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Juhoon was already awake when his alarm went off. He never really needed an alarm because his body had learned the rhythm years ago. The same soft buzz at the same time every weekday morning. The same stretch of his arms over his head. The same brief stare at the ceiling as he calculated, half-asleep, how many more minutes he could afford to lie still before getting up.
And, like always, the same thought followed. Keonho will be waiting.
Juhoon sighed quietly, dragging himself out of bed. The floor was cold against his feet, and he frowned at it like it had personally wronged him. He tugged on a hoodie, ran a hand through his hair without bothering to fix it properly, and slung his backpack over one shoulder.
By the time he stepped outside, the neighbourhood was still half-asleep. The sky was pale and muted, washed in soft blues and greys. Front lawns glistened faintly with dew. Somewhere down the street, a dog barked once and then settled. The air smelled like damp earth and early mornings, the kind that clung to your skin and made you wish for another hour under the covers.
Juhoon shoved his hands into his pockets and started walking down the familiar path that cut between their houses. He’d walked it so many times that his feet knew where to land without him looking. And then he saw him.
Keonho stood near the old fence post, backpack slipping off one shoulder, hair sticking up in a way that suggested he’d either woken up five minutes ago or fought valiantly with his pillow and lost. He was rocking slightly on his heels, staring down the path like he wasn’t quite sure if Juhoon would appear today.
Keonho’s face lit up the second their eyes met. “There you are!” Keonho gasped, like Juhoon had been missing for hours instead of seconds.
Juhoon scoffed softly. “I’m always here.”
“Yeah, but sometimes you’re late,” Keonho said, falling into step beside him immediately. “And I was starting to think maybe today you decided sleep was more important than me.”
Juhoon glanced sideways at him. “You think that’s ever happened?”
Keonho hummed, clearly pretending to consider it. “No,” he admitted. “But I like to imagine it, just in case.”
Juhoon nudged him lightly with his shoulder. “You’re so weird.”
Keonho laughed, the sound bright and unguarded, cutting clean through the quiet morning. Juhoon felt something in his chest loosen at the sound, like it always did.
They walked together down the path, their paces matching without them thinking about it. Keonho’s steps were shorter, quicker, and Juhoon adjusted instinctively, even though he’d never admit it out loud.
“You woke up early today,” Juhoon said after a moment, eyes flicking to Keonho’s hair. “Or did you lose a fight with your pillow again?”
Keonho reached up, combing his hair defensively. “Hey. My hair looks fine.”
“It looks like you tried to escape a black hole,” Juhoon deadpanned.
“At least my hair has personality,” Keonho shot back. “You look like you got dressed in the dark.”
Juhoon glanced down at himself. Hoodie. Sneakers. Same jeans he always wore. “I don’t see the problem.”
“Yeah, whatever.”
They passed the row of houses, where the trees leaned closer together, branches arching over the path as if they were trying to listen in on their conversation. Keonho kicked a small pebble ahead of them, watching it bounce unevenly across the concrete.
“You have basketball practice today, right?” Keonho asked.
Juhoon nodded. “After school.”
“Oh,” Keonho said, a little quieter. Then, quickly, “That’s cool. You’ll do great.”
Juhoon caught the way Keonho’s shoulders slumped just slightly, like he was already calculating the hours they wouldn’t spend together that afternoon.
“I’ll still walk you home,” Juhoon said, without hesitation.
Keonho looked up at him, surprised. “Really?”
“When have I not?” Juhoon replied, tone easy, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
Keonho smiled again, softer this time. “Nevermind.”
They reached the bend in the path where the school buildings finally came into view. The bell hadn’t rung yet. They were early, like always. Juhoon preferred it that way. That way, there was no rush or crowd—just peace.
For a brief moment, they slowed, standing side by side as if neither of them was quite ready to let go of the morning yet. Juhoon adjusted the strap of Keonho’s backpack where it had slipped again, fingers brushing fabric and warmth beneath. Keonho froze for half a second, then relaxed, leaning into the touch without thinking.
“Thanks,” Keonho said quietly.
Juhoon shrugged, already pulling his hand away. “It was crooked.”
But as they started walking again, Juhoon realised—like he always did—that no matter how many mornings passed, no matter how routine it became, this was the part of the day his body remembered best. Showing up. Walking together. The place where his heart always seemed to return.
☆☆☆
Juhoon sometimes forgot there had ever been a time when Keonho wasn’t part of his life. There were no clear lines; he couldn’t remember a moment he could point to and say that this is when it started. It had just always been like this.
Two houses apart. A shared fence they’d climbed over so many times, the wood was worn. Chalk drawings on the pavement that bled into each other’s driveways. Summer afternoons spent sitting on the curb, legs swinging, trading snacks stolen from their kitchens. Juhoon remembered Keonho’s voice before he remembered his face, all high and excited, calling his name like it was the most important one in the world.
Juhoon had been the one who learned Keonho’s routines first. The time he got home. How long he sulked after a bad day or when someone was mean to him. The way he always knocked twice before coming in, even when the door was unlocked. How he slept with the light on until he was nine. How he used to cry quietly when he scraped his knees, like he didn’t want to bother anyone.
Juhoon had always noticed. And Keonho had always drifted closer because of it. By the time they were old enough to realise other kids didn’t grow up like this, didn’t have someone next door who showed up without being asked, it already felt permanent.
So when Juhoon’s phone buzzed at 3:07 a.m., waking him up from his slumber, his first thought wasn’t what’s wrong. It was Keonho.
He didn’t even open his eyes right away. Just reached out blindly, fingers curling around his phone as the screen lit up his dark room.
Keonho: are you awake
Keonho: it’s an emergency
Juhoon squinted, frowning. He unlocked the screen.
Juhoon: yes i’m awake
Juhoon: but you know it’s 3am right
Three dots appeared instantly.
Keonho: I KNOW
Keonho: but it’s important
Keonho: like really important
Juhoon exhaled slowly, rubbing his face with his free hand.
Juhoon: are you dying
Keonho: worse
Keonho: i found the cutest dog video ever
Keonho: i think i’ll explode if i don’t show you rn
Juhoon stared at the message. Then he groaned, rolling onto his back and staring up at the ceiling. The digital clock glowed accusingly from his desk. He had practice tomorrow. A test during his third lesson. A perfectly good reason to ignore this.
Instead, he typed back.
Juhoon: send it
The video loaded slowly. It was of a tiny dog, fluffy and undeniably adorable, that tried to climb a set of stairs twice its size, slipping and tumbling in dramatic defeat before trying again.
Juhoon watched it once. Then again. A quiet laugh slipped out of him before he could stop it. His phone buzzed.
Keonho: CUTE RIGHT???
Keonho: tell me you’re not smiling rn
Juhoon shook his head, lips tugging upward despite himself.
Juhoon: no
Keonho: LIAR
Another message popped up.
Keonho: come over
Juhoon froze. He stared at the text, thumb hovering over the screen. The reasonable part of his brain protested immediately—it was late, he was tired, he was going to regret this in the morning. The other part had already swung his legs out of bed.
Ten minutes later, Juhoon stood in Keonho’s backyard, hoodie pulled tight around himself, the grass cold and damp beneath his sneakers. Keonho’s window slid open with a soft creak, and then his face appeared, lit from behind by warm yellow light.
