Work Text:
The kitchen is loud and busy in the way Baku knows by heart. Heat coming in from every direction, sweat already damp at the back of his neck. He’s in the middle of plating, fingers moving on muscle memory alone, when his phone starts vibrating against the stainless steel counter. He ignores it at first, but whoever is calling is very persistent, calling again and a third time. Baku swears under his breath, wipes his hand on his apron, and snatches the phone just long enough to glance at the screen.
Suho. Well, fuck.
He steps back from the line, ducks into the narrow space by the storage, and answers before it can ring out. “Hey, I’m working,” he says immediately, voice low but sharp.
“I know,” Suho says, entirely unapologetic. “That’s why I’m calling now. You can’t dodge me.”
Baku closes his eyes for a second. He can practically hear Suho’s grin. “If this is about Christmas, I already told Sieun I’d try.”
“No,” Suho says. Then, more seriously, “This isn’t a try thing.”
Baku leans his head back against the wall. The kitchen noise fades into a dull roar behind him. “Suho-”
“You need to come,” Suho cuts in. “Both you and Eunji. I don’t care how busy you are, or how tired, or whatever bullshit you’ll say. You need to be there.”
Baku sighs. “Why are you pushing so hard for this one?”
There’s a brief pause on the line. He can hear Suho take a deep breath before speaking again. “Because Gotak’s back home.”
It's like time freezes. Baku can hear his own heartbeat climb all the way to his ears. His grip tightens on the phone. For a moment, the kitchen disappears entirely, replaced by a familiar pain that never really went away, only learned how to stay quieter with the years.
“…What?” he manages, his voice is almost unrecognizable even to himself.
“He’s home,” Suho says. “For good. He texted us this morning. And he’s coming to the party this weekend.”
God, it's been four years. And he's back, just like that. Baku is bombarded with memories from back then. Of Gotak, standing in the airport terminal with his bag slung too loosely over one shoulder and that familiar, reckless excitement that burned in both of them and promising, over and over, that it was only for a year, that nothing would really change, that distance couldn’t possibly ruin a friendship that already survived so much.
And Gotak really kept that promise. He would do it all, calling constantly at first, filling every empty space with long messages, voice notes, late night video calls that bled into mornings where Baku would fall asleep with the screen still glowing. Gotak, trying so desperately to stretch himself across an ocean, to stay present in Baku’s life through sheer force of affection and effort.
And Baku, almost imperceptibly at first, pulling away. Not in one clean break, but in missed calls returned hours later, replies that grew shorter, excuses that sounded reasonable enough at the time. He did it all wrong until distance stopped being an outside force and became something he chose, believing with everything in him that letting go was the only way not to ruin Gotak’s future.
He’d already ruined Gotak’s life once. Or at least, that’s how it felt. He wasn’t about to let his feelings and dependency be the reason Gotak stayed tethered to their reality, to him.
“Baku?” Suho says, pulling him back. “You still there?”
“Yeah,” he lies. His throat feels tight. “I’m here.”
“Good. Then listen to me,” Suho says. “You’re coming. No excuses. I don’t care if you can only stay an hour. But you’re not skipping this.”
Baku glances back toward the kitchen. Someone’s calling his name, waving him over. The shift isn’t slowing down for him, just like the last four years hadn’t.
“I’ll think about it, I promise,” he says quietly.
“No, you’ll come.” Suho replies, firm but not unkind.
The call ends before Baku can argue back. He stands there for a moment longer, phone still pressed to his ear, heart beating way too fast. 4 years. It's finally time to face the consequences of his decisions. Baku slides the phone back into his pocket and turns toward the heat and noise of the kitchen again, but his hands shake for the rest of his shift.
Baku gets home well past dark, and Eunji is already there when he arrives, shoes kicked off by the door, curled comfortably on the couch as if she belongs there. In a way, Baku thinks she does. She looks up the moment she hears the door open, smiling easily and warmly.
