Archive of Our Own

Soobin had always been afraid of water. Ever since he almost drowned at the beach when he was three, the fear had settled deep in his bones, curling around his heart like an unshakable shadow. His father had only laughed, pulling little Soobin from under the waves and patting his back, but the terror had already taken root. The feeling of being swallowed whole, the helplessness of sinking—he never forgot it.

Even now, the slightest touch of water sent his knees trembling and his pulse racing.

So at the ripe age of seven, his mother decided enough was enough. She signed him up for swimming lessons, determined to help him overcome his fear. And if things had gone the way Soobin expected, he would’ve simply learned how to swim and moved on.

But, of course, life had other plans.

The first day was a disaster. Soobin slipped the moment he stepped near the pool, his breath caught in his throat as he flailed helplessly—only to be fished out by the instructor’s firm hands. The older man only tutted in disapproval while Soobin sat there, shivering and humiliated. The pity in his mother’s eyes stung the most, like a tiny needle poking under his skin.

That evening, as he curled up on the couch with a tub of ice cream, his mother gently patted his hair, humming a soft lullaby that made his eyelids heavy.

“Mom?” His voice was small, uncertain.

“Yes, sweetheart?”

He hesitated before mumbling, “I want to go back. I want to learn how to swim.”

His mother blinked, momentarily startled, before warmth spread across her face. “Oh, Soobin-ah, you don’t have to force yourself if you’re scared. It’s okay.”

But little Soobin pouted, tears pricking his eyes. “I want to, Mom! I don’t want to be weak—I want to be strong, like Dad.”

She sighed, pulling him closer into her embrace. “Honey, you’ll be strong when you grow up. And you’re already plenty strong now, aren’t you?” She kissed the top of his head before murmuring, “But Soobin, always remember—it’s okay to be weak and vulnerable sometimes. Just make sure you show it to the right people. Not everyone will be kind about it. And just as importantly, never make fun of someone else for their fears, alright?”

Soobin didn’t fully understand, but he nodded anyway, eager to make his mother proud.

“I promise, Mom.”

And that night, as her soft humming lulled him to sleep, he felt a little braver.
-----------------------------------------
The next day didn’t go any better.

Soobin wanted to be brave—he really did—but standing at the edge of the pool, staring down at the water that rippled beneath him, all he felt was fear. The instructor asked him to try something simple: just stepping down the steel ladder and standing in the water for a few seconds.

He barely got his foot in before panic clutched his throat.

The cold shock, the way the water clung to his skin—he shrieked, breath coming out in gasps, and suddenly, hands were pulling him out again. He sat on the edge, shaking, heart pounding erratically in his chest.

His mother wasn’t there this time. Only two boys who stood nearby, snickering.

“What a loser” one of them muttered under his breath. The other one laughed, elbowing him in the ribs.

Soobin clenched his fists, shame flooding his cheeks, but he couldn’t muster the strength to glare at them. The fear inside him was too overwhelming.

But then, something—or rather, someone—distracted him.

A boy, smaller than him, with the kind of face that looked too soft to be real. His large eyes were framed by dark lashes, cheeks plump and rosy, lips full and annoyingly pouty. The sun hit his fair skin just right, making him almost glow.

And then—he spoke.

It wasn’t to Soobin, but to the other two boys, a quiet reprimand that made them instantly stop laughing. Their grins vanished, replaced by reluctant scowls as they glared at the smaller boy.

Soobin stared, fascinated.

The boy didn’t look like the others—he was different. Weird, but pretty. There was something about him that made Soobin’s chest feel strange, like a tugging sensation he didn’t quite understand.

Maybe it was the way he shined under the sunlight.

Or maybe it was the way, for the first time that day, Soobin forgot to be afraid.

The boy then turned to look directly at him, long lashes fluttering as he blinked, and—oh.

Soobin was mesmerized.

He stared, unable to look away, as the boy took a small step closer, his lips curling into a kind, almost knowing smile. That smile made Soobin feel warm in a way he couldn’t quite explain—like the first bite of ice cream after running around in the sun all day, sweet and cool against the heat.

“Are you okay?” the boy asked softly, his voice laced with an unfamiliar accent.

It was Korean, but something about the way he spoke made Soobin pause, as if his brain needed an extra second to catch up.

“I’m fine,” Soobin mumbled, suddenly shy. His ears burned as embarrassment settled deep in his chest—he must’ve looked so foolish in front of this boy.

The boy tilted his head, studying him with open curiosity. “Why are you scared of water?” he asked, his voice gentle, as if he truly wanted to understand. “I love water.”

Soobin stiffened, his fingers curling into the fabric of his swim shirt. The words made something tighten in his chest.

“I don’t like water,” he admitted quietly, voice small and glum. He clutched his arms closer to himself, as if that could shield him from the weight of his own fears.

The boy’s mouth formed a perfect little ‘o’, his eyes widening in surprise. Soobin found himself staring again, wondering if it was really fair for anyone to be this cute.

Then, as if making a sudden decision, the boy stepped forward and—

Wrapped his arms around Soobin.

The hug was warm, soft, and Soobin stiffened in shock. He wasn’t used to being hugged by strangers—especially not strangers who felt like plush toys come to life.

“Don’t be scared,” the boy murmured, voice muffled against Soobin’s shoulder. “I’ll protect you.”

Soobin didn’t know why, but the words made his throat feel tight, like he wanted to cry and laugh at the same time.

He had no idea who this boy was. But at that moment, held in his small, reassuring embrace, Soobin almost—almost—believed him.

And true to his word, the boy stayed by Soobin’s side for the rest of the class.

With him there—never straying too far, always watching with quiet encouragement—Soobin did the unthinkable.

For the first time, he stepped onto the last rung of the pool ladder.

The cool water lapped at his knees, sending a shiver up his spine, but he didn’t flinch. His right hand clung tightly to the iron railing, knuckles turning white. And in his left—warm, steady, unwavering—was the boy’s hand.

