Chapter Text
Chapter 12: New Year’s
The shop is closed on New Year’s Eve, yet In-ho still finds himself waking up early out of habit. The quiet of the morning settles over him like a weight, and he finds himself moving on autopilot. Showering, making coffee. Pacing his place over and over with the mug held tightly within his grasp.
The party isn’t until ten.
He checks his phone. It’s only nine-thirty in the morning.
In-ho tries and fails to distract himself. He picks up a book only to reread the same page five times before he puts it down. Pulls up a TV show on his computer only to zone out halfway through the first episode. Nothing is working.
Eventually, he makes it to midday, and he finds himself in front of his closet. He knows it’s just a party with friends, that he doesn’t have to worry about being dressed nice. But he still finds himself changing his outfit three separate times until he settles on a nice black button up and matching dark pants.
Every minute, he glances at the clock again. The closer it creeps to ten, the more nervous he feels.
He knows the plan– goes over it at least a hundred times. The fireworks usually start about five minutes before midnight. He’ll pull Gi-hun aside then and ask him for a cigarette. Keep his drinking to a minimum so can get the words right. Say what he needs to say.
It sounds so simple in his head, but as time stretches on he can’t help but feel it feels impossible.
Still, when the time comes, he grabs his coat and is out the door.
___________________________
In-ho arrives at the bakery just a little past ten. The door opens with a soft chime, and he’s hit with warm air and sweet smells. The whole place has been rearranged– most of the tables have been pushed out of the way to make space for everyone, while some still remain out laden with trays of finger foods, baked goods, and paper plates. Small fairy lights line the edges of the tables, giving the entire place a soft and cozy vibe.
Sae-byeok is near the door as In-ho walks in, and she gives him a small wave with a lopsided smile. “Glad to see you made it, In-ho.”
Sang-woo immediately turns beside her at the mention of In-ho’s name. He gives In-ho a small smile, but his gaze flickers to the door behind him. He raises a brow. “Gi-hun didn’t come with you?”
“No, I assumed he was already here,” In-ho says, looking around the room. Ali is sitting nearby with a young woman he vaguely recognizes– Ji-yeong, if he remembers correctly. Sae-byeok’s girlfriend. Across from them sits a young man with long hair he doesn’t recognize. But that’s it. No Gi-hun.
He turns back to look at Sang-woo just in time to catch a look that flashes across his face– brief, but sharp and irritated. But it’s gone as quick as it comes, immediately masked underneath Sang-woo’s usual composure.
“I’m sure he’s on his way,” Sae-byeok says quickly, waving a hand in the air. “You know how he gets sometimes. Always losing track of time.”
Sang-woo says nothing. In-ho feels his stomach suddenly twist with anxiety, but he ignores it.
She steps aside and gestures to the tables. “Food’s all out. Help yourself. Drinks are in the back– beer, soju, whatever you might want.”
In-ho nods at her, shrugging off his coat and draping it across his arm. He makes his way to the back first, deciding on a beer from the fridge. He plans to stay sober tonight, but there’s no harm in having one just to calm his nerves a bit. He considers the food for a moment, but decides against it for now. His stomach is already tight.
A familiar voice catches his attention.
“In-ho!” Ali says, scooting his chair to make space as he waves him over. “I’m so glad you showed!"
In-ho makes his way over, sitting in the empty chair next to the man and draping his coat over the back of it. Ji-yeong sits across from him and gives him a friendly nod as he sits down. The young man beside her seems to perk up when In-ho sits.
“Wait– so you’re In-ho?” He leans forward, eyes wide with a boyish energy about him.
In-ho takes a small sip of his beer and gives the man a careful glance. “...Depends on who’s asking.”
“Oh, sorry,” the man says quickly, raising his hands and leaning back. “I’m Dae-ho. Jung-bae just talks about you all the time.”
In-ho hums. He’s definitely heard his name from Jung-bae before– though he didn’t picture someone so eager. And young. He’s maybe mid to late twenties if In-ho had to guess.
“I’ve been wanting to meet you,” Dae-ho continues, clearly unaware of his almost overwhelming enthusiasm. “He said you’re super sharp. Kind of scary though.”
In-ho raises an eyebrow. “He would say that.”
Ali snorts into his drink, while Ji-yeong laughs into her hand.
