beautiful Sieun looked, all sleepy and boneless. He pressed a gentle kiss to Sieun's temple.
"Mmhm..." Sieun mumbled softly, already halfway asleep. Seongje chuckled silently, pulling the blanket up to cover them both. He adjusted his position slightly so Sieun could use his chest as a pillow, tracing idle patterns on Sieun's back.
For now Seongje won't think about anything else. He has Sieun and he will focus on him.
Notes:
Sorry for the late update, recently a very tragic incident happened in my country that caused children death. It was very traumatic for me and I couldn't get myself to do things normally for a few days.
Keep those little souls in your prayer.
Chapter 9
Notes:
University is killing me. Sorry for late updates. enjoy!
Chapter Text
The next morning, Sieun woke to an odd, feather-light sensation brushing against his cheek.
It was warm, almost ticklish, like the wings of a butterfly grazing his skin.
He stirred, blinking slowly against the morning light spilling faintly through the curtains. The first thing he saw when his vision cleared was Keum Seongje, leaning over him, eyes half-lidded and soft, lips pressing a trail of delicate kisses along the curve of his face.
“Morning, princess,” Seongje murmured, his voice a lazy purr.
Sieun let out a groggy hum. “Umm… what time is it?”
Seongje glanced at the bedside clock. “Almost eleven.”
That number made Sieun’s eyes snap fully open. “What? Eleven? I’m late for school! Why didn’t you wake me up?!”
“Easy, easy…” Seongje chuckled, holding up a hand as though calming a skittish cat. “I woke up not long ago myself. And honestly, now that you’re already late… you might as well stay in today. Hmm?”
Sieun hesitated. The thought of skipping made his conscience twinge, but the bed was warm, the air was quiet, and Seongje’s fingers had just started absently stroking his hair. After a long pause, he sighed. “…Fine.”
“Good.” Seongje’s grin spread, victorious yet fond. He leaned in and peppered Sieun’s cheeks with a few more quick kisses before capturing his lips in a slow one.
It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t hungry. It was the kind of kiss that spoke without words, soft, unhurried, lingering. Sieun let himself melt into it, matching the rhythm, letting his breath sync with Seongje’s.
When they pulled apart, they were both breathing just a little heavier than before.
“We should get breakfast,” Seongje said, idly combing his fingers through Sieun’s bed-mussed hair. “Want me to make something? Or should I order in?”
“You can cook?” Sieun arched a brow.
A low laugh slipped from Seongje’s throat. “Yes, princess, I can cook. I’m not some gourmet chef, but it’s edible.”
That earned the faintest smirk from Sieun. “Then let’s go to the kitchen.”
He sat up, tossing the blanket aside, only to freeze halfway, a sharp gasp escaping him before he yanked the blanket right back over himself like a shield.
Seongje blinked, confused. “What?”
Sieun’s ears, cheeks, and even the tips of his neck were bright red, like someone had dunked him in a vat of tomato soup. He hissed through his teeth. “Why the hell am I naked?”
Seongje’s confusion melted into a slow, knowing smile. He leaned an elbow on the mattress, chin propped on his hand. “What? Does my princess have a goldfish memory? Did you forget what happened last night… or should I remind you?” His voice dropped into a low, teasing hum on the last words.
Sieun immediately looked away, his blush somehow deepening. If redness had a limit, he was breaking it. “…Close your eyes.”
“…Huh?”
“I said, close your eyes.”
Seongje gave him an incredulous look. “Seriously? I’ve already seen everything, princess. Why are you shy now?”
Sieun’s tone sharpened. “Keum. Seongje.”
He sighed, throwing his hands up in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. Whatever my princess wants.” He obediently shut his eyes, though the smirk still tugging at his lips told Sieun he wasn’t taking the command all that seriously.
Seongje kept his eyes shut, at least in theory, while Sieun scrambled for clothes under the blanket, muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like an insult.
Once he was dressed and marginally less embarrassed, he yanked the blanket off the bed in a swift motion, tossing it aside. “You can open your eyes now.”
Seongje cracked one eye open, scanning him from head to toe with exaggerated slowness. “Hmm… I think I preferred the view from before.”
“Shut up,” Sieun deadpanned, already heading for the door.
Seongje trailed after him, stretching his arms above his head. “You know, if you’re going to be this grumpy in the mornings, I might have to kiss you awake every day until you learn to appreciate it.”
“Don’t you dare,” Sieun shot back, though the corner of his mouth twitched like he was suppressing a smile.
They reached the kitchen, the faint scent of coffee from yesterday still lingering in the air. Seongje brushed past him, opening cabinets and drawers like he owned the place.
“What do you even know how to make?” Sieun asked, crossing his arms and leaning against the counter.
“Scrambled eggs, toast, and if you’re lucky, pancakes,” Seongje replied, already cracking eggs into a bowl.
Sieun snorted. “So basically… beginner-level survival food.”
“Hey,” Seongje said, pointing the spatula at him. “Don’t underestimate my pancakes. People have fallen in love over less.”
Sieun rolled his eyes, but he didn’t stop watching, his gaze lingering on the easy way Seongje moved around the kitchen, the quiet confidence in his hands. It felt… domestic. Strangely comforting.
He only realized he’d been staring when Seongje glanced over his shoulder. “Enjoying the view, princess?”
Sieun jerked his eyes away. “You’re going to burn them if you keep talking.”
“Mm. I think I can multitask.”
A few minutes later, Seongje slid a plate across the counter, golden scrambled eggs, buttered toast, and a neat stack of pancakes drizzled with honey. He set down two mugs of coffee, the steam curling between them.
Sieun hesitated for a beat before taking a bite. “…It’s not bad.”
“Not bad?” Seongje repeated with mock offense. “That’s the thanks I get for cooking for you?”
“It’s edible,” Sieun said, echoing Seongje’s own words from earlier with a faint smirk.
Seongje chuckled, leaning on the counter, his face close enough that Sieun could smell the faint trace of his cologne. “Careful, princess. Keep talking like that, and next time I might feed you myself.”
Sieun opened his mouth to retort, but the heat rising to his cheeks betrayed him.
They finished breakfast in an almost comfortable quiet, almost, because every time Sieun glanced up, he’d catch Seongje looking at him with that infuriatingly calm, amused expression.
When Sieun finally pushed his empty plate away, Seongje reached over and took it without asking, carrying it to the sink. The casualness of the gesture made Sieun’s chest tighten in a way he didn’t want to examine too closely.
He stood to leave, but Seongje’s hand shot out, catching his wrist. “Hold on.”
Sieun turned, frowning. “What?”
Without answering, Seongje reached up, brushing his thumb gently against the corner of Sieun’s lips. “Honey,” he murmured.
Sieun froze, his mind short-circuiting for a split second, until he realized there was indeed a sticky smear at the corner of his mouth. He went to wipe it himself, but Seongje caught his hand.
