Archive of Our Own

SEOUL NATIONAL UNIVERSITY — WEST SIDE BENCH, SPRING SEMESTER

“Can you meet me for a couple minutes? The bench near the west entrance.”
Sent, 5:34 p.m.

Jungwon stares at the message, thumbs trembling. Three dots appear a few seconds later.

“On my way baby.”

He exhales quietly, dropping his phone back into his lap. Around him, the campus buzzed with the familiar sounds of students heading home, laughter from the café across the street, the low hum of a delivery truck reversing.

It was early evening. The light was golden, the sun just beginning to sink behind the library. Jungwon could almost laugh. How cruel that the world still looked beautiful when everything inside him was collapsing.

He’d chosen this spot on purpose. Their spot. Where Riki had slipped a ring pop on his finger at nineteen, cheeks cherried red and declared it would be replaced by graduation. The one Riki had dragged him to in freshman year, saying it had the best view of the cherry blossoms in spring. As cheesy as it was, Jungwon loved it here. Jungwon loves it here. 

Jungwon buries his face in his hands, fingers pressing hard into his temples like he could force the spiraling thoughts to stop. They wouldn’t. They hadn’t for weeks. Months. Years, if he was honest with himself. Since the first time Riki’s father looked him in the eye and smiled with ice in his voice. Since the first envelope of money had been passed to him under the table. Since the first time Riki had skipped a family gathering and shown up outside Jungwon’s part-time job in the rain, just because he missed him.

Since love began to feel like it was costing too much.

He felt it bit by bit, the slow erosion of himself. The way their love, as good and beautiful and rare as it was, kept exacting a toll. From Riki. From his relationship with his family. From the future he should’ve been chasing freely.

Jungwon was so tired. Of fighting. Of being brave.

He’d held on so long, blinded by naivety, by youth, by love. In the belief that Riki choosing him again and again meant they could make it through anything. But Riki didn’t know the full weight of what Jungwon had been carrying. What had been said when he wasn’t in the room. The constant bartering, belittling, bargaining. The slow, corrosive way the Nishimura family made it clear: Jungwon was an anchor dragging their son down.

And now, Riki’s final year was ending. Grad school was waiting in New York. The company. The inheritance. The legacy.

And what was Jungwon giving him in return?

Late-night instant noodles and a pile of student loans. The constant shadow of “not good enough” hanging over everything they built.

He blinked quickly, willing back his tears. He had to be strong.

Still, it cracked something in his chest to even think about it. That this was how it would end. Not because they stopped loving each other. But because loving Riki meant letting him go. Meant setting fire to the life they’d built with their bare hands, just so Riki could grow in a world that never wanted Jungwon in it to begin with.

He wanted to tell himself this wasn’t about the Nishimuras. That he wasn’t giving in. That this was about Riki. His happiness. His future.

And maybe that was true.

But maybe, it was also because Jungwon had finally run out of ways to convince himself that love was stronger than reality.

He heard footsteps before he saw him.

Riki. Slightly out of breath. Hair tousled, his backpack slung over one shoulder, dressed in the navy hoodie Jungwon had stolen a dozen times over the years.

“Hey baby,” Riki called, gentle and bright, eyes lighting up at the sight of him. “I thought you’d be in the lecture hall still. Hyung’s been blowing up my phone, You okay?”

Jungwon opened his mouth. Nothing came out.

Seven years. Seven years of shared everything. Birthdays, bad days, New Year’s kisses. Sleepy phone calls. Secrets. Firsts. Forevers.

I’m going to miss this.

The thought hit Jungwon like a sucker punch to the ribs.

Jungwon would miss this for the rest of his life.

Jungwon sat up straighter the moment Riki dropped down beside him on the bench, close enough that their knees touched. Riki leaned in slightly, voice low.

“Won. What’s wrong?”

Jungwon didn’t look at him. He can’t. “We need to talk.”

Riki’s eyebrows lifted. The shift in the air was immediate.

“…Okay.” He straightened. “Talk about what?”

Jungwon felt the blood drain from his face. He forced himself to breathe. In. Out. Steel. He had to do this right. He had to be strong. This was bound to happen anyways. 

Better now then later. 

Right?

“I think we should break up.”

It came out flat. Mechanical. Jungwon internally pats himself on the back for how his voice doesn’t waver.

Riki blinked. “What?”

Jungwon’s eyes remain on a loose thread hanging off his jeans. “You heard me.”

“No, what the hell are you-” Riki sat forward, eyes searching his face, desperate. “Where is this coming from?”

“I just don’t feel the same anymore.”

The lie scrapes against his throat like sandpaper. But he forces himself to keep going.

“You’ve graduated. You’ll be busy with work or grad school soon. I still have two more years here.” Jungwon paused, just long enough to breathe through the burning in his lungs. “It’s time.”

Riki continues staring at him. Jungwon can feel the burn in his gaze.

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not.”

“You’re lying.” Riki’s voice rose, strained now. “You don’t just fall out of love with someone like that. Not after seven years. Not after everything.”

“I’m not.” Another lie. Another knife. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while. It just, it doesn’t make sense to drag this out.”

“Drag this out?” Riki’s voice cracked. “Jungwon, you’re the love of my life.”

Jungwon flinched. He’d never heard Riki sound like this scared. Pleading.

“You said we’d move in together,” Riki said, breathless. “That we’d figure it out. I turned down Columbia. I told my dad no. I fought for us. I always fight for us.”

“I didn’t ask you to.”

Jungwon can physically feel the way his words land like slaps. Jungwon felt the air shift, heavy and cruel.

Riki’s hands clenched into fists on his lap. “Is this because of my parents? Did they say something again?”

“This isn’t about your family.” Lie. “This is about me. Us. Or, what’s left of it.”

Riki shook his head furiously. “No. Don’t do this. Don’t throw everything away just because you’re scared.”

“I’m not scared.”  Another lie. 

“You are. You’re trying to protect me. You think I don’t see that?” Riki’s voice rose, desperate now. “I know things are hard, okay? I know they’re assholes. But we’ve made it this far. Seven years, Won. You don’t get to walk away and pretend it didn’t mean anything.”

“I’m not pretending anything.”

Lie. Lie. Lie. Lies are falling so easily off his lips, Jungwon wonders if he should ever be trusted again. 

Riki’s eyes were glassy now. “Then look at me. Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t love me.”

Jungwon froze.

His whole body screams to tell the truth. To take it all back. To reach for Riki’s hand and cry and beg for forgiveness. To say of course I love you, I always will. I’m sorry. I’m scared, I’m tired, Please don’t let me do this alone. But that would only make it harder. That would trap them both in the same cycle of hope. And Jungwon couldn’t afford to give Riki any more false promises.

So he looks up.

One last one and he’ll never lie again.

“I don’t love you anymore.”

The silence that follows is deafening. The air is still. Time itself seems to pause.

Riki is still staring at him like he didn’t recognise the person in front of him.

Jungwon doesn’t blame him.

Jungwon brushes off his jeans and stands up quickly. He can’t risk staying any longer. Can’t risk the look in Riki’s eyes breaking him before he finishes the job.

Riki stands too, quickly, grabbing his arm. “Don’t go. Please. Jungwon, please—”

Jungwon gets one final good look at him. Even devastated, Riki remains breathtaking. Riki always had a type of beauty that could never be captured fully through a lens. Jungwon will never see that beauty again. He would never deserve it anyway.

He pulls his arm free. Firm. Resigned.

“Goodbye, Riki. I’m sorry”

The first truth of the day. 

And then he turns and walks.

He makes it past the path to the east building. Past the trees, past the courtyard, past the gate. Only when he knew Riki couldn’t see him anymore did he let himself stop.

He braces a hand against the brick wall of the engineering block and curls in on himself, shoulders shaking. The first sob hits like a punch to the gut.

It felt like dying.

He didn’t know how long he stood there, crying quietly, hidden from the boy he loved more than anything in the world. Only that the sky finally cracked open above him, and the rain started to fall. Cold and hard.

He can’t move.

He wasn’t ready to go home.

Not when he had just walked away from it.

Jungwon supposes he should’ve been better prepared for the aftermath. But then again, how can you ever truly prepare for something as painful as this.   

At first, it was quiet, just shaking breaths, tears slipping freely as he curled into himself on his dorm bed, barely managing to kick off his shoes. Then it got worse. Shaky gasps turned to sobs that clawed their way out of his throat, raw and jagged. He wept until he choked. Until he couldn’t tell what hurt more,  the ache in his chest or the guilt crashing in waves over him, drowning him in the wreckage of the choice he made.

He cried through the night, until his pillow was soaked and his voice rasped from the strain. And when he woke up the next morning, swollen and hollow, he cried again.

He cried in the shower. Into his blanket. Against the floor.

By the third day, his body stopped producing tears. But the ache was still there. A phantom limb. A constant pulse in his ribs where Riki used to rest his head at night. Where their laughter used to live. Where everything good in his world once bloomed.

He sat on the edge of his bed, staring blankly at the corner of the room where Riki kept his spare hoodie. It still smelled like him. Citrus and something clean, something warm. He stood, slowly. Picked it up like it was made of glass, and held it to his chest for too long.

Then, one by one, he started clearing everything.

Riki’s toothbrush from his drawer. The half-empty shampoo bottle they shared. Riki’s sketchbook, filled with sleepy doodles of Jungwon in every angle possible. The Polaroids on the corkboard. The socks he always left behind. His key.

Everything went into a cardboard box.

Every item felt like a piece of his own body being amputated.

The room, once so full, so theirs, felt foreign now. Stripped bare. The box sat heavy by the door. Jungwon stared at it for a long time, unmoving. The irony of mourning for his own self-inflicted pain.  

His phone buzzed again from across the room. He remains unmoved.

Jungwon hadn’t touched it in days. The lock screen was still a photo of Riki, eyes crinkled mid-laugh, taken during one of their impromptu weekend picnics last semester. The home screen, a picture of the two of them, tangled together on his dorm bed, cheek to cheek, Riki’s arms around him like he had no intention of ever letting go.

Jungwon couldn’t open it. Couldn’t face the unread messages. But he’d seen the preview when it first came in.

“If you’re trying to push me away because you think you’re doing me a favour, I want you to know I’d rather spend every year waiting for you than live a life where you’re not in it. I love you. I will always...”

Days passed. Then a week. Then two.

The box remained untouched by the door.

He stopped going to class. Mumbled something to his professors about being sick. The semester was ending anyways, classes would’ve merely been a formality. 

The truth was, he couldn’t make it down the hall without hearing Riki’s voice in his head, teasing him about walking too fast or buying the same convenience store ramen three days in a row. Couldn’t look at the vending machine near the vet building without remembering how Riki used to wait there after his own classes, just to walk him home.

Everything had Riki in it.

Every good memory. Every warm corner of his life.

And Jungwon realised with a kind of bone-deep devastation that Riki wasn’t just his boyfriend. He was woven into his being. His best friend. His person. The light in every dark part of Jungwon’s life.

He’d been holding on for so long, trying to stay afloat. But now that Riki was gone, there was no current. No colour. No sound.

Only silence.

Then the mail came.

It was plain. White. Tidy. An envelope addressed to him with elegant lettering that didn’t belong in a university dorm.

He didn’t want to open it. His gut already knew.

But his hands moved anyway.

Inside was a formal invoice, stamped with banking details and a note clipped to the top.

Transfer completed.
Consider this compensation for your time and understanding.

Jungwon stares at it, numb.

The air leaving his lungs in one long, trembling exhale.

He rips the envelope in half. Then again. Then again, until it was confetti in his lap.

He doesn’t bother to check the account. Doesn’t want to know how much they thought Riki’s love was worth.

And maybe, for a second, he allows himself to be angry. Not at the money. Not at the family.

At himself.

For letting them win.

But then the anger fades and gets swallowed by the grief again.

He sits in the quiet of his dorm, staring at the box by the door. It was too small for seven years. Too neat. Too final.

He doesn’t know if Riki would ever forgive him.

He doesn’t know if he ever would, either.

There’s a knock on the door.

Soft, tentative. Then again louder, a rhythm too familiar to be mistaken. Jungwon doesn’t move. He’s curled up on his bed, hoodie zipped to his chin despite the late spring heat, the curtains drawn like closing them might also shut the world out.

Another knock. Three this time.

Then a voice. “Wonnie? It’s me.”

Sunoo.

Jungwon doesn’t answer. He hears the door creak open anyway. Of course he never locked it. He doesn’t remember locking anything lately, not his dorm, not his heart, not even his grip on reality.

There’s a pause.

Then: “Oh, baby…”

Jungwon squeezes his eyes shut, hoping that if he stays still enough, maybe Sunoo will leave. Maybe the earth will open up. Maybe the ache will swallow him whole.

But all that happens is the sound of footsteps crossing the room, slow and careful. And then Sunoo is climbing onto the bed beside him, arms wrapping around Jungwon like he’s something fragile. Something sacred.

Jungwon crumbles at the first touch.

His breath stutters. His hands clutch at Sunoo’s shirt like he’s falling through something invisible and Sunoo is the only thing anchoring him down. He doesn’t sob like before. He cried too much for that. His body just shakes, shoulders trembling with the weight of it all.

Sunoo doesn’t say a word and just holds him a little tighter.

It’s a long time before Jungwon speaks. Maybe an hour. Maybe two. The sky outside has turned grey again, the air sticky and thick with the promise of summer rain.

Jungwon had stopped shaking, but he was far from okay.

He lay curled on his side beneath his duvet now, head tucked into the crook of Sunoo’s shoulder. Sunoo had climbed into bed with him like it was the most natural thing in the world, no teasing, no fuss. Just warmth. Familiarity. The kind you only get after years of being someone’s person.

Sunoo runs his fingers through Jungwon’s hair, slow and rhythmic. Like he used to during their all-nighters in high school, back when Jungwon would stress himself sick over finals or hide in the music room because his lunch account had run out and he didn’t want to ask anyone for help.

Nothing had changed. Not really.

Sunoo had always known how to take care of him.

He said nothing for a long time. Let Jungwon breathe. Let the weight settle between them without trying to lift it too early. Because Sunoo knew.

He knew.

He’d seen it all, from the moment in first year when Riki looked at Jungwon with stars in his eyes. From the way Jungwon used to talk about him like answers to the universe had been stitched into Riki’s smile. From the first time Jungwon stayed at Sunoo’s house after a particularly bad dinner with the Nishimuras, voice hoarse from holding in tears.

He’d always known.

And still, his voice came soft. Careful. Like the question had been burning a hole in his chest.

“You really did it.”

Jungwon didn’t answer.

“You don’t have to tell me everything,” Sunoo says softly. “But you should know…Riki’s been a mess. He came by my house last week, asking if I’d heard from you.”

Jungwon’s lips part, but no words come.

Sunoo continues, voice barely above a whisper. “He looked like he hadn’t slept in days. I’ve never seen him like that.”

Jungwon shuts his eyes.

Of course he has. Of course Riki’s hurting too. That’s what makes this worse. The pain isn’t one-sided. He didn’t walk away because there was no love left. He walked away because there was so much of it, too much, burning too bright and he was terrified of watching it consume Riki’s whole future.

Sunoo’s hand finds him again.

“I’m not going to give you a lecture,” Sunoo continued gently. “I know it hurts. I know they hurt you. And I know how long you’ve been carrying this guilt. How long you’ve convinced yourself you’re the reason Riki’s life got messy.”

Another beat.

“But you’re not.”

Jungwon’s voice cracked when he finally spoke. “Then why does it always feel like I am?”

Sunoo tightened his arms around him. “Because they made you believe it. Over and over. You think I didn’t notice every time you came back from their house quieter? How much it hurt to see you beat yourself up. Jungwon, I’ve seen you break and try to glue yourself back together for years.”

