Chapter Text
The morning was always the same—and that was exactly what made it so comforting. Hongjoong always woke up last between the two of them. He tended to stay up late into the night, working on finishing his songs. Every morning, he’d head into the kitchen to find breakfast waiting for him—and a boyfriend who would greet him with a thousand kisses. A routine he wouldn’t trade for anything.
“Good morning.” Seonghwa’s hand slipped into Hongjoong’s hair, a little long and soft. He loved the younger’s mullet, always playing with it before bed—it relaxed him more than anything. “I have to go to university earlier today,” he murmured, pressing another kiss to Hongjoong’s lips, making him wake up even more. “They said there’s something important to discuss. Do you have any plans today?”
“One company invited me to show them my work, I…” For some reason, it became hard to breathe. He was so scared of going that he felt nausea rising to his throat. This was already the fifth company that had invited him for an audition; ten others had just rejected him right away. “I’m so nervous I’m afraid I’ll just start babbling nonsense.”
“Don’t worry.” Seonghwa gently guided him to the table, sitting him down in front of a plate of food. “You’ve worked so hard. Your work will be appreciated.”
Hongjoong really wanted to believe that. He wanted to believe that one day, one of these companies would finally accept him as a producer. That had been his dream ever since he was a kid and first heard a street performer—his brother’s friend—playing songs he’d written himself, just to bring joy to passersby. Eight-year-old Hongjoong was so inspired that he started learning to play every instrument he could get his hands on. Two years later, he wrote his first melody. It wasn’t perfect, but he had made it himself—and that was all that mattered. Then came singing, then producing software… and now, at nineteen, he was here. Writing songs. He even had a small audience that listened to his work. But Hongjoong wanted more. He wanted to be a producer. He wanted his songs to chart.
Looking at his breakfast now made the nausea worse. It wasn’t the food—Seonghwa’s cooking was always delicious—but his nerves were tearing him apart today.
“I’m not sure what time I’ll be back,” Hongjoong added. “I might stop by Mingi’s to pick up those materials he asked me to finish.”
Mingi was a friend Hongjoong had met at a local band performance in a small, barely-known club. They clicked instantly—they both adored music and wrote their own. A perfect reason to become close.
“Oh, perfect!” Seonghwa vanished into the bedroom and came back just as fast. “I borrowed a book from Yunho. Can you return it for me?”
“Of course. Put it in my bag or I’ll forget.”
Hongjoong stayed behind, finishing his breakfast and scrolling through social media while Seonghwa finished getting ready and rushed out to the university, leaving behind dozens more kisses all over the younger’s face.
They met on Instagram. Seonghwa had left a comment under one of Hongjoong’s singing videos, and the younger replied. They followed each other. Then came DMs—Seonghwa telling him how much he loved his songs. And before they realized it, they were going for coffee together. Hongjoong invited Seonghwa to his apartment, showed him his home studio and how he made music. And then they fell so deeply in love that just a few months later, they moved in together. Now, they’d been together for two years. Seonghwa was chasing his dream of becoming a model. He was doing well—already modeling for small brands.
And Kim loved him so much it terrified him to even imagine life without Seonghwa. The older always supported him, helped with his music, and after every failure, would take him out on a date just so he wouldn’t see those sad eyes.
Finishing his meal, Hongjoong hurried to get ready and rushed out toward the company. Everything was going wrong. First, he couldn’t find his USB drive. Then he noticed his favorite hoodie was torn. He couldn’t find his keys. Missed his bus. Missed his stop. Got lost inside the building, making him even later.
When he finally walked into the room, three pairs of eyes greeted him with less-than-welcoming expressions.
“This is just an interview, and you’re already late?” The man in the center adjusted his glasses, clearly judging him.
“Sorry. I got lost looking for the right room.”
Hongjoong sat down, feeling the heat of their stares crawling all over him. His hands were shaking. The nausea was unbearable.
“Let’s get straight to it.” The man to his right—who looked the youngest—spoke next. “We’ve listened to the tracks you sent. We can get a general sense of your skills, but we’d like to hear more and see your projects in the software itself—to confirm it’s all your work.”
And Hongjoong showed them everything.
He even created a small melody on the spot. But their expressions didn’t change at all. Still, he felt a flicker of hope—at least they wanted to hear more. In every previous interview, he would play a song and immediately get that “you think you’re a producer?” look.
He played his latest track—one he’d finished just a week ago, and one he was genuinely proud of. And then he saw it—how the three men looked at each other, as if speaking without words.
“You can make songs. But…” It was like a knife to a wound that had just barely healed. “…it doesn’t quite meet a professional standard. And we don’t want to train anyone. We need ready-made specialists. Sorry—we have to decline.”
“Yeah… I understand. Thank you for the opportunity. Goodbye.” He didn’t even look at them as he grabbed his laptop and walked out.
It felt like fate was playing a cruel joke. Letting him find something he loves—and ensuring he never succeeds in it. He left the company building and just walked. No destination. No will to go to Mingi’s. No desire to go home.
