Archive of Our Own

Dohoon doesn’t know the exact moment that the spark between them began to burn up into a dangerous blaze—but he guesses that it’s on the night of their high school reunion that it spreads far enough to become a wildfire, merciless and suffocating everything in its path.

He had a feeling, admittedly. When they’d stepped out of the car in the parking lot of the fancy hotel, Dohoon holding the passenger door open while Youngjae smiled, he’d felt a rush of that same adrenaline from seven years ago, showing up to their prom on each other’s arm like they showstoppers that they were. From the very start, that’s what they were: a force. A blaze. Seven years ago, they’d shown up perfectly late and walked into those doors hearing ooh’s and aah’s and indecipherable whispers, as if they were the main event, and they were. They really were.

Back then, the two of them could light up even their school’s big but beat-down gymnasium; now, Dohoon holds out his hand, and Youngjae takes it—and they smile at each other as if nothing has changed in those seven years—and they wonder if, when they walk through the fancier, more grown-up doors of a hotel ballroom, everyone else will think so, too.

“Are you okay?” Dohoon asks as they’re walking from their car to the elevator in the parking lot, giving his boyfriend’s hand a little squeeze. “If you change your mind, we can still leave now.”

Youngjae smiles softly, shakes his head. “I’m okay.” He squeezes Dohoon’s hand back. “Let’s go.”

Dohoon doesn’t try to hide the beam in his eyes at Youngjae’s answer, and lifts their hands up to place a kiss on the back of Youngjae’s palm when he drags him through the elevator doors.

When they enter the ballroom, the atmosphere is just as lively as Dohoon had expected. He’s well aware of the types of people who would show up to a gathering like this; Youngjae isn’t exactly one of them. Still, he’d agreed after Dohoon had pouted that he was excited to go, to see all of their old friends from one of the most fun periods of both their lives, and, Come on, Youngjae-yah, it’s just one night, don’t you want to look back on what started it all? So, now, they’re here—and it isn’t a high school prom, so no one’s waiting at the double doors to take a picture of them as they arrive—but the two of them are met with the same sort of atmosphere anyway: head-turns and excited gasps and clearer murmurs, this time around: Is that Kim Dohoon and Choi Youngjae? They’re still together? They’re still so handsome! Wow!

Dohoon didn’t really bother checking who was on the guest list of this party before arriving, but he’s already making out some familiar faces in the crowd. There aren’t many people from high school that he’s kept in touch with closely besides Youngjae (Han Jihoon is technically a year below them, so he doesn’t count), but Dohoon has a feeling they won’t have a problem getting around the room, anyway. Within seconds, there’s pairs and groups of someone-or-others—whose names Dohoon vaguely recognizes from shared classes and the occasional scans of their old yearbook—approaching Dohoon and Youngjae, doing the usual greetings, asking the usual questions. There’s a small, nagging voice inside Dohoon’s head that’s telling him that high school reunions are pointless, that people who care about them must be lonely or unhappy or both. He pushes it down, because right now, being here feels fucking great.

And even though the voice sounds a lot like Youngjae’s—Dohoon can clearly see that he’s enjoying this, too.

He can’t really tell if the smile is fake, these days. If Youngjae’s putting it on for show. He’s greeting all their old classmates with firm handshakes and excited smiles and customary half-hugs, jumping into conversation by way of his own quiet, subdued charm. He laughs along at Dohoon’s jokes, looks at him the way he did back when they’d been together for seven days instead of seven years—but that’s just how Youngjae is, and has always been. He knows how to show the right emotion at the right time. The two of them are here now—whether or not Youngjae wants to be—and as always, he’s polished and perfect and happy. He’s Dohoon’s arm candy just as much as Dohoon is his. Just like how they were back then.

Before leaving their apartment, Youngjae had put on a nice outfit. Made a real effort. His button down is dark-green, two buttons open below the collar, elbows and forearms exposed below rolled-up sleeves. Black slacks, cinched at the waist. Simple, brown shoes, fancy perfume. The ring and the watch that Dohoon bought him for last year’s anniversary. It’s the one thing that Dohoon can never deny, even after seven years of change: Choi Youngjae only grew more and more attractive with time. Back then, both of them had been the textbook kind of popular, but in different ways: Choi Youngjae was smart, nice to everyone, could have been on Student Council except he didn’t really prefer the attention; Kim Dohoon was mischievous, the dance team star, making up for what he lacked in grades with his popularity with all the teachers. Their paths hadn’t even really crossed until senior year, though they’d known of each other long before that. It’s always been a fun story to tell, the whirlwind way that they got together—and Dohoon has a feeling it’s going to come up at some point within the night, but he’ll cross that bridge when they get there. There’s no point worrying in things that might not even happen at all, after all.

“Yah—Kim Dohoon? Is that you?” comes another voice from behind them as they walk to find a spot at an empty table, and Dohoon beams when he turns back to find two of the more familiar faces from their year, looking at both of them with excited smiles.

“Park Seeun!” Dohoon exclaims, and Youngjae gently lets go of his arm to let him throw his arms around his old dance teammate, watching from the side with a fond smile. “Yah, how are you still taller than me?!”