Jungwon buried his face deeper into Sunoo’s hoodie. His voice was a whisper now.

“I'm so tired, hyung.”

“I know.”

Sunoo resumed stroking his hair, brushing damp strands away from his forehead, letting him breathe. Jungwon may not have any tears left in him but the heaviness in him hadn’t gone anywhere.

“I just want him to be happy,” Jungwon mumbled. “Is that so wrong?”

“No,” Sunoo murmured. “It’s not.”

Jungwon swallowed around the lump in his throat.

“I keep telling myself it’s not because of them. That I did it for him.”

“And maybe that’s partly true,” Sunoo said softly. “But what if staying is how you protect him? What if he was never supposed to go through that life without you?”

Jungwon didn’t answer.

So Sunoo tried again, gentler this time.

“Wonnie… please don’t do this to yourself. Don’t throw away the one thing that made you feel like you just because someone else decided you weren’t enough.”

“I already did,” Jungwon whispered. “It’s too late.”

Sunoo exhaled through his nose. Resigned, sad. But not surprised.

“Then what happens now, huh?” he asked, his voice quieter, the weight behind it finally dropping. “Riki goes to Columbia and stays in New York with the rest of us. And you…” he hesitated.

Jungwon closed his eyes.

“And I stay here,” he finished for him. “Alone.”

Silence.

Heavy. Cold.

It was the truth. The version of the future Jungwon had chosen. Or forced himself to choose.

Sunoo bit back a curse. Because part of him wanted to grab Jungwon by the shoulders and shake the sense back into him. But the other part, the bigger, more important part, knew that there were things even he couldn’t change.

“I’m not going to leave you,” Sunoo said finally. “You know that, right?”

Jungwon nodded, barely.

Sunoo leaned down and pressed a kiss to the crown of his head.

“We may not be twins, but you’re my other half too, okay? I’m here. Even if you never go back to him. Even if this still feels like the right choice tomorrow.”

Jungwon didn’t respond.

But he breathed.

And for now, that was enough.

FOUR YEARS LATER
SEOUL — YEOUIDO VET CLINIC IN MAPO-GU

The bell above the clinic door chimes as Jungwon sees off the last client of the day, a cranky old shih tzu with more attitude than teeth. He smiles, bows politely, waving goodbye, then returns to his empty office. The sun is setting outside, painting the sky a soft orange. 

Inside, his consultation room is quiet. Calm. The kind of calm Jungwon has come to cherish. He runs a hand through his hair, tired but content, and walks to the back room to wash up.

He’s graduated. He has a job he loves. A small apartment a couple subway stops away. Every weekend, he takes the train to visit his grandma and parents, sometimes bringing dog treats from the clinic for Maeumi, sometimes nothing at all but his time and a quiet smile.

He still lives alone. Still keeps to himself more often than not.

But he’s okay.

Jungwon is okay.

His student loans cleared, just two months ago, in fact. He made the last payment and stared at the confirmation screen for a solid five minutes, heart pounding like something monumental had happened. And maybe it had. Because every won he paid off was a reminder that he did this on his own.

There’s a box in the back of his closet. Taped up and tucked under a pile of old vet school textbooks. Inside are Polaroids. Hoodie strings. Notes scribbled on napkins. Ticket stubs. A watch that doesn’t tick anymore.

On lonelier nights, Jungwon finds himself digging through it. Just to hold a memory in his hands. Just to remember what it felt like to be someone’s favorite person. Then he packs it all back up, washes the tear tracks off his face, and goes to sleep.

That’s what life is now, a steady routine. One foot in front of the other. Kindness. Stability. The warmth of a dog’s tail wagging. The joy of sending photos of a rescued kitten to Sunoo with too many heart emojis. A box of memories tucked deep in corners of his home, the folds of his heart. 

Occasionally. 

“—Oh and Riki’s campaign just launched in Japan,” Sunghoon says casually one afternoon, digging into his pasta. “The board’s been hyping him up like he’s the second coming of-” He stops himself, glancing at Jungwon too late.

Jungwon smiles like it doesn’t matter. Like his lungs don’t suddenly feel tight. “That’s good to hear,” he says and let’s Sunoo hastily change the subject.

He clings to every detail like gold. Like the gasping breath someone takes after drowning.

Like how Jay mentioned Riki spent his birthday this year at a fundraiser in Paris. How Jake once said Riki had finally gotten his license, something Jungwon used to tease him about constantly. 

Once in a while, Jungwon checks the news for updates on Nishimura Holdings. It’s easy to pretend it's a habit now. Morning coffee. Email. Then Riki’s name in a search bar already autofilled.

He reads the headlines roll by.

“Nishimura Riki rising up the ranks of Nishimura Holdings.”

 “Columbia graduate’s market strategies turn heads in Asia-Pacific sector.”

 “Riki Nishimura on business, legacy, and balancing tradition with innovation.”

He lingers on the picture perfect photos that never quite fully capture Riki’s charm but show him shining. Bright. Brilliant. Untouchable. Like the future Jungwon imagined for him, bigger than life, bigger than any world Jungwon could ever be in.

The pain in his chest soothed like an old injury, never fully healed but functional nonetheless. The heart is a muscle after all, and all muscles are capable of being strengthened.

Because he’s glad Riki’s okay. Better than okay it seems. Because if nothing else, Jungwon needs to know that one good thing has come out of his decision.

Riki is thriving.

And Jungwon is surviving.

Sometimes, that’s as close to peace as he’s going to get.

Calls with Sunoo have blended into the routine of Jungwon’s day offs. Soft chatter, the sound of Sunoo eating something crunchy and unidentifiable, and Jungwon half-listening while folding laundry in the background. 

“I swear, I told the intern no avocado, and she still put it in my salad,” Sunoo says, holding the offending box up to the camera.

Jungwon hums in sympathy, smirking as he folds a t-shirt. “Maybe she’s trying to poison you.”

Sunoo gasps. “How could you curse me like that Jungwonie.”

Jungwon laughs. They talk about nothing for a while. A new café in Apgujeong. A coworker who’s apparently so attractive it makes boardroom meetings unbearable. A cat Sunoo saw on the street and considered stealing.

“Can’t believe we’ll all be coming back soon…” Sunoo’s picking at his salad absently, his voice airy with distraction.

Jungwon looks up, blinking. “..All?”

The pause is too long.

Sunoo freezes, his eyes flick up, wide and too bright. “Shit.”

Jungwon straightens slightly, the folded shirt slipping from his lap. “What do you mean you’ll all be coming back?”

“I, uh—okay, don’t freak out,” Sunoo says quickly, sitting up straight and holding his hands in front of him like he’s coaxing a rabid animal. “I meant to tell you earlier. I swear. I just forgot. Time got weird. Things got busy and—anyway.”

“Sun,” Jungwon says, voice low. Sharp.

Sunoo winces. “Okay. Okay. Everyone’s coming back to Korea.”

Silence.

He presses on, carefully. “Not just me. Sunghoon’s already started his transfer. Jake’s been packed for weeks. Jay and Heeseung already bounce back and forth half the time, they just decided with us all coming back they’d settle back in Seoul too.”

The world stills.

Jungwon’s laundry is half-folded in his lap, but his hands are frozen. His chest tightens. His lungs forget how to fill.

“And…”

Sunoo sighs, already regretting everything. “Riki’s moving back too. His family wants him to have more presence in Asia-Pacific. His contract changed last month. He’ll be in Seoul long-term.”

Jungwon doesn’t speak. He can’t. The words knock something loose in him.

Sunoo watches him carefully, softer now. “Wonie…I was going to tell you I just  didn’t know how.”

Jungwon forces out a breath. “You said long-term.”

“Yeah.”

“How long?”

Sunoo shrugs. “Permanent, I think. At least the foreseeable future.”

The words drop like stones.

It’s been four years. Four whole years of learning how to live in a world where Riki existed only in headlines and Google searches. Where he could love him from a distance without consequence. Where the ache was manageable because it was far away.

And now he’s coming back.

Jungwon swallows hard. The box in his closet feels heavier somehow, like it knows.

Sunoo’s voice softens again. “I don’t know if he’s planning to reach out. But maybe you should take some time...to brace yourself.”

Jungwon nods slowly, mechanically.

Because how does one brace themselves for the return of the person who once held every inch of your heart?

Jungwon tells himself it’ll be fine.

Really.

He says it every morning, somewhere between brushing his teeth and lacing his shoes. Between treating golden retrievers with skin conditions and calming down overprotective cat moms.

It’ll be fine.

Because Seoul is big. And busy. And bursting at the seams with millions of people who don’t know Jungwon’s name or the way his hands once shook when he touched Riki for the first time.

There’s no way they’ll run into each other. He repeats it like a prayer. No reason to.

Besides, Riki probably hates him.

That part stings more than he wants it to. But it’s easier, somehow, to picture Riki indifferent. Cold. Unbothered. Easier to imagine him erasing seven years like they were pencil marks instead of skin-deep carvings than to see the same hurt etched into his face a second time.

He wouldn’t agree to meet anyway, Jungwon thinks, slicing cucumbers for dinner alone at 9:47 p.m. If the group got together. He’d never show.

It’s not like Jungwon’s going either.

He keeps working. Keeps breathing. Keeps his life small, schedule tight. The less time he has to catch his breath, the less likely Jungwon’s mind can wander.

But Jungwon can only run so far before life catches up. 

Message from Sunghoon-hyung:

“Heard SNU got a couple new cafes! Shall we go next weekend?”

Voice note from Jongssaeng:

“Hey, I’ll be back in Seoul in July. Let’s all have dinner, yeah? No excuses.”

Ddeonnu just sent you a picture: 

A mirror selfie in an elevator from Sunoo with Jake behind him, holding bubble tea and grinning. “Look who just landed.”

The quiet before the storm. 

He goes to work the next day and tries not to let his eyes linger on the suit-clad businessmen on the train and wonder if any of them are headed to Nishimura Holdings. What coffee shop Riki might stop by on his morning commute. What restaurants he might end up at with Jake and Sunghoon. If he still takes his strawberries warmed in the microwave like a demon.

He tries not to imagine the moment they do run into each other, because it’s starting to feel inevitable, despite all his logic. The way fate likes to play cruel games.

He wonders who will look away first.

He wonders if Riki will even recognise him.

On Thursday, Jungwon finds himself on the subway, staring at a stranger across the car who looks almost like him. Sharp jawline. All-black suit. Too tall. The wrong nose. But his breath still stutters for a second.

It’s not him. Of course it’s not. It would be a cold day in hell before the Nishimura’s catch Riki on public transport. 

Again.

But the ache in his chest doesn’t go away.

That night, he goes home, showers with the water too hot, and opens the box for the first time in months.

He sits on the floor of his closet, cross-legged, and runs his fingers over old pictures. A movie stub. The collar tag from the stray dog they once found and rehomed together.

He sifts through the polaroids, faded and yellowed. His younger self grinning wide in Riki’s equally happy arms. 

He wonders if he’ll ever know that kind of happiness again. 

“Okay, I swear if I have to fold my knees one more time on that doll-sized couch of yours,” Jay grumbles, “You’ll be receiving the bill for my physical therapy sessions.”

Jungwon snorts. “As if you have physical therapy bills. Sunoo hyung, you mean to tell me your parents bill their future son-in-law?” 

Jay’s offended splutters are drowned by Sunoo’s giggles. 

“Plus, it’s not doll-sized,” Jungwon says, curled up in the armchair that barely fits him. “It’s fully functional.”

Sunoo snorts, flopped across the aforementioned couch, feet dangling over the side. “It’s tiny, lonely, unwelcoming to guests. Like everything else in your life.”

“Wow. Thank you for that Mr. Kim. And yet you two continue mooching here.”

Jay grins, reaching into the takeout bag on the floor. “He’s not wrong. You really should get some better furniture in here Won, any smaller and it’s going to feel like you don’t want us over.”

Jungwon throws a napkin at him.

Jay ducks. “Seriously,” he says through a mouthful of rice, “You need an upgrade. I’m sick of squeezing into your IKEA furniture like a clown car.”

“Yeah,” Sunoo echoes, licking sauce off his thumb. “We can just get our interior designer to take a look for you, I’m sure your apartment layout can be greatly improved. Say the word and I’ll drop them a call.”

Jungwon sighs, shaking his head despite the smile tugging at his mouth. “Forgive me for not having side-by-side luxury apartments in Itaewon with 360° skyline views and custom Italian furniture.”

“Forgiven,” Jay says sweetly. “But only if you promise to come to the thing.”

Jungwon pauses.

“What thing?” Jungwon asks, too casual.

Jay raises an eyebrow. “Don’t play dumb.”

“I’m not playing.”

“You are,” Sunoo says, not unkindly. “Group dinner in two weeks when Heeseung lands.”

“Right.” Jungwon’s voice is steady. “That thing.”

Jungwon shrugs. “I’m not going.”

There it is.

Jay puts down his chopsticks. “Why?”

“You know why.”

“We don’t.” Sunoo’s voice is sharper now, but not angry, more exhausted. “You haven’t even seen him in years.”

Jungwon’s lips press into a thin line. “I don’t need to.”

“Oh, please—”

“I haven’t been in the same room with Riki in four years. That’s not something you walk into over chicken and beer.”

Jay leans forward, forearms resting on his knees. “It’s been four years, Jungwon. Don’t you think—”

“No.” His voice is quiet, but firm. “I don’t think.”

Sunoo sits up, exasperated now. “Then what, Wonie? You’re just going to avoid him forever? Hide behind your vet clinic until one of us gets married and you have to see each other at the weddings?”

“I’m not hiding.”

“You’re hiding,” Jay says calmly.

Jungwon looks at the floor. The laminate tiles blur for a second, warping beneath the echo in his chest. He is hiding. But he’s also surviving. And he’s not sure he can survive seeing Riki again, not without unraveling in front of everyone who watched him break the first time.

Sunoo softens again. “You don’t stay long. Just…come. For us.”

“I can’t,” Jungwon sighs. “I can’t see him. Not yet.”

They don’t press further, the disappointment lingers in the silence.

Jay picks up his chopsticks again. “He lands tomorrow.”

Of course, Jungwon knew already. The press release dropped three days ago. Nishimura Riki returns to Seoul to oversee East Asia restructuring.

He’d read the headline so many times it etched itself behind his eyelids. Hearing it aloud makes it real in a way the internet never could.

They finish dinner in quiet conversation after that, Jay and Sunoo pivot seamlessly talking about work, food, a mutual friend who just got engaged. But the air has soured. Like the ash lingering in the smell of a scented candle blown out. In the ghost of what still aches under Jungwon’s skin.

Jungwon doesn’t say yes.

Jay and Sunoo don’t accept no.

Sunghoon, much to Jungwon’s betrayal, joins the war effort by week two.

“It’s just dinner,” Sunghoon says casually over lunch, stabbing a cherry tomato. “You’re acting like it’s a trial by fire.”

“It might as well be,” Jungwon mutters.

“You’re so dramatic.”

“I’m serious.”

Sunghoon looks up, gaze flat. “So am I. If you’re not there, it’s just another night out of us hanging out. The only reason it’d feel like a reunion is if you show.”

Sunghoon’s words sting in a way Jungwon knows he did not intend. 

Jay, Jake, Heeseung, Sunghoon, Sunoo and Riki. The elite of the elite. Lives dripped in glamour, all together in New York, living up to their family legacies. Eating dinner in high-rise restaurants, crashing each other’s work events, toasting champagne to boardroom wins, probably in skyscrapers on the same block.

Meanwhile.

Jungwon was here. In Seoul. In his tiny apartment above a 7-Eleven. Living quietly. Studying. Working. Picking himself up piece by piece.

