To the boy I loved too late

by jumblebeezz

Summary:

On the night of Baekjin's 22nd birthday, Baku drunkenly makes a wish in his stead. He wakes up 4 years in the past, before his old friend's mysterious death.
Now he has to find a way to prevent all the unfortunate incidents from happening and losing Baekjin all over again.

AU inspired by Twinkling Watermelon

Warning: very angsty + slowburn. tread on with caution...

Chapter 1

Notes:

This is my first attempt at a slow burn. I have no idea if I'll do it right and if it'll make sense in the end but it doesn't hurt to try.

23 December 2028, 11:30pm

 

It had been three years since Baku last stood before the lonely headstone nestled in the farthest, quietest corner of the small hillside cemetery. Now here he was, on the evening before Na Baekjin's birthday. The wind howled softly across the snow crusted ground, dragging the chill into Baku's bones as if to remind him of everything he had failed to do.

Work had become a constant blur: clock in, report, smile, grind, nod, submit. Repeat. The monotony should've brought him peace, or at least the promise of stability. But instead, it had begun to suffocate him. And when suffocation set in, so did memory. Especially of the years that once sparkled with innocence. Before ambition, before betrayal. Before fists turned against old friends.

He stood still for a moment, coat tugged tight around his broad shoulders, a plastic bag swinging in his gloved hand. Inside, two bottles of soju and a dark chocolate cake. Baekjin's favourite. Baku didn’t know why he remembered that detail so sharply

Maybe because it was one of the last pure things Baekjin had ever shared with him. Back when they were eleven, sitting cross-legged in Baku's living room, fighting over who would get the bigger slice.

He crouched slowly, ignoring the cold that seeped through the seat of his trousers, and sat cross-legged in front of the modest stone, which was cracked slightly at one edge, like it had been forgotten by the world. Forgotten by most, maybe. But not by him.

He cleared his throat.

"Hey. It’s been a while, old friend."

The words left his mouth quieter than he meant them to. He tried again.

"I brought cake. Seeing as your birthday’s in a few. And soju…" He gave a dry, humourless chuckle and placed both items down gently in front of the grave. "My old man would curse me out for being a hypocrite if he saw me now. You remember him, don’t you? Always with a bottle in hand. I hated that part of him. Hated what he became when he drank. And yet… here I am...

"I thought, just this once, maybe I should try it. To make this easier. I told myself in the past if I ever took a sip, I wanted it to be in your presence. You'd know what to do if things went wrong. Always the person who has known me best... maybe that's why we clashed."

He poured two shots into tiny plastic cups he’d snagged from the convenience store. One he placed carefully before the gravestone. The other he stared at for a long time before finally lifting it to his lips.

The burn was unfamiliar. Sharp. Like guilt in liquid form.

His voice wavered.

"You're probably wondering why I'm here. After all this time... I probably don't deserve to be."

A gust of wind blew through the trees behind him, but Baku barely noticed. The cold in his chest had nothing to do with the weather.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I don't know what I was thinking. I don't mean to bother you. I just... I’ve been feeling strange lately. Empty. And all I could think about was when we were kids. When we were still best friends. Before all the shit. When everything felt so damn simple... I guess you could say I just missed you."

He leaned forward slightly, eyes trained on the name etched in stone.

"They made a man out of me, Baekjin-ah. Can you believe that? Me, wearing a suit. Going to an office every day. Filing reports and dealing with asshole clients and pretending I know what I’m doing. Who would've thought, right? I didn’t even think I'd make it to college. But I did. Somehow. I've got you to thank for that."

He took another drink.

"After you died, I was a wreck. I kept thinking maybe we'd make up. That after the fight… we’d talk. I’d say sorry. We’d yell, maybe punch each other a few more times, but then it’d be like before. That hope kept me going. Even after what we did. After we broke your shoulder and your leg. We thought we were being righteous. Sieun and I. Like we had the moral high ground. But the truth is… we weren’t innocent at all. We were angry. And arrogant. And I pushed you into a corner."

His hands trembled as he set the cup down. The second bottle cracked open with a soft click.

"You never wanted to fight me. Not really. You always held back. And I guess I knew that, or I would have if I had tried to reason with you… But I made you fight me instead. I made you into something you weren’t. We all did. Maybe you were too far gone already. Maybe you made your choices too. But fuck, I wish I’d seen through the mask you wore. I wish I’d seen the pain underneath."

His voice caught, and he pressed his knuckles to his mouth to muffle the sob that escaped.

"When I heard you disappeared, I tried to reach out. I did. But I didn’t try hard enough, did I? Maybe if I’d tried harder, you’d still be here. Maybe you’d still hate me, but at least you’d be alive. I’d take that. I’d take you hating me if it meant I could talk to you again. Hear your voice."

The candles on the cake flickered as he lit them. It was nearly midnight.

He wiped his face with the sleeve of his coat.

"Gosh, look at me. I came here to celebrate your birthday and ended up sobbing like a small child. You deserve better company than this, Jin-ah."

The nickname slipped out so easily. It tasted bittersweet on his tongue.

"I brought your favourite dark chocolate cake. Picked out the best one the convenience store had to offer at this late hour. I hope you enjoy it."

His lips formed a smile that didn't reach his eyes. He set the cake in front of the grave, and waited silently. Watching the time on his phone screen.

 

24 December 2028, 12:00am

 

He bagan to sing softly.

“Happy birthday to you…"

It felt like a hand grabbed him by the throat.

"Happy birthday to you..."

A tear slipped out from the corner of his eye.

"Happy birthday, dear Baekjin..."

The words barely got out from the trembling of his voice.

"Happy birthday to you."

A sob escaped him. He quickly put a hand over his mouth to prevent more from coming out. Then he let himself cry as silently as possible until he calmed down somewhat and could smile through the tears again.

"You'll have to excuse my bad manners. The alcohol must've gotten to me! You know I'm not usually such a cry baby," he chuckled, the lie so obvious to everyone who truly knew him.

Baku stared at the still lit up candles for what seemed like a very long time, lost in thought. Then he sighed "I should probably blow out your candles now..."

The cold bit into his fingers as he reached for the cake. And then something in him snapped, anger spreading through his veins like hot lava.

“Dammit, Jin-ah… why did you put me in this situation? Why aren't you here to blow your own candles?!”

A sob slipped out again. Then another. Until they came in waves he couldn’t stop. His body folded in on itself, forehead resting against the frozen ground, shoulders shaking.

"Why did you have to distance yourself from me? Why did you have to hurt innocent people? Why couldn’t we just stay the way we were? I tried to show you, I tried to make you see, dammit! I never hated you! I NEVER hated you! If you’d just come back… if you’d have just said you were sorry and showed me that you were willing to change… I would’ve forgiven you. We could’ve started over. You, you bastard!! Why, why, whyyy?!"

And then he stopped, horror creeping into his eyes.

He sounded like his father.

The thought chilled him more than the wind. He had come full circle. Had become what he swore he’d never be. Drunk, violent, angry. Crying over the loss of a loved one, just like his dad after his mother had left them.

A scream tore from his throat, loud and raw, like it had been festering inside for years.

He sobbed until the tears stopped. Until he was empty.

In the silence that followed, he whispered, sounding broken beyond repair. "I'm sorry, Jin-ah. I'm so, so sorry. I blamed you again. It's all my fault. All of it. I'm an asshole. I'm such an idiot without you around... Please, come back. Just once… come back. Come back here and yell at me! Punch me, push me, make me see some sense... I feel so lost Jin-ah."

With arms wrapped around himself he started rocking back and forward, like a child searching for a comfort only their mother could give them. The sound of his ragged breathing was the only thing that could be heard in the cemetery. On the cold night of Christmas Eve he watched the halfway melted birthday candles and how the wax kept dripping on his dead friend's cake.

He raised the cake gently, like it was a fragile offering to the heavens, before it would get ruined any more than it already had.

And he made a wish.

"I hope… I hope we meet again soon. And when we do I hope I can properly ask for your forgiveness. Face to face. Whether it's in some paradise or in another life."

He blew out the candles.

Another breath escaped him, a cloud in the winter air. He wiped his face with trembling hands, took a last swig from the bottle, then lay down on the frozen ground beside the grave, curling in on himself like a little boy again.

"I wonder… do you feel lonely and cold too, Jin-ah?"

Silence answered.

The moon hung bright overhead, full and patient, casting soft light over him. His breath came in quiet wisps, sometimes clouding his view of the stars.

Finally, with a voice as soft and tired as sleep itself, he murmured, "You know… I went to college for you. You always cared so damn much about grades. Always top of the class. Top of the school, if not the whole country. My perfect Jinnie…"

A faint smile curled on his lips.

"I thought I’d go and live that life for you. So you could live it through me. It wasn’t easy. God, it wasn’t easy. But sometimes, I’d feel you there. In the back of my mind, nagging me to study harder. And that… that helped me survive. I graduated with decent marks. Can you believe that?"

He chuckled, weak and raspy.

"Now I work my boring office job to pay bills, buy groceries. Provide for me and my old man. He still drinks like always, but... we're better now. We understand each other more. Still... I’ll never understand the love he has for alcohol. This stuff sucks. I thought it would at least numb the pain in my chest, but it made it worse instead..."

He let his head fall back against the ground, eyes drifting shut.

"I should... I should probably... leave. I’m just… so tired, Jin-ah."

He yawned once.

"Goodnight, Baekjin-ah. And… happy birthday."

The wind blew gently across the graveyard, filling the air with the faint smell of chocolate and alcohol. At some point in the night, sleep had claimed him. Not peacefully, but with the weight of exhaustion, intoxication, and aching memories pulling him down like gravity.

The world was still and quiet until his phone vibrated violently against the frozen ground.

 

24 December 2024, 08:05am

 

Baku shot upright with a start, breath caught in his throat, his heart thudding in his chest like a war drum. The ringing phone was blaring from somewhere close. He reached out blindly, still halfway immersed in sleep, until his fingers wrapped around the device.

He didn’t check the number. Didn’t even open his eyes. Just dragged the phone to his ear and growled, “What?!”

The voice on the other side was unmistakable.

“Stupid bastard! Why are you yelling at me? If anything, I should be the one getting mad! You’re late to school, idiot! Get your ass here before the teacher considers suspending you again!!”

Baku’s eyes opened, squinting against the dim morning light leaking through the window. His head pounded, a dull throb radiating from behind his eyes to the base of his neck.

“School?” he muttered, pressing his hand to his forehead. “What the hell are you talking about, Gotak? We graduated long ago… It’s my day off from work. I'm not in the mood for your dumb jokes, I already have a bad headache nagging me.”

Gotak let out a familiar, snorting laugh. "Yah, asshole! Did you hit your head last night?! I’m not telling you again, get ready and come here before I turn you in to the principal myself!"

Click. The call ended.

Baku groaned and sat up, the blankets sliding off his chest.

Wait. Blankets?

He looked around, confused. The cold ground was gone. No snow. No graveyard. No trees overhead.

He was in his old bed.

In his father’s apartment.

He looked to his side. The room was exactly the same. The chipped desk in the corner, the pile of textbooks and notebooks, his high school uniform hung on the back of the door. The peeling paint on the walls. Even the cracked clock ticking faintly above his desk.

A cold sweat broke out across his back.

Is this what I get for drinking for the first time in my whole life?

He grabbed his phone again, this time he really looked at it. The lock screen glowed.

08:07am

December 24, 2024

His blood ran cold.

It was still Baekjin’s birthday. Not his 22nd... but 18th...

Four years ago.

He stared at the date, unable to blink. It didn’t change. He even slapped his cheek, twice. Nothing.

The fog of the night before clung to the edges of his memory: sitting by Baekjin’s grave, crying, screaming, drinking, sobbing until he couldn’t anymore…

And now this.

The universe had truly given up on Baku now.

I've finally gone crazy.

 

Notes:

i rewrote this first chapter so many times and still im not fully satisfied with it. the pacing feels off to me, the emotions feel out of place and i feel like i was unable to capture the yearning baku truly feels. as someone going through grief at the moment i tried to reflect my own emotions on his character but i guess sometimes these things just can't be put into words perfectly. maybe someday i'll find the right ones but for now this will have to do, and i'll have to make peace with that.

i considered keeping this to myself until then but thought maybe if i share this and others do like it. then i can come to like it as well. so i hope you enjoy this story if you've read this far. i promise to do my best with continuing it and bringing it to a good end.

Chapter 2

24 December 2024, 08:10am

 

Baku stared at his phone long after the call had ended, the screen dimming to black in his trembling hands.

What the hell is happening?

Still numb, he pushed himself up from bed and shuffled toward the bathroom. Every step felt off. Like walking through a half-built stage set, familiar and wrong at once. He didn’t dare look too closely at his room. He was afraid if he examined it, really examined it, he’d see things that had no right to exist anymore. Textbooks he’d thrown out. Posters he remembered tearing down. Uniforms he hadn’t worn in years and sold long ago when he hadn't needed them anymore.

He kept his eyes low and went straight for the shower, turning on the cold tap.

The water blasted over him, sharp and punishing. It hit his skin like needles and stole the breath from his lungs. He stood under it for a full minute, unmoving, hoping the cold would snap him back to the real world. Or at least whatever version of reality he belonged to.

Still drunk, he reasoned. That’s all this is. One hell of a hangover hallucination. I’ll wake up soon enough.

When he got out, he moved awkwardly through the house. He didn’t bother drying his hair. Didn't even check the mirror. Despite his mixed feelings he pulled on his old school uniform, neatly hanging where it hadn’t been in years, and moved to the kitchen like a ghost retracing old steps.

His hands started moving before his brain could catch up. Pan on. Bread in toaster. A couple eggs cracked neatly into the sizzling oil.

Just like he'd done a hundred times before. Preparing breakfast for his dad and himself like any other day. Today a bit earlier than he usually would on a day off.

Behind him, a floorboard creaked.

A low, gravelly voice rasped, “What the hell are you doing, you little punk?”

Baku froze, spatula hovering mid-flip. That voice. That tone. He hadn’t heard his father speak to him like that in over three years. Not since his last year of high school.

He turned, cautious.

His father was slumped into the kitchen chair, clearly hungover, squinting through bloodshot eyes. His face was the same as always, lined and weary. But there was something sharper now. Meaner. Less... worn down by time, more hostile like before they'd come to any kind of peace.

Still trying to mask the tightness in his chest, Baku answered with a polite tone, “I made us some eggs and toast. It'll be done in a minute.”

Something hard hit the back of his head, a small cup, flung with careless aggression.

“The hell!?” he exclaimed, turning fully.

His father stood now, voice rising like a wave.

“Did you get suspended again, you little bastard?! You think I’m made of money? If you’re not gonna study, go earn your own damn living! Stop leeching off mine!”

Baku stood in stunned silence. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

His father hadn’t gotten violent with him in years. Not since the scolding he had gotten from Sieun in the year they'd become friends. After that… his relationship with his father had changed. Not perfectly, but… for the better. Mornings were quiet. They ate together. They understood each other more. They weren’t friends, but they weren’t this either. They had learned to talk things out.

This was the past. This was trauma pulled out from under a rug he thought he’d buried deep and left far behind him.

He felt his lungs tighten. A familiar pressure crawled up his throat. His fingers went numb. His vision blurred at the edges.

His father was still shouting, voice slurred with anger and stale alcohol.

“Ungrateful little shit! You think making toast makes up for everything you’ve cost me?! You're a damn waste of my time!”

The words blurred together, like they were underwater.

Baku couldn’t take it.

Something inside him snapped.

He grabbed his coat from the hook by the door, shoved his feet into his shoes, and tore the front door open with shaking hands.

“Where the hell do you think you're going, boy? I’m not done talking to you!” his father roared after him. “Don’t you walk out on me! You hear me?!”

But Baku didn’t look back.

He ran.

The cold air slapped him in the face, but there was no snow. No icy pavement. No winter blanket. Just the dry chill of early winter air.

Right. The snow came later in 2024.

He remembered now. Details were clicking into place like puzzle pieces he didn’t want to fit.

He slowed after a few blocks, hands jammed in his coat pockets, breath puffing out in harsh clouds. His mind buzzed with questions that had no answers.

This can’t be real.

But the sting on the back of his head said otherwise.

He wandered without direction until his feet, guided by muscle memory, brought him to a familiar place. The street outside his office building. But something was wrong. Different.

He saw them. People he knew. Office workers. Colleagues. But younger.

Their faces were less lined. Some had different hairstyles. Some didn’t have wedding rings yet.

He spotted a familiar face. Mr. Lee, one of his coworkers. The man had just gotten off the bus, hustling toward the building like he was late for a meeting.

He looks like he’s in his twenties…

Baku took a step forward, ready to call out

Maybe confess that something was seriously wrong. Maybe ask if he felt it too.

But he froze.

He’ll think I’m crazy. Some lunatic creep stalking him.

Just then, Mr. Lee dropped something, black wallet, thin and worn, as he broke into a jog.

Baku rushed forward, scooping it up.

“Mr. Lee!” he called out without thinking.

The man turned, out of breath and surprised, jogging back once he saw what Baku was holding.

“Thank you so much! What would I have done if I’d lost that?” he laughed, grabbing the wallet from Baku’s outstretched hand. Then he paused.

“…Wait. You called me by name.”

Mr. Lee narrowed his eyes. His smile dimmed slightly, replaced by mild confusion.

“Do I know you?”

Baku’s heart leapt into his throat. His mouth opened. Closed. Then opened again.

Say something. Anything. Don’t look insane.

“I saw it on your ID. It's sticking out of the wallet,” he lied quickly, trying to steady his voice.

“Oh,” Mr. Lee blinked, smile returning. “Right. That makes sense. Thanks again, really. I owe you one.”

He turned and hurried off toward the building, wallet in hand.

Baku stood there for a long time, the reality of his situation closing in around him like a noose.

This wasn’t a dream. It wasn’t a hangover. It wasn’t even just memory.

Somehow, against all logic, he had gone back.

 

24 December 2024, 10:37am

 

Baku had run. Run as fast as he could, until he reached the top of the familiar hill. He didn’t even remember how he got to the cemetery. Only that his legs had carried him here like they had a mind of their own.

His lungs burned. His head was spinning. The world felt too loud and too quiet all at once.

He didn’t stop until he was at the top of the hill.

His heart dropped the second he reached the far corner. That corner. The one where Baekjin’s lonely, frosted headstone had been. It had been there. He knew it had.

But now… it was gone.

The grass was clean. Empty. Untouched.

No cake. No soju bottles. No grave.

Nothing.

His breath caught in his throat, sharp and jagged.

He staggered a few steps forward, blinking in disbelief. No… no, this was the right spot. He was sure of it. He could still remember the way the stone had leaned slightly to the left. The way no one else ever visited this end of the cemetery except him.

And now it was like Baekjin had never existed at all.

The cemetery itself looked emptier, less crowded. Fewer graves. Like death hadn’t had time to leave as many scars yet.

He stood there, lost. Confused. Something inside him twisted painfully, almost nauseating. He didn’t belong here. Not like this. Not in this version of the world.

It felt wrong. He felt wrong.

Then everything inside him erupted.

He screamed. Loud, hoarse, desperate. Letting it all out into the cold morning air.

He dropped to his knees and slammed his fists into the earth where his old friend's grave had been, again and again until the pain in his knuckles registered. But he didn’t stop. His voice cracked, breaking open something deeper inside him.

“WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING?! WHY DID I COME BACK?!”

He didn’t care if anyone heard. He wanted the sky to split open and give him an answer. He wanted the ground to swallow him whole. He wanted to stop feeling this overwhelming, heart-shattering everything.

His chest heaved. His fingers were shaking. And his eyes, stung, quickly filling with tears that threatened to spill.

This had to be a punishment. It had to be. Some sick joke by the universe.

Hadn’t he already suffered enough?

He was still on the ground when his phone vibrated in his pocket. He didn’t care at first. Didn’t even want to look. But something told him to.

He pulled it out with trembling hands.

The screen lit up.

An unsaved number.

But not just any number.

His breath hitched violently.

That number hadn’t called him in three years. And yet, he knew it by heart. A string of digits burned so deeply into his memory that he couldn’t forget it even if he tried.

His hands went numb. The name wasn’t even on the screen, and yet it screamed at him louder than any ringtone could.

He stared, terrified it would vanish if he blinked. That if he answered, the voice on the other end would disappear. Or worse, never have been real.

But somehow, despite the fear gripping his chest, he picked up.

“…Humin-ah?”

The voice nearly shattered him.

Na Baekjin's voice. His Baekjin's.

The one voice he’d begged the heavens to hear again. Prayed for. Cursed for. Mourned for.

Now it was back, sounding casual and alive, like nothing had ever happened. Like he'd never been gone.

The tears finally rolled down his cheeks.

Baku couldn’t say anything. He was too afraid. Afraid that if he spoke, the illusion would break. That the universe would realize its mistake and rip Baekjin away from him again.

Baekjin, oblivious to the storm he’d just caused, kept talking. Tone smug, lightly teasing, but not in a friendly manner.

“I didn’t think you’d actually pick up. Have you finally come around?”

Baku’s chest ached. His entire body ached.

He’s alive. He’s alive.

But still, he stayed quiet. Frozen. Drowning in relief, in disbelief, in fear.

Baekjin’s tone shifted slightly. Still light, but more pointed now. “Okay, well, I guess you haven’t. You won’t blame me for wishing, right? It’s my birthday, after all. Don’t be mean to the birthday guy. I’m already hurt enough you didn’t call me yourself.”

He was trying to sound playful. Trying to act like he didn’t care.

But Baku knew better now.

He's hurt.

The old him would’ve thought Baekjin was just being a smug bastard again. Would've gotten pissed off over the tone of his voice that sounded like he was trying to pick a fight with him.

But now, he could hear the truth under it. The quiet pain. The vulnerability carefully hidden behind a wall of pride.

He wanted Baku to reach out. To remember him. To say something. To react in any kind of way, even if harsh.

It reminds him of his own feelings, before he had gotten himself into this weird time travel situation.

I'll take him hating me, as long as I can hear him breathing again.

Please, just come back to me. Yell at me, get mad at me, punch me. Whatever you want, sweetheart. Just let me hear your voice once more.

The thoughts he'd had a million times swirled in his mind.

Baku felt like a fool for not noticing back then, back when it mattered the most. More salty tears spilled out of his eyes. He covered his mouth with his hand to prevent any sound that might try to give him away to the unaware boy on the other end of the line.

“Cat got your tongue?” Baekjin said after a moment, irritation seeping in. “You usually ignore me, but if you weren’t gonna say anything at all, why’d you bother picking up?”

The words scared Baku. He didn't want Baekjin to hang up so quickly. So without meaning to, without thinking, Baku blurted out the first thing that came to his mind.

“…What do you want?”

He had meant to ask the one thing that was on his mind the night before when he blowed out Baekjin's candles. What’s your birthday wish?

It was meant to be asked kindly. To show he cared, to show someone was there for him.

But it came out wrong. Not cold, not aggressive, but far too plain. Too distant. Too much like the old Baku who never gave Baekjin a chance.

It probably stung. Baku could imagine it.

Baekjin let out a breathy laugh. “There you go. So you do know how to talk.”

Then his voice hardened. Darkened.

“I just thought I’d let you know... tell your friends to keep out of my business and stop messing with my people before one of them accidentally ends up in the hospital.”

Baku winced. That venom in his voice, that resentment. It was sharp and real.

This was around the time Sieun had fought Geum Seongje. That ridiculous, self-sought-after fight where the guy got stabbed with his own glasses.

Baku took a ragged breath.

He’d forgotten how bad things were between them at this point. How hostile. How broken.

He had hoped so much to see Baekjin again. But now that he had… he remembered how far apart they had drifted. How hard it would be to fix.

Still, he would try.

“I’ll see what I can do,” he said, quietly.

There was a beat of silence.

“…What?” Baekjin asked, like he didn’t believe what he’d heard. The sound of Baku surrendering on his own will so foreign to his ears that he was sure he must've misheard.

“I said, I’ll see what I can do.”

Another silence.

Then a soft chuckle. Surprised, slightly disarmed.

“Are you alright? I must be dreaming. Park Humin, acting nice to me on his own accord?”

That one hit harder than it should have.

Was that really how Baekjin saw him? As someone incapable of kindness, especially towards him?

Baku swallowed the guilt and pushed forward.

“Consider this your birthday gift this year.”

Baekjin hummed. “Aww, Min-ah, you’re so considerate.”

It was a joke. A brush-off.

But he still accepted it. Any closure he could get clearly satisfied him. Probably made relief wash over him and feed the hope in his chest.

Baku wanted to cry again. Don't settle for my weak attempts at mending our friendship, Jin-ah. You deserve to be treated much better. This is even less than the bare minimum...

But he couldn't say these things out loud. Not yet. So he just said the thing he'd wished he'd told Baekjin from the past.

“…Happy birthday, Baekjin-ah.”

The name, spoken like it used to be, softly, familiarly, landed between them like a spark.

“I hope you have a great 18th birthday.”

He meant it.

He meant it with every part of him.

Baekjin didn’t say anything at first.

Then, after a pause, clearly flustered, he cleared his throat.

“…Thank you. I’ll… surely enjoy it as best I can.”

And then he hung up.

Baku stared at the silent phone in his hand.

And the reality of everything finally hit.

Baekjin was alive.

This was real.

This was real.

He was truly back in the past. Given this terrifying, impossible, golden opportunity to make things right. To keep Baekjin safe. To try again.

The weight of it all crushed him.

He broke down, body curled over, face buried in his arms as the tears spilled freely.

He was scared. More than anything, he was scared.

Of messing up. Of not being enough. Of losing him all over again. Scared of not succeeding, failing miserably and reliving all of the pain.

But if the gods had granted him this chance…

He’d be a fool to let it slip through his fingers.

Notes:

i have no schedule in mind but i'll try to update this as often as i can :)

Chapter 3

Notes:

i want to take this moment to thank everyone who is reading this. your kudos and comments make my day and i literally rushed home from work to edit two chapters i had finished writing a while ago. as a reader who loves quick updates im doing my best to be *that* writer. most chapter are written roughly already im just very picky when it comes to using the right words to convey the right emotions. does that make any sense?
anyways...

i want to remind you all once more that this is my first attempt at a slow burn. bakujin interactions will become more overtime but for now it's pretty much on the low, actually kinda non existent for now (sorry). i ask for your patience and i hope i won't disappoint you once the romance kicks off.

for now enjoy the continued distress in baku's life 🫣

25 December 2024, 12:24am

 

Baku stumbled through the front door well past midnight, the stale scent of cigarettes and old booze hitting him like a wall. His body ached, his legs trembling slightly beneath him, and his eyes, swollen from a day’s worth of crying, felt like they could barely stay open.

He thanked whatever gods were still out there that his father was passed out on the couch, snoring through a drunken stupor. The empty bottles scattered across the floor told him all he needed to know. There’d be no yelling tonight. No fists. Just silence.

For once, he was grateful for it.

He closed the door behind him softly, careful not to make a sound, and leaned against it for a moment, exhaling shakily. His phone vibrated weakly in his pocket, and he finally pulled it out. The screen was full of messages from Gotak. Dozens of them.

 

Where the hell are you?

Bastard, I know you're ignoring me.

You better be dead or in a coma or I’ll kill you myself.

Hey, you there?

...Baku-yah, seriously. Are you okay?

 

The tone had shifted from angry to worried in the span of a few hours, and Baku knew he should reply. He wanted to reply. But the pounding in his head made it feel like his skull was splitting in two. He’d woken up with his first and last hangover, only to fall headfirst into the past. Quite literally. The whiplash of it all, the emotional weight… It was too much.

Every part of him felt crushed under the invisible weight of inevitable doom. Like there was some shadow around every corner, watching and waiting for him to make the wrong move.

He had spent the day wandering aimlessly, trying to remember. Anything. The events that unfolded after Sieun’s fight with Seongje. But it was all fragmented. Fleeting. Just flashes.

Baekjin’s name echoed the loudest in his mind.

The moment he challenged Baekjin at his school. The brutal clash between the union and Eunjang. Baekjin’s sudden disappearance. And then... his death.

Even those were blurred. His memory was fractured, like a mirror he was trying to piece back together after it had already been swept into the trash. Somewhere along the way, grief had stripped away entire chunks of time from him. His mind, in some twisted mercy, had decided to block it all out. A coping mechanism. His body had forced him to forget the pain so he wouldn’t break completely.

But now? Now he was back here. And he had no idea who he had been at this exact point in time. He didn’t know what to say, how to act. How to prevent the inevitable.

Baekjin’s death had changed him in ways he still didn’t fully understand. He had grown quieter. Gentler. Less arrogant, more thoughtful. But something else had gone missing too.

His spark.

His smile.

The light in his eyes that once burned so brightly had gone out the moment Baekjin closed his.

He thought of Sieun. How broken he’d been when Suho was in a coma. That cold, lifeless expression he carried around like armor. That was Baku now, ever since that day.

He remembered how Sieun had smiled, really smiled, when Suho finally woke up. That warmth. That hope. And back then, Baku had been happy for him. Genuinely.

Afterwards, after he lost his own friend, it hurt instead. Seeing Sieun and Suho together, staying silent over his own suffering. Only thinking about what he could never have.

Baekjin had been everything.

And now... now he was alive again. Somehow. Somewhere.

Baku couldn’t afford to waste this chance.

He stepped into the bathroom and took a long, warm shower. Letting the steam wash over him, easing the tension from his muscles, scrubbing away the grime and despair clinging to his skin. His mind slowly started to clear as the water ran down his face.

He towel-dried his hair and slipped into a pair of soft pajamas. For a moment, it almost felt normal.

Then his phone rang.

A video call.

Gotak.

“Shit,” Baku muttered under his breath. Even after the shower, he still looked like hell. Puffy red eyes. Pale cheeks. His voice was likely still raw from screaming earlier in the day, cries lost to the wind when no one had been there to hear.

But he couldn’t leave Gotak hanging. Not when the guy had clearly been worried.

He answered.

Gotak’s voice exploded through the speaker before his face even fully loaded.

“Yah, asshole, where the hell have you been?! Do you know how worried I was?!”

The usual loud curses. Laced with real concern. Always the same with Gotak. His filthy mouth couldn’t hide his big heart if it tried.

Baku gave a weak smile. “I’m sorry, Gogo. I wasn’t feeling too well today.”

Gotak paused, eyes narrowing as he finally took in Baku’s face. His swollen eyes. His hoarse voice.

“Yah... Baku-yah. Are you okay? You don’t look or sound good. Did something happen?”

The question was innocent to anyone else’s ears. But Baku could hear the real worry hidden underneath.

Did your father hit you again?

He forced a laugh and waved a hand. “Ah, no, no, Gotak-ah. It’s not what you think. I’m alright, really. Just woke up with a bad migraine and it’s only just starting to fade.”

Gotak didn’t press. He knew Baku. Knew the way he deflected. Knew that if he pushed too hard, Baku would shut down. Disappear for a while before coming around.

Always the friend who carried the burden of others, but refused to bother anyone else with the heavy weight of his own.

So Gotak just sighed and muttered, “Alright, whatever you say. Just… don’t forget I’m here, okay?”

At those words, Baku felt something loosen in his chest.

You’re human too, Baku-yah. You don’t have to carry everything alone. Let us carry some of it with you.

Juntae's voice echoed in his head.

Remember we're right here, if you ever need anything. Whether it's a shoulder to cry on or a listening ear.

Sieun's words, quickly followed by Gotak's.

We've got your back, man. Let yourself fall if you feel your knees giving out. We'll be right there to catch you, okay?

He remembered what his friends had told him the night of Baekjin’s funeral. How they'd all been there, holding him up when his legs gave out, feeding him when the grief had paralyzed him. How they had kept checking in on him, making sure he took care of himself, and helping when he couldn't do it on his own.

They’d stayed. Through it all. Even when he couldn’t function. Even when they'd seen parts of him that had been so ugly, it had disgusted Baku himself to his core.

And now, somehow, here they were again.

Tears rolled down his cheeks before he could stop them. He thought he’d cried everything out earlier, but apparently there was still more left.

Gotak blinked at him. Then gave an awkward chuckle. “Ah... uh, Baku-yah. Don’t cry.”

Baku laughed too, quiet and broken and full of warmth.

“I missed you guys,” he whispered and then, realising it might've sounded weird he added. “Today, I mean. Thank you, Gotak-ah. Your words mean… they mean a lot.”

Gotak looked startled by the sudden sentiment. He rubbed the back of his neck, flustered. “Yah, you big sod. What kind of shit did you get into this time to make you talk like that?”

Oh, if only you knew, Gotak-ah, Baku thought. But he just smiled, a smile that finally reached his glittering eyes. One that was so pure and contagious that it was hard to look away without letting it reflect on your own face.

Gotak continued, easing back into normalcy, wanting to change the subject a bit. “Sieun took notes for you. And I didn’t turn you in to the principal. Tell the teacher tomorrow you were stuck on the toilet with food poisoning.”

That last sentence took a while to sink in and once it did Baku burst out. He doubled over laughing, quickly trying to stifle the sound. Not wanting to wake his father up.

Ever since entering this timeline he'd let out so much of his grief, it had finally made way for humour. Something that wasn't that funny at all when you thought about it, sounded so comical to his ears in that moment.

It was hysteria.

It was perfection.

It was the calm after a very long storm.

“God... where do you come up with this stuff?” he wiped away some of his tears, trying to calm himself, prevent another fit of laughter.

“I didn’t. Juntae did. The guy’s got guts for someone who looks like a nervous wreck half the time. Probably saved your ass with his on-the-spot lying skills.”

They laughed together. The kind of laughter that lifted heaviness from your chest. Even if the timeline was unfamiliar, even if he didn’t know exactly how close they all were yet, this feeling hadn’t changed.

These were his people.

“Thanks again, Gotak-ah. I’ll thank them tomorrow too. I should hang up now before I wake up my old man.”

Gotak smiled. “Alright. Take care, man. Don’t forget, I’ve got your back. Always. Sleep well.”

“You too.”

The call ended, and Baku sank onto his bed, phone still in hand.

He felt lighter. Safer.

Loved.

For the first time since waking up in this second-chance reality, Baku allowed himself to believe.

Maybe, just maybe, everything really could be alright.

Even if they didn’t know the truth, even if he couldn’t tell them what was coming, he would protect them all.

He’d change their past for the better.

No matter what.

 

25 December 2024, 07:30am

 

Morning light filtered through the curtains. Baku stirred awake, the ache in his head dull now, just a ghost of the day before. He sat up, breathed in, and stretched. Something felt different. Not peace exactly, but the start of something quieter. More focused.

He got dressed for school in silence. The uniform still felt strange on him, like slipping into a life he barely remembered. He buttoned it up and gave himself a nod in the mirror.

“Less crying from now on,” he muttered. “More doing.”

He moved to the kitchen and cleaned what he could. Then, with slow hands, he prepared a simple breakfast. Rice, kimchi stew, a few side dishes. Nothing fancy, but enough to show he meant it.

He placed the food on the table with care, poured a glass of water, and padded to the bedroom door.

“Dad?” he said quietly. “Time to get up.”

A groan came from the couch. “What do you want now, punk…”

“I’m leaving for school. I made you breakfast. It’s on the table.”

His father sat up slowly, squinting toward the kitchen, then back at Baku. Confused. Suspicious. Still hungover.

Before he could say anything, Baku bowed deeply.

“I’m sorry for being an ungrateful son,” he said. “You were right yesterday. I haven’t appreciated all the things you’ve done for me so far.”

His voice didn’t shake.

“I promise I'll change. I promise I’ll study and I’ll get into college. I’ll pay you back for everything, dad. I’ll make you proud.”

Eyes still fixed on his father's feet he continued.

"I'll return your kindness, the hardships you've endured for me as a single father, while barely holding on yourself. I promise to only lessen every one of our burdens from now on."

A pause.

“Merry Christmas, Dad.”

He bowed again, even deeper this time, then straightened up quickly and turned on his heel before the man could say a word. Baku slipped on his shoes, grabbed his bag, and stepped outside.

He didn’t dare look back.

He didn’t want to see the disbelief. Or the anger. Or worse, the shock. Maybe a flicker of something soft, something almost like pride, hidden in the eyes of a man too broken to say it out loud.

Baku couldn’t risk it.

He wasn’t strong enough yet.

Not for that.

The air outside was cold but fresh. Crisp against his skin, like a slap and a blessing all at once. He tightened his scarf and took a deep breath.

There were a million wrongs he’d made in the past. So many regrets, so many things he couldn’t undo. But maybe, just maybe, he could make things right this time. Not just with Baekjin. Not just with his friends. But with everyone.

Even those who didn’t seem grateful.

Maybe especially them.

Because people like that were the ones who needed kindness most. The ones who were just waiting, aching, for someone to give them a chance.

Baku had learned the hard way how little it cost to offer someone hope. And how much it could change everything.

He started walking toward school.

One step at a time.

Notes:

another one upcoming :P

Chapter 4

Notes:

so weird writing abt christmas in the middle of summer...

25 December 2024, 08:20am

 

“Ho ho ho! Merry Christmas!” Baku’s voice echoed through the school courtyard as he marched in like a one man parade, waving his arms dramatically, cheeks red from the winter cold and a huge grin on his face. His scarf flapped behind him like a cape as he greeted no one in particular, his usual goofball energy already in full swing.

The other students barely reacted, already too used to Baku being Baku.

A hardcover book smacked the back of his head.

“Yah, stop being so damn loud, dickhead,” Gotak grumbled behind him. “You’re back for one second and already giving everyone a headache.”

Baku turned with a wide smile, immediately pulling Gotak into a loose headlock and playfully ruffling his hair with a fist.

“Just admit it, Gogo. You missed me.”

“Missed the peace and quiet,” Gotak muttered, struggling out of Baku’s grip. “Where do you even pull this energy from at this hour?”

"How is that even a question? My ass of course!" 

They batted at each other like overgrown kids, roughhousing as usual, until two quiet figures walked by. Sieun and Juntae, side by side, completely ignoring them like they didn’t know them.

Baku immediately darted over, throwing an arm over Juntae’s shoulders as Gotak fell into step beside Sieun, forming a neat four man lineup.

“My dear friends! I’ve missed you so much! Merry Christmassss!”

Juntae smiled warmly at the outburst. “Merry Christmas to you too, Baku-yah.”

On the other end, Gotak muttered with a sigh, “I already miss yesterday. The most peaceful day we'd seen in a while, without a certain idiot around.”

Baku pointed dramatically at him. “Hey. I heard that.”

“Good,” Gotak shot back. “It means you know you’re the problem.”

“You little shit. Be grateful you’re standing next to Sieun!”

At that, Sieun finally spoke, deadpan. “Please, by all means. Don’t let me hold you back.”

They all chuckled. Four very different personalities somehow fitting perfectly together.

When they reached the hallway, they split off. Sieun and Juntae heading to their class, Sieun handing Baku a neat stack of notes before leaving. Baku and Gotak made their way to their own, falling back on their seats comfortably.

Baku looked over the notes, surprised by how clear it all seemed now. Back then, schoolwork had felt like climbing a wall with no footholds. Now? It was so easy to understand. Almost embarrassingly so.

God, I really was an idiot, he thought, amused but also just a little regretful.

Classes rolled by quickly. Baku answered confidently, paying attention, engaging when needed. Gotak looked over at him a few times, confusion clear on his face. The guy so obviously wanted to ask a few times, did you hit your head?

In the end he didn't bother. Thinking it must be the Christmas spirit in Baku, making him do the impossible. 

By the time lunch came around, the four of them had gathered at their usual table.

Baku and Gotak were loudly bickering as usual, Juntae chimed in every now and then with a quiet comment, and Sieun mostly just listened, expression soft. Sipping his juice box like a calm observer. Their usual rhythm. It felt so right.

When lunch ended and the bell rang, the group stood to leave. But before Baku could follow, Sieun placed a hand lightly on his arm.

“Wait.”

Baku turned, a little surprised. Gotak and Juntae kept walking, already back into a heated manga debate.

Sieun looked at him, thoughtful as ever.

“Are you... alright, Baku-yah?”

Baku blinked. That… wasn’t what he expected. He laughed lightly, putting on his usual grin. “Of course! Why wouldn’t I be, Sieun-ah?”

Sieun didn’t respond right away, his gaze steady.

“It’s just... your eyes. You look tired.”

Baku paused.

Right. Sieun saw things others didn’t. Always had. His quietness wasn’t indifference, it was a mirror. He saw in Baku what he carried in himself.

Then came the question that really hit.

“Is it about Na Baekjin?”

Baku froze for a second. In this timeline, he had just recently told Sieun about their childhood friendship. He had no idea what Sieun had pieced together on his own, but the way he asked… it was careful. Gentle.

“Yeah,” Baku answered eventually. “I guess you could say that.”

“Did I cause you trouble by fighting Geum Seongje? Is that why you didn’t come to school yesterday?”

Baku quickly waved his hands. “No, no, nothing like that. I mean… Baekjin did call me, but the reason I didn’t show up was because I genuinely felt unwell. It wasn’t your fault at all.”

Sieun stared for a second longer, then nodded, seemingly satisfied.

“I’m glad,” he said simply. Then added, “Merry Christmas, by the way.”

And just like that, he turned and walked off.

Baku watched him go, a small, quiet smile forming on his lips.

All of his friends. Gotak, Juntae, Sieun. They were good people in their own ways. Strong in the ways that mattered.

He felt so lucky. So incredibly lucky to see them again like this.

The second half of the day flew by. They ended with a surprise test, which Baku finished far quicker than he ever had in the past.

As he walked home later, bag slung lazily over his shoulder, snow starting to fall, he found himself smiling again.

This was the beginning of something new. Something better.

But happiness, like sadness, as always... didn’t last.

The universe had a way of reminding him life wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t fair. And it never stayed still for long.

He should’ve remembered this part. Should've remembered all the important moments. The pieces that led to the downfall of everything. The misfortune, the grief, the loss of his friend.

He should’ve known what was bound to happen after Sieun’s fight with Geum Seongje. After Baekjin’s sudden call. He should’ve seen the signs.

The memories came flooding back, clearer now than ever. The same conversation, but different. Different enough to make him realize: the timeline was changing. Baku was doing things he hadn't done before

Things he wasn’t supposed to do. And with every action, the butterfly effect stirred.

He remembered that old version now, a bit vaguely but close enough to the real thing. It had been night then. Quiet. The streetlights flickering overhead as Baekjin called him and said bluntly, “Seongje is held at the police station.”

Baku’s voice had been cold, detached, “I give up, Baekjin.”

