Chapter Text
The airport terminal smelled like burnt coffee and rain-soaked clothes.
Nicho sat beneath a flickering departure screen with his phone pressed against his ear, watching strangers drag suitcases across polished floors. Somewhere nearby, a child laughed loudly enough to echo. An announcement crackled overhead in English, then Korean.
It made his chest ache.
Or maybe that was just the cancer.
“…Japan?” Euijoo repeated quietly through the speaker.
Nicho leaned back in the stiff plastic chair and stared up at the ceiling lights. “Yeah.”
There was a long silence on the other end.
Not the comfortable kind they used to have eight years ago. Not the kind built from knowing each other too well.
This silence was careful.
Wary.
Finally, Euijoo exhaled. “Nicho, don’t you think that’s a little excessive?”
Something ugly twisted in Nicho’s chest.
Eight years ago, they’d fallen in love in Japan so quickly it had almost frightened him. Two foreign students in Tokyo, both nineteen and lonely and overwhelmed. Euijoo with his terrible Japanese pronunciation and sleepy smile. Nicho laughing too hard at everything he said.
Now they could barely stand the sound of each other breathing.
Nicho tightened his grip on the phone.
“I’m already at the airport,” he said flatly. “Terminal three.”
Another silence.
“I bought the tickets already.”
“…You already bought them?"
“Yeah.”
“Nicho—”
“And if you don’t show up,” Nicho interrupted, voice calm in the way it only became when he was furious, “I’ll tell your parents why we’re actually separating.”
The line went completely still.
Nicho could practically hear Euijoo freeze.
Because that was the thing neither of them had touched yet.
Not publicly.
To everyone else, the relationship had simply “run its course.” Eight years together. Sad, but normal. No ugliness. No betrayal.
Euijoo’s parents still liked Nicho. They still called him during holidays. His mother still sent him photos of their dog.
They had no idea their son had cheated on the man who moved countries for him.
“Nicho,” Euijoo said finally, low and exhausted. “Don’t do this.”
A month to live.
Late-stage stomach cancer.
Maybe this was karma. Maybe in another life Nicho had ruined someone exactly the way Euijoo ruined him.
He almost laughed at the thought.
Instead, he said, “Flight boards in an hour.”
Then he hung up.
The screen of his phone went black in his hand.
For a while, he just sat there.
People brushed past him in waves. Suitcases rattled over tile. Someone nearby argued over boarding passes. The world kept moving with awful normalcy while Nicho sat in the middle of it carrying a death sentence inside his body.
A month.
Maybe less.
Three weeks ago, he’d gone to the hospital because the pain wouldn’t stop. Persistent nausea. Sharp cramps. Blood once, bright against porcelain.
The doctor had spoken gently enough that Nicho understood immediately it was bad.
By the time they found it, it had already spread.
Terminal.
That word had followed him everywhere since.
He still hadn’t figured out how a person was supposed to continue acting human after hearing it.
A year ago, everything had still been salvageable.
At least, Nicho thought so then.
Euijoo came home one evening, shrugging off his coat while talking casually about some new coworker.
“Fuma’s pretty cool,” he’d said. “I think I’m gonna ask if he wants to hang out outside work sometime.”
Nicho remembered looking up from the couch, absently nodding.
At first, it was harmless.
Fuma this. Fuma that.
Funny stories from work. Late dinners after shifts. Drinks on weekends.
Euijoo smiled when he talked about him.
That should have been the first warning.
But Nicho had tried to be reasonable. Tried to be mature about it. Euijoo had friends. Of course he did. And when Nicho eventually met Fuma himself, it only made everything worse.
Because Fuma was kind.
Easy to talk to. Polite. Quietly thoughtful.
Not some asshole Nicho could hate without guilt.
Even Nicho’s own friends liked him.
So every time insecurity crawled up Nicho’s throat, he swallowed it back down and told himself not to be pathetic.
Then Euijoo started coming home later.
Then came the distance.
The arguments.
The unbearable feeling that Euijoo was already halfway gone even while sitting right beside him in bed.
And eventually, Euijoo confessed on his own.
No excuses. No elaborate lies.
Just a shattered expression and the quiet, devastating truth.
Nicho had never experienced pain like that before.
Not dramatic pain.
Not cinematic pain.
Just something relentless and humiliating that hollowed him out from the inside.
Because betrayal wasn’t loud most of the time.
Mostly, it was small things.
Looking at the person you loved and suddenly wondering how long they’d been lying to your face.
Wondering if they thought about someone else while kissing you.
Wondering when exactly you stopped being enough.
Euijoo cried when he confessed.
Nicho didn’t.
Later, maybe. Alone. Violently.
But not in front of him.
After that, everything between them rotted quickly.
Euijoo said he wanted to separate.
But eight years together wasn’t something you could untangle in a week.
Nicho had moved from Taiwan to Korea for him after graduation. Learned Korean for him. Built a life around him so completely that sometimes he forgot where Euijoo ended and he began.
Their apartment still looked shared even after they stopped touching each other.
Two mugs beside the sink.
Two toothbrushes.
Euijoo’s sweaters mixed with Nicho’s laundry.
Evidence of a life that refused to disappear neatly.
Three days ago, Euijoo mentioned he’d started looking at apartments.
Nicho remembered the exact way the room felt afterward.
Too small.
Too warm.
“You’re already looking?” Nicho had snapped.
Euijoo looked exhausted before the argument even began. “We can’t keep living like this.”
“Living like what?”
“Like this, Nicho.”
Like this.
Like resentment. Like broken glass. Like ghosts pretending to be lovers.
Nicho had screamed after that.
Said things he couldn’t take back. Cruel things. Desperate things.
Euijoo yelled too.
And afterward they stood on opposite sides of the apartment breathing hard like strangers.
Then life decided to make all of it meaningless.
A month to live.
Maybe less.
Nicho stared down at the boarding pass in his hand.
Since he couldn’t make Euijoo regret leaving him for another sixty years, he’d settle for seven more days.
Seven days in Japan.
One last trip.
One last chance to drag Euijoo through the ruins of everything they used to be.
—
Nicho saw Euijoo before Euijoo saw him.
He was weaving through the crowded terminal with a dark suitcase rolling behind him, his coat half unzipped like he’d thrown it on in a hurry. His hair was slightly messy too, and for one stupid, dangerous second, Nicho’s chest tightened with familiarity instead of resentment.
Eight years together trained the body before the mind.
Nicho still recognized Euijoo instantly in every crowd.
Then his eyes landed on the suitcase.
It wasn’t one of theirs.
Not the battered navy one they used for holidays. Not the black carry-on Nicho bought during college because Euijoo complained their old luggage wheels squeaked too loudly.
This one was newer.
Cleaner.
Unfamiliar.
Nicho stared at it too long.
Probably bought recently.
Or packed by Fuma in a rush after Euijoo got the call.
The thought made something acidic rise into Nicho’s throat.
The moment Euijoo spotted him, his expression darkened immediately.
He walked over fast, jaw tight.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” were the first words out of his mouth.
No hello.
No how are you.
Nicho almost laughed.
“You call me while I’m at work and tell me you already bought tickets to another country?” Euijoo snapped, keeping his voice low enough not to draw attention. “Do you realize how irrational this is? I had to make up some excuse and suddenly take leave and—”
He kept going.
About work.
About responsibility.
About impulsiveness.
About how difficult Nicho was making everything.
Nicho listened quietly while people streamed around them in waves.
All that trouble.
And Euijoo still came.
Because protecting his image mattered enough to board the plane anyway.
Nicho slipped his hands into the pockets of his jeans to stop himself from visibly shaking.
His body had felt weak ever since the diagnosis. Hollowed out. Every emotion seemed to hit harder now, like the illness had stripped something protective from him.
Still, he forced himself to shrug.
“I’ve always been like this,” he said.
Euijoo stopped talking.
Nicho looked at him evenly. “You used to like that about me.”
Something flickered across Euijoo’s face before hardening again.
“And you could’ve stayed behind,” Nicho added quietly.
The bitterness between them sat like broken glass now. Sharp. Impossible to ignore.
Nicho hated it.
A part of him wanted—pathetically, stupidly—to speak normally with Euijoo again. The way they used to. Teasing each other while waiting for trains. Arguuing over food. Complaining about professors.
But somewhere over the last year, every conversation between them had become a battlefield.
Nicho couldn’t even remember how to talk to him peacefully anymore.
Euijoo looked down briefly, pressing his lips together like he was trying not to lose patience.
Like Nicho was being childish.
After a moment, Euijoo inhaled slowly through his nose, visibly calming himself down.
Then he asked, quieter this time, “Can you at least tell me why we’re doing this?”
Nicho didn’t answer immediately.
Instead, he turned toward the enormous windows overlooking the tarmac.
Planes crawled across wet concrete beneath the gray evening sky. Runway lights blurred faintly in the drizzle.
He blinked hard.
“Nine years ago,” Nicho said softly, “we met in Japan.”
He heard Euijoo go still beside him.
“We became friends first.” Nicho swallowed. “You were horrible at Japanese.”
Euijoo gave the faintest exhale through his nose. Not quite a laugh.
“You used to ask me to order everything for you because you were scared the restaurant staff wouldn’t understand your accent.”
“You’re exaggerating.”
“I’m not.”
For one fragile second, the conversation almost felt normal.
Then reality settled back over them.
Nicho continued staring at the planes.
“Eight years ago, you asked me out in the clumsiest way possible.”
Euijoo said nothing.
“You confessed to me outside that train station near campus,” Nicho continued. “You were so nervous you dropped your coffee all over yourself.”
“Okay, stop.”
“And then six years ago,” Nicho said anyway, voice beginning to tighten despite himself, “we graduated, and you asked me to come back to Korea with you because you said—”
“Stop.”
This time Euijoo’s voice came out sharper.
Nicho finally looked at him.
Euijoo’s expression was awful.
Not angry.
Something more complicated than that.
Like every word Nicho spoke was reopening wounds neither of them knew how to survive anymore.
“You said you couldn’t imagine your life without me beside you,” Nicho finished quietly.
Euijoo shut his eyes briefly.
“Are you doing this just to make me feel guilty?” he asked after a long silence.
The question landed harder than Nicho expected.
Because maybe part of him was.
Maybe he wanted Euijoo to hurt even a fraction as badly as he did.
Nicho looked away again with a small, bitter smile.
“If I wanted to punish you,” he murmured, “I’d do a lot worse than drag you to Japan.”
Euijoo’s jaw tightened.
For a moment neither of them spoke.
Airport announcements echoed overhead.
Someone nearby hurried past speaking rapid Japanese into their phone.
Finally, Nicho said quietly, “Can you just trust me one last time?”
Euijoo looked at him then.
Really looked at him.
And suddenly Nicho wondered if he looked different already. Thinner maybe. More exhausted. There had been dark circles beneath his eyes for weeks now. His clothes hung looser too.
But Euijoo only frowned faintly.
Nicho forced himself to continue before the silence swallowed him whole.
“I just want to see the places we fell in love one last time.”
Euijoo’s expression shifted again into something unreadable.
God.
That look alone almost broke him.
Because despite everything—despite the cheating, the screaming, the unbearable resentment—Nicho still knew Euijoo too well.
He knew when Euijoo was conflicted.
Knew when guilt was eating at him alive.
Knew when he wanted to say something but didn’t know how.
Euijoo looked away first.
After a long moment, he said quietly, “I’ll go.”
Nicho’s chest tightened painfully.
“But don’t expect this to change anything,” Euijoo added. “We loved each other once. That doesn’t change the present.”
Nicho nodded slowly and ran a tired hand through his hair.
“All you have to do is get through this trip,” he said.
Then, before he could stop himself, “After that, I won’t bother you again.”
The words sat heavily between them.
Euijoo frowned slightly at the phrasing but said nothing.
Of course he didn’t.
Nicho looked back out toward the runway lights blinking against the rain.
He never planned on returning to Korea after this.
Japan first.
Then Taiwan.
Home.
He’d spend whatever time he had left trying to remember what it felt like to love living before going back to die in the town where he was born.
And somehow, horribly, tragically, the person he wanted beside him for all of it was still Euijoo.
—
The plane landed in Tokyo a little after sunset.
City lights glittered beneath the rain-streaked windows as the aircraft descended, endless and familiar in a way that made Nicho’s chest ache unexpectedly.
Japan.
For years, he’d associated this place with beginnings.
Now it felt like an ending.
The moment they stepped off the plane, nausea rolled through him so violently he nearly stumbled.
His stomach twisted hard enough to steal the breath from his lungs.
Nicho stopped walking immediately, one hand braced against the wall near the gate while travelers streamed around him impatiently.
For a terrifying second, he thought he might throw up right there.
The cancer had been unpredictable lately. Some mornings he woke up almost normal. Other days his body felt like it was collapsing inward piece by piece.
Swallowing hard, Nicho reached into his bag with slightly trembling fingers and pulled out an orange prescription bottle.