He sits next to her and she starts talking about her graduation presentation, about how her slides still don’t feel right and how her advisor keeps asking for “clarity of intent,” her hands moving as she speaks, animated and earnest. Baku listens, or at least he tries to. He nods at the right moments, murmurs encouragement, asks a question or two when the silence stretches too long. His body knows the routine by now. Eight months of dating will do that.
He remembers meeting her at the restaurant, back when loneliness sat so heavy in his chest it felt physical, when every shift blurred into the next. She’d been a regular and super kind in a way that didn’t demand anything from him. She’d come back again and again, asked small questions, hung around just long enough that it felt intentional. Persistent, but gentle. When she finally asked him out, he’d said yes before he could talk himself out of it, clinging to the idea that maybe this was how you moved on, by choosing something warm and real and present.
Now they’ve been dating for over eight months. Long enough that she leaves things at his place and that his friends don’t look surprised anymore when she shows up beside him the few times he goes out with them. Long enough that he should know, definitively, what he feels. But he doesn’t.
He isn’t sure if he loves her. He isn’t even sure if he’s capable of loving anyone who isn’t Gotak, not really, not in the way that matters. Still, he tries. Because Eunji is kind, and she laughs easily. Being with her makes him feel a little more alive, a little more like the version of himself that existed before everything fell apart. With her, the world feels less muted.
Tonight, though, it’s different. Tonight all he can think about is Suho’s voice on the phone, the way the words Gotak’s back home had landed into his heart. The news loops relentlessly in his mind, drowning out Eunji’s voice no matter how much he wants to stay present. Gotak is back. Gotak is here. Gotak, walking the same streets again, breathing the same air, once again.
With that comes the memory he never quite lets himself forget. The one year mark, the moment he’d finally gathered the courage to reach out, that maybe he could exist in Gotak’s life without ruining it now that he was coming back. He would apologize and explain himself, and everything would be fine. He remembers the hollow feeling in his chest when Sieun told him, gently but firmly, that Gotak had been given the opportunity to stay and finish the rest of his degree there. Three more years. His best friend was thriving out there! That was good news. So what if he cried all day after getting the news. It's okay, Gotak deserves the best. And the best is for sure not him and his pathetic life. That had been the moment his decision had completely finalized.
Eunji notices that he stopped paying attention, tilting her head just slightly as she studies him, like she’s learned to do when she senses him drifting far away. “You’re somewhere else,” she says softly, not accusing, just observant and way too kind. “Did something happen at work?”
Baku hesitates, thumb brushing absently over the back of her hand. The answer is no and yes all at once, and neither feels right to say out loud.
“There’s a Christmas party,” he says instead. “Suho and Sieun, they just moved to a new place.”
Her expression brightens immediately, relief flickering across her face. “That sounds nice,” she says. “When is it?”
“This weekend,” Baku replies. He stares at the far wall trying to find the right words. “Suho called me today. Said I had to come. There's…There’s someone coming back. Someone I used to be really close with.”
Eunji doesn’t push. She shifts closer instead, knees brushing his, giving him space without retreating. “Coming back from where?”
“Abroad,” he says. “They’ve been gone a long time.”
That’s all he offers, and it already feels like too much. He doesn’t say best friend. Doesn’t say the person I loved before I knew how to call it that. Doesn’t say the reason I stopped believing I deserved to want more. He keeps it vague on purpose, wrapping the truth in softer edges so it won’t cut either of them.
Suho being adamant suddenly makes sense in his own head, even if he doesn’t explain it out loud. This isn’t about a party, or Christmas, or even seeing old friends. It’s about confronting something everyone else watched him run from. Suho knows it, Sieun knows it, Juntae for sure knows it. They’ve always known.
“And this person,” she says after a moment. “Are you nervous about seeing them?”
The question is gentle, but it still lands heavily in his chest. “Yeah, I am.”
She nods, accepting that without asking for more. “Then we’ll go,” she says, decisive but calm. “We’ll show up, stay as long as you can handle, and leave if it gets too much.”
Baku turns to look at her then, at the steadiness she offers so easily. The ugly feeling of guilt is back full force, but at this point, it's just part of who he is. He squeezes her hand, grounding himself in the present.
“Thanks,” he says quietly.
