Chapter Text

chapter 1

Gi Hun slowly opened his eyes when his mother's gentle touch resonated on the door. It wasn't the birds singing or the warmth of the sun that pulled him from sleep—the closed curtains barely allowed threads of light to filter through—but that familiar routine that had marked his mornings for the past fifteen years.

His body felt heavier than usual. It wasn't sharp pain, but that fatigue that accumulates in the bones after a restless night. He stayed motionless for a few seconds, evaluating how his legs felt that day, a morning ritual he had perfected over the years.

Regular day. He could feel pressure in both legs, and when he moved his toes under the covers, they responded with that familiar slowness. It would be a wheelchair day, but that was okay.

He sat up carefully and reached for the medication bottle on the nightstand. Two pills for spasticity, one for circulation. The usual routine. While waiting for them to take effect, he performed the stretching exercises that Dr. Kim had taught him: ankle flexion, hip rotation, hamstring stretches.

—Good morning, Mom —he murmured as he transferred to his wheelchair with practiced movements.

The bathroom mirror reflected back the usual image: rebellious hair that insisted on growing sideways, a shadow of beard he had decided to let grow because it gave him a less juvenile appearance, dark circles that spoke of nights watching YouTube videos until very late. It was him in his most honest version.

The kitchen smelled of freshly made rice and kimchi soup. His mother, Oh Mal Soon, was already dressed in her bank uniform, reviewing some documents while eating breakfast standing up.

—How do you feel today? —she asked, the same question every morning.

—Good. Wheelchair day, but good —Gi Hun replied, serving his soup—. Are you going to be late again?

—Probably. We have an audit this week. —Mal Soon put away the papers and approached to check his medication—. Did you already take your pills?

—Yes, Mom. —Gi Hun smiled at the daily question—. Fifteen years doing it, I think I've gotten used to it.

While they had breakfast, Mal Soon casually mentioned:

—By the way, yesterday I saw a moving truck at house 457. After being empty for so long... It'll be good to have neighbors again.

Gi Hun looked up, surprised by the small spark of curiosity he felt.

—Really? Did you see who it was?

—A man in uniform—police, I think—and a woman. I saw two children too. —Mal Soon took her purse—. We should prepare something welcoming. Cookies, maybe.

The clock showed eight in the morning when his mother's voice crossed the house again:

—Gi Hun, don't forget to turn on the computer.

When his mother left for work, Gi Hun went to his desk for morning classes. His computer, a five-year-old relic that took forever to turn on, finally came to life showing the virtual education platform.

He let out a deep sigh as the computer finished starting up, took his phone and Jung Bae and Sangwoo were talking

[Group chat: 3 idiots from ssangmundong]
Jung Bae: good morning sleepyheads
Sangwoo: Says the one connecting from bed
Gi Hun: at least I already had breakfast
Gi Hun: speaking of lies, I have new neighbors
Jung Bae: !!!
Sangwoo: after YEARS

Hammer blows. Boxes being dragged. A young voice—male—giving instructions about where to put something heavy. And then, the clear laughter of a small child.

It was strange. House 457 had been silent for so long that he had forgotten what it was like to have neighbors.

Jung Bae: are you still there, Gi Hun?
Gi Hun: yes, sorry. there's a lot of noise in the house next door
Sangwoo: annoying noise or interesting noise?
Gi Hun: I don't know yet

—Good morning, class —he said with a flat voice, as if each word weighed more than the previous one.

Gi Hun's Philosophy class began with Professor Choi talking about a Korean poetry book, with the same enthusiasm as someone reading a phone book. Gi Hun took notes automatically, but his attention drifted toward the sounds coming from house 457.

Gi Hun barely raised his hand in greeting, knowing that on the other side no one pays real attention. In the small video windows, he saw his distracted classmates: some with headphones on, others eating, others even sleeping with the camera on.

"A circus of ghosts," he thought with irony. "A professor who hates his life and students who hate theirs. And me, here, pretending that everything makes sense."

He took notes halfheartedly, more out of inertia than interest. His mind, in reality, was elsewhere. Outside, beyond those curtains that rarely dared to open completely, life seemed to breathe differently. From the neighboring house—number 457—came hammer blows, furniture being dragged, and a young voice that sometimes let escape a brief laugh.

A laugh that, without knowing why, managed to pierce through the walls of house 456 and settle in Gi Hun's chest, like a memory of something he had never had.

The teacher talked about equations. Gi Hun could barely concentrate. His pencil drummed against the notebook, following a rhythm that had nothing to do with mathematics.

He glanced toward the window. There was his world: the old house 456, locked in routines, and next to it, the new house 457, full of noises, movement, someone he didn't know yet.

That contrast unsettled and fascinated him. For the first time in a long time, he thought that maybe something was about to change.

In the other house, 457, was the Hwang family.

They had moved just a few days ago for the father's new job. The house, which had remained silent and uninhabited for so long, now filled with voices and hurried footsteps.

The family was small but complex: the father, serious and reserved; the new wife, attentive but still trying to fit into a home that wasn't quite hers yet; and the two children.

The younger one, Hwang Jun Ho, was barely five years old. His childish laughter could be heard through the walls like clear bells, an echo of innocence that contrasted with the house's sobriety.

The older one, on the other hand, carried a different silence. Hwang In Ho, nineteen years old, was the one who seemed most out of place. His mother's death had marked him deeply, and his father's sudden marriage to another woman left him with the bitter feeling of having been replaced. Not only had his mother disappeared, but also the space he occupied in his own family.

Every time he watched little Jun Ho run through the hallways, he felt a stab in his chest: the envy of what he never had again, and the guilt of not being able to love him completely, but he loved his brother with all his soul.

For In Ho, moving to house 457 wasn't a beginning, but another reminder that the world kept moving forward even though he felt tied to the past.

The move had been his father's wife's idea, she invented the cheap excuse that that house had traces of In Ho's mother, that woman somehow In Ho had never gotten along well with her, their relationship evolved to a change since Jun Ho's birth, but nothing drastic. They barely spoke, a couple of words without feelings and nothing more, his father well, he hadn't shown much affection toward the older son either, always perfectionist and strict with In Ho.

After much time insisting, the opportunity to move came, In Ho's father had obtained a position in Ssangmun-dong, and finally got what she wanted, but In Ho didn't, he felt he was leaving his mother's memories in that house, he had fought to stay, as he told his father that he was already 19 years old, he could live there and finally become independent, but the fight was in vain, his father sold the house without telling him anything, making the wound bleed more.

In Ho climbed the stairs to his new room carrying a box labeled "Books - In Ho." It was the fifth box he had carried up that morning, and each one felt heavier than the previous one.

His new room was larger than the previous one, with a window that faced directly onto the garden of house 456. From there he could see a perfectly maintained garden, with flowers that someone clearly loved and maintained with care. The contrast with his own garden—still full of boxes and weeds—was notable.

When he opened the box of books, he found something he didn't expect to find there: a photograph of him and his mother on his kindergarten graduation day, a few months before she died. She smiled proudly, with one hand on his shoulder, while he tried to look serious for the photo.

For a moment, he felt that familiar pressure in his chest. Fourteen years had passed since the accident, but some days the emptiness felt as fresh as if it had been yesterday.

—In Ho hyung! —Jun Ho appeared running into the room—. Come see! The garden next door has a swing!

In Ho carefully left the photograph on the desk and followed his little brother to the living room window. Indeed, in the garden of house 456 there was a wooden swing that looked well maintained, along with a small vegetable garden and an area with garden tables.

—Someone takes very good care of that place —he murmured.

—Do you think they have children? —Jun Ho asked with bright eyes.

—I don't know, Jun Ho. Maybe.

Mi Ran approached them, drying her hands on a kitchen towel.

—I've been thinking we should introduce ourselves soon. It's the right thing to do. —Her voice had that cautious quality she used when suggesting something that might not please the rest of the family—. Maybe we could...

—It's a good idea —In Ho interrupted, surprising both Mi Ran and himself—. It would be... right.

The truth was he was curious. After months of preparing for this move, after leaving behind the house where he had grown up with his mother, the idea of meeting someone new felt like the possibility of a genuine beginning.

Jun Ho jumped with excitement.

In Ho nodded, though his mind was elsewhere. He felt strange in this new house, in this new neighborhood. That worried him a little. Although, being honest, the place wasn't bad. The neighborhood was very quiet, very traditional Korean—a quite nice small colony to his surprise. Besides it was central: there was a gym nearby where he could waste time in the mornings, and he knew that Gong Yoo, an old childhood friend, lived around here. At least he wouldn't be completely alone.

There was something about that well-maintained garden of house 456, about that so quiet house, that awakened his curiosity in a way he couldn't explain.

When night fell and the house was covered in peaceful silence, the main door of house 456 opened. Oh Mal Soon, Gi Hun's mother, returned from work. She carried with her the aroma of the city, the fatigue of long hours at the bank... and a bag with her son's favorite food.

—Hello, Gi Hun, I brought dinner and some things so we can make some cookies for the new neighbors, I ran into the father and son, they seem like good people, so we have to make a good impression —She said while putting things on the table— Besides I heard the man is a police officer, it'll be good to have him as a friend.

—Hi, Ma —Gi Hun smiled from his wheelchair— Wow, gossip flies fast in this block.

When dinner was served, the warm smell filled the house. Gi Hun took the chopsticks, while watching his mother take off her coat and leave it on the chair. She looked exhausted, but still smiled tenderly when she saw her son.

—You worked hard today, right? —he asked, trying a bite.

—As always —Mal Soon said, she worked hard to be able to help Gi Hun and the house expenses, and Gi Hun's University. —You know, the neighbors —Mal Soon said while serving soup—. He has two children, the older son and a little one.

Gi Hun's eyes lit up for an instant, though he tried to hide it by looking down at his plate.

—Really? —he said, feigning indifference, but the slight tremor in his voice betrayed him.

His mother watched him with a soft smile.

—Then we have to prepare those cookies with lots of chocolate, don't you think?

Gi Hun couldn't help but smile.

—Good idea. You know cooking with you is what I like most... And besides... —he stopped for a moment, pressing his lips before letting it out— ...I'm curious.

—Curious? —asked Mal Soon, arching an eyebrow mischievously.

—Yes —he replied frankly—. I want to know what they're like. Maybe... maybe we can get along well.

Mal Soon let out a brief and tender laugh.

—Look at that, my son interested in his neighbors. That's definitely new.

Gi Hun rolled his eyes, but deep down, he felt a different spark lighting up in his chest, for some reason he felt nervous, it caused him many feelings in different ways. It was true: for the first time in a long time, he was looking forward to giving the cookies to the neighbors, it seemed ridiculous but a smile came out involuntarily, but he disguised it saying:

—Mom it's nothing, just a little curiosity, nothing more...

Dinner continued in a very pleasant way between his mother and him, chatting about the rest of the daily routine, although Gi Hun didn't have much variety to do, since when he reached adolescence, he was in his last year of high school and suffered a lot of bullying, until his mother decided to change him to an online school, that greatly affected his way of socializing, his only friends were Jung Bae and Sangwoo, they had practically grown up together because their mothers were friends, and they had been inseparable, although now they hardly see each other but they always talk by message.

So the aroma of butter and vanilla filled the kitchen like a sweet promise. Gi Hun beat the mixture with slow but precise movements, watching how the ingredients melted into a golden dough that seemed to contain all his nerves.

—You're very concentrated —his mother commented, smiling while greasing the tray—. Anyone would say it's the first time you make cookies.

Gi Hun stopped for a moment, with the wooden spoon suspended in the air.

—It's not that... it's just that... —he sighed—. I don't know what to expect.

Mal Soon approached and put a gentle hand on her son's shoulder. In that gesture were years of silent understanding, of a mother who had learned to read every nuance in Gi Hun's eyes.

—Sometimes, son, the best things come when we least expect them.

"But what happens when you've stopped expecting completely?" he thought, as he poured small portions of dough onto the tray. Each cookie was perfect, round, as if he wanted everything to go well in this first meeting.

The oven received its offering with a warm sigh. Thirty minutes of waiting. Thirty minutes for Gi Hun's nerves to grow like the dough in the heat.

Meanwhile, in house 457, In Ho observed from his window the last rays of sun painting the neighboring garden orange, while Jun Ho played in the living room with his small cars, creating worlds where everything made sense.

"Worlds where everything makes sense," In Ho repeated mentally. "It must be beautiful to live in one of those."

He had spent the day unpacking boxes, each object a reminder of the life they had left behind. Photographs of his mother that now seemed out of place, books she had given him that now weighed differently in his hands.

—In Ho, can you come for a moment? —his stepmother's voice pulled him from his thoughts.

Going downstairs, he found her in the living room with an expression between shy and hopeful.

—It seems the neighbors are going to come introduce themselves —she said, pointing toward the window—. I saw a lady and a young man preparing something in the kitchen. I think it would be good if... if we received them together. As a family.

The word "family" resonated strangely in In Ho's ears. Not out of bad intention from her, but because he still didn't know how to make that word feel true again.

—Alright —he replied, because sometimes the simplest words are the hardest to pronounce.

When the doorbell rang, Gi Hun's heart accelerated so much that for a moment he feared it would show in his voice. His mother pushed his chair to the front door, carrying with her a tray with the freshly baked cookies, still warm and fragrant.

"What if they don't like me? What if they feel uncomfortable? What if...?"

—Breathe —Mal Soon whispered to him, as if she could hear the whirlwind in her son's mind.

The door opened, and on the other side appeared a family that seemed taken from a photograph that was still learning to smile.

The father, tall and serious-faced, but with kind eyes. The mother, nervous but genuinely cordial. A small boy who hid behind his father's legs, observing Gi Hun with curiosity.

And then, he saw him.

In Ho was slightly behind, as if he wanted to be part of the scene, but without committing completely. His eyes, dark and deep, met Gi Hun's for an instant that felt like an eternity.

In that gaze, Gi Hun recognized something he didn't know he was looking for: someone else who understood what it meant to feel out of place in the world.

—Good evening —said Mal Soon with her best smile—. We're your neighbors from house 456. I'm Oh Mal Soon, and this is my son, Gi Hun.

—Nice to meet you —Cheol Su replied, with a respectful bow—. I'm Hwang Cheol Su. She's my wife, Mi Ran, and these are my sons: Jun Ho and In Ho.

Gi Hun looked up at In Ho, and for a moment, their gazes met. There was something in the boy's eyes—a seriousness that seemed too mature for his nineteen years, but also a genuine curiosity that made Gi Hun feel... seen.

—We brought welcome cookies —said Gi Hun, extending the tray—. Chocolate with extra chips, in case there's someone with a sweet tooth in the family.

When In Ho approached to take a cookie, their fingers brushed briefly. The contact lasted barely a second, but something in that simple connection made both of them momentarily immobile.

—Thank you —In Ho murmured, and his voice had a soft quality that Gi Hun found inexplicably comforting.

Jun Ho, who had been watching with curiosity, finally approached.

—Why do you use that chair? —he asked with the typical frankness of five-year-old children.

A brief silence filled the space, but Gi Hun smiled genuinely.

—Because my legs don't work the same as yours —he explained patiently—. But this chair helps me move everywhere.

—Can I see it closer?

—Jun Ho... —Mi Ran began, but Gi Hun raised a hand.

—No problem. —He maneuvered his chair a little closer—. See? These big wheels are so I can push myself, and these brakes are for when I need to stop.

Jun Ho listened fascinated, asking questions that Gi Hun answered with a naturalness that pleasantly surprised the entire Hwang family. In Ho observed the interaction with something that could have been admiration.

The conversation flowed toward more general topics: work, the neighborhood, plans for the garden. But throughout the entire chat, Gi Hun realized that In Ho was watching him with silent attention, not with pity or discomfort, but with something that seemed like genuine interest.

When they finally said goodbye, it had already gotten completely dark. The families separated with promises to visit each other soon and mutual thanks.

Back in their respective houses, both Gi Hun and In Ho found themselves mentally reviewing the encounter.

—What did you think of them? —asked Mal Soon while they cleaned up in the kitchen.

—They seem... normal. In the good sense. —Gi Hun hesitated for a moment—. The older son, In Ho, seemed interesting.

—Interesting how?

—I don't know. Just... different. He didn't look at me with pity, nor did he pretend the chair was invisible. He just... looked at me. —He shrugged—. It's refreshing.

In house 457, In Ho helped wash the dishes while processing his own impressions.

—Gi Hun seemed very mature for his age —Mi Ran commented.

—Yes —In Ho agreed—. And the way he handled Jun Ho's questions... was impressive.

—Did you like meeting him? —Jun Ho asked, hanging from In Ho's sleeve.

In Ho considered the question more seriously than his little brother had intended.

—Yes —he said finally—. I think I did like meeting him.

That night, while preparing for sleep, In Ho found himself looking out his window toward house 456. There was a dim light in what he assumed was Gi Hun's room. He wondered if he was awake, if he was thinking about the encounter as much as he was.

In the room across, Gi Hun was doing exactly the same thing. He looked toward house 457, where there was also a light on in the second floor, and found himself feeling something he hadn't experienced in a long time: the expectation of seeing someone again.

For the first time in months, both young men fell asleep with something resembling anticipation. As if something had begun that night, something subtle but significant.

In the space between houses 456 and 457, in that distance that separated two gardens but no longer felt so wide, the possibility of a connection had been born that neither of them had been looking for, but that both had instinctively recognized.

Summer promised to be different. And for the first time in a long time, different felt like something hopeful.

Chapter Text

Capítulo 2: Aves del tiempo

Alguien que te inspire tanto como el sabor de la primera vez

Alguien que ilumine todo con la mirada en una noche gris

Vas a la ventana, te crecen las alas, vuelves a sentir Flores le cantan al campo nuevas formas de querer Alguien que ilumina todo con la mirada en una noche gris Vas a la ventana, te crecen las alas, vuelves a sentir

https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=cj_HMQlanBA

The days began to take on a different rhythm after that encounter by the car. Gi Hun found himself paying more attention to the sounds coming from house 457: the door opening in the mornings, footsteps in the garden, the occasional laughter of little Jun Ho heard through the windows. Those sounds, previously insignificant, now seemed to fill silences that had always been too heavy.

It was Wednesday morning when, during his boring online literature class, he heard the unmistakable sound of a ball bouncing in the neighboring garden. Jun Ho was playing alone, kicking his ball against the house wall.

Gi Hun found himself watching, without realizing it, the pure joy of the child. The teacher wouldn't stop talking about metaphors that, honestly, seemed less interesting than the garden scene.

It was then that Jun Ho kicked the ball too hard. The ball flew over the fence and landed directly in Gi Hun's garden, rolling until it stopped near the flowers his mother had planted.

Jun Ho looked through the fence bars and saw his ball on the other side.

—Oh, no! —exclaimed the child, visibly worried.

Without thinking, Jun Ho began to climb the fence. He was too small to do it safely, and just when he was about to cross to the other side, he let go and fell into Gi Hun's garden with a dull thud.

The child's regretful and loud crying made Gi Hun completely forget about class. He took off his headphones and, without thinking twice, moved away from the computer to head to his house door as fast as he could in his wheelchair.

—I'm coming! Don't move! —he shouted while maneuvering to get out to the garden.

When he reached Jun Ho, the child was sitting on the ground, crying and clutching his knee.

—Hey, hey, I'm here now, —said Gi Hun with a soft voice, approaching in his chair. —Let me see that knee.

Jun Ho lifted his head and, seeing Gi Hun, let out a trembling sigh.

—It hurts, —he murmured simply.

—I know, —Gi Hun responded gently. —But it will pass.

There was something in the simplicity of that promise that calmed the child. Gi Hun knew about pain, about waiting for it to pass, about trusting that time would make it more bearable.

—My ball escaped, —Jun Ho explained, pointing at it. —I thought I could reach it.

—Sometimes what we want is farther than it seems, —Gi Hun commented, while heading to pick up the ball. —But that doesn't mean we can't find another way to reach it.

Jun Ho watched him with that intense attention that only children have when something resonates in their small world.

—Do you like your chair? —he asked, but not with curiosity, rather with understanding.

Gi Hun stopped for a moment, surprised by the depth of the observation.

—Yes, like me with my chair.

The silence that followed was brief but significant.

—Does your brother know you came out alone? —Gi Hun asked, returning with the ball.

—In Ho hyung went to get water, —Jun Ho responded. —I told him I would play here, but... I didn't tell him that my ball was going to escape.

It was then that a voice full of panic was heard from house 457.

—JUN HO! WHERE ARE YOU? —In Ho's voice sounded desperate.

—I'm here! In the neighbor's garden! —Jun Ho shouted.

In Ho appeared running through the back door, with disheveled hair and an expression of absolute panic. Seeing Jun Ho sitting in the neighbor's garden next to Gi Hun, his eyes filled with a mixture of relief and concern.

—Jun Ho! What are you doing there? Are you okay? —In Ho jumped the fence with an agility that demonstrated his desperation, landing next to them.

—In Ho hyung! —Jun Ho extended his arms toward his brother. —My ball escaped and I fell trying to get it. But Gi Hun hyung helped me.

In Ho knelt next to Jun Ho, quickly checking if he had any serious injuries, while giving grateful glances toward Gi Hun.

—Thank you, —he said, his voice still trembling from the scare. —I went to get water and when I came back he wasn't there... I got so scared.

—It was nothing, —Gi Hun responded. —I was in class and heard him crying. I couldn't leave him there alone.

In Ho then noticed that Gi Hun had left his house to help Jun Ho, and something in his expression softened even more.

—Really, thank you. Not everyone would have... —he stopped, but his eyes said what he didn't finish expressing with words.

—I told you he had band-aids! —exclaimed Jun Ho, happy to have been right.

While In Ho cleaned his little brother's wound, Gi Hun watched them. There was something tender in the way In Ho treated Jun Ho: patient, caring, but with that responsibility that seemed too heavy for someone nineteen years old.

—Ready! —announced In Ho, finishing putting on the band-aid. —But next time be more careful with the ball, okay? And don't jump fences.

—Agreed, —Jun Ho responded, hugging his ball. —Thank you for helping me, Gi Hun hyung.

Gi Hun smiled.

—You're welcome. Your brother worries a lot about you.

In Ho was alarmed at the ease with which his brother had adopted the neighbor.

—I should take him inside, —he said to Gi Hun. —But... thanks for watching over him.

—It was nothing, —Gi Hun responded, but before In Ho left, he added impulsively: —Hey, if you want... we could exchange numbers. You know, in case Jun Ho escapes again and you need someone to watch him from here.

In Ho stopped and looked at him with surprise, but then listened.

—Yeah, that would be helpful, —he agreed. —Give me a second.

In Ho took out his phone and called out his number to Gi Hun, who quickly wrote it in his.

—I'll send you a message so you have mine, —said Gi Hun.

Seconds later, In Ho's phone vibrated with a simple message: "It's Gi Hun, your vigilant neighbor ;)"

In Ho read the message and couldn't help but smile at the emoji.

—Perfect, —he responded, looking up. —Now you officially have a long-distance babysitting job.

—I'm not a baby! —protested Jun Ho, but he was laughing.

When In Ho and Jun Ho went into the house, Gi Hun stayed at the window a few more minutes, looking at his phone. He had In Ho's number. It was something small, but significant.

That afternoon, while pretending to pay attention to his math class, his phone vibrated against the desk. His heart gave an inexplicable flutter seeing In Ho's name on the screen.

In Ho: Jun Ho wants to know if tomorrow you can be his "window hyung" again. Apparently, he liked you more than his cartoons.

Gi Hun bit his lip to not smile like an idiot in the middle of class. There was something in the way In Ho wrote, informal but warm, that stirred his stomach.

Gi Hun: Sure, but only if he promises to use knee protection next time he chases his ball :)

The response came almost immediately, as if In Ho had been waiting for his message.

In Ho: Hahaha, what a deal. By the way, sorry if I interrupted your class earlier. I didn't know you studied from home.

Gi Hun: Don't worry, it was literature. Trust me, Jun Ho's fall was more interesting than metaphors about spring.

In Ho: I hate literature :,(

Gi Hun: Really? I like reading, but classes make everything seem boring.

In Ho: Exactly! Like they kill all the magic.

Gi Hun found himself smiling at the screen, completely forgetting about the equations he was supposed to solve. There was something comforting about discovering these small things in common, as if each message was a piece of a puzzle he didn't know he was putting together.

His phone vibrated again.

In Ho: What do you study? Besides literature that you hate, but don't hate.

Gi Hun: lol, business administration. Online classes for obvious reasons. And you?

In Ho: I finished high school last year but... let's say university isn't in my immediate plans.

There was something in that message that sounded heavier than the rest. Gi Hun looked at the screen, feeling that In Ho had just shared something important without saying it directly.

Gi Hun: Anyway, planes are overrated.

In Ho: Speaking from experience?

Gi Hun: Let's say when you're five years old and your world changes completely in one second, you learn that life doesn't always follow the script you wrote.

He regretted the message as soon as he sent it. It was too personal, too deep for a conversation that had started with jokes about scraped knees.

But In Ho's response was quick and kind:

In Ho: I understand that more than you can imagine.

Gi Hun felt a tightness in his chest, but it wasn't discomfort. It was... recognition. Like when you find someone who speaks your same language after years of translations.

Math class continued on his computer, but Gi Hun was no longer pretending to pay attention. His fingers trembled slightly as he wrote:

Gi Hun: Do you want to talk about it sometime?

The typing dots appeared and disappeared several times. Gi Hun held his breath, wondering if he had crossed an invisible line.

In Ho: Maybe. When Jun Ho sleeps and the world feels less... noisy.

Gi Hun: I understand. I'll be here.

In Ho: Why are you so...?

The message cut off there. Gi Hun waited, staring at the screen as if he could materialize the missing words with pure willpower.

Five minutes. Ten. Nothing.

Gi Hun wrote and erased three different responses. "So what?" sounded too anxious. "You don't have to finish that sentence" sounded too formal. "Irresistible? ;)" was too bold and would probably misinterpret everything.

In the end he didn't send anything.

Two hours later, when he had already closed the laptop and was having dinner with his mother, his phone vibrated again.

In Ho: Easy to talk to. It doesn't happen to me very often.

Gi Hun almost choked on his rice.

Gi Hun: Was that the word you were looking for?

In Ho: Among others.

Among others. Gi Hun contemplated those two words as if they contained the secrets of the universe.

Gi Hun: And what are the others?

This time the response took so long that Gi Hun had already given up and was washing dishes when his phone finally rang.

In Ho: Ask me in person someday.

Gi Hun almost dropped the plate he was drying.

That night, at 11:47 PM:

In Ho: Jun Ho asked if you have nightmares.

Gi Hun: What did you tell him?

In Ho: That I didn't know, but if you do, at least you're not alone.

Gi Hun stared at the message until the letters became blurry. There was something devastatingly tender about the idea that Jun Ho worried about his nightmares, but even more so in In Ho's response.

Gi Hun: And you? Do you have nightmares?

In Ho: Sometimes. But lately... not so much.

Gi Hun: What changed?

The typing dots appeared and disappeared for what seemed like an eternity.

In Ho: I think you know what changed.

Gi Hun felt that the air had become denser and it was hard to breathe. His heart was beating so hard he was sure In Ho could hear it from his window.

Gi Hun: In Ho...

In Ho: It's late. We should sleep.

Gi Hun: Yes, you're right.

In Ho: Good night, vigilante neighbor.

Gi Hun: Good night.

But neither turned off their phones immediately. Gi Hun kept looking at the screen, waiting... for what? Another message? A midnight confession? A heart emoji that would change everything?

Instead, something happened that was somehow much more intimate:

In Ho: I sleep better knowing you're on the other side of that window.

Gi Hun turned off his phone before he could write something stupid like "Me too" or "I'll always be here" or, worse yet, "I love you."

But as he lay awake looking toward the window of house 457, where there was still a dim light on, he allowed himself to think those words in the safety of darkness.

Me too. I'll always be here. And maybe, just maybe...

I love you.

The light in the window across from him went out just as Gi Hun closed his eyes, as if In Ho had been waiting for that perfect little synchronicity to finally let himself be carried away by sleep.

Two houses. Two hearts. A distance that was getting smaller with each message, each glance, each shared moment.

And the silent promise that tomorrow there would be more messages, more moments, more reasons to feel that the world was a little less lonely when someone else was awake thinking about you on the other side of the window.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Capítulo 4 Memoria Futuro 

Tiempo después
Esas marcas en tu piel
Te guiarán al lugar
Del futuro que imaginándote, el amor
Se escribió

Memoria que guardó el baúl
Destellos de que fuiste luz
Y que la oscuridad
Con tus males se esfumó - Siddhartha 

https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=QkVhs2cMcIo&si=rvvwlRm4HHtobkD6

Chapter Text

Chapter 5: Pelicula 

Guardaré mis secretos
Los quemaré de frente al Sol
Pidiendo un deseo
Escucho mi voz
No importa si no es cierto
Pues mientras amanezca azul
Me voy - Siddhartha 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZarEe39WOYY

The next day, Gi Hun woke up with a sensation he hadn't experienced in months: true rest. For the first time in a long while, he felt a small smile curving naturally on his lips before even opening his eyes completely. The events of the previous night played in his mind like a warm movie: In Ho's closeness, when he saw him standing in the garden and got scared, he could feel that warm breath, that warmth he had never felt before.

"I told you not to put yourself in danger..."

Those simple words made Gi Hun feel protected, remembering In Ho's bright eyes that reflected true concern. The words resonated in his memory, and instead of the usual panic that followed his impulsive confessions—which hadn't come to light because of Gi Hun's fear, because of the dread of repeating that story of his first rejection—he felt a strange peace. In Ho hadn't run away. He hadn't made him feel strange or uncomfortable. He had only smiled and hugged him tighter, making sure Gi Hun wouldn't fall.

Before reaching for his phone, Gi Hun performed his usual morning assessment—a ritual he had perfected over fifteen years. He moved his toes under the covers, feeling the slow but present response of his muscles. He flexed his ankles carefully, rotated his hips. A regular day. He would need the wheelchair, but there was sensation in both legs. That was good.

He sat up slowly and reached for the medicine bottle on the nightstand. Two blue pills for muscle spasticity, one white one for circulation. He swallowed them with the glass of water he always left prepared the night before. While waiting for them to take effect, he performed the stretching exercises that Dr. Kim had taught him: ankle flexion, gentle hip rotation, hamstring stretches.

Only then, with his morning routine completed, did he allow himself to reach for his phone.

With hands trembling slightly from anticipation more than nerves, he took his phone from the nightstand. The screen lit up showing a notification that made his heart start beating so hard he could hear the buzzing of the beats in his ears.

In Ho (6:47 AM): "Good morning, Gi Hun. I had a great talk with you last night, should be repeated more often! :)"

An involuntary smile spread across his face, so wide his cheeks hurt. In Ho had thought about him. This was real, it hadn't been just a moment of nocturnal weakness.

He was about to write a response when the sound of his bedroom door opening abruptly startled him so much he almost dropped the phone.

—Gi Hun! —His mother entered like a storm, with that expression of worry mixed with exasperation he knew all too well—. Why are there muddy footprints all over the house?

Gi Hun's stomach dropped to his feet. In his state of post-secret-encounter euphoria, he had completely forgotten to check his shoes before entering. The tracks must be all over the hallway, clearly marking his nocturnal excursion to the garden.

But it wasn't just that. His mother was carrying something else in her hands—his walker, with dried mud stuck to the rubber feet. And his sneakers, completely muddy.

—And this was by the back door —Mal Soon continued, leaving the walker against the wall with a sound that resonated like an accusation—. Gi Hun, the footprints go from the back door to your room. What were you doing outside in the middle of the night?

For several seconds he was completely mute, his mind blank. His mother was watching him with those penetrating eyes that always seemed to see more than he wanted to reveal. But this time there was something more than curiosity—there was genuine fear. Fear that he had hurt himself. Fear that he had taken unnecessary risks. Fear of losing him as she had lost her husband.

—Well... —he began, his voice sounding strangely high-pitched. He cleared his throat and tried again—. It's just that I had a hard time sleeping after yesterday's therapy. You know how those days make me.

Mal Soon crossed her arms, her expression softening slightly but not losing determination.

—And that explains the mud... how exactly?

—I used the walker to go out to the back garden —Gi Hun lied, hating every word that came out of his mouth but seeing no other alternative—. The fresh air helps me relax when I can't sleep. I'm sorry, mom, I know I should have told you, but I didn't want to worry you by waking you up.

His mother's expression didn't soften as Gi Hun had hoped. Instead, it became even more serious as she approached and sat on the edge of the bed.

—Gi Hun, look at me. —She waited until he looked up—. You went out alone, in the dark, with the walker, without anyone knowing where you were?

The knot in Gi Hun's throat tightened hearing the real fear in his mother's voice.

—Yes —he admitted in a low voice.

—Do you realize how dangerous that is? —Mal Soon's voice rose slightly—. What would have happened if you had fallen? If you had lost your balance in the dark? If you had had a sudden muscle spasm? I was sleeping, Gi Hun. I wouldn't have heard you scream. You could have been out there all night, hurt, alone...

She stopped, bringing a hand to her face, and Gi Hun saw with horror that his mother's eyes were moist.

—Mom... —Gi Hun whispered, feeling how guilt pierced him like a knife—. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.

But the words felt empty because the truth was he hadn't gone out alone. He had been with In Ho. And the worst part was that he couldn't tell her. He couldn't explain that he hadn't been in danger because someone had been with him. He couldn't take away that fear without revealing a secret he wasn't ready to share yet.

And that impossibility—that wall between truth and lie—made the guilt twist even deeper in his chest.

—Do you promise you won't do something like this again? —Mal Soon asked, taking his hands in hers—. Do you promise that if you need to go out, you'll wake me first?

—I promise —Gi Hun said, and this time the lie tasted like ash in his mouth because he knew he would probably do it again. Because In Ho was worth the risk. But his mother didn't deserve to live with that fear.

Mal Soon studied his face for a long moment, as if trying to read between the lines. Finally she sighed and gave him a kiss on the forehead.

—Just... next time you can't sleep, wake me up, okay? We can make tea, watch a movie, whatever. You don't have to face difficult nights alone.

Although he really hadn't had a terrible night, he had spent the night with someone who, unknowingly, had begun to make his heart beat like crazy every time he saw a message from him, every time he saw him walk to the gym in the afternoons—that kind neighbor who had helped him once.

—Okay —Gi Hun nodded, feeling how guilt mixed with the unconditional love he felt for his mother—. I promise.

—Good. Now come have breakfast, I have to leave for work in twenty minutes and I want to make sure you eat something decent.

When his mother left the room, Gi Hun could hear her stop in the hallway. She didn't move for several seconds. He knew she was processing something, trying to decide whether to press more or give him space.

What Gi Hun didn't know was that Mal Soon was standing in front of her own room, with hands trembling slightly as she held her son's muddy shoes. She wasn't stupid. She had noticed the changes in Gi Hun during the last few weeks—the way he checked his phone more frequently, the smile that appeared when he read certain messages, how he occasionally looked toward house 456.

And last night, when she had gotten up to use the bathroom around 2 AM, she had noticed that the light in Gi Hun's room was still on. She had been about to go in to check that he was okay, but had heard something in the garden—voices. Very low, barely audible, but definitely two voices.

Mal Soon had returned to her room without investigating further, giving her son the space he clearly needed. But now, holding those shoes with fresh mud—mud that could only have come from the back garden—she wondered exactly what was going on.

She wasn't angry. She was worried, yes, but also... hopeful. Because she had seen her son withdraw more and more from the world for years. And now, finally, he seemed to be connecting with someone in a way that made him happy.

She just hoped it was someone who would treat him with the love and respect her son deserved.

When his mother left the room, Gi Hun let himself fall back against the pillows, feeling as if he had run an emotional marathon in the last five minutes. The euphoria of waking up to In Ho's message had mixed with the guilt of lying to his mother, creating a confusing cocktail of emotions he didn't know how to process.

He looked at his phone again, where In Ho's message was still waiting for a response. His hands were no longer trembling from excitement, but from the residual nerves of the conversation with his mother.

Gi Hun (7:15 AM): "Good morning... I also had a great time with you. How did you sleep?"

The response came almost immediately.

In Ho (7:16 AM): "Well honestly, Gi Hun, I slept excellently, thanks for asking 😅"

In Ho (7:17 AM): "Everything okay? You took a while to respond"

Gi Hun bit his lower lip, considering how much to tell him. Finally he decided on honesty.

Gi Hun (7:19 AM): "My mom found the muddy footprints I left last night and the dirty walker. I had to make up an excuse about going out to the garden alone"

In Ho (7:20 AM): "Did you get in trouble? :("

In Ho (7:21 AM): "Shit, Gi Hun, this was my fault"

In Ho (7:22 AM): "I shouldn't have suggested you go out. I didn't think about the consequences"

Gi Hun (7:23 AM): "Not exactly in trouble... but my mom was really scared"

Gi Hun (7:24 AM): "I think she cried a little"

In Ho felt his stomach twist reading that message. He had been so focused on wanting to see Gi Hun, on that urgent need to be close to him, that he hadn't completely considered the implications. He hadn't thought about how Mal Soon would feel if she discovered her son had been outside alone in the dark.

