Chapter Text
“Sorry, I’m busy again this weekend :[”
The bitter scoff that escapes Hyunwook's throat is almost involuntary, subconscious— much like the way his grip tightens around his phone, knuckles whitening. His saliva tastes wrong in his mouth— sharp and acrid and thick enough to choke on as he swallows, jaw taut.
This is the fourth time Jihoon’s blown him off, in a fucking row.
He’s avoiding him.
Jihoon is avoiding him. His Jihoon is avoiding him.
It’s a thought that simultaneously makes Hyunwook’s blood boil and run cold. It makes his head feel light. It makes his skin feel rigid and uncomfortable over his bones. It sinks like a lead weight inside his gut, anvil-like and heavy and suffocating.
Hyunwook cannot say he hadn’t seen this coming.
He’d noticed a change— Ofcourse, he had. He noticed everything about Jihoon— Could decipher his microexpressions at a mere glance. The hesitance in his eyes, the purse of his mouth, the subtle twitch of his hands.
If Hyunwook were a sliver more proud of a man, he’d even say he could read Jihoon’s mind. That is an honour, however, that even he has not yet achieved. Because Jihoon’s mind, his thought and soul, is marvellous beyond comprehension. It is all-encompassing. Ordinary yet so extravagant, and so utterly ravishing that it hollows Hyunwook’s chest out.
To say he can simply read through it would be doing all its pulchritude injustice.
He didn’t even wish to read it, not quite. It would be more appropriate to say he yearned to possess instead. To haunt. To be the focal of his psyche.
But perhaps this was the exact reason he was standing stiff inside his studio, unflinching and staring at a screen that had since long turned off due to inactivity.
He didn’t mean for it to be like this, really. He’d actually been intending for the exact opposite, to draw Jihoon in little by little, with patience and resilience, and it had worked at first, hadn’t it?
They’d gotten close. Genuinely close. In an organic way. Coworkers to acquaintances to friends. A story told to death is always the easiest to orchestrate. And Hyunwook was patient. He let Jihoon take his time to warm up to him, to move at his own pace without expecting any instant reciprocation, and soon enough, his efforts bore fruit.
It didn’t take too long for Jihoon to start seeking him out first. For him to initiate conversations and calls. For him to start calling him affectionate nicknames without any initiation from Hyunwook.
It was intoxicating, the pace they were moving at, and maybe that’s why Hyunwook started slipping up.
He doesn’t exactly remember where he started to go wrong, but he remembers when it first started becoming apparent that there had been an error in his calculation.
Jihoon’s attempts at distancing himself from him came first as a gentle gust of wind. It was innocent, unalarming, but it was noticeable.
He’d started referring to Hyunwook as his proper name instead of a silly nickname.
It wasn’t too bothersome the first few times Jihoon switched out ‘Hyunwoong’ for just ‘Hyunwook’, but after a while, he eliminated the nickname completely, and its absence messed with Hyunwook’s head almost just as much as hearing it in Jihoon’s voice did.
Unable to hold himself back, he’d inquired,
You
“Hyungie, you don’t call me that anymore.”
“ ‘Hyunwoong’ ”
He doesn’t know what he was expecting, not really. Maybe an apology, maybe a lighthearted excuse, maybe an indication that Jihoon’s distant behaviour was all for a punchline he’d been building up to for a week and half. Anything that implied that the change in his behaviour wasn’t bad natured or—
bhak jagi >3<
“Does it offend you?”
When Hyunwook had first read that, he’d stared at his screen blankly for a whole 5 minutes.
“Does it offend you?”
Does. It. Offend. You.
There wasn’t a fucking punchline, nor an apology or insistence that it wasn’t on purpose. Because it was.
It was on purpose. He was purposefully not calling Hyunwook the nickname. It felt unfair. How could he just take back a nickname he’d given to him? How could he be so dismissive as if the name, the sound of Jihoon’s voice when he called him by it, hadn’t been engraved in the most delicate caverns of Hyunwook’s mind—
The screen lit up with a notification, illuminating Hyunwook’s face once more.
bhak jagi >3<
“Does it offend you?”
“Hello?”
Right. He’d left him on read.
Hyunwook’s fingers flew over the keypad as if they were automated.
You
“ㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋ nope :P ”
“ Nothing you could do could ever really offend me ^w^ ”
And well, that wasn’t entirely false. It was just that Jihoon couldn’t ever offend him enough for him to complain. Who would he be to complain when Jihoon was still here, within his grasp? This was a small drift between them, and Hyunwook would waste no time bridging it up so things would return back to how they’re supposed to be.