The silence that followed had caught Baekjin off guard.

“What?” he’d asked, unsure.

And Baku had answered flatly: “That’s what you wanted to hear, right? That I lost.”

There had been a pause. Brief, but telling. Then Baekjin had spoken again, voice low.

“What I want...” Words left unspoken. Heavy. Fragile.

He never finished that sentence.

He’d just said, “Okay.” And hung up.

Back then, Baku hadn’t understood what he meant. That maybe Baekjin hadn’t wanted to break him, just wanted him to look back. To see him. To return to how things once were.

But Baekjin hadn’t known the war Baku had been fighting inside. Hadn’t seen the damage. So instead of healing, he kept hurting. Kept pushing.

Until it led to his death.

Now, here in this second chance, the conversation had shifted. The sky had been cloudy instead of sunny. It had happened in the morning instead of night. Small changes, but enough to mean everything was in motion.

And Baku had forgotten. He had forgotten how far Baekjin had gone for attention. Until it hit him again, head-on.

He was close to reaching home when his phone rang. No contact name. Just a number.

He answered instinctively. The moment he heard the police officer’s voice, the smile on his face vanished. His body went cold. It was happening again.

He ran.

Just like last time.

And there it was, the police station. The gray walls, the dull lights, and the heavy air of consequence.

Baekjin’s goons had done it again. Tricked Baku’s dad into selling them alcohol, knowing exactly what would happen. Set him up just to hurt Baku. Just to make him bend.

It was like watching a memory in real time. The same three lackeys, bruised and smug, walked by as Baku stood there, frozen.

“Man, the old guy’s crazy.”

“Feel bad for his kid.”

“Selling us alcohol, then beating us up? I don't wanna know how he treats his wife...”

The smirks on their faces were identical to the ones from before. Too familiar. Baku drowned in deja vu.

Back then, he had lost control. Tried to call Baekjin. Baekjin hadn’t picked up. Instead, he had sent a text, a clear message.

“Join the union. That’s what I want.”

That same day, Baku had gone out and beat those boys senseless. A reaction out of pure rage and helplessness. It had pushed him straight into the union. Into everything he now regretted.

But not this time.

This time, he didn’t call Baekjin.

Even though every fiber of him wanted to. Wanted to yell, wanted to scream, wanted to beg him to stop this insanity. Worst of all, wanted to reach out so he could hear him again, he didn’t do it.

He couldn't do it.

Because Baekjin wouldn’t change with just words. And Baku would sound like a lunatic talking about a future no one knows of, warning about a death that hadn’t happened yet. It wouldn’t fix anything. It would only pull him deeper into Baekjin’s twisted trap.

So instead, he made a vow to himself.

He would still give Baekjin what he wanted. Attention, affection, connection. But on his own terms. On terms that might save them both. Slowly, carefully, he would find a way to sever Baekjin from his toxic union. From the people poisoning him day by day.

For now, Baku turned to the officer. Pleaded with him. Explained everything. They knew his father, knew the hardship he was going through. They took pity.

They told him his dad would be held for a few days. But they’d try to lessen the suspension. That was the best they could do.

Baku bowed deeply. Thanked them. Then sat beside his father until visiting hours ended. The man didn’t say much, just grunted once or twice, head bowed low with shame. Baku didn’t need to hear anything. Just being there was enough.

Later that night, walking back into the cold, he looked up.

A single, bright star shined in the sky.

He stood there for a long time, staring at it, like an empty shell frozen in time.

Then he sighed. Long and deep. Like someone who’d aged years in a single day.

Talking to that lonely star like it was the subject of all his yearning.

God, sweetheart... you’re really not making this easy for me...

Merry Christmas. I hope you won’t resent me for ignoring you.

Notes:

okay so that is that...
i truly hope i was able to explain this whole thing right. i'll post the next chapter as fast as possible! i just don't know when that'll be, maybe tonight, maybe tomorrow, maybe in a few days... you can look forward to a face to face interaction until then :)))

Chapter 5

Notes:

first christmas, now new years. it feels like im writing a whc2 holiday special 😅

30 December 2024, 04:08pm

 

A week had passed since Baku’s dad got locked up. And today, finally, was the day he was allowed to come home.

Baku stood outside the station, arms crossed, bundled in his hoodie and coat, his breath forming short puffs in the cold air. The wait felt long, even though it probably hadn’t been more than a few minutes. The doors opened at last. His old man stepped out, shoulders slightly hunched, hands shoved into his pockets like he didn’t know what to do with them.

He looked… better. Sober. Clear eyed. Tired, but not the usual kind of tired that clung to him like smoke and regret.

Baku didn’t say anything dramatic. Just gave him a quick nod, took his bag from him without asking, and started walking. His dad followed, no complaints, no curses. That alone felt like a big deal.

At home, things moved quietly. No shouting, no awkward small talk. Baku made breakfast. Just something simple. Rice and fried eggs. His dad ate it at the table with him. Said nothing, but didn’t complain either.

He still acted distant, like someone walking carefully across an unfamiliar floor. But he didn’t shove Baku away. Didn’t ignore the things he was doing: bringing food, doing laundry, picking him up at the police station, carrying his things, making sure he ate.

It was a small kind of peace. Baku took it for what it was.

Their relationship was slowly shifting into a healthier one.

 

31 December 2024, 08:12am

 

Baku had struggled to fall asleep the night before, some ominous feeling had kept gnawing at his insides. After tossing and turning for hours sleep had finally come, bringing an all too familiar nightmare with it.

It started the same way it always did: cold, grey skies, the cemetery, that horrible silence. Only this time, Baekjin was standing in front of him. Alive. Breathing. And angry.

“Why did you leave me?”

Baku couldn’t speak. He tried, but nothing came out. Baekjin’s voice hit harder than any punch.

“Why have you been ignoring me? I thought you wanted to see me again! Well why haven't you reached out yet?!"

His face twisted in something that looked like pain.

“You said you’d protect me this time, well where are you? When will you show me you really care?!”

And then, like all of Baku's nightmares in the last 3 years, he sees Baekjin bleeding. Tearful eyes staring at him as they slowly lose the life in them.

"It's okay, Humin-ah. I know you hate me."

Baku tries to reach out to the dying boy, but like every time, to no avail. The last image of Baekjin holding a pained, bittersweet smile. As if having accepted his fate.

“No, no, no. Please... Please, I’m sorry,” Baku whispered. “I’m sorry… I’m sorry...Please, Jin-ah.”

He gets woken up by someone shaking him gently.

“Humin.”

His father stood by the bed. Baku’s eyes opened slowly, adjusting to the dim light slipping through the curtain. His heart was racing. He could feel sweat clinging to his back. His hand went to his face. Wet.

His cheeks were damp with tears.

Coming back to reality he looked up to see his father staring at him wordlessly, as if unsure of what to say.

Baku immediately wiped his face and sat up, forcing a crooked grin onto his face like that would erase everything.

“Ah, dad. What’s wrong?” he said, voice light, acting like he hadn’t just been crying in his sleep.

His father didn’t answer right away. Just kept looking at him for a few more seconds, expression unreadable. It wasn’t confusion. It wasn’t pity either. More like… that quiet look parents get when they understand something they’ve never been told.

Then he turned away.

“I made us breakfast. Wash up and come eat, boy.”

Baku listened to that. Took a quick shower and put on his best clothes. He didn’t expect anything fancy when his father had said he'd made breakfast. But when he walked into the kitchen, he froze.

The table was set with a whole spread. Tteokguk, japchae, grilled fish, rice cakes, soup. Everything that made New Year’s feel like New Year’s. His dad was already sitting down, sipping on tea like it was no big deal.

Baku blinked.

“Who’s all this for? We’re just two people.”

His father didn’t look up. “Thought you might want to invite your friends over.”

For a moment, Baku didn’t know what to say. His chest tightened, not in a painful way, just a full kind of warmth that caught him off guard.

“Thanks, Dad,” he said simply. Not wanting to make it a big deal.

He quickly texted the group chat.

While waiting for them to arrive, Baku and his dad started eating together. The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable anymore. It was… peaceful, in its own way.

Just as his dad was about to get up, probably to head to the restaurant for the day, he suddenly put down his spoon with a soft clink.

Baku looked up, chewing. Eyes meeting almost identical ones that were already staring back at him.

“What's wrong, dad? Is there something on my face?” the questions muffled out by the food that was still stuffed in his mouth.

His dad stared at him for a few seconds, then finally spoke.

“You know, boy… I probably don’t have the slightest idea how life’s been treating you. But you should learn to be more selfish.”

Baku paused, swallowing slowly. “What do you mean?”

“You’re too kind for your own good. People take advantage of that. You know you’re allowed to make mistakes, right? Especially at your age. Don’t carry the weight of the whole world on your back.”

The words caught Baku off guard. Coming from his father. His father. They felt like something he hadn’t realized he’d been needing to hear.

His dad kept talking, voice steady.

“I should probably apologise too. Hell, I’ve been in a foul mood for days because my teenage son turned out more mature than I ever was. People like me don’t deserve your kindness. Don’t settle for less than you’re worth.”

Then, just like that, he stood up, grabbed his coat, and walked out the door like he hadn’t just dropped a bomb on his son. 

Baku sat in silence, chopsticks frozen mid-air.

He remembered thinking something similar after Baekjin’s call. That he hoped Baekjin would never accept the bare minimum again. That he deserved more. Now those same words were being reflected back at him, like the universe wasn’t just giving him a second chance, but also a mirror.

His chest felt warm in the best and worst way at once.

He remembered his nightmare. So unsure of what to do next. He'd somehow managed to change his father for the better, but what about the person he was here for? Why was he still such a coward?!

The knock on the door snapped him out of his thoughts.

“Yah! Open up! It’s freezing out here!” Gotak yelled through the door.

Baku got up quickly, pulling it open to let the chaos in. Juntae greeted him with a bright grin, Sieun nodded quietly as he stepped inside, and Gotak was already making himself at home.

“Whoa, what the hell? This table is insane,” Juntae said, eyes wide.

“Your dad did all this?” Gotak asked, stuffing a rice cake into his mouth without waiting for an answer.

“Don’t get used to it,” Baku laughed.

They spent the morning like that. Playing games, eating too much, talking over each other, making noise like they were trying to squeeze all the joy they could out of the last day of the year.

But at one point, while the others were bickering over what game to play next, Baku’s mind drifted again.

He wondered if Baekjin was okay. If he had someone to celebrate with tonight. If he was eating. Laughing. Breathing.

He pushed the thought away, but the guilt still lingered, quietly pressing against his ribs.

 

31 December 2024, 10:24pm

 

By the time the others had gone home to celebrate with their respective families, the apartment felt too quiet again.

Baku stood alone in the middle of the room, hands stuffed in his pockets, as the soft hum of the heater filled the silence. Juntae had given him a one armed hug before leaving. Gotak had shouted something about fireworks and free food. Sieun had just given a nod that felt like it meant more than anything else said that day.

Now they were all gone.

His father was still working. Probably elbow-deep in flour or frying oil, serving late night customers ringing in the new year with takeout and cheap beer.

And Baku...

He didn’t really feel like celebrating.

Not in the way other people did.

Instead, his chest was heavy with something he couldn’t name. Or maybe he could, and just didn’t want to. It had been hanging over him all day, like a thread pulled too tight. It had started with the dream. That dream again. It hadn't let up since.

The memory of Baekjin's voice from that morning clung to him like something alive. Why haven’t you reached out yet? Where are you?

The words weren’t just dream stuff. They had sunk into his bones.

And now, for whatever reason, Baku found himself thinking about chocolate cake.

Not just any chocolate cake. The one from that old convenience store. Dark chocolate, Baekjin’s favourite. Not his. He preferred milk chocolate. But now, somehow, he could almost taste it again. That particular kind of sweetness that clung to the corners of your mouth after you swallowed, the sort Baekjin used to force feed him with a triumphant grin.

His feet started moving before he had a chance to argue with himself.

He pulled on his coat and slipped out into the cold, letting the night sting at his cheeks.

The streets were quieter now. Everyone had somewhere to be. People were gathered in warmth and light, counting down to new beginnings. But Baku walked alone, his breath misting in front of him like smoke from a barely contained fire.

The convenience store was nearly empty when he stepped inside.

Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. A tired cashier dozed behind the counter. Some guy in the ramyeon aisle looked too hungover to function. But otherwise, it was quiet.

Lonely. Like him.

His hands were cold. His legs carried him toward the refrigerated section automatically, like muscle memory. Like they knew.

He stood in front of the cakes. Just like before.

Lined up neatly. All nearly identical.

He crouched, eyeing them carefully. Inspecting the frosting. The condition of the boxes. The expiration dates. His fingers hovered, as if reaching for something sacred.

And just as he made his choice, another hand reached for the exact same cake.

Their fingers brushed.

Baku blinked. His thoughts still halfway in the past, mouth already forming an apology.

“Ah... sorry,” he said quietly, looking down, holding the box.

And then he looked up.

And the rest of the world stopped.

Na Baekjin.

His Baekjin.

Standing right there, in front of him. Same face. Same eyes. Same slight frown tugging at his mouth.

Alive.

Not a memory. Not a dream.

Baku didn’t move. He couldn’t. His hands were still holding the cake box, his body frozen in place, heart thudding so hard it hurt.

Baekjin raised an eyebrow, clearly waiting for something. His lips curled into a half smirk.

“Well, damn,” he said dryly. “Back to ignoring me, I see. I guess I’m still too much of a peasant for holy Humin to waste words on.”

His voice was light, sarcastic. But there was something underneath. Something raw.

Baku didn’t respond. He couldn’t. He was too busy staring. Taking in the rise and fall of Baekjin’s chest. The way the corner of his left eyebrow still dipped a little lower than the right. The slight rasp in his voice.

It was all real. Too real.

Baekjin’s smirk faded. His eyes narrowed slightly.

“Is this how you’re playing it now?” he asked. “Seriously? You’re so fucking childish.”

Still nothing. Baku just stood there, clutching the cake like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to the ground.

“Nothing phases you now, huh?” Baekjin muttered. “I thought maybe... ” He cut himself off. Gave a humorless laugh.

And then, quietly, almost bitterly, “You look like shit. How’s your old man feeling? Did prison life treat him kindly?”

It was barely even a jab. Just noise. Just a swing in the dark.

In the past Baku would've flipped his shit and lashed out long ago.

But Baku didn’t react now. His throat had closed up. His eyes were stinging again. Not from the cold.

He couldn’t stop looking. Couldn’t stop remembering every moment, every night he’d cried wishing for this face to be real again. Please, just one more time. Just once more.

“Yah,” Baekjin snapped at last, stepping closer. “What the hell is wrong with you? Are you seriously not going to talk to me again?”

And then it happened.

Baekjin’s breath hit his cheek.

Warm.

So warm.

So alive.

It knocked the wind out of him. All of it was real. Not a dream. Not a cruel trick of memory. His mind couldn’t deny it anymore. The weight of that hit Baku in the chest like a wave, sharp and cold.

His eyes filled with tears without warning.

He shoved the cake box into Baekjin’s hands.

Didn’t say a word.

And then turned and ran.

Out of the store. Down the street. Away from the truth he wasn’t ready to face.

His lungs burned. His vision blurred. The cold hit his skin like punishment, like cleansing. He didn’t stop until he was home again, hands trembling as he shut the door behind him.

He collapsed to the floor in his room, chest heaving.

Then came the sobs. Loud. Messy. Real.

“I’m such a coward,” he gasped, clutching at his shirt like he could hold himself together. “What the hell have I done? What the fuck have I done?”

The walls didn’t answer. The ceiling didn’t care.

He sat there, crying like it was the only thing keeping him alive. Like the pain in his chest was the only thing proving he was.

When he could finally breathe again, he crawled to the window. Opened it. Let the cold air crash into him.

Outside, fireworks had started going off in the distance. Red. Blue. Gold. Lighting up the dark like stars that refused to die.

And Baku sat there, face numb, heart on fire.

He closed his eyes.

Saw Baekjin’s face again.

Heard his voice.

Felt his breath.

He had given him the cake. The one he’d picked so carefully. Just like before. Just like they were still those stupid kids sharing one slice in a plastic booth.

A quiet smile tugged at the corner of his mouth through the mess of tears.

“Happy New Year, Jin-ah,” he whispered. “I hope you enjoy your cake.”

 

Notes:

baekjin: bitch stop pmo 😤
baku: 🫣🫥😶🫢🫨😮😳🥺🫸🎂🤸🏃‍➡️😵‍💫😵😓🫠🥹❤️‍🔥

Chapter 6

Notes:

how much aura did i lose when i wrote my favourite character (baku) in my own image 🫣

6 January 2025, 08:46am

 

New Year’s had passed like a half remembered dream. The kind you woke up from with aching ribs, unsure whether you’d been laughing or crying in your sleep. Now they sat in the classroom again. Same seat, same scuffed desk, same half bored teacher’s voice in the distance. But everything felt different. Like the walls had shifted a few inches. Like something fundamental had cracked open inside him, and now he was just trying not to bleed all over the floor.

He hadn't been able to sleep much since that night.

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Baekjin’s face again. Not the one from his memories, not the one from the funeral, but the one he’d just seen. Flesh and blood. Breathing. Alive. Angry. Beautiful. Real. Hearing Baekjin's voice again had been like swallowing fire. He hadn't even said anything in return. Just stood there like an idiot, watching the only person he had ever truly lost all the way break a little more in front of him.

He wondered if Baekjin had thrown the cake away. If he’d bought it at all. If he’d known it was picked out just for him.

Of course he knew that chance was almost nonexistent, but he allowed himself to hope for it anyway.

A pencil bounced off his forehead, pulling him right out of his loud thoughts.

“Hah. Idiot.” Gotak, in all his chaotic glory, was leaning on the desk with an exaggerated pout. “You’re spacing out like a ghost when we need to talk about this.”

He slapped a paper down in front of him. Their last surprise test results.

Baku blinked. His name was… up there. Above Gotak’s. Above almost everyone’s.

“…What the hell?” he muttered, voice carrying confusion and disbelief.

He knew he'd gotten smarter over the years. Knew that the discipline he'd built after his life's biggest loss, had really made him pay more attention to every tiny detail. Believing deep in his heart that if he missed one, he'd be unprotected from the unexpected.

But not once had Baku thought he had gotten this good at the game.

“You even beat me,” Gotak said, scandalized. “Me, Park Humin. Do you know how many times in our academic career you've called me your 'answer sheet'?”

Go Hyeontak might be the guy whose personality mirrored Park Humin's best, but he'd always been academically successful. Very much unlike Baku.

Up until now that was.

“I still stand by it,” Baku replied dryly, though his voice sounded far off to even his own ears.

Gotak squinted at him. “You sneaky bastard... I knew something was off when you suddenly started paying attention in class. I thought maybe New Year’s gave you some kind of divine brain boost. But how did you manage to rise up from the bottom of the pit to almost top of the class?!"

Baku's lips stretched into a prideful smirk. He shrugged. Nonchalant. The mischief in his eyes, however, betrayed his feigned innocence.

"Gotak-ah, I'm touched truly that you pay this much attention to me. However your..." he faked a cough into his fist, then waved a hand before his nose. "jealousy is stinking up the entire classroom."

"You little shit... Don't think we haven't all noticed you acting weird."

"Almost like being weird isn't my whole personality."

"You know damn well what I mean here. Especially today you're acting weird in a weird way. Like weird for Baku weird.... You’re quieter these days, and not in the ‘tired of my shit’ kind of way.”

You're masking your troubles behind fake smiles. He hadn't said it out loud, but Baku had heard it anyway.

He sighed.

“I’m fine, Gotak-ah.”

“You always say that when you’re the opposite of fine.” 

Baku didn’t know how to answer to that. He just looked down at the score in front of him again. 95%. He could’ve gotten higher if he hadn’t purposely thrown a few questions to avoid even more suspicion. Not knowing he'd land way above average, almost beating the best of their class.

But it didn’t matter. Not really.

None of it mattered when his head was still stuck in that convenience store, eyes locked on a boy who wasn’t supposed to exist anymore. He hadn’t cried again since that night. Not because the ache was gone, it wasn’t. It was just… quiet now. Caged behind his ribs. Beating, steadily, in a rhythm that had Baekjin’s name embedded in it like a scar.

A shadow suddenly flickered past the classroom window, barely catching Baku’s attention at first. But he knew exactly who it was. Or rather, whose eyes were on him again. It wasn’t Baekjin himself. He hadn’t come near since that day at the convenience store.

This didn't surprise Baku.

In his constant state of overthinking lately, he felt like he'd developed an inner eye that saw through the thoughts and emotions of everyone around him.

Baekjin had most likely noticed Baku's change long before Gotak and his other friends did. Since his birthday, when Baku had answered the phone but stayed mostly silent, shutting down every attempt at connection. That had definitely hurt Baekjin, more than he would ever admit.

But Baekjin hadn’t sent anyone to watch back then. He’d probably thought he could handle it himself, that he could break through Baku’s walls with his usual tactics.

Then came that day at the convenience store. Baekjin had come personally, expecting to provoke Baku into some kind of reaction. Anger, pain, anything. Making it clear he was looking for answers where he'd been met with silence.

And Baku hadn't flinched. Hadn't fought back. Hadn't even looked him in the eyes properly.

Baku could almost feel it himself, just thinking about it, so certain of his own assumptions on every one of Baekjin’s unsaid feelings. Baekjin was scared. His control slipped away, and with it, his usual confidence. So instead of facing that confusing vulnerability himself, Baekjin sent his underlings to watch Baku. To protect himself from the sting of uncertainty.

The reason for Baku's almost arrogant self-confidence was very simple.

He knows Baekjin.

Baekjin, the abandoned child who hid his wounds behind anger and control. The orphan boy who craved any sign of connection, even a bitter one.

He knew Baekjin’s pain, the jealousy tangled with confusion, the silent hope that Baku might still care enough to respond.

And Baku… Baku felt the sharp ache of it all, the weight of the distance growing between them.

So he let the watching continue, those unseen eyes following his steps like shadows in the cold. He let Baekjin’s lackeys keep their vigil, quietly protecting a fragile heart Baekjin refused to admit was breaking.

Because Baku was the only person Baekjin felt safe enough around to let go of all sense. No matter how unreasonably childish he would act, Baku would let him this time around. Having realised a few years ago, yet far too late, that the quiet soul he'd grown up with, had never gotten to know the safety of a parent's unconditional love.

 

6 January 2025, 05:57pm

 

The sun had dipped low by the time Baku trudged across the familiar pavement toward his dad’s fried chicken restaurant, his school bag slung lazily over one shoulder. His body was sore. Not from any physical exercise, but from the exhausting effort it took to pretend. Pretend he didn’t notice the figures trailing behind him after school. Pretend he wasn’t aware of every second glance he got in the hallways. Pretend he wasn’t carrying the weight of a future that hadn’t happened yet.

He was used to being watched. Had grown up in a world where that kind of attention meant trouble. This however was different. The gazes weren’t mocking or antagonistic. They were cautious. Curious. Watching not for weakness, but for explanation.

It was exhausting.

He’d done his best not to let it show. Continued to laugh with his friends, joked about test scores, even played dumb like the 99 IQ idiot they all remembered. But every second had felt like a performance. A test of his ability to remain unreadable, especially because he knew exactly who was behind the watching.

He tried not to think about it too much.

By the time Baku pushed open the back door of the restaurant, he felt like someone who had been holding his breath all day.

The smell of oil and garlic clung to the air, thick and strangely comforting. His dad was in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, sweat on his brow, working with the kind of energy that made him look years younger. He gave Baku a quick grunt of acknowledgment and pointed with his chin at the apron on the counter. Baku nodded silently and got to work.

Around five hours later the restaurant was almost empty, just one group of students lingering in the corner booth, eating slowly and talking in that half lazy, half cocky way only teenage boys seemed to manage. Baku moved between the tables, wiping them down one by one, keeping his eyes on the messes left behind and not on the conversation happening across the room.

At least, not until he heard familiar names that stopped him cold.

“Seongje-hyung’s always been fucking nuts,” one of the boys said, laughing a little too loudly. “But Baekjin-hyung? That guy used to be all cool and collected. Now he’s going off on people like–”

“Like he’s lost his damn mind,” another finished. “Yah, did you hear what he did to our upperclassmen?"

When no one answered the same guy leaned in to whisper, making his other friends move with him in sync.

"See I might be wrong, but... I overheard a conversation between Seongmok-hyung and Dongha-hyung. And let's just say it sounded like they had stopped Baekjin-hyung from killing those three."

"... I know he's always been dangerous, but what exactly did they do to make him lose his shit that bad?"

"No one really knows the full details. Apparently he sent them out for some job, and when they screwed it up, he beat the shit out of them himself. Didn’t make Dongha-hyung handle it like usual.”

“Doesn't it make you wonder what would make a respectable man like him snap?” a third voice asked, lower, a little scared of talking too loud. “He never handles the punishments himself. Everyone knows he's a cold and distant leader, too busy with real important shit to deal with small matters like this.”

“That’s what I’m saying. It must’ve been a serious mission they fucked up,” another one continued. “But then again, why would he send out junior members like us if it was so important?”

“Maybe it was a test?"

That seemed to make most sense to the rest of the table. They got silent to think it over. Then everyone suddenly looked at each other frozen from collective realization.

"Will we be next?"

"What if we fail too?"

"How will I ever explain it to my parents if I end up hospitalised?"

Panic. Fear. Anxiety.

Baku stopped mid wipe, eyes fixed on the smudged tabletop in front of him. His hand still moved, but his mind had already left the room.

These guys clearly didn’t know who he was. They hadn’t been around long. If they had, they’d have recognized him instantly. Park Humin, Baku, the one and only who their Baekjin-hyung always butted heads with. The guy that bullies used to avoid eye contact with if they didn’t want a bruised lip.

But they didn’t. And that told him everything.

Fresh meat.

New union kids, probably only recruited in the last year or so. Not old enough to know who he was. Not important enough to be trusted with full details.

Not here to watch him like he'd suspected at first.

From their talk he had instantly put two and two together. The three goons that Baekjin had apparently almost beat to death were most definitely the same ones he'd sent after his farher.

That never happened before.

Baku was the one who had beat them in the past, and now Baekjin had done it in his stead.

But like the little shits, who were eating their chicken in tense silence now, had voiced out loud.

Why had he acted so rashly out of the blue?

Baekjin always let others do his dirty work. Baek Dongha, being his left hand, who handled internal discipline. And Geum Seongje, his right, the wolf that got to play outside.

So why now?

What had been so different now?

Baku swallowed hard, that old sinking feeling crawling back into his throat.

He’d been so careful. So cold. So quiet. It had caused the past to change too drastically.

Maybe it had done something irreversible.

Baekjin had always known how to push him. Knew his triggers, his soft spots, his guilt. And Baku had always reacted. Yelled, fought, exploded. He had been easy to read, easy to pull in.

But now?

Now he’d shut down completely. And Baekjin… Baekjin had nothing to grab onto anymore. No leverage. No reaction. No version of Humin he recognized.

So he lashed out the only way he knew how. Violently, aimlessly, at the ones around him.

Baku bit the inside of his cheek hard enough to taste metal.

This was his fault. He knew it was. He’d shifted something again. Too much, too soon. The timeline had started to veer, and Baekjin was spiraling.

And worst of all… for the first time, Baku couldn’t predict what was going to happen next.

He didn’t know what Baekjin was thinking anymore. Couldn’t see the pattern in his actions. Couldn’t guess whether the next choice he made would pull him deeper into the darkness or push him closer to the light.

The ache in Baku’s chest bloomed quietly, dangerously.

Because Baekjin wasn’t just unpredictable now.

He was untethered.

And Baku who had once thought he understood him better than anyone else, was beginning to realize that this version of Baekjin, the one in this shifting present, might be someone entirely new.

Notes:

i really hope my writing hasn't started to feel repetitive from a reader's perspective. this is the longest story ive written so far so im kinda going at it a bit blindly?
spelling and grammar etc wise ive given up... im truly sorry for my native English speaking readers. unfortunately i don't realise when i switch between American English and British English 🫠
for those among you who have more experience with writing feel free to share feedback/tips :)
your love so far has truly motivated me and im really happy and grateful that i can share my work with my kind audience.

Chapter 7

Notes:

aight, buckle up guys. it's time to kick off this slowburn romance.

7 January 2025, 07:18pm

 

He’d been walking aimlessly since sunset. At first, he’d told himself he was just stepping out for air. Maybe to clear his head, maybe to get away from the oppressive silence that had settled between him and his thoughts. But somewhere along the way, his feet had started pulling him toward a place he hadn’t visited in years.

The old neighborhood playground. The same rusted slide. The same swings that creaked even when no one sat on them. The paint had faded more now, but the bones of the place hadn’t changed. He used to come here with Baekjin, back when they were kids. Back when everything between them was easy. All jokes and laughter, not guilt and silence and distance that hurt like a wound that wouldn’t close.

Baku stood there for a long time, hands in his coat pockets, eyes on the empty swing swaying in the cold wind. He could almost see it before him. Baekjin laughing breathlessly, his sneakers kicking the air, yelling for Baku to push him higher. That was the thing about memories. They didn’t care if you were ready. They came like waves, crashing one over the next until you couldn’t breathe.

He closed his eyes. And for just a second, he let himself remember. Baekjin had always been the more cautious one as a kid. The quiet type, watching before acting. But on this playground, he’d let go of that. Here, he was just his Jin-ah. Silly, loud. His laughter had rung out like it had nothing to be ashamed of.

Baku’s throat tightened. He didn’t know when the sky had darkened completely, but it felt like the night had crept in around him unnoticed. A chill set in. He pulled his coat tighter and finally turned to leave.

There was somewhere he needed to go. He knew exactly where Baekjin would be around this time. Or at least where he used to be. That one night, in the original timeline, Baku had been called there. Had gone there, not by choice. Back then, he’d already joined the Union, swallowed his pride, and thrown himself into the fire just to keep his father safe.

He remembered the sharp light of the office at Daesung Bikes, the suffocating tension between them. He remembered the way Baekjin had looked at him. Guarded, unreadable, like he was bracing for something to go wrong as he handed Baku an envelope full of money. Money to pay his father's fine. A fine he'd only gotten because of Baekjin in the first place.

That wasn't his reality anymore now. This time… he would go on his own terms. No orders. No fear. Just the weight of not knowing what would happen if he stayed silent any longer.

 

7 January 2025, 08:21pm

 

Daesung Bikes was still the same junk heap from the outside. Dirty signage. Closed shutters. The main gate always slightly ajar like it didn’t know whether it was welcoming you in or daring you to walk away.

Baku stepped through it, heart pounding.

The moment he entered the building, all eyes turned. Everyone stopped in their tracks. Whatever they’d been doing, they dropped it at once.

Baek Dongha was the first to move. Like a predator catching scent. He was standing near the stairs, posture too casual to be genuine, with Do Seongmok beside him like a shadow that didn’t talk.

They had just finished beating five guys Baku didn't recognize. Probably random high schoolers trying to make a name for themselves. Now forced to join the Union. Forced to play by Baekjin's rules.

"I must be dreaming..." Dongha turned to Seongmok. "My eyes aren't tricking me, right, Seongmok-ah?"

Seongmok, a man of few words, just smirked and nodded. At that, Dongha let out a sound close to a whistle, jumping up and down like a lunatic. Too excited about the whole situation.

"Oh Baku-yah! Why didn't you tell us you were going to visit?" Dongha drawled, voice sharp with amusement. "We'd have prepared for it."

Behind them, some newer faces hovered in confusion. Not sure if Dongha was being genuine. The older members, though? They recognized Baku. You could see it in how they tensed, in the way the noise in the room dropped a few decibels. They didn’t greet him. Didn’t ask questions. They knew who he was. Or at least who he used to be.

"You must've grown balls overnight," Dongha sneered, stepping forward. "Walking in here like this. You forget where you are?"

Baku said nothing. His eyes didn’t even flicker to Dongha. He was looking past him. Up the stairs. To the office he remembered. To the boy who still haunted every corner of his life.

Dongha’s jaw twitched at the silent dismissal. "Yah, don’t ignore me, you little shit."

Still, Baku said nothing. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t give them anything. That was worse than if he’d fought back.

"You shouldn’t have come alone." The final warning.

Baku didn’t resist when the first punch landed. And then the second. And the third.

He let it all happen. The kicks, the shove against the wall, the bruises that bloomed like old ghosts returning. He didn’t raise a hand. Didn’t make a sound.

Not because he couldn’t fight back. But because he was done fighting people who didn’t matter.

The only one who mattered was waiting upstairs.

It felt like eternity waiting for the hungry dogs to be satisfied. All so thirsty for a taste of blood, not stopping until they'd seen enough of it.

And then, finally, Baku was being lifted.

The stairwell smelled like rust, cigarettes, and something older. Rot maybe, or the ghost of a building too exhausted to hold itself up any longer. Every thud of his shoes against the steps sent fresh fire up Baku’s ribs. They didn’t let him walk. Just dragged him, one bruised limb at a time, up and up like a trophy bag of meat they were proud to present.

He didn’t resist. Didn’t throw a single punch. Even when one of them grabbed his hair too tight, even when a knee connected hard enough to rattle his skull. He didn’t raise a hand. It wasn’t worth it. Not yet. Not for them.

They had no idea.

A knock sounded. Dongha’s greasy voice followed, acting like he was announcing the winner of a damn talent show. "Boss! You in there? We got a surprise for you. A real fun one. You’re gonna love this, I swear."

They didn’t even wait for a full response. A half muttered “come in” was enough.

And then Baku was shoved forward. Knees crashing to the ground, arms barely lifting in time to stop his face from kissing the dirty floor. Air punched out of his lungs.

It hurt like hell. But pain was the only thing that reminded him he was still alive.

The sound of pen scratching paper reached his ears. Other than that, it was silent. Too silent.

Until.

Two seconds. That’s how long it took Baekjin to react.

"Get out."

Baku flinched.

It wasn’t loud. But it didn’t need to be. Everyone felt a chill run through their bones.

Dongha blinked, clearly confused. "Boss?"

"Get the fuck out of my sight!"

And then came the chaos. Footsteps shuffling, boots thudding back. Panic clumsily disguised as obedience. Someone, very stupidly, reached toward Baku. Maybe to haul him back to his feet. To get him out of there. Because to them, their boss's hatred for Baku seemed to run so deep that he was about to kill everyone who had put the guy in his line of sight.

Their assumptions couldn’t have been farther off from the truth.

A punch cracked through the air. Someone gasped, choked.

"Who gave you permission to touch him?!" Baekjin’s voice dropped to a growl. The sound of pained, ragged breaths filled the air.

"Baekjin-hyung, we're sorry. Please... Please, we didn't know. We were just following orders," a particularly brave guy spoke where he should've stayed silent, trying to protect his friend who was facing Baekjin's wrath. 

"Did you forget who I am, you bastards?!" Baekjin's voice rose the more they pissed him off. "I am the only one who calls the shots here! Is it so hard to get that through your thick skulls? Do I have to explain it to you?"

He grabbed the guy who had spoken out of turn by his hair and slammed his head into the wall a few times.

"Do you get it now, huh?!"

A few kicks to the stomach. Then the guy's shins. Making it almost impossible for the lad to respond, grunts and cries the only sound he could still manage.

"I asked you a question!"

The crazed look in Baekjin's eyes sent shivers down the spines of anyone who caught it.

Baku was starting to feel bad for the poor kid. He hadn’t really done much. Just followed Dongha like the rest. Then tried to protect his equally clueless friend. All while the one who had actually caused the whole thing had long run away. 

"I... I get it, B-Baekjin-hyung. Please... Please have mercy."

"Next time I see any of you near him again, I’ll kill you for real," Baekjin hissed, quiet but certain.

It wasn’t a threat. It was a promise.

Baku, still half-curled on the floor, managed to pull himself up a bit to lean against the desk behind him. He watched Baekjin, whose fists were still clenched tight in the no-name's collar, eyes wild with fury. He hadn’t looked at Baku once. Not yet.

He threw the guy to the others, who had waited behind, with a sneer. "Take him. And fuck off."

No one argued. The brave ones who hadn’t run yet bolted, dragging their fallen friends with them.

Baekjin stood alone now, chest heaving, fists trembling. He hadn’t even realized how loud his breathing had gotten. He was facing the door. His shadow was tall across the wall.

He hadn't turned yet.

Until Baku broke the silence.

With a bloody smile, breath still catching in his throat, he laughed.

"Talk about being a drama queen."

Baekjin turned so fast you’d think he was shot.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?!" His voice was sharp, hoarse with disbelief. "What the ACTUAL FUCK is wrong with you, Park Humin?!"

He said the full name like it tasted bitter in his mouth. Like it didn’t belong.

Baku pressed his head back against the desk. Cold wood. Warm blood.

He tried to laugh again but winced instead. "Okay. You can calm down now."

"Have you completely lost your fucking mind?"

"Yeah," Baku exhaled. "I think I have, actually."

Baekjin looked like he wanted to punch something. Maybe him. Maybe the wall. Maybe the version of himself who had ever cared about someone this stupid.

"Why did you let this happen?!"

He didn’t say why didn’t you fight back, but it was in his voice. Raw. Rattling.

Baku met his eyes.

"I could ask you the same."

Baekjin’s breath caught.

"What?"

A flicker of confusion passed through him, real and honest. His guard was slipping.

But Baku didn’t explain. Didn’t say Why’d you let yourself fall this far? Why’d you let yourself get eaten alive by a world that never deserved you? Because if he did, he wouldn’t be able to stop. And they weren’t there yet.

So instead, he said quietly, "Never mind. Help me up. This floor’s disgusting. I feel disgusting."

Baekjin still looked troubled, but he also couldn't ignore Baku when he was in this state. Everyone knew Baekjin was a neat freak. He hated this office. Had always hated it. The dusty floors, the cracked desk, the broken blinds. But he didn’t complain. Not when it mattered. Not when it concerned Baku.

He knelt down, hands slipping under Baku’s arm, and lifted him without a word. Baku didn’t resist. He let himself be helped. Let Baekjin carry some of the weight.

It was the closest thing they’d had to peace in years.

He was set down gently on the hard bench next to Baekjin's desk. Vivid memories of how this had originally unfolded passed through his mind.

Baekjin straightened up and fixed his own hair next, carefully smoothing it back into place before sitting behind the desk like none of this had happened. Like he wasn’t still shaking a little.

The silence stretched.

Baku didn’t break it.

He wanted to remember this. Baekjin in the soft glow of the desk lamp, jaw clenched, eyes stormy with thoughts he wouldn’t speak.

Then came the question.

"Why are you here?"

"To talk."

Baekjin laughed, sharp and bitter. "Now? Now you want to talk? You ignore every fucking thing I throw your way for days, then show up like this?"

"I figured you’d listen better this way."

"You’re a lunatic."

"Maybe."

Baekjin leaned back in his chair, rubbing at his temples like he had a migraine. "What is it, Humin? What the hell do you want from me?"

"Nothing."

That surprised him.

"I just wanted to see you again."

Baekjin didn’t speak.

So Baku continued. "Heard you’ve been acting out."

Baekjin rolled his eyes. "Takes one to know one."

"I heard you beat up the guys who got my dad arrested."

Baekjin stiffened. The tension in his shoulders said everything before his mouth could.

"You should be grateful I did."

"For what? Sending them in the first place?"

Baekjin’s expression shifted. Not anger this time. No... Hurt. And then denial.

"If you hadn’t kept ignoring me, I wouldn’t have felt the need to! Do you ever stop to wonder maybe it's all your fa–"

He stopped. Bit his tongue.

The room pulsed with silence.

Baekjin was breathing hard again.

And Baku? He just stared.

He felt pity for Baekjin. For the boy who lashed out when he felt abandoned. Who hurt others because it was easier than saying I miss you. Who didn’t know how to be honest with his feelings unless they were twisted into cruelty first.

So he let it go. Let it settle in the quiet.

And then he talked. Gently, without pretense.

"I'm tired, Baekjin-ah. Aren’t you tired?"

Baekjin froze. His mouth opened, then closed again. He didn’t respond.

Didn’t know how to.

Baku continued, "I've been thinking about the past a lot lately, you know."

At that, Baekjin did speak up again. "Save your breath. I don't need your scolding."

"Who said I was going to scold you?"

"You don't think I see the way you look at me?!" he snapped, agitation bleeding into every word. "The pity in your eyes sickens me, Humin. Don't act so high and mighty. If anyone here is guilty, it's you!"

Ah, great. He's pushing me away.

"Baekjin-ah, listen to me. I'm not–"

But Baekjin did the opposite of what Baku wanted. As always.

"Don't! Stop whatever you're trying to do." He looked like a child curling in on himself to Baku. And that was the exact reason he was biting at him. "Don't act like you care, okay? I can't be bothered with your altruistic nature. I'll remind you, you're the reason I turned out this way."

Flashbacks from the past. 

Why? You're the one who taught me how to fight.

Baku was silenced at last. Staring off in front of him with guilt.

Ever since Baekjin's death, that was the one thing he hadn't overcome. It had only gotten worse with time. He always wondered. 

If I never taught him, would he still be alive? Would he have been by my side then?

Baekjin, unaware of the traumatic reaction he'd caused, stood suddenly. Brushed dust from his jacket like it had insulted him

“Go to sleep if you’re tired, Humin.” He answered Baku's question from before at last. His voice was clipped, colder than it needed to be. “And leave in the morning like you were never here. I’ll have money ready for you to get your wounds treated. Consider it repayment for my carelessness as a leader.”

He didn’t look at him. Not once.

“After that, we’ll be even.”

And just like that, he left. The door shut behind him, sharp and final.

The silence that followed wasn’t peaceful.

It was heavy.

Baku sat alone, blood drying on his skin, bruises swelling under his clothes, heartbeat slowed to a tired crawl. He stayed still, listening to the faint hum of fluorescent lights, the wind outside scraping across the broken window frame.

His hands trembled faintly in his lap.

What am I doing wrong? How many more steps do I have to take before he lets me back in?

He’d expected a fight. Anger. He could’ve handled that. But this indifference, this refusal to even look at him, was worse. It was like trying to reach for someone behind glass, fingers outstretched, but never touching.

Baku leaned back against the bench, exhaling softly.

He could still feel Baekjin’s hands on him from moments ago. Lifting him, holding him steady. Just long enough to let something small, something fragile and human, pass between them.

He held onto that. Even if Baekjin wouldn’t.

And then, almost as an afterthought, Baku muttered into the silence, as if Baekjin were still standing just outside the door, listening. 

