time loop

by allyofcortis

Summary:

you know the movies where the main character wakes up to the same day over and over? that's juhoon's life. everything moves around him. he never does.

Notes:

a/n: just so u know, i changed the ages for the narrative. juhoon & martin are 22, seonghyeon & keonho are 21, james is like 25.

also this fic gets heavy. like, check the tags, this is not for everyone. pls take care of urself first.

Ever since Juhoon got back from college, he'd been glued to that screen. His ass had gone numb, fused to the chair like wet cement. His fingers were raw from gripping the pen so tight, but he couldn't quit. He'd spotted a flaw and couldn't shake it. When he hit play, something felt off, so he rewound and went frame by frame. The character's left eye was a couple millimeters bigger than the right. That asymmetry felt personal. Juhoon knew if he didn't fix it, he wouldn't sleep. Or worse, he'd dream about it all night.

"Already ordered the food, hyung," Seonghyeon said as he walked in, bringing that fresh clean scent that only came from a recent shower. "They said twenty minutes, but it's Friday, so traffic'll probably slow things down. I'd say half an hour."

Seonghyeon knew how particular Juhoon was about time, so he always made sure to be precise about that kind of stuff. And Juhoon really appreciated it. It might seem dumb to other people, but Juhoon honestly felt that if things didn't go exactly how he calculated, the world could end. Collapse. An atomic bomb would just appear and blow everything to pieces. For real.

Juhoon couldn't look away. His hand kept redoing that same small circle. On the fifty-ninth try, everything fell apart. He zoomed out, played the scene, and caught another mistake. The space between the eyes was too wide. Unacceptable and beyond annoying. His skin crawled. Sure, restarting from zero wasn't the smart move, but for his perfectionist brain, it was the only option.

"Same place as last time?" he asked, so his boyfriend wouldn't think he was totally ignoring him.

Seonghyeon came up beside the chair, resting a hand on the backrest and leaning over to see what he was doing. Juhoon felt himself relax when the dampness of his hair brushed his shoulder. It was weirdly comforting.

"Mhm," Seonghyeon whispered, burying his nose in the hollow of Juhoon's collarbone, left bare by the tank top straps. He just stayed there, but that alone sent a warm shiver up Juhoon's spine and woke him up a little.

"Did you order..."

"Pad See Ew?" Seonghyeon breathed against his skin, putting on a nasal voice, trying and failing to imitate a Thai accent.

Juhoon bit back the small smile pulling at his lip, remembering the dumb jokes they'd made about the dish's strange name.

"Obviously. Those noodles drove you crazy before, so I got extra."

That was Seonghyeon. He noticed details without ever being told. He watched everything. Expressions, breathing shifts, postures. He'd find the issue and handle it himself. It came naturally to him, that caretaker role he played perfectly. Making Juhoon happy was his number one priority.

Juhoon freed one hand to lift it and stroke his cheek as a thank you, but Seonghyeon grabbed it and wouldn't let go. He brought it to his mouth and kissed every part, the back, the knuckles, the spaces between his fingers. It was so gentle, so sweet, so devoted, that for one second, that asymmetry didn't matter anymore.

"Almost done?"

Juhoon recognized that voice. The needy one Seonghyeon always used to hint that he wanted him close.

"Not even close. Look at this disaster." Juhoon hit play, and the tiny animation started looping. In frame seven, the unevenness was so obvious it was genuinely embarrassing to have made something so flawed.

After three loops, Juhoon paused and braced for criticism or a rude joke, but then remembered Seonghyeon wasn't like that. He didn't have that public shaming setting that all his professors seemed to come with.

"Don't see anything wrong."

That should have reassured Juhoon, but of course it didn't. He was too used to feeling attacked by his own mistakes, no matter how small or even imaginary. Crazy as it sounds, when people didn't point something out, he assumed they were lying or making fun of him, and that pissed him off. Nothing was ever good enough for Juhoon, not himself, not anything he made.

"'Cause you don't know shit about this. Everything's a mess. Mess, mess, mess." Juhoon tossed the pen onto the desk, covered his face with his other hand like he was hiding from his failure, and let out a loud sigh full of frustration.

Seonghyeon let go of his hand so he wouldn't feel trapped. He knew that would only make things worse, same as insisting the work was fine, which would be pointless. Instead, he draped both arms over the back of the chair, surrounding Juhoon without actually touching him, just offering that cozy closeness. He understood that what Juhoon was feeling was real, that he struggled hard when things didn't meet his standards. That fierce drive for perfection was one of the reasons he'd fallen for him.

"Exactly, I know nothing. All I know is you've been parked here for like five hours on an empty stomach." Seonghyeon changed the subject on purpose, hoping to end the spiral and give Juhoon a mental break.

Juhoon dropped his hands and spun around to show off his frown.

"Wait, it's ten already?" Juhoon had a crazy internal clock, like there were actual hands ticking inside his head. Not a superpower, just one of his many compulsions. When Seonghyeon nodded, he felt the need to add, "And I did eat."

"Yeah, at breakfast. Seven ounces of black coffee and one rice cake. That's not a meal, that's a fast track to gastritis. You know how touchy your stomach is." Seonghyeon's tone was dead serious.

He really worried about Juhoon's terrible habits around eating and taking care of himself. Juhoon never had proper meals unless Seonghyeon stayed over. He'd only learned about that pathetic breakfast from a morning selfie, and after telling Juhoon how good he looked about thirteen times, he'd blown up his phone with scolding texts.

"They're carbs." Juhoon corrected him. All he needed was to show his front teeth, put on glasses, and raise a finger to become that insufferable nerd emoji.

"They're air shaped like cookies. That doesn't give you even one percent of the energy you burn through in a day, hyung." Seonghyeon spun the chair back around and rested his hands on Juhoon's shoulders, hating how easily he could trace his bones.

He started pressing with his thumbs.

"You're tense."

A sigh slipped out of Juhoon as Seonghyeon's fingers moved down to his neck, drawing patterns on the back. He was super sensitive there. He leaned forward, arching his spine and lifting his butt, giving more access, more spots to work on.

Seonghyeon's hands felt professional and steady. It wasn't that he had ulterior motives, but Juhoon tended to sexualize almost everything. Truth was, he struggled to show that side of himself with Seonghyeon, who was always pretty normal about sex, didn't value it as much as Juhoon did. So sometimes Juhoon held back because he didn't want to be turned down or look desperate. So he relaxed and dropped the act.

"That hurts." He winced as Seonghyeon pressed an open palm under his left shoulder blade, making the bone crack.

"Exactly why you need me." Seonghyeon shot back, repeating the move on the other side, pulling a soft whimper from Juhoon.

"No, it hurts because you suck at this."

Total lie. Seonghyeon's massages were the best he'd ever received, not that he'd had many from other people. But still, Juhoon was sure no one could ever beat him.

"Tell that to your shoulders."

Juhoon wanted to argue back, not because he was right, just because he was stubborn, but he didn't. Not while Seonghyeon was rubbing circles into his neck again. He shut his eyes and bit his lip, focusing purely on the feeling. Otherwise he'd end up asking to be choked, and he didn't want a heavy conversation right now. Seonghyeon took things super literally with him, but Juhoon couldn't blame him given his history.

"C'mon, drop that," Seonghyeon cooed by his ear. Juhoon almost swore he was turning him on on purpose, but that wasn't something his boyfriend would do. He was too good and proper for that. "Take a break. I swear, once you get back to it, fixing whatever's off'll be way easier."

Juhoon opened his eyes and looked at his iPad screen. The character looked decent at rest. Maybe it wasn't so bad. Maybe Seonghyeon was right. Maybe he just needed some distance to clear his head. Then he'd come back with more energy and motivation to retouch everything. He'd go over it pixel by pixel if he had to, but this short film would be flawless. Not all hope was lost.

"Fine," he said, putting the digital pen in its stand. "But one thing."

"What?"

Juhoon swiveled the chair to face him. He looked up. The bluish light from the monitor highlighted Seonghyeon's profile, those sharp features. Juhoon had these moments where he suddenly realized how attractive his boyfriend was. Obviously he already knew, but sometimes it hit him out of nowhere. Yeah, Seonghyeon was hot, but that wasn't the point. The point was the small shiny white bump in the center of his forehead. The one practically begging to be popped.

"Lemme pop your zits."

Seonghyeon recoiled and made a disgusted face.

"No."

That was a hard no.

"Oh, c'mon." Juhoon drew out the last syllable in a high pitch.

"No, I'm serious. Last week you poked and squeezed my face for like an hour. I looked so puffy afterward!" Seonghyeon groaned.

"You didn't look puffy, you looked cute." Juhoon laughed and tried to pinch his cheek, but Seonghyeon stopped him, which made it even funnier.

"Those were pores, hyung. Normal pores, I thought I was dying. Not doing that again." Seonghyeon crossed his arms, but Juhoon had broken through that every single time.

"But it's so satisfying." Juhoon pouted, the look not quite matching his words.

He'd discovered this odd habit with Seonghyeon one day when he spotted a pimple on his back and squeezed it on impulse. It felt strangely good. Purifying, almost. He loved having things spotless, and being the one to do the work was therapeutic. And the aftercare was fun too. Seonghyeon looked so cute with a headband and face mask.

"You're so gross," Seonghyeon said, shaking his head like Juhoon was some kind of weirdo.

"'Cause I don't have trypophobia like you?" Juhoon raised an eyebrow.

"I don't have trypophobia. I just think it's disgusting." Seonghyeon would defend this forever.

"Please, it'd make me really happy. Like, super stressed out right now." Juhoon didn't just use words to get his way. He used his body too.

He tilted his head just a little and made that face. The one that scrunched his eyebrows, opened his eyes wide, and pushed out his lower lip. A perfect pitiful expression. He'd mastered it over the course of their relationship.

Seonghyeon stared at him, holding his gaze. It lasted maybe seven seconds before he sighed, accepting defeat and tossing it into the bag with all his other losses.

"Weird stuff makes you happy, hyung. You should really rethink your life." Seonghyeon said that, but then immediately dropped his arms, showing he was giving in.

Even though he couldn't feel half his body, Juhoon pushed himself up using his knees and hurried to sit on the edge of the bed, which was really close. He spread his legs a bit and patted his lap.

"Come here."

Seonghyeon was naturally obedient and easygoing, but with Juhoon, he was a thousand times more. So he followed orders without hesitation. He lay on his back, resting his head on one of Juhoon's thighs, and folded his hands over his stomach. He pulled his phone from his hoodie pocket and set it aside, focusing on enjoying the view he'd never get tired of. Juhoon's face.

"Seriously don't get your obsession with this," he muttered through clenched teeth as Juhoon leaned over him. "It's nasty, you're literally pulling gunk out."

"Told you. I just like it." Juhoon answered reluctantly. When he started a task, he couldn't concentrate on anything else. Multitasking wasn't his thing.

"You like gunk?"

Juhoon rolled his eyes and let out an amused click.

"I like the extraction. Seeing the junk come out. That feeling of getting rid of something that's not supposed to be there." Juhoon tried to explain, admiring his first victim, that pointy pimple he trapped between his index fingernails.

Seonghyeon wrinkled his forehead in confusion, making Juhoon's fingers slip and miss his first kill.

"Stay still." Juhoon tugged his ear.

Seonghyeon stopped the teasing to watch the expression Juhoon was making. His tongue poked out slightly between his lips, eyebrows pinched together, pupils wide. He was really focused, and he honestly looked endearing doing it. Seonghyeon just couldn't resist messing with him.

"You know, that sounds like something to bring up with your therapist."

"My therapist doesn't judge my hobbies." Juhoon clarified, going back to his target.

"Your therapist should know that popping zits turns you on."

"I never said it turns me on."

"Your face says otherwise. Freak." Seonghyeon's voice came out a bit muffled because he couldn't move his jaw.

Juhoon ended up laughing. A short, quiet laugh, but still a laugh. It made Seonghyeon smile even though he was feeling the painful pressure of Juhoon's nails. They were longer than usual. Guess with all the projects this month, he hadn't found time to cut them. Seonghyeon would do it himself when this torture ended.

"Someday I'll actually learn to say no to you." Seonghyeon closed his eyes, feeling the plug come loose.

"I hope you never do." Juhoon said it dead seriously, because he meant it. He couldn't stand the thought of Seonghyeon ever denying him something, ever stop being his weak spot.

The first piece came out with some pus. Juhoon pressed a little more until he pulled out the yellowish seed, which brought a tiny drop of blood. Clean work. He reached for the napkin box, wiped his hands first, then carefully cleaned the red spot. Next up was a blackhead blocking a pore on the right side of his nose.

"How's Martin's stuff going anyway?"

Juhoon never expected things to go this way when he introduced his boyfriend to his best friend. Martin had wanted to make music since he was a kid. After reading one of Seonghyeon's scripts, he got totally hooked and started inviting him to his rented studio to help write songs. No payment involved, at least not yet. Martin could barely afford the space. But Seonghyeon did it in his spare time because he loved it and picked up a lot along the way.

"Alright, I guess. He knows exactly what he wants, but it's hard to keep up 'cause he keeps changing his mind." Seonghyeon gestured with his hands as he talked. 

They'd been still until now, so Juhoon immediately knew this topic got his boyfriend going. Not that it surprised him. Martin and Seonghyeon had personalities that naturally clashed.

"So how're you handling it?"

"Trying not to kill him." Seonghyeon smiled after that barely sarcastic comment, opening his eyes to make his point clear. "Martin-hyung drives me nuts. Don't get me wrong, I like working with him and I respect how hard he goes, but we fight about lyrics constantly. He rambles, drags things out forever. So I just end up chopping stuff and rewriting whatever feels off."

"He cool with that?" Juhoon asked, knowing how hardheaded his friend could be.

"Depends on the day. Sometimes he listens, other times he thinks everything I did is trash." Seonghyeon flinched when Juhoon pulled out that painful blackhead. He settled back down, rubbed his nose, and watched Juhoon wipe his hands. "But that's normal, I guess. We always meet somewhere in the middle."

Juhoon pushed back the hair that kept getting in the way of the pimples near his temple.

"You know he's been doing this since he was twelve, right? His dad installed some production software on the family computer back then. I remember he'd beg me to mess around with it every day, until at some point it stopped being a game and got serious. Yeah, he's a handful sometimes, but trust him. The guy knows his stuff."

"Yeah, I know. When he finally lands a label, he'll blow up. I mean, it's crazy how many followers he already has with zero budget and no fancy production. He's got talent, good style and a solid image. That's basically the recipe for making it in the industry."

Juhoon nodded in agreement. Though he knew Martin wouldn't be half as successful without James, who did the heavy lifting. Video editing, marketing, building the brand, scoring collabs with small influencers or other up-and-coming artists. He was basically a manager, creative director, choreographer, and Martin's boyfriend all in one. He deserved way more credit, especially for that last part.

"When he gets famous, I'm charging him for every hour I've put up with his insufferable ass. I swear, hyung, his wallet's gonna hurt." Seonghyeon said it with so much certainty, even raising a finger and pointing at Juhoon like that made it more true.

Juhoon laughed again, more openly this time, more relaxed. He didn't even get annoyed when he botched a pimple on the first try. Maybe that was Seonghyeon's plan, to make him laugh on purpose and distract him. But it wouldn't work. Besides, there were only three or four left. Seonghyeon had nearly perfect skin, but it was pretty oily, which worked out great for Juhoon.

"So what're you gonna do with that money, huh?"

Seonghyeon didn't hesitate. He'd clearly thought about this a lot. "I wanna start my own theater academy. Somewhere I can teach. A place for people with real talent but no connections, no money for fancy schools. Where it doesn't matter who your parents are or where you come from. Just what you can do. You know?"

Juhoon stopped messing with the pimples and looked at Seonghyeon, catching that spark in his eyes as he pictured this beautiful dream that he'd definitely make real. Juhoon understood. Their college wasn't private, but it was still a nightmare to get into. Insane competition for spots, and you had to pass this brutal evaluation. Lots of people only got in through connections, not because they deserved it. And those were exactly the ones who put in zero effort. Seonghyeon complained about it all the time. So many talented, hungry kids got pushed aside so these people could take their spots and waste the opportunity.

"And also," Seonghyeon went on, locking eyes with Juhoon with serious intensity, "I wanna buy a house by the ocean."

"Why the ocean?" Juhoon had lost interest in squeezing his face and started playing with his hair instead.

"'Cause you told me you've only been a few times. And you love the sound of the waves. The peace."

Juhoon paused for a second, a wave of mixed feelings washing over him. There was some happiness, sure, but nostalgia drowned it completely. Part of him wanted to believe Seonghyeon was really this thoughtful, that he meant all those sweet things. But Juhoon had a hard time trusting people. He always figured if someone said something nice, they wanted something from him.

So what did Seonghyeon want? What was he supposed to say back?

Should he hug him? Tell him how much it meant that he remembered something like that? Or should he call it bullshit and make him feel bad?

"Big windows. Floor to ceiling. You'll decorate, obviously. My taste's kinda boring," he said with a small laugh, then laced their fingers together. "And a huge studio, the biggest room in the house. With natural light and a view of the ocean. You can draw all day, do your thing. Away from everything."

It was such a tender picture, and Juhoon wished his disappointments didn't hurt so much so he could paint it and make it real. But he didn't have the strength to hold brushes that would turn to dust the second he touched them.

What was the point of believing in something he already knew would fail?

Seonghyeon would leave eventually, all his promises and his love included. Nobody could stay with Juhoon forever. He knew that. He'd accepted it a long time ago. But in the meantime, he'd try to keep him close, for as long as possible.

"Wanna take care of you for the rest of my life, hyung. I mean it." Seonghyeon squeezed his hand as he said those words, reading Juhoon like one of his poems.

"And what do I give you back for all that?" Juhoon felt stupid the second he asked, and then he felt scared.

Now he was just a stupid, scared fool waiting to get damaged again. He shouldn't have asked. Should've changed the subject. Should've...

"Don't know, I just want you to be happy. Like, actually happy." He sat up and leaned closer. "That's it. That's all I need. Knowing you're alright, and that I helped a little. So what do you say, hyung? Wanna come with me? To that house?"

Juhoon felt like whatever he said next would ruin everything. He wanted to say yes, that almost wedding sounding yes, but he couldn't. He didn't trust himself. He didn't trust Seonghyeon either. So instead, he let his body answer, somehow saying that deep down, he was willing to try believing in a future together.

They ended up kissing, Spider-Man style. Juhoon pulled back just enough to hold Seonghyeon's face properly, caressing his cheekbones with his thumbs while pressing their lips together. They didn't move, just stayed there, lips against lips. Intense. Longing. 

Seonghyeon wished he could suck out all of Juhoon's bad memories through that kiss. The pain, the grief, the darkness. Like the opposite of a Dementor. He'd take it all in, carry that weight constantly so Juhoon wouldn't have to anymore, so he could finally live in peace. Too bad magic wasn't real. But secure attachment was. Seonghyeon worked tirelessly to extract that grief from him. Gently. Selflessly. Carefully. And he was sure he'd get there someday. Maybe far from now, maybe sooner.

Juhoon soaked in that safe aura, drowning in it. Getting drunk on possibilities that threatened to chain him to this moment, to trick his overactive, constantly aching brain and set him free. Just as Juhoon was about to whisper something disgustingly cheesy that would betray all his self sabotage rules, Seonghyeon's phone rang.

A notification. That was all. A loud, fleeting sound that burst that bubble of vulnerability.

Juhoon tensed up. His hands went cold and clammy. Without thinking, he squeezed Seonghyeon's face, frozen in alert.

"What's wrong?" Seonghyeon opened his eyes, still dazed from the kiss.

Juhoon looked at the phone. The screen was lit. He wished it was a YouTube alert, or Spotify, or even the delivery app saying something about the order. But no. There was the KakaoTalk icon with a preview of a message. Just seeing it made his head pound.

He tried to fight the urge. He really did. He remembered the advice from his sessions. He ran through that internal speech about being enough, about how not everyone's the same, about trust being the foundation and all that crap. But it was useless.

He let go of Seonghyeon, scratching him by accident and reopening that small wound on his forehead. He stood up and grabbed the device like it was a ticking bomb only he could defuse. His hands were shaking as he unlocked the screen. He even slipped off the bed, landing hard on his arm, choosing to injure himself rather than drop the phone. He sat on the floor and read.

<when are we hanging out again, oppa?>

An unsaved number. He didn't bother scrolling. He didn't need to. That one line was enough. The acid crept back up his throat. Those dark claws dug into his shoulders, shaking him, laughing at him. Because the shadow had warned him. Told him this would happen again. That's just how people are.

Seonghyeon peered over the edge of the bed as soon as he realized Juhoon had fallen.

"You okay? Did you hit anything?" He sounded panicked, the worried kind.

But Juhoon's messed up brain saw something else. He saw nervousness. Suspicion. It was so obvious. He'd caught him. He'd finally caught Seonghyeon cheating.

"Who's that?" Juhoon's voice came out scratchy. "Who the hell is texting you like that?"

It clicked for Seonghyeon instantly. Juhoon was spiraling again.

"I don't know, let me see it so I can explain." Seonghyeon tried to stay calm, picking his words carefully.

It didn't matter. When Juhoon got like this, he went deaf and blind from all that sick jealousy.

"You don't know?" Juhoon threw his voice back at him, dripping with mockery. He made Seonghyeon sound like a complete idiot, like he was pretending to be clueless on purpose.

Juhoon scrambled up, almost fell again, but caught the chair just in time. He shoved the phone in Seonghyeon's face. He wanted to smash it so bad, maybe break his nose too.

"You don't know who's texting you? Asking when you're gonna see each other? Again?" His voice cracked, then shot up. "You think I'm as dumb as you? That innocent act is gonna fool me? Who the fuck is it?" Juhoon was screaming so loud the room echoed.

Then his chest started aching. He couldn't breathe. He doubled over, pressing the hand with the phone against his heart. He tried to take a breath, but it only made him want to cry. He was terrified. In pain. Felt like he was dying. Like a goddamn heart attack. Juhoon actually believed people could die from heartbreak. Not from love itself, but from the crushing disappointment when it all fell apart. And he'd been crushed so many times he was sure his time was almost up. Suddenly he was sobbing. Snot running down his face. Letting out these awful sounds, like they were coming straight from hell.

He knew it. He'd always suspected. Seonghyeon was seeing someone else. He wasn't crazy. He wasn't delusional like Martin said. His gut had been telling him all along. Or maybe it was just the leftovers of his trauma.

Seonghyeon stood up too, raising his hands like he was surrendering. It was so hard to deal with this. To watch your partner go into full paranoid mode just because some asshole from the past messed with him. But Seonghyeon was ready. He knew what to do. He'd been through this hundreds of times. Literally. So he pulled himself together.

"Hey, hey, easy. Please, hyung. Just breathe. Let me see the phone, and I'll explain."

"Explain what? How you fucked them? What they gave you that I couldn't? Go on, tell me. Unless you couldn't even get hard for them either."

Juhoon could be vicious like this. He only felt his own anguish. Nothing else mattered.

Seonghyeon shut his eyes for a second. He didn't like hearing Juhoon mock him like that, but he let it slide. He knew Juhoon didn't mean it. He was just lashing out, trying to make someone else suffer as much as he did. Seonghyeon had learned that after a few way more humiliating moments.

"I'm not seeing anyone else."

"Don't lie to me!" Juhoon stepped closer, getting right in his face. He needed a confession. "This always happens to me. Everyone fucking betrays me. Why? And why'd you have to do it when you know exactly what I've been through? I can't even look at you right now! You disgust me!"

"Hyung, please..."

"What? What do you want? A congratulations? You want me to be understanding, forgive you, and act like nothing happened? Like with..." Juhoon stopped cold. He didn't say the name. He was terrified that if he spoke it out loud, like some urban legend, it would appear.

Seonghyeon wanted to wrap his arms around him, but that would only make things worse. He didn't want Juhoon to get violent or lose it completely or start screaming so loud the neighbors called the cops again. Things could get really ugly. So he took one small step forward, keeping his hands visible so Juhoon could see he wasn't a threat, physically or emotionally.

Juhoon glanced around, suddenly realizing they were alone. In moments like this, he felt like people were hiding behind the walls, or that the walls themselves had eyes and mouths and could laugh at him. He wasn't safe. He needed to defend himself. His eyes darted around, looking for something, anything he could use as a weapon if Seonghyeon came any closer.

"Hyung, look at me." Seonghyeon snapped his fingers, instantly grabbing Juhoon's attention. "Let me see the texts, and I'll prove it to you. Please."

"Prove it?" Juhoon let out a nasty laugh. "People like you always find a way to prove whatever you want. I learned that the hard way. And I'm not letting somebody do this to me again. I don't deserve this. I'm a good person." He sounded like he was trying to convince himself.

Then a thought crossed his mind. He threw the phone at the wall. His real target had been Seonghyeon's head, but the guy dodged it. The impact made a sickening crunch.

Seonghyeon didn't even look at the phone. He knew what came next. This was the phase where Juhoon went full defense mode, and since he'd already tried to attack someone else, now he'd probably try to hurt himself. He quickly scanned the room for anything dangerous. The scissors. On the desk, right next to Juhoon. He'd been using them to cut paper and trim sketches. It was a miracle Juhoon hadn't spotted them yet.

Risky move, but he had to try. He slid over slowly, his mouth still feeding Juhoon calm words.

"You're okay. You're okay. Breathe with me, alright? Inhale. Hold it. Exhale. There you go."

Juhoon was still struggling. His tremors got worse. He thought he might need to lie down or he'd pass out. The tears weren't furious anymore, just silent now, with little gasps for air. What he felt most was sadness. Sorry for himself.

"It always happens to me," he whispered, voice completely wrecked. "What did I do wrong? What am I supposed to do? What do I have to change so people stop doing this to me?"

"You didn't do anything wrong. This is a misunderstanding, I just need you to calm down so I can explain."

"I don't want your fucking explanations!" Juhoon smacked the chair and shoved it out of the way. It screeched against the floor. "I want you to stop lying to me! I want you to stop using me!"

Seonghyeon used that moment to slide next to the desk. He grabbed the pair and smoothly tucked them into the drawer. Juhoon spun around to face him, probably to keep his back protected. He hadn't noticed. Otherwise he would've fought Seonghyeon off or stared at where they'd been hidden.

"I'm sorry," Seonghyeon said. It sounded strange given everything, but he knew what he was doing. "I'm so sorry, but I'm not lying to you. I'm not using you, and I never would. I love you, you hear me? I love you. And I need you to trust me, or at least try. Just one minute. Give me one minute to explain."

Juhoon shook his head back and forth, so fast and intense that Seonghyeon was scared he'd snap his own neck.

"No. I don't want to."

"I know. I know. But do it for me, please. One minute. If after that minute you still think I'm lying, I'll leave. You never have to talk to me again. Just give me that one minute."

Juhoon stared at him, like he was actually considering the offer through all the noise in his head. So Seonghyeon moved slowly and pulled him close, tender and sure. Juhoon's hands hung limp at his sides. His expression was stuck in that bottomless sadness.

"Let go of me." He said it, but his voice betrayed him. It sounded like he meant the exact opposite.

He started hitting Seonghyeon's chest. A part of him wanted to push him away, slap him, wish him dead. But another part wanted him closer. Wanted to kiss him. Wanted to beg him not to leave.

"No." Seonghyeon held on and took it.

"I said let go."

"No." He said it again. The trick with Juhoon was patience. In the end, it always stopped.

And it did. The hits lasted less than a minute. They softened into pushes, then into open palms too afraid to actually make contact, and finally into fingers gripping with desperate need. Even though Juhoon was a little taller, he crumpled and buried his face in Seonghyeon's chest. He cried harder, his whole body shaking with each sob, soaking Seonghyeon's hoodie with tears and snot and everything else.

"Why?" he asked, voice completely shattered. "Can you tell me why? Why does this always happen to me? What's wrong with me? Am I that easy to throw away?"

Seonghyeon just took a deep breath and held him tighter. He moved one hand to the back of Juhoon's neck, the other to his lower back, pressing him as close as two people could get. They stayed like that for maybe ten minutes. Finally, Juhoon's breathing evened out. He wasn't clinging anymore. His whole body felt heavy, like all his weight had been dumped onto Seonghyeon.

"Come here," Seonghyeon said softly, guiding him to sit on the bed.

Once he was sure Juhoon was somewhere safe, not about to collapse or do something dangerous to himself, he went to get his phone. The screen was scratched up and had a small crack, but it still worked. He opened the chat, careful not to get glass shards on his fingers. Then he knelt in front of Juhoon, between his legs, gently pushing them apart to make room.

"Look," Seonghyeon said, holding the phone up. "Please read all of them."

Juhoon's brain was foggy. All that emotional turmoil had left him sluggish. It took a moment to understand what Seonghyeon said, but then he decided to look. Not because he wanted to fix anything. More like a masochistic urge to feed his own agony.

<when are we hanging out again, oppa?>

That was the first. But there were more underneath. A lot more.

<oppa i miss youuu ㅠㅠ>

<take me out for samgyeopsal next time>

<and bring juhoon-oppa too, i really wanna meet him>

<tell him i'm cool so he'll like me, 'kay?>

Juhoon read each message. Several times. He kept searching for a hidden meaning, something that would prove it was all fake. A detail he could grab onto so he could keep fighting, break up with Seonghyeon, and confirm once again that his love life was a scam. That he should stop chasing something that wasn't meant for him.

But there was nothing. He was wrong. Again.

"It's your sister." Juhoon bit the inside of his cheek, swallowing his pride.

"Yeah," Seonghyeon nodded. "I told you I took her out a few days ago. Remember?"

Of course he remembered. Exactly four days earlier. Juhoon had even followed him using the GPS he'd secretly installed on Seonghyeon's phone. He'd watched the first twenty minutes of their meeting from a café window across the street. Just to make sure Seonghyeon was telling the truth, and that the girl matched the photos on his sister's IG profile. Everything checked out. Juhoon got his reassurance and went home to do laundry like nothing had happened.

"She said she had to change her number because someone leaked it on some app and she kept getting spam calls and creepy texts. I should've known she'd text me from the new one. Sorry I didn't see it coming." Seonghyeon dropped his head, blaming himself for Juhoon's meltdown.

It was devastating. Here was a genuinely good guy, and Juhoon kept messing up. Seonghyeon had given him more in a year and a half than anyone else in his life. Deep down, Juhoon knew Seonghyeon would never hurt him. But some part of him refused to accept it. That distrust was already making him do crazy things. Someday, it would push him past the point of no return.

"I..." Juhoon was so ashamed he couldn't find words. "I..."

"It's okay," Seonghyeon knew this was hard for Juhoon and didn't want to make it worse. The fight was over. He was calmer now. No need to drag it out.

"No, it's not okay. I yelled at you. I broke your phone. I..."

"Phones can be fixed or replaced and I know you didn't mean any of that stuff. Really, it's okay." Seonghyeon cupped his chin, trying to get him to look up.

"But..."

"Juhoon-hyung." Seonghyeon's voice was firmer now, but still soft. "Look at me. You can look at me."

Juhoon slowly raised his eyes. And then he saw it. Seonghyeon's forehead. Right where that first pimple had been, there was now a tiny cut. A shallow scratch, with a bit of dried blood stuck to the edges.

"Oh my God." Juhoon covered his mouth with both hands. "Did I do that? I don't remember when... I don't know... I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"It's nothing," Seonghyeon whispered, and he meant it. It hadn't even stung when it happened. If Juhoon hadn't pointed it out, he wouldn't have remembered either.

"There's blood." Juhoon felt uneasy when Seonghyeon was this forgiving. He trusted his boyfriend's judgment, but sometimes it scared him how much Seonghyeon would put up with just for him.

"It's a scratch, it'll heal."

Juhoon crawled to the nightstand. He always kept band aids nearby because he often ended up with cuts and bruises, on purpose or by accident. He grabbed an orange one with Doraemon on it and came back. He knelt in the same spot and bit his lip, unsure how to approach.

Seonghyeon gave him that marvelous dimpled smile, and Juhoon found his courage. He peeled the band aid and leaned in to stick it on with extreme care, smoothing the edges with his fingertips. It looked lovely on him. The orange popped against his tan skin.

"Can you forgive me?" His eyes were watery.

"There's nothing to forgive." Seonghyeon wiped away a tear that was about to fall from Juhoon's right eye.

"Yes there is. I overreacted, like always and... that's not okay."

Juhoon really didn't want to normalize his behavior. When he was thinking clearly, he regretted it so much, and it made him feel even worse that Seonghyeon took it so well. Like he didn't deserve this much patience.

"Next time, please read the rest of the texts before you throw the phone. Or even better, don't throw it at all." Seonghyeon made a joke to cut through the thick tension.

A weird mix of a whimper and a laugh escaped Juhoon.

"I'll buy you a new one."

"You don't have to do that." Seonghyeon moved closer until their noses touched. "The only thing that matters right now is that you're okay. Got it? That's all I need from you."

Juhoon pouted again, but still nodded. He liked being taken care of.

"Okay."

Seonghyeon smiled again and gave him a quick peck on the lips. Too short, in Juhoon's opinion.

Then the doorbell rang.

"Your Pad See Ew is here." Seonghyeon stood up. "I'll go get it, you gonna be okay?"

"Yeah." Juhoon nodded again, sniffled the snot running from his nose, and tried to smile back. It came out as a terrible grimace.

Seonghyeon watched him for a few seconds. Once he was sure Juhoon was stable enough to be alone for three minutes, he left.

Juhoon stayed completely still, same position, like an evil witch had turned him to stone. He stared at where Seonghyeon had been. Then at his own hands. The hands that had attacked. Hands that were supposed to hold gently but had been forced to fight imaginary monsters. Insecurities. Comparisons. He tucked his head between his knees but couldn't even wrap his arms around himself. Suddenly, he hated the thought of touching his own body.