His phone kept buzzing with messages until it didn’t. He didn’t know how many hours had passed. It was already dark. Time to head back—Seonghwa must be worried sick.
His feet were burning from walking, but that pain was nothing compared to the burning inside.
On the bus, he finally looked at his phone.
Dozens of messages. From Mingi. Yunho. But mostly from Seonghwa. He quickly texted that he was on his way home and then closed his eyes, retreating into thoughts.
As soon as Kim stepped into the apartment, he felt arms wrap tightly around him. For a moment, he thought maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to be crushed like this. But then lips pressed to his own, and the thought vanished—replaced by warmth. By home.
“You scared me so much!” Seonghwa’s eyes were red. He looked like he’d been crying.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t see your messages. After the company meeting, I went to work in my favorite park.” A white lie. He just didn’t want to upset Seonghwa. Didn’t want to talk about it—about this wound that never seemed to heal. He gently cupped the older’s face, thumbs tracing soft circles over his cheeks.
“Mingi called and said you hadn’t been there. I thought something happened.”
“It’s okay, star.” And he felt like he might cry himself. “I got inspired and lost track of time.”
Seonghwa accepted the excuse. Still frowning, he led Hongjoong to the kitchen, where dinner and a small cake waited.
“Tell me how the interview went. Then I’ll tell you something.”
“I…” His throat clenched. “I didn’t get accepted.”
“I think those people have no taste in music.” Seonghwa massaged his shoulders as he sat him down. “Then it wasn’t your company. But you’ll find the right one soon. The fact that you’re even being called in says so much!”
Hongjoong wanted to believe that. But it felt like a lie he told himself just to keep going.
“What did you want to tell me?”
“Oh… well…” Seonghwa sat across from him, took a bite of rice, and said: “I’m not sure how to take this myself. They called me to say there’s one spot available for a program abroad—and they… they think I’d be a good fit.” Hongjoong stared, seeing doubt in his boyfriend’s eyes—so much that it was hard to believe this was the same confident Seonghwa who always knew what he wanted. “Paris. Three years of study. It includes fashion design training too. I think it sounds exciting, but… I don’t want to leave you here. Not for that long.”
Those words shattered Kim. He felt like dead weight, dragging Seonghwa down into the pit he was stuck in.
He looked away, then back, and it felt like his skin was on fire. Like he was standing in the middle of a blaze.
“Just say yes.” His voice was quieter now, as if scared of his own words. “Everything will be fine. I’ll keep working on my music and looking for opportunities. You’ll be living your dream. We’ll talk every day. Don’t think about me. Just chase your dream, star.”
“Are you sure?”
Oh, he wasn’t sure about anything.
“Of course. I’m happy you have this chance. I want to see you happy.” He tugged Seonghwa’s cheek gently. “Is this not the face of someone who’s about to reach their biggest goal?”
“I’m sorry…” Seonghwa smiled softly. “I was just scared to tell you. Like I’d be leaving you here, all alone, when things aren’t going well for you.”
“Don’t think about me in times like this. It’s your life, Seonghwa. Please do everything that will make you happy.”
What would make Hongjoong happy… is Seonghwa being happy. But that same thing left him feeling so incredibly empty.
He just stayed at the bottom, while everyone else moved forward. He smiled at his boyfriend one last time—and then that smile didn’t return again for the rest of the evening.
✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧
Seonghwa accepted the offer, and within a week, he was flying to Paris. They spent every evening together before that, constantly holding each other, trying to memorize each other's touch, to take as much as they could from the time they had left.
Tonight was the first evening Kim sat alone in the kitchen, staring at the wall. It was hard to be in the apartment by himself—the walls felt like they were closing in, and the air seemed to thin with every passing minute. He locked himself in his room for the night with just his laptop and music.
The stars were unbearable. Long ago, Hongjoong had bought a bag of glittery stars for Park, and he’d stuck them all over their closet. They always loved looking at them while they cuddled. The older even made their own little constellations. It had always felt beautiful to Kim—magical even—but now, he wanted to tear them all down. He wasn’t just haunted by Seonghwa’s absence, but by the fact that he was stuck, unmoving, while the other was soaring forward.
Time passed. They called whenever they could—which wasn’t often, given the time zones—but still, they talked every day. Sometimes five times, sometimes only once.
The conversations were easy, just little snippets about their days. Hongjoong was mostly a listener. He’d listen to Seonghwa talk about his fun classes, the outfits he designed, some of which he even stitched together himself. He was especially excited to gift Hongjoong a blazer he’d made.
Hongjoong was happy for him—truly. Seonghwa was glowing, practically radiating light, so much that it hurt to look sometimes. But inside, Hongjoong was burning alive, suffocating.
Months passed. Kim kept applying to companies, almost got into one, but someone better always came along. Someone better always came along.
