Chapter Text
There’s something inherently antithetical about the way night settles over Seoul through the seasons— cool in spring and autumn, heavy with warmth in summer, biting cold in winter. The sky changes, the air shifts, and people do too.
Now, it’s one of those balmy summer nights. College is winding down, and the campus hums with a kind of restless joy— laughter echoing in the courtyards, drinks clinking, music leaking from open windows.
For Yeonjun, it doesn’t go unnoticed that people are kinder, warmer, closer to each other. Eager with the holidays around the corner, ready to travel back to their hometowns close to the beach. It hits him every summer how the sea used to heal his wounds, now the sun burns his heart and the sand only stings his feelings even further. Every summer, a memoir of what he used to hold close but isn’t his anymore.
This year, however, Yeonjun shows up to the last party of the school year in the outfit: his favorite skirt, a black tank top, and an oversized leather jacket. Yes, he’s sweating buckets—but fashion is pain, and the outfit is worth it.
He arrives with his best friends, Choi Soobin and Choi Beomgyu—collectively known around campus as the Demon Choi Trio.
And honestly? Yeonjun loves parties. He loves meeting new people, talking, floating from conversation to conversation like he owns the place.
But some nights, the weight on his chest presses harder than usual and his shoulders are a tad heavier.
Tonight is one of those nights.
Because he knows exactly who he’s going to see up there. At the frat house. And he’s not ready for it—not really. He never is.
The party is boisterous, blasting music that could be heard kilometers away, and his nostrils are filled up with the reek of alcohol and smoke.
“Damn, there’s a lot of people in here today!” Beomgyu says, screaming through the noise to be heard above the music, his voice muffled. Soon enough, he’s got a drink on his hand Yeonjun’s got no idea where it came from, and he can only wish he won’t be spending the night holding Beomgyu’s pretty long hair while the younger throws up his entire stomach (talking from experience, obviously).
“I should have stayed home.” Soobin mutters, but Yeonjun could hear him anyway.
“C’mon! Don’t be such a wuss, we’ve just arrived! Let’s have some fun!” Beomgyu screams, holding Soobin’s hand through the crowd and dragging him towards the kitchen, where the drinks probably were. Soobin’s a nerd trapped in a hot body and Beomgyu’s an idiot also trapped in a hot body, which doesn’t make much sense but Yeonjun could kind of understand why they got together. And yes, he third-wheels all the damn time.
Making sure to get a drink of his own, Yeonjun scatters through the sea of bodies greeting people here and there, making small conversations and sharing some shots with strangers his acquaintances have just introduced him to, but he’s always been born for this. For the attention, for the people, for the laughs and the looks. A social butterfly everyone would call him.
Nonetheless, tonight Yeonjun scans the crowd with a practiced smile, exchanging quick hellos and clinking glasses, but his eyes keep flicking toward the entrance. He knows he will show up eventually — it’s inevitable. The thought tightens his chest, but he buries the nerves beneath a layer of charm and laughter.
“Everything’s fine,” he tells himself, raising his glass to a new stranger, “just another night, just another party.” But even as the music pounds and the crowd swells, there’s a small voice in his head whispering that tonight won’t be like any other.
Around 3 a.m, Yeonjun goes outside for a smoke, his temples pounding and dizzy from all the alcohol in his body, not used to drinking this much lately. It’s so quiet outside, near the swimming pool, that he nearly misses Beomgyu and Soobin making out near the trees at the far end.
“Ew!” He yells at them and the couple only shift their heads to look at him with their tongues stuck out before they’re back at eating each other. Amused, Yeonjun turns around, deciding to give them some space but not ready to go back just yet, needing the calm outside for some more.
He finds the perfect spot a little further, still near the pool but towards the other side of the house.
It’s, of fucking course, right there when he sees him.
He’s wearing baggy jeans with a low cut and a white top that embraces his body perfectly. Yeonjun can see that he’s been hitting the gym even more ever since he last saw him.
He’s so incredibly taken aback that he can only stutter before he’s fleeing away, inside the house, but Taehyun’s grabbing his wrist so tight it almost hurt and Yeonjun staggers back, so clumsily he trips and falls into the swimming pool, dragging Taehyun alongside with him.