“You actually came?” Keonho whispered, eyes wide.
Juhoon looked up at him flatly. “You called it an emergency.”
Keonho grinned and climbed down the old fire escape like he’d done a hundred times before, landing a little clumsily in front of him.
“I knew you would,” he said, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Juhoon huffed. “You owe me sleep.”
“I owe you joy,” Keonho corrected, already tugging Juhoon toward the small patio bench. He replayed the video, shoving the phone between them. “Watch his little paws. He’s so cute!”
Juhoon leaned in despite himself, shoulder brushing Keonho’s. The night was quiet except for the faint sound of crickets and Keonho’s suppressed giggles.
“You’re unbelievable,” Juhoon muttered.
“But you’re here,” Keonho said softly.
Juhoon didn’t reply because he was. Because he always was.
And as the tiny dog finally conquered the stairs on Keonho’s screen, Juhoon realised—sleep-deprived and cold and quietly content—that there was no version of his life where he wouldn’t have answered that message.
☆☆☆
Juhoon was halfway through his homework, pen tapping against the desk in a steady rhythm, when his phone buzzed beside him. He didn’t look at it right away. He already knew who it was.
Keonho: come outside
Keonho: now
Keonho: please
Juhoon leaned back in his chair, eyes lifting to the ceiling as if it might offer mercy. He looked outside his window. Clear sky. No clouds. He checked the weather app. The temperature was already dropping fast.
He typed back anyway.
Juhoon: it’s freezing
Juhoon: what do you want
The reply was immediate.
Keonho: stars
Keonho: and ice cream
Keonho: i’ll wait
Juhoon stared at the screen for a long moment. He thought about the warmth of his room. The unfinished homework. The way his bed would feel in an hour if he stayed right where he was. Then he stood up.
He grabbed two blankets from the hallway closet—the thick one Keonho liked, and the softer one Juhoon pretended he didn’t care about—and shoved them under his arm. On his way out, he detoured through the kitchen, pulling open the freezer and grabbing the last two ice cream bars.
“Ridiculous,” he muttered to no one but himself.
Keonho was already at the small hill at the edge of the neighbourhood when Juhoon arrived, sitting cross-legged on the grass like the cold didn’t bother him at all. His breath puffed white in the air as he tilted his head back, staring at the sky with wide, bright eyes. Juhoon slowed as he approached, irritation softening before he could stop it.
“You’re insane,” he said.
Keonho looked over, face lighting up instantly. “You came!”
Juhoon dropped the blankets onto the grass with a thud. “You said you’d wait. That’s not exactly fair.”
Keonho laughed, scrambling to his feet to help spread them out. “I knew you would.”
Juhoon shot him a look. “You’re too confident.”
“Because I’m always right,” Keonho replied easily.
They sat down together, shoulders brushing as Juhoon wrapped one blanket around Keonho without asking. Keonho hummed in approval, leaning closer, clearly unbothered by the cold now that Juhoon was there.
Juhoon handed him an ice cream bar. “If you get sick, I’m blaming you.”
Keonho grinned, tearing the wrapper open. “I won’t, and even if I do, you’ll be there to take care of me.” Juhoon didn’t deny it.
They ate in silence for a while, the only sounds the crinkle of wrappers and the distant hum of cars passing somewhere far away. Above them, the sky stretched endlessly, stars scattered in uneven clusters like someone had spilled them carelessly.
Keonho pointed upward. “That one looks like a dog.”
Juhoon followed his finger. “That does not look like a dog.”
“Yes, it does! It has ears,” Keonho insisted.
“That’s a triangle.”
Keonho pouted. “You’re just bad at imagining things.”
“And you don’t know a single name of the stars you claim to love looking at,” Juhoon argued.
“Hey! I’m just too busy to learn them,” Keonho replied, dramatising his pout further.
Juhoon snorted softly, but his gaze stayed fixed on the sky. “You called me out here for this?”
“Yeah,” Keonho replied, quieter now. “And because it’s pretty.”
Juhoon glanced at him. Keonho’s cheeks were pink from the cold, eyes reflecting starlight, expression soft in a way that made something twist low in Juhoon’s chest.
“You’re freezing,” Juhoon said, pulling the blanket tighter around him.
Keonho didn’t protest. “You always do that.”
“What?”
“Take care of me,” Keonho said lightly, like it was just an observation.
Juhoon swallowed. “You’d probably be dead by now if I didn’t.”
Keonho smiled to himself. “Maybe.”
They lay back then, shoulders pressed together, heads tipped toward the same patch of sky. Juhoon could feel the cold seeping through the ground, could feel it in his fingers and knees. But he also felt the steady warmth beside him, the familiar presence that made the discomfort fade into something manageable.
“Do you ever get tired of this?” Keonho asked suddenly.
Juhoon frowned. “Of what?”
“Of coming out here. Of doing things just because I ask,” Keonho said. He laughed softly, like he didn’t quite mean it. “Don’t I annoy you?”
Juhoon turned his head fully this time. “No.”
Keonho blinked. “You didn’t even hesitate.”
“I hesitate,” Juhoon said. “But, I don’t know, I guess I choose to show up anyway.”
Keonho went quiet. The stars seemed brighter then, the silence stretching comfortably between them. Keonho shifted closer, his head brushing Juhoon’s shoulder.
“Thank you,” he said, barely above a whisper.
Juhoon stared up at the sky, not trusting himself to look at Keonho. “For what?”
“For always choosing me,” Keonho replied.
Juhoon didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. Instead, he adjusted so Keonho could comfortably lay his head on Juhoon’s shoulder as they gazed at the stars above them.
☆☆☆
The rain started in the middle of the afternoon, sudden and unapologetic. Juhoon noticed it first from his classroom window. He watched the way the sky darkened unevenly, clouds rolling in thick and low like they’d been waiting for the exact right moment to disrupt his peace.
By the time the bell rang, rain was hammering against the pavement, loud and relentless. Juhoon adjusted his backpack strap and stepped outside, immediately frowning at the cold splash against his shoes.
He didn’t mind the rain. Not really. But he liked predictability, liked knowing what to expect. Rain disrupted routines. Made everything slower, messier. But at least he could go straight home and enjoy some calm music. Maybe even take a nap.
And then he saw Keonho. Keonho stood just outside the school gates, hood down, hair already damp and curling slightly at the ends. He wasn’t sheltering under the awning like everyone else. Instead, he was watching the rain like it was something precious, something meant just for him.
Keonho turned, spotted him, and grinned. “Juhoon hyung!”
“You’re going to get sick,” Juhoon said immediately.
Keonho shrugged. “It’s just rain.”
“It’s cold rain.”
“That’s still just rain.”
Juhoon opened his mouth to argue, then stopped. Keonho had already stepped forward, deliberately placing his foot into the deepest puddle near the curb. Water splashed up around his shoe.
Juhoon stared at him. “Don’t you dare.”
Keonho’s eyes sparkled. “Watch this.”
Before Juhoon could react, Keonho jumped—both feet landing squarely in the puddle. Water sprayed everywhere, soaking the cuffs of his pants, splattering Juhoon’s jeans.
Juhoon sucked in a sharp breath. “Keonho—”
Keonho laughed, loud and unrestrained, rain plastering his hair to his forehead. “You should try it!”