No private cars. No rooftop lounges. Just long shifts at the clinic, steady paychecks, slowly winning over the trust of pet owners and scrubbing blood off his scrubs at 1 a.m in his sink.

Vet money is good money, don’t get him wrong. He’s lucky. He knows that.

He graduated top of his class. Got into one of the most competitive clinics in Seoul. Built a loyal customer base, earned a reputation for compassion and technical precision. His coworkers adore him. His boss is already hinting at a promotion.

But that’s not the same as towers in Gangnam with your name on a glass door.

It’s not flying first class between Seoul and Manhattan with your family crest embossed on a business card.

And as proud as he is. As grateful as he is, sometimes it’s impossible not to feel the space between him and the rest of them widening like a crack across concrete.

Sunghoon sees the flicker in his eyes. Cocks his head. “It’s not like that Won.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to.”

He should’ve seen it coming.

Really, he should have. You don’t get away with ghosting your entire friend group, three of whom were practically born negotiating business contracts, and expect to be left alone on the night they’ve been circling on the calendar for weeks.

Jungwon stares blankly at the three men wedged unceremoniously into his apartment. 

“This is harassment,” Jungwon says, voice flat.

Jay grins. “You haven’t seen anything yet.”

Sunoo holds up a blazer. “We brought options.”

“I’m not going.”

“You’re wearing this.”

“I’m not going.”

Sunghoon raises a brow. “Why are we pretending this is still up for debate?”

“Because it is? Plus, you guys are in my house.”

Jay hums thoughtfully. “Not for long if I pull the right strings.”

“Hyung.”

“Okay, okay,” Jay relents, hands up in mock surrender. “But look. All jokes aside? You can’t bail. It’s not the same without you, Jungwon. And it’s not like you don’t know that.”

Sunoo throws in, “This is the first time we’re all in the same timezone in years. It’s not just about Riki. It’s about us.”

Things are looking quite bad for Jungwon.

Sunghoon nails the final nail into the coffin. “You should know better than to try bargaining with three future CEOs.”

“God,” Jungwon mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose. “This is exactly why I didn’t want to be friends with chaebols.”

Sunoo snorts. “Too late.”

“You’re stuck with us.”

Jay tilts his head. “Unless you’ve got another decade of friendship stashed in a drawer somewhere, you’re coming with us.”

“I’m not—” Jungwon starts, but Jay cuts him off.

“C’mon Won.”

Jungwon opens his mouth, then closes it again.

Sunghoon’s voice is cool but not unkind. “You think he’s going to blow up at you in the middle of a restaurant? With the rest of us sitting five feet away?”

“I think,” Jungwon says slowly, “That if I see him again, I might fall apart.”

It slips out quieter than he expects.

The room stills. Even Sunoo’s grin fades.

Jungwon continues, low and almost brittle. “It’s been four years. I spent all this time trying to put myself back together. And I’m finally in a place where I can breathe without choking on his name. What if seeing him.” 

Jungwon’s breath stutters.  

“What if it breaks all of that?”

Sunoo gets up from the floor, crosses to him. His voice is soft. “Then you were never fixed to begin with.”

That’s exactly what he’s afraid of. 

“He probably hates me.”

“He doesn’t,” Sunghoon says simply.

“He doesn’t,” Jay echoes.

Jungwon stares at the fabric in his hands. His throat is tight. One of the stitches in his chest already feels like it’s coming loose.

“Just come for five minutes,” Sunghoon says. “You don’t even have to say anything to him.”

“You don’t even have to stay,” Sunoo adds. “Just…walk in. Let us see you. Let him see you.”

Jay leans in, voice steady. “You already survived the worst part. You lived without him. You guys were too young then, but you’ve grown now. Don’t you think the both of you deserve a chance at seeing how far you’ve come.”

Jungwon glanced down at the blazer in his hands. Jet black. Crisp. He doesn’t even need to check to know it has already been tailored for him.

He brushes a thumb over the lapel.

“…Fine.”

Three triumphant smiles light up the room. 

“Just five minutes,” Jungwon warns.

“Five minutes,” Sunoo promises.

“...and someone else is paying.”

Jay scoffs. “Obviously.”

Jungwon’s hands shake the entire subway ride there. 

He steps out onto the quiet street in front of the restaurant. The door is just up ahead. He can already hear laughter bleeding through the glass.

The click of his worn shoes ring almost too loud in his ears. Warm lighting spills across lacquered tables and half-filled wine glasses as the maître d' pushes open the door. The private room is tucked into the back corner of the rooftop restaurant, floor-to-ceiling windows stretching behind the group like a painting of Seoul at night.

Six head’s turn.

“Wonie!”

Sunoo springs up, half-running to greet him like a pomeranian let off-leash. He lets himself get smothered by Sunoo’s hug, lets Jay clap him on the back, manages a soft hey to Jake and a bow to Heeseung, who’s all smiles and easy affection despite not having seen Jungwon in years.

The only person he hasn’t greeted is sitting at the far end.

And he feels it. Feels him.

That heavy, burning weight of being watched. Of being known.

Jungwon can’t even look. He keeps his smile tight and carefully curated, his shoulders just shy of relaxed. He slides into the only open seat, directly across from Sunoo, diagonally from Riki, and starts performing like it’s muscle memory.

Oscar-worthy.

“Wow, you look good, Jungwon,” Jake says, pouring him a glass of water.

“Clinic must be feeding you well,” Heeseung teases.

“I’m surviving,” Jungwon replies, smile polite, voice even. “Pet owners tip very generously.”

Laughter. Tension breaks.

The table flows like it always used to, old rhythms falling back into place. Conversations spiral into familiar chaos. Someone makes fun of Jake’s slightly accented Korean after years abroad. Heeseung brags about finally getting a full eight hours of sleep.

And all the while, Jungwon keeps his gaze everywhere but where it wants to be.

Because Riki’s presence is too loud in Jungwon’s head despite his devastating silence. It occupies every comprehensible thought in Jungwon’s mind, rings with the thunderclap of his heartbeat in his chest. 

Dinner ends in a flurry of hugs, drunken giggles, and half-fumbled promises to meet again soon. The rooftop has emptied into the cool summer night, and their group has spilled onto the sidewalk in various states of tipsy disarray.

Sunghoon and Heeseung are laughing over something stupid Jake said in the elevator. Jay is helping Sunoo into his coat, the latter flushed from three glasses of red wine and already slurring, "Tell Wonie to sleep over, there’s like, five guest rooms, we can make pancakes like we used to—"

Jungwon lingers at the edge of the group, quiet, checking his phone. The subway's long shut for the night, and he doesn’t particularly want to risk walking down the hill to try catching a late bus. He opens his ride app, thumb fumbling over the “request” button.

“Wonnie,” Sunoo calls from across the group, his voice far too loud for the hour. “How’re you getting back? You calling a cab?”

Jungwon looks up. “Yeah. I’m fine, Sun.”

“You can ride with me,” Sunoo insists, wobbling slightly as he gestures vaguely toward the curb. “My driver’s right there, we’ll drop you off first.”

Jungwon shakes his head, gently. “It’s okay. Your place is all the way in Gangnam. I’m across the river. I’d feel bad.”

“No need to feel bad if I’m offering—”

“I’m good, really.” He smiles. “Go home. Sleep. Hydrate.”

The others chime in, one after the other, too fast and overlapping:

“I’m headed east, but we could—”

“My driver has time—”

“Won, just crash at my place, we’ll get breakfast in the morning—”

“No seriously, we can swing by Mapo first—”

Jungwon laughs softly, overwhelmed but grateful. “You’re all literally drunk. I’d rather risk a taxi, it’s not a big deal.”

“I’ll drive him back.”

The voice cuts through all the noise. 

It’s the first full sentence he’s said all night. 

Riki’s standing just off to the side, keys already in hand, sleeves rolled, posture loose but still, somehow, impossibly poised. He hasn’t touched a drop of alcohol all night. Jungwon would know, he’s done the same.

The rest of the group goes quiet. 

Jungwon’s mouth moves on instinct, ready with a rotation of perfectly rehearsed excuses.

“I’ve got a voucher for a cab, seriously, I’m fine—”

“I don’t live anywhere near you guys, it’s out of the way—”

“My apartment complex actually isn’t car-friendly—”

As his mind whirls, Jungwon finally looks up and meets Riki’s gaze.

The world stills.

The noise around them fades, like a tide pulling back.

His eyes flit over Riki’s face greedily. The years have truly been kind to him. He looks older, sure. A little more put-together. There’s a sharpness to him now, in the set of his jaw, the crease in his brow. But his eyes are the same.

Still that soft, burning brown. Still a little too kind. Still the only thing that’s ever made Jungwon want to stay.

“I didn’t drink,” Riki says quietly, and the words are meant just for him. “Let me take you home.”

You can only ever run so far. The road is coming to a dead end, the world is gaining on him. Jungwon had never been particularly good at saying no to Riki anyway. 

The group, as if released from some invisible hold, starts murmuring again, slowly breaking off into their own rides, into laughter and leftover goodbyes.

Jungwon follows Riki to the car in silence.

The door clicks shut behind him.

The city stretches out ahead.

And still, neither of them speak.

The car hums with quiet.

City lights smear against the windows in slow, golden streaks. The radio is off. The only sounds are the soft purr of the engine and the distant rush of traffic beneath the bridge. Riki’s hands are steady on the wheel, but Jungwon can see the tension in them. The faint flex of his knuckles when they pass a red light camera, the way his thumb taps twice against the leather at every stoplight.

They haven’t spoken since pulling away from the restaurant.

Jungwon stares out the window, heart thudding in a strange, off-beat rhythm. It’s been years, but everything, the car, the quiet, the presence of Riki so close beside him, feels painfully familiar. Too easy to slip back into. Too easy to pretend like no time has passed at all.

Except it has.

And he left. He chose to leave.

The guilt crawls beneath his skin, bitter and heavy.

He exhales quietly, just as they begin to cross the river. The skyline unfolds around them, Seoul glittering like a dream in every direction. For a second, it’s dizzying, like they’re suspended between two timelines. Who they were. Who they are now.

“You’re a vet now.”

The voice is soft. Careful. But it breaks the silence like a crack down glass.

Jungwon doesn’t look at him. Just blinks slowly, lashes brushing the swell of his cheekbone. “…Yeah.”

Riki’s gaze stays on the road, but his voice is warmer now, threaded with something just this side of wonder. “At that famous clinic? The one in Yeouido?”

Jungwon’s heart tightens.

Riki remembers.

All those nights in undergrad, half-asleep and cramming for finals, when Jungwon would fall asleep on his chest mumbling, “If I could get into that clinic, even as a shadow, I’d die happy.”

All those long walks by the river, hand in hand, when he’d point to the lights near Yeouido and say, “That’s where I want to end up. Maybe in five years. Maybe ten. But I’ll get there, you’ll see.”

He remembers even now.

Jungwon swallows hard, throat tight. “Yeah. That one.”

Riki nods. “I looked it up a couple months ago. Saw your name listed on the staff page.”

Even after everything, he still knew where to find him.

“Yeah,” Jungwon says quietly. It’s all he can manage.

Another beat of silence stretches between them. 

“You always said you’d get there,” Riki adds, softer now. “I never doubted it.”

Jungwon’s fingers curl around the fabric of his pants, gripping tight. He doesn’t trust his voice, so he nods.

Riki exhales, like he’s about to say something more. But he doesn’t. They keep driving.

The city thins slightly as they near Jungwon’s neighborhood, a series of older smaller streets, quieter buildings nestled just off the main road.  Riki’s car is too sleek, too sharp, too expensive for the block. It looks like it belongs in another life. Jungwon could almost smile.

Jungwon reaches to unbuckle his seatbelt as they pull to the curb, but Riki stops the car and kills the engine first.

The silence blooms again.

And this time, it’s thick with everything unsaid.

Jungwon can feel Riki beside him, close but impossibly far. His heartbeat is racing, battering against his ribs like it’s trying to claw its way out.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Riki shift slightly in his seat. The smallest turn. His mouth parts but before he can say anything—

“I’m sorry about the last time,” Jungwon blurts, voice too loud in the quiet car, words spilling out in a breathless rush.

Riki pauses. Eyes on him now. Jungwon doesn’t look back.

“I’m—I should’ve said that a long time ago,” he continues quickly, eyes fixed on the dash, on anything but Riki’s face. “I handled it badly. I…hurt you. I know that. And I’ve thought about it a lot. Every day. So just. Yeah. I’m sorry. Really.”

His hands clench in his lap.

And because his heart is spiraling and he can’t take the weight of Riki’s silence, he rushes out the next part like ripping off a bandage.

“I guess we’ll be seeing each other more now, with everyone back in Seoul, and I just—I didn’t want it to be weird.”

Still no reply.

Jungwon finally chances a glance at him. Riki’s looking at him like he hasn’t breathed in four years. So Jungwon looks away again, eyes darting down, hands suddenly too warm, heart aching.

“I was wondering if you’d…be open to being friends again?” he says softly, almost a whisper now. “Y’know. So it won’t be awkward for the others. That’s all.”

He swallows.

The silence that follows feels like drowning.

He’s going to laugh in your face for even suggesting this, he thinks. You could live a hundred lifetimes and still never deserve Riki. 

All he can hear is the sound of his own pulse roaring in his ears. All he can feel is the way his chest tightens, because even just asking that question felt like betrayal.

Because he’s never wanted to be just friends.

Not with Riki.

Never with Riki.

And even asking for it already feels too much. 

But Jungwon is a weak man. He lets his foolish heart be selfish.

So he sits in the passenger seat, blinking back the burn in his eyes, trying to keep his face calm, his voice steady. Waiting for Riki’s answer.

He waits.

And waits.

Please say something.

But Riki stays silent.

So long, in fact, that Jungwon starts to panic. Stupid, stupid, stupid. He shifts in his seat, fingers brushing the door handle. His mouth opens, fumbling for an out something dumb, something casual, "Forget I said that," maybe—

“No.”

Soft. But certain.

Jungwon freezes. Blinks. “...No?”

He turns, heart in his throat.

Riki finally looks at him. Eyes clear. Steady. And there’s something in them, probably anger. Or something more fragile. Something he’s trying very hard not to lose grip of.

“No,” Riki repeats, voice low, almost too calm. The kind of tone he used to use when they argued, when he was angry, but didn’t want to say something he couldn’t take back.

Jungwon feels the air thin around him. “You right, it was stupid for me to even—”

“I’m not open to being just friends,” Riki says, and now there’s no softness left in his voice. No cushion. Just truth, plain and sharp. “I can’t do that.”

Jungwon stares.

And Riki keeps going.

“I can’t sit across from you, pretend like we’re fine, like four years didn’t happen, like you didn’t tear my heart out and disappear. I can’t smile and nod while you talk about your clinic and your life and act like I wasn’t supposed to be part of that.”

His breath catches. His jaw clenches.

“I can’t just be your friend, Won.”

A beat.

And then softer, smaller.

“Because I love you.”

The words feel like thunder. Like the moment before a storm breaks open.

“I’m in love with you,” Riki says again, voice steady now, eyes never leaving Jungwon’s. “I think I always will be.”

Jungwon can’t breathe. His lips part with no sound. He doesn’t know how to speak around the sob rising in his throat.

Jungwon forces himself to look away. The words still ring in his ears. He clenches his jaw, trying to breathe through it, to pull himself back into the shell he’s been living in for years. Safe. Empty. Controlled.

He swallows hard and quietly recycles through his lies.

“I’ve changed,” he says, voice hoarse. “I’m not the same person you knew. Back in high school. In college.”

Riki watches him silently like he sees through every word.

Jungwon keeps going. He has to. Because if he stops, he’ll crack.

“I’ve grown up. I don’t…I don’t want the same things anymore.”