Eunji leans in, resting her head against his shoulder. “You don’t have to explain everything, not yet anyway.” So he takes the easy way out, again.
By the time the weekend arrives, Baku feels like he’s been walking toward something inevitable, every hour ticking into a single moment he can’t run away from, no matter how hard he tries. The drive over is quiet, the city lights streaking past the windows while his thoughts run in restless circles over topics he tried his best to shut down for years.
“We’ll say hi, stay for a bit, and if you want to leave early, we will,” Eunji says beside him as they walk up to the building, adjusting her coat.
Baku nods, not trusting himself to answer. He squeezes her hand once, grateful for the weight of it, even as something in him already feels pulled somewhere else.
Suho and Sieun’s apartment is warm and feels lived in already, with christmas lights hanging unevenly along the walls. The group of people is small. Just Suho’s close friends from work and their days back in school, the people who stayed in contact with one another even as time moved on.
“You guys actually came,” he says, grinning as he opens the door and pulls Baku into a crushing hug. “I was fully prepared to hunt you down.”
“Yeah, like you gave me a choice,” Baku mutters, but there’s too much affection there to pretend any different.
Sieun steps in next, quieter, offering a smile. “I’m really glad you made it,” he says, voice calm, eyes lingering just long enough to ask how Baku’s feeling without forcing an answer. Good, because he's really not ready to answer that.
Juntae comes to view, already holding two drinks. “Hey, Baku. Eunji! It’s good to see you both.”
Baku cant help but smile back as he walks to hug him. “It's good to see you, too, Junnie.”
In the living room, Yeongi is already halfway through a song as Suho goes back and joins her, shouting the chorus as they turn a phone and a speaker into a makeshift karaoke setup. Laughter fills the room. On any other day, Baku would already be there, grabbing the toy microphone, being obnoxious on purpose just to hear everyone laugh. Tonight, he's just too on edge.
Then there's a knock. Baku sees Suho run back to the door, his heart in his throat.
“Gotak!” Suho calls, as soon as he opens the door. “You made it.”
Gotak steps inside, and everything narrows to him. He looks older. His hair is longer now, falling into his eyes in a way that makes Baku’s chest ache. There’s a steadiness to him, something grounded and assured that wasn’t there before. But none of it diminishes what Baku thinks instantly. He’s still the most beautiful person Baku has ever laid eyes on.
Gotak smiles playfully. “Of course I did, you fucker. You basically forced me to.”
His gaze lifts then, scanning the room, and it lands on Baku. For a heartbeat, they just stare at each other.
“Oh,” Yeongi says softly from somewhere behind them. “Oh.”
Baku feels frozen, heart hammering so hard it’s almost unbearable. Gotak’s expression flickers to something dangerously close to hurt, before he catches it.
“Hey,” Gotak says, voice steady despite everything.
“Hey,” Baku manages. The word feels too inadequate. He feels too inadequate, just like he felt four years ago.
Eunji shifts beside him, still holding his hand. “Hi,” she says, offering a polite smile. “I’m Eunji.”
Gotak’s eyes dip, just briefly, to where their hands are joined. Something unreadable passes over his face before he looks back up. “Hyuntak,” he replies. “Nice to meet you.”
The silence that follows is thick with everything unsaid, heavy with four years of absence. Suho claps his hands far too loudly. “Okay! Drinks. Everyone grab a drink. This is still a party.”
They end up gathering in the quieter corner of the living room, a little removed from the chaos of the makeshift karaoke where Suho’s work friends are already arguing over song choices. Yeongi hands around drinks while Juntae leans against the wall. Sieun stays close to Suho, his boyfriend's hand resting on his back, observant in that quiet way of his. Eunji stays at Baku’s side, her shoulder brushing his arm every so often, an unconscious reassurance that burns more than comforts right now.
Gotak stands across from them, posture easy but clearly guarded. He doesn’t look at Baku again. Not once. His gaze moves naturally between the others, and each deliberate avoidance hurts than eye contact ever could. He's currently laughing at Yeongi telling her recent dating situation and Baku feels his heart sing at every smile.