He shook two cancer pills into his palm and swallowed them dry.
Ahead of him, Euijoo slowed.
Then stopped completely.
“What’s that?”
Nicho looked up.
Euijoo’s gaze was fixed on the bottle in his hand, brows drawn together faintly.
Nicho hesitated.
For one dangerous second, the truth sat right there at the edge of his tongue.
Cancer.
Terminal.
I’m dying.
But before he could speak, Euijoo looked away first.
His expression tightened almost imperceptibly.
“…Are those antidepressants?” he asked quietly.
The disappointment in his voice hit harder than the nausea.
Nicho suddenly couldn’t breathe correctly.
Months ago, after the cheating first came out, he’d hit a point where the grief became unbearable. Not dramatic grief. Not loud grief.
Just exhaustion.
A crushing, humiliating exhaustion that made getting out of bed feel impossible.
The apartment stopped feeling like home. Euijoo stopped feeling reachable. Even eating became difficult.
One night, while Euijoo was out, probably with Fuma, though Nicho never asked.
Nicho sat alone on the bathroom floor with a half-full bottle of antidepressants in his shaking hand.
He swallowed every pill.
Not because he truly wanted to die.
Mostly because he wanted the pain to stop for five fucking minutes.
Instead, he spent hours vomiting until his throat bled, coughing up blood into the sink while the bathroom tiles pressed cold against his cheek.
Euijoo found out afterward.
And maybe Euijoo cared in his own way.
But all Nicho remembered was feeling pathetic.
Like some unstable burden desperately trying to make his boyfriend stay.
So now, standing in the airport beneath harsh fluorescent lighting, Nicho simply slid the bottle back into his bag.
“For altitude sickness,” he said flatly.
Euijoo glanced at him again.
Something in his posture loosened slightly.
Relief.
Nicho noticed it immediately.
And somehow that hurt too.
“You never used to get altitude sickness,” Euijoo murmured.
A few years.
That was all it took.
A few years for love to rot into suspicion and exhaustion.
A few years for forever to become temporary.
Maybe getting sick wasn’t so strange after all.
Nicho adjusted the strap of his bag higher onto his shoulder.
“Don’t worry,” he said quietly. “It won’t ruin the trip.”
Euijoo frowned faintly like he wanted to question that answer, but in the end, he stayed silent.
Like always.
They took the train into the city afterward.
Tokyo blurred past the windows in streaks of neon and rain.
Neither of them spoke much.
Occasionally the train announcements chimed overhead, and Nicho found himself translating automatically in his head before remembering Euijoo no longer needed him to.
Years ago, Euijoo used to cling to his sleeve nervously on public transit, asking what signs meant and whether they were getting off at the right stop.
Now Euijoo scrolled silently through his phone across from him, expression unreadable in the reflected train lights.
The hotel Nicho booked was small but clean, tucked into a narrow street between restaurants and convenience stores.
It looked painfully familiar to the kinds of places they used to stay in during college when they were broke and stupidly happy.
After checking in, they changed clothes separately in tense silence.
Nicho swapped his jeans for loose shorts and a faded short-sleeve shirt he’d owned for years.
His reflection in the mirror startled him slightly.
His collarbones looked sharper now.
He looked tired in a way sleep probably couldn’t fix anymore.
When he stepped out of the bathroom, Euijoo was sitting on the edge of the bed rolling up the sleeves of a dark flannel over jeans.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
And suddenly it felt horribly familiar.
Like they were twenty again.
Like they were getting ready to wander Tokyo all night with no plans beyond staying beside each other.
Back before betrayal.
Before resentment.
Before every glance became complicated.
Back when their future felt endless.
Euijoo looked at him strangely.
There was emotion in it this time. Real emotion.
Something soft and wounded flickered across his face like he wanted to say something important.
Hope rose in Nicho’s chest before he could stop it.
Small.
Fragile.
Stupid.
Then Euijoo said, “Fuma has a shirt like that.”
The words hit like ice water.
Nicho physically felt the warmth leave his body.
For a second, the room went completely silent.
Euijoo’s expression changed immediately after he spoke, like he realized too late what he’d done.
“Nicho, I didn’t—”
“It’s fine,” Nicho cut in sharply.
Euijoo frowned. “That’s not what I meant.”
Nicho laughed once under his breath, humorless.
“You don’t need to explain.”
Because what explanation was there?
Sorry, my new boyfriend owns a shirt similar to yours.
Sorry, I accidentally thought about him while looking at you.
Sorry, I keep dragging him into spaces that used to belong to us.
Nicho suddenly couldn’t stand being in the room anymore.
Every mention of Fuma felt like being reminded he’d already been replaced emotionally long before the breakup ever happened.
“You keep making everything into a big deal,” Euijoo said, irritation slipping into his voice now.
Nicho blinked hard and looked away before Euijoo could see the sting in his eyes.
He didn’t trust himself to speak.
Didn’t trust what might come out if he opened his mouth.
Because beneath the anger was humiliation.
And beneath the humiliation was grief so enormous it sometimes felt bottomless.
Euijoo’s expression softened slightly almost immediately.
“This was my fault,” he said quietly.
Nicho said nothing.
The apology sat uselessly between them.
Outside, rain tapped softly against the hotel window.
On their first night back in Tokyo, Nicho spent the evening wandering the city alone.
Angry.
Heartbroken.
And still, against all reason, hopelessly in love with Euijoo.
—
Euijoo used to play guitar constantly.
Not professionally.
Not even particularly well at first.
But back in college, he carried music around with him like it lived in his bloodstream. He played whenever he was stressed, tired, happy, drunk, unable to sleep. Sometimes Nicho would wake up at two in the morning in their tiny apartment near campus and find Euijoo sitting cross-legged on the floor quietly practicing chords so he wouldn’t wake the neighbors.
Back then, everything Euijoo touched felt unbearably dear to Nicho.
Especially music.
On weekends, they used to wander Tokyo with no destination in mind until Euijoo inevitably dragged them into a tiny music shop hidden between two old buildings down a narrow side street.
Nicho remembered it perfectly.
The dusty smell of wood and metal strings.
Stacks of records leaning precariously against walls.
Euijoo walking around wide-eyed like a child in a candy store, picking up guitars he couldn’t afford and staring at them longingly before carefully setting them back down.
“They’re so expensive,” Euijoo had complained once, pouting slightly as he held a sunburst acoustic guitar against his chest.
Nicho remembered laughing. “Then become famous first.”
Euijoo grinned. “You’ll support me while I chase my dreams, right?”
“I’ll think about it.”
“You’re cruel.”
And somehow, even now, Nicho could still hear the sound of Euijoo laughing afterward.
The memory followed him all the way to the storefront.
When Nicho finally stopped in front of the shop again, he almost felt disoriented.
Nothing had changed.
The faded sign was still crooked.
The same stickers still clung stubbornly to the window corners.
Even the bell above the door made the exact same soft chime when he stepped inside.
For a moment, it genuinely felt like time had folded in on itself.
Like twenty-year-old Euijoo might appear around the corner at any second complaining excitedly about guitar brands Nicho didn’t understand.
Instead, the store was quiet.
Only one employee seemed to be working.
A boy—well, not a boy exactly, but definitely younger than Nicho—was crouched near a drum set in the corner tightening something with focused concentration.
At the sound of the bell, he looked up quickly before standing.
He bowed politely.
Nicho caught sight of the name tag pinned to his apron.
Harua.
“Welcome,” Harua said warmly in Japanese.
Nicho smiled faintly and returned the greeting automatically.
Then he glanced around the familiar shop once more before asking, “Do you do engraving for guitars?”
Harua blinked in surprise.
“Engraving?”
“On the side maybe,” Nicho clarified. “Or inside the body.”
Harua thought for a second before nodding slowly. “I’d have to check with my manager first, but I think so.”
Nicho thanked him quietly.
While Harua disappeared into the back room with his phone, Nicho wandered through the aisles slowly.
His fingers brushed lightly over polished wood and cool metal strings.
The ache in his stomach pulsed dully again.
He ignored it.
A few acoustic guitars hung near the far wall, and Nicho paused in front of them longer than intended.
Euijoo would’ve liked this one.
The thought came instinctively.
A dark-colored guitar with clean lines and warm sound.
Simple.
Comfortable.
Very Euijoo.
Nicho swallowed hard.
It was humiliating sometimes, how naturally love still lived inside him despite everything.
After several minutes, Harua returned looking slightly out of breath.
“We can do it,” he said with a small smile. “But it’ll probably take two or three days before it’s finished.”
“That’s fine.”
Harua relaxed visibly.
Then he gestured politely toward the counter. “If you fill out the engraving request form and pick which the guitar you’d like, we can start the process tonight.”
Nicho nodded and followed him.
The form itself was simple.
Name.
Contact information.
Placement request.
Engraving text.
Nicho stared at the blank line for a long moment.
For a second, he didn’t know what to write.
There were too many things he wanted to say.
Too many things he’d never get to say properly.
None of them seemed to fit the feelings in his heart.
Beside him, Harua smiled curiously.
“If you don’t mind me asking,” he said, “is it a gift?”
Nicho paused.
The ache in his stomach sharpened suddenly, deep and twisting.
He pressed a hand subtly against his side before answering.
“…Yeah.”
His voice came out quieter than intended.
“It’s for someone special.”
—
By the time Nicho returned to the hotel, the city had gone quiet.
Not truly quiet—Tokyo never really slept—but softened somehow. The sounds from the street below rose faintly through the cracked window: distant laughter, the hum of traffic, the occasional rush of a train passing somewhere nearby.
Inside the room, the lights were off.
Only the glow of neon signs outside painted dim colors across the walls.
Nicho shut the door carefully behind him and stood still for a moment, exhausted down to the bone.
Euijoo was already asleep.
Or pretending to be.
He lay turned toward the wall beneath the blankets, one arm tucked beneath his pillow exactly the way he always slept.
A dull disappointment settled heavily in Nicho’s chest before he could stop it.
He wasn’t even sure what he’d expected.
Some part of him had stupidly imagined they might sit together tonight. Talk a little. Maybe reminisce about the old days in Tokyo.
Instead, Euijoo had gone to sleep without waiting for him.
Nicho looked away quickly.
Then he noticed the food container sitting untouched on the small table near the window.
He paused.
Slowly, he walked over.
The box was still warm.
Inside was curry rice from the restaurant chain Euijoo used to drag him to during college because it was cheap and open late.
The container was completely full.
Nicho stared at it silently for several seconds.
Something sharp stung behind his eyes.
It felt almost cruel sometimes—that Euijoo could still be thoughtful in these tiny, instinctive ways.
As if love had vanished everywhere except in habit.
Nicho sat down slowly at the table and forced himself to take a bite.
Then another.
But halfway through the third, pain twisted violently through his stomach.
His breath caught.
The chopsticks slipped from his fingers as nausea surged upward so quickly it nearly blinded him.
Nicho barely made it to the bathroom before throwing up.
The sound echoed horribly in the small space.
His knees hit the tile hard enough to hurt.
For several long minutes, all he could do was shake weakly over the toilet while his body emptied itself painfully.
By the end, there was almost nothing left.
Just spit and acid.
When it finally stopped, Nicho stayed there kneeling on the cold floor with his forehead resting against the edge of the sink.
The overhead bathroom light buzzed faintly above him.
Slowly, he lifted his head enough to look at his reflection.
The sight startled him.
Even under harsh lighting, he looked gaunt now.
His cheeks had hollowed noticeably. Dark circles bruised the skin beneath his eyes. His collarbones pushed sharply against thin skin.
He looked sick.
Not tired.
Not stressed.
Sick.
Nicho stared at himself for a long moment before looking away.
He’d imagined this trip differently.
Something unforgettable.
Something beautiful enough to carry with him at the end.
Instead, his body was burning out too quickly for anything spectacular.
By the time he crawled into bed hours later, Euijoo never stirred once.
The next morning, Nicho woke slowly to pale sunlight filtering through the curtains.
For a few disoriented seconds, he forgot where he was.
Then he noticed Euijoo standing near the window.
Watching him.
Nicho blinked blearily.
Euijoo looked away almost immediately once he realized Nicho was awake.
“I was exhausted yesterday,” he said abruptly. “I had meetings all day before the flight.”
Nicho pushed himself upright slowly, every muscle aching.
“And the night before that?” he asked quietly before he could stop himself.
Euijoo went silent.
The answer already existed between them anyway.
Their mutual friends had confirmed it without meaning to.
Drinks after work.
Fuma there too.
Euijoo not coming home until morning.
Nicho suddenly felt too tired to fight.
So instead of arguing, he just nodded once and climbed out of bed.
The silence afterward felt thick and awkward.
While Euijoo got ready, Nicho knelt beside his suitcase searching through it carefully until he found a small makeup pouch.
Concealer.
He stared at it for a second before unscrewing the cap.
It was pathetic, maybe.
But he wanted—just once—not to look like he was dying.