Juhoon looked down at his soaked jeans, then back up at Keonho’s hopeful face. Every reasonable instinct told him to grab Keonho’s wrist and drag him home immediately.
Instead, he sighed. “You’re unbelievable.”
“That sounds like a yes,” Keonho said brightly.
Juhoon stepped into the puddle carefully, testing the depth like it might bite him. Water seeped into his sneakers instantly. He grimaced.
Keonho watched him like he was witnessing something sacred. “You’re actually doing it.”
“Don’t make a big deal out of it,” Juhoon muttered.
Too late. Keonho jumped again, splashing even more water at him. Juhoon gasped as cold soaked through his socks completely.
“Oh, you’re so dead,” Juhoon said.
Keonho squeaked as Juhoon retaliated, stepping hard into the puddle and sending water flying. Keonho stumbled backward, laughing breathlessly, rain and puddles soaking him head to toe.
They chased each other down the sidewalk, splashing through every puddle they could find, laughter echoing louder than the rain itself. Juhoon forgot, briefly, about the cold. Forgot about discomfort. All he could focus on was the sound of Keonho laughing like this. Free, bright, unfiltered, and beautiful.
By the time they reached Juhoon’s house, they were drenched. Juhoon unlocked the door with stiff fingers, immediately ushering Keonho inside. Warm air wrapped around them, fogging the windows as rain continued to fall outside.
“Shoes off,” Juhoon said automatically.
Keonho kicked his sneakers off, socks squelching slightly as he stepped onto the mat. “We’re going to get in so much trouble.”
“My parents won’t care,” Juhoon said, already grabbing towels from the bathroom. “Yours might.”
Keonho accepted the towel gratefully, rubbing it over his hair. “Thanks.”
Juhoon watched him for a moment—taking his pink cheeks, eyes still bright, smile softening now that the adrenaline was fading.
“Sit,” Juhoon said. “I’ll make hot chocolate.”
Keonho blinked. “Oh. You don’t have to.”
Juhoon was already in the kitchen. He moved on instinct—milk into the pot, heat low and steady, stirring slowly. This was something he was good at. Predictable motions. Familiar smells. He poured the hot chocolate into two mugs, added extra marshmallows to Keonho’s without thinking.
When he returned, Keonho was curled up on the couch, wrapped in one of Juhoon’s blankets as it was his own. Juhoon handed him the mug. Their fingers brushed briefly, warm against warm.
Keonho smiled into the steam rising from his cup. “See, I was right. You always take care of me.”
Juhoon sat beside him, closer than necessary. “Well, someone has to.”
They drank in comfortable silence, rain tapping against the windows like a quiet rhythm. Keonho leaned sideways, shoulder resting against Juhoon’s arm.
“Thanks for coming out with me,” Keonho said softly.
Juhoon looked down at him. “You dragged me.”
Keonho laughed. “You stayed. And, we had fun!”
Juhoon didn’t respond. He stared out at the rain-blurred world beyond the glass of the window as he replayed the moment in his mind. Even soaked to the bone, even grumbling the whole way through, he would do it again.
☆☆☆
Juhoon seriously hated the way the air always smelled faintly of chlorine, no matter how open the space was. Hated the echo of voices bouncing too loudly off tiled walls. Hated the way water clung to his skin, heavy and invasive, like it demanded more attention than he was willing to give. Most of all, he hated how exposed it made him feel.
They were sitting on the edge of the community pool, legs dangling over the water. It was late afternoon, the sun low and warm but not quite strong enough to cut through the breeze. A few kids splashed around at the far end, their laughter distant.
“I wanna swim,” Keonho said, kicking his feet lightly. “But not alone.”
Juhoon stiffened. “You can swim,” he said carefully. “You’re good at it.”
Keonho nodded. “I know. I just… want you there.”
Juhoon glanced at the water, jaw tightening. He could already imagine it—the cold shock, the awkward flailing, the way his movements would feel horribly wrong and clumsy.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea—” he started.
Keonho turned to him then, eyes earnest, hopeful in a way that made refusing feel unthinkable. It would be like ignoring a drenched puppy on the sidewalk in the middle of a thunderstorm. “You don’t even have to swim properly. Just be with me.”
Juhoon exhaled slowly. “Fine,” he said. “But I’m bad at it.”
Keonho beamed. “That’s fine. I don’t care.”
They changed in silence. Juhoon tugged his shirt over his head with stiff movements, slipping into his swimsuit. He felt ridiculous, exposed in ways he wasn’t used to. Keonho, meanwhile, bounced lightly on his toes, clearly unbothered. When they stepped back out, the water shimmered invitingly.
Keonho slipped in first, barely making a splash. He resurfaced almost immediately, hair slicked back, eyes bright. “Come on!”
Juhoon crouched at the edge, testing the water with his foot. It was colder than he’d hoped. “Don’t laugh,” Juhoon warned.
“I won’t,” Keonho promised, but then laughed anyway as Juhoon slid in awkwardly, arms flailing slightly as he tried to find his balance.
“Yeah, no,” Juhoon muttered, clinging to the pool wall. “This was a mistake.”
Keonho swam over, stopping just in front of him. “You’re doing fine.”
“Keonho. I’m literally holding onto the wall so I don’t drown.”
“That still counts,” Keonho said, smiling.
Juhoon watched him for a moment—how comfortable he looked here, how natural his movements were. Water suited Keonho. It always had.
“Try floating,” Keonho suggested gently.
Juhoon snorted. “No. I’m good.”
“Just for a second,” Keonho said. “I’ll hold you.”
Juhoon hesitated. Then he nodded. Keonho moved closer, hands warm on Juhoon’s back. Juhoon took a breath and leaned back, stiff as a board, heart hammering. The water lifted him slowly.
“There,” Keonho murmured. “See? I’ve got you.”
Juhoon closed his eyes. He focused on Keonho’s hands. On the steady pressure keeping him afloat. On the way Keonho adjusted without being asked, sensing when Juhoon tensed.
He wasn’t sinking. He wasn’t panicking. He was… okay. When Juhoon opened his eyes again, Keonho was watching him closely, expression soft and happy.
“You did it,” Keonho said.
Juhoon swallowed. “Only because you’re here.”
Keonho’s smile faltered, just for a second, as if the words had landed deeper than expected. They stayed like that for a while. Not really swimming. Just existing in the water together. Keonho occasionally splashed lightly, teasing Juhoon half-heartedly. Juhoon complained, but he didn’t move away.
Then, once he was too tired to continue, Juhoon stood upright at the corner of the pool, hands gripping the wall as he watched Keonho swim laps, changing his stroke every now and then. Juhoon just cheered him on, unconsciously smiling at the sight of the younger one swimming better than he could ever imagine.
Eventually, they climbed out, sitting side by side on the edge again, towels draped over their shoulders.
Keonho bumped his shoulder gently against Juhoon’s. “Thanks for joining me, hyung.”
Juhoon stared down at the water, chest tight. “I don’t like swimming.”
“I know.”
“But if you feel lonely, you can always ask me,” Juhoon added quietly.
Keonho looked at him then. Juhoon met his gaze, something unspoken stretching between them. Seeing Keonho happy—safe, smiling, shining like this—was worth every moment of discomfort.