“I’m not leaving. Not until you hear me.”

Not until you believe me.

Not until I undo every second of what went wrong.

 

Notes:

im sorry i love making baku suffer 😓
...in my head i feel like i understand him so well and that version of him is i guess someone i relate to a lot. we all know he's always been a bit of a selfless person but i feel like grief would change that to him becoming a bit extremely self-sacrificial(?)
no worries tho. he'll slowly get his well deserved character development! and baekjin too by the way.
but before that happens everything is going to get much worse before it gets better. (whoopsies 🫣)

Chapter 8

Notes:

hi loves before you read this chapter i wanna apologise a bit for the next thing. im afraid updates will come much slower from now on because this was the last drafted chapter i had. all other chapters ive not had time to work on because work got in the way and im also preparing to leave on my short but sweet vacation soon!
i will definitely complete this work so for everyone patient enough to stay until then, i appreciate you very much. i truly hope it would've been worth it in the end to give this flawed fic a chance. your endless support so far has truly meant the world to me, i'd hate to disappoint you, but i will also understand and accept it if this story doesn't turn out to be your cup of tea. we all got our own tastes after all!
but enough of that, for now
enjoy :)

8 January 2025, 08:04am

 

The worst part of waking up in pain wasn’t the pain itself. It was the part where you had to pretend like it didn’t exist.

Baku stood in front of the restroom mirror of a random restaurant, dabbing carefully at the bruising under his eye. Purple and yellow, swollen but fading. His ribs ached every time he breathed too deep, but he was used to it. He just wasn’t sure anyone else would be.

He picked up his phone.

The first call he made was to his father.

"I won’t be home for a few days," he said lightly.

There was a pause. Then: "Why?"

"School stuff. I got a group project. We’re meeting outside of school. We'll have to work on it till very late into the night. Do you mind if I crash at a classmate’s place?"

His father didn’t ask extra questions. He rarely did. Maybe that was a blessing.

The second call was to Gotak.

“Hey,” Baku said when the line picked up. “I’m not going to come to school for a while. Don’t worry, nothing’s wrong.”

Gotak didn’t sound convinced. “You sound like shit.”

“Just a bit sick. Tell the others I'm alright too. I'll be back as soon as I'm feeling better.”

He couldn’t lie to his friends directly. But he could stay vague.

He couldn’t show up like this. Not to them. Not after everything.

He got his injuries checked out at the hospital like Baekjin had told him to. Light fractures, some bruised ribs. The nurse looked at him funny when he said he “fell down some stairs,” but she didn’t press.

As he left the clinic with bandages tight around his torso and a dull headache blooming behind his eyes, he realized he had nowhere to go.

The streets? Too many eyes.

Home? Out of the question.

His friends? Too much explaining.

Which left him with exactly one option.

Daesung Bikes.

Baekjin might've tried pushing him away, but he'd never turn Baku away if he insisted. Not in the state he's in right now.

And Baku would use this perfect opportunity to try and get closer to him.

 

8 January 2025, 06:15pm

 

He waited for Baekjin just down the street from Yeoil High School. The sun had dipped below the horizon, throwing long shadows across the pavement. Baku leaned against a lamppost, hands deep in his jacket pockets.

When Baekjin rounded the corner and saw him, his eyes narrowed instantly.

“You again,” he said, stopping a few steps short. “What do you want this time, Humin? Why did you come here?”

He looked around to see if anyone was watching them. Probably embarrassed to be seen with Baku. Scared of what the rich kids of his school would say about him, the guy who seemed to have no flaws. The perfect one everyone envied.

“Ah well, it’s a bit embarrassing…” Baku rubbed the back of his neck, looking sheepish. “But I don’t really have anywhere to go.”

Baekjin blinked. “What do you mean you have nowhere to go?”

“Well, I can’t exactly show up like this at home. My old man would probably have a heart attack.” He smiled, scratching his cheek as if to play it off. The cut near his lip stung.

Baekjin scoffed. “Why don’t you go to your precious Go Hyeontak? Or one of your other new friends? I’m sure they’d gladly take you in.”

It was jealousy in its most comforting form. One they were all too familiar with.

Ah, of course some things never change. Cute.

“Aww, don’t be like that, Baekjin-ah,” Baku teased, taking a slow step forward. “I can’t let them see me like this either.”

“Why? You scared of giving them a heart attack too?” Baekjin rolled his eyes, “They’ve seen plenty of beat-up people. It won’t kill them.”

Baku ignored the jab, having expected it. He surged forward and slung an arm casually around Baekjin’s shoulder, catching him off guard.

The other boy tensed immediately, like an animal not used to being touched.

“What are you doing, Humin?” he said stiffly.

“Please, Baekjin-ah. Just a few days, and I’ll be out of your hair.”

He gave him his best puppy eyes.

Please say yes, please say yes, please say yes.

In the end Baekjin didn’t say yes. But he didn’t say no either.

That was enough.

 

12 January 2025, 11:26pm

 

The following days blurred together.

Wherever Baekjin went, Baku followed. Every mission. Every errand. Every beatdown. The Union members noticed, of course, but no one dared say anything. Not after what had happened last time they crossed the line.

Baekjin never addressed it, either. He just let it happen. Maybe because he liked having Baku by his side. Like the old days. Or perhaps it was because some part of him expected him to leave again after making no progress with his newest goal.

But he didn’t.

He stayed.

And at night, they’d return to Baekjin's dusty, old office. Baekjin at his desk, Baku on the hard, wooden bench.

Both of them with a blanket of their own. Just a few feet apart. But despite that, not close enough.

Baku felt bad for using Baekjin's only sleeping place. Unlike Baku, Baekjin didn't have a home to fall back on. He didn't have a comfortable bed to return to. And now Baku was taking half of the little space he had to begin with.

You'll have to bare with me for a while, love.

Another thing Baku had started doing, every time they found themselves in the silence of the dead night, with everyone else gone, was talking Baekjin’s ears off. For that, he felt no guilt at all.

He had always been shamelessly loud. And now that a bit of his spark had returned, he filled the silence like he was trying to push back all the years they'd lost. He talked about everything and nothing. The weather, the past, the time Baekjin fell off his bike in front of a pretty girl and pretended he meant to. Some nights he spoke softly, voice barely above a whisper. Others, he chuckled between stories, sneaking glances to see if Baekjin was still listening.

The first few times earned him nothing. Just Baekjin’s unreadable profile, his eyes fixed ahead like Baku wasn’t even there. Or focused on studying, acting like he couldn't be bothered with his antics.

But after a while, something changed.

A hum. Low and brief. Barely a sound. But unmistakably a reply.

It made Baku smile so brightly, he had to bury his face in his blanket just to hide it.

He’d look at him openly then. At Baekjin slouched in his chair, eyes unfocused, arms folded tight like he was keeping himself from reaching for something. Or someone.

Not daring to look at Baku directly, as if afraid one glance might unravel him.

Baby steps, Baku thought.

During the day, Baekjin still tried to push him away. Acting sharp, distant, meaner than usual, especially towards others during union business. Like he wanted to test if Baku’s warmth would cool under pressure.

But Baku didn’t rise to it. He just waited. Watched. And then at night, he kept up his quiet mission. Reminding Baekjin, one memory at a time, of who they used to be.

Every time Baekjin lay back and closed his eyes, Baku would murmur into the dark.

“Ah, Baekjin-ah… play a little more nicely tomorrow, yeah?”

Or:

“It wouldn’t hurt to show some mercy every now and again.”

Baekjin never replied. Just huffed. Turned away. Maybe trying to convince himself that silence meant indifference.

But Baku could tell, in the shift of his shoulders and in the breath he held a second too long, that Baekjin didn’t understand why Baku wasn’t lashing out.

Didn’t understand why he stayed.

Not yet.

But Baku could wait.

 

15 January 2025, 09:49pm

 

It had been a week.

Baku’s bruises had faded. His limp had lessened. The bandages were off.

Baekjin noticed.

They were sitting together in the garage, an awkward silence stretching between them. The lights above buzzed faintly.

“You’re healed,” Baekjin said suddenly, not looking at him.

“Mostly,” Baku replied.

“Then why are you still here?”

Baku blinked. “Huh?”

“You said you needed a few days. It’s been more than that. You're fine now so why don't you go home?”  

God here we go again. Why do you still insist on pushing me away, Jin-ah? You're starting to hurt my feelings.

Baku just smiled like he was fine. “Gosh, so eager to get rid of me, Baekjin-ah?”

“Don’t play dumb.”

“I’m not feeling fully well yet. Need a bit more rest. You won't kick me out in this state, right?”

Baekjin clearly didn’t buy it.

But he didn’t say no.

Again.

 

17 January 2025, 04:35pm

 

It all came undone two days later.

Baekjin had been on edge since morning. He hadn’t shown up at the garage the night before and returned in the early hours. Bruised, quiet, unreadable.

Baku had noticed, of course. Wondered what had happened, but hadn't voiced his concerns out loud. Afraid to drive the boy away. So he just buried his worries deep inside his heart and kept acting like every other day.

They were walking down the stairwell that echoed with heavy tension. Fists meeting flesh in the garage below, and Baku’s voice cutting through it like thread.

"Is it really necessary to go so hard on people you're trying to get on your side, Baekjin-ah? I'm sure people would be more eager to join the Union if you'd ask them nicely. If you keep this up you'll be seen as a tyrant."

He said it lightheartedly. Like always. A careful joke with a smile that wasn't meant to hurt. But Baekjin stopped walking.

Dead silence followed.

Below, Dongha froze mid-beatdown, fist suspended in the air like someone had hit pause. A wicked grin slowly stretched across his face, eyes gleaming with anticipation, having waited for this moment ever since Baku had made himself comfortable next to his boss.

He lived for this kind of drama. For Baekjin to explode. And especially when it was aimed at Baku.

Seongmok turned his head too, still and silent as always, but watching intently.

Even the groans of the half conscious fresh recruit faded into the background.

Baku blinked, caught off guard by the sudden halt. He didn’t expect his words to hit a nerve. Or maybe it wasn’t the words at all. Maybe it was the timing.

"What's wrong?" he asked, uncertain.

Baekjin turned slowly. Eyes unreadable at first. Then something in them cracked open. Something ugly.

"Isn't it time you went home, Humin?"

Baku tilted his head, confused. "What?"

Baekjin’s voice rose, irritation spilling over. "What excuse will you make up this time? You're perfectly fine now. You have no reason to stay here and meddle in my business anymore."

It was sharp. Sudden. And nothing to do with the words Baku had said.

He opened his mouth to answer, maybe lighten the mood again... But Baekjin didn’t give him the chance.

"Go home."

The cold finality in his voice echoed like a slammed door.

The entire garage felt the tension. Everyone present had listened very curiously. Dongha’s grin had widened, wolfish and amused. He looked at Seongmok like he was watching a show only they had front-row seats to. Baku could almost hear him thinking, Finally.

"Dongha," Baekjin said next, voice suddenly hollow.

"Yeah, Boss?" Dongha asked, practically bouncing on his heels.

"Step aside."

Dongha blinked. He was thrilled. "You want me to... ?"

"No. I'll handle it."

And that was when Baku’s stomach turned.

Baekjin stalked over to the half conscious guy on the floor, Dongha’s earlier victim. He cracked his knuckles, and knelt beside him.

Without warning, his fist slammed into the boy’s face.

Baku tensed.

Another hit. Then another.

A kick to the ribs.

The boy coughed blood, weakly trying to curl in on himself.

“Baekjin... ” Baku whispered, but it barely left his lips.

Baekjin’s fists didn’t stop.

The others watched, unsure if they were supposed to intervene. But none of them dared. This wasn’t punishment. This wasn’t about order.

This was Baekjin unraveling.

And Baku knew it.

Baekjin wasn’t aiming for the boy.

He was aiming for him.

For a reaction.

To make him snap. To make him yell. To make him run away.

But Baku didn’t move. He didn’t step in. Didn’t raise his voice. Because he knew the moment he did, Baekjin would win. Would shove him away all over again.

So he stood there.

And watched.

Baekjin’s knuckles were slick with blood. The boy was barely breathing.

Their eyes met across the room.

Baekjin’s were wild. Burning. Pleading beneath the rage. A manic grin plastered on his face.

Baku’s were calm. Steady. Quietly pained. No other facial expression clear.

And that was what pushed Baekjin over the edge.

He let the boy collapse to the floor like discarded trash. Stood upright. Chest heaving.

“Take him,” he growled, not even looking at the others. “And get the hell out.”

Dongha, still smirking, stepped forward. “Good moments really don't last long,” he muttered just loud enough for Baku to hear. “Pity we can't join in on the fun.”

They scrambled to carry the unconscious guy away, quick to flee the ticking bomb that was their boss.

The metal doors slammed shut behind them.

Silence returned.

Then Baekjin turned, voice dropping to a dark growl.

“You bastard.”

And suddenly, he was in front of Baku, grabbing his collar, slamming him back against a steel beam.

“WHY are you like this?! What made you change so suddenly?! Why won't you go home and just leave me alone?! I can't stand you! Stop following me everywhere if you’re not going to fucking act normal!”

Baku didn't resist as Baekjin shaked him. Just looked him in his mad eyes with his own sad ones. Feeling his efforts of the past days go to waste. And all the energy he'd had before drain with it.

Then he slowly raised his hands and brushed Baekjin’s off.

“Isn’t this what you wanted though, Baekjin?”

Baekjin froze at the cold tone that matched his own.

“What?”

“You wanted me by your side, didn’t you? Wasn’t that why you sent people after my father? To drag me back into your world? Well… I’m here now, aren’t I? What more do you want me to do to stop this madness?”

Baekjin stared at him like he didn’t recognize him.

Then he stumbled back, ran a hand through his hair, and let out a scream of pure frustration. A raw, shaking sound that cracked against the garage walls.

He kicked over a stool. Knocked a tray of tools onto the floor. The crash echoed like gunfire.

“God, you're so insufferable!”

Baku’s chest tightened. Still, he didn’t move.

“I hate the way you look at me!” Baekjin’s voice cracked. “Like I’m some fragile thing. Like I’m broken.”

“I don’t,” Baku said gently.

“You do! That look in your eyes makes me sick! Like I’m beneath you. Like I’m a stray dog you feel the need to feed!”

Baku lowered his gaze. His throat ached. He lied a bit too quickly, “I’m not trying to fix you, Baekjin.”

“Then why are you here?!”

“I just want to stay here. With you.”

“Well I don't want you to! So save your new act!” Baekjin barked. “Unless you change the way you look at me, we can never go back to how we were. You disgust me.”

That stung.

The urge to fight slipped away.

Baku's heart was shattering inside of him.

“Does it make you feel better to say these things?” he asked, defeated.

Did you feel the way I'm feeling now back then, he thought as he'd returned the same words another version of Baekjin had once used against him.

Baekjin blinked.

Baku tried his luck once more.

“You’re right, Baekjin-ah. I am arrogant. When I want something, I don’t back down. And right now? I want to make up for everything. For pushing you away. For making you feel like I looked down on you. I’m sorry.”

Baekjin’s expression faltered. For a breath. Just a flicker of vulnerability.

Then he turned away.

“Save your breath.”

“I will,” Baku said softly. “If that’s what you want. But know that I've not given up yet.”

Baekjin scoffed, biting back something he couldn’t say. Whatever it actually was that he was thinking.

“You’re impossible.”

He turned toward the stairs, shoulders tense.

And just before he disappeared from view, he glanced back, voice low.

“Let’s see how long you’ll last this time.”

Notes:

i know, i know "just kiss!!! 🗣️‼️"
but they won't... yet... for quite a bit (im a bully sorry not sorry 😓)

Chapter 9

18 January 2025, 01:12pm

 

The moment Baku stepped into the apartment, the familiar smell of soy broth and cigarette smoke clung to the air. His shoes landed by the door with a soft thump, and for the first time in days, the silence wasn’t comforting. It was sharp. Dense. Like the stale air in a room that hadn’t been aired out for too long.

He paused, unsure what to do with his hands. He hadn’t been gone that long, not really. But everything inside felt like it had shifted somehow.

The low clink of chopsticks came from the dining room. His father was eating lunch. Alone, like usual.

Baku stepped forward carefully, as if walking into a memory that might snap shut on him. “Hey, Dad. I’m back.”

His father didn’t respond right away. He looked up from his bowl slowly, face unreadable. No welcome. No scolding. Just... that quiet look. The kind that made your stomach twist even before a word was spoken.

Baku’s fingers twitched against the side seam of his pants. His throat felt too dry.

“Is something wrong?” he asked, trying for nonchalance and failing.

The older man set his chopsticks down with a deliberate tap. His jaw flexed slightly.

“Your friends came by,” he said. “Two days ago... Said you hadn’t been to school.”

Baku’s chest tightened.

He felt like he was thirteen again. Caught sneaking in late, shoes wet from a midnight run across empty streets, and too many half truths already forming in his head.

“I told them you were working on your group project,” his father continued, eyes fixed on him. “That you were staying over at someone’s place.”

A pause.

“Imagine my shock when they told me no such project existed.”

Baku winced. Shame crawled up his spine like cold water trickling between bones.

Then, a sigh. Deep. Tired.

“You lied to me.”

There it was. The sentence he’d been dreading. Simple, but it hit like a punch.

“I didn’t mean to,” Baku said quickly, voice barely above a whisper. “I just... couldn’t explain where I was. I didn’t want you to worry more than you already do.”

And it was true. In some twisted way, that lie had felt easier than the truth. What could he have said? I was crashing in a dusty garage with the boy I love. The one who got you in jail. The one who keeps hurting others because I’m trying to keep him from falling apart again? Yeah, no.

“You couldn’t explain?” his father repeated, incredulous. “... I know I haven’t been the best father to you, Humin. I know that. But I’m still your father. You wouldn't understand the kind of worry a parent feels when their child disappears without a word.”

His voice rose a bit at the end, and Baku’s heart clenched.

Guilt, sharp and immediate, settled like a stone in his stomach. He hadn’t expected his father to say that. To feel that. To mean it.

“I’m sorry.” His words came out uneven, almost shaky. “I didn’t mean to make you worry. I was just… caught up in something I had to take care of. I had to be away.”

Caught up. Like that explained anything. But it was the only way he could say it without unraveling.

His father studied him again. Not with anger now, but with something deeper. Wearier.

“You could’ve told me that. You didn’t have to lie.”

“I didn’t want to drag you into it.”

“What, is it drugs? Gangs?” his voice hardened slightly. “You hanging around bad people now?”

Baku took a quick step forward, both palms raised, shaking frantically. “No! I promise I haven’t done anything wrong. Nothing that would bring shame to our name.”

His father’s shoulders sagged. The heat in his voice cooled. Like this he reminded Baku a lot of the father he'd left behind in the future.

“I don’t give a damn about shame. Or image. I lost those long ago already. I just want to know my son is safe. That you’re making good choices. Surrounding yourself with people who care about you.”

The words landed like a quiet blow.

Baku’s eyes stung, but he didn’t let it show. It had been so long since his father said anything like that. So long since he’d let the mask of stoic indifference slip. Maybe Baku had written him off too quickly. Maybe they were both just men trying and failing to love each other properly.

“They were really worried about you, your friends,” his father added as he stood, gathering his bowl. “The kind of people who’ll carry you far in life. You should keep them close.”

Baku said nothing. He couldn’t. He'd heard this before. How could he forget?

He just watched the bowl disappear into the kitchen sink. Listened to the water run. Stared at the dining table with its faint scratches and grease stains and tried not to fall apart.

He had to go see his friends. Now.

 

18 January 2025, 02:40pm

 

The hallways of Eunjang had never felt so strange.

It had only been a few days, but the moment Baku stepped past the front gates, the world felt slightly tilted. Like he was walking through a version of his school that belonged to someone else. The lockers, the stairs, the faint smell of sweaty and arrogant, teenage boys. All familiar. And yet, everything felt off.

He expected to see them.

Gotak slouched on the stair railing, Juntae pretending to study with music leaking from his earbuds, Sieun also listening to music, but actually studying instead of faking it.

But they weren’t here.

He searched the schoolyard first. Then the basketball team's sacred space. And then the basketball field and courtyard benches.

Nothing.

Only scattered cliques and wandering students too wrapped up in their own gossip to even glance at him. Except for a few, those whose eyes lingered on his face a second too long. Whispered as he passed.

"Didn't he get beat up by some union fuckers…?"

"Heard they were keeping him locked up…"

"You think they let him go?"

Baku clenched his jaw and kept walking. His steps took him around the side of the building, where the lower years usually hung out. Freshmen trying to avoid the upperclassmen's radar.

That’s where he found Choi Hyoman.

Two younger students were backed up against the wall. Hyoman’s arm was raised lazily above one of their heads, a cruel smirk tugging at his lips. His voice was all mock friendly.

“Yah, little shits. You guys were real chatty earlier. Got real quiet all of a sudden.”

Baku’s eyes narrowed.

Of course. The moment he left, someone like Hyoman would take advantage of the gap in power. That was the thing about guys like him. Never brave enough to lead, just opportunistic enough to bite when no one was looking.

"Baku isn't here to–"

“Hyoman.”

The name cut through the air like a blade.

Hyoman stiffened. He turned, that smirk evaporating the moment he locked eyes with Baku.

“B-Baku! H-Hey, you're back! I wasn’t... I mean, we were just messing around... ”

Baku didn’t break stride. He walked straight up to him, his expression unreadable.

“I don’t care.”

Hyoman blinked. “Huh?”

“I didn’t come here for you. I came here to ask where my friends are.”

Hyoman swallowed, eyes darting between Baku and the wide eyed freshmen who now looked like they might cry.

“I… I don’t know exactly. They didn't come to school today... But if I had to guess, they’re probably out looking for you.”

Baku’s breath hitched. A sense of deja vu hitting him all over again. “What do you mean?”

Hyoman scratched the back of his neck nervously. “I mean, there’s been all kinds of rumors going around. People saying you got beat up by some union freaks… and well you kinda disappeared after. Your friends came to me yesterday asking where you’d gone. They looked pretty pissed.”

“Did you tell them anything?”

“Y-Yeah, yeah,” Hyoman stammered, rushing to defend himself. “They really insisted. I was scared Hyeontak or Sieun would beat me up so I told them about Daesung Bikes… and the bowling alley. Just places you might’ve been, you know? Didn’t think it’d be a big deal or anything.”

Baku’s stomach dropped.

Why did this have to happen now of all times?

His thoughts raced. Fists clenched in his jacket pockets, body already moving.

They went looking for me. Of course they did! Why did I think it wouldn't happen again?

Memories flooded his view like a storm at sea. Going down the stairs of the bowling alley after he'd decided he wouldn't work for Baekjin anymore. Finding Sieun alone with Baekjin there, just in time to stop them from fighting.

Baku had to prevent it this time around as well.

 

18 January 2025, 03:03pm

 

His feet pounded against the pavement as he ran.

His school shoes slapped the concrete hard, too hard, but he didn’t care. He wasn’t thinking about the ache blooming in his ribs again or how the cold air burned through his throat. His legs just kept moving, guided by one panicked thought cycling through his head like a broken record.

Please don’t let me be too late.

The bowling alley was a short walk from school if you took it slow.

But Baku wasn't walking.

The closer he got, the more bile rose in his throat. He didn’t know what he was expecting. Just that the worst case scenario felt all too possible.

Sieun… and Baekjin.

Two people he cared about a lot. Two people who shared lots of similarities, yet were so different from one another. And also the two people in his life who absolutely could not be in the same place, at the same time.

He turned the corner and spotted the familiar cracked neon sign of the alley flickering faintly above the entrance. His heart was thundering in his chest.

Baku didn’t hesitate. Every second he lost mattered. He pushed the doors open and burst inside, shoes skidding slightly on the cheap flooring as he practically threw himself down the stairs.

The alley was dim. Most of the lights were off, except for a few hanging over the back lanes.

His eyes adjusted in time to see them.

Sieun. Baekjin. Standing face to face.

Sieun’s jaw was tight, his posture rigid. Calm, but tense like a coiled wire. Baekjin’s shoulders were squared. His expression unreadable, except for the flicker of something behind his eyes.

Rage? Frustration?

Desperation?

Neither of them saw Baku at first.

Baekjin’s voice cracked like a whip, “Are you implying Humin knows my secret, and I'm only doing this because I'm scared of that?”

Baku stopped in his tracks. He couldn't help but listen to part of a conversation he had missed in his previous life, if you could call it that. Even if he hadn't died, it had sure felt like it.

Sieun stayed calm. “No... Baku is the only one who knows everything about you. So you think of him as your only friend.”

The words took a long time to settle. Baku just stared in shock. He always knew Sieun had a deeper understanding of most things, but he'd never know he had figured out the thing between him and Baekjin that even Baku himself hadn't understood.

Their quietest friend... You always know more than you let others think, Sieun-ah.... Maybe for that I should be grateful.

“But would Baku even think of you as his friend?"

Baekjin moved before Baku could react. It wasn’t dramatic. Just a fast, sharp step forward. His fist raised.

“No!”

Baku surged between them, and the punch that had been meant for Sieun caught him square in the jaw.

The force of it made his head spin. He stood there staring at the direction it had been hit towards. This felt like their last ever physical fight all over again.

“Shit!” Baekjin hissed, recoiling instantly.

Sieun blinked in shock, his head snapping toward Baku. “Baku-yah!”

Baku gritted his teeth, pressing a hand to his jaw. “I’m fine,” he muttered. “Just. Stop. Both of you.”

Baekjin stared at him like he’d been struck too. His hand hovered midair, as if he didn’t understand what it had just done.

For a split second, guilt flashed across his face, raw and unfiltered.

But it was gone just as quickly. Replaced with something colder. Something bitter.

It felt so out of place. Like watching someone switch personalities. The mood swing so fast that one couldn't help but wonder if there was another underlying reason for it.

“You’re protecting him now?” Baekjin scoffed, voice lower. Sharper.

“I'm protecting both of–” Baku began, but Baekjin didn’t let him finish.

“Of course. Of course you’d take his side. Why wouldn’t you?”

Sieun opened his mouth to say something, but Baku threw a hand out to stop him.

“Baekjin-ah,” Baku said, voice gentler now. “I didn’t come here to fight with you. This is just me stopping two people I care about from doing something they'll both regret in the future.”

His words carried a weight to them that no one but Baku himself could feel. No matter how much he tried to ignite an emotion similar to it in others. They would never know unless they'd have lived it themselves.

Baekjin’s expression tightened. He shook his head slowly, like he didn’t believe a word of it.

“I don’t care. I knew you'd break at some point... The great Baku would never choose me first,” he muttered, backing up. “You made your choice. Now you'll have to live with it.”

“Baekjin, don’t do this,” Baku said, sighing. Starting to get so tired from trying to reach a boy hidden behind tight, tick and tall walls.

Baekjin was already turning away.

His footsteps echoed down the hall toward his office in the far back. The door creaked open, then slammed shut.

The silence that followed felt deafening.

Baku stood frozen for a moment, trying to calm the adrenaline rushing through his veins. His jaw throbbed. His heart ached worse.

Please, Baekjin-ah. I'm trying my damned hardest, but you're starting to lose me here.

It killed Baku to think it. But he couldn't help it anymore.

Maybe Baekjin and him were never meant to be at all. And his return to the past was to remind him of that. To remind him that no matter how much better he'd have acted to Baekjin, the other boy would still be too far gone. To remind him it was never the way he acted, so that he could finally move on from this guilt.

Baku heard footsteps shuffling behind him and they snapped him right out of his thoughts.

“You alright?” Sieun asked, coming to his side.

“Yeah,” Baku muttered. “Not the first time I’ve been hit by him.”

There was a pause. Then a quiet sigh from Sieun. They both knew his question wasn't about the physical aspect of their conflict at all.

“Come on,” he said, “Let’s get you out of here for now.”

 

Notes:

ive written the next chapter as well but i'll edit it tomorrow and try to post it right after.

genuine question for my readers. would you guys like me to put content warnings at the end notes in case it'll feel like a spoiler or am i allowed to put them in between the tags?

Chapter 10

Notes:

haaa we've reached half the story 🥹🥹

for those of you who haven't read my other 2 bakujin fics and rlly need them to just kiss already, maybe give them a try. im really gonna keep dragging this shit so for those who need the motivation!!

18 January 2025, 03:35pm

 

The alley door snapped shut behind them, and the outside world felt colder than before. The air tasted sharp and the weak winter sun only emphasized the chill. They walked in silence.

Baku’s ribs throbbed with dull pain. Not from Baekjin’s punch, but from the weight of everything unsaid. He watched Sieun’s steady stride beside him, jaw tight, posture rigid but balanced. His familiar, never changing personality was such a comfort to Baku. This made him feel safe enough to talk honestly for the first time in quite a while.

Baku took a breath. “You’re probably wondering what all that was about.”

Sieun paused, sliding his gaze toward Baku for a heartbeat before returning his eyes to the path ahead. “You don’t have to explain if you don't want to.”

Always respectful of his choices.

He exhaled. “But I want to. I need you to know... I was with Baekjin. Trying to help him… pull him out of something he’d gotten sucked into.”

No denial. No defense. Just the truth. 

Silence stretched between them. Sieun walked on.

“I’ve made excuses before,” Baku continued softly. “I walked away too many times in regret. I couldn’t do that again.”

The words were just vague enough to not sound completely unrelated to this timeline. He couldn't tell anyone the whole truth, but he'd try explaining it through his feelings. And the one person in his life that seemed to always just understand everyone, was Sieun.

After a long moment, Sieun spoke, quiet but firm, “You’re not wrong for caring.”

It was the kind of affirmation that caught him off guard. “Do you… think I’m being stupid?”

“Maybe reckless,” Sieun admitted. “But reckless means you know the stakes. You stepped in anyway. That’s not weakness.”

It's true that underneath a calm surface hides the greatest depth, Baku had always thought when he looked at Sieun. He'd have to confess he'd tried to act like him ever since coming back. Because everyone knows wise people don't talk much, and Sieun had always been the wisest person he knew.

Surely being like him would've helped him sway Baekjin. But in the end he had to admit to himself they would always be too different to ever have the same effect on others.

So Baku was just grateful instead, to call Sieun his friend. “Thanks, Sieun-ah. You really know how to make people feel better."

Sieun eyes quietly scanned him, like he was staring right into Baku's soul. Then his tone shifted. “How’re you holding up, Baku-yah?”

Baku sighed and shrugged. “I’m tired. But…I’m still trying.”

Trying to see past the deep shit I put myself in.

Sieun just hummed. “That’s fine. That’s everything some days.”

The conversation paused. The sudden lack of words peaceful. Baku could finally gather his thoughts a bit before he realised how rude he'd been. Only talking about himself.

“And how are you these days Sieun-ah? What about the others?”

"I'm... alright. As much as I can be anyway."

Sieun closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them again it was clear he didn't want to talk about Suho. Not at the moment.

So he changed the subject quickly. “We heard rumours about you being hurt and locked up. Your dad said you hadn't been home for days so we went to Choi Hyoman. Asked if he’d seen or heard anything. That’s how I ended up at the bowling alley.”

Baku's heart stuttered.

Sieun stopped walking. Baku halted too. He took in the boy's face. Calm, guarded, guilty. Like he'd forgotten something very important.

He swallowed "Baku-yah... They went with me."

"What?" Baku didn't understand what Sieun was suddenly talking about.

"Gotak and Juntae. They went with me to question Hyoman. We made our plan yesterday and split off... They would be at Daesung Bikes right now.”

Baku’s pulse slammed.

Of course they went there.

How could I have been so stupid? He felt the walls close in. Of course Sieun wouldn't have acted alone... Of course not everything is fixed just because I managed to save one friend. 

I hope they didn’t run into Seongmok or Dongha… or Geum Seongje…

He didn’t say it out loud.

At that moment, Sieun’s phone buzzed low in his coat pocket. He glanced at the screen, stared for a long moment, and then took the call.

"Hello?"

A nurse’s voice crackled through “Hello, is this Yeon Sieun speaking?”

Sieun’s breath hitched. He nodded to Baku without looking and answered, “Yes, that's me.”

Baku watched Sieun speak. He saw the moment everything shifted, the stillness in Sieun's posture, the sudden cold drop in the other boy’s voice.

He listened to the nurse's muffled voice on the other end of the line through Sieun's just loud enough speaker. “Patient Ahn Suho is in critical condition and we couldn't reach anyone else…”

Baku eavesdropped further on the entire conversation. Patiently waiting for it to end. Once it did, he had to warn Sieun in any way he could.

He swallowed hard. “Sieun…”

Sieun didn’t seem to hear. He stared into the phone, pale and steady.

Without thinking, Baku put a hand on Sieun’s arm. “Go to your friend.”

Sieun looked up at him, stunned. “But what about...”

“I’ll be fine,” Baku said, voice firm. “Don't worry about us.”

Sieun pressed a finger to his lips, nodding once. But his eyes were glazed.

Then Baku squeezed his shoulder. "Be careful on the way there, alright? He needs you to be okay when you get there. So don't space out now. Get yourself there safely first."

It came out softer than he meant to say it but he doesn't know how else he could've worded it to get Sieun to focus. Sieun blinked, blinked again, then pocketed his phone. Before he ran he looked at Baku like he was his personal guardian angel sent by the heavens. "Thank you, Baku-yah. You stay safe too."

Baku remained, every breath cold and raw, watching the space where his friend had stood. And for the first time in a long while, he felt completely alone.

 

18 January 2025, 04:12pm

 

Baku’s lungs were on fire.

He ran with everything he had. Past red lights. Past the alleys he once used to cut through when he was late for school. Past his own sense of logic, because right now, fear had replaced it entirely.

His friends, his people, were in danger. And he wasn’t there.

The irony gnawed at him. That he’d spent all this time trying to protect Baekjin only to abandon the others who stood by him without question. Who searched for him. Who would probably do it all over again.

How could I have been so fucking selfish?

His thoughts spiraled. Juntae’s too small frame, always trailing behind the rest of them like a younger brother they had to shield. Gotak’s old injury, caused by Baekjin, that had never fully healed. A ghost of a limp he sometimes pretended wasn’t there. Neither of them should have gone to a place run by the Union. Especially not alone. Especially not for him.

But they had.

The garage came into view, the sign half bent and rusted from years of rain and fists. Its silence was what terrified Baku most.

No shouting. No running. No sounds of resistance.

Just that creeping, sickening quiet.

He didn’t knock.

He shoved the metal doors open so hard they bounced off the walls behind them, the sound cracking like thunder through the vast, dim space.

It took half a breath to find them.

Gotak was slumped on the floor near the wall, blood dripping from his mouth. His eyes were closed, but Baku could tell he was still conscious. Juntae was crouched beside him, arms wrapped around Gotak’s shoulders, back faced to the world as a shield, trying not to cry. He'd clearly taken lighter hits, probably from protecting Gotak. Because Baekjin never attacked first. Not unless provoked.

And he'd clearly been provoked.

He stood over them. Expression unreadable. Knuckles split and bruised. Face smeared with blood that didn’t belong to him.

His foot was lifted. Poised. Ready to come down hard on Gotak’s already damaged leg.

Something primal in Baku snapped.

“Don’t you fucking dare!” he roared, and his body moved before he even knew what he was doing.

He launched himself forward, slamming his shoulder into Baekjin’s chest.

The force caught Baekjin off guard. The shock of it more than the pain. He stumbled backward, crashing into a pile of tools and bike frames. Metal clanged loudly as he went down.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Baekjin didn’t move.

Neither did Baku.

Their breathing echoed through the space like a war cry and its answer.

Juntae looked up first. “B-Baku-yah…?”

His voice was small. Like a child’s. Baku turned to him, eyes flickering over every visible wound on Gotak’s and Juntae’s faces. Anger rose in his throat like bile.

But he pushed it down.

He couldn’t break now.

He dropped to one knee beside them. “Juntae-yah, listen to me. You need to get Gotak out of here.”

Juntae’s eyes widened. “But what about y–”

“Just go!” Baku barked, harsher than he meant to. His voice cracked. “I’ll be fine, get yourselves to safety!”

Juntae hesitated a second too long, staring back and forth between Baku and Gotak. Torn and trembling. But the panic in Baku’s voice snapped him out of it. Clenching his jaw, he wrapped Gotak’s arm over his shoulder and helped him stagger out the back exit, half dragging him toward safety.

The door slammed shut behind them.

And then it was quiet.

Too quiet.

The air in the garage felt like it dropped ten degrees. Like all the oxygen had been sucked out of the room. Baku turned slowly to face Baekjin again. Chest heaving, jaw tight, fists still clenched at his sides.

Baekjin was on the ground a few feet away, lips slightly parted. His expression unreadable.

That silence stretched.

Baku could feel the tension between them simmering. Vibrating in the air like a pulled wire just waiting to snap.

Then Baekjin got to his feet. Face twisted in something volatile. Rage or grief, or both, and he swung at Baku for the second time that day. This time, on purpose. The punch landed square across Baku’s cheekbone, making the side of his face explode with heat. It hurt, but Baku had been hit harder by life.

Still, something snapped.

Not the kind of snap that made you lose control. No. This one was clear. Cold.

His fist moved before he could think.

It collided with Baekjin’s jaw. Sharp, clean, and entirely deliberate.

The hit sent Baekjin stumbling back half a step, his eyes wide, shocked more by the fact it happened than by the pain. He touched his mouth, fingers brushing the thin smear of blood on his bottom lip.

Baku’s chest rose and fell, throat raw from the words he'd swallowed all day. All week. All lifetime.

He hadn’t meant to lose control.

But Baekjin had crossed the line.

And some things couldn’t be forgiven twice.

Baekjin looked at him, really looked, and Baku saw it. That flicker of something shattering behind his eyes. The hope he hadn’t dared voice breaking into pieces.

And to protect himself he laughed.

"God, what was I even expecting? Of course you wouldn't be different." he sounded crazy. His words dipped in desperation and disappointment.

Like Baku had just joined the long list of people who gave up on him.

But that wasn’t it.

That was never it.

Baku stepped forward slowly, trying to steady his voice. “You’ve crossed the line now, Na Baekjin.”

Baekjin flinched at the use of his full name.

“I tried to show you. I offered you a million ways out. All of them real. All of them yours, if you’d just taken one.” His voice trembled, not with anger, but with heartbreak. “But since you're not willing to take any of them... I'll have to end it here.”

His throat tightened around the next words.

They tasted too familiar. Too much like the last time he’d said them. Like a grave dug too early.

“From now on, let's go our separate ways. We’re clearly not meant to be anything more than strangers to each other..."

Baekjin stared at him like he was speaking a foreign language.

"So please, unless you change, don't contact me again. Goodbye.”

He turned.

And something inside Baekjin tore open.

“No,” Baekjin breathed.

Then, louder.

“No!”

Baku heard the scream too late.

He was shoved to the ground, back hitting concrete with a thud that sent stars dancing across his vision.

Baekjin landed on top of him, fists clenched so tight his knuckles turned white.

“You asshole!” he roared. “I hate you! I fucking hate you!”

He punched once, but it wasn’t like before. The force was there, but not the intent. He was holding back. His fists hit with the weight of grief, not rage.

And Baku didn’t block him.

Didn’t try to stop him.

Because this, this version of Baekjin, broken and desperate and unraveling, wasn’t dangerous. He was drowning.

And Baku had loved him too long not to recognise the difference.

If Baekjin needed to throw every ugly part of himself at Baku, fine. Let him. Baku had the space inside him for all that pain. He’d carry it if it meant Baekjin didn’t have to be crushed by it alone.

But there was one thing he wouldn’t allow.

You don’t get to hurt the people I love. And that includes yourself too, my love.

The words weren’t spoken out loud, not yet.

They vibrated in Baku’s ribs like the echo of a vow, deep and unbreakable.

You can hit me. You can scream at me. You can hate me.

But the moment you lay hands on my loved ones that’s the moment I stop letting you pretend this is love.

Baekjin slowed. His punches faltered, then stopped completely.

When he looked down, Baku saw it.

The crack.

The break in Baekjin’s mask.

His eyes, wide and glassy, trembled. His breath hitched.

And then, barely a whisper, like a confession that had been clawing at his throat for years.

“Why don’t you understand me?”

Baku’s heart shattered.

Baekjin grabbed him by the collar, not violently this time. More like he was clinging to him, like if he let go, he’d disappear.

Their eyes locked.

That silence between them stretched again. But now it felt different.

He could feel the unsaid things swirling in it. All the pain they’d never spoken about. All the love that had curdled into something bitter and confused.

Baekjin’s voice cracked. His fingers trembled.

In another life they'd be able to talk without words. They'd just know what the other is thinking from a single look. But in this life, these versions of them didn't know each other well enough to fully understand.

Baekjin seemed to realise that very well himself. 

Baku watched as a single tear fell, out of Baekjin's breathtakingly somber eyes.

Without thinking, he reached up. His hand settling on the other's cheek. His thumb brushed the tear away, slow and tender.

It was muscle memory. A reflex that belonged to a different time. A different life.

And Baekjin felt it.

His lips quivered.

A soft, muffled sob escaped, one he couldn’t stop. His body shook, shoulders heaving under the weight of everything he’d held in too long.

Baku acted without thinking again. He pulled him close, one hand slipping behind Baekjin’s neck, the other gripping the back of his jacket like it was the only thing keeping him anchored to this moment.

Their foreheads pressed together.

Eyes closed.

Breath shared.

The gesture was too intimate for enemies. Too fragile for lovers.

But it was real. It was right.

Baku’s thumb traced soft circles behind Baekjin’s ear. The exact way he used to soothe him when they were little. Before all the trauma. Before they forgot how to be soft with each other.

And Baekjin remembered.

He let go fully.

Crying. Shaking. Letting Baku hold all of him for just one minute longer.

Baku felt his own body numbing him on the inside. To prevent all the intensely overwhelming emotions he'd felt that day from making him collapse in on himself.

Tears did prick at his eyes, but they couldn't get out. He couldn't cry. Trapped in his own body as he listened to Baekjin's devastatingly painful ones.

I warned you, sweetheart. I knew you would just hurt yourself in the end. I tried to stop you for this exact reason. But you've always been so stubborn.

He rubbed Baekjin's back very softly. Until the sad boy let out everything he wanted to.

And eventually Baekjin calmed down enough to pull back. Slowly. So slow it was clear it took everything in him to do it.

He sniffed. Wiped his face with his sleeve. A deep, rattling breath filled his lungs.

He didn’t say a word.

Didn’t make a scene.

He just... stood up.

Turned.

And walked away.