The laughter fades into background noise after as In-ho takes another small sip from his drink, offering only a small smile now and again to show he’s still listening. Dae-ho is still talking, his energy infectious but something keeps tugging at In-ho’s mind around the edges. And, despite the friendly conversation, In-ho finds his gaze consistently drifting towards the door. The longer the night stretches on, the more uneasy he feels. He had really expected Gi-hun to already be here– or at least be here by now. His absence sits heavy in his chest, worsening his growing anxiety about the night.
Dae-ho must notice his looks. In-ho catches him throwing a glance towards the door and their eyes meet for a brief moment.
“Wonder when Jung-bae’s getting here. He was the one who invited me in the first place. Kind of rude he’s not even here to hang out,” he says, laughing a little nervously.
In-ho blinks. Right, Jung-bae isn’t here either. Another missing piece.
From the corner of his eye, he sees Sang-woo standing nearby. His face is illuminated in white as he looks down at his phone, his thumb tapping hard against the screen. His jaw is tight, and tension rolls off of him in waves. His shoulders are stiff, and he turns away from the group as he lifts the phone to his ear.
In-ho shifts in his seat, unease settling in his stomach.
Sae-byeok moves to the table, taking her seat next to Ji-yeong who immediately leans into her without even saying anything. She sets her plate down along with a few bottles of unopened beer and sighs.
“Alright,” she says, her tone light like she’s trying to lighten the mood. “Anyone got a story? Something that happened to them this year. Ali?”
Ali blinks, then smiles. “Actually yeah. Last week, you wouldn’t believe it. A customer came in dressed up real nice– in a suit and everything. He ended up buying all the Soboro bread. I thought he was joking at first, but when I laughed he didn’t react.”
“Wait, like all of it?” Dae-ho asks, looking incredulously at him.
Ali nods, making a face like he’s still perplexed by the memory. “I asked him what it was for, but he wouldn’t answer. Just said ‘It’s important,” and then walked out with them like it was a normal, everyday occurrence.”
Sae-byeok takes a small sip of her drink before leaning back in her chair. “Maybe he was going through a breakup or mid life crisis or something. Just figured he needed to drown in some carbs and regret.”
That gets some laughter from the table. In-ho even finds himself smiling, the tension easing a bit from his shoulders.
Sang-woo eventually joins them again, though he doesn’t sit. He stands near, nursing a beer of his own as he occasionally comments on something being said or lets out a small laugh at a joke he only half smiles at.
The conversation drifts from one topic to the next. Stories from work mostly– like chaotic customers, or personal disasters that make everyone laugh. In-ho, as usual, mostly just listens, content in being the quiet and observant one of the group. Comforted watching the others talk and laugh and have a good time. Occasionally, someone brings him in. Ali trying to get him to agree about something, or Sae-byeok tossing him a look as she reacts to someone’s exaggerated storytelling.
But then Dae-ho leans in, a wide grin on his face. “You’re so quiet, In-ho. Surely you’ve had something interesting happen to you this year, yeah?”
“Other than making bouquets and cleaning up petals? I doubt any of you would find that riveting,” In-ho says, lips twitching.
Laughter ripples again around the table, but Dae-ho is determined. He leans further in. “Come on– you gotta have something . I refuse to believe your year was boring.”
In-ho hesitates, all eyes of the table on him. His hand curls around the neck of his beer bottle, fingers tapping the glass before he sighs– quietly, almost just to himself– and then he says “I never actually meant to work at the flower shop.”
That gets everyone’s attention, the table almost stilling. Even Sang-woo visibly reacts, turning towards him and raising a brow.
In-ho doesn’t look at anyone, instead keeping his gaze focused on the bottle as he continues. “It was late. I went out for a walk, and out of nowhere it just started coming down. I didn’t have my umbrella. The first open door I saw was the shop. Figured I’d just stay inside and wait out the worst of it.”
He finally looks up, meeting everyone’s gazes as he shrugs. “It was closed– but Gi-hun was working and had forgotten to lock the door. He didn’t kick me out, though. He thought maybe I was a customer in desperate need of some flowers. Was too busy talking to even notice the pouring rain outside.”
That gets a few chuckles, even one out of Sang-woo.