In Ho (7:25 AM): "I'm so sorry"

In Ho (7:26 AM): "I really am sorry, Gi Hun"

In Ho (7:27 AM): "What did you tell her?"

Gi Hun (7:28 AM): "That I had gone out alone because I couldn't sleep after therapy"

Gi Hun (7:29 AM): "I feel horrible for lying to her"

In Ho stared at those messages, feeling the weight of guilt settle on his shoulders. He had put Gi Hun in a position where he had to lie to his mother. He had caused Mal Soon to worry and be scared. All because of his selfishness in wanting to see him.

In Ho (7:31 AM): "We have to be more careful"

In Ho (7:32 AM): "I don't want to cause you problems with your mom"

In Ho (7:33 AM): "And I don't want you to have to lie for me"

Gi Hun (7:35 AM): "Don't apologize so much"

Gi Hun (7:36 AM): "It was worth every second. Just... next time we have to plan better"

In Ho (7:38 AM): "You're right. We need rules"

In Ho (7:39 AM): "So this doesn't happen again"

Gi Hun (7:40 AM): "What do you suggest?"

In Ho (7:42 AM): "First, no more unplanned nocturnal encounters"

In Ho (7:43 AM): "If one of us wants to see each other, we talk about it with time"

In Ho (7:44 AM): "Second, we always check that we don't leave evidence. Clean shoes, clean walkers, everything"

Gi Hun (7:45 AM): "And schedules. Nothing after 2 AM"

Gi Hun (7:46 AM): "My mom sometimes gets up to use the bathroom around that time"

In Ho (7:47 AM): "Good to know that"

In Ho (7:48 AM): "Anything else?"

Gi Hun (7:50 AM): "If either of us feels it's too risky, we can cancel. No pressure"

Gi Hun (7:51 AM): "And maybe we need public places where we can see each other without raising suspicion"

In Ho (7:52 AM): "Like the park"

In Ho (7:53 AM): "Or the library"

In Ho (7:54 AM): "Places where it's normal for two neighbors of the same age to casually run into each other"

Gi Hun (7:55 AM): "Exactly"

Gi Hun (7:56 AM): "That way I don't have to keep lying so much to my mom"

In Ho (7:58 AM): "Next time? :)"

Despite everything—the difficult conversation with his mother, the guilt still weighing on his chest—Gi Hun felt that familiar smile returning to his face.

Gi Hun (7:59 AM): "If you keep texting me at those hours of the morning..."

In Ho (8:00 AM): "Then get ready for many messages like that, because I really like talking to you. Somehow you understand me."

Gi Hun's heart gave such a strong leap that for a moment he wondered if it was medically safe to feel this happy.

—Gi Hun! Breakfast! —His mother's voice from the kitchen interrupted his romantic thoughts.

Gi Hun (8:02 AM): "I have to go have breakfast. But In Ho..."

Gi Hun (8:03 AM): "Thank you for making me wake up smiling. It's been a long time since that happened"

In Ho (8:04 AM): "Thank you for making it worth staying up so late"

In Ho (8:05 AM): "And Gi Hun... I really am sorry about your mom"

Gi Hun (8:06 AM): "I know. And it's okay. We just have to be smarter about this"

In Ho (8:07 AM): "We will be. I promise"

When he finally put away his phone, Gi Hun began the process of transferring to his wheelchair. He positioned the chair next to the bed, making sure the brakes were on. He placed one hand on the mattress and the other on the nearest armrest, carefully distributing his weight as he pivoted his body. His legs responded slowly but cooperated enough to complete the transfer without incidents.

It was a movement he had perfected over fifteen years, as automatic as breathing. But today, with the conversation with his mother still fresh in his mind, he realized how easy it would be to get hurt if he lost concentration for a second.

And that made his mother's worry feel even more justified.

As he headed toward the kitchen, with more energy than he had had in months, he couldn't help but smile thinking that this was just the beginning. But now he knew they had to be more careful. Not just for them, but for the people who loved them and worried about their safety.

On the other hand was Hwang In Ho, who had entered into a great conflict that little by little was eating away at every corner of his thoughts. It had been almost seven weeks since they had met for the first time, when he went with his mother to bring them welcome cookies. From that moment, that strange peace that Gi Hun radiated had left a small restlessness in In Ho, like a splinter he couldn't extract.

But now, as he reread the messages from that morning, a new worry settled in his chest. He had made Gi Hun's mother cry. He had put Gi Hun in danger—real, physical danger—just because he wanted to see him. What kind of person did that?

He sat on the edge of his bed, with his phone still in his hands, processing the reality of what he had done. He hadn't thought. He had acted on impulse, guided by that almost desperate need to be close to Gi Hun, without considering the real consequences.

What if Gi Hun had really fallen last night? What if the walker had slipped on the wet grass? What if he had had one of those muscle spasms he occasionally mentioned in their nocturnal conversations?

In Ho felt nauseous imagining Gi Hun lying in the garden, hurt, with no one to hear him scream. All because he had been selfish and careless.

I have to be better than this, he thought fiercely. If I really care about Gi Hun—if I'm really falling in love with him like I think—then I have to think about his safety before my own desires.

It was a hard but necessary lesson. Love wasn't just warm feelings and butterflies in the stomach. It was responsibility. It was thinking about the other person's wellbeing even when that meant slowing down your own impulses.

In Ho made a decision then: next time he wanted to see Gi Hun, he would plan in advance. He would consider the risks. He would have backup plans. He wouldn't put Gi Hun in a position again where he had to choose between his safety and pleasing In Ho.

Because Gi Hun deserved someone who would protect him, not someone who would put him in danger without thinking.

Little by little they had begun to have more contact, until that afternoon—when Jun Ho got hurt and Gi Hun helped him—he had found the perfect excuse to ask for his number. After the first nocturnal conversations by message, that initial restlessness had grown, transforming into something he didn't know how to name.

After a very busy day with his father, he finally got home. Gi Hun had been on his mind the whole time. He didn't know how he had entered his thoughts so quickly. Was it his simplicity? His way of speaking? That look that the only thing it transmitted was peace? He didn't know how to decipher that look, but the only thing he knew was that he no longer had an escape.

He went up to his room and stood in front of the window facing house 456. The light in Gi Hun's room was on, and that simple image made something in his chest tighten with a mixture of nervousness and determination. He had that urgent need to see him again, to be close to him, to confirm that everything he had felt was real and not just a product of his imagination.

But this time, instead of acting on impulse as he had done the night before, In Ho forced himself to stop and think. He remembered the conversation from that morning, the fear in Mal Soon's voice as Gi Hun had described it, the rules they had established.

He looked at the time. 10:30 PM. Still early according to their new rules—nothing after 2 AM. But was it safe? Had they planned this in advance?

No. Definitely not.

He should wait. He should be responsible. He should...

But Gi Hun was there, so close, and he had spent all day thinking about him. And this time, at least, he could make sure to do it right. He could take precautions.

Without thinking too much, he took his phone.

In Ho (10:30 PM): "Hey, open the window and look outside"

He waited a few seconds that felt eternal, with his heart beating so hard he could hear it in his ears. Finally, the response came:

Gi Hun (10:32 PM): "Why? Are you in your garden?"

In Ho (10:33 PM): "Something like that... just trust me"

Gi Hun (10:34 PM): "In Ho, we talked about this this morning"

Gi Hun (10:35 PM): "We said we were going to plan in advance"

In Ho felt a pang of guilt, but also admiration. Gi Hun was right. They were doing exactly what they had agreed not to do.

In Ho (10:36 PM): "I know, I know"

In Ho (10:37 PM): "But I promise this time I'll be more careful"

In Ho (10:38 PM): "And if you feel it's too risky, just tell me and I'll leave"

In Ho (10:39 PM): "No pressure. Like we agreed"

There was a longer pause this time. In Ho could imagine Gi Hun considering the risks, thinking about his mother sleeping in the room next door, remembering the difficult conversation from that morning.

Finally, the response came:

Gi Hun (10:42 PM): "Okay. But just for a little while"

Gi Hun (10:43 PM): "And clean your shoes before you leave"

In Ho smiled despite the tension.

In Ho (10:44 PM): "Scout's promise"

Gi Hun (10:45 PM): "You were never a scout"

In Ho (10:46 PM): "Details"

Stealthily, In Ho went down the stairs of his house, avoiding the steps he knew creaked. Once in the back garden, he looked toward Gi Hun's window and could see a silhouette moving behind the curtains.

The window opened slowly, and Gi Hun's head appeared, looking down with curiosity. When their eyes met In Ho's, his expression changed from confusion to surprise, and then to something that seemed like a mixture of joy and nervousness.

—What are you doing there? —Gi Hun whispered, leaning out more to see him better.

—I wanted to see you —In Ho responded honestly, feeling how his cheeks heated up—. Can I... can I come up?

Gi Hun looked at him for a few seconds that felt like an eternity. In Ho could see the internal struggle on his face: the surprise, the excitement, maybe a little fear. Finally, Gi Hun nodded with a small smile.

—Be careful —he murmured, moving away from the window to give him space.

In Ho had noticed during his morning walks that there was an old trellis next to Gi Hun's window, probably for climbing plants that were no longer there. It didn't look very sturdy, but it could work if he was careful.

He took a deep breath and began to climb, carefully placing his hands and feet on the metal bars. The first stretch was relatively stable, but when he reached the second level of the trellis, he immediately noticed it was more deteriorated than he had thought.

One of the bars came completely off the wall with a metallic creak that sounded deafening in the silence of the night. In Ho desperately clung with his other hand, his heart in his throat, while his foot frantically searched for another stable support.

—Shit —he whispered through his teeth, trying not to panic.

The loose bar hung uselessly from his left hand. He would have to let go of it and find another grip, but all the nearby bars looked equally rusty and unreliable.

—Are you okay? —Gi Hun's worried voice came from above.

—I'm... —In Ho looked for another grip, his fingers slipping against the rusty metal—. Give me a second.

His arms were already beginning to tremble from the effort. In Ho trained regularly, yes, but this was completely different from the gym bars. Here there were no safety mats, no instructor supervising, there was only him, a crumbling trellis, and the very real possibility of falling from several meters high.

He finally found a bar that seemed more solid and slowly transferred his weight, testing it before trusting it completely. He pushed himself upward, ignoring how his arms protested. Halfway up, his foot slipped completely and he had a moment of pure panic where he thought he was going to fall.

—In Ho! —Gi Hun had to bite his fist to keep from screaming and waking his mother.

Somehow, In Ho managed to hold on with his hands alone, his feet hanging freely for a scary second before he found another foothold. His breathing was heavy, his heart was beating so hard he was sure the whole neighborhood could hear it.

—You're almost there —Gi Hun whispered, clearly terrified—. Just a little more.

When he finally reached the height of the window, he was breathing heavily and could feel sweat running down his back despite the cold of the night. But the hardest part was still to come.

—Okay —In Ho murmured to himself—. Now comes the fun part.

He had to let go of the trellis and grab the window frame, which meant a terrifying moment where all his weight would depend on a single hand clinging to a bar that was creaking threateningly.

—Wait —Gi Hun whispered—. Give me your hand first.

—You can't pull me, Gi Hun. I'm too heavy and you...

—I'm not going to pull you. Just give me some stability while you change grips.

In Ho extended a hand toward the window, and Gi Hun took it with both hands. He couldn't hold his weight—they both knew that—but the contact gave In Ho the confidence he needed to let go of his other grip on the trellis.

For a scary second, In Ho was hanging with one hand in Gi Hun's and the other desperately searching for the window frame. His fingers finally found solid wood and he held on with all his strength.

—I've got it —he gasped, and Gi Hun released his hand.

Now came the truly difficult part: pushing himself up and inward without falling. In Ho tried to get one leg through the window first, but the angle was completely wrong. He ended up half hanging, half leaning against the frame, in a position so ridiculous that in any other circumstance it would have been comical.

—I don't know how to do this gracefully —he admitted.

—There's no graceful way —Gi Hun responded, clearly divided between concern and contained laughter—. Just... just get in however you can.

What followed was a series of clumsy and uncoordinated movements that involved In Ho practically falling through the window, hitting his shoulder against the frame, bending in a strange way, and finally landing on the floor of Gi Hun's room with a thud that both were sure had woken the whole house.

They remained completely still for several eternal seconds, with In Ho still on the floor in an uncomfortable position, waiting to hear footsteps in the hallway or Mal Soon's voice asking what that noise had been.

But the house remained silent.

In Ho finally allowed himself to breathe, sitting up and rubbing the shoulder he had hit.

—Are you okay? —Gi Hun whispered, rolling his chair closer, clearly worried.

—My pride is hurt —In Ho responded in a low voice, getting up carefully—. And I'm probably going to have a spectacular bruise tomorrow. But other than that, I'm fine.

—You're terrible at climbing —Gi Hun murmured, and now there was definitely laughter in his voice.

—It's my first time doing something like this —In Ho defended himself, though he himself had to admit it had been pretty pathetic—. It's not exactly a skill I practice regularly.

—In Ho... —Gi Hun looked at him seriously—. You almost fell. Twice.

—I know.

—You could have broken something. Or worse.

—I know —In Ho repeated, and there was something in his voice that made Gi Hun realize In Ho was completely aware of how risky it had been.

—And you still came?

In Ho knelt next to Gi Hun's chair to be at the same height, his expression completely serious now.

—Yes. And I'm not sure if that makes me incredibly brave or incredibly stupid.

—Maybe both —Gi Hun murmured.

—Probably. —In Ho took one of Gi Hun's hands in his—. But Gi Hun, I need you to understand something. I came here because... because being away from you feels physically painful sometimes. And I know that sounds dramatic and exaggerated, but it's the truth.

Gi Hun felt how his breathing caught at the raw honesty in In Ho's voice.

—But I also know we have to be more careful —In Ho continued—. Not just for us, but for your mom, for my family. This can't be our normal way of seeing each other. It's unsustainable and eventually someone is going to get hurt.

—So what do you suggest?

—That we find other ways. Public places where we can 'casually' run into each other. Times when it's safe for both of us. And that we save high-risk encounters like this for... I don't know, emotional emergencies or something.

Gi Hun felt a smile tugging at his lips despite the seriousness of the conversation.

—Emotional emergencies?

—You know, moments where I absolutely can't go one more second without seeing you or I'm going to explode —In Ho explained with a shy smile—. Those moments still justify climbing rickety trellises, I think.

—You're ridiculous.

—Yes. But I'm your ridiculous.

They stared at each other for a moment, suddenly very aware that they were alone in Gi Hun's room, in the intimacy of the night, after In Ho had risked being discovered just to see him.

—Why did you come? —Gi Hun asked softly, needing to hear the words—. Really.

In Ho moved a little closer, until he could see the details of Gi Hun's face in the dim light of the room. His eyes, his expectant expression, the way he bit his lower lip slightly when he was nervous.

—Because I couldn't stop thinking about you —he responded with an honesty that surprised himself—. All day, Gi Hun. I couldn't concentrate on anything else.

The smile that spread across Gi Hun's face was like watching the sunrise after the longest night of the year.

—I couldn't stop thinking about you either —he admitted, and there was something in his voice that made In Ho's heart swell so much he felt it might explode.

In Ho took a deep breath, preparing to say something that had been circling in his mind all day.

—Gi Hun, I have to tell you something —he began, his voice barely louder than a whisper—. And if this is too much, if it scares you or makes you feel uncomfortable, just tell me and we can pretend I never said it.

—Okay... —Gi Hun felt how his heart began to accelerate.

—I've been thinking a lot about us. About this we're doing. —In Ho gestured vaguely between them—. About how you make me feel.

—How do I make you feel?

In Ho was quiet for a moment, searching for the right words.

—Like I can finally breathe after years of holding my breath. Like all the broken parts inside me find a way to fit together when I'm with you. Like... —he stopped, wondering if he should continue.

—Like what? —Gi Hun pressed gently.

—Like I'm falling in love with you —In Ho finally confessed, and the words came out in an almost inaudible whisper, as if he was afraid they would be too real if he said them louder.

The silence that followed felt eternal. In Ho could hear his own heart beating in his ears, could feel how his hands trembled slightly. He had said the words. He couldn't take them back now.

Gi Hun remained completely still, processing what he had just heard. His eyes filled with tears—not from sadness, but from something much more complex and overwhelming.

—In Ho... —his voice broke slightly.

—You don't have to say anything —In Ho hurried to say, misinterpreting the silence—. I don't expect you to feel the same. I just needed you to know that...

—Can I say something now? —Gi Hun interrupted softly.

In Ho nodded, preparing himself for rejection. To hear that it was too soon, that they were going too fast, that Gi Hun saw him only as a friend.

—I've been spending days trying to understand what this is I feel when I think about you —Gi Hun began, his hands trembling slightly—. Why I check my phone every five minutes waiting to see a message from you. Why my whole day feels brighter when I know I'm going to talk to you.

In Ho held his breath, waiting.

—And I think... —Gi Hun paused, wiping the tears with the back of his hand—. I think I'm falling in love with you too.

In Ho felt as if all the air had been expelled from his lungs. He hadn't expected to hear those words back. He had been prepared for a kind but distant response, not for a confession that perfectly mirrored his own feelings.

—Really? —he whispered, as if he couldn't believe what he had just heard.

—Really. —Gi Hun extended his hand and took In Ho's—. And it terrifies me. Because the last time I felt something like this for someone, they destroyed me. But with you... with you it feels different. It feels like it could be real.

—It is real —In Ho affirmed with certainty, squeezing Gi Hun's hand—. What I feel for you is the most real thing I've felt in years.

They looked at each other for a long moment, both processing the magnitude of what they had just admitted to each other. The air between them felt charged with possibilities, with tacit promises, with a future neither of them had planned but both wanted to explore.

—What do we do now? —Gi Hun eventually asked.

—Honestly, I have no idea —In Ho admitted with a small nervous laugh—. I've never done this before. I've never... fallen in love with someone.

—Me neither. Well, once, but that doesn't count because it was a disaster from the beginning.

—So we're both improvising.

—Completely.

—In Ho... —Gi Hun bit his lip, considering how to ask the next question—. What is this exactly? Between us, I mean.

In Ho looked at him with curiosity.

—What do you mean?

—I just... I need to hear it in clear words. Because I don't want to assume something that isn't, or misinterpret this, or...

—You want to know if I'm asking you to be my boyfriend? —In Ho asked directly, and Gi Hun felt how his cheeks heated up.

—Yes, I guess so.

In Ho took both of Gi Hun's hands in his, looking directly into his eyes.

—Gi Hun, I don't know how I'm supposed to do this. I don't know if there's a right way to ask. But yes, that's exactly what I want. I want us to be... something official. Something real. Not just two people who talk by message and see each other in secret, but... boyfriends. If you want that too.

Gi Hun felt how his heart accelerated so much that for a moment he feared it would be visible through his chest.

—But we have to be honest about what that means —In Ho continued—. It means we can't tell our families yet. It means hiding for a while. It means it's going to be complicated and sometimes frustrating.

—I know.

—And it means we're going to have to be patient with each other. Because we're both figuring out how to do this as we go.

—I know that too.

—And it means we'll have difficult days. Days where your body doesn't cooperate and you feel frustrated. Days where my dad pressures me and I get irritable. Days where one of us needs space and the other has to respect it.

—In Ho, I understand —Gi Hun said softly—. I'm not looking for perfection. I just... want you. With all the complications that entails.

In Ho felt how something in his chest loosened completely.

—Then yes. I want you to be my boyfriend. Officially. Even if for now we can only be that in secret.

—Yes —Gi Hun responded without hesitation—. Yes, I want that too.

—Then we need a plan —In Ho said after a moment—. Not just for how to see each other, but for everything.

—Like what?

—Like when we can tell our families. Or how we handle days when we can't see each other in person. Or what we do if someone starts to suspect.

Gi Hun nodded, appreciating In Ho's practical approach.

—What do you suggest?

—First, I think we should establish regular meetings in public places. Like the park on Wednesdays, or the library on Fridays. Places where it's normal for two neighbors of the same age to run into each other.

—I like that. It's less risky than this —he gestured toward the window.

—Exactly. And it gives us something to look forward to during the week. —In Ho paused—. Second, I think we eventually need to tell someone. It doesn't have to be our parents yet, but... do you have close friends? Someone you trust?

—Sang Woo —Gi Hun responded immediately—. He's my best friend since childhood. He... he helped me with the Minhyuk thing. I know I can trust him.

—Do you feel comfortable telling him?

Gi Hun considered it.

—Yes, I think so. And you? Do you have anyone?

—Gong Yoo, my gym buddy. He already suspects something anyway. I should probably just confirm it.

—Okay. So that's the second step. Tell one trusted person each. Not so they'll tell others, but just so... so someone else knows. So we're not completely alone in this.

In Ho nodded.

—Third, we need to think about when we're going to tell our families. It doesn't have to be soon, but we should at least have an idea of when we'll feel it's the right time.

—My mom... —Gi Hun sighed—. My mom already suspects something. And I hate lying to her. But I also know that if I tell her now, she's going to want to talk to your dad, and...

—And my dad would be a disaster —In Ho finished grimly—. Yes, I need time before that conversation. At least until I finish this semester and can prove my grades haven't suffered.

—How long is that?

—Two months. Maybe three.

Gi Hun took his hand.

—I can wait three months. If that means you'll be safer when we finally have that conversation.

—Thank you for understanding.

—But In Ho, if your dad... if he ever hurts you, or if things get really bad, you have to tell me. Okay? You don't have to protect me from that reality.

In Ho felt how his throat closed at the genuine concern in Gi Hun's voice.

—Okay. I promise.

—Can I kiss you? —In Ho suddenly asked, the words coming out before he could think them through too much.

Gi Hun felt how his breathing stopped.

—I... yes. Yes, you can.

In Ho moved closer slowly, giving Gi Hun time to change his mind. But Gi Hun didn't move, except to lean slightly forward too.

Their lips met awkwardly, with In Ho leaning too fast and bumping his nose against Gi Hun's harder than he intended.

—Ow —Gi Hun murmured, pulling back and rubbing his nose.

—I'm sorry, I'm sorry —In Ho apologized, his cheeks burning with embarrassment—. I don't know what I'm doing.

—Me neither —Gi Hun admitted, and they both laughed nervously.

—Should we try again? —In Ho asked shyly—. Slower this time.

—Yes. Definitely slower.

This time In Ho approached more carefully, giving them both time to adjust the angle. Their lips touched softly, hesitant, as if they were asking permission with each second that passed.

It was clumsy—their teeth clashed slightly when Gi Hun tried to deepen the kiss, and In Ho wasn't sure what to do with his hands so he kept them awkwardly in the air for a moment before finally resting them on Gi Hun's shoulders.

Gi Hun didn't know exactly what to do either. He lifted his hands to touch In Ho's face, but miscalculated the distance and ended up accidentally hitting him on the chin.

—Sorry —he murmured against In Ho's lips, and they both had to separate because they were laughing too much to continue kissing.

—We're terrible at this —Gi Hun said, wiping the tears of laughter from his eyes.

—Horrible —In Ho agreed—. But...

—But what?

—But I liked it. A lot. —In Ho smiled—. Even with the nose bump and the chin hit.

—I liked it too.

They looked at each other for one more moment, both with stupid smiles on their faces, before In Ho leaned in again.

—One more time —he murmured—. So we can end on a better note.

This third attempt was better. It still wasn't perfect—their lips didn't move with the fluid synchronization of romantic movies, and there were moments where neither was sure what to do—but it was theirs. Clumsy, sweet, and completely authentic.

When they finally separated, both were breathing a little faster, with flushed cheeks and dilated pupils.

—I think we're going to need practice —Gi Hun said with a shy smile.

—Lots of practice —In Ho agreed—. But I think I can commit to that.

Eventually, they both knew In Ho had to leave. It was almost midnight, and staying longer only increased the chances of being discovered.

—I don't want to leave —In Ho admitted, though he was already getting up from the floor where he had been sitting next to Gi Hun's chair.

—I don't want you to leave either. But...

—But we have to be responsible. I know.

In Ho approached the window and looked down with much less confidence than he had had when climbing up.

—The way down is going to be worse than the way up, right?

—Probably. Be very careful.

—I will. —In Ho turned to look at Gi Hun one more time—. So... we're officially boyfriends now?

—Officially —Gi Hun confirmed with a smile.

—I like how that sounds.

—Me too.

The descent was, as In Ho had predicted, significantly more difficult. He couldn't see where he was putting his feet, and the trellis creaked alarmingly with each movement. Halfway down, his foot slipped completely and he had a moment of panic where he thought he was going to fall.

Gi Hun, watching from above, had to bite his fist to keep from screaming.

When In Ho finally touched solid ground in the garden, they both audibly sighed with relief.

—We definitely need a better way to do this —In Ho whispered upward.

—Definitely —Gi Hun agreed.

—I'll text you when I get to my room.

—You better.

In Ho blew him a kiss from below—a gesture so cheesy that they both had to contain their laughter—and then disappeared into the shadows of the garden, leaving Gi Hun alone with his thoughts and a heart that was beating so fast it seemed to want to escape from his chest.

Five minutes later, his phone vibrated.

In Ho (11:58 PM): "I arrived alive. With bruises in places I didn't know I could have bruises, but alive"

Gi Hun (11:59 PM): "I'm glad you survived your spy mission"

In Ho (12:00 AM): "It was more like a suicide mission. But it was worth every second"

Gi Hun (12:01 AM): "Really?"

In Ho (12:02 AM): "Really. Now I have an official boyfriend. That was definitely worth some bruises"

Gi Hun felt that familiar smile spreading across his face.

Gi Hun (12:03 AM): "Your official boyfriend is worried you're going to kill yourself next time you try to climb my window"

In Ho (12:04 AM): "Your official boyfriend promises to find less dangerous methods of seeing you"

In Ho (12:05 AM): "But also reserves the right to do stupid and impulsive things when he misses you too much"

Gi Hun (12:06 AM): "I can accept that"

Gi Hun (12:07 AM): "But seriously, In Ho... be careful. I don't want you to get hurt because of me"

In Ho (12:09 AM): "I know. And I will. I promise"

In Ho (12:10 AM): "Now sleep, my boyfriend. Tomorrow we have to start planning our 'casual encounters' at the park"

Gi Hun (12:11 AM): "Good night, my boyfriend"

In Ho (12:12 AM): "Good night ❤️"

Gi Hun put away his phone and sat in his chair by the window for a few more minutes, looking toward house 457 where he could see the light in In Ho's room still on.

He had a boyfriend. Hwang In Ho was officially his boyfriend.

And yes, it was going to be complicated. They would have to hide for a while. There would be challenges and obstacles and difficult conversations in the future.

But for the first time in years, Gi Hun felt completely hopeful about what that future might bring.

Chapter Text

Chapter 6: Cámara

Hwang In Ho didn't sleep after saying goodnight to Gi Hun via text.

He lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling of his room while night turned into dawn. He felt too much all at once: excitement bubbling in his chest like shaken soda, nerves making his legs unable to stay still, and something like vertigo, as if he'd just gotten on a roller coaster and still didn't know whether to scream with excitement or panic.

With his fingers he touched his lips, closing his eyes slightly as he remembered that awkward, stupid kiss between him and Gi Hun. He'd almost died twice climbing that old metal railing that led to his now... boyfriend's room?

"Boyfriends," Gi Hun had said, and the word had sounded so natural, so right in that moment, as if it had been waiting to be spoken.

But now, lying in the darkness of his room with the hum of the fan as the only sound, In Ho felt how that word became bigger and heavier in his mind.

Boyfriends.

He had a boyfriend.

He had a boyfriend.

The smile that spread across his face was completely involuntary, so big his cheeks hurt. He covered his face with his hands, feeling how his cheeks warmed. This was real. It had happened. He'd climbed up to Gi Hun's window like an idiot—almost falling, making noise like an elephant—and he'd kissed Gi Hun.

And Gi Hun had kissed him back.

In Ho turned over in bed, burying his face in the pillow to muffle a nervous laugh that threatened to escape. It was as if all the adrenaline from last night was still running through his veins, not letting him rest.

But then, like cold water, came the other thought:

It had been barely seven weeks since he'd met Gi Hun.

In Ho sat up in bed, running his hands through his messy hair. His reflection in the closet mirror looked back at him with bright eyes and a half-dazed expression. He looked like someone who'd just done something incredibly stupid or incredibly brave, and still didn't know which of the two it was.

Seven weeks. Less than two months.

Was that enough time for... for this? To be boyfriends?

In Ho had had a girlfriend before, in his old neighborhood, when he was seventeen. Her name was Yuna and she was pretty and nice. They'd dated for three months, walks holding hands, sharing earbuds to listen to music, a couple of awkward kissing attempts that never went anywhere because In Ho always got too nervous.

And then she'd moved away and that was it. End of story. In Ho hadn't even felt real sadness when it ended, just a vague "oh, well" and moved on with his life.

But this... this with Gi Hun felt completely different.

This felt like jumping off a cliff without knowing if there was water below or rocks.

This felt like something that could be incredible or could destroy him, and there was no middle ground.

Wasn't that terrifying?

But it's also exciting, another voice in his head responded. For the first time in years you want something that has nothing to do with mom or being the perfect son.

In Ho let out a long sigh, falling back against the pillows. He looked at his phone on the nightstand. 6:23 AM. His father would already be at work—his shift started at 6:00. Mi Ran was probably still sleeping. Jun Ho was definitely still sleeping.

He picked up his phone, unlocking it. His last conversation with Gi Hun was still open.

Gi Hun (2:47 AM): "Goodnight, In Ho. Sleep well 😊"

In Ho (2:48 AM): "Goodnight. I can't stop smiling"

Gi Hun (2:49 AM): "i cant stop think about u "

In Ho reread those messages for the fifth time—or maybe tenth—and felt that same idiotic smile returning to his face.

Should he text him? Or was it too early? He didn't want to wake him. Gi Hun was probably sleeping, resting after...

His phone vibrated in his hand, making him jump.

Gi Hun (6:25 AM): "Are you awake?"

In Ho had never responded to a message so fast in his life. His fingers flew across the screen before he could even think about it.

In Ho (6:25 AM): "Yes"

He hesitated for a second, then added:

In Ho (6:25 AM): "I couldn't sleep"

The response came almost instantly.

Gi Hun (6:26 AM): "Me neither"

Gi Hun (6:27 AM): "I keep thinking about last night"

In Ho felt his heart speed up again, as if his entire body recognized those words and reacted to them. He bit his lip, trying to control the idiotic smile that threatened to take over his face.

In Ho (6:28 AM): "About what part?"

Three dots appeared, disappeared, appeared again. In Ho could imagine Gi Hun on the other side, typing and deleting, trying to find the right words.

Finally:

Gi Hun (6:30 AM): "All the parts"

Gi Hun (6:31 AM): "About you climbing up to my window"

Gi Hun (6:31 AM): "About you almost falling"

Gi Hun (6:32 AM): "About us kissing"

In Ho felt how his whole body warmed at those words. The last phrase in particular—about us kissing—made his stomach flip. It was so simple, so direct, but the fact that Gi Hun could write it like that, without shame, without beating around the bush, meant something.

In Ho (6:33 AM): "Me too"

It wasn't enough. He needed Gi Hun to know it hadn't just been him, that In Ho had also been trapped in that infinite loop of memories.

In Ho (6:34 AM): "I couldn't stop thinking about anything else"

Pause. The three dots appeared and disappeared several times. In Ho waited, his thumb hovering over the screen, wondering what Gi Hun was thinking in that moment.

Gi Hun (6:36 AM): "In Ho"

Just his name. But there was something in that simplicity that made In Ho sit up straighter, pay more attention.

In Ho (6:36 AM): "Yes?"

Gi Hun (6:37 AM): "This is real, right? I didn't dream it"

In Ho felt something melt in his chest. That vulnerability, that need for confirmation—it was so honest it hurt. Because he'd been wondering exactly the same thing all night long.

In Ho (6:38 AM): "It's real"

Then, because he needed to lighten the moment before it became too intense, he added:

In Ho (6:39 AM): "I have the bruise on my knee from when I almost fell as proof"

The response was immediate.

Gi Hun (6:40 AM): "lol"

Gi Hun (6:41 AM): "Are you okay?"

In Ho smiled at the genuine concern in that question.

In Ho (6:42 AM): "Yes, just a small bump"

In Ho (6:43 AM): "Totally worth it"

There was the briefest pause before Gi Hun's response came, but In Ho could feel the weight of those words before reading them.

Gi Hun (6:43 AM): "For me too"

Gi Hun set his phone down on the nightstand with a smile he couldn't erase from his face. He needed to get up, transfer to his chair, start his morning routine. But for a moment he stayed there, simply savoring the happiness of knowing In Ho had also been awake all night thinking about him.

He reached for his medications when he heard footsteps approaching down the hallway. Normal footsteps, not urgent, but they still made his heart speed up slightly.

The door opened and Mal Soon entered, already dressed in her nurse's uniform, hair pulled back in her usual bun. She wore a neutral expression, but Gi Hun knew her well enough to notice the tension around her eyes.

—Good morning, mom—said Gi Hun, trying to sound casual.

—Good morning.—Mal Soon stood in the doorway, studying him—. Did you sleep well?

—Yes, fine.

—Really?—Mal Soon entered the room completely, closing the door behind her—. Because last night I woke up and heard noises coming from your room.

Gi Hun's stomach sank.

—Noises?

—A loud thud—said Mal Soon, crossing her arms—. Like something heavy had fallen. Or someone had... I don't know, tripped.

—I... I fell—Gi Hun lied quickly, feeling how his mouth went dry—. Trying to reach a book from my shelf. Sorry if I woke you.

Mal Soon didn't respond immediately. She just looked at him, with that look that always made him feel like he was being analyzed with X-rays.

—A book?—she finally asked—. At midnight?

—I couldn't sleep and wanted to read something—

—And the voices, Gi Hun.—Mal Soon interrupted him, her tone becoming firmer—. I also heard voices. Conversation. It wasn't the TV, it wasn't a video. It was real conversation. Two people talking.

Panic began to climb up Gi Hun's throat. He could feel how his cheeks warmed, betraying him.

—I was... I was on a call—he stammered—. With Sang Woo. Because I couldn't sleep and he—

—Sang Woo?—Mal Soon raised an eyebrow—. Sang Woo was awake at midnight to talk to you about insomnia?

—He... you know how he is. Studies late and I just... needed to talk to someone.

Mal Soon approached slowly and sat on the edge of the bed. She didn't take his hand like she usually would. Instead, she looked directly into his eyes with an intensity that made Gi Hun want to hide.

—Gi Hun—she said softly, but there was steel in her voice—. I feel like you're not telling me the truth.

Silence.

Gi Hun opened his mouth, but no words came out. His brain spun, desperately searching for something to say, some excuse that sounded convincing, but everything felt transparent under his mother's gaze.

—Mom, I—

—You don't have to tell me now—Mal Soon interrupted him, her voice softening a bit but not losing that firmness—. But I want you to know something. You've been different these last few weeks.

Gi Hun felt his heart speed up more.

—Different how?

—More distracted. More... happy, but also more nervous.—Mal Soon tilted her head slightly—. Your phone rings at all hours. You smile when you read messages. You turn red when I ask who you were talking to.

—Mom, it's not—

—Is there someone?—Mal Soon asked directly, and the weight of that question fell between them like a bomb—. Is there someone in your life you haven't told me about?

The silence that followed was deafening.

Gi Hun could feel how his eyes began to sting, how his throat closed. His mother knew. Maybe not the exact details, maybe not about In Ho specifically, but she knew something was happening.

—It's not... it's not...—Gi Hun couldn't finish the sentence.

Mal Soon closed her eyes for a moment, as if gathering patience or maybe trying not to cry.

—Look, I'm not stupid—she said when she opened them again—. And I'm not one of those mothers who needs to know every detail of her son's life. But when I hear thuds and voices in your room at midnight, when I find evidence that you're lying to me... I worry.

—Mom...

—You don't have to tell me who it is—Mal Soon continued—. You don't have to tell me anything now. But what I do need you to understand is this: you're vulnerable in ways you sometimes don't want to admit. And there are people who... who could take advantage of that.

—It's not like that—Gi Hun protested, feeling a spark of anger mixing with guilt—. I'm not a child who needs constant protection.

—I know.—Mal Soon's voice broke slightly—. But you're my son. And it's my job to worry about you, even if that means asking difficult questions.

She stood up, smoothing her uniform with hands that trembled slightly.

—When you're ready to trust me and tell me the truth, I'll be here to listen. Whatever it is, Gi Hun. Whoever it is.—She headed toward the door but stopped with her hand on the doorknob—. But until then, please, don't lie to my face again. It hurts me more than any secret you might be keeping.

—Mom—

—And next time you have a "call" with Sang Woo at midnight—the sarcastic emphasis was impossible to ignore—use headphones. I don't want to be scared like that again.

The door closed softly behind her, but the sound resonated in the silence like thunder.

Gi Hun sat on the bed, feeling how tears finally began to fall down his cheeks. His mother knew. Not the details, not about In Ho, not about the kisses or confessions, but she knew he was lying to her.

And the worst part was that Mal Soon was right. He had lied to her. Directly. Looking her in the eyes while she genuinely worried about him.

His phone had vibrated several times during the conversation. He picked it up with trembling hands, tears still running down his face.

In Ho (6:44 AM): "Are you still there?"