“I’ll get it,” he said, and before Sieun could protest, Seongje leaned in and licked the spot away in one quick, deliberate motion.
Sieun’s entire body went stiff. “…You-”
“What?” Seongje’s smile was slow, teasing. “Waste not, want not.”
Sieun opened his mouth to fire back, but no words came out, just a muffled, incoherent sound that only seemed to make Seongje’s grin widen.
He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “You’re so cute when you’re embarrassed, princess. Last night proved that.”
That made Sieun whip around, heading for the living room like his life depended on it. “I’m not talking about last night.”
Seongje followed at an easy pace. “Mm… we don’t have to talk about it. But if you want a reminder-”
“Don’t you dare.”
“-I’m always available for demonstrations.”
Sieun groaned, grabbing a pillow off the couch and throwing it at him. Seongje caught it effortlessly, laughing as he dropped onto the sofa like he owned it.
Despite himself, Sieun sat down on the other end, crossing his arms. The air between them stayed warm and charged, like neither was quite willing to admit how much they enjoyed the other’s company.
The hours stretched lazily after breakfast.
The kind of day where the air seemed too soft and heavy to rush anywhere.
Sieun half-heartedly scrolled through his phone on the couch while Seongje flipped through TV channels, stopping at nothing for more than a few seconds. Eventually, Seongje settled on some old action movie with bad dubbing, mostly because Sieun didn’t bother to argue.
By early afternoon, the sunlight slanted golden through the blinds, painting warm strips across the room. The hum of the TV, the occasional sound of distant traffic, it all blurred into the kind of quiet that made Sieun’s eyelids feel heavier with each passing minute.
When his head finally dropped against the couch cushion, it didn’t take long for gravity, and Seongje, to interfere.
Without warning, Seongje tugged him closer, shifting so Sieun’s head ended up resting against his shoulder.
Sieun stirred. “What are you doing?”
“Being comfortable,” Seongje replied simply, his tone completely unbothered.
Sieun considered pulling away… but didn’t. It wasn’t like it was uncomfortable. In fact, Seongje’s shoulder was warm, solid, and faintly smelled of the cologne Sieun had already noticed this morning.
It was quiet again until Seongje’s voice broke through. “By the way… about last night-”
“Seongje.”
“I wasn’t going to tease,” he said, though the faint curl of his lips suggested otherwise. “I just wanted to say…” His voice dipped slightly, softer than Sieun had heard it all day. “I liked it. Not just what happened… but the fact that it was me whom you choose.”
The weight of the words hung between them, and for once, Seongje didn’t fill the pause with a joke.
Sieun didn’t trust his voice, so he just stayed there, leaning against Seongje’s shoulder. The other boy didn’t push, didn’t press for a response, just let the quiet wrap around them again.
Eventually, the warmth and stillness lulled Sieun’s eyes shut. He was half-asleep when he felt fingers lightly brushing through his hair.
It was the last thing he registered before drifting off completely.
Sieun woke in the late afternoon to the sharp trill of his phone.
The sound cut through the haze of sleep, pulling him from the comfortable weight pressing against his side. He realized, only as his eyes adjusted, that he was curled into Seongje, blanket draped loosely over both of them, his own hand resting on Seongje’s shirt.
Groggy, he reached toward the coffee table for his phone, rubbing at his eyes. But the moment his gaze landed on the screen, his hand froze mid-air.
Yeongi.
His stomach twisted.
They hadn’t spoken since that night, the argument still hanging heavy, unresolved. Why now?
His fingers trembled as he swiped to answer. “Hello?”
Her voice came through, flat but urgent. “Sieun… I know you probably don’t want to come. But the doctors just told me Suho’s condition is critical.” She took a breath, the line crackling faintly. “I thought I should tell you. Whether you come or not is up to you… but if they can’t stabilize him, you might not see him breathing again.”
The words hit him like a physical blow. For a moment, everything around him went silent, muted like someone had shoved his head underwater.
His grip loosened. The phone slipped from his hand and hit the floor with a dull thud.
The sound made Seongje stir beside him. Still half-asleep, he rubbed his eyes before glancing at the fallen phone, then at Sieun.
He froze.
Sieun’s chest was rising and falling too quickly, his breaths shallow and jagged. His eyes were unfocused, glassy, as if staring at something far away. His lips parted soundlessly, his body rigid under the blanket.
“Sieun?” Seongje’s voice sharpened instantly. He sat up, pulling the blanket aside. “Baby, what’s wrong?”
No answer.
Seongje reached out and gripped his shoulder, shaking lightly. “Sieun-ah. Hey. Look at me.”
The sudden movement jolted Sieun, snapping his gaze up to Seongje as if only just realizing he was there.
“What happened?” Seongje pressed.
Sieun’s voice broke. “Su… Suho…” That was all he managed before his throat seemed to close up again.
Without hesitation, Seongje pulled him into his arms, his hand firm against the back of Sieun’s head. “Hey… shh… you’re okay. You’re okay. Just breathe for me.”
But Sieun’s chest kept stuttering, his body trembling against Seongje’s.
“Listen to me, baby.” Seongje cupped Sieun’s face, leaning close until their foreheads almost touched. “In… and out. With me.”
He exaggerated his own breaths, slow, deep, steady, his voice a low murmur between inhales. “In… now out… That’s it. Again. In… and out.”
It took a few tries, but Sieun’s breathing began to fall into sync with his. Not perfect, still shaky, but less frantic.
“That’s it,” Seongje whispered, thumb brushing over his cheek. “Good. I’ve got you. You’re not alone in this.”
Sieun’s breathing steadied, but only slightly, enough that his vision stopped blurring, though the pounding in his ears refused to fade. He still clung to Seongje’s shirt like a lifeline, as if letting go might make him collapse.
Seongje didn’t move away. One arm stayed wrapped securely around him, the other rubbing slow circles between his shoulder blades. “You’re doing good,” he murmured. “Now… tell me what happened.”
Sieun swallowed hard, voice raw. “Yeongi… she called. Suho... he’s… critical.” The words wavered, splintering halfway through. “She said… if I don’t go now… I might not-” He cut himself off, jaw tightening as if forcing the rest back down.
Seongje’s expression darkened, not in anger, but in that sharp, focused way he got when something mattered. “Where is he?”
Sieun blinked at him. “What?”
“Hospital. Which one?”
“I… I don’t…” He hesitated, pulling back slightly. “I don’t know if I can-”
“Sieun.” Seongje’s tone was low, steady. “You don’t have to do it alone. I’m coming with you.”
The immediate certainty in his voice made Sieun’s stomach twist. “You don’t understand. It’s not that simple. I haven’t seen him in so long, not since-”
“Since whatever happened,” Seongje cut in. “Yeah, I figured. But that’s not what matters right now.” He reached for Sieun’s fallen phone, placing it in his hand. “What matters is that someone you care about might not have much time. Regret is heavier than fear, princess.”