“I told him I wasn’t there for flowers, but then he just immediately assumed I was there for the job listing that I didn’t even see. He shoved an application in my hand before I could even say anything or explain myself. Asked me to come in the day after tomorrow and, for some reason, I agreed.” In-ho’s voice softens as he speaks, and he clears his throat before he tightens it again. “Then, he finally noticed the rain. Gave me his umbrella, and then sent me on my way.”
A breath catches in his throat before he pushes on, his voice a little quieter now. “I didn’t plan to come back initially. But then I had his umbrella, and figured maybe I could return it and then explain myself. But then I just… didn’t. And here I am.”
A moment passes. “Four months later.”
The table falls into a soft silence– warm and thoughtful. Then, Ji-yeong lets out a small amused sound, and nudges Sae-byeok who smiles into the rim of her drink. Dae-ho’s grin is still plastered on his face, but it looks gentler now. Like he didn’t expect such a genuine answer from In-ho.
Sang-woo watches him, quiet and carefully. But his expression is thoughtful.
In-ho suddenly clears his throat, suddenly very aware of the way everyone is looking at him. He feels his face flush, and he quickly looks away feeling a bit sheepish.
“Sorry. Not as funny as someone buying all the Soboro bread,” he mumbles.
There’s a brief pause, then everyone seems to protest at once.
“No! It was a good story,” Ji-yeong says, leaning forward.
“It’s kind of sweet, if you think about it. You wouldn’t have met us if you never had the misunderstanding,” Sae-byeok says, smiling softly.
“And so on brand for Gi-hun, too. Oblivious and yet somehow charming,” Ali says, shaking his head fondly.
Dae-ho laughs, then leans forward, pointing at In-ho. “Wait, I have to know. Does Gi-hun even know that’s how you ended up working there?”
In-ho’s eyes widen and he shakes his head. “Absolutely not.” His eyes narrow, and his tone shifts to something a little more serious. “And nobody here better tell him. I’m serious.”
Sae-byeok smirks at him. “Your secret’s safe for now. Until I need it for blackmail, of course.”
Everyone laughs again, including In-ho. But the moment is quickly followed by a lull as Ali looks towards the door.
“Speaking of Gi-hun– has anyone heard from him? It’s getting kind of late,” he says, frowning slightly.
“Haven’t heard from Jung-bae either,” Dae-ho says, checking his phone and frowning. “You think they both forgot?”
In-ho subtly checks his own phone, his chest tightening a little as he sees the time. 11:20. He’s been here for over an hour, and Gi-hun still hasn’t shown up.
Sang-woo makes an annoyed sound through his clenched teeth, grabbing In-ho’s attention. He pulls out his phone, bringing it to his ear for the second time tonight. “They’re both cutting it close. I’m stepping out and calling them. See what the hell is going on.”
As Sang-woo heads towards the door, In-ho checks the time on his phone once more. Anxiety creeps back in, making his stomach sink. He’d plan to tell Gi-hun before midnight, before the fireworks. That window is starting to shrink fast.
In-ho hesitates for a moment, before he unlocks his phone. He clicks Gi-hun’s name and types out something quick.
In-ho [11:23 PM]: Everything okay? Everyone’s wondering where you are.
He hits send. But the moment his thumb leaves the screen, he hears it– shouting. Muffled at first, but nearby. He turns his head, looking out the bakery’s front windows.
Outside under the glow of the streetlamps, Gi-hun and Jung-bae come stumbling into view. Both of them look disheveled. Their jackets are askew, their faces flushed red, and their hair windswept and unkempt. Jung-bae is clinging to Gi-hun’s shoulder like he’s using him to stand upright. He’s laughing, loud and unbothered. Gi-hun, on the other hand, is not laughing. His mouth is twisted into a frown, his hands moving uncoordinatedly as he gestures sharply in response to someone.
To Sang-woo.
He’s just outside the door, finger pointed straight at Gi-hun as he barks something at him. His voice doesn’t carry through the glass, but the anger on his face is clear enough. Gi-hun snarls something back, his words clearly slurred. He pulls away from Jung-bae and takes a few stumbling steps forward, pointing his finger right back at Sang-woo.
“Man…” Sae-byeok’s voice cuts in quietly. “Those two have been at each other’s throat lately.”
In-ho turns towards her, his brow furrowing.
“Pretty much all month,” Ali agrees, sighing.
Dae-ho frowns, glancing out the window for a moment. “They’ve been friends for a long time, right?”