Later, Soobin would learn his name. Huening Kai.

And just like that, without even realizing it, Soobin had taken the first step—not just toward the water, but toward a friendship that would change everything.
-------------------------------------
By the time Soobin was thirteen and Huening Kai was eleven, they were still as inseparable as ever.

They loved each other in the way best friends do—Soobin loved Kai, and Kai loved Soobin. When they were together, the rest of the world seemed to fade away, their conversations stretching endlessly as if there would never be a day when they ran out of things to say.

But lately, Kai wasn’t so sure.

Soobin’s entrance into his teenage years had brought changes—subtle at first, then undeniable. There were moments when Kai felt like he barely knew him at all, like Soobin was shifting into someone unfamiliar right before his eyes. And yet, sometimes, just sometimes, he was still the same old Soobin, laughing too loudly at his own jokes and sticking to Kai’s side like glue.

But even that felt... different.

Soobin still clung to him, but not with the same easy warmth as before. Now, it felt almost like an obligation, like something expected rather than something chosen.

And then there were the stories.

The tales of Soobin’s school adventures, his growing circle of friends, the things he whispered about during their shared walks home—they just kept increasing. And more and more, Kai found himself lost in them.

He didn’t understand the way Soobin made googly eyes at girls, the excitement in his voice when he spoke about crushes, or the thrill in his laughter when he gushed about someone he thought was cute. The idea of having a girlfriend, of romance itself, felt so foreign to Kai that he could barely wrap his head around it.

But he never said that.

Instead, he nodded along, smiling when Soobin smiled, pretending to understand.

But he didn’t.

And that was what irked him the most—not just that Soobin was changing, but that he wasn’t sure if he was ready to change, too.

Would he also start caring about girls and dating when he got older? Would he look at the world the way Soobin did now? He didn’t know.

Maybe only time would tell.

“Do I look good in this?” Soobin asked one evening, striking a ridiculous pose in the middle of his bedroom while Kai lay sprawled across his bed, a comic book resting on his chest.

He was wearing a bright red sweater with ragged, intentional rips across the sleeves, paired with black jeans that had holes at the knees—like someone had taken scissors and had a little too much fun. The outfit was absurd, but somehow, as always, Soobin made it work. Maybe it was the smile, the easy kind that lit up his entire face.

Kai barely looked up as he replied with a perfectly deadpan expression, “You look good. Unfortunately.”

He braced himself.

“Aww, you just love me too much,” Soobin cooed dramatically, throwing himself at Kai in an exaggerated hug that quickly escalated into something more like a headlock.

“Get off!” Kai groaned, struggling to free himself. “You’re so annoying—why are you so annoying?”

But despite the complaints, there was no real bite in his words. Soobin was a pain—his pain. And secretly, Kai didn’t mind all that much.

Once the older boy had finally released him, flopping onto the floor with a content sigh, Kai raised an eyebrow. “Where are you even going? Since when do you care what you look like?”

Soobin grinned, his tone casual but just a little too casual. “To Sunwoo’s birthday thing. You know, the pool party? Everyone in class is invited.”

Then, with a suspiciously dreamy look, he added, “Which means Juhee will be there.”

Ah, there it was. The infamous Juhee—the tall, cool footballer girl who had somehow captured the collective heart of Soobin’s entire class. Kai had met her once when he got lost trying to find the art room. She’d smiled at him and pointed the way without laughing. She was nice. Really nice.

But a crush? That part… Kai still didn’t get.

He tried to smother the weird twist in his stomach and instead wiggled his eyebrows. “Oooh. Your crush, huh?”

The reaction was immediate. Soobin turned bright red and chucked a pillow at Kai’s face.

Kai laughed, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. His gaze lingered on the way Soobin fussed with the cuffs of his sweater, on the nervous little tremor in his fingers. Then something clicked in his mind.

“Wait. Pool party?” he blurted.

Soobin might not be terrified of water anymore, but he was far from comfortable with it. He could float now, maybe even paddle a little, but pools still made him stiffen up. He hated the slippery floors, hated the echo of splashes and the way water clung to his skin. He was better—but not fearless.

And for some reason, it was always Kai who calmed him down.

Now Kai sat up, worry blooming in his chest. “Are you sure about this?”

Soobin shrugged, suddenly fidgety. “Relax. I’ll be fine. I don’t think people are actually gonna swim. The pool’s probably just there for, like… decoration or something.”

Kai frowned. “Still…”

Soobin waved him off, his smile flickering. “It’ll be fine,” he said again, but his voice was quieter this time. Less sure.

Kai didn’t press further, but the worry didn’t go away. He just nodded and watched as Soobin turned back to the mirror, fussing with his hair and humming softly.

He looked cool. Confident. Older.

And yet, all Kai could think about was whether Soobin would be okay the moment his foot slipped on wet tiles.

He didn’t know what changes he was ready for. But he did know one thing for sure—he still wanted to be the one Soobin looked for when things stopped feeling okay.
______________________________________________________________________________
The party was already in full swing when Soobin arrived. The backyard buzzed with chatter and laughter, kids darting around with wet hair and neon towels slung over their shoulders. The pool sat at the center of it all, impossibly blue and glinting in the sun like a challenge waiting to be accepted.

Soobin took a deep breath, adjusting his sleeves as he hovered near the snack table. He didn’t really want chips or soda—he just needed somewhere to stand that wasn’t too close to the water.

Juhee was there, of course. Laughing in the pool with her hair tied up and water beading on her shoulders like she belonged there. Like it was easy. And God She looked beautiful with tan skin and pretty brown eyes glinting in sun like pools of chocolate though not as brilliant as Kai's, the boy literally shines in the sun-

Wait why was he comparing both of them. Kai was his best friend and Juhee was his crush and boy was she pretty.

He tried not to stare, but it was hard. She looked happy. Everyone did. Soobin wished he could be like that—free and fearless.

But even now, just standing near the pool, he could feel the tension in his spine. The way his body still remembered being three years old, pulled sputtering from the waves. The way his lungs sometimes clenched even at the scent of chlorine.