Baku stayed there, back still resting against the freezing floor of the garage, limbs heavy, soul heavier. He didn’t follow.

He didn’t look.

He'd just kept staring at the ceiling the whole time. Had listened to the footsteps fade, until they were gone.

He insanely missed the warmth of having his Baekjin's body against his own.

Notes:

when i first wrote this chapter i didn't make juntae and gotak leave cause they were too beat up. for anyone who needs an idea it was like when seongje beat them up before his fight with sieun on the rooftop when they just sat there next to each other, not being able to intervene.

then i realised... gogo and junjun when bakujin emotional gay sex without the sex part moment right after fighting: 🧍🧍

Chapter 11

Notes:

a little warning for this chapter... i suggest people read the updated tags cause this might be... heavy for some people

18 January 2025, 05:17pm

 

The walk to the hospital was slow.

Baku's legs still carried the urgency of everything that had just happened, but he couldn't walk faster. Because Gotak couldn’t. And Baku wasn’t about to rush the boy who’d taken a brutal beating meant for him.

Juntae had his shoulder wedged firmly under Gotak’s arm, their steps uneven but in sync. His other hand clutched a fistful of Gotak’s jacket, like letting go wasn’t an option. Baku walked on Gotak’s other side, hand ghosting over the boy’s back, steadying him when he staggered.

Their breath fogged in the cold air, each step tapping out the rhythm of exhaustion. The pain from earlier hadn't faded for any of them. It had just changed form.

No one spoke for a while.

The sound of their shoes scraping against the concrete was loud in the quiet street. Juntae’s lip was split, Gotak’s blood had dried crusty on his collar, and Baku’s knuckles still tingled with leftover adrenaline. It was like the silence between them was sacred. Or maybe just fragile.

When the dull glow of the hospital came into view, Baku finally broke the stillness.

“I should’ve never let it get this far,” he murmured. Voice low, almost drowned by the wind.

Gotak grunted through clenched teeth. “Don’t start.”

“I mean it.”

“You always mean it,” Gotak muttered, dragging one foot behind the other. “But meaning something doesn't undo it. Just help me get through this door without collapsing, then we’ll argue later.”

Juntae didn’t even try to hide the small huff of laughter that slipped through his nose. “God, you’re annoying when you’re injured.”

“You love it,” Gotak shot back weakly with a wink.

Baku couldn’t help the small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. It faded quick. “I owe you both. For real.”

“We know,” Juntae said, nudging Gotak forward. “You can pay us back in fried chicken.”

“And painkillers,” Gotak added.

They finally reached the ER entrance. A nurse met them almost immediately, eyes widening at the sight of them.

“Were you in a fight?” she asked, already reaching for a wheelchair.

“No,” Gotak muttered. “I was just playing catch with a brick wall.”

The nurse blinked, then turned to Juntae and Baku with a frown. “He’s delirious.”

“That’s just his personality,” Juntae added dryly.

Gotak was wheeled away for evaluation, muttering insults that didn’t quite land, and Juntae was handed a cold compress and antiseptic swabs for the cuts on his face.

While they waited in the hall, Baku pulled out his phone.

He stared at it for a while. The screen reflected tired eyes and dried blood under his nose.

Then he opened his chat with Sieun.

Baku: Gotak and Juntae are safe. It’s over now. Are you okay?

The reply came fast.

Sieun: False alarm. He’s stable. Still in a coma, but fine.

Sieun: What about you guys?

Juntae, peering over Baku’s shoulder, tapped the screen. “Just call him.”

“Yeah,” Gotak called from the hallway bed they’d wheeled him into. “Let’s see his face.”

Baku sighed and pressed the video call button.

The screen went black for a second… then connected.

Sieun’s face appeared, lit by the pale glow of hospital lights. He looked exhausted. Eyes shadowed, hair slightly damp from sweat or rain, but at the same time calm.

“You alive?” he asked flatly, raising one brow.

“Define alive,” Juntae said from beside Baku.

Sieun blinked. Then smiled. Brief, but honest. “You guys look like hell.”

“Yeah, well,” Baku shifted so both Juntae and Gotak could see the screen. “Baekjin had… a moment.”

Sieun’s eyes flicked to Baku. “I’m guessing it didn’t end well.”

“No,” Baku said. “It ended like it always does.”

A moment of silence passed. Heavy, but strangely warm.

Then Baku spoke again, softer. “Thanks, Sieun-ah. For earlier today.”

Thank you for knowing and not judging.

“It's nothing,” Sieun replied, and that was it.

“Everyone’s okay now,” Baku said, like he needed to say it out loud for it to feel true. “Gotak’s getting checked for fractures. Juntae’s face will heal. I… just need to get them home.”

“I’ll be alright too,” Gotak called from the background. “Just make sure you get home safe too.”

Sieun nodded even though Gotak couldn't see. “I’ll check in again tomorrow.”

The call ended not with goodbyes, but just quiet trust.

 

18 January 2025, 06:23pm

 

They left the hospital with nothing but a few bandaged wounds and the heavy echo of adrenaline still coursing through their limbs.

The winter chill outside hit instantly, but it didn’t bother Baku as much now. Not when Gotak was upright, not when Juntae was still cracking tired jokes, not when his friends were beside him, breathing, walking.

They didn’t speak much at first.

Gotak was limping again. Not as bad as the first time, but it was clear the impact had reopened old bruises. Juntae had one arm around him, supporting most of his weight, while Baku walked on the other side, steps perfectly in sync with theirs.

Their silence wasn’t awkward.

It was full. Laden with things understood but left unsaid. The way real friends know how to communicate without needing to spell everything out. Still, there was a tension humming underneath, like they were waiting for Baku to speak first.

He didn’t make them wait long.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, watching the sidewalk as it passed under their feet. “For disappearing. For not telling you anything.”

Gotak shifted but didn’t look at him. “We figured something was going on when you came to our rescue, instead of the other way around.”

Juntae gave a small shrug. “Yeah. You’ve always been the type to bottle it up.”

That stung a little, because it was true.

They passed a small corner shop with its neon signs half lit. Baku watched the reflection of their group in the window. Three battered figures limping their way through a city that had chewed them up more than once.

“I was with Na Baekjin,” he said eventually. “The whole time.”

Gotak stopped walking.

Baku glanced up at him.

Juntae’s jaw tightened slightly, but neither of them said anything.

“I wasn’t… working with him,” Baku continued. “Not really. I wasn’t helping him hurt people or anything like that. I just... I thought if I stayed close, I could stop him from going too far. Like I could fix him. Or something stupid like that.”

The words tasted heavier the second time around.

Gotak exhaled slowly. Juntae tilted his head back, staring at the sky like he needed a moment to think.

Then Juntae spoke. “You told Sieun the same thing.”

Baku blinked. “You know?”

Juntae shrugged. “He told us. After the call.”

Gotak glanced at Baku for the first time, his voice low. “We’re not mad at you, dumbass.”

“You’re not?”

Gotak looked almost offended. “Yah. You think we don’t get what that’s like? Trying to save someone who’s already halfway gone?”

Juntae nodded beside him. “We’ve all done dumb things for people we care about. You just did yours louder.”

That startled a breath of laughter out of Baku.

A few steps later, Gotak added, “Next time though... don’t go off and play martyr without saying anything.”

Juntae smirked. “Yeah, dummy. At least drop a text before you disappear into gang politics.”

Baku looked between them. His eyes stung unexpectedly.

“I promise,” he said. “I won’t leave you guys like that again.”

“Good,” Gotak said simply.

Juntae clapped him on the back. “We’re a team, yeah?”

Baku nodded. The knot in his chest started to loosen, just a little.

The rest of the walk passed in soft conversation. Nothing deep, just observations about the hospital’s weird vending machine options and how Juntae saw a nurse scold a high school senior for faking a sprained ankle to skip class. The weight of earlier began to ease, replaced with something warmer, steadier.

They dropped Gotak off first.

The building was dimly lit, the entryway narrow and lined with worn shoes. Gotak didn’t invite them in, but before disappearing inside, he looked Baku square in the eye.

“Rest up, yeah?”

“You too,” Baku replied.

Juntae and Baku continued together.

The streetlights cast long shadows as they turned the corner toward Juntae’s neighborhood. The quiet between them now was comfortable.

“You know,” Juntae said, hands shoved deep into his coat pockets. “I always figured something was off between you and Na Baekjin.”

Baku tensed. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Not in a bad way,” Juntae clarified quickly. “Just… like there was something there you weren’t ready to talk about. Honestly, we didn’t push cause it felt like you didn’t know either.”

Baku didn’t say anything.

Juntae looked over, gaze softer now. “I don't know the full history like Gotak and Sieun. But I want you to know… whatever it was, or still is, we’re not here to judge you.”

The words hit harder than Baku expected.

They stopped outside Juntae’s building. He hesitated on the bottom step.

“You did what you thought was right,” Juntae added. “And then you came back. That’s what matters.”

Baku nodded, throat tight.

“Promise you’ll come to us next time.”

“I will.”

Juntae smiled faintly. “Good.”

He turned and disappeared up the stairs, the door clicking shut behind him.

Baku stood there for a moment longer, letting the quiet settle.

Then he turned toward home.

The city had emptied out now. Most shops were closed. A few bars were still lit up but quiet. The streets had that eerie calm they always did after something big had passed

A storm, a fight, a goodbye.

He didn’t realize how tired he was until he saw the familiar outline of his apartment building ahead. The lights in his father’s window were off. Probably asleep already. For a second, Baku thought about sneaking inside, brushing his teeth, crawling under the covers and forgetting today ever happened.

But then.

Crack.

A flash of pain exploded at the back of his skull.

 

... January 2025, ...

 

The first thing Baku became aware of was the pain.

Not a sharp one, it was deeper than that. A low, constant throb that pulsed behind his eyes and at the base of his skull. Like something inside him had cracked and was still echoing with the aftershock. His breath hitched, air dragging painfully into dry lungs. His body felt like it had been stuffed into something too small. Cramped, stiff, and cold. His mouth tasted of metal.

He blinked. Once. Twice.

Darkness, not complete. There was a flickering light somewhere above, swinging slightly like it wasn’t fully secured to the ceiling. The air was damp. Moldy. Like basement walls that hadn’t seen sunlight in years.

Where the hell…?

Baku tried to move, but his arms wouldn’t budge. His wrists were bound behind him. Something rough: cord or zip tie. His ankles too. There was a slow panic growing in his chest now, one that twisted in his ribs like a growing vine.

What the fuck is this.

He groaned, trying to shift his weight to relieve the pressure on his side. A mistake. A jolt of pain shot up his ribs, so sharp and sudden it made his vision black out for a second.

“Oh, you're finally awake.”

The voice wasn’t familiar. It was calm. Too calm.

Footsteps echoed. Slow, deliberate ones. And then a figure stepped into view. A middle aged man. Wearing a neat black suit. He looked like someone straight out of an action movie.

Baku did not recognise this man. He asked confused, "Who are you?"

The man silently looked him over. His eyes told Baku that he wasn't sure if he should answer his question. But in the end.

“...You can call me Mr. Choi,” the man said.

That told Baku nothing. His mouth moved before he could stop it. “Who the hell are you?”

“I just told you,” Choi said mildly. “Mr. Choi. I had assumed you'd not have heard of me. But you've definitely... felt the effects of the world I built.”

He didn’t sound threatening. That’s what made it worse. There was no drama in the way he spoke. No rage or menace.

Just quiet certainty.

“Why… am I here?” Baku’s voice was hoarse. His throat burned. “I don't know you. I haven’t done anything to you.”

“No. You haven’t.” Choi crouched down to meet his eye and a bone chilling smile stretched across his face. “But Na Baekjin has.”

Baekjin.

At the mention of the name, Baku froze.

He stared at the man, searching his face for answers. What did Baekjin have to do with this? With him?

Choi tilted his head slightly, as if reading him. “It’s nothing personal. He simply made the mistake of forgetting how things work in this world. He started to think he could leave.”

Leave?

Baku’s stomach dropped.

“Leave,” he said slowly. "How do you mean...?"

“The Union,” Choi cut in, calm as ever. “Though he tried to do it quietly. Subtle things at first. Shifting deals. Avoiding responsibilities. Hiding information. Then came the more obvious ones. Talks with people outside the Union. Refusing to attend meetings. And of course, his little obsession with you.”

Baku’s pulse roared in his ears. “I’m not...”

“Oh, don’t insult both our intelligence,” Choi said, almost gently. “He cares for you. That much is clear. Even if he’d rather die than admit it.”

Baku’s mouth went dry.

He thought back. To all the ways Baekjin had pushed him away since he came back to this timeline. The hot and cold behavior. The jealousy. The lashing out. The way he’d snapped at him again and again. Acting like Baku’s very presence was a threat.

A pit opened in Baku's stomach.

He remembered the way Baekjin’s eyes would flick over his shoulder during certain conversations, as if checking for someone who might be listening. The guilt in his voice every time Baku came too close. The way he’d clutched him during their last fight, sobbing, Why don’t you understand me?

I didn’t. Baku felt his heart clench. Oh God, I didn't understand him.

Guilt twisted in his chest like a knife. Baku could hardly breathe. A million memories flooded his mind like a broken dam.

“You’re shaking,” Choi observed. “That’s good. It means you’re starting to understand. People like Baekjin don’t get to walk away. And people like you...”

He leaned closer, too close for comfort. “People like you are what happens when they try.”

His hand gripped Baku’s chin roughly, forcing him to look up.

“I had to dig,” he murmured. “It took me years to find something that brat actually cared about. But in the end he slipped. Mentioned you. Fought for you. Brought you into the fold, even when he didn’t want to.”

Baku’s throat closed up.

You've been trying to protect me all this time, haven't you?

From this man...

Even when I pushed. Even when I begged you to let me back in.

You never wanted me to be part of this.

Choi’s fingers dug harder into his jaw. “He never cared about himself. But you? You were his one soft spot. His one vulnerability.”

Baku spat at him.

It didn’t reach. But it made Choi’s smile fade.

“I don’t give a fuck what you think you’ve figured out,” Baku rasped. “But Baekjin is stronger than you know. They all are, my friends. And they’re going to find me. You can torture me, kill me if you want! But I’m not scared of you. I’ve been through worse.”

Choi’s smile returned. Sharper now. “You really think someone’s coming to save you?”

“They will,” Baku said, voice shaking but firm. “You’re not the first monster I’ve seen. You won’t be the last. But they’ll find me.”

Choi’s eyes darkened.

Then, without warning, he struck.

The slap sent Baku’s head lolling to the side, a loud crack echoing through the empty space. His vision flickered for a second.

“You shouldn’t have said that,” Choi muttered.

Baku’s skin burned. His whole face throbbed. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.

He wanted to cry. Not from pain, but from everything else. The weight of it. The grief that felt eternal. The knowledge that Baekjin’s life, had never been his own.

I thought I failed you once. But I didn’t even know the half of it, did I?

His head fell forward.

He didn’t speak.

 

... January 2025, ...

 

Baku didn’t know how long he’d been there.

Time wasn’t real in this place. It bled. Pooled. Disappeared into itself. There were no clocks. No light from outside. Just the occasional buzz of that half broken lightbulb above his head and the dull scrape of a door opening somewhere behind him when they decided to come back.

Sometimes it was that disgusting man, Choi. Sometimes it was someone else. Bigger hands. Colder eyes. More violent.

The worst was when they didn’t speak.

When they just… did things.

Sometimes it was a punch. A kick. A steel baton dragged across his ribs. Other times, they’d press something burning into his shoulder. Or pour water over his face until he gagged and choked and clawed at nothing, bound and helpless.

He didn’t scream at first.

He told himself he wouldn’t. That he’d never give them that.

But pain has a way of crawling under your skin in places pride can’t reach.

He screamed eventually. Cracked and raw and useless. Until his throat burned and his voice disappeared. Until the tears stopped being real, and the world turned blurry around the edges.

One night, or maybe morning... he couldn’t tell, the door opened again.

He didn’t lift his head.

A new man entered. Someone Baku hadn’t seen before. He had the look of a street rat. Lean muscle, no hesitation in his steps. Baku’s eyes followed the shadow of his boots as they crossed the room and stopped just in front of him.

There was no warning.

Just a fist slamming into his side.

Baku doubled over, the ropes biting into his skin. He barely had time to wheeze before the second hit landed in the same place. Over and over. The bruises layered on top of each other. He couldn’t tell which injuries were fresh anymore.

His body didn’t feel like his.

He felt filthy. His skin stuck to his clothes. His wrists were bleeding from the binds. There was blood dried into his shirt collar and along the corner of his lip. He’d been given a single plastic cup of water yesterday. Or was it two days ago? And half a stale protein bar that made his stomach cramp harder than it helped.

There was no rhythm to it. No demands. No questions.

Just cruelty.

As if they weren’t trying to get information out of him. Just to remind him that no one was coming.

They were wrong.

He still believed they were wrong.

Even if his body was breaking, his heart wasn’t.

He remembered Sieun’s calm voice on the phone. The way Juntae’s lip had trembled but he never let it shake his resolve. Gotak’s quiet pain, hidden behind forced jokes. They had looked at him like he was something to return to.

You don’t leave people like that behind.

And Baekjin…

Baku had to squeeze his eyes shut. Just thinking about him made the pain worse.

Not because of what Baekjin had done, but because of what he hadn’t been allowed to say.

He wanted to tell him he understood now. That he saw it clearly. The fear behind the fury, the way he’d always been pushing Baku away for his sake. That his outbursts, his silence, his cruelty… none of it had been real. They were shields Baekjin had built around both of them, desperate to protect something he thought was already lost.

Even back then, in the other timeline, maybe it had been the same.

Had he tried to leave the Union then, too?

Maybe after the fight with Eunjang. After Baku and Sieun had beaten him and left him broken on that hill. Maybe that had been the final straw. Maybe he’d seen himself clearly for the first time and wanted to change.

Maybe he’d finally decided to choose himself...

And maybe that’s why they killed him.

Not because he was weak. But because he finally chose not to be.

Or was it because he wasn't useful to them after we'd disabled him for life?

The thought gutted him.

“Still hanging on?” Mr. Choi’s voice cut through the haze.

Baku didn’t look up.

The man’s steps were slow this time. Patient. He crouched again in front of him and tilted his chin with one gloved finger, forcing eye contact.

“You really are a stubborn little thing, aren’t you?” Choi said softly. “It’s admirable. But useless.”

Baku coughed, spitting more blood at his feet. “Go to hell.”

Choi didn’t react. He didn’t even blink.

“You know what your problem is?” he asked conversationally. “You think the people outside care more than they do. You think love is a weapon. That someone’s going to charge in here with fists and fury and rip you out of my hands.”

He leaned closer, breath cold against Baku’s cheek.

“But no one’s coming, Humin. You were the one thing Baekjin loved. And I’ve taken it.”

Baku’s jaw tightened.

“Let go,” Choi whispered. “Let the hope go.”

His fingers clamped onto Baku’s jaw.

Baku didn’t move. He didn’t cry. He just stared.

And then, with all the venom in his voice, spat in Choi’s face.

“They’ll find me,” he rasped. “You asshole. And when they do… it’s over for you.”

Choi’s expression cracked. Barely. Just a twitch of his eye.

He struck, just like the last time their conversation had taken this turn.

The back of his hand slammed across Baku’s face with the force of someone who’d lost their patience. His head snapped to the side. Another blow followed, harder this time. A boot to his stomach.

Baku choked on his own breath.

Everything inside him screamed. He didn’t know how much more he could take.

“Now you’ve done it,” Choi hissed, and the cold mask was gone. Rage poured through him now. Ugly, personal rage. “You little piece of shit!”

More fists. More curses. The world spun.

I’m not going to make it, Baku thought faintly.

And still, somewhere deep inside him, a whisper.

Please… not yet. I still... haven't told him. He'll hate himself... forever.

Baku knew from own experience how that felt. Even through the fog inside his head he thought of Baekjin.

And then it exploded.

Gunfire.

A scream.

“GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM HIM, YOU DISGUSTING SON OF A BITCH!”

Baekjin’s voice, wild and wrathful, tore through the room like a knife.

Baku let himself fall.

Just for a moment.

Because the person he loved had come back for him.

Because hope hadn’t been a lie after all.

Notes:

so far the longest chapter i wrote for this fic...i didn't want to end it on a bad note so there is that. let's just say butterfly effect unfortunately got baku's ass but this time around they're getting rid of choi!! before that however, i'll be sharing 3 chapters from baekjin's perspective with you guys. they're roughly written already just need heavy editing so you can look forward to that over the next few days 🫠🫠

Chapter 12

Notes:

Baekjin's pov (1/3)

20 January 2025, 06:05am

 

It had been two day since his fight with Humin.

Baekjin had stopped keeping track of time through clocks. Now he measured it in silence. In how long it had been since Humin last called, last messaged, last showed up to tell him he still wouldn't give up. That stubbornness was something Baekjin missed now.

He hadn't heard from him at all. And that terrified him. Because ever since Humin had become determined to fix the broken thing between them, he'd not gone longer than two hours to reassure Baekjin. That they were still alright, that they'd go back to the way they were one way or another.

Baekjin sat slouched in the back room of Daesung Bikes where he knew were no working cameras. He had his elbows on his knees, as he stared blankly at the same cracked floor tile he’d been avoiding eye contact with for an hour. His knuckles were still scraped. A dull sting in the corner of his mouth where Humin had punched him back for the first time.

Baekjin had been punched before. Beaten, even. Before he was the leader of the Union, bullied by classmates. And afterwards by the man who took him in and his men.

But that hit had stayed with him. Not because of the pain. But because of what it meant. Because of the one who was behind it.

He hadn't fought back immediately. Just stood there, arms limp at his sides, watching Humin’s face twist in that rare, painful way. The kind where love and hatred battled behind his eyes and neither fully won. And then the words came, sharp and deliberate, like he'd been holding them in forever.

“From now on, let's go our separate ways. We’re clearly not meant to be anything more than strangers to each other.”

Baekjin felt that sentence more than the fist.

It echoed in his head now, looping again and again, gnawing at him. He’d never wanted that. Never.

He needed Humin to be safe, yes. Far away from him, yes. But not gone. Not gone like this.

The day after the fight, Baekjin had woken up early, earlier than he normally would after a sleepless night. He’d gone through the motions of his day. Checking on the bikes, dealing with Dongha, overseeing the accounting for the bowling alley from a safe distance. But it all felt mechanical. His mind kept drifting back to a different time.

Middle school.

The orphanage.

The nights he and Humin would sit on the roof, sneakers tapping the tiles, Humin grumbling about teachers and Baekjin pretending not to care. Back when they only had each other. Back when loyalty didn’t come with consequences. When fists were just fists, not threats.

Back when Humin's anger was only directed at people who hurt Baekjin, and never at Baekjin himself.

He missed that.

He missed him.

Which made all of this so much harder.

Mr. Choi had started noticing things.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Baekjin had been careful. Quiet. Every move calculated. Every order to his boys spoken with just enough conviction to seem loyal, but light enough to let some things slide.

He’d thought he could carve a path out from under the Union’s thumb. That if he just played along a little longer, earned enough trust, kept the violence contained, he could disappear before Choi even realised.

But of course, the bastard always did.

The first time had been after Seongje ended up at the police station. After fighting that new kid, the smartass. Choi had called him in. Alone.

“I didn’t take you in to watch you fuck up like this, Baekjin.”

His voice had been low, calm. That made it worse. The quiet before a storm.

“You’ve been too soft lately. I don’t know why… but I will find out.”

He hadn't even yelled.

He didn't have to.

Baekjin had felt it like a leash tightening around his neck.

That was when the doubt started creeping in. That was when he felt the need to talk to someone who really knew him. Someone who might still see the real Baekjin underneath all this.

People in the Union didn't. Not even the ones he usually trusted with business. Well except for Geum Seongje. If anyone came close it would be him.

But he couldn’t go to Seongje. They’d gone to the same middle school, sure. He knew who he was before. And Seongje had been nothing but loyal ever since he joined the Union. But Baekjin had kept that line clear for a reason.

Professional. Cold.

That’s what being a leader meant.

No friendships. No attachments. No softness. Because the second you showed even a crack, Choi would see it. And he wouldn’t hesitate to take a hammer to it.

So Baekjin kept his distance. Even from Seongje. Even when the boy looked at him after the fight with Yeon Sieun like he had wanted him to ask him if he was okay. Baekjin had just ignored it, changed the topic.

He hadn’t asked. Couldn’t.

That’s when he’d pushed Seongje over the edge too. The guy hadn't showed his face since. Baekjin didn't know where he was these days and he didn't try finding out either. Even if he felt slightly disappointed.

None of that compared to the disappointment that haunted him most.

Humin.

He’d tried so hard to keep him safe.

Even after their friendship fell apart in middle school. Even after Humin had told him to stop, to back off. Even when he'd walked away from him on New Year's Eve without looking back.

Baekjin still sent his boys to check in on him. Lowkey.

He never told them the truth. Just told them to keep an eye out. Said it was precautionary.

They didn’t know the past between them, not the real story. Just thought he hated Humin a lot. Only Seongje knew that wasn't the truth but even he didn’t understand it. No one did.

So when some of them showed up at Humin's dad’s fried chicken restaurant and caused trouble, Baekjin lost it.

They were supposed to be quiet. Blend in. Just observe and report back.

Instead, they’d made him a target.

He should’ve lashed out immediately. That’s what the old Baekjin would’ve done. But he'd hesitated. Waited. Because somewhere deep down, he’d thought maybe Humin would show up and deal with it himself. That maybe, just maybe, it would bring him back to Baekjin again, even if only to yell at him.

In the end he was right. Sort of. If you ignored the small steps in between.

Humin hadn’t come to fight. He’d come to heal.

He let himself get beaten up, just to scold Baekjin for being careless.

Why? Why do you care about people who hurt you?

Baekjin didn’t understand it. Couldn’t. It made him furious.

He wanted Humin to hit back. To scream. To stay angry, anything to keep the wall up between them.

Anything to make this easier.

But Humin didn’t work like that. He never had.

That was the problem.

He'd invited himself back into Baekjin's life and Baekjin... Baekjin had always been weak when it came to Humin. He'd been stuck in the endless dilemma that was keep him close or keep him away.

He allowed Humin to stay with him at Daesung Bikes thinking it wouldn't be so bad. The reason he was staying there in the first place was because there were less eyes on him there. So maybe this would've been the solution to his inner turmoil.

The night Choi called him again, Baekjin knew he’d screwed up. Hoped for too much, too soon.

Of course Daesung Bikes wasn't safe. Of course being away from the bowling alley wouldn't put distance between himself and Choi’s gaze. Of course he couldn't slip out quietly, one thread at a time, without drawing attention.

Nothing ever went unnoticed.

The phone call came just after midnight. Humin had been sleeping on the old, hard wood bench in Baekjin’s office, curled up with his arm over his face, too tired to even flinch from the sudden sound. Baekjin had stepped out quietly, shutting the door behind him. He should have known.

Choi’s voice was smug. Cold. Familiar.

“You’ve been avoiding your duties, Na Baekjin.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“With what, exactly? Babysitting that friend of yours?”

Baekjin didn’t respond. The silence was answer enough.

Choi didn’t like that.

He didn’t yell. He didn’t threaten.

He just made sure Baekjin showed up at the bowling alley quietly, like a dog summoned home.

No one else was around when Choi hit him. Knuckles sharp against Baekjin’s cheekbone, stomach, ribs. The same spots every time, as if rehearsed.

He never fought back.

He stood there and took it.

Because he'd learned long ago that this was the price.

This was the cost of trying to have something that was never meant for him. Of trying to protect someone while being watched like a puppet on a string.

The next morning, his body ached like hell, but his resolve was worse.

He sat in the office at Daesung for hours, barely moving. Humin had patched him up without asking questions.

He'd just told Baekjin, "Yaahh, Baekjin-ah. Even working at night now, do you ever sleep? Next time wake me up, yeah? We'll go on late night adventures together."

And Baekjin just sat there thinking:

I need to let him go.

I need to make him hate me. I need to say the things that’ll push him so far away, he’ll never want to come back. Not because I want that, but because it’s the only way he’ll be safe.

He thought of how Humin had said he’d still try to mend their relationship. That he wouldn’t give up, even if Baekjin wanted space.

“I will give you distance, if that’s what you want. But know that it doesn't mean I've given up.”

That had both broken Baekjin and made him furious.

Because Humin always seemed to do the exact thing Baekjin didn't want him to do. So persistent, so stiff necked. Not budging for the life of him.

Why couldn’t he understand?

Why couldn’t he see that this was for him?

Why did he always make it so hard?

Baekjin went back to the bowling alley after they fought. He had to after the things that had happened that night with Choi. And when Sieun showed up there later that day, alone, Baekjin saw it as a test.

Humin’s greatest weakness had always been the people he loved. That hadn’t changed. So Baekjin didn’t hold back. He would fight the guy. Scare him a bit. Prove that being around him was dangerous.

He threw the punch.

Of course, Humin stepped in.

He took the hit for Sieun, without hesitation.

Just like he always did, for his friends.

Baekjin had stared at him after that punch landed, chest heaving, heart screaming.

I’m trying so fucking hard to protect you… and you keep putting yourself in danger for people who aren't worth your whole damn life.

Jealousy burned in his throat. Not just for Sieun, but for anyone who got to stand beside Humin now. Anyone he trusted.

No matter how hard Baekjin tried… Humin never seemed to care for him that way anymore.

It made him furious.

So he’d stormed off, heart pounding, fists clenched at his sides.

He didn’t go far. Just back to his office.

Trying to cool down. Trying to breathe. Trying not to break something.

And then the notification came.

Go Hyeontak and Seo Juntae were at Daesung Bikes. Detected by the cameras.

Baekjin’s stomach dropped.

The only thought in his head was.

They’re too close. Get them out before Choi finds out.

Even if he didn't like Humin's friends, the ones he'd replaced Baekjin with, he didn't wish this level of danger on anyone. Didn't wish Choi's wrath on his worst enemy. He rushed out of the bowling alley, ignoring the pain in his ribs, and made it to the garage in record time. But when he walked in, the last thing he expected was Hyeontak grabbing him by the collar.

“What did you do to my friend, huh?! Where are you hiding him?!”

Baekjin was stunned. Caught off guard.

He tried to tell them Humin wasn’t here. That he’d left earlier. But the guy wouldn’t listen.

“You asshole! If your filthy hands touched a single hair on him, I’ll kill you. Disgusting people like you don’t deserve a place in his heart!”

Baekjin snapped. He didn’t mean to. But Hyeontak had always pushed his buttons in a way no one else could.

He was just like Humin. Selfless, loyal, brave. The kind of person Baekjin had always tried to be, and failed. The kind Humin could actually see.

Baekjin hated it.

He hated that Hyeontak got to stand beside Humin now, that he earned his loyalty so easily.

He didn’t know what he was doing wrong.

Why wasn’t he enough? Why was this guy always better than him?

Baekjin fought Hyeontak again then.

Not because he wanted to, not really. But because Hyeontak wouldn’t listen. Because the only language they both understood was fists. Because it was the only way Baekjin knew how to do anything anymore.

He hit him.

Hard.

Let himself get hit a few times too. Enough to satisfy some twisted sense of justice. But he didn’t touch Juntae. Didn’t lay a hand on him.

He couldn’t bring himself to.

Not after what he’d seen.

That kid… was like an older version of the Baekjin from middle school. Too small, too clever, too brave for his own good. Him and Sieun too. Always watching, always thinking. But unlike the newbie Juntae didn't have any physical skill.

So Baekjin let him be. He had done nothing to provoke him. He just got a few hits in trying to shield Hyeontak.

Then Humin showed up. At a wrong time. Like always.

The rest was history.

He hadn’t heard from him since.

Baekjin laid back now, staring up at the ceiling like it held answers. He didn’t know if Humin would ever come back again. Not this time.

When he’d finally broken down in his arms. Sobbing, clinging, letting everything fall apart. It had been a last attempt. A wordless cry.

Please see me. Please understand me.

Humin didn’t. He couldn’t. And Baekjin didn’t blame him.

Maybe he never would. But that was okay. Because Humin would be safe now. Baekjin just had to learn to live with being hated. He could do that.

For Humin, he’d do anything.

Even disappear.

Even die.

Notes:

writing, editing and constantly rereading this chapter gave me a headache. i hope i did baekjin's character justice with this. im so used to writing from baku's pov because i share his personality so it was kinda tiring to make this whole thing make sense. but in the end i decided it doesn't have to make sense, not to me or to anyone because that's just how baekjin is. he's in a constant dilemma, doesn't know what he wants himself and how he wants it/how he'll get it. it's only natural us outsiders might feel confused by the mood swings 😅

Chapter 13

Notes:

Baekjin's pov (2/3)

20 January 2025, 04:58pm

 

The afterschool light filtered through the cloudy sky in grey stripes, casting long shadows along the pavement outside. The winter air clung to Baekjin's skin like static, the inside of his uniform collar still damp with cold sweat. He hadn’t spoken a word to anyone today. Had just focused on school. When in reality every second of silence from Humin, had felt like a piece of his soul was being slowly, agonizingly torn away.

Now Baekjin walked forward with his eyes on the ground. On his way to the bowling alley where he could be watched from every angle, like Choi wanted it. Zoned out as he went down the white, stone steps until his foot hit the bottom stair with a quiet thud.

He was distracted by the ache behind his ribs and the static ringing in his ears that wouldn’t shut up. That’s probably why he didn’t notice it until it was too late.

Movement from the corners of his eyes. Fast. Both sides.

His instincts kicked in. Baekjin spun just in time to catch a flash of motion at the edge of his vision. A sharp glint of metal, fists raised... and then impact.

He grunted as someone slammed into him from behind. Another figure darted toward his right side. Without hesitation, Baekjin kicked backward, throwing his elbow into the attacker’s ribs. A strangled wheeze followed. He turned, ready to knock out whoever it was.

Only to freeze mid swing.

Yeon Sieun.

Baekjin’s fist dropped half an inch as the boy ducked beneath it and twisted around him.

Then another shout, “Sieun-ah!” and Baekjin’s eyes widened in disbelief.

Seo Juntae? No, wait... he wasn’t attacking. The smaller boy was crouched low to the ground, tying ropes. Tying people up?

Baekjin’s gaze darted toward the corner of the alley.

Three of his guys. Limp, unconscious, wrists bound tightly by duck tape and ropes. One of them groaned, dazed. The knots were brutal. Fast. Clean. Tactical.

Done by that small nerd?

“What the fuck,” Baekjin muttered, too stunned for a moment to move.

That hesitation was enough.

Sieun lunged forward again.

Baekjin caught him by the arm, twisted, and pivoted away from a second attacker. Go Hyeontak, who had been trying to catch him from the blind side. He ducked and his foot swept out, catching both their ankles in a practiced arc. They fell hard, the crack of bone hitting concrete echoing in the narrow space.

They both groaned, and Baekjin's fists tightened at his sides, heat still burning in his knuckles. He stared down at the two boys, eyes sharp. "What the fuck do you little shits want from me now?"

His voice was venom. All bark, but his heart was clawing at his chest with panic he refused to acknowledge. Not yet.

He hadn’t even processed why they were here. Why they came without Humin.

Then, a voice. High, thin, but unshaking.

It was Juntae.

“What did you do to Baku?”

The words cut through the air like a blade.

Baekjin’s breath caught. His eyes flicked to the boy. His face gave nothing away. But inside...

What?

“What did I do to Humin?” he asked slowly, incredulously. “The hell are you talking about?”

Hyeontak groaned, still on the ground but lifting his head with a deadly glare. “Yah, dickhead. Don’t act like you don’t know what we’re talking about here! Answer the question properly or I’ll kill you.”

Baekjin scoffed. He couldn’t help it. He was still too shocked to think right. Nothing made sense, so it was his real self that took over.

“Pretty big words you’re throwing while it didn’t even take me two seconds to put you on the ground.”

Hyeontak stumbled upright, blood at the edge of his lip. Rage boiling behind his eyes.

“Fucking asshole, I’m gonna...!”

“Stop it, Gotak-ah,” Sieun’s voice cut in, hand reaching out to hold him back by the sleeve. His tone was low. Cautious.

Juntae moved forward too, grabbing Gotak’s arm. “Wait, Tak-ah. Don’t.”

“What the hell is wrong with you two?!” Hyeontak snapped. “Why are you holding me back? Did you not hear what this bastard said to me?”

Then he jabbed a finger toward Baekjin. “When I get my hands on you... ”

“Does Humin know you act this way behind his back?” Baekjin snapped before he could stop himself. The words left his mouth without warning. Defensive. Bitter.

It hit Hyeontak like a slap.

“Take his name out of your filthy mouth!” His voice cracked. “He would know if you weren’t keeping him locked up!”

The words echoed.

Locked up?

Baekjin’s chest went still.

“…What are you talking about?” he asked carefully.

It was Juntae who answered this time. His voice trembled slightly, but not with fear. With something else. Sadness. Frustration.

“You seriously don’t know?”

Baekjin shook his head, slow. Measured. “No.”

“God, how much longer are you gonna keep up your fake innocence?!” Hyeontak snapped, he tried lunging forward again. “Haven’t you done enough to Baku, you son of a bitch?!”

“Tak-ah!” Juntae pushed him again, this time harder. Arms shooting out in front of him and landing on the guy's chest as he used all his body weight to stop him. “I don’t think he’s acting.”

Sieun rose to his feet, brushing dirt from his sleeve, eyes focused on Baekjin’s expression. Silently studying him before he found an answer to the question in his head. "...Juntae-yah is right. He doesn’t know what we’re talking about.”

And then he turned to the others. “Let’s leave.”

That seemed to convince Hyeontak at last. He looked at Baekjin with even more frustration than before. Like he had wished so hard that Baekjin would've been the reason for his best friend's disappearance. Because that would've justified the way he had just acted.

But it wasn't Baekjin. So now he had no one left to unleash his wrath on. And they would have to look further. 

Sieun gave Hyeontak one soft slap to the back "Come on, we have to keep looking."

He started heading for the stairs that would lead to the exit.

Juntae nodded his head for Hyeontak to see and rubbed his arm reassuringly. A silent understanding passed between them. He gently guided them both around to follow Sieun, who had slowed down his steps for them.

“Wait!”

It was Baekjin’s turn now. His arm reached out into the air in front of him, but it was his voice that stopped them in their tracks.

They turned around again, eyebrows raised.

Waiting.

“Where is Humin?”

He watched as their shoulders tensed all at once. Something passed between them, an entire conversation in silence. They looked conflicted. Not sure if they should answer Baekjin. Because he wasn't a friend of Humin... Because so far he'd only ever hurt their friend.

For the first time in a very, very long time, Baekjin felt fear take hold of him so deep it rooted to the center of his bones.

Where was Humin?

He hadn’t called. He hadn’t shown up. He hadn’t even been seen.

He was never silent for this long unless... unless something had happened.

The voice that answered Baekjin's question in the end surprised them all.

“…We don’t know.”

It was Hyeontak. His voice was tight, forced through gritted teeth.

Out of everyone present, he had the most history with Humin and Baekjin. Had been there just like Seongje, not quite close like Humin, to witness Baekjin's change in middle school. Which had always made his distaste for Baekjin the biggest. Being the one who caught Humin when he fell apart because of Baekjin's actions.  

“What?” Baekjin asked.

“I said we don’t fucking know, alright?!” Hyeontak yelled, stepping forward. “We haven’t heard from him in two days now. Thought he just needed time after your fight, but he wasn’t at home again! Wasn’t at school! Not at any of his usual places either!”

He paused, chest heaving.

“We thought for sure this had something to do with you. But now... ” his voice cracked, just a little, “Even you don’t know.”

Baekjin’s blood ran cold.

No.

No. No no no.

He knew this feeling. That crawling, skin tightening feeling of being watched. He felt it last night. And the night before.

It hadn't been paranoia.

His phone rang.

Everyone froze.

Baekjin’s hand went to his pocket, slow as a dying heartbeat. He already knew.

He already knew who it was before he saw the name.

Mr. Choi.

No, it hadn't been simple paranoia at all.

He brought the phone to his ear. Slowly. Pressed it to his temple like a bullet.

“Na Baekjinnn,” came the voice. Friendly. Cheerful. Mocking. “You picked up so fast today... I'm touched!”

His breath caught in his throat.

“What did you do?” he asked.

“Oh my,” the man tsked. “Is that any way to talk to your guardian, hmm? Try again. With respect.”

Baekjin's voice rose in pitch. "What the fuck did you do to Humin, you asshole?!"

At the mention of Humin's name the others stepped closer, crowding around him. Trying to listen to the muffled speaker voice.

But it was silence that crackled through the receiver. Then, Mr. Choi's voice turned cold.

“So stubborn. You still haven’t changed.” He clicked his tongue. “I’ll let it slide this time. But I have the one thing you care about most in this life.”

Baekjin felt his soul leave his body.

His hand trembled.

"If you so much as touch a single hair on his head, I swear I’ll kill you!"

“Tsk, tsk, tsk, Baekjinnie. Careful now.” There was a soft laugh. “We’ll talk more next time. You're starting to tire me. And I've already been more than generous enough. You don't want to piss me off now, do you?”

“DON’T YOU FUCKING... !”

The call ended.

Baekjin screamed. Pure defeat.

The sound was guttural. Raw. Like something tearing free from inside his chest.

He hurled his phone across the alley. It shattered against the far wall, sparks flying as the screen splintered.

The others flinched.

His body heaved with each breath, and when he lifted his gaze, he looked straight into the place he knew the camera was watching from. His glare spoke for him.

I’m coming for you. And when I find you, I’m going to kill you.

The dust hadn’t even settled from the phone’s shattered pieces when a soft, shaking voice broke the heavy silence.

“…What was that about, Baekjin..sir?”

It was Juntae.

Polite. A little scared, but trying so hard not to show it. His eyes darted from Baekjin to the broken phone and then to the concrete, as if the weight of this moment might crush him if he dared to meet it head on.

Sieun didn’t say anything yet. His arms were stiff, brows furrowed in a way that told Baekjin he was trying to put all the pieces together.

Baekjin's fists were clenched so tightly they ached. His body trembled. Not from fear, but fury. Guilt. A kind of helplessness he hadn’t felt since he was a child, standing in the back hallway of the orphanage, watching the last person who’d ever cared for him walk away.

He was stuck where he stood. The one thing he'd fought so hard to avoid, had happened.

He didn’t turn around when he was spoken to.

“Do you know where Baku is?”

Juntae had started sounding a bit hysterical now. Nervousness turned into anxiety. His words more urgent than Baekjin had ever gotten to hear.