In Ho (6:45 AM): "Are you okay?"

Gi Hun looked at the time. 6:47 AM. He needed to tell In Ho what had just happened.

Gi Hun (6:47 AM): "In Ho"

Gi Hun (6:48 AM): "I have to tell you something"

In Ho had been in the kitchen, drinking his energy drink and waiting for a response, when he saw the new messages. The tone changed. He felt it immediately, that weight in the words that hadn't been there a moment ago.

In Ho (6:49 AM): "What's wrong?"

Gi Hun (6:50 AM): "My mom just came into my room"

In Ho felt his stomach twist.

In Ho (6:51 AM): "And?"

Gi Hun (6:52 AM): "Asked about the noises from last night"

Gi Hun (6:53 AM): "Said she heard a thud. And voices"

Shit.

In Ho dropped into one of the kitchen chairs, his heart beating so hard he felt the pulse in his ears.

In Ho (6:54 AM): "What did you tell her?"

Gi Hun (6:56 AM): "That I fell trying to reach a book"

Gi Hun (6:57 AM): "And that I was on a call with Sang Woo because I couldn't sleep"

In Ho (6:58 AM): "Did she believe you?"

Three minutes passed. Three minutes in which In Ho imagined Mal Soon connecting the dots, realizing that the boy next door had been in her son's room in the middle of the night, calling his father...

Gi Hun (7:01 AM): "I don't know"

Gi Hun (7:02 AM): "She said to be careful. To be careful with who I let into my life"

Gi Hun (7:03 AM): "She told me to use headphones next time so I don't wake her"

Gi Hun (7:04 AM): "But In Ho... there was something in her voice"

Gi Hun (7:05 AM): "Like she knew I was lying to her but decided not to push"

In Ho ran his hand over his face, feeling the weight of what they'd done—what he had done—falling on him like a ton of bricks.

He'd put Gi Hun in this position. Made him have to lie to his mother. Again.

In Ho (7:07 AM): "I'm sorry"

In Ho (7:08 AM): "This is my fault. I shouldn't have come"

Gi Hun (7:09 AM): "No"

Gi Hun (7:10 AM): "Don't say that"

Gi Hun (7:11 AM): "I wanted you to come. I wanted that too"

Gi Hun (7:12 AM): "But we have to be more careful"

In Ho (7:13 AM): "Yes"

In Ho (7:14 AM): "I'm not going to climb through your window again, that was stupid"

Gi Hun (7:15 AM): "It wasn't stupid"

Gi Hun (7:16 AM): "It was... I don't know. It was the scariest and most exciting thing that's ever happened to me"

In Ho felt something in his chest relax a little.

In Ho (7:17 AM): "Exciting?"

Gi Hun (7:18 AM): "Yes"

Gi Hun (7:19 AM): "No one's ever done something like that for me"

Gi Hun (7:20 AM): "Even though you almost killed yourself in the process :)"

In Ho (7:21 AM): "That railing is a death trap"

Gi Hun (7:22 AM): "I know, that's why I was so scared watching you climb"

In Ho took a sip of his energy drink, feeling how the sugar and caffeine were starting to take effect. He needed to think. He needed to figure out how they were going to handle this.

In Ho (7:24 AM): "Gi Hun"

In Ho (7:25 AM): "Is this too fast?"

He typed that and then stared at the message, his finger hovering over the send button. Should he? Or was he going to ruin everything by asking that?

But he needed to know. He needed to know if Gi Hun was also feeling that vertigo, that sensation of falling without knowing where he was going to land.

He pressed send.

The "typing..." indicator appeared immediately, then disappeared. Appeared again. Disappeared.

In Ho waited, holding his breath.

Gi Hun (7:29 AM): "Yes"

Gi Hun (7:30 AM): "It's too fast"

Gi Hun (7:31 AM): "And it's really scary"

In Ho felt his heart sink.

Gi Hun (7:32 AM): "But I don't want it to go slower"

Gi Hun (7:33 AM): "Do you?"

In Ho let out a sigh of relief so strong it was almost a laugh.

In Ho (7:34 AM): "No"

In Ho (7:35 AM): "Me neither"

In Ho (7:36 AM): "I'm just... I don't know. It's new. All of this is new to me"

Gi Hun (7:37 AM): "For me too"

Gi Hun (7:38 AM): "But that's okay, right? We can figure it out together"

In Ho (7:39 AM): "Together"

The word felt like a promise and a comfort at the same time.

He heard footsteps upstairs. Jun Ho was awake. In Ho checked the time—7:41 AM. Soon Mi Ran would come down too, and he'd have to act normal, pretend he hadn't just lived the craziest night of his life and was now processing the consequences.

In Ho (7:42 AM): "My family's waking up"

Gi Hun (7:43 AM): "Mine too. I have to have breakfast with my mom before she leaves"

In Ho (7:44 AM): "Are you going to be okay?"

Gi Hun (7:45 AM): "Yes. Just nervous"

Gi Hun (7:46 AM): "In Ho"

In Ho (7:46 AM): "Yes?"

Gi Hun (7:47 AM): "Thank you for last night"

Gi Hun (7:48 AM): "Even though it was scary and we almost got caught"

Gi Hun (7:49 AM): "It's still the best memory I have"

In Ho felt his throat close with emotion.

In Ho (7:50 AM): "For me too"

In Ho (7:51 AM): "We'll talk later, okay?"

Gi Hun (7:52 AM): "Yes"

Gi Hun (7:53 AM): "Have a good day, boyfriend 😊"

In Ho stared at that word—boyfriend—with a smile so big his face hurt.

In Ho (7:54 AM): "You too, Gi Hun"

In Ho survived the gym by pure willpower and two more energy drinks.

Gong Yoo had made him run on the treadmill for 10 minutes because he'd arrived late—again—and then had him doing weights until his arms trembled. Normally In Ho would have been mentally present, focused on his form and breathing, but today his mind was miles away, specifically at house 456.

—In Ho, are you with me?—coach Gong Yoo snapped his fingers in front of his face—. I just asked you something. What the hell happened to you, In Ho?

—Sorry, what?

Gong Yoo sighed.

—Are you okay? You look like a zombie.

—I just didn't sleep well.

—Mmm.—He studied him with those trained eyes that could probably detect lies from miles away—. Well, go home. You're acting too weird. Besides, we're done, and I have a date and won't be able to walk you home.

In Ho didn't need to be told twice.

He left the gym at 11:30 AM, the sun already high in the sky, his shirt stuck to his back with sweat. Normally he would have gone straight home to shower, but as he walked, he pulled out his phone.

He had no new messages from Gi Hun since this morning.

Which made sense. Gi Hun had classes. Online university. He was probably in some boring class about the great revolutionary Korean writers and their magnificent works of the 19th century. In Ho realized with horror that he didn't know exactly.

Boyfriend of the year, he mocked himself.

His feet carried him almost on autopilot. Not toward his house. Toward house 456.

It was stupid. It was risky. It was broad daylight and anyone could see him. But In Ho hadn't seen Gi Hun since last night—technically this morning—and there was something in him that needed to confirm that everything had been real, that Gi Hun was still there, that he hadn't regretted it in the last few hours.

Before he could convince himself what a bad idea this was, he was already in front of the door.

He rang the bell.

He waited, his heart beating stupidly fast for something as simple as knocking on a door.

The door opened, and there was Gi Hun, in his wheelchair, wearing an oversized hoodie and messy hair, looking at him with wide eyes of surprise.

—In Ho?—he whispered, looking quickly behind In Ho as if expecting someone else to be there—. What are you doing here?

—I...—In Ho realized he hadn't thought about what to say—. Is your mom here?

—No, she's at the bank. Her shift is until six.—Gi Hun kept looking at him like he couldn't believe he was there—. But In Ho, it's broad daylight. Someone could see you.

—I know. I'm sorry. I just...—In Ho ran his hand through his hair, aware that he probably looked terrible, sweaty and tired—. I just wanted to see you.

Gi Hun's expression softened completely. A small smile appeared on his lips.

—Really?

—Really.

Gi Hun looked at the street again, then back at In Ho.

—Come in. Quick, before someone sees you standing there looking suspicious.

In Ho entered quickly, and Gi Hun closed the door behind him. They stood there in the entrance, looking at each other like two idiots, neither knowing exactly what to do now.

—You smell like the gym—Gi Hun finally said, and there was amusement in his voice.

—Yeah, well, I'm coming from the gym.—In Ho laughed nervously—. I probably should have showered first.

—It's okay.—Gi Hun rolled his chair backward, giving him space to pass—. Do you want water? Or...?

—I just want to be with you for a while.

The words came out before In Ho could filter them, honest and naked, and he saw how Gi Hun blushed.

—Come on. Let's go to my room before the neighbors see us through the window.

In Ho followed Gi Hun down the hallway—more aware than ever of every detail of the house, of the picture frames on the walls, of the lavender smell that seemed to permeate everything—until they reached his room.

The room where last night they'd kissed for the first time.

Gi Hun closed the door behind them, and suddenly the space felt very small and very intimate.

—So...—Gi Hun began, moving toward his desk where he had his laptop open—. How was the gym?

—Terrible. The trainer killed me because I was late.—In Ho sat on the edge of the bed without thinking, then realized where he was and stiffened—. Is it weird that I'm sitting on your bed?

Gi Hun laughed, and the sound made something in In Ho's chest relax.

—In Ho, last night we were here kissing. I think sitting on my bed is fine.

—You're right.—In Ho relaxed a little—. And you? How's your day going?

—Well...—Gi Hun looked at his laptop with a guilty expression—. Technically I should be in a class right now.

In Ho blinked.

—What?

—I have Literary Analysis class at eleven. But...—Gi Hun shrugged, a mischievous smile appearing on his face—. The truth is I wasn't concentrating anyway. I kept thinking about... you know.

—About...?

—About you. About last night. About everything.

In Ho felt his cheeks warm.

—Wait, you skipped a class for me?

—Technically, yes.

—Gi Hun.

—What? It's just one class.—Gi Hun rolled his chair closer, until his knees almost touched In Ho's—. I can watch the recording later. It's not a big deal.

—Your mom's going to kill me if she finds out I'm making you miss classes.

—You're not making me do anything.—Gi Hun reached out, touching In Ho's hand shyly—. I decided. Because I wanted to see you too.

In Ho looked at their intertwined hands, still unable to completely believe this was his life now. That he could do this—touch Gi Hun, be close to him, have him—without having to hide or pretend.

Well, they still had to hide. But at least when they were alone...

—What are you thinking?—Gi Hun asked softly.

—That I can't believe this is real.

—Me neither.—Gi Hun squeezed his hand—. I keep waiting to wake up and realize it was all a very elaborate dream.

In Ho leaned forward, closing the distance between them until their foreheads almost touched.

—It's not a dream.

—No—Gi Hun agreed, his breath brushing In Ho's lips—. It's not.

They stayed like that for a moment, so close that In Ho could count Gi Hun's eyelashes, could see the small golden flecks in his brown eyes, could feel the heat radiating from his skin.

—Can I kiss you?—In Ho asked, his voice barely a whisper.

—Please.

This time was different from last night. Without the panic of almost being discovered, without the vertigo of the adrenaline from climbing windows. This kiss was slow and sweet, exploratory, as if they had all the time in the world.

Gi Hun's hands found In Ho's neck, fingers sliding through his hair still damp with sweat. In Ho put his hands on the armrests of Gi Hun's chair, leaning in more, deepening the kiss until they were both breathless.

And then In Ho felt how his body reacted in a completely involuntary and mortifying way. Heat concentrated in his lower abdomen, and shit, shit, shit—this couldn't be happening now.

He pulled away abruptly, too quickly, almost losing his balance.

—Are you okay?—Gi Hun asked, his voice worried, with lips still swollen from the kiss.

—Yes, I... yes.—In Ho straightened up, crossing his hands over his lap as discreetly as possible, feeling how his face burned—. I just needed... air.

Gi Hun looked at him with those eyes that saw too much, and In Ho prayed internally that he wouldn't notice how obvious his... situation probably was.

—In Ho—Gi Hun said softly, and there was something in his tone that made In Ho want the earth to swallow him—. It's okay. You don't have to be embarrassed.

In Ho felt his whole face turn red.

—I'm not... it's not that...—he stammered, unable to form a coherent sentence.

—It's normal—Gi Hun continued, and now there was a small smile on his lips, not mocking but... tender?—. We literally just finished kissing. It would be weird if it didn't happen.

—It's still embarrassing—In Ho muttered, still unable to look at him directly.

—Why? I like knowing that... you know. That I affect you like that.

In Ho finally looked up, meeting Gi Hun's eyes. There was honesty there, and something that looked like satisfaction, and zero judgment.

—It doesn't... bother you?

—Bother me?—Gi Hun laughed softly—. In Ho, you just kissed me breathless. Why would it bother me to know you enjoyed it as much as I did?

—When you put it like that it sounds less humiliating.

—Because it's not humiliating.—Gi Hun reached out, taking In Ho's hand—. It's just... we're teenagers. Things happen. It's okay.

In Ho let out a nervous laugh, feeling how the tension in his shoulders loosened a bit.

—You're incredibly understanding for someone who just witnessed my most embarrassing moment.

—Oh, trust me, this isn't going to be your most embarrassing moment.—Gi Hun smiled mischievously—. We have plenty of time for you to do more embarrassing things.

—Thanks for the vote of confidence.

—You're welcome.

They stayed like that for a moment, hands intertwined, the initial awkwardness transforming into something warmer and more familiar.

—Although...—Gi Hun added, with that same mischievous smile—. Maybe next time we should have a conversation about... boundaries and those things. Before it gets more intense.

In Ho nodded, grateful for the practical suggestion in the midst of his mortification.

—Yes. Definitely. We should... talk about that.

—But not now—Gi Hun said quickly—. Now I just want to be with you. Is it okay if we just... stay here for a while?

In Ho noticed something in Gi Hun's voice, a small hesitation that hadn't been there before.

—Are you sure you're okay?—he asked, squeezing his hand gently.

Gi Hun nodded, but there was something in his expression that In Ho couldn't completely decipher. A shadow of something—worry? Insecurity?

—It's just...—Gi Hun began, then stopped, biting his lip—. Sometimes I wonder if I'll be able to... you know.

—Be able to what?

Gi Hun made a vague gesture with his free hand, his cheeks coloring slightly.

—Reciprocate. That way. The doctors said I probably couldn't... that my body doesn't work the same now.

In Ho felt something in his chest tighten as he understood what Gi Hun meant.

—Gi Hun...

—It's not something we have to talk about now—Gi Hun said quickly, forcing a smile—. I just wanted you to know that... that maybe I can't react like you just did. And it's okay if that's a problem.

—It's not a problem.—In Ho responded immediately, with more firmness than he expected—. Gi Hun, look at me.

Gi Hun looked up, and there was vulnerability in his eyes that made In Ho want to hug him and never let go.

—I don't care—In Ho said, honest and direct—. That's not... that's not why I'm here. I'm here because I like you. All of you. And I don't know much about how all this works, but I know I want to be with you. And if that means we have to learn together how your body works now, then we'll learn together. Okay?

Gi Hun blinked rapidly, and for a moment In Ho thought he was going to cry, but then a small and genuine smile appeared on his face.

—Okay—he whispered—. Thank you.

—You don't have to thank me for not being an idiot.

Gi Hun laughed, and the tension in the air dissipated a little.

—Still. Thank you.

In Ho leaned in and gave him a soft kiss on the forehead.

—When you're ready to talk about this—really talk—let me know. But there's no rush. We have time.

—Time—Gi Hun repeated, as if the word were something precious—. Yes. We have time.

—It's perfect.

When they finally separated, Gi Hun was smiling like an idiot.

—Definitely not a dream.

In Ho laughed, resting his forehead against Gi Hun's.

—Definitely not.

—Although...—Gi Hun paused, wrinkling his nose—. You do smell pretty gym-like.

—Hey.—In Ho gave him a playful nudge—. You said it was okay.

—It is okay. I'm just saying that maybe next time you could shower first.

—Next time?

—Yes.—Gi Hun looked at him with those eyes that made In Ho melt—. Next time you decide to show up at my house in broad daylight skipping classes just to see me.

—I didn't skip classes. I was already done.

—Still. You came straight here.

—Yes—In Ho admitted—. I came straight here.

—Good.—Gi Hun smiled, stealing another quick kiss—. I like when you come straight here.

And there, in the midday light filtering through the curtains, with the world continuing outside without knowing anything about what was happening inside that room, In Ho thought that maybe—just maybe—everything was going to be okay.

Although they probably should figure out how to do this without Gi Hun continuing to miss classes.

But that could wait.

For now, this was enough.

Later that night, after In Ho had gone home and Gi Hun had dinner with his mother in a slightly uncomfortable silence, In Ho found himself in the kitchen again.

Jun Ho had come down for a glass of water, dragging his favorite teddy bear and with hair standing in all directions. He was wearing his dinosaur pajamas and had puffy eyes from recent sleep.

—Hyung—he said in a baby voice, rubbing his eyes—. Why are you awake?

—I couldn't sleep, Jun Ho-yah—In Ho responded, feeling how his heart softened seeing his little brother—. What are you doing awake?

—I'm thirsty.

—Come here, I'll get you water.

Jun Ho nodded, dragging a chair to sit at the table while In Ho served him a glass of water.

—Thank you, hyung—Jun Ho said, drinking slowly.

In Ho sat across from him, watching him. Jun Ho had that drowsy expression he got when he was halfway between awake and asleep.

—Hyung, did you see the neighbor, the one in the wheelchair?—Jun Ho suddenly asked.

In Ho tensed slightly.

—What?

—The boy who lives there—Jun Ho pointed vaguely toward the window—. The one who healed me when I fell. I like him. He's nice.

—Ah. Gi Hun.

—Yes! Gi Hun-hyung.—Jun Ho smiled with that sleepy smile—. Can we go visit him? I want to show him my new dinosaur.

In Ho felt his heart melt and race at the same time.

—Maybe later. He's probably sleeping now, we can't bother him.

—Why are you smiling like that?—Jun Ho asked, observing him with that unfiltered curiosity of five-year-olds.

—Like what?

—Like that, weird. Like when my mom makes me pancakes... and I feel very happy.

In Ho couldn't help but laugh.

—I'm just happy, Jun Ho-yah.

—Ah. Okay.—Jun Ho finished his water, completely satisfied with that explanation.

—Come on, I'll take you back to bed.

Jun Ho nodded, letting In Ho carry him back upstairs. He was light, weighed almost nothing, and clung to In Ho with that absolute trust that only small children have.

When In Ho put him in his bed and tucked him in, Jun Ho murmured half asleep:

—Gi Hun-hyung is nice. I like him.

—I like him too—In Ho whispered, unable to help it.

—I know—Jun Ho murmured, already almost asleep—. You look happy when you talk about him.

In Ho froze, but Jun Ho was already fast asleep, hugging his teddy bear.

He left the room quietly and returned to his own, with his heart beating harder than normal.

Jun Ho knew. Or at least sensed something.

But instead of feeling panic, In Ho felt a strange warmth. Jun Ho had seen him happy. And that... that was a good thing.

He lay down in his bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking about Gi Hun sleeping across the street.

He had a boyfriend.

He had a boyfriend who made him smile like an idiot.

He had a boyfriend whose mother suspected something was going on.

He had a boyfriend and a father who couldn't find out.

He had a boyfriend and had no idea how they were going to make this work.

But for the first time in a long time, In Ho wanted something that had nothing to do with honoring his mother's memory or meeting his father's expectations or being the perfect son.

He wanted this. He wanted Gi Hun. He wanted to figure out what it felt like to be with someone who made him feel alive in a completely new way.

And that terrified and excited him in equal parts.

He closed his eyes, letting exhaustion finally catch up with him, with a small smile on his lips.

Tomorrow would be another day. Another day to figure out how to navigate this.

But for now, in the darkness of his room, with the memory of Gi Hun's lips still fresh in his memory, In Ho allowed himself to simply feel.

Feel happiness.

Feel hope.

Feel that, maybe, everything was going to be okay.

To be continued...

Chapter Text

Capítulo 7: Diamantes 

Three days after In Ho showed up sweaty at his door, Gi Hun still couldn't concentrate on anything.

It had been three days of constant messages but without seeing each other in person—In Ho trapped studying for the police academy entrance exams that had him reviewing late into the night, Gi Hun busy with projects from his own classes that required his full attention. But even without seeing each other, In Ho's presence was constant on his phone: good morning messages, photos of his criminology notes with complaints about difficult practice tests, selfies taken at the library with pronounced dark circles under his eyes, goodnight messages that arrived later and later as exam week progressed.

He was in a meeting with Jung Bae and Sang Woo—they tried to meet twice a month to update their lives—sitting in the backyard of Gi Hun's house. Jung Bae was talking animatedly about his new girlfriend and how their first date had gone, gesturing with his hands as he described some detail that was apparently very important. Sang Woo was sharing anecdotes from the university where he studied Business Administration, something about a particularly difficult professor and a group project that was driving him crazy.

Gi Hun should be listening. Normally he would—these monthly meetings were important to him, one of the few constants in his life that didn't revolve around doctors or physical therapy. But that day he couldn't stop looking toward the window of the house next door.

House 457. In Ho's room specifically, although from this angle he could only see a portion of the window. There was no visible movement, just the slightly open curtains and the reflection of the afternoon sun against the glass. Even so, Gi Hun looked. Because he knew In Ho was there, probably in his bed or at his desk, perhaps also looking toward this garden, toward him.

He had seen him peek briefly through the window a few minutes ago—just a moment, a second where their eyes met across the distance—and that had been enough to make him nervous again. His heart was still beating a little faster from the memory, a constant drumming in his chest that had nothing to do with the afternoon heat.

—...and then I told him no, that I definitely wasn't going to do that— Jung Bae was saying, finishing some story that Gi Hun had completely missed.

Out of nowhere, his phone vibrated against his thigh. Gi Hun grabbed it so fast he almost dropped it.

In Ho (2:47 PM): "How's your meeting going?"

An involuntary smile spread across Gi Hun's face. He took his phone with what he hoped was discretion, leaning slightly as if he were adjusting something in his chair.

Gi Hun (2:48 PM): "Good but it would've been better with you..."

He sent the message before thinking too much about how cheesy it sounded. Lately he did that a lot—said things he would have previously considered too direct, too revealing. But with In Ho it was different. With In Ho he wanted to be direct.

—Gi Hun, are you listening?— Sang Woo's voice pulled him out of his reverie like a bucket of cold water.

Gi Hun looked up quickly, finding Sang Woo looking at him with a raised eyebrow—that "I know exactly what you're doing" expression—and Jung Bae with a stupid smile on his face that promised imminent teasing.

—Yes, sorry. What were you saying?

—I was saying if we're going to the movies next week.— Sang Woo crossed his arms, still with that analytical look that Gi Hun knew too well—. But clearly your attention is elsewhere.

—No, no. I'm listening.— Gi Hun put his phone face down on his lap, trying to seem present—. Movies. Yes, sounds excellent. It's been a while since I've been to the movies.

—Perfect. Jung Bae, do you agree?

Jung Bae kept looking at Gi Hun with that smile that said he was enjoying this situation too much.

—Yeah, yeah, sounds excellent to me.

—Good, we'll go to the movies and we'll watch a horror film and it's not up for discussion.— Sang Woo leaned forward, narrowing his eyes—. Did you hear that, Gi Hun? Or do I need to repeat it for the fifth time?

Gi Hun's phone vibrated again in his hand, and this time he couldn't contain the impulse to check it immediately.

In Ho (2:51 PM): "I'd rather be with you too"

In Ho (2:52 PM): "When are you done?"

Gi Hun's heart did that stupid thing where it seemed to jump inside his chest. His fingers moved quickly over the screen.

Gi Hun (2:53 PM): "In an hour, maybe less if Sang Woo stops talking about his major and wanting to go to the movies"

—Gi Hun.

Sang Woo's voice had that warning tone now. Gi Hun looked up again, and this time he couldn't hide his guilty expression.

—Yes?

—Fourth time I'm asking you something.— Sang Woo crossed his arms completely now, adopting that older brother posture he used when he was about to give a lecture—. What's wrong with you today? You're worse than when you started dating him.

Jung Bae leaned forward with that smile that meant trouble.

—I know what's wrong with him. It's the mysterious neighbor, right?

Gi Hun felt how his cheeks heated up, the warmth rising up his neck to his ears. Shit.

—I don't know what you're talking about.

—Please.— Sang Woo rolled his eyes with that "don't underestimate me" expression—. Gi Hun, I've known you since we were eight years old. And since that time at the ice cream shop when you told me about In Ho, you've been acting like a romantic drama character.

Jung Bae almost spat out his drink, coughing a little as he processed that information.

—Wait, In Ho? The neighbor next door? The one who goes to the gym with Gong Yoo?

—Yes...— Gi Hun said the word as if he were admitting to a crime.

—What? It's true. I've seen him leave for the gym. That guy is...— Jung Bae made a gesture with his hands that supposedly described something but only managed to make Sang Woo laugh—. You know. He's fine.

—The point is— Sang Woo interrupted, returning his attention completely to Gi Hun with that look that meant he wasn't going to let this go—, that you've been walking around for days with that lovestruck idiot face. Did something happen between you two?

Gi Hun looked at his phone, where In Ho's last message was still on the screen, the words glowing accusingly. He could lie. He could keep evading. But these were Sang Woo and Jung Bae. His best friends since childhood. If he couldn't trust them, who could he trust?

—Something like that.

—Something like that?— Jung Bae moved closer, his chair squeaking against the garden floor—. Gi Hun, you have to give us more than that. The last time we heard about In Ho was like a month ago when you told me he stopped talking to you for days and you looked like death.

Gi Hun remembered those days. The silence that had felt like abandonment, the anxiety that had kept him awake, the certainty that he had ruined something before it really began.

He let out a long sigh, resigning himself to the inevitable.

—Okay. Yes, something happened. In Ho and I... we're... together. Officially.

The silence that followed was deafening. The birds kept singing, the wind kept blowing, but in their small circle in the garden, everything had frozen.

—TOGETHER together?— Jung Bae was the first to react, his voice rising an octave—. Like boyfriends?

Gi Hun nodded, feeling how his heart beat faster just from saying it out loud. It was the first time he said it like that, so directly. "Boyfriends." The word felt strange on his tongue but also right in a way that scared him.

—For a few days now.

—I knew it!— Sang Woo hit the table triumphantly, making the glasses tremble—. I knew you'd eventually stop beating around the bush and do something about it. I told you weeks ago.

—Wait, wait.— Jung Bae raised his hands as if trying to stop traffic—. Since when? How did it happen? Why didn't you tell us before? I need all the details.

—Because... it's new. Very new.— Gi Hun played with his phone, spinning it between his fingers nervously—. And I didn't want to... I don't know, ruin it by saying it out loud.

—Ruin it how?— asked Sang Woo, his tone softer now, concerned instead of mocking.

—Make it real. If I don't tell anyone, then if it goes wrong, it's not... it's not as embarrassing.

Sang Woo exchanged a look with Jung Bae. It was one of those looks they shared when they were worried about Gi Hun, when they knew there was something deeper beneath the surface.

—Gi Hun— said Sang Woo carefully, as if walking on broken glass—. Does anyone else know?

Gi Hun shook his head, looking at his phone instead of at his friends. It was easier that way.

—No. Just you guys.

—Your mom?

—No. And she can't know. At least not yet.

Sang Woo exchanged another look with Jung Bae. There was something in Gi Hun's tone that sounded heavier than it should.

—Why not?— asked Jung Bae, leaning forward—. I mean, I know it can be awkward to talk to parents about these things, but eventually...

—It's not just awkward.— Gi Hun finally looked up—. It's that... she already has enough to worry about, you know? Her job, the bills, me. I don't want to give her one more thing to stress about.

—Or are you afraid of how she'll react?— asked Sang Woo, direct as always.

Gi Hun shrugged, which was answer enough.

—Look, your mom adores you— said Jung Bae—. She'll probably be glad you're happy.

—Or she'll worry that I'll get hurt again.— The words came out more bitter than Gi Hun intended—. Like last time.

Sang Woo sighed. There it was. Minhyuk, the ghost that always appeared in these conversations.

—In Ho isn't Minhyuk— he said firmly.

—I know.

—Do you? Because you sound like you're waiting for In Ho to do the same thing.

Gi Hun didn't respond immediately. He sat staring at his hands on his legs, trying to find the right words.

—It's not that. It's just that... Minhyuk was right about some things. Dating me is complicated. Dates have to be in accessible places, I can't do spontaneous things, everything always has to be planned...

—What about In Ho's family?— Jung Bae interrupted, clearly trying to change the subject before Gi Hun sank deeper into his insecurities—. Do they know?

Gi Hun shook his head.

—His dad can't find out. He's very strict with him.

—How strict?— asked Sang Woo.

Gi Hun thought about the things In Ho had told him in a low voice, almost like confessions. About the expectations, the pressure, the weight of being the perfect son.

—He's a cop. Very traditional. He has this whole... vision of who In Ho should be. Police academy, following in his footsteps, being a certain type of man.— Gi Hun made a vague gesture—. In Ho says if his father finds out, he'll probably forbid it. Or worse, force him to choose between the academy and... me.

—Shit— murmured Jung Bae.

—Yeah.

Sang Woo was thoughtful for a moment, drumming his fingers against the table in that pattern he made when processing information.

—So basically you two are in a completely secret relationship. Nobody can know. You have to hide constantly.

—Basically.

—That sounds... exhausting.

—It is.— Gi Hun felt something tighten in his chest—. But In Ho is worth it. I think. I hope.

—You think or you hope?— pressed Sang Woo—. Because those are two very different things.

Gi Hun looked at him, frustrated with himself more than with Sang Woo.

—I don't know, Sang Woo. Okay? We've barely been officially something for a few days. I don't have all the answers. I just know that when I'm with him I feel... normal. Like I'm just Gi Hun, not "Gi Hun in a wheelchair" or "Gi Hun with a disability." Just Gi Hun.

Sang Woo's expression softened immediately.

—Okay. That's good. That's really good.

—But also— continued Gi Hun, needing to say this out loud, needing someone else to know the fear that kept him awake some nights—, I'm also scared all the time. That his dad will find out. That my mom will find out. That In Ho will realize this is too complicated and...

—And he'll leave you— Jung Bae completed softly.

—Yes.

The three of them stayed silent for a moment. The sound of the garden filled the space—birds singing in the trees, wind dragging dry leaves, the distant noise of cars passing on the street. It was one of those comfortable silences that only exists between people who've known each other for years, who don't need to fill every second with words.

—Has In Ho made you feel that way?— Jung Bae finally asked—. Like you're a burden? Like this is too much for him?

—No. Not at all. He's... he's amazing.— Gi Hun felt how an involuntary smile spread across his face despite everything, despite the fear and anxiety—. He's sweet and awkward and gets nervous about everything. He treats me like... like I'm important. Like I'm worth all the effort.

—Then the problem isn't In Ho— said Sang Woo—. The problem is you and your head that won't stop inventing catastrophic scenarios.

Gi Hun wanted to protest, but he knew Sang Woo was right. His brain was expert at taking perfectly good situations and finding all the ways they could go wrong.

—It's okay to be scared— added Sang Woo, his tone softer now—. This is new and complicated and there's a lot at stake. But you can't let fear ruin something good before it really has a chance to flourish.

—Very poetic— joked Jung Bae, trying to lighten the mood.

—Shut up. I'm having a wisdom moment here.

All three laughed, and the tension that had been hanging over them broke like a bubble. Gi Hun felt he could breathe a little easier.

—So, how did all this happen?— asked Jung Bae, clearly wanting juicier details—. When did it become official? Was there a big romantic confession? Did it rain? Was there dramatic background music?

Gi Hun blushed, feeling the heat rise up his neck again.

—It wasn't that dramatic. A few days ago he... he came over after the gym. We talked. We kissed. And we decided we wanted to try this.

—How was it?— asked Jung Bae with a mischievous smile—. The kiss, I mean. I need to know if it was as epic as I've been imagining in my head.

—Jung Bae—

—What? I'm curious. Besides, after weeks of watching you suffer over this guy, I deserve details.

Gi Hun couldn't help but smile, remembering that moment. The nervousness, the awkwardness, the way everything had fit together despite being a mess.

—It was... good. Very good. Awkward at first, but good.

—And since then?

—We've talked every day. We see each other when we can. It's... it's nice. Different. Good different.

Sang Woo observed him with that look that meant he was analyzing every word, every gesture, reading between the lines as he always did.

—You look happy— he finally said—. Nervous and scared, yes, but also happy. I hadn't seen you like this in a long time.

Gi Hun felt something warm in his chest, something that expanded and made everything feel a little less heavy.

—He makes me happy. In Ho makes me happy.

—Then that's what matters— said Jung Bae simply—. The rest... the rest you'll figure out when the time comes.

—Look, I'm not going to lie and say it'll be easy. Having a secret relationship never is.— Sang Woo leaned back in his chair, and Gi Hun noticed how his expression became more serious, more thoughtful—. But if In Ho is willing to take the risk, and you are too, then maybe it's worth it.

—What if his dad finds out and forces him to break up with me?

The question came out smaller than Gi Hun intended, almost like a child asking about monsters under the bed. But it was his biggest fear, the one that kept him awake some nights when he should be sleeping.

—Then you'll deal with it when it happens.— Jung Bae shrugged with that calmness only he could have about complicated situations—. But you can't live in fear of what might happen, Gi Hun. That'll only ruin what you have now.

Gi Hun knew they were right. Logically, rationally, he knew that living in constant anxiety about the future would only poison the present. But saying it was easier than doing it. His brain didn't work that way—it was always three steps ahead, imagining all the possible scenarios where everything fell apart.

His phone vibrated again, pulling him out of his mental spiral.

In Ho (3:12 PM): "Are you done with your friends yet?"

In Ho (3:13 PM): "I want to see you"

Gi Hun felt how his heart flipped, that kind of sensation that was half excitement, half nervousness. I want to see you. Three simple words that made his whole body react as if In Ho had said something much more significant.

—And there goes that face again— commented Sang Woo, but this time his tone was warmer, less mocking—. Definitely In Ho.

Gi Hun didn't deny it this time. There was no point. His face was probably doing that stupid thing where it automatically lit up at seeing In Ho's messages, like a silly teenager. Which, well, technically he was still a silly young adult, so it wasn't that far off.

Gi Hun (3:14 PM): "Free in half an hour"

He'd barely pressed send when the response arrived almost immediately.

In Ho (3:15 PM): "Perfect. I'm coming over"

Gi Hun laughed nervously, a sound that came out higher than he intended. Sang Woo and Jung Bae looked at him with expressions that clearly said "you're hopelessly in love and it's obvious and a little pathetic but also adorable."

—Okay, okay.— Jung Bae raised his hands in surrender, starting to pick up his glass of lemonade—. We get the hint. We're leaving.

—You don't have to leave— protested Gi Hun, though honestly he did want them to leave. Not because he didn't want them there, but because the idea of having thirty minutes alone with In Ho was much more attractive than any conversation, however important it might be.

—Yes we do have to leave.— Sang Woo started gathering his things with that characteristic efficiency of his, putting his notebook in his backpack, finishing his drink in one gulp—. Your boyfriend is coming and you clearly prefer to be with him than with us. We're not offended.

—Well, I'm a little offended— joked Jung Bae, but he was getting up too, stretching his arms above his head with an exaggerated yawn—. But I understand. Young love and all that. I remember when I was your age and... ah, wait. I'm your age. And I still understand because my girlfriend is just as intense.

—It's not...— Gi Hun started to protest, but stopped. It was useless. Yes, it was intense. Everything about what he felt for In Ho was intense in a way that scared him a little—. Okay, fine. Thanks for coming. And for... you know. For listening. For not judging.

—Always— said Sang Woo, and there was something genuine in his tone that made Gi Hun feel a lump in his throat—. But seriously, Gi Hun. Be careful. Not with In Ho necessarily, but with... everything. It's a complicated situation.

—I know.

—And if you need help, or if things get difficult, you tell us. Okay?

—Okay.

Gi Hun watched them leave, Jung Bae patting him on the shoulder as he passed, Sang Woo with that look that was half concern, half pride. He heard the front door close, then the silence of the garden staying alone with him and his thoughts.

In half an hour, In Ho would be here.

Gi Hun looked toward the window of house 457 again, wondering if In Ho was looking at him too. Wondering what he was thinking. If he was as nervous as him, if his heart was also beating too fast over something as simple as seeing each other on a Wednesday afternoon.

Probably yes. In Ho was always nervous. It was one of the things Gi Hun found most endearing about him—that constant vulnerability, that honesty about his own fears and insecurities.

Chapter Text

Capítulo #8 Huracanes 

Gi Hun (10:47 AM): "Are you still coming after the gym?"

In Ho (10:48 AM): "Yes, leaving in 10 minutes"

In Ho (10:49 AM): "I'll come in through the back garden, like we said"

In Ho (10:50 AM): "Less obvious if someone sees us"

Gi Hun (10:51 AM): "Okay. The door is open"

Gi Hun (10:52 AM): "I'm nervous"

In Ho (10:53 AM): "Me too"

In Ho (10:54 AM): "But we're going to be fine"

In Ho arrived exactly when he said he would. Gi Hun saw him approaching through the back garden from his bedroom window—still in his gym clothes, hair damp from the shower, his backpack hanging from one shoulder. He moved quickly but trying not to look suspicious, occasionally glancing toward the windows of house 457 as if fearing his father was watching him.