How did I end up like this? How did I become this person?

His mind started rewinding. Searching for the beginning. The exact moment when everything had gone off the rails.

 

 

It all went back five years. Juhoon had to repeat his first year of high school after a bad case of appendicitis. Surgery, long recovery, too many missed days. So he started over with a new class, new people, without Martin. He felt guilty and kind of embarrassed for being stuck there.

First day of class, someone walked in late. Keonho. Rumors about an idol trainee had been floating around, and when he showed up, the whispers got louder. Keonho brushed off the teacher's scolding with a cocky attitude everyone read as charm. Juhoon wasn't immune either. He kinda admired it, since he could never pull something like that. But he didn't dwell on it and went back to pretending to pay attention.

Days later, Juhoon was in the library killing time when he found Keonho eating a tuna sandwich in an unfrequented corner. Their eyes met. Juhoon was about to mind his own business, but his compulsive side kicked in. He pointed out a smear of mayo on the corner of Keonho's mouth. Keonho wiped it off, looking embarrassed, and mumbled something about being clumsy. When Juhoon started to leave, Keonho asked if he was in his class. Juhoon nodded, surprised someone like him would remember him. Then Keonho said something like: "How could anyone forget you?" Juhoon felt special.

They ended up sitting on the floor, sharing a tangerine Keonho had saved for dessert. Keonho told him how lonely training felt, that he had no real friends at the company or in his normal life. Juhoon opened up about his surgery, the lingering side effects, and how out of place he felt repeating a year. They exchanged numbers and walked to class together. Juhoon thought he'd made a friend.

Over the months, that friendship turned into something more. Hours of talking, constant texting, finding excuses to touch, to stay close. One day in Juhoon's room, while pretending to study, they had their first kiss. It felt natural, almost inevitable. They kept seeing each other in secret, never put a label on it, but they both knew they were something. This went on for about four years. A relationship anyone looking from the outside would've called toxic. Because it was.

Keonho changed. Or maybe he'd always been like that, and Juhoon just hadn't wanted to see it. He got erratic, distant, always blaming his debut. Juhoon started catching him flirting with other girls, right in front of him. When he confronted him, Keonho denied everything with so much conviction that Juhoon doubted his own eyes. So he learned to shut up and swallow his anger. Because when Keonho was sweet, when he threw him those little scraps of attention, the high was so intense it made everything else worth it. Keonho, though a year younger, called the shots. What they had stayed hidden. A gay scandal would've killed his career before it started. So Juhoon learned to see himself as a secret too. Someone shameful. Over time, he started feeling like maybe none of it was real. Not even himself.

When Keonho joined a survival show to debut, Juhoon could only watch him on TV. They didn't speak for months. Keonho placed first but didn't debut. The company claimed he had more potential as an actor, that he'd stand out too much in a group. But reality was they just didn't want annoying fans getting in the way of milking him dry.

Keonho was furious. Instead of channeling that anger into acting or swimming, he aimed it at Juhoon. In public, he was still sweet and charming. But in private, he was a ruthless bastard. He'd pick apart Juhoon's looks, his voice, the way he talked. Start fights over nothing, cheat openly. Then play the victim when Juhoon called him out, saying Juhoon didn't support him enough, that he'd cheated because he was sad and lonely. Juhoon always ended up apologizing.

In his second year, a supporting role in a drama launched Keonho into fame. Lead roles, commercials, photoshoots, international deals. The relationship became a waiting game. Juhoon was always staring at his phone, waiting for Keonho to have time, for stolen moments. When they did meet, it was brief. Usually ended in fights or started straight with rough sex that left bruises. Keonho left him over and over. Juhoon's panic attacks got worse. But they never really broke up, just stopped talking for a few days and then picked up like nothing happened. There wasn't real communication. Keonho didn't want it. Juhoon didn't know how.

Even his career choice was because of Keonho. Keonho loved animated films. He was a huge Tim Burton fan and once told Juhoon it'd be cool to see a movie made by him. When Juhoon started college, things got even worse. Keonho was always traveling, showing up drunk at his apartment at 3 AM, canceling last minute, ignoring texts for weeks. Juhoon had to drop everything every time Keonho decided to come back.

Until one day, he reached his limit. An episode had gotten so bad that he kept passing out and ended up in the hospital. That's when Juhoon gave him an ultimatum. Either they made it official, or he was done. He asked Keonho to turn down a year and a half long shoot in Amsterdam, to stay with him and do things right. Keonho said no, he said he never owed Juhoon anything, called him selfish for even asking. That was their 'end'.

And then came Seonghyeon.

They met through an interdisciplinary project at K-ARTS between the Animation and Dramaturgy departments. Randomly paired to create a short play. Seonghyeon wrote the script. Juhoon handled the visuals. Both were freshmen, nobody expected much, but the result surprised everyone. The play flowed like they'd worked together for years, they even got a special mention.

It wasn't love at first sight. Nothing movie-like. It built slowly through long editing sessions, rehearsals, silences shared in front of the same screen. When they finally wrapped, Seonghyeon asked him for coffee. Juhoon said yes. One coffee became two, then came dinner, then another dinner. Soon they didn't need an excuse anymore.

Juhoon was honest from the start. He told Seonghyeon everything about Keonho. The damage. The manipulation. The pain. He showed him his wounds as a warning, practically saying: "Please, don't touch here."

Was that how it happened? Am I exaggerating? Twisting things? Maybe my memory's just bad. Maybe I'm filling in the blanks wrong. Maybe...

"Juhoon? Is everything alright?"

The voice reached him from a distance, like someone calling from the surface while you're underwater.

Juhoon blinked twice and looked around.

He was in the consultation room. Beige walls, medium size. He sat on the small sofa, his therapist sat across from him in her armchair.

"Juhoon?" she repeated, watching him carefully.

"Yeah." His voice came out rough, like he'd smoked five packs in a row. Although, he wasn't far from that number. "Yeah, I'm fine."

She didn't answer right away, just waited. She knew that, given his tendencies, he'd already realized he'd zoned out for about thirty minutes. Probably lost in his past, as usual.

"You've been quiet for a while," she remarked, her tone soft and measured, specifically calibrated to avoid setting him off. "Would you care to share what was occupying your thoughts?"

"Nothing." That wasn't exactly a lie.

If he felt empty, then "nothing" fit. It suited him pretty well, actually. He always felt like he was in a void, like he was nobody. That was a correct answer, clever, even. Juhoon gave his eloquent brain a mental high-five.

"Nothing?" She didn't sound convinced.

"It was a semantic matter. It's not like we can voluntarily think of nothing."

It was impressive, in a really messed up way, how he couldn't drop that act. Not even with the person he paid to listen. The mask of the indifferent, untouchable, unreachable guy he'd never really been. A disguise he'd put on to survive. His face had frozen into that social armor, protecting him from others and from feelings he no longer knew how to show.

She gave a small nod, acknowledging his response, and chose not to push.

"Have you produced any drawings this week?"

Juhoon clenched his jaw and glanced at the wall clock, covered with a white sheet. A sharp sting flared from the burn on his hand from yesterday. He'd been caramelizing onions. He'd stepped away for five seconds to close a window because it started raining, and he didn't want to ruin the floor he'd spent all morning polishing. In his rush, he'd hit the hot pan, burning the inside of his left hand. The irony, he'd dirtied the floor anyway and hurt himself. But since it wasn't his dominant hand, he couldn't bring himself to care.

He started peeling off the two bandages, digging with his nails, trying to scratch away the discomfort. A blister burst, a thin, clear fluid oozed out, followed by a bead of blood that mixed with the sticky residue from the bandage. The skin underneath was raw, wet and shiny, with ragged edges where the bandage had torn off some of the healing tissue. It looked infected. It looked like something that should've been left alone.

"Clocks?" the therapist asked, her eyes tracking his every move.

Juhoon shut his eyes and twisted his neck until it cracked. Just hearing that made his skin crawl. He went to rub his nose but stopped when he noticed bits of dead skin and dried blood on his fingers. He looked at the wound and was redder than before, oozing. The new skin underneath had an unnatural gloss, clearly not ready to see the light.

He felt disgusting. Deeply, viscerally gross. He had this urge to grab the stapler from her desk, the one sitting next to a pen and a stack of eleven documents, and staple the wound shut. Maybe if he placed the staples just right, the mess would look less awful. Less like a failure of his own body.

Luckily, she offered him a box of tissues before he could act on that crazy impulse. Juhoon grabbed them like a lifeline. He wiped the area over and over, until every bit of grime was gone. Then he hated that he couldn't go straight home to shower after this. He had another appointment, and there wasn't enough time to wash up and still arrive fifteen minutes early like he always did. In this case, his anticipatory anxiety would win over his obsessive need for cleanliness.

"Yes," he admitted, putting the bandages back on as if that would fix anything. They didn't even stick right, still a mess. To avoid looking at it, he crossed his legs and tucked his injured hand under his thigh.

"Many drawings?"

"Some." A vague reply. He hoped it would be enough.

He didn't feel like talking today. That wasn't why he'd come. He had a specific reason.

She tilted her head, leaving space for him to continue. She knew Juhoon was guarded, but he also had this unbreakable rule. Silences made him uncomfortable, he always felt like he had to fill the gap, for no real reason.

"It's not many," Juhoon said, already defensive. "I draw what I see. And sometimes I see them."

"Where do you see them?"

Juhoon wanted to tell her the question was ridiculous and repetitive. She'd asked it before. And yet, he heard himself answering.

"Everywhere. Even traffic lights have countdowns. They condition us from childhood to live with the pressure that everything ends sooner or later. It's a way to keep people docile and anxious and scared. A government conspiracy. Think about it. People used to live by natural cycles, by the sun, and they did just fine. Then someone invented those devices, and they started stealing our consciousness and making money from it. It's all part of a bigger capitalist-consumerist agenda."

Juhoon knew his paranoid theories wouldn't make him look sane if he shared them in public, so he kept them for his therapist or Seonghyeon. They were the only ones who never judged him or made him feel like a lunatic for his chronometrophobia.

"But you didn't draw them before. Before..." She left the sentence hanging, inviting him to finish it.

"Before a lot of things," he replied curtly, dodging the trap.

Juhoon had always been obsessive about time, but after Keonho, it got way worse. Those endless waits, hours slumped in a chair, staring at a clock. His wristwatch. His phone. The mahogany lacquered clock that used to hang in his kitchen. Until Keonho finally bothered to show up. The experience had messed with his head so badly that he couldn't have any timepiece in his house anymore. If he saw one, he'd immediately have a panic attack.

Counting the minutes and seconds himself felt safe. Controlled. That way he was in charge. Unsurprisingly, living like that was hard. He couldn't set alarms. He'd turned off the time display on his phone and all his devices. He couldn't go anywhere where clocks might be visible. And as it turned out, clocks were what he drew most often. Not always, only at certain times. Times when he missed Keonho a lot and needed to get him out of his head. He'd draw a clock to remind himself, to make himself feel how miserable and degrading that relationship had been.

"The last time you came was a month ago," she said, cutting straight to the point. "Typically, you attend weekly. Did something occur?"

Juhoon shifted on the sofa, making the leather creak. "Been busy. Assignments and stuff."

A reliable excuse. Not elaborate, but it always worked. Besides, he didn't feel like getting creative right now. He just wanted his fucking pills.

"I see." She jotted a small note in her notebook, which had remained blank until then. "And how have you been managing your medication? Taking it consistently?"

"Yes." He lied, staring at the floor like an amateur.

"Every day?"

"Almost every day." He confessed, licking his lips repeatedly, still avoiding her gaze.

"Define 'almost.'"

"Some days I forget. But I take them the next day. Both together."

The therapist looked up from her notes and adjusted her glasses. "Juhoon, you are a highly intelligent young man, so I am certain you understand that this is not the proper protocol. Pharmacological treatment is most effective when taken regularly, at the same time each day. Skipping doses and subsequently doubling them can lead to adverse effects."

"I know." That was all he said. Growing more desperate by the minute.

"Then why do you do it?"

"Because I forget." He took the easy way out, he didn't want an emotional conversation. Not now, not today. He needed those pills as soon as possible.

She looked at him. Juhoon stopped dodging and met her eyes. His boldness lasted maybe two seconds. Then he shifted his gaze to the window, covered with blinds to block out the outside world.

"Juhoon," she said his name as if he were someone she truly cared about, so he felt compelled to look at her again. "I have observed that you avoid discussing certain topics. That is perfectly acceptable. You are not obligated to speak about anything you find uncomfortable. Today is the time for a new prescription, but before I provide it, I need to assess how you are genuinely faring."

Juhoon wondered if it had been that obvious. That he'd only come for the medication.

"I'm fine."

He knew she wouldn't believe it. He didn't care if she believed it. His concentration hadn't managed to kick in all morning.

"What exactly would 'fine' entail?"

He didn't mean to roll his eyes, it just happened.

"Normal. Average. Like always."

"Would you permit me to offer some advice?"

He nodded mechanically. Whether he allowed it or not, she'd give it anyway.

"It is not healthy to rely exclusively on pharmacotherapy," she began, unwavering. "Medications are a support tool. A small component of what you need to recover. What truly matters is your engagement in therapy. That you actively work on the underlying issues."

"Are you going to give me the prescription or not?" Juhoon had to interrupt. He pulled his injured hand out from under his leg and started tapping his feet against the floor.

She kept the same expression.

"Certainly. However, I believe we should reduce the dosage. You have been stable these past months, and—"

"No." He spoke louder than intended, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. "I'm not lowering it. Without those pills, I shake all day. I can't leave the house or talk to anyone. They're the only thing keeping me from being a complete disaster."

The therapist watched him in silence. There wasn't judgment in her eyes, just a kind of professional sadness. She'd seen these self-destructive patterns too many times. She knew how patients like him usually ended up.

"They're the only thing that makes it stop," Juhoon said, much softer. "Please."

There was a contradiction in him he couldn't resolve. He didn't want to suffer, but sometimes he needed the ache. It was the only thing that felt real, because it was all he'd ever known.

"If you don't give them to me," he then resorted to a low, corrosive tactic, "I'll talk to my dad. I'll tell him it's not worth paying a therapist who won't prescribe what I need. I'm sure he'll find someone else who actually does their job."

The blackmail hung in the air. She didn't react. Losing one patient wouldn't matter given her reputation and the waiting list for her appointments. Truth be told, she'd only taken Juhoon's case as a favor. His father and her husband had been college roommates and close friends. She could easily drop him, but she wouldn't. Over the eighteen months they'd been meeting, sometimes intermittently, she'd grown fond of him. Maybe because he reminded her of her own grandson.

She recognized his desperation. He was grasping at anything to escape a state he felt powerless to control. So she chose a different route.

"Alright, here is the agreement. You will maintain the same dosage," she said as she wrote. "However, I require you to return next week. Not in a month. Next week."

Juhoon opened his mouth to protest. She raised a hand, knowing exactly what he'd say.

"Non‑negotiable. If you wish to receive the medication, you will attend weekly sessions. We can discuss whatever you like, or we can sit in silence. But you must come. Otherwise, I will cease providing the prescriptions."

Classical conditioning. Take away a child's daily chocolate, and they throw a tantrum. Give it back with a warning, and they behave. The human mind was that predictable. Juhoon was no exception.

He nodded.

She finished writing, tore off the sheet, and handed it to him. He tucked the slip of paper into his hoodie pocket.

"One more thing. Not as your therapist, but as someone who has grown rather fond of you." She waited until he looked at her. "What happened with your previous partner was terrible. But you do not need to define your entire life by that experience. You were a victim, but you are not one any longer. It is not beneficial to adopt a victim mentality, nor to become the aggressor yourself. You do not have to replicate what you were taught. Just as you learned those patterns, you can unlearn them. You only need to sincerely wish to try."

Juhoon couldn't believe it. She'd said to his face that he played the victim. How dare she? He was the number one hater of people who assumed that role. Whenever he spotted someone like that, he'd openly criticize them. And maybe he did it because he was projecting. After all, we tend to judge others based on the flaws we recognize in ourselves. So that advice, whether he wanted to accept it or not, was the truth.

Juhoon stood up. "Thank you," he said.

It didn't sound grateful at all.

He left the consultation without looking back. He walked through the building's hallways on autopilot until he reached the first-floor pharmacy. He paid for his meds, plus bandages, antiseptic, and some antibiotic ointment to patch up his hand before the date.

The parking lot was nearly empty at that hour. Juhoon headed to his Hyundai and sat on the hood. He took out the four pill bottles and lined them up next to him, just staring. He'd been craving them all day, and now they were right there. Within reach. He could just pop them and shut down everything spinning in his head.

A sound.

He grabbed his phone from his back jeans pocket, guessing it was someone from his group project bugging him again about the assignment. He liked being in charge during team work. He was good at it. He also relished calling the shots. And obviously, no one did it better, he wasn't top of his class for nothing.

But his guess was completely wrong.

A message. A million feelings at once.

<happy anniversary hyung>

That was the day they'd met. Since they never had an official start date, Juhoon had picked that one. And he was confused as hell. Keonho had never cared about celebrating stuff like this. He didn't even remember them, always saying that he wasn't the sentimental type.

So why now? Why today of all days?

What do you want from me that you haven't already taken?

He opened the app. The first thing he noticed was that the profile picture was different from last week's. That one had been a promotional shot from a Miu Miu campaign that had been trending for months. It had sparked debates on forums, a huge success that put him in the top three most searched Korean celebrities. Everything Keonho touched, wore, ate, or talked about turned to gold. Juhoon bet his company execs were constantly patting themselves on the back for signing him.

This new photo felt more real. More Keonho. The Keonho he used to know.

A selfie that looked like it was taken on a plane. His whole face visible, cropped just below his chest. White wireless earbuds. Those screw earrings he'd been seeing on him a lot lately. A white t-shirt with black lettering, partly hidden under a crimson brown leather jacket. No product in his hair, just those uneven layers falling over his forehead. Barely any makeup. His face tilted slightly, showing off that sharp jaw. Eyes straight at the camera, mouth half open. Tempting. Provocative.

Juhoon scrolled into their chat and realized he'd never deleted their last conversation. It wasn't much. Just a selfie of Keonho with a snow globe, pretending to bite it, along with a message about how he'd love to live in a small igloo with Juhoon forever. Juhoon's reply had been a silly heart sticker. Nothing weird. Pretty normal for two people who'd been through so much together.

Besides, they didn't text all day. Just once in a while, and not even long convos. Mostly venting. Keonho about work, Juhoon about uni. Lots of food pics, random places, random things. Calls never lasted more than twenty minutes and were way less frequent than texts. Maybe twice a month. No big deal. Nothing incriminating or explicit. It was almost friendly. Almost.

But if it wasn't a big deal, then why did Juhoon always delete the history? Why did he do it behind Seonghyeon's back?

Because he knew it was messed up. He was being a hypocrite, forbidding Seonghyeon things he did himself. He was sabotaging his own progress by not cutting ties. But he couldn't give it up. Complete silence had never been an option for them. He'd told himself he could handle it. As long as Keonho was far away, there was no danger. He wasn't doing anything bad. He had everything under control.

His fingers started typing on their own.

<i miss u>

He sent it before thinking. A raw impulse, straight from the thing in his chest that refused to quit beating for that person.

His phone buzzed almost instantly.

<u won't have to miss me for much longer>

Juhoon stared at the words, overthinking like crazy.

Did that mean he was coming back? That he was close? That soon they'd be in the same city, maybe the same room, breathing the same air?

His thumbs moved with a sudden rush of energy.

<u coming?>

<when?>

<where r u now?>

<wanna see u>

Then he remembered. His past and his present. Keonho wasn't his boyfriend anymore, if he'd ever really been. His actual boyfriend was getting ready to meet him for lunch. Seonghyeon. The one who put up with his outbursts, who comforted him, who hadn't left yet.

He'd planned this lunch with Seonghyeon for today on purpose. A cover. So he could secretly celebrate the anniversary with Keonho without admitting it to himself. He told himself it meant nothing. Just routine. And Seonghyeon didn't need to know.

So Juhoon deleted the messages. If they were gone, they never happened. He put the phone away, grabbed the pills, and dry-swallowed one from each bottle. Then he got in the car, started the engine, and drove off.

 

 

They went to that pasta place all the time. It was close to campus, the food was really good for the price, so it was usually packed. But Juhoon, always planning ahead, managed to snag a table for two just as a couple was getting up. Now they sat there. Seonghyeon with his laptop, typing like crazy, and Juhoon reviewing sketches in the notebook he never put down, even in the bathroom. Working ahead while waiting for their food.

Seonghyeon glanced up, trying to remember a line from the play script he was revising for next month's showcase, when he caught Juhoon deep in concentration. His ash-blond bangs fell over his eyes, and every so often he'd blow them away. He held his pencil like it was a cigarette, with this elegant grace that made him look almost royal. When he finished a stroke, he'd set the pencil down and bite the tip of his index finger. Studying his work, searching for mistakes only he could see.

It was so captivating that Seonghyeon pulled out his phone. He opened the camera, focused, and took shots from different angles. First full shots, then close-ups of those striking pink lips. His skin was as pale and smooth as tofu. The odd shape of his nose, which Juhoon hated, Seonghyeon found unique. It had this perfectly rounded tip, like something out of a cartoon. And those moles, like little ink splashes, sat in just the right places, making his face even more surreal.

Juhoon was so beautiful that even the camera couldn't capture it. Neither could the thousands of poems Seonghyeon had written about him.

"So pretty," Seonghyeon whispered, already excited about his new lockscreen.

Juhoon looked up. Their eyes met through the phone's lens, and for a second he looked confused. Then, as he realized what was happening, his cheeks flushed a deep pink.

"You done playing paparazzi?" he asked, sounding unbothered to cover how nervous he felt.

"Just snapping my cute boyfriend," Seonghyeon said, lowering the phone with a proud smile.

Juhoon rolled his eyes, but a smile tugged at his lips. He shook his head and looked back at his notebook, though his focus was gone.

The waitress, a girl around their age with short dyed red hair, appeared with two white ceramic plates. A Korean-style clam pasta for Seonghyeon and a carbonara for Juhoon. They put away their stuff to make room.

Juhoon watched her. The difference was obvious. She gave him his plate fast, impersonal, formal. Barely a glance. But with Seonghyeon, she took her time. She leaned in just enough for her cleavage to be more visible. Juhoon was sure she'd even held her breath when she got close. And was she biting her lip? He thought he saw it.

"Here you are." She adjusted Seonghyeon's plate again, turning it slightly like she was positioning it just right. "Can I get you anything else? More water? Some extra napkins?" Her voice was sweet, too sweet for a simple check-in. Professional on the surface, but the way she lingered on him said otherwise.

Her whole vibe was pure pick me. The way she looked at Seonghyeon, completely smitten, like he was the charming prince she dreamed about. She tucked her hair behind her pierced ear, pretending to be shy. Her smile stretched too wide, like she was posing for a toothpaste commercial. And she thought no one noticed, but Juhoon saw how her gaze dropped to his hands, tracing the length of his fingers. Juhoon wanted to dump the steaming pasta on her head. To restrain himself, he tightened his grip on the metal chopsticks.

"No, get lost," Juhoon snapped, his voice ice cold.

The girl finally looked at Juhoon, blinking fast, like she'd never been spoken to like that. Good. He was happy to be her first. She forced a smile, tucked the tray behind her back, and gave a small bow.

"Enjoy your meal, then."

When she left, Juhoon stirred his pasta, mixing the pancetta into the sauce. Creamy as always. This place was just the best.

"Hyung, wasn't that a little rude?" Seonghyeon asked, his voice gentle but uneasy.

Juhoon stopped and spoke without looking at him. He was just as guilty as her. "Why should I be nice to some girl who's all over my boyfriend right in front of me?"

"Still, you shouldn't let things like that get to you so much." Seonghyeon said what he thought, direct and honest.

Juhoon licked the corner of his mouth, annoyed by how polite his boyfriend was. It pissed him off, but not enough to cause a scene. Lucky for Seonghyeon, his meds had already kicked in. Otherwise, that girl would've been crying, and he probably would've taken it out on him too.

"She's been staring at you since you got here. And she wasn't even the one who served me when I walked in. Bet she traded shifts with her coworker just to pull that desperate act. She touched you. Made it so obvious she's down for whatever. And you're seriously gonna sit there and tell me I can't be rude to her?" Juhoon laid out every detail with that sharp eye of his, then dropped his chopsticks with a clatter. "Unbelievable."

"Hyung, come on, let's just drop it." Seonghyeon didn't want to fight again.

He'd noticed her interest, sure, but he'd ignored her. What he really wanted to avoid was Juhoon's reaction. Jealous Juhoon could be savage. Endless demands, broken dishes blamed on her, fake theft accusations from the tip jar. People had lost their jobs that way. All because he couldn't stand someone eyeing what was his.

"Why? You like her or something? Gonna slide her your number when I go to the bathroom?" One paranoid question after another.

Seonghyeon took his clenched hand and brought it to his lips, kissing it softly.

"How could I want anyone else when I'm so crazy about you?" The words slipped out smooth and natural. "Come on, let's just forget about it and eat, yeah?"

Juhoon's breath caught. He'd never get tired of hearing Seonghyeon say things like that. It made the knot in his chest loosen a little.

"Fine," Juhoon murmured, reaching over to squeeze Seonghyeon's cheek between his fingers.

He pulled his hand back and grabbed the chopsticks. He twirled a good amount of noodles and stuffed them into his mouth, chewing happily. The world would suck without Parmesan cheese.

"You sure you don't need help with that? I can feed you if you want."

Juhoon looked up. Seonghyeon hadn't touched his food. He was staring at the bandaged hand with so much worry that Juhoon felt stupid for hurting himself in the first place.

"I got it," Juhoon said. He'd actually love to be fed, but not in public. That was too embarrassing. At home, though, he'd totally take advantage.

"You said it was just a little burn, but it looks pretty bad." Seonghyeon's voice was soft, like he didn't want to push too hard.

"Told you, I just bandaged it because I hurt it while sleeping. It's not as bad as it looks. Seriously, I'm fine." Juhoon smiled at him, then sucked on his chopsticks, not wanting to waste any of that amazing sauce.

Seonghyeon didn't buy that excuse for a second. Something else was going on. Juhoon seemed different today, his eyes sadder than usual. But he didn't want to pressure him. If Juhoon wasn't bringing it up himself, there had to be a reason.

"I really think you should let a doctor look at it."

"No." Juhoon said it softly, the way he'd learned from Seonghyeon himself. "Just eat, you know you hate it when your food gets cold."

Seonghyeon wanted to keep arguing, but Juhoon had a point. He couldn't stand cold food. That didn't mean he was giving up, though. If Juhoon wouldn't go to the hospital, he'd take care of the wound properly once they got home. Proper cleaning, fresh bandages, the whole deal.

They ate in silence for a while. The comfortable type. The restaurant was noisy, packed with students, but the soft jazz playing in the background kept it from being overwhelming. It was actually kind of nice.

"Hey," Seonghyeon said after a moment, measuring his words. "Remember when my sister texted me the other day?"

Juhoon felt his shoulders tense, but he kept eating. He nodded, not wanting to talk with his mouth full. His eyes flickered to the small scar on Seonghyeon's eyebrow. The one he'd caused. He looked away fast.

"Well, you saw she said she wanted to meet you. And... not just her, my parents too." Seonghyeon glanced at him, a little anxious, like he wasn't sure how Juhoon would take it.

Juhoon's chopsticks stopped halfway to his mouth. The noodles slipped and fell back onto the plate, splashing a bit of sauce on the tablecloth.

"Your parents?"

"Yeah." Seonghyeon's dimples showed as he wiped a bit of chive off his tooth with his tongue. "We've been together a while, and I'm always talking about you, so... they're curious. They want to meet the person who makes their son so happy."

"Wait, you want me to meet your parents?" Juhoon could hardly believe it.

"I mean, isn't that what couples do? Meet each other's families? I thought we could go to my place this weekend. Have dinner with them, hang out. Nothing fancy. And I wanna show you my room too. Also, my dad's an amazing cook. You'll love it."

Juhoon stared at his half-empty plate, not really seeing the food. His mind had drifted somewhere else. To old wounds. Keonho had never offered to introduce him to his parents. Never even brought it up. Not even as a friend.

Once, Juhoon had asked if he could ever meet Keonho's family. Keonho had laughed in his face. Called him stupid. Asked if he still didn't understand that what they had was a secret. Then he added that someone like Juhoon would never fit into his world. Keonho's mother was a TV producer, his father the CEO of an entertainment company. They'd clearly paved his way. Online haters called him a nepo baby for a reason.

In the end, Juhoon had believed it. That he wasn't good enough. Too plain, too invisible, too small to be shown off. To be accepted.

And now Seonghyeon was offering him exactly what he'd once desperately wanted.

"Hyung?"

"I don't know." Juhoon coughed and grabbed a napkin, avoiding Seonghyeon's eyes. "It's... it's too soon."

"Soon?" Seonghyeon repeated, clearly disappointed.

"Yeah, I mean, we're in the middle of midterms and assignments. We barely have time to breathe. Maybe another time would work better." Juhoon spun an excuse that wasn't entirely a lie. Even if they could probably spare one afternoon.

Seonghyeon understood. Juhoon wasn't ready, and he didn't want to push. Juhoon had never suggested bringing him to his own family home. Truth was, Seonghyeon doubted his parents even knew he existed. He'd never asked, and he never would. He just assumed Juhoon didn't have a good relationship with them. It made sense. He'd moved into his own place as soon as college started. As far as Seonghyeon could tell, his parents never called or visited. The only thing he knew was that they paid for his therapy.

"Sure, no rush, just wanted you to know my family already likes you, that's all." Seonghyeon smiled reassuringly.

Juhoon felt like he'd swallowed a dry lump of paper. Instead of dissolving, it swelled in his throat, making it hard to breathe. He felt grateful, sure. But also undeserving of so much patience. He changed the subject before the lump grew bigger.

"So Martin's got another battle? When is it? James-hyung didn't mention it on the phone yesterday."

"Yeah, next Friday. Says it's a big one." Seonghyeon nodded, picking at a clam with his chopstick.

"Every battle's a big one to Martin." Juhoon watched him chew and felt something warm in his chest.

"True, but this time he found out some important people are coming. Talent scouts, producers, that kind of crowd." Seonghyeon licked his lips, already red from the spice. "Oh, right, he wants us there. Well, you mostly. He's counting on you to take the pictures."

"'Course he does." Juhoon scoffed. "Thinks I'm his personal photographer or something. Whatever, I'm with you. We bill him the second that first paycheck hits. Gonna drain him dry."

Seonghyeon laughed. His shoulders shook, his eyes turning into two little crescents. Juhoon loved that sound. It wasn't loud or booming. Just a soft, quiet chuckle that felt like an autumn breeze. He wished he could hear it more often.

Seonghyeon pointed at his plate with his chin. "Wanna try?"

Juhoon eyed the food suspiciously.

"Depends. What spice level did you get?"

"Mild, it's not that spicy. You can handle it, hyung." Seonghyeon scooped up a perfect bite, a bit of everything.

Juhoon was terrible with spicy food. Seonghyeon loved it. So he never really trusted him when he said something wasn't spicy. Usually, Seonghyeon's 'not that spicy' meant tears and sniffles for Juhoon.

"If it's too hot, you're buying me ice cream after," Juhoon warned, leaning in.

"Deal." Seonghyeon was more than happy to agree.

He blew on it a few times before bringing it to Juhoon's lips, his other hand cupped underneath to catch any drips. Juhoon had a small mouth, but he took the whole bite. Seonghyeon swallowed, resisting the urge to kiss him right there. Juhoon looked way too endearing with his cheeks puffed out.

"Good? Too much?"

Juhoon nodded first, then shook his head. He let the flavors sit on his tongue. Butter, garlic, seafood, and just a hint of spice. Totally fine, thanks to the cream. Once he swallowed, he took a sip of his Sprite and pointed at Seonghyeon.

"Still want that ice cream."

"Anything you want, hyung. Just tell me, and it's yours." Seonghyeon grabbed a napkin and reached over to wipe Juhoon's mouth.

Yeah, Juhoon was definitely living his best life.

His phone buzzed on the table. He glanced out of the corner of his eye, and his heart did a triple flip in his chest. Keonho again. He didn't want to look. He wouldn't open it while sitting across from Seonghyeon. He quickly turned it over, screen down.

"Was it important?" Seonghyeon asked.

"Nah. Just an ad."

Seonghyeon didn't question it.

Juhoon hated how easy it was to lie to him. And he hated the part of himself that felt relieved it was so easy. To make up for it, to quiet his guilt, he picked up his chopsticks and twirled them in the creamy noodles. Then he held them up to Seonghyeon, returning the favor.

"Open."

Seonghyeon looked surprised. Juhoon never shared his food. He was weirdly possessive about it.

"Thanks." He opened his mouth and took the bite.

Juhoon watched him chew, pretending this was a sweet gesture. But really, it was just his way of balancing things out. Of convincing himself he deserved this. This meal with this boy who treated him like he mattered. This date that was secretly just an excuse to mark an anniversary that should have been long forgotten.

It didn't work. All he could think about was grabbing his phone and texting back to the one who broke him first.

 

 

The nightlife in Hongdae was usually pretty lively. Juhoon had trouble finding a parking spot near the club. It was busier than normal, no surprise there. Open mic night had been hyped up like crazy, especially the rap battles, and word got around that some entertainment industry people might show up.