Still, he stayed. He smiled when someone talked to him, nodded along to stories. He even made a few jokes. Everything was going okay, he even played and won some of the board games. Juhee had then come out from the pool, her dark hair now left open and framing her face and like all the boys Soobin had no choice but to stare and obviously that made him lose the video game he had indulged himself in. She had come straight to him and asked for a round of the video game and who was Soobin to deny it. Everything was fantastic and Soobin was ecstatic.

Until it wasn’t.

“Hey Soobin, race you to the end!” Sunwoo shouted, too full of energy and Mountain Dew. He sprinted past Soobin with wet feet, barely catching his shoulder as he rushed toward the diving board—and that was all it took.

Soobin stumbled, arms flailing, and the world tilted.

With a loud splash, he went under.

The cold punched the breath from his lungs. For a moment, all he could see was blue—endless, consuming blue. His legs kicked, but his body locked up in panic, mind screaming even though he wasn't sinking.

Someone laughed above the surface. Someone else asked if he was okay. But Soobin didn’t hear any of it clearly.

He clawed his way out of the pool, shivering, water dripping from his clothes and hair. His heart was pounding in his throat and his hands wouldn't stop trembling.

He didn’t speak to anyone.

Didn’t wait for cake.

Didn’t say goodbye.

He just ran.
__________________________________________
Kai opened the door to find a soaked, breathless Soobin standing there—hair plastered to his forehead, eyes glassy and red-rimmed, hands clenched tightly at his sides like he was holding himself together by a thread.

“Kai,” Soobin croaked, and it broke something in Kai.

Without a word, he stepped aside and let him in.

Soobin didn’t go far—just into Kai’s room, where everything felt familiar. Safe. His favorite blanket was on the bed, and the framed photos of the two of them lined the shelf, crooked from when they’d last roughhoused on the floor.

Kai handed him a towel without asking questions.

Soobin wrapped it around his shoulders and sat on the edge of the bed like he didn’t know what to do with his limbs anymore.

“I didn’t mean to fall,” he said quietly. “I was doing fine. I was fine.”

Kai didn’t say “I told you so,” even though he could have. He just sat beside him, gently drying Soobin’s dripping hair with the towel.

“It’s okay,” he said. “You don’t have to be fine all the time.”

And for the first time that day, Soobin let himself cry. Not loud or messy—but soft, quiet tears that slipped down his cheeks like rain on glass. Just enough to ease the tightness in his chest.

Kai didn’t move away—not even a little. He simply let Soobin rest his head on his shoulder and combed his fingers gently through the boy’s damp hair, the way his own mother used to do when he was upset. It always made him feel safe and warm. He hoped Soobin felt the same.

His shirt was getting drenched, but Kai didn’t care. He just sat there, being a place to lean on.

Eventually, the sniffling faded into steady breathing. Soobin’s eyelids fluttered, halfway to sleep, and Kai gave his arm a soft nudge.

“Hey,” he whispered, “you’ll catch a cold like this. Go change, yeah?”

Soobin groaned, voice thick and hoarse. “Don’t wanna…”

Kai rolled his eyes, affection bubbling up anyway. “I’ll lend you clothes, you oversized baby. Just go.”

Soobin dragged himself to the bathroom with the energy of a soggy cat, clutching the sweatshirt and sweats Kai handed over.

Just as the door clicked shut behind him, Kai’s mom peeked in—phone in one hand, her other hand resting sternly on her hip.

“Is Soobin here?” she asked, worry laced in her tone.

“Yeah, ma. He’s changing,” Kai replied, eyes widening slightly.

“Thank goodness,” she breathed, tapping her phone screen. “His mom just called me in a panic—said he left the party without a word. What will I do with the two of you, huh?”

“He almost drowned,” Kai said softly, and that stopped her in her tracks.

Her expression melted into alarm. She quickly assured Soobin’s mother over the phone that he was safe, warm, and in good hands. As soon as Soobin emerged, hair fluffed and face still a little pink from crying, she swept him into a hug and made him sit while she served him warm soup and sweet ginger tea.

Kai reappeared with extra blankets, tidying up his plushies and pushing them to one side of the bed to make space. He even tossed Soobin’s favorite Spiderman blanket on top, just in case.

After his mom finally tucked them in with a ruffle of their hair and a gentle word to “take care of each other,” she closed the door behind her.

Kai clicked off the main light, letting the soft glow of the night lamp fill the room in its place.

Soobin, still wrapped in the Spiderman blanket, shuffled closer. “Hey… can I?”

Kai didn’t need to ask what he meant. He lifted the blanket and let Soobin curl in next to him, head resting on Kai’s chest this time, the steady rise and fall of his breathing anchoring them both.

“You’re warm,” Soobin mumbled.

“Yeah, well. You’re a walking puddle.”

“Shut up.”

Kai smiled softly and tucked the blanket around them tighter. His fingers found Soobin’s hair again, brushing it back gently.

Soobin let out a long sigh, body finally relaxing as he buried his nose into Kai’s shoulder.

Because even if he’d gone to the party alone, even if he’d been scared and shaken—he still knew the way home.

And home was here.

Wrapped in Spiderman blankets, in a dimly lit room, with Kai's heartbeat beneath his ear and fingers in his hair.

Exactly where he belonged.
________________________________________________________________
Soobin was twenty now.

He was living the life most people only dreamt of—pursuing a Literature degree at Yonsei University, beloved by professors, admired by classmates, and firmly on track for a Master’s at Oxford. His parents were endlessly proud, their voices brimming with pride every time they spoke of their brilliant son.

He even had a girlfriend—Stacy.

Stacy was everything impressive: a foreign-returned beauty with a part-time modeling contract and a full-time major in International Relations. She was poised, articulate, and almost effortlessly charming. They looked good together. Polished. Ideal.

From the outside, Soobin’s life looked like a page torn out of a magazine: glossy, structured, and perfectly curated.