The water is colder than Yeonjun expected, sharp against his skin as he stumbled into the pool, dragging Taehyun down with him. Both of them sputter as they come out of the water, coughing and laughing, breathless and soaked through.
Yeonjun notices Taehyun’s grip on his wrist was still tight even after the fall, his fingers digging into his skin like he was afraid Yeonjun might slip away. Their eyes meet — raw, unguarded — and everything in Yeonjun’s chest twists in a way that has nothing to do with the alcohol.
“Why’d you run?” Taehyun asks, voice low, rough with something that sounded like frustration, a hint of fear that had Yeonjun trembling.
Yeonjun opens his mouth, then closes it again, words lost in the pounding of the music behind the walls and the rapid beat of his own heart.
He should pull away. He should remind himself of what he and Taehyun were and are, that they’re both drunk, that this is a mistake.
But Taehyun’s face is so close and he is so drunk. The faint scent of sweat and something sweet mixed in his hair, like the tiniest dots of vanilla and flowers lingered over his strands. The way his lips parted slightly, as if waiting for something unsaid. The way his grip on his wrist was unwavering.
For a moment, time slowed.
Their faces draw closer, hesitation tangled with desire. Yeonjun’s breath hitches, and he thinks maybe, just maybe .
But then the sound of a door banging somewhere inside, a sudden shout, breaks the spell. They blink, eyes wide, the tension snapping like a brittle thread.
Taehyun pulls back first, the tight grip loosening but not disappearing.
“You okay?” he asks, quietly. Yeonjun swallows hard, heart still pounding. He is so fucked up.
“Yeah,” he whispers, even though he isn’t sure if that was true.
“We should probably head back and find some towels.” Taehyun points at the house with his chin. “You’re shivering.”
Yeonjun isn’t about to say that he’s not shivering because he’s cold, but he does think about it and the thought is so bitter on his tongue that he needs to bite it to focus the pain somewhere else.
Taehyun gets out of the pool first, reaching out his hand to help Yeonjun get out as well. His hand is cold but his grip is strong while holding him, making Yeonjun’s stomach tighten up in knots that were already lingering there.
“Follow me.” Taehyun nearly yells, to be heard above the music. “The bathroom is upstairs.”
The silence on the way to the upper floor is nigh uncomfortable, albeit not entirely as maddening as Yeonjun pictured it would be, despite Taehyun never letting go of his hand, fingers intertwined.
“How did you even know where the bathroom was?” Yeonjun is asking once the door is locked behind their backs and the strident noises coming from the party downstairs are muffled.
“A friend owns the house. I’ve been here once or twice.” Taehyun’s answer is slow and methodical, just the way he is. It enerves Yeonjun just a little, somehow.
“A friend?”
“Yeah.” Their eyes meet, Yeonjun holds his breath close to his beating heart. “A friend.”
He doesn’t answer any further, only grabs a (hopefully) clean towel from the sink drawers and uses it alongside the hairdryer to help shrivel up even if it’s just a little bit.
“I wasn’t sure whether I’d see you here today.” Taehyun’s voice breaks the silence and Yeonjun tilts his head to look at him. His hair is dark and wet, soaked strands stuck to his nape and forehead, somehow making him look younger than he is. And so, so incredibly handsome.
“How come?” Yeonjun’s words come out strangled and he clears out his throat, repeating the words again, feigning confidence that he currently lacks, deep buried beneath layers that have Taehyun’s name engraved all over them. “How come?”
“I’ve heard around that you weren’t showing up to parties anymore.” Taehyun shrugs, but Yeonjun knows better than to ignore the glint of curiosity in his brown, doe eyes.
“People talk about that?”
“People talk about anything.” Taehyun’s gaze is fixed on him and Yeonjun’s having a hard time breathing. When did it become so impossibly hard to be able to look at his best friend in the eye? “Especially about you.”
“Me?” He’s dumbfounded. Sure, he knows people around, but to that extent?
“You’re quite the talk, hyung.”
Yeonjun takes a step back. Hyung . His whole body is petrified as if Taehyun had never called him that before, when in reality it mustn’t have been that long. To Yeonjun, it feels like another lifetime, one surrounded by autumn leaves and golden rice fields filled with laughter as they rode on a bicycle coming back home after school.