It sounds weak even to him.

Riki’s silence is like a mirror held to his face. Jungwon can see it all reflected back, the fear, the guilt, the ache he never really got over.

And still, Riki says nothing.

So Jungwon panics. He grabs the sharpest tool he has and rips open the stitches holding together his own heart.

“I meant what I said last time,” he forces out. The lie sears his throat, like swallowing glass. “About wanting to end it.”

He doesn’t say the actual words. He can’t. Not again.

But the damage is done.

He sees immediately the flicker in Riki’s eyes. Like a star dying behind them.

Jungwon wants to throw up.

“I think…I only just want to be friends,” he says. “For the group. That’s all.”

The silence after that feels like a scream.

He waits for the anger. The disbelief. For Riki to snap, finally, after all these years. Scream at him. Ask how he could still lie to his face. Demand the truth.

But Riki doesn’t yell.

He never has. Not at Jungwon at least.

Instead, he lets out a slow, shaky breath. Eyes still fixed on him, unwavering.

“Okay.”

Jungwon blinks. “What?”

“You want to be friends?” Riki says, voice soft but steady. “Fine. We’ll be friends.”

It sounds more like a threat.

“But I’m not giving up,” Riki adds. His voice is firmer now, anchoring. “I can wait.”

Jungwon shakes his head. “What are you—”

“I’ve waited once. I chased you once.” He leans in solid. Unmoving.

“I can do it again.”

Jungwon stares at him, speechless. He doesn’t know if he wants to cry or scream or kiss him.

His chest feels like it’s caving in.

“I know you, Won,” Riki says, voice low. “I’ve known you since we were kids. And you can lie all you want. Say you’ve changed. Say that we can only be friends.”

Riki’s gaze softens, and that’s what hurts the most.

“But I’ve looked you in the eyes when you loved me. I know.”

Riki doesn’t push any further. He reaches for the gear shift, starts the engine again.

“We’ll start there, then,” he says. “As friends.”

Jungwon needs to get out of here.

“Thanks for the ride,” he says, voice thin. Taut. Strained. His body is holding itself together on pure instinct now, the way a cracked vase keeps its shape only by refusing to move.

“Anytime,” Riki says, too quiet. Too steady.

Jungwon gets out and walks.

Fast. Head down, fists clenched, chest heaving in silence.

The cold night air bites at his cheeks as he stumbles up the short flight of stairs to his building. His keys tremble in his grip. The world is blurrier than it should be, lights swimming through a thick film of tears he refuses to let fall.

But it doesn’t matter.

Jungwon presses a hand to the wall to steady himself.

His chest cracks open, quietly, cleanly, completely broken. His breath catches. His heart hurts, actually hurts, and he gasps like something is tearing through him from the inside out.

He makes it to his door on muscle memory alone.

The lock clicks.

The apartment is dark, quiet, still.

And so, so empty.

He leans against the closed door, sliding down slowly, legs giving out. His back hits the wood with a soft thud. His hand goes to his chest, instinctive, desperate, as if he could pull the pain out with his fingers.

This isn't like when he opens the box. Not like when he stares at old photos at 2 A.M. with a tissue pressed to his mouth. Not like the quiet ache he’s trained himself to carry, tucked neatly into his ribs.

This is worse. So much worse.

It’s fresh. Alive. A wound torn wide open again. He realises that the knife never left. He stuck bandages over it. Smiled over it. Graduated with it. Laughed with friends and took care of dogs and went to work and came home and survived with it.

But the blade stayed. Right where it was. Planted in his heart by his own hand. Riki-shaped. Twisting.

Jungwon curls forward, sobs silent, his fist pressed to his mouth like it could hold him together.

Time bends in grief.

It isn’t until long after the tears have dried on his cheeks, when he’s sitting on the floor of his tiny hallway with his back against the door, that the thought cuts in. 

“I never gave him my address.”

Jungwon’s halfway through his third patient of the afternoon when the front desk pages him over the internal comm.

“Dr. Yang? We’ve got someone here with a new patient requesting you specifically. A Walk-in.”

His brows pinch slightly. Walk-ins don’t usually request him, especially not without an appointment. He finishes up the chart for the anxious shih tzu on his table, then washes his hands, smooths out his coat, and heads for the front.

He steps into the reception and nearly walks right back out.

In loose jeans, a crisp button-down rolled at the sleeves, Nishimura Riki stands with one hand casually resting on the leash of a tiny, well-groomed white maltipoo currently sitting snug in a designer pet carrier.

Jungwon freezes. “Riki.”

Riki looks up, as if surprised to see him. But his smile says otherwise. “Hi.”

“…What are you doing here?”

“I’m here for Bisco’s consultation,” Riki replies smoothly, like this is the most normal thing in the world.

Jungwon blinks. “She doesn’t need a full consultation if she’s perfectly healthy.”

“She might not be in the future,” Riki says, shrugging, kneeling down to unbuckle Bisco from her carrier. “Preventive care is important. Isn’t that what you always used to say?”

Jungwon’s jaw clenches. “That was about large breeds and senior dogs. Bisco is…she’s a literal lap dog.”

Riki doesn’t even blink. “And she deserves the best.”

He straightens up and hands over a thick set of filled-out papers. “I registered her under the clinic’s premium membership. Unlimited consultations for the next year is that right?”

Jungwon stares at the clipboard in disbelief. “That’s for animals with chronic conditions or health issues that require repeat consultations. Why would you—”

“She’s high maintenance,” Riki replies simply, handing a black card over to the receptionist without even looking at the cost. 

The receptionist, bless her sweet soul, is trying to remain professional, but her mouth is twitching as her eyes dart between them.

“Also,” Riki adds, casually, “please note in the file that Bisco can only be treated by Dr. Yang. No substitutions.”

Jungwon’s eyes snap to him. “You can’t—”

“I can.” Riki grins. “I paid for it.”

“This is harassment.”

“This is having preferences as a paying customer.”

“Riki.”

“Dr. Yang,” he parrots, and the way he says it makes Jungwon’s heart stutter for a second.

Bisco lets out a soft woof, as if agreeing with her owner.

Jungwon pinches the bridge of his nose. “You can’t just buy your way into my schedule.”

“I didn’t buy anything,” Riki says easily. “I just signed up for a plan. The one your clinic advertises on its website. I did my research.”

Jungwon wants to scream. Instead, he turns stiffly to the receptionist. “Fine. Write them in for an initial consultation. I’ll see them in five minutes.”

He turns, walks back toward the exam rooms without looking back, face burning.

Behind him, Riki calls out gently, “Nice socks by the way. The ducks are cute.”

Jungwon flips him off without turning around and gets rewarded by the twinkling of Riki’s laugh.

Bisco is already on the exam table, tail wagging a mile a minute, tongue lolling out with joy. She's wearing a glittery pink collar that probably costs more than Jungwon’s rent.

Next to her, perched on the little bench against the wall like he owns the place, is a much too calm and comfortable Riki.

Jungwon turns to the small sink, begins washing his hands slowly, counting each step like it’ll keep him sane. One pump of soap. Rinse. Towel dry. He breathes. Forces his voice steady.

“Vitals and vaccination records look good,” he says, scrolling briefly through the clinic’s digital tablet. “Bisco’s weight is optimal. No notes of abnormal behavior?”

“Nope,” Riki says casually. “She’s perfect.”

“Of course she is,” Jungwon mutters under his breath.

He approaches the table, setting the tablet down. He adjusts his gloves hoping Riki doesn’t catch the way his hands tremor.

“Hi, Bisco,” he says softly.

Bisco lets out a happy yip and immediately lunges forward to lick his face.

“Whoa—okay. Hey—no—down—” Jungwon stumbles back a bit, startled, as the tiny maltipoo practically throws herself into his arms, tail wagging so hard her whole body wiggles.

Behind him, a stifled laugh. The vet tech snorts from the corner, scribbling something on her clipboard. 

“Looks like she missed you.” Riki smiles, the vet tech hums in agreement.

Jungwon bites the inside of his cheek.

Bisco is now sitting squarely on his forearm, licking his chin, making soft happy gremlin noises.

“You’re not helping,” he mutters to her. She yips again, utterly delighted.

“I told you she was high maintenance,” Riki says.

He finishes the exam, lifts Bisco gently back into her carrier, and strips off his gloves.

“She’s in perfect health,” he says crisply. “I’ll send the notes to your email. No further consults needed unless there’s a change.”

“So we’ll be back next week.”

“No, you won’t.”

Riki smiles. “You don’t get to decide that.”

“I’m your vet, not your…not your—”

“Friend?” Riki supplies.

Jungwon glares. 

Riki stands picking up Bisco’s carrier with one hand. “Thanks, Dr. Yang.”

He walks to the door. Pauses before he opens it.

“And by the way,” Riki adds, without turning around, “you do still shake when you're nervous.”

The door clicks softly behind him. Jungwon sinks into the stool like all the air has left his body.

Jungwon stirs his iced americano a little too aggressively, ice clinking loudly in the glass. Sunoo watches him with barely concealed amusement from across the table, chin resting on one hand, croissant half-eaten and forgotten.

“So,” Sunoo says casually, “wanna tell me why you’re on the verge of breaking that glass straw in the cup?”

Jungwon groans loudly.

“Riki brought Bisco to the clinic,” Jungwon mutters, cheeks already heating. “Registered her for premium membership. Told the receptionist I’m the only one allowed to treat her.”

Sunoo nearly chokes on his mimosa. “He did not.”

Jungwon glares. “He did. Like he’s trying to buy season tickets to me.”

Sunoo bites back a laugh, but his eyes shine too brightly.

Jungwon squints at him. “Why are you smiling.”

“I’m just…” Sunoo takes a sip of his latte. “Enjoying the show.”

Jungwon groans and slumps back into his chair. “You’re no help.”

“I’m a lot of help. You’re just stubborn.”

Jungwon stabs at his eggs. “You think it’s just a phase? Maybe he’s just feeling… nostalgic or something now that he’s back. Like, reliving the past?”

Even he doesn’t believe it. It sounds thin, paper-thin like all his other excuses. Sunoo puts down his cup. The clink is sharp. He straightens his spine and Jungwon knows, he’s about to get scolded.

“You wanna know what the last four years were like for Riki?” Sunoo starts, not waiting for permission.

“Riki asks about you all the time. Every time any of us come back to Korea. Every. Single. Time.”

Jungwon stares at his plate. He can’t look up.

“He’s never been on a date. Not once. We’ve tried. Jake, Sunghoon, even Heeseung tried. Tried dragging him to parties, setups, mixers, networking events, he leaves early every time. Says he’s tired or has work, even when he doesn’t.”

Sunoo’s voice is unwavering now. Like this speech has been brewing for years.

“Did you know Heeseung once tried to set him up on a blind date with someone? Riki yelled at him.”

Jungwon’s head snaps up. Riki never yells. 

“Yeah.” Sunoo’s expression is tired. “Riki. Who has never even raised his voice in every year I’ve known him. He yelled.”

Jungwon’s heart stutters.

Sunoo leans in. His voice drops. “What I’m trying to say, Won…is this isn’t a phase. It’s not nostalgia. It never was.”

Jungwon opens his mouth, but Sunoo steamrolls ahead.

“You’re both my best friends. And I’m so tired of watching you both be miserable.”

“I’m not miserable,” he rebuts weakly.

Sunoo doesn’t even dignify it with a glance. “You cry alone in your room every time you take out that cardboard box in your closet.”

Jungwon flinches. Okay ouch. Jungwon told him that in confidence one very drunk night. Way to use it against him.

“His parents are the worst. Yes. We all know that. But Riki’s made something for himself. He graduated top of his class. Built his name in the New York branch from the ground up. Got invited to every investment panel and keynote conference there was. He didn’t do that because of his father. He did it in spite of him.”

Jungwon swallows, the guilt clawing at his throat.

“And in all of that time,” Sunoo continues, “with all that power, all that freedom, he still never budged.”

Sunoo places his hand over Jungwon’s, firm, grounding.

“And you know how Riki is.”

Jungwon’s throat feels sour.

“You’re allowed to be happy too, Won,” Sunoo says gently. “You built something incredible. You did everything right. You worked, you paid off your debts, you made your dream real. Look at you.”

Jungwon bites the inside of his cheek.

“I know,” he whispers. “But what if I can’t take it? What if it happens all over again?”

Sunoo doesn’t answer right away. He lets Jungwon sit with it, let’s the fear ring loud in his chest.

Then he says, “Then don’t face it alone this time.”

A pause.

“I’ll be right here. And so will he.”

He hasn’t turned on the lights yet.

The sun’s long gone, the golden haze that used to filter through the curtains now replaced with the soft hum of street lamps outside. The room glows with that quiet kind of dusk.

Jungwon sits curled up on the far end of his ratty couch, knees drawn to his chest, nursing a mug of lukewarm tea he’s forgotten to drink. 

Sunoo’s words have been ringing in his ears since brunch. “You’re allowed to be happy too.”

He doesn’t know why it hit him the way it did. Deep down, some aching part of Jungwon wants to believe it. Wants to believe that this…all of this…could be something again.

That maybe he and Riki could exist together without the world tearing them apart.

He dares to let his mind yearn, his heart burn with hope.

The metal clang of his mailbox slot near the kitchen interrupts his thoughts.

Jungwon’s heart sinks immediately.

He doesn’t have to check. He already knows.

But he moves anyway, slow steps toward the small silver flap.

Sure enough.

Another envelope.

Crisp. Cream-colored. Heavy, expensive cardstock. No sender address. But the ink is all too familiar.

His name printed cleanly across the front.

He doesn’t even need to open it.

Because he’s opened one just like it every fiscal quarter since the break-up. Always the same amount. Always from the same people. He’s gone to the bank. Cancelled the account. Returned the letters. Told them to stop.

They never do.

He stares at the envelope in his hands.

Suddenly, the air in the apartment feels too heavy. Too thick.

The sliver of hope that had dared to curl in his chest shrivels in one breath. And just like that, he’s small again. Insignificant. A problem to be solved with money.

Jungwon moves to the kitchen, grabs the envelope with shaking hands, and rips it open.

Inside, just like every time, a deposit receipt. A disgusting amount. No note. No explanation. But he knows.

Take this. Stay away from our son.

Jungwon laughs, he’s always been such a fool.

He walks straight to the trash bin. Rips the paper into long jagged strips. Over and over again until it’s unreadable.

But it’s still there.

The message. The reminder.

That in the eyes of the Nishimuras, he will always be less.

No matter what he builds. No matter how hard he works.

He’s nothing more than an obstacle.

A disease they can treat with money.

He stands there for a long time, hands braced on the countertop, head bowed.The flicker of hope snuffed out as quickly as it was lit and in its place, that familiar, aching question: What kind of future do you think you deserve, Jungwon?

Jungwon’s been lying so much the past couple months he wouldn’t trust his answer.

“I’m telling you,” Minju, the front desk assistant, whispers from behind the reception computer, “that’s his man.”

“Obviously,” Woonhak, one of the techs, replies as he walks by, holding Bisco like a prized showdog. “He brings flowers. Every week. Who does that for a person unless you’re dating or a creep?”

“Or both,” Minju sighs dreamily. “God, I wish a man would look at me the way he looks at Dr. Yang when he’s talking about stool samples.”

Inside Room 3, Jungwon is already elbow-deep in the most unnecessary exam of his week.

“She’s perfectly healthy,” he mutters, running the stethoscope over Bisco’s tiny chest. “Again. Like she was three days ago.”

“She’s been sneezing,” Riki replies solemnly from his seat in the corner.

Jungwon raises an eyebrow. “She sneezed once when you were waiting in the lobby.”

“It was concerning.”

“And you thought that warranted a second full consultation this week?”