Sieun stared down at the phone, Yeongi’s name still visible in the call log. His throat felt tight again. “What if…”
Seongje leaned closer, his gaze unwavering. “if you go, then at least you’ll know you tried. And you won’t have to spend the rest of your life wondering what if.”
The silence between them stretched.
Finally, Sieun exhaled, shaky, but decisive. “…He’s at Seoul General.”
“Good,” Seongje said without missing a beat. He stood, already grabbing his jacket from the back of the chair. “Get your coat. We’re leaving now.”
Sieun hesitated for one last heartbeat, then pushed himself up and followed.
The ride to Seoul General was a blur.
Sieun sat in seongje's bike, fingers curled tight around seongje's jacket, staring ahead without seeing anything. Seongje just drove.
When they arrived, the sterile brightness of the hospital hit them instantly, the faint tang of disinfectant, the muffled echo of footsteps in polished hallways. Sieun’s pulse quickened with every step they took toward the ICU.
Yeongi stood outside the unit, shoulders stiff, fatigue etched into every line of her face. Her gaze skimmed over Seongje before settling on Sieun.
“He’s inside,” she said, voice low. “The doctors are with him.”
Sieun gave a small nod, his throat too tight for words. The silence between them stretched, filled only by the muffled sounds from beyond the door.
After what felt like an eternity, the door swung open and the doctor stepped out. His expression was grave at first, but his words cut through the tension.
“His condition is stable now. There’s no need to worry.”
Yeongi and Sieun released the breath they’d been holding, relief washing over them like a sudden thaw after a long winter.
Yeongi stepped aside and gestured for sieun to go inside. He walked in slowly, like his body wasn’t sure it wanted to move at all.
The ICU door clicked shut behind Sieun, leaving Seongje standing in the hallway. He leaned against the wall, arms loosely crossed, eyes fixed on the small window of the room where Sieun now sat beside Suho’s bed.
Yeongi lingered a few feet away, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. After a moment, her gaze slid to him, assessing, uncertain.
“…Who are you?” she said finally.
Seongje replied evenly. “I’m with Sieun.”
Her brows knit together. “With him… as in a friend?”
He tilted his head slightly, almost smiling. “Something like that. ”
The silence between them stretched, heavy and cold but no one bothered to break it"
The beeping came first. Steady, rhythmic, cold. Then the sight of the tubes, the wires, the pale skin under the harsh fluorescent lights.
Suho looked nothing like the last time Sieun had seen him.
He looked… still. Too still.
Sieun stopped a foot from the bed. His breath caught, his throat burning. He’d told himself a thousand times that if he ever saw Suho again, there would be words, things he needed to say. But now, staring at him, everything scattered.
“Suho…” The name came out in a whisper, cracked and uncertain. His hand twitched at his side, wanting to reach out but not daring to. “I… I’m here.”
Behind him, Seongje stayed by the door, quiet, watchful.
Sieun stepped closer, fingers brushing the bedrail. “You’re… still the same, you know. Just…” His voice faltered, and he swallowed hard. “…But you have to wake up. Because I didn’t… I didn’t get to say-”
The words died in his throat, choking on the weight of everything unsaid.
A trembling hand reached forward, finally closing around Suho’s. It was warm, but limp.
Sieun lowered his head, shoulders shaking once. “…Please don’t leave like this.”
The only answer was the steady, indifferent beep of the heart monitor.
The visit didn’t last long.
Sieun stayed at Suho’s bedside only a few minutes, long enough for the reality to sink in, too short for anything that felt like closure.
When he stepped out, Yeongi was waiting.
Her eyes searched his face. “I wasn’t sure you’d come.”
Sieun’s voice was quiet. “I wasn’t sure either.”
An awkward pause hung between them, weighted with things neither wanted to say in front of the other. Finally, Yeongi spoke again, her tone edged. “Whatever happened before… you still meant something to him. Don’t wait too long to decide where you stand, Sieun. Life doesn’t wait for you to be ready.”
Sieun’s jaw tightened. “I know.”
That was all. He brushed past her, the words echoing anyway.
Seongje was leaning against the wall, hands in his pockets. He fell into step beside Sieun without a word, guiding him toward the exit.
The ride home was silent.
When they stepped inside Sieun’s apartment, he headed straight for the couch, collapsing into it like the day had been dragging him backward the whole time. His eyes stared at the floor, but his mind was miles away.
Seongje disappeared into the kitchen without explanation. The sound of water running, the faint clink of a mug, the hiss of the kettle, it was grounding in a way Sieun hadn’t expected.
A few minutes later, Seongje returned, setting a steaming mug of tea on the table in front of him. “Drink,” he said simply.
Sieun glanced at it, then at him. “I’m not-”
“Drink,” Seongje repeated, his voice leaving no room for argument.
Reluctantly, Sieun took the mug, letting the warmth seep into his hands.
Seongje sat beside him, close enough that their knees touched. “You don’t have to talk about it now. Or ever, if you don’t want to. But…” His voice softened. “Don’t shut down completely, princess. Not with me.”
Sieun stared into the tea, the faint steam blurring his vision. “…I didn’t think it’d hit me this hard.”
“That’s because you still care,” Seongje said, leaning back into the couch. “Even if you don’t want to admit it.”
They sat in silence again, but this one felt different, less suffocating, more like a pause to breathe.
When Sieun finally put the mug down, Seongje gently tugged him sideways until his head rested on his shoulder. “Sleep if you need to. I’ll be here.”
For the first time since the phone call, Sieun let his eyes close without fighting it.
Chapter Text
The next few days unfolded in a way Sieun hadn’t expected, quietly, almost gently. After weeks of chaos, the silence felt like a mercy. He had finally gathered the courage to visit Suho in the hospital. Suho still lay unconscious, but the steady rhythm of his breathing was enough. Enough to remind Sieun that his friend was still here, fighting in his own way. Sieun couldn’t stay for long each time, his chest tightening after only a few minutes at Suho’s bedside, but he still went back again and again. Small visits, like little promises he was keeping to himself.
Through all of it, Seongje was there, anchored at his side, a steady presence he hadn’t realized he desperately needed until now.
There was something about the way Seongje looked at him that left Sieun disarmed. Not in the sharp, invasive way he was used to from people trying to read him, but softer, like Seongje wasn’t just seeing the surface, but everything beneath it. And instead of turning away, he accepted it. That was what overwhelmed Sieun most. The way Seongje understood him without Sieun needing to say a single word. He always seemed to notice when something was off, when Sieun’s silence wasn’t just silence but weariness, or when his sharp remarks were just a shield for exhaustion. And somehow, almost instinctively, Seongje always knew what to do to make it lighter.
No words of love had passed between them. But they didn’t need to. The way their hands brushed, the way they lingered in each other’s space, the way Seongje’s eyes softened when they landed on Sieun, it all spoke louder than words could.
