Archive of Our Own

Sieun hadn’t expected to get close to Gotak. Not really.

It started during the quiet parts of the day when Suho wasn’t around, and the empty space beside Sieun felt heavier than it should. Gotak had a way of slipping into those silences like he belonged there. Easy. Unapologetic.

Where Suho had been all sharp glances and confusing closeness, Gotak was all warmth, eye contact and blunt honesty. At first, Sieun didn’t know what to make of it. He flinched every time Gotak said something kind.

He wasn’t used to kindness without conditions.

They’d met through Suho, technically. Gotak was a friend-of-a-friend. Someone Suho didn’t think much of, someone Sieun barely noticed at first. But Gotak noticed him. Always had. He was the kind of guy who looked at people and really saw them, even when they didn’t want to be seen.

For a long time, Sieun had mistaken that gaze for something dangerous. Vulnerable, even. Because if someone like Gotak saw him, saw the way he still flinched when he heard Suho’s name, saw the way he waited like someone might come back, it meant Sieun had nowhere left to hide.

But Gotak never asked him to.

Instead, he stayed. On benches. On rooftops. After school. When Sieun wanted to talk and especially when he didn’t. He made dumb jokes and brought extra drinks and sometimes touched Sieun’s shoulder like it was second nature.

-

It was late, later than they usually stayed at the basketball court.

The buzzing of the overhead lights was louder at this hour, as if the silence made their electric hum more aggressive. The cracked pavement glinted under the dull yellow lamps, worn down lines barely marking out the boundaries. The net on one side had given up weeks ago, the metal ring hung bare like a skeletal grin.

Gotak had invited Sieun along with his own friends, Baku and Juntae, for a quick basketball game. It had become routine, almost ritual. Sieun grew close to Baku and Juntae through these basketball matches. At first, Sieun only came because it was easier to say yes than deal with the noise of being alone. But lately… he found himself looking forward to these nights.

Especially with the way Gotak always looked at him when he showed up, like he wasn’t surprised, but pleased.

Tonight, though, felt different.

Maybe it was the cold. Maybe it was the fact that the court was almost completely abandoned now. Baku and Juntae had caught the last bus and disappeared down the street already. Gotak and Sieun hadn’t moved from the bench since.

Sieun hunched deeper into his hoodie, the fabric pulled over his fingers. His bag sat beside him, heavy with books and flashcards and things he probably wouldn’t touch tonight. He was ahead on his history notes anyway.

The real reason he was still here was simple: his mother was home.

She’d taken the weekend off. Which meant the apartment would be a battlefield, her voice sharp and shrill about grades, effort, potential. Her disappointment never arrived empty handed. It always came gift wrapped with comparison. Other kids. Better kids.

He wasn’t ready for that yet. He’d rather face the cracked court and the smoke stained air.

Gotak was beside him, legs sprawled, his jacket unzipped like the cold didn’t bother him at all. He was tossing pebbles onto the court, each one bouncing with a hollow sound.

Sieun broke the silence first, his voice dry and thin. “I don’t know why you even like this place. It’s cold. Smells like rubber and cigarette buds.”

Gotak chuckled. “Yeah. But it’s quiet. You can think out here.”

Sieun gave a humorless snort. “Thinking’s overrated.”

“Nah,” Gotak said, tossing another pebble. “What’s killing you is what you’re thinking about.”

Sieun froze.

It didn’t take a genius to know what he meant. Hell, Gotak probably knew before Sieun did.

It was always the same. The way his shoulders stiffened. The way his phone stayed close, like a heartbeat tether. Like he was waiting for Suho to text. To call. To do anything, really.

Gotak didn’t need to say the name. He never had to.

“Suho again?” he asked gently.

Sieun didn’t answer. Didn’t have to.

He watched the way the wind stirred the fence, leaves brushing the ground like they were trying to run.

Gotak sighed. “Nothing’s gonna change with him, you know.”

“Yeah, well…” Sieun’s voice cracked slightly. “It’s complicated.”

“No,” Gotak said, simply. “It’s not.”

Sieun turned to him, sharp. “What would you know?”

Gotak didn’t flinch. He stretched his arms across the backrest, his body loose and unbothered, like he had all the time in the world to sit there and be calm while Sieun was quietly imploding.

“I know what it looks like when someone wants you around but doesn’t want to choose you,” Gotak said. “That’s what Suho’s doing. He wants you to stay close, but not too close. Just enough that you’re waiting.”

Sieun looked down, his hand gripping the hem of his hoodie. “He’s not doing it on purpose.”

“Doesn’t mean it hurts any less.”

The words landed in his chest with an uncomfortable thud.

They sat there, the wind pushing at their backs. The court was eerily quiet now. A car passed in the distance, music bleeding faintly through its windows before it faded again.

Gotak’s voice was lower this time. “Can I ask you something?”

Sieun didn’t look at him. Just gave a small nod.

“Do you ever feel something… for someone else? Even when you’re stuck on someone you shouldn’t be?”

Sieun turned his head. Slowly. He hadn’t expected that.

Gotak didn’t look at him. He just kept tossing pebbles. “Because I do,” he said. “Every time you look at me with those eyes. Every time you bump my shoulder like you don’t mean it. When you smile at one of my dumb jokes and then try to hide it.”

Sieun felt something tighten in his throat.

Gotak smiled a little, still not looking. “I shouldn’t feel it. I keep telling myself I shouldn’t. But I do. And I think… you feel it too. Even if you don’t want to admit it.”

“I’m just… not ready,” Sieun said quietly.

Gotak nodded. “I know.”

“I still think about him.”

“I know,” Gotak said again. “But you’re not just thinking about him, are you?”

Sieun couldn’t bring himself to lie. Couldn’t bring himself to say yes or no.

So he stayed silent.

“Have you ever been kissed?”

Sieun blinked. “What?”

“It’s a question.”

Sieun shifted. “No.”

“Didn’t think so,” Gotak said, smirking. “You’d be a terrible liar if you tried.”

Sieun frowned. “I just… I don’t want to do anything when I’m confused.”

“I’m not asking you to,” Gotak said softly. “But if you want it. If you want me. Not because you’re sad or tired or trying to forget him, but because you feel something, then I’ll kiss you.”

Sieun turned to look at him fully now.

Gotak wasn’t smug. He wasn’t teasing. His eyes were open, filled with something unfamiliar. Want. Desire. There was heat behind them, yes, but it wasn’t wild or rushing. It was patient .

It made Sieun’s heart ache.

He swallowed. “I don’t know how.”

Gotak smiled, small and real. “You don’t have to. I’ll go slow. Just follow my lead, okay?”

Sieun nodded. His throat felt tight.

Gotak leaned in just slightly, slow enough that Sieun could back away at any second. The cold air between them was quickly replaced with heat.