“Too long, maybe,” Ji-yeong mutters.
In-ho says nothing. He turns back to the window just in time to see Gi-hun lift his head, their eyes meeting through the glass. The tension in Gi-hun’s face is gone in an instant. He visibly perks up– like he just remembered where he is and who’s all around him.
Gi-hun straightens slightly. He pushes some stray hairs out of his eyes and blinks a few times like he’s trying to clear his vision. Then, without another word to Sang-woo– who’s still mid-sentence, looking like he wants to strangle Gi-hun– he shoves past him and comes inside, leaving a seething Sang-woo and grinning Jung-bae in his wake
The door swings open with a loud chime, and Gi-hun stumbles in with far too much energy for someone who’s clearly drunk off his ass.
“In-ho!” he exclaims far too loudly. “You’re here! Everyone’s here!”
He makes a beeline for the table, weaving a bit as he walks. He lands heavily in the chair next to In-ho, his jacket slipping off his shoulders as he drops into the seat. He leans heavily into In-ho's side, Gi-hun’s shoulder pressing against In-ho’s arm– though he doesn’t seem to be aware of it.
In-ho goes completely still.
“I’m so glad you came,” Gi-hun starts, his words slurring slightly. “I was so worried you wouldn’t– I know you said you would but– still. You’re here! And that’s good. So good.”
“Yes,” In-ho says, his words coming out tight and strained. “I’m here.”
Gi-hun smiles widely at him before he reaches across the table, grabbing one of the untouched beers there in the center, bumping In-ho’s arm as he does. He unscrews the cap and brings the drink to his lips, taking a long drink.
“You’re late,” Ji-yeong says, arching a brow. “And drunk.”
“Late?” Gi-hun echoes, blinking a few times before he looks down at his wrist like there might be a watch there. There isn’t. “Oh. Huh. Well, I’m here now! Isn’t that what counts?”
Ali gives a polite but awkward smile. “We were starting to wonder.”
Gi-hun waves a hand, dismissing him like it doesn’t matter. His body sprawls out in the seat, all loose limbs and warmth. His knee gently bumps In-ho’s under the table, then it just stays there pressed up against In-ho’s own. Gi-hun doesn’t even seem to notice.
In-ho notices. It’s the only thing he can pay attention to.
He keeps perfectly still, his hands clenched tightly in his lap. He tries not to lean away– or worse, lean into it. He can feel the press of Gi-hun’s leg against his own, warm and constant. A casual intimacy that leaves his chest tight. Too tight.
“You look nice by the way,” Gi-hun says suddenly, turning towards him with a lopsided smile. “Not that you don’t always but… you know. Just saying.”
In-ho glances away, swallowing hard. “Thanks,” he mumbles. He shifts slightly to the side, but Gi-hun doesn’t seem to notice. Still continues to lean heavily into him as he starts to ramble to Ali about something. A line at the convenience store, something Jung-bae said– In-ho doesn’t even listen. Can’t manage to over the loud pounding in his ears and the anxiety that sits heavy in his stomach.
Ji-yeong cracks a joke that In-ho doesn’t even process. But it sends a wave of laughter around the table.
And Gi-hun laughs the loudest, and without thinking, leans fully into In-ho, his whole side pressing up against him. He smacks a hand lightly against In-ho’s thigh, quick and friendly but In-ho freezes.
It’s too much.
He sucks in a tight breath, his chest aching. Something scrapes at the back of his throat, and he swallows it down hard, forcefully.
He can’t do this. This isn’t how this was supposed to go. How is he supposed to confess like this? With Gi-hun drunk and completely unaware of what he’s doing. How is In-ho supposed to say the words he’s been holding in for so long to someone who might not even remember them being said in the first place? When every touch feels like cruel tease but is nothing more than the misplaced affections of a drunken man?
He can’t breathe. Not properly.
He stares down at the table, the noise around him warping into a distant hum. He tries to wrack his brain for a way out of this, for a new plan. Nothing comes.
Then, the bell of the door rings, but In-ho barely registers it. Doesn’t even register Sang-woo reentering the room until his voice cuts through the hum of the party like a knife. It’s enough to pull In-ho out of his spiral.
“You’ve had enough,” Sang-woo says coldly, his eyes locked on the beer in Gi-hun’s hand.
Gi-hun scowls at him, immediately defensive. “You don’t get to tell me what to do.”