One thing Seongje had quietly picked up on was Sieun’s eating habits, or rather, his lack of them. Frozen dumplings, cold leftovers, instant ramen. That was what he lived on, with his mother absent more often than not. It wasn’t living so much as surviving. So, with a half-hearted excuse that he was “bored” and “wanted to learn,” Seongje had begun cooking. At first, it was clumsy attempts, things half-burnt or under-seasoned. But the more he tried, the better he got. And the more excuses he found to put food in front of Sieun.
Now, the late afternoon sunlight spilled across Seongje’s living room, painting the walls gold. Sieun was sprawled across the couch, his head resting on Seongje’s thigh. A book lay half-open in his hands, but his eyes weren’t really on the page anymore. His attention drifted to the steady rise and fall of Seongje’s breathing, the warmth beneath his cheek, the absentminded weight of Seongje’s hand combing through his hair between rounds of the game he was playing on his phone.
It was such a simple thing. A hand threading through his hair. Yet for Sieun, it felt impossibly tender, like something he never thought he could have.
“Your hair’s softer than I thought,” Seongje muttered absentmindedly, still focused on the tiny flashing screen in his hand.
Sieun made a face, tilting his head slightly without lifting it. “That’s a weird thing to say.”
“Not weird, it's true,” Seongje replied, finally glancing down at him. The corner of his mouth lifted, but it wasn’t quite a smile, it was something softer, smaller. Almost shy.
Sieun rolled his eyes, but he didn’t move away. Instead, he let the silence fall again, comfortable and easy. His book slipped from his hand to his chest, forgotten.
After a few moments, Seongje locked his phone and set it aside. His hand didn’t leave Sieun’s hair. If anything, it grew slower, more deliberate, fingers tracing the strands, a thumb brushing lightly against his temple.
“You look like you could fall asleep like this,” Seongje said quietly.
“Maybe I could,” Sieun murmured, his voice lower than usual, almost drowsy. “You’re not the worst pillow.”
“High praise coming from you,” Seongje teased, but his voice carried no edge.
For a long while, they just stayed there, the only sound the hum of the city outside and the faint ticking of the clock on the wall. And in that silence, something unspoken lingered between them, something fragile, but steady.
Sieun’s eyes fluttered shut, but before sleep could pull him under, he said softly, “Don’t… go anywhere.”
Seongje froze for half a heartbeat. Then his fingers stilled in Sieun’s hair, pressing lightly against his head in reassurance.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he whispered back.
The evening settled around them slowly, the last traces of sunlight fading into a soft blue that seeped through the curtains. Neither of them had moved. Sieun’s breathing had evened out, and for a moment, Seongje thought he had actually fallen asleep. His hand hovered, debating whether to stop playing with Sieun’s hair, but then Sieun shifted slightly, leaning more into the touch.
Not asleep. Just comfortable.
It was strange. Seongje had been around plenty of people before, but comfort like this,quiet, heavy, warm was rare. And to think it was Sieun, of all people, lying there as if he trusted him enough to let his guard down… Seongje couldn’t help the faint smile tugging at his lips.
Eventually, Sieun stirred, blinking lazily. “What time is it?”
“Almost seven,” Seongje said after checking his phone. “You hungry?”
Sieun gave a little grunt, half a shrug. “Not really.”
Which was a lie. Seongje knew the signs now, how Sieun avoided answering properly whenever food was involved. He sighed and nudged him lightly. “Come on. I’ll make something.”
Sieun cracked an eye open. “Since when are you this obsessed with feeding me?”
“Since I figured out you’d starve yourself if I didn’t,” Seongje shot back. He carefully shifted so Sieun could sit up, though Sieun dragged his feet about it, muttering under his breath.
Still, he followed Seongje into the small kitchen. The air was cozy, filled with the faint hum of the fridge and the clatter of pans as Seongje pulled ingredients out. Sieun leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching him with that unreadable expression he always had, like he was silently judging but also… maybe a little touched.
“What are you making?” Sieun finally asked.
“Something edible. That’s the goal.”
“That doesn’t sound promising.”
“Shut up and sit down.”
Sieun smirked faintly but did as told, dropping into a chair at the small dining table. He didn’t offer to help, he probably didn’t know how to, anyway. Instead, he just sat there, his eyes flicking between the ingredients and Seongje’s movements.
The smell of garlic and soy sauce began to fill the room, warm and savory. It wasn’t anything fancy, but Sieun found himself watching more intently than he meant to. There was something oddly grounding about it, the simple rhythm of chopping, the sound of sizzling in the pan, the way Seongje moved with a kind of quiet focus.
It felt… domestic. Dangerous, almost, in how much it tugged at something inside him.
“You’re staring,” Seongje said suddenly, glancing over his shoulder.
Sieun blinked, caught. “I’m not.”
“You are.”
“Don’t flatter yourself.”
But his ears burned, and Seongje noticed. He didn’t press, though, just let out a soft chuckle and returned to the pan.
When the food was finally ready, Seongje set it down on the table with a little flourish, clearly proud of himself. “See? Not burnt.”
Sieun picked up his chopsticks and eyed the food with suspicion. “Barely.”
But when he tasted it, his expression betrayed him. His lips pressed into a thin line, trying to stay neutral, but the faintest flicker of approval passed through his eyes.
“Good?” Seongje asked, leaning back with a grin.
“…Not bad,” Sieun muttered.
Which, from him, was high praise.
They ate quietly, the only sound the soft clinking of chopsticks against bowls. For once, Sieun didn’t rush or half-heartedly pick at his food. He actually finished.
Later, after the dishes were stacked and the kitchen dimmed back into silence, they found themselves back on the couch. This time, they sat side by side, shoulders brushing. Neither spoke for a while, but the silence wasn't heavy, it was the kind that felt like a blanket, warm and steady.
“Your mom won’t be home tonight, right?”
Sieun gave a single nod, eyes fixed on the floor as if the grain of the wood had suddenly become very interesting.
“Stay for the night then, hm?”
The reflex to refuse came instantly, his mouth already half open, the excuse forming. But then he glanced up. Seongje’s face was tilted slightly, watching him with that ridiculous mix of playfulness and something deeper. His eyes gleamed with the kind of hope that was impossible to brush off.
The refusal lodged in Sieun’s throat. Against his better judgment, he nodded. Just once.
Seongje’s grin spread instantly, wide and triumphant, like he’d just won a prize at a fair. “You are staying then, princess.”
Sieun rolled his eyes but didn't say anything.
After some time Seongje spoke, "it's getting late, come on princess let's go to bed"
Sieun stood up and followed him to the bedroom.
"The bed in here isn't much fancy, but it's comfortable enough. I didn't want union peeps to follow me to my original place so I rented it for the meantime."