As he dabbed it carefully beneath his eyes, Euijoo suddenly spoke behind him.
“You used to be really tan.”
Nicho froze slightly.
Euijoo leaned against the wall watching him with an unreadable expression.
“Back in college,” he added quietly. “You were always outside.”
Nicho stared at his own reflection for a long moment before setting the concealer down.
“Don’t comment on my appearance anymore.”
The words came out flatter than intended.
Euijoo looked genuinely caught off guard.
Then irritation flickered briefly across his face.
“I was just saying—”
“I know.”
Nicho’s voice was tired now rather than sharp.
“That’s why I’m asking you not to.”
Euijoo muttered something under his breath and looked away.
The room went silent again.
An hour later, they checked out and boarded a long-distance bus north.
Aizuwakamatsu.
Fukushima Prefecture.
The place where everything started.
As the city slowly gave way to quieter landscapes outside the window, Nicho rested his head against the glass and watched Japan blur past.
Nine years ago, he met Euijoo on the first day at the University of Aizu.
Back then, Nicho hadn’t known anyone.
Everything felt unfamiliar. The language, the weather, the culture, the loneliness.
Then Euijoo sat beside him during orientation looking equally lost and whispered in terrible Japanese, “I think we’re in the wrong room.”
Nicho laughed so hard he nearly embarrassed himself.
Afterward, they exchanged numbers.
Looking back now, maybe that was the exact moment Nicho started looking forward to school.
By the time they reached the house they’d rented, evening light had begun settling softly across the neighborhood.
The house itself was beautiful.
Traditional.
Wooden floors, sliding doors, a small internal garden visible through wide windows.
The kind of place college-aged Nicho would’ve been thrilled to stay in.
Now all he felt was tired peace.
As Nicho stepped inside carrying his bag, Euijoo’s phone rang.
The screen lit briefly.
Fuma.
Euijoo turned the phone away too quickly.
Still, Nicho had already seen it.
“I’m gonna take this outside,” Euijoo said awkwardly.
Nicho didn’t answer.
The front door slid shut behind him a moment later.
Silence settled over the house.
Nicho walked slowly deeper inside, fingertips brushing lightly against polished wood as he moved.
The place was beautiful.
But beauty didn’t hit him the same way anymore.
Everything felt muted lately, like his emotions were being dulled beneath layers of exhaustion.
Eventually, he stepped outside through the engawa into the small garden.
Cold wind moved gently through the trees.
Nicho inhaled slowly.
Then dizziness hit him suddenly.
His balance faltered hard enough that he stumbled sideways before catching himself against one of the wooden pillars.
“Nicho.”
Euijoo’s voice came from behind him.
Nicho turned.
Euijoo stood in the doorway holding a jacket.
“I knew you wouldn’t stay inside if it was cold,” he muttered.
For one horrible second, the tenderness of it nearly broke Nicho apart.
Yesterday it was boxed food.
Today it was this.
Taking care of each other had become instinctive after so many years together.
Even after Euijoo stopped loving him.
Nicho’s eyes burned unexpectedly.
He looked away quickly before Euijoo could notice.
Euijoo stepped closer and held the jacket out silently.
Nicho slipped his arms into the sleeves.
The warmth settled around him immediately.
Euijoo hesitated afterward like he wanted to say something else.
Then he simply turned and walked back inside.
Nicho watched him go.
And distantly, quietly, he thought,
I hate you.
He hated the way Euijoo’s heart drifted toward someone softer. Easier. Someone completely unlike Nicho himself.
He hated that Euijoo made promises like forever so easily only to abandon them later.
He hated that Euijoo once swore he loved him enough to cross any distance—
and in the end, it still wasn’t enough.
But most of all, Nicho hated that he no longer had the strength left to keep fighting for him.
—
That evening, they walked to a convenience store a few streets away from the house.
The town had gone quiet early.
Streetlights glowed softly against empty roads, and cold air carried the faint smell of rain and wood smoke. Their footsteps echoed lightly beside each other, close but never touching.
Years ago, they used to walk like this all the time.
Back then, Euijoo always drifted close enough for their shoulders to bump together every few steps.
Now there was careful distance between them.
Not much.
Just enough to feel intentional.
Inside the convenience store, warm air wrapped around them immediately.
Nicho wandered through the aisles slowly, grabbing simple things he thought he could stomach. Rice balls, bottled tea, plain noodles.
His appetite had become unpredictable lately.
Some days even the smell of food made him nauseous.
Euijoo lingered behind him still looking through shelves while Nicho approached the register first.
The cashier looked young, maybe early twenties, with dyed hair tucked beneath a convenience store cap and a permanently amused expression on his face.
His nametag read:
Taki.
“Long day?” Taki asked casually in Japanese as he scanned the food.
Nicho blinked before laughing softly. “Is it that obvious?”
“You have the expression of a man who lost an argument with life.”
The comment was so absurdly sincere that Nicho laughed again despite himself.
“Thanks,” he said dryly. “That makes me feel much better.”
“I provide emotional support free of charge.”
Nicho snorted quietly under his breath.
Behind the counter, Taki grinned proudly like he’d accomplished something.
For the first time all day, the tightness in Nicho’s chest loosened a little.
When the transaction finished, Nicho thanked him warmly and stepped aside—
only to turn and accidentally bump lightly into Euijoo standing behind him.
“Sorry,” Nicho murmured automatically before glancing up.
Then he froze.
Euijoo looked upset.
Not irritated.
Not angry.
Actually upset.
His expression was tight in a way Nicho didn’t understand.
For a second, confusion flickered through him.
Then he looked away first.
It wasn’t his business anymore.
Euijoo was always unhappy lately.
Nicho moved toward the small seating area by the windows and sat down quietly while Euijoo paid.
A few minutes later, Euijoo joined him carrying coffee and instant ramen.
They ate in silence.
Outside, headlights occasionally passed across the dark street.
Inside, soft music played overhead.
Nicho focused on chewing carefully through the nausea threatening to return.
Across from him, Euijoo barely touched his food.
Afterward, they walked back slowly beneath the cold night sky.
Halfway down the street, Euijoo suddenly spoke.
“You used to ask everyone for their social media.”
Nicho glanced at him briefly. “What?”
“The cashier.” Euijoo shoved his hands deeper into his coat pockets. “You talked to him for like two minutes and laughed more than you’ve laughed with me this entire trip.”
Nicho stared ahead.
“He was funny.”
“You didn’t ask for his account.”
Nicho shrugged lightly. “I don’t really do that anymore.”
Something dark flickered across Euijoo’s face.
He went quiet for several long steps afterward.
Nicho could practically feel him trying not to start an argument.
Finally, Euijoo exhaled heavily.
“Why can’t we just have one normal conversation?”
Nicho frowned faintly.
Euijoo looked over at him, frustration written plainly across his face now.
“You’re warm with strangers,” he said quietly. “Friendly. Easy to talk to. But with me…” He laughed bitterly under his breath. “You act like every word I say hurts you.”
Because it does.
The answer rose instinctively in Nicho’s throat.
Instead he stopped walking altogether.
The cold wind moved sharply through the empty street between them.
“You think strangers and you are the same thing?” Nicho asked softly.
Euijoo’s expression tightened immediately.
“They haven’t hurt me,” Nicho continued.
His voice wasn’t loud.
That somehow made it worse.
“You were the closest person in my life.”
Nicho laughed once under his breath, exhausted more than angry now.
“You’re the person who left me drowning in all of this.”
Euijoo looked away sharply.
Nicho kept going before he could stop himself.
“Every time I tried talking to you this past year, you said I was making a scene.” His throat tightened painfully. “Or being too emotional. Or irrational. Or difficult.”
“That’s not—”
“When you loved me,” Nicho cut in quietly, “you liked those things about me.”
Euijoo went silent.
Nicho could still remember it vividly.
Back in college, Euijoo used to adore how outspoken Nicho was. Said he was fearless. Honest. Alive in a way other people weren’t.
But somewhere along the line, all those same qualities became flaws.
“When you stopped loving me,” Nicho said carefully, “everything about me became embarrassing to you.”
Euijoo’s face paled slightly.
Nicho looked away before continuing.
“I tried changing, you know.”
The admission came out rougher than expected.
“I tried being calmer. Less emotional. Less intense.” He swallowed hard. “I tried reconnecting with you.”
Memories flashed through him too quickly.
Euijoo criticizing him during arguments.
Comparisons to Fuma slipped carelessly into conversations.
You’re overreacting.
Why can’t you just let things go?
Fuma wouldn’t turn this into a fight.
“If I tried being strong-willed,” Nicho said quietly, “you said I was copying Fuma.”
Euijoo flinched visibly.
“If I tried sounding smarter or calmer or more mature, somehow I was still wrong.” Nicho laughed bitterly. “Nothing I did felt right anymore.”
Because once love faded, even breathing differently became irritating.
The street had gone completely silent around them.
For a long time, Euijoo said nothing at all.
Then the scenery shifted slightly as they crossed into another neighborhood, and Euijoo finally spoke without looking at him.
“…I won’t say those things about you again.”
Nicho stared ahead quietly.
The words barely reached him.
Because there wasn’t enough time left for an again.
—
They started the hike before sunrise.
The town still slept beneath a pale blue sky when they left the house, breath fogging softly in the cold morning air. The streets were empty except for the occasional glow of vending machines humming quietly in the dark.
Years ago, Euijoo used to drag Nicho out to places like this constantly.
“Sunrises are romantic,” he’d insisted once while forcing a half-asleep Nicho onto a train at five in the morning.
“You’re insane,” Nicho had grumbled.
Euijoo just laughed and kissed his cheek anyway.
Now they climbed the mountain trail mostly in silence.
The path wound upward through trees still heavy with morning dew. Leaves fluttered softly in the wind overhead, glowing gold whenever the first hints of sunlight slipped through.
The higher they climbed, the thinner the air felt in Nicho’s lungs.
His body ached.
Not sharply this time.
Just exhaustion settling deep into his bones.
Several times nausea rose suddenly enough that he had to slow his pace without making it obvious.
Euijoo noticed anyway.
“You okay?” he asked once, glancing back.
Nicho forced a small smile immediately. “Yeah.”
Lie.
But Euijoo accepted it because Euijoo wanted to accept it.
That was the horrible thing.
Nicho was beginning to realize how badly Euijoo needed his sickness to be something ordinary.
Stress.
Depression.
Fatigue.
Anything except the truth.
By the time they reached the overlook, dawn had finally begun spilling across the horizon.
The sky burned softly orange and pink behind distant mountains. Wind moved through the trees in slow waves, carrying the scent of earth and cold water.
For a moment, even Nicho forgot the pain.
“It’s pretty,” Euijoo murmured beside him.
Nicho looked at him instead of the sunrise.
The wind had pushed Euijoo’s hair away from his forehead slightly. His cheeks were pink from the cold. Sleep still lingered faintly in his expression.
Beautiful.
Even now.
Nicho hated that part of himself.
He steadied his breathing carefully before smiling faintly.
“Let’s take a picture together.”
Euijoo blinked in surprise.
For a second, something uncertain crossed his face.
Then he nodded.
Nearby, another traveler was adjusting his backpack while admiring the view, and Euijoo approached him politely to ask for help taking the photo.
The man agreed immediately.
Nicho stood beside Euijoo while the stranger adjusted the camera.
The cold wind whipped through Nicho’s hair, tangling it messily across his forehead.
“Ready?” the man called cheerfully.
Then, naturally, without hesitation, Euijoo slipped an arm around Nicho’s shoulders and pulled him close.
The contact stunned him.
Warmth flooded through Nicho so suddenly it almost hurt.
For one terrible second, muscle memory overtook reality.
This was familiar.
This was home.
Nicho leaned instinctively into Euijoo’s side while the camera shutter clicked.
And somewhere inside him, something cracked quietly apart.
Afterward, Euijoo stepped back immediately.
The loss of warmth felt humiliating.
Neither of them mentioned it.
Later, near the peak, several hikers gathered near the railing overlooking the mountains.
Nicho sat down carefully on a large rock a short distance away while Euijoo drifted into easy conversation with a few strangers nearby.
It happened naturally.
Euijoo had always been like that.
Quiet at first glance, but unexpectedly charming once he relaxed. People liked him easily. They laughed at his jokes. Smiled at him warmly.
Nicho watched him from a distance.
Watched Euijoo laugh softly at something someone said.
Watched morning sunlight catch against his face.
Watched the life in him.
And suddenly, something inside Nicho collapsed completely.
Not dramatically.
Not all at once.
Just a slow, devastating realization finally settling into place.
For months, Nicho had wished desperately that he could erase Euijoo from himself somehow.
Forget him.
Rip the love out by force.
Sometimes he imagined ridiculous things late at night—hypnosis, memory loss, amnesia. Anything that would let him stop loving someone who no longer belonged to him.
But sitting there now beneath the rising sun, watching Euijoo talk with strangers while the wind moved softly through the trees—
Nicho understood something horrible.