“Hongjoong! Look!” Seonghwa was standing tall on the screen of Hongjoong’s phone. “I’ve got my first photoshoot today! A French brand picked me—it’s actually pretty well-known—and I’m so nervous I think I might throw up.”
“You look amazing, star. I’m so proud of you,” Kim smiled. It was a smile reserved only for Seonghwa—he didn’t smile during any other part of his day.
“They said I’ll be in a small magazine the brand gives out in stores so customers can see their collection. Isn’t that cool?” Seonghwa twirled a little to show off his outfit from every angle.
“Hope you’ll show it to me later. Maybe bring home a copy?”
“Of course!” He finally sat down, his eyes sparkling. “How was your day? Yunho told me you stopped by.”
“Oh, yeah… I was passing by, so I dropped in. My day wasn’t that exciting—had a shift at the store, then went to see them. Been trying to finish a song since I got back.” Kim lied a little. When he got home, he’d sat and cried in front of the stars on their closet. The only reason Seonghwa hadn’t noticed his eyes was because he was sitting in the dark.
“Same song as before or a new one?”
“Same.” Hongjoong dropped his gaze, letting his hair hide his eyes.
“Something wrong?”
“What?” he snapped his head up, locking eyes with the dimmed stars in Seonghwa’s.
“You look... sad. And your eyes are swollen like you’ve been crying all day.” The darkness hadn’t hidden it after all.
“I’m fine, really. Just didn’t sleep well. Don’t worry.”
“You sure?”
Wrong question. Hongjoong wasn’t sure of anything in his life. He was just surviving, clinging to hope, clawing his way toward something—anything—that felt like up.
“Yeah, star. I’m okay.”
“I believe you.” Those words knocked the air out of Kim’s lungs. “I have to go—they’re calling for me. Please text me when you wake up, I’ll call you right away.”
“Okay. Good luck!”
The call ended. Hongjoong was alone again—just him, a screen with audio tracks, and a clock ticking behind him. His phone went dark. A few minutes later, the laptop shut down too, leaving him in complete darkness with his fears and anxieties.
✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧
Just when it feels like things might get better, they only get worse. Hongjoong wasn’t just tired anymore—he’d lost hope. He sent applications on autopilot, moved through rejections like routine.
It had been a year since Seonghwa left. An excruciating year. The younger sat in his room, curtain pulled over the window, his eyes burning from the screen. Thoughts wouldn’t stop. They clung to him, heavy and choking. His phone buzzed quietly nearby. Seonghwa. But he didn’t pick up.
He got ready and left for another interview. In his head, he was already rehearsing how they’d reject him. Not a good fit. If only you were a bit stronger. Your songs sound like kids’ music. Or maybe something new this time.
Three pairs of eyes watched him. Later that night, he would still feel them. They’d scorch his skin like fire, leaving invisible scars. He’d cry, trying to wash the burn away.
“You’re not what we’re looking for. Try to keep practicing.”
More? Hongjoong lived in front of his laptop. He burned his eyes until he could barely see, skipped meals, lost sleep — maybe it still wasn’t enough. Maybe he was just a failure wasting his time.
The phone buzzed again. Seonghwa. This time, he answered.
“Hongjoong~ah? Why haven’t you been answering? Am I interrupting?” Seonghwa’s voice was laced with worry, slightly breathless.
“Sorry, I was at an interview.” Kim didn’t even bother hiding how broken he sounded. He didn’t even know the last time life had meaning for him.
“They didn’t accept you? You sound... really sad.”
“Really sad?” Something snapped. Sad didn’t cover it. He was drowning. “Forget it. Did you want something? I’ve got work to do.”
“I wanted to tell you… I got offered a contract from a company and—”
“Just take it.” He couldn’t hold back. He was angry—not at Seonghwa, but at life, at himself for being born a failure. But it was Seonghwa who received the fallout. “Forget me and move on, Seonghwa. Just forget I exist.”
“Hongjoong... why are you yelling? What happened?” His voice trembled. He was on the verge of tears. Hongjoong didn’t even realize he had raised his voice.
“I’m just a loser drowning, going nowhere…» His heart pounded so hard it echoed in his throat. “You’re shining, and I’m just... dragging you down. I’m sorry.” His voice cracked, softer with each word. “Let’s just end this. Let’s end us. Let go of the weight, Seonghwa.”
“But you’re not—”
“Don’t lie to yourself.” The first drops of rain fell on his hair, shoulders. Then it poured. His clothes clung uncomfortably to his skin. “Star, your light doesn’t help me—I’m dimming it. So just move on without someone who’s never achieved anything.”
And he hung up. He had to. He couldn’t breathe otherwise. This would be better. It had to be better.
His eyes ached. His body felt hollow. He walked home, guided only by muscle memory.
Once inside, water still dripping onto the floor, he grabbed a pair of scissors and stood in front of the mirror. His hair was long. Annoyingly so. There was never time for a haircut—all time had to go into music. He had to be better.
And hair began to fall to the floor.
Maybe this—at least this—would finally make it easier to breathe.