Sieun nodded, "how long will you run away like this? Shouldn't they leave you alone by now"
"They will..... soon, don't worry your little head baby"
Sieun didn't say anything else but the glint of worry never left his eyes.
"Come on lay down with me" Seongje hold his hand out.
Sieun took his hand and went to the bed.
Seongje grinned and pulled him by his waist, their body fitting together now. "This is better"
Sieun huffed quietly against Seongje’s shoulder, but didn’t pull away. The warmth of Seongje’s body seeped into him, grounding him in a way he didn’t want to admit. His mind, though, refused to slow down. Questions, worries, unspoken things, they pressed against his ribs like waves against a breakwater.
Seongje’s voice cut through the noise again, low and amused. “You’re doing that thing again.”
Sieun frowned without looking up. “What thing?”
“That thing where you look like you’re about to rewrite the whole world in your head,” Seongje said, his thumb tracing lazy circles against Sieun’s hip. “It’s annoying.”
“Then stop staring,” Sieun shot back automatically, but his voice lacked bite. It was softer, worn out at the edges. He tried to shift, maybe to put some distance between them, but Seongje’s arm only tightened, dragging him back in until Sieun’s nose brushed the curve of his neck.
“Not a chance,” Seongje murmured, and Sieun felt it more than heard it, the words vibrating faintly against his skin.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The dim glow from the bedside lamp painted everything in amber, catching in Seongje’s hair, softening the sharp lines of his face. Sieun stared at the hollow of his throat, watching it move with every breath, and hated how much comfort that simple rhythm gave him.
“You think too much,” Seongje said again after a pause, quieter now. Almost a whisper.
“Someone has to,” Sieun muttered, but it sounded weak even to him.
Seongje chuckled under his breath. “Not tonight. Tonight, you don’t have to think about anything.”
The words settled between them like a promise, warm and steady. Sieun wanted to scoff, to say something cutting, but the fight had bled out of him somewhere between the couch and this bed. So instead, he let out a long, shaky exhale and finally let his forehead rest fully against Seongje’s shoulder.
For a while, there was only silence, thick, velvety, broken only by the sound of their breathing and the faint hum of the city beyond the window. Seongje’s hand kept moving, slow and deliberate, tracing patterns Sieun couldn’t decipher on his back. Each pass seemed to ease something in him, unraveling knots he didn’t even know were there.
“You’re warm,” Sieun mumbled before he could stop himself.
“Mm. That’s usually how bodies work,” Seongje teased lightly, but there was no smugness, no sharpness, just that soft lilt that Sieun had started to associate with safety.
“Shut up,” Sieun said, but his voice was barely above a whisper, slurred with exhaustion. He could feel sleep tugging at him, heavy and insistent.
Seongje shifted slightly, just enough to tuck the blanket more securely around them. Then his lips brushed the top of Sieun’s hair, so light it could have been an accident, except it wasn’t. Sieun knew. He felt it all the way down to his bones.
“Sleep,” Seongje murmured, so soft it almost didn’t reach him. “I’ve got you.”
He didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Instead, he let his eyes fall shut, let the world blur into warmth and steady heartbeats, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he let himself believe the words.
Morning came soft and slow. The room was pale with early light, filtering through half-closed blinds. Sieun woke first this time, his head still pillowed on Seongje’s arm. For a long moment, he just stayed there, listening to the quiet, memorizing the way the light traced across Seongje’s jaw, catching on the dark lashes that fanned against his cheeks.
He hated how peaceful he looked. Hated how badly Sieun wanted to keep this, keep him, even though some rational part of his mind whispered that nothing good lasted.
Seongje stirred then, eyelids fluttering open. His gaze found Sieun instantly, like it was the most natural thing in the world. And when he smiled, soft, sleepy, unguarded, Sieun felt something in his chest twist painfully.
“Morning, princess,” Seongje rasped, his voice rough with sleep.
Sieun rolled his eyes, because it was the only defense he had left. “Don’t call me that.”
“You like it,” Seongje said, grinning faintly as he stretched, his arm still anchored around Sieun’s waist. “You’re stuck with me now.”
And God help him, Sieun almost wished that were true.
Chapter Text
The winter air bit gently at Sieun’s cheeks as he stepped out of the hospital doors, his breath curling in the frosty air like smoke. The sky was pale, washed out by the chill, and the world felt quieter than usual, muffled by the season.
And then he saw him.
Seongje was leaning casually against the iron gate, his posture relaxed in a way that still somehow drew every eye. His dark coat fit sharp against the lean lines of his body, the collar turned up against the cold. In one hand, he held a steaming cup, thin wisps of heat curling upward like tiny ghosts. His head tilted slightly when he noticed Sieun, and that familiar glint, half amusement, half warmth, flickered in his eyes.
“You didn’t tell me you’d come,” Sieun said as he approached, trying for nonchalant but failing; his voice was too soft, like something unguarded had slipped through.
“It wasn’t planned,” Seongje replied easily, his lips curling just enough to hint at a smile. The breeze ruffled his hair, and Sieun hated that it made him look even better.
“Yeah, sure,” Sieun muttered, rolling his eyes, but the edge wasn’t real. It never really was with Seongje anymore.
Without another word, Seongje held out the cup. The warmth seeped into Sieun’s fingers as soon as he wrapped them around the cardboard sleeve, and for a second, that alone was enough to make him exhale something he hadn’t realized he was holding in. He took a cautious sip, the rich sweetness blooming against the cold in his throat.
But before he could even mutter a thank you, Seongje was already reaching out, unhurried, deliberate. His fingers brushed the edge of Sieun’s scarf, tugging gently to straighten it. The muffler. The one Seongje had given him a week ago, shoved into his hands with some offhand comment about “You’ll catch a cold if you keep dressing like you don’t value your life.” At the time, Sieun had rolled his eyes. But he’d worn it every day since.
Now, Seongje adjusted it with the kind of care that felt… dangerous. Each movement precise, his fingers brushing against Sieun’s jaw for the briefest second as he tucked the end in neatly.
Sieun’s throat tightened, his mind stupidly blank for a moment. He hated how easily Seongje could do this, turn something as ordinary as fixing a scarf into something that left Sieun’s heart stumbling over itself.
“There,” Seongje said softly, his voice warm against the cold air. He didn’t pull away, though. His hand shifted, light, almost absent-minded, smoothing a few strands of Sieun’s hair that the wind had mussed. And then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, his palm cupped the back of Sieun’s head briefly, drawing him just the tiniest bit closer.
“Let’s go,” he murmured.
Sieun blinked, heat flaring in his chest in sharp contrast to the winter air. He swallowed hard, trying to smother the warmth with annoyance. “Stop treating me like a child,” he muttered, the sulk in his tone almost convincing, if not for the way his ears were burning.
Seongje’s lips quirked. “If you were a child, I wouldn’t be doing half the things I want to do right now.”