Euijoo wasn’t just someone he loved.
Euijoo was the person he loved.
The deepest part of him.
The most irreversible part.
Maybe there would never be another love after this.
Maybe there couldn’t be.
And maybe only death would finally be strong enough to end it.
—
Euijoo was still talking with the other travelers near the overlook when his phone buzzed.
Nicho noticed immediately.
Not because of the sound, but because of Euijoo’s face.
It changed in an instant.
Subtle, but obvious if you knew him well enough.
The unconscious softening around his eyes. The immediate shift in attention. That tiny flicker of anticipation.
Nicho’s stomach twisted painfully.
Fuma.
Of course it was Fuma.
The realization made him feel embarrassingly childish.
Jealous over a text message at twenty-seven years old.
Pathetic.
Euijoo glanced toward Nicho briefly before excusing himself politely from the conversation. Then he stepped several feet away, already typing something quickly into his phone.
A moment later, he answered the call.
Nicho looked away immediately.
Then silently started counting.
He didn’t even know why.
Maybe because numbers felt easier to survive than emotions.
Seven.
Ten.
Fifteen.
At the seventeenth second, Euijoo turned and looked toward him.
Nicho’s chest tightened.
Another few seconds passed.
Then Euijoo ended the call.
He walked back over slowly, phone still in hand, expression strange and conflicted like he wanted to explain something but couldn’t figure out how.
Nicho suddenly felt exhausted.
What was left to misunderstand anymore?
Euijoo loved someone else.
That truth had already carved itself permanently into Nicho’s ribs.
Still, panic rose instinctively anyway.
Sharp and humiliating.
For one horrible moment, Nicho almost said it.
Don’t let him convince you to leave early.
Don’t go back to Korea yet.
Stay until the end of the trip.
He even thought briefly about the threat again—telling Euijoo’s parents the truth.
But the impulse died almost immediately.
Because what would be the point?
You couldn’t force someone to love you back into existence.
Nicho inhaled carefully through the ache building in his chest.
Then, as calmly as possible, he asked:
“What’s wrong?”
Euijoo hesitated.
Nicho watched him closely.
“Who was that?”
For a second, something flickered across Euijoo’s face.
Guilt maybe.
Then he shook his head.
“No one,” he said quietly. “Nothing important.”
The relief that flooded through Nicho afterward was immediate and devastating.
Like oxygen rushing suddenly back into his lungs.
He hated himself for it.
Hated how desperately he still clung to scraps.
Nicho forced himself to nod casually like the answer hadn’t mattered.
“We should head back,” he said softly.
Euijoo looked at him for a long moment before nodding once.
The walk down the mountain felt quieter than before.
Later, back at the house, Euijoo disappeared briefly into one of the rooms before returning holding a black knit beanie.
“You should wear this,” he said.
Nicho blinked. “Why?”
Euijoo shrugged lightly, avoiding eye contact.
“It looks better on you than me anyway.”
The words settled somewhere painfully warm inside Nicho’s chest.
He took the beanie carefully.
“…Thanks.”
Euijoo only nodded.
That night, they ended up sleeping side by side on the same futon.
Not touching.
The room was dark except for faint moonlight spilling through the paper windows.
Nicho lay awake staring at the ceiling while pain pulsed dully beneath his ribs.
Beside him, Euijoo shifted slightly beneath the blankets.
Then quietly:
“Nicho.”
Nicho turned his head slightly.
Euijoo’s voice came softly through the dark.
“Can we just… get along for the next few days?”
The request sounded exhausted.
Fragile.
“I don’t want to fight anymore.”
Something inside Nicho cracked gently apart at those words.
Because he had waited so long for this.
Not grand apologies.
Not dramatic declarations.
Just this.
Peace.
A simple request to stop hurting each other for a little while.
Nicho swallowed against the tightness in his throat.
“…Okay,” he whispered.
And somehow, they kept that promise.
The third day of the trip felt lighter.
Not happy exactly.
But softer around the edges.
Euijoo took charge naturally, like he used to during college trips.
He mapped routes on his phone while walking beside Nicho. Bought train tickets before Nicho could reach for his wallet. Picked restaurants. Planned stops.
At one point, Nicho watched him standing beneath a station sign squinting seriously at directions and almost laughed from sheer familiarity.
It felt frighteningly easy to slip into old patterns with him.
Like their bodies remembered how to love each other even if their hearts no longer knew what to do.
And Euijoo didn’t just revisit old memories.
He made new ones too.
A hidden café tucked beneath a bookstore.
A tiny shrine covered in wind chimes.
Street food from a stand neither of them had tried before.
At one point, Euijoo even grabbed Nicho’s sleeve absentmindedly while crossing a busy street.
Neither of them acknowledged it afterward.
For several dangerous hours, Nicho almost forgot this trip had an ending waiting for him.
That night, though, the illusion shattered again.
Pain woke him sometime after midnight.
His stomach felt like someone had sunk hooks into it and pulled tight.
Nicho lay perfectly still on the futon breathing shallowly through the nausea until he heard voices outside.
Euijoo.
Nicho turned his head slightly toward the open doorway leading onto the engawa.
Through the darkness, he could barely make out Euijoo sitting outside with his phone pressed to his ear.
Talking.
Hours seemed to pass that way.
Nicho couldn’t hear the words clearly.
Only the tone.
Gentle.
Fond.
Warm in a way Euijoo hadn’t sounded with Nicho in a very long time.
Every murmur sounded intimate.
Like a lover speaking softly to someone precious.
Nicho stared silently into the darkness while pain curled through his body.
And all night long, he listened to the sound of Euijoo loving someone else.
—
The next morning, they overslept.
By the time Nicho finally dragged himself awake, pale sunlight had already filled the room completely.
For a few seconds, he lay there disoriented beneath the blankets, body heavy with exhaustion.
Then pain rolled through his stomach in a familiar slow wave.
Nicho shut his eyes briefly.
Beside him, Euijoo was still asleep too, one arm thrown over his face to block the light. His hair was messy from sleep, and for one dangerously soft moment, Nicho was struck by the memory of waking up beside him like this hundreds of times before.
Ordinary mornings.
Shared apartments.
Lazy weekends.
A whole life that now felt impossibly far away.
They didn’t leave the house until nearly noon.
While Euijoo got dressed, Nicho sat in front of the mirror quietly applying concealer beneath his eyes again.
The bruised shadows there seemed darker every morning now.
Behind him, Euijoo glanced over while buttoning his shirt.
“Did you sleep badly?”
Nicho hummed vaguely.
Euijoo hesitated.
Then, carefully casual, “I didn’t sleep much either.”
Nicho kept blending concealer silently.
Euijoo’s voice grew quieter.
“Something happened at work,” he said. “I needed to take a call last night.”
Nicho’s hand froze.
Slowly, he looked up through the mirror.
Euijoo was a terrible liar.
Always had been.
Even now, he couldn’t quite hide the worry in his eyes.
The guilt too.
A sharp ache twisted through Nicho’s chest so suddenly it almost made him nauseous again.
Of course it had to have been Fuma.
For one dangerous second, Nicho wanted to ask.
Did he miss you?
Did you tell him you miss him too?
Did you sound gentle with him the way you used to sound with me?
Instead, Nicho looked away first.
“I just wasn’t comfortable,” he lied quietly.
Euijoo studied him for a moment longer like he knew there was more underneath the answer.
But he didn’t push.
Maybe because they’d both gotten used to avoiding truths they couldn’t survive hearing out loud.
A few hours later, Euijoo drove them toward a small coastal town several hours away.
Years ago, when they lived in Japan, the place had been almost empty.
Quiet streets.
Tiny shops.
Old fishermen sitting outside restaurants smoking lazily while watching the ocean.
Back then, Nicho and Euijoo used to come here when they wanted to disappear from the world for a while.
Now the town was crowded with tourists.
Bright festival banners stretched across streets. Music drifted through the air. Vendors lined the roads selling grilled seafood, sweets, and cheap souvenirs.
The sea glittered brilliantly beneath the afternoon sunlight.
Nicho stepped out of the car slowly, momentarily overwhelmed by the noise and movement around them.
“It changed a lot,” Euijoo murmured beside him.
Nicho nodded quietly.
Just like us.
They wandered through the festival together for hours.
At some point, they ended up inside a tiny local bar near the waterfront.
The owner greeted them loudly the second they walked in, already half drunk himself.
Euijoo laughed under his breath at the man’s energy before ordering drinks.
Nicho only got tea.
Alcohol made the nausea unbearable now.
While Euijoo talked casually with the bartender, Nicho overheard nearby tourists mentioning a bonfire gathering happening on the beach later that night.
His eyes lit up instinctively.
“There’s gonna be a bonfire?”
Euijoo glanced over.
“Looks like it.”
Nicho tried and failed to hide his excitement.
To his surprise, Euijoo smiled faintly.
“I kinda want to stay for it too.”
The warmth that bloomed in Nicho’s chest at those words felt almost painful.
They stayed at the bar longer than intended afterward.
By the third drink, a soft flush had spread across Euijoo’s cheeks.
Nicho found himself staring openly.
The alcohol made Euijoo look younger somehow.
Softer.
More like the nineteen-year-old boy Nicho first met all those years ago.
Before he could stop himself, Nicho muttered quietly under his breath.
Euijoo blinked. “What?”
He leaned slightly closer over the table.
Nicho smiled despite himself and shook his head.
“I called you Ponyo.”
For a second, Euijoo just stared.
Then something rare happened.
He smiled.
Really smiled.
It lit his entire face unexpectedly, softening him in a way Nicho hadn’t seen in months.
“Really?” Euijoo asked, almost laughing.
Nicho nodded.
“The first time I met you, I thought you looked like Ponyo.”
Euijoo looked genuinely offended. “That fish?”
“You had a round face,” Nicho teased lightly. “Big eyes too.”
Euijoo scoffed under his breath, but he was still smiling.
“You were pretty.” The words slipped out naturally.
The smile faded from Euijoo’s face slowly.
Nicho’s chest tightened.
Still, he kept talking because suddenly stopping felt worse.
“When I’m gone,” he said lightly, “you should buy a goldfish and name it after me.”
Euijoo froze.
Nicho forced a grin.
“Maybe they can engrave a little goldfish on my headstone too.”
The silence afterward hit instantly.
Euijoo’s expression collapsed.
“Nicho.”
His voice came out sharp with something dangerously close to panic.
“Don’t say things like that.”
The reaction startled Nicho more than the words themselves.
Because beneath the scolding was fear.
Raw and helpless.
As if even joking about death made something inside Euijoo recoil violently.
Nicho regretted it immediately.
But somehow, Euijoo’s reaction only made the ache in his chest heavier.
Because if Euijoo reacted this strongly to a joke, what would happen when he learned the truth?
Nicho smiled weakly instead.
“I’m kidding,” he murmured.
But even to himself, the lie sounded thin.
Euijoo’s expression stayed tight long after Nicho laughed it off.
His jaw remained tense around the edges, fingers curled loosely around his drink.
“Don’t joke about things like that,” he repeated quietly.
This time there was anger in it.
And somehow, that anger struck Nicho as strange.
Misplaced.
Because Euijoo had spent the last year emotionally leaving him piece by piece without looking back once.
So why did a joke about death upset him this badly?
A dangerous flicker of hope rose instinctively in Nicho’s chest.
Small.
Terrible.
Nicho looked at him carefully.
“…Why?”
Euijoo frowned immediately.
Nicho’s voice softened before he could stop it.
“Are you scared I’ll die?”
The question settled heavily between them.
Euijoo froze.
For one suspended second, Nicho thought maybe—
Maybe Euijoo finally understood something was wrong.
Maybe he knew.
Or maybe he simply still loved Nicho enough somewhere deep down that even imagining death hurt him.
But then Euijoo looked away first.
“You’re overthinking it,” he said coldly.
The warmth in Nicho’s chest collapsed instantly.
“It’s just bad luck to talk like that.”
Oh.
Of course.
Nicho lowered his eyes quietly.
“…Sorry,” he murmured. “I won’t do it again.”
Only then did Euijoo’s shoulders loosen slightly.
That night, the festival gathered along the beach.
The bonfire burned brilliantly against the dark shoreline, sparks flying upward into the night sky while waves crashed softly nearby. Music drifted through the crowd. Tourists laughed loudly, joining local townspeople in singing and dancing around the fire.
The entire beach glowed warm gold beneath the flames.
Euijoo drank with a few strangers near the fire for a while.
Nicho stayed seated farther back in the sand watching everything quietly.
He didn’t feel sad exactly.
Not entirely.
Mostly there was longing.
And envy.
And something softer underneath both.
Contentment maybe.
Because Nicho had always loved crowds like this.
Noise. Music. Human warmth spilling everywhere.
And somehow, having one final night surrounded by life before dying felt strangely merciful.
Like the world was letting him say goodbye gently.
Nearby, someone started singing badly enough that half the crowd burst into laughter.
Nicho smiled faintly.