Sieun took this opportunity to look closely at Gotak. His prominent cheekbones, his lashes, so close to Sieun he could feel them brush against his cheeks, his sharp nose, his plump lips. It’s an undeniable fact that Gotak is handsome.

Way too handsome.

Sieun had never really thought of Gotak in that way.

Up until now.

His heart raced faster with every second that passes. He fears his heart may actually jump out of his chest.

“Can I kiss you?” Gotak asked, so softly it was almost a secret.

Sieun’s breath stuttered. Blush creeping up his cheeks and neck “…Yes.”

Gotak moved closer, gently closing the gap.

Their lips brushed once ever so softly, it barely counted. Just enough to make Sieun feel dizzy.

Then Gotak kisses him again, for real this time. Slow and tender. He let Sieun take his time, let him breathe through it. He brought one hand to the back of Sieun’s neck, the other resting lightly at his waist, grounding him.

Sieun was still. Not stiff. Not cold. Just… stunned.

He hadn’t expected to feel this. He hadn’t expected his pulse to pound in his ears, for the weight in his chest to loosen slightly. He hadn’t expected warmth to bloom beneath his skin.

And then, something inside him flipped.

He kissed Gotak back.

Hard.

It wasn’t graceful. It wasn’t practiced. His hands fumbled for Gotak’s hoodie, clinging, pulling, anchoring himself to the heat of the moment.

Gotak made a low sound, a mixture of surprise and pleasure and kissed him back harder, deeper this time. Their mouths moved together, messy, teeth bumping slightly, breath hot against each other’s cheeks.

It was desperate and rough and a little clumsy, but it was real. His. Not a fantasy. Not a “what if” with someone who never looked back. This was now. This was happening.

Gotak gripped his arms, steadying him, letting him push and pull as much as he needed. He didn’t try to control it. He just kissed him, deep, slow, then fast, then slow again, until they both had to break apart for air.

Sieun leaned back, gasping, lips tingling, heart beating out of rhythm.

Gotak stared at him like he couldn’t believe what just happened. His mouth was swollen, his voice hoarse. “Okay. Damn.”

Sieun blinked at him. “Was that… bad?”

Gotak laughed breathlessly. “No. That was— fuck. That was hot. You sure you’ve never done that before?”

Sieun turned his face away, flustered. “Shut up.”

“Never,” Gotak said, still grinning. Then, more gently, “You okay?”

Sieun nodded. Hesitated. Then nodded again. “I think so.”

They sat in the silence, but it didn’t feel empty anymore.

It was charged. Thick with something electric, unspoken, but undeniably real.

Sieun brought a trembling hand to Gotak’s cheek. He hadn’t planned it—his fingers just moved, as if drawn to the warmth there. His thumb brushed softly across Gotak’s bottom lip.

Gotak leaned into the touch, eyes fluttering closed for half a second. “Careful,” he murmured, voice low. “If you keep touching me like that, I might fall in love with you.”

Sieun laughed under his breath. It came out broken, surprised.

“I meant it, you know,” Gotak said, a little more serious now. “I’m not trying to replace him.”

Sieun’s hand stilled. “I know.”

“I just want to be seen. Just want to matter to someone who doesn’t look past me when things get hard.”

Sieun looked at him then, really looked. The way Gotak’s shoulders had tensed. The way he bit the inside of his cheek like he was trying not to say more than he should.

It hit Sieun how brave that was. How much Gotak had risked tonight just to say what he felt. How easily Sieun could’ve brushed him off. Said no. Pretended the kiss hadn’t meant anything.

But it had.

“You are,” Sieun said, voice soft.

Gotak blinked. “What?”

“You’re seen,” he repeated. “By me.”

The words weren’t a promise. He wasn’t ready for that. But they were real. And from the way Gotak’s lips parted, eyes wide with something fragile, hope? Maybe. But it was enough.

“Okay,” Gotak said quietly. “Okay.”

They sat a while longer. The cold didn’t feel so sharp now. Or maybe Sieun was just too wrapped in adrenaline to notice.

Eventually, Gotak stood and stretched, bones popping. “Wanna walk together?” he asked.

Sieun looked up. “Where?”

“Home. Yours.”

Sieun hesitated, then nodded.

-

The streets were empty, the lights dim and flickering. A cat darted out of a dumpster and disappeared into the shadows.

Gotak walked beside him, a step or two closer than usual.

They didn’t hold hands. That would’ve felt too strange. Too soon.

But they walked in sync. Their shoulders brushed. Their breaths curled out in front of them like clouds.

Sieun snuck a glance sideways.

Gotak was quiet. Calm. That same, maddeningly patient expression on his face. But there was a flush to his ears, and every so often, his fingers twitched like he was thinking about reaching out.

“Can I ask something now?” Sieun said.

Gotak turned his head, smiling. “Sure.”

“Why me?”

Gotak looked genuinely surprised by the question. “What do you mean?”

“You could like… anyone,” Sieun muttered. “There are people who’d actually know what they’re doing.”

“Maybe.” Gotak gave a shrug. “But I don’t want just anyone.”

“Why not?”

Gotak stopped walking. Sieun did too.

“Because you try so hard to hide how soft you are,” Gotak said. “And it makes me want to hold you. Because when you laugh, you look like you forget the world is heavy for a second. Because when you get flustered, you act annoyed, but you secretly like it.”

Sieun stared at him, wide-eyed.

“And because,” Gotak continued, stepping a little closer, “when you kissed me back, I knew you meant it. Even if it scared you. That kind of honesty? That’s rare.”

Sieun’s face was burning. He looked away, kicking a loose pebble on the sidewalk.

“Also,” Gotak added lightly, “you looked really hot just now. For a nerd.”

Sieun shoved him playfully. “Shut up.”

Gotak laughed. “Okay, okay. Just saying.”

They resumed walking.

At the next corner, Sieun slowed a bit. He didn’t want to go home just yet. Not to the noise. The lectures. The walls that didn’t feel like his.

But when he glanced at Gotak, he didn’t say any of that.

He just said, “Thanks. For waiting.”

Gotak looked at him, smile soft now. “I’m not in a rush.”

They reached the building. The stairwell was dark. Sieun stopped at the base.

He looked up at Gotak. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” Gotak said. He turned to leave, then paused.

“Oh, one more thing.”

“Hm?”

Gotak glanced back over his shoulder. “If you ever want another kiss, you don’t have to be sad to ask.”

Sieun flushed, heart skipping. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Gotak smirked. “You better.”

He walked away, hoodie swinging with each step. Sieun watched him disappear down the street.

He stood there for a long time, hand on the stair railing, the cold air no longer biting.

For once, he wasn’t thinking about Suho.