Sieun choked on his hot chocolate, coughing as the heat burned his throat. “You-!” he started, glaring, but Seongje only laughed, a low, warm sound that Sieun both hated and wanted to hear again.
“Relax,” Seongje said, the grin still lingering as he slid his hands into his coat pockets. “Come on. You’ll freeze standing here.”
Sieun scowled but fell into step beside him, their shoulders brushing as they moved toward the bike. The sky had deepened into a dusky gray, the city lights flickering on like stars shaken loose from the clouds. Their breath mingled in the cold air, little white wisps that vanished as quickly as they appeared.
Seongje swung his leg over the bike with the kind of easy confidence that made Sieun grit his teeth. The black machine gleamed under the pale streetlights, sleek and intimidating, a low hum vibrating through the cold air as Seongje started the engine just to warm it.
“Come on,” Seongje said, holding out the spare helmet. His gloved fingers brushed Sieun’s as he passed it over. “You know how to wear this, right? Or should I do it for you?”
Sieun scoffed, snatching the helmet. “I’m not an idiot.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” Seongje teased, the corner of his mouth lifting. He watched with clear amusement as Sieun struggled with the strap, because of course he did.
Sieun finally growled in frustration. “This thing’s annoying.”
“Here,” Seongje said, his voice low as he reached out, turning the helmet slightly on Sieun’s head. His fingers were sure and gentle, tugging the strap under Sieun’s chin with slow precision before clicking it into place.
“There,” Seongje murmured, his eyes flicking up to meet Sieun’s for a fraction of a second. Close enough that Sieun could feel his breath against his cheek, warm in the cold night. “Perfect.”
Sieun froze, his throat dry, and hated how his pulse jumped at such a stupidly ordinary thing.
“Stop....looking at me like that,” he muttered, but it came out softer than intended.
Seongje only grinned, stepping back to pull on his own helmet. “Can’t make promises like that, princess.”
Sieun rolled his eyes hard enough to hurt, then climbed onto the bike behind him. The seat was cold, and the world suddenly felt too small when his knees brushed Seongje’s sides.
“Hold on tight,” Seongje said, his tone all teasing lilt.
“I’m not-” Sieun started, but the engine roared to life beneath them, and instinct took over. His arms slid around Seongje’s waist, fingers gripping the thick material of his coat as the bike pulled into the street.
“Good boy,” Seongje said, his voice carried back to Sieun through the wind.
Sieun would have kicked him if he weren’t terrified of falling off.
The cold tore at his skin, sharp and biting. But pressed against Seongje’s back, feeling the steady warmth of him, the way he fit so solidly under Sieun’s arms, he didn’t mind as much as he thought he would.
The bike rolled to a stop. Seongje cut the engine, and the sudden silence felt heavier than the wind had.
Sieun swung his leg off a little too fast, almost tripping. Seongje caught his arm, steadying him with a firm grip.
“Careful, princess,” he said, pulling off his helmet and shaking his hair loose in a way Sieun refused to find attractive.
“I had it under control,” Sieun grumbled, yanking off his own helmet. His hair stuck up awkwardly, static from the ride, and before he could smooth it down, Seongje’s hand was there, ruffling it with infuriating ease.
“Fixed,” Seongje said, smiling like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Sieun swatted his hand away, his ears burning from the cold, or at least that’s what he told himself.
“Where are we?” Sieun asked, tugging off his own helmet, his fingers stiff from the cold.
“Somewhere that serves real food,” Seongje replied simply, swinging his leg off the bike. He turned to Sieun with that infuriating half-smile. “You can thank me later.”
Sieun didn’t bother with a comeback, mostly because his teeth were on the verge of chattering. His breath fogged in the air as he followed Seongje down the narrow street. Snowflakes floated lazily under the glow of streetlamps, melting as soon as they touched the ground. The city had quieted, its usual hum softened into something almost serene.
A few steps later, they stopped in front of a small café tucked between two buildings. Warm light spilled from its windows, and the faint notes of jazz drifted out as Seongje pushed the door open, holding it just long enough for Sieun to step inside first.
The warmth hit him immediately, curling around his frozen fingers, thawing the stiffness in his shoulders. The scent of coffee and something sweet, vanilla maybe, hung in the air. It was cozy in a way that made Sieun feel like he’d stepped out of reality for a moment, into some quiet corner of the world where time slowed down.
Seongje guided him to a table near the window, the soft golden glow from a hanging lamp bathing them both in warm light. Sieun shrugged off his coat.
“Order whatever you want,” Seongje said as he slid into the seat across from him. “You look like you could eat the table.”
Sieun shot him a flat look. “That’s not funny.”
“Didn’t say it was,” Seongje replied smoothly, his eyes glinting. “But I’m right.”
Sieun ignored him and glanced at the menu. He wasn’t even that hungry, but the idea of something warm and filling tugged at him more than he wanted to admit. After a moment, he ordered a simple plate of pasta and another drink, something hot enough to burn the chill out of his bones.
When the waiter left, silence settled briefly. Not heavy, just quiet. Outside, snow had begun to fall in earnest, the flakes catching in the glow of the streetlights like shards of glass suspended in air.
Sieun found himself watching them, tracing the condensation on the window with his thumb. For some reason, he couldn’t quite look at Seongje. Not when the quiet between them felt so… loaded.
Their food arrived, breaking the moment. Seongje immediately reached across the table, plucking Sieun’s fork out of his hand.
“Hey-!”
“Relax,” Seongje said, spinning the pasta around the fork like it belonged to him. He blew on it once, then held it out across the table. “Eat before you turn into an icicle.”
Sieun stared at him, incredulous. “I can feed myself.”
Seongje grinned, sharp enough to make Sieun want to throw something at him. “Come on. Open up.”
“I’m not five,” Sieun muttered, but against his better judgment, he leaned forward and took the bite.
Seongje’s grin softened into something smaller, something that lingered even after Sieun sank back into his seat, glaring at him like it might undo the way his chest felt weirdly warm.
They ate like that, quiet, with bits of bickering that didn’t feel like real arguments. And as the snow thickened outside, the world beyond the café window faded away, until it felt like it was just the two of them in their own little pocket of warmth.
When they finally stepped back out into the night, the streets were blanketed in white. The air was crisp, biting, but Sieun barely noticed when Seongje’s gloved hand brushed against his before curling around it with quiet certainty.
It surprised Sieun sometimes how easily Seongje had slipped into his life, like water filling cracks he didn’t know were there. He never admitted it out loud, not even to himself, but the truth was simple, Seongje mattered. Too much.
For an ex-gangster, Seongje was almost disarmingly gentle with him. Never loud, never careless. He didn’t say big words, didn’t make empty promises, but the little things, those were his language. Hot chocolate on cold nights. Fixing his muffler like it was something precious. A hand on his shoulder when the world felt too heavy.
And now, Sieun hated how empty it felt without him.