Juhoon walked into that purple neon-lit atmosphere hand in hand with Seonghyeon. The DJ's mixes and the crowd moving everywhere made his head spin a little. Everyone had their own style, expressing themselves through their outfits. Juhoon usually loved seeing that artistic variety, but tonight it felt like too much. Too much sweat, too much alcohol, too many people. His introverted self was begging to go home, but he couldn't let Martin down again. He'd already disappointed him enough times.

Seonghyeon had Juhoon's camera hanging from his shoulder, shielding it from the shoving with his own body. He knew how maniac his boyfriend got about his stuff. It was a Canon with a big lens, weighed a ton, but he didn't complain. He'd been hitting the gym a lot lately and had built up good endurance and nice biceps that Juhoon never missed a chance to bite. That's exactly why he had to cover his arms today. He wore a gray hoodie with the hood up and a black leather jacket over it, simple loose jeans, and sneakers. Casual and very Seonghyeon.

"You see hyung anywhere?" Juhoon shouted over the music, unzipping his mustard yellow coat as the heat started getting to him. He opened it wide, revealing his torso and waist so nicely sculpted by a tight white tee.

Seonghyeon stood on his tiptoes, scanning the crowd.

"There. With some guys."

They wove through the crowd, dodging elbows and sloshing drinks. James leaned against the bar, looking as fashion forward as ever with that grunge-utilitarian vibe. He wore an oversized dark gray sweatshirt he'd hacked into a rough crop, showing off his V-line and a hint of abs. Wide cargo pants cinched with a brown leather studded belt. His usual silver initial necklace, metal frame glasses, and that beige band-aid on his cheek that was more for looks than anything. The buzz cut tied the whole vintage style together perfectly.

He was talking to two people with a very punk-goth aesthetic. Black from head to toe, tattoos everywhere, piercings connecting lips to ears. They looked like they'd stepped out of the manga Nana. When he noticed them approaching, his expression shifted completely.

Juhoon had to admit he'd felt intimidated the first time he met James. He'd totally misjudged him. James had a scary resting face. Juhoon took him for some arrogant jerk with a nasty personality and even bet he wouldn't last long with Martin. But after James started opening up more each time they hung out, he realized how wrong he'd been. It wasn't that James was unfriendly. He was just selective. He didn't let just anyone in.

James turned out to be the most strangely cool person Juhoon had ever met. James was the opposite of nonchalant. He actually cared. A lot. He just didn't wear it on his sleeve. He'd also become a huge support for Juhoon. Whenever things got tough, Juhoon would think of calling James before Martin. He was like the older brother Juhoon never knew he needed. And the feeling was mutual, James adored Juhoon like his own blood.

"Hey, look who finally made it. " He greeted them with a punch to each of their shoulders. "Martin was starting to freak."

"Where is he?" Juhoon asked.

"Backstage, warming up. C'mon."

James said goodbye to the people he was with and led them toward a side door guarded by a huge bald guy with headphones. The guard gave a nod, and they were in.

Martin stood in front of the fogged-up mirror, half-broken and covered in rocker stickers. He was way taller than it and had to stoop to see himself, mouthing the rhymes he'd be dropping tonight. Over and over. He was up against a good friend, so he wouldn't go too hard or try too much. Still, he'd give it everything. He knew Woojin would come ready to eat him alive and wouldn't go easy just because they were buddies. This would definitely be one of his best battles in a while.

He'd spent hours picking his outfit and was pretty happy with it. A black bomber jacket with a hood featuring the Balenciaga logo in reverse white that he'd scored at a thrift store. That day he felt like he'd won the lottery. Faded blue jeans hanging low on his waist, showing off the Calvin Klein logo on his boxers. His red and white Jordans, obviously. Black sunglasses over hair styled with a bit of hairspray, just giving that wet look that made his light brown hair seem darker. And white nail polish that James had hurriedly painted on before coming. He looked relaxed and stylish. Oh, he nailed it.

Juhoon had to clear his throat. He knew better than anyone that when Martin was in the zone, he tuned out the whole world. Martin looked up, caught their reflection, and spun around with that huge, infectious smile of his.

"Yo, my twinski is here!" He boomed, throwing his long arms in the air like a soccer player after scoring the winning goal.

He strode toward them in big steps and grabbed Juhoon by the waist, lifting him and spinning him around like a kite. Juhoon sighed, used to his golden retriever energy, so he just held onto his shoulders and waited for it to be over. His deadpan expression didn't change.

Once on the ground, he crossed his arms and went back to Seonghyeon's side.

"Can you stop calling me that? It's so embarrassing."

"Friendship is magic. How can you be embarrassed?" Martin looked at him, putting on his best hurt face.

"The hell is that My Little Pony crap?" Juhoon mocked, judging him hard.

"Man, Rarity is top tier. That pony had swag, and her purple hair was everything." James commented out of nowhere, debating quite seriously. "Who was your favorite, Seonghyeon?"

Juhoon couldn't believe how ridiculous and unserious the conversation had become.

Seonghyeon looked up for a moment, trying to remember the names.

"Fluttershy," he said simply.

"Oh, yeah, that tracks." James nodded, glancing at Juhoon.

Juhoon couldn't believe James was actually comparing him to one of those little horses with stickers on their butts. He felt insulted. Why Fluttershy when there were cooler ones? Rainbow Dash would've been a way better fit. At least they didn't compare him to that annoying pink one. That would've been worse.

"Can we stop talking about ponies?" Juhoon rubbed his temples, disappointed in himself for all the nonsense he'd just conjured. He felt like at least five of his neurons had died in the process.

"Look, you even brought the equipment. Would you really do that for someone who wasn't your twinski?" Martin questioned him, making a lopsided heart with his fingers.

Juhoon gave him a grimace, lifting the corner of his upper lip, not pleased with the heart's irregularity.

"Seonghyeon brought it. Only came 'cause hyung asked me to." Juhoon stepped back and pressed against Seonghyeon, silently asking for a back hug.

Seonghyeon obliged, holding him with that familiar softness and resting his chin on Juhoon's collarbone, careful not to dig in too hard.

Martin let out a muffled shriek, like he hadn't seen that coming at all.

"It's true what they say. Betrayal always comes from those closest to you." Martin shook his head, putting on a lame performance before switching gears and leaning against the wall, eyeing his partner up and down. "Okay, shawty. I see you. You got all dressed up just for me, huh?"

James was far from impressed. He was used to Martin's shamelessness.

"Enough with that. Get your head in the game. Someone from AOMG is here, supposedly."

"AOMG?" Seonghyeon raised both eyebrows. "Jay Park's label?"

When James nodded, Martin went pale.

"Wow, this is big. Really big." The weight of it all seemed to crash down on Martin. "If he likes me, maybe I'll finally make it. But if he doesn't, or if I mess up tonight... Shit, didn't know people that important might show up."

Juhoon saw him starting to lose confidence. He was probably sinking into pessimism, and that would only mess him up. So he decided to step in. He elbowed Seonghyeon in the stomach to make him let go, then moved toward his best friend.

"Come on, get it together." Juhoon clicked his fingers in front of Martin's face. "How could they not like you? There's only one Martin Edwards in the world. Nobody does it like you do. Literally don't know anyone who loves music more than you. So if they don't like you, screw 'em. They can keep overproducing and remixing Mommae."

James cracked a half-smile when Martin let out a silly laugh.

"Besides, the worst that could happen is you get famous and forget we exist. God, I'd hate it if you became one of those insufferable celebs with a stick up their ass. I swear I'll sneak past your security just to kick your ass at some trashy concert." Juhoon wasn't kidding about that.

But Martin laughed anyway. That boost of good energy calmed him down. He looked at the three people around him. The ones who'd always stuck by him. The ones who'd helped him the most. The ones he knew would be in his life forever. He felt lucky, so he promised himself not to fall back into that old distrust.

"Can't promise you and Seonghyeon anything, but this hottie right here is stuck with me for life." Martin joked, trying to lighten the mood. "And if I flop and stay broke, he's gonna have to deal with just my love."

Martin hooked his fingers into the belt loops of James's pants and pulled him closer. That was hot.

"What a ripoff," James said, yanking Martin down by the jacket. "I want a refund."

Juhoon found the dynamic between those two so interesting. The goofy, yearning boyfriend with the one who seemed dismissive but was actually even goofier. They matched each other's weirdness. And that nearly six-inch height difference made them look genuinely adorable.

How they got together was also interesting. Martin went to see a contemporary dance performance with some friends. The piece ran every week because it was that good. James was the principal dancer, and Martin fell for him right there. At eighteen, he knew this passionate, art-obsessed guy was the one he wanted to share everything with.

And Martin worked for it. He waited outside James's dance academy every single day for a year, trying to get his number. He put up with the way James ignored him, his rejections, watching him be with other people, and all kinds of crazy weather. Then one day, before James came out, Martin went to buy a caramel pudding. When he bumped into James, he babbled something stupid and offered it to him. James's eyes lit up. Turns out he was obsessed with pudding. He smiled, took Martin's hand, and led him to a bench. They spent the whole afternoon together. That was it.

Now they'd been together for about two years, living in James's apartment for one. They made content together and supported each other's careers. They traveled whenever they could, backpacking on a budget. Last year they spent Christmas with James's family in Taiwan. Their relationship was serious. They had a steady but never boring thing going on that anyone would envy. Juhoon included, but in a good way, of course.

Seonghyeon thought it was time to give them some privacy.

He cleared his throat, taking Juhoon's hand. "What time do you go on, hyung?"

Martin stopped eye-fucking his boyfriend long enough to answer. "Twenty, man. Stay up front so you don't miss me. And Juhoon, make sure you get my good side, yeah?"

"Didn't know you had one," Juhoon shot back, making everyone laugh except the one it was directed at.

"Hey, don't be mean. You know it's the left." Martin affirmed, showing off his very angular profile, looking quite proud of himself.

"Whatever." Juhoon rolled his eyes.

There were about three battles before Martin's. Juhoon ignored them all. He just swayed side to side, vibing with the music, and sipping sparkling water through a straw. His meds meant no alcohol, not that he wanted any anyway. He'd never liked the taste. The only time he joined the crowd was when they booed. That was the most fun part of waiting.

When Martin came out, Juhoon got into position. He took the camera from Seonghyeon and handed over his water bottle. The burn on his hand had healed a lot over the past week, so no more bandages. He crouched at the edge of the stage and set up. Then he looked at Martin's opponent and almost dropped his jaw. Jeong Woojin. They'd been in the same year back in high school, but since Juhoon had repeated, they never really crossed paths. From what Juhoon knew, Woojin used to stutter and had terrible stage fright. He'd once dropped out of a theater play before saying a single line. Juhoon hoped he'd gotten over it, because tonight's crowd was brutal.

Woojin jumped to center stage when the DJ dropped a gritty, street-style beat. He grabbed the mic and started spitting syllables at lightning speed, going after Martin's outfit first, pointing and leaning back in mock disgust. Juhoon was impressed. It looked like he'd beaten the stutter. Good for him. Martin stayed in a corner, hands in his pockets, looking unfazed. Woojin then took a cheap shot at Martin's Wasian background, questioning whether he was really Korean. Juhoon knew it was all part of the show, but it still stung. Xenophobia and racism weren't a joke in this country.

When Woojin finished his round, he spun the mic around his finger and flipped it to his other hand. The place went absolutely wild, but Juhoon didn't get it. Maybe everyone was just too high and drunk to notice it wasn't that impressive.

Martin signaled the DJ and played a beat he'd produced himself. He moved with the rhythm, flowing like he didn't have a care in the world. Cool and collected. He picked that up from James, for sure. Then he let loose. His first line flipped Woojin's own punchline back at him. He went for social commentary first, calling out the double standards, then he did a wordplay about being low-key Korean. After that, he got in Woojin's face, put a hand above his head to emphasize the height difference, and straight-up told him he was better at everything.

Martin was fierce but effortless. He never missed a beat, and James was going crazy cheering him on. He finished by whispering his last line, then he dropped the mic and tucked his hands back in his pockets. The referee raised Martin's hand before Woojin could even respond. Because it didn't matter. The crowd had already decided. Woojin and Martin shook hands.  

Seonghyeon and James applauded. Juhoon just whistled, too busy getting the final wide shot of Martin's win. The shots turned out amazing. When Martin stepped off stage, sweating and grinning, Juhoon lowered the camera and gave him a thumbs up. Martin mouthed 'I know' and vanished backstage to make room for the next act.

After all the performances, the club got much quieter. The lights dimmed, the music mellowed out. Most of the people left were dancing, chatting, or smoking in corners. Juhoon and James sat at the bar, reviewing the photos.

"These are sick," James said, scrolling through the images. "You got the frame of him dragging that dude over the height thing. Like yeah, we get it, Martin, you're tall. Very impressive. Anyway, we can work with these."

"So I met expectations. Good to know." Juhoon stretched, raising his arms over his head and cracking his knuckles.

"You're really good. If Martin doesn't pay up, I'll hire you to shoot my Insta pics." James took a sip of his Margarita.

"You take great photos too, hyung." Juhoon gestured modestly. James wasn't just a professional dancer, he was also a pretty big tiktoker with a solid following. He knew his way around a camera.

"Yeah, but you're way better. My thing is more editing videos, you know." James shrugged, nodding his head to the beat in the background.

"I'll email you the originals tomorrow. Unedited, obviously."

"Perfect, man." James patted his head. "Go have fun, I'll watch the camera. Promise I'll take care of it."

"You sure?" Juhoon hated being that guy, but he couldn't help it.

"Yeah, go to Seonghyeon. Looks like he's about to start crying if you don't go to him soon."

Juhoon looked over at his boyfriend. Seonghyeon had positioned himself by a column, far from everyone else. He always did that to keep his distance from anyone who might trigger Juhoon's jealousy. No chatting, no eye contact with strangers. Just a quiet corner where he waited. His arms were crossed, but his body swayed slightly, like he was itching to dance. He was holding back for him. Juhoon noticed, and he appreciated it more than he'd ever say.

"Okay," Juhoon said, slowly letting go of the camera strap. "Please, guard it like your life depends on it."

"Chill, I've got it."

Juhoon got off the stool and walked toward Seonghyeon, dodging people as much as possible. He was fussy about personal space. You never knew where those people had been or what they'd taken, so it was better to keep his distance.

When he reached him, Seonghyeon grabbed his waist and pulled him close. Juhoon let him, slipping his hands inside Seonghyeon's hood for support.

"Done?" Seonghyeon asked, burying his nose in Juhoon's neck. They'd only been apart for like ten minutes, but it felt way too long.

"Yeah, hyung's got the camera. Martin's still talking to that dude. You think he's from a good label?" Juhoon sniffed Seonghyeon's hoodie in return. He didn't care how it looked.

"Don't know." Seonghyeon didn't sound interested at all. How could he focus on anything else when his boyfriend looked this good? He leaned into Juhoon's ear, sending a shiver down his spine. "C'mon, dance with me."

Juhoon didn't hesitate. He'd say yes to anything right now. Seonghyeon led him to a less crowded spot on the floor. The music buzzed through them, but it didn't feel overwhelming anymore. Maybe because Seonghyeon positioned himself behind him, hips fitting against his lower back, hands resting on his hip bones, thumbs pressing just right.

Seonghyeon bobbed his head, catching the rhythm, then started to move. Slow at first. He rolled his upper body down little by little, pulling Juhoon with him in a smooth wave. Juhoon had been shocked the first time he saw Seonghyeon dance. It wasn't about fancy moves, it was the way he moved. So fucking hypnotic.

Juhoon had zero coordination. His body never did what he wanted. Seonghyeon laughed, not to mock him, just because he found it endearing.

"Like this, hyung. Try again." Seonghyeon whispered close to his ear, and Juhoon's eyes fluttered shut.

Seonghyeon started another roll, slower this time, arching his back and guiding Juhoon through the motion. His chest pressed against Juhoon's shoulder blades. His hips pushed forward, again and again.

Juhoon's arms reached back, grabbing at anything he could find. His mouth hung open, breathing hard, but the music covered it. His shirt clung to him, damp with sweat. He didn't even notice he was pushing his ass back harder, begging for more friction. Seonghyeon didn't speed up, he just stayed steady, making it all seem innocent. And Juhoon knew he wasn't doing it on purpose, but still, it was too much. They hadn't had sex in days, and this was the hottest thing they'd done in ages.

Then... something shifted.

A tingle.

That gut feeling when someone's watching.

Juhoon's eyes darted to the side. A few meters away, across the floor, a man stood staring at him.

Gray beanie. Sunglasses. Mask. A leather jacket just like Seonghyeon's, but worn open. White tank top. Dark jeans. Black boots.

The way he stood, with hip cocked, right arm tucked under his left armpit, like he was cold. The way he held his beer, by the neck, with two fingers. Thumb and index. Like using his whole hand was too much effort.

It was him. There wasn't a doubt.

Juhoon felt weightless. Like he was floating. Like he'd just turned into a fucking marshmallow. Then the world spun, and he lost his balance. He fell forward, face-first into something hard. But it wasn't the floor, it was something else. A wall. The same wall he'd tried to climb so many times, only to come crashing down. Again and again and again.

How long had it been? A year? No, a little more. Exactly as long as he'd been with Seonghyeon.

Keonho hadn't been physically around since this relationship started. Since Juhoon tried to piece himself back together with the scraps Keonho left behind. But now he was here, watching him with someone else. And for a second, Juhoon felt guilty, like he was cheating on the wrong person. Stupid, right?

He should have felt angry, or numb, or sad. Any of those would've made sense.

But no.

Instead, a pure, monstrous lust overtook him. It was stronger than anything Seonghyeon's dancing had stirred.

Juhoon pressed himself harder against his boyfriend, grabbed his face, and twisted his neck to kiss him deeply, tongue and all, while keeping his eyes wide open. He tracked Keonho's reaction because that little revenge was meant for him and only him. He wondered how his ex felt now that he was paying him back in the same coin. Juhoon truly hoped he felt miserable.

Keonho just stood there, unfazed and untouched, and that stillness made a vicious, hungry fury seep from every pore in Juhoon's body.

He spun around.

"Baby," Juhoon purred, leaving little nibbles along Seonghyeon's neck.

"Mm?" Seonghyeon was still distracted by the music, his body swaying as he lost himself in the rhythm. He was looking forward to the next track so he could call James over and really let loose. Dancing with James was always a blast, the two of them made a killer duo on the floor.

"Let's go to the bathroom," Juhoon whispered, biting his lip.

"You need to pee?" Seonghyeon asked, completely missing the hint.

Juhoon knew Seonghyeon could be slow with these things, so he decided to be more direct.

"Nah, just want you to fuck me there."

Bang.

Seonghyeon didn't blink at first. He glanced around, making sure no one else had heard that shameless confession. Then he gently moved Juhoon's hands away, they were sliding too close to a dangerous territory.

"Why don't we just enjoy the party? The guys will join us soon and—"

"Why the fuck should I care about them?" Juhoon fired back, his annoyance flaring. He kept his hands on Seonghyeon, pressing closer. "Why are you making excuses? Why don't you want to do it with me?" His voice dropped to a more suggestive tone, very insistent. "I really want to, please. We never do anything like this. Come on, just say yes. Let's do it just for tonight, okay?"

Seonghyeon shifted uncomfortably and took a step back. He stood his ground more firmly. He wouldn't give in this time, because even he had his limits when it came to Juhoon's influence.

"It's not that I don't want to do it with you," Seonghyeon confessed, hoping for a little understanding. "I'm just not into that. You know me, don't you?" He had gone along with the kiss because he didn't want to leave Juhoon hanging, but the truth was that he never enjoyed that kind of public display. It made him uncomfortable.

He was naturally shy, and the risk of getting caught in such an intimate act terrified him. Instead of turning him on, the thought of it completely killed the mood. He also didn't want to put Juhoon on display like that. In his eyes, Juhoon deserved something better, something more meaningful and respectful than a rushed encounter in a club restroom.

"You don't like anything," Juhoon shot back, pushing him away. Then he went for a low blow. "Sometimes I think you don't even like me."

It wasn't the first time Juhoon had said something like that, and yet it hurt just as much every single time. Seonghyeon could handle having his intentions doubted or being accused of fake infidelities, but having his love questioned was inconceivable. For Juhoon to question all the beautiful things he felt for him was a wound too deep to ignore.

"That's not true," Seonghyeon replied, keeping his cool and handling the situation like the adult he was. "We can just wait until we get home. It's not like we're leaving super late anyway."

Juhoon clenched his teeth and his fists, hating how weak he felt. There he was, begging again for something that seemed so normal to him, at least from his warped perspective. It was degrading. Having to practically plead to get fucked the way he liked made him feel so undesirable that his already fragile self-esteem completely vanished.

"Forget it," he spat. "I'm not in the mood anymore, you ruined it with your fucking self-righteous crap." The insult was wrong, but it was the truth.

He felt like a total pervert when Seonghyeon reacted so strongly to everything he suggested. He understood that they thought differently, but damn, they were a couple. In his mind, a partner was supposed to satisfy the other's needs. They were in the prime of their lives, young and wild and free, and all that. So he couldn't understand why they wouldn't take advantage of their privileges and experiment without inhibitions.

Juhoon truly didn't get it, and he suspected he never would. Sometimes he wondered if he was forcing things too much with Seonghyeon, and if they were really as compatible as he kept convincing himself they were.

"Hyung, don't be like that," Seonghyeon said, trying to step closer, hoping that a few cuddles might calm him down.

But Juhoon didn't need cuddles. He got plenty of those. What he needed was to get fucked senseless. It was that simple.

"Shut up already," Juhoon growled, giving him a nasty look that came from deep within. "Can't you see you're boring me?"

He turned and walked the other way. If he kept looking at Seonghyeon's saintly face, that angelic expression, he knew he would end up breaking another finger. There had been a time, similar to this, when Juhoon couldn't control himself and had caused a fracture that required a splint for six weeks. He had regretted it and felt awful. But right now, in this state, he perfectly understood why he had done it. He needed space. He had to clear his head before he gave in to his madness.

"Where you going?" Seonghyeon asked. He wasn't dumb enough to grab him, but he hurried to get in front of him, blocking his path.

"Anywhere you're not," Juhoon replied, savagely honest. "And don't you dare follow me." The warning in his voice made it clear that there would be severe consequences if Seonghyeon went against his wishes.

He stepped around him as if he were an obstacle and kept walking toward the exit. It wasn't a coincidence. It was causal, intentional. He wanted to walk right past Keonho.

When he did, he almost passed out. He caught a whiff of Keonho's cologne. Even after everything, Keonho still wore the same one. Juhoon looked at him and knew Keonho was looking back. He could feel him smiling behind that mask. Juhoon was a mess. He didn't know what he was doing or what he wanted, so he picked up his pace and left the club.

He was already pulling off his jacket as he headed to the back alley, craving the dark and quiet. Once there, he slung it over his shoulder and fished out his cigarettes and lighter. He leaned against the brick wall and let out a breath he didn't know when he'd started holding. Maybe during the fight with his boyfriend, or maybe when he began trading glances with his ex. He couldn't be sure.

He tried to open the pack, but the flap kept falling shut. When he finally got a cigarette out, it slipped through his fingers. He huffed and grabbed another one, faster this time. He stuck it between his lips and flicked the lighter. Nothing. Five tries, and still no flame. Nothing was going right. He was so worked up that everything felt impossible, so he tossed the lighter and the pack to the ground in frustration.

He closed his eyes and ran his hands up his face, pushing his bangs back and leaving them there, pulling as if that were the only way to get himself together. He thought about going to his car and doubling his medication. Nothing bad would happen, he'd done it before, more than once actually. It would just knock him out for a whole day, a day where he wouldn't have to deal with his own shit. Very tempting.

Almost as tempting as the person he knew was now standing in front of him. He'd heard the footsteps before they arrived, but he refused to open his eyes. He was scared to see him and feel everything all over again. Scared his heart would explode. Scared he'd throw himself into Keonho's arms and believe every single lie.

Juhoon was such a hypocrite. Acting surprised and affected, as if he hadn't planned this when he'd been setting the stage all along. He'd even picked that fight on purpose to get Seonghyeon away so he could have time alone with Keonho. His cynicism knew no bounds.

"Still smoking?"

That voice. Oh, that voice. Juhoon almost burst into tears right there. He thought he remembered it well, but he didn't at all. It didn't sound like the produced voice from interviews or the edited clips he'd watched online. This was the real thing. He'd forgotten how sweet it sounded, that tone of impossible familiarity. He didn't know how he'd ended up feeling grateful just to hear him speak.

"Thought you'd quit. Doesn't really fit your image, hyung. You're too pretty for that."

Juhoon pressed his lips together, holding back the urge to call him out. Keonho was the one who'd made him try his first cigarette back in his rebellious teen phase, trying to pick up a habit that only ended up hurting Juhoon. Unfair, sure. But far from the worst thing Keonho had done to him.

Juhoon decided he'd had enough. He couldn't keep hiding. He opened his eyes and found Keonho closer than expected. Keonho had taken off the beanie, his black hair slicked back with stray pieces falling over his forehead. The mask hung from one ear, and his glasses dangled from his shirt collar, swaying with every little move.

Keonho looked even more gorgeous, or maybe Juhoon's memory had romanticized him to the point where nothing could disappoint.

Juhoon forced the question out. "What are you doing here?"

Keonho smiled. That fucking smile. The one Juhoon had seen a thousand times in photos he hid, on other people's screens, in ads that seemed to follow him everywhere. But in person, it was different. In person, it hurt. He couldn't wrap his head around how something that once brought him so much joy could now inflict this kind of pain.

It was a paradox, he guessed. Probably had to do with the context. He could no longer call that smile his, nor could he take credit for making something so majestic happen. Now he was responsible for a different smile, one he didn't feel like preserving.

"Came for you, hyung," Keonho answered with such certainty that Juhoon's mind went blank for a second. "To win you back. Isn't it obvious?"

Keonho crouched down and picked up what Juhoon had dropped. When he stood up, he already had a cigarette between his fingers, those same fingers Juhoon had never stopped drawing. With complete ease, Keonho put it to his lips, flicked the lighter, and cupped his other hand around the flame so the wind wouldn't kill it. Once lit, he handed it over.

Juhoon took a drag, then another, clinging to that cancerous thing as if it could save him from whatever this was or whatever came next. He felt annoyed. First, because Keonho was so sure he could have him back. Second, because Keonho had already lied to him, right off the bat. Juhoon didn't doubt that Keonho wanted him in his life again, but that wasn't why he'd returned to Korea. He'd come back because his contract for that movie, the one that had been the excuse for their breakup, had ended.

Juhoon wondered why Keonho couldn't just tell the truth and why he had to insult his intelligence like that. If Keonho had been honest, if he had... No. It was always 'if' or 'what if' or stupid 'buts.' There was no justification. This was Keonho. He'd always been a deceiver, and he always would be. It was pointless to imagine alternative versions of reality. Juhoon had to stop waiting for the impossible.

But what he should do and what he could do were worlds apart. Like millions of light-years apart.

Keonho pocketed the lighter and leaned back against the wall, right next to Juhoon, keeping him company. The proximity was uninvited but unavoidable. They were like magnets with opposite poles. They could run from each other, scream and push away, deny the pull. But in the end, fate would make them cross paths again and bring them back together. That was the law of attraction, or maybe a vicious cycle. Concepts sometimes got mixed up.

"The movie was trash," Keonho said, as unimpressed as usual. "The director had no clue what he was doing, the script was predictable, and my scenes..." He paused to sigh, annoyed. "Ugh, don't even get me started on those. Whatever, let's not bring down the mood."

Juhoon had no idea what mood Keonho was talking about. Why was he giving him all these details like nothing had changed? Like Juhoon was still his? The confusion was messing with his head, so he just kept smoking. He was already halfway through that cigarette, wishing it would last forever. Then he wouldn't have to say anything to keep this conversation going, a conversation he didn't even understand, but still didn't want to end.

"Couldn't stop thinking about you over there. They have that dark folklore you love, a ton of museums, and don't even get me started on the cheese situation." Juhoon almost said something nice back, but then Keonho laughed and kept going. "No, seriously, those people are nuts about cheese and beer. Had a great time." He dragged a finger across his bottom lip, and Juhoon felt sick.

As far as Juhoon knew, Keonho hadn't been famous in Amsterdam, so he'd probably enjoyed plenty of freedom. He caught himself wondering how many people Keonho had slept with. More women than men? Did he even like men? Keonho had never given him a straight answer. When Juhoon had asked about his preferences, Keonho had just said: "You're the only one I like, hyung." A perfect non-answer that fed Juhoon exactly what he wanted to hear.

"What's the point of rehashing all that?" Juhoon asked, his tone pretty sharp. "You already texted me the highlights." He rolled his eyes. "Don't really see where you're going with any of it."

"Thought you'd like hearing it like this. Face to face, you know," Keonho replied, his voice softening as if it were something special. "Feels right, doesn't it?"

And Keonho wasn't wrong. It did feel right. More than right, actually.

Juhoon wouldn't risk answering. One wrong word could hurt him deeply, so he said nothing and just kept smoking. He blew out a stream of smoke and tried to guess the song playing faintly from the club.

"I've done a lot of thinking. About everything. About what happened. How we ended." Keonho brought up the unspoken thing hanging between them.

"You ended it," Juhoon cut in. "Don't try to rewrite history."

"Yeah, I did." Keonho sounded strangely reasonable. He turned his head to look at Juhoon, but Juhoon refused to look back.

He didn't want to be weak. He didn't want to fall. He didn't want to lose what he'd built. He had to get out of here. Staying and being part of another bad decision was suicide for his already fragile mental state. But he didn't move. He wanted to test himself, to see what he was willing to lose and whether he even wanted to lose anything at all. It was his own shock therapy, and it could go very, very wrong. His therapist certainly would never approve.

"I was an idiot," Keonho said, and Juhoon never thought he'd hear those words from him. "Fame messed with my head. The pressure, my family, everything. There was so much I never told you, hyung. I made a mistake. I should have stayed with you. I should have given it all up for you. I need you. I've never needed anyone like I need you." He sounded like he was desperate for Juhoon to understand and forgive him, even though he hadn't asked yet.

Keonho reached out a hand toward Juhoon's face but stopped halfway. He looked nothing like himself, insecure and scared. He sighed loudly and dropped his hand back to his side. Juhoon saw it all from the corner of his eye.

Juhoon shook his head over and over, trembling again. He wouldn't let himself be swayed, no matter how sincere Keonho sounded. Keonho was an actor, a pathological liar who knew exactly how to get to him. It was sad to think that he would never know for sure what was real with him.

"Don't," he breathed, his throat so tight. "Just don't."

"But it's the truth." Keonho shifted closer until his shoulder brushed against Juhoon's. He kept his eyes on him. "When I lost you, that's when I really understood what loneliness felt like. And I didn't like it one bit." He paused, remembering those dark days. He licked his lips and organized his thoughts. "Nothing was the same. I ended up hating the things I loved and depending on the things I hated. I realized that without you, all those things I ever wanted meant nothing. All of that is replaceable, but you're not. I could never replace you."

You haven't lost me, he wanted to say. But he wouldn't give him another bullet. His chest already had too many holes.

Keonho took his hand, very slowly. Juhoon could have pulled away when he felt those first two fingers brush against him with careful hesitation, but he didn't. He didn't feel physically able to reject Keonho, and he didn't want to either. He wanted more touch. For now, he just squeezed back.

No one understood how painful this was. They were two boys who had grown up together through those messy, confusing teenage years. They had seen so many sides of each other, shared all their firsts, and experienced joyful moments alongside incredibly harrowing ones. At the end of the day, they were just kids who never learned how to love the right way.

That kind of bond didn't just disappear.

The grip between their hands proved it. Distance, time, and hard feelings didn't matter. That something between them hadn't died. Their heads and mouths could think and say whatever they wanted, but their bodies could never forget each other.

"Just so you know, I missed you too," he murmured against Juhoon's ear, his breath provocatively warm.

His thumb traced figures on Juhoon's palm, just like he used to do when they were lying in bed together. He remembered how Juhoon's presence always knocked him out cold. Not because of comfort or safety, but because Juhoon's quietness and submission drained the tension from him. Being near Juhoon made him drowsy in a way that let him escape his own restless mind. Juhoon was useful for that, better than any sleeping pill he'd ever tried.

"I shouldn't have sent that," Juhoon said after taking a drag. "I really shouldn't have."

That answer didn't please Keonho. He had thought they were on the same page. He hated when Juhoon acted tough and said things he didn't mean. But something else was bothering him. Juhoon still wasn't looking at him. Keonho pulled away from the wall and got in front of him again, grabbing his chin to make him stop ignoring him. He couldn't stand not being the center of Juhoon's attention.

"You think I don't know you? You've been waiting for me to come back. So just let go, hyung. Let me in. I'm not leaving again, I swear."

Keonho looked at Juhoon's lips first, then his eyes, and then his lips again. The intention was clear. He leaned in with his mouth slightly open, and his breath hit Juhoon's face, carrying a strong smell of beer mixed with something spicy, maybe nutmeg. Juhoon felt receptive until a demonic ticking sound reached his ears. Horrified, he glanced at the hand on his chin and saw a fancy silver watch.

Juhoon jerked his face away and gasped for air. That tiny machine had stolen his breath just by existing. His vision blurred, so he wrapped his arms around himself and squeezed, trying to stay grounded and avoid falling into another paranoid episode.

"S-Stop. Don't touch me... Stay back."

Yeah, Juhoon had only stopped the kiss because of his phobia, not because of Seonghyeon. In fact, he didn't even remember the little insignificant detail that he had a boyfriend.

"Relax, wasn't going to do anything." He raised his hands, pretending innocence.

"What?" Juhoon spat at him, his body trembling against the wall. He didn't even notice that the cigarette was still burning his bicep. "You testing me? Seeing if you can still get a reaction? Still think you own me or something?"