For once, he wasn’t wondering if he was enough.

He was remembering the feeling of Gotak’s hand on his neck. The weight of being seen. The truth behind a single kiss.

And for the first time in weeks…

He wasn’t chasing someone who would never stop running.

He was walking beside someone willing to wait.

-

Sieun didn’t sleep that night.

He lay awake in his bed, hoodie still clinging to his skin like memory. The room was dim and silent, save for the occasional creak of the radiator and the faint buzz of the streetlight filtering through the curtains.

His fingers touched his lips more than once. Not because he was unsure of what happened, but because he couldn’t stop remembering it. Gotak’s mouth. Warm, sure, patient. The way his hands felt steady at Sieun’s waist. The soft, barely-there smile that came after, like he was trying to be casual and completely failing.

Sieun pulled the blanket tighter around him, heart restless.

He hadn’t meant to kiss back like that. Not with that much want. Not with that much… need.

And yet.

When his eyes drifted shut, it wasn’t Suho’s face he saw. It wasn’t the old ache that lingered like a bruise. It was Gotak. Gotak’s smile, his voice, the way he stood like the world couldn’t knock him down even if it tried.

Something about that made Sieun feel safe. And more than that— seen.

It was terrifying.

And quietly, it was beginning to feel like hope.

The next few days passed like fog. Classes blurred together. Homework got half-finished, then redone. Sieun found himself doodling in the margins of his notebooks—lines that curved into things that reminded him of that night. Not Suho. Not anymore.

Gotak.

It wasn’t love. Not yet. But it was something. Something close.

They didn’t text much. Gotak was never a big phone person, and Sieun hated overthinking his own replies. But every so often, a message would pop up.

gotak: u coming to the court?

gotak: bring ur shitty jumper. i’ll block it again just to watch u pout

gotak: i’ll wait

That last one hit the hardest.

-

Thursday came with clouds. The kind that didn’t promise rain, just a sky that looked tired.

Sieun hesitated outside the school gate after cram school. His bag was heavier than usual, weighed down with expectation and too many pens. He could go home. Pretend the kiss didn’t still live in his bones. Let the comfort of old ache wrap around him like a blanket.

But he didn’t want that.

Not anymore.

So he went.

Gotak was already there, of course. Sitting on the rim of the broken hoop, one leg dangling lazily, jacket thrown over the chain-link fence. He grinned when he saw Sieun.

“Thought you ghosted me.”

“I almost did,” Sieun muttered, tossing his bag by the bench.

Gotak raised a brow. “But?”

“But I didn’t.” Sieun looked up at him, trying to sound casual. “I wanted to see you.”

That got him a pause.

Gotak hopped down, landing lightly. “You’re not hiding behind sarcasm today. Should I be worried?”

“Shut up.”

“There it is.”

They started with free throws. Then layups. Then something halfway between a game and dancing around each other like they didn’t know how close was too close. Gotak kept brushing against him. A hand at the small of his back when Sieun ran past. Fingers brushing his wrist when he reached for the ball.

Each touch buzzed through him like a live wire.

After about twenty minutes, Sieun called time. He sat on the bench, catching his breath, hoodie sticking to the back of his neck.

Gotak joined him, legs splayed like always, shoulders loose. Comfortable.

“Hey,” Gotak said, voice light. “Can I ask you something?”

Sieun braced himself. “You’re gonna ask anyway.”

“Do you regret it?”

The question wasn’t casual. Not really.

Sieun turned his head slowly. “Regret what?”

“The kiss.”

Silence.

Sieun didn’t look away. “No.”

Gotak blinked. Just once. Then, cautiously: “Do you think about it?”

“All the time,” Sieun admitted.

A beat passed.

Gotak leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees. “Then why haven’t you kissed me again?”

Sieun’s pulse jumped. “I—”

“You don’t have to,” Gotak added quickly. “I’m not trying to pressure you. I just… I think about it too. And I think about you. And it’s hard to pretend that didn’t mean anything.”

Sieun felt heat crawl up his neck.

“I don’t want it to be something we run from,” Gotak said softly. “I want it to be something we run to. But only if you want that too.”

Sieun stood up suddenly.

Gotak froze. “Hey—”

But Sieun wasn’t leaving. He turned, stepped into Gotak’s space, and before he could talk himself out of it, leaned down.

And kissed him.

It wasn’t as messy as the first time. It wasn’t rushed or reactive or caught up in adrenaline.

It was deliberate.

Soft. Warm. A breath shared between them.

Gotak made a surprised sound in the back of his throat, then smiled against Sieun’s mouth and kissed him back.

Sieun’s hands found the sides of Gotak’s face. He tilted his head slightly, deepening the kiss just enough that he could taste the air between them—cool and charged and full of everything he hadn’t said yet.

They pulled apart after a moment, lips parted, breathing hard.

Gotak’s eyes searched his. “So…?”

“I don’t want to be scared of this,” Sieun said quietly. “Of you.”

Gotak didn’t move. He just looked at him like he was seeing something precious. “Then don’t be.”

“I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“That’s okay.” Gotak reached up and tucked a piece of hair behind Sieun’s ear. “We’ll figure it out. Together.”

Sieun nodded, heart thudding.

For the first time, he believed it.

The rest of the week passed with a rhythm he hadn’t realized he craved. They texted more. Saw each other at the court. Sometimes they talked about nothing. Sometimes they didn’t talk at all—just sat close enough that their knees bumped and the silence felt like a conversation.

Sieun found himself watching Gotak’s hands when he spoke. Watching the way his lips moved. He laughed more. The weight on his chest didn’t disappear, but it shifted. Grew lighter.

One night, they were walking home again. This time, Sieun was the one who reached out—his fingers brushing Gotak’s, then curling around them.

Gotak didn’t say anything. Just squeezed his hand once.

It was terrifying, how natural it felt.

-

Sunday afternoon, they sat on the roof of Sieun’s apartment complex. The sky was cracked open with light, clouds bruising at the edges. The city below was loud, but up here, they could pretend the world was small.

Sieun leaned against the railing, Gotak beside him.

“I was scared I’d never stop thinking about him,” Sieun said, unprompted. “About Suho.”

Gotak didn’t interrupt.

“But lately, it’s like… he’s fading. Not disappearing, just… less bright.”

“That’s okay,” Gotak said. “He mattered to you.”

Sieun looked down at their hands, resting on the railing.

“But he’s not the one I want anymore,” he said.

Gotak glanced at him.

Sieun met his eyes. “You are.”

The words weren’t easy. But they were true.

Gotak didn’t smile. Not yet. He looked almost stunned, like he couldn’t quite believe it.

Sieun stepped closer, slipped his arms around Gotak’s waist, burying his face in the warm curve of his shoulder.