His friends had noticed first. “You smile more these days,” one of them had teased a week ago, and Sieun had flushed so hard he almost walked into a door. He brushed it off, but deep down, he knew they were right. Seongje had pulled him out of that gray fog he’d been stuck in for so long. He made living feel… less like a chore.
Which made this silence unbearable.
Seongje hadn’t shown up for days. His texts had thinned into one-liners, and even those stopped two nights ago. Sieun tried telling himself it was fine, Seongje wasn’t obligated to him, after all. But his heart didn’t listen. It twisted tighter with every hour.
And that’s how he ended up here, standing in the icy corridor outside Seongje’s apartment, clutching a takeout bag like it was a lifeline. He told himself it was just dinner. Just checking in. Nothing weird about that.
But as he stood there, staring at the door, something felt wrong.
The lights inside were off. No faint hum of the TV, no warmth spilling through the crack under the door. Sieun hesitated, then knocked softly. Once. Twice.
“Seongje?”
Nothing.
He pressed his ear to the door. Silence, except for the distant hum of the building’s heating. His stomach sank. Maybe he wasn’t home. Maybe he went out. Maybe....
“Seongje?” he called again.
The apartment was… empty.
Sieun’s breath hitched. His chest tightened as he pulled out his phone, fingers trembling, scrolling through old messages. The last one stared back at him like a punch in the gut-
Take care of yourself, Princess.
That was two nights ago. He thought it was a joke. It wasn’t.
Sieun gripped the edge of the door handle, heart hammering so loud it hurt. Seongje was gone. Not just out. Gone.
And the worst part was, he didn’t know if this was by choice.
Chapter 13
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Sieun was dragging his feet toward school, shoulders hunched, body stiff, every step heavier than the last. His skin looked pale under the early morning light, his eyes dull, lifeless, as if he were nothing more than a ghost wandering among the living. To anyone watching, he looked like a zombie, barely moving, caught in some invisible current that kept pulling him down.
His mind was foggy, thick with thoughts he didn’t want but couldn’t escape from. The street stretched endlessly before him, though he wasn’t really seeing it. He wasn’t noticing the children running past with their bags bouncing on their shoulders, or the sound of vendors opening their stalls. All of it blurred together into background noise, until suddenly, he bumped into something.
Or someone.
He blinked, slowly lifting his head, and froze.
It was him.
Seongje.
For a brief moment, the world sharpened, colors rushing back into focus. A thousand emotions surged through Sieun’s chest, relief, longing, confusion, desperation. His lips trembled before words stumbled out of him.
“Where have you been?” he whispered, so soft it was almost swallowed by the air.
But Seongje only stood there. His face was blank, his eyes dull, as if he were looking straight through Sieun rather than at him. No flicker of warmth. No trace of the man Sieun remembered.
Then, without a word, Seongje turned and started walking away.
“Wait-” Sieun’s voice cracked, but no sound followed. His throat closed up, words strangled before they could escape. Panic seized him, his chest tightening as he watched the distance grow.
No. Not again.
He forced his body forward, his legs stumbling as though chained. His knees wobbled, his breath shallow, his heart hammering painfully against his ribs. He wanted to scream, wanted to shout Seongje’s name until the sky split apart, but his lips wouldn’t move. He could only run, dragging his weak body in pursuit.
The world tilted. His vision swam, edges blurring, but still he ran. Every step felt heavier, as if gravity itself wanted him to stop.
Finally, he was close enough. He could almost reach out, almost touch the hem of Seongje’s sleeve. His trembling fingers stretched forward-
And then, just like smoke, Seongje vanished.
Sieun froze, staring at the empty space before him, his breath caught in his throat. His entire body went cold. Then, the strength left him all at once, and he collapsed. The ground rushed up to meet him, and everything went black.
Sieun woke with a start, his body jerking upright. His chest heaved, his breaths ragged and shallow, tears streaking hot and fast down his cheeks. For a moment, he was still trapped in the nightmare, searching desperately for Seongje in the shadows of his room.
But then his blurry eyes caught the red glow of the clock on his bedside table. 2:00 a.m.
Of course. He had only been asleep for barely an hour. Sleep didn’t come easy these days, it never lasted.
His hands shook as he wiped at his face, though the tears kept falling. He leaned forward, pressing his palms against his temples, trying to slow his breathing.
It had been four days. Four days since he found out that Seongje was gone.
And in those four days, it felt as if Seongje had taken something with him, something vital, something Sieun couldn’t live without. His appetite was gone, food tasted like ash. His textbooks sat untouched, their pages blurred with the weight of memories. He moved through life as though underwater, numb, slow, suffocating.
He wasn’t living anymore. He was surviving.
And still, some foolish part of him clung to hope. That Seongje would come back. That this was temporary. That love, the kind Sieun had felt from him, even unspoken, could never simply disappear.
Sieun curled into himself, hugging his knees as the silence of the night pressed in. His throat burned with the words he never said. I loved you too. I still do. Please come back.
But there was no one to hear him.
The room felt colder. The world emptier.
Sieun whispered into the dark, as though Seongje were still there, lingering somewhere close.
“Don’t leave me behind…”
Morning came far too quickly. Sieun hadn’t realized when sleep finally dragged him under again, but the next thing he knew, his alarm was blaring. He groaned, burying his face into his pillow. His body felt heavy, as if his bones were made of stone, but he knew he couldn’t skip school, not again.
He dragged himself out of bed, going through the motions, brushing his teeth without tasting the mint, pulling on his uniform with numb fingers, slinging his bag over his shoulder. His reflection in the mirror startled him. His eyes were swollen, shadows bruised the skin beneath them, his lips pale. He looked worse than he felt, and that was saying something.
By the time he made it to school, the hallways were alive with chatter and footsteps. It felt like another world, one he didn’t belong to anymore. Students laughed, exchanged notes, shouted across classrooms. The noise hurt his head. He kept his gaze down, shuffling toward his desk.
“Sieun.”
The voice startled him. He looked up to see Juntae, standing by his desk. His usual playful smile was absent, replaced with a frown of concern.
“You didn’t reply to my texts,” Juntae said softly, pulling out the chair beside him. “Are you… okay?”
His throat tightened, his eyes stung, but he forced out a nod. “I’m fine.”
Juntae didn’t buy it. Neither did Gotak or Baku, who had walked in just in time to hear him. Baku placed a small carton of chocolate milk on his desk. “Liar. You look like hell. Eat something, at least.”
“I’m not hungry,” Sieun muttered, pushing it back.
Gotak pushed it right back toward him, firmer this time. “Then drink it anyway. You’ll collapse if you keep going like this.”
He stared at the carton, his chest heavy. Part of him wanted to shove it away again, but another part, the part that was tired of holding everything alone, felt a little warmer.
Juntae leaned closer, lowering his voice so only Sieun could hear. “We know… something happened with Seongje.”