“So,” Eunji says after a lull, smiling as she always does when she’s trying to smooth things over. “What about you, Hyuntak? Anyone special?”
The question drops heavy into the space between them. Baku feels it before he thinks it, a sharp tightening in his chest, his grip on his drink instinctively firming as if that might anchor him. He keeps his eyes on the condensation sliding down the glass, already bracing himself.
Gotak doesn’t hesitate long. “Yeah, I have a boyfriend.”
The word boyfriend rings louder than it should, it's devastating.
“He stayed behind,” Gotak continues, shrugging lightly, as if this is something he’s already practiced explaining. “So we’re figuring out how the long distance thing is going to work now that I’m back. I’m not really sure yet.”
The silence that follows is immediate and unmistakable. Baku feels it settle over them like a held breath. He knows, instantly, why it feels like this. Why Suho’s smile falters just a fraction, why Sieun’s eyes flick briefly toward him, why Juntae suddenly finds the floor interesting. They all knew about it, but deliberately didn't tell him. Baku hates it, but he knows why. He understands.
He despises the image that forms in his mind of some random guy getting to touch, to love Gotak. Hates how visceral the reaction is, how ugly and possessive it feels even as he knows he has no right to it. He’s standing here with his girlfriend beside him, her hand warm against his arm, and still the thought of Gotak choosing someone else feels like something being taken from him all over again.
Hypocrite, he thinks bitterly, but the feeling is still there.
“Ah,” Eunji says softly, “That makes sense. I’m kind of surprised I never heard about you, actually,” she adds, glancing between Gotak and the others with a small laugh. “You all seem really close.”
The words are innocent, she doesn't know the implication of them. Gotak’s expression shifts, it's not obvious, but enough that Baku catches it. Something closes off behind his eyes, his shoulders stiffening almost imperceptibly.
“Yeah,” Gotak says. “I, uh- excuse me for a second.” He gestures vaguely toward the balcony on the other side of the room, already turning away before anyone can respond.
Baku stands there for exactly ten seconds, heart pounding, thoughts colliding into something he can’t ignore. He sets his drink down with care that feels entirely misplaced, then looks at Eunji.
“I’ll-” He stops, exhales. “I’ll be right back.” He can sense the gaze of his friends heavy on him.
She's already deep in another topic with Yeongi, so she nods at him. “Okay,”
The cold bites the moment Baku steps out onto the balcony, sharp enough to make his lungs protest, but it barely registers. Gotak is leaning forward against the railing, shoulders tight, rubbing his hands together like he’s trying to keep himself warm. But from the way his breath comes out fast and shallow, Baku knows this wasn’t about fresh air.
He closes the sliding door behind him, carefully. The sound is soft, but Gotak stiffens immediately anyway. He glares at him, still half turned away. “Seriously? You have a whole apartment to be in.”
“I just wanted to-” Baku exhales. “You left so suddenly.”
Gotak lets out a short, bitter laugh. “I excused myself. You noticed that part, at least.”
“I know,” Baku says quietly. “And I know it was my fault.”
That finally makes Gotak turn.
He faces Baku fully now, arms crossing tight over his chest, eyes red in a way that twists something deep and ugly in Baku’s chest. “Your fault,” Gotak repeats flatly. “Yeah, that tracks.”
The words sting more than Baku expects. “Gogo, please-”
“You don’t get to call me that,” Gotak snaps. “Not after four years of nothing. You vanished, you let everyone else keep tabs on you for me like I was some acquaintance you didn’t feel like talking to anymore.”
“I know,” Baku says quickly, too quickly. His voice is rough, stretched thin. “I know I fucked up.”
“Fucked up?” Gotak laughs again, and this time it cracks completely. “You were my best friend.”
“Yes,” Baku says, desperation bleeding through. “Exactly. And that’s why-” He stops, drags a hand through his hair like he’s trying to physically pull the words out. “I kept thinking that if you were really happy there, then maybe I shouldn’t… pull you back into whatever this was.”
Gotak stares at him like he’s speaking another language. “You didn’t pull me anywhere. I tried, Baku. I called. I texted. I stayed up at insane hours just to catch you awake. Do you know how it felt when you stopped answering?” His voice sharpens. “Felt like I was begging for your attention.”