He didn’t answer.

How could he?

This is all my fault. It's all my fault. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry.

Then, shuffling.

Footsteps approaching.

Fingers curled into the collar of his jacket and yanked him back. Baekjin didn’t fight it. Hyeontak’s face was inches from his. His eyes were bloodshot with rage. His voice cracked with desperation.

“Talk, Na Baekjin! Use your fucking voice! Where the hell is my friend?!”

Baekjin looked up at him, really looked at him, and he saw it.

The same grief. The same guilt.

But Baekjin’s had already hardened into something else.

His throat was raw when he finally spoke.

“It’s all my fault.”

Hyeontak shook him harder. “What is?! Be more clear, I’m losing it here!”

“They took him,” Baekjin choked. “Choi took him.”

A breath caught in his throat. The words tumbled out faster than he could filter them. “The gang leader above the Union. He has Humin. He’s using him to make me obey him.”

The alley fell deathly quiet.

Juntae’s hand went to his mouth. A pained gasp escaped before he could stop it.

Sieun sucked in a sharp breath, his entire body stiffening.

And Hyeontak...

He stumbled back like he’d been shot.

His hand reached for his hair, pulling at the strands in frustration before his knees buckled. He collapsed onto the concrete, eyes wide and unblinking.

“No…” he whispered, almost inaudibly. “No, no, no. Not Baku. Why Baku? Why?! What did he ever do to deserve this?!”

He looked up, not at Baekjin, but at the sky. Like it was the world itself he wanted answers from.

“What does everyone constantly want from him?! Why can’t the world just leave him alone?! Hasn’t he suffered enough?!”

Baekjin’s breath hitched.

He dropped to his knees.

I deserve to die.

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice cracking. “I’m so… so sorry. It’s all my fault. Everything... ”

A hand gripped his shoulder.

“Snap out of it, Na Baekjin.”

Sieun’s voice wasn’t loud. But it was solid. Sharp. Like ice cutting through fire.

Baekjin looked up, eyes red rimmed. His breathing hitched in uneven patterns.

“This isn’t the time for self hatred,” Sieun said firmly. “You have to help us find him.”

Juntae knelt beside Hyeontak, trying to lift him. His voice was shaky but clear.

“Please,” he said, turning to Baekjin. “You have to help us. I know you don’t like us. I know you don’t trust us. But we can’t do this alone. We wouldn't know where to start. If you still care for Baku even a little, help us bring him back to safety.”

Baekjin opened his mouth.

No sound came out.

He turned to Hyeontak, expecting resistance, expecting him to spit on the ground or shove him away. But instead…

He saw the same thing he’d seen in the mirror for the past two days.

Worry. Panic. A kind of pain that made your hands shake and your bones ache.

They locked eyes.

For a single second, all of the bullshit between them. All the insults, the fights, the resentment. It was stripped away. Laid bare. They were just two people who loved the same boy, even if in different ways.

Hyeontak nodded. The permission, the reassurance Baekjin had been looking for.

He found himself nodding back.

And just like that, the world shifted.

Baekjin’s voice was hoarse when he finally stood.

“Okay,” he said. “I’ll help you. I’ll make sure your friend gets the justice he deserves.”

No more running. No more hiding. No more pushing away the people who could’ve stood beside him sooner if he hadn’t been so damn afraid.

Baekjin was going to kill for Humin.

And no one, not Choi, not Union, not even the version of himself he’d spent years building, was going to stop him.

 

Chapter 14

Notes:

Baekjin's pov (3/3)

21 January 2025, 07:34am

 

Baekjin hadn’t slept. Hadn't closed his eyes. Not a second.

The hours blurred together, not with tiredness but with the kind of choking helplessness that came from knowing the one you care for most in your life was in danger, because of you.

His bones ached, not from bruises but from shame. His brain had turned itself into a broken film reel. Every flashback twisted with the question of what if. What if he hadn’t pushed Humin away? What if he’d never left the orphanage? What if he’d told the truth sooner, or fought harder to protect him before it was too late?

Now... he didn’t even know where Humin was.

That thought alone was enough to make him want to throw himself off a roof.

He sat curled in the same corner of Daesung’s backroom where he'd been the day before. A room he'd discovered when he was first taken in by Choi. The only place right in the middle of Choi's territory, that the man himself didn't know about.

Baekjin had found it when he'd been running away from a punishment as a kid. His small body had crawled around the back from outside and accidentally fell inside. At first panic had come over him, thinking for sure he'd walked into a dead corner. But Choi's men hadn't found him.

If Choi had been aware of this room's existence there would've been cameras in there. And if there'd been cameras Baekjin would've been beaten up that day.

And every other time he'd used the small space to survive.

Only whenever he felt truly desperate for escape.

Freedom.

Now Baekjin's phone was clutched in a white knuckled grip. It hadn’t rung since the last time Choi’s voice came through it.

He kept checking anyway.

Just in case.

He wanted to scream, break something, rip off his own skin just to stop feeling so fucking useless.

That was when it finally rang.

He didn’t check the caller ID.

Didn’t think twice.

His heart leapt into his throat. Maybe it was Choi again. Maybe he was finally going to tell him where...

“What do you want from me, you motherfucker!?”

The silence that followed wasn’t the one he expected.

Then came the voice, so familiar it almost sounded like a memory.

“Whoa... called at a wrong time, I see. Didn’t you miss me at all, Baekjin-ah?”

Baekjin blinked.

“…Seongje-yah?”

“The one and only.”

He sat up straighter, hand pressed to his forehead in disbelief. Seongje’s voice was still laced with that same careless tone, like nothing ever really touched him. But Baekjin knew better.

He hadn’t heard from him since the police station incident, after Baekjin had let him down in the way he did everyone else. He’d assumed Seongje was gone for good, licking his wounds in silence.

Yet here he was. Like nothing had changed. Like he'd never been away.

“I thought it was someone else,” Baekjin muttered. “Forgive me.”

“Good god, I think you did miss me. Since when does the great Na Baekjin apologize to anyone?”

There was a laugh in his voice, but Baekjin didn’t have the strength to return it.

“Seongje-yah…”

The sudden shift in his tone made the other line go quiet.

He didn’t want to ask. Didn’t want to beg. But he was breaking. Shattered beyond pride.

“You have to help me. I’ve truly hit a wall this time... I don’t see a way to turn around. I’m stuck. I don’t know what to do.”

Silence again.

Then something rustled. Seongje was getting up from where he'd been sitting or laying down. Maybe grabbing a coat, maybe pacing.

“Are you... crying?” he asked, much softer now. “What happened? Where are you?”

Baekjin shut his eyes. His throat tightened so much it hurt.

“I’m in hiding,” he admitted. “They’ve got Humin. I don’t know where he is. But they’re threatening me.”

“Baku? Who got him? Who’s threatening you?”

Baekjin let out a breath that sounded more like a sob.

“I’m not the real leader of the union,” he whispered. “There’s someone else. Choi. He took me in when I was just a kid at the orphanage. He taught me everything. Built me up just to make me into his weapon. And lately… I’ve been trying to get away. I thought I could escape without him noticing, but I was wrong. He found out I cared about Humin. And now... now he has him. And I promised his friends I’d help find him but I- I don’t know how. And if even I don't know then who’s going to help me?”

There was a long pause on the line.

Then.

“Shh. Calm down, Baekjin-ah.”

That voice, Seongje’s, had never sounded so kind. So grounded. So steady.

“I’m going to help you, alright? Just send me your location. We’ll talk when I get there. We’re going to figure something out, okay? Everything’s going to be alright. Trust me.”

Baekjin finally let himself cry. The kind of cry you only do when someone actually means it when they say they’ll stay.

“Thank you, Seongje-yah. Thank you so much…”

“There’s no need for thanks between friends. I’ll be there in a bit.”

"Wait... Before you come make sure you check every corner for people who might try to follow you. The place I'm staying at right now, there's only one way to access it if you don't want to be caught on Choi's cameras." Baekjin let everything out in one desperate breath.

"Okay, it's okay. I'll let you breathe. Send me how through text. I'll make sure to follow every step with precision."

And just like that, the call ended, and Baekjin’s heart felt a little less broken.

A few hours later, he contacted the only person he could still reach from middle school... Hyeontak.

His voice was sharp, cautious. Still full of resentment.

But when Baekjin told him. Truly told him, what was happening, completely laying himself bare, there was a moment of silence, and then a soft, “We’ll be there.”

And they came.

Yeon Sieun. Seo Juntae. Go Hyeontak.

None of them had to say it aloud, but something had shifted. The tension still hung thick in the air. It was awkward, and cold, and strained. But there was a shared understanding now.

They all loved Humin.

That was bigger than anything else.

 

27 January 2025, 09:26pm

 

In the coming week, the four of them huddled in that dim, cramped Daesung backroom. Pouring over maps, contacts, names. Baekjin told them everything. About Choi. About how long he’d been under his thumb. About the orphanage, the training, the threats, the fear.

He told them about how Seongje had joined the union and how he’d tried to keep everyone at arm’s length. About how he hadn’t meant to hurt anyone, but still did.

Then Baekjin taught them all the ways he'd survived so far, so they could use it to protect themselves. He didn't want any more innocent lives on his hands, especially not of people who were willing to fight beside him. Help him fix his own mistakes.

They listened. Asked questions. Offered suggestions.

They also made rules. No one goes anywhere alone. No reckless plans. No confronting Choi directly without backup.

Hyeontak was the one who enforced that the most.

It was after one of those late night meetings that Hyeontak pulled Baekjin aside. Everyone else was getting ready to crash on the couch and floor mats Seongje had dragged in from God knows where.

Baekjin had thought, leave it to the lunatic to find a way to cozy up this place without being discovered, but he hadn't said it out loud.

“Hey, Na Baekjin,” Hyeontak said now, voice low, pulling him out of his thoughts. “I know you’re set on killing that fucker Choi. Especially now. But I’m gonna have to ask you not to.”

Baekjin frowned, he hadn't expected to hear those words from the guy at all. “What are you saying, Hyeontak? What else should I do? That asshole deserves to rot in hell.”

“Please hear me out.” Hyeontak took a breath. “No one agrees with you more than I do. If I could kill him with my own hands, I would. You know I would. But I’ve been thinking a lot about Baku lately…”

He looked at Baekjin, something deep and old behind his eyes.

“Baku, he cares too much about us. If something happened to any one of us, he’d never forgive himself.”

Baekjin felt his throat tighten. He was starting to understand where this conversation was going.

“So what then? I let Choi keep walking free?”

“You don’t,” Hyeontak said firmly. “But you also don’t kill him. Not like this. We’re too young, Baekjin. We can’t take this on by ourselves. I know we’ve never seen eye to eye but… I’ve always known you’re not as cold as you pretend to be. Of course I knew. Baku doesn’t care that deeply about people who don’t deserve it.”

His words hit harder than any punch.

Baekjin didn’t know what to say.

So Hyeontak kept going.

“And I don’t hate you. I don’t even know if I ever did. We have to let the adults take care of this. Because if something happens to one of us, I wouldn’t be able to live with it either.”

Baekjin stared at him for a long moment.

He always knew Hyeontak and Humin were similar, but now it was clear just how deeply that similarity ran. It was strange being on the receiving end of Hyeontak’s concern, but not bad. Almost… comforting.

Healing, even.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Baekjin said finally.

Hyeontak didn’t push further, even though it was clear he didn't buy it. He just clapped a firm hand on Baekjin’s shoulder.

“You two… god, you’re so alike. Stubborn to a fault. Just don’t do anything reckless, alright? Make sure my friend gets the peace he’s been looking for. I’m trusting you with him.”

Baekjin nodded slowly, cheeks warm.

It almost felt like Hyeontak was giving his blessing for...

That realisation caught Baekjin so off guard, it made him laugh. He allowed himself this short humorous moment, knowing it would die down quickly.

“Thank you,” he said, voice quieter. “I promise. He’ll get his long overdue, well deserved good life.”

It was a vow.

One that Baekjin would keep with his life.

Hyeontak’s hand lingered on his shoulder for just a second longer than expected.

And then he walked off, like it had just been a simple conversation.

But it hadn’t been.

Not to Baekjin.

He stood there frozen, eyes unfocused, his thoughts spiraling deeper and deeper into places he usually never let himself go.

Did Hyeontak know?

Did he know what Baekjin felt? What he’d buried for years under anger and self loathing and the cruel mask of a leader too heartless to love anyone?

The way he’d said it, "Just don’t do anything reckless. Make sure my friend finally gets some happiness back in his life. I put my trust in you."

It had sounded like a father accepting his child's chosen partner. Giving his blessings, allowing marriage.

But Hyeontak wasn’t Humin’s dad. He was his best friend.

A best friend who knew him.

A best friend who saw through people.

Had he seen through Baekjin?

...Was that his way of giving him permission?

No. That was insane.

There was no way Humin felt the same.

How could he? After everything Baekjin had done. After every fight, every silence, every bruise, and every push away. After leaving him alone all those years ago. After turning him into a stranger. After watching him bleed and still pretending not to care.

There’s no way he still loved me. Not like that.

Right?

But then again, Humin had come back.

Again and again, like he couldn’t help himself. Like the part of him that missed their childhood was still alive, still holding out hope that the boy he used to love would return in some better form.

No other person should be able to recognise it better than Baekjin, because he felt that exact way about Humin all the time.

He had seen it in Humin's eyes, just before their last fight. The way he'd looked at him when he'd asked “Why don’t you understand me?” Like Humin wanted to understand. Like he wanted to stay.

Did he... feel something too?

Baekjin swallowed the thought like glass.

It hurt to hope.

But it hurt more not to.

 

28 January 2025, 11:49pm

 

The next day, they all met again in the quiet hiding place. Their notebooks were filled with crossed out locations, barely legible maps, and lists of possible contacts that hadn’t led to anything.

The exhaustion was visible on all their faces. Dark circles, slouched shoulders, tense jaws. The weight of waiting, of not knowing where Humin was, had begun to wear them all down.

Then Seongje leaned forward and circled one of the very last unchecked places on the map.

It was an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of the city. One that used to be under the Choi's name but hadn’t been touched in two and a half decades. Way longer than any of them had been alive.

“Didn’t we rule this one out already?” Juntae asked, frowning.

Baekjin barely looked up from the table. Sleepless eyes staring in front of him, “That place hasn’t been used in over 25 years. Choi wouldn’t... ”

He stopped.

Suddenly the words caught in his throat. Adrenaline sent a shock through his body, waking him up. He looked down at the paper again. Really looked.

Then his eyes widened.

That’s why it’s perfect.

He stood up so fast his chair screeched backwards. All the others who had been equally tired from not getting enough sleep, were startled by the sound.

“Wait. That’s it. That’s the place.”

Everyone looked at him like he’d gone insane.

“What?” Seongje asked.

Baekjin’s hands went through his hair, breath shaking with a mix of disbelief and realization. “That’s it! Seongje-yah, that’s it! That’s the place they’re keeping him.”

Juntae's jaw dropped. “That abandoned one?”

“Yes!” Baekjin was pacing now. “It’s been unused for years. Choi would think no one remembers it. That’s why he would use it, because no one would think to look there.”

He exhaled hard, as if finally breathing after days of suffocation.

“How could I have been so stupid... Of course it was that one.”

Sieun stood up slowly. He'd been very quiet, but now that they finally had a lead he couldn't stay still, “Are you sure?”

Baekjin turned to him, eyes more certain than they’d ever been. “I’m sure.”

Juntae let out a laugh that cracked with relief and immediately threw an arm around Sieun and Hyeontak both, dragging them in.

Sieun stiffened slightly, but he didn’t pull away.

Baekjin stood a little outside their moment, watching it unfold. That closeness Humin always had around him. The thing Baekjin had pushed away so long ago because he didn’t think he deserved it.

But maybe... he didn’t have to keep pushing anymore.

Sieun looked over at him, still cautious. “So what do we do?”

Baekjin looked at all of them. Hyeontak with his ever worried frown, Juntae with his unshakable belief, Seongje who’d never really left him, and Sieun who was giving him a chance despite everything.

He smiled, finally, for real this time.

“We get ready.”

They spent that night finalizing their plan. Everyone had a role. Everyone had an exit. Everyone swore to not act impulsively, even if emotions ran high.

They were just kids. But kids who refused to let their friend suffer alone.

And Baekjin... Baekjin was going to make it right.

Even if he had to burn the whole city down to do it.

Tomorrow, they’d bring Humin home.

And this time...

Baekjin wouldn’t let him go.

Chapter 15

Notes:

uhm this chapter is a hazy bc we're back to Baku's perspective...

... January 2025, ...

 

The pain had long stopped being sharp. It was dull now. Faded into something hollow, like a wound left open too long.

There was a crack somewhere above him. A broken lightbulb swinging gently from the ceiling, casting his world in slow, erratic flashes. Between each sway of yellow, the shadows shifted around the room like ghosts. He couldn’t tell how many minutes had passed. How many hours. Just that he had stopped counting somewhere between the second beating and the moment they started laughing while they hurt him.

Sometimes he heard voices that weren’t there. Familiar ones. Sieun’s steady cadence. Gotak’s drawl. Even Juntae’s sarcasm. And sometimes, when the silence got too deep, he heard Baekjin’s voice.

Not the real Baekjin. The old one. From when they were just kids, before life swallowed them whole.

"Don’t cry, Min-ah. I’m right here. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t..."

“Don’t fucking touch him, you son of a bitch!”

The voice exploded like a bomb across the hallway. It wasn’t in his head. It wasn’t a dream.

Baekjin.

Baku’s eyes opened, too fast, too wide. His breath caught, chest tightening. The light above him flickered again, and this time the shadows didn’t dance. They scattered.

He heard movement. Heavy boots thudding against concrete. Then a panicked breath, low and tight.

"Search all the rooms, we have to find him!"

That voice...

Gotak?

Baku’s body tried to move. His wrists screamed, rubbed raw by zip ties. His knees buckled as he tried to push himself upright. He couldn’t.

The heavy scrape of something metallic echoed near the door. Choi.

Baku barely registered the man’s shape shifting in the light, just that he cursed under his breath and exited fast, like a rat caught too close to the fire.

The door slammed shut.

He didn’t know what came next. Didn’t care.

Because within moments, another noise burst open across the room. The lock turned.

There, in the doorway, stood Na Baekjin.

Baku’s breath stopped.

For one long second, they just stared at each other. Baku, collapsed in the corner like discarded trash. Baekjin, silhouetted by the hallway’s dim orange lights, face pulled tight with something too fierce to name. His chest was heaving. His hair was soaked. Blood smeared his temple and knuckles and collar.

“Humin-ah,” Baekjin breathed like he’d just found the world.

He dropped to his knees before Baku could flinch.

Hands touched his face, too gentle for this place, too trembling to be calm. “Hey... hey, it’s me. Fuck, Humin-ah, look at you... what did they do to you... ” His voice cracked.

Baku’s throat burned when he tried to speak. Nothing came out. Just the sound of air and agony.

Baekjin reached behind him. A small switchblade. Quick fingers sliced the zip ties binding Baku’s wrists. Then his ankles.

Baku slumped forward without the binds holding him. Baekjin caught him fast, arms looping under his shoulders, easing him down against the wall with impossible care.

“We’re here,” he whispered. “Your friends and I. We’re here to save you.”

Baku blinked.

That didn’t make sense.

Before he could process it, however, shouting erupted down the hall again. Louder now. Footsteps. Fists. Bodies crashing.

Baekjin’s jaw clenched. He gripped Baku’s shoulders once, firm and grounding. “Stay here. You’re safe now, I swear. I’ll be back. I just...”

“G-go,” Baku rasped. His voice was a ghost.

Baekjin paused.

Go help them. Please Baekjin-ah.

He looked at him, really looked, and something in his eyes softened. A flicker of that boy from so long ago. The one who never let go. Baekjin didn't misunderstand.

“I’ll be right back, Humin-ah. I swear.”

Then he was gone.

Baku’s head lolled to the side, and through the cracked door, just barely ajar, he saw the chaos.

Gotak charged through first, throwing himself at one of Choi’s men with a fury Baku had only ever seen when he was defending people important to him. “Where the fuck is Baku?!” he roared, tackling the guy into the wall with a sickening crunch.

Juntae wasn’t far behind. He was breathing heavily, holding a rusted metal rod in both hands like he had no clue what to do with it, but still swung it when one of the men came at him. It barely connected, but the sheer nerve made Baku's heart squeeze painfully. He shouldn't have had to be here.

Then Geum Seongje appeared, of all people, flying in like a damn storm. Wide grin plastered on his face and eyes glittering, even in this dark place. He leapt onto someone’s back, throwing elbows and knees like a wild animal.

“Yah! Eunjang!" he called out to the others. "I knew you romantic fuckers could be fun. Why didn't we do this sooner?” he landed a kick that sent a guy sprawling.

Sieun brought up the rear. Calm, sharp, and calculated. His movements were precise, just like Baku remembered. He took out two men before they even realized he’d moved, his eyes flicking around constantly, searching for Baku in every shadow.

Baku watched all of it like a dream. He didn’t know whether he was awake anymore.

Then from the sliver between the doorframe and the wall, Baku saw him again.

Na Baekjin.

He stood in the middle of the hallway like a ghost dragged up from the earth. Bloodied, breathing like a rabid animal, eyes blazing with something unrecognizable. Rage. No, more than that. It was fury, grief, love, betrayal, all wound so tightly together it looked ready to explode.

"CHOI!" Baekjin bellowed. His voice ricocheted down the corridor like thunder cracking against stone. “You FUCKER! Where are you hiding?!”

Silence.

“You think you can do this and live?!” Baekjin’s voice trembled, but not with fear. “Come out and face me, you son of a whore!”

It was like Baku was back on that hill. Back to the rainy day. Facing the union with his school.

Mr. Choi stepped into the hallway like the villain in a story that had gone on too long. Calm, smug, his suit soaked in someone else’s blood, like he was the devil himself. The same cold grin stretched across his lips, twisted with superiority.

Baekjin didn’t wait.

He lunged.

Their bodies collided mid air, crashing into the concrete wall like the strike of two stormfronts. Choi absorbed the impact with a grunt, but his reaction was quick, faster than Baku expected. He ducked under Baekjin’s next swing and landed a harsh jab to his ribs.

Baekjin staggered back.

Baku flinched instinctively, breath catching. His hands curled around the torn fabric of his own sleeves, too weak to stand, too alive to look away.

Choi advanced with the grace of someone who had taught this exact violence.

“I trained you better than this,” Choi sneered, landing a kick to Baekjin’s side. “What was it you used to say? Hit until they stop moving?”

Baekjin coughed, blood painting the ground.

“You raised me to be a monster,” he rasped. “I just stopped listening.”

He sprang again. This time, his punches were wild. Messy, full of heat, unrestrained. They drove Choi back a few steps, enough to land a heavy blow across his jaw. The sound cracked through the hallway. Choi’s head snapped to the side.

Baku’s heart stuttered.

Please, he thought. Please.

But Choi straightened almost instantly, wiped the blood from his lip, and smiled.

He struck.

Baekjin didn’t see the punch coming. It landed square in his stomach, folding him in half, before a knee drove into his chest, knocking him backward. He hit the ground hard. Dust and blood kicked up under his palms as he tried to push himself up.

Baku could see it. How badly he was shaking. How much pain he was in.

But he got back on his feet.

Because of course he did.

Because that’s what Baekjin had always done, even when no one else could see it. Even when it hurt more than it helped. He stood up.

For me.

Baku’s breath was shallow, almost uneven now. He couldn’t move. Could barely breathe. But his heart was slamming against his chest, screaming without sound.

You shouldn't have to do this alone, Jin-ah.

Baekjin didn’t hear him.

“You’ve already lost!” Baekjin spat, charging Choi again. “You just don’t know it yet!”

Choi blocked the blow, grabbed his arm, and flipped him onto the ground. His back hit the concrete with a thud that echoed through Baku’s bones. Choi stood over him, panting, the smirk still twisted into his face like it was carved there.

“I built you,” he snarled. “Every instinct in you. It’s mine! You think you can outfight me? You’re still the boy begging to stay alive.”

Baekjin moved before the words even landed.

He swung upward with a grunt, knocking Choi’s legs out from under him. They hit the floor together, rolling across broken glass and blood. Right into the room Baku was in.

Baekjin landed on top, knees on either side of Choi’s chest, and rained fists down like fury incarnate.

Each hit was louder than the last.

Smack. Crack. Thud.

And still, somehow, Choi laughed.

“Is that it?” he coughed, face slick with blood. “That’s all you’ve got?”

Baekjin’s knuckles were split open now. His breath came in sharp, uneven pulls.

“What are you still laughing at?!” he screamed.

Choi grinned through broken teeth. “Why? I haven't lost yet now, have I?”

Tricky, manipulative bastard. Rot in hell.

Baekjin’s face twisted. For a second, Baku thought the man’s words had gotten to him, like he might hesitate, like he might still doubt himself.

But then Baekjin stood.

Slowly.

With purpose.

He hovered over Choi, fists trembling. Blood running down his temple, mixing with sweat and dirt.

“Yes,” he said. “You have.”

Choi coughed again, wet, gurgling, and tried to sit up, but Baekjin stepped on his chest, keeping him pinned.

“The cops are already on their way,” he said, voice low, firm. “You’re going to jail, old man.”

For a beat, nothing moved.

Then Mr. Choi laughed again.

Not the kind of laugh that fills a room, not joy or mockery. No, this one was sharp and cracked and spiraled out of him like it had nowhere else to go. Like something inside him had finally snapped and taken his sanity with it. His whole blood slicked body shook with it, a wet rasp of breath turning into a manic cackle.

“Perfect!” he gasped between laughter, grinning up at Baekjin with wild, glinting eyes. “I’ll just drag you down with me!”

Baekjin didn’t flinch.

He tilted his head slightly, jaw tight, eyes unreadable. His voice, when it came, was low. Controlled. Almost… tired.

“There’s no need.”

And then he said it.

“How do you think I gave them the evidence?”

Choi stilled.

The grin slipped just slightly.

Baku’s heart kicked up again. He didn’t understand. What was he talking about? Why had Choi suddenly turned serious?

He watched the twitch in Choi’s brow, the way his chest stopped rising for a second.

“You wouldn’t…” Choi said.

There was hesitation in his voice now. The first crack. The first real sign that this monster, this man who had built a life out of control, was finally unsure of his own power.

Baekjin exhaled, slow, calm. “But I already did.”

Silence.

Baku felt it like a sudden gust of wind to the gut. The shift in the air, in the tone of everything.

Already did?

Already did what?

His chest tightened. His fingers, trembling from exhaustion, twitched slightly where they lay curled near his sides. A part of him still couldn’t make sense of it.

Then Baekjin said it. Soft, like confession. Like penance.

“It’s time we both paid for our crimes.”

Baku's breath hitched.

He froze.

It almost sounded like Baekjin had given himself up.

No, not just given himself up, but...

Used himself as evidence.

Baku’s head snapped toward him, eyes suddenly clear despite the haze in his skull. For the first time in days, or weeks, his body woke up just enough to feel the weight of those words. And he knew it then.

Baekjin really had used himself as evidence.

Not in a detached, strategic way. He had tied himself to Choi’s downfall knowing he wouldn’t be spared. Knowing what it would cost him. Baku could see it now. Could trace the logic backwards like the red string of a crime scene unraveling.

The desperate precision of Baekjin's actions. The rage. The quiet. The resolve.

It all made sense now.

He hadn’t been trying to escape punishment. He had been preparing to pay it.

Baku’s throat went dry. The warmth that bloomed in his chest arrived like betrayal. Because he shouldn’t feel this way. Not now, not like this. Not with Baekjin bleeding and cornered and likely on his way to prison. But he did. God help him, he did. That feeling curled up in his chest like a secret he hadn’t earned the right to carry. A warmth that defied logic.

He should have felt only horror. Grief. Confusion.

But part of him, some aching, wounded, quiet part of him, felt honored.

He did this for me.

Again.

Just like back then.

Since the moment after their falling out, Baekjin had seemed alone. Angry. Falling. But Baku saw it now. He hadn’t fallen. He had been standing. For him.  

A shield, disguised as silence.  

A boy bloodied by the world, who still kept his arms open.

All this time… he had been sacrificing himself.

Again and again. And now, even at the end.

The thought hit so hard Baku nearly choked on it.

God, Jin-ah. How do you expect me to not fall in love with you further.

He didn’t say it aloud.

Of course not.

He wasn’t even sure if it was the right word... love. Maybe it wasn’t the kind of love that bloomed in daylight. Maybe it was something messier. Something darker and more patient, forged in survival and guilt and everything they had already lost.

But it was there.

And it pulsed in his chest like a wound still bleeding.

Baku had always been a selfless person. One who threw himself into the fire for everyone, who never asked anything back. That’s what people expected from him. What he expected from himself.

Baekjin however…

Baekjin had been like that for him alone.

His own personal protector.

His own secret shield.

There was something unbearably beautiful about it. And heartbreaking at the same time.

To finally know what it felt like to be someone’s person. To be worth protecting. To be loved, even if neither of them had said it yet.

Baku let out a shaky breath.

His eyes were still fixed on Baekjin, on the slow rise and fall of his back, on the red smears across his arms and neck. He looked like a boy caught in the middle of a war he’d stopped believing he could win. Still he fought.

Still he stood.

Baku didn't know what would happen next.

What he did know was that he had already fallen.

His mind was reeling, still trying to make sense of it all when Mr. Choi moved.

It was subtle at first. A shift in posture. A twitch of the mouth.

Then sharp.

“You ungrateful brat.”

The words came low, quiet, seething.

Choi’s hand twitched toward his coat, and something in Baku’s chest screamed.

He knew that tone.

That voice.

He’d heard it before from men who thought they owned the world. From fathers. From teachers. From men who lost control the moment they realized they no longer had any.

“Then you won’t mind,” Choi snarled, eyes burning with something that didn’t look human anymore, “if I take one last thing from you.”

It happened fast.

Too fast.

The gleam of metal.

The way Choi’s hand moved like a reflex. No hesitation, no warning. As if the thought had always been there, waiting to be unleashed the moment he lost. A last act of vengeance. An eye for an eye.

The gun cleared his jacket in a single, practiced motion.

Baku’s heart stopped.

He didn’t hear the world anymore. Didn’t feel the cold floor beneath him. Didn’t taste the blood in his mouth. Time had split open like a wound.

The barrel pointed straight at him.

Everything inside him went still.

Oh god.

Oh god...

He didn’t even close his eyes. There wasn’t time. Only that suspended moment. That breath before the fall. That agonizing eternity where he knew, he knew, this was it.

That he had come all this way, lived all over again, clawed his way through two lifetimes just to...

End here.

No more chances.

No one left to save him.

His body refused to move. He was too slow. Too broken. Everything he’d endured had left him too late, too powerless. The only thing he could do was look.

Baekjin was already moving.

Like gravity had turned sideways, like instinct had overruled pain, like something deeper than logic had taken over.

Baku barely registered his shout.

“NO!”

BANG!

The shot.

The world split open.

There was a sound like thunder, louder than anything he’d heard, louder than fists or broken ribs or screams in the dark. The recoil of violence born from desperation.

The bullet didn’t hit Baku.

Not in the chest.

Not in the face.

Because Baekjin was there.

Baekjin, who had already given everything. Baekjin, who had just sentenced himself to prison. Baekjin, who should have been out of strength by now...

He had stepped in front of the bullet.

It hit him like it had always been meant for him.

Baku didn’t process the moment the body jerked. Didn’t process the sound Baekjin made when it hit.

His body crumpled with a sickening finality. Not slow, not graceful. Like a puppet with its strings cut. The weight of it thudded against the cold floor, and for a second, Baku just sat there, stunned.

Everything stopped. Sound. Breath. Thought.

And then adrenaline shot through his broken body.  

He moved before his mind caught up. He didn’t care how bad it hurt. The splintering pain in his ribs, the screaming joints, the bruises that painted every inch of him. He crawled. He dragged himself across the floor with nothing but his elbows and his desperation, nails scraping along concrete.

Too slow.

Never fast enough.

He reached Baekjin’s body and pulled it into his arms like it was something sacred, something precious and slipping through his fingers.

“Jin-ah,” he whispered, voice raw. “B- Baekjin-ah...n- no. No…”

His hands were frantic, trying to find where the blood was coming from, trying to stop it, trying to do something, anything. But it was everywhere.

It soaked into Baekjin’s shirt. Bled into the fabric like ink in water.

Still, Baku held him. Pressed him close. Curled around his body like he could shield him with his own.

A crack tore through the room... a gunshot. Then another.

Baku flinched violently.

He hadn’t seen the cops arrive. Hadn’t noticed the boots pounding in. But now they were here, storming through like a tidal wave, shouts echoing against the walls.

Someone returned fire.

More shouting. More chaos.

Baku held Baekjin tighter, chest to chest. He looked up through tear blurred eyes. The boys. Gotak, Juntae, Sieun, Seongje... they were all there again, somewhere in the blur. Bloody. Bruised. But standing. Helped by the cops. Hands on shoulders, voices shouting for stretchers. No one had seen them.

Baku's eyes dropped.

“Please, Jin-ah, don’t leave me! Don’t leave me, not again!”

That last part slipped out before he could stop it.

Not again.

Not like in the first timeline. Not like that night when he’d come too late. Not like the empty news of Baekjin’s death that had arrived after the fact, after the world had already decided he was gone and nothing could be done about it.

He hadn’t even gotten to say goodbye then.

Now he was here.

This time, he was here.

He sobbed into Baekjin’s neck, his tears soaking the collar of his bloodied shirt. “Please... I can't. Jin-ah, I can't do this without you.”

A soft hand. Light as a ghost. Fingers on his cheek.

Baku gasped.

His head snapped up, wide eyes locking onto the flutter of lashes, the barely there movement of breath.

Baekjin’s eyes cracked open. Barely. But they did.

His fingers were cold. Shaky. But they brushed across Baku’s cheek like a memory.

“Shh…” he whispered, breath rattling. “I’m okay… love…”

A broken breath escaped Baku’s lungs.

Relief crashed over him like a wave that nearly took him under.

“I’m okay, Min-ah.”

The way he said his old nickname. Soft. Gentle. The exact same way he’d used to when they were kids. When Baku would cry after his father’s wrath or his mother’s absence, curled in the corner of Baekjin's room, convinced he was unwanted and unworthy of being loved.

Back then, Baekjin had held him the same way Baku held him now.

Like something precious.

And now here they were. The roles reversed. But the love. The quiet, steady, unspoken kind, it was the same.

Baku didn’t even try to stop the tears that fell.

He placed his hand over Baekjin’s, the one still trembling weakly against his face.

“Please, Jin-ah…” he whispered. “Hold on. Stay awake. Just a little longer. I can’t lose you. Not like this. Not after everything.”

Baekjin’s lips curved slightly, the barest ghost of a smile.

“You won’t lose me,” he murmured, as if it were the simplest truth in the world. “I’m right here.”

His voice was steady, even through the pain, the blood, the slow flicker of his eyelids. He meant it.

He meant every word.

Baku, helpless, broken, alive, believed him.

He believed him.

Knowing that Baekjin was still warm. Still breathing. Still talking.

That alone made the world feel possible again.

But it wasn’t enough.

Not when blood still soaked through Baekjin’s shirt in deep, spreading warmth. Not when his lips had started to lose their color. Not when his eyes, half lidded, flickered like a candle fighting the wind.

“Help!” Baku’s voice cracked. “Someone, please! He’s been shot! He needs help!”

His shout sliced through the noise like a blade. Urgent. Hoarse. Ripped from the very core of him.

Footsteps pounded in response.

A flash of movement. Uniforms. Voices.

“We’ve got him!”

“Gunshot wound. Left side, just under the ribs. Get the stretcher!”

Hands. gloved, efficient, fast, closed around Baekjin.

Baku panicked, holding on tighter. “Wait, Please, just be careful!”

One of the officers gently reached for him. “It’s alright. He’s alive. We’ve got him now.”

It took everything in Baku to let go.

To release him. To surrender Baekjin to strangers and trust they’d be enough.

The moment Baekjin was lifted from his arms, Baku reached after him instinctively, but the same officer caught him, steadying his trembling shoulders. “He’s going to be alright.”

He watched them work. Swift. Controlled. A pressure pad against the wound. An oxygen mask placed. The stretcher wheeled through the mess of the hallway, a paramedic barking vitals.

Baku couldn’t hear most of it. But he saw it.

He saw Baekjin breathing.

Saw him being helped.

Something inside him, something wound so tightly for so long, finally loosened. The adrenaline, which had carried him this far, drained out of him like water from a broken dam. His knees buckled.

The world tipped.

“Oh,” he murmured, not quite to anyone.

His body crumpled sideways, catching the cold floor. He didn’t even try to fight it. The panic had ebbed. The fear still clung, but it was distant now, like a dream dissolving with daylight.

Baekjin was safe.

His friends were safe.

It was over.

So, Baku let himself collapse.

The dark rose up to meet him. Soft, slow, inevitable.

Like sleep after a tiring week.

Like mercy after a lifetime of war.

 

Notes:

these chapters are getting harder to write by the day. i have no idea when i'll have the next chapter out. im so sorry i truly did not mean to end on a cliffhanger so i'll do my best to write the next part as fast as possible but work life is also coming for my ass. vacation is over 😵‍💫
on the bright side we're getting closer to the finish line!! and the boys will get their happily ever after

Chapter 16

Notes:

hehe guess who's back with another chapter :D
im very sorry it took so long work got in the way and then i kinda forgot where i left off and had no idea how to write this chapter so i read all previous chapters every time i had the chance and now we're here!!
i hope this isn't too confusing, it was such a fun chapter to write :)

... June 2018, ...

 

The dark around him was heavy, but not empty. It pulsed, faintly, like it had a heartbeat of its own.

Baku floated somewhere between here and nowhere, weightless and unwilling to move. He couldn’t tell if he was breathing. Couldn’t tell if time had passed at all. Only that the ache in his body was gone… replaced by something quieter.

Then, without warning, the quiet cracked.

A burst of color poured in. Too bright, too warm, too wrong. His eyes flinched open, and for a moment, he forgot how to breathe.

The world around him was bathed in sunlight, the kind that glints sharp off metal and bounces off every surface until it feels like it’s pressing against your skin. The sky above was a deep, endless blue, bleeding into the faint gold of afternoon. The air tasted different. Fresh, almost sweet.

The grass was green, not the dull winter-worn brown and white he remembered. The buildings around him were painted in brighter strokes, the reds and whites not yet dulled by years of weather. Everything was too alive.

It hurt to look at.

He blinked hard, but nothing changed. The warmth was still there. The scent of chalk dust and asphalt still lingered faintly on the breeze.

A strange chill crept down his spine. The last thing he remembered was: Winter. Cold. Blood. Baekjin...

His breath hitched. No… this wasn’t right.

Baku turned slowly, taking it all in. And then he realized where he was.

The courtyard of his old middle school. Empty.

No noise. No chatter. Not even the sound of sneakers on tile or chairs scraping in classrooms. Every window was shut. Every hallway dark. It was as if all the students had vanished inside, leaving the world outside deserted.

And somehow, he was standing here alone.

His legs moved before his mind caught up. No, not moved. Ran.

His feet hit the pavement in a steady rhythm, carrying him past the row of tall windows, toward the back of the gymnasium. His chest rose and fell fast, his arms pumping. His body was moving like it had somewhere urgent to be, but Baku had no control over it. His thoughts weren’t steering this moment, something deeper was.

Then he heard it.

A sound so small it almost blended into the wind.

Crying.

Not just any crying. The kind that curled up in the chest, quiet but raw. The kind you hid from the world because you didn’t want anyone to know you could still break.

He knew that sound all too well.

“Baekjin-ah?” The name left his mouth before he could stop it. And with it, the shock of hearing his own voice.

High. Unsteady. Not like anything he remembered.

Did I always sound so girly? The thought flickered past, absurd and fleeting. But his body didn’t give him time to linger on it. He moved toward the small, curled figure tucked against the wall behind the gym, knees drawn up, face buried in his arms.

“God, Jin-ah… I’ve been searching for you everywhere!”

The words tumbled out as his knees hit the ground beside the boy. He leaned a little closer, their shoulders almost brushing.

“You’re always so good at this game. But next time come out when I tell you I give up seeking, okay?”

Hide and seek...? Baku chuckled as he slowly realized where he was. God what I'd give to play that with Baekjin again.

Slowly, the little boy lifted his head. His face was flushed from crying, eyes rimmed red, the puffiness making him look both younger and more stubborn. His small hand reached out, shoving Baku’s arm just enough to make him lean back.

“Leave me alone, Humin-ah. I’m not in the mood.”

The voice was sharper than the tears on his cheeks made it seem. He shuffled around, turning his back to Baku.

Baku didn’t move away. He just… listened. The quiet hiccups between Baekjin’s breaths were the same ones he hadn’t heard in years. Not since they were eleven or twelve, not since life had started to teach them both about loss.

He felt his own body, or whatever controlled it, exhale. The sound soft in the summer air. Then he shifted too, turning so his back rested against Baekjin’s. Baku staring forward at the sunlit empty yard and Baekjin at the shadows on the brick wall in front of him.

They stayed like that for a while. Silent. Breathing.

Until Baekjin’s breaths began to even out.

“Are you okay now, Jin-ah?”

He felt the movement behind him. The small wipe of a sleeve against a face, the faint shift of weight as Baekjin straightened.

“... I’m fine.”

Baku nodded, knowing somehow that Baekjin would feel it.

“Mind telling me what happened?”

Baekjin sighed. The kind of sigh that sounded older than he was. Then the warmth of his back disappeared as he turned to rest against the wall instead. Baku followed the motion, settling beside him without looking directly at him, giving him the space he knew he needed.

“I just… I really hate people.”

Baku didn’t take offense.

“Why is that?”

“Because they always leave,” Baekjin said, voice steady despite the redness around his eyes. “One way or another. No one ever stays.”

Baku hummed softly, not dismissing it. Just… waiting. Baekjin’s gaze dropped to the ground. His voice hardened. “Why is it that dumbasses like Minho or Joonsoo have everything?”

At the mention of their old classmates, the same ones who used to make a sport out of tormenting Baekjin, Baku turned toward him fully.

“Did those fuckers run their mouths again?”

Baekjin didn’t answer.

Baku’s jaw tightened. “Guess they still haven’t learned. I ought to teach them a lesson again.”

He started to push himself up, but Baekjin’s hand shot out.

“Please don’t.”