The name made Sieun flinch. His fingers curled tightly against the desk, and his vision blurred. He wanted to say something, anything, but the words tangled in his throat.
“You don’t have to talk about it if you’re not ready,” Gotak added quickly, seeing the look on his face. “But… just don’t shut us out, okay? You don’t have to go through this alone.”
Sieun let out a shaky breath that wasn’t entirely suffocating. His chest still ached, the grief still weighed him down, but his friends kept him from sinking completely.
He picked up the chocolate milk with trembling hands and opened it. The taste was dull, almost bitter against his tongue, but his friends smiled and relaxed a bit, and somehow, Sieun felt a little less like a ghost.
The day dragged on. Classes blurred together; the voices of teachers sounded distant, muffled, as if Sieun were listening through water. His pen lay idle on his notebook most of the time.
At lunch, when he pushed his tray aside untouched, Juntae sighed and shoved half of his kimbap toward him.
“Eat. I don’t care if you like it or not. You’ll eat it.”
Sieun frowned faintly. “You sound like Baku”
“Good,” Juntae said firmly.
“Maybe if we bully you enough, you’ll start taking care of yourself.”, Gotak added.
Sieun reluctantly picked up a piece. His stomach twisted, rejecting the idea of food, but he forced himself to chew. It was tasteless, but Baku’s exaggerated cheer, “See? That wasn’t so hard!” pulled the corners of his lips into the faintest, fleeting smile.
That evening, when Sieun walked home alone, the streets looked unfamiliar, washed out in shades of gray. He kept his head low, but every corner seemed to echo with memories. The alley near the school gate, that was where Seongje had once waited for him, leaning against the wall with his lazy grin. The convenience store by the bus stop, that was where Seongje had insisted on buying him snacks even when Sieun protested.
And then, suddenly-
“Sieun.”
He stopped dead in his tracks. The voice was so clear, so close. His heart leapt violently, his head snapping up.
There. Just a few steps ahead. A familiar silhouette. Broad shoulders, the way he stood, the way his hands were shoved into his pockets.
“Seongje?” Sieun whispered, his throat dry.
The figure didn’t move.
Sieun’s pulse raced, his feet carrying him forward before he realized it. “Seongje, it’s you, right?” His voice cracked, almost pleading. He was running now, reaching-
But as he got close, the man turned. It wasn’t Seongje. Just a stranger with the same haircut, the same height, who gave him a confused glance before walking away.
Sieun froze, chest heaving, his body trembling. Shame and grief twisted in his stomach. His hands shook as he clutched at his shirt, willing his heart to calm down.
He wanted to laugh at himself, but all he managed was a choked sob.
It was Wednesday night, the streets quiet except for the occasional hum of passing cars. The neon signs from convenience stores and cafés glowed faintly, casting long shadows on the pavement. Sieun was walking back from cram school, his bag hanging loosely from his shoulder, steps slow, as though each one took effort.
The sudden buzz of his phone startled him. He pulled it out of his pocket, glancing at the caller ID.
Yeongi.
For a moment, he hesitated. He hadn’t spoken to her properly in days, not since that argument. His thumb hovered over the screen, his heart oddly heavy, before he finally pressed accept.
“…Hello,” his voice came out hoarse, tired.
On the other end, a soft voice answered. “Oh, hi, Sieun. I just… I noticed you haven’t visited the hospital this week, so I thought I should call…” She trailed off, uncertain, her words fading into the background noise.
Sieun rubbed the back of his neck, guilt pricking at him. “I was a bit caught up with something,” he muttered, which was true but also not. “I’ll try to visit soon.”
“Yeah… okay,” Yeongi said, but there was something in her tone, a mix of disappointment and hesitation.
The silence stretched between them, too long, too fragile. Sieun shifted his grip on his bag, exhaling sharply. “What is it, Yeongi?”
“I, umm…” Her voice faltered, as if she was debating whether to speak. “I was wondering if you could meet me. There’s… something I need to talk to you about.”
Sieun stopped walking for a moment, glancing up at the night sky. The stars were faint, almost invisible behind the city lights. His chest tightened, he didn’t feel ready for heavy conversations, not now. But she sounded serious.
“Is it urgent?” he asked quietly.
“No, not urgent,” she said quickly. “I just… I’d rather say it face to face.”
He hesitated, then sighed. “Let’s meet on Friday, then. After school. If that’s okay.”
“Oh, sure. Friday works. Thanks, Sieun.” Relief slipped into her voice, though she still sounded nervous.
“Alright. I’ll see you then. Bye.”
“Bye,” she echoed softly.
The call ended.
Sieun stared at the dark screen for a long moment, his reflection faint in the glass. He shoved the phone back into his pocket and started walking again, but the unease lingered.
Sieun didn’t head straight home. His feet moved on their own, following a path they had memorized long ago. It was late, the streets nearly empty now, but he barely noticed. His chest felt hollow, his thoughts restless.
Before long, he was standing in front of Seongje’s apartment building. The sight of it never failed to stir something sharp in him, pain, longing, hope. The windows above were dark, the hallway eerily quiet. Still, Sieun walked up to the familiar door.
He pressed the doorbell.
The faint chime echoed inside, then silence. He waited.
One minute. Five minutes. Ten.
His hands curled into fists at his sides, his heart racing with irrational anticipation. Maybe this time. Maybe the lock would click open, and Seongje would be standing there with that exasperated half-smile, asking why he was loitering like a stray cat. Maybe everything would go back to how it was.
But the door stayed closed.
By the fifteenth minute, the weight of disappointment pressed down on him again, heavy and suffocating. He exhaled shakily, pressing his forehead lightly against the cold door for a moment. The metal felt icy against his skin, almost grounding.
This was his routine now. His ritual. Every day after cram school, after the long hours of pretending he was fine, he came here. Just in case. Just in case today was the day Seongje returned, as if absence had only been a bad dream.
But the door never opened. The calls he made were never answered. The messages never delivered.
And yet, Sieun couldn’t stop. Because the alternative, accepting that Seongje was truly gone, was something his heart refused to do.
Finally, with slow, dragging steps, he turned and walked back down the hallway. The echo of his footsteps was the only sound that followed him, hollow and lonely. By the time he stepped out into the night again, his throat ached with the words he never got to say.
The stars above seemed impossibly far away.
Notes:
A small update for y'all..
my finals are close so the next updates will be slow, but I'll try to post another update before my finals.
Hope you like this chapter(also if anyone is reading paper wings too, I swear I'll update that soon)
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RexDarkRex on Chapter 1 Tue 01 Jul 2025 05:03AM UTC
Last Edited Tue 01 Jul 2025 05:05AM UTC
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cloudlands on Chapter 1 Tue 01 Jul 2025 05:25AM UTC
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Last Edited Sat 12 Jul 2025 06:33AM UTC
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Last Edited Sat 16 Aug 2025 06:01AM UTC
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