Baku’s throat tightens painfully. “It wasn’t because of you.”
“Are you really about to pull a ‘it's not you, it's me’ right now?”
“I know, it's so cliché,” Baku says quickly. “But it’s true. It was me. It was always me.” He forces himself to keep going, even as his eyes start to burn. “Everyone else was moving forward. Uni, careers, plans. And I was still here. I had no real idea of what to do.” He laughs weakly. “And then there was you. Learning new things, meeting new people, building a life that actually made sense.”
Gotak’s jaw tightens. “So you decided I didn’t need you anymore.”
“I decided you deserved better than someone who was stuck,” Baku says, eyes shining now. “Someone who didn’t even know how to want more for himself.”
Silence hangs heavy between them for a few seconds. “And when the first year passed,” Baku continues, voice dropping, “and I found out you were staying for the rest of your degree…” He shakes his head. “That was it for me. I thought, what’s the point now? You’d already built something without me. I didn’t want to be a reminder of something you’d outgrown.”
Gotak blinks hard, but a tear slips free anyway. It breaks Baku’s heart more than anything else being said.
“You idiot,” he whispers. “You absolute fucking idiot. I wanted to come home every single day.”
Baku takes a step closer before he even realizes he’s moving. “Gotak…”
“And then I walk in tonight,” Gotak says with his voice shaking, “and you’re here. You look good. You have a girlfriend.”
“I know how that looks,” Baku says quietly.
“How it looks?” Gotak scoffs, wiping his cheek roughly. “She’s pretty. She’s nice. I bet she actually gets to talk to you. That’s already more than I-”
“Gogo,” Baku says, his heart breaking even more. “Please. Stop.”
Gotak’s face crumples. “Baku. The truth is that I stayed because I thought I had nothing left here.”
Baku freezes. “What?”
“You weren’t answering,” Gotak says quietly. “Everyone else had their own lives. So I built one there because I thought I had to. I never wanted to replace you. Not with a city. Not with someone else.”
The word someone twists sharply in Baku’s chest, but he ignores it for now. Instead, the question that comes out is almost childish, something so vulnerable. “Do you hate me now?”
Gotak scoffs, but it's not mean. He drops his eyes to the floor. “I don’t hate you. I never could. That’s the problem.”
Something in Baku’s chest caves in. He lifts his gaze, hope flickering painfully. “Then why won’t you look at me?”
Gotak squeezes his eyes shut. When he opens them again, they’re still wet and glassy. “Because if I do,” he says, voice trembling, “I won't be able to stop crying.”
“Okay, then we’ll cry together. I don’t care,” Baku whispers. “I’m so sorry, Gogo. I’m so fucking sorry.”
The tears come before he can stop them. One spills over, then another. He doesn’t wipe them, but he does turn away, though, looking a little ashamed.
“Don’t,” Gotak says sharply. “Don’t turn away from me. Don’t do that again.”
Baku turns back instantly, eyes red, tears tracking freely now. “I’m sorry,” he repeats, helpless. “I’m so sorry, Gotak. I never stopped missing you. Not for one day.”
Gotak presses a hand over his own mouth, trying to steady himself, but a sob slips through anyway. Baku steps forward on instinct. Their foreheads almost touch.
Gotak inhales sharply, and then something catches his eye above Baku’s head. Baku notices him staring. “What?”
Gotak tilts his chin upward, and they both look. A mistletoe. Hung right above the balcony ceiling. Probably Suho’s idea of a joke, except the world goes dead silent when they see it. The cold disappears. The party disappears. Four years of pain and longing narrow into one moment between them.
Gotak whispers, “This is a bad idea.”
Baku whispers back, “I don’t care.”
Baku’s hand rises first, hesitant, almost trembling. He cups Gotak’s jaw like he’s afraid he’ll vanish. Gotak’s breath shudders out. He leans in first, just a fraction. And then they finally, finally close the distance.