Gotak wrapped him up immediately. Held him tight.

“You’re allowed to be soft, you know,” Gotak murmured against his hair.

“I’m trying.”

“You’re doing great.”

They stayed like that for a long time. The wind moved through their hair, and the sky shifted from gold to gray.

And when Sieun kissed him again—hands on Gotak’s chest, mouth open and eager—it didn’t feel rushed or stolen.

It felt like choosing.

-

It started the next morning.

They were sitting outside a corner bakery near Sieun’s cram school, sharing a custard bun and a hot drink Gotak claimed was “too bitter to be legal.” Sieun hadn’t wanted to sit that close, but somehow, Gotak had ended up pressed right next to him on the tiny bench, shoulder to shoulder, knees bumping under the table like magnets.

Sieun reached for the last piece of the bun.

Gotak swiped it first and popped it into his mouth with a smirk.

“Gotak…”

“What? You snooze, you lose.” He licked sugar off his thumb slowly, then looked at Sieun. “Don’t pout, baby.”

Sieun froze.

“What?”

Gotak grinned. “What?”

“Did you just call me?”

“Baby?” He tilted his head innocently. “Yeah. You don’t like it?”

Sieun immediately looked away, ears turning pink. “It’s— You can’t just…”

Gotak leaned closer, voice low and amused. “You’re so cute when you’re flustered, you know that?”

“Shut up. ”

“Nope,” Gotak said, sipping his drink. “Not when you’re turning red like that, sweetheart.”

Sieun stared at the cup in his hands like it had betrayed him.

Sweetheart.

Gotak didn’t stop there. Over the next few days, it was a minefield.

Tuesday.

They met at the bus stop. Sieun was early, hoodie pulled up against the wind.

“Hey, pretty boy,” Gotak said, ruffling his hair.

Sieun nearly dropped his phone.

Wednesday. 

They were studying in the library, quiet between them except for scribbled notes and the occasional whisper. Gotak leaned in to point something out in Sieun’s textbook, fingers brushing his wrist.

“You’re smart when you’re not overthinking,” he murmured. “That’s hot, babe.”

Sieun knocked over his pencil case and refused to look up for five whole minutes.

Thursday.

At the court again. They were passing the ball lazily, the sun setting behind the trees. Gotak caught a pass one-handed and grinned.

“You always look so serious when you’re focused,” he said. “Kind of like a kitten learning how to hunt.”

Sieun gave him a look.

Gotak laughed. “What? You are. All intense and cute and bristly. You gonna hiss at me, kitten?”

Sieun threw the ball at his head.

It wasn’t that he hated it.

In fact, Sieun was worried about how much he didn’t hate it. Every time Gotak dropped one of those names ‘ baby, sweetheart, kitten, babe ’ something in his chest did a strange little flip. His stomach got tight. His mouth forgot how to function. And worse, he wanted to hear them again.

He just didn’t know how to say that without spontaneously combusting.

Saturday evening.

Sieun was sitting on Gotak’s bed, legs tucked under him, a manga volume in his lap. Gotak was sprawled beside him, head propped on one hand, scrolling lazily on his phone.

“Do you seriously just think of those names on the spot?” Sieun asked finally, not looking up.

“Hm?”

“The names. You know. All those” He waved vaguely. “ Sweetheart. Kitten. Whatever.”

Gotak smirked. “Jealous I haven’t used them all yet?”

Sieun threw a worksheet at his face.

Gotak caught it with a grin and tossed it aside. “I don’t think that hard about them,” he admitted. “They just come out. I guess I like calling you stuff.”

Sieun blinked. “Why?”

“Because it makes you look like this.” Gotak tapped his cheek. “All pink and pouty.”

“I do not pout.”

“You do. But it’s okay. You’re allowed.” He scooted closer. “Can I call you something now?”

Sieun narrowed his eyes. “Better not be‘princess’ or some shit.”

Gotak laughed, low and warm. “No. Just something that’s so so you. ”

He leaned in, brushed his fingers lightly along Sieun’s wrist.

“Angel,” he said.

Sieun’s heart skipped.

Gotak said it like it meant something. Like it wasn’t just a joke. Like he saw something in Sieun that was soft, and still worth loving.

Sieun swallowed. “…Say it again.”

Gotak tilted his head, voice gentle. “Angel.”

Sieun looked down, lips twitching. “That one’s… not too bad I guess.”

Gotak reached up and brushed his thumb along Sieun’s cheek. “You like when I call you names, huh?”

“No.”

“Liar.”

“…I guess it’s not the worst.”

“Thought so.” Gotak leaned in and kissed him.

Sieun kissed back. Soft, quiet, a little shaky.

When they pulled apart, he mumbled against Gotak’s lips, “You’re annoying.”

Gotak smiled. “And you’re mine, angel.”

Sieun turned beet red.

And didn’t argue.

They didn’t speak for a while after the kiss.

Gotak had flopped back on the bed, pulling Sieun down with him, arms loose around his waist. The light was dim, the room warm. The only sound was their breathing, matched without meaning to, chest to chest.

Sieun lay still, cheek pressed to Gotak’s collarbone. He could feel the other boy’s heartbeat against his ear. It was steady, calm, so maddeningly grounded.

It was nice.

Too nice.

Sieun hated how his eyes burned a little, how his throat tightened without warning. He’d been fine five minutes ago. But now, wrapped up like this — called angel, kissed soft, held without being asked — all the things he never let himself feel came flooding in like a dam cracking open.

He breathed in.

Out.

Then, carefully: “Hey.”

Gotak’s voice was muffled in his hair. “Mm?”

“I wanna say something...”

Gotak stilled slightly. “Okay.”

Sieun stared at the pattern of Gotak’s shirt. It was navy blue. He’d never noticed the little threads in the fabric before. He touched them absently.

“You make me feel so…” He hesitated.

Gotak looked at him expectantly. His gaze made Sieun’s heart skip.

His voice was quieter now. “Safe.”

Gotak didn’t speak, just tightened his arms around him.

Sieun went on, words halting but honest. “When you look at me, it’s like you see me for me. Not just what I act like, or what people expect. But me. The parts that aren’t loud. The parts I don’t really show anyone.”

He swallowed.

“That’s scary, sometimes. But it’s also… it makes me feel like I can breathe.”

Gotak shifted, just enough to rest his chin lightly on top of Sieun’s head. His voice, when it came, was so gentle it almost didn’t sound like him.

“I do see you, you know.”

“I know.”

“I see how hard you try. Even when no one notices. Even when you think it doesn’t matter. I see the way you care about people, even when it hurts. I see how scared you are to let people close. But you let me. And that’s… kind of the most important thing anyone’s ever given me.”

Sieun’s fingers curled in the fabric of Gotak’s shirt.