☆☆☆
The court was built a while ago at the edge of the neighbourhood park, cracked concrete softened by weeds that pushed stubbornly through the seams. The hoops were old, the nets frayed and uneven, but it had always been enough. Juhoon liked it here.
Something was grounding about the rhythm of basketball—the steady bounce of the ball, the predictable arc of a shot, the way his body knew what to do without him having to think too hard. It was one of the few places where he felt entirely in control.
Keonho, on the other hand, looked wildly out of place. He stood near the edge of the court, rocking on his heels, hands shoved awkwardly into the pockets of his hoodie. His eyes followed the ball as Juhoon dribbled effortlessly across the concrete, movements smooth and practised. Every now and then, Keonho clapped a little too late, like he was still trying to figure out when applause was appropriate.
“Are you gonna play or just admire?” Martin called out, spinning the ball on one finger.
Keonho flushed. “I can play.”
Seonghyeon raised an eyebrow. “Can you?”
Keonho opened his mouth to protest, then glanced instinctively at Juhoon. Juhoon felt it immediately. That look. The unspoken question of is this okay?
“It’s fine,” Juhoon said, bouncing the ball toward Keonho. “Just stay close. I’ll help.”
Keonho nodded, shoulders relaxing. “Okay.”
The game started messily. Keonho tripped over his own feet twice in the first five minutes. Missed an easy pass. Nearly collided with Seonghyeon while trying to guard him. Each mistake earned playful groans and laughter from the others.
Juhoon watched closely. Every time Keonho fumbled, Juhoon adjusted by positioning himself closer, intercepted passes meant for Keonho, and murmured quiet instructions under his breath. Left. Now. Shoot. Not loud enough for anyone else to hear.
When Keonho finally managed a clumsy shot that bounced off the rim and went in by pure luck, he froze. Then he grinned like he’d won an Olympic medal. Juhoon felt his chest warm.
“Did you see that?” Keonho said breathlessly, jogging over.
“I did,” Juhoon replied. “Beginner’s luck.”
“Ouch.” Keonho scoffed. “That was pure skill.”
Juhoon snorted, ruffling his hair without thinking. Keonho ducked instinctively, laughing.
From the sidelines, Martin watched them with curiosity. “Are you two always like this?”
Juhoon stiffened slightly. “Like what?”
“Like, I don’t know,” Martin said vaguely, gesturing between them. “You move like you’re attached.”
Keonho laughed, unbothered. “We kind of are.”
Juhoon opened his mouth, then closed it. The game resumed, but something had shifted.
Seonghyeon started talking to Keonho more, encouraging him loudly, teasing him when he messed up. Keonho responded easily, laughing, his skin glowing beautifully under the sunlight. At one point, Seonghyeon draped an arm briefly around Keonho’s shoulders while explaining a move.
Juhoon noticed. The feeling that followed surprised him. It wasn’t anger. Not really, anyway. It was a tightness, sharp and unfamiliar, settling low in his chest. He told himself it was nothing. Keonho was allowed to have friends. This was normal.
Still, when Martin asked, half-joking, “So what’s that handshake you guys did earlier?” Juhoon answered a little too quickly.
“That’s ours.”
Keonho blinked at him. “Huh?”
“It’s a secret,” Juhoon added, tone flat.
Martin laughed. “Alright, alright. I wasn’t trying to steal your thing.”
Keonho tilted his head, studying Juhoon with quiet curiosity, but he didn’t push. After the game, they collapsed onto the grass, sweaty and tired. Someone pulled out snacks. Laughter drifted lazily through the cooling air.
Juhoon sat slightly apart, watching Keonho animatedly retell his one successful shot, hands flying as he exaggerated the moment. Seonghyeon listened, an amused smile playing on his lips. Martin nodded along, laughing.
Juhoon’s phone buzzed then. A message from his mother.
Eomma: I found something you might like.
Eomma: An old video.
He opened it. The screen filled with shaky footage of two small boys in oversized shirts, one holding a plastic sword, the other crouched behind him dramatically. A younger Juhoon stood protectively in front of a much smaller Keonho, announcing—voice ridiculously serious and unwavering—that he would guard him forever.
Juhoon swallowed.
He must have made a sound, because Keonho turned. “What is it?”
Juhoon hesitated, then turned the screen toward him.
Keonho gasped. “Is that us?”
Martin leaned in. “Oh my god.”
Seonghyeon laughed. “You were both so tiny.”
Keonho’s eyes were fixed on the screen, smile softening as the video ended. “You always did that,” he said quietly.
“Did what?” Juhoon asked.
“Stood in front of me and protected me,” Keonho replied. “Like that.”
Younger Juhoon wasn’t the type to play with toys or have fun outside. He matured rather fast for kids his age, diving headfirst into various activities like modelling, sports, and playing the piano. But something about Keonho made him feel different. Made him feel like he cared.
Juhoon’s mother had once joked during a combined family dinner that Juhoon had been in love with Keonho since they were kids. At the time, it had been a joke. Everyone laughed and agreed.
Now, watching Keonho smile like this, warmth and history tangled together, Juhoon wasn’t laughing. He looked away first. Something in his chest was finally, unmistakably shifting, and he wasn’t sure how to stop it.
☆☆☆
Keonho noticed Juhoon’s absence before he fully understood why it hurt. It was a small thing at first, so small it felt almost unreasonable to dwell on. The familiar spot near the fence was empty when Keonho stepped outside that morning. The air was cool, light stretching across the pavement.
Juhoon wasn’t there.
Keonho stopped short, backpack sliding down his shoulder. He checked his phone instinctively, thumb hovering over the screen. No messages. Maybe he was just late, Keonho told himself. Maybe he overslept. Five minutes passed. Then ten. The path stayed empty.
Keonho swallowed, adjusting the strap of his bag and forcing himself to keep walking. Each step felt wrong, like he was skipping a part of the day that mattered more than he’d ever admitted. He kept glancing over his shoulder, half-expecting Juhoon to jog up behind him, breathless and apologetic.
He didn’t.
By the time Keonho reached school, the unease had settled fully in his chest. It wasn’t panic, but it was close. Like standing on the edge of a cliff, above a body of water, and not knowing how deep it was.
Juhoon probably had an early practice or something. He must have forgotten to tell him.
That thought should have been enough. It wasn’t. Classes blurred together. Keonho answered questions a beat too late, stared at his notes without really seeing them. Every time his phone buzzed, his heart jumped, only to sink when it wasn’t Juhoon.
By lunchtime, the disappointment had shifted into something heavier. Keonho sat at their usual table anyway. He told himself it was a habit, that it didn’t mean anything that he kept looking up, scanning the crowd. Told himself it was fine to eat alone.
But when the bell rang, and Juhoon still hadn’t appeared, Keonho’s appetite vanished completely. He pushed his tray aside and rested his chin in his hands, staring down at the tabletop. Around him, laughter and voices blended into a distant hum.
It’s just one day, he told himself. You’re being dramatic.
Then Keonho caught a glimpse of him in the hallways, talking to someone else. Their eyes met, and Juhoon looked away first. That had never happened before.
Keonho couldn’t think of what he done wrong for Juhoon to suddenly avoid him. Had he pushed Juhoon too far? Uncertain, he decided not to go up to him. If Juhoon wanted space, then Keonho could give it. Juhoon seemed too invested in that conversation anyway.