Keonho studied him, taking in the sudden paleness, the shaking, and the harsh tone. Juhoon never talked to him like that unless he was sick or going through one of those moments.

"Still dealing with that?" Keonho glanced at the darkening spot, looking displeased. The burn was ruining the skin he wanted to taste again, and he didn't like that one bit.

"I don't... what?" He stuttered, his breath coming in short gasps, completely lost.

"The clocks. Your clock thing."

His "clock thing." As if it were some random quirk that Juhoon had chosen for himself. As if Keonho didn't know that it had started because of him, because of all those hours that Juhoon had spent waiting, all those seconds that turned into minutes, minutes into hours, and hours into days while Keonho never bothered to show up.

"None of your damn business. Back off," Juhoon growled, like a cornered coyote.

He tried to act normal so that Keonho wouldn't keep seeing him like this, but the effort was useless. Not while that watch was still near him. That thing was his fucking kryptonite, and he couldn't think straight with it around.

"Fine." Keonho took a step back, a small smirk playing on his lips. He had seen enough.

He recognized a golden opportunity when he saw one. He could drag Juhoon to his car, take him to a hotel or his own place, and keep him there for as long as he wanted. He could wait until this craving that wouldn't leave him alone eventually faded. But that would be too easy. No matter how desperate he felt, things always tasted better when he had to work for them.

He walked to a trash can a few meters away, took off the watch that was worth thousands of dollars, and simply tossed it inside. It meant nothing to him compared to what Juhoon could still give him.

When Keonho returned, he saw with relief that the cigarette had shifted and was no longer burning Juhoon's arm. A half-brown scab had already formed, looking pretty inflamed. It would definitely leave an ugly scar, and Keonho couldn't stand imperfection. He had spotted Juhoon at first sight because he fit every standard perfectly. His skin was a treasure above all. Keonho would pay whatever it cost to erase that flaw.

"See? Handled it. You okay now, hyung?" He sounded so solicitous that it was almost believable.

Juhoon took a few moments to process what had happened. Then he noticed that the watch was gone. The floor stopped swaying, and his eardrums no longer felt like they were about to burst. He was safe, thanks to Keonho, the same person who had caused this mess in the first place. He unconsciously moved to the side when Keonho stepped closer.

"What's with the attitude?" Keonho's patience was wearing thin, and his voice showed it.

He couldn't keep pretending to be patient. Juhoon kept resisting every attempt he made to get close, and there was no progress. Things weren't going the way he had expected, and that stung his ego. Keonho ran a hand through his hair. It was such a casual gesture, but on him, it looked inhumanly sexy. Juhoon wasn't surprised that after five years, he was still obsessed with this guy.

"What you mean?" Juhoon played dumb.

"Why you actin' like that?"

"Like what?" He looked away.

"Like you're scared of me."

Juhoon was scared. He had no idea where this could lead or what would happen if he let Keonho keep touching him. Their relationship had always been unpredictable, and Keonho's absence had made him realize just how much he hated unpredictability.

"And what's this?" Keonho suddenly grabbed the hand that Juhoon had burned with the onions. "That piece of shit do this to you? Does he hurt you?"

Juhoon let out a sound that wasn't really a laugh. It was a ragged sob that he tried his best to disguise. He pulled his hand away because he couldn't stand the fake concern.

"What? Jealous that I'm getting beaten by someone other than you now?" Those questions weren't just mockery, they were meant to annoy and provoke.

Juhoon pushed him back, not hard, just enough to create some space. Keonho moved in again right away. The constant push and pull was irritating and thrilling at once, and they were both stuck in it.

"Don't act like you never hit back," Keonho said, completely unbothered. 

His eyes locked onto Juhoon's waist, blatantly outlined by the tight shirt, and the sight irked him. He wanted to cover it up, wrap his own jacket around him so he'd stop standing there like a whore asking for it.

"I did what I had to, you know how it was. If I didn't hit back, I wouldn't have survived us." His voice was quieter now, even tired.

He focused on smoking. He kept telling himself that as soon as the cigarette was done, he would walk away. That was his excuse, his justification for this reckless flirting that had gotten way out of hand without him noticing.

On the surface, it looked like the situation didn't affect him. But that was just bullshit, of course it did.

Sometimes words weren't enough, and things turned physical. Slaps, bites, kicks, even vases or bottles. Whatever objects were nearby became weapons. Nothing was off limits, and somehow, they both went along with it. Afterwards, they'd kiss like they hadn't just torn each other apart. Violence was their twisted way of connecting when talking wasn't enough.

Juhoon had felt so misunderstood until he heard that Lana Del Rey song.

He hit me and it felt like a kiss.

That one line made everything click.

Juhoon had felt love in giving and receiving blows. Even though he was a rational person and technically knew that this behavior didn't fit standard relationship models, he never stopped it. He never wanted to, and he hadn't stopped desiring it. It was simply normal in his distorted way of thinking.

"You've always been so dramatic, hyung. Making everything about you." He shook his head, amused.

Juhoon's fingers itched. He wanted to slap Keonho. Or maybe he wanted Keonho to slap him. Either way, he needed the contact.

He grabbed Juhoon's hand, forced it down, and pinned it behind his back. Then he pressed their bodies together until the glasses crunched between them. Chest to chest, nose to nose, boner to boner.

"That guy's a waste of your time," Keonho said with clear disdain, watching Juhoon's pupils blow wide. "Please, who the fuck cries during fucking and then whispers 'I love you'? That's just pathetic, and it's not your thing. You're meant for way more than that. Quit pretending to be someone you're not just to keep him around. You don't need that loser anymore."

"Oh yeah? What am I pretending to be?"

He needed Keonho to define him. Living by his own will had become exhausting. He wanted someone else to take the wheel, to control him, to ruin him one last time. He could handle it. He was sure of that.

Keonho plucked the cigarette from Juhoon's lips and brought it to his own, taking a slow drag. The act sent a thrill through him as he imagined tasting Juhoon's blood on the filter. He knew it wasn't real, but the illusion alone was enough to make his head spin. He flicked the butt away with a lazy motion.

"A good boy," Keonho murmured, exhaling the smoke directly into Juhoon's face, his voice low and honeyed.

Juhoon inhaled it like the addict he was, to nicotine and to Keonho.

"And anyway," he added, his smile stretching wider, "you said it yourself. He doesn't do it for you, so why are you even still there?"

The accusation landed hard because it was true. In moments of weakness, late at night when the frustration became too much to handle, Juhoon had called Keonho. He'd poured out all kinds of intimate secrets, things he'd never even told his friends. He'd complained that Seonghyeon was too soft, too careful, too romantic. That he had too many flaws. That he wasn't even sure what he felt for him. And now the bastard was using it against him.

"That's not your concern anymore. Not for a while now," Juhoon shot back, his jaw clenched.

"Mhm, you know that's not true." Keonho brushed his lips against Juhoon's without quite touching.

He was enjoying how easy it was to break through every barrier Juhoon thought was strong enough to protect him.

Then he leaned in closer, his breath warm against Juhoon's ear. "Want me to say screw it and fuck you right here in this alley?"

Juhoon's breath caught, and his legs trembled. This time, it wasn't from anxiety.

"Just say the word," Keonho whispered, grinding his hips forward. "And I'll give it to you the way only I can. The way you really like it. I know you better than anyone, Kim Juhoon."

It was the first time Keonho had used his full name since he'd left. Reading it in texts or hearing it over the phone had never felt like this. Juhoon felt his grip on things slipping away. He had forgotten what true desire felt like. He was ready to give in, to stop thinking and just let it happen. At least then he would know what to expect. He had watched this movie play out so many times, and he still wanted to see the ending, no matter how ugly it was.

Footsteps came, fast and close.

Keonho pulled away fast, put his mask on, adjusted his sunglasses, and yanked his beanie down to his brows. In three seconds, the dangerous, seductive Keonho was gone, and only the celebrity afraid of getting caught remained. He was already backing up, retreating, running away. He was abandoning Juhoon again for his precious career.

Juhoon didn't know how he could still feel disappointed at this point. He pulled his jacket back on and winced as the fabric grazed his burned arm. Before he could check the damage, not that he really cared to look, Seonghyeon appeared beside him. 

"Hyung, are you alright? Who was that? Did he do something to you?" His eyes were wide, and his voice was full of fear.

Oh, sweet, clueless Seonghyeon.

"No one," Juhoon replied dryly. "Just some drunk."

Strictly speaking, that was true.

"You sure he didn't do anything? He ran as soon as he saw me." Seonghyeon's brow furrowed. That kind of behavior was deeply suspicious. He was already thinking about chasing the guy down and calling the cops on him.

"Nothing happened, okay?" Juhoon shouted. "Leave it alone."

Seonghyeon's concern didn't fade, and he still wanted to go after the stranger. But Juhoon had made it clear that he didn't want to talk about it. He also didn't look like he was in the mood to say anything else. Seonghyeon figured he was still upset about their earlier fight, and his mind started racing with ways to make things right. He hated being on bad terms with Juhoon. It wasn't good for either of them, even if Juhoon's pride wouldn't let him admit it.

"Let's just go," he muttered, turning his back.

"Sure," Seonghyeon agreed instantly. "I'll get your camera, and we'll head out. Just stay in the car, hyung."

Seonghyeon just stood there with those kind, patient eyes, waiting for Juhoon to validate him. And that was exactly why Juhoon thought he didn't really care. He never got jealous, never confronted him, and avoided arguments like a vampire avoided crosses. No shouting, no accusations, no drama or intensity. That was what love was supposed to look like, but Juhoon still couldn't get used to it. Peace just felt wrong.

Juhoon gave a short nod, and Seonghyeon headed off, the ever-obedient, perfect boyfriend.

As Juhoon walked toward the parking lot, his phone buzzed. His fingers scrambled to pull it from his pocket.

<you still look so pretty when you're mad>

It was official. Keonho had returned to complicate everything. And the worst part was that Juhoon had been the one to let him in. He'd unlocked the door himself.

 

 

Juhoon refused to let Seonghyeon drive, no matter how much he insisted. Juhoon didn't look well, and he definitely wasn't in any condition to be behind the wheel himself. But, as always, his stubbornness won, and he took the driver's seat anyway. During the whole trip, he avoided looking at Seonghyeon, didn't react when Seonghyeon placed a hand on his thigh, and when spoken to, he only answered with small grunts, not even full words. It was like he had shut down completely.

Seonghyeon realized that what Juhoon was feeling wasn't just annoyance anymore. It had shifted into something he particularly hated. Total disconnection. In his experience, that usually happened after a severe crisis or an extremely stressful situation. He was sure that guy from the alley had something to do with it. If only he had followed him… it probably wouldn't have changed anything, but at least he wouldn't feel so useless.

Because there was nothing he could do except wait for it to pass, wait for Juhoon to come back to himself. It was unsettling. When this happened, Seonghyeon felt like the person beside him wasn't really Juhoon. It was as if someone had taken his boyfriend and replaced him with an eerily identical puppet that barely blinked.

When they arrived, Juhoon went straight to the kitchen. He opened the cupboard, took out his favorite cup, the white one with the cow pattern and the faded handle. He filled the kettle and turned it on, everything was automatic. From the outside, he looked like a factory robot programmed to repeat the same motions over and over.

Too many thoughts were running through his head. Fragments of his former life. Vestiges of memories so sharp that he couldn't tell if he had invented them or not. They felt foreign and strangely familiar at the same time. Juhoon didn't feel like he had experienced them firsthand, or at least not as the person he was now. Instead, he watched them from a third-person perspective, as if there had always been three people in his relationship with Keonho. He didn't know if that made any sense.

"Hyung."

No response. There probably wouldn't be one even if Seonghyeon kept trying. He decided to save his breath, whatever had happened, he trusted that the best thing was to leave things as they were and talk in the morning.

He approached Juhoon from behind and saw that he was making tea. It was a small, ordinary detail, but Seonghyeon took it as a good sign. He hated seeing him completely still. He kissed the top of his head and placed a hand on his hip, just because. Again, no reaction.

Seonghyeon forced himself to leave the kitchen. He would go upstairs, take a shower, and wait for Juhoon in bed. There was nothing more he could do for now.

By the time Juhoon snapped out of his trance, the water he had heated had gone cold. His rough estimate told him that he had been absent for about thirty-four minutes. His craving for the drink had disappeared. He wasn't in the mood anymore, and the thought of drinking cold tea made him feel nauseous.

When he went up to the bedroom, he found the lights on. Seonghyeon lay on his side of the bed, still uncovered, wearing his pajamas. A book rested open on his chest, his fingers marking the page he had been reading. Everything pointed to him waiting for Juhoon. He hadn't even taken off his reading glasses, the ones that made him look like the naive, slightly clueless main character of a shonen manga.

Juhoon turned off the light and sat on the edge of the bed, positioning himself so that he could see Seonghyeon.

He wished, just once, that Seonghyeon would do something wrong. A slip up, no matter how small. Anything would be enough to make him feel better about himself.

What he had allowed himself to do was inexcusable. Something that, if he were in Seonghyeon's place, he would never forgive. And yet, against all odds, Juhoon didn't feel that he had done anything bad. Rationally, he knew that meeting an ex behind his partner's back was a betrayal, especially considering what had almost happened between them. But as far as his feelings were concerned, it didn't feel that way.

Juhoon got up and carefully removed the book and the glasses. Luckily, Seonghyeon was a deep sleeper, he barely stirred, only shifting slightly. Juhoon took off his shoes and socks and lay down beside him, pulling the sheet over both of them.

At that moment, Seonghyeon seemed to protest and turned his back.

The movement wasn't intentional. It was a simple, unconscious shift. His body was resting in that heavy, immovable state of deep sleep. But Juhoon didn't see it that way. To him, it meant rejection. He believed that somehow, Seonghyeon's subconscious was rejecting him because it had sensed what he had done. Punishing him with indifference.

That imagined contempt forced Juhoon to confront things he had been avoiding.

He was afraid of losing Seonghyeon. Afraid of losing everything they had built together. He would never find someone like him. No, there was no one like him. He didn't want to give up his stability, his tranquility. Not for someone who had never treated him right.

He felt everything for Keonho, but he had to be smarter than his impulses. Now that he was no longer face to face with him, his mind was clear. He couldn't believe that he had let that encounter behind the club happen.

He made a decision. He wouldn't let his past ruin his present. He would change the locks on that door he had opened, and if necessary, he would move somewhere else, somewhere Keonho could never find him.

He wrapped his arms around Seonghyeon from behind, spooning him.

"I'm sorry," he whispered against the skin of his nape. "I'm so sorry." 

Seonghyeon's smell. Seonghyeon's heat. Seonghyeon's presence. Nothing was more comforting. Juhoon compared it to one of his favorite feelings. Sitting in front of his window during a heavy rain, watching the landscape with a cappuccino in hand and The Smiths playing in the background.

He wanted a life with Seonghyeon. He could picture it vividly. Sitting beside him, with his matcha latte, humming along to the music. Maybe a beagle puppy at their feet. And on Juhoon's lap, a child with Seonghyeon's same dimples.

Seonghyeon was still asleep, unaware of the silent tears soaking his shirt.

At some point, he woke up. He wasn't sure what pulled him from sleep, maybe the chill from the air conditioner or the absence of the body that should have been beside him. He blinked in the darkness and, out of habit, reached out a hand, only to find emptiness. He sat up and rubbed his eyes to confirm that Juhoon wasn't there. Still half‑asleep, he got up and walked clumsily. He would check the kitchen, the last place he had seen him, though he suspected that Juhoon had already come upstairs at some point.

As he grew more awake, he started piecing things together. He didn't have his glasses, and he hadn't woken up with the book pressed under him. Juhoon had been in the room, he had recovered from that mental lapse. Most likely, he had gone downstairs to get water. He got very thirsty in the early morning. Seonghyeon scolded himself for not being thoughtful. He usually left a glass on the nightstand, but he had fallen asleep. He wouldn't let that happen again.

A noise stopped him before he could head for the stairs. A sob. It came from somewhere else, to the left. Juhoon's studio. Seonghyeon ran, tripping over the rug several times. When he opened the door, breathless, he found him.

Juhoon sat on the floor in the center of the room. Around him, loose pages lay scattered in a strange circle, some overlapping, others lying alone. They weren't blank. They were drawings of clocks, dozens of them, all in the same black ink. A few were ordinary, but most looked distorted. The numbers melted into each other, and the hands bent at impossible angles or broke off unfinished. Some clock faces had been given human features. Eyes were drawn with too many lashes and a single bizarre pupil that seemed to stare back. Mouths were open as if screaming. Tiny misshapen fingers replaced the clock hands, and rows of teeth sat where the numbers should have been. Looking at them left Seonghyeon deeply disturbed, as if he were seeing something that shouldn't exist.

His whole body was shuddering. His legs were crossed, and his hands rested on his thighs, his nails digging into his pants. He stared down at a fixed point and cried in intervals that ranged from shrill screams to barely audible whimpers.

The devastating sight was too much for Seonghyeon.

"Juhoon… hyung…" he called out quietly, trying to keep the anxiety out of his voice.

There was no response. Of course there wasn't. Juhoon was too deep in it. Seonghyeon slapped his own cheek, trying to snap himself into clarity, and then moved quickly. He ran to the bedroom, searched until he found the pillbox, and pulled out the exact dose. He grabbed a small container that Juhoon used for charcoal pencils, emptied it, and filled it halfway with water in the bathroom. There was no time to go downstairs for a glass.

When Seonghyeon came back, Juhoon hadn't moved. Seonghyeon knelt down and placed the pills and water on the floor. Then he started clearing away the drawings, without any sudden movements. He stacked them all and locked them inside a trunk with unused paint. After that, he sat down behind Juhoon, legs on either side of him, and delicately lifted Juhoon's hands from his thighs. He laced their fingers together and pulled him into a back hug.

"It's over," he whispered. "I'm here, nothing's gonna hurt you now."

Juhoon squeezed his hands hard and let out a startled squeal at the change in position. Seonghyeon rocked him slowly, back and forth, like a baby. Eventually, Juhoon began to calm down. His breathing synced with Seonghyeon's, and so did the shivers that had been shaking him.

A long time passed before Juhoon spoke.

"I'm sorry…"

"Why are you apologizing?" Seonghyeon asked, not letting him go.

"For everything… I don't know why I keep doing this. I don't know why…" His voice splintered, swallowed by a sob.

"Hey, don't think about that right now." Seonghyeon kissed the back of his head. "Just breathe with me, okay?"

Juhoon nodded and obeyed. In one smooth motion, Seonghyeon freed one of his arms to reach the medication and water. He placed them in front of Juhoon, using his palm to support the container and three fingers to hold the pills. He had perfected this so completely that it felt like second nature.

"Here."

Juhoon licked his lips, he let go of Seonghyeon and accepted the offering. He drained the container to the last drop and still felt parched. If he had seen the charcoal dust settled at the bottom, he would have freaked out. But, luckily, he didn't notice.

He leaned back against Seonghyeon's chest, his only comfort.

"I feel like I'm gonna explode," he said, staring at his ink-covered hands. He didn't remember when he had started drawing or how he had gotten there. "When my mind does this… when it just shuts down… I get so scared. It's like dying and coming back... different. And there are times I think I won't come back at all."

Seonghyeon tightened his arms around him. He wished he could take all of Juhoon's pain away, even if it meant sacrificing himself. All he wanted was for Juhoon to have some calm, he deserved at least that.

"You wanna talk about it?"

Juhoon shook his head once.

"I can't. I just… can't." Juhoon tilted his head upward, searching for Seonghyeon's eyes, but his gaze wouldn't focus. He didn't feel safe inside his own head.

Seonghyeon brushed an eyelash off his face.

"That's okay, you don't have to. It's over now. You're okay." Seonghyeon kept his hand on Juhoon's cheek, cupping it with so much care.

Juhoon then turned completely and hugged him desperately, as if trying to make sure he wasn't alone. That there was someone there, flesh and blood, taking care of him. Loving him.

"I love you so much... I can't live without you, Keonho. You know that, right?"

Seonghyeon stayed still, but an unpleasant feeling drained him from the inside. It had happened before, so he tried to rationalize it. Juhoon was in the middle of an episode, didn't know what he was saying, and often confused reality. His ex was the center of his trauma, so naturally he was still so present in his mind. It didn't matter. Seonghyeon had to be fine. None of this was Juhoon's fault, so he had no right to be angry or hold it against him.

"Love you too," he replied, sounding as drained as he was feeling.

He held him for another moment, then helped him stand. Juhoon's legs were too shaky to hold his weight, a common symptom of the panic. So Seonghyeon scooped him up and carried him out of the studio. He took him back to the bedroom, laid him down on the bed, and climbed in beside him. Juhoon curled against his chest and fell asleep almost instantly.

Seonghyeon lay there, too unsettled to sleep, his thoughts louder than usual. Maybe Juhoon had just said that name without thinking, reaching for something recognizable while lost in that state. Seonghyeon truly didn't know. Still, a small part of him felt hurt. Nobody likes being called by their partner's ex's name. But he pushed that feeling down. Juhoon was sick, and he didn't mean it. That was what mattered.

So why couldn't Seonghyeon shake this bad feeling?

 

 

Juhoon was in the middle of a painstaking, stressful task. With fine-tipped tweezers, he adjusted the right leg of his clay puppet, holding the tiny ankle while his other hand kept the head steady. The material had been giving him trouble from the start. His phone buzzed next to the keyboard, but he didn't look away from the camera's viewfinder. He was on frame 40 of a four second walk cycle. If he let go now, the knee would bend, and he would have to delete the last five frames.

It buzzed again, longer this time. A call. Whoever it was, and he knew exactly who, was relentlessly persistent.

"Damn it," Juhoon muttered under his breath.

His tablemate, who had been retouching her cardboard, looked up, curious about what or who could make Kim Juhoon, the model student, curse like that.

Juhoon caught her staring. She was trying to sneak a peek at his phone, so he shot her a sharp look, and she immediately went back to her work.

Feeling obstinate, he decided to just see what Keonho wanted so he could focus on his work. He carefully calculated everything before releasing the tweezers and setting them on the sponge, then loosened the camera's clamp and placed the puppet on a stable surface.

The professor happened to be passing by, checking and correcting as he went. He was a meticulous man, like everyone in this field. Stop motion was already hard enough, but under his watch it became even tougher. Over the years, Juhoon had become one of only three students the professor had ever gone easy on, because he saw real potential in him. That didn't mean he was immune to sharp criticism, though. Still, he did enjoy a few privileges, and he was about to use one.

"Professor, may I step out to the restroom for a moment?"

The man walked over to Juhoon's setup, scanning it with his hawk‑like eye. Juhoon held his breath, regretting having called him over, because he had just noticed a flaw. One of the puppet's fingers was turned slightly outward. A tiny deviation, but if someone like Juhoon, only a second‑year student, had spotted it, then a seasoned professional like him would definitely catch it.

"Wash your hands thoroughly before you return."

It was such a relief not to receive a finicky remark delivered in that arrogant, condescending tone.

"Will do."

He wiped his clay-covered hands, dirty up to his knuckles, with a damp cloth on the table. Then he grabbed his phone and slipped out of the room, trying not to draw attention. Everyone else was focused on their tasks. He walked quickly down the hallway. When he reached the restroom, someone was washing brushes at the sink. Juhoon slipped into a stall and started reading.

<hyung>

<u in class?>

<look what i found>

A photo arrived.

It was a drawing he had made years ago, a portrait of Keonho asleep. His mouth was half open, showing his bunny teeth, and his long lashes brushed against his fuller cheeks. Juhoon remembered it well. He had drawn it one afternoon in the library while Keonho slept beside him when he should have been doing his homework. Juhoon hadn't woken him, he knew Keonho had been up late training at his company.

The paper was wrinkled at the corners and slightly yellowed, but still intact. Surprisingly well preserved.

Since that tense encounter behind the club, Keonho had been bombarding him with texts, nothing like how they used to talk. It seemed that out of nowhere, Juhoon had become his only priority. Juhoon had been avoiding him, not replying, not playing along. He was clinging to the future he had imagined with Seonghyeon.

But this was different. Juhoon couldn't ignore it. It was something personal, something that brought back a time he missed more than he wanted to admit. And he knew that Keonho knew it. That was exactly why he had sent it.

<why u still have that>

<why not>

<it's cute>

Juhoon squeezed the phone in his hands as if it were Keonho's neck.

<u know what i mean>

<why would i ever get rid of my most valuable thing>

<c'mon hyung that was the first drawing u ever made of me>

<u know it's special>

His pulse picked up, a rush of energy he hadn't felt in a long time. He found it strangely moving that Keonho had kept it and treasured it so much. His fingers flew over the keyboard. He typed something, erased it, typed again, erased again.

<wanna see u>

<what time u get out>

<i'll pick u up>

The spell broke.

Fucking manipulator. You just said that to force this whole “meeting up” thing.

Juhoon pressed the keys harder than necessary.

<don't text me anymore>

He closed the chat and turned off the screen. That wasn't enough, so he powered the phone down completely. He didn't want to think about Keonho or that drawing anymore. As it turned out, it was the only thing on his mind for the rest of class.

A couple of hours later, Keonho texted again.

<would be a waste not to go out w the weather this nice>

<found this donut place that's trending rn>

<wanna go with me?>

Juhoon didn't reply.

Another two hours went by.

<hyung just got a rly interesting work proposal>

<it's totally ur style>

<horror>

<they want me to play a psychic>

<wanna read the script?>

<i usually can't share scripts>

<but for u i'll make an exception>

Juhoon didn't reply.

<hyung just tell me u hate me. that's all i need>

Predictably, Juhoon couldn't leave things unresolved.

<i don't hate u>

<then why r u ignoring me>

<cuz i have a partner and i respect him>

<since when?>

<after u called me every night crying saying u didn't feel loved?>

<or when u almost let me fuck u out in the open>

Juhoon didn't answer.

That night, he pulled out his old notebook. The one he kept hidden under the bed. The one Seonghyeon had never seen and never would. He opened it and flipped through, page by page. Keonho smiling. Keonho reading. Keonho asleep. Keonho's hands. His profile. The back of his neck. His naked body. His… He closed the notebook and put it away. Seonghyeon was about to arrive.

Later, in the bedroom. Juhoon was putting lotion on his legs after shaving. The bed vibrated, and he knew Seonghyeon had felt it too. He was lying back, reading. Juhoon didn't even glance at his phone, pretending total disinterest. He kept massaging his skin. As soon as Seonghyeon said he was going to make some ramen and walked out the door, Juhoon made his move.

<good night hyung>

<i know u will anyway but...>

<dream of me>

<naked>

<i will>

Juhoon grabbed the pillow and muffled a shriek into it. Then he lay there, half‑sprawled, face buried in the softness, letting his mind wander to all kinds of filthy things. He was so worked up that anything could get him going.

He closed his eyes and pictured himself right there, doing exactly what he was doing in bed, applying lotion to his legs. His hand traveled higher and higher until he reached his entrance. He pushed one finger inside, then another. Suddenly, Keonho entered the room and laughed at how pathetically desperate he looked. Keonho would kneel in front of him, run his fingers over the damp spot on the sheets, and tell him how gorgeous or how stupid he looked. Then he would join his fingers, spreading more lotion over his balls, his dick, his chest… everywhere. Until he had him so worked up that…

"Hyung? What's going on?"

Juhoon stopped dead as he realized the situation. He was lying face down, biting the pillow, and his hands were rubbing against his erection. Fortunately, from the doorway, Seonghyeon couldn't clearly see his lower half. 

"I was nodding off." Juhoon faked a yawn and crossed his legs to press against his aching dick. "Weren't you headed to the kitchen to make some ramen?"

"I am." He paused, tilting his head as he took in Juhoon's stiff posture. "Forgot to ask if you wanted some too."

"Nah, I'm good." Juhoon spoke quickly. He just wanted the conversation over so he could get back to what he was doing. He could feel guilty later for thinking about someone else, but right now he just needed to come.

"Sure, I'll be right back." Seonghyeon could tell Juhoon wanted him gone.

Seonghyeon had picked up on Juhoon's shift in attitude recently, and he had also pinpointed when it started, nearly two weeks ago. It was impossible not to notice. Juhoon was distracted, absent, and obsessively looking at his phone. Something was going on, but Seonghyeon didn't want to ask directly. He had a feeling he would find out before long. As they said, time would tell.

 

 

The morning of Juhoon's birthday was gray, and the weatherman predicted showers. Most people would have felt disappointed about going out on a day like that, but Juhoon loved rain and loved staying home even more. He was an introvert through and through, never one for big celebrations. He preferred simple things.

His plan was simple. He would spend the day at his apartment with Seonghyeon, watch Sofia Coppola movies, order some sushi, and sleep the rest of the time. It was perfect. Everything he could have wanted.

They left class hand in hand under the overcast sky, bundled up warmly. Seonghyeon carried a bag with the strawberry cake he'd just bought. The day looked promising. Juhoon couldn't remember ever being this excited for his birthday. 

When they reached the door, they found a large package wrapped in brown paper with a pale pearl ribbon. Beside it stood a bouquet of small flowers with sky-blue petals and striking yellow centers, tied with the same ribbon.

"What's that?" Seonghyeon asked, intrigued. 

Juhoon approached. He already knew. Even before checking for a note, he knew. The flowers themselves were a message. He had received them once before, on his high school graduation day. Back then, they had been a promise. Now, they felt like a reminder of it. 

He took the square card tucked among the stems and read the familiar handwriting.

'So you can keep drawing me. Happy birthday, hyung.'

'—K.' 

Juhoon opened the box and found items he had once marked as favorites on a wishlist he had completely forgotten he used to share with Keonho. Inside was a new tablet, brand-name brushes he couldn't afford, professional watercolors, discount coupons for art stores, and books by his favorite illustrator. Everything was expensive. Every piece was something he had hoped to buy over the next four years.

"Who's it from?" Seonghyeon peered over his shoulder.

Juhoon's mind scrambled for an excuse.

"My aunt. She never misses my birthday, always sends me art stuff. She's an artist too, so, you know, her way of keeping in touch."

There was no aunt. His parents were only children, but Seonghyeon would never find that out.

"That's sweet." Seonghyeon smiled, then glanced at the flowers. "What are these called?"

"Forget-me-nots." Juhoon leaned in to smell them and caught a whiff of Keonho's cologne.

Juhoon had received gifts from Keonho before, but this one felt unlike any before. It was special, simple as that.

"That's a pretty name."

Seonghyeon reached for the bouquet, but Juhoon quickly slipped the card into his pocket. Seonghyeon didn't notice. He was already thinking about where to put the flowers. A gift from another man, delivered right to their door, and he had no idea. There was something painfully ironic about it.

"Shall we head inside? Don't want the cake to melt." 

"Okay." Juhoon lifted the box while Seonghyeon opened the door. "Mind getting the plates? I'll take this upstairs and join you."

"Alright." Seonghyeon vanished into the kitchen with the dessert and the flowers.

Juhoon climbed halfway up the stairs and sat on a step. He pulled out his phone and opened the chat with Keonho, more out of habit than anything. 

<thx for the gifts>

<but u didn't have to>

<it's too much>

<didn't know u still used the same acc>

He didn't have to wait long. It was as if Keonho had been expecting the text.

<it was too much trouble to make another one>

<and tbh i liked knowing what u were into>

<im glad u liked them>

<and ofc i had to>

<u only deserve the best, hyung>

<thats why u have to be with me> 

Juhoon rolled his eyes and laughed, secretly charmed by Keonho's vanity. He ended up sending a heart. Just one. The classic red emoji. Harmless, really. And when Keonho sent one back, he told himself it didn't mean anything. Just a private joke between two people who used to be close. Besides, who said exes couldn't be friendly with each other? Apparently, Juhoon had forgotten that he was the one who had drawn that line in the first place. The rules were his, and he was breaking them.

The messages started coming more often. Soon they were chatting every day, with good mornings and good nights becoming routine. Juhoon replied evasively, but he always responded. They began exchanging photos again, though nothing like before. These were more suggestive. Keonho would send one right before or after training, all sweaty, veins popping. Juhoon would answer with shower selfies, never showing too much, just enough to tease. He never actually replied to Keonho's bolder texts, but that didn't mean he ignored them. Later, when he was alone, he'd use them as fuel for things he didn't like to think about.

Juhoon knew he was crossing boundaries he never intended to cross. Every text was a small betrayal, a mute kind of infidelity. And yet he couldn't stop. He had even started texting first sometimes. In his head, as long as everything stayed on a screen, it was insignificant. And as long as he gave Seonghyeon even more attention than usual, nothing bad would happen.

 

 

James's apartment was on the opposite side of the city, not in an exclusive area, but the neighborhood was quiet and close to Martin's college. The building had no elevator, and the place was on the seventh floor. Seonghyeon climbed the stairs at a steady pace. Juhoon, however, ended up out of breath, clutching the railings like he'd just run a triathlon. Now he was seriously reconsidering his sedentary lifestyle.

The metal door was painted a scandalous purple that was already starting to crack. It clearly wasn't high quality. Juhoon decided he'd recommend some good hardware stores if they ever felt like renovating.

Seonghyeon rang the bell, but no one answered for thirty seconds. Another thirty seconds passed, a whole minute, and still nothing. Juhoon got impatient and was about to start kicking the door when it swung open at last.

Martin greeted them, all red and sweaty. One of his bare shoulders had a fresh bite mark. He was barefoot, wearing only sweatpants and a pastel pink apron covered in little bows and a heart-shaped pocket. Across the front, red cursive letters spelled out 'Let him Eat.' James must have had the matching one. They always did that kind of cheesy thing.

The reason for the delay was also fairly obvious.