Beside him, Euijoo suddenly asked:
“Aren’t you gonna dance?”
Nicho glanced over in surprise.
Euijoo wasn’t looking at him directly.
His gaze stayed fixed on the fire instead, expression distant with memory.
“You used to be good at it,” Euijoo said quietly.
Nicho blinked.
Euijoo huffed a soft laugh under his breath.
“That school rally.” He shook his head slightly. “I seriously thought I was hallucinating.”
The memory hit Nicho so vividly it almost hurt.
A few weeks after they started dating officially, Nicho had performed with the university dance team during a school festival.
Euijoo had shown up late completely unaware Nicho was part of the performance.
The look on his face when Nicho walked onstage had been unforgettable.
Shock first.
Then complete disbelief.
Afterward, Euijoo laughed so hard on the walk home that Nicho nearly cried laughing too.
“You never told me you danced!” Euijoo had complained breathlessly.
“You never asked!”
“You looked cool!”
“You sounded offended about it!”
“I was overwhelmed!”
The memory wrapped around Nicho’s heart painfully now.
Beside him, Euijoo smiled faintly at the fire.
“You used to sing really well too.”
Nicho’s breath caught.
Euijoo’s voice had gone softer now.
“Your voice matched my guitar perfectly.”
The ache inside Nicho sharpened immediately.
Because he remembered that too.
Late nights in cramped apartments.
Euijoo playing guitar lazily while Nicho sang whatever songs came to mind.
Back then, they used to look at each other like the world ended and began there.
Nicho stared into the fire quietly while his eyes burned unexpectedly.
Then softly, before he could reconsider it:
“If the sakura trees bloom while we’re here…”
Euijoo turned toward him.
Nicho forced a small smile.
“I’ll sing for you again.”
Something shifted visibly in Euijoo’s expression.
His eyes softened.
His throat moved slightly before he answered.
“…Okay.”
The word came out rough. Almost hoarse.
And maybe it was the firelight.
Or the ocean.
Or the exhaustion of loving each other this long.
But for several quiet seconds, the entire world seemed to disappear around them.
The crowd faded into noise.
The music blurred away.
There was only Euijoo sitting close enough for Nicho to feel his warmth.
Only Euijoo’s eyes fixed on his own.
Nicho’s heartbeat grew painfully loud.
Without realizing it, he leaned closer.
Euijoo did too.
Their breaths mingled softly between them.
So close.
Close enough that Nicho could almost remember what kissing him felt like.
Then suddenly Euijoo pulled back.
Like waking abruptly from a dream.
The softness vanished from his face almost instantly.
He laughed awkwardly instead, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Don’t forget why we’re here,” he teased weakly. “This is supposed to be a breakup trip.”
Every bit of warmth inside Nicho died immediately.
Because underneath the joke was a reminder.
A boundary.
Euijoo pulling away before things became real again.
And somehow that hurt worse than anger ever did.
Nicho looked down at the sand quietly while bitterness surged hot in his chest.
“I never forgot,” he muttered.
Before Euijoo could respond, Nicho suddenly grabbed the beer from his hand.
Euijoo startled.
“Nicho—”
Nicho stood shakily to his feet holding the cup tightly.
The ocean roared softly behind them.
The bonfire crackled nearby.
Nicho’s pulse hammered violently beneath his skin.
“I swear,” he said hoarsely, “on the sea beside us and this drink—”
Euijoo’s expression changed immediately.
“—that after this trip ends, I’ll never bother you again.”
The words trembled slightly coming out.
“And if I do…”
Nicho lifted the cup slightly.
“…then may I suffer for it.”
He tipped the drink back toward his mouth.
Euijoo reacted instantly.
The cup flew from Nicho’s hand, beer splashing violently into the sand.
“Nicho!”
People nearby turned toward the commotion immediately.
Euijoo stood abruptly, chest rising hard with anger.
“What the hell is wrong with you?”
Nicho stared at him in disbelief.
“That was supposed to reassure you.”
“You can’t say things like that!”
Euijoo’s voice cracked sharply through the noise around them.
His face had gone pale beneath the firelight.
Nicho frowned, hurt twisting immediately into anger too.
“Why?” he shot back. “Isn’t this what you wanted?”
Euijoo’s breathing grew uneven.
For a long moment, he just stared at Nicho with something almost frantic in his eyes.
Then finally he spoke. “You’re crazy.”
The words landed like a slap.
Euijoo turned sharply, already starting to walk away.
But Nicho called after him immediately.
“Euijoo.”
Euijoo stopped.
Slowly, he looked back over his shoulder, irritation burning openly across his face now.
“What?”
Nicho pushed himself unsteadily to his feet.
The sand shifted beneath him as he walked closer.
Close enough to see his own reflection faintly in Euijoo’s eyes—
pale skin.
Tired eyes.
Someone already halfway disappearing.
Nicho swallowed carefully.
Then quietly said, “Can you promise me something?”
Euijoo frowned.
“…What do you want?”
Nicho looked at him for a long moment.
Then asked softly:
“When this trip is over…”
His throat tightened painfully.
“…promise me you’ll never come back to Japan again.”
—
Euijoo’s expression changed instantly.
The anger in his face faltered first.
Then confusion replaced it.
Then something worse.
“Nicho…” His voice tightened strangely. “What the hell is going on with you?”
The bonfire crackled loudly nearby, sparks drifting upward into the night sky while laughter and music continued around them completely unaware of the disaster unfolding a few feet away.
But for Nicho, the world had narrowed entirely to Euijoo’s face.
“You’ve been acting weird this entire trip,” Euijoo said. His breathing still sounded uneven from anger, but beneath it now was something rawer. “You keep saying things that don’t make sense.”
Nicho looked away immediately.
Euijoo stepped closer instead.
“And those jokes about dying—”
He stopped himself abruptly.
Then suddenly grabbed Nicho’s wrist.
The touch startled him.
Euijoo’s fingers tightened around his hand almost desperately as he searched Nicho’s face beneath the firelight.
“Are you hiding something from me?”
The question hit like a knife straight through Nicho’s chest.
For one terrible moment, everything inside him cracked open.
Yes.
Yes, I’m dying.
Yes, I dragged you here because I was scared to disappear alone.
Yes, every second beside you hurts so badly I can barely breathe anymore.
The confession climbed painfully into his throat.
And for a single dangerous second, Nicho almost gave in.
He almost told him everything.
But then what?
Euijoo would pity him.
Stay out of guilt.
Look at him differently.
And worst of all—
Euijoo would suffer.
Nicho couldn’t bear the thought of Euijoo carrying this grief forever.
So instead, he slowly pulled his hand away.
The loss of contact felt immediate.
Cold.
Nicho forced himself to smile faintly.
Then cruelly—because if he didn’t become cruel first, he would fall apart—he echoed Euijoo’s own words back at him.
“Don’t forget why we’re here.”
Euijoo froze.
Nicho swallowed hard against the ache in his throat.
“In a few days,” he said quietly, “we’ll be strangers.”
The words nearly destroyed him to say.
“And whatever’s going on with me…” Nicho looked away toward the ocean. “…doesn’t have anything to do with you anymore.”
Euijoo’s face lost color little by little as he listened.
Like someone slowly draining warmth from him.
For a moment, guilt crashed so violently through Nicho that he almost took it back immediately.
Almost reached for him.
Almost apologized.
But then Euijoo gritted his teeth hard enough for the muscle in his jaw to twitch.
And the softness disappeared again.
“If that’s true,” he said tightly, “then why should it matter whether I come back to Japan?”
Nicho’s breath caught.
Euijoo’s eyes flashed with anger now.
“Why do you care what I do after this?”
Because this place belongs to us.
Because I can survive you loving someone else eventually, but not here.
Not in the places where we became each other’s whole world.
Nicho said nothing.
And maybe that silence hurt worse than any answer could’ve.
Euijoo stared at him for another long second before turning sharply away.
Then he started walking back toward the station without another word.
Nicho stood motionless in the sand watching him go.
The firelight flickered across Euijoo’s retreating figure while the crowd continued singing behind them.
People laughed.
Someone nearby started another song.
The ocean rolled endlessly onto shore.
And through blurring tears, Nicho watched Euijoo walk farther and farther away from him.
Like rehearsal.
Like practice for the final goodbye waiting at the end of all this.
Because Nicho couldn’t bear the thought of Euijoo returning here someday with someone else beside him.
Couldn’t survive imagining Fuma standing where Nicho once stood.
Walking their streets.
Touching their memories.
Tracing the paths that used to belong only to them.
Japan held too much of Nicho inside it.
And maybe that was selfish.
Maybe it was cruel.
But if Nicho was going to disappear soon—
then he wanted at least one place in this world where Euijoo could never replace him.
—
On the fifth day of the trip, they traveled farther north to another small town.
The hotel there was older than the others they’d stayed in, tucked between forested hills and quiet roads that emptied completely once evening settled in. At night, the silence felt almost unreal.
Nicho liked it immediately.
Maybe because dying made him appreciate quiet differently.
Or maybe because places untouched by crowds still felt sacred somehow.
The next morning, they woke before dawn again.
Neither of them mentioned the argument from the beach.
Things between them had shifted strangely since then—softer in some moments, unbearably tense in others, like they were both standing carefully around a truth neither wanted to touch.
The forest trail behind the town stretched deep into the mountains.
As they walked, pale morning light filtered slowly through the trees, catching against damp leaves and winding roots beneath their feet.
Cold air filled Nicho’s lungs sharply.
He adjusted Euijoo’s coat more tightly around himself and glanced upward hopefully toward the sakura branches overhead.
Still closed.
Tiny pink buds waited stubbornly against dark branches.
Nicho’s chest sank slightly.
He’d been hoping.
Maybe stupidly.
But some irrational part of him wanted desperately to see the blossoms one last time before he died.
Beside him, Euijoo looked disappointed too.
Nicho noticed it immediately.
Without thinking much about it, he asked quietly, “Do you still want me to sing for you?”
Euijoo looked over in surprise.
Then slowly nodded.
So Nicho sang.
Softly at first.
Almost shy.
His voice drifted carefully through the trees while they walked side by side along the narrow trail.
Years ago, Euijoo used to love listening to him sing.
Sometimes Nicho would sing absentmindedly while cooking or cleaning, and Euijoo would immediately stop whatever he was doing just to listen with that unbearably fond expression on his face.
Now, Nicho’s voice wasn’t what it used to be.
Cancer had hollowed parts of him out quietly.
His breathing grew uneven too quickly. Notes wavered faintly from exhaustion.
Still, his voice remained warm.
Beautiful in a fragile sort of way.
And as he sang, Nicho realized he wasn’t doing it for Euijoo anymore.
Not entirely.
He was singing because his heart still felt too full.
Too alive despite everything.
Because he was still young enough to love recklessly.
Young enough to hate deeply.
Young enough to mourn all the years he would never get to have.
The unfairness of it all burned quietly inside him.
Twenty-seven years old.
And already nearing the end.
But if this was truly the final stretch of his life, then Nicho wanted to spend every last bit of strength he had left honestly.
No matter how painful.
So he sang like he was saying goodbye.
To Euijoo.
To Japan.
To the person he used to be.
To the world itself.
“Nicho, look.”
Euijoo’s voice broke through, bright and startled in a way Nicho hadn’t heard in a very long time.
Almost boyish.
Nicho looked up instinctively.
And froze.
The sakura trees were blooming.
As if dawn itself had touched them alive.
Petals unfurled slowly in the sunlight overhead while soft pink blossoms trembled against the branches. Then the wind shifted—
and flowers began falling around them.
Nicho’s breath caught painfully in his chest.
His knees buckled.
The dizziness hit too suddenly for him to recover.
Before he could fall, Euijoo grabbed him immediately.
Strong arms wrapped around him hard enough that their bodies collided with a dull thud.
“Nicho—”
Euijoo’s voice sounded frightened.
But Nicho barely heard him.
Leaning weakly against Euijoo’s chest, he stared upward at the blossoms drifting through golden morning light.
It was beautiful.
So beautiful it hurt.
Tears spilled from Nicho’s eyes before he even realized he was crying.
“The sakura trees really bloom,” he whispered shakily.
Beside him, Euijoo swallowed hard.
Then carefully pulled his coat tighter around Nicho’s shoulders, holding him close against the cold.
“Yeah,” Euijoo murmured.
His voice trembled strangely.
“We got to see it again.”
Again.
Like they were nineteen.
Like nothing had changed.
Nicho breathed unevenly against him while trying desperately to memorize everything.
The warmth of Euijoo’s body.
The sunlight through the petals.
The sound of wind moving through the trees.
If there was another life after this one, Nicho wanted to remember this moment there too.
Slowly, he turned his head slightly.
Euijoo had closed his eyes.
His lips moved faintly.
Making a wish.
Nicho’s chest tightened painfully.
And despite the warmth surrounding him, one ugly thought still slipped through.
Who are you wishing for?
Me?
Or him?