“Nonsense.” Yeonjun gesticulates with his hand to downplay his words but, truth is, he can’t barely function anymore. Taehyun is two steps away from him in a narrow bathroom in someone else’s house that he personally knows, wet from head to toe with the top sticking to his body and Yeonjun is still a tad drunk, which in previous occasions have only led to tremendously disastrous situations.
He takes a step closer and Taehyun doesn’t take a step back.
“Come here.” He utters, softly, like he has never meant those words before, spoken for Yeonjun and Yeonjun only.
Yeonjun freezes but he does nevertheless, heart beating so fast he could easily undergo cardiac arrest.
“Turn around.” Taehyun swirls his finger in a circle and he does just as ordered, too impaired by the alcohol and his own trail of thoughts to know what he’s exactly doing.
Taehyun’s touch on his skin is so delicate he might have as well just imagined it, but the towel feels rough in comparison and he realizes that no, he’s not imagining it: Taehyun is, indeed, drying up his hair.
“Your hair got so long.” Taehyun whispers and it tingles Yeonjun’s ear, going straight to his lower stomach, sparks shaking him up. “You’ll get sick if you go around with your hair this wet.”
Yeonjun wants to reply, he really does, but he gapes. Opens his mouth, closes it again. He can’t think properly, let alone speak. Instead, he leans towards Taehyun’s touch and closes his eyes, the world spinning behind his eyelids.
When he opens his eyes a split second later, Taehyun’s breath is against his mouth and he knows if he leaned in, even just a tiny bit, they would kiss. If only he leaned a little closer…
“We should head back down.” Taehyun says instead, putting some distance between them. “People are probably looking for us.”
Yeonjun swallows the lump on his throat, still dizzy and high from secreted adrenaline under the thought of kissing Taehyun.
“Yeah.” He nods. “Let’s go back down.”
*****
Yeonjun finds Soobin and Beomgyu downstairs, drinks still in their hands, and so drunk he’s positive one of them might end up throwing up.
“Did you use protection?” He asks, smirk on his face.
Soobin does blush, but Beomgyu never buys any of his shit.
“Always, babe.” A wink colors his face and Yeonjun can only shake his head, laughing. “Where were you? And…are you wet?”
“A little accident.” He replies, mysteriously. He’s not about to share what happened, especially when they know his previous history with Taehyun. “I’m gonna get some more drinks. Are y’all okay? Or ready to pass out?”
“Sexy, free, not single but ready to mingle bestie.” Beomgyu throws his arm around Yeonjun’s neck and pulls him closer, leading him towards the kitchen and the drinks.
A while later, everything goes downhill.
Yeonjun’s on his third beer and soju, back to being too drunk to even properly open his eyes, when he spots Taehyun in the crowd. And he’s not alone.
It does something to Yeonjun, blood boiling and seeing red behind his eyelids every time he blinks when he notices Taehyun is dancing with someone else, another guy he’s never seen before, and they’re dangerously close, so much their whole bodies are touching, and he’s throwing his head back laughing like a little kid.
“Did you just chew up a lemon? What’s up with the sour face?” Soobin links their arms together and tries to follow Yeonjun’s gaze, mouth shaping into a perfect ‘o’ when he figures out the entire situation. “Yeonjun…”
But Yeonjun’s too gone, especially when Taehyun’s eyes meet his across the bustling crowd, making time slow down around him. Especially , when what Taehyun does next is go back to that stupid guy and kiss him. And not just a kiss. A full-bodied, hand-on-hip, tilt-your-head kind of kiss. Like it means nothing. Like Yeonjun didn’t just lean into him in a bathroom upstairs like a goddamn idiot. Like his fingers weren’t just in Yeonjun’s hair whispering “ come here ” like he meant it. Yeonjun’s stomach lurches.
“Hold this.” Yeonjun thinks he’s saying, giving his empty glass that he’s just chugged down in one gulp to Soobin, and before his friend can stop him, he’s pushing everyone on his way until he’s face to face with the younger. His throat burns, his head is spinning around and his heart aches in a way that he’s never experienced before.