"Yo, come in. Dinner's almost ready." Martin flashed a grin and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

Juhoon chose not to dwell on what exactly he had been wiping off.

The loft felt like something out of Wonderland, a space that somehow reflected both of their personalities. As soon as you stepped in, a strong aromatic scent reached you. James was a spiritual guy, and that side of him was everywhere. A small Buddha figure rested on a shelf next to a jar of incense sticks and that singing bowl that had haunted Juhoon's nightmares from hearing it so many times. On one side stood a coat rack holding James's hat collection, while on the floor Martin's sneakers were lined up like a store display. One of them was obsessed with headwear, the other with footwear. No doubt, they were made for each other.

A dark blue shaggy rug lay in front of a moss-green velvet sofa with that 1960s Danish design that James never shut up about, and a low trunk-style coffee table that always held all kinds of candy and snacks. The walls were covered with records and travel photos, and a headless mannequin stood by the TV for outfit experiments. In one corner of the living room was Martin's production area.

Meanwhile, in the kitchen on the other side of a black granite counter, James was busy cooking. He wore the same apron as Martin, but his read 'Let him Cook.' A hickey on his neck was already changing color. It was confirmed, the two of them had been doing more than just cooking while Juhoon and Seonghyeon waited outside.

"What's up?" James greeted them without stopping his chopping. "Grab a seat, I'm wrapping up. Mushroom dumplings are today's menu."

"Sounds good." Juhoon's mouth watered.

James was an excellent cook, as most food lovers are.

They hung out like this often, rotating whose place they took over. The nights tended to involve overeating, sending each other memes while sitting side by side, and gossiping a lot. Sometimes they watched a movie, played video games on Martin's Switch, or stayed up arguing about stupid things until James and Juhoon crashed. Then Seonghyeon and Martin would get inspired and start writing lyrics, usually ending up with a couple of new songs by morning.

"It's gonna be real good, I'm telling you. Made two sauces since you can't handle heat."

Juhoon felt moved by the gesture. He also noticed that they had remembered to take down the cuckoo clock again. When it came to friendships, he had hit the jackpot.

"Martin, be useful for once and get them something to drink."

"Anything for my short king." After the cringey comment came an equally cringey blown kiss. 

Martin strutted to the mini-fridge, his ribcage visible in an oddly attractive way.

"So, beer, wine, or my super special mystery concoction?" He pulled out a glass pitcher of green, fizzy stuff.

"What's that supposed to be?" Seonghyeon eyed it suspiciously.

"Monster, vodka, cherries, two egg yolks, and my magic touch." Martin announced, as if he were getting paid to sell it.

Juhoon and Seonghyeon exchanged a look, judging him in perfect sync. The egg yolks were already concerning enough. They had no intention of finding out what that magic touch really was.

"I'll take wine, thanks." Seonghyeon dropped onto the couch.

"Water for me." Juhoon pressed himself against Seonghyeon.

"What? You're not gonna try it? But I made it just for you guys!" Martin pouted.

"We don't trust you," Juhoon replied, never one to sugarcoat things.

"Why? What did I ever do to you?" Drama was practically in Martin's DNA.

"Seriously?" Juhoon shot back. "You're the guy who likes pineapple pizza and mint chocolate ice cream. Your taste is trash, and probably so is that abomination."

"Why are you like this?" Martin whined. He bent down, his huge frame folding over James's smaller one, and pressed his face insistently against James's back, rubbing all over. One hand still clutched the glass pitcher, while the other wrapped around James's waist, almost spanning the whole thing. He clung to James like the giant puppy seeking comfort that he was.

"It's actually decent. I wouldn't lie to you." He flipped the veggies in the air like a pro, defending Martin's side.

"We'll pass." Juhoon melted into Seonghyeon's touch, enjoying very much the hand massaging behind his ear.

"No taste, any of you. You wouldn't know gourmet if it hit you in the face." Martin scoffed, then gave a little slap to James's ass before pulling away.

Martin got busy filling three glasses, each one matched to the person's preference, then flopped onto the cushions beside them.

"Real classy." Juhoon accepted his mineral water served in a Martini glass.

"Gotta treat my twinski right." Martin winked, took a long gulp of his green liquid, and let out a loud, satisfied "Ahhh," letting everyone know what they were missing.

Juhoon rolled his eyes and turned to look at Seonghyeon, who was looking finer than usual. His hair was slicked back, and his sunglasses rested on his head. The style showed off his nice forehead and gave him that serious, almost imposing look that Juhoon found irresistible. With that long-sleeved red V neck sweater, the whole package was a visual delight. He hadn't realized until now how well that color suited him. Seonghyeon should wear it more often. 

"Gonna go help hyung," Juhoon said, trailing a finger down Seonghyeon's nose.

Seonghyeon loved the way Juhoon touched him, but something about it felt off. There had been too many caresses lately, more than Juhoon had ever offered on his own. It came across as almost forced. And when he added that to the strange behavior Juhoon had been showing, Seonghyeon felt deeply concerned.

"What's with the sudden urge to help?" Martin said, licking the foam off his lips.

"Meh, got tired of seeing your stupid face," Juhoon shrugged, gave Seonghyeon a peck, and walked off.

"Man, how you handle that?" Martin asked, only half-kidding.

"He's actually sweeter than he acts," Seonghyeon replied, his eyes following Juhoon.

He caught the way Juhoon's hand drifted to his phone pocket, not casually, but anxiously, like he was checking it was still there. These days, he couldn't seem to put the thing down.

"Sweet?" Martin raised an eyebrow, clearly not convinced. "Sure, whatever you say, dude. Anyway, I got some new tracks I want you to hear. Producer needs samples by Thursday, and I could really use your opinion."

He hadn't managed to get attention from the Jay Park label, but he did catch the eye of a producer from a growing company. They were already in talks, ironing out a few details before any contracts were signed.

"Yeah, let's do it." Seonghyeon set his glass on the floor, the wobbly coffee table not being the most reliable.

They moved to Martin's corner and sat on the floor, backs against the wall, hidden from the kitchen's view. Martin placed the laptop on his lap and passed the headphones to Seonghyeon, who slipped them on very slowly. He didn't want to undo all the effort he'd put into his hair. He also nudged the sunglasses into a better position, so they wouldn't pull on anything.

The track blended R&B with hip-hop and trap, slow and atmospheric with drum breaks in the background. Martin's voice sat well over the mellow synth, harmonious and velvety. It wasn't his usual style, but in a good way. A promising direction if he was aiming for something fresh. Hearing him sing instead of rap was a pleasant surprise. Definitely a vibe.

Martin watched him nervously, chewing on his thumbnail and waiting for feedback.

But Seonghyeon's mind was elsewhere.

"So? Thoughts?" Martin asked once Seonghyeon handed the headphones back.

"It's a good start. Not your usual sound, and the lyrics…" He paused. "Look, I'm sorry, I can't do this right now, honestly. Just send them over, and I'll get back to you tomorrow, promise."

"No worries, man. I get it." Martin shut the laptop and set it aside with the headset. "Now tell me, what's going on with Juhoon?"

Seonghyeon looked at him, wondering what had tipped him off.

"Huh?"

"Come on, don't give me that. I can tell something's wrong with you two. There's some weird energy, so what's the deal?" Martin wrapped his arms around his knees.

Seonghyeon hesitated. Martin was Juhoon's best friend, and no matter how close he and Martin had gotten, Martin's loyalty would always lie with Juhoon. Still, Martin was fair. Maybe venting to him wasn't such a bad idea. No one knew Juhoon better than Martin. If there was anyone who could give him advice about this relationship, it was him.

"I need to ask you something. About Juhoon-hyung."

"Sure, you know I've got you." Martin was ready to listen.

"Actually, it's also about his ex."

The shift was immediate. Seonghyeon had never seen Martin like this. Like actually pissed off. His eyes turned somber, stripped of their usual playfulness, kinda intimidating. He was grinding his teeth, chewing on nothing. He looked like an aggressive dog suddenly unchained.

"What you wanna know?" He couldn't hide his tension.

Seonghyeon knew the whole story, maybe more than the basics. He could probably write a book about it by now, blindfolded. The problem was, he'd only ever heard Juhoon's version, so some details might be onesided. It wasn't that he doubted Juhoon or thought his ex was connected to whatever was happening now. He just needed another perspective, something he might have overlooked that could help him make sense of things.

"Tell me what you saw. What was he like before, during, and after?" He paused, deciding honesty was the best policy if he expected Martin to be honest too. "'Cause I feel like I'm missing something."

Martin leaned back against the wall, lifted his glass, and took a long sip. The vodka would help him get through this. Seonghyeon wished he had his wine, but he wasn't about to get up now. He had a feeling things were about to get intense.

"I've known Jju since we were kids. I'm talking since elementary school," Martin began. He had a million nicknames for Juhoon, and this was another one. "He was always quiet, but not like this. Back then, he actually talked to people. He was more open. He drew all the time, and it made him happy. Or at least, that's how it seemed. Then Keonho showed up."

Martin said it like he was talking about the devil himself. Which, to him, Keonho basically was.

"At first, it was all good. He was excited, hopeful. You could tell he was into the guy. He wouldn't shut up about him. But then he started pulling away, ignoring my texts, ditching me. When I did see him, he wasn't the same. And whenever I asked, he'd just smile and say he was fine. But anyone could tell he was far from fine. He was skin and bones, man. Huge dark circles under his eyes. Looked like a damn corpse. I swear, I even thought he was hiding some terminal illness or something."

"So did you know what he was going through at the time?" Seonghyeon asked, his eyebrows furrowing with sadness. It pained him to picture Juhoon like that. He knew that was the worst time of Juhoon's life, and he was sorry he hadn't been there for him. It probably sounded stupid, they went to completely different high schools, so they never would have met, but still, Seonghyeon was sorry.

"I could tell something wasn't right. Took me a while, but I figured it out. He had cut him off from everyone. Me, his family, his other friends. Juhoon was left alone with that shithead, and that's exactly what he wanted. The prick had played it perfectly."

Then, all of a sudden, Martin's face fell.

"After the breakup, Juhoon completely fell apart. I mean it. I still remember his parents calling me. They'd gone to his place, but he wasn't there. They had a spare key, so they let themselves in. In his room, they found..." He stopped, took a shaky breath. "A chair in the middle of the floor, a rope, and pills everywhere. You didn't need to guess what he was planning."

Martin cleared his throat and wiped a stray tear from his eye. They were so red and glossy. This still got to him, and it was visible. 

Seonghyeon hadn't known that. He'd seen Juhoon hurt himself before, but this was something else entirely. All he wanted was to wrap himself around Juhoon and promise he'd never leave.

"You're never ready to hear that your best friend almost killed himself. I didn't see it coming. I was so angry at him for pushing me away, but when I found out what he'd tried to do, I came running back. Juhoon was furious at his parents for telling me. Said they made a scene over nothing. They're not on speaking terms to this day. I'm still trying to fix that. At least they pay for his sessions."

Seonghyeon took it all in, but a new question formed in his mind.

"And what about him? Keonho, I mean. What was your take on him?"

Martin hadn't even had to think too much, all the words coming nonstop: "A total piece of self-centered, manipulative garbage. The worst kind of person, if you can even call him that. He used Juhoon, abused him, did whatever he wanted. He's the reason Juhoon is so messed up today. And I'll never forgive him for it. I swear, if I ever see his face again, I'll beat him senseless. I don't care about getting sued or locked up."

Seonghyeon was amazed by how many insulting nicknames Martin had for Keonho. Then again, Martin was a rapper, he had a word for everything.

Seonghyeon could tell he was being very serious. Martin wasn't aggressive at all. So threatening something like that meant he really held a lot of resentment toward Keonho. As for Seonghyeon, it wasn't that he hated him. He didn't know him, and he hadn't done anything to him directly. But he did feel a deep apathy toward Keonho as a figure in Juhoon's past, not as a person. Still, he wouldn't pretend to be above it all. He felt a little jealous, and that was completely normal. Truth be told, Seonghyeon didn't know how he would react if he ever ran into him.

"The worst part is that Juhoon's never truly moved on. It's so obvious." Martin hadn't meant to say it, the alcohol just loosened his tongue. He winced internally, wishing he could take it back.

Seonghyeon's eyes widened. He hadn't expected Martin to say it so directly. But it didn't take him by surprise, because he'd already known. When it came to love, there's always one person you never really forget. Keonho was that person for Juhoon. And Juhoon would be that person for him.

"My bad, that came out wrong." Martin tried to fix his mistake.

"You think…?" Seonghyeon trailed off, unsure how to ask, or maybe just not wanting to finish the thought.

"You mean if he's still in love with him?" Martin shot him a knowing look, getting straight to the point.

Seonghyeon made a small sound of agreement, shifting in his seat. Knowing that Juhoon still had feelings for his ex was one thing. Talking about it out loud was another. He had his pride, too.

"I don't know, man. But here's what I know. Keonho destroyed him, he left something inside Juhoon that won't heal. A fucked up psychological thing where, even after all the mistreatment, he still can't bring himself to hate that scumbag. I seriously doubt we'll ever understand it."

Talking to Martin hadn't given him the answers he expected. He hadn't uncovered some clue that would fix whatever was happening now. But somehow, it left him more determined than ever to love the person next to him, to hold on tighter.

"Wanna hear the most twisted part of this whole mess?" Martin looked at him, reaching into his apron pocket and pulling out his phone.

Seonghyeon was intrigued after detecting that new tone. It was no longer melancholic, but something like bewilderment.

"You and that fucker share the same face."

"Wait, what?"

That caught him off guard. Seonghyeon had never cared to find out what Juhoon's ex looked like. He'd never even considered it. Famous or not, he hadn't seen the point. But now that Martin had mentioned it, his curiosity spiked.

"Check it out." Martin turned the screen toward him.

It was a press photo of Keonho on the red carpet at some premiere. He stood in a black suit, his right hand raised like a salute. Seonghyeon felt a chill run down his spine. Martin wasn't kidding. It was unsettling how much he saw himself in the face of the person who had hurt his boyfriend. They weren't identical, but the resemblance was strong. Anyone could see it.

"When I first met you, I was shocked, I was like, 'No way that dickhead has a long-lost twin.' I honestly didn't know what to believe." Martin took a swig and held the glass out to Seonghyeon.

Without thinking, Seonghyeon took it. James had been right. It was surprisingly good. Sugary, bubbly, and thick all at once. He guessed that Martin's secret ingredient was some kind of cream or coconut water. The egg yolks didn't even stand out. They just gave it body and that white foam. His favorite part was chewing the little bits of maraschino cherry at the bottom.

Seonghyeon thought back to the beginning. The dates, the talks, how quickly Juhoon had let him in. Back then, he'd called it trust. Now, with Martin's take, it felt like something else. Something he didn't want to admit.

"What if…?" Seonghyeon drank again, buying time. "That he's only with me because I resemble his ex?"

"Look, what matters is that you're good for him, that he feels safe and comfortable with you. So stop overthinking." The vodka was making Martin weirdly wise. "And I only meant you two look alike on the outside. You're nothing like that asshole, trust me, Sean my boy. You've got nothing to be insecure about."

Seonghyeon was grateful for the support and everything he shared with him. He felt like he'd found a missing piece of the puzzle, even if he still didn't know what the final picture would look like.

"Alright, who's not insecure about who?" James walked in with Juhoon, carrying plates.

"Damn, baby, that smells so good." Martin let out a whistle, changing the subject with ease.

He started to get up and help, reaching for the huge stack of plates in James's arms. But James shot a leg out, blocking him. Years of dance training had made him annoyingly flexible.

"No way, you're not messing up my French porcelain again. Go sit down and keep your hands to yourself." James gestured with his chin toward the folding table Juhoon was setting up.

Martin sighed and slunk away, defeated, looking like a sad Sim for no reason.

"All that height and for what? You move like Bambi learning to walk." James continued the roasting, receiving all kinds of whining from Martin.

When Seonghyeon saw Juhoon head back to the kitchen, he went after him. Just as Juhoon reached for the pot of noodles, Seonghyeon caught him by the hips, spun him around, and pulled him close by the nape. He stole a kiss. Juhoon was startled at first but melted into it, parting his lips. It wasn't a frantic, needy kiss. It was a tender, loving, pure one. They broke apart with two small pecks and goofy grins.

"And that was for?" Juhoon murmured, his eyes fluttering shut as Seonghyeon pressed the kindest kiss to his forehead.

"I love you." It felt like the right thing to say, even if the circumstances felt off. Still, it was the truest thing he could offer.

"Shut up, not here." Juhoon pulled at his sweater, his eyes lit up with something so incredibly sweet.

"Five seconds, you two. After that, the dumplings disappear. We're starving over here!" James's warning rang out.

That got them moving. Neither of the two wanted to test James when it came to food. Seonghyeon grabbed the pot, Juhoon took the salad, and they walked back to the living room together.

 

 

Juhoon had gone out to clear his head, wandering the streets without any real direction. He had no destination, just like he had no hope left for his relationship.

The day before had been Seonghyeon's birthday, and Juhoon had really tried. He made Seonghyeon's favorite dinner and even baked the cake himself, though he was a disaster at baking. The gifts were just right too. Since Seonghyeon had lost his favorite bookmark, Juhoon got him a silver magnetic one that wouldn't get lost again, along with a notebook engraved with his initials. Seonghyeon always preferred handwriting his scripts and poems. According to him, typing took away the joy of writing.

Juhoon decorated with candles, flowers, and slow music, all that cliché crap that normally made him want to throw up. But he knew Seonghyeon loved it, so he went all out.

So why did they end up having the same boring sex as always? Juhoon bent over backward to please him, so why couldn't Seonghyeon do the same? Maybe it was because they were both Capricorns, too stubborn for their own good, and that's why things never really worked.

Juhoon still remembered the look on Seonghyeon's face when he'd asked him to punch him in the face, right when he was inside him. Seonghyeon not only lost his erection, but he looked at Juhoon with this unpleasant kind of compassion. He even gave him a completely unnecessary lecture about normalizing aggressive behavior for pleasure. Some crap he'd read in an online couples therapy course.

He actually pulled his dick out and sat in front of Juhoon to give that whole speech, not that Juhoon heard a word. He was so frustrated and disappointed that he told Seonghyeon to fuck off, locked himself in the bathroom, and jerked off to a photo Keonho had sent him that morning. Then he came out like nothing had happened, kissed Seonghyeon, apologized, and they went to sleep pretending everything was fine.

It was just a wide shot of Keonho's hands holding an iced coffee. You couldn't even see his veins that clearly. But Juhoon found it the sexiest thing in the world, especially after hearing that bland self-help lecture. And he didn't feel guilty at all. Of course not. The guilty one was Seonghyeon. If he paid more attention to Juhoon's needs instead of always trying to protect him, Juhoon wouldn't have had to go looking elsewhere.

A dejected sigh escaped him as he plopped down on a bench. He opened the can of Red Bull he'd bought and took a long sip, realizing that even the feeling of the bubbles scraping his throat turned him on more than his boyfriend.

What was wrong with him? Had it always been this way? Did he ever really like Seonghyeon in the first place?

Juhoon couldn't answer himself, so fate or coincidence placed the solution right under his nose. When he shifted his gaze, he saw him there. On a huge billboard covering the entire side of an office building at the busiest intersection in the area.

It was an ad for a cosmetics brand. Keonho had that fresh, youthful look he always pulled off so effortlessly. He wore a blue sports jacket over a simple white t-shirt. He looked straight at the camera, holding a green serum between his fingers like he was about to apply it. And there was that big, radiant smile that overshadowed everything around him.

Juhoon couldn't stop staring. He almost feared an accident might happen. Keonho's face was so mesmerizing it could easily distract passersby and drivers. Juhoon already knew the product would be sold out, and he understood why. If he didn't know Keonho at all and had just seen him on that billboard, he would have bought every single bottle in the store.

Though truth be told, something similar was already happening. Juhoon had bought if not all, then almost everything Keonho promoted. From the same sunscreen he'd mentioned in an interview to the same brand of rice he'd spotted in the background of a vlog Keonho filmed while still in Amsterdam. Through those kinds of things, he'd missed him less. In a very unhealthy way, it made him feel close to him without him actually being there.

In fact, there was something even more disturbing. Juhoon had been slowly shaping Seonghyeon to his liking, making him look more like Keonho through small changes and gifts he introduced bit by bit. The same haircut, the same style, the same aftershave and skincare products. He'd even gotten him to follow Keonho's exercise routine and take the same supplements, and he'd bought him the exact same phone model with the same case. Juhoon knew he was obsessive, but as long as no one found out, it was fine. No one had to know that he had turned his boyfriend into a copy of his ex.

But even with all the physical resemblance and everything Juhoon had copied, Seonghyeon still couldn't make him feel the way Keonho did. And now that Keonho was back and they'd been getting close again, Juhoon was noticing more and more the shortcomings in their dynamic.

He set the can aside and pulled out his phone. He opened the camera, focused on the billboard, and took a picture. Then he started typing.

<why r u everywhere>

He deleted it. That was stupid. How could Keonho not be everywhere?

<u look really fine here>

He deleted that too. He didn't want to be so direct. Besides, it wasn't news. Keonho already knew perfectly well that he was attractive. He heard it thousands of times a day.

Juhoon licked his lip, his eyes darting between the screen and the billboard. He stayed like that for a good seven minutes before he let the message spill out.

<u ruined my afternoon>

It wasn't a lie. He couldn't stop thinking about how much he wanted to kiss those lips. They looked so pink and shiny in that ad. He didn't even remember how they felt anymore, and that bothered him more than he was willing to face.

The reply came in less than a minute.

<oh?>

<that good or bad?>

Juhoon smiled despite himself, despite everything he was risking. He kept sinking deeper into that morbid game he'd been stretching out for way too long.

<bad>

<very bad>

He bit his thumb. The anxiety was there, but excitement covered it. With Keonho, he felt like a teenager again, just like when they first met, before all the lies, the fights, and the crisis.

<do u want me to completely fuck up ur day?>

That was an explicit proposition. If he accepted it, there would be no turning back. Juhoon wondered if Eve had felt just as tempted to bite the apple.

<depends>

<depends on what exactly?>

<on how ur gonna do it>

That was too much. Regret hit him instantly, urging him to delete, but it was no use. Keonho was already in the chat. He'd seen it immediately.

<go out with me>

<now>

<i'll send u the address>

Juhoon was doubting everything. His decisions, his life, his partner, his future. One word could change everything in an instant.

<i can't>

<ofc u can>

<u just have to say yes>

<come on don't u want to see me?>

<don't think about anything else>

<think about urself hyung>

<allow urself to be selfish for once>

Advice with a self-serving intention behind it.

Juhoon looked at the billboard one more time. That smile. Those eyes. The pull that only Keonho had over him. And whether it was unintentional or something he'd been meaning to do all along, he took the final step.

He bit his apple.

<where do we meet?>

It was tucked away on a side street in Hannam-dong, one of those ridiculously overpriced cafés in the area. At first glance, it looked discreet, with tinted windows that hid the inside. Just the simple sign, hanging thinly with nothing else around it, was enough to tell you this wasn't a place just anyone could walk into.

When Juhoon pushed the door open, a server was already waiting for him.

"Kim Juhoon-ssi?" the man asked, flashing a polished, professional smile.

"Yes, that's me." Juhoon nodded, unsure what to say or how to act.

Was it safe for someone to see them together? Could they be linked? Why had Keonho agreed to meet in public when he never had before?

"This way, please. Mr. Ahn is already waiting." The waiter gestured for him to follow.

Then Juhoon realized the place was empty. Completely. All the tables were set, but there wasn't a single customer. Only the two of them moved through the silent room. Juhoon noticed a girl behind the counter who didn't even glance at him. She seemed to be following strict orders.

They walked outside into a small garden with oddly shaped shrubs and the same minimalist decor. There, at the farthest table, sat Keonho. He had his hair combed back, giving him a businessman vibe. He wore a formal gray suit with pinstripes and a burgundy tie. The whole look was stunning, but one detail made Juhoon weak. Black leather gloves, very tight‑fitting.

"Hyung." Keonho stood up as Juhoon approached. "You actually showed up."

"You just came from a shoot?" Juhoon asked as he sat down, catching the makeup, that distinct set smell, and the sour hint of liquor on his breath.

The man gave a proper bow and quickly disappeared, leaving them alone.

"Oh, you noticed?" Keonho said, feigning surprise. "You caught me in the middle of one, so I called it off just to be here. Didn't even bother changing. So? What do you think?"

Keonho leaned in, flexing his arms so the muscles pressed against his white shirt. Then he brushed his knuckle against the tip of his nose, pretending it was nothing. But Juhoon knew a thirst trap when he saw one. Those gloved fingers sent chills down his spine. Keonho knew all about his leather thing. He was the one who had started it, after all.

This had to be deliberate. With Keonho, nothing was ever a coincidence. Juhoon wouldn't have been shocked if he had swiped those gloves from the set before leaving. They looked good, but they didn't quite fit with the rest of his look.

"You look fine," Juhoon murmured, turning his attention to the food.

In front of him was a strawberry cream soda, piled high with whipped cream and topped with a glossy, chubby strawberry. Across from it, a vanilla latte with a giant caramel honeycomb floating on the foam. So predictable. Keonho had always loved things disgustingly sweet and overdone. Between them, a platter held about ten different donuts, round and without holes. Juhoon figured this was the place Keonho had mentioned before.

A hand landed on his, and Juhoon nearly melted. The cold, smooth leather against his skin was pure torture. He pulled away quickly, before he made a fool of himself. Any longer and he'd get hard and begging for things he shouldn't. That wasn't even an exaggeration.

"Just 'fine'? That's all you've got for me?" Keonho pressed, clearly wanting more praising.

"Tell me you didn't rent out the whole place," Juhoon said, reaching for his drink and sidestepping Keonho's flirt.

The sip went down easy and breezy, not heavy at all. The strawberry puree melted into the soda seamlessly. Best of its kind he'd ever had, by far. He didn't want to imagine how many zeros were on the price tag.

Keonho shrugged like it wasn't that remarkable. And for him, it was. That was just how his reality worked.

"Didn't have much of a choice. You know how it is." Keonho rested his elbows on the table, chin on his laced fingers, watching Juhoon wipe cream from his lips.

"I guess." Juhoon shifted in his seat and crossed his legs, trying to appear cool and unfazed. 

He hated how insecure he became around Keonho. Right now, he was full of regret. His hair hadn't been washed in two days, he could literally feel the grease at his roots. His face looked puffy from lack of sleep, with a small bump on his forehead, a pimple or an ingrown hair. His lips were chapped, and the skin beneath his eyes looked tired and dark. Keonho had always noticed everything, and Juhoon had spent years under that scrutiny. He just knew Keonho had already spotted all of it and more, and that made him feel so useless, so unlovable.

"Still your favorite, hyung?" Keonho gestured at the glass. "Or has your taste changed?"

Juhoon caught the hint. Keonho wasn't just talking about drinks.

"No," Juhoon held his gaze. "Still my favorite."

"That's a relief." Keonho nodded, like he already knew. "I'd hate to think I don't know you anymore."

That last part sounded more like a threat than a concern.

"Okay, enough talking. Let's try these donuts." Keonho clapped once, his eyes lighting up, and Juhoon almost forgot the darker edge beneath it.

"Which one first?" Juhoon matched his energy, finding it oddly refreshing how excited Keonho could get over something so simple. Keonho was never like that, things rarely impressed him.

Keonho picked the most peculiar one, a dark gray almost black donut with an even darker glaze. He offered it to Juhoon first with a napkin. Juhoon took a cautious nibble. No filling, but sticky seeds clung to his lips. Keonho bit into a bigger piece, and they chewed while staring at each other.

"Black sesame?" Juhoon made a face, not because he disliked it, but the flavor was too strong. It needed something to balance it out.

Keonho nodded and dabbed Juhoon's lips with a napkin. Then he took a sip of his latte and picked another donut, this one ivory with yellow glaze and something sprinkled on top.

"That one was okay. Not terrible, just... meh." He offered Juhoon another bite. "This is lemon. You'll probably like it better."

Juhoon glanced at Keonho, who was sucking his cheeks in and running his tongue over his teeth. Then he looked at the donut. He took a small bite. It had cream filling, the kind they put in cheesecake, with lemon zest giving it a snappy, crunchy kick. Definitely more his style.

"More your vibe, huh?" Keonho pointed at the donut nearly collapsing in his fingers.

Juhoon nodded slightly and slid extra napkins under Keonho's hand. Then he pulled up the cuffs of Keonho's jacket to keep them clean. Keonho didn't react, but he had already stretched his arms out before Juhoon even explained what he was doing, like he knew exactly what was coming. That connection between them wasn't gone. Not even close.

They kept eating. The atmosphere stayed relaxed, carried by unconscious gestures. They didn't even notice how close their legs had gotten. Keonho had somehow slipped a leg between Juhoon's, which he had uncrossed a while ago. They were holding hands now too. It looked exactly like a date. The date they'd never had.

"This was nice. Thanks," Juhoon said after a while. He hadn't felt this good in a long time. The hypervigilance, the anxiety, the constant sense of danger, all of it had faded. Like it never existed.

If something made him feel this good, maybe it wasn't so bad after all.

"Don't thank me, hyung. You don't even know how long I've wanted this. Just... us. Alone. God, I've missed this." Keonho's voice was soft as he brushed his thumb across the back of Juhoon's hand.

"Yeah, I know what you mean." Juhoon didn't want to leave him hanging in that moment.

"That's a good look on you," Keonho said, taking a sip of his drink.

Juhoon blinked, not following.

"The jacket," Keonho said, pointing at the navy blue Adidas with the three white stripes that Juhoon never took off. "Aren't you tired of that thing? I'll get you a new one."

Juhoon's face went red. He tugged at the collar like he could zip it higher and hide from those eyes on him.

"No, I like it, okay?" he mumbled, looking down. "It's comfortable. Don't want a new one. I just… I really like it. I literally wear it all the time."

"Yeah, I know," Keonho said, sounding suspiciously confident, like he had some kind of proof.

And he had it. Keonho had always kept a close eye on Juhoon, especially after they broke up. He tracked him through fake accounts and paid people around the city to send him daily updates with photos of everything Juhoon did. He still remembered the day he found out Juhoon was already seeing someone new. He completely lost it. Smashed an expensive camera against the wall after a bad shot. Then, when a makeup artist accidentally poked too close to his eye with a brush, Keonho grabbed it from his hand and jammed it right back into his eye. The brush went straight through the cornea, shredding it. That person would never see out of that eye again. Keonho's manager had to step in, paid off the witnesses, and made sure nothing leaked to the press. Just more proof for Keonho that he could do whatever he wanted and never face consequences.

"I like seeing you in things I picked out," Keonho said, his eyes moving slowly over Juhoon's frame. "And the supplies? You been using them?"

"Yeah, they're amazing." It slipped out too fast. "I've never worked with anything this good. My short film's gonna be great."

"I'm sure it will be." Keonho said, reaching out to touch Juhoon's bangs.

He hadn't had a chance to say it yet, but he despised the blonde on him. It made Juhoon look washed out, cheap, vulgar, fake. The black hair had framed his features exquisitely, made him look innocent and expensive. Once he had Juhoon back in his grasp, he'd make him dye it back to black.

"So," Keonho leaned in just a little, "have you sketched me yet? Or are you saving that for later?"

Juhoon's whole body locked up. "Why would you ask me that?"

"You never could keep your hands off your pencil when I was around. You'd have me strip down and hold still for ages. All those hours of posing... you loved it." He gave a mischievous, toothless smile, then fixed those lustful eyes on Juhoon.

"That was then. I don't draw people now, especially not like that."

Juhoon wasn't lying. After Keonho, no one else compared. It wasn't about perfection in the usual sense. It was about having touched something so singular, so divine, that going back to the ordinary felt pointless. He had tried to draw other people a few times. Seonghyeon, most of all. But it was useless, he just couldn't.

Then he felt a hand under the table. Keonho's fingers had found his thigh. The touch was subtle, far from scandalous, but Juhoon still jolted in his seat. Keonho let out one of his infuriating, charming laughs.

"The hell are you doing?"

"What you talking about?" Keonho's eyes went wide, all innocent, like a cherub who'd never done anything bad.

"Cut it out. Now."

"Hmm?" Keonho tilted his head, playing to be clueless. "Just resting my hand." His fingers squeezed, just a little, just enough.

Juhoon crossed his legs, blocking Keonho's hand. He leaned back, chair and all, his heart beating like crazy. Keonho was crossing the line. Both of them were. And he had let it happen from the start. He had made room for this. He looked up at the clear sky and wished a bolt of lightning would hit him and take him somewhere else. Somewhere simpler.

Because the doubts came flooding back. The regret of having come. What he felt was cognitive dissonance on another level. How could he make his own mind understand that the person it kept returning back to was destructive for him?

"What are you after, Keonho?" he asked, his eyes already red-rimmed. He wasn't in a good place.

Keonho stopped touching him. His face went serious, the same look he had when he played that undercover cop in the gangster miniseries Juhoon had binged in half a day. He straightened up and crossed his arms.

"You already know. Want you back, want us to try again."

Juhoon ran his hands over his face. He felt like stamping his feet and whining because he no longer knew how to explain that it couldn't happen. That it wasn't right. Keonho couldn't just show up after a year and a half and expect him to drop everything. Things changed. Other people were involved, and Juhoon didn't want to hurt anyone. But he also didn't want to hurt himself. He wasn't sure his head and body could take any more pain.

"I have someone else now," Juhoon said, trying to remind himself more than Keonho. "Someone who's good to me."

"Yeah, you're with my stunt double. If I ever need someone to take a few hits or fake a punch for me, I'll give him a call. He's built for it." He leaned back, indifferent. "You only ended up with him because I wasn't around."