But after he left for college, something else happened—something he rarely acknowledged even to himself.

He stopped talking to Kai.

Not entirely, not in an obvious way. There were still the occasional texts, the half-hearted check-ins, the obligatory "Happy Birthday!" sent minutes before midnight. But they hadn’t really talked in months. And every time Soobin thought about reaching out… he didn’t.

He told himself he was busy. That Kai was probably busy too. They were growing up, taking different paths. That’s how it was supposed to be.

At least, that was the lie he clung to.

Because deep down, Soobin knew exactly what he was doing. He was pulling away—deliberately. Piece by piece.

It started small. Ignoring a meme Kai sent. Letting a message sit unanswered. Canceling a call with the excuse of a looming deadline. And then one day, he stopped opening the messages at all.

And why?

Because everything had started to feel… wrong. Or maybe too right.

He couldn’t explain the way he suddenly craved Kai’s touch—his casual shoulder nudges, his thoughtless hugs, the way he leaned into Soobin during movies like it was second nature. He couldn’t stop the way his chest tightened when he saw Kai laughing with someone else. Or how his ears burned whenever Kai posted a new picture, looking older, sharper, beautiful in a way that made Soobin feel breathless and stupid.

And the worst part—the thing that turned his world upside down—was when Kai came out to him.

It was just a quiet Tuesday night. Nothing dramatic. Kai had said it like he was talking about the weather, like he trusted Soobin to carry that truth gently.

And Soobin had smiled. Hugged him. Told him thank you for trusting him.

But after that, things started unraveling.

Because now, all the feelings Soobin had been desperately trying to ignore had a name. And they terrified him.

So when Stacy came into his life—soft-spoken, stunning, easy to love in a way that didn’t twist him into knots—he clung to her like a life raft. She didn’t make his hands sweat or his mind spiral. She was gentle, calm, and made him feel steady when everything else inside him felt like it was tilting sideways.

With Stacy, he could pretend.

So he asked her out. Told his parents. Posted the photos. Claimed the label. And used her as the invisible wall between him and the boy he had grown up beside—between him and Kai.

He convinced himself it was for the best.

But every time he saw Kai’s name light up on his phone, only to leave it unanswered, something cracked.

At first, Kai tried. God, he tried. He sent him music recommendations, photos of his cat curled on his textbooks, silly voice notes, old inside jokes. He waited for replies that came hours—then days—later. And eventually, he stopped trying.

And that’s what hurt the most.

Because Soobin knew this was what he wanted—this distance, this silence. He had built this wall himself. And yet the moment Kai stopped climbing over it, Soobin felt betrayed.

He had no right to be. But he was.

Because Kai had always fought for him. And now that he wasn’t, Soobin felt something hollow open up inside him, slow and cold and aching.

But it was fine.

Everything was fine.

Soobin had Stacy. A future at Oxford. A picture-perfect life.

And no idea how to admit he might’ve left the only person he ever truly wanted behind.

So It was really fucking horrible when the person showed with no heads up whatsoever, not like Soobin deserved it anyway.
The kind of horrible where your stomach sinks and your breath hitches and suddenly you're thirteen again, hiding behind the locker room door after crying too hard in swimming class.

Soobin had been minding his own business, half-focused on the weight of his messenger bag and the fact that he’d just bombed a seminar presentation, when a flash of brown hair caught the edge of his vision.

He looked up.

And froze.

He’d recognize that bounce in a heartbeat. That gait—loose-limbed, familiar, entirely him. His throat dried instantly.

What the fuck.

What the fuck was Huening Kai doing here?

Soobin’s body stiffened instinctively. He spun on his heel like a damn coward, as if turning his back fast enough might erase the moment. Might keep Kai from seeing him.

He barely managed two steps before a voice—soft, incredulous, and threaded with something sharp and unreadable—cut through the space between them.

“Soobin?”

His name hit him like a sucker punch.

He stopped.

Time slowed down, the campus noise fading into white static as he slowly turned around.

And there he was.

Kai.

Hair longer now, brushing the tops of his ears. Face slimmer. Shoulders broader. He wore ripped jeans and a navy hoodie that hung too large on his frame. A red Yonsei University lanyard swayed from his neck, ID card glinting in the sunlight.

He looked like everything Soobin had been trying to forget and everything he still couldn’t let go of.

Soobin blinked. Twice. “You’re… here?” he said, voice cracking like he hadn’t spoken in weeks.

Kai tilted his head, a tight smile tugging at his lips—one of those polite ones that strangers give you when you hold the door for them. Nothing like the real smiles he used to save for Soobin.

“Yeah. I got in,” Kai said. “Music major. Surprise.”

Of course he did. Kai had always sung like the world stopped to listen.

Soobin’s heart thudded painfully against his ribs. Shit.
“That’s… wow. That’s amazing, Kai.” The smile he managed felt stiff, like it belonged to someone else entirely.

Kai nodded. “Thanks. I almost didn’t apply. My teacher pushed me. Said I’d regret it if I didn’t.”

There was a beat of silence.

Soobin should’ve said something. How have you been? I missed you. You look different. The same. You look like home.
But his mouth stayed closed.

And Kai noticed. His shoulders, ever so slightly, dropped.

“Well… I’ll get going, I guess,” Kai said quietly, shifting awkwardly on his feet. He gave a half-hearted bow—more muscle memory than formality—and stepped to the side, brushing past Soobin with careful ease. His movements held a kind of quiet hope, like maybe Soobin would stop him. Maybe say Let’s catch up, or Wait, stay, or even just How are you?

But Soobin didn’t move.

He stood rooted, tongue tied with guilt and shame and something that ached way too much for a casual encounter. So he let Kai walk away, disappearing down the corridor like a chapter he hadn’t finished reading.

And Soobin trudged forward in the opposite direction, heart heavier than it had been in a long time.

Since that first accidental encounter, it was like the universe had made it its personal mission to haunt Soobin.

He saw Kai everywhere now.