Gi Hun felt his pulse quicken as he watched. There was something surreal about all of this—seeing In Ho cross the garden like they were teenagers hiding a forbidden relationship. Which, technically, was exactly what they were doing. His father didn't know. In Ho's friends didn't either, except Jung-bae and SangWoo, the only friends of Gi-hun, apparently now. It was their secret, their private world that existed in the spaces between houses, in midnight text messages, in the glances they shared when no one else was paying attention.

He had already opened the glass sliding door that led to the garden. In Ho entered quietly, closing the door behind him and drawing the curtains in one fluid movement. They stood like that for a second—In Ho still by the door, Gi Hun a few meters away in his chair, both aware that once they started this conversation, there would be no turning back.

The light filtering through the curtains was soft, golden, the kind that only exists on autumn mornings. The room smelled of Gi Hun's body lotion—something with lavender that his mom had bought him, insisting it was good for circulation. In Ho still smelled of gym soap and clean sweat, that scent Gi Hun had come to associate with safety, with home.

—I brought something— In Ho finally said, breaking the silence as he set his backpack on the floor. His voice sounded calmer than he probably felt. Gi Hun could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers gripped the backpack straps a little too tightly. 

—What?— Gi Hun asked, curious.

In Ho pulled out a blue spiral notebook from his backpack, holding it carefully.

—I spent all afternoon researching— In Ho explained in a low voice—. After our last conversation, after everything we talked about... I kept thinking about everything I don't understand, all the questions I have. So I researched. And took notes.

Gi Hun looked at the notebook, speechless for a moment.

—You researched...?

—About your condition. About spinal cord injuries, about sensitivity, about everything I need to understand to be what you need me to be.— In Ho extended the notebook toward him—. I want you to see it. Everything.

Gi Hun felt something tighten in his chest. No one had ever done something like this for him before. Never.

—Did you read them all?— In Ho asked, and there was something vulnerable in his voice now, as if he feared Gi Hun had found them invasive or too much.

—Yes. Everything. Every word.

—And?— In Ho took a step forward, then stopped, as if unsure whether to approach or give him space—. And what... what do you think?

Gi Hun didn't respond immediately. He didn't know what to say. There was no way to explain how he had sat in the darkness, reading message after message, feeling something in his chest he hadn't felt in years—hope, maybe, or the possibility of being truly seen.

Instead of speaking, he moved his chair toward In Ho, closing the distance between them. The sound of the wheels on the wooden floor was the only noise in the room. When he was close enough—so close he could see the water droplets still in In Ho's hair, so close he could count his eyelashes, so close he could see the small mole near his ear that always made him want to touch it—he extended his hand.

—Show me. The complete notebook. I want to see everything.

In Ho sat on the floor in front of Gi Hun's chair—something he did often, Gi Hun had noticed, as if he liked being at the same visual height, as if it mattered to him that their eyes met without Gi Hun having to look up. He took the notebook from his backpack with slightly trembling hands.

It was a simple notebook, blue spiral, probably from some school supply store. Nothing special. The corners were already a bit bent, as if In Ho had been carrying it in his backpack, taking it out and putting it back repeatedly. But when In Ho opened it directly to the first page of notes and passed it to him, Gi Hun realized this was the most valuable thing anyone had given him in years.

Gi Hun had already seen the summaries by message, but this was different. This was page after page of In Ho's tight handwriting, diagrams with arrows connecting concepts, medical terms with definitions written in the margins, questions marked with asterisks and exclamation points. There were parts written in blue ink, others in black ink, some in pencil—as if In Ho had worked on this at different times, coming back to add things, refining his understanding, erasing and rewriting when he wasn't satisfied with how something sounded.

The first page had a title written in large letters, underlined twice so forcefully the ink had bled: "Things I need to understand about Gi Hun"

Gi Hun ran his finger over the words, feeling the indentations in the paper where In Ho had pressed the pen. There was something sacred about this, about seeing his name written like this, about being the subject of so much care and attention.

Below the title were subsections, each numbered and organized:

1. Type of injury and what it means (for him, not just medically)

2. Sensitivity (where, how much, how, day to day)

3. Sexual function (possibilities, limitations, realities)

4. Communication (what to ask, how to ask, when to ask)

5. Common fears (his, mine, how to navigate them together)

6. Practical things (transfers, mobility, difficult days)

7. Emotional things (trauma, Minhyuk, self-esteem, fear of abandonment)

And then, in the margins, in smaller, tighter handwriting, almost as if In Ho had been writing for himself in a moment of panic or doubt:

"How do I ask about sensitivity without sounding invasive or like I'm reducing everything to the physical?"

"What if I touch him and he doesn't feel anything? Will he feel bad? Will I feel bad? How do I handle that without my reaction being noticeable?"

"How do I make him feel safe to tell me if something doesn't work without it seeming like I'm expecting him to fail?"

"What if I accidentally hurt him because I don't understand how his body works? What if I do something that triggers a bad memory?"

"How do I show that this isn't morbid curiosity but genuine love?"

Gi Hun felt something tighten in his chest. These weren't just medical notes. They were In Ho's concerns, his fears, his love, written in blue and black ink between the clinical information. It was In Ho trying to understand not just the what but the how and the why, trying to anticipate not just the physical limitations but the emotional impact of everything.

—Keep reading— In Ho said softly, watching Gi Hun's face attentively—. There's more. Much more.

Gi Hun continued, his vision starting to blur but refusing to blink because he didn't want to miss a single word, a single note, a single thought.

The second page had more technical information, but even here, In Ho's voice came through the clinical definitions:

Incomplete Paraplegia:

- Partial preservation of sensory/motor function

- Every case is DIFFERENT (he had underlined this three times)

- Don't assume anything based on general statistics or "typical cases"

- ALWAYS ASK, never guess

- "Incomplete" means there's hope, there's function, there's MORE than people assume.

- May be reduced, NOT necessarily absent (this is important—he FEELS)

- "Muffled" - like through cotton or a wall (I need to understand what this means for him specifically)

- Can vary day to day, even hour to hour

- Some areas feel more than others (we need to map this together, with patience)

- Important: map together which areas respond better, what feels good vs what feels neutral vs what doesn't feel

- The fact that sensitivity is reduced does NOT mean desire doesn't exist

- Mind and body aren't always synchronized—this can be frustrating for him

Sexual Function:

- Erections: possible but unpredictable (this is NOT a failure if it doesn't happen)

- Reflexogenic (direct physical stimulus) - more likely

- Psychogenic (mental arousal) - more difficult with SCI but NOT impossible

- May be partial, may not occur every time

- Does NOT mean lack of desire (repeat this until I understand it viscerally)

- Ejaculation: possible but not guaranteed

- Orgasm: may be different, may be "phantom" (psychological sensation without complete physical response)

- IMPORTANT: intimacy is not defined only by erections or ejaculation

- Pleasure exists in many forms—I need to expand my definition of "success"

In Ho had underlined several times, so forcefully he had almost torn the paper: "Different does NOT mean broken. Different does NOT mean less valid. Different does NOT mean less pleasurable."

And below, in pencil, as if unsure whether to leave it but needing to write it: "If he can learn to love his body as it is, I can too. If he can be brave, I can too."

Gi Hun had to stop there. He closed his eyes, breathing deeply, trying to control the wave of emotion threatening to drown him. The tears came anyway, hot and fast, sliding down his cheeks before he could stop them.

Different doesn't mean broken.

How many years had he spent believing exactly the opposite? How many nights had he spent looking at his body in the bathroom mirror, cataloging everything that no longer worked, everything that was broken, everything that made him less than whole? How many times had he seen pity in other people's eyes—doctors, physical therapists, even his own family sometimes—and had internalized that yes, he was broken, he was damaged, he was less than?

And here was In Ho, with his messy handwriting and his intense underlines and his notes in the margins, telling him he was wrong. Telling him he was different but not broken. That his body was still valid, still capable of pleasure, still worthy of love.

—Gi Hun— In Ho's voice was soft, worried. Gi Hun felt a hand on his knee, warm even through the reduced sensitivity—. Gi Hun, look at me. Please.

Gi Hun opened his eyes. In Ho had moved closer, kneeling now instead of just sitting, his face full of concern and something else—something that looked like his own fear, his own vulnerability.

—Is it too much?— In Ho asked, his voice barely a whisper—. Did I go too far? I know maybe it's invasive, maybe it's too much, I just... needed to understand. I needed to know. But if it's too much, if it makes you feel uncomfortable or exposed or—

—No.— Gi Hun shook his head, wiping his tears with the back of his hand—. It's not too much. It's... it's perfect. You're perfect. I just...

He couldn't finish the sentence. He didn't have the words.

—Keep reading— In Ho said softly, gently squeezing his knee—. There's more. I want you to see everything.

Gi Hun turned to the third page with trembling hands. This one had testimonials that In Ho had copied from forums, carefully transcribed by hand instead of printed, as if the act of writing them had helped him process them:

"The most important thing is communication. TALK about what you feel, what works, what doesn't work. Telepathy doesn't exist. Be specific, be honest, be patient with yourselves and with each other."

"My value as a partner isn't tied to whether my penis works or not. It took me years to understand that. Years of feeling less than, of feeling I had nothing to offer. But my partner taught me that there are a thousand ways to give and receive pleasure. That intimacy is much more than genitals. That my value as a person, as a lover, comes from who I am, not from what parts of my body work 'normally'."

"With time, patience, and lots of communication with my partner, we discovered that yes, it is possible. It's different, but not impossible. And honestly, the communication it requires, the attention it requires, the intentionality it requires—it made us more intimate than any 'normal' relationship I had before my injury."

"It took me years to accept my body after my injury. Years of hating myself, of avoiding mirrors, of convincing myself that no one could love me like this. But I found someone who loves me exactly as I am. And that made all the difference. Not because they 'fixed' me or because they made my disability disappear. But because they saw me—really saw me—and chose me anyway. They chose me not despite my disability, but with it. As part of who I am."

Next to each testimonial, In Ho had added his own notes:

"Constant communication—make this a priority from the start"

"Expand my definition of intimacy and pleasure beyond what I learned in basic heteronormative sex education"

"Ask him what makes him feel valuable, what makes him feel desired—because it's probably not what I assume"

"Treat him as a whole person, not as a disability with person attached"

The fourth page was what finally broke the dam.

A longer testimonial, copied in In Ho's handwriting that became shakier toward the end, as if he had gotten emotional while writing it:

"I spent two years without touching myself after my accident at 16. I was afraid to discover it didn't work, to confirm that part of me was 'broken' permanently. I was afraid to face that loss. It was easier to simply not know, not try. But living in that uncertainty was its own form of torture. Always wondering, always assuming the worst, never giving myself the chance to discover my new reality.

When I finally found the courage to try—with lots of therapy and support from a support group—it wasn't what I expected. It wasn't like before. But it also wasn't nothing. It was something new, something different. And with time, with patience, with exploration, I learned to appreciate my body as it is now, not as what it used to be. I learned that pleasure still exists, just in different forms. That my sexuality still exists, just expressed differently.

The message I want to give others in my situation is this: Give yourself permission to explore. Give yourself permission to try without expectations. Give yourself permission to discover what works for your body now, instead of mourning what worked before. And if you have a partner, let them in. Let them learn with you. Vulnerability is scary, but isolation is worse."

Next to it, In Ho had written in pencil, the words almost erased as if he had doubted whether to leave them, whether it was appropriate, whether it was too personal:

"Does Gi Hun feel like this? How do I ask without pressuring him? How do I show him it's safe to explore, that I'm not going to judge him no matter what we discover?"

And below, in more recent, darker ink, written probably after their conversation last night:

"Last night he told me yes. That he's never touched himself since the accident. That he's too afraid. How do I help him not be afraid? How do I create a space where he feels safe to explore, to try, to fail if necessary, without feeling ashamed?"

And then, underlined, in large letters:

"This isn't about 'fixing' him. It's about loving him. Exactly as he is. Right now."

The tears were falling freely now, thick and hot, falling on the notebook and slightly staining the ink. Gi Hun didn't try to stop them. He couldn't. It was too much—too much tenderness, too much care, too much evidence that someone loved him like this, enough to spend hours researching, enough to write pages of notes, enough to worry not just about the physical but about the emotional, the psychological, the completely human aspect of all of this.

—Gi Hun— In Ho said his name like a prayer, like something precious—. Look at me. Please, look at me.

Gi Hun looked up, finding In Ho's eyes already wet too, shining with unshed tears.

—No one...— Gi Hun's voice broke. He had to stop, swallow the lump in his throat, breathe deeply, try again—. No one had ever done something like this for me before. No one had ever taken the time to... to really try to understand.

In Ho moved closer, his hands finding Gi Hun's knees, resting there with warm and solid weight.

—I wanted to understand. Not just the physical part, but everything. What you feel, what you need, what scares you, what you hope for, what you fear. I wanted... I needed to know how to love you properly. How to be what you need me to be.

—Why?— Gi Hun whispered the question, though he already knew the answer, he needed to hear it anyway—. Why do you care so much?

—Because I love you.— In Ho said it as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, as if there were no other possible reason, as if love were reason enough for everything—. And when you love someone, you want to know them completely. Not just the easy parts. Not just the parts that are simple to understand or comfortable to discuss. Everything. The complicated parts, the scary parts, the parts that require research and difficult conversations and vulnerability.

Gi Hun slowly closed the notebook, holding it against his chest as if it were something sacred, as if it were physical evidence that he was loved, that he was seen, that he mattered.

—I love you too— he whispered, his voice hoarse with emotion—. I love you so much it scares me. Because it means there's more to lose if this doesn't work.

—Or— In Ho said, rising from his position on the floor, kneeling in front of the chair so he could look Gi Hun directly in the eyes, their faces inches apart—. Or it means there's more to gain if it works. More joy, more intimacy, more shared life. More everything.

—What if I disappoint you?— The question came out as a broken whisper—. What if my body doesn't... what if we try and it doesn't work and—

—Hey.— In Ho lifted his hands, holding Gi Hun's face with such tenderness that Gi Hun felt he might break—. Look at me. Really look at me.

Gi Hun did, finding those dark eyes full of an intensity that left him breathless.

—You're not going to disappoint me. Do you hear me? There's no way you can disappoint me. Because I don't have specific expectations of how our sex or intimacy "should" work. I only have the desire to discover it with you. Whatever works for your body, for our bodies together, that's what will be perfect for us.

—But what if—

—If we try something and it doesn't work, we try something else. If your body doesn't respond the way you expect, we explore other ways. If one day is bad, we wait until a better day. There's no scenario where this ends in disappointment because disappointment implies unmet expectations, and my only expectation is that we navigate this together, with honesty and patience.

—Minhyuk didn't...— Gi Hun started, but In Ho interrupted him gently.

—I'm not Minhyuk.— He said it firmly but without anger—. And I need you to believe me when I tell you that. I need you to give me the chance to prove it to you. I'm not asking you to trust me blindly right now—I know that's earned, not given. I'm just asking you to give me the chance. One day at a time. One step at a time.

Gi Hun felt more tears sliding down his cheeks, but In Ho wiped them away with his thumbs, his touches so gentle that Gi Hun barely felt them but felt them anyway, muffled but present, like everything else.

—Promise me something— Gi Hun said, his voice trembling but determined.

—Anything.

—Promise me that if this ever becomes too much, if you realize it's more complicated than you thought, if you get frustrated or tired or just... if you change your mind, you'll tell me. Directly. No white lies, no saying everything's fine when it's not. Promise me honesty, even if it hurts.

In Ho extended his pinky, the childish gesture but somehow perfectly appropriate for the solemnity of the moment.

—I promise. I promise you total honesty. If I feel frustrated, I'll tell you. If I'm confused, I'll tell you. If I need space or time or help processing something, I'll tell you. I'm not going to leave you guessing. I'm not going to accumulate resentment in silence. Constant communication, even when it's uncomfortable.

Gi Hun hooked his pinky with In Ho's, the gesture so simple but loaded with meaning.

—And I promise the same. If I feel like you're pulling away, I'll tell you instead of assuming. If I'm scared or insecure, I'll tell you instead of keeping it to myself. If something feels wrong or good or confusing, I'll tell you. No shutting down, no running away.

—Deal.

They stayed like that for a moment, pinkies intertwined, silent promises floating between them in the golden morning air. And Gi Hun realized that this was the moment—this small gesture, these hooked pinkies, these mutual promises of brutal honesty and constant vulnerability—that would change everything.

Because for the first time in years, he dared to believe that maybe, just maybe, this could work.

In Ho stood up from the floor—his legs a bit sore from kneeling so long—and sat on the bed facing Gi Hun, leaving the notebook between them.

—I have like twenty more questions written here— he said, his voice lighter now, as if trying to lighten the weight of the previous conversation—. Some are clinical, some are personal, some are probably silly. But I think...— he looked at his watch—. I think we need a break first. This is intense, and we've been at it less than an hour and you've already cried three times and I almost cried twice.

Gi Hun laughed through his tears, the sound coming out wet but genuine.

—You almost cried?

—When you read the testimonial part and I saw your face— In Ho admitted, his cheeks blushing slightly—. And when you said no one had done this for you before. I almost lost it there.

Gi Hun smiled, something warm expanding in his chest. The idea that In Ho was also affected by this, that it wasn't just him who was vulnerable and exposed, that this was mutual and shared.

—So what do you suggest?

In Ho got up from the bed, walking to the window and slightly pulling back the curtain to look outside. The morning was clear, sunny, perfect—the kind of October day that made Seoul feel less like a massive city and more like a place where people lived real and happy lives.

—I want to take you on a date.

Gi Hun blinked, completely taken by surprise.

—Now? Right now?

—Yes, now. Well, in an hour. Give me time to go home, shower properly, change out of these sweaty gym clothes. And you too. Wear something nice.

—In Ho, we just had the most intense conversation of our lives and you want to go on a date?

—Exactly why.— In Ho turned to look at him, his eyes shining with something that looked like determination, like hope, like something bright and alive—. We just talked about all the difficult, complicated, scary things. We talked about limitations and fears and trauma and all the heavy things we needed to discuss. Now I want to show you the good things. I want us to have a normal day as a couple. I want to take you somewhere, make you smile, see you happy. Because this—he pointed to the notebook—isn't all we are. It's not all we'll be. We're more than medical conversations and vulnerability and learning to navigate the complicated.

Gi Hun felt his heart race for completely different reasons this time, felt a smile pulling at his lips despite the tears still drying on his cheeks.

—Where do you want to take me?

—It's a surprise.— In Ho smiled, that kind of smile that made Gi Hun forget how to breathe, that kind of smile that promised adventure and joy and all kinds of good things—. But I promise you'll like it. Do you trust me?

Gi Hun thought about the notebook, about the hours In Ho had spent researching, about the promises they had just made with their pinkies intertwined, about the way In Ho looked at him as if he were something precious and valuable and worthy of all this effort.

—Yes— he said, and it surprised him to realize it was true. Also...— he blushed slightly—. I need time to properly plan the surprise part. There are some things I want to arrange.

—In Ho, what are you planning?

—You'll see.— He leaned forward quickly, kissing Gi Hun's forehead with such tenderness that Gi Hun felt his heart might explode—. Wear something nice. But not too formal. Like... comfortable but nice. You know.

—I have no idea what that means.

—It means you look beautiful in anything, so don't worry too much.— And with that, In Ho disappeared through the sliding door, crossing the garden with quick steps, looking back once to wink at Gi Hun before disappearing between the houses.

Gi Hun was left alone in his room, In Ho's notebook still in his lap, his heart still racing, his mind spinning between the emotional intensity of the conversation and the nervous anticipation of what would come next.

He had a date. A real date. With his boyfriend. His boyfriend who had just shown him that love could be patient and educated and gentle and everything Gi Hun had stopped believing existed.

He looked at the clock. 11:15 AM. Three hours to prepare. Three hours to calm his nerves. Three hours to decide what the hell "comfortable but nice" meant.

This was going to be a very long afternoon.

---

At 12 PM, Gi Hun was having an existential crisis in front of his closet.

He had taken out and discarded four different shirts, two pairs of jeans, and was seriously considering calling Sang Woo for fashion advice, which was ridiculous because Sang Woo dressed like a 45-year-old accountant even when just going to the store.

His phone vibrated in his lap, saving him from having to make another decision about clothes.

In Ho (12:02 PM): "How's the preparation going?"

Gi Hun (12:03 PM): "I'm having an existential crisis about what to wear"

In Ho (12:03 PM): "😂"

In Ho (12:04 PM): "Wear that light blue shirt you wore that time when I saw you from my window. The one that makes your eyes look like a sun"

Gi Hun (12:05 PM): "You remember what specific shirt I wear?"

In Ho (12:05 PM): "I remember everything about you"

In Ho (12:06 PM): "Every detail"

In Ho (12:07 PM): "Like how you always bite your lower lip when you're concentrating"

In Ho (12:08 PM): "Or how you make that little sound when you stretch in the morning"

In Ho (12:09 PM): "Or how your smile is different when it's genuine vs when you're being polite"

Gi Hun (12:10 PM): "Okay I get it"

Gi Hun (12:11 PM): "You're observant"

In Ho (12:11 PM): "Only with you"

In Ho (12:12 PM): "With you I pay attention to everything"

Gi Hun felt heat rising up his neck, spreading across his cheeks. Even after all the intensity of this morning, In Ho still managed to make him blush with simple text messages.

He found the blue shirt—a soft cotton button-down, long-sleeved, that did indeed make his eyes more bright as the sun  . He put it on with dark jeans that were a bit worn but in the intentional way that looked good, not careless. Nothing too formal but not too casual either.

He looked at himself in the mirror, running his hands through his hair that never fully cooperated but today seemed to be behaving better than usual. He looked... good. Nervous, definitely, but good. His eyes were still a bit red from crying this morning, but hopefully it wouldn't be too obvious.

Another message.

In Ho (12:45 PM): "Just got out of the shower"

In Ho (12:46 PM): "Choosing clothes now"

In Ho (12:47 PM): "My brother is being annoying and asking why I'm getting so dressed up to 'just go to the library'"

Gi Hun (12:48 PM): "What did you tell him?"

In Ho (12:49 PM): "That I want to look presentable in public"

In Ho (12:50 PM): "He looked at me like he didn't believe me but didn't say anything else"

In Ho (12:51 PM): "Younger brothers are annoying"

Gi Hun (12:52 PM): "At least you have a brother"

Gi Hun (12:53 PM): "I just have my mom being overprotective"

In Ho (12:54 PM): "True"

In Ho (12:55 PM): "Did you tell her you're going out yet?"

Gi Hun (12:56 PM): "Not yet"

Gi Hun (12:57 PM): "Waiting for the right moment"

In Ho (12:58 PM): "Nervous?"

Gi Hun (12:59 PM): "Terrified"

In Ho (1:00 PM): "Me too"

In Ho (1:01 PM): "But it'll be worth it"

In Ho (1:02 PM): "I promise"

At 1:30 PM, Gi Hun finally left his room, finding his mother in the kitchen preparing something that smelled like stew for dinner, that day she was home early from work. She was humming—a song Gi Hun didn't recognize but that sounded cheerful—while chopping vegetables.

—Mom—

She turned, and her expression immediately changed from neutral to surprised when she saw how he was dressed.

—Oh. You look very handsome.— Her eyes scanned his clothes, his styled hair, and Gi Hun could see the questions forming—. Are you going out?

—To the library.— The lie came out surprisingly smooth, mentally practiced during the last three hours—. I have an important project for my class. I need some reference books that are only available in physical form. You know how some professors are with their archaic sources.

—At this hour? It's almost 2.

—The library is open until 10 PM on Thursdays. I plan to stay a few hours, work in peace without distractions. Here I always get distracted by the internet.

His mother frowned slightly, that maternal concern frown Gi Hun knew too well. The knife in her hand stopped mid-carrot cut.

—Do you need me to drive you?

—No, I'm taking the accessible bus. It leaves in twenty minutes, arrives just in time.— Another lie. In Ho would pick him up at the corner, but his mother didn't need to know that—. Besides, I need to practice my independence. You can't drive me everywhere forever.

She put the knife down completely now, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel as she approached. Gi Hun felt his pulse quicken. Could she see through the lie? Was it too obvious?

—Are you going alone?

Here it was. The critical moment.

—No, In Ho is also going... Maybe— Gi Hun kept his voice casual, neutral, as if this were completely ordinary— He mentioned he also needs to go to the library to study for his university entrance exams. We thought it made sense to go together. You know, safer in a group, and besides we can help each other if we have questions.

And there it was. The magic of mentioning "studying." His mother's face visibly relaxed, the worry lines softening.

—Oh, that's good. I'm glad you're making friends in the neighborhood. That boy seems polite. I've seen him a few times when he takes out the trash. He always says hello.

—Yes, he's... nice.— Gi Hun had to work hard to keep his voice neutral when every fiber of his being wanted to smile like an idiot just thinking about In Ho—. Having someone my age nearby is convenient. Especially someone who's also university age, understands the academic stress.

His mother looked at him for another moment, and Gi Hun held his breath. She was observant. Too observant. Could she see the blush on his cheeks? The way his hands trembled slightly in his lap? The nervous gleam in his eyes?

But then she smiled, returning to her cutting board.

—Alright. I think it's good you're going out more. You've been very cooped up lately, just in your room with your online classes. A little socialization will do you good.

If she knew what kind of "socialization" Gi Hun was planning to have, she would probably have a heart attack.

—Do you need money? For coffee or a snack?

—No, I'm fine. Thanks, Mom.

—Do you have your phone fully charged?

—Yes.

—Your ID?

—Yes, Mom.

—Your—

—Mom.— Gi Hun laughed despite his nerves—. I have everything. I've been to the library before. I know how it works.

She raised her hands in surrender, but she was smiling.

—Sorry, sorry. I just worry. It's my job to worry.

—I know.— Gi Hun moved closer, taking her hand and squeezing it gently—. But I'm going to be fine. I promise.

She leaned down, kissing the top of his head like she used to do when he was a child.

—You look very handsome today. I like seeing you dressed up. Maybe you should go to the library more often if it makes you put so much effort into your appearance.

Gi Hun felt his cheeks heat.

—I just want to look presentable in public. I don't want to look like a bum.

—You could never look like a bum. You're my handsome son.— She gently pinched his cheek, that maternal gesture that always made him feel safe but also a little embarrassed—. Okay, go. Text me when you get to the library. And when you're on your way back. And if anything happens. And—

—Mom, if you ask me to text more, I'm going to have to write you every five minutes.

—I wouldn't object to that.

—Goodbye, Mom.

—Goodbye, sweetheart. Have fun studying.

Gi Hun left through the front door, his heart beating like a war drum. He had done it. She had believed the story. Everything was going according to plan.

Now he just had to get to the meeting point without anyone seeing him and getting suspicious.

In Ho was already waiting at the agreed corner when Gi Hun arrived, pushing his chair down the sidewalk with arms that trembled slightly—part physical effort, part the nerves that had been eating at him since he left home.

In Ho was leaning against a light post, looking at his phone, dressed in dark jeans and a gray hoodie that looked soft and comfortable and made Gi Hun want to curl up against him. His hair was styled in that way that seemed effortless but Gi Hun knew had probably taken ten minutes of struggle in front of the mirror.

When In Ho heard the sound of the chair wheels approaching, he looked up, and his entire face lit up with that smile that made Gi Hun's stomach do somersaults.

—Hi— he said when Gi Hun stopped in front of him.

—Hi.

They looked at each other for a moment, both smiling like idiots, the weight of this morning's conversation still hanging between them but transformed into something more like anticipation, like promise, like the beginning of something new.

—You look...— In Ho made a vague gesture with his hand, as if words had escaped him—. Beautiful. You look beautiful.

Gi Hun felt heat rising up his neck.

—You too. You look good.

—Thanks.— In Ho pushed off from the post, walking around the chair to stand behind it—. Ready for our covert mission?

—As ready as I'm going to be.

—Nervous?

—Terrified.

—Me too.— In Ho put his hands on the chair grips, and Gi Hun felt that familiar touch, that gentle weight he was already associating with safety, with being cared for—. But it's going to be fun. I promise.

—Do you already have everything planned?

—Every detail.— There was pride in his voice, that contained confidence In Ho had when he had worked hard on something—. Trust me.

And Gi Hun did trust. Despite all his fears, despite his history of being hurt, despite the voice in his head telling him this was risky and dangerous and would eventually end in pain—he trusted In Ho.

—Okay. Let's go then.

In Ho started pushing, and they began their way to the library. Two neighbors going to study together. Completely innocent. Completely normal.

Except that every time In Ho's fingers accidentally brushed Gi Hun's neck while adjusting his grip, Gi Hun felt electricity. Every time In Ho leaned in a bit to whisper something—"That dog is huge," "Careful, there's a bump ahead," "Are you cold?"—Gi Hun felt his warm breath against his ear and had to suppress a shiver.

There was nothing normal or innocent about the way Gi Hun's heart beat every time he was near In Ho. There was nothing casual about the way every accidental touch felt intentional, charged, meaningful.

But they played their parts perfectly. Just two guys on their way to the library. If anyone saw them, they wouldn't see anything suspicious.

They arrived at the public library just as the clock on the tower struck 2:15 PM. The building was large, red brick, with big windows that let in natural light. There was an access ramp next to the main stairs—something Gi Hun always appreciated, architecture that remembered people like him existed.

In Ho pushed the chair to the entrance, holding the door so Gi Hun could pass through first. The interior was as Gi Hun remembered—high ceilings, shelves that seemed to extend infinitely, the distinctive smell of old books and paper and that particular scent only libraries have.

There was a moderate amount of people for a Thursday afternoon. College students at long tables with laptops and headphones, some elderly people reading newspapers in the armchairs near the windows, mothers with small children in the children's section where bright colors and illustrated books created a completely different world.

Normal. Ordinary. Perfectly innocent.

—Second floor— In Ho whispered, leaning close to Gi Hun's ear—. Fewer people, more privacy. History section, no one goes there on Thursday afternoons.

—How do you know that?

—Prior reconnaissance. I came yesterday to verify.

Gi Hun turned enough to look at In Ho with disbelief.

—You came yesterday? To verify?

—I told you I had everything planned.— In Ho smiled, proud of himself—. I wasn't going to improvise with something so important.

The elevator took them to the second floor, the doors opening to a quieter, calmer space than the ground floor. In Ho was right—there were fewer people here. A student with massive headphones who didn't look up when they passed. An elderly lady with a book cart who appeared to be a librarian, meticulously restocking shelves.

They found a table in a corner, near the window overlooking the street but hidden behind a tall shelf of history books. Privacy without being obviously hidden. Perfect.

In Ho started taking out his things—exam prep books, a different notebook from the one he had shown this morning, pens. Gi Hun took out his laptop, opening it to a document he was supposedly writing for a class. For five minutes, they really seemed to study.

And then In Ho took out a blank piece of paper from his notebook, wrote something quickly, and slid it across the table.

Gi Hun opened it, finding a message in In Ho's handwriting:

"You're doing that thing where you bite your lip again."

Gi Hun looked up, finding In Ho watching him with a contained smile, his eyes shining with amusement. He took the paper, wrote his own response, and slid it back.

"It's because I'm nervous"

"About what?"

"That someone will notice"

"No one's going to notice"

"How are you so sure?"

"Because we're being careful"

"And because right now we're just two guys studying"

"There's nothing suspicious about that"

Gi Hun wrote back, his handwriting messier than In Ho's:

"You make me blush in public"

"That's half the fun"

"You're impossible"

"And you love me"

Gi Hun looked at those words—"And you love me"—written so casually, so confidently, as if it were an established fact, as if it weren't something massive and terrifying and beautiful. He looked at In Ho, who was watching him with that soft expression that made Gi Hun's heart ache in the best way.

He wrote back, the words coming easier than expected:

"Yes. I love you."

In Ho's smile widened, and he had to cover his mouth with his hand to not make any sound that might attract attention. His eyes practically glowed.

They continued like this for the next thirty minutes, passing notes like they were in middle school, writing silly and sweet things they couldn't say out loud. In Ho drew a silly heart with their initials—"IH + GH"—as if they were fourteen and not twenty-one and nineteen. Gi Hun drew a stick figure in a wheelchair kissing a standing stick figure, and had to cover his own mouth when he saw In Ho's reaction, who almost choked trying not to laugh out loud.

It was ridiculous and juvenile and exactly what Gi Hun needed after this morning's intensity. It was light and fun and normal in a way few things in his life felt lately.

The librarian—an elderly lady with glasses hanging from a silver chain around her neck, her gray hair pulled into a perfect bun—passed by their table on one of her rounds. She stopped when she saw the little notes scattered, the stifled smiles, the way they were both leaning forward, clearly more interested in each other than in any book.

Gi Hun froze, his heart stopping. In Ho froze too, his eyes widening.

But she didn't say anything about keeping quiet or about behaving appropriately. Instead, she smiled—a small, knowing smile, the kind that said "I've seen this a thousand times before"—and whispered low enough that only they could hear:

—You two are adorable. But try to keep the volume down, yes? There are others trying to study.

And she continued walking, her cart making that characteristic squeaky sound as she moved away.

Gi Hun and In Ho looked at each other, both in complete shock.

—Does she think...?— Gi Hun whispered.

—I think so— In Ho whispered back, his cheeks flushing.

—Do you think she'll say something?

—I don't think so. She seemed... happy for us. Almost like she thought we were cute.

—We are cute.

—Extremely cute.

—And now passing notes in a library like teenagers.

—The best romantic moments are the unexpected ones.

Gi Hun shook his head, but he was smiling so widely his cheeks hurt. This was absurd. This was perfect. This was exactly what he didn't know he needed.

After a full forty-five minutes—carefully timed on the wall clock, because In Ho insisted they had to stay at least three-quarters of an hour to make it look legitimate—In Ho started packing his things.

—Okay— he whispered, leaning close so only Gi Hun could hear him—. I think we've "studied" enough for our alibi to be convincing.

—Where are we going now?

In Ho's eyes sparkled with that contained excitement Gi Hun was learning to adore.

—You'll see. Trust me.

---

They left the library with their books secure and the sun still bright outside. There were some people walking on the sidewalk, others sitting on the benches of the small park in front of the library, enjoying the perfect October weather.

In Ho stopped at the top of the ramp leading down to the street, looking at the slope with an expression Gi Hun immediately recognized—it was his "I have a terrible but fun idea" expression, the one he used right before suggesting something impulsive.

—No— Gi Hun said automatically, though his heart was already starting to race with anticipation.

—I haven't even said anything.

—I know that face. That's your "let's do something stupid" face.

—It's not stupid. It's fun.— In Ho positioned himself behind Gi Hun's chair, his hands gripping the handles firmly—. Do you trust me?

—Depends on what you're planning.

—The ramp is empty. The sidewalk is empty. It's the perfect opportunity.

Gi Hun looked at the ramp. It was long, with a moderate but definite slope, ending at the sidewalk below maybe twenty meters down. It wasn't particularly steep—it was designed to be accessible, after all—but it definitely had speed potential.

—In Ho, no.

—In Ho, yes.— He was already starting to push the chair toward the edge of the ramp, but slowly, giving Gi Hun time to really protest if he wanted—. Come on. When was the last time you did something completely impulsive? Something just because it was fun?

—You mean reckless?

—Impulsive. Fun. Alive.— In Ho leaned close to his ear, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper—. When was the last time you felt adrenaline? That thrill of doing something just because?

Gi Hun felt his heart race, but not from fear—from excitement. He was right. When had been the last time he had done something just because it was fun? Without thinking about the consequences or being responsible or what could go wrong? Without letting his disability dictate every decision, every move?

—Okay— he said, and was surprised to hear the word come out of his mouth—. But if you kill me, I'm going to haunt you as a ghost.

—Deal. You'll haunt me romantically for eternity.

In Ho took a few steps back, preparing, and Gi Hun felt his grip on the handles tighten. Then In Ho started running. At first it was just a few quick steps, then a full run, and suddenly the chair was moving, slowly at first, then faster as gravity and In Ho's momentum combined in perfect physics.

The wind hit Gi Hun's face, cool and exhilarating. His hair—so carefully styled this morning—flew back. The world became a blur of colors: the green of the trees, the blue of the sky, the gray of the concrete passing beneath them faster and faster.

And suddenly, without thinking, unable to stop himself, Gi Hun was laughing. A loud, free, unrestrained laugh, the kind of laugh that came from the stomach and couldn't be contained. The kind of laugh he hadn't experienced in years.

—Faster!— he shouted, surprising himself with the demand, with the desire for more speed, more adrenaline, more of this feeling of absolute freedom.

—You're crazy!— In Ho shouted back, but Gi Hun could hear the laughter in his voice too, could hear the pure joy. And then In Ho accelerated anyway, his footsteps echoing louder against the concrete, his breaths coming faster.

They were flying now, really flying, the kind of speed that probably wasn't safe, that probably was exactly as stupid as Gi Hun had said. But God, it felt incredible. It felt like freedom. It felt like being alive.

—In Ho!— Gi Hun shouted, but it wasn't a warning, it was pure joy expressed in sound.