"Bullshit. You have no idea what we have." Juhoon would deny it until the end.

"Then why does he look so much like me, hyung?" Keonho's voice went dry. "Same haircut. Same style. Same everything. A week after we split, you replaced me with a bootleg version. A worse version. Poorer. Dumber. Less in every way." He let that hang in the air. "Is that really what you settled for?" 

Juhoon didn't like him talking about Seonghyeon like that. He had no right to compare himself to Seonghyeon. No matter how many times he was reborn across a thousand lives, he would never have Seonghyeon's heart or good intentions. Despite the betrayals Juhoon himself had committed, he wouldn't let anyone, least of all Keonho, talk badly about him.

"You don't get to talk about him. You don't know him, so shut your mouth." Juhoon's tone left no room for more crap.

Keonho stared at him with his mouth half open, his right hand gripping a golden fork. 

"So that's how it is? You're gonna stand up for him? Right in front of me?" Keonho raised his voice, standing abruptly and slamming his hands on the table. Everything shook, but nothing fell.

Juhoon closed his eyes for a moment. He knew this tantrum all too well. They usually happened when they were alone. Keonho would become uncontrollably violent. Juhoon half expected that fork to end up lodged in his arm. But when he opened his eyes to face what was coming, he saw Keonho kneeling beside him. Completely defeated. Not at all what he expected, not what anyone who knew him would expect.

What are you doing, Ahn Keonho?

"Do you have any idea how it felt? Watching you move on so fast. Like I meant nothing to you." Keonho rested his chin on Juhoon's thigh and gave him the most pitiful look he had ever seen on his face.

There he was. The star everyone wanted a piece of. The guy who had everything handed to him, who never had to ask twice. Now he was degrading himself at Juhoon's feet, clinging to him desperately. It didn't make sense.

"Do you know what it was like seeing those pictures of you two? Him showing you off like I never could. You looking at him the same way you used to look at me." Keonho was crying now, his voice pitching higher than usual. "It killed me, hyung. I couldn't even function unless I was drunk."

Tears ran down his face. There was something profane about it, like watching someone deface a painting that should have stayed untouched. As if the Mona Lisa had been slashed right in front of him.

No. Please don't cry in front of me. I'm not that strong.

"Stop, get off the floor. I can't deal with this right now." Juhoon touched his shoulder, wanting to run. He couldn't handle this and keep his distance at the same time.

Keonho grabbed Juhoon's hand and pressed it to his lips, kissing it, weeping against it, leaving it wet and messy.

"Please, hyung. Let's try again, I swear it'll be different this time." 

More lies. Juhoon didn't believe him. People don't change that much.

"Enough!" Juhoon shot up, knocking Keonho sideways.

He grabbed him by the shoulders, fingers pressing with real intent. For a moment, he wanted to drive his forehead into Keonho's face. He could barely hold back the urge. Instead, he pushed, and Keonho hit the floor.

"Don't do this, you're not this person. So stop pretending. Stop making promises you won't keep just to get me into bed!"

"I'm not lying. Have you ever seen me like this?" Keonho touched his chest, then hit it a few times. "I can't survive without you! I'm dead inside! Nothing means anything if I don't have you. Don't you get it?"

Juhoon stopped and stared. This was the man he had once put on a pedestal, the one he had chased like a fool, always feeling like he was the lucky one just to be near him. And now he had him on his knees, begging. It was everything Juhoon had secretly wanted. To see Keonho scared of losing him. To see him realize that Juhoon wasn't his anymore. But he couldn't give in. He couldn't.

"Tears won't fix this," Juhoon replied, his voice feral with bitterness. "You can't just show up, cry a little, and expect me to take you back."

He loathed being the one who had to decide. They had broken up because Keonho made the final call. Sure, Juhoon had given him an ultimatum, but if it had been up to him, he never would have ended things. If Keonho hadn't been so impulsive, they'd still be together. Just like he had become Seonghyeon's boyfriend because Seonghyeon had asked him out. Juhoon had never known how to take the lead in relationships. He always waited for the other person to make the first move, to tell him what to do.

Keonho got to his feet in one fluid motion, pushing off with his thighs, an elegance that didn't belong to someone who had just been crying on the floor. He stepped in front of Juhoon, hands in his pockets, leaning in just enough to be at eye level. Something had shifted. The tears had stopped too easily. He looked relaxed now, eerily calm, like a chess player who already knew he had won.

"Come on, you know I never really left." Keonho ran his index and middle fingers down Juhoon's cheek. It felt tender, and yet somehow violent. "The connection is still there, it's always been there. We belong together. When are you going to accept that?" He pressed those fingers against the mole next to Juhoon's mouth. His favorite one.

For once, Keonho wasn't making things up. Juhoon had thought all of it before. Still…

He took a step back. A small one, but a step.

"No. That's not true, we weren't okay. The things we did, the way we treated each other… it wasn't right. We were terrible for each other. What we had wasn't... It wasn't okay." Juhoon stammered, forcing himself to remember the bad stuff and trying to hold onto it.

A hand landed on his waist.

"Is that what your therapist told you? Or that wannabe singer friend of yours?" Keonho's knowledge of Juhoon's life was disturbingly detailed. "They can't stand what we have because they're jealous. They want to tear us apart, and you're just letting them."

Keonho had always been suspicious of Martin. He was convinced Martin was in love with Juhoon, and that's why he had pushed Juhoon to distance himself from him all those years ago. Juhoon had done it, too. He had cut Martin off to give Keonho peace of mind. 

And now, hearing Keonho talk like that again, Juhoon felt the old guilt creep back in. All the weight pressed down on him. The failure of their relationship, Keonho's desperation, his own wandering. Keonho had waited and suffered alone while Juhoon went looking for him in someone else. Maybe Keonho wasn't the problem. Maybe Juhoon was. Maybe giving in wasn't weakness. Maybe it was just surrender, the natural conclusion to their long, love story. Maybe they were destined for each other, and Juhoon couldn't fight fate.

"Please, hyung. Just look at me." Keonho whispered and Juhoon obeyed automatically. "Now tell me. What you really want?" 

"I... I don't know anymore. I'm… so confused." Juhoon looked at Keonho as if he were his only way out.

"It's okay." Keonho pulled him close, but the embrace felt rehearsed. Just another prop in one of his scenes. "Calm down, I'm not mad. I know you didn't mean to cause me pain."

In that single exchange, everything reversed. Keonho hadn't forced anything. He had simply placed himself in the right position, said the magic words, and let Juhoon's own guilt do the rest. Now it was Juhoon holding on to him. Juhoon apologizing. Juhoon seeking absolution from the very person who had put him in this downfall to begin with.

"Please… forgive me. I didn't mean any of it. I'm so sorry for what I did. I'm a terrible person." Juhoon clutched Keonho's jacket, sobbing against his chest, feeling like he didn't deserve so much attention, so much persistence.

"Yeah, yeah, sure." Keonho's eyes drifted to the side, his patience already wearing thin. "How about I help you figure things out?"

The crying stopped as suddenly as it had started.

"How would you do that?"

"Stay with me tonight. That'll answer everything for you."

That was his solution. Brilliant, right? And he had said it with the same brazen nonchalance, as if he were doing Juhoon a favor, not asking for one.

"My place is close. Car's downstairs, so we can head out whenever you're ready. I've got some art you'll probably like, and that script I mentioned." 

Juhoon pulled back, staring at the floor. His head throbbed, overloaded, caught between what he should want and what he actually did.

"That's not... I shouldn't… I can't…" Juhoon pressed the heels of his hands against his temples, like he could stop the thoughts from multiplying. But Keonho's manipulative speech had already taken hold.

Keonho pressed his tongue against the inside of his cheek. He despised having to spend more energy than he had planned. This was taking too long.

"Don't say that to yourself. Course you can. You need this, to clear your head and figure out what you really want. And I'll support whatever you choose, hyung. You know I will."

Juhoon thought of Seonghyeon. His dimples. His soft hands. His lopsided smile. The calm he had brought into his life. And somehow, he had forgotten all the reasons he shouldn't accept. When Keonho was this nice and accommodating, it was hard to remember anything bad about him.

Right now, he saw more pros than cons. He turned off his common sense and gave in. He threw himself into the ocean even though he had never learned to swim. He just hoped he wouldn't drown again.

No, he wouldn't.

This time would be new.

It had to be.

"Alright, fine. Let's go."

Keonho smiled. The effort had paid off. He could already feel the satisfaction spreading through him, that sweetness he hungered for so much, more pleasurable than the first time. And he would devour Juhoon until nothing of him was left.

 

 

Juhoon stood in the doorway, looking into the apartment from the hallway. The walls were a dull gray, decorated by violent splashes of insidious art. The few windows that were there were trapped behind heavy curtains made of fabric that probably cost more than every property in Juhoon's neighborhood. The place looked like a luxury prison. He couldn't tell if Keonho was the inmate or the warden.

"Get in, hyung." Keonho slipped off his shoes. "Stop hovering."

Juhoon stepped inside, trying not to be too obvious about looking around. He copied Keonho, his white Converse looking strikingly out of place on that black wood floor. He had always felt like an outsider in Keonho's world, at least in the restricted corner he had been allowed to see.

"So? What you think?" Keonho tugged off his jacket and tossed it over a counter lined with every kind of liquor. He leaned back against it, arms braced behind him, watching Juhoon like he was about to lunge. "Bought it a few weeks ago. Figured it was time I had a place that was actually mine."

Keonho had lived at his parents' house forever, even as an adult, though that was more of a technicality. He only showed up for dinners or important events, or to grab fresh clothes. Most nights, he slept at Juhoon's place or in hotel rooms when they had fought. Juhoon had never asked why he didn't sleep at his own home. Keonho was secretive about family stuff.

"Yeah, it's nice. Cool that you've got your own space and everything." Juhoon winced internally. Why did that sound so awkward?

Keonho laughed at his obvious nerves. He loved seeing him like that, struggling and cute. He already knew exactly what Juhoon was thinking. Juhoon probably thought this place was tacky and overdone, like something out of a Kafka novel. Maybe even a little creepy. But Juhoon would never say that to him, and Keonho enjoyed that silence. He never cared about Juhoon's true opinions anyway. As long as they suited him, that was all that mattered.

"You look tense. A drink will help. So what'll it be?" Keonho moved behind the counter, still smiling.

Drinking while on his medication wasn't a great idea. Then again, today wasn't exactly the day to judge good or bad decisions. Besides, he hadn't taken his pills this morning, so he figured there was no risk.

"Whatever you're having is fine." Juhoon didn't have a preference. He didn't know much about alcohol, and didn't really enjoy it anyway.

Keonho scanned the wine selection, took a moment, then pulled out a bottle with a cream label.

"Go ahead, sit. You're making me nervous just standing there like that." Keonho pulled a corkscrew from somewhere.

Juhoon couldn't think of anything clever to say. Of course not. When he was with Keonho in a closed space, his wit disappeared, so he just obeyed. He picked the huge white sofa. When he sat down, he didn't sink in like he expected. It was firmer than it looked. Then he noticed the only truly interesting thing in the room.

Keonho uncorked the bottle with an ease that definitely didn't belong to a beginner, and now that Juhoon took a second to think, he connected the dots. The two times he had seen Keonho recently, he had smelled alcohol on him. The rows of bottles on the counter. And Keonho had said it himself, that during their breakup, his drinking had gotten worse.

Guilt flooded through him and turned into anxiety. His thumb had never looked so tempting. Right as he was about to put it in his mouth, a frighteningly stern voice stopped him.

"Put that hand down. We've talked about this. Pretty people don't make themselves ugly, hyung. Don't make me remind you again."

Juhoon knew that phrase all too well. He hadn't heard it in so long, but now the old rules came rushing back. The rules he had been breaking.

Keonho had standards. He was particular about looks. He had very specific ideas about what he liked and what he didn't. 

He liked skin that looked untouched by the sun. Pale, but not sickly. Clean to the point of being unreal, like fresh porcelain. Any spot, any misplaced mole or pimple, disgusted him. He liked loose clothes. Baggy sweatshirts that hid shapes, pants that fell straight without marking anything. Winter or summer, Juhoon always had to wear covered clothes. If something clung, if a hip or even a knee showed, Keonho would lose it.

Keonho hated gym bodies. He preferred natural, fragile thinness. He liked long, clean fingers with trimmed nails and no dirt underneath. He liked the smell of plain soap. No perfumes, no fruit scents. Even Juhoon's laundry had to smell neutral. 

But what he enjoyed most was being the one to spoil that beauty with his own hands.

"Sorry. I wasn't thinking. I just—" 

"We're done talking about that." Keonho cut him off and sat beside him, handing him one of the glasses. "Drink." 

Juhoon took it. The pale yellow liquid trembled inside the crystal, shaken by his pulse. He took a sip and swallowed. It wasn't as strong as others he had tried, but nothing special either. It just tasted like alcohol. 

"You like it?" Keonho crossed his legs, looking like he was posing for a magazine. "You'd better say yes, after I opened this bottle for you."

"It's okay? I mean, wine is wine, right? They all kind of taste the same to me." Juhoon tried to be honest, but he knew better. Keonho never handled disagreement well, especially on things he considered himself an expert in.

The glass was snatched away. The leather glove brushed Juhoon's knuckles, making them tremble even more than before.

"You're drinking a Montrachet. It's not cheap and it's wasted on you if you can't appreciate it."

He lifted the glass to Juhoon's nose. 

"Smell it and tell me what you get." 

That wasn't a suggestion. 

Keonho radiated that aura of absolute assurance, the knowledge that Juhoon would do whatever he wanted. He always did. He always had. Years of this relationship, and Keonho had never lost a single battle. For him, it wasn't about winning fights, it was about reminding Juhoon of ownership whenever he felt like it.

Juhoon looked at the glass and, like a good deer, pressed his nose to the rim. He inhaled. He focused every nerve in his nose on the task. 

"So? You get something?" 

Juhoon nodded, hoping that would be enough. He had no clue what, but he had to say something. 

"What notes are you picking up?" 

Juhoon opened his eyes and crashed into Keonho's intensity. His eyes were like lasers, tracking every micro‑expression. 

The pressure was crushing. 

It was a struggle. He didn't have that elite palate that Keonho had been cultivating since birth. Juhoon had tried, put in real effort, and hadn't detected anything. Saying it smelled like grapes would be too basic, and Keonho would tear him apart. He glanced around the room and decided to gamble.

"Maybe a hint of… wood? Charred wood?" Juhoon put on a pretentious face, pointedly ignoring the bioethanol fireplace crackling in the background.

"Flint." Keonho's lips barely moved. "It's flint. But close enough. Good job." 

Juhoon couldn't help it. He inched closer to Keonho, drawn by that validation, which flooded through him like a shot of ecstasy.

"Here, hyung. Now you try it. Lemme show you how it's done."

His gloved fingers climbed up Juhoon's thigh, squeezing firmly as Keonho took a small sip and held the wine in his cheeks. Juhoon watched him set the glass on the floor and lean in, his throat tightening. A hand gripped his chin, pressing just enough to open his mouth with alarming ease. Keonho's tongue pushed into his mouth. It wasn't a kiss, more like a transfusion, urgent and possessive. He forced the wine past Juhoon's lips, and it tasted thicker, sweeter than before, laced with Keonho's spit. Funny how that was still the only thing he could actually taste.

Keonho pulled back just before anything could spill, only a thin trail escaping from the corner of Juhoon's mouth. But Keonho didn't let it go to waste. He wiped it with his thumb, then brought it to his own lips and sucked it clean. It was obscene, the contrast of black leather against his pink tongue.

"Slow down," Keonho murmured, his thumb still wet. "Savor it." He didn't move, only watched as Juhoon let the wine rest on his tongue, feeling its weight and temperature.

Juhoon even caught a faint hint of something like hazelnut, and for a second he felt like a sommelier. Maybe Keonho had passed on tasting DNA through his spit.

"Come on, slurp," Keonho ordered. "Don't be shy, I want to know you're really trying." 

Keonho seemed like the worst kind of pervert, and Juhoon was no better, because he was determined to follow every instruction. 

A wet click came from his throat as his tongue stuck to his palate. He gargled slightly, like swishing water after brushing your teeth, and the wine bubbled, tickling his uvula. The aroma surged up into his nostrils with such intensity that he almost coughed.

"See? That's it. You just learned something, now you're not completely clueless anymore." Keonho nodded, looking pleased with himself.

Juhoon shot him a look, silently asking how much longer he had to keep this up, his face flushed from holding back, his nose itching. He didn't care about tasting correctly. He just wanted to end this pretentious act and swallow the bubbly mess already. But there he was, enduring, waiting for permission like a soldier.

"Go ahead. Finish it." 

The wine burned down his throat. Before he could even recover, Keonho was inside his mouth again. 

The index and middle fingers slid in, pressing his tongue down and flattening it against the floor of his mouth. Juhoon moaned around the leather, the taste artificial. They moved slowly, rubbing every fold and curve like a lewd dental exam. His gag reflex kicked in when they reached the back, that instinct to push out what can't be swallowed, but he fought it. He didn't want to spit them out. He didn't want Keonho to pull them away.

Juhoon wanted them deeper. He wanted to gag, to vomit, to swallow it all back down. It sounded disgusting to anyone who had never been this addicted to another person, to anyone who had never craved even the smallest touch from someone who destroyed them. It was about taking everything or nothing at all. No middle ground. The emptiness would be worse than any degradation.

"A mouth that pretty should be busy." Keonho said, almost pitying. But his fingers kept moving, controlling Juhoon's tongue. "Should I take care of it?" 

Juhoon nodded as best he could, not wanting to interrupt the violation. He couldn't speak. His mouth was full. Pretty, obedient boys like him were polite, even as drool ran down his chin and dripped onto his pants. 

Keonho bit his lip as he slowly pulled his fingers out, watching a long string of saliva stretch from the glove and snap against Juhoon's lips. He was so hard he felt like he might burst. 

Without a word, he stood up. No joints cracked, he was in perfect shape. His gray pinstripe suit was still immaculate, not a wrinkle in sight, only his tie had loosened. He looked down at Juhoon with this boundless hunger. His nostrils flared. His erection was fully outlined, pointing to the right. He was beautiful. He was terrifying. He was what Juhoon had wanted… apparently.

Juhoon stayed sunk into the sofa, mouth still open, saliva still dripping. His own hard-on throbbed against the fabric of his jeans. 

"Get up. On your feet." 

Juhoon complied immediately, leaning on the arm of the sofa to keep from collapsing. Blood wasn't reaching his legs properly. 

"Kneel for me. Like before." 

The floor was uncomfortable. Juhoon had to tilt his head up to look at Keonho. This was the role he had ached for so long.

Keonho started removing his belt with a lazy sensuality. He slid it through each loop like a snake, like a nature documentary host. He moved with such detachment, as if he were doing Juhoon a favor, and that only made Juhoon harder. He didn't take off his pants, just lowered them to his hip bones, just enough to free himself.

Juhoon was mesmerized. Like he had been fasting for eighteen months, and suddenly a banquet appeared with all his favorite dishes. The little devil on his shoulder whispered for him to do more than just look. 

"You missed this, didn't you?" Keonho gave himself a few unhurried tugs, showing off like he was presenting a trophy.

"Yeah... I did." Juhoon's voice was breathy, needy. 

"So my dick means more to you than I do?" 

Keonho clicked his tongue and grabbed him by the hair at the nape, where it was longest, pulling back until Juhoon's Adam's apple strained against his thin skin like it might tear. Veins showed, tension rippling through his neck. Everything about Juhoon was delicious, but that stubborn pride, that disobedience, had never been to Keonho's liking.

"I asked you a question." Keonho's voice was deceptively calm. "Don't make me repeat it. It bores me." 

"No," Juhoon gasped. Swallowing was almost impossible, but he wasn't complaining. His eyes were starting to sting. "Just you... only wanted you." 

"That's right." Keonho let go and gave him a brief caress on the cheek. "Now suck it." 

Juhoon's mouth opened as wide as it could. He took too much at once. He coughed, the vibrations of his gag traveling up through Keonho's shaft. It was clumsy and pleasurable at the same time.

He focused, trying to do it right, teasing the head and savoring the little droplets that kept beading. He cleaned the surface with his tongue, tasting the salt and sweat, the faint acidic tang he remembered. The memory of all the times Keonho would come to him frustrated and silent, shoving himself into Juhoon's mouth wordlessly, excited him, and he took a little more each time.

Keonho held the base firmly. Juhoon's lips brushed against the leather gloves, drool coating the length he could reach, which wasn't much. He lowered his head, trying to open his throat, ready to swallow something it wasn't built for. 

Juhoon hadn't lost his skill. He was doing it exactly the way Keonho liked, not too messy, gagging just enough. It fed Keonho's ego, gave him satisfaction to see Juhoon try to endure it.

Keonho had been moaning for a while now. He wasn't shy about noise like Seonghyeon. Juhoon paused for a second, wondering why he had made that comparison. Then he resumed, trying not to do it again. 

The same fingers that had invaded his mouth earlier joined again. Juhoon moaned around everything at once. Then came the predictable next move. Even expecting it, he still ended up crying when Keonho thrust deep, hitting his uvula. He couldn't swallow. Saliva ran freely, soaking his jeans. He felt like he was drowning, suffocating on the thick flesh that showed no sign of stopping. Tears fell in heavy drops, reddening his face. But he didn't want it to stop. He didn't want Keonho to pull out. He wanted to stay like this forever. On his knees. Used. Full. Being the only thing he knew how to be. 

"Tell me, hyung. Does he use you like this?" Keonho's hips slammed against Juhoon's face, the rough fabric of his pants scratching his skin. "Does he know how much you like getting your mouth fucked like this?" 

Juhoon had been trying not to think about Seonghyeon, not to compare him to Keonho. And now Keonho was making it impossible. The answer was clear. No. Seonghyeon let him give head, but he had never taken control like this. He was gentle even in those moments. He would stroke Juhoon's hair and massage that spot behind his ear. Now that he thought about it, that wasn't so bad either. It was just... not the same.

He tried to shake his head, but Keonho's hold was too strong. Still, Keonho understood and let out a sharp laugh. 

"Didn't think so," Keonho spat, contempt seeping through his voice. "He doesn't know the first thing about pleasing you. You like being babied like that?"

Keonho kept insisting with that kind of question. His eagerness to compare the differences between them only made it more obvious that jealousy was eating him alive. He was trying to puff himself up by tearing someone else down, but the whole performance felt forced. Juhoon ignored him completely and pretended not to have heard. It wasn't like he could answer anyway. 

Keonho's fingers slipped out when they started to cramp, not to give Juhoon any relief, and that brief moment of release barely lasted. Juhoon was grabbed by the nape and shoved further onto the cock, making small, muffled, frightened sounds as it reached halfway down his throat. He slapped Keonho's thighs, trying to get him to stop. His stomach clenched between fear and disgust at the taste of bile, but Keonho didn't let go. He held him there, nose pressed against his shaved pelvis, barely able to breathe, for what felt like ten or fifteen seconds. Juhoon couldn't even keep count, he started getting dizzy, the little he could see turning blurry.

"You need this, hyung. You know you do." Keonho slowed down now. 

Air began to flow again, and Juhoon gasped, desperate for a break. 

Keonho looked at him with scorn and affection mixed together, both at once.

"You need someone to treat you like the slut you are. That's why you came, hyung. Acting all confused, but you just wanted to get fucked. I taught you how to cheat, didn't I?"

Juhoon didn't have the right to deny it. He hated thinking that he was doing to someone else what had been done to him. And yet, he was enjoying it. He liked the pain. He liked Keonho talking to him like this. Because these were things he could actually believe. Not like when he was with Seonghyeon, the safe, reliable Seonghyeon. The one who never yelled at him or hit him. The one who lavished him with all kinds of praise too flattering for someone like him.

He had a dry, scalding orgasm, coming in his underwear without even touching himself. He had been stimulated enough, both verbally and mentally. Juhoon felt disgusting, though he couldn't tell if it was from the sticky cum soaking into his clothes or if the small insect of guilt had already bitten him. 

Keonho smiled widely. He had noticed. Juhoon had clung to his ankles, had trembled like a filthy worm at his feet, his body tensing completely and giving Keonho's cock more warmth. 

"You came already?" It was a rhetorical question, mocking and merciless. "Just from this? You've gotten so desperate. I'll bet that idiot can't even make you finish. You probably wait for him to roll over and then you sneak off to complain to me, to whine about how bad he fucks you." 

Once again, he was using information against him. That had only happened in the first few months. It wasn't a regular thing. Juhoon had once made a big deal out of it, just like with the detail that Seonghyeon had trouble getting hard with him. But over time, he had come to understand. That dysfunction only happened because Seonghyeon liked him too much, not because of the opposite, as he had once believed. As for the other thing, it was normal that after going through such a turbulent and intense relationship like the one he had with Keonho, where everything was pushed to its limits, he would struggle to feel sexually satisfied. But it was never that serious. In fact, it had never been that serious. Juhoon was bothered by Seonghyeon's prudishness and his hang‑ups about sex, but maybe he had been giving it too much importance. He realized that now that he heard it from someone else.

Anyway, he kept sucking, because Keonho hadn't told him to stop. He wasn't aware of how much he was crying at that moment, after the small reflections that were forming a web of realities he was terrified to face. 

Keonho came. There was no warning, no signal, no verbal cue. The cum splattered him, shooting in several directions inside his mouth. Bitterness spread, blending with his spit. Keonho hissed and pulled out once he was sure he had deposited everything.

Juhoon had no choice but to swallow it. Even so, a few droplets escaped, which he caught with his tongue, tasting them along with a hint of blood. He brought a hand to his lower lip and checked. He had cut himself, probably from the friction. Keonho's zipper must have torn it during the struggle.

"On your hands and knees. Now." 

Juhoon put his hands on the floor, bending his torso and lowering his head, still fully dressed, uncomfortable and impatient. But he waited, not daring to move, just licking his lip to try to stop the bleeding, the taste of copper mingling with Keonho's cum.

His other senses sharpened, ears missing nothing. Footsteps moving away but not far, glass clinking, the soft hiss of bubbling liquid. Then he felt it. Rough hands practically ripped off his pants, yanking them down with a desperation that fit the moment, his underwear flying off too and landing somewhere he couldn't see, leaving him half‑naked and half‑hard.

Something very liquid and warm enough not to be lube slid between his buttocks. Not hard to identify. Fucking wine. Keonho was pouring wine on his ass. Juhoon gasped at the sensation, the liquid slipping down his crack and wetting his balls. It was cold at first, but it warmed up fast. His skin prickled as he imagined why. 

"Still gorgeous from behind." 

Juhoon tasted glory when the first lick came. His back arched higher, his hips eager to move, to press back against that face and steal the air he had taken from him minutes ago. By some miracle, he held back. 

"Damn, hyung. The wine's way better when it's dripping off you. Might just keep you around as my own personal glass." Keonho took a moment, savoring the wine, the taste of Juhoon, the humiliation. 

Then he went back to work, plunging his tongue deeper, pressing against the ring of muscle. He sucked every inch of skin around that small, perfect hole that was dying to be filled.

"Does he even know how to do this?" The question vibrated against those sensitive nerve endings. 

Again. 

Keonho seemed more obsessed with Seonghyeon than with Juhoon at this point. 

"No. He's never…" Juhoon couldn't get to talk, was too distracted.

"Just as I thought. Probably only fucks you in the dark, too." Keonho gave his left cheek a little nip. 

And Juhoon was starting to understand. It wasn't just jealousy. The bastard was getting off on the subject. He was imagining sick scenarios where he fucked Juhoon right in front of Seonghyeon while giving him lessons on how to do it properly. Keonho was just as damaged as Juhoon, but his sickness operated on a whole other level. 

One finger entered. The leather, given the material, was slippery. With all that saliva and wine, it slid in easily. Juhoon bit his lip where it had clotted, reopening the cut. He had no other way to cope. Keonho opened him up, twisting his fingers inside, searching for that spot. Another finger slid in so effortlessly that Juhoon barely felt it. How could he, when Keonho used his other hand to jerk him off from underneath? 

He was stretching nicely. 

"You like that, don't you, hyung? Tell me." Keonho asked for confirmation, as if the nonstop moans weren't enough. 

He moved his fingers fast, plunging them down to the knuckles, syncing with his right hand on Juhoon's dick. The leather gave way and wasn't so wet anymore, to the point of rubbing painfully, but even that felt good by now.

"Uh‑huh... I like it. Please…" Juhoon gasped. 

"Is this better than with him?" 

Juhoon had to stop himself from punching the floor. Could Keonho stop fantasizing about his boyfriend? He was killing the mood by bringing him up constantly, though maybe that was the point. Keonho was that sick.

"He… he doesn't do it." Juhoon paused to breathe. Keonho's fingers didn't let up. "He says I should do it myself. He's scared of hurting me." 

Keonho laughed. It came out jagged, self‑absorbed, so unhinged.

"Useless. Fucking useless. No eating out, no fingering, no real sex. Like, what do you even see in him? He's not even as hot as me. I'm better than him, you know I am. He's a joke. And you? You're just as pathetic for staying."

Juhoon was crying again. There were no longer two fingers inside him, but three. A fourth was trying to get in, but still didn't fit. It hurt badly, not just from the glove but because he was tensing up from all that talk. Instead of relaxing, he kept clenching. Keonho pulled his fingers out abruptly, cutting the stimulation on his dick too. Juhoon was left hollow, unattended, trembling, his hole gaping. That hollowness convinced him that absence was worse than pain. When he felt his hips yanked backward, he knew what was coming.

They were going to fuck, and they hadn't even really kissed. Shouldn't it be the other way around? Had this always been the natural order? No caresses, no foreplay?

Juhoon was already slippery, so Keonho saw no reason to hold back. He entered in one go, ripping a scream from Juhoon's throat. Juhoon knew the difference between his pleasure screams and his pain screams. That one definitely wasn't from pleasure. Keonho was thicker than Seonghyeon, though they were almost the same length, and Juhoon needed time to adjust after being shaped to a different size.

"Wait… hold on. Need to breathe… it's too much." Juhoon pleaded between whimpers.

Juhoon could feel flesh tearing. His paranoia made him imagine muscles ripping apart. He didn't want to think about internal bleeding, but it was the loudest thought. That's how horrible OCD was. 

"Shut your mouth and take it." Keonho muttered, moving at will. 

What? No kiss on the neck? No twenty adjectives about how cute he was? He had expected at least some fake affection, but Keonho was all business. All cruelty.

The first thrusts came fast, deliberately brutal, like punishment. Juhoon cried hard, tears splashing onto the floor. He was confused, disoriented. He didn't know why he was sobbing. Was it because he liked it? Because he hated it? Or because Seonghyeon had never made him feel anything close to this? Seonghyeon was kind and attentive. He asked if Juhoon was okay every few seconds. Keonho was the opposite. He wasn't Seonghyeon. And maybe that was the whole point. 

"You see what you are? You see how you act?" Keonho pushed Juhoon's face down, tired of hearing his whining.

Juhoon's forehead slammed against the floor, the impact sending a shock through his skull. A small cut opened above his eyebrow, blood trickling into his eye. Keonho was rougher than he remembered. Or maybe he had always been this way, and Juhoon had just forgotten.

"This is what a slut deserves. Not tenderness. Not sweet words. Just this. Just a hard dick and no mercy." Keonho's hips slammed with a rhythm that felt like a wounded ego. 

Because Keonho was the betrayed one. Not Seonghyeon. Keonho had been first. He had put up with Juhoon's tantrums and fights, shaped him, made him decent. Seonghyeon had no right to have Juhoon without having endured what Keonho had all that time.

"Stop calling me that... I'm not a slut." 

What insolence, to think he could talk back to someone more influential, more adored, more loved than him. Juhoon must have been losing his mind.

Keonho grabbed him by the hips. He was displeased with the small layer of fat Juhoon had gained, just a couple of pounds he couldn't wait to burn off with a strict diet and exercise routine. Keonho wouldn't let his investment go to waste. He had chosen Juhoon, poured himself into him, and he wouldn't let that slip away. He had shaped Juhoon into something desirable, and any deviation from that vision felt like a personal insult.

"Course you are. Look how you get. Look how you open up for me. You do that for him? You cry when he puts it in? You come in your pants just from sucking him off?" 

Juhoon refused to keep playing along. Keonho grabbed him by the neck, pulling him back, pressing just enough to remind him who he was dealing with. 

"Answer me." He breathed hot against Juhoon's ear, then bit his lobe. "Or I'll make sure you can't speak at all." 

"No," Juhoon said, giving him what he wanted. It was the only way to leave relatively unharmed. "He doesn't make me feel anything. Nothing like this." 

"There we go. Some honesty for once."

Keonho bit down again, stronger. His teeth sank into Juhoon's earlobe with a gruesome crunch as the cartilage gave way, splitting like a thin cookie. Juhoon heard the crack inside his own head, felt the stabbing sensation radiate down his neck. A stream of blood trickled down, and Keonho licked it up with a low groan.

"You'll never have this with anyone else. You're mine." 

From then on, Juhoon only registered fragments. Some worse than others. It was psychological torture, plain and grotesque. 

"No one knows you better than me." 

Between knowing and understanding, there was a big gap. Seonghyeon had taught him that.

"Before me, you were nothing. I made you who you are." 

No. Juhoon's life had value on its own. He wasn't special because Keonho had noticed him. The fact that amazing people like Seonghyeon, Martin, and James kept reminding him of his worth meant something. There was a reason they stayed.

"You think he'll stick around? Once he finds out, he's gone. And you'll have no one but me." 