Still, the afternoon dragged longer than Keonho would have liked. When school finally ended, Keonho lingered by the gates longer than necessary. The sun was already dipping lower, shadows stretching across the pavement. He waited until the crowd thinned, until the excuse that maybe he’s just late no longer held.
Juhoon didn’t come, so Keonho walked home alone. The path felt longer without Juhoon beside him. Quieter. Every familiar landmark—the fence, the tree where they used to race to as kids, the slight crack in the pavement—felt like a reminder of absence rather than comfort.
By the time he reached his house, his chest ached. He dropped his bag by the door and went straight to his room, curling up on the bed without even turning on the light. His phone lay beside him, screen dark and stubbornly silent.
It buzzed an hour later. Keonho grabbed it immediately. But it wasn’t Juhoon.
Seonghyeon: keonho there’s a party at james’s place
Seonghyeon: you should come
Keonho typed back sure before he could talk himself out of it.
The house was already crowded when Keonho arrived. Shoes piled near the door, music spilling into the front yard, laughter bouncing off the walls. He hovered for a second, timid, then stepped inside.
He spotted Juhoon immediately. He stood near the kitchen, familiar and distant all at once. His shoulders stiffened the moment he noticed Keonho, like he’d been caught off guard.
Juhoon frowned. “What are you doing here?”
The words weren’t necessarily sharp, but they definitely weren’t warm either.
Keonho shrugged, suddenly unsure of himself. “Seonghyeon invited me.”
Before Juhoon could respond, Seonghyeon appeared at Keonho’s side, grinning. Martin followed close behind.
“Hey,” Seonghyeon said brightly. “Wanna play truth or dare?”
Juhoon turned toward them immediately. “No, we were just about to leave—”
“Sure,” Keonho interrupted.
The word slipped out easily. Juhoon froze. He looked at Keonho, clearly expecting him to backtrack, to laugh and say he was kidding, to follow him like always. Keonho didn’t. Instead, he let Seonghyeon and Martin drag him to a room further down the hallway.
Juhoon exhaled slowly through his nose. Then, without another word, he followed them.
Someone had pushed a coffee table aside to make space, cups clustered near the couch legs, fairy lights blinking lazily overhead. The music was turned down just enough that people could still hear each other without shouting.
James sat cross-legged in the middle, holding an empty bottle in his hands. “Alright,” he announced, grinning. “No backing out and no boring answers.”
Keonho folded his legs beneath him, knees pulled close. He laughed softly when Seonghyeon nudged his shoulder. Juhoon sat next to him, back against the couch. They weren’t close enough to touch, but it was close enough that Keonho could feel the warmth anyway.
The bottle spun. It slowed. Pointed.
“Seonghyeon,” James said. “Truth or dare?”
Seonghyeon smirked. “Truth.”
James didn’t hesitate. “Who was your first crush?”
Seonghyeon rolled his eyes. “Easy. A guy from my soccer team when I was twelve. I don’t even remember his name.”
Laughter rippled around the circle. Keonho smiled, relaxing slightly. The bottle spun again.
It landed on Martin, who easily chose, “Dare.”
Seonghyeon leaned forward, a smirk on his face. “Text your ex and tell them you miss them.”
Martin groaned. “You’re evil.”
Still, he pulled out his phone, typing quickly. “If I get blocked, I’m blaming all of you.”
The bottle spun again. Keonho’s heart nearly jumped out of his chest as it slowed and stopped directly in front of him.
“Keonho,” Martin said gently, almost teasing. “Truth or dare?”
Keonho hesitated. He glanced to his side instinctively, but Juhoon wasn’t looking at him.
“Truth,” Keonho said.
Martin tilted his head, thinking. “Okay, I’ll let you play it safe for now. Who’s the person you feel safest with?”
The room went quiet, just enough to make the question heavier than expected. Keonho blinked. A name came to his mind instantly.
“Juhoon hyung,” he answered. Keonho laughed after, like it was obvious.
“Oh. That was fast,” Seonghyeon said, amused.
“Yeah,” Martin added. “He didn’t even blink.”
Keonho felt his ears warm. Juhoon stiffened beside him. It wasn’t an obvious reaction, but Keonho saw it anyway.
The bottle spun again. It landed on Juhoon. Keonho couldn’t bring himself to speak, so he tapped Seonghyeon’s shoulder and asked him to continue the game.
Seonghyeon raised an eyebrow, but didn’t question it. “Truth or dare?”
Juhoon exhaled. “Truth.”
Seonghyeon smiled, slow and knowing. “Who do you spend the most time thinking about?”
Juhoon didn’t answer right away. The silence stretched. Keonho’s shoulders tensed without him realising.
He finally replied, his words careful, “Someone I’ve known for a long time.”
Martin squinted. “That’s not an answer.”
Seonghyeon shrugged. “I’ll allow it. Barely.”
Keonho stared at the carpet, heartbeat loud in his ears.
The bottle spun again. A random girl from Martin’s class got a dare. She had to swap seats with the person she found most attractive. She moved across the circle, laughter erupting. The game went on. Questions got sillier. Dares got wilders. Someone had to sing. Someone else had to take a shot of hot sauce.
Keonho relaxed just enough to forget that something was wrong. Then the bottle spun again. And landed on him.
Keonho hesitated before choosing. “Maybe, a dare?”
“Okay,” James said. “Let the group pick.”
“No,” Juhoon said immediately.
Everyone turned to face him, surprised by his sudden outburst. Keonho glanced in Juhoon’s direction, confused.
Juhoon’s jaw tightened, not meeting his gaze. “That’s not fair.”
Seonghyeon raised his brows. “Since when do you care about fairness?”
Martin grinned. “Relax. It’ll be harmless.”
James shrugged. “Alright. The dare is…” he paused, then smiled. “Give the last person you texted from this circle a kiss on the cheek.”
The room exploded. Keonho froze. His brain short-circuited. He didn’t have to check his phone to know that it was Seonghyeon from earlier when he had texted about the party.
For half a second, he considered laughing it off—saying something like I’ll take another dare or can I pass?—but then he remembered James’s words before the game had started and everyone was already watching him expectantly, eyes bright with anticipation.
“It’s just a kiss on the cheek,” Martin said, grinning. “You’ll survive.”
Keonho swallowed. He glanced at Seonghyeon, who looked just as surprised as he felt, but he shrugged when their eyes met. Keonho nodded faintly, forcing a small smile.
“Okay,” he said quietly.
He shifted closer, heart beating louder with every inch of distance he crossed. The room seemed to narrow around them, noise dulling slightly as people leaned in.
Keonho hesitated, then he leaned forward and pressed a brief, soft kiss to Seonghyeon’s cheek.
It lasted barely a second, but the room erupted in screams anyway.
Seonghyeon laughed, startled more than anything, a hand coming up to touch his cheek. “Wow,” he said. “I feel honoured.”
Keonho laughed too, a little breathless, heat rushing to his face as he leaned back into his spot.
And that’s when he glanced over to his side and noticed that Juhoon had gone completely still. His chest tightened. Juhoon’s expression was unreadable, his jaw clenched, gaze fixed somewhere past Seonghyeon’s shoulder. His hands were fisted loosely in his lap, knuckles pale.