“I didn’t mean to let you in,” he whispered.

“I know,” Gotak said, brushing his lips against Sieun’s temple. “But I’m glad you did.”

There was a silence. Soft, stretched— and then Sieun breathed out a tiny laugh, barely there.

“You make it really hard to stay mad at you, you know.”

“Yeah,” Gotak said with a grin, not lifting his head. “It’s part of my charm.”

Sieun pressed his face against Gotak’s neck, letting the warmth and closeness melt into him like a balm.

“I don’t know what this is yet,” he murmured. “But… I think I’m starting to want it. You. ”

Gotak didn’t say anything right away.

He just pulled Sieun closer, wrapped around him like a promise.

Then he kissed the top of his head and whispered:

“You’ve already got me.”

-

It started with a knock on the door.

Gotak was roaming around in the kitchen, microwaving whatever’s left in Sieun’s fridge. Sieun opened it without thinking. Expecting maybe a neighbor, a delivery, anyone else.

But it was Suho.

Same slouched posture, same hoodie tugged up to his ears, same expression that flickered between guilt and something harder when his eyes landed on Sieun.

“Hey,” Suho said, like he hadn’t gone silent for weeks.

Sieun blinked. “…What are you doing here?”

“I needed to talk to you.”

Sieun hesitated. “Now’s not really a good time.”

But Suho had already stepped in, brushing past him with the casual entitlement of someone who used to be welcome. The smell of fried rice hit him from the kitchen. A familiar tune could

be heard from Gotak, humming soft melodies under his breath.

Then the hum cut off.

Gotak rounded the corner, spoon still in hand, freezing when he saw Suho.

“Oh,” he said, voice flat. “This guy.”

Suho’s eyes flicked to him. “Didn’t realize you were still around.”

“Didn’t realize you still got to show up whenever you felt like it.”

The tension spiked immediately.

Sieun stepped between them, voice tight. “Okay, can we not—”

But Gotak was already walking back to the stove, too stiff, too quiet.

Suho lowered his voice. “I just wanted to talk. Alone.”

Gotak didn’t look up. “Then maybe you should’ve come when he was alone.”

“Gotak.”

Sieun’s tone was a warning, but it barely landed.

The silence between them festered. Gotak dropped the spoon a little too hard into the sink, then turned to Sieun.

“You gonna go with him?”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

Sieun stared. “He just showed up—”

“Yeah. And you let him in.”

“He’s my friend.”

Gotak laughed, bitter and humorless. “Sure. Just your friend. You only talk about him when you’re half-asleep or drunk. You only look like that when it’s him.”

“Like what?”

“Like he still owns part of you.”

The words hit too hard. Too clean.

Sieun took a step back, face flushing from guilt or

embarrassment. He’s not sure. “That’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it?”

“I never promised you anything.”

That one hurt. He could see it. The way Gotak flinched, even if he covered it up with a scoff.

“Right,” Gotak said. “You didn’t. But you sure as hell acted like you did.”

Sieun crossed his arms. “So what, I’m not allowed to have feelings? Friends?”

“You’re allowed to be honest.”

“And you’re allowed to back off!”

The kitchen fell into silence.

Even Suho was quiet.

Sieun’s voice dropped. “I didn’t ask for any of this.”

Gotak looked at him. Really looked. And something in his face shifted.

Not anger. Just… disappointment.

“No,” he said. “You didn’t. You just liked having me around when it was easy.”

Sieun’s throat closed.

Gotak grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair. Walked to the door.

“Have fun catching up,” he muttered as he passed Suho. “Hero.”

He slammed the door behind him.

Sieun stood there, heart pounding, hands shaking. Not because he was mad.

Because he was hurt.

And because somewhere deep down, he knew Gotak was right.

The door had closed so hard it shook the picture frames.

And now the silence was deafening.

Sieun stood by the sink, not moving. The microwave beeped once, unnoticed. His heart was still somewhere between his throat and his stomach. He didn’t dare look at Suho just yet.

But Suho was still there. Leaning against the wall like he didn’t know what to do with his hands. His eyes lingered on the door Gotak had just left through.

“He really likes you,” Suho said softly.

Sieun finally turned. “Why are you here?”

Suho’s gaze dropped. “I don’t know. I thought I was losing you.”

“You lost me a long time ago.”

“I didn’t mean to.”

“That doesn’t change anything.”

Another silence. This one was heavier. Sadder.

“I guess I thought…” Suho ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. “That maybe we just needed more time.”

Sieun leaned back against the counter. “Time to what? Pretend nothing ever happened? Pretend I didn’t wait?”

“I never asked you to wait.”

“I know ,” Sieun snapped, then softened. “You didn’t have to. I still did.”

Suho winced.

Sieun looked down at his hands. They were trembling slightly.

“I used to think it was enough,” he said. “Just being near you. Just being your… whatever. Placeholder. Backup plan.”

“You weren’t—”

“Yes, I was.” His voice was quiet now, but it cut deeper that way. “You never let me close. You never kissed me. But you looked at me like you might.”

Suho didn’t answer.

Sieun’s chest ached with something sharp and familiar. “And I kept thinking… one day. Maybe.”

Suho closed his eyes.

“But it’s not one day. It’s not ever.”

Sieun stepped away from the counter. “You always made me feel like I was hard to love.”

“You’re not.”

“Then why didn’t you?”

That question landed between them like a glass dropped from a height.

Suho’s voice broke. “Because I was scared. Because I didn’t want to ruin what we had. Because I didn’t know how to want you the way you wanted me and still be me.”

Sieun looked at him. “Then why come back?”

“I saw him,” Suho said. “I saw how he looked at you. Like you’re… everything.”

Sieun swallowed. His voice was thin. “And that made you realize you still want me?”

“No.” Suho hesitated. “That made me realize I never deserved you.”

Sieun’s breath caught.

“I thought I could just… show up. That maybe you were still waiting. But I saw your face. Just now.” Suho’s voice wavered. “You never looked at me the way you looked at him.”

Sieun didn’t know what to say.

“I was your almost , wasn’t I?” Suho said, smiling sadly. “And he’s your maybe.”

Sieun blinked fast.

He hated how much that sentence hurt. How true it felt. How his heart still bent in two directions, even now. But when he thought of Gotak — his warmth, his honesty, his anger, even — something solid flickered in his chest. Something real.

“I think,” Sieun said slowly, “I stopped being yours the moment I realized I could be his.”

Suho nodded once. “Then I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For not seeing you sooner.”

Sieun closed his eyes. “Me too.”

They didn’t hug. They didn’t cry. It wasn’t that kind of scene.

But something old and heavy finally fell away between them.

And when Suho left, this time he didn’t linger.

This time, Sieun didn’t watch him go.