Was Euijoo praying silently for the person in his arms, or dreaming already of a future beside Fuma instead?
The jealousy shamed Nicho immediately.
Even now.
Even here.
Still, he couldn’t stop it.
As if sensing the weight of Nicho’s gaze, Euijoo suddenly opened his eyes.
Their eyes met.
And unexpectedly, Euijoo smiled.
Not politely.
Not awkwardly.
Genuinely happy.
The sight nearly shattered Nicho’s heart.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” Euijoo asked softly.
Petals caught in his dark hair.
Sunlight touched his face so gently he almost looked unreal.
“It’s not every day you get to see the sakura bloom,” Euijoo murmured. Then quieter, “Did you make a wish?”
Nicho stared at him silently.
Back when they first fell in love, Nicho used to make wishes constantly.
At shrines.
During festivals.
On stars.
On birthday candles.
Every single one had been the same.
Please let us stay together forever.
Nicho smiled faintly now and lied.
“Yeah,” he whispered. “I did.”
Before he could say anything else, Euijoo’s phone rang.
The sound cut through the moment like a blade.
Fuma.
Nicho recognized the name instantly on the screen.
His body stiffened automatically.
Slowly, he stepped back out of Euijoo’s arms.
The cold hit immediately.
Euijoo looked at him hesitantly, guilt flashing across his face again like he wanted to apologize for something neither of them knew how to fix anymore.
But in the end, he answered the call.
And walked away.
The sunlight dimmed gradually as clouds drifted across the sky overhead.
The warmth faded from the trail little by little.
Nicho stood alone among falling blossoms for several quiet seconds before pulling out his phone.
He took a picture.
Pink petals drifting through pale morning light.
Beautiful enough to ache.
Then, after staring at it for a long moment, Nicho uploaded it to Instagram.
No caption at first.
Just the photo.
But after another pause, he typed slowly beneath it:
I’m glad I got to see this one last time.
Nicho looked at the words quietly.
Then hit post.
No matter how much regret lived inside him, he still wanted, somehow, to leave this world saying he had none.
—
Euijoo called his name softly.
Nicho looked up.
Euijoo had finished the phone call at some point and was walking back toward him through the drifting sakura petals. His expression looked uncertain again, like there were words trapped somewhere behind his teeth he didn’t know how to say out loud.
For a second, Nicho wondered if Euijoo would finally tell the truth.
That he missed Fuma.
That he wanted to go home.
That this trip had become too heavy to carry anymore.
Instead, Euijoo only hesitated before quietly saying:
“We should head back soon.”
Nicho understood immediately.
Back to Korea.
Back to reality.
Back to the life waiting for Euijoo.
And for Nicho, back to the end.
The journey had run its course.
Maybe they both knew it now.
Nicho looked away from him toward the sakura trees one last time before nodding lightly.
“Okay,” he said.
His voice sounded calmer than he felt.
“We should go pack.”
Euijoo opened his mouth slightly like he wanted to say something more.
Maybe we could stay longer.
Are you okay?
Don’t shut me out again.
Nicho didn’t know.
But whatever it was, Euijoo never said it.
And Nicho didn’t ask.
Because some silences hurt less when left untouched.
So instead, Nicho turned first and started walking back down the trail alone.
The petals kept falling quietly around him.
Back at the hotel, they packed mostly in silence.
The room felt strangely smaller now.
Temporary.
Like the trip itself had already begun disappearing before it was even over.
Euijoo folded clothes carefully at the low table near the window while Nicho packed more slowly from the futon, pausing every few minutes whenever dizziness crept back in.
Neither of them mentioned the sakura blossoms again.
Or the almost-kiss.
Or Fuma.
Or death.
The only sounds were zippers, rustling fabric, and the occasional passing car outside.
At one point, Nicho glanced over accidentally.
Euijoo had his head lowered while folding one of Nicho’s shirts absentmindedly, smoothing the wrinkles from it with quiet familiarity.
The sight hurt so much Nicho had to look away immediately.
Because even now, even after betrayal and anger and all the damage between them, Euijoo still handled Nicho’s things gently.
As if some part of him still loved him automatically.
Hours later, they left the town behind.
Instead of taking the fastest route back to Tokyo, Euijoo chose a longer route on the train winding through the quiet countryside.
Neither of them pointed it out.
Maybe neither of them was ready for the trip to end completely yet.
Outside the window, Japan drifted past slowly.
Small stations.
Rice fields glowing gold beneath afternoon sunlight.
Old houses tucked beside narrow roads.
Places neither of them would probably ever see again.
Nicho rested his head lightly against the window and watched everything pass in silence.
Each town felt fleeting.
Beautiful for only a moment before disappearing behind them forever.
A little like living itself, he thought distantly.
Beside him, Euijoo kept both hands tight on the seat under him.
And several times during the ride, when he thought Nicho wasn’t looking—
Euijoo glanced over at him with an expression that looked dangerously close to grief.
—
That night, Tokyo felt too bright.
Neon signs bled color across rain-slick streets while crowds moved endlessly around them, strangers brushing shoulders without ever really seeing one another.
Nicho sat across from Euijoo inside a cramped restaurant tucked beneath the train tracks, listening to the distant rumble of passing trains overhead.
Their last night.
The thought sat heavily in his chest.
Euijoo had already gone through several glasses of beer. Alcohol always hit his cheeks first, warmth spreading across his face until he looked softer somehow.
Younger.
Nicho hated how much he still loved looking at him.
Against his better judgment, Nicho had some alcohol too.
Only a little.
Even that was enough to make warmth spread unpleasantly through his weak body. Beneath the buzz lingered nausea, sharp and constant.
Still, he drank.
Because tonight hurt enough already.
Across the table, Euijoo pulled out his phone and checked something quietly.
“The flight tomorrow leaves at ten,” he said after a moment. “If we leave early enough, we can catch the subway straight to the airport.”
Nicho stared at him silently.
The airport.
Incheon.
Back home.
Back to Fuma.
Something inside him suddenly snapped.
“We should say goodbye here.”
Euijoo blinked, looking up.
Nicho cut him off before he could respond.
His face felt hot from alcohol, but his voice came out frighteningly cold.
“The trip was supposed to last a week.”
Euijoo’s expression shifted immediately.
“Nicho—”
“You’re leaving on the fifth day.”
The words sliced cleanly between them.
Euijoo frowned. “That’s not—”
“Was it Fuma?”
Silence.
Nicho laughed softly under his breath.
"Of course it was."
Euijoo looked genuinely stunned now.
Then slowly, irritation darkened his expression too.
“You’re drunk.”
“And you’re obvious.”
The anger finally burst through Nicho’s carefully maintained calm.
Hot.
Ugly.
Real.
“When the sakuras bloomed,” Nicho said sharply, “he called you.”
Euijoo opened his mouth immediately, but Nicho didn’t let him speak.
“And that night in Fukushima when you said you had a work call?” Nicho’s eyes burned now. “I heard your voice, Euijoo.”
The memory twisted painfully through him.
Soft laughter drifting through paper doors.
Gentle murmurs in the dark.
“You don’t sound like that with coworkers.”
Euijoo stared at him across the table.
Shocked.
But beneath the shock was something worse.
Pain.
As if Nicho’s words hurt him too.
That only made Nicho angrier.
Because how dare Euijoo look wounded after everything?
No matter how hard Nicho tried these past few days to believe otherwise, Euijoo’s heart still wandered constantly back toward someone else.
Even here.
Even now.
With shaking hands, Nicho pulled his phone from his pocket.
Euijoo frowned slightly. “What are you doing?”
Nicho opened his contacts list.
Then, one by one he blocked Euijoo’s mother, his father, his sister.
After each name disappeared, Nicho turned the screen toward him silently.
Euijoo’s face slowly lost color.
“Nicho…”
“Now I can’t tell them,” Nicho said quietly.
His throat hurt terribly.
“You’re free to leave.”
Euijoo looked stricken suddenly.
“Nicho, wait—”
“And go comfort Fuma.”
The words came out sharper than broken glass.
Then Nicho stood abruptly and walked out before Euijoo could stop him.
The cold Tokyo air hit his face immediately outside the restaurant.
Behind him, chairs scraped loudly.
“Nicho!”
He heard Euijoo’s voice instantly.
Nicho didn’t look back.
Couldn’t.
Because if he looked back, he might stay.
So instead he forced himself forward through crowded streets, weaving blindly through people beneath blinding city lights.
His body couldn’t handle running anymore.
Every breath hurt.
Every step exhausted him.
But he kept moving anyway.
By the time he reached the hotel, tears blurred his vision completely.
The elevator ride felt endless.
The second he got inside the room, Nicho slammed the door shut behind him.
Then finally broke.
A sob tore violently from his chest.
His whole body ached.
His stomach.
His lungs.
His heart most of all.
Nicho bent forward shakily, pressing trembling fingers over his mouth while tears streamed endlessly down his face.
He looked horrifying, he knew.
Too thin.
Cheeks hollow.
Eyes red and exhausted from weeks of crying and sleepless nights.
Dying.
The thought hit him so hard he nearly collapsed.
Then suddenly the hotel door burst open behind him.
“Nicho—”
Euijoo sounded breathless.
Panicked.
The door slammed shut again.
Nicho stayed frozen for several seconds before finally turning around slowly.
Shame flooded him immediately at the sight of Euijoo staring at him.
Because there was no hiding it anymore.
Not the tears.
Not the devastation.
Not how fragile he’d become.
Euijoo’s expression shattered completely.
His own eyes glossed over instantly.
Then without hesitation, he crossed the room in seconds.
His hands grabbed Nicho’s face desperately.
And suddenly Euijoo kissed him.
Hard.
Like he was starving.
The force of it nearly knocked the air from Nicho’s lungs.
Their mouths crashed together painfully, desperately, years of longing and grief and anger pouring violently into the kiss all at once.
Nicho broke immediately.
More tears spilled from his closed eyes as his shaking hands clutched tightly at Euijoo’s shirt.
Euijoo kissed him like he was trying to hold him together.
Like he needed to be closer.
Closer.
Their bodies pressed tightly together, heat and trembling and heartbreak tangled into one unbearable thing.
When their tongues met, Euijoo made a broken sound against his mouth that nearly destroyed Nicho completely.
Because it sounded like grief.
Like love.
Like goodbye.
Euijoo kept pulling him closer still, hands trembling against his jaw and neck and shoulders like no amount of contact could ever be enough.
As if he wanted to crawl beneath Nicho’s skin just to stay near him.
But Nicho’s body gave out first.
Weakness overtook him suddenly.
He pulled away gasping painfully for air.
Tears streamed silently down his face now while he struggled to breathe.
Euijoo looked wrecked.
Completely wrecked.
Immediately he pressed frantic kisses everywhere—
Nicho’s cheeks.
His forehead.
His chin.
His nose.
One final trembling kiss against his lips.
Then Euijoo rested their foreheads together, breathing hard.
Nicho cried quietly between them, exhausted little gasps leaving him while tears continued falling endlessly.
For a long moment neither of them spoke.
Then finally, so softly it almost broke apart halfway through, Euijoo whispered his name.
“Nicho.”
His voice trembled.
And quietly, helplessly, Euijoo said:
“Come home with me.”
His forehead still rested against Nicho’s, breaths mingling shakily between them.
“We can work it out,” Euijoo whispered.
The words hit harder than the kiss had.
Nicho’s entire body locked up.
Every nerve seized painfully beneath his skin.
Because Euijoo was telling him something without saying it outright.
Don’t leave.
We don’t have to end this.
Come back home with me.
For one terrible second, hope bloomed so violently inside Nicho that it almost made him dizzy.
Then reality crashed down just as quickly.
Cold.
Cruel.
Overwhelming.
Nicho suddenly felt sick all over again.
Because what were they doing?
What had they just done?
Euijoo had cheated on Fuma now too, hadn’t he?
The realization twisted through Nicho’s chest viciously.
He had become exactly what destroyed him.
And underneath everything else lived an uglier thought still:
Euijoo loved Fuma.
Didn’t he?
This wasn’t love.
Or maybe it was—but tangled up with guilt and history and grief until none of it looked clean anymore.
Euijoo missed familiarity.
Missed home.
Missed the version of himself that existed with Nicho.
That had to be it.
Nicho clenched his fists tightly at his sides trying desperately not to break apart again.
“I can’t,” he said hoarsely.
Euijoo stilled.
Nicho forced himself to continue.
“I promised you.” His voice shook. “After this trip, I’d leave you alone.”
The words tasted like blood in his mouth.
“And I hope you’ll keep your promise too.”
The change in Euijoo happened slowly.
Pain first.
Then disbelief.
Then finally, everything shuttered closed.
All the warmth disappeared from his eyes behind a familiar cold mask.
His hands fell away from Nicho’s face carefully.
Immediately, Nicho felt freezing.
Euijoo stepped back slightly.
Silence filled the hotel room heavily.
Outside, distant Tokyo traffic hummed somewhere far below.