—I've got you!— In Ho shouted back—Always got you!

And Gi Hun believed him. With the wind in his face and laughter bubbling from his chest and the sound of In Ho's footsteps behind him, he believed him completely.

They reached the end of the ramp with too much speed, but In Ho was prepared. He braked at the last possible second, leaning back, using his weight and strength to slow the momentum. The chair's wheels skidded slightly on the concrete—a screeching sound that made some people look—but they stopped smoothly, perfectly, right where the ramp met the flat sidewalk.

They were both breathless, both laughing so hard they could barely breathe. Gi Hun had tears running down his cheeks from the laughter, from the speed, from the pure joy of everything.

—That was...— He couldn't finish the sentence because he was laughing too much.

—Incredible?— In Ho gasped, still holding the chair handles, leaning over them to catch his breath—. Amazing? The best idea I've had?

—I was going to say terrifying, but yes, also those things.

In Ho came around the chair to stand in front of Gi Hun, his face flushed from exertion, from the fresh air, from laughter. His eyes sparkled with joy, with something wild and free that Gi Hun rarely saw in him. He leaned down, resting his hands on the armrests of the chair on either side of Gi Hun, bringing their faces close.

—I heard you laugh— In Ho said, his voice still a bit breathless but soft now, intimate—. Really laugh. Like you couldn't stop. Like it was the only thing you wanted to do.

—Because you almost killed us running down an accessibility ramp like maniacs.

—But it was worth it, wasn't it?— In Ho smiled, that smile that made Gi Hun's heart forget how to beat properly—. For that laugh. For that moment. For feeling alive.

Gi Hun smiled back, his heart still racing, endorphins running through his system like electricity.

—Yes. Totally worth it.

—Good. Because we're going to do this all the time now.— In Ho spoke with the seriousness of someone making a solemn promise—. I'm going to make you laugh like that every day. I'm going to find a thousand ways to make you feel alive. I'm going to—

Gi Hun interrupted him by pulling him down—his hands grabbing the front of In Ho's denim jacket—and kissing him. There, on the sidewalk in front of the library, with people passing by, with the whole world potentially watching, he didn't care.

The kiss tasted like laughter and freedom and youth. It tasted like everything Gi Hun had thought he had lost in that accident fifteen years ago. It tasted like future.

When they separated, In Ho had that dazed expression that made Gi Hun want to kiss him again.

—Wow— In Ho said.

—Wow yourself.

—Did you just kiss me in public?

—You just ran me down an accessibility ramp like it was an amusement park ride. I thought it was fair to return the gesture of doing impulsive things.

In Ho laughed, the sound coming out warm and happy.

—Check that activity as completed: Make you laugh until you can't breathe. Make you kiss me in public without caring who's watching.

—You had a list?

—I always have a list.— In Ho straightened up, extending his hand to Gi Hun, though there was no physical need for help—. Ready for the next stop?

Gi Hun took his hand anyway, simply for the pleasure of touching, of being connected.

—And what else is on that list?

—You'll see. But I promise the next part is calmer. Less likelihood of death.

—I appreciate that.

—Though significantly more likelihood of emotional tears.

—In Ho—

—Good tears. I promise.

In Ho drove about fifteen minutes more, heading north of the city, toward an area Gi Hun vaguely recognized. They had passed through here before during their aimless drives, but had never stopped. When In Ho parked in front of what appeared to be a small alley between office buildings, Gi Hun looked at him with confusion.

—Here?

—Trust me.

He took the chair out of the trunk, helped Gi Hun transfer with their well-practiced choreography, and then guided him through the alley. It was narrow but clean, surprisingly well-maintained for a Seoul alley. At the end was an old wooden door with a small bronze sign that said "Seoul Secret Garden - Open to Public."

—A secret garden?— Gi Hun raised an eyebrow—. Not so secret if it has a sign, right?

—Shhh, don't ruin the magic with logic.

In Ho opened the door—it was heavy, old, the kind of door that had been there for decades—and Gi Hun rolled through it.

And stopped completely, his breath caught in his throat.

It was like entering another world, like crossing a portal to a place where the city couldn't reach them. In the middle of Seoul, surrounded by apartment buildings and offices and the constant noise of urban life, there was a traditional Korean garden that seemed to exist outside of time.

A small stream ran through the center, the water clear and cold from the mountain, with an arched wooden bridge over it, its planks worn by years of careful footsteps. There were maple trees already beginning their autumn transformation—deep reds, bright oranges, golden yellows, all mixing with the still-persistent green of summer. The leaves that had already fallen created carpets of color on the stone paths.

Strategically placed stone benches invited sitting and simply existing. Traditional stone lanterns marked the paths, carved with Chinese characters Gi Hun couldn't read but assumed were poetic. And flowers—God, so many flowers Gi Hun couldn't name them all. Chrysanthemums in shades of yellow and white, pink camellias, some kind of small purple flower growing in clusters near the stream.

—How...?— Gi Hun turned to In Ho, speechless—. How didn't I know this existed? I've lived in Seoul my whole life.

—Very few people know about it.— In Ho spoke softly, almost reverently, as if the space demanded respect—. I used to come here with my mom when I was a kid. She discovered it by accident one day when she was lost, trying to find her way back to the subway station. She said it was her special place, her escape when the city felt too loud, too overwhelming.

There was something in In Ho's voice now, something soft and painful that Gi Hun recognized as grief not fully processed.

—She brought you here.

—All the time. Especially when things were bad at home. When my dad was... being difficult. She would take my hand and we'd say we were going to the supermarket, but we'd come here instead. We'd sit by the stream and she would read to me, or we'd just stay silent, listening to the water.

—In Ho...

—It's okay.— In Ho smiled, though his eyes shone with contained emotion—. It's a good memory. One of the best. And I want to share it with you. I want you to know this part of my story.

Gi Hun reached out and took In Ho's hand, squeezing it.

—Thank you. For bringing me here. For sharing this.

In Ho squeezed back, then cleared his throat and seemed to regain his composure.

—Come on, there's a specific place I want to show you.

In Ho guided him along a stone path that wound through the garden. The path was well-maintained, smooth enough for Gi Hun's chair to roll easily, which Gi Hun appreciated—someone had thought about accessibility when designing this.

They passed the stream, where koi fish swam lazily in a pond that widened, their orange and white scales shining under the filtered sun. They passed a small pavilion where an elderly couple was sitting in silence, simply existing together in that peaceful space. The woman looked up as they passed and smiled, one of those smiles that said "I was young and in love once too."

They passed more trees, more flowers, until they finally reached a clearing in the back of the garden. There was a massive cherry tree—not in bloom, obviously, given it was October, but impressive nonetheless. Its branches spread wide and generous, creating a natural canopy. Under the tree, on a patch of carefully maintained grass, there was a blanket spread out. And on the blanket was a picnic basket.

Gi Hun turned to In Ho with total disbelief.

—When...? How...?

—I came this morning before going to the gym.— In Ho looked almost shy now, like a child waiting for approval—. I left it here and asked the garden caretaker to make sure no one bothered it. I explained I was bringing someone special and he was very understanding about it. I think he's a secret romantic.

—In Ho, this is...— Gi Hun didn't have words. He literally didn't have words for what he felt.

—Is it too much?— In Ho asked quickly, his confidence faltering—. It feels like it might be too much. Like it's too cheesy or intense or—

—No.— Gi Hun shook his head emphatically—. It's not too much. It's perfect. It's absolutely perfect.

In Ho let out a sigh of relief he hadn't realized he was holding.

—Okay. Good. Because I was really nervous it was too much.

—It's exactly enough.

In Ho helped Gi Hun transfer from his chair to the blanket—he had brought several large pillows that he carefully placed so Gi Hun could sit comfortably, recline if he wanted, lean back without strain on his back. In Ho had thought of everything, down to the last detail. Once Gi Hun was settled, In Ho locked the chair's wheels and positioned it nearby but out of the way, then sat on the blanket next to Gi Hun.

—Okay, full disclaimer:— In Ho said as he opened the basket—. I'm not a chef. I'm not even a good cook. But I did the best I could.

He took out containers one by one, arranging them on the blanket between them: homemade kimbap that was definitely uneven but clearly made with effort and care, each roll a bit different in size. Strawberries cut into perfect quarters. Small cucumber and cream cheese sandwiches cut into triangles. Cookies that looked store-bought but were in a nice container. And two drinks—iced coffee in a glass bottle for Gi Hun, homemade lemon tea for In Ho.

—You made kimbap.

—I tried to make kimbap.— In Ho grimaced looking at his creations—. I'm not sure it technically counts as kimbap if half of them are all crooked and the rice is falling out the sides.

Gi Hun took one of the most deformed rolls and took a bite. The rice was a bit packed and the vegetables were unevenly cut—some pieces too big, others too small—but it tasted like effort and care. It tasted like someone getting up early to prepare food for a person they loved, struggling with techniques they didn't master but trying anyway.

—It's delicious— Gi Hun said honestly.

—You're a terrible liar, but I love you anyway.

—I'm not lying. It's good because you made it. Because you got up early and tried to make something special for me. That makes it perfect, even if the rice is a bit packed.

In Ho smiled, that kind of smile that was half pleased, half embarrassed.

—My mom used to make the best kimbap. Perfect, every time. Even rolls, balanced ingredients. She taught me when I was a kid, but apparently I didn't inherit her talent for it.

—I'm sure she'd be proud you tried.

—She'd be laughing at the result, honestly. But yes, I think she'd be happy I'm using her teachings, even badly.

They ate in comfortable silence for a while, the sound of the stream in the distance, the gentle wind moving the leaves above them. The October sun was warm but not hot, filtered through the cherry tree canopy in changing patterns. It was perfectly temperate—the kind of afternoon that makes you want time to stop.

—Do you know why I brought you here?— In Ho asked after a while, putting aside his half-eaten sandwich.

—For the pretty garden and mediocre kimbap?

In Ho laughed.

—Well, yes. But also because...— he stopped, as if gathering his thoughts—. This morning we talked about a lot of difficult things. Important things, necessary things. The notebook, your body, your fears, my fears. And I needed that to happen. We needed to have those conversations.

—But...

—But I don't want you to think that's all we are. I don't want you to think our relationship is going to be only medical conversations and fears and learning to navigate the complicated. I want you to know it's also going to be this.

Gi Hun waited, feeling In Ho had more to say.

—It's going to be carefully chosen books and picnics under trees. It's going to be running down ramps and laughing until we can't breathe. It's going to be moments where we simply exist together without having to analyze or process or solve anything. It's going to be living, Gi Hun. Not just surviving or navigating difficulties. But really, fully living, together.

Gi Hun felt tears stinging his eyes again—In Ho had promised emotional tears in this part and was keeping that promise.

—I don't know what I did to deserve you— he said, his voice trembling.

—It's not about deserving.— In Ho turned to look at him completely, his eyes serious and intense—. It's about choosing. And I choose you, Gi Hun. Every day, every moment, I choose you. With all the complexities and challenges and difficult conversations. But also with all the joy and laughter and perfect moments like this.

—I choose you too— Gi Hun whispered, feeling the weight of those words, the promise in them.

In Ho leaned in, slowly, giving Gi Hun all the time in the world to pull away if he wanted. But Gi Hun didn't pull away. He leaned forward, closing the distance between them.

The kiss was different this time. It wasn't impulsive like on the sidewalk. It was intentional, deliberate, deep. It was a kiss that said "I see you, all of you, and I want you." It was a kiss of promise, of commitment, of everything they had talked about this morning and everything they were building now.

When they separated, In Ho rested his forehead against Gi Hun's, their breaths mixing in the small space between them.

—I want to do this all the time— In Ho whispered—. Kiss you when I want. Take you on dates. Not hide. Live openly, without shame, without fear of what people think.

—I want that too.

—So we do it? Officially? No matter what my dad says or what people think or how complicated it gets?

—Officially.

—Good.— In Ho smiled against his lips—. Because I already told Goong Yoo yesterday.

Gi Hun pulled back abruptly, his eyes widening.

—What?

—I told Goong Yoo. About us. I couldn't keep it to myself anymore. I was exploding with it.

—And what did he say?

In Ho laughed, the sound full of something like relief mixed with amusement.

—He said "finally, thank God" and then tried to collect money from a bet he apparently had with Dae-ho about how long it would take us to make it official.

Gi Hun laughed too, the sound coming out light and free, still tinged with tears but genuine.

—Really? There was a bet?

—Apparently. Dae-ho bet it would take us at least three more months. Goong Yoo bet it would be before the end of October. Goong Yoo won.

—So we were obvious to everyone except ourselves.

—Apparently we were the only ones dumb enough to deny it.— In Ho shook his head with self-amusement—. Jung-bae said that every time I talked about you, I had this 'stupid, lovesick expression' on my face. His exact words.

—It's probably true.

—It's definitely true.

They lay back together on the blanket—In Ho propped on his elbows, Gi Hun against the pillows In Ho had brought—watching the leaves above them move with the wind. The garden was quiet except for the distant sound of water and birds, a kind of tranquility that was rare in Seoul, that felt like a gift.

—Thank you— Gi Hun said softly after a long comfortable silence—. For today. For the notebook, for the books, for this. For everything. For seeing me. For choosing me.

—You don't have to thank me for loving you, Gi Hun.— In Ho turned his head to look at him—. It's the easiest thing I've done in my life. The hard part was admitting it. But really, truly, deeply loving you? That's as natural as breathing.

And in that moment, with the sun filtering through the cherry tree leaves, with In Ho by his side, with the taste of strawberries still on his lips and the feeling of freedom still buzzing in his veins from running down that ramp, Gi Hun allowed himself to believe it.

He allowed himself to believe that maybe, just maybe, he too could be loved like this.

Completely.

Unconditionally.

Exactly as he was.

Not despite his wheelchair or his injury or his complications. But with them. As part of who he was. As part of his story that had led him to this moment, to this garden, to this love.

And as In Ho took his hand, intertwining their fingers together on the blanket, Gi Hun realized that this—this perfect moment, this perfect day—was only the beginning.

The beginning of something real.

The beginning of something that was worth every difficult conversation, every shared vulnerability, every fear faced.

The beginning of their life together.

As the sun began to slowly descend in the sky, painting the garden in shades of orange and gold, Gi Hun leaned closer to In Ho, their bodies touching in a way that was completely innocent but deeply intimate. There was no rush to go anywhere. The outside world could wait. For now, this moment, this garden, this love—it was enough. It was everything.

In Ho wrapped his arm around Gi Hun, pulling him closer, his lips brushing gently across the top of his head.

—I love you— In Ho whispered against his hair.

—I love you too— Gi Hun responded, his words barely more than a whisper, but filled with absolute truth.

And as they stayed like that, under the cherry tree in Seoul's Secret Garden, the world stopped for a moment. There was no past or future, no complications or uncertainties. Only this: two people who loved each other, in a perfect place, in a perfect moment, building the beginning of their story together.

Chapter Text

Chapter 9: Tú y yo y Tú

Chapter Text

He escuchado el amor en los ecos del viento
He olvidado el temor de cambiarme los sueños
He encontrado en la lluvia, tu figura- Siddhartha, Bacalar 

CHAPTER-10

In Ho sat in the ambulance staring fixedly at Gi Hun, watching as the paramedics tried to stabilize his blood pressure. He was worried, but finally he could see the reality he had so desperately wanted to know—though at the same time he was afraid of this reality. Seeing how Gi Hun suffered physical pain, so intense that every breath seemed to cost him a monumental effort. He wanted to be in his place so he wouldn't suffer anymore.

He took his hand carefully, and then Gi Hun turned to look at him. That direct eye contact lasted barely a couple of seconds, but it was enough to be etched in his memory for eternity. There was so much in those eyes—pain, fear, shame, but also something that looked dangerously like relief. As if In Ho's presence, despite everything, was an anchor in the middle of the storm.

"In Ho," said Gi Hun in a hoarse whisper. "I really didn't want to worry you."

"Well, you did the opposite," In Ho replied, his voice coming out harsher than he intended. "You should have told me everything that was happening to you these days..."

"Yes, but..."

The paramedic interrupted them, his voice professional but firm:

"Blood pressure keeps rising. It's not good for them to talk about whatever they need to talk about now. They should wait for another time."

In Ho nodded quickly, squeezing Gi Hun's hand once more before trying to let go carefully. But Gi Hun didn't let him go completely—his fingers weakly clung to In Ho's for one more second, as if letting go of that connection was more terrifying than any physical pain.

"It's okay," Gi Hun murmured, his voice barely audible over the sound of the siren. "Later... we'll talk later."

"Later," In Ho repeated, forcing a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "When you're better."

But they both knew that "later" would bring a conversation neither of them was ready to have. A conversation about secrets, about lies, about that mysterious boy In Ho had seen leaving Gi Hun's house. About everything that had broken in just four days.

The paramedic adjusted something in the IV, his movements efficient and practiced. In Ho watched everything—every syringe, every monitor, every number on the screens he didn't fully understand but knew were important.

148/95.

Still high. But dropping. Slowly.

"His pressure is responding to medication," said the paramedic, more to himself than to them, but In Ho clung to those words like a lifeline. "We should have him stable by the time we reach the hospital."

Gi Hun closed his eyes again, his breathing still tense but less erratic than before. In Ho wanted to say something—anything—to fill the silence that felt too heavy, too loaded with everything unspoken between them.

But the paramedic shot him a warning look, and so In Ho just stood there, on his feet in that small and claustrophobic ambulance space, feeling every bump in the road, every sharp turn, every passing second like an eternity.

He looked through the small rear window and saw Oh Mal-soon's car following them closely. Even from a distance, he could see the tension in her posture at the wheel, hands gripping the steering wheel too tightly.

This is real, In Ho thought, and the thought hit him like a punch to the stomach. This isn't something I can research on Google and solve with information. This is Gi Hun's real life. This is what it means to be with him.

And in that moment—with the siren wailing, with Gi Hun pale and connected to machines, with fear squeezing his chest like a fist—In Ho realized something fundamental:

He wasn't scared.

He should be, maybe. Minhyuk had been. That's why he had fled. Because this—hospitals, emergencies, the unpredictability of Gi Hun's body—was too "real," too "complicated."

But In Ho only felt an iron determination settling in his chest.

I'm not going to run. I'm not going to leave him alone. No matter how difficult it gets.

"We're almost there," announced the paramedic, looking at his watch.

In Ho looked at Gi Hun once more. His eyes were still closed, but In Ho could see the tension in his jaw, the way his hands gripped the gurney sheets.

And then, so low that In Ho almost didn't hear it over the ambulance noise, Gi Hun whispered:

"I'm sorry."

In Ho felt something breaking in his chest. He didn't know exactly why Gi Hun was apologizing—for the lies, for the pain, for needing help, for everything—but it didn't matter.

"Me too," he whispered back, though he wasn't sure if Gi Hun had heard him.

The ambulance stopped abruptly. The back doors burst open, letting in a rush of bright light and hospital sounds. Voices of medical staff, the squeak of wheels on linoleum floor, orders being given in that medical language In Ho didn't understand.

They pulled Gi Hun's gurney out with practiced and efficient movements. In Ho climbed down awkwardly behind them, almost tripping in his hurry not to lose sight of Gi Hun.

"Male, 20 years old, incomplete T10 paraplegia, autonomic dysreflexia, pressure 145/93 and dropping, severe spasms, possible UTI!" a paramedic shouted as they ran down the hallway.

In Ho followed them, or tried to, but a nurse stopped him gently with a hand on his chest.

"I'm sorry, sweetie. Only family beyond this point."

"But I—"

"Waiting room is over there," she pointed toward an area with uncomfortable plastic chairs and vending machines. "Someone will come to update you on his condition soon."

In Ho stood there, feeling useless and lost, watching as they took Gi Hun through double doors that closed with a final and definitive sound.

"In Ho-yah?"

He turned sharply and saw Oh Mal-soon running toward him, her purse hitting against her hip, her hair slightly disheveled from panic.

"Where is he? How is he? What did they say?"

"They took him inside. I... they didn't let me through. Only family."

Oh Mal-soon nodded, already walking toward the double doors. But then she stopped, turned, and looked at In Ho—really looked at him—in a way that made In Ho feel completely exposed.

"Come with me," she said simply.

"But they said only—"

"You're important to my son. That's family enough for me. Come, I'm not foolish, I already know what's happening between you two."

And with that, Oh Mal-soon pushed through the double doors and In Ho followed her, his heart beating hard, not knowing exactly what that moment meant but feeling that something fundamental had changed.

That Oh Mal-soon knew.

Maybe not all the details. Maybe there were no words said explicitly. But she knew.

And she wasn't angry.

She was letting him through.

Letting him be there for her son.

In Ho swallowed, feeling unexpected tears stinging in his eyes, and followed Oh Mal-soon wherever they were taking Gi Hun.

Because now, finally, after days of secrets and lies and distance, In Ho was going to be exactly where he needed to be:

By Gi Hun's side.

No matter how difficult the situation, he would be by Gi Hun's side.

Gi Hun opened his eyes slowly, as if his eyelids weighed tons, and the first thing he registered was the smell. Antiseptic mixed with that indefinable aroma that only hospitals have—sterility with a touch of sickness, of bodies fighting to heal, of fear contained in white walls.

The second thing he registered was the sound: the constant beeping of the heart monitor, the distant murmur of voices in the hallway, the low hum of fluorescent lights above his head. Everything too bright, too loud for his brain still dazed by medications.

The third thing—and this made his heart skip a beat that was immediately reflected on the monitor—was In Ho.

He was asleep in the hospital chair next to the bed, his body folded at an angle that looked deeply uncomfortable. His head rested against the hard plastic backrest, his neck twisted in a way that would definitely hurt when he woke up. He had deep circles under his eyes, like bruises, and his hair—normally so carefully styled—was completely disheveled, pointing in impossible directions.

His clothes were wrinkled, the same clothes from yesterday. Or from two days ago? Gi Hun wasn't sure how much time had passed.

And his hand—In Ho's right hand—was extended toward the bed, his fingers barely grazing the edge of the mattress, as if he had been holding Gi Hun's hand before finally succumbing to exhaustion.

He stayed, Gi Hun thought, and something in his chest tightened painfully. After everything... he stayed.

Gi Hun took a mental inventory of his body, that ritual he had perfected over fifteen years. Starting from the head down:

Head: dull pain behind the eyes. Probably residual from the autonomic dysreflexia.

Neck and shoulders: tense but functional.

Arms: tired but responding normally.

Chest and abdomen: normal breathing, no sharp pain.

And then came the complicated part.

Lower back: pain. Constant, throbbing, that kind of pain he had learned to catalog on a scale of one to ten. Currently a six. Tolerable but definitely present.

Hips: stiff. Very stiff.

Legs: there was the million-dollar question.

Gi Hun tried to move his toes under the hospital sheets. Slow, lazy response, but there. Good. That was good. He tried to flex his ankles. The right responded better than the left. Normal for him.

The legs themselves felt heavy, as if they were made of lead instead of flesh and bone. Also normal after an episode like the one he had just had.

Connected to his left arm was an IV, dripping clear fluids into his vein. His right arm had the blood pressure cuff, currently inactive but ready to inflate automatically every thirty minutes. On his index finger, the pulse oximeter glowed with a constant red light.

Heart monitor. Blood pressure. Blood oxygen. Everything necessary to watch someone who had just had an autonomic dysreflexia crisis.

Gi Hun closed his eyes again, not because he was sleepy but because the weight of everything—the physical pain, the emotional shame, the guilt of having pushed his body to this point, In Ho's presence sleeping in that horrible chair—was too much to process with his eyes open.

How much did he see? Gi Hun wondered. How much of my worst moment did he witness?

And the more terrifying question: Is he still here because he wants to be, or because he feels obligated?

The heart monitor slightly accelerated its pace, betraying him.

"Gi Hun?"

In Ho's voice was rough from sleep, worried, immediately alert despite having been deeply asleep seconds before.

Gi Hun opened his eyes again and found In Ho leaning forward in his chair, completely awake now, those dark eyes searching his face with an intensity that made Gi Hun want to look away.

"Hi," said Gi Hun, and his voice came out hoarse, rough, as if he hadn't used it in days. Maybe he hadn't.

"Hi," In Ho responded, and there was so much relief in that single word that Gi Hun felt tears stinging in his eyes. "How do you feel?"

Simple question. Complicated answer.

"Like I got run over by a truck," Gi Hun tried to joke, but it came out flat, tired.

In Ho didn't smile. He just kept looking at him with those eyes that saw too much.

"Your mom went home to bring some things. Clean clothes, your toothbrush, your phone. She said she'd be back in an hour." Pause. "It's 10 AM. Tuesday."

Tuesday. Gi Hun had been admitted Monday afternoon. He had lost almost a full day.

"Have you been here all night?" he asked, though the answer was obvious.

"Yes."

"In Ho, you didn't have to—"

"Yes I did." In Ho leaned closer, his elbows on his knees. "Gi Hun, I was scared. A lot. When your mom called, when I arrived and saw you like that..."

He stopped, swallowing hard.

"I thought I was losing you."

Gi Hun felt something breaking in his chest. Not something bad. Something that had been too tight for too long.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm so sorry."

"Don't apologize for being sick. Don't you dare."

But Gi Hun was shaking his head, tears falling now, hot and fast down his cheeks.

"It's not just for being sick. It's for everything. For lying to you. For pulling away. For... for Minhyuk."

In Ho froze.

"Minhyuk?"

And there it was. The moment Gi Hun had been dreading. The moment when he would have to admit everything.

He took a deep breath—as deep as he could with his chest still tight—and began to speak.

"The boy you saw leaving my house on Sunday," Gi Hun began, his voice barely louder than a whisper. "That was Minhyuk."

In Ho said nothing. He just waited, his face carefully neutral, giving him space to continue.

"He texted me on Friday. After our perfect date. He said he wanted to apologize. That he had been in therapy and had realized how badly he had treated me. He wanted to talk, face to face."

Gi Hun wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, the one without the IV.

"And I... I said yes. I told him he could come. Because I thought I needed that closure. I thought if I heard him apologize, I could finally let him go completely."

"And did you?" In Ho asked softly. "Did you get that closure?"

"Yes. He apologized. He was honest about his fears, about how his cowardice wasn't my fault. It was... it was what I needed to hear."

Pause.

"But I should have told you. I should have told you that he had contacted me, that he was coming. Instead I lied to you. I told you I was busy with homework when really I was... I was dealing with my past without including you."

In Ho ran a hand through his hair, making it even more disheveled.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

It was the million-dollar question, wasn't it?

"Because I was afraid," Gi Hun admitted. "Afraid that if you knew Minhyuk had come back, you'd think I still had feelings for him. Or that you'd think I was comparing you. Or that... I don't know. My brain created a thousand catastrophic scenarios and instead of just talking to you, I chose to lie."

"Gi Hun..."

"And then," Gi Hun continued, the words coming out faster now, as if he was trying to get it all out before he lost his courage, "then my body started getting worse. Since Friday. The spasms, the pain. Everything. And instead of telling you, instead of admitting I had pushed too hard during our date, I kept lying to you. I kept saying I was fine, that I was just busy."

"Why?" In Ho's voice was so soft, so lacking in judgment, that it made Gi Hun cry harder. "Why didn't you tell me you were hurt?"

"Because I was afraid that if you saw how complicated I can really be," Gi Hun sobbed, "you'd decide I wasn't worth it. That our perfect date was enough and that the reality of dealing with my body when it doesn't cooperate is too much."

In Ho stayed very still for a long moment. When he finally spoke, his voice trembled slightly.

"Did you see when he left?"

Gi Hun blinked, confused by the change of subject.

"What?"

"Minhyuk. When he left your house. Did you see that I was there?"

"No... I didn't know you were there."

"I was there." In Ho leaned back in his chair, looking at the ceiling. "I saw him leave. I saw how he touched your shoulder."

Now it was Gi Hun's turn to be quiet.

"I thought you had changed your mind about us," In Ho continued. "I thought maybe you had decided I wasn't enough. That I was too young, too inexperienced, too... I don't know. Insufficient somehow."

"In Ho, no—"

"Then I texted you. And you lied. You said you were doing homework when you clearly had had time for a visit. And I got angry. I got angry and scared and I created distance because I thought you were gently letting me go."

In Ho finally looked at Gi Hun again.

"So I did exactly the same thing as you. I assumed the worst instead of simply asking. I let my insecurities dictate my behavior instead of communicating honestly."

They looked at each other across the space between the hospital bed and the plastic chair—a space of less than a meter that somehow felt like kilometers.

"We're a mess," Gi Hun finally said, a wet laugh escaping between his tears.

"We're a mess," In Ho agreed, but he was smiling slightly now. "Two idiots in love who don't know how to communicate appropriately."

"In love," Gi Hun repeated softly, as if testing the words.

"Completely, hopelessly in love," In Ho confirmed. "Why else do you think I stayed awake all night in this horrible chair making sure you kept breathing?"

"Because you're a masochist."

"Because I love you, idiot."

The nurse chose that exact moment to enter, checking the clipboard at the foot of Gi Hun's bed.

"Good morning, Mr. Seong. I see you're awake. How do you feel? On a scale of one to ten, where is your pain?"

Gi Hun had to mentally switch, go from the most intense emotional conversation of his life to clinical medical assessment.

"Six," he responded. "Mainly in my lower back."

"Good. That's better than yesterday. Your blood pressure has stabilized. 128 over 82. Much better. Dr. Park will come see you in about an hour to discuss discharge."

"Discharge?" In Ho straightened up. "He can go home already?"

"As long as his vitals stay stable and he can demonstrate he can do safe transfers, yes. But he'll have to take things easy at home. No strenuous activity. Gentle physical therapy only. And he'll need to come in for a checkup in a week."

The nurse checked the IV, made some notes on her tablet, and then left with a cheerful "I'll be back in thirty minutes to check your vital signs again!"

When the door closed behind her, the silence felt different. Heavier. More loaded.

"In Ho," Gi Hun began.

"I want to go with you."

Gi Hun blinked.

"Go where?"

"To your next physical therapy session."

Gi Hun's heart stopped. It literally stopped for a full beat, noticeable enough that the monitor made a strange sound.

"What?"

In Ho leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, his expression completely serious.

"I want to go. I want to see. Not the sanitized version I read in medical articles. I want to see your reality. The good, the bad, the ugly. All of it."

"In Ho, you don't want—"

"Don't tell me what I do or don't want," In Ho interrupted, but his tone was gentle. "That's part of our problem, isn't it? Both of us assuming what the other can or can't handle instead of simply asking."

Gi Hun felt panic bubbling in his chest.

"It's humiliating. Therapy. I'm not... I'm not funny or brave when I'm there. I'm frustrated and sore and sometimes I cry because my body doesn't do what my brain tells it to do."

"I know."

"No, you don't know. Yesterday, when your mom called and I came, when I helped you move to your chair..." In Ho stopped, his voice thick with emotion. "That was just a small sample. And it was so obvious how much it cost you. How much pain it caused. How much you hated needing help."

Tears were running down In Ho's face now too.

"So yes. I know it will be hard to watch. I know you'll feel vulnerable. But Gi Hun, if we're going to do this—really do this, build something real and lasting—I need to understand. And you need to trust that I'm not going to run when I see how difficult it is."

"What if it's too much?" Gi Hun's question came out small, scared. "What if you go and realize I'm more complicated than you thought and you decide Minhyuk was right to leave?"

In Ho got up from his chair and moved to the bed, sitting carefully on the edge so as not to disturb Gi Hun's legs. He took both of Gi Hun's hands in his.

"Look at me," he said firmly.

Gi Hun did.

"I'm not Minhyuk. I will never be Minhyuk. And I need you to stop projecting what he did onto me. I know it's unfair to ask you that when he hurt you so deeply. But you have to give me the chance to prove to you that I'm different."

"What if you're wrong? What if you think you can handle it but you can't?"

"Then I'll have that conversation with you. Honestly. Directly. Without disappearing. Without lies." In Ho squeezed his hands. "But don't take away my choice, Gi Hun. Don't decide for me when I'm going to get tired. Trust me enough to let me make my own decisions about us."

Gi Hun looked at him through his tears, searching for any sign of doubt, any hint that In Ho wasn't completely sure.

He found none.

"Okay," he finally whispered. "You can come to my next session."

"With conditions?"

"With conditions," Gi Hun nodded. "You can't help unless Dr. Kim asks you to. You can't intervene just because something looks difficult. This is my therapy, my work."

"Understood."

"And if it becomes too much—if you need to leave—there's no shame in that. Just... tell me afterwards. Honestly."

"I promise."

"And In Ho," Gi Hun squeezed his hands back. "I promise too. No more lies. No more hiding when my body is bad. No more assuming you can't handle my reality. Complete communication, even when it's uncomfortable."

"Especially when it's uncomfortable," In Ho corrected.

They stayed like that for a long moment, hands intertwined, tears drying on their faces, Gi Hun's heart monitor finally stabilizing at a calm and steady rhythm.

The door opened again—Oh Mal-soon this time, carrying a bag full of Gi Hun's things. She stopped when she saw In Ho sitting on the bed, holding her son's hands.

"Oh," she said, and there was so much in that single syllable. Understanding. Acceptance. And perhaps a small "about time."

"Eomma," Gi Hun began, but she raised a hand.

"We have a lot to talk about," she said. "The three of us. But first, let's get you discharged. Then, at home, we'll talk properly."

She sat in the other chair—the one In Ho hadn't been using—and looked between the two young men with an expression Gi Hun couldn't fully decipher.

"In Ho-yah, have you eaten anything since yesterday?"

In Ho blinked, apparently surprised by the question.

"I... no, I don't think I have."

"Go to the cafeteria. Eat something. You both need your strength for what's coming."

It was both a dismissal and a blessing. In Ho clearly understood it because he nodded, squeezed Gi Hun's hands one last time, and left.

The moment the door closed, Oh Mal-soon moved to the chair closest to the bed.

"So," she said simply. "How long?"

Gi Hun swallowed.

"How long what?"

"Don't play games with me, son. How long have you been... whatever you are?"

"Officially, like three weeks. Unofficially... longer."

Oh Mal-soon nodded slowly, processing.

"Do you love him?"

There was no hesitation.

"Yes."

"And does he love you?"

"He says he does. And... and I think I believe him."

"Good." She reached over and took his hand. "Because son, that boy spent all night in that horrible chair. He didn't move. Not even to go to the bathroom. He kept checking that you were still breathing every few minutes."

Gi Hun felt his throat tighten.

"When I called yesterday," Oh Mal-soon continued, "he came running. No questions. Just 'where is he? What do you need?' And when he helped you move, when I saw how careful he was, how attentive..." She stopped, her own eyes filling with tears. "I knew this one isn't like the last one. This one stays."

"Eomma..."

"But I have questions. And rules. And we're going to have a very long conversation about expectations and safety and how this will work while you both live at home with your respective families."

"I know."

"And we're going to talk about his father. Because In Ho mentioned that his dad doesn't know. And that worries me."

"Me too."

"But for now," Oh Mal-soon leaned in and kissed Gi Hun's forehead, "I'm happy you've found someone who looks at you the way that boy looks at you. Like you're his sun and moon and all the stars combined."

Gi Hun smiled through his tears.

"He says I'm his galaxy."

"Well," his mother smiled back. "Then I guess we'll have to make sure this universe you're building together is a safe and healthy one."

Gi Hun was discharged that afternoon with a list of medical instructions so long that Oh Mal-soon had to write it all down on her phone: medication every six hours, absolute rest for 48 hours, no physical exertion, physical therapy session scheduled for Thursday to assess damage and begin gentle recovery.

The trip home was quiet. In Ho had offered to help but Oh Mal-soon had gently declined—"I think I need time alone with my son first"—so In Ho had promised to come after dinner.

Now, at 7 PM, Gi Hun was in the living room, in his chair, nervous in a way he hadn't felt since... well, since never. Because this wasn't just "introducing your boyfriend to your mom." This was "admitting you've been hiding a relationship while living under her roof and depending on her care."

The guilt weighed more than his fatigued body.

Oh Mal-soon was in the kitchen making tea—that Korean ritual of "we need to talk about something serious"—and Gi Hun could hear the clink of cups, the whistle of the kettle, the familiar sounds of his mother processing something big.

Finally she entered, two steaming cups on a tray, and sat across from Gi Hun on the sofa. She said nothing for a moment, just poured the tea with that careful precision that meant she was ordering her thoughts.

"So," she finally began, her hands wrapped around her cup. "In Ho."

"Yes."

"How did it happen?"

It wasn't an accusatory question. It was genuine curiosity. So Gi Hun told her—edited for maternal audience, of course—about how In Ho had moved to the house next door, how they had started talking, how the nightly conversations had become something more.

"And that day they brought the cookies," Oh Mal-soon interrupted. "When we first met them. I saw how he looked at you even then."

"Really?"

"Mmm. Like he was trying to decipher a puzzle. Fascination mixed with something softer. I thought it was interesting but I didn't think..." She stopped. "I guess I didn't think my nineteen-year-old son was starting a secret relationship with the neighbor."

Gi Hun felt heat rising up his neck.

"It wasn't planned. It just... happened."

"Those things don't 'just happen,' Gi Hun. They require choice. Action. Conscious decision."

She was right, of course.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Oh Mal-soon asked, and now there was genuine hurt in her voice. "Did you think I wouldn't approve? That I would judge you?"