Riki shrugs, looking maddeningly innocent. “I worry. I’m a good dad.”

To his credit, Bisco is looking absolutely smug, curled against Jungwon’s stomach and wagging her tail every time Riki speaks.

Jungwon lifts her off the table and sighs. “She’s fine. Save on your gas money.”

“I have a very generous transportation budget,” Riki says.

Jungwon glares. “Don’t you have work?”

Riki grins, handing him a bag and a fresh iced americano. “This is my break.”

Jungwon opens the bag and pauses.

Jagabee.

His ears go pink.

“Also,” Riki adds, pulling a hand-tied bouquet from behind his back, “these are for the clinic.”

“The clinic?” Jungwon repeats flatly, taking the bouquet even as his hands tremble slightly.

“For morale,” Riki says.

Outside the consultation room, a vet tech clutches her chest and silently screams into the hallway.

Jungwon adds the flowers, blush-pink orchids, into the same vase Riki filled last week. It’s already embarrassing how good the clinic lobby smells now.

It starts happening more often. Too often.

Riki waiting outside the clinic. Always with Bisco. Always with something in hand, warm soup when the weather is cold, melon milk on hot days, Jungwon’s favorite garlic bread from the bakery across the street. Sometimes he doesn’t even bring Bisco. Just stands there like a perfectly dressed, silently loyal golden retriever.

“You scheduled your appointment last again,” Jungwon accuses, tugging his jacket tighter.

“It fit my calendar,” Riki says breezily, unlocking his car. “I’m very busy.”

“You get through peak hour from your office just to be my last patient.”

Riki opens the passenger door. “Do you want a ride home or not?”

Jungwon should say no. Jungwon should’ve done a lot of things. He hesitates, then sighs defeated.

“…Only because Bisco is already in the backseat.”

“Of course.”

The door shuts behind him with a soft click.

“He’s definitely a sugar daddy.”

“No way, Dr. Yang looks like he’s the one paying for everything.”

“Girl, that’s Nishimura Riki. He was literally on the cover of Financial Times Asia last month.”

Minju holds up her phone. “Look at this! I googled him and it says he was one of the keynote speakers at the Asia-Pacific Investment Forum. And now he’s here. Twice a week. For a maltipoo.”

Jungwon walks in just in time to hear one of the interns mutter, “He’s so lucky. I wish a tall, rich, chaebol heir would simp for me.”

He clears his throat loudly. “Everyone get back to work,” he mutters.

“You deserve it, Dr. Yang!” someone chirps behind him. “He’s obsessed with you!”

Jungwon closes the fridge door a little too hard. “It’s not like that.”

But no one believes him.

“Why do you keep doing this?” Jungwon asks one night, quiet, as Riki waits with him outside after his last consultation.

They’re standing under the clinic sign, the soft buzz of city life humming around them.

“Doing what?” Riki asks.

Jungwon doesn’t look at him. “This. Us. Acting like, like nothing happened. Like we could just...pick up where we left off.”

“I’m not acting,” Riki says softly.

Jungwon hates how much that hurts.

“I hurt you.” he says, voice tight. “I was horrible to you, you should hate me.”

“You did,” Riki nods. “But I’ve already forgiven you for that. Have you?”

Jungwon is already on edge when Riki’s name pops up on the day’s final appointment list. The tight feeling in his chest starts around lunchtime and only coils tighter as the hours drag on.

By the time it’s 5:30, he’s fully braced for war, white coat on, mask up, voice clipped and movements mechanical.

His strategy renewed, heart and mind steeled. He can’t feel anything. That’s the trick. If he doesn’t let it in, it can’t break him.

When Riki arrives, he smiles, like last week hadn’t ended in cold tension and silent car ride. 

"Hi, Doctor Yang." Riki says it so sweetly it sounds mocking. It probably isn’t. Riki has never been cruel. Not to him.

But Jungwon feels his spine stiffen anyway. “What is it this time? Her ears?”

Riki sets Bisco on the table. “Her paw. I think she stepped on something.”

He inspects the paw, it’s fine, obviously. Bisco wags like she's thrilled to be here. Traitor.

“You know this isn’t sustainable,” Jungwon mutters, not looking at Riki. “You can’t keep coming here for nothing.”

Riki tilts his head. “I’m not coming for nothing.”

The vet tech, bless her soul, seems to take it as her cue to leave the room.

“She’s fine,” he says shortly. “Again. Save your gas money.”

Riki watches him carefully. “I’ve got more than enough.”

“That’s not the point—”

“Then tell me what the point is, Jungwon.”

Fine, Riki wants a fight? That’s what he’ll get.

“It’s not going to work Riki,” Jungwon snaps. “Whatever you’re trying, it’s not going to work. Everything’s changed.”

Riki’s voice stays maddeningly calm. “You were the one who said we should be friends again.”

Jungwon sets the chart down harder than necessary. “Yes. Fine. I said that. But friends don’t visit multiple times a week. Friends don’t drive one another home after work. And friends most definitely do not buy each other flowers.” 

Bisco yips, she laps softly at Jungwon’s hands. He didn’t realise he was shaking. 

“You’re right.” Riki nods, blank faced. 

Jungwon’s brows lift. He wasn’t expecting that. 

Riki continues, “Maybe, I’ve just forgotten what it’s like to be friends with you.” He’s coming closer now, their eyes are locked. Jungwon can’t look away. 

“Tell me Won. What were we like? As friends.” 

The last part comes out as a whisper. Riki is standing on the opposite side of the examination table now. Between them Bisco yips helplessly, her little head darting back and forth. 

What were we like?

They were good weren’t they? 

Jungwon wonders what Riki’s answer would be. 

Whether he would say that their relationship was the highlight of his youth. The spark that lit up every good standing memory he had from the moment they met in Decelis as teenagers. 

Or would Riki remember the constant disapproving frowns of his parents every time he brought Jungwon over.  The arguments they would get into, the nights spent away from his family home. The chasm formed between him and his parents, only growing larger as Jungwon remained. 

What were they like? 

Jungwon can’t answer. So he dips his head like a coward, patting Bisco to soothe her. 

“I guess I don’t remember either.” 

The knocking starts soft. Then louder. Then again, in uneven rhythms, like the person on the other side isn’t entirely steady on their feet. 

Jungwon blinks awake, heart hammering. He squints at his phone.

2:13 AM.

Another knock. Then a voice, muffled.

“Jungwon.”

He freezes.

He knows that voice. He knows it like muscle memory. Knows it in his bones, in the ache he buried years ago.

He throws the blanket off and stumbles out of bed, heart in his throat as he approaches the door.

The peephole confirms it. 

Jungwon opens the door slowly.

“…Riki?”

Riki is in a disheveled navy suit. Tie crooked, shirt rumpled, hair tousled like he’s run his hands through it a hundred times. His eyes are red, cheeks flushed. He reeks of whiskey and something expensive, something sharp and bitter. And god, he look lost.

His eyes lift slowly. When they land on Jungwon, something in them softens.

“There you are,” Riki slurs.

Jungwon’s brain short-circuits.

“Are you—how did you—”

“I…” Riki says, blinking at him. “I’m not, hic, I’m not imagining you, right?”

“Riki?” Jungwon breathes, stunned. “What-”

“You’re real,” Riki says, with a crooked smile that splits into something sad. “I knew it. Knew you’d open the door…”

And then he sways. Hard.

“Shit—” Jungwon lunges, catching him just in time, arms going around Riki’s waist, Riki's weight collapsing against his chest. It’s the first time they’ve touched in years.

It’s electric. It’s too much.

He steadies him, heart pounding. “You’re drunk. How did you even know where I live?”

Riki laughs, quiet and broken.  “Made Sunoo tell me last year, memorised it. Just in case…I missed you.”

Jungwon doesn’t know what to say.

Riki’s arms are heavy around his shoulders, his face buried against his neck, murmuring half-formed thoughts.

“You smell the same,” he slurs. “Like, like home.”

“Shit—okay, come on,” he mumbles, dragging Riki inside, arms still looped around his waist.

It’s clumsy. He helps Riki out of his shoes. 

Riki’s eyes sweep across the room in dazed wonder. “So this is where you live now…”

“It’s nothing fancy.”

“It’s very you,” Riki says simply.

That does something terrible to Jungwon’s heart.

Jungwon walks him to his bed. Riki collapses onto it with a groan, head lolling against the pillows.

Jungwon hovers. Heart pounding. Mind racing.

“I’ll get you water.”

But as he turns, Riki grabs his wrist.

“No wait,” Riki mumbles, blinking up at him.

His voice is frayed. Raw. Unfiltered.

“You hate me?”

Jungwon flinches.

“What? No.”

Riki’s eyes glass over. “You left me.”

“I had to.”

“You didn’t even say goodbye.”

“I couldn’t. Riki, you don’t understand.”

“I do,” Riki insists, slurring the words together. “I understand everything. I know why you did it. I know how my family is. I know. And I still love you.”

Jungwon’s throat tightens.

“You’re drunk,” he says, barely managing to keep steady.

“I still love you,” he repeats.

Jungwon’s body is frozen, his wrist is burning at where Riki’s holding.

“I never stopped. Not once. I wanted to hate you. I tried. But I couldn’t. I don’t know how. I think you broke me.”

Jungwon swallows. Hard.

“Riki-”

“I would’ve given up everything for you,” Riki says, leaning forward, eyes glossy. “I wanted to. Still do. You think I care about the company? About grad school? About the board, the shares, the title? I only did any of it because I thought, hic, if I worked hard enough, your life would be easier. That maybe one day you'd let me come home.”

Jungwon’s heart is in pieces.

“This is not what you want,” he forces out. “You’re drunk.”

“I’m honest,” Riki snaps, eyes glassy but voice strong. “I’m honest when I’m drunk. You know that. You’ve always known that.”

His hand tightens on Jungwon’s wrist, moving to hold the other like it’s something sacred.

“You’re everything,” Riki whispers. “Still. Always.”

Jungwon breaks. He lets his knees crumble to kneel by Riki, letting his eyes flutter shut.

He feels the gravity of Riki’s love. The kind that never left, no matter how hard he tried to erase it.

For the first time in years, he lets the silence speak for him.

Just breathes.

And stays.

Riki’s voice is slower now, more slurred, like his body is shutting down, but his heart refuses to.

“I think about you all the time,” he says, still clinging to Jungwon’s hands. “Every morning, every night. Every fucking holiday.”

Jungwon swallows. His throat is raw. He hasn’t said a word in minutes, afraid that if he opens his mouth, he might cry. Or worse, tell Riki he feels the same. That he’s always felt the same.

Riki goes on.

“I hated Seoul for a while, you know? After you left me. I hated how everything reminded me of you.”

Jungwon lets out a quiet breath. It’s too much.

“But I came back anyway,” Riki murmurs, “because I thought maybe you’d still be here. And if I was really lucky, maybe you hadn’t stopped loving me yet.”

Jungwon squeezes his eyes shut.

He can’t stop himself. The words fall out, hushed and broken. “I never meant to hurt you, Riki.”

Riki’s grip on his hand tightens, just slightly.

“I just…it was what was best for you. Best for us.”

He hears the way his voice cracks on us.

It sounds so small. Like it’s already fading.

For a moment, Jungwon thinks Riki has fallen asleep.

“You’re what’s best for me,” Riki breathes, eyes still closed. “You always were.”

And with that, Riki’s lashes flutter shut. His grip loosens. The long fall into sleep claims him, soft and silent, the rhythm of his breath deepening.

Jungwon doesn’t move.

He just sits there, staring at the space between them like it might swallow him whole. 

By the time Jungwon finally gets up, his legs are stiff, his fingers numb where Riki held them. He tugs gently, careful not to wake him and slips his hand free.

Riki sighs in his sleep but doesn’t stir.

Jungwon pulls the blanket up over his shoulders. The same one they used to share during study nights in college. It still smells faintly of lavender detergent. He watches him for a moment longer.

Then turns away. 

Out in the living room, Jungwon sinks onto the couch with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, but it doesn’t do much for the cold.

He stares at the ceiling.

He should sleep. He should shut this down, this whole thing, whatever this is becoming.

But his heart is a mess. His head is worse.

He’s never seen Riki like that before. Not even during their worst moments.

And yet, despite how drunk he was, everything Riki said sounded more honest than anything Jungwon has let himself believe in years.

“I just…it was what was best for you…”

But what if he was wrong?

What if he gave up the one thing that ever made him feel whole for a lie dressed up as duty?

His eyes sting. He lets his head fall back against the armrest.

The night stretches long and quiet. The city outside hums faintly.

Jungwon lies there, his chest aching, the scent of Riki still clinging to the apartment like a memory refusing to leave.

The kettle whistles.

Jungwon turns off the stove and pours hot water over his coffee grounds with precise hands, like routine can dull the ache in his chest. He hasn’t opened the bedroom door.

He spent the early hours cleaning, wiping down his counters, folding laundry, taking the trash out. He’d even mopped the floors, barefoot and red-eyed, as if disinfecting every tile would scrub last night from his memory.

It hasn’t worked.

He keeps catching glimpses of Riki, slumped in the passenger seat of his own memories, lips parted with drunken honesty. You’re what’s best for me.

Jungwon swallows a bitter sip of coffee.

He’s called in for the day. Claimed he wasn’t feeling well. It’s not a lie — not really.

He’s just tired. Bone-deep.

At midday, Jungwon’s washing the last of the mugs when the door creaks open.

His spine stiffens.

“Jungwon?”

Riki’s voice is hoarse, wrecked with sleep and dehydration and remnants of whiskey. Jungwon doesn’t turn.

“There’s water on the counter. And hangover pills.”

The silence is filled by the soft shuffle of socks across hardwood. The sound of Riki drinking. Swallowing. The kitchen faucet running.

“The things I said last night…”

Jungwon exhales through his nose, setting the mug down with a bit more force than necessary. “You were drunk.”

“I was,” Riki agrees. “But I still meant every word.”

Jungwon turns. Slowly. Riki’s hair is a mess, face pale, dark circles under his eyes. He looks like hell. Still beautiful.

“Do you even remember what you said?”

“Most of it,” Riki admits, rubbing the back of his neck.

Jungwon’s throat tightens. Silence again.

“I was scared you wouldn’t let me in,” Riki says, his voice quieter now. “That’s why I didn’t come sooner. Why I never knocked before, even though I knew the address. I was scared it was too late.”

“It is too late,” Jungwon says automatically. It tastes like ash.

Riki just tilts his head. “Then why’d you open the door?”

Jungwon doesn’t answer.

Because he can’t. Because he doesn’t know.

Because deep down, every wall he’s tried to build is made of sand at Riki’s touch.

Jungwon turns away, back to the sink, even though the dishes are already done. “You should get some rest. You still look like death.”

“You're changing the subject.”

“I’m trying to protect you.”

“I don’t need protection,” Riki says sharply, stepping closer. “I need you. I’ve always needed you.”

Jungwon closes his eyes.

“I know you think you did what was right back then,” Riki says, softer now. “You broke my heart and I let you. Because I thought maybe it would fix something in you. Did it?”

Jungwon’s shoulders slump.

“I don’t know,” he whispers, but he knows the answer, they both do.

Riki steps even closer. “Then don’t do it again.”

Jungwon still doesn’t turn. His eyes are stinging.

“I need to get cleaned up,” Riki says eventually, voice carefully measured. “Then I’ll go. But I meant what I said, last night and now. I’m not giving up. Not again.”

And then he's gone, quiet footsteps, the creak of the bedroom door, the rustle of fabric.

Jungwon doesn’t move. Just grips the edge of the counter like it’s the only thing keeping him upright.

Because he can feel it.

Everything cracking all over again.

And this time, he's not sure he wants to hold it all together.