Inside, neither of them seemed able to breathe properly anymore.
Finally, Euijoo spoke without looking at him.
“…Fine.”
His voice was flat.
“I’ll go back to Korea.”
The words should’ve relieved Nicho.
Instead they hollowed him out completely.
Euijoo bit down hard on his lower lip afterward, eyes lowered toward the floor.
Nicho noticed then that his eyes had gone glossy again.
Like he was fighting something inside himself too.
Several long seconds passed.
Then suddenly, quietly, almost unbearably vulnerable, Euijoo asked, “Can we have one last night?”
Nicho shut his eyes immediately.
Because he knew it was a terrible idea.
Cruel to both of them.
Selfish.
Weak.
But he was so tired.
So tired of resisting the love still clawing desperately inside his chest every time Euijoo looked at him gently.
Every time Euijoo touched him.
Every time Nicho remembered they once belonged entirely to each other.
And maybe that made him pathetic.
Maybe it made him cruel too.
But Nicho was dying.
And for once, just once before disappearing, he wanted to stop pretending he could let Euijoo go gracefully.
Slowly, he lowered his gaze toward the floor.
Then nodded.
“…Okay.”
His voice barely came out above a whisper.
“We can have one last night.”
Euijoo inhaled sharply.
And deep down, Nicho knew this would hurt even worse tomorrow.
Knew he would carry this moment into death with him like both a blessing and a wound.
Still, he wanted it anyway.
Because before he died, Nicho wanted to be selfish one final time.
—
That night, they showered together.
Not out of lust.
Not really.
It felt quieter than that.
More desperate.
Like two people trying to memorize each other before losing the chance forever.
Steam curled thickly through the hotel bathroom while warm water ran over their skin. The city lights outside the frosted window blurred into soft colors.
Nicho stood beneath the spray while Euijoo carefully pushed damp hair back from his forehead.
And then Euijoo saw him.
Really saw him.
Without layers.
Without oversized clothes hiding the sharpness of his bones.
Nicho’s body had changed so much.
Too thin.
Collarbones jutting harshly beneath pale skin. Ribs faintly visible. Arms weaker than they used to be. Even the warm water couldn’t bring color back into him anymore.
Euijoo went completely still.
Nicho saw the exact moment panic flickered across his face.
Then vanished again just as quickly.
Because Euijoo forced it away.
Pretended not to notice.
Pretended this was normal.
And somehow that hurt more than if he’d said something.
Euijoo only reached for the shampoo quietly.
“Tilt your head back,” he murmured.
Nicho obeyed.
Warm fingers slid gently through his wet hair while Euijoo washed it carefully, like something fragile enough to break.
For a little while, neither of them spoke.
Only water.
Only touch.
Only grief hanging silently between them.
Then, softly, “You still use too much shampoo,” Euijoo muttered.
Nicho blinked.
“What?”
“It’s ridiculous.” Euijoo’s lips twitched faintly. “You’ve always done that.”
Despite everything, Nicho laughed quietly.
“You’re one to talk.”
Euijoo scoffed softly under his breath.
“You used to steal mine.”
“Because yours smelled better.”
“You literally told me it smelled like old flowers.”
“It did.”
Euijoo rolled his eyes slightly, and for one fleeting second, they felt young again.
Just boys in love sharing tiny apartments and teasing each other over nothing.
The ache nearly killed Nicho.
Afterward, they washed each other carefully.
Euijoo’s hands trembled once while washing over Nicho’s side, pausing against skin stretched too thin.
Nicho pretended not to notice.
He leaned closer instead, resting his forehead briefly against Euijoo’s shoulder.
Euijoo exhaled shakily.
Then held him tighter.
By the time they stepped out of the shower, Nicho’s exhaustion had settled deep into his bones again.
Nausea twisted unpleasantly through him, but he swallowed it down forcefully.
Not tonight.
Please not tonight.
He couldn’t lose this moment too.
So he focused only on Euijoo.
On warmth.
On touch.
On staying here.
They dried each other’s hair slowly with hotel towels while sitting side by side on the edge of the bed.
At some point, Euijoo handed Nicho one of his shirts without thinking.
Nicho smiled faintly.
“You’re dressing me now?”
Euijoo looked strangely embarrassed afterward.
“You always stole my clothes anyway.”
“Because they smelled like you.”
The words slipped out naturally.
Euijoo went quiet.
Then softer than before, “You used to say that all the time.”
Nicho’s chest tightened painfully.
“Yeah.”
Used to.
Eventually, they climbed into bed together.
And neither hesitated.
The second the blankets settled around them, they reached instinctively for each other.
Euijoo wrapped both arms tightly around Nicho’s waist while Nicho buried himself against Euijoo’s chest like muscle memory alone could keep him alive.
God, Euijoo felt warm.
Nicho shut his eyes and thought distantly that maybe tonight he’d finally sleep properly for the first time in months.
Euijoo’s fingers slid slowly through his damp hair.
“Nicho.”
“Hm?”
“You remember that tiny apartment near campus?”
Nicho laughed softly against his chest.
“The moldy one?”
“It wasn’t moldy.”
“There was literally mold in the bathroom.”
Euijoo groaned quietly. “You’re exaggerating.”
“You almost died trying to cook there.”
“That happened one time.”
“You set ramen on fire.”
“It was complicated.”
Nicho laughed harder then.
Real laughter.
Small and tired, but real.
Euijoo smiled too.
And for a while, they just talked.
About college.
About train rides.
About failed recipes and late-night convenience store runs and falling asleep during movies together.
About the first winter they spent in Korea.
About all the tiny ordinary moments that once felt endless.
Sometimes they kissed in between sentences.
Slow kisses.
Sad ones.
The kind that lingered too long.
At one point, Euijoo pressed his forehead against Nicho’s and whispered quietly, “You used to sing me to sleep sometimes.”
Nicho smiled faintly.
“You cried the first time.”
“I did not.”
“You absolutely did.”
Euijoo huffed softly against his lips.
“I was emotional.”
“You were dramatic.”
“Says you.”
Nicho kissed him again before either of them could ruin the moment by remembering reality.
Because tonight, they were pretending.
Pretending they were still nineteen.
Still in love without conditions.
Still safe.
Still headed toward a future together.
And maybe they both knew the pretending would destroy them tomorrow.
But neither stopped.
Much later, after the city outside finally quieted, Nicho lay curled tightly against Euijoo while sleep slowly dragged at his exhausted body.
Euijoo’s arms stayed wrapped around him possessively, fingers gripping the fabric of Nicho’s shirt even in the dark.
As if terrified he’d disappear overnight.
“Nicho,” Euijoo whispered sleepily.
“Hm?”
A long pause. “…Stay until morning.”
Nicho felt tears sting his eyes immediately.
Because Euijoo didn’t know.
Didn’t understand that Nicho was trying so desperately to stay as long as he possibly could.
Nicho pressed closer anyway.
And whispered back, “Okay.”
Then, holding each other like they were afraid of the dawn, they finally fell asleep together.
—
Regret arrived with the morning.
Soft.
Quiet.
Merciless.
Nicho woke slowly beneath warm hotel sheets, tangled securely in Euijoo’s arms.
For one peaceful second, he forgot everything.
Then reality returned all at once.
The airport.
The goodbye.
The ending.
Euijoo’s breathing brushed softly against the back of Nicho’s neck, slow and warm with sleep. One arm remained wrapped tightly around Nicho’s waist even now, like his body still refused to let go unconsciously.
Nicho felt sick immediately.
Not from the cancer this time.
From grief.
Because this was it.
There would be no coming back after today.
No accidental meetings.
No future reconciliation years later.
No second chance.
This goodbye was permanent in a way Euijoo still couldn’t understand.
Nicho stayed still for a long time just watching him.
Trying desperately to memorize everything one final time.
The rise and fall of Euijoo’s chest.
The softness of his hair scattered across the pillow.
His eyelashes resting against flushed cheeks.
The faint pout of his mouth while asleep.
Beautiful.
Euijoo had always been beautiful.
From the very beginning.
Nicho carefully lifted one trembling hand and brushed his fingers gently through Euijoo’s hair.
So soft.
The sight blurred suddenly behind tears.
Because this person, this warm, breathing person holding him so carefully, had been Nicho’s entire world for nearly a decade.
His first love.
His home.
His everything.
And somehow life had still decided to take him away piece by piece until nothing remained.
What a cruel thing.
Nicho leaned forward quietly and pressed the softest kiss against Euijoo’s lips.
Euijoo stirred almost immediately.
His eyes opened slowly, still heavy with sleep and confusion.
For one disoriented second, he looked lost.
Then he saw Nicho.
And smiled.
A real smile.
Sleepy and warm and devastatingly fond.
Nicho nearly broke apart from the sight of it.
He tried to smile back.
But it hurt too much.
“Morning,” Euijoo whispered softly.
Nicho swallowed hard.
“Morning.”
They kissed again.
And again.
Little lingering kisses that felt unbearably tender now beneath the weight of goodbye.
Each one hurt.
Each one felt like another crack splitting through Nicho’s chest.
Yet somehow, he hadn’t felt this alive in months.
Maybe because pain and love had become impossible to separate now.
Eventually they pulled apart slightly.
Nicho picked up his phone to look at the time. Then quietly whispered, “It’s seven.”
Euijoo stilled instantly.
The warmth drained slowly from his expression.
Reality settling over both of them again.
“You need to go,” Nicho said softly.
Back to Korea.
Back to your real life.
Back to everyone waiting for you.
Back to Fuma.
Without me.
Euijoo’s face crumpled slightly before he managed to pull himself together again.
His eyes glossed over immediately.
Nicho wanted desperately to look away.
Because seeing Euijoo cry always shattered him.
But he forced himself to keep looking.
No more regrets.
No more wasted moments.
So instead, they got up quietly and packed together.
The room felt painfully ordinary now.
Folded clothes.
Zippers.
Shoes by the door.
Nicho’s gaze kept drifting unwillingly toward Euijoo’s suitcase.
The unfamiliar one.
The suitcase that had arrived with him at the airport days ago.
Packed for another life.
Another future.
Nicho swallowed hard and kept helping anyway.
He brushed Euijoo’s hair carefully after drying it.
Buttoned his shirt slowly with trembling fingers.
Smoothed down the collar afterward automatically.
Like all the years before things fell apart still lingered somewhere inside their hands.
Neither of them spoke much.
There was nothing left to say that wouldn’t hurt.
By the time Euijoo crouched near the hotel door to put on his shoes, both of them were crying silently.
Euijoo stood afterward and wiped roughly at his face.
Then both of them stepped forward at the exact same time.
The awkwardness startled a wet laugh from both of them.
Tiny.
Broken.
But real.
And then they hugged.
Euijoo wrapped both arms tightly around Nicho immediately, pulling him close enough that Nicho could hear his heartbeat.
Nicho buried his face against Euijoo’s shoulder and held him back just as desperately.
They stayed like that too long.
Far too long for people supposedly ending things.
Neither wanted to let go first.
When they finally pulled apart slightly, they still stayed close enough to share breath.
Nicho looked at him carefully.
And thought, helplessly,
Beautiful.
Euijoo’s eyes were red from crying, lashes damp and clumped together slightly. His cheeks flushed pink. His lips swollen softly from kissing.
His dark hair fell perfectly over his eyebrows.
Even heartbroken, Euijoo remained the most beautiful thing Nicho had ever seen.
The grief nearly swallowed him whole.
Because Nicho knew what Euijoo saw in return.
Not the version of Nicho from years ago.
Not the loud, bright boy Euijoo first loved.
Only this.
A pale body.
Sunken cheeks.
Exhaustion carved deep beneath his eyes.
A shell.
Nicho hated it suddenly.
Hated that this would be Euijoo’s final image of him forever.
They held hands the entire ride to the airport.
Neither mentioned it.
Neither let go once.
Tokyo moved around them indifferently outside train windows while morning crowds surged endlessly through stations.
The world continued so normally it almost felt cruel.
At the departure gate, everything finally became unavoidable.
Announcements echoed overhead.
Passengers moved around them.
Time kept going.
Nicho’s chest hurt so badly he could barely breathe.
Before he could stop himself, he spoke quietly.
So softly the words almost disappeared beneath the noise around them.
“I love you.”
Euijoo froze. Nicho said it in Mandarin. His mother tongue. But he understood. Because he knew Nicho. Of course he understood.
Then his eyes filled immediately again.
A sad smile trembled onto his lips.
So unbearably sad.
Like he already knew losing Nicho would haunt him forever.
“I love you too,” Euijoo whispered back. In Korean. In his own language. And of course, of course, Nicho understood.
They smiled at each other one last time.
Then slowly—
their fingers slipped apart.
—
Nicho counted Euijoo’s steps as he walked away.
One.
Two.
Three.
The airport lights blurred softly through the tears gathering in Nicho’s eyes, but he forced himself to keep looking anyway.
Four.
Five.
Euijoo’s shoulders stayed stiff beneath his coat.