Now that Hyunwook thinks about it, while the nickname might have been the first real shift regarding their relationship, he’s starting to realise that there were times when Jihoon’s feelings of unease towards him might have slipped under his radar.
Approximately two whole months before Jihoon stopped calling him “Hyunwoong”, he’d replied to Hyunwook’s Instagram story. That wasn’t a very common occurrence, since Jihoon didn’t really use the app often, so naturally, it excited Hyunwook when the notification popped on top of his screen.
0529.jihoon.ig
Replied to your story
“ㅋㅋㅋㅋ did Hyunwoong get inspired by my fashion sense? ^^”
The story itself had been a picture of Hyunwook taken from the back during golden hour, looking off into the distance. As much as Hyunwook would’ve loved to hear Jihoon’s opinion on every aspect of the picture, most of it was to be ignored for now. Jihoon wanted to talk fashion, so they were going to talk fashion. Specifically, about the shirt he was wearing.
A dark blue basketball jersey with the number ‘1999’ printed on the back in big, blocky characters. Hyunwook had gotten it imported for a ridiculous amount of money.
Was it due to sheer coincidence that Jihoon owned the exact same jersey, just in a lighter shade of blue?
Or rather, would Jihoon deem that excuse plausible? Probably not, Hyunwook figured. If Jihoon had noticed the jersey, maybe he’d also noticed the bracelets that came before it, and the shoes that came before the bracelets.
You
“ you know how I am lol :P”
“If I see something I like, I have to have it.”
0529.jihoon.ig
“Well… yes.”
“But still.. I got this a few years ago. I don’t think it’s easy to find in Korea anymore?..”
Hyunwook bit into his bottom lip gently, fighting a grin. His Jihoonie's just so observant, isn't he?
You
“ I was lucky enough to find a reseller who had it :] ”
Back then, that isolated incident didn’t really ring any bells, but now Hyunwook feels like a fucking idiot for letting his guard down at all.
Had the matching items been too much? He couldn’t help it. He loved buying doubles of items Jihoon had. He got high off of it— off the thought of him and Jihoon owning similar things. Off wearing them in public and having people see and notice and talk.
It had seemed innocent enough in his head. Was it the items that pushed Jihoon away? That couldn’t have been all. Jihoon didn’t make an attempt to push him away until long after he asked him about the jersey.
Or.. had it been the pictures in general? But why? Hyunwook remembers so vividly when Jihoon would post pictures of them together, screenshots of their text messages on his story, completely unprompted. He can’t help but be sour that it all stopped one day.
Sure, Hyunwook had posted pictures of them impulsively a handful of times, but it was only because it was absolutely necessary. Was he supposed to just sit back and watch while people attached Jihoon’s name to someone else’s like it didn’t bother him at all? Like every post he’d see of Jihoon with someone else didn’t feel like needles scraping against the delicate lining of his gullet? He didn’t care who it was. Co-star, friend, man, woman. It could be Jihoon’s fucking manager. He hated it. He hated seeing him with anyone. Point. blank.
Hyunwook feels that his biggest regret might be not handling the situation better when he asked Jihoon about his nickname. He should have demanded answers when he had the chance— because the gap that came gently like a flutter of breeze quickly snowballed into a tidal wave right before his eyes.
It was gentle at first, low intensity, with Jihoon replying to his messages late, or claiming he was too tired to call after work.
Jihoon kept being cryptic, and Hyunwook couldn't figure out for the fucking life of him if he was thinking too much or if Jihoon was actually pulling away as hard as he thought he was.
The tipping point came when finally, after weeks of flimsy excuses, Jihoon ‘managed’ to make time to meet over drinks at a Pocha they used to frequent when they first started meeting outside of work.
The evening was lovely at first, nostalgic even— and for a second Hyunwook thought that things might finally go back to normal after this.
But just as quick as that comfort came, it went crumbling down the moment he pulled his phone out.
“Ah— Can you not take a picture, please?” Jihoon had requested politely, voice timid, like he felt awkward saying it as well. Hyunwook froze, hand pausing in the air. Jihoon's gaze flickered to and from his face multiple times, like he was anxious. And for Hyunwook…
It was like whiplash. The straw that broke the camel's back. The point of no return. Up until now, he'd somehow tried to delude himself into the idea that maybe this was all in his head. Maybe he was over-analysing something completely normal and harmless, and maybe Jihoon really was busy all the goddamn time all of a sudden, but that sentence, and the anxiety that it carried basically confirmed everything Hyunwook was trying so desperately to convince himself wasn't real.