The coffee is warm, the sun’s filtering in through the windows, and Jungwon almost feels normal. The table is already a mess of plates — croissants, pancakes, omelettes, half-finished iced americanos. Sunoo is swiping through his phone with a frown. Jay’s sipping his second espresso.

“So,” Sunoo says without looking up, “any updates on the Nishimura front?”

Jungwon rolls his eyes. “I doubt you aren’t actively getting updates from the man himself.”

Sunoo lifts an unimpressed brow. “That may be true. But I prefer to get both perspectives to see the full picture.”

Jay leans forward, hands clasped. “I’m not updated on either front. I’d like to be kept in the loop too.”

Jungwon hesitates. Then sighs. “He showed up at my place last weekend.”

Sunoo blinks. Jay’s eyes widen.

“I’m sorry?” Sunoo chokes.

“He was drunk,” Jungwon says quickly. “Really drunk. I think he came straight from some event.”

Sunoo freezes mid-sip.

Jay sets down his fork with a soft clink.

“Wait, wait-” Sunoo leans forward. “Drunk? As in alcohol drunk?”

Jungwon frowns, confused. “Yeah, is there any other type of drunk?”

Jay blinks, slow. “But…Riki doesn’t drink.”

No, that doesn’t seem right.

Jungwon frowns. “Yes he does. Riki loves drinking. He used to-”

“Used to,” Sunoo cuts in, looking up now. “Not for the past four years.”

Jungwon’s heart skips.

Since you broke up with him goes unspoken.

Jay shifts in his seat. “He stopped drinking the month after he moved. Which was good given how he used to…”

Sunoo shoots Jay a glance. Jay coughs, looking away.

But Sunoo shrugs. “He should know.”

Jungwon stares. “Know what?”

Sunoo glances at Jay, then at Jungwon. “Riki used to get wasted and just… spiral.”

“He wouldn’t say much at first,” Sunoo continues. “But then he’d start crying. Asking for you. All the time.”

Jay runs a hand over his face. “Jake tried to host a game night once, just the six of us. Riki downed almost an entire bottle of whiskey and was buying a plane ticket back to Seoul thirty minutes later. Said he needed to find you. That maybe you just needed a grand gesture to change your mind.”

Jungwon’s blood runs cold.

“I…I didn’t know,” he whispers.

“Of course you didn’t,” Sunoo says, gently now. “We didn’t tell you because—Well, what would it have changed? You were grieving too.”

“It’s not like you were doing any better,” Jay adds. “You stopped replying. Stopped picking up our calls. You barely made it through that semester of vet school.”

Jungwon stares down at the table, heart thudding dully in his chest.

He remembers those months, of course. The way he’d drag himself to classes like a ghost. The nights he’d fall asleep on textbooks with swollen eyes and a chest that wouldn’t stop aching.

He’d known Riki was hurting too, but hearing it in person carves another guilt-filled hole in him. His knuckles curls at the edge of the table.

“You guys should’ve told me.”

Sunoo shakes his head, soft and sad. “We wanted to. But you’d already convinced yourself it was for the best. And honestly, Riki needed to figure out how to stand on his own again.”

“And he did,” Jay adds. “He grew up. Focused. Became the version of himself he thought you’d be proud of.”

Riki did grow. Jungwon’s seen it through press photos, financial write-ups, media interviews in high society events. 

“So last week,” Jungwon says, voice tight, “when he showed up at my place like that…”

Sunoo nods. “That’s probably the first time he’s touched alcohol since that second month in New York.”

Jungwon presses his fingers to his temple, overwhelmed. His coffee’s gone cold.

Jay watches him for a long moment. Then, softly: “He never really changed, you know. Not where it mattered.”

“And he never stopped loving you,” Sunoo adds. “You of all people should know that.”

Jungwon doesn’t respond.

Because he does know.

And that terrifies him more than anything.

Bisco yips softly from the exam table, tail wagging cautiously, like she knows something’s wrong.

She’s right.

Jungwon’s fingers tremble as he adjusts her file on the screen. He avoids looking at Riki as much as he can. Not when guilt is coiled tight around his throat. Not when there’s another bouquet sitting on his desk. Roses and snapdragons this time. They’re beautiful.

“I thought I said to stop bringing flowers,” Jungwon says stiffly, eyes on the screen.

Riki shrugs. “Consider it an apology for the other night.”

Jungwon finally looks at him. Riki is calm, dressed in a charcoal grey button-up and slacks, jacket draped over his arm. There’s something different in his eyes today.

“Riki.” Jungwon sighs as he stands, rubbing a tired hand over his face. “We talked about this.”

“Did we?” Riki asks, voice light. “Because I remember talking. I don’t remember you listening.”

Bisco yips, as if sensing the growing tension between the two of them.

“She doesn’t even need another check-up,” Jungwon mutters, grabbing a file half-heartedly. “She’s perfectly healthy.”

“She likes seeing you,” Riki replies easily. “And so do I.”

Jungwon flinches.

He tries to focus on Bisco. But his hands shake as he picks up the stethoscope, trying not to drop it.

Riki just watches. The silence stretches. The guilt gnaws at Jungwon’s ribs.

“Riki,” he tries again. “You can’t keep doing this.”

“I can,” Riki says. “And I will.”

“This isn’t fair,” Jungwon snaps, suddenly sharper than he means to be. “To either of us.”

There’s a pause.

And then, Riki’s voice, quiet. “What part of this is unfair, exactly? That I still love you? That I want you back?”

“All of this,” Jungwon says, forcefully, because he needs to say it before he breaks. “You’ve done so well. Without me. You’re thriving. You graduated. You’re building something incredible. That’s enough. It has to be.”

“Is that what you tell yourself to sleep at night?”

The words hit like a slap.

Bisco whines from the corner.

Jungwon sets down the stethoscope with more force than necessary. “Riki, stop. I’m serious. You have to let this go.”

“I already did,” Riki says, and for a second Jungwon sees a flash of the same hurt etched in Riki’s face four years ago. “You walked away and I let you. That was my mistake. I know that now. I’m not going to let myself repeat it again.”

“Then what do you want from me?” Jungwon asks, exasperated, desperate. “You want me to say it again? That I wanted to break up? That I still do?”

Riki stands straighter. “Yeah. Say it to my face, Jungwon. Say it again and I’ll stop all of this right now.”

The room is too small. Too quiet. The lights hum above them.

Jungwon’s mouth opens. But the words won’t come.

I don’t love you anymore.

The lie sits at the edge of his throat, bitter and poisonous. The last time he said it, it nearly ruined him. He can’t do it again. He can’t.

His jaw tightens. He looks away.

“That’s what I thought,” Riki says softly.

“I—” Jungwon starts, but it comes out weak, breathless. “It’s what was best for us, Riki. Why can’t you just understand that?”

“You keep saying that,” Riki replies, voice thick now, no longer calm. “But you never let me decide what was best for me.”

Jungwon feels his own composure beginning to slip.

“You did well,” he tries again. “In New York. Columbia. You’re doing well now, in the company. Why are you trying to mess that up now?”

“Who said I’m messing anything up?” Riki shoots back. “Why do you think I can’t do both? Love you and do my job? Why is it always one or the other with you?”

“Your parents—” Jungwon starts, but stops himself. Will never let us happen again. Sits on the tip of his tongue. 

There it is. The elephant in the room.

“Because you think I’m not strong enough to fight them?” Riki asks.

“Because I don’t want to be the reason you have to,” Jungwon says, quietly. “Again.”

They both fall silent.

Bisco whines again, inching toward Jungwon, pawing at his hand.

Jungwon lets her crawl into his arms, hands on her fur, grounding himself in the softness of her curls.

“Why are you still here?” he whispers.

“Because I love you Won.” Riki replies like that alone is enough. “You’re right. Things are different now. I’ve grown, I’ve learnt. I won’t make the same mistakes this time and I’ll do what it takes to make you see that.”

Battleships are firing in Jungwon’s mind.

The chandelier catches the light like it's trying to blind him.

Everything gleams. From the floor-to-ceiling crystal arrangements lining the hall to the string quartet tucked neatly by the grand staircase, it’s all curated, perfect  like something out of a movie Jungwon knows he doesn’t belong in.

He’s used to this. Back when he was Riki’s plus-one to every gala, every debutante event, every fundraiser. He knew how to make polite conversation with CEOs and their trophy spouses before making himself sparse. He knew how to navigate expensive food and forced smiles. He used to walk into these rooms holding Riki’s hand.

Now his palms are clammy and empty.

“Wonnie!” Sunoo catches him before he can retreat to the refreshment table again, latching onto his arm. He’s radiant tonight, dressed in something iridescent, hair styled to perfection. “You’ve been dodging all the mingling. At least stay with me. It’s been so long since I got to have you with me for these.”

“I’m not really—”

“You’re staying over,” Sunoo cuts in, matter-of-fact. “Don’t even think about leaving.”

And Jungwon doesn’t argue. Because Sunoo’s right. It’s been years since he came to one of these things. He owes it to his best friend who’s stuck by him when he couldn’t even stick by himself.

So he stays. Smiles politely. Nods when spoken to. Laughs at stories he can barely follow. Pretends the champagne doesn’t taste like acid burning down his throat.

But then he sees them.

Riki. And Rei.

Rei is beautiful, as she always was. Petite, refined. Dressed in soft blush satin, hair falling in perfect waves. She beams at people like she was born to be adored. She always had this quiet grace to her, the kind that made people stop and take notice.

She looks good beside Riki.

Riki, in his all-black tailored suit and loose tie, dark hair slicked back.

They stand side by side. Two names that have been linked since childhood. Family friends. Picture-perfect heirs.

Exactly what the Nishimuras always wanted.

The bile rises slowly. Bitter. Thick.

He forces himself to look away.

Sunoo must have noticed. “They’re not together, you know that,” he says lowly, sipping from his flute.

Jungwon sniffs. “Doesn’t really matter if they are or not, does it?”

Sunoo frowns but lets the topic go. Just squeezes his arm tighter and steers him toward the dessert table.

But Riki’s glances are unbearable. Jungwon can feel them, the way one feels static in a storm, hot and bristling and impossible to ignore. Every time he turns his head, Riki’s gaze is already there. Not subtle. Not accidental.

Jungwon’s jaw aches from clenching.

But none of that compares to the moment when the ballroom hushes like a ripple in the atmosphere and the Nishimuras step through the glass doors.

His stomach drops.

Riki’s parents haven’t changed much. His father still commands attention like he’s the party host himself. His mother still moves like a beauty queen on her way to accept her crown. They are perfectly poised, accompanied by several other high-profile guests, all of whom greet Sunoo’s parents with the kind of air-kiss diplomacy rich people have perfected.

Jungwon can only avoid them for so long before he has to face the music.

Mrs. Nishimura’s eyes land on him across the room. And for a split second her smile tightens. 

Mr. Nishimura says something to her. She murmurs a reply and they move on.

Jungwon feels sick.

“Hey,” Sunoo whispers, arm tightening again around his. “You don’t have to talk to them. I won’t let them come near you. I promise.”

Jungwon nods, swallows down the acid.

“I’m fine Sun, don’t worry about me.”

He isn’t. He’s burning from the inside out. Because even after all these years, standing here in this glittering hall, all he can think about is how small he still feels in their presence.

He needs air.

A couple minutes through one of the toasts, Jungwon slips through one of the balcony doors to breathe. The hum of violins and laughter filter softly behind the glass doors. The air is crisp, but his lungs feel like they’re filled with static. 

He doesn’t realise how hard he’s gripping the edge of the marble railing until his knuckles ache.

He just needs a few minutes. A few minutes to pull himself together. To not think about Riki and Rei, or the way Riki’s parents looked right through him earlier, or the glances that still feel like phantom jabs burning across his skin.

“Jungwon.”

He flinches. They come from nowhere. Smooth as ever. Mr. and Mrs. Nishimura. 

He straightens automatically, instincts from years ago snapping into place like a soldier readying for combat.

“Mr. and Mrs. Nishimura.” His voice is steady. Good.

Mrs. Nishimura smiles. Tight. Icy. “How lovely to see you again. It’s been quite a while.”

“Yes. It has,” he replies politely, hands folding in front of him so he doesn’t accidentally clench them again.

The wind rustles through the hedges below.

“You look well,” she adds, tone faux-pleasant.

“We’ve heard you’ve…found some work?” Mr. Nishimura asks mildly, like he’s reading the back of a cereal box. “A vet clinic, wasn’t it?”

Jungwon nods. “Yes. I’m working at the Yeouido Animal Medical Center.”

He hates how proud he still is of it. How all his efforts and dreams feel like a footnote under their gaze.

“I see,” Mr. Nishimura replies, lips still a flat line.

There’s no outright cruelty. There never is. That’s the thing about Riki’s parents. They wield words like scalpels. Precise. Bloodless.

Mrs. Nishimura tilts her head. “It’s good that you’ve managed to stay afloat. Given…everything.”

The word dangles in the air, poisonous and vague.

“And it’s so nice of Sunoo to invite you tonight,” she adds. “He’s always had such a kind heart.”

Jungwon smiles tightly, every syllable scraping the inside of his throat. “He has.”

There’s a pause. It’s about time they make an incision that counts.

“You understand,” Mr. Nishimura says, voice even, “we want only what’s best for our son.”

There it is.

They’re not even looking at him anymore. Both gazing out into the night like they’re discussing the weather. Like he isn’t even here.

Jungwon opens his mouth, to excuse himself, to leave, to breathe, but he’s interrupted.

“Is everything alright here?”

Jungwon’s heart lurches.

Riki’s footsteps are quiet behind them, but the tension shifts immediately, like static snapping in the air. He stands tall, sharp in his suit, but his eyes aren’t on his parents.

They’re on Jungwon.

Worried. Alert. Knowing.

Jungwon turns away.

Mrs. Nishimura smiles, like a cat caught mid-pounce. “Riki, dear. Of course. We just bumped into your old friend Jungwon and thought it would be nice to talk.”

Friend. Another slice.

Jungwon feels his breath catch. His chest twists.

“We were just leaving,” Mr. Nishimura says smoothly, checking his watch. “Don’t stay out too long, Riki. There are quite a few guests inside you should meet.”

A nod to Mrs. Nishimura and then they’re gone. Just like that. No goodbye. No glance spared.

Not even a flicker of acknowledgment.

Riki doesn’t move for a long moment. His hands are tucked in his pockets, jaw tight. Still staring at Jungwon.

“You okay?” he asks softly.

Jungwon forces a breath. His hands are shaking again. He hides them behind his back.

“Yeah,” he lies. “Of course.”

Riki steps closer.

Jungwon doesn’t move. He’s frozen in time.

Because the worst part isn’t that Riki’s parents cornered him. Or that they reminded him just how inadequate he is in their world.

The worst part is how familiar it all feels.

Like he’s back in college or high school again. 

Riki doesn’t speak right away. His brows are slightly furrowed, the line between them deeper than Jungwon remembers.

“You don’t have to lie to me,” Riki says, his voice soft, careful. “I saw your face.”

Jungwon huffs out a quiet, humourless laugh, eyes fixed on the skyline. “My face is fine.”

Riki takes a step closer. “What did they say to you?”

“Nothing,” Jungwon answers too quickly. His voice comes out tight. “Just…small talk.”

Riki scoffs under his breath. “They don’t do small talk.”

“I don’t want to talk about this, Riki.”

“That’s too bad, because I do.”

Jungwon finally looks at him, and it’s the worst decision he’s made all night. Riki looks…hurt. Determined. 

“I told you, I’m fine,” Jungwon says again, harsher this time. Brick by brick, he feels the wall go up again. Higher. Safer. “It’s Sunoo’s birthday. You should get back inside.”

“They got to you again,” Riki says, he doesn’t even seem upset, just sad. “They always do. That’s why you left.”