“You’re over an hour late and you can’t even sit up straight.”
“I’m fine .”
“Maybe he’s right, Gi-hun. Some water might be better,” Ali says softly, and everyone at the table nods in agreement.
Gi-hun lets out a frustrated noise, slumping in his chair. “Why’s everybody ganging up on me huh?” he complains. “I show up late– big deal. I wanna drink, it’s New Year’s. Not a damn intervention.”
He turns his gaze to In-ho who stares back at him with wide eyes.
“In-ho doesn’t think it’s a big deal,” he adds, looking at him with a drunken pout. “Right?”
“Enough.” Sang-woo strides forward. “Give it here.”
Sang-woo reaches for the bottle, and Gi-hun jerks away with a childlike huff, slurring out some half-hearted protest as he twists hard to escape– too hard and right into In-ho’s side.
And then–
A cold rush of liquid spills all over In-ho’s shirt.
He sucks in a sharp breath as it soaks through, the cold hitting his skin like a slap.
The entire room goes quiet. He can feel everyone’s eyes on him.
“Oh shit,” Gi-hun says instantly, his voice rising and his eyes going wide. “Oh no– fuck , I didn’t– hang on–”
He fumbles for napkins on the table, nearly knocking over another glass as he does. His hands are all over In-ho now, clumsily patting at his chest, desperately trying to blot out the spreading stain to no avail.
“Gi-hun,” In-ho manages, though his voice is weak and thin. “Stop. It’s fine.”
But it’s not fine.
It’s the exact opposite of fine.
The touch of his warm hands on his chest, his closeness. The scent of Gi-hun leaning over him– alcohol, but something floral there underneath. Something so distinctly Gi-hun.
It’s too much.
A horrible sensation blooms behind his ribs. His lungs spasm once, then again. He can feel it coming, crawling up his throat.
No– no . Not here. Not in front of everyone.
Gi-hun’s hands still as if he suddenly senses the tenseness of In-ho’s body. His hands still linger gently on his chest, and he looks up, confused with wide eyes and a flushed face. “Are you okay?”
In-ho’s stomach twists. He gets to his feet too quickly, nearly knocking the chair over as he does. His hands are shaking.
“I–I just need a minute,” his voice comes out hoarse and strained as he steps away from the table.
Gi-hun stares up at him, guilt and confusion scrawled over his features. “Wait– In-ho I didn’t mean to–”
In-ho quickly turns away, doesn’t answer. Doesn’t look back, already moving towards the door.
He nearly collides with someone in the doorway– Jung-bae.
“Woah, what the hell happened to you?” Jung-bae asks, blinking at him.
But In-ho doesn’t stop. Doesn’t answer. Just barrels out the door.
The cold hits like a knife against his wet skin, but it’s nothing compared to the twisting inside his chest. He moves just far enough to be out of the view of the bakery windows before his body finally gives out.
He doubles over, gasping loudly as he braces a hand against the brick wall, the other against his mouth.
Then he coughs. Violently. Painfully.
A cascade of petals spill out into his shaking hand– white daisies, red and ragged scabiosas, thin purple hyacinths. All together, wet and still warm from his lungs.
He stares at the mess in his hand, his breathing coming in shallow and pained gasps. His thoughts race, his heart pounds against his ribs. There’s only one thought in his head. This isn’t how this was supposed to go.
Then–
“Damn– are you good, man? That coughing sounded awful.”
In-ho startles, his entire body jerking at the sound. He whips around too fast, nearly losing his balance as he does, shoving the handful of petals behind his back in a tight fist.
It’s Jung-bae. His brows lift when he sees In-ho’s face. He’s standing just a few feet away like he must have followed him out when he left. Shit . How much did he see?
“I’m fine,” In-ho practically forces out, but his hoarse voice betrays him.
Jung-bae takes a few steps forward, squinting his eyes as he looks him over.
“Are you sure? You look like you just got hit by a truck.” His eyes sweep downwards. “And what happened to your shirt? Yeesh – you’re soaked in beer and out here without a jacket? How’d you manage that?”
He looks away and then lets out a low chuckle. “No, wait. I bet it was Gi-hun, huh? I know how clumsy he gets when he’s drunk.”
In-ho stiffens.
It’s a small reaction, but when Jung-bae looks back at him he seems to catch it. His laughter fades.