In that moment, in the way Jihoon fidgeted nervously, sitting only a few inches apart, looking like he would rather be anywhere but here, it was then that the reality of the situation fully dawned on Hyunwook.
He’d made an error.
Somewhere in his carefully calculated orchestra, he’d made a fatal error.
And the version of Jihoon who was staring at him right now wasn’t the one who smiled warmly whenever their eyes met, or looked for Hyunwook first in whatever room he walked into.
No.
The version of Jihoon who was sitting beside him right now felt relief when Hyunwook hung up the phone. This version of Jihoon didn’t want to be photographed next to him, because he looked like he’d seen through the cracks in Hyunwook’s facade. This version of Jihoon— This version of Jihoon felt uncomfortable in his presence.
A pang akin to being speared shot through Hyunwook’s chest and he felt like he could cough up blood. That thought, the mere idea made his head spin. He hadn’t dared to even imagine a day like this would come. He felt blindsided, which only made him feel even more helpless. He could feel his palms were starting to sweat, but this wasn’t the time to lose focus. He needed to find his ground. He needed to find a thread to grab onto. Anything to just stay afloat so he could somehow salvage this.
He schooled his expression and lowered his phone gently, turning his head to meet Jihoon’s gaze.
“No?” He inquired casually, laughing through his nose as he tilted his head. “What, not feeling yourself today?”
“Something like that,” Jihoon gives him a close-mouthed smile, a little apologetic. Hyunwook hates the sight of it. He hates how uneasy he looks. He hates that it probably shows on his face how much he hates it.
So he tries again, passing Jihoon a careful smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, “Well, it’s just for me, anyway. I won’t send it to anyone if you don’t want anyone to see it.”
It’ll be for my eyes only, He means to say, Just between you and me. Yours and mine. Mineminemine—
Jihoon scratches his nape and chuckles awkwardly, and the sound grates against Hyunwook’s ears.
“I’d rather not.” He says lightly, and Hyunwook tries so hard to not let his face fall. One thing about Hyunwook is that he's a self-aware man, and he's not one to over-estimate how much of his frustration he's able to mask behind an easy grin, so instead he lowers his head, away from Jihoon's cautious gaze and chuckles, loud and raucous.
“Right.” He manages through gritted teeth, not lifting his head, “Sure.”
Tonight marks one month since that night when Hyunwook came home from the Pocha feeling like everything he’d worked so hard towards for the past three years had slipped through his fingers in an instant.
He had tried convincing himself it wasn’t too late. He could build from the ground up once again, if Jihoon let him. He knew he could. He had to. Jihoon had been the axis of his life for so long and with such ferocity that he’d damn near forgotten what it meant to be Choi Hyunwook without Park Jihoon, and he felt the latter’s absence chipping away at his sanity every time he tried to reach out in the dark for Jihoon’s gentle hands and was only met with cold, blunt, nothingness.
He was getting desperate. He wanted to play it cool, to act like it doesn't bother him as much as it does, but he physically couldn’t anymore. He’d constantly been blowing up Jihoon’s inbox in hopes of meeting him just one more time so he could get a chance to redeem himself—
bhak jagi >3<
“Sorry, I’m busy again this weekend :[”
The bitter scoff that escapes Hyunwook's throat is almost involuntary, subconscious— much like the way his grip tightens around his phone, knuckles whitening. His saliva tastes wrong in his mouth— sharp and acrid and thick enough to choke on as he swallows, jaw taut.
This is the fourth time Jihoon’s blown him off, in a fucking row.
CRASH!
Glass shards scatter all over the marble floor of Hyunwook’s living room. His shattered phone buzzes uselessly against the ground a few times before stopping all together.
Hyunwook’s chest heaves uncontrollably. He can’t think over the ringing in his ears. He feels like the ground beneath him is splitting open, threatening to swallow him whole. The axis is tilting, and the turbulence is so horrid and violent that it rattles him to his core. It’s slipping. Everything is slipping right through his fucking fingers. He tries to blink the fog out of his vision desperately as he stares at his quivering hands. His jaw locks.
Fuck being rational.
He hardly registers it when he starts moving, vision foggy and head ringing.
He’s in his car now, but he doesn't really remember leaving his home.