"No," Gi Hun responded quickly. "It wasn't that. It was... it was complicated. His family is very traditional. His dad is a cop, strict, has specific plans for In Ho's future. And I..."

He stopped, searching for the right words.

"I was afraid that if we made it official, if other people knew, reality would destroy what we were building. Like as long as it was our secret, our private universe, it could be perfect. But the moment real light entered..."

"It would break," Oh Mal-soon finished softly.

"Yes."

"Oh, son." She put her cup down and moved to sit closer. "Love that can only exist in secret isn't sustainable love. Eventually reality enters anyway. Like it did yesterday."

"I know. I know that now."

"And his father," Oh Mal-soon continued, her tone becoming more serious. "In Ho says he doesn't know. What's going to happen when he finds out?"

Gi Hun felt his stomach contract.

"I don't know. In Ho says his dad would probably forbid him from seeing me. Or worse, force him to choose between the police academy and... us."

"That's what worries me." Oh Mal-soon took Gi Hun's hands. "Gi Hun-ah, you've been hurt before. Deeply. By someone who made you feel your disability made you less valuable, less worthy of love."

The word "Minhyuk" hung in the air unspoken.

"And now you're with someone who, while he seems genuine, is in a position where he could be forced to leave you. Not by choice, but by family pressure. And I don't know if your heart can handle being abandoned again, even if the reasons are different."

Gi Hun felt tears stinging.

"Eomma, he's not like Minhyuk. I promise you."

"I know, sweetheart. I saw it yesterday. The way he cared for you, the way he stayed. But..." She sighed. "Love isn't enough sometimes. Not when there are families involved, expectations, external pressures. Especially when you're both so young."

"Nineteen and twenty-one isn't that young," Gi Hun protested weakly.

"For easy love, no. But this won't be easy, will it?"

No. It definitely wouldn't be easy.

"So here are my rules," Oh Mal-soon said, her voice taking on that "mother setting boundaries" tone that Gi Hun knew well.

"One: complete honesty with me from now on. No more secrets about where you are, with whom, or if your body is bad. I need to know these things not to control you but to keep you safe."

Gi Hun nodded.

"Two: In Ho can come here, but your bedroom door stays open when you're alone. Not because I don't trust you, but because you're my son and you live under my roof and those are the rules."

Gi Hun felt his face burn but nodded again.

"Three: when his father eventually finds out—and he will find out, these things always come out—you two need to have a plan. Not just 'let's hope it works out.' A real plan. About how to handle the reaction, what to do if he tries to separate you, how to protect each other."

"Okay."

"Four: communication. With him, with me, with yourselves. No more pushing your body to collapse because you're too embarrassed to admit you need to slow down. No more hiding pain because you fear it makes you look weak."

Gi Hun felt hot shame in his stomach.

"Eomma, about that..."

"Gi Hun-ah," her voice softened. "I understand why you did it. You wanted to enjoy your time with In Ho without your disability being the focus. You wanted to be just a boy on a date, not 'the boy in the chair'. I understand."

Tears were falling freely now.

"But you almost killed yourself," Oh Mal-soon continued, her own voice breaking. "Gi Hun, when I got that call from the hospital, when they told me your blood pressure was dangerously high, that you were having a dysreflexia crisis... I thought I was losing you."

She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.

"Your father is gone. I can't lose you too. I can't."

"Eomma..." Gi Hun extended his arms and his mother moved toward him, hugging him carefully not to press his still sensitive back.

They stayed like that for a long moment, mother and son, processing everything that had changed in the last 48 hours.

"I'm sorry," Gi Hun whispered against her shoulder. "I'm sorry I scared you. I'm sorry I was so stupid."

"You're not stupid. You're young. And you're in love. And sometimes that makes people make decisions they wouldn't normally make." She pulled back enough to look Gi Hun in the eyes. "But you have to promise me you'll be more careful. That you'll tell me when your body is reaching its limit. That you won't sacrifice your health for... for wanting to be 'normal' for someone."

"I promise."

"Good." Oh Mal-soon wiped her eyes again and sat up straight, recomposing her maternal posture. "Now. In Ho is coming in half an hour. Is there anything else I need to know before he arrives?"

Gi Hun considered the question.

"He's going to come to my next physical therapy session."

Oh Mal-soon raised her eyebrows.

"You told him he could?"

"He insisted. He said he needs to see my complete reality if we're going to make this work."

"And how do you feel about it?"

"Terrified," Gi Hun admitted. "But also... relieved? Like finally someone is willing to see all parts of me. Not just the convenient ones."

His mother nodded slowly.

"Then let him see. The whole truth. The good, the bad, the frustrating. Because if he leaves after that, better now than after you've invested more of your heart."

"What if he doesn't leave?"

Oh Mal-soon smiled softly.

"Then son, I think you'll have found something very special."

The doorbell rang exactly at 7:30 PM. In Ho was punctual, something Oh Mal-soon appreciated.

Gi Hun felt his pulse quicken when he heard his mother open the door, the polite conversation at the threshold—"Good evening, In Ho-yah," "Good evening, ajumma, I brought this"—and then footsteps approaching the living room.

In Ho appeared in the doorway, looking nervous in a way Gi Hun found adorable. He had brought flowers—a bouquet of purple and white chrysanthemums, which in Korea symbolized honesty and truth. Intentional or not, the symbolism wasn't lost on Gi Hun.

"Hi," said In Ho, his eyes going directly to Gi Hun, scanning his face as if to confirm he was really better.

"Hi."

Oh Mal-soon took the flowers with an approving smile.

"How thoughtful. I'll put them in water. In Ho-yah, sit down. We need to talk, the three of us."

In Ho sat in the individual armchair, leaving the sofa for Oh Mal-soon. His posture was rigid, formal, as if he were in a job interview.

"Relax," Oh Mal-soon said as she returned from the kitchen with the flowers already in a vase. "I'm not going to eat you. I just need to establish some expectations."

"Yes, ajumma," In Ho responded, his voice polite but Gi Hun could see the tension in his shoulders.

Oh Mal-soon sat down, crossed her legs, and looked at In Ho with that maternal intensity she had perfected over twenty years.

"First, I want to thank you for what you did yesterday. For coming when I called. For staying with him. For taking care of him."

"You don't have to thank me, ajumma. I wanted to be there."

"I know. And that means a lot." Pause. "But now that I know what's happening between you two, I need to be clear about some things."

In Ho nodded, his hands clenched on his knees.

"My son has been hurt before. By someone who saw him as too complicated, too 'different' to be worth the effort. I won't allow that to happen again."

"I have no intention of hurting him," In Ho said firmly.

"Intentions and actions don't always align, especially when life gets complicated." Oh Mal-soon leaned forward. "Your family doesn't know about you two. Correct?"

"Correct."

"And what will happen when they find out?"

In Ho swallowed, his jaw tightening.

"I don't know for certain. My father is... traditional. He has very specific expectations for my future. But—" and here his voice became stronger, "—that doesn't change how I feel about Gi Hun. That doesn't change my commitment."

"Words are easy, In Ho-yah. Actions are what matter."

"I know. And I'm willing to prove it."

"Even if it means going against your father?"

Silence. Heavy. Loaded.

"Yes," In Ho finally responded, and Gi Hun could see the cost of that word on his face. "Even if it means that."

Oh Mal-soon studied In Ho for a long moment, as if trying to read his soul. Finally she nodded.

"Good. Because if you're going to be with my son, I need to know you're fully committed. Not halfway. Not 'let's see how it goes.' Fully."

"I am."

"And you understand that Gi Hun's disability isn't something that's going to improve significantly. There's no miracle cure waiting. This is his body now. There will be good days and very bad days. There will be limitations. There will be frustrations."

"I understand," In Ho responded, and then added, "That's why I want to go to his therapy. To fully understand what it means."

Oh Mal-soon looked surprised by that.

"Gi Hun let you?"

"After a lot of persuasion," Gi Hun interjected.

"That's a good sign," Oh Mal-soon said thoughtfully. "That you want to see that part of his life. Many people prefer to ignore it."

"I can't love only the convenient parts of him," In Ho said, looking directly at Gi Hun now. "It wouldn't be real love if I did."

Gi Hun felt his heart expand in his chest.

Oh Mal-soon must have seen something in their faces because she sighed—not with exasperation but with that resigned acceptance parents have when they know their children are growing beyond their control.

"Okay. Here are the rules for this house:" She raised a finger for each point.

"One: Honesty. No more secrets. If you're going out, you tell me. If something happens, you tell me."

Both nodded.

"Two: Gi Hun's bedroom door stays open when you're alone here. Non-negotiable point."

In Ho's ears turned red but he nodded.

"Three: Both of your studies are priority. Gi Hun, your university. In Ho, your academy preparation. Your relationship can't interfere with that."

"It won't," In Ho promised.

"Four: Communication. Between you, with me. If there are problems, we face them together. Don't let things rot in silence like you did last week."

"Yes, eomma," said Gi Hun.

"And five," Oh Mal-soon looked specifically at In Ho. "If your father reacts badly when he finds out, this house is a safe haven. For both of you. But especially for you, In Ho-yah, if you need it."

In Ho blinked, clearly not expecting that.

"Ajumma..."

"I know how strict parents are. And I know how they can react when their children don't follow the planned path." She spoke with a softness that suggested personal experience. "So if things get bad, if you need a place to stay while things calm down, my door is open."

In Ho looked like he was about to cry.

"Thank you," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "That means... thank you."

Oh Mal-soon nodded, then stood up.

"Good. I'll leave you alone for a while. But remember—" she pointed toward Gi Hun's room, "—door open."

She disappeared into the kitchen, giving them privacy but staying close enough to keep things appropriate.

In Ho immediately moved to the sofa next to Gi Hun, taking his hand.

"That was intense," he whispered.

"My mom doesn't mess around."

"I like that about her. She's... protective but fair."

"Are you okay?" Gi Hun asked, seeing the emotion still visible on In Ho's face. "What she said about being a refuge..."

"I'm okay. Just..." In Ho stopped, searching for words. "No one outside my immediate family has offered me something like that. It's overwhelming in a good way."

"She already loves you, you know? In her maternal way. I saw how she looked at you. She's already adopted you."

In Ho laughed softly.

"She barely knows me."

"She knows you enough. You stayed all night in that horrible hospital chair. For her, that says everything."

They stayed in comfortable silence for a moment, In Ho tracing meaningless patterns on Gi Hun's hand with his thumb.

"How do you feel?" In Ho finally asked. "Physically."

"Tired. Sore. But better than yesterday."

"Scale of one to ten?"

"Five. Manageable."

"Have you taken your medications?"

"Yes, Dr. Hwang," Gi Hun joked.

"I'm just worried."

"I know. And I appreciate it."

Another silence, this one a bit more tense. They both knew what was coming in two days: the physical therapy session.

"Are you sure you want to go on Thursday?" Gi Hun asked quietly. "You can still change your mind."

"I'm not going to change my mind."

"It's going to be uncomfortable. For both of us."

"I know."

"And it might be worse than you imagine."

In Ho turned to look at Gi Hun completely.

"Gi Hun, stop. Stop trying to convince me not to go. I'm going. Period. And then we're going to talk about what I saw, how I felt, and we're going to move forward together. Okay?"

Gi Hun felt tension he didn't know he was carrying finally release.

"Okay."

"Now," In Ho leaned back against the sofa, "tell me about your day. What did you do after you were discharged?"

And so they spent the next hour: talking about normal, mundane, wonderfully ordinary things. Gi Hun told him about the bad TV show he had watched, In Ho shared about the reading he had to do for his exam preparation.

When In Ho finally left at 10 PM—"Curfew," he explained with a grimace—they said goodbye at the door with his mother discreetly watching from the kitchen.

"See you Thursday," In Ho said, squeezing Gi Hun's hand one last time.

"Thursday," Gi Hun confirmed, his stomach already twisting with anticipation and dread.

In Ho leaned in, hesitated for a second looking toward where Oh Mal-soon was pretending not to observe, then quickly kissed Gi Hun's cheek.

"Good night," he whispered.

"Good night."

Gi Hun watched him walk away, cross the space between their houses, disappear inside 457. Before closing his own door, he saw In Ho's room light turn on.

His phone vibrated almost immediately.

In Ho (10:12 PM): "Got home safe"

In Ho (10:13 PM): "Your mom is great, by the way"

In Ho (10:14 PM): "A little scary, but great"

Gi Hun (10:15 PM): "She loves you"

Gi Hun (10:16 PM): "I can already see she's going to adopt you completely"

In Ho (10:17 PM): "I won't complain"

In Ho (10:18 PM): "Rest. Thursday you'll need energy"

Gi Hun (10:19 PM): "You too"

Gi Hun (10:20 PM): "Good night, In Ho"

In Ho (10:21 PM): "Good night, my galaxy ❤️"

Gi Hun stared at that heart emoji for a long moment, feeling like a silly teenager despite everything they had been through.

"Everything okay?" his mother asked, appearing in the hallway.

"Yes, eomma. Everything's okay."

"Good." She approached, kissed his forehead. "I'm proud of you, you know? For finally being honest. For letting someone in again after Minhyuk. That takes courage."

"I don't feel very brave."

"Courage isn't the absence of fear, son. It's doing things despite the fear." She smiled. "Now go to sleep. You have two days to mentally prepare for Thursday."

As if Gi Hun could think about anything else.

After all that movement, hectic days and recovery, Thursday had arrived—this Thursday that Gi Hun was afraid of, and that In Ho was nervous about because he would see more of Gi Hun's reality.

Thursday dawned gray and cold, as if the sky itself knew what was coming.

Gi Hun woke up at 6 AM—much earlier than his 10 o'clock appointment—with his stomach in knots. He had slept terribly, plagued by dreams where In Ho saw him in therapy and simply left, walking backwards while Gi Hun screamed his name.

He forced himself to follow his morning routine: medications, stretching, transfer to the chair. All mechanical. All automatic. His brain was too busy spinning with anxiety to really be present.

In Ho (7:15 AM): "Good morning"

In Ho (7:16 AM): "How did you sleep?"

Gi Hun (7:20 AM): "Badly"

Gi Hun (7:21 AM): "You?"

In Ho (7:22 AM): "Same"

In Ho (7:23 AM): "Nervous but in a good way"

In Ho (7:24 AM): "Can I ride with you in the car?"

Gi Hun hesitated. That would mean In Ho would be with him from the moment he left his house until they returned. No escape. No opportunity to compose himself between the trip and the session.

But it also meant not being alone with his anxious thoughts during the journey.

Gi Hun (7:26 AM): "Yes"

Gi Hun (7:27 AM): "We leave at 9:30"

In Ho (7:28 AM): "I'll be ready"

At 9:30 sharp, In Ho was waiting in his front yard, dressed casually in joggers and a hoodie—workout clothes, Gi Hun noted, as if In Ho was also going to exercise. He was carrying a small backpack.

"What's in the backpack?" Gi Hun asked when In Ho got in the back seat (Oh Mal-soon was driving, Gi Hun in the passenger seat).

"Water, snacks, my notebook," In Ho responded. "I thought maybe afterwards, if you feel good, we could... I don't know. Do something normal. Like get ice cream or something."

Gi Hun felt something warm expanding in his chest.

"That sounds good."

The 20-minute drive was mostly silent. Oh Mal-soon occasionally made comments about traffic, but mostly let the boys be with their thoughts.

In Ho, however, extended his hand between the seats, finding Gi Hun's, squeezing it. A silent anchor.

I'm here. You're not alone in this.

The Seoul Rehabilitation Center was a modern three-story building, all glass and clean lines. There was a perfectly graded access ramp, automatic doors, everything designed with accessibility in mind.

In Ho had been here before—waiting in the lobby while Gi Hun had his sessions—but he had never crossed those double doors that led to the actual therapy area.

Now, following Gi Hun and Oh Mal-soon inside, he felt like he was crossing a threshold into a completely different world.

The therapy area was expansive: high ceilings, glass walls that let in natural light, equipment In Ho didn't know how to name but that looked intimidating in its complexity. There were parallel bars, thick mats, machines with weights and pulleys, specialized walkers.

And there were other people.

A boy maybe seven years old working with a therapist on the parallel bars, his legs locked in braces, his face twisted in concentration as he tried to take steps. An older woman—probably after a stroke—trying to grasp small balls with a hand that clearly didn't cooperate as it should. A young man, probably twenty-five, with both legs amputated below the knee, learning to walk with prosthetics.

Each person here was fighting their own private battle. And each one looked simultaneously exhausted and determined.

"In Ho-yah."

In Ho turned to find a woman about forty years old, hair pulled back in a professional ponytail, wearing medical scrubs and athletic shoes. She had a warm smile but eyes that assessed everything.

"I'm Dr. Kim, Gi Hun's physical therapist."

"Nice to meet you," In Ho bowed his head respectfully.

"Gi Hun told me you wanted to observe today." Her tone wasn't accusatory, just declarative. "May I ask why?"

In Ho had thought about this question for days. He had rehearsed answers in his head. But when the moment came, only the truth came out:

"Because I love him. And I want to fully understand what it means to love him, including the difficult parts that normally remain private."

Dr. Kim studied his face for a long moment, then nodded with approval.

"Good answer. Better than 'I'm curious' or 'I want to help.'" She pointed toward a long bench against the wall. "You can sit there. I have some rules."

In Ho nodded, listening attentively.

"One: you don't interfere. No matter what you see, no matter how difficult it gets, you stay on that bench unless I specifically ask for your help. Understood?"

"Understood."

"Two: you can ask questions but only during breaks. Not while we're working."

"Okay."

"Three: keep your expression neutral. No pity, no horror, no visible discomfort. Gi Hun is going to be watching you as much as I'm watching him. If he sees pity on your face, he'll shut down completely."

"There won't be pity," In Ho promised. "Only respect."

"Good." Dr. Kim turned to Gi Hun, who had been observing the exchange with a tense expression. "Ready?"

"No," Gi Hun admitted honestly. "But let's do it anyway."

Oh Mal-soon squeezed her son's shoulder.

"I'll be in the waiting room. Call me if you need me."

She left, leaving Gi Hun, In Ho, and Dr. Kim.

"Okay, Gi Hun. First assessment." Dr. Kim pulled out her tablet. "On a scale of one to ten, where is your pain today?"

"Four. Mainly stiffness more than sharp pain."

"Any spasms since yesterday?"

"Two minor ones. Nothing like before the episode."

"Good. Range of motion at home? Have you been doing your stretches?"

"Yes. Morning and evening ones."

"Excellent." She wrote something down. "Today we're going to go easy. No standing work. Just range of motion, stretching, a bit of core strengthening. I want to make sure you're fully recovered before pushing harder. Questions?"

"No."

"In Ho? Questions before we start?"

In Ho, from his place on the bench, shook his head.

"Then let's begin. Gi Hun, transfer to the mat."

And so it began.

Chapter Text

Abrazame #11

In Ho hadn't said a word in the first ten minutes of the drive back.

He was sitting in the backseat of Oh Mal-soon's car, looking out the window as Seoul passed by in a blur of gray buildings and grayer sky. His hands were clenched in his lap, knuckles white, as if he were holding onto something invisible that threatened to escape.

Gi Hun, in the passenger seat, watched him through the rearview mirror. He could see the tension in In Ho's shoulders, the hard line of his jaw, the way his eyes looked... different. Older somehow. As if he had seen something that fundamentally changed his understanding of the world.

I ruined it, Gi Hun thought, feeling nausea rise in his throat. I pushed him too soon. He saw too much and now he's going to leave.

The therapy session had been... well, exactly what Gi Hun had feared. Not the worst session he'd had—those involved uncontrollable crying and his body completely refusing to cooperate—but it definitely hadn't been pretty.

Dr. Kim had put him to work on range of motion: passive stretches where she moved his legs through different positions while Gi Hun tried to relax muscles that didn't want to relax. Active-assisted stretches where Gi Hun attempted to move his legs himself and Dr. Kim helped when his body didn't fully cooperate.

And then had come the core strengthening work. Those modified abdominal exercises that were supposed to be "simple" but left Gi Hun trembling and sweating after just a few repetitions.

He had managed five. Five damn repetitions before his body simply said "no more."

And the whole time, In Ho had been watching from that bench against the wall. Not saying anything. Not moving. Just... watching with that intensity that made Gi Hun feel completely exposed.

He had seen the tears of frustration when Gi Hun's muscles refused to respond. He had seen the sweat, the trembling, the effort it took to do things most people didn't even consider exercise. He had seen Gi Hun at his most vulnerable, most imperfect, most clearly broken.

And now he was silent.

Of course he's silent, Gi Hun thought bitterly. What's he supposed to say? "Thanks for showing me exactly how complicated you are, I think I'm going to reconsider this entire relationship"?

"In Ho-yah?" Oh Mal-soon's voice broke the silence, soft but insistent. "Are you okay?"

In Ho blinked, as if coming out of a trance.

"Yes, ajumma. I'm fine."

"You don't look fine. You look like you've seen a ghost."

"It's not that. It's just..." In Ho stopped, searching for words. "I'm processing."

Oh Mal-soon exchanged a glance with Gi Hun through the rearview mirror. Gi Hun could read the question in her eyes: Is he okay? Was it too much?

Gi Hun shrugged subtly. I don't know.

They arrived home in that tense silence. Oh Mal-soon parked, turned off the engine, and turned in her seat to look directly at In Ho.

"In Ho-yah, if you need to talk about what you saw today..."

"Thank you, ajumma. But I think I need to talk to Gi Hun first. If that's okay."

Gi Hun felt his stomach drop.

"Sure," he said, trying to sound calmer than he felt. "We can talk inside."

Oh Mal-soon nodded, clearly not completely satisfied but respecting their need for privacy.

"I have to go to the market. I'll be back in two hours. Remember the door rule."

"Yes, eomma," Gi Hun responded automatically.

They watched her leave, the car disappearing at the end of the street, and then they were alone. Gi Hun in his chair at the entrance, In Ho standing beside him, both not knowing exactly how to start this conversation.

"Do you want to come in?" Gi Hun finally asked.

"Yes."

They entered in silence. Gi Hun led the way to the living room, positioning himself near the sofa. In Ho sat down, but on the edge, as if he couldn't fully relax.

The silence stretched. Five seconds. Ten. Twenty.

Gi Hun couldn't bear it anymore.

"Okay, just say it," he burst out, his voice coming out harsher than he intended. "Say whatever you're thinking. That it was too much. That it's more complicated than you thought. That Minhyuk was right and this is too much for anyone to handle long-term."

In Ho looked at him with completely surprised eyes.

"What? No. Gi Hun, no—"

"Then why have you been so quiet?" The words were flowing now like a flood, months of insecurities pouring out. "Since we left the center you haven't said a single word. You just sat there looking out the window like you were trying to figure out how to get out of this without hurting me too much."

"Gi Hun, stop—"

"And I get it, okay? I get it. You saw reality today. You saw how hard it really is. How frustrating. How pathetic. Five repetitions, In Ho. FIVE. You can probably do a hundred without—"

"Gi Hun!" In Ho stood up from the sofa, moving to kneel in front of Gi Hun's chair, taking his hands firmly. "Stop. Just... stop for a second and let me talk."

Gi Hun closed his mouth, but tears were already falling down his cheeks.

In Ho took a deep breath, his thumbs rubbing comforting circles on Gi Hun's hands.

"I haven't been quiet because I was disappointed or trying to figure out how to leave you. I've been quiet because I was trying to process what I saw without saying something stupid that would make everything worse."

"What do you mean?"

"Gi Hun, today I saw..." In Ho stopped, searching for the right words. "I saw how much pain you're in constantly. Not just the obvious physical pain, though that was hard enough to see. But the emotional pain. The frustration. The rage. When your body didn't do what your brain told it to, when your muscles simply gave up even though you were clearly pushing with everything you had..."

His voice broke slightly.

"I saw how much you hate needing help. I saw how much it embarrasses you not being able to do things that used to be automatic. I saw the way you apologized to Dr. Kim when your leg had that spasm, as if it were your fault that your body does things you can't control."

Tears were running down In Ho's face now too.

"And I realized I've been living in a kind of fantasy. Thinking that if I was just patient enough, if I just loved you enough, somehow I could make the hard parts easier. But I can't. I can't fix it. I can't make your body cooperate better. I can't take away the pain or the frustration."

"So..." Gi Hun whispered, terrified of the answer.

"So," In Ho looked directly into his eyes, "I need to accept that this is your reality. Not my romanticized version of it. Your real, complicated, sometimes painful, sometimes frustrating reality. And I need to love you through that reality, not in spite of it."

Gi Hun blinked, processing those words.

"What?"

"Gi Hun, those five repetitions you did today," In Ho continued fiercely, "were worth more than anything I've ever done in a gym. Because each of those repetitions required you to fight against your own body. Required you to keep going even when every muscle was screaming at you to stop. Required the kind of strength most people will never have to develop."

"But—"

"And don't apologize for your body again. Don't tell me it's pathetic or that it's not enough. Because from where I was sitting, watching every second of that session, all I saw was someone incredibly strong refusing to give up even when it would be much easier to do so."

In Ho moved closer, their foreheads almost touching now.

"I've been quiet because I was having this massive 'oh shit, I really didn't understand' moment. Not the gravity of what you live with every day. Not the mental and emotional cost, not just the physical. Not how much courage it takes to simply exist in a body that doesn't always cooperate."

"In Ho..."

"And I was scared that if I opened my mouth too soon, I'd say something stupid and condescending like 'you're so inspiring' or some shit that would make you feel like you were a charity project instead of the person I love."

Gi Hun let out a sound between a laugh and a sob.

"So you're not... you're not going to leave."

"Leave?" In Ho sounded genuinely surprised. "Gi Hun, I'm more committed now than before I entered that center. Because now I know exactly what I'm getting into. Not a fantasy. Not a sanitized version. The complete, complicated, sometimes difficult reality. And still—always—I choose you."

Gi Hun broke then, sobbing into In Ho's shoulders while In Ho held him as tight as he dared without hurting him.

"I've got you," In Ho whispered over and over. "I've got you. I'm not going anywhere."

They stayed like that for a long time, until Gi Hun's tears calmed to hiccups and then to trembling breaths. When they finally separated, both had red, swollen faces but something had changed.

The air between them felt... cleaner somehow. As if a fog that had been hanging over them had finally lifted.

"So," Gi Hun finally said, wiping his face with his sleeve. "Do you still want to stay? My mom won't be back for two hours."

"What do you want to do?"

Gi Hun considered the question. After the emotional intensity of the morning, after exposing the most vulnerable part of himself, after crying until there were no more tears... what he wanted was simple.

"Movie?" he suggested. "Something silly. Something that doesn't require thinking."

In Ho smiled—that soft smile that always made Gi Hun's stomach do somersaults.

"Movie sounds perfect."

They settled in the living room: In Ho on the sofa, Gi Hun transferring from his chair to sit next to In Ho, close but not touching yet. The space between them felt charged with something unspoken, something that had been building for weeks.

Gi Hun turned on the TV, navigating through Netflix without really seeing the titles.

"What do you want to watch?"

"Whatever. You choose."

Gi Hun finally selected a Korean romantic comedy that had been on his list for months—something light about a chef and a food critic who fell in love through misunderstandings and good food. Perfectly innocuous.

The movie started. The opening credits. The introduction scene showing the main character in his restaurant.

Neither Gi Hun nor In Ho were really paying attention.

In Ho had extended his arm along the back of the sofa, not touching Gi Hun but clearly an invitation. Gi Hun, after a moment of hesitation, leaned against him, his head finding the hollow of In Ho's shoulder as if it had been designed specifically for that purpose.

"Are you comfortable?" In Ho murmured, his breath warm against Gi Hun's hair.

"Mmm."

They remained like that for maybe fifteen minutes, semi-paying attention as the movie unfolded. The chef met the critic. There was a scene where they argued about proper kimchi. It was charming in that predictable way Korean romantic comedies always were.

Then In Ho's hand, which had been resting on Gi Hun's shoulder, began to move—just slightly. His fingers tracing lazy patterns over the fabric of Gi Hun's shirt. Up and down. Slow circles.

It wasn't sexual. Not yet. It was just... tactile. Comforting. The kind of casual contact couples share when they're comfortable enough with each other.

But in the context of everything they had been through, of all the emotional barriers they had just torn down that morning, it felt significant. It felt like crossing a threshold.

Gi Hun relaxed more deeply against In Ho, his own arm snaking around In Ho's waist, holding onto him.

On the screen, the chef and the critic were having their first romantic misunderstanding. Something about a misinterpreted review. It was cute. Gi Hun couldn't focus at all.

Because now In Ho's hand had found its way under the hem of Gi Hun's shirt, fingers touching bare skin. Just his lower back. Nothing inappropriate. But the sensation of direct skin against skin, of In Ho's thumb rubbing small circles on his spine...

Gi Hun felt his breathing change. Become a little more shallow. A little faster.

In Ho must have noticed because he stopped.

"Is this okay?" he whispered, though in the quiet space of the living room it felt like a shout.

"Yes," Gi Hun replied, turning slightly so he could see In Ho's face. "Yes, it's more than okay."

Their eyes met. There was something in the way In Ho was looking at him—hungry but also tender, wanting but also patient—that made something hot coil in Gi Hun's stomach.

"Gi Hun," In Ho said, his voice deeper than normal. "Can I kiss you?"

"Please."

The kiss started soft. Tentative. Like their first kisses had been—exploratory, learning each other's taste, the movement. In Ho's lips were soft against Gi Hun's, moving slowly, unhurried despite the clear tension in their bodies.

But then Gi Hun made that small sound in the back of his throat—half moan, half sigh—and something in In Ho broke.

The kiss deepened. Became more urgent. In Ho's hand tangled in Gi Hun's hair, tilting his head slightly for a better angle. Gi Hun's tongue asked for entrance and In Ho gave it, their tongues meeting in a dance that was new but felt inevitable.

Gi Hun didn't know when exactly he had moved—when he had ended up half-lying on the sofa with In Ho pressed against him—but suddenly they were there. In Ho's weight on him was perfect, solid and real and present in ways that made Gi Hun's head spin.

"Wait," Gi Hun gasped, pulling away enough to speak. "Wait, In Ho."

In Ho froze immediately, pulling back slightly, his eyes searching Gi Hun's face with concern.

"Too much? I'm sorry, I—"

"No. Not too much. Just..." Gi Hun struggled with the words, his brain still dazed from kisses and sensations. "We just need to talk before this goes further."

In Ho nodded, sitting up but keeping a hand on Gi Hun's knee—still connected, but with space to breathe.

"Okay. Let's talk."

Gi Hun sat up too, trying to ignore the way his body protested the loss of contact. He took a deep breath.

"I've been thinking about this. About us. About... this," he gestured vaguely between them. "For weeks."

"Me too."

"But I need you to understand something." Gi Hun clenched his jaw, forcing himself to say the words he had been rehearsing in his head for days. "I don't know how this will be for me. The... the sex, I mean. My body doesn't work the way you're probably used to thinking it works."

"I know," In Ho said gently. "I read about it, remember? The reduced sensitivity, the unpredictable responses, all the complications."

"But reading about it and experiencing it are two different things."

"I know."

"And what if... what if I can't..." Gi Hun felt tears of frustration stinging. "What if we try something and my body just doesn't respond? What if I can't give you what you need?"

In Ho took both of Gi Hun's hands, holding them firmly.

"Gi Hun, look at me."

Gi Hun did.

"There's no script we have to follow. There's no 'right' way this has to be. Whatever your body can do, whatever feels good to you, that's what's right for us."

"But—"

"And if we try something and it doesn't work, we stop and try something different. Or we stop completely and just hold each other. Or we talk about it and try again another day." In Ho squeezed his hands. "No pressure. No expectations. Just... exploration. Together."

Gi Hun felt something in his chest loosen.

"Do you really mean that?"

"Completely." In Ho leaned forward, kissing Gi Hun's forehead softly. "This isn't about performance. It's about connection. And we already have that. Everything else is just... bonus."

Gi Hun laughed despite himself.

"'Bonus'?"

"Bad word choice," In Ho admitted with an embarrassed smile. "But the point stands."

Gi Hun studied him—the sincere eyes, the soft smile, the way his thumb was still tracing comforting patterns on Gi Hun's hands.

"Okay," he finally said. "Okay. But we go slow. And if I tell you to stop—"

"I stop immediately. No questions. No hurt feelings."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

They looked at each other for a long moment, the air between them charged with possibility.

"So," Gi Hun said, his voice barely a whisper. "Do you want to keep kissing me?"

In Ho smiled—the kind of smile that made Gi Hun's whole face feel hot.

"More than anything."

This time when their lips met, it was with new understanding. New communication. Each touch, each movement came with silent checks: Is this okay? Do you like this? Can I touch here?

Gi Hun found himself relaxing in ways he didn't know he could. When In Ho's hand found the hem of his shirt again, tugging gently in a silent question, Gi Hun nodded.

In Ho slowly—so slowly it was almost torturous—pushed the shirt up, revealing Gi Hun's torso inch by inch. His hands followed the path of the fabric, fingers tracing over skin that was hypersensitive in ways Gi Hun hadn't anticipated.

"Beautiful," In Ho murmured against Gi Hun's neck, his lips finding the pulse beating there. "You're so beautiful."

Gi Hun wanted to protest—beautiful wasn't a word he associated with his body, especially not with the scars from past surgeries, the way his abdominal muscles weren't as defined as they used to be, the reality of a body that didn't always cooperate.

But the way In Ho was touching him, as if Gi Hun were something precious, something to be worshipped rather than tolerated... maybe beautiful wasn't so far off after all.

Gi Hun's hands found the hem of In Ho's shirt, tugging at it.

"Your turn," he said, his voice coming out rougher than normal.

In Ho practically ripped off his own shirt, throwing it somewhere behind the sofa without looking. And then they were skin against skin, chest against chest, the heat between them rising to levels that made it hard to think about anything other than more, closer, more contact.

The kisses deepened. Hands wandered—back, shoulders, hip, thigh. Each new territory explored came with small sounds of pleasure, caught breaths, names whispered like prayers.

Gi Hun found himself being pushed gently back onto the sofa again, In Ho settling over him but still careful to distribute his weight. One of In Ho's legs slid between Gi Hun's, pressing up, and—

Gi Hun gasped. Not from pain but from sensation. Muted, yes, but there. Definitely there.

"Okay?" In Ho asked immediately, freezing.

"Yes. Yes, okay. More than okay."

The world narrowed to sensations: In Ho's weight on him, the heat where their bodies pressed together, the taste of In Ho's lips, the sound of their breaths mixing. Gi Hun could feel In Ho's heart pounding against his own chest, could feel the way In Ho's body was trembling with restrained effort.

In Ho's hand slid lower, fingers tracing the outline of Gi Hun's hip, down his thigh, then back up. Exploratory. Careful. Always looking for signs if this was okay, if he could continue.

"In Ho," Gi Hun whispered, his voice barely audible. "Touch me. Please."

"Where?" In Ho asked against his neck, his lips moving over the sensitive skin there. "Tell me where."

Gi Hun took In Ho's hand, guiding it to the front of his jeans, pressing it against the evidence of his arousal.

In Ho let out a sound—half surprise, half satisfaction—and pressed more firmly. Gi Hun arched into the touch, a moan escaping his lips before he could stop it.

"Can you feel that?" In Ho asked, wonder in his voice.

"Yes. Reduced, but yes. Definitely yes."

"Tell me if something doesn't feel good. Or if you want me to stop. Or if—"

"In Ho," Gi Hun interrupted, taking his face in his hands, forcing him to look at him. "Stop worrying so much. Just... touch me. Please."

In Ho nodded, his breathing ragged, and his fingers found the button of Gi Hun's jeans.

"Can I?"

"Yes."

This time there was no hesitation. In Ho worked the button, then the zipper, his fingers moving with purpose now instead of tentative exploration. He slid the jeans down—Gi Hun lifting his hips as best he could to help—until they were around his knees.

In Ho sat back for a moment, just looking. Gi Hun on the sofa beneath him, lips swollen from kisses, bare chest rising and falling with rapid breaths, jeans pulled down revealing black boxers that didn't leave much to the imagination.

"You're perfect," In Ho whispered, and there was so much sincerity in his voice that Gi Hun felt tears stinging in his eyes.

"I'm not—"

"To me you are."

In Ho leaned down again, kissing Gi Hun deeply while his hand slid over the fabric of the boxers, palming the shape beneath. Gi Hun shivered, his body reacting in ways he hadn't experienced with another person before.

"Still good?" In Ho murmured against his lips.

"More than good. Keep going. Please keep going."

In Ho's hand slid under the elastic of the boxers, fingers wrapping around Gi Hun directly for the first time. The touch was warm, firm, perfect in ways that made Gi Hun's brain go to static.

"Shit," Gi Hun gasped, his hips pushing up involuntarily into the touch.

"Good?"

"Very good. Don't stop."

In Ho established a rhythm—slow at first, exploratory, learning what made Gi Hun make those small sounds in the back of his throat, what made his hands tighten on In Ho's shoulders, what made his eyes squeeze shut with pleasure.

"Look at me," In Ho said softly. "I want to see you."

Gi Hun opened his eyes, finding In Ho watching him with such intensity, such tenderness mixed with desire, that he felt something in his chest expand painfully.