Nothing like the soft, sweet Juhoon that he was used to. The laughter around them felt distant now.
James cleared his throat, trying to keep the energy up. “Let’s continue with the next spin!”
The bottle spun again, clinking softly against the floor. But Keonho couldn’t focus.
He shifted slightly, his knee brushing Juhoon’s. Normally, Juhoon would have adjusted automatically, closer, grounding. Tonight, he pulled away just enough for Keonho to notice. It hurt, but Keonho pretended it didn’t.
The bottle landed on a random guy he didn’t know. He chose truth. Someone asked who he liked. He answered. People cheered. The game moved on. But Keonho didn’t.
He kept stealing glances at Juhoon, trying to read him. Trying to figure out what he’d done wrong. His chest felt overly tight, like his lungs wouldn’t allow themselves to fully expand and let him breathe.
Finally, Juhoon spoke. “We should go.”
It wasn’t loud, but the tone in his voice was final.
Keonho blinked. “What?”
Juhoon stood abruptly, the movement drawing attention. “I said we should go.”
James frowned. “Already? It’s barely—”
Juhoon didn’t look at him. “Keonho.”
Something in his voice made Keonho stand immediately.
“Okay then,” Martin said slowly, sensing the shift. “See you later, I guess.”
Keonho murmured a quiet apology, though he wasn’t sure what it was for, and followed Juhoon out of the room. No one stopped them this time.
The walk to the front door was silent. Juhoon grabbed his jacket from the hook, movements stiff and controlled. Keonho slipped his shoes on beside him, fingers clumsy, heart racing.
Outside, the night air was cool and sharp. They walked side by side, but the space between them felt deliberate now. Streetlights passed overhead in steady intervals, casting long shadows across the cracked pavement.
Keonho tried to speak three times. Each time, nothing came out. By the time they reached his house, the pressure in his chest was unbearable.
Juhoon stopped at the gate. “You’re home.”
Keonho nodded, fingers tightening around a loop on his denim jeans. He turned toward the latch, then stopped.
His vision blurred before he could stop it.
“Can you at least tell me what I did wrong?” Keonho asked, voice cracking at the end.
The words broke something open. Tears spilled over, hot, sudden, and unwanted, his shoulders trembling as he turned away, embarrassed and exhausted. He scrubbed at his face with his sleeve, but it didn’t help.
Juhoon froze. For a moment, he looked like he might reach out. But he didn’t.
“You didn’t do anything,” Juhoon said quietly.
Keonho shook his head, breath hitching. “Then why does it feel like you’re leaving me?”
Juhoon’s jaw clenched. “I can’t,” he said, almost to himself.
Keonho looked at him, eyes watery and red. “Can’t what?”
Juhoon didn’t answer. Instead, he took a step back.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said. Without waiting for a response, Juhoon turned and walked into his own house.
Keonho just watched him go because it was easier than asking him not to leave.
He stood there until the sound of his footsteps faded, the night settling heavy around him.
Only then did it fully sink in that this wasn’t just a bad day. Juhoon hadn’t just forgotten. Something had shifted.
And whatever it was, it had left Keonho standing alone at his front gate, heart aching in a way that felt terrifyingly permanent.
Keonho didn’t go inside right away. He stood at the gate long after Juhoon’s door closed, fingers numb, staring at the darkened windows of the house next door like they might offer him an explanation if he waited long enough. They didn’t.
Eventually, the night air seeped into his skin, and he forced himself to move. Inside his house, everything was too quiet. He slipped off his shoes, careful not to make noise, even though his parents were probably asleep and wouldn’t hear him.
His room greeted him with dim familiarity. Keonho dropped his jacket on his chair and sat on the edge of the mattress.
For a moment, he just tried to breathe. Then the silence caught up to him.
He lay down fully this time, curling onto his side, knees drawn in. His phone rested in the back pocket of his jeans. He didn’t check it. He already knew there wouldn’t be anything new.
That was when the memories started. Just little things that used to feel routine. The little things that felt an awful lot like comfort.
Like the way Juhoon used to knock on his bedroom window instead of the door because he said it was more efficient. How Keonho would groan and roll over, pretending not to hear, until the tapping grew louder and more insistent.
Keonho squeezed his eyes shut, refusing to let the tears flow freely.
He remembered being six, standing barefoot on the pavement between their houses, crying because his bike chain had fallen off and he had scraped his ankle. He hadn’t even gone to get help. He’d just sat there, helpless and frustrated, tears dripping onto his hands.
Juhoon had appeared within minutes. He hadn’t said much. Never commented or mocked Keonho for crying or for being helpless. Just crouched down, fixed the chain with practised ease, wiped his hands on his shorts, and told him to try again.
When he’d noticed the scrape on Keonho’s ankle, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a bandage. Instead of handing it to him like anyone else would have, Juhoon had bent down and helped cover the wound himself.
Another memory followed. The two of them sprawled on the grass in Juhoon’s backyard, staring up at the sky. Keonho had complained about the bugs. Juhoon had wordlessly handed him his hoodie, even though he was worse with the cold than Keonho.
Keonho turned onto his back, staring at the ceiling now. His chest ached painfully.
Juhoon had always been like that. Quiet. Reliable. Always thinking one step ahead. Always there before Keonho even realised he needed him.
The realisation pressed down on him slowly, like a heavy weight shifting.
None of this was new.
Juhoon not showing up today felt wrong because Juhoon had always shown up. For scraped knees. For school projects. For late-night fears and early-morning walks and moments that felt too small to matter until they were suddenly missing.
Keonho rolled onto his side again, burying his face into his pillow.
He thought about the tree they used to climb as kids, the one just down the street. How Juhoon would always go first, testing the branches, holding them steady while Keonho followed behind.
Keonho swallowed; his throat felt dry and uncomfortable like a patch of thorns had grown there without him noticing.
When did everything change?
At some point, the memories stopped feeling warm and started feeling cold. Each one was proof of something he hadn’t wanted to name before. Proof that Juhoon hadn’t just been his best friend since childhood.
Juhoon had been Keonho’s constant.
Keonho stared at the faint shadow cast by the window frame on his wall, heart pounding insistently.
He didn’t say the words out loud. He wasn’t sure if he was ready to. But the thought settled in his chest anyway, undeniable and terrifying in its clarity.
Keonho didn’t just miss him. He needed Juhoon.
Somewhere between the memories and the ache in his chest, between childhood and now, Keonho realised that whatever this was between them, it had always been more than he’d allowed himself to see.
Keonho pulled the blanket up around himself, curling tighter into himself. Outside, the night deepened, quiet and seemingly endless.
☆☆☆
Juhoon woke up already knowing he wouldn’t go. He stared at the ceiling of his room, sunlight creeping in through the blinds, and thought about the fence. The spot where whoever came out first waited.
He didn’t move.
His phone lay on the bedside table, face down. He didn’t have a message drafted or an excuse prepared.
The truth was worse than anything he could say. Something had shifted.
Juhoon had felt it days ago. It was subtle at first, like a misstep he couldn’t quite place. A moment when Keonho laughed, and Juhoon’s heart skipped a beat. A moment when their shoulders brushed, and Juhoon had to look away. A moment when being near him stopped feeling neutral and started feeling dangerous.