People passed between them constantly now, strangers cutting briefly through Nicho’s line of sight before disappearing again.
Still, Nicho kept watching.
Waiting.
Because deep down, some desperate part of him believed that if Euijoo turned around right now, Nicho would run to him.
He would.
He would throw everything away.
The pride.
The anger.
The promises.
All of it.
Nicho would run after him and hold him so tightly neither of them could breathe.
He would tell Euijoo the truth.
About the cancer.
About dying.
About how terrified he really was.
He would beg shamelessly this time.
Please stay with me until the end.
Please love me a little longer.
Please don’t leave me here alone.
All Euijoo had to do was look back once.
Just once.
Eight.
Nine.
Ten.
Euijoo reached the corner near the security gates.
And never turned around.
Then he disappeared from sight completely.
Something inside Nicho collapsed quietly.
He lowered his head immediately before anyone around him could see his face crumple apart.
His hood went up shakily over his hair.
Nicho broke.
A sob escaped before he could stop it.
He covered his mouth quickly with trembling fingers and turned away from the departure gates entirely.
Every breath hurt.
His chest ached so violently it almost felt physical.
The airport stretched endlessly around him while he walked blindly back toward the station, tears streaming silently beneath the shadow of his hood.
He couldn’t stop crying now.
Not anymore.
Because it was over.
Euijoo was gone.
And Nicho knew with terrible certainty that they would never see each other again.
What Nicho never knew, what he would never know, was that Euijoo had slowed after disappearing around the corner.
Stopped completely for several seconds where Nicho could no longer see him.
His chest hurt too.
So badly he could barely breathe.
Because Euijoo had been thinking the exact same thing.
If Nicho called his name, even once, Euijoo would go back.
He would.
He would leave the airport immediately.
Forget Korea, forget promises, forget Fuma.
Forget everything except the boy crying quietly behind him.
All Nicho had to do was call for him.
But the sound never came.
And Euijoo never turned around either.
So in the end, they both kept walking forward in silence.
—
Nicho returned to the hotel alone.
The room felt wrong without Euijoo in it.
The second the door shut behind him, the silence rushed forward like a living thing, swallowing the last traces of warmth Euijoo had left behind.
Nicho stood there for a long time without moving.
Euijoo’s toothbrush still sat beside his.
Euijoo's beanie in his suitcase.
His scent still lingered faintly in the blankets.
Every little thing hurt.
For the next few days, Nicho barely left the room.
The city outside kept moving without him.
Trains rattled through Tokyo.
People laughed beneath neon lights.
Tourists filled the streets.
Meanwhile Nicho spent most of his time sitting near the window in oversized clothes, watching the sky slowly change color every evening while his body weakened more and more.
He tried to sleep often.
Mostly he just thought about Euijoo.
On the third night alone, Nicho finally gave in.
He knew he shouldn’t.
Knew hearing his own voice afterward would probably destroy him.
Still, he couldn’t help himself.
So late at night, with the city lights glowing softly outside the hotel window, Nicho drank some water slowly to soothe his throat.
Then he set up the recorder.
For several seconds after pressing record, he just sat there staring at the blinking red light.
Trying to steady himself.
Then quietly, he started singing.
Euijoo’s favorite song.
The one Euijoo used to beg him to sing over and over during college.
The one that somehow sounded exactly like his soul felt.
Warm.
Tender.
A little lonely.
Nicho’s voice shook through parts of it.
Some notes came out breathier and weaker than they used to.
But he sang all of it anyway.
Because this would be the last song Euijoo would ever hear from him.
By the time the final note faded, Nicho’s eyes were already wet.
For several seconds, only the faint sound of his breathing filled the recording.
Then softly, he spoke.
“Euijoo.”
His voice cracked immediately.
Nicho laughed weakly under his breath.
“I’m sorry.”
The words hurt more than he expected.
“I shouldn’t have forced you to come to Japan.”
His fingers curled tightly into the blanket beside him.
“But…” He swallowed hard. “I wanted one last thing before we separated. I wanted my final memories to be with someone important. Someone special. Someone I loved more than myself."
Nicho looked upward briefly, blinking hard against tears before continuing.
Then he told the truth.
About the cancer. About the diagnosis. About sitting alone in cold hospital rooms hearing words like late-stage and terminal and one month left. About hiding it afterward. About how terrifying it felt carrying death quietly inside himself while Euijoo continued living normally beside someone else.
“While you were with Fuma,” Nicho admitted softly, “I kept thinking about how unfair it was.”
“You were still living. Still young. Still moving forward. Meanwhile my life had simply…stopped." His voice trembled badly now. "I wanted to live recklessly too, I wanted more time. But life didn’t really give me a choice.”
Silence filled the recording briefly again.
Then Nicho laughed softly through tears.
“Maybe fate knew I couldn’t survive without you.”
The joke sounded painful even to himself.
“Or maybe this is karma from another life. Maybe for loving too hard. Maybe for refusing to let go. Or maybe it’s just my own fault somehow.”
Nicho shut his eyes tightly.
“But I don’t want to die with regrets.”
The honesty of the words made his chest ache.
“And I don’t want you to have any either.”
For a long time, he stayed silent.
Then finally admitted the ugliest truth of all.
“At first… I wanted you to suffer.” His voice barely rose above a whisper. “I wanted you to feel guilty forever.”
Because Nicho had been drowning while Euijoo slowly drifted away from him.
But somewhere during those five days in Japan, through old memories and quiet mornings and warm hands reaching for him automatically, Nicho realized he still loved Euijoo too much to curse him with that kind of pain.
“Because you’re still you,” Nicho whispered shakily. “Even now. Even after everything."
Nicho inhaled slowly, trying to steady himself enough to finish.
“By the time you hear this, I’ll already be dead.”
The words sounded unreal spoken aloud.
“I’ll be back home in Taiwan. I'm going to be buried there."
Nicho laughed softly again.
“But I kept my promise.” His tears finally spilled freely then. “Even in death, I won’t bother you anymore.”
The hotel room blurred completely around him. Still, he forced himself to continue.
“And I meant what I said about Japan. I don’t want you to come back here. And not because I'm territorial or anything," Nicho laughed wetly through his tears. "But because I can't stand the thought of you coming back with someone who isn't me."
Several long seconds passed.
Then finally, voice barely holding together anymore, Nicho spoke one last time.
In Mandarin.
“I love you, Byun Euijoo.”
Then he ended the recording.
Silence crashed down around him immediately afterward.
Nicho wiped roughly at his wet face and sat there shaking for a very long time.
But he felt lighter.
Like all the things left unsaid between them had finally found somewhere to rest.
A final confession.
A final goodbye.
—
The next morning, Nicho finally returned to the music shop.
The guitar had already been finished for days now.
He just hadn’t been ready to see it yet.
The little shop looked exactly the same as before.
When Harua spotted him entering, recognition lit up his face instantly.
“You came back,” he said warmly.
Nicho smiled faintly. “I did.”
Harua carefully brought the guitar out several minutes later.
The second Nicho saw it, his chest tightened painfully.
Beautiful.
Exactly the kind Euijoo used to stare at longingly all those years ago.
Nicho brushed trembling fingers lightly over the engraved words hidden carefully inside.
Carved on the side of the guitar was a phrase in Taiwanese.
Nicho smiled. He hoped that his language lessons that he gave Euijoo come in handy.
"Can I ask what it means?" Harua asked gently.
Nicho nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. "It's Taiwanese. It's pronounced,
Ài lí, sī guá siōng hó ê ūn-miā." Nicho paused, rubbing his thumb over the words. "It means, loving you was the greatest fate of my life."
Harua noticed the tears gathering in Nicho’s eyes.
Harua asked what kind of gift this was.
Nicho answered honestly.
Harua’s face slowly into devastated understanding.
When Nicho tried to pay, Harua immediately shook his head.
“No,” he said firmly.
Nicho blinked in surprise.
“I’m serious, you don't need to pay.” Harua smiled sadly. “I think whoever gets that guitar is going to love it as much as you love them.”
The words nearly broke Nicho apart right there inside the shop.
Instead, he laughed shakily and thanked him.
They talked for a little while afterward.
About music.
About Tokyo.
About nothing important.
Yet somehow the conversation felt oddly warm and familiar, like sitting briefly beside someone kind enough to witness your grief without trying to fix it.
Before leaving, Nicho bowed deeply. “Goodbye, Harua.”
Harua bowed too and softly replied, “Take care.”
Nicho took the guitar with him back to Taiwan.
The final days of his life passed quietly there.
At home.
His mother cried often when she thought he couldn’t hear.
His father spoke less and less each day.
His sister stayed closest to him, sitting beside him through long afternoons while old Taiwanese dramas played softly in the background.
Only after settling back into his childhood room did Nicho finally package everything carefully.
The guitar.
The recorder.
A short handwritten note with Euijoo’s address.
Then he sat beside his sister on the floor and pointed to the big box in the corner. “Can you send this after I’m gone?”
His sister’s face crumpled immediately. Tears spilled down her cheeks as she nodded, unable to speak properly.
Nicho smiled softly anyway.
And once all of it was done, the trip, the recording, the guitar, his letters for his close ones ready, and was back home with his family.
Nicho finally felt ready.
Ready for the last journey waiting quietly ahead of him.
—
The first time Nicho met Euijoo, he was late.
Hopelessly late.
By the time he finally found the right building on campus, his heart was hammering painfully against his ribs from running.
The University of Aizu campus stretched wide around him beneath pale spring skies, unfamiliar signs and unfamiliar voices making everything feel strangely distant.
Japan still didn’t feel real yet.
Nothing did.
Nicho barely understood Japanese beyond memorized phrases and awkward greetings. He’d only chosen to study abroad because he’d wanted desperately to leave Taiwan for a while.
At nineteen, he thought distance could fix loneliness.
Thought a different country might somehow turn him into a different person.
Instead, all he felt was lost.
Completely and utterly lost.
Breathing hard, Nicho slipped quietly into the classroom, bowing awkwardly when several students glanced over at him.
The professor barely looked up.
Embarrassed, Nicho hurried toward the nearest empty seat and sat down quickly.
Only then did he notice the boy beside him.
Dark hair.
Brows furrowed together in concentration.
Lips pressed tightly like he was trying very hard to understand whatever the professor was saying.
Pretty, was Nicho’s first thought.
The realization startled him slightly.
The boy looked over suddenly, probably feeling Nicho staring.
For one awkward second, they just blinked at each other silently.
Then the professor started speaking again.
And Nicho understood absolutely nothing.
His stomach sank immediately.
Maybe studying abroad had been a horrible idea after all.
Beside him, the boy’s expression slowly shifted from concentration to visible confusion too.
Then cautiously, in clumsy Japanese, he leaned over and whispered, “…Are you a foreigner too?”
Nicho looked at him so fast he nearly hurt his neck.
Wide-eyed, he nodded immediately.
The boy visibly relaxed.
Then glanced toward the front of the classroom before whispering, “I think…” He hesitated seriously. “…we’re in the wrong room.”
Nicho stared at him for one second.
Then burst into quiet laughter.
Because he’d been thinking the exact same thing.
The boy looked relieved seeing him laugh and hurriedly pulled out his class schedule.
Nicho did the same.
Trying very hard not to attract attention while the lecture continued around them.
After studying their schedules, they looked at each other again.
Very much the wrong classroom.
Nicho pressed both hands over his mouth to stop himself from laughing louder.
Beside him, the boy looked equally horrified and amused.
For the remainder of the lecture, neither of them paid attention at all.
Instead they sat there silently fighting laughter every few minutes whenever the professor said something neither understood.
By the time class finally ended, both of them escaped into the hallway and out into the courtyard looking deeply relieved.
“I can’t believe that happened,” Nicho admitted between laughs.
The other boy groaned softly, covering part of his face.
“On the first day too,” he muttered.
His accent was different from Nicho’s.
For a moment, they stood there awkwardly together among passing students.
Nicho took a breath, taking a step back and looked away, trying to find the building he was actually supposed to be in. Then the boy suddenly spoke again.
“Wait.”
Nicho had already started turning away, but paused and looked back.
The boy hesitated briefly before saying, “My name is Byun Euijoo.”
He looked nervous suddenly.
“From Korea.”
Nicho smiled immediately.
Something warm flickered unexpectedly in his chest.
“I’m Wang Yixiang, please call me Nicho,” he replied.
“From Taiwan.”
For a second, Euijoo just nodded.
Then awkwardly glanced around the crowded hallway before quietly adding, “I hope we can be friends.”
The sincerity of it caught Nicho off guard.
No hesitation.
No pretending to be cool.
Just honest.
Nicho smiled softly.
And without realizing it, hope bloomed quietly inside him for the very first time since arriving in Japan.
“Yeah,” he said.
“I hope so too.”
Neither of them knew it then.
That one wrong classroom would become the beginning of everything.
Of love.
Of heartbreak.
Of eight beautiful, devastating years that would follow them all the way to the end.