"Is this okay?" In Ho asked, his hand still moving. "The rhythm? The pressure?"

"Perfect. It's perfect. You're perfect."

The moment stretched—In Ho touching him with reverent care, Gi Hun losing himself in sensations that were both familiar and completely new. He had touched his own body before, knew how it responded, but this was different. This was In Ho touching him, In Ho learning his body, In Ho making him feel desired in ways he had never experienced.

"In Ho, I... I think I'm close," Gi Hun warned, feeling tension building in his lower abdomen.

"It's okay. Let go. I want to see you."

And with those words, with In Ho's hand still moving and his eyes still fixed on Gi Hun's face, Gi Hun fell apart. His body tensed, his back arching off the sofa as much as it could, a moan breaking from his throat as waves of pleasure washed over him.

In Ho worked him through it, his touch gentle now, prolonging the pleasure until Gi Hun was trembling with overstimulation.

"Okay, okay," Gi Hun finally gasped. "Enough. Too much."

In Ho stopped immediately, withdrawing his hand and just holding him while Gi Hun's body came down from the peak. He kissed Gi Hun's forehead, his cheeks, his lips—soft, comforting kisses that asked for nothing in return.

"That was..." Gi Hun began, but he had no words.

"Amazing," In Ho finished for him. "You were amazing. You are amazing."

Gi Hun finally came back to earth enough to notice the obvious tension in In Ho's body, the way his jeans looked painfully tight.

"Your turn," Gi Hun said, reaching toward the front of In Ho's jeans.

But In Ho caught his hand, interlacing their fingers instead.

"You don't have to—"

"I want to," Gi Hun insisted. "In Ho, I want to touch you. Let me."

In Ho hesitated for only a second before nodding. He sat back, giving Gi Hun space to move. Gi Hun pushed himself to sit up straighter, his hands—still trembling slightly from his own orgasm—finding the button of In Ho's jeans.

He worked it open, then the zipper. In Ho lifted his hips, helping Gi Hun push the jeans down enough to relieve the pressure.

Gi Hun could see the outline of In Ho's arousal through his gray boxers, a small wet spot darkening the fabric. Something about that—the visual evidence of how much In Ho wanted him—made Gi Hun feel powerful in ways his body rarely allowed him to feel.

"Can I?" he asked, his fingers hovering over the elastic.

"Please."

Gi Hun slid his hand inside, wrapping around In Ho with the same reverence In Ho had shown him. In Ho gasped, his hips pushing forward into the touch, his head falling back against the sofa.

"Gi Hun," he moaned, and the sound went straight to Gi Hun's core, igniting something he thought had been sated moments before.

Gi Hun established a rhythm based on In Ho's reactions—faster when In Ho moaned his name, slower when his breathing became too erratic, firmer when his hands tightened on the sofa cushions.

"I'm not going to... I'm not going to last long," In Ho warned, his voice strained. "I've been... God, I've been wanting this for so long."

"Then don't last," Gi Hun whispered, leaning in to kiss In Ho's neck. "I want to see you lose control."

Those words were enough. In Ho came with a choked moan, Gi Hun's body muffling the sound, his body tensing as he fell apart in Gi Hun's hand.

They stayed like that for a long moment after—both trying to catch their breath, both still processing what had just happened between them. Finally, In Ho laughed softly.

"We need to clean up."

"Probably," Gi Hun agreed, but neither moved yet.

In Ho eventually straightened up, finding the box of tissues on the coffee table. He used them to gently clean Gi Hun first, then himself, his movements practical but still intimate somehow.

"How do you feel?" In Ho asked as they both adjusted their clothes.

"Good. Really good." Gi Hun paused. "A little nervous now, honestly."

"Nervous?"

"That was... intense. And now that it's happened, my brain is starting to overthink everything."

In Ho moved closer, pulling Gi Hun against his chest.

"Tell me what you're overthinking."

Gi Hun took a deep breath.

"What if my body doesn't respond like that next time? Today was... better than I expected. But spinal cord injuries are unpredictable. One day I can feel something, the next day nothing. What if next time you touch me and my body just doesn't cooperate?"

"Then we try again another day," In Ho said simply. "Or we find other ways to be intimate that don't depend on specific physical responses. Gi Hun, this," he gestured between them, "isn't just about orgasms. It's about closeness. About trust. About exploring together."

"But if you want—"

"What I want," In Ho interrupted firmly, "is to be with you. In whatever way works for your body. If that means some days we can do this and other days we just cuddle, that's fine. If it means we have to be creative and try different things, that's fine. Everything is fine as long as we're together."

Gi Hun felt tears stinging in his eyes again.

"How are you so perfect?"

"I'm not. I just love you. And love means being flexible."

They kissed again, softer this time. Without the urgency from before, just tenderness. Gi Hun curled against In Ho, his head on his shoulder, feeling more safe and loved than he had in years.

"We should probably get dressed properly," In Ho murmured after a few minutes. "Your mom said two hours. She must be about to arrive."

"You're right."

Gi Hun reached for his shirt from the floor where In Ho had thrown it, starting to put it on. In Ho did the same, both recomposing themselves in comfortable silence.

It was strange how after something so intense, these mundane moments—buttoning shirts, fixing hair, making sure there was no obvious evidence of what they had just done—somehow felt equally intimate.

In Ho had just finished putting on his shirt when the unmistakable sound of a key in the front door froze them both.

"Shit," In Ho whispered, looking at the clock on the wall. "It's only 6:30. She said two hours."

"Shit shit shit," Gi Hun repeated, frantically checking his own clothes. Shirt: on. Jeans: buttoned. Hair: probably still looked like "we just had sex" but there was no time to fix it.

The front door opened.

"Gi Hun-ah! I'm home early, the market was too crowded—"

Oh Mal-soon appeared in the living room doorway, shopping bags in her hands, and stopped dead.

Her brain clearly needed a moment to process the scene:

Gi Hun and In Ho sitting on the sofa, separated now but obviously not separated enough. Both with swollen lips. Disheveled hair. Flushed cheeks. Breathing still not completely normalized.

The box of tissues on the coffee table with several obviously hastily discarded.

The air in the room still charged with something any adult would recognize.

And most damning: Gi Hun's wheelchair pushed to the side, clearly unused for a considerable time because Gi Hun had transferred to the sofa independently.

Oh Mal-soon closed her eyes. She took a very, very deep breath. Her face went through several expressions in rapid succession: surprise, realization, embarrassment, maternal concern, and finally a kind of weary resignation.

She opened her eyes again.

"Dressed," she said, her voice dangerously calm. "Both of you. Now."

It wasn't a question. It was an order.

Gi Hun felt his whole body go cold with dread. This was worse than when she had found him after the hospital emergency. This was worse than any awkward conversation they'd had.

Because this time, there was no ambiguity about what had been happening.

In Ho stood up slowly, looking like a man walking to his execution.

"Ajumma, I—"

"Sit down," Oh Mal-soon interrupted, setting down the shopping bags with more force than necessary. "Both of you. Sit."

They sat. Oh Mal-soon remained standing, her arms crossed, looking at them with an expression Gi Hun couldn't fully decipher.

The silence stretched. And stretched. And stretched.

Finally, Oh Mal-soon spoke:

"I said door open."

That was all she said. Four words. But the weight of disappointment, concern, and "I told you exactly this" in those four words was crushing.

"I'm sorry," Gi Hun whispered.

"Sorry for what exactly?" Oh Mal-soon asked, her voice still in that dangerously calm tone. "Sorry for breaking the only rule I set? Or sorry for getting caught?"

"Eomma—"

"No. Let me talk." She finally moved, sitting in the single armchair, her posture rigid. "Three days ago, you two sat here with me and promised honesty. Promised communication. Promised to respect the rules of this house."

Gi Hun felt tears of shame stinging in his eyes.

"And the first opportunity you have when I'm out," Oh Mal-soon continued, "you break that promise. Do you know why I set that rule about the door?"

Neither answered.

"It wasn't to punish you or to be controlling. It was for your own protection. Both of you." She looked specifically at Gi Hun. "Son, you just got out of the hospital. Your body is still recovering from a serious episode. What if something had gone wrong while you were... while you were doing what you were doing? What if you had had a spasm or your blood pressure had gone up again?"

Gi Hun hadn't thought about that. In the excitement of the moment, in the desire to finally experience this with In Ho, he hadn't considered the medical risks.

"And you, In Ho," Oh Mal-soon turned to him. "You saw what happened to him. You saw how quickly his body can go from fine to medical emergency. And yet you thought this was appropriate when no one else was home?"

"No," In Ho said, his voice barely audible. "I didn't think. I just... I..."

He stopped, clearly not knowing how to finish that sentence.

"Exactly. You didn't think. Neither of you thought." Oh Mal-soon rubbed her temples as if she had a headache. "I'm not angry because you're young and have desires. I understand that. But I'm disappointed because clearly you don't trust me enough to have honest conversations about these things."

"Eomma, it's not that we don't trust—"

"Then what is it?" she interrupted. "Because from where I'm sitting, it looks like the first opportunity you had, you did exactly what you knew I wouldn't approve of without at least talking about it first."

Gi Hun didn't know what to say. Because she was right. Completely, absolutely right.

"In Ho," Oh Mal-soon said, her voice softening slightly. "You need to leave now."

In Ho stood up immediately, looking relieved to escape but also guilty for leaving Gi Hun alone.

"Ajumma, I really am sorry—"

"I know. But you need to go. Gi Hun and I need to have a conversation, and you need to go home before your family starts asking where you are."

In Ho nodded, moving toward the door. He stopped as he passed by Gi Hun, his hand briefly touching Gi Hun's shoulder in silence: I'm sorry. We'll be okay. I'll text you.

And then he was gone, the door closing behind him with a final click that echoed in the silence of the living room.

Gi Hun stayed there, alone with his mother, feeling smaller than he had felt in years. Like a child caught doing something wrong, except this wasn't something wrong, was it? It was just... private. Intimate. Between him and In Ho.

But looking at the expression on his mother's face—not angry, just deeply concerned and disappointed—Gi Hun realized that maybe he had crossed a line he shouldn't have crossed.

At least not yet.

At least not without having the appropriate conversations first.

"Eomma," he began, his voice breaking. "I really am sorry."

Oh Mal-soon sighed, the sound loaded with so much maternal weariness.

"I know, son. I know you're sorry. Now we need to talk about what happens next."

Oh Mal-soon didn't say anything for a long moment after In Ho left. She just sat there, hands folded in her lap, looking at her son with an expression Gi Hun couldn't fully read.

Finally, she stood up.

"Stay here. I'm going to make tea."

It was a death sentence. Tea meant Serious Conversation. Tea meant this was going to take a while. Tea meant there was no escape.

Gi Hun stayed on the sofa—the same sofa where minutes before he had been lost in In Ho, in pleasure, in connection—and now it felt contaminated with shame. He could hear his mother in the kitchen: the sound of water boiling, cups being placed on a tray, that ominous silence interrupted only by domestic sounds.

Finally, Oh Mal-soon returned, carrying the tray with two steaming cups of green tea. She sat down, poured both cups with careful precision, and handed one to Gi Hun.

"Drink," she ordered softly.

Gi Hun took a sip. It was too hot, burned his tongue, but he said nothing.

Oh Mal-soon drank her own tea, taking her time, clearly organizing her thoughts. When she finally spoke, her voice was calm but firm:

"How long have you been planning this?"

"What? No," Gi Hun shook his head. "It wasn't planned, eomma. It just... happened."

"Things don't 'just happen,' Gi Hun. Especially not things like these."

"We were watching a movie and talking and it felt right and one thing led to another and—"

"And you broke the most important rule I set." Oh Mal-soon put her cup down with a firm click. "The open door, Gi Hun. It wasn't a suggestion. It was a clear rule."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"And do you understand why I had that rule?"

Gi Hun nodded miserably.

"For safety. For respect. Because I live in your house."

"And because," Oh Mal-soon leaned forward, "you just got out of the hospital. Your body is still recovering. Did you think for a second about the risks? About what could have happened if you had had another episode while you were... busy?"

The word "busy" hung in the air, strange and awkward coming from his mother.

"I didn't think about that," Gi Hun admitted quietly.

"Exactly. You didn't think. And that's what scares me, son. Not that you have desires. Not that you want to be intimate with your boyfriend. That's normal. Healthy, even." She paused. "What scares me is that your judgment was so clouded that you forgot about your own health."

Gi Hun felt tears stinging in his eyes again.

"It wasn't like that, eomma. I just... I felt normal for the first time in a long time. I felt like any other twenty-year-old who wants to be with the person he loves. I didn't want my disability to be the center of attention for once."

Oh Mal-soon's expression softened slightly.

"And I understand that. I really do. But son, your disability is part of who you are. It's not the center of everything, but it's also not something you can completely ignore, especially in situations where your body is being physically taxed."

Gi Hun wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.

"So what am I supposed to do? Never have sex because my body is complicated? Always have a chaperone like I'm a child?"

"No. I'm not saying that." Oh Mal-soon took a deep breath. "What I'm saying is you need to be smart about it. And you need to be honest with me."

"Honest how?"

"Are you being safe?"

Gi Hun blinked, confused.

"Safe?"

"Protection, Gi Hun. Are you using protection?"

Gi Hun's face turned the brightest red possible.

"Eomma, we didn't get to... we didn't have... it was just..." he stopped, unable to finish the sentence.

Oh Mal-soon waited, raising an eyebrow.

"It was just hands," Gi Hun finally managed to say, wishing the earth would swallow him. "Nothing more."

"Yet?"

"Yet. Probably. I don't know." Gi Hun covered his face with his hands. "Eomma, this is the most uncomfortable conversation of my life."

"Good. It should be uncomfortable. Because it's serious." Oh Mal-soon moved to sit next to him on the sofa. "Son, I'm not trying to embarrass you. But these are conversations we need to have if you're going to be sexually active."

Gi Hun groaned.

"Please don't use that phrase."

"What phrase would you prefer? 'When you and In Ho decide to explore further'?"

"Eomma!"

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Oh Mal-soon laughed slightly.

"Okay, okay. But seriously. If you're going to do this—and clearly you're going to do this—you need to be safe. That means protection. Always."

"I know. We've talked about that."

"You've talked?"

"Not specifically about... that. But about other aspects. About how my body works. About communication. About boundaries."

Oh Mal-soon nodded, looking slightly relieved.

"That's good. That's really good. But you also need to talk about protection. And you need to have it available for when you decide to take that step."

Gi Hun wanted to die. Simply die right there.

"Are you telling me to buy...?"

"I'm saying that if you're going to be responsible about your sex life, you need to be prepared. And yes, that means having condoms. And lubricant. And whatever else you need given your specific condition."

"Oh God."

"Gi Hun, look at me."

Gi Hun forced his hands away from his face, looking at his mother.

"I know this is uncomfortable. For both of us. But I'd rather have this uncomfortable conversation now than have to deal with consequences later. STIs, pregnancy—"

"Eomma, we're two men."

"Men can transmit STIs too, Gi Hun. Especially if they're not being careful." She took his hands. "I just want you to be safe. That's all. Safe physically, emotionally, and medically."

Gi Hun nodded, still mortified but understanding her point.

"Okay. I get it. We'll be careful."

"Good." Oh Mal-soon squeezed his hands. "And you also need to be honest with In Ho about your limitations. Not just physical, but emotional too. Have you talked to him about... about your fears? About Minhyuk?"

"A little."

"Talk more. Because son, I saw your face when In Ho left. You were scared he wouldn't come back."

Gi Hun was surprised.

"How...?"

"I'm your mother. I know you. And I saw that flash of panic." She stroked his cheek. "In Ho isn't Minhyuk. But you're not going to fully believe that until your brain catches up with your heart. And in the meantime, you need to communicate those fears instead of keeping them inside."

"I know."

"Now." Oh Mal-soon leaned back, her tone becoming more serious again. "About the house rules going forward."

Here it came.

"The open door rule stands. Non-negotiable."

Gi Hun nodded.

"But I recognize that you're both young adults with needs. So we're going to make a compromise."

"What kind of compromise?"

"On weekends, when In Ho comes over, you can have privacy. But—and this is a big but—your bedroom door stays ajar. Not locked, not completely closed. Ajar. And I'll be in the house."

Gi Hun processed that.

"So... we can...?"

"You can have intimacy, yes. But not complete privacy. And if at any point I cross that threshold and see that you're not being safe—physically or emotionally—that privilege is revoked. Understood?"

"Understood."

"And Gi Hun," Oh Mal-soon looked directly into his eyes. "If you ever, ever feel like In Ho is pressuring you to do something you're not ready to do, you tell me. Immediately."

"He wouldn't do that."

"But if he did. Promise me you'd tell me."

"I promise."

Oh Mal-soon nodded, finally looking satisfied.

"Okay. I think that covers... most of what I needed to say. Do you have questions?"

Gi Hun had about a million questions, but none he wanted to ask his mother right now.

"No. I think I'm good."

"Good." She stood up, collecting the tea tray. "Now go shower. You need to clean up... evidence."

"EOMMA!"

She laughed—really laughed—as she left the living room.

"I love you, son! But seriously, shower!"

Gi Hun sat there, in shock, completely mortified, but also... relieved? His mother knew. Everything was out in the open. And while it had been the most uncomfortable conversation of his life, it had also been necessary.

His phone buzzed in his pocket.

In Ho (7:15 PM): "Made it home"

In Ho (7:16 PM): "Are you okay?"

In Ho (7:17 PM): "I'm so sorry"

Gi Hun (7:18 PM): "I'm okay"

Gi Hun (7:19 PM): "We had THE conversation"

In Ho (7:20 PM): "How bad was it?"

Gi Hun (7:21 PM): "Scale of 1-10? A 100"

Gi Hun (7:22 PM): "She made me talk about condoms with my mother"

In Ho (7:23 PM): "Oh God"

In Ho (7:24 PM): "I'm so sorry"

Gi Hun (7:25 PM): "Not your fault"

Gi Hun (7:26 PM): "Well, technically it's both our faults"

Gi Hun (7:27 PM): "But it was worth it"

In Ho (7:28 PM): "Yeah?"

Gi Hun (7:29 PM): "Definitely yeah"

Gi Hun (7:30 PM): "Now go home. We'll talk tomorrow"

Gi Hun (7:31 PM): "I love you"

In Ho (7:32 PM): "I love you more"

Gi Hun stared at his phone, feeling a strange mix of residual embarrassment and deep happiness. Today had been a day—intense therapy, emotional confessions, physical intimacy for the first time, and the most uncomfortable conversation with his mother.

But through all of that, one thing remained clear: he and In Ho were solid. Complicated, yes. Navigating new territory, absolutely. But solid.

He got up from the sofa, preparing to transfer back to his chair when he heard a loud knock outside.

Not from his house.

From house 457.

Followed by a voice shouting—deep, male, angry.

In Ho's father.

Gi Hun froze, his heart dropping to his feet.

Oh no.

In Ho had crossed the space between houses 456 and 457 feeling like he was walking on a cloud. Yes, they had been caught. Yes, Oh Mal-soon was disappointed. But Gi Hun was okay. They were okay.

And what had happened between them—that intimacy, that connection—had been more than In Ho had dared to hope for.

He entered through the back door, thinking his father would still be at work. It was Thursday, and on Thursdays his father usually worked until 8 PM.

But when he entered the kitchen, he found Hwang Cheol Su sitting at the table. Still in his police uniform. Arms crossed. Expression of granite.

"Dad," In Ho stopped. "I didn't know you were home."

"Clearly." His father's voice was dangerously calm. "Where were you?"

"With the neighbor. Gi Hun. We were watching a movie."

"Watching a movie?"

Something in his father's tone made In Ho's stomach tighten.

"Yes."

"Sit down."

It wasn't a suggestion. In Ho sat, his palms suddenly sweaty.

Hwang Cheol Su leaned back in his chair, his eyes never leaving his son's face.

"Jae-min called me an hour ago."

Jae-min. The neighbor across the street. The one who was always watching from his window, always knowing everyone's business.

Shit.

"He told me he saw you enter house 456 this afternoon. That you've been going there a lot lately. Spending a lot of time with 'the disabled kid next door.'" The quotes around the words were audible, dismissive.

"His name is Gi Hun."

"I don't care about his name." Cheol Su leaned forward. "What I care about is why my son, who should be studying for the most important exams of his life, is spending all his free time with the neighbor."

"We're friends."

"Friends?"

"Yes. Friends."

His father's gaze was penetrating, dissecting, the same look he probably used in interrogations.

"Just friends?"

In Ho felt his pulse quicken.

"What are you insinuating?"

"I'm not insinuating anything. I'm asking directly." Cheol Su didn't blink. "Is there something more than friendship between you and that boy?"

In Ho had two options here. He could lie—continue the charade, protect what he and Gi Hun had a little longer. Or he could be honest, face this now, accept the consequences.

He thought about Gi Hun. About how they had just promised each other honest communication. About how Gi Hun had admitted his fears about In Ho leaving him like Minhyuk had.

If In Ho lied now, if he denied their relationship, it would be like proving those fears right.

So he took a deep breath and said:

"Yes. There's more than friendship. Gi Hun is my boyfriend."

The silence that followed was absolute.

Hwang Cheol Su didn't move. Didn't blink. Just sat there, processing, his face carefully empty of expression.

Finally, he spoke:

"Repeat that."

"Gi Hun is my boyfriend."

"Your boyfriend."

It wasn't a question. It was a flat repetition, almost as if Cheol Su was trying to make the words make sense in his mouth.

"Yes."

Cheol Su slowly stood up from his chair. He didn't yell. Somehow, that was worse. His voice remained dangerously calm.

"How long?"

"A few weeks. Officially."

"Officially?" Cheol Su let out a humorless laugh. "As if this were something legitimate? Something real?"

In Ho felt anger burning in his chest.

"It's real to me."

"It's a distraction." Cheol Su began pacing, his steps measured, controlled. "A dangerous distraction right when you need to be focused."

"It's not a distraction—"

"No?" Cheol Su turned to look at him. "Your grades on your practice exams have dropped 12% in the last month. Your gym coach told me you're arriving late, that you're distracted. And now I find out you've been sneaking off to spend time with the neighbor instead of studying."

"I have been studying—"

"CLEARLY NOT ENOUGH!" Cheol Su's voice finally rose, echoing in the kitchen. "Do you have any idea how competitive the academy is? How many candidates there are for each position? You can't afford distractions. NO distractions."

"Gi Hun isn't just a distraction. I—"

"No." Cheol Su raised a hand. "Don't finish that sentence. I don't want to hear it."

"Hear what? That I love him?"

The words hung in the air between them like a grenade without its pin.

Cheol Su closed his eyes briefly, his jaw clenched.

"This ends. Now."

"What?"

"Your... situation with the boy next door. It ends. Tonight."

In Ho stood up, his hands clenching into fists at his sides.

"I'm not going to do that."

"I'm not asking, In Ho. I'm telling." Cheol Su crossed his arms. "You'll end this... this phase, this confusion. You'll focus on your future. On what really matters."

"He matters," In Ho said, his voice trembling with contained emotion. "Gi Hun matters to me. More than the academy. More than your plans for me."

"Then you're more foolish than I thought."

The words hit like a physical slap.

"Do you know what kind of life you'll have if you follow this path?" Cheol Su continued, his voice becoming cold, clinical. "Taking care of someone disabled? Being a burden to your career? The police force isn't kind to... to relationships like this."

"Gi Hun isn't a burden—"

"HE'S A WHEELCHAIR!" Cheol Su finally exploded. "He's a broken boy who will drag you down. Who will limit every aspect of your life. Do you think you can have a career in the police and take care of someone who requires constant medical attention?"

"I'm not 'taking care' of him. We're partners. It's different—"

"It's stupid. And selfish." Cheol Su stepped closer, invading In Ho's space. "Your mother died wanting the best for you. Died hoping I would guide you toward a good future. And this is what you do? Throw all that away for a boy you met weeks ago?"

The mention of his mother hit In Ho like a punch to the stomach.

"Don't bring Mom into this—"

"YOUR MOTHER WOULD BE DEVASTATED!" Cheol Su shouted. "Seeing her son throwing away his future, his potential, for a... for an adolescent phase with the disabled neighbor."

"STOP CALLING HIM THAT!" In Ho shouted back, tears of rage stinging in his eyes. "He has a name! He's a person! And I love him!"

"Love." Cheol Su spat the word like it was poison. "You don't know what love is. You're nineteen years old. This is attraction. Confusion. Hormones. And it will end when you wake up and realize the mistake you were about to make."

"It's not a mistake—"

"IT'S A DEAD END!" Cheol Su slammed his fist on the table, the sound echoing like a gunshot. "No future! No career! Just tied to someone who will always need more than you can give!"

"Dad, please," In Ho felt tears running down his face now. "Just listen—"

"No. You listen." Cheol Su took a deep breath, composing his face back into that cold mask. "Here's what's going to happen. You end it with that boy. Tonight. You tell him it was a mistake, that you were confused, whatever. But you end it."

"No—"

"Or," Cheol Su continued as if In Ho hadn't spoken, "I withdraw my support for the academy. No more tuition. No more recommendation letters. Nothing."

In Ho felt like the ground had been pulled out from under his feet.

"You can't—"

"I can and I will. It's your choice, In Ho. Your future or a temporary boyfriend you'll forget in six months."

"He's not temporary—"

"EVERYTHING is temporary at your age." Cheol Su waved his hand dismissively. "This time next year, you'll be at the academy, grateful I stopped you from making the biggest mistake of your life. Or you'll be stuck here, no direction, no future, taking care of someone who will drag you down."

"Gi Hun doesn't drag me down—"

"Doesn't he?" Cheol Su raised an eyebrow. "Then explain to me why your grades are dropping. Why you're not studying. Why you spend every free second at that house instead of preparing for your future."

"Because he makes me happy," In Ho said, his voice breaking. "For the first time since Mom died, someone makes me feel like I'm more than just... just your son following your plan."

Something shifted in Cheol Su's face. Something hard, something pained.

"Your mother would want you to be successful. To have a good life. Security. Respect."

"Mom would want me to be happy—"

"HAPPINESS DOESN'T PAY THE BILLS!" Cheol Su roared. "Happiness doesn't build a career! Happiness doesn't provide for a family!"

"What about love? Doesn't that count for anything?"

"Love without stability isn't love. It's fantasy. And fantasies end."

In Ho wiped his eyes, trying to find any evidence of the man who used to play with him when he was a child, who had taught him to ride a bike, who had cried at his mother's funeral. But that man was gone, replaced by this cold stranger who only saw life in terms of success and failure.

"I'm not going to end it with him," In Ho said, his voice low but firm. "I can't."

Cheol Su looked at him for a long moment.

"Then consider this your final warning. You end this... this thing with the neighbor, or you move out. Tonight."

"What?"

"If you can't respect my rules under my roof, if you can't put your future first, then you have no place in this house."

"Dad, please—"

"That's my final decision. Choose: your career or him. You can't have both."

"That's not fair!"

"Life isn't fair." Cheol Su turned toward the door. "You have until noon tomorrow to decide. If you're still seeing him, pack your things."

He stopped at the doorway, not turning around.

"And before you think this is just about your... preference. It's not. Though honestly, In Ho, that's another issue you'll need to resolve eventually. But the real problem is that you're throwing away your future. And I won't stand here watching my son make a mistake that will ruin his life."

"It won't ruin—"

"It already has. Look at yourself." Cheol Su finally turned, his face a mask of disappointment. "Crying over a boy you met weeks ago. Putting someone else above your family, your future, everything we've worked to build."

"Gi Hun IS important to me—"

"Then you're a fool."

Cheol Su left the kitchen, his heavy footsteps on the stairs to his room. Seconds later, In Ho heard the bedroom door slam shut with a definitive bang.

In Ho stood alone in the kitchen, trembling, tears still falling down his face. He sank back into his chair, his head in his hands.

What just happened?

In the space of an hour, he had gone from the best moment of his life—finally connecting with Gi Hun in that way, feeling completely loved and accepted—to this. His father giving him an ultimatum. Choosing him between everything he had worked toward and the person he loved.

How was he supposed to choose?

But even as he asked himself the question, In Ho knew the answer.

There was no choice. Not really.

Because when he imagined his life without Gi Hun—without those late-night conversations, without that smile that made everything feel possible, without that understanding no one else had given him—it felt hollow. Empty.

But when he imagined disappointing his father, losing his path to the academy, throwing away the future they had planned together since he was twelve...

His phone buzzed in his pocket.

Gi Hun (8:45 PM): "Are you okay? I heard shouting"

Gi Hun (8:46 PM): "In Ho, please answer"

Gi Hun (8:47 PM): "You're scaring me"

In Ho looked at the screens with tears blurring his vision. What was he supposed to say? Hi, my dad just gave me an ultimatum: you or my entire future. Oh, and he also thinks you're a burden who will drag me down and that our relationship will ruin my life.

No. He couldn't put that on Gi Hun. Not after everything he was already dealing with from his own mother.

In Ho (8:50 PM): "I'm fine"

In Ho (8:51 PM): "Just an argument with my dad"

In Ho (8:52 PM): "Nothing to worry about"

But even as he sent the words, In Ho knew it was a lie. This was exactly something to worry about.

Gi Hun (8:53 PM): "Sure?"

Gi Hun (8:54 PM): "I can hear through the walls, In Ho"

Gi Hun (8:55 PM): "It sounded bad"

In Ho (8:57 PM): "I'll be okay"

In Ho (8:58 PM): "I just need time to process it"

In Ho (8:59 PM): "We'll talk tomorrow, okay?"

Gi Hun (9:00 PM): "Okay"

Gi Hun (9:01 PM): "But In Ho..."

Gi Hun (9:02 PM): "If you need to talk, I'm here"

Gi Hun (9:03 PM): "Anytime"

Gi Hun (9:04 PM): "I love you"

In Ho stared at those last two words until the screen became blurred with tears.

In Ho (9:07 PM): "I love you too"

He put his phone down and allowed himself to cry—really cry—for the first time since his mother had died.

Because even then, he had had to be strong. He had had to be the perfect example. The son who didn't cause problems. The one who followed the plan.

But now, alone in the kitchen of a house that suddenly didn't feel like home, In Ho let it all out.

He cried for his mother, who had died too soon and would never get to meet Gi Hun.

He cried for his father, who had become so cold, so inflexible, that he couldn't see beyond his own plans.

He cried for Gi Hun, who was going to be hurt by this no matter what In Ho chose.

And he cried for himself, for having to choose between the future he was supposed to have and the present he actually wanted.

Upstairs, he heard movement. Jun Ho, probably, woken by the shouting. Small footsteps coming down the stairs.

In Ho quickly wiped his face, trying to compose himself before his little brother saw him like this.

But when Jun Ho appeared in the kitchen doorway, with his stuffed dinosaur clutched against his chest and big, scared eyes, In Ho knew there was no way to hide it.

"Hyung?" Jun Ho whispered. "Why were you crying? Why was appa shouting?"

In Ho opened his arms and Jun Ho ran into them, climbing into his lap like he used to do when he was smaller.

"Just an argument, Jun Ho-yah. Don't worry."

"Was it about Gi Hun hyung?"

In Ho froze.

"What makes you think that?"

"I heard you say his name. And appa sounded very angry." Jun Ho looked up with those innocent eyes. "Appa doesn't like Gi Hun hyung?"

"It's... complicated."

"But you still like Gi Hun hyung, right? Because he's good to you. He makes you smile."

In Ho felt tears stinging again.

"Yes, Jun Ho. I still like him."

"Then that's what matters." Jun Ho said with the simple logic of a five-year-old. "If he makes you happy, appa should be happy too."

If only it were that simple, In Ho thought, hugging his little brother tighter.

"Go back to bed, okay? It's late."

"Will you tuck me in?"

"Yes. Give me five minutes."

Jun Ho scampered off, his small footsteps going up the stairs. In Ho stayed in the kitchen, feeling the weight of the decision he would have to make pressing on his shoulders like tons of concrete.

His phone buzzed one more time.

Gi Hun (9:30 PM): "Still awake if you need to talk"

Gi Hun (9:31 PM): "You don't have to carry things alone"

In Ho typed and deleted three different responses before finally sending:

In Ho (9:35 PM): "Thank you"

In Ho (9:36 PM): "I'm fine, I promise"

In Ho (9:37 PM): "Get some rest"

In Ho (9:38 PM): "We'll talk tomorrow"

But as he climbed the stairs to tuck in Jun Ho, In Ho knew that "tomorrow" would come with decisions that would change everything.

And honestly, he had no idea how he was going to choose.

Chapter Text

Náufrago

In Ho waited until he heard his father's bedroom door close for the third and final time that night.

11:47 PM. The house was finally silent, save for the familiar creaks and settling sounds of an old building.

He had spent the last three hours lying in his bed, staring at the ceiling, his mind spinning in circles. The ultimatum echoed in his head on repeat: Choose. Your future or him. You can't have both.

But that was bullshit, wasn't it?

People had careers and relationships all the time. People made it work. Why did his father think this was different?

Because Gi Hun is disabled, whispered a voice in his head—his father's voice. Because he will always need more than you can give.

In Ho clenched his fists against the sheets, feeling rage burn in his chest.

No. He wasn't going to accept that. He wasn't going to accept his father's version of who Gi Hun was or what their relationship meant.

But he couldn't just ignore the ultimatum either. His father had been clear: end it or move out. By noon tomorrow.

In Ho sat up in bed, his heart beating fast. He needed to see Gi Hun. He needed... he needed to be with him, even if only for a few hours. He needed to remember why this was worth fighting for.

He pulled a hoodie over his t-shirt, jeans, sneakers. He moved silently through his room, avoiding the floorboards that creaked. He opened his window—the one facing the small gap between houses 457 and 456.

It was risky. If his father caught him leaving at this hour...

But In Ho had already made his decision, hadn't he? The moment his father had given him that ultimatum, In Ho had known he couldn't choose the academy over Gi Hun. He couldn't. Even if it meant disappointing his father, even if it meant losing his planned path.

So really, what else did he have to lose tonight?

He slipped out the window, landing silently in the side garden. Gi Hun's house was dark except for a dim light in what In Ho knew was his bedroom window on the second floor.

Still awake, then.

In Ho had done this before—climbing to the second floor of house 456. Not many times, just enough to know exactly where to put his feet, which parts of the old trellis held his weight, how to avoid making noise.

Oh Mal-soon had found out and set very clear rules: no climbing through windows. Period.

But tonight, the rules seemed less important than the need to see Gi Hun.

In Ho crossed the small space between the houses, his heart beating so hard he was sure the whole neighborhood could hear it. He lifted his phone, typing quickly:

In Ho (11:52 PM): "Are you awake?"

In Ho (11:52 PM): "I'm outside"

In Ho (11:53 PM): "Can I come up?"

The three "typing" dots appeared immediately.

Gi Hun (11:53 PM): "WHAT?"

Gi Hun (11:53 PM): "In Ho, it's almost midnight"

Gi Hun (11:54 PM): "Your dad is going to kill you"

Gi Hun (11:54 PM): "And my mom is going to kill BOTH of us"

In Ho (11:55 PM): "He already wants to kill me anyway"

In Ho (11:55 PM): "Please"

In Ho (11:56 PM): "I need to see you"

There was a long pause. Then:

Gi Hun (11:58 PM): "Okay"

Gi Hun (11:58 PM): "But if my mom catches us we are DEAD"

Gi Hun (11:59 PM): "Wait, I'm going to open up"

Seconds later, Gi Hun's window on the second floor opened. In Ho could see his silhouette against the dim light of his room—standing with his cane, leaning over to look down.

"Can you climb up?" Gi Hun whispered, his voice barely audible from above.

"Yes."

In Ho knew the way. The old trellis against the wall—installed years ago, probably stronger than it looked. He grabbed the first crossbar, testing it with his weight. It held.

He climbed methodically, his gym-trained muscles making the work easier than it would be for most. First bar, second, third. There was a small ledge where he could place his foot. Then more trellis.

In less than a minute he was passing through the window, Gi Hun stepping back to give him space, his expression a mix of relief, worry, and something darker—desire, perhaps. Need.

"You're crazy," Gi Hun whispered, but there was warmth in his voice. "Completely crazy."

"I know."

In Ho was finally inside, standing in Gi Hun's room—a room he knew well now but that tonight felt different. Charged with something. It was small but tidy: a single bed against a wall, a desk with a laptop, shelves with books and anime action figures, posters on the walls of movies and bands.

And Gi Hun, standing in front of him in gray pajama pants and an oversized band t-shirt In Ho didn't recognize, his cane in one hand, trembling from the weakness that still lingered in his body, looking at him with eyes that shone with contained emotion in the dim light.

"In Ho," Gi Hun began, his voice low. "What happened? And don't tell me 'nothing' because I can see on your face that something happened."

In Ho felt something inside him break.

"My dad knows," he said, the words coming out in a hoarse whisper. "About us. About... about everything."

Gi Hun paled, his grip on the cane tightening.

"How?"

"The neighbor across the street. Jae-min. He saw that I was spending a lot of time here and told my dad." In Ho ran a hand through his hair, feeling the pressure of tears. "And my dad... gave me an ultimatum."

"What kind of ultimatum?"

"Break up with you or move out. By noon tomorrow."