The kiss is not gentle. It’s four years of wanting, it's resentment, it's pure need. Crashing into each other all at once. Gotak fists the front of Baku’s sweater. Baku’s other hand slides to the back of Gotak’s neck, pulling him closer, closer, like he’s terrified of losing him again. They stumble into the railing, trying to stay quiet, failing miserably. When they finally break apart, their breaths puff in cold clouds between them.
Gotak is shaking. “I’m so angry with you.”
Baku presses his forehead to his. “I know. I'm sorry.”
Gotak sobs. “I missed you so much.”
Baku’s voice trembles. “I missed you more.”
His hands linger where they shouldn’t, at Gotak’s jaw, at the back of his neck. Like letting go might undo everything all over again. His heart is still racing when Gotak pulls back.
“Baku,” he says, quietly, like he’s afraid of breaking something fragile. “We can’t do this.”
The words land softly, but they hit all the same.
Baku’s stomach drops. “Gotak-”
“No,” Gotak interrupts, shaking his head, eyes still wet. “Listen, please.”
Baku forces himself to stay still, to listen, even as everything in him wants to reach forward again, to undo the space Gotak is putting between them.
“We’re not the same people anymore,” Gotak continues. “Four years is a long time. We grew up, we changed. And maybe-” His voice wavers, just slightly. “Maybe we missed it. Maybe whatever moment we were supposed to have already passed.”
Baku’s chest tightens painfully. “I don’t think that’s true.”
“Maybe,” Gotak says, carefully, “we can try to be friends again. Figure out who we are now without pretending the last four years didn't happen.”
Friends.
“And we’re both taken,” Gotak adds, softer. “I have someone. And you have someone on the other side of that door.”
Baku’s throat closes. He thinks of Eunji, of her hand in his earlier, of the quiet trust in her voice when she said she’d leave whenever he wanted.
“I don’t want to hurt anyone,” Gotak says. “And I still know you enough to know you don't want that either.”
Silence stretches between them again, heavier than before. “I meant what I said,” Gotak adds quietly. “About missing you. About all of this.”
Baku nods, "I really am so sorry."
"I know that now." Gotak hesitates for one last heartbeat, eyes flicking to Baku’s mouth, then back to his eyes. Something unresolved still lingering there.
“I’ll go back in,” he says, finally. The balcony door slides open, spilling warm light and noise back into the cold night air, and then it closes again just as softly.
And Baku stays where he is, staring at the place Gotak stood just moments ago, trying to compose himself before going back inside. When he finally slides the door open again, warmth and noise rush to meet him all at once, the party picking up exactly where he left off.
None of their friends says anything. Yeongi is back to yelling lyrics into the microphone, laughing as Suho tries to harmonize with her. The spell of the balcony breaks just enough for Baku to move again.
Eunji looks at him immediately. Her eyes search his face, flick briefly to the balcony door behind him, then back. Baku feels a sense of dread wash over him, but she doesn’t ask anything. She just shifts closer, brushing her fingers against his sleeve. Baku offers her a small smile, but this feels wrong.
He looks over at Gotak. He’s different now, looser somehow, laughing softly at something Juntae says near the couch. He still doesn’t look at Baku right away, but the tension between them has changed shape. It makes Baku smile. Maybe they can build things up again.
The night goes on as someone puts on a louder song. Baku finds himself laughing again, really laughing, for the first time all evening. He even joins Juntae and Suho for one song, shouting the chorus with exaggerated confidence, earning cheers and groans in equal measure. At some point, Gotak joins him, their arms brushing as they share the microphone. It's like every point of contact is in overdrive, Baku feels hot all over.
And then Gotak takes the microphone, on his own. It's clearly a softer song, very different from the ones before. The room quiets down, apart from some light conversations.
“You walked in the party, your coat was untied”
Baku feels it like a physical pull. Gotak’s voice isn’t perfect, of course, but it’s warm, carrying something raw under the melody. Halfway through the first verse, his eyes lift and find Baku’s across the room. Everything else falls away.
The chatter fades. The lights blur. It’s just them again, suspended in that invisible space they’ve always shared, the one that makes time feel like an illusion. Gotak doesn’t look away. Neither does Baku. It feels like being caught in a spell, one neither of them is trying to break.