He watches him now with a different expression, his head tilting. Then, his gaze narrows, flicking to In-ho’s mouth. “Wait, hang on–”
Jung-bae steps closer, peering at In-ho’s face. “You’ve got something right there.” He reaches out and before In-ho can even react, he’s plucked something from the corner of his mouth. When he pulls back, there’s a single pale white daisy petal stuck to the pad of his finger.
In-ho freezes.
Jung-bae stares at the petal for a long second. Then, his entire face shifts as he looks up at In-ho.
His eyes widen slowly. Then something seems to click into place.
“Holy shit,” he breathes out. “You have Hanahaki.”
In-ho clenches his jaw. “You’re being ridiculous,” he tries, but his voice cracks.
“Ridiculous, yeah?” Jung-bae scoffs. “Then what’s in your hand behind your back, huh? A handful of air? Or more petals?”
In-ho doesn’t move.
Jung-bae exhales through his nose. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.” He steps a little closer, swaying as he does. A little too close, but in his drunken state he has no idea how cornered he’s making In-ho feel. “Why’re you hiding it?” You clearly didn’t just find out so how long’s it been?”
In-ho stays silent, his chest rising and falling just a little too fast.
“And who is it?” Jung-bae presses, like he just can’t help himself. “Who’s got you all worked up? Maybe an old friend– or maybe a customer ?” He snorts. “Who’s the lucky lady?”
In-ho doesn’t react. Refuses to.
Jung-bae pauses, his eyes flickering across In-ho’s face. “Oh. Okay. Or– fella then?”
In-ho’s head turns sharply. Just enough to glare at him.
“Okay, okay,” Jung-bae says, taking a step back and holding up a hand. “I got it. No teasing. Just… I can’t help but be curious.”
Jung-bae looks away for a long moment, and In-ho debates on if he should just excuse himself. Or if he should just turn and walk away without another word.
But then he glances back at him, quieter now. “Why haven’t you told them?” His voice is soft and still slow from the alcohol still in his system. But his tone is undoubtedly genuine. “I mean. You’re easy on the eyes, man. And you got that whole quiet, broody thing going for you. Some people like that.”
In-ho’s expression hardens. Something in him suddenly snaps .
“I would have told him tonight ,” he bites out before thinking it through, “if it wasn’t for you .”
The words leave his mouth before he can stop them. And the second they’re out there, it’s like the world stutters.
His breath catches. His eyes widen. Fuck .
And Jung-bae…
Jung-bae just… gapes at him. All the color seems to drain from his face as realization creeps in.
“Oh. Oh shit …”
He stares at In-ho, his mouth agape. “It’s… it’s Gi-hun .”
He doesn’t need a confirmation. In-ho’s silence is more than enough. His shoulders tense up, his jaw clenches. He feels exhausted .
“ Fuck , man,” Jung-bae says under his breath.
A long beat passes. Then finally, Jung-bae turns to him again.
“I’m so sorry.” His voice is quiet.
In-ho doesn’t answer at first. Doesn’t know how to. Just stares at him. Lets the silence stretch for long enough that it feels final. But then, slowly, he speaks.
“...Why?”
Jung-bae stares at him, confused. “What?”
“Why did you have to go out drinking like that?” In-ho asks, his voice rough and laced with anger. “Tonight, out of all nights?”
Jung-bae winces. He glances down the street, like maybe he wants to just disappear. “It’s just… shit timing.”
In-ho narrows his eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Jung-bae runs a hand down his face. “I probably shouldn’t tell you this. He didn’t want anyone to know. Didn’t want to bring the mood down.”
In-ho waits and doesn’t say a word. Just stares.
Jung-bae exhales heavily. “He called me earlier today. Already at the bar. Said he needed to talk to someone. He… got some bad news.”
In-ho’s stomach tightens, but he doesn’t interrupt.
“His ex-wife came over unexpectedly,” Jung-bae continues, his tone serious. “Dropped a bomb on him. She’s moving, her and her husband. To America.”
He glances at In-ho before he sighs.
“With Ga-yeong.”
The words land hard in In-ho’s chest. He swallows. “Can’t he… do something?”
Jung-bae shakes his head, looking solemn. “I mean, what can he do? He doesn’t have custody. Barely even gets to see her as it is with how much he works. And even if he tried to do something, it would just be a lot of stress. Especially on her.”