That might have been the only truth Keonho had spoken in minutes. Minutes where Juhoon had stopped whining, stopped complaining, stopped making any sound unless Keonho demanded it. He felt almost dead. The anticipation, the frenzy, the constant stimulation, all of it had vanished. He remembered why he had tried to distance himself so many times before the breakup. 

Keonho wasn't fucking Juhoon. He was fucking a corpse, one that had died from countless errors and wrong turns

Juhoon knew Keonho had come when he pulled out, as abruptly as he had entered. He came inside. Juhoon glanced down and saw blood, thick and dark, mixed with the semen as it slid down his thighs. It pooled on the floor beneath him. He had torn him inside. The pain wasn't sharp anymore, it was a deep, gnawing heat, like something was still moving around in there. This had happened only once before. Maybe twice. He couldn't remember. His mind was blocking it out, piece by piece, replacing it with a dull, pulsing numbness.

"Stay exactly like that." 

Juhoon wouldn't have moved even if he could. Keonho disappeared, and Juhoon heard water running, then the snap of a towel. When Keonho returned, his hands were bare and smelled of soap. No gloves. His shirt was unbuttoned, his cock still half‑hard and exposed. Juhoon stopped looking and buried his face in the refuge of his arms.

They were still on the floor, sofas on either side, and Juhoon felt there was some symbolism there, something about Keonho's disproportionate spite. Then something cold and viscous touched the sole of his foot. He didn't even twitch.

"These feet are perfect." Keonho ran his tongue between his toes, sucking each one, licking the arch, biting the heel. "So delicate. So pale. I could eat them forever." 

He moved up to Juhoon's calves, sinking his teeth into the soft flesh until it broke. He licked the backs of his knees, then his thighs, leaving new wounds and deep bruises. Juhoon moaned through it all. That was such a harsh fact. His body reacted whether he wanted it to or not. He had always found that so unfair. Humans couldn't even control their own bodies.

What kind of disgusting creatures had God created?

"This body is mine." Keonho roared like a savage beast, claiming the carrion as the king of his pack. "I can do whatever I want with it." 

Keonho turned him over and yanked off the Adidas jacket, the zipper pinching Juhoon's skin several times. Once Juhoon was flat on his stomach, Keonho continued. He licked a stripe up Juhoon's torso, from navel to chest. He grabbed one arm and sniffed it like a cannibal. When he went to bite the elbow joint, he stopped. The scab had fallen off, leaving a patch of shiny, dented skin, chafed along the edges. That burn hadn't healed right. Some parts were still moist, and Keonho found the sight repulsive.

"I'm gonna get you in to see my doctor this week. You need a few touch-ups, you've kinda downgraded while I was gone. And we'll take care of that little imperfection too, yeah? Like when I took care of that scar." Keonho touched the mark from Juhoon's appendectomy. "You remember how crazy you got that night we ran into each other? Burned yourself with a cigarette when you saw my Patek. I had to throw it away for you. That thing was expensive, you know?"

So that was how he had gotten that wound. Juhoon wondered what else had happened during that blackout. Had Keonho taken advantage of him? Done something more? 

"I'm the only one who cares enough to fix you. You should be thanking me." Keonho smiled at him, angelic, expecting gratitude. 

Seconds passed with nothing but silence. Juhoon had become disobedient. Keonho would have to re‑educate him, so he grabbed Juhoon's cheeks with all five fingers.

"Show some appreciation. Don't be rude." 

"Thank you, Keonho." He said it, but it carried no feeling. 

Keonho kissed him, but it wasn't a kiss either, just another part of his butcher's meal. More teeth than tongue, more rage than affection, more blood than saliva. He had torn open the cut on Juhoon's lip, and Juhoon could taste himself. He tried to keep up, still acting in that mindless pantomime he had accepted because he had no other options at first. But now he did. He didn't have to keep being part of this. He didn't have to cling to a cycle he had already tasted a way out of. He couldn't call a minefield home just because he had survived it. Surviving wasn't the same as living.

"Keonho, stop."

It wasn't easy to say. 

Keonho either didn't hear him or simply ignored him. 

"I mean it. Stop." Juhoon said again, this time with more energy, he even pushed him. It wasn't a hard shove, just a clear signal that he was serious. 

He was standing up to him, setting a boundary, taking the initiative for the first time. He could hardly believe it himself.

This occasion, Keonho listened. He leaned back, sitting on his heels, keeping his hands very still on his thighs. He studied the scene as if it belonged to another world. The world of rejection, a place he had never known. 

"What did you just say to me?" Keonho's voice was dangerously quiet. 

Juhoon propped himself up on his forearms and lifted his torso enough. He didn't sit up completely, staying half‑raised, leaning on one hip, because down there hurt like hell. Everything was trembling, but since he had started, since he had at least made up his mind a little, he would keep going. He would try to be consistent. He also had extra motivation. He didn't want Keonho close, at least not right now. 

He fumbled to make himself clear, because it was always hard for him to be clear when he couldn't even understand it himself. "I'm not completely sure... but this wasn't the way to figure it out. I'm glad I came, 'cause I figured some stuff out... but..."

"What exactly did you figure out?" Keonho cut in, suddenly very focused. 

Juhoon was uncomfortable. He didn't like having this kind of talk. He was more about shouting, or running away, or avoiding everything and pretending nothing happened. He wasn't used to facing things with true maturity. But there was a first time for everything. He thought of Seonghyeon, how he always expressed himself so naturally and honestly, and decided to imitate him.

"I don't think we work the same way anymore. And the sex... this kind of rough, degrading thing... I always thought I was into that. But now... it doesn't feel right. I'm not okay with it." He kept his eyes down, digging his nails into his arm. "I'm leaving. I'll reach out when I'm ready. We'll talk properly another time, when we're both calmer. I need space... I need to think. I need to see if I can fix things with him. You get it?"

Juhoon had never opened up like this, and naively, he hoped Keonho would do the same.

"The hell is this?" Keonho grabbed him by the neck and jerked him closer, forcing him to look him in the eye. "You didn't want this? Then why'd you come? Why'd you send all those teasing texts? You followed my lead. You gave me hope. You think you can just turn it off? That's not how it works."

"I shouldn't have handled it like that. I... I was wrong but..."

"But what?" Keonho increased the pressure on Juhoon's throat, watching his face flush. "So now you care about his feelings? Not mine? You think you can just walk out on me like that? You think you're allowed?"

Juhoon shook his head, barely able to breathe. "That's not it," he choked out. "What we're doing... it's not right. You're suffering... I'm suffering... This whole situation is wrong."

Keonho let go only to slap him with an open hand. The impact whipped Juhoon's face to the side, leaving five red welts that quickly darkened into bruises. A drop of blood appeared at the corner of his mouth from where his teeth had cut the inside of his cheek.

"You're out of your mind if you think you can just waltz in and out of my life whenever you feel like it. I've been patient. I've spoiled you. I've listened to you cry about that idiot every single goddamn night. And you think I'm just someone you can toss aside?"

It wasn't that Keonho was in denial, that would be too simple. The truth was much worse. He genuinely believed he was the good guy in all of this.

Keonho had sounded so convinced that Juhoon felt confused again. He sat rubbing his slapped cheek, still feeling it sting, blaming himself as the sole culprit for having provoked him.

Taking advantage of his dazed state, Keonho pinned him back to the floor, climbing on top and bringing his face aggressively close. 

"I'm not stopping, and you're not going anywhere. I know you don't mean it. I don't know why you're so pissed at me, but I'm not letting you push me away again. You need this. You want it too. So stop with the victim act, it never really suited you."

Juhoon closed his eyes, disgusted. It felt like a cold, slimy slug crawling across his lips, leaving a trail of sticky, foul‑smelling mucus that seemed to seep into his skin.

"I'm not a victim," Juhoon said, the admission catching him off guard. "I'm just telling you how I feel."

Someone had gotten to him while he was gone. They'd filled his head with nonsense, turned him against Keonho. That was the only explanation. The Juhoon he knew would never act this cold.

"Exactly. I'm the victim here. You've played with me, made me believe you actually cared, and now you're trying to walk out. But I'm not letting you." Keonho gave him a look that was almost pitying. "Wake up, hyung. If you want what we had back, you have to commit. I can't do this alone."

Juhoon thought he was hallucinating. Keonho had rewritten everything into a narrative that made perfect sense to him, but only to him. Juhoon couldn't tell if Keonho was faking it or actually believed his own version, and that terrified him.

"Now that you understand, let's not waste time." Keonho slid back in, using his own cum to fuck him even more brutally. 

Juhoon kicked and squealed, twisting like a cockroach refusing its fate, but it didn't matter. Keonho knew all his weak points. He knew Juhoon would never truly fight him. So cruel. Keonho didn't even have to hold him down. Juhoon couldn't move because he was afraid of him, because some warped part of him still respected him.

"Stop... please..." Juhoon sobbed, feeling so dirty and misunderstood. "Please... I need you to stop."

"No." Keonho pressed his nose to Juhoon's face, breathing him in. "I'm not stopping until you come again. If you don't, I'll stay here all night, till dawn if I have to. I'll make you see this is what you need, make you beg for it yourself. And you will see I'm right. You always do, you know that."

It was impossible. Keonho wouldn't back down, wouldn't release him. It was Juhoon's fault. If only he had thought things through, if only he hadn't let himself be swept away by his impulses, if only he hadn't followed his pattern of self‑destruction, none of this would have happened.

Right then, he could be at home with Seonghyeon. He could be brushing his teeth, sitting on the toilet watching his boyfriend shower. They would have already eaten whatever they ordered for dinner. He would surely hear him complain about creative differences with the set design team. He took refuge in that fantasy. He had to, so he wouldn't lose his mind, so he wouldn't completely break. It was the only way to protect himself.

"Shh, it's okay. I'm right here." Keonho licked the tears from his cheek. "Everything's fine now, we're together again. So stop crying and just feel it, okay? I'll handle the rest."

Keonho fucked him like that for hours. Juhoon lost track of time and consciousness several times. Every time he came to, he was in a new position or location in the house. He remembered crying and hearing more of Keonho's delusional ravings. Keonho came many times, always inside him. Juhoon felt on edge, full and empty at the same time, but above all, certain that he had just made the biggest mistake of his life.

Juhoon lay on the bed with rumpled black sheets stained with blood and cum. He was on his back, legs open, one hand on his stomach and the other covering his eyes. His lip was completely split. A gash on his forehead was luckily hidden by his hair. Purple bruises covered his thighs. Bite marks dotted his calves, some still wet. Red hickeys ringed his neck like a choker. Scratches raked across his hips, deep enough that dried blood had formed thin brown crusts. His earlobe was torn, it could easily accommodate a small gauge. His nipples were uncomfortably sensitive. He had marks everywhere. He looked like he had just been beaten up, which wasn't entirely wrong.

There was nothing left to do but cry.

"Not finished with that yet?"

Keonho stood in the doorway, smelling of peach body wash, a towel around his waist. He had just showered, obviously. He looked completely immaculate while Juhoon was a damn disaster.

Juhoon wiped his nose and tasted snot, tears, and blood all at once. But that disgusting combination was nothing compared to how filthy he felt. He wanted to hack off, in cold blood, every single limb that Keonho had ever touched, to rip them from his body like rotting meat.

"You have until noon," Keonho said, standing in front of his massive mirror, arranging his products. "Go home, pack your stuff, and cut off that idiot. I found you a place nearby, still being decorated, but it'll be ready. I'll text you the address."

"We're not back together." Juhoon wasn't even sure he had said it out loud. It wasn't as if Keonho cared about his consent anyway.

Keonho went through his whole routine. Hydrating toner, hyaluronic acid serum, moisturizer, sunscreen, and cocoa lip balm. He dried his hair with the blow‑dryer, then, after about ten minutes, he walked over to Juhoon. He settled on the edge of the bed, looking pleased with the wreckage he had caused. When he reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind Juhoon's ear, the gesture was falsely tender, a violent violation disguised as care. His fingers moved with a rehearsed gentleness that only made his cruelty more unmistakable.

Juhoon didn't react. He remained propped against the headboard, his gaze fixed on nothing. His mind had shut down a while ago.

"Don't be stupid. Of course we're back together. These things aren't discussed, they're understood. You're in my bed, in my apartment, with my cum inside you. What more proof could you possibly need?" Keonho genuinely believed his logic was flawless, even smiled at Juhoon. "I'm glad we sorted things out."

Every muscle protested, but Juhoon sat up anyway, moving at his own miserable pace. He limped into the living room with Keonho trailing behind him. He gathered his clothes by dragging them with his feet so that when he finally forced himself to bend down, he could scoop them all up at once. He pulled on his pants first because he could not find his underwear anywhere. Then he put on his jacket and felt a wave of relief when he zipped it all the way up. Being covered felt good. Juhoon never wanted to be naked again.

He put on his Converse and headed to the door, which was already open. He looked back and saw Keonho resting on the counter holding a fresh glass of wine. This one was red, glinting under the single light above his head.

"I'll expect you at two. Don't be late, hyung, you know how I get when people waste my time."

That might have been the most passive‑aggressive threat anyone had ever spoken.

Juhoon left the penthouse without engaging in any more of Keonho's craziness. He still didn't know what would happen to him or what he would do next, but one thing was clear. He wasn't going back there. He wasn't going back to Keonho. Never again. He would rather die.

The street was nearly empty. The sky had turned that purple‑blue color of early morning, the edge of dawn. Probably around five fifty. He checked his jeans and found his phone. He would use it to call a taxi. It would be pricey, but he couldn't get on a bus looking like this. He didn't want anyone staring at him.

As he moved his unsteady fingers across the screen, he felt the urge to look back, and he gave in. And there he was. Like a ghost lurking in the shadows, pulling the curtain aside with his forearm and sipping his wine with an unnerving placidity. Juhoon wished the building had a gas leak so he could watch Keonho burn alive. Maybe then he could feel something other than disgust for him.

Juhoon rested his elbow on the car door and planted his chin on his bent wrist. He glanced at the ordinary cityscape, too aware that the driver kept stealing looks at him in the rearview mirror. He understood. He knew how he must look. He was even surprised the man had let him in. He was the eleventh driver he had tried, the only one who agreed. His appearance shouted trouble.

The blood on his lip had dried into dark brown scabs. His left eye was so swollen and throbbing that it felt like thousands of tiny, hairy spiders were digging their fangs into the back of his eyeball, clamping down and tugging, tearing, trying to claw their way out. Just like in that disgusting body‑horror movie he had watched with Seonghyeon that had scarred him.

His phone hadn't stopped buzzing. He ignored every alert. He didn't want to talk to anyone. He knew he couldn't just disappear from people's lives because of what had happened, but for as long as possible, he would hide from the world. He needed to be alone, to vanish, to curl up in some unknown, lightless corner where no one could find him. He just wished he could stop being human for a while. Did that make any sense?

Juhoon shifted in his seat, trying another position. No matter how he sat, his ass still hurt. Fuck, everything hurt. Dwelling on it was pointless. The more he replayed the thoughts, the more entangled he got, and nothing would actually change. He tried to find calm, closing his eyes and breathing very slowly, attempting to summon that zen energy people said they admired in him.

The car stopped at a traffic light. Juhoon opened his eyes by reflex and dug his nails into the seat. He tried to ignore the countdown on the signal a few meters away. He was anxious. He hadn't taken his medication yesterday or the day before. He looked down and saw his phone in his hand. He didn't remember taking it out. He didn't remember opening Twitter. Of all the apps, why had he opened the most toxic social network on the internet? Must have been muscle memory.

The entire for you page was full of Keonho. He had forgotten that he was still logged into his obsessive fanboy account, the one he used to track every detail of his ex's life. The only perk of having dated a celebrity. He was about to close it when he saw a post with millions of reactions. It was from Dispatch and only fifteen minutes old. He couldn't help himself. He clicked.

Juhoon read the headline: "Ahn Keonho and co‑star Roh Yuna confirm dating rumors after posting a photo together on Instagram."

He didn't open the post. The cover image told him everything he needed. It showed the girl asleep on Keonho's shoulder, her arm wrapped around his in a way you wouldn't do with just a friend. Keonho's face wasn't visible, but Juhoon noticed he was wearing the same clothes as in his KakaoTalk profile pic, and the background matched. The photo must have been taken on the plane back to Korea, the same day Keonho sent that anniversary message. So he'd been back all this time and just never said anything.

Now everything made sense. The constant texting, the gifts, the donut date. It was all a setup. Keonho had wanted to hook him again before the news broke. And that news happened to drop on the very day Keonho assumed they were back together, at the same hour Juhoon had walked out of his place. 

It was like Keonho had wrapped the whole thing in giant red ribbons just for him. Even the hearts in his Instagram bio felt like a mockery. Keonho had never shown Juhoon off like that. And it wasn't just about his fame. Juhoon had always felt that Keonho was embarrassed to be seen with him.

A wave of nausea rolled through him, but not from jealousy. Not the usual kind anyway. It was more disgust at being treated like someone so worthless, so easy to fool. Because it had never been about winning him back. It was about keeping him hidden, the secret, again. Like that old rug you stash away when guests come over but never get rid of. Like that ratty shirt you only sleep in and would never dream of wearing outside. 

Meanwhile, Keonho was living the good life. It wasn't just about his drinking or his family issues. Keonho liked money. He liked being recognized, adored, seen arm in arm with the most beautiful women and the trendiest sneakers.

Juhoon knew exactly what those unread messages would say. "It's just a publicity stunt, hyung." "That's how the industry works, you know that." "None of it means anything. You're the only one who matters to me." He had swallowed those same lame excuses too many times to count.

And now here he was, past six in the morning, his face swollen, Keonho's cum still wet on his jeans, while the whole world yakked about his ex's new girlfriend. 

Another ping. Juhoon swiped to see the notifications. 

<u better answer me>

<i know ur seeing this>

<stop ignoring me>

<don't make me come find u>

Fuck you.

Juhoon turned off the screen and shoved the phone away. He stared at the wine‑stained sleeve of his jacket. The jacket Keonho had bought him. The one he used to love. Now he hated it with everything he had. He wanted to rip it off right then and throw it out the window, but he had nothing on underneath. He'd get rid of it as soon as he got the chance, along with everything else Keonho had ever given him. Maybe fire, people said it was purifying or some shit.

He got to his building, paid the driver, and stumbled out in a daze. His legs felt like lead. Even breathing was a struggle. He took the stairs instead of waiting for the elevator. That was how deep his fear of waiting had sunk. He never wanted to wait for anything or anyone again. 

Each step was the darkest of miseries. His vision blurred on the fourth floor. Lucky for him, he lived on the fifth. When he reached his front door, he was shaking so bad he had to grab the walls to keep from falling. Somehow, after a full minute of fumbling, he got the key into the lock.

Juhoon stepped inside and slammed the door like someone was right behind him. He didn't even know anymore. Everything had always been so convenient with Keonho, his timing always perfect. It wouldn't be far‑fetched to think he'd been following him for a while. 

The place was dark and quiet. No sign of Seonghyeon. Of course, he'd be at college. He had a script review or something today. Then Juhoon remembered that he also had a class, an unmissable commitment. But screw Stop Motion. Right now, that stupid short film was the least of his worries.

He leaned against the door and slid down. When he got near the floor, he put one hand down first and lowered himself without hurting his tailbone. He stretched his legs and let his head fall back, feeling completely drained. The tears came back, and now, in the privacy of his own home, he let them out with sound. 

Juhoon sobbed so loud that if a neighbor walked by, they might call 911. Atrocious hiccups wracked his body, his mouth wide open, his nose completely stuffed. Mucus dripped down his face, mixing with the drool slipping from his split lip. 

He cried for Seonghyeon, for Keonho, and mostly for himself. He cried for the impressionable seventeen‑year‑old who had met Keonho and had no idea what was coming. He cried for the twenty‑two‑year‑old who kept making the same mistakes over and over.

He screamed until his voice gave out, until he felt his vocal cords might tear. It wasn't enough, but he had to stop. He didn't want to deal with the folks next door or another call from the front desk complaining about the noise.

His phone wouldn't stop ringing. It was driving him insane. Keonho kept blowing up his phone with messages and calls, so relentless that Juhoon nearly chucked it against the wall just to hear it crack. But that would only make things worse for himself. He needed his phone for the rest of the day. He thought about blocking Keonho, but he couldn't even bring himself to do it. He wasn't ready. Still, he didn't answer. 

He had to talk to someone. Someone who wouldn't soften things, who would tell him the hard truth with no filter, even tell him to go to hell if that was what he needed. He needed Martin. James would be too gentle, too careful. They were like bad cop and good cop, strict dad and permissive mom.

He scrolled to Martin's contact and hit call. It rang four times before Martin answered. 

"The fuck?" Martin's voice was rough, the roughness of someone who had just rolled out of bed.

The Music Technology department looked laid‑back, but it was one of the most competitive programs. Martin didn't have classes on Tuesdays or Thursdays, so he usually slept until mid‑afternoon unless James woke him. He wasn't a morning person. Juhoon wanted unfiltered bluntness, and he'd get it.

"It's freaking early. This better be important."

A squeaky sob escaped him the second he opened his mouth. He was already on edge, and hearing Martin's voice, someone who actually gave a damn, broke something inside him. All that fake calm he'd been clinging to just crumbled. He couldn't hold it in anymore.

"Hey, hey, what's wrong? Where are you?" Now Martin was fully awake, and very, very worried.

Juhoon took a few breaths. He even slapped his own face twice to focus and get it together. This wasn't the time to fall apart. He had to explain, to figure out how to clean up the mess he'd made.

"I'm… home." He could barely get the sentence out.

"You okay? What's going on? Talk to me, man."

Okay. What was the best way to tell your best friend, the guy who hated your ex more than anyone, that you'd just slept with him? He had no clue.

There was no good way to say it. Every option sucked, because Martin would take it personally no matter what. So he might as well just rip the bandage off. It would sting, but at least it'd be quick.

"Yesterday I went to see Keonho... And I slept with him, alright?"

The silence stretched so long that Juhoon had to check if Martin was still there.

"You have to be messing with me." Martin didn't yell, which made it worse. You could hear the disappointment right there. "You didn't do that, Juhoon. No fucking way."

Being judged felt terrible, but admitting you'd cheated was even worse.

"I wouldn't joke about this, okay?" He was sniffling, wiping his nose on the sleeve of the jacket he was dying to take off.

"And Seonghyeon? Does he know?"

Juhoon's eyebrows pinched together just from hearing that name. His lips trembled at the thought of Seonghyeon's face when he found out, the distance he'd put between them, the coldness he might treat him with. Juhoon didn't think he could survive that.

"No." Juhoon had to clear his throat. "I wanted to call you first."

"Fuck, Juhoon. Fuck." Martin was practically gasping, and Juhoon could hear him pacing. "What were you thinking? Do you even realize what you did?"

"Yeah, I fucking do, alright?" Juhoon was exhausted from wiping his eyes every two seconds. "I know I screwed up. I'm not stupid. And I didn't call you so you could throw it in my face."

Juhoon was already barely holding it together. Anything could set him off right now.

"Easy, bro. I'm still trying to process this." Another sigh, deep this time. "Just walk me through it. How did you end up in bed with that asshole?"

And Juhoon told him everything. The club, the messages, the café, where it happened. He left out the ugly details. He couldn't talk about the hits or the threats. His brain just refused to go there. Besides, Martin wasn't dumb. He'd piece it together himself. After the breakup and the suicide attempt, Juhoon had told Martin everything about that relationship. Martin knew how bad it was. He'd already be imagining the worst.

"So what now? That guy's a lunatic. How does he just assume you're back together because you hooked up? And buying you a place without asking?" Martin started off calm, but soon he was shouting. He had every right to be worked up. A deep breath helped a little. "You need to report him. You have no idea what he'll do when you don't play along."

"I'm not going to the cops. I just want this whole thing to disappear."

"But you're not safe!" Martin couldn't and wouldn't let this go. "We're talking about a psychopath. Almost two years and he's still obsessed. We can't just twiddle our thumbs and hope for the best."

It was sweet that he said "we," like Juhoon's problem was his too. But Juhoon couldn't agree with that, it would make him a hypocrite. He'd been, and still partly was, just as obsessed as Keonho. If that made Keonho a psycho, what did that make him?

"Reporting him wouldn't end well. His label could sue me, or his family. His fans would come after me. I'd be in the public eye, and you know I can't handle that." Juhoon said it too easily, because he'd already thought it through in the taxi. "That's not an option. I'll just stay away from him."

"That's not going to cut it!" Martin argued, and something fell or was thrown. "Promise me you won't go back to him. No matter what."

Juhoon got why Martin didn't trust him. Everyone who knew his history with Keonho knew how weak he was when it came to staying away. But something had changed. He couldn't explain it yet. He just felt it.

"I won't." The words came out with a certainty he didn't even feel. He didn't know where they came from. They just did. He reached up to scratch one of the hickeys on his neck that had started itching like crazy. "I don't want him near me. I mean it. I want nothing to do with him now."

"Hey… you sure he didn't hurt you?"

Juhoon halted.

What tipped him off?

How? How? How?

Juhoon stopped scratching. When he went to bite his finger, his tongue hit iron. He looked down. All his fingernails were crusted with dark blood. He had gouged his own skin without realizing it. Little crescent‑shaped cuts on his neck, still weeping. He bent his knee and shoved his hand under his thigh, trapping it there so he couldn't do any more damage.

"No. He was pissed and rambled a lot, but he didn't touch me." He needed to sound believable. He needed Martin to move on. He needed him to.

"No chance he did anything?"

"Yeah." One syllable had never been so difficult to pronounce. "Last night helped me figure some stuff out. I thought I felt something, but with how he acted and the news, I can see he never really cared. Not like I did. Not like I still… not like I used to."

That switch from present to past tense shook him. It meant accepting, at last, that the relationship he had fought for, the one that had eaten up the best years of his life, was truly over. All this time, he had been sitting in the ruins of something that would never rise again. That was it. No more.

"Wait, what news are you talking about?"

"He's dating someone. His co-star. She's gorgeous, totally his type." Juhoon said it with a bitter edge, hating that he had once fit that "type" too.

"What a piece of shit. I'd love to blow up his overrated career. And people worship him like he's some perfect guy. They only see the act he puts on. You never really know who you're idolizing. This world is messed up, man."

Juhoon hated to admit it, but he wasn't any better than those fans. He had acted disinterested when he first saw Keonho, thinking it would make him stand out. Make Keonho see him as different. And it worked. Look where that got him.

"Juhoon, I'm serious. You better stick to what you said. If you go back to that bastard, I'm going to need some space from you. You can't keep doing this to yourself. He used you, hurt you, lied to you. He was never good enough for you."

"I know," Juhoon whispered. "I'm done with him. For real."

"Do yourself a favor and block him. Get him out of your life for good. No replies, no picking up. If he shows up, call the cops or call me. I'll get there way before those fuckers. Don't open the door. Don't give him another shot. Because if you do, you'll get stuck again, and again, and again. And you'll never break free from that toxic shit."

Juhoon nodded along to everything Martin said, even though he couldn't see him. Like he was checking off a list.

"Yeah… I'll do all of that."

"You know what? Come stay with us for a few days."

 "What? Why?"

"So you'd have someone watching your back. And you wouldn't have to be alone. I really hate the thought of you dealing with this without anyone."

Juhoon knew what his real fear was.

"No. This is my thing to deal with. I don't want to be a burden. I'll handle it." His eyes were already welling up again.

"Seriously, you wouldn't be any trouble. James adores you like you're his own kid. And this might sound nuts, but it's true. We've talked about what we'd want our first baby to be like, and you've got a lot of those qualities. Also, we think you're disgustingly cute. Let us adopt you for a bit."

The image was bizarrely touching.

"Yeah, that's way too weird. I'll pass." Juhoon tried to lighten things, then forced himself to say something he had kept inside for a long time. "Don't feel responsible for me or for what I've been through. You didn't know. I don't want your guilt to make you think you have to rescue me or anything."

Martin had always been protective. But after that incident, he couldn't even sleep without hearing Juhoon's voice. That went on for months. Juhoon would never forgive himself for putting him through that. Neither Martin nor anyone else he'd dragged into his messy recovery. A recovery he'd never really taken seriously. Deep down, he hadn't wanted to get better. He had made the sadness his own, settled into feeling like garbage, because then he didn't have to feel anything else. No one would expect anything from him. They'd just handle him with care. Juhoon didn't deserve any of them.

"Come on, that's not the reason. I only…"

They never talked about that. Juhoon had brought it up twice now, and Martin was still trying to dodge it. He wasn't going to push him into something that clearly made him uncomfortable.

"I'll be fine. I'll get past it." He meant it for both of them. Self-persuasion had always worked for him so far.

"Damn right you will. My twinski doesn't go down that easy."

That nickname had never felt so comforting. He even managed a small smile, despite his split lip.

"What if I keep this from Seonghyeon?" It slipped out, unplanned.

Juhoon could practically feel the dirty look Martin was probably giving him right then.

"Whoa, don't even think about it. Seonghyeon deserves the truth. And he's not clueless, okay? He's already suspicious. He asked me about Keonho the last time you guys came over for dinner."

"He did? What'd he say? What'd you tell him?" Juhoon swapped the phone to his other ear, like it might change something.

"Yeah, he did, and we're not switching topics." Martin went full parental mode. "There's no excuse for what you did. I don't care how much that piece of shit got in your head. You chose to see him. You chose to sleep with him. The real screw‑up was never cutting him off completely. Seonghyeon didn't do anything wrong, and as much as I hate to admit it, neither did Keonho in this case. This is on you, man. You messed up, and now you have to fix it."

The truth was never easy to take, and coming from Martin, it came with way too much certainty. Juhoon couldn't complain. That was why he had called. Some warped part of him wanted to be labeled the bad guy so he'd feel forced to do the right thing. Not even to do good, really. Just to go against his own instincts. Fucked‑up brains work in fucked‑up ways.

"You think he'll forgive me?"

"Can't say for sure, Jju." Martin sighed like someone had handed him an impossible physics problem, and Martin sucked at physics. "But you can't ask for forgiveness without spilling everything. And you need to do it soon. Waiting will just make you obsess and overcomplicate things. And I know you, you wouldn't be able to just pretend nothing's wrong. That's not who you are."

"How do I even say this? I don't want him to hate me."

"Yeah, that's a risk. But I don't think it'll happen. It'll hurt him, sure, but hate you? No way. That guy is crazy about you. If you heard how he talks about you when you're not around, you'd know what I mean."

Juhoon clicked his tongue and stopped messing with his hand. He pulled it out from under his knee, pressed it flat on his forehead, and squeezed his temples with his middle finger and thumb. A picture of pure sorrow. The sorrow of realizing he had probably already lost the only person who had ever loved him that honestly.

"Fuck, I've ruined it all, right?"

"Just come clean. No excuses, no pointing fingers. Own it and then let him decide. If he forgives you, great. If not, accept it. Don't beg. Don't guilt him into staying because he feels bad for you. You're better than that. And you'll survive, I promise. Losing him won't be the end of the world."

It was wild how someone as chaotic and immature as Martin could also be this wise, like he had all the answers to the universe. Juhoon felt, again, way too lucky to have the people he did around him.

"Alright."

"Okay, call me anytime you need me. I mean it, anytime. You hear me?"

"Got it," he said quietly. If Martin were there, he'd hug him, even if it'd be awkward later. "Thanks, Martin."

"Save it. Just do the right thing, okay… And hey, Juhoon."

"What?"

"I love you, man. For real. You're my best friend. You messed up, and I called you out because I don't want to lie to you or watch you destroy yourself. I wasn't trying to put you down. You get that, right?"

It was kind of endearing how he tried to over‑explain all his scolding. On the surface it looked like that, but the real reason went deeper. Juhoon could see it. It was just his way of toning it down, of keeping him from falling apart. Everyone saw him as that fragile person who might jump out a window at the first sign of trouble. And Juhoon couldn't even complain. He had made that bed himself.

"I know," Juhoon said, pretty dully.

"Go lie down. And don't forget the ice."

He went completely still. Martin had accepted it. He knew Keonho had hit him. Juhoon didn't have the guts to respond, and he didn't think Martin expected an answer anyway. So he just hung up. Everything had been said. What was left was the hardest part.

Talking to Seonghyeon.

He took a long shower, over an hour, scalding hot. His skin came out pink and blotchy, not just from the heat but from how viciously he had scrubbed with the sponge. He went over every part of his body that Keonho had touched exactly forty times, trying to erase traces that had sunk somewhere he couldn't reach. The sponge wasn't enough. He thought about grabbing a pair of pliers from the toolbox and pulling out his fingernails one by one, shaving his head bald, taking something sharp to his own face so he could look as ugly on the outside as he felt. He wanted to slam his forehead against the mirror until the glass shattered, then pick up the pieces and eat them, swallow them whole. Instead, he put on Seonghyeon's clothes. His gray hoodie and the white sweatpants that had lost their elasticity from being worn so much.

Seonghyeon texted him first, asking why he hadn't shown up at their regular meeting spot. It had become a habit. Whenever they didn't sleep together the night before, Seonghyeon would find him there with their usual coffees and pastries. A quick breakfast date before they went their separate ways for the morning.

Juhoon told him he couldn't make it, that he was feeling unwell. Not a complete lie. Seonghyeon immediately started fussing, firing off questions about his symptoms and even offering to skip his own classes to come take care of him. Juhoon refused, of course. He didn't want to mess up Seonghyeon's day any further, and he still wasn't ready for the big conversation. He managed to calm him down and convince him to go ahead with his normal routine. When he got the daily goodbye text with "I love you," he could only send a heart emoji back. He couldn't say it. He didn't even feel worthy of receiving it. Luckily, Seonghyeon didn't say anything about it.