Jungwon flinches. “I didn’t leave because of them.”

“Then tell me why,” Riki challenges. His voice is barely a whisper now. “Tell me, Jungwon. For once.”

“I already did. That day. I told you.”

“You lied.”

“You don’t know that.” Jungwon’s voice cracks before he can help it, what’s the point if they both know the truth. His hand tightening around the railing. “You wouldn’t have let me go otherwise.” He adds, weaker, the first honest thing he’s said so far.

“I didn’t want to let you go.”

“I know.” Jungwon chokes. He swallows down the words that want to claw their way out, the ones that would undo him. “And I couldn’t watch you give up your whole life for me.”

“I wasn’t giving anything up,” Riki says firmly. “It was my life. I wanted you in it.”

“And now look where you are.” Jungwon gestures broadly, bitter and breathless. “Doing amazing, just like I always knew you would.”

“And miserable.”

Jungwon stares at him.

“Don’t say you haven’t noticed,” Riki says. “You think a few work achievements mean anything without someone to come home to?”

“You have your family to come home to.”

“I wanted you. Just you.”

Jungwon’s wall barely holds.

He looks away. “You should go back inside. Rei’s probably looking for you.”

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

Riki continues pushing forward, he’s too close now. Jungwon can feel the heat of him, smell the lingering scent of his cologne under the expensive suit.

“Use her. Or anyone. To push me away again.”

“You came with her,” Jungwon whispers, biting his tongue, hating how much it hurt to even say it.

Riki doesn’t deny it. “She’s a friend. You know that. You know what this is.”

Jungwon clenches his jaw. “Whatever it may be. Things are just the way they are now Riki. Nothing can really change that.”

Riki watches him for a moment longer. 

“Don’t let them keep winning, Won. Not again.”

Jungwon’s breath hitches. He turns away. Doesn't say another word.

And Riki lets him go for now.

The lights feel harsher than before. The glint of crystal chandeliers, the low hum of the live band, the shimmer of gowns and polished shoes it all feels louder, brighter, heavier.

Jungwon’s hands are cold as he pushes back through the gilded ballroom doors.

Going back inside somehow feels worse than being on the balcony with Riki and his parents. Maybe it’s the mask he has to wear. Maybe it’s the weight of their conversation still digging into his spine. Or maybe it’s just the reality slapping him clean across the face:

He doesn’t belong here.

Not with the men in tailored suits, the women dripping in diamonds, the old family names stitched into empire walls. He feels it sharp and gutting. How he will never belong here.

But this isn’t about him. Or Riki. This is Sunoo’s night.

He squares his shoulders, lifts his chin, and walks back in like his heart isn’t in splinters somewhere on the balcony outside.

The ballroom swallows him whole. Sunoo is at the center of it all, beaming, radiant, surrounded by friends and cousins and probably shareholders too. He catches Jungwon’s eye from across the room and gives a wide, grateful smile that makes everything else worth it.

Jungwon smiles back as genuinely as he can. He can do this. He’ll do it for Sunoo.

He’s making a beeline for the bar. He needs water, or a distraction, or maybe something stronger, when someone gently taps his elbow.

“Jungwon?”

He turns.

It’s Rei.

“Hi,” she says, her voice as soft and elegant as he remembers. Her dress is a beautiful muted rose with silver accents, her hair tucked back like a doll. She’s always been lovely. Lovely and kind.

“Oh,” Jungwon says, startled. “Hi. You look…beautiful tonight.”

She smiles. “Thank you. You look great, too.”

Jungwon chuckles awkwardly, fiddles with the edge of his sleeve. “I’m sorry, I didn’t get a chance to say hi earlier.”

“It’s okay. I figured you needed space.” She tilts her head, eyes gentle. “I saw you talking to his parents.”

Jungwon can’t help the way his smile bitters.

“They haven’t changed,” she adds carefully.

He nods. 

“You know how he’s like,” Rei shifts slightly, her expression softening even more Jungwon knows exactly who he is.

“He’s never going to give up on you, Jungwon,” Rei continues. “He never has. Not once in four years. Not when he was across the world. Not when everyone told him to move on.”

Jungwon’s mouth goes dry.

“I just thought you should keep that in mind,” Rei finishes, voice quiet. “Whatever you’re deciding. Whatever you’re running from.”

He stares at her.

She gives him a small understanding smile and turns to rejoin the crowd.

Jungwon watches her go, heart clattering inside his chest.

God.

He needs another drink.

Sunoo’s tipsy giggles are contagious and for the first time all night, Jungwon is laughing too.

It’s ridiculous, really. Sunoo is swaying like seaweed in the wind, arms looped lazily around Jungwon’s neck as he leans in to whisper, “I’m a great dancer, right?” before tripping over his own foot.

“You’ve been crushing my toes if that’s what being great means,” Jungwon says, catching him mid-stumble, but there’s a soft fondness in his voice that hasn’t been there all evening.

“I’m elegant,” Sunoo insists, nearly shouting over the music, “like a swan!”

“You’re a hazard.”

They’re both laughing now, spinning slowly beneath the ballroom lights, the strings swelling into something warm and low. For a moment, just a moment, Jungwon lets himself forget the worries that cloud his heart and mind. Here, it’s just him and Sunoo and the dizzy haze of champagne joy.

The music shifts. The tempo melts into something slower. Softer.

Before Jungwon can even pull away, Jay appears like clockwork, his smile exasperated but fond as he swoops in with a, “Come on, swan. You’re about to crash and burn.”

“Unhand me,” Sunoo mumbles dramatically, but he lets Jay guide him away without resistance, still giggling as he spins into his arms.

Jungwon smiles after them, something light fluttering in his chest.

He turns to leave, to return to the safety of the side tables, to blend back into the shadows and watch his friends like he has most of the evening when a hand wraps gently around his wrist.

Jungwon doesn’t even need to look up. He knows who it is. 

Riki.

“I don’t—” Jungwon starts, his voice already shaky, already crumbling.

But Riki’s grip is gentle, not forceful. Light enough for Jungwon to pull away easily. His palm is warm against Jungwon’s skin.

“Just one dance,” Riki says, soft enough that only Jungwon can hear.

Jungwon’s eyes flutter shut. The music plays on, low and sweet. Jungwon’s pulse spikes.

The warmth of Riki’s hand around his wrist sears him like a brand. The soft notes of the music fade into the distance, the laughter and chatter dulling like someone’s turned the volume down on the world, until it’s just the two of them again.

“Just one,” Riki repeats, barely above a whisper.

Jungwon’s body betrays him. He can’t move. He can only stare helplessly at Riki, hair is a little tousled, his tie slightly loosened, his eyes dark and unreadable and too full of something that makes Jungwon’s chest twist.

“I can’t,” Jungwon chokes, barely audible.

Riki’s brow furrows, just slightly.

“Please,” Jungwon begs, voice raw now, breaking apart word by word. “Not here. Not in front of everyone.”

A pause.

Then Riki says, almost too softly: “Not in front of everyone…or not in front of my parents?”

The night ends raw.

Jungwon keeps his head down, his smile fixed, and his heart splintering in silence.

He doesn't dance again. Doesn’t linger near the floor or the crowd. He manages  to barely avoid Riki the rest of the evening, weaving around him like muscle memory, every instinct honed from years of dodging feelings that hurt too much to hold.

He stays close to Sunoo. Laughs with his jokes. Takes pictures when Sunoo demands them. Pretends not to notice how Riki never drifts far, like gravity pulling just enough to remind him of what’s still there. 

Sunoo insists he sleep over. “You’re not going back to that shoebox tonight,” he says, already dragging Jungwon by the wrist. “It’s my birthday. You have to obey me.”

The Kim estate is warm and golden, all glass and wood and soft lighting. It feels welcome, after all, Sunoo’s parents have always treated him like one of their own.

“Jungwon-ah,” Mrs. Kim greets as they walk into the foyer. “Did you eat enough? Do you need anything? A change of clothes? Your room upstairs is still made up, you know.”

“Thank you Aunty,” Jungwon says quietly, bowing. “You really didn’t have to—”

“Nonsense,” Mr. Kim cuts in, grinning. “You know you’re always welcome here. Besides, Sunoo says we might be getting a dog, and we’ll need the best vet in the country to take care of it.”

Jungwon laughs, and it almost feels real. “I’d be honoured.”

Mrs. Kim clasps her hands together. “Tell me, would you ever consider opening your own clinic someday? I understand that you’re quite comfortable in your current place but I’d invest in a heartbeat. Imagine Yang Veterinary. Has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?”

He’s stunned for a moment, blinking. “Maybe…someday.”

They beam as they bid him good night. 

As he lies later in the guest bed, staring up at the soft ceiling lights of the Kim family home, he lets himself wonder what it might’ve felt like if Riki’s parents had loved him even half as easily as Sunoo’s did.

Maybe things would’ve been different.

Maybe he wouldn’t still be bleeding.

Maybe he and Riki would’ve stood a chance.

Bisco’s name on the appointment list doesn’t surprise Jungwon anymore. She’s basically staff at this point, waddling through the clinic like it’s her second home,tail wagging with the confidence of a dog who knows she’s beloved.

What surprises him is the name next to hers.

Nishimura Konon.

Jungwon barely has time to process it before the front desk buzzes and the vet tech whispers, “Uh, Bisco’s here. With Riki’s sister I think.”

His heart leaps and sinks at the same time.

He takes a breath, wills his voice steady. “You can send them in.”

The exam room door swings open, and in strides Konon, all elegance and sharp heels and quiet command. She looks just like how Jungwon remembers: terrifyingly beautiful, perfectly put together, with a gaze that could probably bankrupt companies on sight.

Bisco, the little traitor, immediately trots over and throws herself at Jungwon’s legs like it’s been months instead of a week.

“Hi,” he says cautiously, crouching down to greet the dog, buying himself a few precious seconds. “Didn’t expect to see you today.”

“I imagine not,” Konon replies coolly, setting her designer handbag on the bench beside her as she sits. “Riki doesn’t know I’m here.”

Jungwon tenses.

She smooths out her skirt. Her coat alone probably costs more than three months of his rent.

“I’d prefer we keep this between us,” she says, tone polite, but firm. “Family matters. You understand.”

Jungwon nods slowly. “Of course.” That familiar dread creeps in, ancient and instinctual. But he’s been here before. The Nishimuras have always moved like this, in shadows, behind closed doors. Calculated. Cold.

Still, Konon has never been cruel to him. She was one of the only members of the family who wouldn’t grimace when he entered a room. Who nodded when he spoke. Who smiled when Riki dragged him along to functions, even if it was brief.

They were never friends but she had never been an enemy either.

Jungwon moves to Bisco first, crouching to check her eyes, her coat, murmuring reassurances. It’s easier than looking up.

“I assume she’s fine,” he says after a beat. “She’s always fine.”

Konon hums. “She’s a convenient reason to speak with you in private.”

Jungwon sighs before rising to his feet again.

“What is it?” he asks, a little more carefully now. “Did something happen?”

Konon folds her hands in her lap, terrifyingly composed.

“I’m here,” she says slowly, deliberately, “to ask you to take my brother back.”

The words hit like a cymbal to his ears. Jungwon freezes, eyes widening. “What?”

“I said,” she repeats, “I’m here to ask you to take my brother back.”

Bisco’s sneeze cuts the silence. Jungwon’s eyes flick to her, as if hoping she’ll confirm this is all a very strange fever dream. But she continues wagging her tail, blissfully unaware of the emotional wreckage detonating three feet away.

“I” Jungwon starts, voice thin, unsure. “I don’t think I heard you right.”

“You did.” Konon tilts her head slightly, her eyes cool and clear. “Don’t worry. This isn’t a trap.”

Jungwon lowers Bisco’s chart slowly, hands suddenly clammy.

He clears his throat. “Why…would you say that to me?”

Konon sighs, like this conversation is more exhausting than she'd hoped it would be.

“Because I’ve never seen my brother suffer the way he did after you left,” she says. “And because, quite frankly, he’s still suffering now. Which, by the way, is driving the rest of us insane.”

Jungwon still doesn’t know what to say. He keeps his eyes on Bisco, his chest tight.

Konon continues, unbothered. “I know what our parents did. I know what they said. I know they’re…difficult.” Her lip curls, something bitter in her expression for the first time. “They’re cruel, actually. Especially when they feel like their version of the future is being threatened.”

Jungwon swallows.

“They’ve always had this plan for Riki. And they thought you ruined it.” Konon shakes her head. “But Riki has done everything they asked. He graduated. He joined the company. He made them proud. And he did all of it with you still in his heart.”

Jungwon grips the edge of the examination table. “Konon, you don’t understand—”

“No. You don’t understand.” She stands, smooth and sharp in one movement. “My brother has had everything his entire life. Every luxury. Every door opened for him. But do you know when I saw him happiest?”

Jungwon doesn’t answer.

Konon steps closer. “When he was in that tiny dorm with you, eating instant noodles on the floor. When he’d come home from class and talk about how you fell asleep studying on his shoulder. When he was sketching on napkins ideas for a company that didn’t even exist yet and you were the only person he wanted to show them to.”

Jungwon should consider consulting a doctor for how often his heart feels like it’s cracking open.

Konon’s voice softens. “I don’t think he’s ever loved anyone the way he loves you. I’m not saying you owe him anything. But I needed you to hear this from someone who isn’t him. Someone who watched him try to keep going like he was fine, when he so clearly wasn’t.”

Jungwon’s eyes burn. He presses his nails into his palms.

Konon keeps going.

“We all thought it was a phase at first. A tantrum. But years have passed. And he’s still stuck in the same place, still looking for you in every city, every meeting, every empty apartment. You broke him once. That much is true. But leaving him hanging like this? Letting him chase shadows? It’s cruel.”

“It’s not my intention to—” Jungwon starts, but Konon cuts him off with a quiet shake of her head.

“I know. You thought you were doing the right thing. And maybe you were. But it’s been years. The damage is done. He still loves you. I don’t think that will ever change.”

Konon’s eyes shift to something sad.

“You’re the only thing he’s ever chosen for himself. And the only thing he’s ever lost.”

Bisco nudges her nose into his hand again, soft and warm, grounding.

“This stays between us,” she says quietly. “He doesn’t know I came. I’d like to keep it that way.”

Jungwon’s throat burns.

He nods, because it’s all he can do.

She pauses at the door, glancing over her shoulder one last time.

“You don’t have to forgive my family,” she says. “But if there’s even a fraction of you that still loves him…stop running. Or at least, let him catch you.”

Then she’s gone, heels clicking down the hallway as Bisco bounds after her.

Jungwon stands alone in the consult room, the echo of Konon’s words hammering in his chest.

Jungwon doesn’t even get to finish folding his laundry before the pounding starts.

It’s loud. Furious. Relentless.

It rattles the door and echoes down the hallway, and Jungwon almost thinks someone’s trying to break in until he hears his voice:

“Jungwon. I know you’re home.”

The knock comes again, harder this time.

Jungwon stares at the door, frozen. He blinks at the pile of laundry in his arms. Drops it.

His heart is already racing by the time he opens it.

Riki storms in without waiting for permission. Still in office wear. White button-down, sleeves rolled up messily, slacks still sharp despite the way they wrinkle as he storms in. He must’ve come straight from work. His tie is missing, and his top buttons are undone, like he ripped it off in the elevator.

But it’s not the clothes that unnerve Jungwon.

It’s the expression.

Riki’s face is pure rage and underneath it, buried and trembling, is something far worse.

Overwhelming hurt.

Jungwon swallows hard. “Riki?”

Riki doesn’t let him speak. He storms past the entryway and slams a folder down on Jungwon’s kitchen counter.

Papers fly, a messy almost violent scatter.