This wasn’t supposed to happen.
Keonho had always been… Keonho. Familiar. Constant. His person. The one thing in Juhoon’s life that had never required thinking. But now every thought led back to him.
The way Keonho’s voice softened when he was tired. The way he leaned in without fully realising it. The way Juhoon felt pulled toward him in a way that wasn’t friendly anymore, wasn’t safe, wasn’t something he knew how to handle.
So he stayed in bed.
He told himself it was for the best. That one day of distance wouldn’t hurt. That it might help contain whatever was spiralling out of control inside him.
He avoided him at school on purpose.
Turned corners early. Sat somewhere else during lunch. Focused on practice until his muscles burned. When he caught sight of Keonho in the hallway—eyes already lifting, instinctively searching—Juhoon looked away first.
It felt like ripping his heart out of his own chest.
By afternoon, the guilt had settled deep and constant. Juhoon moved through the day like he was underwater, every sound muted, every moment slowed.
When Martin had told him about the party, Juhoon agreed without thinking too hard. Parties weren’t really his scene, but he desperately needed a distraction.
James’s house was loud and crowded, familiar faces blurring together. Juhoon hovered near the kitchen, his drink untouched, scanning the room without meaning to.
Then he saw Keonho. The younger one stood just inside the doorway, looking smaller somehow. Hesitant. Like he didn’t quite belong there.
Juhoon’s breath caught. “What are you doing here?” slipped out before he could stop himself.
Immediately, he regretted how it sounded.
Keonho shrugged. “Seonghyeon invited me.”
Juhoon wanted to say I’m sorry. Wanted to say I didn’t mean to hurt you. Wanted to say I don’t know what’s wrong with me.
Instead, Seonghyeon asked about truth or dare, and Keonho said yes before Juhoon could pull him away.
Juhoon stayed because Keonho stayed.
He sat beside him on the floor, close enough to feel warmth but not close enough to touch. He didn’t trust himself anymore.
When Keonho answered the truth question—Juhoon hyung—something inside Juhoon twisted painfully. Mixed feelings of pride and fear collided in his chest, making him feel sick.
When it was Juhoon’s turn, he chose his words carefully. “Someone I’ve known for a long time.”
It was the only thing he could say without breaking.
Then came the dare.
“No,” Juhoon said, the word slipping out before he could think.
He didn’t fully know why—only that the idea of Keonho being touched, even innocently, by someone else made his stomach drop in a way that terrified him.
He tried to tell himself it was protectiveness. Habit. Instinct. Except, it wasn’t.
When Keonho kissed Seonghyeon’s cheek, something snapped like a rope pulled thin for too long.
It was nothing. Barely a second. Harmless. Playful. Juhoon knew that.
Apparently, his body didn’t. His jaw locked. His hands clenched. The room felt suddenly too small, too loud, too wrong. Seeing Keonho smile afterwards, flushed and laughing, felt unbearable.
He’s not yours, he told himself. You don’t get to feel this. But the feeling was already there.
When Keonho’s knee brushed his and Juhoon pulled away, he hated himself for it. He saw the flicker of hurt flash across Keonho’s face.
“We should go,” Juhoon said finally.
He walked Keonho home because even when he chose distance, he couldn’t abandon the younger one entirely.
At the gate, when Keonho cried, Juhoon nearly broke every barrier he had built.
Every instinct screamed to pull him close, to apologise, to say everything all at once. But the words tangled in his throat, heavy with consequences he wasn’t quite ready to face yet.
If he said it, he wouldn’t be able to take the words back.
“I can’t,” slipped out instead.
What he meant was I can’t pretend, I can’t stay the same, I can’t touch you and not want more.
So he stepped back. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Juhoon went home, pushing down the urge to go back and check on Keonho and make sure he went inside safely. Instead, he replayed the day over and over, every avoided glance, every wrong choice.
Distance hadn’t fixed anything. It had only confirmed what he’d been afraid of all along.
That loving Keonho wasn’t something he could ignore. And that avoiding him hurt more than admitting the truth.
☆☆☆
Keonho didn’t sleep much. He lay on his back, staring at the faint crack in his ceiling that looked like a constellation if he tilted his head just right. Morning came anyway.
At school, Juhoon wasn’t there. Keonho didn’t ask where he was. Didn’t mention it to anyone. He moved through the day on autopilot, nodding when spoken to, smiling when expected.
By evening, he was exhausted in a way sleep wouldn’t fix. He walked home alone. Showered. Changed into soft clothes. Crawled into bed earlier than usual, lights off, curtains half-open so the sky could spill in.
That was when his phone buzzed.
Keonho froze. He didn’t pick it up right away. His heart started pounding so hard he could hear it in his ears, and he had to control his breathing before he finally reached for it.
Juhoon: can you come out?
No explanation. No apology. Just four words. It was almost as if nothing ever happened between them.
Keonho: right now?
The reply came almost immediately.
Juhoon: yeah
Keonho stared at the screen for a long moment. Then he stood. Partly because he wanted to hear what Juhoon had to say, but also because Keonho missed him more than he wanted to admit.
The night air was cool, carrying the quiet hum of insects and distant traffic. Keonho slipped on his shoes and stepped outside, the front gate creaking softly as he pushed it open.
Juhoon was already there waiting.
He stood by the fence, hands tucked into his jacket pockets, shoulders slightly hunched. He looked tired. Not just physically, but something deeper, like he hadn’t rested at all.
“Hey,” Keonho said finally.
Juhoon looked up. Relief flickered across his face before he masked it. “Hey.”
There was an awkward pause where neither of them spoke. Then Juhoon gestured vaguely. “I—Uh, thought we could maybe… go up?”
Keonho nodded hesitantly. “Okay.”
They climbed the hill in silence, the familiar path crunching underfoot. It was the same spot they’d gone to a hundred times before—the place where conversations felt easier, where the sky always seemed closer.
When they reached the top, Juhoon dropped down onto the grass, exhaling slowly like he’d been holding his breath all day. Keonho followed, sitting a careful, safe distance away.
The stars were out tonight. Clear and scattered across the night sky like aimlessly splattered drops of paint across a canvas.
Juhoon leaned back on his elbows. “Keonho, I’m sorry.”
Keonho froze.
“I should’ve been there yesterday,” Juhoon continued quietly. “And today, too. I shouldn’t have disappeared.”
Keonho picked at the hem of his sleeve. “You don’t have to explain.”
“I want to,” Juhoon said. Then, softer, “I just don’t know how to say it right yet.”
That startled him. Juhoon had always known more than Keonho; it was something he had gotten used to early on.
Juhoon shifted closer, close enough that their shoulders brushed. This time, he didn’t pull away.
“I panicked,” Juhoon admitted. “And I thought distance would help. It didn’t.”
Keonho swallowed. “Yeah, it kind of hurt.”
“I know.” Juhoon’s voice cracked. “I hate that I did that to you.”
They sat in silence for a while after that, the weight of it settling between them heavy, but not entirely unbearable.
Juhoon pointed up at the sky. “That’s Orion.”
Keonho blinked. “What?”
Juhoon nodded, a small smile tugging at his mouth. “It’s a constellation of stars.”
“That big, bright, reddish star in the shoulder of Orion,” Juhoon said, pointing. “That’s Betelgeuse.”