“Why, Jin-ah? They think they can walk all over you without any consequences, but that’s not true. You’re not alone, you have me. And they’re stupid to think they can just say and do anything they want just because they’re rich.”

Baekjin sighed, “It’s not because they’re rich.”

Something in his voice made Baku pause. It was flat. Heavy.

“What?”

Baekjin looked up at him then, and his eyes… they didn’t belong on a twelve year old. They were too knowing.

Did I even notice that back then?

“It’s because they have parents.”

The words hit like a rock tossed into still water.

“They can do anything they want to me because they have parents backing them up. But me, I... ”

“No! Baekjin-ah, why would you think that way?”

“It’s the truth! And you know it too!”

“Well, fuck the truth! Fuck those two and fuck adults! I have my parents but what good are they?”

Right,... mom hadn't left yet.

That stopped Baekjin cold. The flare of anger in his face dimmed, replaced by something almost guilty. He knew everything. Knew Baku's parents just fought all the time. Knew that he was being neglected more often than not.

“I’m sorry, Min-ah. I shouldn’t have gotten mad at you. It’s just… they pissed me off so much with the things they said. Why is it that people who don’t deserve it at all have such comfortable lives?”

He waited until Baku met his eyes.

“Life really is so unfair… because if anyone deserves a good life, it would be you.”

Baku’s chest ached. It was such a simple sentence, but it cracked something open inside him.

Oh.

He swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. “People like them… they don’t know hardship like us. That’s why they’re the way they are, Jin-ah. I wouldn’t want to be like them at all.”

He smiled at him then. Not the cocky grin he used to wear like armor, but something smaller, warmer. “Besides, I have everything I need right by my side.”

He watched the words sink in. Saw the way Baekjin’s ears flushed before his cheeks followed, the pink creeping across his skin like the slow spill of dawn. Their eyes met for a heartbeat too long before Baekjin turned away abruptly, like the weight of it was too much.

Why did I forget this memory, again? Baku cursed his current mind. Wished that they wouldn't have gone through all the shit and could've always stayed this way.

From the angle, he could see only the edge of Baekjin's profile. The stubborn line of his jaw, the curve of his lashes. He had a hand on his mouth trying to hide the shy smile spreading on his face. Baku felt his own grin widening.

Then, barely audible, came a small voice. “Me too.”

Baku tilted his head, trying to feign confusion, betrayed by the smugness in his prepubescent voice. “What was that?”

Baekjin huffed, rolled his eyes, and stared straight ahead, voice clearer now. Steady, but with a heat behind it. “I don’t need anyone else either. As long as I’ve got you by my side, I think I’ll be more than alright.”

It was said fast, like he was afraid if he slowed down it might not come out at all. It landed in Baku’s chest like an arrow, like a heavy drop from heaven's gates.

His grin now felt like it might split his face. He slung an arm around Baekjin’s smaller frame and pulled him close with an exaggerated shake. “Now that’s more like it, Jinnie-yah! I’ll show them all that having a best friend like you is a million times better than having parents.”

Baekjin shook his head at Baku's roughness. Trying to act cool, but his ears were practically crimson at that point. A thought he immediately had to voice out seemed to cross his face.

“You promise?”

Baku glanced down, and nearly forgot how to breathe at the look in Baekjin’s eyes. Serious. Hopeful. Like the answer mattered more than anything in the world.

“I promise.”

That earned him a smile so pure it hurt. Baekjin’s eyes crinkled, the faint remnants of his earlier tears catching in the sunlight. “Then I promise to always have your back. Everyone else can come and go as they please. But I’ll stay right behind you.”

Baku felt it then. The strange tug in his chest. The ache of something too big for the small bodies they still had. He knew, somehow, even at twelve, that this was one of those moments that would matter. That would stay.

Ah, right. That's why I locked it away.

It had been buried deep, too painful to touch after Baekjin’s death. But now, in this place, the memory was blinding in its clarity.

The summer light around them began to change. The colours bled at the edges, softening, warping. It was like the air itself was becoming water, and Baku could feel himself sinking.

The warmth of Baekjin’s shoulder against his faded. The smell of sun-warmed asphalt thinned out. Sound dulled.

 

... November 2025, ...

 

The world sharpened again, Baku found himself sitting at a desk he knew too well. The smell of stale paper. The hum of an old ceiling fan. The pale blue walls of the district administration office.

And right in front of him, the death report forms.

His fingers hovered above them, stiff, trembling. The black pen in his hand felt too heavy, like it might splinter his bones just by being there.

Why am I back here again?

The words echoed inside his head, but the body he was in didn’t pause to answer, not hearing any of it. He watched himself, his younger self...? Lean forward and write, the pen dragging each letter of Na Baekjin like it might carve the name straight into his skin. A few tears dropped out of his eyes, staining the form.

The air was quiet except for the scratch of pens, the shuffle of papers, and his own ragged breathing. Until a voice spoke, warm and steady.

“Goodness… it’s okay, young man.”

Baku’s head turned before he could think, and there she was. An older, familiar woman beside him, silver hair pulled into a neat bun, her hands folded over her own set of forms. Her gaze was soft, like she’d been where he was more times than she could count.

“Take your time with it,” she said. “This never gets easier.”

He blinked at her, startled by the gentleness. Baku felt guilty for disturbing others there with his crying while everyone else had been mourning their own loss in silence. “Ah… I’m so sorry, Ajumma.”

“Aigoo,” she waved off his apology with a small shake of her head, “what are you apologising for? We’re all going through a similar pain here. Let it all out if that’s what you need. It’s worse to keep it in, trust me.”

He only nodded, too hollow to answer, and looked back down at the form.

She reached out, her palm warm against his shoulder. A fleeting, human touch in a room full of cold air and colder facts. “God, you’re so young. Is it your first time here?”

Baku remembered knowing exactly what she meant. Not judgement, but recognition.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “It is.”

Her smile was small but knowing. “Ah… I’m sorry for your loss. As we get older we learn to accept these things quicker… but it’s always so unfortunate when it happens too early.”

He glanced up at her then, seeing the faint tiredness in her eyes that matched his own. “If it’s not rude to ask… have you lost someone at a young age as well, Ajumma?”

She nodded slowly, a breath catching before she spoke. “I have. My little sister was sickly from birth. It was actually a miracle we got to have her around for as long as we did… I think I was around your age when it happened.”

Her voice softened further. “But that was over thirty years ago now. This time, I’m here for my late husband. I’ll admit… the pain isn’t any less. But the way I look at it has changed. Maybe it’s my age.”

A bittersweet laugh.

Something about her openness loosened something in him. Before he knew it, words spilled from his mouth, all the things he’d never said to anyone in that moment.

“I’m here for my childhood friend… we grew up together, and parted ways on… poor terms. He... he didn't have anyone who cared enough about him these last few years. And now I'm here, far too late.

"I avoided every attempt he made to reconcile. I just never thought…” His voice broke. “I never thought we’d end up like this. If I knew everything I know now… maybe we’d still be friends. Maybe he’d still be alive and well. But he’s not. And it’s probably all my fault!”

The sobs came fast. Raw. Ugly.

The lady didn’t flinch. She rubbed his back in slow, steady circles, the way someone does when they’ve carried their own share of grief and know the weight. “Aigoo, you poor child. It’s not your fault. And I’m sure your friend wouldn’t blame you either.”

Her words sank in, but only halfway. He wanted to believe her. Needed to. But acceptance still felt like a door he couldn’t open.

“Death is a cruel thing,” she said after a moment, “and it doesn’t take our feelings into account. But if we had control over it… the world wouldn’t be any kinder. The only thing you can do now is live on in the stead of the loved ones you lose along the way.”

He turned her words over in his mind, feeling the truth sting even as it soothed.

“I will take you into my prayers,” she finished gently. “May the Lord lessen both our pains.”

“Ah… thank you, Ajumma. For all of this.”

“You’re welcome, my boy.”

Baku suddenly realised something and bowed deeply. “Goodness, forgive me. I’ve been so rude. I didn’t even introduce myself… my name is Park Humin.”

She chuckled softly, the sound like a small lantern against the dim air. “Nice to make your acquaintance, Humin-ah. I’m Oh Jihye.”

The moment imprinted itself in him. Or maybe re-imprinted, as if his mind was letting him feel the gratitude all over again. Then the edges of the room blurred once more.

The papers on the desk dissolved into nothing. The ceiling fan’s hum became a distant rush.

Like an ocean pulling him under, the memory slipped from his grasp.

 

Unknown date, unknown time.

 

He blinked.

The world had shifted again. This time, it wasn’t the vibrant shades of childhood memory, or the muted edges of a winter afternoon long gone. The colours had a pinkish hue to them now. Dream-like. Like he'd been pushed into a fairytale castle hidden between high clouds. Gold light spilled in through tall windows, glinting off polished wood floors.

Where the hell am I now?

The question echoed inside his skull, hushed but sharp. He didn’t recognise anything. Not the room. Not the warm air. Not the faint sound of music drifting in from somewhere far away.

This was all so different. Unlike the previous hazy memories, Baku was a hundred percent certain this wasn't something he'd lived before. Or else he would've felt the same emotion that was deja vu.

However, he still had no control over his body as he moved and faced a mirror.

His mind went blank, staring straight into his own face… except it wasn’t the face he knew. This Baku was older. Not much, maybe a few years. Definitely way after twenty-two, the oldest he'd seen himself so far.

Now he looked closer to thirty, maybe. The sharper jawline. The confidence in the way he stood. The faint crease at the corner of his mouth. One that looked like it had been carved there by smiling, not frowning.

The suit he was wearing… God, what a suit. Perfectly tailored, rich fabric that made him look like someone who belonged in this glowing, impossible place.

Am I… in the future?

Before he could even try to make sense of it, the door opened.

His world stilled.

Baekjin-ah?

Older than he’d ever seen him, stood Na Baekjin, equally neat suit made to fit him perfectly. The lines of his face were softened by time, not hardened by it. No bruises. No blood. Just… happiness. A happiness so pure it almost hurt to look at. And on his left hand, a ring that caught the light like it was born there.

Baku’s breath caught in his throat. His future self turned toward the door like it was the most natural thing in the world. But he, the version of him trapped inside this vision, was frozen.

He couldn’t remember the last time Baekjin had smiled like that.

“Cat got your tongue, handsome?” Baekjin teased, stepping into the room with a wink.

The blush that flared across Baku’s face was instant, uncontainable. He heard himself chuckle. That older, steadier voice. Breathless as it said, “You look so beautiful, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart... Sweetheart??! The word slid out of his mouth like it had been worn smooth over years of use. Baku had only ever been bold enough to refer to Baekjin that way in the privacy of his own mind, but here this version of him was saying it so freely.

Baekjin’s smirk deepened. He crossed the room slowly, the way you do when you already know the destination is yours. His arms lifted, looping behind Baku’s neck with a familiarity that spoke of years spent finding the same place to rest.

What the fuck. What the fuck. What the fuck?!

Without thinking, Baku’s hands, or maybe his future self’s hands, settled on Baekjin’s waist. Natural. Certain. Like they’d been there a thousand times before. He felt the warmth of him, the gentle pull closer.

“Don’t I know it?” Baekjin said with a playful lilt, and then he leaned in.

Oh my fucking God, what is happening?! Baku had no more time to panic as he felt the warm breath on his lips. Before the gap between them was closed.

The kiss wasn’t hurried. It wasn’t desperate. It was the kind of kiss two people share when they’ve already had a hundred like it and plan to have a million more. Long. Sure. The quiet kind of passionate.

And Baku, the real Baku, kissed back without hesitation, even as his mind was screaming. His pulse was a wildfire in his ears. His chest was too tight. Breathing so deeply, he was terrified his heart might burst out from the sheer force of feeling. 

All this time it felt this way? And we've been wasting those precious seconds?! God Jin-ah, you don't know what you do to me... if only you'd have known how much I wanted this all along.

A yell broke through his thoughts like a pebble through glass.

“Yah, dickheads!”

Gotak-ah?

They broke apart, both turning toward the door. Gotak was standing there, dressed sharply but scowling like he’d walked into a crime scene.

“Save the damn kissing for later, will you? You’re going to be late to your own ceremony at this point!”

Ceremony?

Baku barely had time to process before footsteps thundered up behind Gotak and Juntae’s head popped into view. “Aren’t they ready yet? They’re about to call out Baku.”

“Of course they’re ready, Jun-ah,” Gotak said, exasperated. “But these horny motherfuckers can’t go a second without touching each other. I caught them here kissing.” He jabbed a finger toward them like he was exposing some deep scandal.

Juntae just rolled his eyes at him, clearly thinking like you're any different. 

“Yah! Save the fucking for tonight, will you?!”

That was Suho, striding past with his arm slung casually around Sieun’s shoulders. Sieun, who looked exactly the same as he always did, calm and unbothered, but whose mouth twitched like he was trying not to laugh.

“Aaah, Sieunnie, cover my poor virgin ears!” Suho groaned dramatically. “I can’t hear any of this.”

Baku's arm moved, before he could fully take everything in. A pillow flew through the air and smacked Suho right in the side of the head.

“Asshole,” Baku, or future Baku, shot back, grinning, “acting like you haven’t seduced our good friend Sieun into doing unholy things with you. Our poor innocent baby! Married to a succubus like you!”

Laughter filled the room, warm and easy, the kind that curled in your chest and made you wish it would never fade.

“Hah,” Suho replied dryly, but there was no heat in it.

Seongje appeared then, bold as ever, wearing a deep purple suit that somehow looked like it belonged only to him. “Alright, fuckers, it’s time to get a move on! I have a groom to walk down the aisle here.”

They started filing out, the noise trailing with them. Seongje looked over his shoulder at Baekjin with an expression that said, you coming?

“I’ll be right there,” Baekjin told him. “Just a second.”

When the others were gone, he turned back to Baku. That smile again, soft and bright enough to make Baku’s chest ache. “Are you alright, Min-ah?”

Baku stepped forward without thinking, wrapping his arms tight around him, breathing in the familiar scent, the warmth. He pressed a kiss to Baekjin’s cheek, then one right under his jawline, before leaning back just far enough to look him in the eye.

“I’m alright,” he said, voice steady but full, “more than alright, even. I’m the happiest man alive right now.”

Baekjin’s smile deepened. “Then wake up now, Min-ah.”

Baku blinked. “Huh?”

“Wake up,” Baekjin repeated softly, like he was telling a secret.

“We’re all waiting for you.”

 

Notes:

kiss kiss fall in loveee (even if it's a visionnn)

Chapter 17

Notes:

uhm before you guys read this please keep in mind whenever baekjin walks he drags an iv pole with him (totally forgot to write that detail 🫣)

6 February 2025, 10:19am

 

The first thing Baku became aware of was pain. Not the piercing kind that made you gasp, but the deep, lingering ache that seemed stitched into every inch of him.

Somewhere in the fog of his mind, a voice kept repeating, Wake up. Wake up. Wake up.

He groaned inwardly, wanting nothing more than to sink back into the dark. But the noise in his head was relentless, tugging him toward the surface until he felt too awake to keep his eyes shut.

For a moment, he braced himself for what he might see. Another memory dragging him backwards, or another vivid glimpse into a future that wasn’t his yet. But when his eyelids finally lifted, he was staring at the plain white ceiling of a hospital room.

He didn’t need anyone to tell him, he just knew he was back where he belonged in time. Probably because he finally had control over his movements again.

Almost forgot how this felt.

A steady beep pulsed at his side, the heart monitor syncing with the rhythm in his chest. A thin IV line trailed from his arm, catching the pale morning light.

On his other side sat a figure in a chair, slumped in sleep. Their head tilted just enough for the hair to fall messily across their brow, and in one hand, they held his index finger. Lightly, so lightly, as if pressing too hard might hurt him… but letting go might make him disappear altogether.

Baku’s heart skipped a beat. He was absurdly grateful that Baekjin was asleep and couldn’t hear that change in pace on the monitor.

Letting his gaze wander, Baku saw the rest of the room. Against the couch, his friends and Geum Seongje (who to his surprise was still there) were sprawled in awkward piles, all bearing their own bruises but, thankfully, nothing severe.

Juntae was curled up comfortably against Gotak, who had an arm slung protectively around him. The sight pulled a quiet smile from Baku. He knew this had to be around the time they’d finally confessed their feelings for each other.

Next to them, Sieun sat stiff as a statue, caught between Juntae and Seongje like an unwilling peacekeeper. He’d clearly done everything in his power to keep a respectable distance from the lunatic on his other side.

Of course, Seongje looked the most peaceful of the lot. Arms crossed, legs stretched out comfortably, head tilted onto the armrest in what Baku suspected wasn’t entirely voluntary. Sieun’s shoulder was just far enough away to make it obvious he had pushed Seongje there.

Baku nearly laughed aloud. The scene was so achingly familiar. Eunjang’s fight with the Union, when they’d all collapsed into the far back seats of the bus, sleeping like the dead after their victory.

His gaze drifted back to the chair beside his bed.

Baekjin’s hair was a chaotic mess, the kind born from hours of restless sleep. Someone had draped a blanket over him at some point, though his posture didn’t look any more comfortable for it. An IV ran into his arm as well, the pale tubing resting against his wrist.

Right, Baku thought, a knot tightening in his heart. He was shot.

That single fact opened a floodgate of emotion. Relief. Anger. Guilt. A tenderness so sharp it almost hurt. Baekjin didn’t look healed enough to be out of bed, and yet… here he was, sitting in an awful chair, clutching Baku’s finger like it was a lifeline.

It was starting to feel hot in the room, or maybe it was just Baku.

He noticed the faint crease between Baekjin’s brows in his sleep. An old habit he had carried since they were children. The frown soft but stubborn. It didn’t belong on him. Not with those beautiful features.

The urge to smooth it away overpowered every other thought. He lifted a hand, cupping Baekjin’s cheek. His thumb brushed over the crease with slow, gentle strokes.

Baekjin stirred, mumbling soft, incoherent words that made something inside Baku melt. He barely had time to register how endearing it was before Baekjin’s eyes flew open, alarm at being touched randomly flashing across his face.

He shot upright.

Thud.

Their heads collided.

Pain bloomed instantly, and Baku let out a groan, eyes squeezing shut. Palm on his face as if it would make it disappear.

Baekjin hissed, his own hand flying to his temple.

“Aaah,” Baku winced, still holding his head.

Above him came the sound of Baekjin’s confused voice, low but clear.

“Humin-ah?”

When Baku opened his eyes again, the room felt different. The faint sound from earlier had stirred more than just Baekjin. It had pulled their friends out of sleep, one by one.

They all looked at him now, and though their faces carried different shapes of it, every single one held the same expression: relief.

He glanced upward, expecting Baekjin to wear that same look. But instead… Baekjin was staring at him like he’d just witnessed something unspeakable. Not fear. No this was heavier. Pure, gut-deep worry.

Baku almost wanted to sigh. He’d never been good with that kind of gaze. The kind that felt like it weighed you, measured your breaths, counted each blink. He could never keep serious when someone was this worried about him. Used to being the one doing it for others instead.

So he smiled faintly and let a chuckle slip out. “You guys look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

From the couch, he was pretty sure he heard Gotak smack himself in the forehead and mutter a curse. “Seriously, this dumbass…”

That, weirdly enough, made Baku’s chest loosen. That kind of irritation, the familiar, grounding kind, felt like home.

But Baekjin’s expression didn’t shift an inch. If anything, the worry in his eyes deepened. “Humin-ah, I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”

Ah... he's scared he hurt me.

That stupid little head collision earlier had Baekjin looking like he’d committed some unforgivable crime.

Baku was stunned silent by it.

It was true, he didn’t know how to be on the receiving end of Baekjin’s worry. It felt… strange. Overwhelming, even. Not bad, just so different from the way things had always been between them.

But that wasn't why he couldn't talk at that moment.

The real reason was that his mind was going haywire. How Baekjin looked at him... Baku kept flashing back to that wedding suit. The way it had fit him perfectly, defined all of his best features. Then the weight of his arms around Baku’s neck, the easy press of their lips like it had always been meant to be.

It was ridiculous. Park Humin. Arrogant, shameless flirt, master of deflecting his own feelings. Now sitting here like some shy schoolgirl with her first crush.

His chest was tight. His heart was a drum. The damned monitor was probably broadcasting his every flustered beat.

He must have been staring too long, because Seongje’s voice cut across the room. “I think you broke him.” He had said it while knocking on his own head, indicating he was referring to the small incident.

Thank God they don't know the real reason.

If looks could kill Seongje would be dead. Baekjin had glared at him from the corners of his eyes, clearly not appreciating the comment.

Baku realised then he couldn't stay quiet any longer. It felt like now or never, and if he didn't speak everything would just escalate for the worse.

He quickly waved his hands in front of him “Ah, no, no, no, Baekjin-ah. I’m perfectly fine. Really. It just hurt a little. I’ve felt much worse before.”

The last sentence slipped out before he could stop it. He knew it was a mistake the moment Baekjin’s face changed.

Fuck. Shit. I fucked up.

He was already halfway to the door. “I’m getting the nurse.”

“Wait...!”

Baku instinctively reached out, arm stretching as if he could actually stop him from across the room. But the door was already swinging shut. The quiet click that followed made something inside him clench.

If he were alone, he’d bury his face in the pillow and scream every frustrated thought into it. But with everyone’s eyes on him, he settled for scratching the side of his nose and giving them the most awkward smile he could muster.

He lifted a hand in a weak wave. “So... how are you guys doing?”

They didn’t hesitate. In a matter of seconds they were there, standing around his bed.

“Fucking idiot, do you know how worried we were?” Gotak barked, stepping forward like he might throttle him if not for his own injuries.

“Baku-yah, I’m so glad you’re awake,” Juntae said, relief softening every word.

“So… not broken? This really is no fun,” Seongje muttered, sounding bored. Somehow everyone in the room knew he didn't mean it. But Sieun’s hand still smacked the back of his head a heartbeat later.

Sieun was the last to speak, and Baku found himself holding his gaze. There was something unspoken there. A quiet understanding that didn’t need details to exist. The faint lift at the corner of Sieun’s mouth, the way even his perpetually sad eyes seemed lighter, told Baku enough.

Baku knew this must have weighed on him more than the others. With Suho still lying in a coma, seeing another friend in a hospital bed must have been… too familiar.

I wish I could tell you he will wake soon enough, Sieun-ah.

“Are you alright, Baku-yah?”

This time, his smile was genuine. “I’m alright. In fact, I feel like I’ve been reborn.”

Gotak rolled his eyes so hard it was almost audible. “This idiot… talking about being reborn…” He glanced at the others, then back to Baku. “Yah, dickhead. Next time you worry us like that, I’ll kill you myself.”

Baku grinned, all teeth. “I missed you too, Gogo.”

Gotak huffed but there was a smile tugging at his mouth. “When the nurse gets here, let yourself be checked properly, okay? Gave us a right scare, man.”

Baku nodded and for them, that was enough.

Seongje clapped dramatically, wiping away invisible tears, like he'd just finished watching a particularly emotional movie. “Ah, romance. You motherfuckers really know all about it.”

The first question that had been burning in Baku’s mind since he woke finally slipped out. “What is he doing here again?”

Seongje blinked. “Excuse me? You could have just asked me that, asshole.”

He ignored him entirely, eyes going straight to his friends.

Juntae spoke first, his voice steady but with that edge that came when he’d been under stress for too long. “Seongje has been… kind enough to work with us. Let’s just say he’s been a great help when it came to saving you.”

Baku blinked, still confused, brows pulling together. His expression alone must have been enough, because Juntae added quickly, “We’ll let Baekjin explain everything to you.”

A hand landed on his shoulder, heavy but steady. Gotak. “Hear him out when he does. Out of all of us, he suffered the most.”

The words hit Baku like a pause in the air. Coming from Gotak, the same Gotak who’d clashed with Baekjin more times than he could count, it was almost surreal. But it wasn’t bad. Gotak had always been the type to speak the truth when it mattered, even about someone he didn’t like. That was just who he was.

Baku couldn’t help but wonder what had passed between his childhood best friend and his current one during the time he’d been gone… but before he could ask, the door opened.

The nurse entered with a doctor, and Baekjin was right behind them. Everyone else was ushered out, everyone except Baekjin. Somehow, for reasons Baku didn’t fully understand, he was allowed to stay.

The next minutes passed in quiet examination. The cold stethoscope on his chest, the light in his eyes, the soft beeping of the heart monitor. Questions about his memory, his balance, his pain.

When it was done, the doctor turned not to Baku, but to Baekjin.

Seriously they're acting like he's my relative or... partner...

“It’s truly a miracle. There doesn’t seem to be any mental trauma from the physical injuries he endured. I don't know exactly how, but it seems like the time he was in a coma, was all the time he needed to take to preserve his mental health. We’ll keep checking every so often to be sure, but I’m almost certain he only needs time to heal physically from here on out. The nurse will schedule some therapy sessions for post-traumatic patients. Even if it may seem unnecessary, therapy is still important. Especially after what he's gone through.”

Baekjin bowed deeply, too deeply for Baku's liking. He knew that movement had to hurt. But Baekjin didn’t let it show. He only spoke with quiet, measured respect. “Thank you so much, doctor. I will make sure to repay you well for all your help.”

Once the nurse and doctor left, the room fell into silence.

They were alone now.

Baku didn’t know what to expect. There were so many things he didn’t know about what had happened while he was out. And there were just as many things he’d experienced himself that no one else was aware of.

Baekjin sank down into the chair he’d been sleeping in before, his posture finally loosening, as if relief had seeped into his bones.

"What did you mean when you said you would repay the doctor well?"

This question seemed safe enough to start with. Besides Baku had really wanted to know the answer to it.

Baekjin looked at him, deep in thought, and then. "Don't worry about it. Just focus on your health."

This idiot, is he paying my hospital bills?

Before Baku could protest something unexpected happened.

Baekjin was... crying.

It was so silent, Baku wouldn’t have noticed if not for the way the light caught on the thin trails running down his cheeks. Crystal droplets slipping from those deep, somber black eyes. He sat so stiff, so still. As if afraid moving would make him break down completely.

Baku's stomach twisted. He wondered when Baekjin had learned to cry like this, without sound, without movement, and then he knew. It must have been somewhere between the years and the hands of that bastard, Choi.

Rage flared, sharp and hot, before he could stop it. “I’m going to kill that fucker,” he muttered under his breath.

Baekjin’s gaze lifted slightly, and he seemed to understand exactly who Baku meant. “...He’s already dead.”

Baku blinked, startled. “What?”

Baekjin let out a humorless huff, the corner of his mouth tightening in something that wasn’t quite a smile. His eyes darkened. “He was killed by a police officer, accidentally. Right after shooting me.”

“How… what?”

Baekjin was quiet for a moment, his gaze low, shoulders shifting as if he were bracing himself. He drew in a slow breath before finally speaking. “I’m going to answer all your questions, Humin-ah. Whatever you want to know… however much you want to know.”

When he lifted his head, his eyes locked with Baku’s, steady but fragile in their own way. “I’m done hiding. I don’t want any misunderstandings between us anymore.”

Baku’s heart squeezed in his chest. The Baekjin he remembered. Fierce edges, guarded glances, and half-truths. Nowhere to be seen in that moment. This man in front of him was stripped bare, wounds open, and willing to let him see every scar.

“I want to know everything, Baekjin-ah,” Baku said softly. “But… please. Take all the time you need.”

So Baekjin began. On his own pace.

He really told him everything. How he’d been taken in by Choi, how the man had stripped him down and rebuilt him into someone who could survive in his world. The cruelty, the discipline that felt more like punishment, the way they had shaped him into a weapon.

He spoke of his years caught between two impossible desires. The need to mend their broken friendship, and the desperate instinct to keep Baku far away, believing it was the only way to keep him safe.

Baku listened without a word. His jaw clenched, his hands gripping the blanket. Inside, his emotions tumbled and clashed. Feeling searing rage toward Choi, a bone-deep protectiveness over Baekjin, and something softer still, aching for all the years Baekjin had carried this alone.

Baekjin’s voice shifted, quieter now, when he told Baku about the day his friends had approached him, desperate after they couldn’t find him. “I agreed to help them find you. But the next day… I felt so hopeless I saw no way forward.” His eyes flickered with something dark before he continued. “That’s when Seongje called me. He said he’d help too. I don’t know how any of us survived on the little sleep we got, but we knew we couldn’t stop until we found you. We stayed in hiding and worked together. Somewhere in all of it… I guess we got closer.”

Baku caught the faintest curve of a smile at that. The kind that only came when someone remembered a moment of unexpected trust.

Now why did I have to be away when it happened?!

“I even talked with Hyeontak a few times,” Baekjin waited a bit for reaction and then went on when it didn't come. Because Baku was waiting to hear the whole thing.

“I... I finally apologised for breaking his leg back then… and for every other time I hurt him just because I was frustrated.” His voice carried disbelief when he added, “And for reasons I still can’t understand… he actually forgave me.”

"Ahhh how long I had wished for this to happen. Tsk, tsk, Baekjin-ah, you should've waited until I was around to see it." he wriggled his eyebrows. "Now I feel jealous."

It was a joke, one meant to ease the tension in Baekjin's shoulders. But instead an even worse expression of guilt settled on his face.

"Stop that." Baku said.

"Hmm?"

"Stop looking so guilty. I didn't actually mean it." he smiled, "You know it means a lot to me to hear all of this, right?"

Through their eye contact Baku could finally convey his actual emotions, knowing in his bones that Baekjin would actually understand now.

You know all I ever wanted was for everyone I love to be happy and safe together.

The apology to Gotak. It was so important to Baku. Because the reason Baekjin and him had parted ways in the first place had been that very incident.

"I'm very glad to have my loved ones finally getting along." A pause and then, "You did the right thing Baekjin-ah... Please carry on with what you were telling me earlier."

Baekjin seemed to appreciate the assurance from him. He nodded his head, more to himself than to Baku. Like slowly accepting the change he had made. And that for once it actually had a wanted result.

"Uhm..." he cleared his voice, a bit unsure where he'd left off “One of the nights in the hiding place, we were staying up late when Seongje suggested a place you might be. At first I wasn’t sure. I was too tired to think straight. But then… it clicked. If it hadn’t…” He trailed off, shaking his head.

“We made our plan. Left early in the morning. Your friends had told your father something to reassure him, but after everything that happened… the police told him the truth when you got hospitalised. He was here until this morning, actually.”

Fucking hell, how did I forget my dad?

His breath caught. “Is he alright? Did anything happen? He wasn't too worried was he?”

Guilt settled heavy in his lower abdomen. It seemed lately all he’d been doing was breaking promises to the people he loved.

Oh God he probably drank again. I just keep adding to his troubles.

“I called him as soon as you woke up,” Baekjin said gently. “He’ll be here soon enough.”

I hope he looked after himself a bit. Without me around for so long...

Wait...

How long?

“Baekjin-ah?”

A quiet hum, soft as the sound of someone half-lost in thought, answered him. “Hm?”

Baku hesitated, not sure why he felt almost afraid to ask. “How long have I been asleep?”

Baekjin’s eyes flickered downward, and he stared at his own hands like they were something fragile. “…About a week.”

The words hung between them for a heartbeat too long. Then, before Baku could respond, Baekjin’s shoulders trembled slightly. Tears. Small, quiet, stubborn things slid off his lashes and hit the back of his own hands.

Baku absolutely hated that he was a silent crier now. And even more that he'd only realised it after the damage had been done.

“I’m so… so sorry, Humin-ah.”

It hit Baku like a weight to the chest. That deep, heavy guilt in Baekjin’s voice, he knew it too well. He’d felt it himself, years ago, when he’d stood over Baekjin’s body in another life. He reached forward without thinking, his hand wrapping gently over Baekjin’s, thumb brushing in soothing circles.

“Shh,” he murmured, giving his hand a soft squeeze. “It’s not your fault. It was all that disgusting man who made you do these things. I get it now. All of it.”

But Baekjin’s head shook almost immediately. “No. It’s not alright. I’ve been awful to you. To… to a lot of people.” His voice cracked, the words sounded like glass breaking. “And I hate it. I hate how you never care enough about yourself and so much about others. Why can’t you be selfish for once? It’s okay if you blame me, Humin-ah. I deserve it. It took me so long to find you… if I’d just done something sooner, been a bit smarter. Then you wouldn’t…” His voice faltered, “…you wouldn’t be here like this.”

“Stop it, Baekjin-ah.” Baku’s tone was firm, but his eyes were gentle. “You heard the doctor. I’m fine. And I’m just… I’m so thankful to the universe we all made it out alive, without anything worse happening.”

You have no idea how scared I was that you would be taken from me again.

At that thought he felt his own vision blur, hot tears rising uninvited. It startled Baekjin enough to break out of his spiral. He shifted forward, sitting on the edge of Baku’s bed, close enough that their knees brushed. Without hesitation, Baekjin reached out and wiped Baku’s tears away with the pads of his thumbs, even as his own kept falling.

“Ah… don’t cry,” Baekjin said quietly, his voice thick with emotion. “You’ve always been the stronger one between us. What will I do if you cry?”

That made Baku laugh. A short, bubbly sound that still carried all the warmth he had inside of him. “God, look at us, Jin-ah. We look like absolute losers.”

Baekjin shook his head instantly. A smile of his own forming at having made Baku laugh. His eyes twinkled so pretty, the crystal tears not fully gone yet. “Not you. Never you.”

Baku only smiled back at him, though in his mind, the words he wanted to say were far more dangerous. You have no idea what a fool I am for you, love.

“But I am one,” he said aloud instead.

Before Baekjin could object, Baku held up a hand. “Hear me out. You’ve blamed yourself enough, but I’ve been carrying regrets of my own for so long now. If you think there are things I should blame you for… there’s an equal number you could blame me for... Like breaking our promise for example.”

That made Baekjin’s brow furrow slightly. “Promise?”

Baku’s eyes softened. “You’ve always had my back, even when I tried to forget about you. Although I wasn't aware of it until recently... However it was me who promised first that having you by my side was all I needed. And I did not keep my word.”

Something flickered in Baekjin’s face. Recognition, surprise, and maybe a little bit of hope. “…You still remember that?”

“…I do now,” Baku admitted. “I won’t lie. I’d pushed every memory of us down, good and bad. They hurt too much to think about. But while I was asleep… they came back.”

What he didn’t say was what exactly he had seen. That truth was his to keep. This Baekjin didn’t know, and could never know.

Suddenly the wish he'd made on Baekjin’s 22nd birthday in the previous timeline came back to him. And with that memory, he reached out, grabbing Baekjin’s fore-arms, pulling his gaze up until their eyes met. His heart was pounding, but he forced the words through anyway.

It's time to say what I should've said long ago.

“I’m sorry, Jin-ah. I’m sorry for neglecting you as a friend. And I hope that, when the time is right and I’ve changed for the better… you can forgive me.”

Baekjin looked like he wanted to dismiss it immediately, to forgive him here and now, but then he stopped himself. Something thoughtful, almost solemn, passed over his face. They both knew they couldn't argue with each other any longer, and someone would have to give in first.

“Then I’ll become a friend you’re proud to have by your side,” Baekjin said at last. “I’ll work on myself while I’m away. And when I’m back… we can start fresh.”

Baku’s heart snagged on that word.

Away?

“You’re… going away?”

“Ah, right…” Baekjin’s gaze drifted somewhere far away, as if the wall behind Baku’s head held some truth he didn’t want to say out loud. But then he drew in a breath and looked back at him, a small, bittersweet smile tugging faintly at his lips.

“I… wasn’t sure if you’d caught on, but… I turned myself in to the police. They’ve been investigating everything connected to Choi. Every detail, down to the smallest thread. The only reason I’m walking around freely right now is because I’m wounded. Once I recover, there’ll be a trial. They’ll decide then how many years I’ll be serving.”

“What?!” Baku’s voice cracked. He remembered Baekjin saying he’d used himself as evidence, but he had assumed, hoped, that was no longer on the table after the shooting. “Why are you talking about this so calmly? You didn’t do any of it willingly!”

Before he could say more, Baekjin leaned forward and pulled him into a hug. The movement made him hiss under his breath, the bullet wound pressing against Baku’s chest. Yet he held on like letting go wasn’t an option.

“Humin-ah… it’s alright. Everything’s alright. I have to pay for the things I’ve done.”

He sounded like someone who had been turning the decision over for months, who had walked the length of this acceptance until there was no fight left in him.

Baku’s fists bunched in the back of Baekjin’s shirt, clutching him as if he could anchor him there forever. The thought of anyone taking him away. Right now, just as they had started talking again, after Baku had begun imagining how they could make up for lost time. Those dreams were caving in.

“Why? Why, whyyy… why does this keep happening to us?” The words came out broken, almost childlike. “Why is life so unfair?! That fucker Choi should be the one rotting in prison!”

Baekjin eased back, his hands resting on Baku’s shoulders, a familiar knowing look softening the sharp lines of his face. Then came a small, genuine smile. The kind that reached his eyes.

“People like Choi… they don’t know hardship like us. That’s why he ended up in hell. I wouldn’t want to be like him at all.”

Baku froze. Those were his words, almost exactly from when they were children. Hearing them now, sent back to him, made his heart swell until it hurt. Of course you remember everything… word for word. All while I had locked it away. What did I ever do to deserve you?

He wanted to argue again. But just like Baekjin earlier, he had to pause and actually listen. Because Baekjin was right. In another life, he had died, and Baku had been left shattered beyond repair. But now Baekjin was here. Alive, breathing, warm in his arms. That alone was worth more than anything else.

Baku must have been staring too long, unmoving, because Baekjin tilted his head, misreading the silence.

“Don’t worry, Humin-ah. I’ve got a good lawyer. If his calculations are right, I’ll serve about four years. I want us to grow in that time. And when I get out, we’ll have all the time in the world to be close again, like we used to be. If that's what you also want?”

Baku shook his head. He didn’t know why, but something surged up in him then. That same urgent, now or never pull that had struck him once already today. Nothing was certain yet. He absolutely had to use all his precious time while he still could.

Here goes nothing.

Before he could think better of it, his hands were cupping Baekjin’s cheeks, and he was leaning forward, closing the distance.

Their lips clashed together.

For a second, Baekjin went utterly still, frozen beneath Baku’s touch. The panic hit Baku immediately. He pulled back as though burned. Oh god. What did I just do? Dumbass, dumbass, dumbass.

Just because he had seen a possible future didn’t mean Baekjin felt the same way now. Hell, for all Baku knew, that future had been nothing more than a fever dream, a wish his heart had spun into something vivid while he was unconscious.

But it was too late. Baekjin was looking at him like a deer caught in headlights. His eyes were wide. Confusion, shock, and maybe even a flash of fear flickering in them… but there was something else too. A spreading blush, staining his cheeks and even the tips of his ears.

“Jin-ah, I’m so sor–”

“Don’t! Don’t say it!” Baekjin cut him off, already pushing himself up. His voice had the rough edge of flustered panic, the kind that didn’t know where to land.

He turned his back quickly, heading for the door. Just before leaving, he glanced over his shoulder and Baku caught it. The small smile, half-hidden behind his hand, and the unmistakable red still warming his face.

Baku perked his ears up. Because he knew Baekjin. That little boy that used to be his closest friend was still in there.

“Next time,” Baekjin muttered, almost too quiet to hear, “you won’t catch me off guard.”

The door shut behind him.

Baku lay there, heart hammering against his ribs. Warmth spreading across his face as he felt all the hope he’d thought he’d lost come rushing back, tenfold.

He does like me back...

Oh my god, he likes me back.

What the hell. What the hell. What the HELL.

Why didn't he ever say anything?

Why didn't I ever say anything?!

Why the fuck were we so oblivious???

Why was I so scared again? All this time...

Baku felt like a total fool with the warmth of Baekjin's breath still lingering on his lips. A very lucky fool he was indeed. Because even now, as he was panicking over wasted time, he was grateful that they had this now. The rest of their lives, bright futures waiting for them.

Even if they had to be apart for a while… Baku, could... no he would wait. He would wait for the day they became the versions of themselves he had seen in that vision. Together, without fear.

Notes:

i feel like ive become soft because originally i wasn't planning on making them kiss yet (but then again ive really been more than cruel enough to you guys 🏃‍➡️🏃‍➡️🏃‍➡️)

ah and i fear this story is getting even longer than i expected it would be. i had all chapters planned out before and really thought they would fit over 20 but then my certified yapper ass had too much to say (whoops)

i rlly hope you won't hate me for making jinnie go to jail. it was necessary for plot and character development :P

Chapter 18

Notes:

cause mama im in love with a criminallll

19 February 2025, 09:23am

 

The courtroom smelled faintly of old wood and cold air. Baku sat in his wheelchair, the grain of the floorboards blurring beneath his gaze, and listened to the echo of voices bounce off the high walls. Every cough, every shuffle, felt magnified in this space.

One by one, the names were called.

Seongje and a few other Union members went first. Short sentences. Zero years. One. Two. Some were given only community service.

Dongha and Seongmok weren’t so lucky. Two years each. They stood there stiff and furious, their glares sharp enough to cut, as if Baekjin himself had personally dragged them into the pit.

Seongje, on the other hand, was… Seongje. When his sentence was read, he looked like he’d just won a prize at a festival. The corners of his mouth lifted as if he was the main lead of a particularly good drama, now attending a fan meeting.

Baku could almost hear his thoughts. How thrilling, how noble, to stand loyal at Baekjin’s side until the very end, and now, to follow him willingly into the jaws of consequence. He really thought himself a hero.

Oh well I guess that much I can give him.

Then it was Baekjin’s turn.

Baku’s breath caught at the sight of him. Standing tall, shoulders squared, hands loose but steady at his sides. He looked so small and so big at the same time.

The judge began. “One count of aggravated assault. How do you plead?”

“Guilty.”

“One count of destruction of property.”

“Guilty.”

“One count of illegal possession of a weapon.”

“Guilty.”

“Two counts of intimidation and blackmail.”

“Guilty.”

The list went on. Fighting in public spaces, extortion, affiliation with an organized criminal group. Each crime was spoken into the heavy air for all to hear, and Baekjin’s voice never once faltered in response.

Until the question changed. “For these actions, did you commit them willingly?”

Baekjin’s voice was clear. “Not guilty.”

The evidence had already been laid bare. Proof of Choi’s coercion, of threats that turned survival into complicity. The police had confirmed it.

The judge paused only briefly before speaking again. “Had these crimes been committed of your own free will, you would face fifteen years in prison. Do you think such a sentence would be too severe?”

Fifteen years...?