Jung-bae looks up at In-ho, his eyes sad. “And you know Gi-hun. He loves her so much. He wouldn’t want to do that to her. Not after seeing how hard the divorce was on her already.” He sighs again, and looks down at the ground. “He was pretty messed up over it. So we just…kept drinking. And then suddenly it was late, and he was drunk. Drunker than me. I thought I was helping a friend.”
He swallows, glancing back over at In-ho.
“I didn’t realize I was screwing another friend over.”
In-ho doesn’t speak. Couldn’t even if he tried to.
The words hang heavy in the air between them. The street around them is quiet, almost eerily so.
But inside In-ho’s head, his thoughts are loud. Deafening. Everything Jung-bae said sinks in slowly, painfully.
Gi-hun’s daughter– gone. Taken away from him. There’s nothing he can do. He’s losing someone he loves, and yet he still thinks of others. Doesn’t want anyone to know so they don’t have to feel his pain.
But In-ho knows.
And, fuck, what the hell was he thinking?
Something shifts inside his chest. Folding in on itself, tightening like a fist behind his ribs. Guilt.
How could he have been so selfish ?
Because what the hell was he even thinking? He was going to confess . Make this all about him– about his feelings, his pain, his hope– when Gi-hun was losing his own daughter. And In-ho was just going to add his love, his trauma, his sickness to the pile?
In-ho stares down at the cracked sidewalk, his jaw tight. He nearly laughs, but the sound that comes out is bitter and breathless.
What kind of man is he to try and slide himself into someone else’s life like this? Someone who’s already under so much, dealing with so much.
And even if Gi-hun did return the feelings– what then? Would In-ho truly ask Gi-hun to carry this too? A traumatized and broken man who can’t even control his emotions without medication. A man who’s only ever good at pushing other people away, even if he thought for a moment he was more than that?
He doesn’t deserve Gi-hun. He’s not a good man. He never was, even if Gi-hun made him believe, for a little while, that he might be. But looking at the petals in his hand, crumpled and wet from the force of his grip, all he sees is foolishness. A dream. A selfish, foolish dream.
“In-ho?” Jung-bae’s voice is quiet. Concerned.
But he doesn’t answer him. Doesn’t even spare him a parting glance.
He just turns. Walks away.
Jung-bae calls out something from behind him but In-ho doesn’t catch it. Doesn’t want to.
He just keeps moving, each step faster than the last until the bakery lights behind him fade and vanish, and the cold seeps through his clothes, through his skin, to his bones.
Somewhere, in the distance, the first fireworks burst into the night sky. The light paints the rooftops in reds and golds. They crackle and whistle, and people shout in celebration.
In-ho doesn’t even look up.
___________________________
His apartment is cold when he enters it. He doesn’t bother turning on the lights, the only illumination spilling in from the city outside his window. He closes the door behind him and leans heavily into it, his chest heaving in slow uneven breaths.
In-ho’s shirt is still damp with the beer. It clings to his skin uncomfortably, but he barely notices it. He peels away from the door and walks on unsteady feet to his bed. He sinks down on the edge of it, his hands gripping the sheets tightly.
The petals are gone from earlier– tossed away as he ran back, somewhere forgotten on the street. But he can still feel them. In his lungs, in his throat. A heavy, familiar weight.
His heart races. Every time he blinks, he sees Gi-hun’s face staring up at him– bright and flushed from the alcohol. Smiling at him.
He doesn’t want to die, he realizes.
But there’s no space for him in Gi-hun’s life. Not like this.
He presses the heels of his palms to his eyes until he sees stars dance behind his eyelids. And then–
He remembers.
The card. In his bedside table. Crumpled and tucked away like a grim reminder.
In-ho lurches forward, scrambling off the mattress to the floor. He pulls the drawer open with unsteady hands. He finds it still waiting for him, pulling it out like something fragile.
We can help you.
The words are still legible, though the ink is smudged.
His grip tightens. He flips the card over. The number stares back at him.
He told himself he wouldn’t need it. That this wouldn’t happen. But here he is.
He opens his phone, the light harsh in the dark of his apartment. His thumb hovers over the keypad. Then, slowly, meticulously, he punches in the numbers. One at a time.
The screen glows bright in his hand as he stares at it. His thumb hovers over the call button.
He presses it.