“Or what if you're lonely. And you know I am too?
And I get the chance to say: Merry Christmas, I miss you”
Baku forgets to breathe. For a moment, it feels exactly like it did before. Like this is inevitable, like whatever they are will always pull them back into the same orbit, no matter how far apart they drift. The song ends to applause and whistles, but Baku barely hears it. Gotak lowers the microphone, cheeks flushed, and then finally looks away.
Eunji shifts beside Baku, the movement subtle but unmistakable. He turns toward her instinctively, and the look on her face twists something in his chest. She’s not angry. She just looks, well, unsettled.
“Hey,” she says quietly, touching his arm. “Can we go?”
Baku blinks. “Go?”
“Yeah,” she says, “I wanna go now.”
He glances once, just a quick glance, toward Gotak, who’s laughing now with Juntae.
“Yeah,” Baku says, forcing a smile. “Of course.”
As they say their goodbyes, Gotak meets Baku’s eyes one last time from across the room. There’s something unspoken there. An understanding, a promise that this is something. But as Baku walks away, down the elevator, out of the building's door, into the snow covered street, he feels like he's making a terrible decision in leaving, in walking away, again. Suddenly, he feels tears well up in his eyes once again. This is all so crazy, but he just can’t leave. He can’t.
“Eunji..” He manages to whisper through his emotions, calling her out from where he is a few steps behind her.
The snow crunches softly under her boots as she turns around, confusion flickering across her face at first. “What’s wrong?”
He opens his mouth. Nothing comes out. The silence stretches, heavy and cold between them, and in that quiet something seems to click into place for her. Her gaze shifts to his face, his hands curled into fists at his sides, the way he looks like he’s fighting himself.
“…Is it him?” she asks, softly.
Baku swallows. His throat aches. “Eunji, I-”
“Hyuntak,” she says. “Is it Hyuntak?”
That breaks him. His breath stutters, and he scrubs a hand over his face, the tears he’d been holding finally spilling over. “I didn’t think I'd ever see him again,” he says hoarsely. “I swear. I thought-”
She steps closer, close enough that he can feel her warmth despite the cold. “Baku, just answer me,” she interrupts, steady. “Do you love him?”
Baku doesn’t answer right away. He doesn’t try to soften it, doesn’t reach for excuses. He just stands there in the falling snow, chest tight, eyes burning, and nods once.
“Yes,” he says. It barely sounds like his own voice. “I think I always have.”
Eunji exhales slowly. She looks away for a second, blinking hard, then lets out a quiet, almost humorless laugh. “I wondered,” she admits. “About that part of you.” She gestures vaguely at his chest. “There was always something I couldn’t reach.”
Guilt twists sharp and immediately. “Eunji, I care about you. You know I do. I never lied about that.”
“I know,” she says quickly. “You were good to me. You are good. But I’ve never seen you like that, not once. Not with me.” She looks back toward the building, then at him again. “The way you looked at him… it was like the room stopped existing.”
Baku’s shoulders slump, but there's no denying that. “I tried,” he says, quietly. “I really tried to be someone who could move on.”
“I believe you.” She pauses, then asks the question he’s been dreading. “If you go back up there, what happens to us?”
He doesn’t answer immediately, and that, more than anything, is answer enough.
Eunji nods slowly, swallowing. “Okay,” she says, voice steady despite the tremor underneath. “Then you should go.”
“What?” He looks at her, startled.
“I don’t want to be the person you choose because you’re afraid,” she says. “And I don’t want to stand in the way between you and something that clearly never ended.”
Snow settles in her hair, melting slowly. She brushes it away, then offers him a sad smile.
Baku’s chest hurts. “I’m so sorry.”
“I know,” she says. “Just don’t make a habit of breaking the right person’s heart because you’re scared.”
She steps back, giving him space, giving him permission. Baku hesitates only a second longer. Then turns, already moving, already running back toward the building, the weight of his decision settling in him with every step.
Baku barely makes it back through the building doors before the elevator dings softly and Gotak steps out.