The silence that followed was absolute. Gi Hun stood completely motionless, his face cycling through various expressions: shock, pain, and finally something that looked dangerously close to resigned acceptance.

"Okay," Gi Hun finally said, his voice carefully neutral. "Then you should break up with me."

"What? No—"

"In Ho, your future—"

"Fuck my future," In Ho interrupted, his voice coming out louder than he intended. He controlled himself, lowering the volume to an urgent whisper. "Fuck the academy, fuck my dad's plans. I'm not leaving you."

"But—"

"No." In Ho closed the distance between them in two steps, taking Gi Hun's free hand. "Gi Hun, today—this afternoon—was perfect. It was the best thing that's happened to me in years. And if you think I'm going to give that up, give you up, because my dad decided you don't fit into his plans, then you don't know me at all."

Tears were running down Gi Hun's face now.

"But In Ho, if you lose the academy, if you lose your relationship with your dad—"

"Then I'll find another way. There are other academies. There are scholarships. There are ways to do this without him." In Ho squeezed Gi Hun's hand. "But there isn't another you. And I'm not going to let you go without a fight, I can't. I know my mother would have supported me so much, but she's not here and the only thing I have is you."

"God," Gi Hun let out a sob, covering his mouth with his free hand. "You're so fucking crazy."

"For you, yes. Crazy to be free and to love you, because due to my father's decisions I've been very unhappy."

They looked at each other for a long moment—Gi Hun crying silently, In Ho holding his hand as if it were the only thing keeping him anchored to the earth.

Finally, Gi Hun spoke:

"What are you going to do?"

"I don't know yet," In Ho admitted. "But I'll figure it out. Somehow. But I want you to never leave me, promise me you're never going to leave me."

"In Ho—"

"But tonight," In Ho interrupted him gently, "tonight I just want to be with you. Is that okay? Just... be here. With you."

Gi Hun nodded, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand.

"My mom is asleep. We have to be quiet."

"I can be quiet."

Gi Hun let out a wet laugh.

"I doubt that."

Gi Hun leaned his cane against the wall next to the bed—a gesture In Ho already knew, which meant Gi Hun felt safe enough not to need it for a while. They moved toward the bed, In Ho helping him sit on the edge of the mattress with that familiarity born of weeks of knowing the limits and needs of Gi Hun's body.

They settled together—In Ho sitting with his back against the wall, Gi Hun snuggling against his side, Gi Hun's head finding that perfect hollow between In Ho's shoulder and neck.

It was intimate in a different way than this afternoon. Softer. More vulnerable. More desperate, too.

"Are you hurting anywhere?" In Ho asked after a moment, his hand stroking up and down Gi Hun's arm. It was a question he always asked—not out of obligation, but because he genuinely needed to know.

"A little. It always hurts a little." Gi Hun paused. "My legs are stiff. Probably from the stress. And my lower back... you know."

"Do you want me to massage it?"

"Maybe later."

The "later" hung in the air between them, charged with implication.

"Later after what?" In Ho asked softly.

Gi Hun lifted his head, looking directly at him.

"After... whatever we're going to do."

"And what are we going to do?"

"I don't know," Gi Hun admitted, his voice barely a whisper. "But I know I need you. Tonight. In some way that makes all of this—your dad, the ultimatum, the fear—feel less real for a while."

In Ho understood. It wasn't about escape, not really. It was about connection. About anchoring one to the other when everything else felt unstable.

"Okay," he said simply.

They stayed like that for several minutes—just breathing together, the silence of the night wrapping around them like a blanket. In Ho could feel the tension gradually draining from Gi Hun's body, replaced by something warmer, softer.

"In Ho," Gi Hun finally whispered.

"Mm?"

"When you said you weren't going to let me go..."

"I meant it."

"I know. But..." Gi Hun shifted slightly, lifting his head to look at In Ho. "What if I let you go? To protect you."

"You're not going to do that."

"How do you know?"

"Because," In Ho slid his hand to interlace his fingers with Gi Hun's, "if you were going to do that, you would have already done it. But you're still here. You're still letting me hold your hand. You're still looking at me like I'm something precious."

"You are something precious," Gi Hun whispered.

"Then don't let me go," In Ho replied, leaning in to press his forehead against Gi Hun's. "Hold onto me as much as I'm holding onto you."

"Okay," Gi Hun breathed. "Okay."

Their lips met—soft at first, almost shy despite what they had shared that afternoon. But there was something different this time. An urgency beneath the softness. A need that went beyond simple physical desire.

The kiss deepened gradually. In Ho's free hand slid into Gi Hun's hair, tilting his head slightly for a better angle. Gi Hun made that small sound in the back of his throat—half moan, half sigh—that made something hot coil in In Ho's stomach.

"Gi Hun," In Ho gasped when they broke for air. "Tell me to stop if it's too much. If you need—"

"Don't stop," Gi Hun interrupted him, his hands finding the hem of In Ho's hoodie, pulling it upward with an urgency that contradicted his usual shyness. "Please don't stop."

In Ho took off the hoodie, then his t-shirt, tossing them on the floor next to the bed. Gi Hun did the same with his own shirt, revealing the torso In Ho had touched only hours before but that somehow felt new again in the room's dim light.

In Ho could see the small scars—from past surgeries, from catheters, from all the medical procedures Gi Hun's body had endured. Before, In Ho might have felt pity or discomfort. Now he only felt tenderness. Every mark was part of Gi Hun's story, part of who he was.

"You're beautiful," In Ho murmured, his fingers tracing over Gi Hun's chest, feeling the beat of his racing heart under his palm.

"You're biased."

"Completely," In Ho admitted with a small smile. "But I'm also right."

They kissed again, deeper now, hands exploring skin they already knew but that somehow felt different this time. More urgent. Needing more. As if both were trying to memorize every inch of the other.

In Ho gently pushed Gi Hun back against the pillows, settling over him with learned care—never his full weight, always conscious not to press too hard on areas that might cause spasticity or pain.

One of In Ho's legs slid between Gi Hun's, pressing upward experimentally, and—

Gi Hun gasped, arching into the contact as much as his body allowed.

"Okay?" In Ho asked immediately, always checking, always making sure.

"More than okay," Gi Hun breathed. "Keep going."

In Ho moved his leg again, applying more pressure, and was rewarded with another gasp, Gi Hun's hands tightening on his shoulders.

"Shit," Gi Hun whispered. "In Ho, I—I need—"

"What do you need?" In Ho asked against his neck, his lips finding the pulse beating there. "Tell me."

"Touch me. Please."

In Ho's hand slid down, over Gi Hun's stomach, pausing at the elastic of his pajama pants.

"Here?"

"Yes. God, yes."

In Ho slipped his hand inside, his fingers wrapping Gi Hun directly—already half-hard, responding to the touch with a quickness that still surprised In Ho a little given the injury. But bodies were complicated, Gi Hun's doctor had explained. An incomplete T10 injury meant sexual function was possible but unpredictable. Some days better than others. Sensation reduced but not absent.

Gi Hun hissed, his hips thrusting upward toward the touch as much as he could—the movement limited by his incomplete paraplegia, but there. Real. An effort.

"Still sensitive," In Ho observed, marveling. "After this afternoon."

"For you," Gi Hun gasped. "Always for you."

In Ho set a rhythm—slower than this afternoon, more deliberate. He wanted to make this last. He wanted to memorize every sound Gi Hun made, every way his body responded, every little expression that crossed his face.

But Gi Hun had other ideas. His hand found the front of In Ho's jeans, feeling through the fabric, feeling the obvious evidence of the effect he had on In Ho.

"Take off your jeans," Gi Hun whispered, his voice hoarse with desire. "I want to feel you."

In Ho stopped, his heart beating faster.

"Gi Hun... are you sure?"

"Yes." Gi Hun's eyes met his—dark, determined, no trace of doubt. "I want more. Tonight, I want... I want to try more."

"More how?"

Gi Hun took a deep breath.

"I want to try... you know. What we talked about this afternoon. Eventually."

In Ho felt his breath hitch.

"You want to… have sex, Gi Hun?"

"Yes." Gi Hun sounded nervous but determined. "I know it's probably stupid. I know we should plan this better, have longer conversations about safety and positions and all those practical things. But In Ho, after today, after your dad, after everything... I just want to feel close to you in the most complete way possible."

"Gi Hun..." In Ho searched for the right words. "We don't have to rush—"

"It's not rushing if it's what I want," Gi Hun interrupted. "Do you want it?"

"God, yes. But—"

"Then help me take these pants off."

In Ho hesitated only for a second more before nodding. He worked the elastic of Gi Hun's pajama pants, sliding them down with care—Gi Hun lifting his hips as much as he could to help, In Ho doing most of the work.

The boxers followed. And then Gi Hun was completely naked under him—vulnerable, exposed, trusting In Ho in a way that made In Ho's chest tighten with emotion.

"Your turn," Gi Hun said, his voice shaky but firm.

In Ho got off the bed long enough to take off his own jeans and boxers, letting them fall to the floor. When he turned back, he found Gi Hun watching him—eyes traveling over his body with an appreciation that was part shyness, part pure desire.

"Come here," Gi Hun whispered, reaching out a hand.

In Ho returned to the bed, settling next to Gi Hun instead of on top of him this time. They kissed again—deep, slow, hands exploring skin now with no barriers between them.

"How do you want to do this?" In Ho asked after a moment. "Gi Hun, I need you to guide me. I don't want to hurt you."

Gi Hun thought for a moment.

"On my side," he finally said. "I've read it's better for... for my type of injury. Less pressure on my back. Easier to control."

"Have you been researching?"

"Maybe," Gi Hun admitted, his face blushing even in the dim light. "After this afternoon, I... wanted to know what was possible."

In Ho felt something warm bloom in his chest.

"Okay. On your side. Do you have...?" He stopped, realizing what they were about to do. "Wait. Do you have condoms? Lubricant?"

Gi Hun turned even redder.

"In the bedside table drawer. My mom... after the conversation this morning, she... she left some things there. With a note that said 'just in case, be safe' or something like that. Although I find it funny that she didn't want us to have anything at all, but left that…. well, I think she knows us better than we expect."

Despite the tension of the moment, In Ho let out a laugh.

"Your mom is amazing."

"It's mortifying."

"It's practical."

Gi Hun reached over, opening the drawer and taking out a small box of condoms and a tube of lubricant. He passed them to In Ho, his hands trembling slightly.

"I haven't... I've never done this before," Gi Hun admitted quietly. "With anyone. So if I don't know what I'm doing—"

"Me neither, well, I'd never gone this far," In Ho confessed. "So let's figure it out together, okay?"

Gi Hun nodded, some of the tension draining from his shoulders.

"Together."

They settled into position—Gi Hun on his side, In Ho behind him, both facing the same direction. In Ho passed an arm around Gi Hun's waist, pulling him closer, until they were pressed together from shoulders to knees.

"Comfortable?" In Ho whispered against Gi Hun's neck.

"Yes. Nervous, but comfortable."

"Me too."

In Ho took his time—a lot of time. He opened the lubricant, warming it between his fingers first. Then, slowly, so slowly it was almost torturous, he began to prepare Gi Hun.

One finger first. Gi Hun tensed, his breath catching.

"Okay?" In Ho asked immediately, stopping.

"Yes. Just... weird. Different."

"Does it hurt?"

"No. Just... pressure. I can feel it, but it's... muted. Like everything."

In Ho continued, moving slowly, giving Gi Hun time to adjust. He added more lubricant. A second finger, eventually. Gi Hun was breathing hard now, his body tensing and relaxing in waves as he tried to get used to the sensation.

"Talk to me," In Ho urged. "Tell me what you're feeling."

"Strange," Gi Hun gasped. "But not... not bad. It's like... I can feel the pressure but not the full detail. Like my body knows something is happening but can't fully process it."

"Do you want me to stop?"

"No. Keep going."

In Ho worked a third finger in eventually, taking all the time in the world. Gi Hun was trembling now—part nerves, part anticipation, part the effort of keeping his body relaxed when every instinct wanted to tense up.

"I think... I think I'm ready," Gi Hun finally whispered.

"Sure?"

"Yes. Please, In Ho. I want to feel you."

In Ho reached for the condom with shaking hands, opening it and putting it on with more lubricant. His heart was beating so hard he was sure Gi Hun could feel it against his back.

He positioned himself—the tip pressing against Gi Hun, waiting for that final signal.

"Ready?" In Ho asked one last time.

"Ready."

In Ho pushed forward—slow, so slow, giving Gi Hun time to adjust to every inch. Gi Hun gasped, his hand reaching back to grab In Ho's thigh, his fingers digging into the skin.

"Okay? Okay?" In Ho asked, stopping immediately.

"Yes. Yes, just... give me a second," he said panting as he felt In Ho entering places he had never explored; this was weird, but not painful like he had read before.

In Ho waited, completely motionless except for his labored breathing against Gi Hun's neck. He could feel every muscle of Gi Hun—some under his control, others not—adjusting, processing, accepting.

"Okay," Gi Hun finally breathed. "Okay, you can... you can move."

In Ho moved his hips forward another bit—slow, careful, always checking Gi Hun's face for signs of pain or discomfort. But what he saw instead was concentration, wonder, and something darker—pleasure, although muted by his injury.

Finally, In Ho was fully inside. They paused like that for a moment—both breathing hard, both adjusting to the sensation of being connected in this intimate way.

"How does it feel?" In Ho asked, his voice hoarse.

"Full," Gi Hun gasped. "I can feel the pressure. The fullness. It's... different from what I thought it would be, but good. Definitely good."

"Can I move?"

"Please."

In Ho began to move—slow, shallow strokes at first, giving both of them time to adjust to the rhythm. His arm around Gi Hun's waist kept him close, stable, connected.

"Faster," Gi Hun gasped after a moment. "You can... you can go faster."

In Ho increased his pace, his hips thrusting forward with more purpose now. The hand that wasn't holding Gi Hun found his erection—still half-hard despite everything, responding to the touch with small jerks.

"In Ho," Gi Hun moaned, trying to keep it quiet but the need leaking through. "God, In Ho..."

"I got you," In Ho whispered against his neck. "I got you."

They found a rhythm together—In Ho moving inside Gi Hun while his hand worked his length in sync. It wasn't perfect. Both their bodies were new at this, still learning what worked, what felt right. The angle wasn't always right. Gi Hun couldn't move his hips as much as he probably wanted to.

But it was theirs. It belonged to them. And that made it perfect anyway.

In Ho could feel his orgasm building—that familiar tightness in his lower abdomen, that heat spreading through his limbs. He sped up both his thrusting pace and the movement of his hand on Gi Hun.

"Gi Hun," he gasped. "I'm close. I'm—"

"Me too," Gi Hun breathed. "Don't stop. Please don't stop."

In Ho buried his face in Gi Hun's neck, his hips crashing forward with less care now, chasing that release. His hand tightened, moved faster, and—

Gi Hun came first—his body tensing as much as it could, a stifled moan against the pillow as he came in In Ho's hand. The sensation of Gi Hun tightening around him pushed In Ho over the edge.

He came with a strangled groan, burying himself deep one last time as waves of pleasure rolled through him. He collapsed against Gi Hun's back, both trembling, both gasping for air.

They stayed like that for a long moment—still connected, still holding each other, still processing what had just happened between them.

Finally, In Ho pulled out carefully. Gi Hun winced at the sensation.

"Did I hurt you?" In Ho asked immediately, panic seeping into his voice.

"No. Just... sensitive. And weird." Gi Hun turned with effort to face In Ho. "But good. Definitely good."

In Ho took off the condom carefully, tying it and looking for where to throw it. Gi Hun pointed weakly toward the small trash can next to the desk. In Ho got up—his legs still a bit shaky—and disposed of it before returning to the bed.

"We need to clean up," he said softly, noticing the mess on both of them.

"There are clean towels in the second drawer," Gi Hun murmured, sounding exhausted. "And wet wipes in the hall bathroom, but we can't risk going out."

In Ho found a small towel in the drawer, using it to gently clean Gi Hun first—with as much care as if he were handling something fragile—and then himself. He threw the towel in the trash can too, mentally noting that they would have to deal with that before Oh Mal-soon saw it.

When he returned to the bed, Gi Hun was already curled under the sheets, his eyes half-closed but still watching In Ho with something that looked like awe.

"Come here," Gi Hun whispered, extending a hand.

In Ho slid under the sheets, pulling Gi Hun against his chest. Gi Hun settled there with a sigh—his head in the crook of In Ho's shoulder, an arm around his waist, his legs tangled as much as his range of motion allowed.

"How do you feel?" In Ho asked after a moment, his fingers tracing lazy patterns up and down Gi Hun's back.

"Sore," Gi Hun admitted. "I'm probably going to be really sore tomorrow. But..." he paused, searching for the right words. "I also feel good. Whole, somehow. Does that make sense?"

"Perfect sense."

"And you?"

"I feel..." In Ho stopped, trying to articulate the mix of emotions. "Like I just experienced something that fundamentally changed how I see the world. Like everything before this moment was black and white and now suddenly everything is in color."

Gi Hun laughed softly against his chest.

"That's so cheesy."

"I know. But it's true."

They lay in silence for a moment, just enjoying the proximity, the warmth of the other's body, the feeling of being completely connected in a way that went beyond the physical.

"In Ho," Gi Hun finally said, his voice sleepy.

"Mm?"

"Thank you."

"Why are you thanking me?"

"For being patient. For being careful. For making my first time..." Gi Hun searched for the word. "Special. Perfect, even with all the complications."

In Ho tightened his grip, pressing a kiss to the crown of Gi Hun's head.

"It was my first time too. And it was perfect because it was with you."

"You didn't mind that I couldn't... you know, move as much as you probably wanted? That my body didn't respond completely?"

"Gi Hun, look at me."

Gi Hun lifted his head, his eyes meeting In Ho's in the dim light.

"Your body responded perfectly," In Ho said firmly. "You came. You felt pleasure. You let me be close to you in the most intimate way possible. What more could I want?"

"But—"

"No buts. It was perfect. You are perfect. And anyone who makes you feel like you aren't doesn't deserve you."

Gi Hun felt tears prick his eyes again—tears of relief, of gratitude, of overwhelming love.

"I love you," he whispered. "I love you so much that sometimes I don't know what to do with it all."

"I love you too," In Ho replied. "And we'll figure out what to do with it all. Together."

They kissed again—soft, slow, no urgency now. Just tenderness. Just love.

Eventually they settled down to sleep—still tangled together, still holding on as if letting go meant losing each other. Gi Hun began to drift off first, his breathing becoming slow and deep against In Ho's chest.

In Ho remained awake a little longer, watching the way the moonlight through the window illuminated Gi Hun's face, making him look almost ethereal. He thought about his father's ultimatum. About the decisions he would have to make. About the uncertain future stretching out in front of them.

But as he held Gi Hun—feeling the solid, real weight of him, listening to his steady breathing, knowing they had shared everything tonight—In Ho knew he had made the right choice.

He chose this. He chose Gi Hun. He chose love over duty, connection over convenience, the present over the planned future.

And whatever the consequences were tomorrow, at least he would have tonight. This moment. This person.

That would have to be enough.

In Ho finally closed his eyes, allowing himself to drift into sleep with Gi Hun safe in his arms.

The sunlight coming through the window was the first thing Gi Hun registered upon waking. Bright sunlight, not the soft light of dawn. Which meant it was late—much later than he normally woke up.

The second thing he registered was the warm weight pressed against his back, an arm around his waist, steady breathing against his neck.

In Ho. In Ho was still here.

Gi Hun smiled, snuggling closer into the embrace. Last night had been... well, "amazing" didn't even begin to cover it. Yes, he was sore—he could feel the tightness in his lower back, the dull ache in places that didn't usually hurt—but he also felt good. Whole. Loved.

Then he heard footsteps in the hallway outside his room.

Gi Hun's stomach dropped.

Oh no.

The footsteps stopped in front of his door. There was a pause—probably his mother noticing that the door was completely closed, which violated the sacred rule.

"Gi Hun-ah?" Oh Mal-soon's voice. Tense. Worried. "Are you awake?"

Gi Hun opened his eyes fully, panic filling his chest. In Ho was still deeply asleep behind him, oblivious to the impending disaster.

"Gi Hun?" His mother's voice again, more insistent now. "I'm coming in."

"Wait!" Gi Hun practically shouted, his voice coming out louder than he intended.

In Ho woke with a start, confused.

"What...?"

"My mom," Gi Hun hissed urgently. "She's about to come in."

In Ho's eyes widened completely, absolute panic crossing his face as the reality of their situation hit: they were naked, in Gi Hun's bed, obviously having spent the night together, with evidence of their nocturnal activities still scattered around the room.

"Shit. Where—?"

Too late.

The door opened.

Oh Mal-soon froze in the doorway, her expression cycling through shock, realization, and finally something between maternal disappointment and weary resignation as she processed the scene:

Gi Hun and In Ho in bed. Together. Obviously naked under the sheets. Clothes scattered on the floor. The unmistakable smell of sex in the air. The box of condoms on the nightstand, now with one missing. The used towel visible in the trash can.

There was no way to misunderstand what had happened here.

There was a long, long silence where no one moved, no one breathed, no one knew what the hell to say.

Finally, Oh Mal-soon spoke, her voice dangerously calm:

"In Ho-yah. Does your father know where you are?"

"No, Ajumma," In Ho replied, his voice barely a whisper.

"And you thought it was a good idea to sneak out in the middle of the night, climb through the window I specifically told you not to use, and spend the night with my son... doing..." she waved her hand vaguely toward the bed, "this?"

"I... I didn't—"

"And you," Oh Mal-soon turned to Gi Hun, her voice rising slightly. "Three days ago you were in the hospital with an episode of autonomic dysreflexia that could have killed you. THREE DAYS, Gi Hun. And you decided it was a good time to have sex?"

Gi Hun felt his face burn with shame.

"Mom—"

"Do you know how dangerous this could have been?" Oh Mal-soon continued, her voice trembling now with real emotion. "What if your blood pressure had spiked again? What if you had severe spasticity? What if something had gone wrong and In Ho hadn't known what to do?"

"I was fine—"

"YOU DIDN'T KNOW THAT!" Oh Mal-soon almost shouted, then controlled herself, lowering her voice but not her intensity. "You couldn't know. Not when your body is still recovering. Not when you just got out of the hospital."

Tears were running down Gi Hun's cheeks now—tears of shame, of guilt, of realizing his mother was right.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm so sorry."

Oh Mal-soon closed her eyes, taking a deep, long breath. When she opened them again, there was sadness there along with the disappointment.

"Get dressed," she said, her voice firm but softer now. "Both of you. Now. Come downstairs in ten minutes. We are going to have a very long conversation about boundaries, safety, and the consequences of breaking this house's rules."

She turned to leave, then stopped in the doorway.

"And In Ho-yah," she added without turning around. "Your father called here thirty minutes ago looking for you. I told him I didn't know where you were. But you're going to have to deal with that too."

She closed the door behind her—not with a slam, which somehow would have been better, but with a soft click that somehow felt worse.

Gi Hun and In Ho stayed in bed, both pale, both processing the magnitude of how screwed they were.

"Shit," In Ho finally whispered.

"Yeah," Gi Hun agreed, his voice broken. "Definitely shit."

They dressed in silence—clumsy and hurried movements, both hyper-aware of the conversation awaiting them downstairs. Gi Hun winced when he reached for his cane, the movement pulling at sore muscles in his lower back and thighs.

In Ho noticed immediately.

"Are you okay? Did I hurt you?"

"No. Just sore." Gi Hun tried a small smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Normal consequence, I think. But it probably doesn't help my mom's case about whether this was a good idea."

"Gi Hun—"

"We should go down," Gi Hun interrupted him gently. "Making her wait is only going to make things worse."

They went down the stairs together—slowly, Gi Hun leaning heavily on his cane, In Ho staying close just in case. They found Oh Mal-soon sitting at the dining table, two cups of tea already prepared, her expression carefully neutral.

"Sit," she said.

They sat. The silence stretched.

Finally, Oh Mal-soon spoke:

"In Ho-yah, before we talk about anything else, you need to call your father. Now."

In Ho nodded miserably, taking out his phone. He had seventeen missed calls from his father. Seventeen.

He pressed the call button, his hand shaking slightly.

His father answered on the first ring.

"WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU?"

Hwang Cheol Su's voice was so loud that both Gi Hun and Oh Mal-soon could hear it through the phone.

"I'm... I'm at Gi Hun's house, Dad."

"Did you spend the night there?"

"Yes."

There was a long, terrible pause.

"Come home. Now."

"Dad—"

"NOW, In Ho. We have things to discuss. And clearly I cannot trust you to make appropriate decisions without supervision."

The line went dead.

In Ho lowered his phone slowly, his face pale.

"I have to go."

"I know," Oh Mal-soon said. "But before you go, I need you both to understand something."

She waited until she had the full attention of both boys.

"What you did last night—sneaking out, breaking this house's rules, having sexual relations when Gi Hun is still recovering—was irresponsible. Dangerous. And unacceptable."

Gi Hun lowered his gaze, tears burning again.

"But," Oh Mal-soon continued, her voice softening slightly, "I also understand that you are both under a lot of stress. In Ho, with your father's ultimatum. Gi Hun, with your fears about being abandoned again. It doesn't excuse your actions, but I understand it."

She looked specifically at In Ho.

"You need to go home and face your father. Whatever his reaction, whatever he decides, you need to handle it like the young adult you claim to be."

Then she turned to Gi Hun.

"And you need to rest. No heavy physical activity today. If you start feeling any symptoms—headache, nausea, blurred vision, anything—you tell me immediately. Understood?"

"Yes, Mom."

Oh Mal-soon nodded, then looked at both of them again.

"I'm not saying your relationship is wrong. I'm not saying you shouldn't be intimate eventually. But there are right ways to do things—with communication, with safety, with respect for this house's rules—and wrong ways. Last night was the wrong way."

"I'm sorry," In Ho said, his voice cracked. "Ajumma, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to disrespect you or your home. I just... I needed to be with Gi Hun."

"I know. But need doesn't justify recklessness." Oh Mal-soon sighed. "Go home, In Ho. Talk to your father. And when things calm down—if they calm down—we can have a proper conversation about how to move forward."

In Ho stood up slowly, turning toward Gi Hun.

"I—"

"Go," Gi Hun said softly. "I'll be here. Text me when you can."

They looked at each other for a long moment—so many unspoken things passing between them. Finally, In Ho leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to Gi Hun's forehead under Oh Mal-soon's watchful gaze.

"I love you," he whispered.

"I love you too."

And then In Ho left, the front door closing behind him with a soft click.

Gi Hun remained at the table with his mother, the silence filling the space between them like something solid.

"Mom," Gi Hun finally said, his voice barely a whisper. "I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to worry you or disappoint you."

Oh Mal-soon reached out, taking her son's hand.

"I know you didn't. And I know you love In Ho. But son, your safety—your health—has to come first. Always. Even before love."

"I know."

"Do you really feel okay? No headache? No nausea?"

Gi Hun did a mental inventory.

"I'm sore. Especially my lower back. And I think I'm going to have more spasticity today than normal. But nothing that feels dangerous."

"Okay. We'll monitor it. And if anything changes, we go straight to the hospital. No discussion."

"No discussion," Gi Hun agreed.

Oh Mal-soon studied him for a long moment.

"Was it... was it what you expected? Last night, I mean. Did he treat you well?"

Gi Hun felt his face heat up again, but he nodded.

"It was perfect, Mom. In Ho was so careful. So patient. So..." he stopped, not knowing how to explain without going into details no son should share with his mother.

"It's okay. I don't need details." Oh Mal-soon squeezed his hand. "I just need to know that you were respected. That you were safe. That it was your choice."

"It was. All of that."

"Then that's good." Oh Mal-soon sighed. "Although I really wish you had waited until you were better recovered. And that you had followed the house rules."

"I'm sorry."

"I know. Now go rest. You need to be in bed today, recovering."

"And In Ho?"

"In Ho needs to handle his own situation with his father. You can't fix it for him, Gi Hun. No matter how much you want to."

Gi Hun nodded, knowing she was right but hating it anyway.

He went up the stairs slowly, every step reminding him exactly what he had done last night. When he reached his room, he threw himself onto the bed—sheets that still smelled like In Ho, pillows that still held the impression of where they had slept together.

His phone vibrated.

In Ho (10:47 AM): "I got home"

In Ho (10:48 AM): "My dad is waiting for me in the living room"

In Ho (10:49 AM): "I want you to know this changes nothing"

In Ho (10:50 AM): "I love you"

In Ho (10:51 AM): "No matter what happens"

Gi Hun stared at the words until they blurred with tears.

Gi Hun (10:53 AM): "I love you too"

Gi Hun (10:54 AM): "Be brave"

Gi Hun (10:55 AM): "I'll be waiting for you"

He put his phone aside, curling up under the sheets that still smelled like them.

And he waited.

In Ho entered house 457 with his heart beating so hard he could feel it in his ears. The house was silent—that type of ominous silence that precedes a storm.

His father was in the living room, standing in front of the window that faced Gi Hun's house. He was still wearing his police uniform, his shoulders rigid, his hands clasped behind his back.

"Close the door," Hwang Cheol Su said without turning around.

In Ho closed the door, the click echoing like a gunshot in the silence.

"Where is Jun Ho?"

"At my sister's house. I sent him there last night." Cheol Su finally turned, his face a mask of contained fury. "Because I knew this conversation was not appropriate for a five-year-old."

In Ho swallowed, staying near the door, his instincts telling him to keep an escape route available.

"Dad—"

"Did you spend the night with him?"

There was no point in lying. Not now.

"Yes."

"In his bed?"

"Yes."

"Did you have sex?"

In Ho felt his face burn, but he held his father's gaze.

"That's not—"

"ANSWER THE QUESTION." Cheol Su's voice went from zero to shouting in a second.

"Yes," In Ho said, his own voice rising to match. "Yes, we had sex. Are you happy? Is that what you wanted to hear?"

Cheol Su's fist hit the table next to the window with such force that a framed photo—a family photo from when Mom was still alive—toppled over.

"You are a child! A stupid child who is throwing his life in the garbage for a fuck with the cripple next door!"

"DON'T CALL HIM THAT!"

"WHY NOT?" Cheol Su advanced, closing the distance between them in three long strides. "Because it hurts? Because it's the truth? That boy is disabled and is going to drain every ounce of energy you have. And you are too stupid and hormonal to see it."

"Gi Hun has a NAME—"

"I don't care about his name!" Cheol Su was in his face now, so close In Ho could see the veins pulsing in his neck. "I don't care about his sad story. I don't care about whatever you think you feel for him. The only thing I care about is that my son, my SON, is destroying his future for an adolescent phase."

"It's not a phase!"

"EVERYTHING is a phase at your age," Cheol Su spat. "In two years you won't even remember his name. But the consequences of your stupid decisions will haunt you forever."

"The only consequences I care about are losing HIM—"

The slap came out of nowhere—fast, hard, the sound echoing in the living room like thunder. In Ho stumbled backward, his hand flying to his cheek where he could feel the stinging burn spreading.

They stood frozen for a moment—both surprised by what had just happened.

"Dad—" In Ho began, his voice shaking.

"No." Cheol Su raised a hand, his own voice shaking now. "Don't say anything. Don't say a damn word."

He turned, running both hands through his hair. In Ho could see they were trembling.

"Your mother," Cheol Su finally said, his voice dangerously low. "Your mother died believing you would become something. Someone. She died with the hope that I would guide you toward a good future, a stable future."

He turned sharply, pointing accusingly at In Ho.

"And this is what you do with her memory? This is how you honor her sacrifice? Throwing EVERYTHING out the window to play house with a broken boy?"

"Gi Hun is NOT broken!"

"HE IS IN A WHEELCHAIR!" Cheol Su shouted. "He can barely walk! He needs help for basic bodily functions! And you want to tie yourself to that for the rest of your life?"

"I want to love him!"

"Love isn't enough!" Cheol Su advanced again. "Do you know how many couples break up under the stress of a disability? How many marriages are destroyed because one needs constant care? You think at nineteen you understand what that commitment means!"

"I understand more than you think!"

"You understand NOTHING!" Cheol Su grabbed In Ho by the front of his shirt, shoving him against the wall. "You are a child playing at being an adult! And I am going to save you from yourself even if I have to do it by force!"

"Let go of me!"

"No." Cheol Su's grip tightened. "Not until you understand. Your mother is dead, In Ho. DEAD. And she's not coming back. And the only way her death has any meaning is if you live the life she wanted for you."

"She would have wanted me to be HAPPY!"

"She would have wanted you to be SUCCESSFUL!" Cheol Su pushed him harder against the wall, the impact shaking a picture from the nearby hook which crashed to the floor. "Success brings happiness! Stability brings happiness! Not a doomed romance with someone who is going to limit you at every step!"

"Gi Hun doesn't limit me!"

"No?" Cheol Su let go of his shirt only to grab his face with one hand, forcing him to make eye contact. "Then explain to me why your grades have dropped. Why you're missing training. Why every free second you have you spend in that house instead of preparing for your future."

"Because he matters more to me—"

SMACK.

Another slap, harder this time. In Ho's lip split, blood blooming in his mouth.

"Don't you dare!" Cheol Su roared. "Don't you dare say that a boy you met a few months ago matters more than everything we have worked for! What your MOTHER worked for!"

In Ho spat blood, his vision blurring with tears of pain and rage.

"Mom is dead," he said, every word deliberate. "And you can't control my life just because you couldn't save hers, because you couldn't and wouldn't give peace to her death, and the only thing you did was get married a few months after she passed."

The silence that followed was absolute.

Cheol Su's expression changed—something dark and terrible crossing his face. For a second, In Ho thought his father might hit him again, harder this time.

Instead, Cheol Su pulled away, turning as if he couldn't bear to look at his son for another second.

"Get out of my sight," he said, his voice dangerously calm.

"Dad—"

"NOW." Cheol Su didn't turn around. "Go to your room. Pack your things. You have until noon tomorrow to get out of this house."

In Ho felt his stomach drop.

"What?"

"I told you yesterday. Your career or him. Clearly you made your choice last night." Cheol Su finally turned, his face a cold mask. "So now you live with the consequences. Without my support. Without my roof. Without my money for the academy."

"Are you kicking me out?"

"I am releasing you to pursue your great love story," Cheol Su said bitterly. "Let's see how long it lasts when you have to work full time just to pay rent. When you can't afford dates because every won goes toward basic survival. When you realize that love doesn't fill your stomach or pay your bills."

"Dad, please—"

"No more." Cheol Su raised a hand. "I made my offer. End it with that boy or get out. You chose to get out. Now live with it."

"You can't just kick me out!"

"I can and I will." Cheol Su crossed his arms. "This is my house. My rules. And if you can't follow them, you have no place here."

In Ho felt panic rising in his throat. Where would he go? How would he survive? He was still in school. He had no job, no real savings, no—

No. Stop. Think.

He could get a job. He could find a cheap place. He could make it work. He would have to make it work.

Because the alternative—leaving Gi Hun, pretending none of this had happened, returning to the life his father had planned for him—was impossible now.

"Fine," In Ho said, his voice shaking but firm. "I'll leave."

Something flickered on Cheol Su's face—surprise, perhaps, or pain—but it vanished quickly behind that cold mask again.

"Good. Now get out of my sight before I do something we both regret."

In Ho pushed off the wall, his cheek still burning, his lip still bleeding. He walked toward the stairs with legs that felt like jelly, every step an effort.

He stopped on the first step, turning to look at his father one last time.

"Mom wouldn't have wanted this," he said quietly. "She never would have wanted us to fall apart like this."

Cheol Su didn't answer. He just stood there, back to his son, shoulders rigid.

In Ho went up the stairs, every step feeling like walking through cement. When he reached his room and closed the door behind him, he finally allowed himself to crumble.

He slid down the door to the floor, his hands shaking as he took out his phone. He needed to tell Gi Hun. He needed—

But when he looked at the screen, he saw his own reflection in the black glass. His cheek was red and swelling. His lip is split and bleeding. His eyes red and puffy.

How was he supposed to explain this to Gi Hun? How could he tell him that his father had hit him, had kicked him out, that now he had absolutely nothing except the clothes on his back and a love for someone the whole world seemed determined to tell him was a mistake?

In Ho put his phone aside, buried his face in his hands, and let out a sob—harsh, broken, the sound of something fundamental shattering inside him.

Downstairs, he heard the sound of something smashing—probably his father throwing something in frustration or rage. Then heavy footsteps. The front door opening and slamming shut.

And then silence.

In Ho remained alone on the floor of his room, bleeding and broken, with twenty-four hours to figure out how to rebuild a life that had completely fallen apart in the span of a morning.

His phone vibrated.

Gi Hun (11:15 AM): "Are you okay?"

Gi Hun (11:16 AM): "In Ho please answer"

Gi Hun (11:17 AM): "You're scaring me"

In Ho looked at the messages with blurred vision. He lifted his trembling fingers to the keyboard three times before finally typing:

In Ho (11:20 AM): "I'll call you later"

In Ho (11:21 AM): "I need time to process"

It wasn't a lie. But it wasn't the whole truth either.

Because the truth—that his father had hit him, had kicked him out, that now he had absolutely nothing—was too much to put into words just yet.

In Ho put the phone face down, crawled into his bed, and curled up under the sheets that smelled like home.

A home that would no longer be his in twenty-four hours.