“You’re having that much fun, huh?”
They break the kiss and Taehyun’s eyes flick to him, unreadable. “What?”
Yeonjun laughs — sharp, ugly. “Don’t 'what' me. You were drying my hair ten minutes ago and now you’ve got your tongue in someone else’s mouth?”
Taehyun takes a slow breath. “You’re drunk.”
“Yeah, I am. Does that erase the memory of what happened before to you? Because it certainly doesn’t for me.”
“Yeonjun…”
“Was it pity? Were you feeling a little sorry towards me because I fell into the pool and you felt guilty?”
Taehyun’s eyes darken.
“Guilty ? I wasn’t the one that left for the States without any further notice and didn’t talk to me for a year.” He’s not screaming the way Yeonjun is, but he doesn’t need to. His words alone are enough to cut deep into Yeonjun’s wounds.
People are starting to notice now. The music is still going but the tension is thick . The guy Taehyun was kissing has stepped away, awkward, eyes wide.
“You’re very aware of the reason behind that.” Yeonjun’s words are so bitter on his tongue they actually burn. “You know it damn well!”
“You’re making a scene,” Taehyun says lowly.
Yeonjun steps closer. “Then stop me.”
Taehyun’s eyes flicker — just a moment — and Yeonjun almost thinks he’s going to pull him in again. He hopes for a kiss, too.
But instead, Taehyun shoves him. Hard. His jaw tightens. They’re toe-to-toe now, breath mingling, voices low and mean and aching.
“Let’s head outside and talk calmly. Everyone’s looking at us.”
“Then let them look!” Yeonjun turns around, throws his hands into the air. “Hey! Everyone! Taehyun here was just kissing someone minutes after he nearly kissed me!”
Taehyun pushes him around and shoves him, hard . Yeonjun stumbles to the side, crashing against people whose face he won’t remember.
“You better quit this act.” Taehyun threatens, fringe all a mess on his forehead. Sweat droplets fall down his face and neck and he’s breathing heavily. “Before it gets nasty.”
“Make me .”
It all happens so quick. Yeonjun thinks he sees Beomgyu from the corner of his eye running to them, probably on his way to stop whatever it is that is happening, but Taehyun’s fist is on his jaw and next thing he knows is that he’s punching Taehyun back, the image of the younger kissing the other guy vivid on his mind.
It becomes a mess.
Yeonjun’s pretty sure his nose is bleeding — maybe Taehyun’s too — and there are hands pulling them apart, Beomgyu yelling something, Soobin dragging him back through the crowd. It happens so fast he barely registers it.
Outside, the air hits him like a slap.
He spits blood into the grass. His knuckles are split. He’s not sure if it’s the booze or the heartbreak, but he’s trembling.
He didn’t come here to fight.
He came here because some part of him — stupid, stubborn — still believed Taehyun meant it. The towel. The whisper. The way he looked at him like maybe the past hadn’t rotted everything between them.
Maybe he still means it.
Maybe that’s the worst part.
The pool glimmers in the dark, quiet now. He sees it and something in him cracks. It feels like hours ago, lifetimes ago, when they were alone upstairs and the world was soft.
Now there’s blood on his lip, and he’s crying, and he’s not sure which hurts more.
*****
Soobin freaked out for a solid 10 minutes before he’s finally listening to Yeonjun and leaving him alone. No matter how whiny and selfish he sounded, he needed to be alone.
Awkwardly, he goes back into the house and finds a bathroom (not the one from before, thank you very much) where he can lock himself in.
He spits blood into the sink for the third time, watches it swirl down the drain, diluted by tap water. His knuckles are cracked and swollen, and his jaw is already turning a sick shade of purple. He’s hunched over the bathroom sink like it’s holding him up — or keeping him from falling apart.
He stares at himself in the mirror for too long. The boy in the reflection looks like a ghost — jaw dark with bruises, lips stained red, eyes hollow like he left something vital back in Taehyun’s hands and never got it back. He hates what he sees. And he knows exactly why.
And he has no one to blame but himself.
He can still feel Taehyun’s fist on his face, but it’s even worse that he can still vividly picture him kissing that other guy, which adds more salt into the wound than the actual blood slipping down his face.