He looks like he moved on instinct alone, his coat half on, hair mussed, eyes wide and frantic like he is in a hurry. For a second they just stare at each other, frozen in the narrow lobby.
“Gotak…?”
Gotak’s breath comes out broken, uneven. “I couldn’t let you walk away from me again.”
The words hit harder than any confession. Baku laughs, a wet, disbelieving sound that turns into something dangerously close to a sob. He swipes at his face, but the tears are still there, clinging to his lashes. “I couldn't leave.”
They just stand there, feeling all the emotions of being this close alone once again. Baku inhales shakily. “Can I ask you something?”
Gotak nods, cautious. “Yeah.”
“Do you love him?”
Gotak blinks, confused. “What?”
“Your boyfriend,” Baku clarifies, voice steady only through effort. “Do you love him?”
Gotak looks away, jaw tightening. The answer is written all over his face before he even speaks.
“I don’t think I can love anyone that's not you,” he admits quietly. “I kept telling myself maybe it would grow. That if I tried hard enough, it would. But it never did.”
Baku could sing out of happiness. “Then,” he says, stepping closer, heart pounding so loud it feels like it might give him away, “let me be selfish. Just this once.”
Gotak looks back at him, startled. “I’m sorry,” Baku continues, the words tumbling out now, urgent and unfiltered. “I know I don’t get to ask for anything after what I did. I know I disappeared, and I know I hurt you, and I know I have so much to make up for-”
“Baku-”
“But please,” he says, voice cracking. “Break up with him.”
Gotak goes still.
“I don't want to just be your friend again,” Baku admits, painfully honest. “I will if that's what you really want, but the truth is that I want more than that. I’ve always wanted more than that.”
He swallows hard, forcing himself to keep going.
“I know it's been years, I know we probably changed,” he says. “But I'm ready to get to know you all over again. I’ll try my hardest. I’ll give you everything I have. I’ll show up, even when it’s hard. Especially when it’s hard.” His voice drops. “I won’t distance myself again. I swear.”
Gotak’s eyes shine, emotions open on his face. “You’re asking for a lot.”
“I know,” Baku says immediately. “And you don’t owe me anything. If you say no, I’ll accept it. But I couldn’t walk away letting you think I’d choose being scared over choosing you. Not again.”
Silence stretches between them, thick and electric. Gotak takes a shaky step forward, closing the distance Baku had been too afraid to close first. “You’re an idiot,” he says softly. “You know that, right?”
Baku lets out a breathy laugh. “Yeah. I’ve been told.”
Gotak exhales, something like relief slipping through the cracks. “What about Eunji?” he asks, carefully.
“She's way too smart for this. She saw right through me. It’s over.”
Gotak studies him for a long moment, searching. Maybe for doubt, maybe for the familiar urge to pull away. Whatever he’s looking for, he doesn’t find it.
“Okay,” he says at last, voice quiet but certain. “But if we do this…”
“We do it for real,” Baku finishes. “No running, no disappearing.”
Gotak nods. “For real.” And then, out of nowhere, he laughs. Baku looks at him, confused. Gotak just nods up. And there it is, another mistletoe. In the middle of the lobby. Like a blessing, or maybe a mockery, like the universe is laughing at them for needing this many signs.
Baku lets out a disbelieving laugh. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Before Baku can say anything else, Gotak steps forward. He doesn’t rush it. His hand comes up first, fingers curling into the front of Baku’s coat, grounding himself there and then he leans in and closes the distance.
This kiss is slow, deliberate. It’s still full of everything they haven’t said, but there’s no desperation in it this time. Just certainty. Gotak kisses him like he’s claiming something he is finally allowed to reach for. Baku exhales into it, hands coming up on instinct, one settling at Gotak’s waist, the other at the back of his neck, holding him there as he belongs. Because he does. When they part, it’s only because they have to breathe.
Baku rests his forehead against Gotak’s, smiling faintly. “I love you”
Gotak smiles back, eyes still wet. “I love you too.”
Above them, the mistletoe sways slightly in the cold air of the lobby. And this time, neither of them walks away.