-

The night had a bitter chill to it. One of those nights where the air stung your fingers and bit at your nose, where every step felt too loud on empty streets.

Sieun walked fast.

He didn’t know where he was going. Not exactly. But his body moved like it already knew. His chest ached from everything unsaid, everything said too late. And in the quiet Suho had left behind, all that remained was one voice, steady and clear in his head.

Gotak.

He’d stormed out. Quietly, but it was still a storm. The kind that doesn’t knock over tables or slam doors, but erodes things quietly until you’re left wondering if you ever had solid ground to begin with.

“Damn it,” Sieun muttered under his breath.

He pulled his hoodie tighter around him. The wind tugged at him like it wanted him to stop, to turn back, to give up.

But he didn’t.

The first place he checked was the court.

Empty.

Just a ghost of a cigarette still smoldering near the bench. His bench. Their bench. The one they’d sat on the night Gotak had kissed him for the first time. The one that still had the shape of that kiss in the air, somehow.

He stood there for a moment. Breathing it in.

Then he turned and kept going.

He tried the small convenience store next. Gotak liked the orange sodas there, the cheap ones with too much sugar and weird Korean-English hybrid names like “Fizz Up!” or “Cool Pop.” Sieun bought one on reflex, fingers fumbling over coins, before he realized how stupid that was. Carrying a peace offering for a boy who might not want peace anymore.

Still, he held onto it.

He checked the park. The subway entrance. Even the quiet rooftop of the school building, sneaking in with practiced ease.

But Gotak wasn’t there.

It was only when he reached the river, that stretch of water where city lights bent across the surface like broken promises, that he saw him.

Gotak was sitting on the low concrete ledge, hood up, hands in his pockets, a cigarette between his lips but not lit. Just held, like a habit he hadn’t decided to give into yet.

Sieun stopped a few paces back, heart clenching.

Gotak didn’t turn.

Sieun stepped closer. Quietly. Slowly. Like approaching a wounded animal.

“You always come here when you’re upset,” he said, voice soft.

Gotak didn’t move. “You always send mixed signals when you are.”

The words landed hard.

Sieun swallowed. “I deserved that.”

No response.

“I didn’t know Suho was going to show up.”

Still nothing.

Sieun took a deep breath. “But I let him stay. And that’s on me.”

Finally, Gotak turned. His eyes weren’t angry. They were tired. Hollowed out like someone who’d burned through their last ounce of hope.

“Why?” Gotak asked. Just that.

“Because… I didn’t know what I wanted. Until I saw him again. Until I heard him say it. And even then…” Sieun’s voice cracked. “I realized I didn’t care anymore. Not really.”

Gotak looked back out at the river.

Sieun stepped closer. Close enough to feel the cold radiating off him.

“I cared about how he made me feel. The memory of it. The almost of it. But you…” Sieun exhaled shakily. “You’re not almost.”

Gotak let out a small sound. Could’ve been a scoff. Could’ve been relief. Hard to tell.

“You’re here now,” Gotak said, still not looking. “But what about tomorrow? What about next week, when you see him again and remember all the things you used to wish for?”

Sieun didn’t answer right away. He sat beside him, close but not touching.

Then, softly: “Then you remind me I don’t have to wish anymore. Because I have this.”

He held up the orange soda.

Gotak stared at it.

Sieun cracked a smile. “It’s stupid. But I figured… you’d still want it.”

Gotak snorted. “You remembered which one I like?”

“Don’t flatter yourself. I guessed.”

Gotak rolled his eyes. “It’s the right one.”

Sieun bumped his shoulder gently. “Lucky me.”

Gotak took the bottle slowly, fingers brushing Sieun’s. The touch was brief, but warm.

They sat in silence, the river moving slow beside them. For once, it wasn’t uncomfortable.

After a long moment, Gotak said, voice quieter now, “I didn’t like seeing him in your space. Even if he was leaving.”

Sieun nodded. “I didn’t like seeing how much I used to want him. When I already have someone who actually sees me.”

Gotak turned.

“I see you,” Sieun said.

The words weren’t loud. But they were clear.

“I want to try,” Sieun added. “Not because I’m sad or lonely or tired of waiting. Not because you kissed me and it felt good. I want to try because… I feel safe when I’m with you.”

Gotak blinked. Hard. Then looked away again, jaw working.

Sieun leaned closer. “I’m scared too. But not of you. Just… scared I’ll mess it up. That I’ll forget how to be honest when it matters.”

“You just were,” Gotak said, voice rough.

Sieun nodded. “I’m learning.”

Another quiet beat passed.

Then Gotak said, with a slight grin, “You’re still a pain in the ass, though.”

“Yeah,” Sieun said. “But I’m your pain in the ass.”

A beat.

“Only if you kiss me again.”

Sieun turned, cheeks pink. “You want that?”

“Desperately.”

He didn’t hesitate this time.

He leaned in first.

The kiss wasn’t rough like the first. It was slower, deeper. The kind of kiss that didn’t demand anything but gave everything. The kind that spoke in languages neither of them had been brave enough to use until now.

When they broke apart, breath mingling, foreheads touching, Gotak whispered, “Next time he shows up… I want you to look at me.”

“I already do,” Sieun whispered back.

And he meant it.

-

The next few days passed like a slow thaw.

Gotak didn’t text first. Sieun didn’t know how to either — not without overthinking every word.

But somehow, they still found each other.

They shared a drink on the school rooftop again. Gotak handed Sieun the straw without looking at him, and Sieun took it without speaking, their fingers brushing. Neither pulled away.

They walked home one day in silence, side by side, their steps never quite syncing — but not fighting each other either. Just learning the rhythm again.

It wasn’t how it used to be.

But it was something new.

At night, Sieun stared at his phone, unsure. He’d drafted messages like “you okay?” or “are we okay?” a dozen times, deleting them each time. Too blunt. Too desperate.

But Gotak beat him to it.

gotak: still awake?

Sieun’s heart lurched at the notification. He tapped back quickly, thumbs trembling.

sieun: yeah. you?

gotak: barely. can’t sleep.

sieun: bad dreams?

gotak: nah. just… brain’s loud.

Sieun stared at the blinking cursor. Then slowly typed:

sieun: mine too.

There was a pause. Then Gotak replied:

gotak: come sit with me again tomorrow?

Sieun’s throat tightened.

sieun: yeah. i’d like that.

They didn’t talk about Suho again.

Not right away.

Instead, they talked about easier things. Their favorite songs. The worst snacks at the school vending machine. The time Gotak accidentally dyed his hair orange in middle school and swore it looked “punk” even though it really, really didn’t.

Sieun found himself smiling more.

Not the forced kind he used when Suho gave him compliments. Not the confused kind he wore when trying to figure out what people wanted from him.