He grips the edge of the sink until it hurts, feeling like he deserves it.
He turns off the tap and stares at the door. Then, without letting himself think too hard about it, he’s grabbing his jacket and slipping out the back door before anyone can stop him.
He knows exactly where Taehyun lives. Of course he does . That knowledge could never leave — not even after a year away. Even in another life, Yeonjun would always find his way to Taehyun’s place, the place he once called home.
The walk is long and tiresome, consuming the energy Yeonjun barely had left in his body. The sky is bruised, the air sticky. The leather jacket is long-forgotten over his shoulder and the top is stuck to his body like a second skin from all the sweat, the heat so overbearing that he’s nearly dizzy, but he pushes through, step by step.
He reaches the house not long after, like it’s muscle memory. He walked past streets they used to sneak down. Past the wall they once climbed to catch fireworks. He doesn’t mean to remember, but it’s all there, embedded in the cracks of the sidewalk.
No lights are on in Taehyun’s place, but he knocks anyway. Lightly at first, then louder.
He’s about to give up when the door creaks open.
Taehyun stands in the doorway in a hoodie too big for him (Yeonjun’s old hoodie, one that he gave him long ago, the first night they went out sneaking from their parents and got so wasted they nearly passed out, but it was late autumn and getting cold and Yeonjun gave him his hoodie, one that Taehyun has kept until now, it seemed), one side of his mouth still red, a towel around his neck like he was mid-shower or trying to cool off his thoughts. His hair is damp and curling at the edges and his expression upon seeing Yeonjun is unreadable.
Yeonjun wants to say a million things. I’m sorry that I hurt you. I’m sorry that I left. I missed you so much it nearly killed me. I love you.
However, the only thing he’s able to spurt out is, “ You’re still bleeding.”
Taehyun blinks, mouth tight shut.
“Do you have a first aid kit?” Yeonjun asks, voice trembling. He looks around.
Another pause. Then, Taehyun steps aside and lets him in.
“In the bathroom.”
It’s quiet inside, just the buzz of the kitchen light and the faint hum of the fridge. Yeonjun follows Taehyun to his room after grabbing the first aid kit from the bathroom. Walking back into Taehyun’s bedroom feels more like a slap to Yeonjun’s face than the previous punch did.
Yeonjun drops the kit on the bed and waits for Taehyun to sit. When he does, his gaze is fixed on the grey carpet under his bed.
“This is entirely your fault.”
Yeonjun winces, crouching in front of him.
“Yeah.” He nods. “That doesn’t mean I want you walking around with a busted lip.”
He opens the kit with shaking fingers. Chlorhexidine. Alcohol wipes. Gauze. Even the tape feels familiar, bringing Yeonjun back to a warmer, kinder time when they were young and Taehyun still lived at his parents’ back in their hometown and they would tend to each other’s wounds whenever they got hurt playing in the field. It does something to Yeonjun’s insides, the fact that Taehyun still kept their old first aid kit in his apartment in Seoul.
He pulls out a wipe and gently presses it to the cut on Taehyun’s cheek. Taehyun flinches.
“Sorry,” Yeonjun whispers.
They’re quiet after that. The only sound is the crinkle of wrappers and the occasional hiss when Yeonjun dabs too hard. His hands tremble. He tells himself it’s from adrenaline, not the fact that Taehyun’s knees are brushing his chest, or that he smells like his favourite shampoo and vanilla and memories . Memories Yeonjun has kept closed in a cage behind his ribs, right where his heart beats into life. Right where Taehyun should always be.
When he’s done, he sits back on the floor, still between Taehyun’s legs.
Taehyun studies him for a second, quietly.
Then he says, “ Your turn.”
Yeonjun tries to protest, but Taehyun’s already reaching for a wipe and when he got his mind into something there was no way to change it.
Their positions reverse. Yeonjun’s on the edge of the bed now, heart punching his ribs, and Taehyun is the one kneeling in front of him, impossibly close. His fingers are incredibly careful and his expression focused on Yeonjun’s wound.
Yeonjun watches him through hooded eyes, lips slightly parted. His heart is doing somersaults inside his chest at the proximity and intimacy of it all.