At the campus cafeteria during his 10:40 break, seated at the far end with a tray of food and his headphones on, always alone.
At the little café down the block where Soobin sometimes escaped to work on his thesis, Kai would be there too, sketching in his notebook or quietly typing on his laptop.
Even the library—why the hell was a music major always at the library?

And yet, not once did Kai look at him.
Not even accidentally.
Soobin stared shamelessly, he knew that. Boring holes into Kai's back, tracking him like a ghost—but Kai didn’t turn. Not once. Not even a flicker of acknowledgment.

It was almost impressive, the way he moved like Soobin was made of glass. Not invisible. Just… irrelevant.

At first, it pissed him off. The coldness. The avoidance.
But the more he saw him—truly saw him—the more it hit him, all over again, why he started ghosting Kai in the first place.

Because Kai wasn’t the soft-limbed, oversized-sweater-wearing boy from high school anymore.

He was—God, he was grown.

He was nearly as tall as Soobin now, maybe just a smidge under. His shoulders were broad, his waist still that perfect kind of narrow that made Soobin’s hands twitch with memory. The braces were gone, replaced by a devastating smile he rarely wore these days. His face looked sculpted—like something out of a Greek statue—but the softness was still there too.

The puffed cheeks when he chewed.
The way his nose scrunched when he was focused.
The tired hoodie sleeves pulled down over his palms.
The voice—deeper now, but still warm.

Soobin couldn’t handle it.

Not then.
Not now.

And because of all this—the sudden whirlpool of old feelings dragging him down by the ankles—he’d barely spent any time with Stacy lately. She’d started calling him out on it too, rightfully so.

“You’re always somewhere else,” she had said last night, her voice tight. “Even when you're with me, it’s like you’re not really here. What’s going on, Soobin?”

He didn’t have an answer.

Because how do you say:
I’m still in love with the boy I left behind.
I think I ran away because I was scared of how much I needed him.
I thought being with you would make it go away, but it didn’t. And now I see him every day and I don’t know what to do with myself.

So instead, he said, “I’m just tired.”

A lie, if there ever was one.

Because Soobin wasn’t just tired.

He was unraveling.
____________________________________________________________________
It happened on a Thursday.

The rain was pouring like the sky was trying to cleanse the entire city, and Soobin was soaked to the bone, forgotten umbrella clutched uselessly in his hand as he stormed through the campus library’s second floor. His bag was slipping from his shoulder, his sneakers squelched with every step, and his breath was uneven—angry and nervous all at once.

And then he saw him.

Kai.

Tucked into the corner alcove of the reading lounge, hoodie pulled over his hair, glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose, a black pencil tucked behind one ear as he quietly flipped through sheet music. Completely at ease. Like Soobin hadn’t been haunting his thoughts for weeks.

Like he hadn’t been watching him disappear for years.

And that was it.

Soobin didn’t think. He just moved.

His bag dropped somewhere behind him with a dull thud, and he marched straight to Kai’s table, palms shaking.

“Kai.”

Kai looked up, blinking once. Calm. Collected. “Soobin.”

Soobin’s jaw clenched. “You’re seriously going to keep pretending I don’t exist?”

Kai leaned back in his chair slightly, arms folding across his chest. “You seem very real to me right now.”

“Don’t do that,” Soobin snapped, voice low but cutting. “Don’t act like this is normal. You’ve been ignoring me—on purpose.”

Kai gave him a slow blink. “I’ve been giving you what you wanted.”

Soobin reeled back like he’d been slapped. “What I wanted?”

Kai smiled, but it was tight. Cool. “Yeah. Wasn’t it you who started pulling away? Didn’t you stop replying first? Stop showing up? Stop picking my calls at all, no replies and just dry ass posts on social media. So Yes Soobin i have been all quiet and out of you life. Why does it bother you so much? ”

"Gradually you left and I am giving you the space you wanted, it was you who pulled away like nothing mattered and not a word of goodbye, left me hanging"

He tilted his head slightly. “Or am I misremembering?”

Soobin opened his mouth. Closed it. “I didn’t—It wasn’t—” His voice cracked.

Kai didn’t flinch. “You cut me loose, Soobin. I just stopped pretending you didn’t.”

For a moment, all Soobin could hear was the pounding of the rain against the windows.

He felt like he was drowning in his own chest.

“I didn’t mean to—” he started, almost a whisper. “I didn’t know how to—”

“You didn’t want to,” Kai said flatly. “And that’s fine, really. People grow apart. I just wish you’d had the guts to tell me to my face instead of slowly fading out like a coward.”

Soobin flinched. The word stung. But it wasn’t wrong.

“I was scared,” he admitted. “I didn’t know what it meant—what I was feeling.”

“So you ran,” Kai said simply.

Soobin stared at him, throat tight. “I missed you.”

Kai’s eyes flickered, just for a second. But then his smile returned—cool, distant. “Too bad, huh?”

The chair scraped as he stood up, gathering his sheet music and tucking it into his folder with maddening precision.

“I’ve got rehearsal,” he said. “You should dry off. You’ll catch a cold.”

Soobin stood frozen, rainwater dripping from his sleeves onto the wooden floor. He didn’t stop Kai. Didn’t say another word. Just stood there and watched the boy he’d once loved—maybe still loved—walk away from him.

For the first time, Soobin realized just how much damage silence could do.

And how some people don’t wait forever.
The click of Kai’s shoes against the tile faded fast, but the ringing in Soobin’s ears didn’t. It sat there, shrill and sharp, like an alarm that wouldn’t shut off.

The weight of Kai’s words—coward, ran, too bad—echoed louder than the rain outside.

And then the silence hit.

Soobin sucked in a breath that didn’t make it all the way in. His lungs felt squeezed, his throat clogged. He blinked hard, once, twice, but everything was blurry. His fingers gripped the edge of the table, knuckles white. The chair next to him—Kai’s chair—was still warm, but empty.

It was like being twelve again, standing on the edge of the pool, breath shallow, chest tight, alone.