Baku’s stomach dropped. His hands tightened against the armrests of his wheelchair. His body ached to stand, to speak, to throw himself between Baekjin and the bench, but he knew the rules here. He knew he couldn’t. Gotak’s hand landed heavy on his shoulder, a silent I know, but just wait.

Baekjin took a breath that seemed to steady the entire room. “I turned myself in knowing the stakes. Knowing I would have to pay for my wrongdoings. Because I couldn’t let it go on any longer. I am not above the law. Whatever punishment you deem fit, I will accept, Your Honour.”

Baku swore he caught the faintest flicker of something on the judge’s face. Approval, maybe.

“You are very smart for your age, young man. I cannot dismiss all your crimes… but I can shorten your sentence.”

The judge’s voice rose slightly, carrying to the corners of the courtroom. “The court acknowledges the defendant’s cooperation and the evidence of coercion. While the crimes committed are serious, the court recognizes the difficult position in which the defendant found himself. Taking into account the defendant’s honesty, his willingness to turn himself in, and the evidence of his lack of full agency in these crimes, the court finds it appropriate to reduce the sentence. Therefore, I sentence you to three years in a correctional facility. This sentence will begin immediately. Court is adjourned.”

The gavel fell.

Relief hit Baku like a sudden breath after holding it too long. Three years. Not four like Baekjin had thought. Not fifteen like could have been.

Baekjin stepped forward, holding out his hands. The officers cuffed him gently, no unnecessary force.

He turned his head where he knew Baku had been watching him.

They kept their eyes on each other until the very last second. Baku’s gaze said, Please take care of yourself. Please be alright. Baekjin’s eyes softened in return. Don’t worry about me. Wait for me. Don’t forget me. I’ll be with you soon.

Then he was gone.

Baku lowered his head into his hands, elbows braced on his knees. The sound of footsteps and murmurs felt far away.

A hand rubbed slow circles on his back. He didn’t look up right away, but when he did, Juntae’s concerned face was there. Sieun and Gotak stood just behind him.

Gotak was the first to speak. “Hah… it’s weird to see them go like this.” His voice was heavier than usual. “Never thought we’d end here.”

Baku understood completely. Because this hadn't happened before.

“I’m glad the judge didn’t go too hard on them,” Juntae said.

They seemed careful, maybe afraid of saying the wrong thing, worried it might crush him further. But Baku didn’t feel crushed. Not exactly. The weight in his chest was something different.

Sieun, as usual, stayed silent. But when Baku met his gaze, he found the quiet assurance there. The kind that didn’t need words to be understood.

Baku smiled faintly at them. “Well, boys… whatever happens from now on, life still moves forward. No more time for worrying. Let’s grow, so we can just leave this behind us and laugh about it.”

 

27 February 2025, 04:00pm

 

Graduation day had arrived, though it felt almost unreal.

The winter light outside had been soft, stretched thin over the schoolyard, slipping between bare branches like it had nowhere better to be. Inside, the hall buzzed with the rustle of gowns and the faint click of cameras. Rows of students shifted in their seats, the air thick with the kind of excitement that carried both relief and disbelief.

Baku had been sitting among his friends, but his mind had been elsewhere. Drifting back to the weeks after the trial, to the days when life had started to piece itself back together in quiet, almost invisible ways.

After he had been discharged from the hospital, he and his father hadn’t really spoken about what had happened. Not directly. Baku hadn’t expected much. Not after years of conversations that skimmed the surface and avoided the deep water.

A part of him had hoped that maybe, with the progress they’d made before everything, his father might lash out, demand answers, voice anger at how things had unfolded. Just like he'd done the last time they had talked before the kidnapping. But even that hadn’t happened.

Instead, the old man had simply… taken care of him.

It hadn’t been in grand gestures, but in the small, steady ones. Helping him transfer in and out of the wheelchair despite his bad back. Bringing him food when he couldn’t move easily. Adjusting blankets late at night when he thought Baku was asleep. It had been the kind of care that didn’t ask for thanks. Quiet, almost stubborn in its consistency.

But then there had been that one night in the kitchen.

Baku had been sitting at the table, watching his father at the stove. The light overhead had caught in the strands of silver in his hair. His movements had been slower than usual, his shoulders slightly hunched. He’d looked so… tired. Not just from the day, but from years of carrying more than his share.

The guilt had hit so fast that the words had come out before Baku could stop them. “I’m so sorry, Dad.”

His father had stilled. The knife paused mid-chop where he'd been cutting vegetables. Then, without a word, he had set it down, switched off the fire, and slowly crossed the kitchen to sit opposite him. His elbows had landed on the table, fists pressed lightly to his mouth as though he needed a moment to decide what to say.

When he finally spoke, his voice had been low, almost measured. A bit more to himself than to him. “Your mother was right.”

It had startled Baku. Not just the words, but the fact that they were speaking about her at all. They hadn’t in years. Not after she’d left.

Baku had known his father had loved her. Deeply, stubbornly, even when their days together had been laced with arguments. That love had been the kind a man tried to drown in alcohol when there was nowhere else for it to go. She, on the other hand, had wanted more. Not only more love, but more life. A bigger house, finer clothes, the kind of comfort his father could never give while coming home with nothing but exhaustion in his hands.

On a random day like any other that she'd left to cool down after a fight, she'd simply decided to stay away. For that Baku didn’t resent her anymore. Resentment took too much of his energy, and she hadn't been worth draining himself over after a while. But he had also learned not to speak of her. Even a neutral mention would have been unwelcome. Like pressing a bruise you both knew was there.

Besides he had so few memories of her now that she might as well have been a stranger. For more than half his life, counting the years he had lived twice, it had been just him and his father. An imperfect man, but one who had stayed.

“She told me before she left,” his father had continued, “that one of you could die at home, and I’d only find out after work. If I even went home that day.” He’d paused there, taking a long, steadying breath. “I failed, Humin-ah. Not just as a husband… but as your father. You were taken, you were hurt by the outside world, and I wasn’t there. I haven’t been there for years. And here you are, apologising to me, when it’s all my fault.”

Baku had never seen his father cry, probably never would. Maybe the man wasn't capable of it. So he had always accepted that his own emotional nature had been inherited from his mother.

But the guilt there in that moment, sharp and raw in his father's voice. Baku had recognised it for what it was. The same kind of self-blame he carried himself. Like looking into a mirror and understanding exactly where he had learned it.

For once, Baku hadn’t known how to comfort someone. So he hadn’t. He’d just listened.

And in that silence, something had shifted.

In the weeks that followed, his father had been there in ways Baku hadn’t expected. Making time he didn’t have. Accompanying him to therapy. Helping him practice walking with crutches, catching him when he fell. Both literally and in spirit. As if he were trying to make up for every year he had been emotionally absent.

Somewhere in those quiet, stubborn acts, Baku’s inner child, the boy who had so often felt like second place in his own home, had started to heal.

Now, sitting in the graduation hall, seeing his father standing at the edge of the crowd with joy in his eyes, it hit Baku that maybe all of it had been worth it. Maybe this was the game everyone else seemed to know how to play, and he was finally learning the rules.

When his name was finally called, he rose carefully, leaning on his crutches. The polished floor reflected the lights above, each step echoing just faintly in the hall. He felt the faintest pull in his leg where the muscles still weren’t what they used to be, a quiet reminder of how much had happened to get here.

Yet, he was glad. Glad that the final exams had been in December, taken by the old him. The him, who despite not being the brightest and the most attentive in school, had still been able to focus on textbooks and test papers instead of survival. If the exams had been any later, with all the days of school Baku had missed since entering this timeline, the ceremony today might not have been his to attend at all.

He reached the stage, accepted the diploma with both hands, and bowed slightly. The applause from the crowd washed over him. Whistles, loud yet strangely far away. He turned to leave, ready to make his way back down, when someone stepped into his path.

A boy he didn’t recognise, standing a little awkwardly, holding a bouquet of flowers. “Sorry for holding you up,” the boy said, his tone respectful. “These are for you. Congratulations on graduating.”

Before Baku could reply, the boy bowed and walked off, disappearing into the sea of gowns.

Who the fuck...? 

Baku looked down at the flowers. Soft, pastel colours, arranged with care. The kind of bouquet someone had taken the time to choose, not just grab on the way. Tucked between the stems was a small card.

He pulled it free, and before he even read the words, he knew. The handwriting was neat, deliberate, almost disciplined. He recognised Baekjin’s hand in every stroke.

To PHM,

For you, the best flowers from Jeju. Knowing I can’t be there with you on this special day, I want you to look at these and feel happiness. You’re not alone. In my own way, I am by your side.

Congratulations on graduating. I hope to hear from you soon.

Yours, NBJ.

The words seemed to still the noise of the hall. Baku read them again, slower this time, until they felt almost etched into him.

He didn’t know if he’d ever get used to this. To something so fragile and yet so steady, so beautiful it ached. A quiet laugh escaped him, breathless and small. His heart felt too warm, too big for his chest.

Courting me from afar. I ought to get back at him, this idiot.

He tucked the note carefully into his pocket, his fingers lingering for just a moment on the folded paper. It was his now. His to keep forever. Maybe the most precious thing he’d ever received. In this life, and the last.

When he returned to where his friends stood with their families, congratulations came from all sides. Hands on his shoulder, voices overlapping, the kind of warmth that was almost overwhelming.

Then it was time for pictures.

Waiting in line for the photos, his father leaned down slightly, his tone casual but his eyes giving away that the question had been sitting with him for a while. “Who was that guy that gave you these flowers?”

Baku laughed. Too loud, too sudden, the sound of a man trying to cover awkwardness with bravado. “Ah, uh… a friend of mine who lives overseas sent me these.”

Technically he wasn't fully lying. Nothing had happened after their kiss. They hadn't even talked about it. So their current status was pretty much still friends. However Baekjin wasn't overseas. More an hour drive away. 

Hmm I say that's far enough. 

He could tell his father wasn’t fooled. Still the man simply nodded, turning his head as if he believed him. To save them both from an awkward conversation. 

On Baku’s side, Gotak let out a snort that sounded dangerously close to a laugh. “Mhm friend, yeah right... Loser,” he muttered.

Baku kept his stiff smile in case his father turned, his voice low. “Shut up. Or I'll kill you.”

“Whatever you say, loverboy.”

Luckily it was finally their turn, they went up in their group first, then one by one with their families.

Sieun, face as unreadable as ever, stood between his divorced parents, who kept just enough distance between them to make it clear they hadn’t been in the same room in a long time.

Juntae, bright as sunlight, squeezed next to his mother and his little half-sister clinging to him, his stepfather grinning beside them.

Gotak, his proud grin widening as his older brother and both parents flanked him. His mother reached up to pinch his cheek mid-shot, turning the feared ex-taekwondo athlete into someone who looked twelve years old again.

Then it was Baku’s turn.

“Come, it’s our turn now, Dad,” he said.

His father stepped forward, awkward in the way men got when they didn’t quite know what to do with their hands. He didn’t smile much, but Baku could see it in his eyes. Pride, sharper than he’d ever seen it. He knew part of that pride came from a quiet place. The part of his father that had always been strict, always pushed him, because he’d wanted his son to have what he hadn’t.

Baku knew why. He’d learned in another life, just after his college graduation, when he'd secured himself a job. His father had finally confessed he was a high school dropout. When Baku had asked why he had never told him, the man had said he hadn't wanted him to follow in his footsteps. "Let's just say I didn't want you to use me as an example to work hard labour jobs that pay you almost nothing. Now that you've studied well and got yourself good work, you will just look at me and do your best to not end up like I did."

In this timeline, his father didn’t know Baku already knew. But that didn’t make this moment any less real.

He reached up, removed his cap, and placed it on his father’s head.

The man blinked. “What are you doing? Why give it to me?”

Baku kept his eyes on the camera. “Just accept it, old man. Looks better for the picture. Unlike you, I still have hair covering my crown.”

A pause.

“Hah, this brat,” his father huffed. It sounded very close to a chuckle. He nugded Baku's head lightly to the side.

The camera clicked.

When they stepped away, his father didn’t take the cap off. He stood there, holding Baku’s diploma in both hands, looking down at it as if it were heavier than paper.

Baku laid a hand on his shoulder. When his father looked up, he met his eyes. “Thank you, Dad.”

He didn’t add the rest: For raising me, for changing, for staying, for making sure I made it here.

Some things, parents just knew.

 

2 March 2025, 09:30pm

 

Then came the moment Baku had been waiting for since graduation day.

The bouquet Baekjin had sent him now stood in a clear glass vase on his desk. Even after a few days, their colours were still soft and vivid, like they refused to fade just yet. Every time Baku glanced at them, he felt the same quiet mix of emotions.

It was Sunday evening, and Baekjin was allowed one phone call at the end of every week. Last Sunday’s had been short, tentative. Baekjin had only been inside for a few days then. They had mostly exchanged the same words back and forth, making sure the other was okay, reassuring each other even though neither of them could do much from where they stood.

This week felt different. Baku was in his room, leaning back in his chair, a little giddy despite himself. His eyes kept flicking to the clock, then to the flowers, then back again.

9:30pm, exactly on the dot.

The phone rang.

Just like the last time.

Haaah… Jin-ah, always so punctual, he thought, butterflies stirring in his stomach. The fact that Baekjin wasn’t hiding how much he wanted to hear from him, that he wasn’t pretending to be aloof, made Baku feel… both sad and loved at the same time.

He picked up. “Hello?”

Baekjin’s voice came through, soft and almost teasing. “Hello, Mr. High School Graduate. How are you doing?”

Baku laughed quietly. “I should be asking you the same. I’m sure you’ve received your diploma by now too.”

He’d made sure of it. The week after graduation, he had gone to Yeo-Il High School himself to ask if Baekjin would still graduate even without attending the ceremony. The staff had told him they’d already sent his diploma by mail, and that it would arrive safely.

Baekjin sounded like he was smiling. “You’re right. I did get it.”

“Then I should be congratulating you as well,” Baku said, his voice softening. He paused, exhaled, then took a deep breath. “Congratulations, Jin-ah. I hope whatever path you choose from here on out is one you’ll be happy with.”

Silence hummed on the other end. Not uncomfortable, but shy. Baku could picture it perfectly. Baekjin, sitting wherever he was, trying to hide a smile.

“…Thank you, Humin-ah. I wish all of that and so much more for you as well.” There was a beat, then Baekjin’s tone shifted to something curious. “Now that you’ve mentioned it… what will you be doing next? Are you going to start working immediately, or are you planning on going to college? Do you… know what you want to become?”

Baku didn’t answer right away. He’d been stuck on that question for weeks. In his previous life, he had studied something he thought Baekjin might have chosen if he hadn’t died too early. Later, he had worked a plain office job for just over half a year before he was pulled back into the past.

But now… now Baekjin could choose for himself. And that meant Baku didn’t know what he wanted anymore. Studying wasn’t as hard for him now as it used to be, but it still wasn’t something he loved. And unlike a lot of people his age, he didn’t have some dream career that burned like a beacon in front of him. Without that, the determination to dive head-first into college just wasn’t there.

He huffed. “Hah… Baekjin-ah, you’ve really asked me something now.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I’ve been stuck for days over that. I feel like I can’t take a single step forward because I don’t know what I want to become.”

The line went quiet. Baku could tell Baekjin was thinking. “You know,” he said slowly, “I’ve always just imagined you’d do something you like doing.”

His curiosity peaked at that, “Oh? And what would that be?”

“You like basketball, don’t you?”

Baku nodded instinctively, even though Baekjin couldn’t see him. Somehow, Baekjin seemed to sense it, because he went on, “There’s a lot you could do with that.”

“Ah, don’t be ridiculous, Jin-ah. I’m not good enough to be a national player. Besides, it’s already too late for that.”

“I’m not talking about being a player,” Baekjin said. “I meant more teaching others sports. Or… if that’s not for you you could, I don't know, study physical therapy or something.”

Baku raised an eyebrow, smirking faintly. “Are you saying that because I’ve needed a fair share of physical therapy myself?”

Baekjin laughed. That unguarded, beautiful laugh Baku had missed. “No, dummy. I’m being serious here.”

Baku considered it. Teaching didn’t feel like him. But physical therapy… maybe. He had years of experience with sports and fighting, and more than enough experience recovering from injuries. He already understood more about the process than most.

“Actually… never mind. You might be onto something. Studying physical therapy doesn’t sound like a bad idea. I’ll think it over.” He lowered the tone of his voice, made it sound a bit deeper. “Thank you, Jin-ah.”

On the other end, Baekjin suddenly sounded flustered. “Ah, uh… I didn’t really do anything.”

“Just accept my thanks. Don’t make it awkward, weirdo. You actually helped a lot more than you think.”

“Well… then you’re welcome, Humin-ah. I’m glad I could help.”

A grin crept over Baku’s face, heat curling in his cheeks. “Nowww, we’ve talked enough about me. Tell me, what will you be doing?”

Baekjin hesitated for a moment before answering. “Well… I actually have a lot of options here. More than you'd imagine. Though they’re a bit more limited than yours.”

That faint dip in his tone made Baku’s chest ache. “People mostly choose the vocational programs. Cooking, electronics, things that make it easier to get a job when you’re out. Seongje is actually already doing one of those. Which surprised me a bit. I never really talked about these things with him. Never really knew what he wanted for himself, but then again he decided so fast and seems so happy now. Although he's always been a live-in-the-moment type of guy, his confidence with that on the whim decision did kind of make me jealous."

"How do you mean?"

"Like you, I'm not sure what I really want. For people like me who want to study there are college courses... But I don't see the point in signing myself up.”

Baku sat forward in his chair. He's lying. He does know what he wants. But he's letting his dreams die, because things aren't going like he'd planned out... I can't let that happen.

“You have to, Baekjin-ah.” His voice wasn’t sharp, but it carried weight. He wasn’t trying to force him, but he knew him well enough to recognise when he was holding himself back. “There’s no reason for you not to. You’re the smartest person I know. If you don’t study, then what’s the point of me going to college? Who’s going to motivate me through it, huh?”

There was a small scoff on the other end, tinged with something familiar. “God, Humin-ah… you’re as hopeless as ever. We’re not even going to be studying the same thing, at the same place. How do you expect me to help you through it?”

It was exactly the kind of remark eleven year old Baekjin would have made. Baku smirked to himself, a little triumphant at having drawn that version of him out again.

“Of course you’ll help me through it. You’re the one who said you were with me in your own way… or did you forget, Mr. Best-flowers-from-Jeju?”

He could practically feel Baekjin still on the other end of the line. The moment hung there.

“You’ve received them well, I see,” He said finally. “Did you like them?” His voice had that edge it sometimes did now. A quiet confidence that had grown with age, replacing some of the awkwardness.

Baku liked this new game. But he liked winning it more. He wouldn't back out, wouldn't be the first to crack, without reminding Baekjin how they used to be. “I did,” he said, drawing out the words. “Tell me, my dear… how did you manage to get the ‘best flowers from Jeju’ all the way from where you are?”

Baekjin coughed, trying to sound nonchalant. “That’s not important.”

“Oh, but I think I deserve to know.” Baku let a sly note slip into his voice. “You had the whole of Eunjang jealous, thinking I’ve got a long-distance girlfriend.”

He heard the quiet gulp from the other side. “How could I have explained that they were from you?” Baku went on, tone deceptively innocent. “Na Baekjin, the feared, fallen Union leader. Everyone thinks we still hate each other. Can you imagine how shocked they'd have been?”

What he didn’t say, but tucked into his voice like a secret, was, How shocked would they have been to know that my childhood friend, then rival, now… whatever we are… went out of his way to send me a very special bouquet? Like he’s my boyfriend.

And just like he’d predicted, Baekjin cracked.

“Why are you like this?” His voice was a little louder now, slightly higher in pitch. It was subtle, but Baku caught it immediately. Others might not have noticed.

Well I'm not others. He's embarrassed now.

“Like what, Jinnie-yah?”

No answer. But Baku could picture it perfectly. Baekjin’s ears flushed crimson, his jaw tight as he tried not to give him more to tease about.

“You’re never going to let me live this down, are you?”

“Bingo. You’re a quick learner, love.”

Love.

Baku let the word hang in the air, testing it on his tongue. Bold, yes, but change had to be made somewhere.

“And you’re insufferable,” Baekjin muttered, a slight stammer in the words.

“Hahhh, Jin-ah… it's a shame this isn’t a video call. You have no idea what I’d do to see your red cheeks right now.”

“Sh–shut up.”

Baku grinned so wide, it crinkled his eyes. He was loving this, but he wasn’t cruel. In fact he thought himself very merciful. It was time to let Baekjin breathe. “I will… if you make me.”

“Asshole.” Baekjin rolled his eyes audibly, but then his tone shifted, a little more curious. “What do you want?”

Baku didn’t hesitate. He turned serious again. “I want you to promise me you’ll do what makes you happy, love.”

It landed like a stone dropped into a deep lake. He could feel the ripple through the silence on the line.

“I want you to keep studying. I want you to not lose hope. And when you’re out of there, I want you to be proud of yourself. Your life hasn’t just begun... but from here on out, it’s completely in your hands. You get to decide how you shape it. And I want to see you shining in it.”

These words were so heartfelt. He could only hope they reached Baekjin the way he meant them.

And then he heard it. The faintest sound of sniffling.

Progress.

“Okay…” Baekjin’s voice was quieter now, tender. “Okay, Humin-ah. I promise. I’ll take a college course… and I’ll learn to be proud of myself.”

“Good. I’m very glad to hear it. Now, once you’re done letting it out, wipe those tears away for me, will you? And when you go to sleep later tonight… let it be with a lighter heart.”

“Fucking hell,” Baekjin let out a half-laugh, half-sigh. “What has gotten into you today?”

Baku leaned back, smiling to himself. “Let’s just say I already saw our future, and it looked very bright. I’m just getting a bit impatient… so I’m trying to speed up the process.”

“You're so cheesy…” Baekjin chuckled. “Alright, whatever you say, Romeo.”

There was the faint sound of movement on his end, and then his voice dropped, tinged with regret. “Ah… I’m sorry, Humin-ah. I'm going to have to hang up now. Someone else is waiting to use the phone.”

“Alright, love. I understand. Don’t feel bad, we’ll talk again soon.”

“Mm. Same time next week?”

“Same time next week.”

“I’ll be waiting… Goodnight, Min-ah.”

“Goodnight, Jin-ah. And sweet dreams.”

 

Notes:

okay this is probably by no means accurate to real life but the way i did more research for this chapter (and upcoming ones) than i ever have for a school project in the past. my teachers would scold me so bad :P
in the end i feel like looking up actual court cases was a bit much cause i still decided to go more with my own flow 🫣

Chapter 19

Notes:

Diving in headfirst into 3 time skips. Enjoy :)

31 August 2026, 07:02pm

 

The last day of summer break had settled like a slow exhale over the city, warm and golden. By tomorrow, the rhythm of lectures, assignments, and commutes would begin again, but tonight the hours stretched soft and hesitant, as though reluctant to let go.

For Baku, the day carried a strange weight. A year and a half had passed since he last saw Baekjin in the flesh, though the distance between them had been bridged, week by week, by phone calls on Sunday evenings. Still, a voice could only do so much. A voice couldn’t tell him if Baekjin was eating well, if he slept soundly, if the smile behind his teasing words reached his eyes.

College had kept him occupied, but never enough to forget. He had chosen physical therapy, almost instinctively, after Baekjin’s gentle suggestion. And though the classes were demanding, he felt himself thriving in ways the past version of him never could have imagined.

His friends, too, had set out on different paths that surprised him. Juntae was studying to become a teacher. Sieun, a medical researcher. Gotak had joined a police academy. And Suho, who had finally woken up from his coma for a while now, had, after slow and difficult months of adjustment, chosen to follow Baku’s path.

At first, Suho had been a shadow of himself, body stiff, mind still catching up to the time he had lost. But with stubborn effort he had relearned to walk, step by shaky step, and when he was ready, he announced he would pursue physical therapy too. Because he had missed his last year of high school, the pressure on him had been immense. He studied day and night, sat late entrance exams, and by some grace of luck and determination, he’d been allowed to step into the second semester alongside Baku.

It comforted Baku more than he could admit, not being alone in his college corridors. Sometimes he wondered if this shift was the butterfly effect of his second chance at life. Because everything was different now, but in a way that felt right, as if each of them had been nudged closer to what they truly wanted.

And yet, the one person whose path he wanted most to witness… was locked behind walls.

Baekjin had reassured him every Sunday: focus on school, I’m fine, don’t feel guilty. His voice had carried the same steady cadence each time, but Baku had never been able to shake the guilt. Not when months piled into a year, and not when he realised he had missed his chance last summer. He remembered it with a sting

How he’d taken the wrong train in his excitement, how he’d cried bitterly on the station platform, heartbroken. Baekjin had soothed him, saying it was alright, but Baku had known it wasn’t. He had prayed then that Baekjin hadn’t shed tears of his own. He knew better, though.

This time, there would be no mistakes.

He had booked the visit carefully, triple-checking every step. His identity had been confirmed, his belongings left behind at security. Now he sat in the visitation room, alone at the table, the coolness of the glass partition before him a sharp reminder of where he was. He had chosen a later hour on purpose, hoping for privacy. This moment, this reunion, was too sacred to risk sharing with a crowded room.

Still, he was nervous. His leg bounced restlessly under the table. His hands twisted together in his lap, clammy with anticipation. He was giddy, almost breathless with excitement, but anxiety gnawed at the edges. What if Baekjin had changed more than he expected? What if seeing him in person stirred up wounds neither of them knew how to handle?

The phone calls had been his weekly salvation. Their voices tangled across the line, relearning each other, filling in the blanks of years lost. Sometimes Baku teased, sometimes flirted, always careful to never push too far, testing waters with light touches rather than dives. Waiting for Baekjin to meet him halfway every time.

Which was starting to work out more often than not, lately. However sometimes, Baekjin still chose secrecy over being an open book like him.

For example every time Baku asked what he was studying inside the facility, Baekjin would chuckle, voice tinged with mischief. “It’s a secret. If you behave, maybe I’ll tell you someday.” It had been equal parts teasing and avoidance, Baku knew. He suspected Baekjin wasn’t ready to say his dream aloud, afraid it would break if touched too soon. And so Baku accepted the waiting. He could wait as long as it took, because he believed with a certainty that Baekjin would succeed.

The door opened.

Baku’s heart lurched into his throat.

Oh... my God.

Time seemed to slow as Baekjin walked through. Shoulders broader, hair parted rather than slicked back, features the same yet changed. The sight hit Baku like a wave. Sharp, overwhelming, grounding him and sweeping him away all at once. It was like falling in love all over again.

Baekjin crossed the room and sat opposite him, glass between them, phone on either side. Baku picked his up with trembling hands.

“Well, hello, handsome,” he said, forcing a smirk to cover the rush in his chest. He wiggled his eyebrows. “What’s with the new hairstyle?”

Pink bloomed instantly across Baekjin’s cheeks, and Baku’s nerves melted, replaced with warmth. Baekjin didn’t avert his gaze like he once might have. His eyes stayed steady, as though he, too, was drinking in every second of this reunion.

“Seongje insisted on doing it for me,” he admitted softly. “Because you were coming.”

Baku burst out laughing, the tension dissolving in his chest. He could picture it perfectly. Baekjin sitting stiff while Seongje hovered, fussing, insisting he look his best, teasing him to seduce Baku properly.

When his laughter ebbed, he found Baekjin watching him with a small, soft smile. And suddenly, it felt like no one else existed.

Baku leaned forward, catching his gaze deliberately. “Tell him he did a great job. It really looks good on you.”

The pink deepened to red. But eyes didn't waver once. The moment was fragile, intimate, as if the glass between them was the only thing keeping them from shattering with the force of what they felt.

And then Baekjin whispered, voice almost trembling, “I really missed seeing you.”

Baku’s throat tightened. He lowered his voice too, as if anything louder would break the spell. “Me too, Jin-ah. You have no idea how much.”

A grin spread over Baekjin’s face, and Baku thought he saw the glimmer of tears in his eyes. He held them back, afraid perhaps of being misunderstood, but Baku knew better. These weren’t the tears of sadness. They were what came when happiness swelled too big for the chest to contain.

Still, there was a restriction in the air. Desire pressed against the boundaries of the situation. Baku ached for more, for touch, for closeness, but knew more would not come, not for a while.

“God, I really wish I could at least hold your hand,” he murmured his thought out loud, though what he longed for most was a hug.

Baekjin lifted his palm slowly, pressing it against the glass. And though it wasn’t the same, Baku didn’t hesitate. He placed his own hand over Baekjin’s, heat sparking through the barrier.

“I know,” Baekjin said simply. He didn’t need to explain further. I know what you mean. I know how you feel. I feel it too.

Baku understood. Words were unnecessary.

For the rest of the hour, they stayed like that, hands pressed against the glass as they spoke. Baku grumbling about returning to college, Baekjin scolding him for being lazy, reminding him he didn’t even get a summer break. Their banter was light, familiar, yet every moment carried the weight of what it meant: they were here, together, after so long.

Time slipped by more quickly than Baku had expected. The hour that had once felt like a vast stretch shrank into mere moments, until a shadow fell across their table.

A guard stepped up to Baekjin, tapping him lightly on the shoulder. “I’m sorry, I have to interrupt... your visiting hour is over.”

Cold settled over Baku instantly. He turned his head toward the clock on the wall, above the door where Baekjin had first entered. The hands pointed clearly to the end of the hour. He hadn’t even noticed them moving. “Ah… an hour’s already gone by?” His voice cracked, disbelief mingling with the weight in his chest.

He looked back at Baekjin. The expression on his face mirrored his own. Conflicted, yearning, afraid to ask for more time in case the answer was only disappointment. Their hour together had dissolved like sand through fingers, and now came the part neither of them had wanted to face.

Baku’s throat tightened. He wanted to cry. He knew Baekjin did more. And that knowledge made it worse. Because he, at least, would leave this room to freedom, to friends, to family. Baekjin would return to walls and schedules, to the silence of nights where longing had nowhere to go.

The guard cleared his throat, drawing both their eyes. His expression softened, perhaps reading the desperation in theirs. “Usually, we don’t allow extra time,” he said, turning to Baekjin, “but since this is your first visit, I’ll make an exception. Five more minutes. No more than that. Say your goodbyes and come through the door when you're done.”

Baku blinked, caught off guard by the mercy. He and Baekjin both bowed their heads, thanking him quietly. The guard gave a single nod before stepping back, leaving them in their fragile cocoon.

The silence that followed was thick, almost unbearable. When Baku finally broke, it was with a ragged breath and tears spilling over. He hadn’t wanted to cry, hadn’t wanted Baekjin to see him weak, but the flood came anyway. The sight of it shocked Baekjin, who immediately teared up too, his composure breaking like glass.

“Fucking hell, I don’t want this to be over yet,” Baku muttered, voice edged with anger that wasn’t aimed at anyone but the unfairness of their situation.

“It’s okay, Humin-ah,” Baekjin said softly, though his own voice wavered, betraying him. He tried to sound reassuring, for both of them. “We’ll talk again on the phone. And you’ll visit me when you have time.”

Baku let out a bitter laugh, his tears streaking hot down his cheeks. “Which will be in a year again. Fucking college. What good is studying if it keeps me from making time for the people I love?”

The words seemed to hit Baekjin hard, but he straightened, his tone suddenly firm. “Don’t. Don’t say that.” His eyes locked on Baku’s through the glass. “I don’t want to be a reason that holds you back from achieving great things. Just like you don’t want me to give up on my dreams.”

He paused, then raised his palm to the glass again. His eyes glistened, his smile faint but steady. “Having you here today was already… more than you could imagine. I’ll be satisfied with this, and I’ll look forward to seeing you again next year.” His tears slipped free, twinkling in the low light, but his smile didn’t falter.

Baku pressed his own hand to the glass, heart breaking and swelling all at once. The tears kept coming, but this time he let them. He let them because they were truth.

“Baekjin-ah…” His voice trembled.

“Mm?”

“I love you.”

The words hung heavy in the space between them, heavier than the glass, heavier than all the walls. Words he should've said so much sooner. Baekjin’s eyes widened, then softened. He opened his mouth, ready return them, but Baku shook his head quickly, stopping him.

“Please. Don’t say it back yet.”

Baekjin froze, confusion flickering in his gaze, but he waited. He trusted.

“If you do,” Baku continued, voice raw, “I don’t think I’ll be able to leave. I won’t be able to do what you want me to do. So please… don’t say it. Not until I can hold you in my arms again.”

His lips trembled, but then he smiled through his tears, a shaky, radiant thing. He stood, still clutching the phone. “I promise I’ll be back next year. And you... ” he pointed gently with his free hand “you promise me you’ll be well.”

Baekjin’s knuckles whitened around his own receiver, eyes glistening like he might break apart, but his voice came steady. “I promise.”

Finally, Baku exhaled, nodding once, satisfied. “Good.”

The guard would return soon. They both knew it. Baku steadied himself and whispered, “You should go back inside now, Baekjin-ah. Don’t look back when you do. I’ll wait here until you’re through that door.”

Baekjin lingered, eyes locked on him for as long as possible. “Get home safe, Humin-ah.”

“Mm,” Baku smiled faintly, forcing calm into his tone. “I will.”

Their eyes held each other’s for a final second, a promise sealed in silence, before Baekjin slowly placed the phone back on its hook. He rose to his feet, shoulders squared, and turned toward the door.

He didn’t look back. Not once.

Time slowed as Baku watched him walk away, every step pulling him further until the door swallowed him whole. His heart cracked, but he stayed strong, just as he had promised.

I’ll be back before you know it, love.

 

29 August 2027, 06:49pm

 

The visitation room was the same as before. Pale walls, scuffed chairs, glass in the middle. But this time, to Baku, it felt almost softer. Maybe it was because he’d been waiting a year again, or maybe because his nerves knew exactly what they were about to feel.

Baekjin had been alone in here for months now. Seongje’s two year sentence had ended back in March, and Baku of course couldn't visit every month like he wanted, because of college. So he’d begged Seongje to go in his place.

He still remembered the phone call from months ago.

“Please, Seongje-yah, if you could just... ”

“What do you take me for, you fucker?” Seongje had cut him off with his usual huff of a laugh, the kind that sounded like disbelief more than amusement. “Of course I was going to visit him. I’ve been with him all this time while your ass is still busy. I don’t need you to tell me to be there for him now.”

Baku had sighed then, guilt heavy in his chest. “…You’re right. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked like that. I overstepped.”

For once, the line had gone quiet. Seongje hadn’t expected the apology. And then, predictably, he had burst out laughing so hard Baku had to pull the phone away from his ear. “God, you’re such a loser.” A pause, then the faint drag of a cigarette. "Okay... I’ll tell you how he’s doing whenever I see him.”

And he had. Every time.

Now, as Baku sat waiting in the chair, he felt oddly proud of himself. He’d been very busy this past year, his final year was almost done. In February, Suho and he would graduate. And then, soon after, Baekjin would be out. He would no longer have to rely on monthly secondhand updates, or phone calls rationed out once a week.

The door opened, and there he was just like last year.

Na Baekjin, the love of his life. Same as Baku remembered but this time his hair was slightly longer. He absolutely loved seeing every change that came with watching Baekjin age.

I really need to learn how to calm my heart down if I want to spend every day of my life with him...

Baekjin was across from him in a matter of seconds, picking up the receiver.

Baku did the same on his own side, his lips curving into the kind of smile he couldn’t hold back even if he wanted to. “How are you doing, love?”

Baekjin huffed softly on the other side. “You know I’m fine. I tell you that every week.”

Oh... he's annoyed about something.

“Am I not allowed to ask?” Baku teased, his grin widening.

“You are…” Baekjin sighed, though his voice carried more warmth than annoyance. “But you know I get worried too. You’ve all been so quiet about your lives lately. I feel like I’m being left out.”

Ah, so that's it.

Baku shifted the phone against his ear. Ready to explain himself and clear up any misunderstanding. “I didn’t want to bother you with all of that. This semester has been so hard, and pretty much boring. I just wanted to listen to you. Especially on the harder weeks, hearing you helped take my mind off my studies. Even if for a bit.”

Across the glass, Baekjin crossed his arms and rolled his eyes, clearly not ready to let him off the hook just yet.

Baku leaned forward, earnest. “And... I let you do all the talking because I thought you’d want someone to listen. You don’t have Seongje with you anymore… I figured you’d rather use the little time we had to share what your days were like than listen to me ramble about mine.”

Baekjin’s face softened, though he tried to hide it. “…Well, that’s partially true. And I do appreciate you thought of me. But...” he hesitated, then admitted, “I don’t want to constantly talk about myself. It gets lonely... I want to know how you’re doing, too. How everyone else is. Because…” His gaze dropped for a second before he looked back up. “…because I like listening to you, too.”

Baku’s chest ached in that way only Baekjin could cause. He hadn't thought of it that way. He lowered his voice. “I’m sorry, love. Please forgive me. I’ll tell you everything you want to know.”

He widened his eyes in pleading, a kicked puppy look that made Baekjin finally exhale, defeated. “...You better.”

So Baku did.

He told him how he and Suho had barely kept their heads above water with studies this year. How Sieun and Juntae still had longer to go in their own tracks. How Gotak had already been working as a police officer for a while now. And how the two of them had been doing everything they could to help Seongje, who Baekjin knew had picked up a part-time chef job, find a stable full-time position so he could save up.

“You told me he wanted to open his own restaurant one day,” Baku reminded him. "So Gotak and I thought we'd search up places that don't discriminate when it comes to... background."

Baekjin listened quietly, and when he finally spoke, there was a smile tugging at his lips. “God, I can’t believe you. All this time you kept me in the dark about this…"

He took a deep breath, "Thank you. For... everything and for helping him as well. I hope you guys succeed.”

“Ah, don’t thank me, love.” Baku chuckled softly, warmth spilling into his voice. “It’s my pleasure.”

He leaned back then, sighing with a sudden rush of realization. “…Ah, I can’t believe it, Jin-ah. I’m almost done. And when I graduate in February, it won’t be long until you’re with me again.”

Baekjin’s expression turned really soft. “I’m so proud of you, Humin-ah.”

The sudden compliment sent warmth rushing to Baku’s cheeks. He blinked. “Huh?”

“You’ve come so far.” Baekjin’s tone was truthful, steady. “Back then, you were always doubting yourself. Wondering why you were even doing this. But now you’re confident. You’re sure. You said it yourself just now.”

Baku tilted his head, still confused, and Baekjin chuckled quietly. “You used to say if you graduate. Just now, you said when.”

The realization clicked, sharp and stunning. Baku’s lips parted as the truth settled in. He hadn’t even noticed it, but Baekjin was right. Somewhere along the way, he had stopped thinking of success as a possibility and started believing it was a certainty.

“Wow,” he breathed. Then, smiling slowly, “Wow, I really have changed.”

Baekjin nodded, a quiet pride in his eyes, and Baku felt his chest tighten with something almost overwhelming. Their promise back then to become better versions of themselves, wasn't just words anymore. They had both made it real.

What a pleasure it's been so far to grow by your side like it was always meant to be, Baekjin-ah.

Baku kept those thoughts to himself. For the rest of his visit they continued conversing. The tension lightened when Baekjin started recounting his own misadventures. “Seongje made me join the cooking class when he visited last month.”

Baku perked up immediately. “Oh? How’d that go?”

Baekjin grimaced. “I failed miserably.”

That was all Baku needed to burst out laughing. “Failed? What, did you burn rice or something?”

“They asked me what I knew about cooking. I told them the truth: absolutely nothing.” His deadpan tone only made Baku laugh harder. “So they started with the easiest thing possible. A fried egg. Simple, right? Except I cracked it too hard, got pieces of shell in the pan, and while I was fishing them out, the underside burned completely black. Stuck to the pan. I tried cleaning it myself, but apparently I… in the chef’s words… ‘killed the pan.’”

Baku doubled over, imagining the scene in his head, he nearly dropped the receiver. His chest hurt from laughing, tears forming in his eyes. Across from him, Baekjin looked like a scolded puppy, guilty but faintly amused at Baku’s reaction.

“It’s okay, love,” Baku managed between breaths. “We’ll just keep you far away from the kitchen from now on, alright?”

“Yah…” Baekjin rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t disagree. “…Idiot.”

“Don’t be mad, Baekjin-ah.” Baku leaned back smugly, brushing a hand through his hair. “Look at it this way. I’ll just have to take over all the cooking. You can sit your pretty ass down, relax, and enjoy good food every single day.”

The words slipped out smoother than he’d meant, carrying the suggestion he hadn’t dared say aloud before. The possibility of being together every day, in the same place, sharing a life once Baekjin is outside of these walls. His own cheeks warmed, but he covered it with bravado, smirking as if he’d planned it.

Baekjin’s sharp eyes caught it, though. Of course he did. For both their sakes, he deflected, crossing his arms with a teasing smirk. “You seem awfully confident I’ll even like your food.”

Baku clutched his chest dramatically. “Excuse you! You wound me, darling. Insulting my master-level skills like that. Don’t you have any faith in me?”

Baekjin leaned forward against the glass, chin propped on his palm, voice dipping lower. “…I’ll believe you when you prove it.”

The conversation wasn't at all about food and cooking anymore.

Heat shot through Baku’s veins. Whenever Baekjin was bold like this, it drove him insane. He leaned closer too, lowering his voice into something intimate.

“Trust me, love… it’s going to blow your mind.”

For a second, neither of them moved. Just the sound of their breaths carrying through the receiver, just the way Baekjin’s eyes seemed to linger on Baku’s face like he was memorising it.

Then Baekjin dropped his gaze, hiding his mouth behind his palm but not breaking eye contact, looking up through his lashes like he knew exactly what he was doing.

What a tease you are... this is torture.

The air between them went taut.

Baku swallowed hard. His pulse thundered in his ears.

And then the damn clock caught his eye. The red second hand marched forward without mercy, and suddenly Baku realised. Their hour was almost gone.

He forced himself to lean back, even though his body screamed to stay close.

Baekjin blinked, confused as to why he suddenly distanced himself before understanding set in. He followed Baku's gaze to the clock behind him, and his shoulders sank. “Ah. It’s almost over again.”

Baku pressed his palm to the glass, and Baekjin didn’t hesitate to mirror him on the other side. Their hands aligned perfectly, only the pane between them.

“Next time…” Baekjin’s voice dropped to a whisper, but it carried all the way across. “Next time I’ll get to hold your hand for real.” The warmth in his eyes nearly undid Baku.

He chuckled softly, even though his throat felt tight. “When you say it like that, the wait feels longer than it is.”