“What is this,” Riki hisses.

His voice is rough, like it’s been fighting its way out of his throat all day.

Jungwon blinks. “What…?”

Riki doesn’t say anything. Just stares.

And so Jungwon moves, slowly, his steps unsure, and picks up one of the papers that’s floated to the floor.

There’s a strange numbness in him as he reads the name. The account. 

The line that says Transaction: Declined. 

Then the one underneath: Sender: Nishimura Holdings Ltd. 

Beneficiary: Yang Jungwon.

His eyes trail to the bottom.

His own signature.

His throat closes.

He doesn’t even feel anger. No. What curls in his gut is shock. Cold and sharp.

He was never supposed to see this again. These files, these papers, they were a part of a past Jungwon sealed and shoved as far back as he could manage. Like a wound bandaged and buried. They were never for Riki’s eyes.

He stares at the document in his hands. Then slowly, slowly looks up.

“How did you find this,” Jungwon breathes.

Riki’s mouth curls, not into a smirk, not even a frown. Just something broken. Something barely holding itself together.

“You think you can just lie and lie and none of it catches up?” he says, quiet but sharp. “I wasn’t supposed to find it, right? You thought they’d never mess up.”

They did mess up. Jungwon feels it in the pit of his stomach. A rare slip from the Nishimura machine.

He was never going to tell Riki. They knew that. He knew that.

“I wasn’t trying to hurt you,” Jungwon says, instantly, uselessly, because the damage is done. “I didn’t want you to ever find out.”

“Find out what?” Riki shoots back. “That they’ve been trying to buy you off since the moment we broke up? That they’ve been sending money like—like some kind of compensation package for dumping me?”

Jungwon flinches.

The words sound even worse coming from Riki’s mouth.

Riki moves closer with heavy footsteps. The way anger makes you heavier. His steps push the air out of the room.

“You made me believe—” his voice falters, sharp around the edges. “You let me think all this time… that you stopped loving me. That I did something wrong.”

“I didn’t—” Jungwon tries again, voice shaking.

“Did you know they were doing this?” Riki demands. “These transfers. These wires. Every fiscal quarter. They’ve been buying your silence—”

“I sent it all back,” Jungwon snaps, sharper than he means to. “I never took a cent from them.”

“That’s not the point,” Riki says, and his voice cracks. “You hid it from me. You protected them. You protected everyone except yourself.”

Silence.

Just breathing. Heavy. Uneven.

Jungwon’s hands clench around the paper. He doesn’t even realise it’s crumpling.

“I didn’t want you to see this,” he admits, voice quiet.

“Yeah,” Riki says bitterly. “No shit.”

Jungwon doesn’t respond. He can’t.

Because he’s not angry at Riki. Not even close.

He’s angry at himself.

Because somewhere deep down, he knew this day would come. And he knew, more than anything, that Riki wouldn’t walk away unscathed.

That’s the part he was never ready for. 

That’s the part that hurts now.

Watching Riki look at him like he’s not sure who he is anymore.

Like love wasn’t enough to survive the truth.

“I wasn’t protecting them. I just—I did what was best for us.” Jungwon tries again. 

Riki laughs. But it’s not funny. It’s the kind of laugh that sounds like it hurts. Like something sharp cracking at the back of his throat.

“That bullshit again,” he spits, cold and quiet. “When are you going to stop lying to yourself, Won?”

Jungwon’s eyes burn. 

“I’m not lying to myself,” Jungwon says, firm, but it comes out thinner than intended. “It’s the truth. It was the right decision.”

Riki stares at him.

And Jungwon hates how those eyes still look like they know him better than he knows himself.

“Look at you,” Jungwon pushes on, hands curling into fists at his sides. “You’re doing well. You went to Columbia. You’re back in the company. You’re—” His voice wavers. “You’re everything you were meant to be.”

Riki doesn’t respond for a second. Just blinks.

And then he steps forward again slow, like he's watching a fragile thing break in real time.

“Meant to be?” he echoes.

Jungwon stiffens.

Riki exhales a shaky breath, like he’s trying to hold himself back. “You think that’s what I care about? That that’s what I wanted? The name, the school, the company. None of that ever meant anything without you.”

Jungwon opens his mouth to argue but no words come.

“You think I did well?” Riki continues, eyes shining now. “You think I’m happy?”

Jungwon can’t look at him.

“You think coming home to an empty apartment for four years, going to events just to leave early, spending my weekends alone with a dog who still cries when she hears your name. You think that’s what I wanted?”

“Stop,” Jungwon whispers.

“No.” Riki’s voice trembles. “You stop. Stop pretending this life you left me with was some kind of gift. Stop acting like breaking both of our hearts was the righteous thing to do.”

Jungwon’s hands are shaking again.

He bites down hard on his bottom lip to keep it from trembling. His gaze drops, unable to withstand the weight of Riki’s eyes.

“You told me it was best for us,” Riki says, softer now, closer. “But you never let me decide if I wanted that.”

“I didn’t want to be the reason you—” Jungwon chokes on it. The words lodge in his throat. “I didn’t want you to lose your family.”

“And I didn’t want to lose you,” Riki says quietly.

The silence that follows is deafening.

Jungwon finally looks up and it’s a mistake. Because Riki is standing right in front of him, still holding all those papers in one hand, and looking at him like he’s heartbroken.

Like he still loves him. Despite everything.

And it hurts more than any of the yelling ever could.

Because Riki never asked for any of this.

Because maybe Jungwon was never protecting them at all.

Maybe, he was only protecting himself.

The room is too quiet.

Too still, for something that’s just been completely, irrevocably torn apart.

Jungwon sags like the weight of everything. The fight, the years, the history, the future they’ll never have has finally broken his spine. He folds into himself. Palms shaking, shoulders trembling. He’s never felt smaller in his own apartment.

“I’m tired,” he whispers.

Riki doesn’t move. His hands, once clenched around the papers, now hang uselessly at his sides.

“I’m so tired, Riki. You don’t get it.” Jungwon’s voice cracks. “I can’t keep fighting them. I can’t.”

His knees nearly buckle from the weight of those words.

“I was never supposed to be here,” Jungwon breathes. “Not in Decelis. Not in your world. Not in your life. I don’t know why you can’t see that.”

“I do see it,” Riki answers, voice raw, eyes red. “I’ve seen it since the beginning. And it never mattered.”

But Jungwon’s too far gone to hear him now.

He’s looking at a place far away. Not the room. Not Riki.

He’s seeing that cold, terrifying conference room in the Nishimura Seoul building. He's eighteen and terrified and alone. Being told that they’ll ruin him. That if he loved Riki even an ounce, he’d do the right thing.

He sees it again. And again. That quiet threat behind polite smiles, behind contracts, behind the suffocating power they carry with just their names.

Jungwon’s voice shakes with every word now.

“You don’t get it,” Jungwon says. “Every time you turned your back, they found me. Every time you went away, they came. I’ve had to sit there, smile, and listen to all the reasons why I’ll never be good enough for you. I’ve been bribed, cornered, threatened—” His voice breaks. “I didn’t even get to be with you without feeling like I had to earn it. And I kept telling myself love would be enough, but it’s not. Not when they make me feel like less every time I breathe the same air as you.”

Riki’s eyes are glossy again. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because it wouldn’t have changed anything,” Jungwon snaps, his temper finally fraying. “You would’ve just hated them more. Fought them more. And I would’ve become the reason you broke your own family apart. I didn’t want that!”

“We were supposed to face things together,” Riki says, low and wounded.

“We were never on even ground!” Jungwon fires back, his voice raised now, wet with tears. “You had every luxury, every opportunity, your whole life laid out for you! And I was barely holding it together, scraping through loans and side jobs and vet school while they kept trying to buy me off like some cheap inconvenience!”

The silence after echoes like a gunshot.

Riki’s jaw trembles.

Jungwon wipes at his face with a shaking hand, but it’s useless. The tears keep falling. His whole chest feels like it’s caving in, ribs splintering like matchsticks.

“One day, when you're sitting in your penthouse with your perfect husband or wife, your perfect kids, a CEO plaque on your desk. You’ll realise what I did was the right choice. Not just for you. For both of us.”

Riki’s lips part. But no sound comes.

And then softly, firmly:

“I will never marry anyone that isn’t you.”

The words hit like a punch to the ribs. Jungwon’s knees wobble.

And before he can stop it, before he can think, the memory slices through his mind with agonising clarity:

Their first university winter break in Jungwon’s dorm. A tiny twin bed, two bodies curled up tighter than the space allowed. Riki grinning, pulling Jungwon’s hand up to press a kiss to his knuckles.

“I’m gonna marry you one day, Yang Jungwon,” Riki had whispered, so matter-of-fact it made Jungwon giggle.

“Is that your proposal? With an invisible ring?” Jungwon had teased, turning in his arms.

Riki had grinned wider, arms around his waist. “I’ll buy you another. The biggest diamond you’ve ever seen. One carat for every year I’ve loved you.”

Jungwon had hummed. “Big talk for a Nishimura.”

But softly, as shy as he’s even felt:

“I accept the invisible one. My answer is yes. Always yes.”

That memory crashes through Jungwon’s mind like lightning. He’s back in that room, back in that version of himself who believed forever could fit into a twin mattress.

And suddenly it’s all too much.

“I’m not strong enough,” he gasps, the confession splintering out of his chest. “I tried. I swear, Riki. But I’m not strong enough to fight them again. Not for you. Not for us.”

Riki steps forward, tears brimming.

“I’m not asking you to fight them alone.”

Jungwon’s head shakes, almost violently.

“Then let me go,” he pleads. “If you love me, really love me, you’ll let me go.”

And this time…he means it.

Not because he doesn’t love Riki. Not because he wants to be free. But because he’s too broken to try again. Too scared. Too tired.

The words taste like rust. Like regret.

Across from him, Riki stares. Something quiet shatters in his gaze.

Riki breaks the silence with nothing but truth, and it sounds like a vow ripped straight from his soul. “I love you, Jungwon.”

His voice cracks like glass. “I love you so much I can’t breathe.”

Jungwon flinches. His whole body stiffens, like the words hit too close, like they’re the one thing he’s been bracing against for years.

But Riki isn’t done. Not even close.

“You’re carved into every part of me,” he says, softer now, but no less desperate. “You’re in everything I do. Every morning I wake up. Every decision I make. I look for you in everything, and it kills me because you’re not there.”

Jungwon’s eyes squeeze shut. His jaw clenches, trying to hold something in. But he’s already lost the battle the moment Riki stepped through his door.

“I can’t let you go,” Riki breathes, stepping forward.

Jungwon takes half a step back, it’s not far enough to mean anything.

“I won’t.”

The words hang in the air between them, thick and heavy. A promise. A plea. A reckoning.

And then silence.

Not peace.

Not calm.

The kind of silence that comes after a storm, when the wreckage is laid bare and everything hurts and nothing is simple anymore.

Jungwon stares back at him, shaking, breathless, broke and still somehow in love.

Jungwon trembles, fingers curled so tightly around the edge of the counter they’ve gone white. The papers are still scattered across the floor like snow, icy hard. They sting. They remind him of every single quiet act of erasure he’s endured for four long years. The transfer attempts. The unspoken threats. The ghost of a name the Nishimuras tried to delete from their family’s history.

And then there’s Riki. Always Riki.

“I can’t,” Jungwon says again, voice splintering. “I can’t, Riki.”

Riki steps closer. His movements aren’t rushed, aren’t angry. Just sure. Anchored in something ancient, something inevitable. He’s always been like that quiet in his strength, unwavering in his love.

“I love you,” Riki whispers. Another step. Closer now.

“I won’t do it again.”

Jungwon shakes his head, stepping back like it’s muscle memory, like his body doesn’t know how to accept softness anymore. “I can’t do this again.”

“I love you,” Riki says. Again. Like it’s armor. Like it’s gospel.

“You’ll regret this eventually,” Jungwon whispers, barely audible. He’s cornered and he knows it. Just in truth. In inevitability.

“I love you.”

“Your family will never let this happen.”

“I love you.”

“I’ll ruin everything for you.”

“I love you.”

“And you’ll hate me.”

“I love you.”

It keeps going. Over and over like waves crashing into the walls Jungwon keeps building, and every time Riki says it, another brick falls away.

Until finally, Jungwon finds his back pressed to the door, nowhere else to run. Riki’s in front of him now, eyes red, lips trembling but still strong. Still holding all the love in the world between his hands.

“I love you,” Riki breathes again, softer this time, reverent. “Now tell me why we broke up.”

He says it like he already knows. And he does. Of course he does. Jungwon has never been good at lying to him. Not truly.

And Jungwon’s spent so long trying to survive that he forgot what it felt like to feel.

He finally lifts his gaze. And he sees him.

Riki.

His Riki.

The one who learned all his coffee orders, who walked him home every day after cram school. The one who danced with him in dorm rooms and whispered wedding vows into his neck like they were sacred, even when they were still too young to mean it. The one he left, but never stopped loving.

His voice breaks apart.

“Because I love you too.”

And there it is. The only truth that’s ever really mattered.

He doesn’t remember the moment Riki’s hands touch his face, only that they’re warm, grounding. He doesn’t remember who moves first. But then Riki’s lips are on his, crashing into his like a wave against a dam finally, finally, broken.

It’s desperate. Uncoordinated. Four years of grief and anger and missed time compressed into a kiss that tastes like salvation.

Jungwon gasps, and Riki takes it, takes everything. Years of silence, the ache of longing, every night Jungwon fell asleep with his hand pressed to his lips imagining this very moment. And now it’s happening. Riki is kissing him like he means it, like he knows him, like he never forgot a single inch of him.

And he hasn’t.

Jungwon shatters beneath it.

He clutches at Riki’s shirt, fists curling into fine cotton, pulling him closer like it’s the only way he’ll survive. Riki’s hands are cradling his face still, framing him like he’s something precious. He kisses Jungwon with purpose, with memory. The way he tilts his head, the way his thumb brushes just under Jungwon’s jaw. It’s all muscle memory, them, distilled to instinct and breath.

Jungwon melts into it.

And when Riki slows, mouth moving softer now, like he’s finally realizing Jungwon is real, that this isn’t a dream. Jungwon nearly breaks. He tilts his head up more, chasing the warmth, the softness, every sweep of Riki’s mouth against his like salvation. His hands climb to Riki’s neck, fingers threading into his hair, tugging until Riki groans softly into his mouth. His name is a whisper between kisses. “Riki.”

Riki’s everywhere. The scent of him, the taste of him, the heat of his chest pressed to Jungwon’s. Jungwon kisses him like he’s starving. Because he is. He’s starved for this. For Riki. For the way Riki’s lips part with his, only to press back in again, deeper, gentler, like he’s trying to memorise the shape of Jungwon’s mouth all over again.

Every press, every sigh, every fevered exhale says I love you, I love you, I love you.

Jungwon’s chest heaves. He’s crying again, he doesn’t even notice when it starts. His tears mix with Riki’s. They don’t stop kissing.

He’s undone.

Completely and utterly unmade. All the years he’s spent trying to forget, trying to convince himself that Riki didn’t love him enough, that the sacrifice was worth it burns away. It was never gone. Riki was never gone. This was always waiting for them.

Because Riki’s carved into his soul. Just like Jungwon’s carved into his.

And in this kiss, everything that broke them begins to knit back together. With shaking hands and aching hearts.

Riki pulls back for a breath, their foreheads pressed together, noses brushing. Jungwon’s eyes flutter open. Riki’s eyes are red-rimmed, watery, but burning with something fierce and unwavering.

“Mine,” Riki breathes, like a promise.

And for the first time in years, Jungwon lets himself believe it. Lets himself have it.

“Yours,” he whispers back. Voice wrecked. Heart bared. “Always.”