Just… smiling.

Because Gotak made him laugh. Because Gotak said dumb things. Because Gotak looked at him like he didn’t have to be anything except who he already was.

One afternoon, as they sat together again on the court bench, their shoulders barely touching, Sieun asked quietly, “Do you still trust me?”

Gotak was quiet for a moment. Then he said, “I want to.”

Sieun nodded. That made sense. It felt honest. And honesty, however uncomfortable, was better than a pretty lie.

“I want you to,” Sieun said.

Gotak turned to look at him. His gaze was tired, but open. “Then help me.”

So that’s what Sieun did.

He showed up when he said he would. He texted when he thought of Gotak, even if it was just to say “this made me think of you” and attach a blurry photo of a pigeon with a leaf on its head. He listened more than he spoke, and when he did speak, he didn’t hedge or second-guess as much.

And slowly, Gotak began to soften again.

One day, Gotak reached out first — a small thing. A hand on Sieun’s sleeve when they crossed the street, fingers lingering just a little too long. Sieun didn’t pull away.

The next day, Gotak leaned against him during lunch. Sieun let his head rest there for a moment, a secret in plain view.

A few days later, Sieun dozed off during a movie night at Gotak’s place, head accidentally falling onto Gotak’s shoulder. When he woke, Gotak hadn’t moved. He was just sitting there, letting Sieun sleep against him, like he didn’t want to risk waking him.

“Comfortable?” Gotak had murmured.

Sieun had nodded, eyes still heavy. “Yeah.”

And that was it. No big confessions. No grand apologies.

Just small moments that said: I’m still here.

On a quiet evening, about a week later, they sat by the river again.

Same ledge. Same wind. Different silence.

Sieun took a breath. “I used to think trust was about being perfect. Saying the right thing. Never messing up.”

Gotak didn’t answer right away.

Then: “Yeah. That’s why it hurts so bad when people let you down.”

Sieun nodded. “But I think… trust is something you have to keep choosing. Even after it gets cracked a little.”

Gotak looked at him. “You’re choosing me?”

Sieun turned to meet his eyes. “Every day.”

Gotak stared. Then slowly, like he didn’t quite believe it, he nodded.

“Okay,” he said, voice soft. “Then I’ll choose you back.”

Their hands found each other in the cold. No hesitation this time.

Just warmth.

-

Gotak had mentioned it once, offhandedly.

A childhood photo he hated. the one his mom insisted on framing and placing in their hallway. He’d been maybe six, missing his front teeth, face blotched with cake frosting, caught mid-laugh. “I looked stupid,” he’d said with a roll of his eyes. “My ears were huge.”

Sieun remembered smiling at the story, but saying nothing. Just tucking it away.

Weeks passed.

They never talked about the photo again.

But now, Sieun stood in front of Gotak’s apartment door with a wrapped box in his arms. His heart was pounding harder than it should have for something so simple.

When Gotak answered, his hair was tousled from a nap, eyes squinting at the afternoon light.

“Sieun?” he blinked. “You okay?”

Sieun held out the box. “I made something. It’s dumb. You don’t have to like it.”

Gotak frowned, confused but he took it carefully. “It’s not even my birthday.”

“I know.”

Gotak opened the lid.

Inside was a sketchbook. Hand-bound with a navy blue cover, still a little crooked from where Sieun had misaligned the spine. Inside were pencil sketches, done in soft lines.

Pages of Gotak’s laugh. His scowl. His sleepy morning face. The way he tied his shoelaces with one hand while texting. The way he looked up when listening, eyebrows raised, head tilted. Even one from memory, of a young Gotak missing his front teeth, eyes crinkled mid-laugh.

Sieun had drawn them all.

“It’s not perfect,” Sieun murmured, gaze fixed to the floor. “I’m still learning hands. And noses. And perspective…”

Gotak didn’t say anything.

When Sieun finally glanced up, Gotak was just staring at him, eyes wide, lips parted, looking like he’d forgotten how to breathe.

“You remembered,” Gotak said, voice barely audible. “That dumb photo…”

Sieun nodded. “I thought it was cute. You looked happy.”

Silence again.

Then, Gotak reached out and placed a hand behind Sieun’s neck, pulling him in slowly not for a kiss, not this time. Just to press their foreheads together, like they were sharing the same breath.

Sieun’s heart beat so loud he was sure Gotak could hear it.

“You’re the first person who’s ever drawn me,” Gotak whispered.

Sieun blinked. “Really?”

“Yeah.” A pause. “And you made me look… like someone worth remembering.”

Sieun’s throat tightened. “You are.”

Gotak let out a shaky breath. “I think I’m gonna fall in love with you if you keep doing stuff like this.”

Sieun didn’t know what to say. So he didn’t say anything. Just leaned into the contact, letting himself be held. Letting himself hold back.

Maybe it was already happening.

Maybe that was the scary part.

But this… this was enough, for now.

Gotak didn’t let go for a while.

He just stood there, holding Sieun close, thumb gently brushing the back of his neck like it calmed him , too. The sketchbook was forgotten between them, pages still fluttering faintly in the breeze from the cracked window.

When they finally sat down, shoulder to shoulder on the edge of Gotak’s bed, he spoke again. Voice low, like it wasn’t meant to fill a room.

“You know,” Gotak murmured, eyes still on the open sketchbook, “I used to think no one saw me. Not really. People noticed when I made noise, when I caused trouble. But I was always something to react to. Not… someone worth looking at closely.”

Sieun didn’t speak, but his hand crept toward Gotak’s without thinking. Their fingers touched, and this time, Gotak didn’t flinch. He laced them together quietly.

“This,” he said, nodding at the sketchbook, “it’s like proof. That I exist in someone else’s world.”

“You do,” Sieun said, voice rough. “In mine.”

Gotak looked at him then. Not smiling. Just there , full of something deep and unspoken.

“I never wanted to need anyone,” he said. “But I think I need you.”

Sieun’s chest ached in a good way. A scary way.

He leaned in again, not for a kiss this time, but to rest his head on Gotak’s shoulder. His heart was beating against his ribs like it wanted out.

Then—

A knock.

Both boys froze.

Another knock. Three times this time. Impatient.

Gotak stood up first, confused. “I wasn’t expecting—” He opened the door.

And there was Suho.

Hair windblown. Breathless. Still in uniform, bag hanging off one shoulder. Like he’d come straight from school. Or ran the whole way.

He blinked when he saw Sieun behind Gotak. Standing there with wide eyes, hoodie sleeves tugged down over his hands. Still flushed.

“Hey,” Suho said.

Silence.

Sieun opened his mouth. Closed it.

“Can we talk?” Suho asked, gaze flicking between them. “Just you and me.”