Baekjin’s quiet giggle was almost a sigh. “We’ve survived this much already, haven’t we? We can do it.”

“You’re right,” Baku said, voice firmer than he felt. “... When you see me again, I’ll have fulfilled my promise to you.”

Baekjin tilted his head. “And I will have, too... Halfway at least."

That was more than Baekjin had shared about his dream career so far.

Of course whatever he's studying takes more than three years. Well, he better succeed soon so I can finally know it as well.

The guard walked past the door, a silent reminder that their time was slipping. Neither of them moved.

Finally, with reluctance heavy in his chest, Baku stood. His hand lingered on the glass a moment longer, pressing against Baekjin’s like he could push through it.

Then like deja vu, Baekjin whispered, “Get home safe, Humin-ah.”

“Mm. I will.” Baku’s smile was gentle, steady. The kind you gave someone you couldn’t afford to let see you break.

They both lowered their receivers slowly, as though putting them down too fast might shatter the moment. Baekjin stood first, gave him one last smile, and turned to leave.

True to Baku’s request last year, he didn’t look back.

Time seemed to slow as Baku watched him walk out, his own reflection faint on the glass where their hands had just been. His chest ached, but he kept his back straight, his eyes on the door until it closed behind Baekjin.

Almost over, he told himself. Just a little longer.

 

24 February 2028, 04:13pm

 

The afternoon sun shone bright and sharp, reflecting against the snow still clinging to the edges of the campus. Baku stood tall in his graduation robes, the fabric heavy on his shoulders but his chest lighter than it had felt in years. Suho was beside him, matching in cap and gown, their breath fogging faintly in the crisp air. They had done it. Really done it.

Although it was technically Baku's fourth time, it felt as special as the first, if not even more. Maybe because he had a feeling this would really be the last.

His father was here too, of course. Pride etched into his usually stern face, just like three years ago. His friends had come as well, despite busy schedules. Sieun and Juntae had managed to slip away from university, and even Gotak had pried himself from his police work. They hadn’t needed to, but they had. And for Baku, that meant everything.

He had even invited Seongje. It had felt strange to, given they weren’t exactly close yet, but something in him had insisted it was right. Seongje had promised to try, though he warned he might not make it in time or just not at all. Baku had shrugged it off, saying it was fine either way. Because to him, Geum Seongje was still someone that could be missed.

Na Baekjin, however, wasn't.

He was set to be released in early March, just days away, but that meant he’d miss today. That thought lingered bitterly in Baku’s chest. It would have been everything to have him here. To see him watch, to meet his eyes across the crowd and feel his pride in the moment. His last chance, gone to waste once more.

Baku forced the heaviness down. He wouldn’t want me to sulk on my graduation day.

He was pulled from his thoughts when a weight landed in his arms. A huge bouquet, thrust into his chest.

“Wah, Gotak-ah, what’s this?”

“Flowers, you idiot. Can’t you see?” Gotak grinned, smug as always.

Baku rolled his eyes, clutching them carefully. “Of course I can, bastard. Where did this come from?”

Before Gotak could answer with something stupid like the flower shop, Juntae’s sunshine voice piped up, beaming at his side. “Do you like them, Baku-yah?”

“I do, Juntae-yah,” he admitted, cheeks heating.

Sieun appeared then with Suho’s arm casually slung over his shoulder. “We got them for you.”

Baku blinked, flustered. “Hah... for me? Why?” His laughter was awkward, surprised. They’d never done something like this before. Plus he'd already gotten chocolates. The same they got for Suho. But unlike him, Suho didn't get flowers.

"Because you deserve them, Baku-yah." Sieun smiled with his eyes. The words for being a good friend didn't need to be spoken out loud.

“At first we were going to leave it at the chocolates,” Juntae explained further, earnestly, “but then we figured you might appreciate flowers too.”

Gotak smirked, cutting in before Baku could respond. “Basically, what Jun-ah’s trying to say is: we remembered how moved you were by your boyfriend’s bouquet last time. So we got you a new one. You should really throw those dead flowers away now, by the way.”

The smack Baku delivered to the back of his head echoed satisfyingly. “You know I never will.”

“Well then you won’t need this new one.” Gotak lunged for it, but Baku raised the bouquet out of reach, grinning like a child.

“Ah, ah, ah, Gotak-ah. This one’s going right beside the other. I’ll never throw any of them away.”

Because to him, wilted or not, they weren’t just flowers. They were proof. Physical reminders that he was loved, that someone had thought of him. And that was something he would always treasure.

Gotak clicked his tongue. “I’m starting to regret suggesting it.”

Baku’s grin widened. He had already suspected who’d been behind it.

He stuck his tongue out at him. Only to yelp when a firm smack landed on the back of his head. Like instant karma for the one he'd given Gotak.

It was his father.

“And they told me they matured with age… no ma’am, mine does the opposite.” His father shook his head with exaggerated disappointment, then turned to Baku’s friends. “Come, everyone. It’s time for pictures.”

Baku’s smile stretched bright and wide as he lined up for the pictures. First came one with his father, Suho taking the photo for them. Then one with his friends, his father behind the camera this time. Finally, a shot with Suho. The two graduates standing shoulder to shoulder, Gotak clicking the shutter with mock seriousness.

"Alright wrap it up, motherfuckers! Damn... maybe I should've become a photographer." he chuckled while looking at the picture he'd just taken.

"Did you get our best angles?" Suho asked.

Gotak's voice dripped with sarcasm "Hell yeah! You guys look sexy as fuck. Especially you, Baku-yah... Hmm perfect for birthday posts."

"You fucker... Come here, let me take some of you. Let's see who's the better photographer!" Baku yelled after him and made to move, but he was quickly pulled back.

“Haah, we’re finally done, brother!” Suho crowed, tugging Baku down by the shoulder and ruffling his hair. "Now relax, you can get at him another day."

So much for telling me to relax... He's squeezing my damn neck.

“Dickhead, stop ruining my hair!” Baku grinned as he shoved at him, landing soft punches against his abdomen until Suho finally released him, laughing.

“Okay, okay, I’ll leave you alone. Time for some solo pics.” He sauntered off, grinning over his shoulder.

“Yeah, run back to your boyfriend. I know you’re scared,” Baku called after him, smirking.

Without turning, Suho simply flipped him off. “You too!”

Baku shook his head, chuckling. Weirdo. But the warmth lingered. Together with Gotak and him, Suho was an absolute menace to society. Sometimes Baku wondered how their two calm friends hadn't tired of the three of them.

He watched as Suho posed for his grandmother, Sieun gently taking her phone to help when she fumbled with the buttons. The scene was so domestic it tugged at Baku’s chest, filling him with happiness for them.

“Alright, loverboy. It’s your turn now.”

The voice snapped him out of his thoughts. His father.

Baku groaned inwardly. Even his old man had picked up the nickname now. A consequence of all the teasing from Gotak and Suho. Everyone around them just accepted Baekjin as his boyfriend, even though Baku himself wasn’t sure if they’d officially crossed that line yet. He’d tried to hide it at first, worried his father would disapprove. But the man had said nothing, only quietly observing and then, eventually, joining in with the teasing. Almost as though it was the most natural thing.

“Humin-ah, you’re zoning out again.” His father snapped his fingers in front of him, handing him his diploma before raising the phone. “Give me your best smile. This one’s for the family picture book.”

Baku obeyed, lifting the diploma so it was clear in view and forcing his grin into something genuine, even if his face felt stiff from all the smiling already.

“Just a second,” his father muttered, fumbling with the screen.

Baku’s lips twitched. This man… just now he was taking photos perfectly. Did he forget how to turn the camera again?

“Do you need help, Dad?” he muttered through gritted teeth, still holding the smile.

“No, I got it. Are you ready, boy?”

“My face is stiff from waiting, old man! I’ve been ready this whole time, just take the damn picture already!”

His father chuckled, steadying the phone. “Alright, alright. At the count of three. One… two… three... ”

And suddenly...

A warmth pressed against Baku’s side. A hand slipped around his waist from behind. A familiar scent, one that slammed into his senses before his mind could even catch up, wrapped around him.

The world stopped.

Time folded in on itself.

Every thought scattered as his heart lurched, thundering so hard he thought it might break through his chest.

Because he knew that touch. He knew that scent.

 

Chapter 20

Notes:

check updated tags for this chapter :)

24 February 2028, 04:31pm

 

Click.

The sharp sound of the camera echoed faintly in the chilly air. Baku’s father lowered the phone, eyes crinkling as he gave his son a knowing smile. Then, without a word, he turned and walked off toward the others.

Baku whipped around without hesitation and froze.

Na Baekjin.

My Jinnie.

His mind emptied in an instant. The world shrank to the single sight before him. The face he had yearned for every day. The face he had already accepted, or thought he had accepted, he wouldn’t see here today. He had told himself that Baekjin’s release in March meant graduation would be one celebration Baekjin couldn’t share with him.

And yet here he stood.

The man who had been a voice behind glass, a presence across phone lines, now real, tangible, alive in front of him.

Baku’s lips parted, no sound coming out.

Baekjin chuckled, voice rich and teasing. “Well, this is anticlimactic. I was expecting more of a reaction… What, cat got your tongue?” He smirked, that same irresistible curve that always left Baku’s knees weak. And he knew it. He always knew the effect he had.

Baku stumbled over half-formed questions. “What… how…?”

Before he could say more, an arm landed loosely around his neck. He blinked sideways into Seongje’s grin, as irreverent as ever. “My graduation gift for you, Baku-yah. Do you like it?”

Baku’s head jerked between him and Baekjin. He caught the way Baekjin’s smile faltered just slightly at how close Seongje leaned, though he said nothing.

“Since when…?” The words left Baku’s lips in a daze, not directed at anyone, more a plea for sense.

Seongje clapped him on the back with a laugh. “Ah, I’ll leave the explaining to your boyfriend. He’s been waiting for this moment long enough. You lovebirds should catch up.” He started off, hand raised lazily in a wave. “Keep it clean, fuckers.”

And just like that, they were alone.

Baku glanced around and things began to fall into place. His friends, grouped together at a distance, chatting too casually. Seongje already with them, as though he’d planned this with them all along. Not too far his father was speaking with Suho’s grandmother, neither watching too closely. All those odd little moments earlier. Suho’s cryptic “you too,” his father’s suspiciously long hesitation with the camera. They began to knit together.

A sigh behind him pulled him back.

“First you’re silent, and now you’re not even looking at me,” Baekjin said, arms crossed but his eyes soft, searching. “I’m starting to think you didn’t miss me at all.”

That woke him up.

Baku turned in an instant, grabbed Baekjin’s arm, and without a word dragged him away, running.

“Ah. Humin-ah...!” Baekjin stumbled after him, startled. “Where are you going? Where are you taking me?”

Baku didn’t answer until they burst into the quiet backyard of the campus. Snow dusted the empty benches, muffling the world. Only then did he stop... and throw himself into Baekjin’s arms.

At first Baekjin stiffened, caught off guard. Then, slowly, his arms folded around Baku’s back, firm, warm, grounding.

Baku buried his face against the crook of his neck, inhaling. That familiar scent. Faint cologne, leather, something uniquely him. It all washed through him. His whole body relaxed at once, like every bone had been waiting for this contact.

“You’re here…” he whispered, words breaking. “You’re really here.”

Baekjin’s arms tightened, his cheek brushing against Baku’s until their skin touched. His breath warmed Baku’s ear as he whispered back, steady and sure, “I am. I really am. And this time, I’m here to stay.”

Baku nodded against his shoulder, voice low. “You better.”

For a long while, words deserted them both. They stayed wrapped together in silence, letting their hearts speak where mouths couldn’t. Every second stretched into eternity. If this is heaven, Baku thought, I never want to leave.

Eventually, reluctantly, he pulled back just enough to hold Baekjin’s hands and see him clearly.

Baekjin looked the same and different. Same leather jacket, same black jeans and turtleneck he used to wear back then. But the clothes didn't fit like it used to anymore. What once hung comfortably now strained slightly against the muscle that he had gained these past three years. Every outline beneath more visible, especially if you paid close attention.

Baku’s throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, dragging his gaze away before his mind could run places it shouldn’t.

“Ah, Baekjin-ah… how are you even here?”

Baekjin’s grin curved easy, mischievous. “Well, I couldn’t miss my favourite person’s graduation now, could I?”

“But… how?” Baku pressed, baffled. “I thought you wouldn’t be out until next month. Did they let you out early?”

Baekjin scratched at the back of his head, his longer bangs falling into his eyes. “Yeah, they did. And… before you ask, yes, I’ve known for a while. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

Baku blinked. “…Why?”

“Because,” Baekjin admitted, “when you told me three months ago you’d graduate today, I felt a little crushed I couldn’t be there. Seongje noticed when he visited me. He asked Hyeontak if there was any way and that's when he came without telling you once, said he’d try his best. We decided to keep it from you, in case it didn't work out. And when it did...” His smirk returned, softer this time. “I thought, why not surprise you?”

The words sank in, and laughter bubbled out of Baku. “Unbelievable. You and Gotak, all of you... You guys even got my old man in on it. No wonder he took so long with that picture. And Suho... ah, that idiot. Now it makes sense what he said earlier…”

Baekjin tilted his head. “What did he say?”

Baku waved a hand quickly, cheeks heating. “Ah, nothing. Not important.”

Baekjin frowned, confused, but before he could press, Baku reached up and smoothed the crease between his brows with his thumb. He smiled.

“I missed you so much.”

Baekjin’s eyes softened instantly. “…I did too.”

Baku tugged him into another hug, making Baekjin chuckle against his shoulder. “Can’t get enough of me, huh?”

“Mm. You don’t even know the half of it.”

Baekjin’s voice lowered, teasing. “On the contrary… I think I understand exactly what you feel.” He buried his face into Baku’s neck, warm and safe.

It made Baku feel whole.

After a while, he felt Baekjin’s chest rise against him with a quiet yawn. He pulled back slightly, searching his face. There he was met with subtle heaviness in his eyes, and fatigue written in the lines of his expression.

“You got up really early, didn’t you?”

Baekjin gave a small huff of a laugh. “Yeah. Seongje picked me up at dawn so I’d have time to grab my things from the old garage, move them to my new place, and still get ready before coming here.”

Baku blinked, taken aback. “Your… new place? You bought your own place? Since when?” It felt like every word Baekjin spoke today was a spoiler about a reality show Baku had been too busy to catch up on.

Baekjin’s smile curved a little wry. “Remember how I’d been trying to escape the Union before everything with Choi happened?”

Baku nodded silently.

“Well,” Baekjin continued, lowering his voice, “I’d been putting aside money under his nose the whole time. I hid it so well, even the police never found it.”

His eyes darkened at the memory, shadows of old desperation passing through them. Then he looked straight into Baku’s eyes, unflinching. “I know it’s wrong, and I’ll understand if you disagree with me using it. But right now it’s my only way to survive. I promise… once I get a job and start making an honest living, I’ll pay back the people he stole it from.”

Baku let the words hang between them, absorbing not just what Baekjin said but how much weight he was carrying in saying it. Then, gently, he shook his head. “I don’t think you did anything wrong.”

Surprise flickered over Baekjin’s features, however subtle.

“After everything that bastard put you through…” Baku’s voice lowered, steady and certain, “you have every right to use that money. Even if it’s dirty. Even if it wasn’t his to begin with. You deserve something back for everything you've endured.”

Baekjin dropped his gaze, silent for a long moment, turning Baku’s words over in his mind. Finally, he exhaled slowly. “Maybe you’re right. Still… I can’t help feeling responsible. Even if he forced me into it, I still stole. I’ve had three years to think about that.” His hands curled faintly into fists. “I don’t think I’m a bad person. But I also wouldn’t have called myself a good one until recently. So from here on… I’ll try to prove it to the world.”

Baku’s chest tightened, not with sadness but with something like pride. The boy he’d loved, the one who’d lost himself on the wrong path, had fought his way back. He’d grown, matured, and yet still remained the Baekjin he cherished.

“You’ve really grown, Baekjin-ah… I’m very proud of you.”

Colour bloomed faintly at Baekjin’s ears. He gave a small, almost embarrassed smile. “Right.”

Before Baku could say more, a familiar voice shattered the air.

“There you fuckers are!”

Gotak, of course, leading the pack of their friends across the lawn.

Suho didn’t waste a second, swinging a playful kick at Baku’s backside. “Yah, I get that you’re reunited with your boyfriend and all, but you’ve been gone half an hour. Ceremony is over. Everyone’s already leaving.”

Baku sputtered and dodged him, but the first words that tumbled out weren’t in defense at all. “Is my father still here?” He wasn’t even sure why that was what mattered most in the moment only that he needed to know.

“Yeah,” Sieun answered with a smile, “he’s waiting so we can all go eat together.”

Dinner... His father had closed the restaurant for the day, just so his friends and Suho’s grandmother could fit in and celebrate. Since their apartment is in no state for guests, this had been his solution.

Baku turned back to Baekjin, his heart thudding with hope. “Will you join us for dinner?”

Please say yes.

Baekjin’s smile faltered, turning apologetic. “Ah… I’d love to, Humin-ah. But to be honest, I’m exhausted. I was planning on heading back, fixing a few last things in the apartment, and sleeping.”

It wasn’t rejection, but disappointment still prickled under Baku’s skin. He nodded slowly. “I get it. Do you want me to bring you some food later?”

“There’s no need.” Baekjin’s eyes softened, though his tone stayed firm. “You should celebrate today. I’ll figure something out.”

Baku bit the inside of his cheek. Something in Baekjin felt distant, but he looked so tired that pushing him felt cruel. Instead, he tried carefully, “Then… will you come tomorrow evening?”

Baekjin blinked, puzzled. Baku had assumed Seongje would have told him about it.

Suho spoke up to explain for him. “A classmate’s throwing a party for us last years now that we've graduated. You should come too.”

Baekjin hesitated. “I don’t know if I should… I didn’t study here, and I don’t even know the guy.”

Gotak continued. “Neither do we. We’re just plus-ones.”

“And the host was kind enough to allow multiple,” Juntae added brightly. “Come with us. It’ll be fun. You won't be trespassing, if that's what you're worried about.”

Baku’s heart fluttered nervously. He knew his friends had stepped in because they knew he was scared of being turned down again.

Finally, Baekjin’s gaze found his again. “…Okay. I’ll go with you guys.”

Relief warmed every corner of Baku’s chest. “I’m glad.”

Even though it bugged him a bit that he didn't understand why Baekjin was holding himself back just now, he also knew that he would tell him when the moment was right.

Now that I have you here again, you can't expect me to stay away for too long, sweetheart.

Time was slipping. The others were already gathering their things. Baku’s lips quirked into a sheepish grin. “I should go now, love, before my father decides he doesn’t want to feed us anymore.”

Baekjin chuckled quietly. “Mm. Take care. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The words filled Baku like sunlight. See you tomorrow. Not see you next year, not call you next week. But tomorrow.

He couldn’t help himself. He threw his arms around Baekjin again, their third hug of the day. Immediately, the chorus started behind him. Suho and Gotak’s loud “ooohs,” and Seongje’s inevitable wolf whistle.

Baekjin laughed against his shoulder. “Is this what you’ve been putting up with all this time?”

Baku sighed. “Yup. And they don’t get tired of it.”

He knew, because even in his future vision they'd been that way.

“That’s fine,” Baekjin murmured, pulling back with a smile. “I think I can get used to it.”

Baku’s own smile was unstoppable. “Get home safe, Jin-ah. Don’t wear yourself out more tonight. We can always help you with settling in.”

“I know. Don’t worry. Seongje already took care of most of it before I got out. I just need to put some of my things in place.”

Baku tucked that away, thank Seongje for it properly later. “Good. Rest well. Eat something. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Baekjin nodded, his expression softening into something achingly tender. “See you tomorrow, Min-ah.”

 

25 February 2028, 10:09pm

 

The party was alive in the way only student gatherings could be. Music spilling through the speakers, bass heavy enough to vibrate the floorboards, laughter rising and falling like waves, and the faint sweetness of alcohol lingering in the air. Baku was standing near the back wall, one hand stuffed into his pocket, pretending to watch the people dancing but in truth doing little more than checking the clock every other minute.

Baekjin had said around ten.

When the hand struck straight up, Baku’s pulse had quickened. At five past, it slowed into doubt. By almost ten past, unease had begun to gnaw at him. A quiet, restless fear that maybe Baekjin had changed his mind at the last second. That maybe showing up here, to a place that didn’t belong to him, surrounded by people he didn’t know, had felt too much.

He’d been about to fish out his phone when the door finally opened.

Just like that, breath abandoned him.

Baekjin stepped inside, and the world seemed to shrink around the frame of his figure. Black jeans, fitted tight, and a black shirt worn with casual carelessness, the upper buttons undone to reveal the faint line of his chest. His hair fell slightly over his forehead, the longer strands catching the light, and his eyes were darting around the crowded room in search of something familiar. Or someone.

He looked out of place, awkward even, though he was trying to mask it.

Not anymore, Baku thought, pushing himself away from the wall.

The moment Baekjin spotted him weaving through the crowd, that subtle stiffness in his shoulders eased, replaced by relief. He met Baku halfway, as though both had been pulled forward by the same invisible string.

“Baekjin-ah.” The name came out rougher than intended, weighted with all the waiting. He wanted to say so much more, but in that instant the simple fact of Baekjin standing there was overwhelming enough.

Baekjin tilted his head, a teasing curve touching his lips. “Have I kept you waiting long, Humin-ah?”

Baku shook his head, smiling. Helpless, wide and honest. “Not at all, love. I’m just… so glad you’re here.”

Something softened in Baekjin’s eyes, but he let the moment pass with a smile of his own. “Where’s everyone else?”

Baku glanced over his shoulder, gesturing vaguely at the room. “Last I saw, they were already drinking. I left them to it.” He hesitated, then added, “As for Seongje… who knows. He passed me a few times, but he’s too busy being popular to stop and talk.”

Baekjin chuckled, the sound low and warm. “Yeah, the bastard knows too many people.”

Baku almost replied, So do you. The words pressed against his tongue, because Baekjin’s tone had carried something strange in it. Like distance, like self-exclusion. But he swallowed them down. Baekjin had only just arrived so this wasn’t a time to push in case he regretted coming here.

So instead, he leaned in close, lowering his voice with a mischievous grin. “Ah, forget about everyone else, Baekjin-ah. You’ve got such a handsome man standing in front of you. Focus on him for a bit, hmm?”

Baekjin reacted instantly, pressing his palm flat against Baku’s face and shoving him lightly back, blocking his view. “Idiot,” he muttered, though a small smile betrayed him. Shaking his head, he let his hand fall. “Alright, fine. I’ll focus on you. So… what do you want to do?”

Baku laughed, I want us to get married. The ridiculousness of it made him bite his tongue, a quiet laugh curling in his chest. Can’t really throw that one on him yet, can I?

Out loud, he answered, “We’re at a party. I want us to have fun.” He tilted his head toward the counter where drinks were being poured. “You wanna get a drink?”

Baekjin studied him carefully. The first time alcohol was mentioned tonight, he had searched Baku’s face, as if checking whether it sat okay with him that his friends were drinking. Because he'd seen reassurance then, he nodded now.

“Sure,” he said, smiling faintly. “Maybe it’ll help me loosen up.”

And for Baku, that was perfect. He’d wanted Baekjin to relax, to step out of that cage of stiffness and let the night soften around him.

 

26 February 2028, 12:53am

 

The rest of the evening had passed more smoothly than Baku could have hoped. After they had gone together to get Baekjin a drink, they’d run into his friends there, and from that moment on Baekjin had started to properly relax.

Baku, though never fond of alcohol, had found himself mesmerised watching what it did to Baekjin. It stripped away the stiffness, pulling out sides of him that rarely showed. The talkative side, the easy laughter, the bold smirks that lingered longer than usual. It made him smile so openly, so freely, that Baku almost forgot the years that had been carved between them.

In a way he was very similar to Juntae like this. So it didn’t surprise Baku when Baekjin kicked it off with the boy so well. Juntae was the kind of person anyone could feel safe around, as if his presence itself was permission to breathe a little easier. It felt right that Baekjin’s first real friendship outside of him and Seongje would start here, not forged in blood and desperation like before, but out of choice. Out of wanting to know each other.

Somehow, by the grace of Juntae’s persuasion skills, Baekjin and Sieun, the two people Baku and Gotak had never managed to drag onto a dancefloor, were suddenly among them under the coloured lights. Baku couldn’t help but laugh to himself. He and Gotak always teased that Juntae could talk anyone into anything, and tonight was proof. Even Sieun, who never gave in unless Suho begged, was moving to the rhythm. And Baekjin, who had resisted until now, gave in too.

They all danced. Carefree, as though the night would never end.

It was there on the dancefloor that they finally bumped into Seongje. He was completely in his element. Grinning wide, cup in hand, the bass bouncing with his every step. Without warning, he threw an arm over Baekjin’s shoulders and clinked their cups together, startling him.

“Having fun, Baekjin-ah?” Seongje grinned like the devil himself.

Baekjin rolled his eyes, though there was no real annoyance in it. “I was until you came around, dickhead. Where the hell have you been this whole time?”

“Ah, you wound me,” Seongje said with mock hurt. “The rich fucker’s got a game room in the basement. Some kid from my high school challenged me to play.”

Baku raised a brow, his voice edged with suspicion. “You didn’t beat him up, did you?”

“Wah, Baku-yah, I’m not like that anymore. Kid wasn’t worth the effort. I just beat him at the game, that’s all.” Seongje’s grin widened.

Hard to believe, Baku thought, but at this point he didn’t care the way he might’ve years ago.

“Sure you did,” Baekjin said dryly, voicing what everyone else was thinking.

Seongje only shrugged. “Had to check if I’d gone rusty.”

Suho tilted his chin at him. “And what was the result?”

“Still as good as ever of course,” Seongje laughed, smug.

The rest of them shook their heads. Some people just didn’t change. But as long as he kept himself in check, they’d accept Seongje for what he was.

Gotak jabbed a finger at him. “Just don’t give me a reason to throw you in jail again, asshole.”

Seongje snapped to attention, hand at his forehead in a mocking salute. “Sir, yes sir.”

Laughter broke out, and then they all danced some more.

When, a slow song slipped through the speakers, their friends left for another round of drinks, leaving only Baku and Baekjin swaying under the softened lights.

Baekjin, tipsy and bold, looped his arms around Baku’s neck and pulled him close. Close enough that Baku caught the alcohol on his breath. Close enough that every line of their bodies pressed together, chest to chest, nose to nose.

Baku’s heart stuttered. He wished desperately that Baekjin hadn’t been drinking. Because if he were sober he would've kissed him right then.

But he wasn't.

So instead, he wrapped his arms around Baekjin’s waist, letting his hand roam up his back and down again, feeling the subtle hitch in Baekjin’s breath. The way it quickened, stopped, hovered in anticipation.

He's not in his right state of mind... I have to stop.

As the song faded into another, he gently pulled away, forcing his tone light. “Ah, I just spotted some of my seniors. I’ll go say hi.” He pointed vaguely across the room. “You should come too, Baekjin-ah. I’ve been wanting to introduce you for a while now.”

Baekjin only nodded, confusion flickering faintly at the sudden shift, but still following without questioning him. Baku took comfort in that. Because it confirmed he did the right thing.

They went together. Baku introduced him, they endured his seniors’ teasing, both of them flustered. But the talk soon drifted toward shared memories of school days, stories Baekjin couldn’t be part of. Eventually, Baekjin leaned in and quietly asked if it was alright for him to go back and find their friends instead.

Baku had nodded. They weren’t far. Baekjin would be fine. He hadn't wanted him to stay there if he felt left out.

But now, standing in front of Sieun and Suho, that confidence evaporated.

“Isn’t Baekjin with you guys?” Baku asked.

Suho shook his head. “Haven’t seen him since you two left the dancefloor together.”

“We thought he was still with you,” Sieun added.

Baku’s chest tightened. “No… he said he’d come find one of you.”

Just then, Seongje, Gotak, and Juntae appeared again, drinks in hand, laughter spilling off them until they noticed his face.

“What’s wrong, Baku-yah?” Gotak asked, instantly alert.

“Have any of you seen Na Baekjin?”

All three shook their heads. “No,” Juntae said. “We just went to grab drinks. Didn’t spot him on the way here.”

Baku’s worry thickened, clawing up his throat.

Seongje frowned, a rare seriousness breaking through. “I’m sure he’s around here somewhere. Let’s look before jumping to conclusions.”

Baku exhaled, nodding. “Alright. If anyone finds him, send a message.”

With that, they split up, scattering into the noise and shadows of the house. He went searching, heart pounding harder with each empty corner.

His thoughts were running wild. Is he alright? Did he drink too much? Did he pass out somewhere? Did he get lost?

The haze of loud music, sweat, and drunken bodies pressed in on him, making it impossible to think straight. He pushed through the crowded hallways, felt like he was chasing shadows, lost in a blur of flashing lights and slurred voices.

Then, just as he passed the open door to the kitchen, voices froze him in his tracks.

A group of four guys lounged there, smoking, laughing in low, mocking tones. Ex-union members, ones that had been fresh recruits before the fall. Their words cut through the noise with the one name Baku could never ignore.

“You guys seen Na Baekjin?” one of them asked lazily, cigarette dangling from his lips.

Baku stopped dead.

“Almost didn’t recognize him. He looks like a fucking gay now.”

Laughter erupted. Sharp, ugly. It made Baku’s blood boil.

“What’s that motherfucker even doing here?”

“Probably looking to start the Union again. Doesn’t look like prison taught him much… or well, actually maybe one thing.” The man gave his friends a lewd look as he made suggestive gestures with his hands. Another round of laughter filled the small room.

Baku’s hands curled into fists. He couldn’t listen anymore. He prayed Baekjin hadn’t heard a word of this filth, but deep down, he knew it was already too late. Maybe this was why Baekjin was nowhere to be found now. And also why hadn’t wanted to come tonight. Why he’d looked uneasy at the thought of being here.

How fucking dumb I am, to have thought he just wasn't much of a party person.

He stepped forward, and the rage exploded.

His fist connected with the nearest face. A scream, then a crack that left no doubt the man’s nose was broken. When the sound died down, all that was left were groans filling the kitchen. The music outside drowned everything else. No one would come to save them.

The man clutched his bleeding nose, shrieking, “Who the fuck are you?! Why the fuck did you break my nose?!”

Baku grabbed him by the collar and yanked him upright until the man choked. “Where did Na Baekjin go?” His voice was a low snarl, sharp with fury. “Tell me, or I’ll fucking kill every single one of you.”

A trembling hand grabbed his leg. Another voice, weak and broken, stammered, “H-he went outside, I think. P-please, l-let us go. We didn’t do… anything.”

Baku’s jaw tightened. He flung the first man across the kitchen floor like garbage and drove his foot into the face of the one who’d dared touch him. Both collapsed, groaning. He looked at the four crumpled bodies sprawled on the tiles, his voice like ice.

“If any of you filthy bastards even dares to take his name into your mouth again, it’ll be the last fucking thing you say, you hear me?!"

He stomped down hard on the nearest guy's hand, enjoying the sound of the fucker crying out in pain.

"Mark. My. Fucking. Words.”

Then he left them broken, stepping out of the suffocating haze into the cold night air.

The freezing air hit his face like knives, grounding him instantly. His breath clouded white in the dark.

He couldn't have gotten very far, could he?

He looked left, nothing. Looked right, and there... Barely visible. A figure slumped against the wall, black clothes blending into shadow, the snow framing him like ash on coal.

Baku’s heart lurched.

He sprinted forward. Baekjin was crouched down, his eyes closed, cheeks flushed red from cold and intoxication, lips parted just slightly. He looked fragile. Like a stray dog waiting for its owner, uncertain and lost.

“Baekjin-ah?” Baku dropped to his knees beside him.

Baekjin stirred, opening his eyes lazily, lashes heavy and wet with frost. His gaze was unfocused, unfixed. He looked up at Baku as though waking from a dream.

Baku pressed his palm to his forehead, chilled, far too cold. “Baekjin-ah, what are you doing out here alone? You’re freezing.”

Please, God, don't let him get sick because of me.

Baekjin chuckled softly, the sound thin and uneven, his words slurred. “It’s so beautiful out here, Humin-ah. You should join me. So quiet… so peaceful… unlike people.”

Baku’s chest ached. He sighed, crouching lower to wrap Baekjin's arm around his shoulders, tugging him up. “Come on.” He pulled him to his feet, steadying his weight with an arm locked firmly around his waist.

With his free hand, he fished his phone from his pocket, thumbs tapping fast into the group chat: Found him. Taking him home.

He shoved the phone away, then crouched in front of Baekjin just as the taller man sagged heavily against him, energy drained. Without hesitation, Baku slipped his arms under Baekjin’s knees, lifting him onto his back. Baekjin slumped there, his weight warm and heavy, head lolling forward against Baku’s shoulder.

Baku shifted his grip, jolting him slightly higher so he wouldn’t slide down. Baekjin groaned softly at the movement, a sound that echoed with nausea and a pounding headache already setting in.

“I’m sorry, love. I know.” Baku’s voice was soft, steady, as he looked ahead into the empty street. “It’ll be over soon.”

The answer came not in words, but in Baekjin’s arms tightening around him. The drunk, clumsy embrace was still warm enough to seep through Baku’s chest, enough to make him forget for a moment that neither of them had coats. That also meant Baku didn't have his money on him for a taxi.

He swallowed hard, adjusting his steps to keep his balance. “Baekjin-ah?”

At first, silence. For a second, Baku thought he’d already fallen asleep.

Then, so faint it could’ve been mistaken for a breath of wind, came the reply.

“Mm?”

“If your apartment is closer than mine,” Baku whispered as he adjusted Baekjin’s weight on his back once more, “could you show me the way? I’ll get you home so you can rest up without worry.”

“Mmm… I’ll show you the way,” Baekjin murmured, voice small and heavy with exhaustion.

And he did. Through the blur of streetlamps and falling snow, Baekjin managed to stay lucid enough to point the directions with a weak hand, his voice a quiet guide. The walk couldn’t have been more than ten minutes, but for Baku, every step carried weight. Not just Baekjin leaning on him, but the fragile trust that came with it. He was acutely aware of the body heat at his back, the steady rise and fall of Baekjin’s chest against him.

When they reached the building, Baku tilted his head up and eyed the stairwell. “What floor do you stay on?”

“Second,” Baekjin whispered, breath brushing against the curve of Baku’s neck. Then, after a pause, “Let me down, Humin-ah.”

Baku’s hold only tightened. “Ah, it’s alright, sweetheart. No big deal. I’m strong enough, you know that. Don’t worry about me.” His tone was soft, coaxing, reassuring.

Baekjin shook his head faintly, stubbornness flashing even through the haze of alcohol. “Don’t be ridiculous. Please think of your back. I don’t weigh nothing. Besides… I feel much better now.”

“Are you sure?” Baku slowed, leaning just enough to look over his shoulder.

Baekjin nodded, so Baku gently lowered him to his feet. But the moment Baekjin tried to stand on his own, his knees trembled. His body swayed as if the ground itself tilted beneath him. Without hesitation, Baku slid an arm around his waist, steadying him.

“Haah, my love,” Baku murmured with a sigh that was equal parts fondness and worry, “why don’t you ever tell me when you don’t feel okay?”

Baekjin leaned his head against Baku’s shoulder, the words slurring, almost childlike in their simplicity. “Don’t wanna… hold you back.”

That wasn't enough of an explanation for Baku, but he let it go. Tomorrow, he promised himself, they would talk about it. Tonight, all that mattered was getting Baekjin safely home.

They climbed the stairs slowly, Baku supporting most of his weight. When they reached the second floor, Baekjin lifted his hand weakly and pointed toward a door. A keypad blinked faintly beside it.

“Do you think you can put in the code?” Baku asked gently, hesitant. He didn’t want to overstep, not when it came to something as private as this.

But Baekjin didn’t hesitate. His answer came soft, honest, without walls. “It’s your birthday.”

Baku froze. My… birthday. The words swelled in his chest like a rising tide, unexpected and overwhelming. His throat tightened as emotion burned behind his ribs. He bit down on it, forcing the flood back, and with steady hands entered the date.

The keypad chimed. The door unlocked with a quiet click.

Baku guided them both inside, the warmness of the apartment rushing to meet them. He knelt by the entrance, steadying Baekjin as he slipped out of his shoes, then tugged off his own. The space smelled faintly of fresh paint and something new, like a life just beginning.

He led Baekjin into the nearest room, which luckily revealed itself to be the bedroom. The queen-sized bed looked far too big for the man who collapsed at its center, blinking sluggishly.

Baekjin fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, hands clumsy and uncoordinated. Baku’s mouth went dry at the sight. Pale skin revealed inch by inch, and heat flushed unbidden through him. He cleared his throat, desperate to steady himself.

“Where is your bathroom, love? I’ll get you some wet towels to clean you up.”

Baekjin’s heavy-lidded eyes blinked toward the door across the hall, his finger pointed along weakly.

Baku slipped away, sparing only a few seconds to notice how absurdly pristine the bathroom was, almost too elegant for someone just starting out. He searched quickly for what he needed: a washcloth, a towel, something to hold warm water. Then he returned, kneeling by the bed once more.

“I’m going to take off your socks and pants. Is that okay?”

Baekjin’s voice was faint but clear. “Yeah.”

Carefully, Baku undressed him, folding away the garments with quiet precision. He placed them neatly in the laundry basket, then helped Baekjin’s legs onto the bed. “Can you sit a bit upright, Jin-ah?”

A nod. Baku slid a pillow against the headboard, guiding him gently into place.

The washcloth was warm in his hands as he wrung it out. “This might feel a bit uncomfortable,” he warned softly, “but I’ll do my best to be quick.”

He started with Baekjin’s face, brushing away the sheen of sweat, the faint traces of the night. Then his arms, his chest, his back. Each pass of the cloth gentle, deliberate, almost reverent. He dried the skin carefully before moving on, kneeling lower to tend to his legs and feet.

The entire time, he could feel Baekjin’s gaze on him, unwavering. Baku didn’t look up. He couldn’t... the weight of that eye contact would undo him. Instead, he focused on the quiet rhythm of care, on the small sacredness of this moment.

When he was finished, he rose and carried everything back, hanging the cloth and towel neatly over the basket to dry. He washed his hands and face, then returned to the bedroom, settling himself at the edge of the mattress.

The bed dipped. Baekjin’s eyes fluttered open.

Baku reached out, laying a palm softly against his forehead one last time. No fever. Relief loosened the knot in his chest. He let his hand drift down, cupping Baekjin’s cheek, his thumb drawing tender circles over the skin.

“Alright, sweetheart. You’re good now. Go to sleep and rest well.”

Baekjin stared back, expression unreadable. Silent.

Baku lingered only a moment longer before pushing himself to his feet. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Sweet dreams.”

He turned to leave...

A sudden pull stopped him. His body tipped backward, landing against the mattress with a soft thud.

Baekjin was straddling him. Legs on either side of his waist, hands pinning his arms above his head. Suddenly very awake.

Baku’s breath caught, trying to adjust to the unexpected position he found himself in. “Baekjin-ah, what are you doing?”

The younger boy’s voice came low, almost a plea, almost a demand. “Why are you leaving? Why don’t you stay?”

Ah how could I explain it so you understand, sweetheart?

Baekjin’s hands loosened their grip only to trail down his arms, mapping out the veins with deliberate slowness, brushing over his chest, then his waist. The closeness, the weight of him, the heat. It was dizzying. He leaned in, whispering against Baku’s ear with a tenderness that broke him apart.

“Please, for once… stay with me.”

Then he landed kisses there. Open-mouthed, fevered, clumsy but hungry, pressed along the curve of Baku’s neck. The first brush of lips made Baku’s back arch against the mattress, his fingers curling tightly into Baekjin’s biceps. The second, where Baekjin began to suck, drew a gasp. Sharp and uncontrolled.

Baku’s breathing turned uneven. The sound of it filled the space between them, mingling with the faint rustle of sheets and Baekjin’s own hurried breaths. Every nerve in his body screamed to give in, to let the years of yearning collapse into this one moment.

But when Baekjin’s hand slid lower from his waist, when instinct and desire collided... Baku forced himself back. He surged upright, dragging Baekjin with him, their foreheads nearly knocking together.

“Baekjin-ah… we can’t.”

Confusion clouded the younger boy’s eyes as he settled onto Baku’s lap, straddling him still. His face looked so unbearably soft, lips swollen, gaze questioning. Dangerously cute, Baku’s traitorous heart thought.

“What do you mean we can’t?”

Baku cupped his face firmly, needing his full attention. “You’re drunk, my love. I don’t want you to do something you’re not ready for in this state. If you have any regrets in the morning… I’ll blame myself forever.”

For a heartbeat, silence stretched. Then...

Crack.

Their foreheads collided in a sudden headbutt.

“Aargh!” Baku groaned, clutching his forehead. “What was that for?!”

Baekjin glared, voice stubborn and petulant all at once. “To knock some sense into you.”

“It hurts,” Baku complained, rubbing at the spot.

“Good,” Baekjin shot back, lips twitching. “Let it be a reminder that you don’t get to act like you know me better than I know myself. I'm perfectly fine, you idiot.”

His hand slid to the back of Baku’s neck, firm and unyielding, pulling him closer. The whisper that followed was raw, almost breaking. “Do you know how long I’ve waited for this? You’re supposed to be the bold one here. But with the amount of times you’ve pushed me away… I’m starting to think you’re just all bark, no bite.”

Baku couldn’t help it, he laughed. A soft, incredulous laugh that dissolved the tension for a fleeting second. All this time he had been so careful, holding back, terrified of overstepping boundaries. And here was Baekjin, frustrated with his restraint.

“Ah, Jin-ah,” he murmured, smiling at him as though he were the only person left in the world, “you’re one of a kind.”

Then, more seriously, Baku searched his face. His voice dropped into something hushed, intimate. “Are you really sure you want this?”

Baekjin’s answer came with a long, exasperated sigh. “God, you’re so annoying. Didn't I prove myself enough?! Just kiss me already, bastard.”

A memory he'd given a special place in his heart, came back to him. Baekjin's words after he'd stolen a kiss from him in the hospital. Next time, you won’t catch me off guard.

You better have meant that, sweetheart, Baku thought as his hands tightened gently on Baekjin’s face.

And then, finally...

He pulled him in.

 

Notes:

holy cliffhanger :O
(im sorry guys the next chap will contain smut and it usually takes me pretty long to write. i want it to be worth reading so you'll have to be patient with me (like almost always 🫣))