Only this time, Kai wasn’t there to hold his hand.

A shudder ripped through him. He couldn’t stay here. Not like this. Not with everything—everything—finally crashing in at once.

So Soobin turned and bolted.

He left his bag. His umbrella. His pride.

He ran through the hall, down the stairs, pushing open the library doors so hard they banged against the walls—and into the rain. It was cold and merciless, soaking him in seconds, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t care.

His vision was streaked with tears, his breath hitched in jagged gasps, and he didn’t even know where he was going.

All he knew was that it hurt.

He ended up behind the Fine Arts building, some quiet, tucked-away alcove with old paint-stained benches and overgrown ivy creeping up the wall. He collapsed onto the cold concrete, back against the damp bricks, and curled in on himself like a child.

His hands shook as he clutched the soaked fabric of his hoodie.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, voice barely audible over the rain. “I didn’t mean to—I didn’t know— what it would mean to love you and lose you...did not know....Forgive me Kai”

He hated himself. For being a coward. For hurting Kai. For not saying anything when it mattered and saying too much when it didn’t.

Hot tears mixed with the rain running down his cheeks, and Soobin didn’t even try to hide them.

He’d spent so long pretending. Hiding.

He thought maybe if he buried the feelings deep enough, they’d just disappear. That having someone like Stacy—safe, expected—would fix the strange, terrifying ache he felt every time Kai laughed or looked too pretty or leaned in too close.

But it hadn’t fixed a damn thing.

He pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes, breathing ragged. “I’m so fucking stupid.”

Soobin didn’t know how long he sat there.

But for the first time in years, he let himself cry for everything he lost.

And maybe, just maybe, for the one thing he was still too afraid to want.
_______________________________________________
The rain hadn't let up. It was the kind that clung to your skin even under shelter, cold and persistent like it had a point to prove. Soobin’s hoodie stuck to his back like a second skin, and every step he took felt heavier than the last. His sneakers squelched with every miserable stride down the dorm hallway, trailing little puddles of guilt behind him.

His hand trembled around the doorknob.

He hoped his room was empty. Hoped he could just collapse, disappear into his sheets, fall asleep in wet clothes if he had to—anything to avoid facing the mess inside his chest.

But the light was on.

And there she was.

Stacy sat cross-legged on his bed, scrolling through her phone, her brows creasing when she looked up. “Jesus, Soobin, what the hell—did you walk through a hurricane?”

She stood immediately, rushing to him. “You’re soaked! Are you out of your mind?”

He didn’t answer. He couldn’t. His lips were pale, and the tips of his fingers were turning a dull pink. She tried to help him out of his jacket, but he flinched.

“Soobin,” she said again, more gently this time, “What happened?”

Still, nothing. Just the sound of his ragged breathing, and the way his eyes refused to meet hers. There was water dripping from the ends of his hair onto the floor, and the warmth in the room felt stifling all of a sudden.

He couldn’t do it.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, voice breaking apart in the middle.

Stacy blinked, taken aback. “Sorry? For what?”

“For everything.” He laughed bitterly, short and cracked. “For not being here. For not being… all the things I pretended to be. For wasting your time. For dragging you into this when I—when I was trying to run from something else.”

“Soobin,” she said softly, a little lost now, her hands frozen where they hovered over his shoulders, “you’re not making sense. Sit down, you’re shivering.”

“I can’t—” he whispered, stepping back. “I can’t do this right now.”

“Do what? Talk to me? Soobin, what the hell is going on?”

His eyes met hers finally, and they were a storm—red-rimmed, glassy, barely holding it together.

“I saw Kai today.”

Stacy stilled.

“I see him everywhere, actually,” he said, voice rising slightly now. “And it’s like—like I’m bleeding and only just noticing. Like I never actually stopped needing him. Like the last three years were just one long, shitty lie I told myself so I wouldn’t have to feel this.”

He was spiraling now, pacing, soaking the carpet, arms crossed tightly over his chest like he could physically hold himself together. “And he looked happy. Like he didn’t miss me at all. And maybe he didn’t. Maybe I’m the only one still stuck in the past. Maybe—God, maybe I never should’ve left—”

“Soobin,” Stacy said again, quieter now, and he looked at her—really looked. Her expression wasn’t angry. It wasn’t even hurt. It was tired. Sad. A little resigned.

She stepped forward, wrapping her arms around him carefully, and Soobin’s breath hitched like he was about to cry all over again.

“I think,” she murmured, “you need to figure out what you want. Who you want.”

He sagged in her arms, wet and shaking and exhausted.

“I think I already know,” he whispered into her shoulder.

And it wasn’t her.

And they both knew it.

That night Soobin slept cold, in the solace of his own raging mind and heart with the frightening thunder.
_____________________________________
It had been three days since the breakdown. Since Stacy had quietly held his hand while he cried and said nothing, just waited. She hadn’t asked more questions. She didn’t need to. Her silence had been understanding—and somehow that made it worse.

Now Soobin stood outside the campus music wing, shifting on his feet, his fingers cold despite the afternoon sun. He had waited for Kai’s class to end, standing under the shade of the stone pillars like some lovesick fool from a novel he might’ve once laughed at.

And then—there he was.

Kai, backpack slung over one shoulder, guitar case in the other hand, chatting with a classmate. Laughing at something. It hit Soobin in the gut. That laugh used to be his.

Soobin cleared his throat, stepping into Kai’s path as he passed.

“Kai.”

The name came out breathless. Too hopeful.

Kai looked up, and just like that—the softness in his face vanished. That familiar polite mask slid back into place like it had been waiting just behind his smile.

“Oh. Hey.” A pause. “Soobin.”

Soobin forced a smile, strained and desperate. “Can we talk? Properly? Please?”

Kai adjusted the strap of his guitar case. “I don’t think there’s much to talk about.”

Soobin flinched. “I—no. I mean. About everything. I was a jerk, I know that. But I miss you, okay? I miss us.”

Kai tilted his head slightly, as if genuinely trying to understand why Soobin thought this conversation was still possible.