Gotak’s shoulders immediately tensed. “Why now?”

Suho didn’t answer him. His eyes were only on Sieun. “Please.”

Sieun’s stomach twisted.

He turned to Gotak.

Gotak’s jaw was tight, but his voice was steady. “Up to you.”

Sieun hesitated.

He didn’t want to leave. Not now. Not when he’d just offered something soft and true. But that voice in his chest, old, aching. Still curled toward Suho like muscle memory.

So he nodded. Slowly.

“I’ll just be a minute,” he said to Gotak.

Gotak didn’t look away. Didn’t say anything. He just stepped aside, letting Suho in.

Sieun followed Suho out into the hallway, heart thudding, the warmth of Gotak’s room fading behind him.

The door clicked shut.

And everything changed again.

The hallway was dim, the faint hum of the building’s old lights filling the silence between them. Suho shifted his bag to the other shoulder, running a hand through his messy hair like he was trying to organize his thoughts before he spoke.

Sieun’s heart was pounding, throat tight. He didn’t know what he wanted from this moment — or from Suho anymore. But here they were.

Suho’s voice was quiet, almost fragile. “I’m sorry. For everything.”

Sieun blinked. “You think that’s enough?”

“No,” Suho said quickly. “I don’t know if anything can fix this right now. But I needed to see you. To talk. I’ve been… distant, and that’s on me. I didn’t want to lose you.”

Sieun’s hands clenched inside his sleeves. “You lost me a long time ago. You didn’t want me close, but you didn’t want me gone either. You left me waiting.”

“I know,” Suho said, taking a slow step closer, careful, respectful of the space Sieun was holding. “And I’m sorry. I was scared. I didn’t know how to be honest with you. Or with myself.”

Sieun searched Suho’s face, looking for the familiar warmth he used to know, the certainty that once made everything easier.

“Why now?” Sieun asked softly. “Why come back when I’m already trying to move on?”

Suho’s eyes glistened like he was fighting back something. Something similar to regret, fear or maybe hope. “Because I realize what I had with you was real. And that maybe I was the one running away all this time. Not you.”

Sieun’s breath caught.

“And I’m not asking you to forgive me,” Suho said, voice trembling slightly. “I just want you to know that I still care. More than I ever showed.”

Sieun looked away, heart torn. The quiet hallway felt smaller, heavier.

“Can you even trust me anymore?” Sieun whispered.

Suho swallowed hard, his own vulnerability laid bare in the faint light. “I don’t know. But I’m willing to try. If you’ll let me.”

Sieun’s chest tightened. Part of him ached for the past, but part of him was already leaning toward something new, something real.

He didn’t answer right away.

Because for the first time in a long time, he had to decide what he wanted. Not what Suho wanted, or what Gotak wanted, but what he wanted.

Sieun’s eyes flickered back to Suho, heavy with everything unsaid. The ache in his chest wasn’t just about the past anymore, it was about what he’d lost and what he was still afraid to risk.

“I don’t know if I can trust you,” Sieun said, voice barely above a whisper, “not yet. You left me in the dark for so long. I was waiting—hoping—and you weren’t there.”

He swallowed hard, feeling the weight of the words like stones pressing down on his ribs.

“But maybe…” He hesitated, searching Suho’s face for something real, something steady. “Maybe I’m tired of waiting. Maybe I want to know if you’re really here now. Not just in words.”

His hands trembled slightly, fingers curling into fists at his sides.

“I want to believe you. But it’s going to take more than apologies.”

The silence stretched between them, thick and fragile.

Suho nodded slowly, eyes soft but determined.

“I’ll show you,” he said quietly. “If you’ll let me.”

Sieun met his gaze, Suho’s eyes flicker with something like hope, a beginning to spark between the two of them. But the future, whatever it held, was uncertain. And for now, all they had was this moment, raw and real and trembling on the edge of something new.

Sieun’s heart hammered fiercely as Suho’s words hung in the air, heavy with promise. But the memory of waiting, the hollow spaces left by silence, pressed too deeply against his chest.

“I want to believe you,” Sieun repeated, voice steadier this time, “but I can’t— because I’ve already made a choice.”

He took a small, shaky breath, feeling every eye in his mind’s eye flicker between past and present.

“I’m done waiting for someone who wasn’t there when I needed him. I’ve found something real—with someone who doesn’t just say he’s here, but actually is.”

Suho’s face tightened, the hurt clear but restrained. He nodded slowly, as if accepting a quiet defeat.

Sieun turned his back on Suho, leaving the room.

In that moment, the tension broke—not with fireworks or loud declarations, but with the quiet truth that sometimes, choosing who sees you is the bravest thing you can do.

And Sieun chose to be seen.

-

“What did Suho say?” Gotak started as Sieun returned. Tone filled with uncertainty.

“He tried to mend things with me again.” Sieun noticed Gotak’s jaw clench. “But listening to what he said made me realise something else.”

Sieun took a deep breath, his fingers nervously twisting the edge of his hoodie. He looked up at Gotak, eyes soft but certain.

“I’ve thought about this for a long time,” Sieun said quietly. “About what I want. Who I want.”

Gotak’s smile was small but hopeful, like he was holding his breath.

“I’m tired of waiting for someone who wasn’t ready to stay,” Sieun continued. “And I’m ready to stop pretending that I’m not scared to let someone in.”

Sieun’s hand lingered on Gotak’s cheek, thumb tracing slow circles as if trying to memorize the warmth beneath his fingers. Gotak’s breath hitched, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment before meeting Sieun’s gaze again. Soft, steady, full of everything unsaid.

Slowly, Sieun leaned in, giving Gotak every chance to pull away. But Gotak stayed, his hands finding Sieun’s waist, grounding him like an anchor.

Their lips met— tentative at first, a gentle brush, like the whisper of a promise. Then, as the tension melted away, the kiss deepened, soft and slow, filled with the quiet hope of new beginnings. Sieun’s hands slid up to cradle the back of Gotak’s neck, fingers threading into his hair, pulling him closer without rush.

Gotak’s lips parted slightly, inviting, warm and sure. Time seemed to still, the world shrinking to the shared rhythm of their breathing, the mingling of hesitant desire and tender trust.

When they finally broke apart, their foreheads rested together, smiles soft and hearts pounding in the same steady beat.

“I’m here,” Sieun murmured.

“Always,” Gotak answered.

And in that moment, everything felt right.

“So, this is me… choosing you. Choosing us.”

Gotak pulled Sieun into a soft hug, careful not to rush, just holding him close.

“Thank you for choosing me,” Gotak whispered.

Sieun smiled, feeling warmth spread through his chest, a feeling steady and real.

They stayed there, wrapped in the quiet glow of the night, two hearts finally in sync, ready to walk forward together.