He looked at himself in the mirror and didn't recognize the Juhoon staring back. It was worse than before. He had always felt disconnected from his own body, like he was watching himself from a videogame. But now he wasn't even sure if the reflection was him. Maybe it was someone else. Maybe he had never been the person he thought he was. He tried everything to look more decent. Two cold spoons pressed under his cheekbones, a charcoal mask, even some makeup. Nothing worked. He couldn't hide, couldn't cover himself, so he gave up. He washed off all that crap and made himself a coffee. An espresso, not a cappuccino. Cappuccinos were for celebrations and rainy days. Espressos were for harsh, cruelly sunny mornings like this one, with the sun shining high above as if laughing at his suffering.

He ended up sitting by his window, his coffee in one hand, a cigarette in the other. He smoked until the pack was empty. Then he remembered. Purifying fire. He grabbed a non-flammable container and a fire extinguisher just in case. He collected all the clock drawings from his studio, set them face down so he wouldn't have to look at them, grabbed his old notebook stuffed with sketches of Keonho, and gathered every gift Keonho had ever given him that wouldn't set the house on fire, including that cursed Adidas jacket. He threw everything into a medium-sized basket and lit it. He wanted to erase every physical trace of the person who had taken so much from him, to burn away any connection, any reminder. This was the only way he could think to fight back.

Juhoon watched the flames with satisfaction, breathing in the black smoke until it got so thick he had to open the window to let it out. Once he felt clean enough, he put the blaze out and stuffed the remains into a trash bag, which he hid behind a cabinet. He couldn't be bothered to go downstairs and throw it away.

He lit an incense stick from a pack James had once given him, but it didn't help much. The burnt smell still hung in the air. He decided to wait for Seonghyeon in the living room, curled up on the couch, wrapped in a thin blanket up to his neck. Even though he hadn't slept at all, he didn't feel tired. In fact, he was more alert than ever. He got so lost in his own thoughts that he barely noticed the crushing weight of waiting.

The door opened at exactly four twenty. 

Juhoon swallowed the last bit of saliva in his throat. Only then did he realize how dehydrated he was. He had been having sex for hours the night before and hadn't drunk a single drop of water, just that espresso sloshing in his hollow gut.

Seonghyeon was already there.

"Hyung, I'm home!" His voice was warm, the way it always was. He was probably already kicking off his shoes. "I picked up a few things for you. Because you couldn't really explain what was wrong, I kinda bought a bit of everything at the pharmacy. I also grabbed some groceries since we were running out."

Seonghyeon went straight to the kitchen, a plastic bag in each hand. It was such an ordinary, everyday scene. Having someone who paid attention, who thought to buy him medicine and restock the fridge when he had forgotten, who came home happy to see him. Those were the things that actually counted, not luxury or passion. The quiet moments, so simple and so easy to overlook, had filled him all this time. Time he had never learned to value, and that now felt as far away as a dream you know you had but can't quite remember, something you long for with everything in you. Juhoon hadn't known it was possible to miss someone you hadn't even lost. Not yet.

Seonghyeon came back to the living room after putting everything away. Juhoon looked at him. He was wearing that hideous black and gray striped sweater that Juhoon had always detested, but now it looked good on him. His hair fell across his forehead, exposing a small v-shaped gap, the strands so long they nearly touched his lips. Juhoon wished he had taken the time to trim Seonghyeon's bangs when he had asked him to last week.

"Feeling any better? And what's that smell? Were you trying to cook and burned something?" Seonghyeon adjusted his belt and gave Juhoon the attention he had been unable to focus on all day.

Then he saw it. The swollen eye, the split lip, the bruises on his neck peeking out above the collar of the hoodie he had stolen. He didn't understand any of it. He was shocked and confused. But instead of freaking out, he walked over and took Juhoon's hand with a delicacy that would have put any high society aristocrat from ancient England to shame.

"Does it hurt a lot?"

Juhoon didn't know what exactly he was asking about, because everything hurt equally. It was disorienting that that was the first thing Seonghyeon thought to say. He didn't get angry or raise his voice, didn't demand answers. He just asked about Juhoon's pain. His priority was always Juhoon's well‑being.

How was it that someone this caring had fallen for him? And why was he only understanding that now, when it was already too late?

He figured he was just another person who had looked everywhere for something that had been in his hands the whole time.

He had to let go. He couldn't keep touching him or even looking at him. That was a privilege he would have to leave for Seonghyeon to grant or withhold after he told him everything. But he was desperate to hold on. He had never realized how much he could crave something as simple as the touch of their hands.

"Can you sit down with me?" Juhoon moved aside on the couch and pulled the blanket tighter around his shoulders. "There's something I need to tell you."

He hadn't expected to use such a tired line, but there it was.

Seonghyeon sat down beside him in total silence, crossing one leg over the other, placing his hands on his thigh, and turning his body toward Juhoon. He left his backpack on the space between them. He waited with that serene expression that, even now, felt peaceful.

Juhoon kept staring straight ahead. He knew that if he made eye contact, he wouldn't be able to speak properly. He'd start begging for forgiveness and second chances in an incoherent, desperate rush. He couldn't act like a spoiled kid anymore. He had to do something right, at least once.

"I've been talking to Keonho." The statement hang there, the opening of a play he should never have agreed to perform in.

Juhoon wiped his eyes, but they were already flooding. He had barely started, and was already breaking down. Pathetic.

"It's not new. We never really stopped talking." Juhoon confessed the crime he never thought he'd admit. "But over the last month, it's been more constant. The texts, the photos, the calls." It felt like spitting up at the sky and having all of it land back on his own face.

Juhoon stole a quick glance sideways and saw Seonghyeon nibbling his lower lip, thoughtful, willing to listen.

"Remember the person you saw me with at the back of the club?" When Seonghyeon made a soft sound of acknowledgment, he pushed forward. "That was him. He'd just gotten back from Amsterdam. He kept pushing to see me, and yesterday I gave in."

"So what did you do?" The question came without a trace of accusation, Seonghyeon wouldn't assume without knowing all the details. That was just who he was.

Juhoon didn't understand how Seonghyeon could remain this composed. If the situation were reversed, he would have already made a scene and tried to hit him at least thirty times. There was a part of Juhoon, the one that had always pushed him to ruin everything, that wanted to see Seonghyeon shatter. To wound him. He wanted Seonghyeon to feel what he had always dealt with. So he wouldn't keep prolonging this. He'd say it straight.

"I fucked him."

It was out. Now he would watch his poison spread right back at him. He'd accept whatever came next. He had to, because he deserved every bit of it. Every bad thing that could happen to him would still be less than what he had earned. That was the only thought keeping him upright, the certainty that no punishment could be worse than what he already felt.

Seonghyeon had the kind of reaction anyone would have after receiving terrible news. Like when you're the only one in your friend group who didn't get into their dream college. Or when you find out a hospitalized family member died after a surgery the doctors called hopeful. Or when your partner tells you they cheated on you with the person who traumatized them for life.

He ran his hands over his face and left them interlaced, pressing his nose with both index fingers, his thumbs meeting under his chin. He looked like a stoic Greek philosopher, or a lover still trying to absorb the weight of a broken heart.

"Can you tell me why?"

"Did you just ask me that?" Juhoon stared at Seonghyeon like he had misheard.

"I need to understand why you did it. What drove you to it." His voice stayed level, his head bobbing slightly as he tried to make sense of things. "I think I deserve an explanation. What I did, or didn't do, that pushed you to this." Then he lifted his gaze to meet Juhoon's eyes.

He had never imagined a day would come when Seonghyeon would look at him like that. Like he was nothing. Like he didn't matter. It was the first time Juhoon had ever felt indifference from him, and it was worse than any scream or insult. And as he thought that, he hated it. He hated it so much he wanted to throw the toxic stuff he used for cleaning floor stains on his own face. He would rather go permanently disfigured than feel that he was already gone.

"Please, hyung. Just don't tell me it was only about sex. Tell me it meant something. Tell me that you still have feelings for him, that you realized you love him and that's why you did it." Seonghyeon pressed on when no answer came.

"Would that change anything?" Juhoon asked without looking at him.

"To me, it would." Seonghyeon sounded so measured and steady that it would be irritating to anyone with even the slightest predisposition for anxiety. "Destroying our relationship over something so superficial would feel like an insult to everything we've shared." He pushed his hair back and sighed, struggling for words when he was usually so good with them. "I think… I'd understand better if it came from love. Not just some random impulse." 

He couldn't take it anymore. He couldn't keep swallowing that calmness, that passivity. He needed to explode to feel like himself, to feel normal. He stood up and got right in Seonghyeon's face, his left eye twitching uncontrollably, his eyelids fluttering too fast.

"Cheating is still cheating! Who cares why? I did it, and that's it!" Juhoon leaned in close, and his breath reeked of cigarettes and frustration.

"Don't yell at me and step back." Seonghyeon held his ground, refusing to accept any aggression, specifically not today. "This isn't helping. I know strong emotions are hard for you, but I'm struggling too. Please try to see it from my side." He added, already sorry he had sounded so harsh.

And even now, he was still trying to be kind, still trying to understand him. Despite everything.

What the hell was wrong with this guy? Why was he still being so nice?

None of it added up.

Juhoon started to wonder if Seonghyeon even cared. Was he taking this as a joke? Was he actually manipulating him? Maybe he didn't matter to Seonghyeon as much as he had thought.

No.

Seonghyeon wasn't like Keonho. He couldn't be. Juhoon couldn't have been fooled into loving the same type of person again.

"Then show me you care! I lied to you. I cheated on you. I fucked my ex the day after your birthday. And you're just sitting there like it's nothing!" Juhoon screamed, stumbling back, shaking with nasty hiccups. 

Seonghyeon couldn't stand this. Seeing him like this, bruised and bloated, barely holding himself together. It was too much. He had to look down at the floor and keep his eyes there. Because if he didn't, he would fold. He would forget everything and pull Juhoon into his arms, comfort him as if none of this was his fault. But Juhoon needed to face consequences. And Seonghyeon needed to stop being the one who always smoothed things over.

"I'm hurting too. But my love for you, my respect for you, it means more than my own pain." Seonghyeon sat with his legs apart, head bowed, hands pressing down on his knees, gripping tight. Holding onto something physical so his mind wouldn't drift. "So please, if you have any feelings left for me, work with me here. Let's figure this out and finish things the right way."

Juhoon's eyes grew huge, wet and bloodshot. His expression looked like something out of a horror movie. But that didn't even come close. Because his worst fear had just come true. Seonghyeon was already leaving him. And that was scarier than any monster or the serial killer that could chase him until the credits rolled.

"Fuck, this is really happening…" Juhoon whispered to himself, letting out a hysterical laugh. He wasn't laughing because it was funny. None of this was fucking funny. He was laughing because the suspicion he had always carried deep down had just been proven true. 

His legs gave out, and he dropped to the floor. Seonghyeon shot up like an athlete, or maybe just someone so used to being ready for the worst. He stepped closer, then stopped when he saw how bad it was. Juhoon was on his knees, hands hanging limp at his sides, like he had just been shot.

"But I don't want us to end." Juhoon looked up at Seonghyeon, his once gorgeous skin now marked with purple bruises, his cheeks still wet, desperate for the kind of comfort only Seonghyeon could give.

Seonghyeon counted to ten in his head. His patience had run out, so he had to reach for something deeper. He had to focus. He couldn't crumble. This was a lesson for both of them. He crouched down to Juhoon's level and gave him that look, the one that always said "you're everything to me." He needed Juhoon to understand that his feelings hadn't changed. They were still there, untouched. But the relationship wasn't. That was the hard truth.

"Hyung, you can't do this. You can't sit here crying over losing me after you slept with someone else. Especially not with him. You're not being reasonable." Seonghyeon was trying his hardest not to lose his composure. No one who hadn't been in his place could ever understand what it took. To be the one holding the other up when you were barely keeping yourself steady.

Juhoon bit his torn lip so fiercely he split it open again. He had to spit on the floor because he couldn't swallow any more without gagging. Then he slammed his palms against the floor, the impact shooting up his arms. Fury chewed through whatever reason he had left, shredding anything he was about to say before it could even form.

"Fuck being reasonable! I was wrong, okay? Can't you see that? Can't you forgive a mistake? Are you really going to throw away everything we've built over something we could just forget?" 

Juhoon was doing what he learned. Making it smaller, shifting the blame. As if the whole thing now rested on Seonghyeon's willingness to forgive. As if he was the one putting the relationship on the line, making Seonghyeon question his own judgment. It was revolting, straight out of Keonho's playbook.

"I was lost. I didn't know what I wanted. I thought I needed something else. Something different. I thought... I thought you weren't enough. But that's not... that was wrong. That's not how it is." He shook his head, back and forth, too fast, like he couldn't stop. Like someone who would tear himself apart if it meant keeping the one thing that mattered. "I figured it out. I love what we have. I love you. You have to believe me... Seonghyeon, please..." Juhoon was crying with everything he had left.

"So you had to sleep with him to come to that conclusion?"

And just like that, one question was all it took to tear down his whole act.

Juhoon grabbed onto his version of the truth like something to hold onto, hoping that a sliver of honesty might be enough to stop the breakup he was watching unfold.

"I told you what he's like! He's always known how to get inside my head and... and make me do things. I don't want him. I never want to see him again. Please... please, just trust me." He was running out of words to prove how sorry he was. 

"You saying he made you do it?" Seonghyeon asked on impulse, because he was only human, and underneath his calm surface, he was angry and exhausted.

Juhoon's entire presence seemed to deflate. His crying stopped, and his eyes went unnaturally still. He wasn't in the room anymore. His mind had yanked him back to that bedroom. Keonho on top of him. The leather gloves. The shaming. The old pain. The taste of his own blood. The images arrived all at once, overlapping, grinding down his nerves. He could smell Keonho's sweat, feel his weight, hear his breathing so close that he had to glance behind him to make sure he wasn't there, that he hadn't been hiding in a corner the entire time. Juhoon wasn't remembering. He was reliving it. Every second.

"Why aren't you saying anything?" Seonghyeon asked, suspicious.

This wasn't one of the silences that came with one of Juhoon's episodes. There were no tremors, no signs of self‑harm. This was something else entirely. Something had rattled him so deep that he couldn't speak or even lift his head. Fear. It was right there in his blank gaze.

No. It couldn't be.

The color drained from Seonghyeon's cheeks as the realization came.

"Hyung, did he really make you do it? Did he…?" He couldn't finish.

Juhoon stayed quiet, but his tears answered for him.

"Did that scumbag sexually assault you?" Seonghyeon never talked like this, never cursed. But this was serious. He was hurting almost as much as the person it had actually happened to.

After Seonghyeon said that word, Juhoon squeezed his eyes shut, grimacing, and jerked his neck to the left twice. He couldn't answer. He wouldn't use that word or any like it. He wouldn't admit that the person he had loved and trusted most was capable of that. 

But it went deeper. There was another reason he couldn't accept it. All those years. All those times he had thought of as rough, passionate sex. The hits. The force. The moments he had to dissociate just to get through. None of it had been consensual. Juhoon hadn't felt love in giving and receiving blows. He had felt fear. And he had convinced himself he enjoyed it. He had told himself it was just Keonho's way, and he had made it his way too. He had even "missed it," craved it with Seonghyeon, wondering why their sex wasn't as intense, why he couldn't feel the same.

Now, after comparing them both and hearing what Seonghyeon just asked, he realized. The thrill he had chased was actually a violation. For years, he had been raped. Over and over. He never liked it. He just adapted to it, because denying something to Keonho would mean losing him, and he couldn't lose someone so significant and ideal. The boundaries had dissolved so long ago that he couldn't tell where his own desires ended and Keonho's abuse began. It was still hard for him to understand. But he would never talk about it. He felt just as responsible as the person who had hurt him. Maybe even more. Because how could he not have known? No one would believe him anyway. Shit, he didn't even believe it himself.

"I'm sorry..." He could barely speak, and he didn't even recognize himself when he heard the sound, nothing like his usual low tone. His face puffing up like a balloon. "Sorry for everything... You didn't deserve the way I acted... how badly I treated you." He sucked in a breath and let out another wave of sobs. "I regret so many things... I regret taking away your freedom... your space... I regret going through your phone... telling you not to see your friends... yelling at you. And there's more... more I'm too scared to say because I don't want you to think worse of me than you already do."

Juhoon wrapped his arms around himself, trying to find some comfort. He hoped that if he admitted all his mistakes, maybe Seonghyeon would reconsider. He couldn't stand seeing that serious face anymore. He wanted his dimpled smile back, the one that had kept him going so many times. And he needed some motivation to keep going right now.

Seonghyeon knew what he was referring to. The GPS tracker, the passwords, the constant monitoring. He had let it all happen without complaint, thinking it would prove he could be trusted, that maybe Juhoon would finally believe him. But it never worked. It only made things worse, feeding Juhoon's paranoia and control.

"I know I have issues, alright? I'm insecure and obsessive and jealous. But I never lied to you. I never said anything I didn't mean... at least not the good things." His voice was almost gone. "Everything was real... I swear. Just... please don't leave me."

Seonghyeon listened, everything getting more complicated by the minute. Juhoon was unstable, absolutely in denial. And on top of that, the signs of assault were impossible to ignore. There were the physical marks and the nonverbal ones. After what Martin had told him, Seonghyeon was afraid of saying the wrong thing, of pushing him over the edge. He could never forgive himself if something happened. But he wasn't okay either. His eyes were throbbing, and he couldn't even cry, not wanting to upset Juhoon more. Still, he felt like he couldn't leave with the doubts hanging over him.

"You only notice me because I remind you of him? Is that why you said yes so fast?"

Those questions had been eating him for too long.

That was something Juhoon never thought he would have to talk about, especially not with Seonghyeon. This must have been what Martin had told him, or what Seonghyeon himself pieced together after that talk.

"Please be honest. It's the only way I can believe the rest of what you've said." Seonghyeon knew it was unfair, that he was pressuring him, but he didn't know how else to get through.

So he decided to open it all up. Whatever happened next, at least he wouldn't be hiding anymore.

"Yes... and also because I didn't want to be alone. You were there. You were good to me. You wanted me... I thought being with you would help me forget him. I thought you could take his place in my head... but you couldn't." Juhoon scrunched his face, desperate not to be misunderstood.

He wasn't trying to be cruel, just honest. This was the only way to earn Seonghyeon's pardon, or at least to try.

"But it wasn't that I couldn't forget him... it's that I didn't want to." He admitted something he had only ever talked about in therapy. "I couldn't let go of the obsession... I think it was my anger that kept me stuck. And the regret over what we never had... you know?"

He didn't even know why he asked for understanding, it just came out. But it felt good to receive a nod from Seonghyeon, to share something so deep and not be judged. It was freeing.

"Did you ever really love me? Not because I look like him, but just... me?" Seonghyeon was scared of the answer, but he had to know.

Juhoon looked at him. For the first time in the whole conversation, he met his eyes. Those medium‑sized, brown eyes, full of a tenderness he had never known how to return.

"Of course I did… I do..." The admission came out effortlessly, and he despised that he had ever made Seonghyeon feel uncertain. "I care about you a lot. I know I don't show it, and… damn, I'm probably saying this all wrong." Juhoon's confidence drained away. He felt like he was rambling, and he dug his nails into his palms.

Seonghyeon reached out and took both of his hands, lacing their fingers together. No matter what had happened, he wasn't going to let Juhoon hurt himself.

"Easy, hyung. Just keep going, you're doing fine." He encouraged him, even though it stung. Holding Juhoon close, seeing that hope in his eyes that he couldn't return.

Because Seonghyeon couldn't forget or forgive what Juhoon had done.

"I think I spent our whole relationship waiting for you to walk out... I was terrified all the time, and I kept forgetting things... and somehow I ended up neglecting the love you gave me. I guess I need to apologize for that too." His lips twisted into a grimace. "Sorry that my insecurities never let me love you back the way you deserved."

Seonghyeon had to turn his face away when the first tear fell. He could hide his face, but not the way his body shook. Juhoon was stunned, he had never seen Seonghyeon this way before.

"What's wrong? Why are you crying...?" He lifted their joined hands and pressed kisses to Seonghyeon's fingers. A protectiveness he didn't recognize surged through him. Their roles had somehow flipped. "Please don't cry... I can't stand seeing you like this."

It was unbearable, watching Seonghyeon fall apart and not being able to do anything. He didn't know how to console someone, he was always the one being consoled. Still, he found it strangely lovely. His eyes got all bright, his dimples showing as he pressed his lips together to keep from making noise. Even the lines on his forehead looked soft. He was lovely even when he cried.

Juhoon regretted seeing him like this, but at the same time, he didn't. He was glad to see this side of Seonghyeon. It made him realize that he wasn't this untouchable, flawless person who always did the correct thing and held everything together.

Seonghyeon breathed slowly, head down. When he finally looked up, his brows were furrowed, his face flushed, his nose and cheeks colored a deep pink. He stared at the ceiling, the tip of his tongue touching the corner of his mouth. Shit, Juhoon wanted to kiss him so badly.

"Don't put everything on yourself, hyung." He cleared his throat to steady his voice and made himself meet Juhoon's eyes. "I knew what was going on, a lot of it, and I chose to stay anyway. That was my decision."

He needed Juhoon to understand that. He didn't want him to take all the blame. He had made mistakes too. Staying quiet, keeping things to himself, letting problems fester. He had focused too much on Juhoon's mental state and forgotten about his own.

He let go of Juhoon's hands to put some space between them. They were breaking up, and with how dependent Juhoon was, keeping physical contact would only confuse him.

"I just want you to be okay." Seonghyeon's heart spoke through him. "That hasn't changed, I still want that for you."

"I'm okay as long as you're here. You make me feel good…" Juhoon reached for him but Seonghyeon pulled back before he could make contact.

"But I… I don't feel good with you anymore."

Some things aren't real until you say them out loud. But once you do, you can't pretend anymore.

"Please, just stay away from him. I'm not trying to tell you what to do. I'm saying this because I care. Look at what he did to you…" Seonghyeon gestured at Juhoon's condition, trying to keep his anger in check. "And with what I know about him, someone like that is dangerous for you. You have to see that, hyung."

He wasn't saying any of this out of jealousy or possessiveness. He had never wanted to control Juhoon. He didn't have that need, not like Juhoon did. Maybe because he hadn't been through the same things, or maybe because he had always seen Juhoon as a person first, and only then as his lover.

"You mention any of this to Martin‑hyung?"

"Yeah." Juhoon wiped his nose on the hoodie sleeve, attempting to sound casual. "He wants me to stay with them for a while."

"That actually sounds like a good idea. You need people who really care about you right now." Seonghyeon was offering alternatives that he knew Juhoon couldn't see for himself. "And don't worry about me getting in the way. They were your friends first, anyway."

"Please don't go."

It was that sort of plea you make when you feel everything slipping away, that consuming combination of selfishness and loneliness that had scarred everyone at some point.

Seonghyeon had to ignore what Juhoon was saying. Not because it didn't affect him, it did, more than he could show. But one of them had to stay rational, and it clearly wasn't going to be Juhoon.

"You need to take your treatment seriously. Take your pills like you're supposed to. Really work on getting better, hyung. Don't you want to stop being so scared?"

"Yeah… I do." Juhoon stared at him with that expression that had always undone Seonghyeon.

It was so hard to turn away from what felt good. But good didn't always mean right. Seonghyeon had to hold himself together. He couldn't pull Juhoon into his arms, couldn't rub his nose against Juhoon's, couldn't whisper the silly sweet things that only came to him when they were together. Because of Juhoon, he had written his best poems. That meant he would always carry him, no matter what. That was why he loved art. It lasted beyond time and stayed in memory, unchanging. Someday he would make something out of their love story. A book, a play, a movie. Whatever it was, it would be unforgettable.

"Listen, hyung…" He began with his own release. "I tried to help you because… I wanted to see you heal. I wanted you to feel good about yourself after everything you'd been through. And yeah… I also wanted you to believe in love again. You know I'm a hopeless romantic…"

That bit of humor softened the tension between them. Even Juhoon cracked a tiny smile, though it quickly turned into a pout that Seonghyeon wanted to pinch and then kiss. But he stayed focused.

"But I think I ended up in a role that was never mine. Too many times, I acted like your dad instead of your boyfriend. That's not... that's not right. I shouldn't have been responsible for your emotional state. That was your job, but I took it over because… I didn't think you could handle it alone. I was overprotective, and I held you back. I should have let you be more independent." He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling. "Anyway, I got so consumed by you and your life that I forgot about my own. That's why I think I need to focus on myself and my projects now."

His speech came out more organized than Juhoon's. And Juhoon couldn't argue with any of it. Truthfully, he had never once considered how his own problems might be affecting Seonghyeon that much. Despite everything going on, he felt something close to gratitude for getting to hear how Seonghyeon had lived through it all from his side.

"What about the house by the beach?" Juhoon got to remind him of the promise.

Seonghyeon's eyes softened. The big windows, the studio, the life he had dreamed for them. It flickered behind his gaze for a moment.

"I think that house will always exist somewhere. Even if we never got to live there... even if we couldn't make it work... I'll keep it safe for us. In my memory. That's where it belongs now." Seonghyeon swallowed with difficulty. "I'll take care of it."

Juhoon felt the future fall apart in front of him. The house by the sea dissolved before he could even step inside. Seonghyeon left him alone at that window, his coffee spilled. The puppy at his feet vanished before he could think of a name. And the child, that small being with Seonghyeon's dimples, slipped away too, leaving his lap empty and cold. All of it faded, like morning mist burned off by the sun. Gone before it ever had a chance to begin.

"It's for the best. Even if it doesn't feel that way yet."

Seonghyeon was right. He always was. This couldn't go on. And Juhoon had to let it end.

"So this is it, isn't it?" Juhoon licked a tear off his lip. "We're done."

"Yeah," Seonghyeon said, his throat tight. "We're over."

Juhoon nodded. He wouldn't beg, wouldn't say he would die without him. None of the old tricks. This time was unlike any other. Seonghyeon wasn't leaving on a whim or because he didn't care. He was leaving because he had to, and Juhoon couldn't stop him. He didn't even want to anymore, he was too tired to hold on. He didn't have the strength to fight for anyone else. Not even for himself.

"Would you do something for me?" Juhoon asked after a long silence.

"Go ahead."

"Can we just sit together for a moment? Just for a minute. I won't try anything. I just… I want to really look at your face. I think this might be the last time I'll see it." Juhoon asked without much hope.

Seonghyeon hesitated, trying to figure out if this would help or make things worse. Probably the latter. But Juhoon seemed somewhat better, and he couldn't find a good reason to say no. Besides, he wanted to. Looking at Juhoon had always been one of his favorite things.

"Sure, we can do that."

They sat on the floor across from each other, legs crossed, barely a meter apart. Juhoon looked at him, and a song played in his head. The melancholy guitar of a Smiths track, "Back to the Old House," suited the moment perfectly.

He wasn't looking at Seonghyeon like it was the last time, even though it was. He was looking at him like it was the first. The shape of his eyebrows, so defined. The elegant bridge of his nose that he had always envied. The natural double eyelid that made those brown eyes so warm and so hard to look away from. His ears, comically small compared to the rest of him. Juhoon wanted to push his bangs aside one last time, to see the straight forehead that gave Seonghyeon so much character when his hair was back.

But more than anything, he wished he could make him laugh. He wanted to see those symmetrical teeth, the way his upper lip curved like the beginning of a heart. He regretted it, with a deep heaviness in his chest, that he had never been able to draw him. Now he would never get the chance.

"You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," Juhoon whispered, pure devotion. "I never told you that enough. I'm sorry. You really are, Seonghyeon. The most beautiful."

Seonghyeon's lips quivered. He pressed them together hard, but it didn't help that much.

Juhoon raised his hand, then lowered it, uncertain.

"Is it okay if I touch you?"

He waited until he heard a soft sigh of permission.

Then he brushed his fingers across Seonghyeon's eyebrow, from the center out, slow. Down the side of his eye socket, over the ridge of his cheekbone, to the hollow where his dimples used to appear. He cupped his cheek with his whole palm, feeling the warmth of his tan, healthy skin, a temperature Juhoon had never been able to match. His own body had always run cold.

"I wish we had met sooner. Before him... I wish you were my first love."

That made Seonghyeon close his eyes. He could feel how much Juhoon meant it. It was the most devastating breakup he had ever had, the most beautiful in its sadness. Juhoon was the love he would never forget. And despite everything, he was so thankful to have experienced it. But that didn't make it sting any less. Still, if he could go back to the day they met, he would do it all over again. Even knowing how it would end.

Juhoon stroked Seonghyeon's other cheek, holding his face in his hands like the precious thing it was. He ran his thumbs over his tears, wiping them away even as his own kept falling. Then he looked at Seonghyeon's lips and licked his own, out of habit. He pressed his forehead against Seonghyeon's and started sobbing, harder than before.

This hurt more than anything he had ever felt. Now he understood the difference. Losing the boy he thought was the love of his life wasn't the same as losing the real one.

Seonghyeon couldn't take any more. He had reached his limit. He stood up, clumsy in a way that showed how much it took out of him.

To leave.

"I have to go now. I'll come back later this week to get my stuff. Let me know when's a good time." Seonghyeon grabbed his backpack. "I left the keys on the table with the groceries." He pointed at his face. "And take care of these, please."

"Okay." Juhoon stayed on the floor, not moving.

Seonghyeon walked to the door. He shoved his feet into his shoes as fast as he could, but his fingers fumbled clumsily, and he couldn't tie the laces. He just tucked them under his soles.

When he touched the doorknob, something made him look back. Juhoon was standing now, one arm hanging limp, the other gripping his own forearm. He seemed like he wanted to say more, something that was hard for him to let out. Seonghyeon gave him a full minute.

"You made me happy."

Seonghyeon smiled. He had always wanted that. To be the reason Juhoon felt that way. To be the one who had made Juhoon happy. And he had been just that. That was enough. He could leave without regrets.

"Thanks for saying that," he said.

Then he walked out of the apartment the same way he had first entered it, with a calm conviction that everything would be okay.

The door closed.

Seonghyeon would never come back.

A few minutes later, rain started falling. The timing was just right. The sound pulled Juhoon out of his trance.

His legs unsteady, he walked to the window. He pressed both palms against the glass, even leaned his face into it, resting there for a moment, watching the drops streak down. The sky was almost black, with distant thunder rumbling and lightning flashing. It was beautiful and comforting. It made everything feel more defined.

Juhoon unlatched the window and pushed it open. The first drops hit his face, tender and brisk. He closed his eyes and breathed in the air, letting it fill his lungs. It felt cleaner than the smoke he had been sucking down all morning. If fire was purifying, then water was liberating.

Then he stepped onto the sill, his bare feet gripping the edge. The rain fell harder now, soaking him through. He tilted his head back and let the water stream down his cheeks, washing away the tears. Juhoon glanced down and saw Seonghyeon at the bus stop. He wished he would look back just once, but knew he wouldn't. This wasn't some romantic drama where the guy regrets leaving and runs back to confess his love. Seonghyeon wouldn't turn around and sprint to him, shouting how much he loved him. And Juhoon wouldn't run down to meet him for some emotional kiss in the rain. That wasn't going to happen. Everything was done.

For the first time in his life, he wasn't afraid to be afraid. He didn't have to wait anymore. He didn't have to hold on to anyone.

He let go.

The imaginary clock stopped ticking.

Time stood still.

Juhoon finally managed to break the loop. 

Notes:

a/n: so i'm updating this cause i feel like i have to. not bc of the hate train on tiktok but bc some of y'all crossed a line. leaving malicious comments on my other works and asking for my personal socials to keep the harassment going. that's not concern or protecting anyone, that's literally just cyberstalking. and it's a crime, btw. not giving y'all that power tho.

okay, so let's clear the air real quick. the whole "grown adult writing about minors" narrative is so tired. i'm barely 19. that's a 1-2 year age gap. neuroscience 101: prefrontal cortex isn't fully developed until 25. we're literally in the same developmental bracket. if you genuinely believe 18 is a helpless child and 19 is some predator, that's not biology or psychology, that's just your own moral panic projecting. be so fr.

and the "sexualizing" argument? please. where's this same energy for the massive tiktok/tumblr/x accounts making straight AUs or fan edits with millions of views? exactly. nowhere. cause it's way easier to bully one ao3 writer than to acknowledge the thirst compilations and edits you scroll past every day. that's not activism, that's performative, babes. y'all just want the moral high ground without doing the actual work.

also, since we're playing the "who's qualified to talk about this" game, i'm literally a psych major. i study this. i know exactly what real world sexualization and power dynamics look like. and i'm a survivor of sexual abuse, so trust me, i know the difference between fiction and reality better than most. fiction, especially properly tagged fiction (which mine always is), is one of the safest spaces to explore vulnerability and sexuality without harming anyone. if it's too graphic for you, don't click. simple. but i'm not apologizing for my prose or the intensity of my emotions. this is how i process stuff some of y'all have never even had to face.

i know the idols are real people with real lives, and i respect them as artists. i also know the characters in my head are just that. characters. i write about cortis bc they're my closest emotional reference point. their music has been a massive support system for me through some really dark times. using their image as a muse isn't me being disrespectful, it's literally my way of honoring their impact and taking back control over my own narrative. something i desperately need as a survivor.

look, i understand the concern. i really do. but you came here by choice, and you're free to leave whenever. i'm not pressed about it, and honestly, neither should you be. i'm just doing my own thing over here. so next time y'all wanna "defend" them, maybe use that energy to demand better working conditions, boycott the companies overworking them, or just support their art without objectifying them irl. meanwhile, i'll be here, writing, healing, and minding my business.

to my actual readers: ty for being here. for the vibes, for the comments, for seeing me as a person with real feelings, not just a random user on the internet. y'all are the reason this space stays safe.

—xoxo