“That’s kind of funny,” he said calmly, “because you didn’t seem to miss me when I was texting you, calling you, asking to hang out and getting ignored for six straight months.”

Soobin opened his mouth, but Kai kept going, voice still even—controlled.

“You don’t get to remember me when it’s convenient. You made it pretty clear who you had space for in your life.”

“It wasn’t like that,” Soobin said quickly, pleading now. “I didn’t know what I was feeling—I was scared, I didn’t want to—hurt you—”

Kai laughed once, short and sharp. “You didn’t want to hurt me, so you disappeared instead?”

Soobin took a step closer. “Please. I’m sorry. Just—can we go back to how it was?”

Kai’s expression softened for a second. Just a second. And then it was gone.

“No,” he said gently. “We can’t. I’m not the same person I was when I waited around for your attention. And clearly, neither are you.”

And with that, he brushed past Soobin.

No yelling. No scene.

Just a quiet goodbye, buried in the space between footsteps.
____________________________________________________________________
Soobin was extremely exhausted .

His sleep was fucked up, his deadlines were unmanageable, and Stacy hadn’t visited in over a week—an unspoken but mutual “maybe we should cool off” settling between them after that night. She had seen right through him anyway.

So technically, he should’ve been okay. Stable. Maybe even fine.

But he wasn’t.

Because everywhere he turned lately, Huening Kai was there.

And not alone.

Taehyun. That was the guy’s name. Also a first-year music student—quiet, sharp-eyed, unfairly charming in that understated, self-possessed way. And he was always, always around Kai. In the library, in the practice rooms, lounging under the cherry blossom trees outside the arts building, whispering things in Kai’s ear that made the latter laugh in that fond, belly-deep way that Soobin remembered like muscle memory.

And god, that laugh.

Soobin would catch it from across the quad and his stomach would twist. Because it was his laugh. The one Kai used to reserve for him. For late-night karaoke sessions, for spontaneous boba runs, for inside jokes they didn’t even need words for.

Now it was Taehyun who got that laugh.

It shouldn’t bother him. It really shouldn’t.

But it did.

It festered like the plague and he couldn't stop the vines of green.

Every time he passed them, a tightness gripped his chest like jealousy’s claws digging in. He found himself slowing down, pretending to scroll on his phone just so he could look at them a bit longer. Sometimes Kai would catch his eye—and look away just as quickly. Sometimes he didn’t even bother.

Once, Soobin had seen Taehyun pull Kai’s hoodie strings playfully, and Kai had shoved him back, laughing. Soobin had actually clenched his fists.

“What are you doing to yourself,” he muttered aloud that day, retreating to a bench behind the language building, where no one would see him sulk.

He had a girlfriend once. He had plans, goals, Oxford dreams. He’d had control.

And now?

Now he was just a wreck in love with a boy who no longer looked his way.

A boy he let slip away.

___________________________

Amidst the quiet unraveling of his days, Soobin found himself staring at a message on his phone—the frat party he had said yes to weeks ago, back when everything felt neat and manageable. Before the silence between him and Kai grew into a canyon. Before the ache settled into his chest like a second heartbeat. He’d promised he’d go. And now, it felt more like a punishment than a plan.

With a sigh that sounded too tired for someone his age, Soobin dragged himself out of bed. He pulled on a fitted black button-down—creased from sitting in the closet too long—and a pair of dark jeans that clung to his frame like they used to mean something. A watch slid onto his wrist out of habit, not intent, and a few silver rings adorned his fingers like forgotten armor. He barely touched his hair, just ran a hand through it once or twice and let it fall in soft, unruly waves around his forehead and ears. It made him look even more tired, maybe even a little unhinged, but he figured that fit. This wasn’t about looking good. It was about showing up. Because that’s what people expected from Soobin—the good student, the polished boyfriend -(well once upon a time) , the reliable friend.

Even if he didn’t know who he was showing up as anymore. So he left his apartment, slipping into the cool night air with shoulders drawn up tight and heart already heavy. The lights and noise of the party blurred ahead like something he wasn’t quite a part of. But he went anyway. The bass thrummed through the floor like a second heartbeat. Neon lights pulsed against walls that reeked of cheap alcohol and too much cologne, the air thick with smoke, laughter, and bodies pressed too close together. Soobin was two shots past coherent and barely holding it together.

He hadn’t even planned to come. Parties like this weren’t his thing anymore—not with Stacy gone, not with papers piling up, not with everything unraveling. But then Beomgyu had dragged him out with the silent threat of disappointment at his absence, said he was tired of watching Soobin rot alone in his room, and Soobin hadn’t had the energy to argue. He should’ve stayed home.

Because across the living room, haloed in that strobe light glow, stood Kai.

And next to him—laughing, leaning in too close—was Taehyun. Of course. Kai looked good. Ridiculously good. His hair was pushed back with a silver clip, exposing his forehead and soft features; his oversized sweatshirt hung loose off one shoulder. He looked relaxed, happy. Unbothered.

Soobin felt like someone had punched him in the throat. Before he could stop himself—before reason or dignity could catch up—he was stumbling through the crowd, brushing past shoulders and knocking into someone’s drink, muttering, “Sorry, sorry,” until he reached them.

“Kai.” The name came out breathy, slurred, tinged with too much emotion. Kai turned, brows furrowed.

“Soobin?”

“Can I—” Soobin’s gaze flicked to Taehyun, then back to Kai, “—can I talk to you? Please.”

Taehyun didn’t move, his arm still hovering near Kai’s waist.

Kai hesitated.

“It’s important,” Soobin added, eyes glassy. “It’s you.” That did it. Kai gave Taehyun a brief, unreadable look before nodding and following Soobin out the back door, where the music thudded behind the walls and the winter air cut through his alcohol-hazed skin.

“You’re drunk,” Kai said, arms crossed, voice calm but guarded. “I know,” Soobin said, words thick. “But I mean everything I’m about to say.” Kai stayed silent, but Soobin didn’t wait.