Keonho leaned closer, instinctively. “Oh. That’s a complicated name for a star.”
Juhoon laughed softly. “It’s nicknamed the Valentine’s Day Star because it reaches its highest point in the night sky around February 14th.”
“Really?” Keonho asked, his eyes reflecting the stars in the sky.
“Yeah. Betelgeuse pulsates and changes brightness because it’s a supergiant nearing the end of its life, so it looks like a beating heart.”
Their shoulders pressed together now, solid and warm. Juhoon didn’t move away. Instead, he shifted so their arms touched fully, grounding both of them in the moment.
Juhoon spoke again, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t want to lose this.”
Keonho turned to look at him. “Lose what?”
Juhoon gestured between them. “Us. Whatever this is.”
Keonho’s heart skipped painfully. “Then don’t leave.”
Juhoon closed his eyes briefly as if the words hit somewhere deep. When he opened them again, he looked steadier than before.
“I won’t,” he said. “I promise.”
He lay back fully this time, staring up at the sky. After a moment, Keonho followed, their hands brushing. Then Juhoon’s fingers curled gently around his.
They lay there like that, fingers intertwined, the stars quietly witnessing something fragile being stitched back together.
The ache in Keonho’s chest eased just a little. Not because everything was fixed, that wasn’t the case just yet. But because Juhoon had stayed.
The stars shifted slowly overhead. Keonho lost track of how long they’d been lying there, fingers still loosely intertwined, the warmth of Juhoon’s hand grounding in a way that felt almost unreal.
Every now and then, Juhoon’s thumb brushed against his knuckle, a small, unconscious movement that sent a quiet flutter through his chest.
A breeze passed over the hill, cool and gentle. Keonho shivered before he could stop himself. Juhoon noticed immediately.
“Are you cold?” he asked.
“A little,” Keonho admitted.
Without a word, Juhoon shifted, tugging off his jacket and draping it over Keonho’s shoulders. His movements were familiar, as if he’d done this a thousand times before.
Keonho smiled softly. “Here you are, taking care of me again.”
The words landed between them, fragile and honest.
Juhoon didn’t laugh it off. He didn’t deflect. Instead, he sat up slowly, turning onto his side to face Keonho properly. The stars reflected faintly in his eyes, making him look impossibly more beautiful than he remembered.
“I don’t know how not to,” he said.
Keonho’s breath caught.
Juhoon swallowed. “That’s kind of the problem.”
Keonho pushed himself up, too, jacket slipping slightly off one shoulder. Juhoon reached out automatically, tugging it back into place, then froze when he realised what he’d done. His hand lingered.
“I spent all of yesterday trying to convince myself that this was normal,” Juhoon said quietly. “That I was just being protective. Or jealous. Or stupid.”
Keonho’s heart began to race. “And?”
“And it didn’t work.”
Juhoon laughed under his breath, but there was no humour in it. “Seeing you at the party, seeing you hurt…” He shook his head. “It felt wrong in a way I couldn’t ignore anymore.”
Keonho searched his face, trying not to rush to conclusions, his chest tight. “Hyung…”
“I tried to give you space because I thought it would make it easier,” Juhoon continued. “But all it did was make me realise how much of myself is wrapped up in you.”
Juhoon looked away for a second, lips pursed. “I don’t think I’ve ever known where I end and you begin,” he said. “And honestly, that scared me.”
Keonho reached out before he could think twice, fingers brushing Juhoon’s wrist. Juhoon stilled instantly, eyes dropping to the point of contact.
“Losing you scares me more,” Keonho mumbled.
Something in Juhoon’s expression cracked.
“Keonho, I think I’m in love with you.”
The words were quiet. Certain. Terrifying. The world seemed to tilt. Keonho forgot how to breathe.
Juhoon rushed on, voice low but urgent now. “I didn’t mean to be. I didn’t plan it. I don’t even know when it happened. But I know that when you cry, it feels like it’s my fault, even when it’s not. And when you smile, I want to be the reason. And when you kissed someone else—” He stopped himself, exhaling sharply. “It hurt. Way more than it should have.”
Keonho’s eyes burned, tears forming that he stubbornly tried to blink away.
Juhoon reached out, hesitant this time, fingers hovering near Keonho’s sleeve. “I don’t expect you to feel the same. I—I just couldn’t keep pretending to myself that this was nothing.”
Keonho laughed softly, breathless, tears slipping free before he could stop them. “You idiot.”
Juhoon blinked. “What?”
Keonho wiped at his face, shaking his head. “I thought I was imagining things. I thought I was ruining everything by wanting more.”
Juhoon’s heart ached. “Keonho—”
“I love you too,” Keonho said.
The words came easier than he expected. Like they’d been waiting.
Juhoon froze completely. “You—” His voice broke. “You do?”
Keonho nodded, tears still falling, but he was smiling now. “I think I always have. It just took me a day or two of your absence to fully realise.”
Juhoon didn’t hesitate this time. He pulled Keonho into his arms, careful and desperate all at once. Keonho let him, his heart finally steady. Their foreheads rested against each other’s.
Juhoon brushed a hand over Keonho’s cheek, thumb resting lightly against his jaw. Keonho’s pulse raced. The heat in his chest spread like wildfire, a tangled mixture of nerves and certainty. He leaned forward impulsively, closing the small gap between their faces.
Juhoon froze for a heartbeat, then leaned to meet him in the middle, eyes shut tight, breath warm against the cold air. Their lips met softly at first, almost tentative, a gentle brush.
Keonho’s hand slipped up to the back of Juhoon’s neck, fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer. Juhoon responded instinctively, his arms enveloping Keonho, grounding him.
The kiss deepened gradually, natural and inevitable, slow and searching, like they were both discovering something they had always known. It lasted long enough for time to forget itself.
When they finally pulled back, foreheads still touching, breaths mingling, both of them had matching smiles on their faces.
“I like this,” Juhoon admitted, voice quiet but sure.
Keonho giggled, tiny and breathless, and leaned his head against Juhoon’s shoulder. “I like this too,” he said. “Being with you. Like this. Always.”
Juhoon rested his head atop Keonho’s. “Always,” he echoed, squeezing his hand lightly. The stars overhead seemed to pulsate in agreement.
☆☆☆
The next day was ordinary. Ordinary in every beautiful way. They walked the familiar neighbourhood path to school together, backpacks slung lazily over their shoulders. The morning sun spilled across the pavement, warming their steps.
“Your hair is messy,” Juhoon said casually, brushing his hand through the stray strands on Keonho’s forehead.
Keonho grinned, nudging him playfully. “Maybe I should never bother styling it so you can fix it for me.”
And just like that, everything was normal again. But better. A promise was sealed the night before by kisses and whispered words and the weight of honest hearts.
They stopped briefly for ice cream, just like they often did, sharing a single bar and laughing when Juhoon tried feeding Keonho. Juhoon’s eyes softened as he watched Keonho smile unrestrained.
There was no need for any grand gestures for the world to see. Instead, it was the small moments, the time spent together, the quiet attention and care woven seamlessly into ordinary days.
All this time, they thought they were just best friends who had known each other since childhood. Turns out, they were learning how to love each other all along.
And together, they continued down the path, side by side, step for step—their love ordinary, quiet, and infinite.