“You didn’t even say goodbye.” Taehyun murmurs after a while, breaking the silence, but still not looking up, avoiding Yeonjun’s eyes. “I knew you were leaving but the day you did you just disappeared.”
“I know.”
“You were just...gone.”
Yeonjun swallows thickly the lump in his throat.
“I couldn’t.”
Taehyun’s hand pauses. “Why?”
“Because I knew if I did, I wouldn’t have had the heart to leave.”
That’s what gets him.
Taehyun’s eyes flick up to meet his, wide and dark and wet around the edges.
“So you just decided, on your own, to leave me behind instead? Avoid talking to me for an entire year?”
Yeonjun nods, pathetically.
“I thought… if I could get far enough away from you, the pain…it would stop hurting.”
“And did it?” Taehyun’s voice is low. Angry and quiet at the same time. Despite everything, Taehyun’s still able to keep his composure.
Yeonjun huffs a broken breath. “You tell me. Does it look like it did?”
Their faces are inches apart now. Yeonjun doesn’t know who moved first. Maybe both of them. The air is hot. His lip throbs where it’s split, and Taehyun’s hand is still on his jaw, which appears to be as bruised as his heart.
Yeonjun thinks that might be it — that Taehyun’s going to shove him away, tell him to fuck off again — but then Taehyun’s hand stays on his jaw a beat too long. His thumb brushes a smear of dried blood at the corner of Yeonjun’s mouth.
And then they’re kissing.
Or something like kissing. Because it’s not soft. It’s not kind. Taehyun’s mouth crashes into his like a warning, like a punishment, and Yeonjun takes it gladly. He fists the front of Taehyun’s hoodie – his hoodie – and drags him down hard, mouths sliding, teeth knocking, lips splitting open again. It hurts. It hurts so good.
Their noses bump. Blood smears. Yeonjun groans into his mouth, hands desperate — like he’s trying to anchor himself to Taehyun’s ribs, to the very bones he left behind.
Taehyun exhales sharp through his nose, grabs at Yeonjun’s jaw like he’s trying to mold it into something new. His grip isn’t gentle. It says, “how dare you” and “ I missed you so much I wanted to die”. It says “fuck you for leaving” and “don’t stop touching me” in the same breath.
Yeonjun opens under him like he’s been waiting to. Lets him take and take. Bites his lip when Taehyun presses in closer, thigh brushing between Yeonjun’s knees. It’s messy. Clumsy. Blood-slick and hungry. There’s blood on both their mouths now, and Yeonjun can’t tell whose is whose. It’s fitting, he thinks. They’ve been bleeding into each other for years.
There’s no rhythm to it. Just gasps and groans and shudders between them, mouths parting only to drag back in, harder each time. They kiss like they’ve been starving. Like they’re still angry. Like kissing is the only love language they still know how to speak.
Yeonjun suddenly grips the back of Taehyun’s neck and bites his lower lip, hard enough to make Taehyun gasp. His voice is wrecked when he speaks — hoarse and ugly.
“I hated seeing you with him.”
Taehyun flinches under him like the words hit harder than the punch had.
Yeonjun kisses him again, rougher, and swallows whatever reply Taehyun tries to make. There’s too much salt in his mouth — from tears, from blood, he doesn’t even know.
He yanks him closer like it’ll make the ache stop. Like it’ll erase the image of Taehyun laughing with someone else, kissing someone else like it was easy.
But it doesn't.
Because Yeonjun knows — knows it deep in his chest — that Taehyun was never his.
“And it doesn’t matter because you’re not mine,” he whispers against his lips. “You never were.”
And the thing is — Taehyun doesn’t deny it, which hurts more than anything else that happened before.
When they finally break apart, Taehyun’s breath stutters against his cheek.
Yeonjun laughs, breathless. “This is so fucked up.”
Taehyun’s fingers curl in the fabric of Yeonjun’s top. His forehead presses against his.
“You left,” he says again, but softer this time. Cracked. “And I waited.”
Yeonjun’s voice wobbles. “I know.”
“I hate you.”
“I know.”
He leans in again. Kiss him again and again. And this time, Taehyun lets him in. Despite Taehyun not being his, tonight, maybe, he could be.