“I miss you,” he blurted, voice cracking. “I miss you so much it makes me feel like I’m losing my mind. I walk into rooms looking for you. I listen for your voice when I know you’re not there. And I hate that you laugh with someone else now.” Kai’s breath hitched slightly, but he stayed still. “I got scared, okay?” Soobin continued, voice rising. “You told me you were gay and suddenly everything made sense and nothing made sense. And it made me feel things I didn’t know I could feel, and that terrified me, Kai. Because I couldn’t even look at you without wanting to—God, I don’t know—touch you or be near you or something equally stupid. And then Stacy happened and I thought maybe I could fix it.”

His voice broke.

“But I can’t. I can’t fix any of it.” Kai still hadn’t said a word.

“And now you’re here,” Soobin said, eyes stinging.

“Looking perfect and acting like we were never anything. Like we didn’t grow up together. Like I didn’t—” He choked. “Like I didn’t fucking love you before I even knew what love was.” Silence. Soobin laughed bitterly, swiping at his face. “Say something. Yell at me. Call me selfish. I deserve it.” Kai stared at him, wide-eyed, lips parted slightly in disbelief.

The silence stretched, unbearably loud. Kai stared at Soobin like he didn’t recognize him.

“Do you even hear yourself?” he said, voice low, sharp, shaking with restraint.

“You cut me off. You ghosted me. You made me feel like I was some kind of burden, like I was the embarrassing part of your past that didn’t fit into your perfect fucking future.” Soobin flinched.

“And now—now you show up drunk at some frat party and dump all of this on me like it’s my job to fix it?” Kai’s voice cracked, rage bleeding into hurt. “Like I should be grateful to have your attention again? Is that what this is?”

“No,” Soobin whispered, throat tight.

“That’s not—” “You didn’t even try, Soobin,” Kai snapped.

“I texted. I called. I asked if something was wrong. And you gave me nothing. I sat there for months wondering what I did, what I said, if being honest with you ruined everything. And you just let me think it was me.” Soobin opened his mouth.

No sound came out.

He looked small in the moonlight—wet-eyed, lost.

Kai sighed.

The fight in him burned out all at once, leaving only the hurt behind. “I loved you,” he said quietly. “Before I even understood it. Before I ever said it out loud to anyone else… I loved you. And you made me feel like that love was something to be ashamed of.” Soobin took a step closer, like he couldn’t help himself.

“I didn’t know how to handle it,” he said, voice thick. “It scared me. You scared me—because nothing else ever made me feel like you do.”

Kai closed his eyes, jaw clenched. He was too tired to hold onto his anger now. “You hurt me,” he said simply.

“I know,” Soobin breathed. “I know. And I’m sorry. I swear to God, I’m so sorry, Kai.” There was a beat of silence. And then, carefully, Kai reached out—just the barest touch to Soobin’s wrist, like he didn’t know if he had the right anymore.

“But I never stopped,” Soobin said, barely above a whisper. “Loving you. I never stopped.” Kai looked at him then, really looked. And something in him cracked. And Kai stood beside him—close, not touching, but close.

The silence stretched. Heavy. Fragile. Full of unsaid things.

“I didn’t stop caring, you know,” Kai said suddenly, voice low and certain. “I never did.” Soobin turned, slowly, eyes wide and red-rimmed. He looked like he didn’t dare believe it.

“I was angry. And hurt. Still kind of am,” Kai continued, with a soft huff of laughter that didn’t sound funny at all. “But not because I hated you. I could never hate you, Soobin.” Soobin swallowed hard.

Kai looked down at his hands, then back up.

“You meant the world to me. Still do, probably. But it felt like you were pushing me out of your life to make room for something—someone—you thought you were supposed to want instead. And I guess I got tired of waiting for you to want me.” Soobin took a step forward.

Then another. “I’ve always wanted you,” he said, barely a whisper. “I just didn’t know I was allowed to.”

Kai inched closer to Soobin too, when Soobin hovered his hand over Kai's wrist cautiously and his heart nearly jumped out when Kai took his hand and intertwined their fingers oh so carefully like they were the made to fit together by a silicon mold and And when Soobin looked into those eyes, still soft, still shining, still his, he realized something that made his chest ache and swell all at once:

The kind of love people wrote poems about, bled into songs with desperate yearning—that impossible, aching, soul-deep kind of love—had always been his. From the very beginning. In the boy with music in his voice and sunlight in his smile.

And really… how many people get that lucky?.

"May I?” Soobin whispered, his voice low and reverent, eyes flicking down to Kai’s lips—soft and pink, the kind he’d dreamed about more times than he’d ever admit. The kind that had once shouted his name across fields, whispered secrets into the night, and called him every nickname under the sun.

And now, they were right there—close enough to taste.

His heart thundered in his chest, aching with anticipation. This wasn’t just a kiss. This was years of laughter, longing, late-night calls, and quiet ache bundled into one impossible moment.

Kai’s fingers brushed over Soobin’s shoulder, feather-light, and when he tilted his head—just slightly—it was all the permission Soobin needed.

With a breathless sort of desperation, Soobin gripped Kai’s waist—the same waist he’d hugged a thousand times before, the one his arms still remembered—and pulled him in.

Their lips met.

And Soobin poured everything into it. All the regrets he’d buried, the love he’d swallowed down, the ache of every lost second between them. The kiss was soft, almost shy at first, but beneath it was a storm. He kissed Kai like he was memorizing him all over again—like he was coming home.

Because in every way that mattered, he was.

The noise of the party faded entirely.

There was only this.

The taste of shared years, missed chances, and something long overdue. The feeling of a heart finding something it had been aching for in silence.

When they finally pulled apart, Soobin rested his forehead against Kai’s and whispered, “Don’t go.”

Kai’s voice trembled when he said, “I’m not the one who left.”

And Soobin nodded, eyes closed. “Then I’m coming back. If you’ll let me.”

And the only response was Kai's lips on his.