“Did you seriously think you still had a chance? I was always going to be taller than you,” Seeun says, his tone teasing, and Dohoon rolls his eyes. “Choi Youngjae! Hey, man! You two are still together, huh? That’s fucking amazing, honestly.”

With a bashful laugh, Youngjae says, “Well, yeah.”

“How about you two?” Dohoon asks the question back, turning toward the person standing beside Seeun now, too. “How’d you manage to put up with him this long, Jung Yujun?”

Seeun’s boyfriend, Yujun, rolls his eyes. “For the record, we weren’t even dating in high school! But he pestered me all throughout college, so I had to give in eventually.”

Seeun pouts, affronted. “Yah, what are you talking about? You love me!” He turns to Youngjae in retaliation and asks, “I should be the one asking you how you’ve suffered putting up with Kim Dohoon for… what? Seven years? He must wear you the fuck out.”

“Oh, he does,” Youngjae answers—all with a smile. His hands are in his pockets, his eyes crinkled into crescents. Dohoon is the only one who can tell that it’s not a joke. “You think I should just break up with him, and go and live my life?”

Youngjae bumps their shoulders together, catches Dohoon’s eye for a split-second. It feels like a pinprick in his heart, momentary but sharp. Not enough for him to flinch.

Dohoon’s not delusional. Neither of them are. They may choose to live inside of a delusion on most days, but they’re both aware enough to know—at least when it comes to each other—what is and what’s not. No one stays the same way that they were in high school as if they haven’t lived a single second of life in the seven years that came after, and Dohoon and Youngjae are no exception—but they’re here, and it’s easy enough to pretend when the roles they’re playing are still how everyone in this room sees them.

“Hey, hey. I’m glad you guys are still going strong,” Seeun responds to Youngjae’s little jab, practically oblivious to any of the tension that’s building underneath. 

Yujun responds, too, “You guys were seriously awesome at prom, senior year. I can never forget that.”

Dohoon and Youngjae turn to each other after that, eyes locked and smaller, softer smiles forming on their faces. In moments like that—part of Dohoon’s heart wonders if maybe, just maybe, the fondness in Youngjae’s expression is at least a little bit real.

They really were a force, back then. Maybe it’s always just come more naturally to them to command an entire room of people; not so much when they got to the part of their relationship when they had to focus on each other. Dohoon can understand why everyone here tonight is so surprised that they’re still together, because two popular kids becoming high school sweethearts is a recipe for disaster in all the movies—and it’s not like they’re wrong. Dohoon had girls giving him chocolates and confession letters every afternoon. Youngjae had all the boys crushing on him in secret. Dohoon liked Youngjae because, well—he was just an angsty, closeted guy, too. They were in the same class, senior year, and it’s not like he was immune. Youngjae, apparently, liked Dohoon because he was the only one that didn’t try so hard. Dohoon had been so smug back then, wondering how no one else had discovered that all they had to do was sit still for Choi Youngjae to ask them to prom. Quiet actions for a quiet guy. Dohoon thought he’d had Youngjae all figured out.

At the time, everyone in their year had just assumed that Youngjae wouldn’t be attending the event at all, after rejecting every single proposal, from private confessions to huge, attention-drawing gestures. It made enough sense, considering the kind of guy that he was.

So when Choi Youngjae and Kim Dohoon had arrived—one hour late when everyone thought no one was coming in anymore, hands clasped and suits pressed and smiles bright—it was like a spell had fallen over that makeshift ballroom, the world stopping just for them. 

That was the kind of couple that they were. Shock factor. Star power. Maybe Dohoon can admit that he was hoping to see if they could still be the same, years later, too—because while he really, truly did fall in love with Youngjae, eventually—he knows that he fell in love with the attention first.

“Anyway, what are you guys doing these days?” Seeun turns to Dohoon to ask, snapping him back into consciousness. Dohoon lays a hand down apologetically on his boyfriend’s shoulder when he realizes that Youngjae had been carrying an entire conversation, the whole time that he’d been lost in his thoughts.

Dohoon answers, “I do modeling, these days!”

Seeun’s eyes widen in surprise. “Woah, really? That’s so cool!”

“That really suits you, though, Dohoon-ah!” Yujun agrees.

“Ah, no, well,” Dohoon shakes his head, playing it off. “It pays well. And it gets me a lot of connections to the industry, so I have my boring degree to fall back on if the modeling thing falls through.”

Surprisingly, Youngjae chimes in, finally reciprocating Dohoon’s touch. “Hey, you’ve always been handsome, though. I don’t think it’s gonna fall through anytime soon.”

“You’re not so bad yourself, Youngjae,” Seeun comments lightheartedly, “Ever tried it yourself?”

Youngjae laughs, withdrawing his touch to wave both hands in front of his face. Dohoon lets his hand fall back to his side, too. “Ah, no, no, but thanks. I don’t think I could do that kind of thing.”

“Well, I guess you were pretty shy back in high school, too,” Seeun chuckles, not pushing further. “What are you doing these days, then?”

Youngjae answers simply, “I work at a kindergarten.”

“Hey, I do, too!” Yujun chimes in excitedly, looking back and forth between all of them. He swats Seeun’s hand away when he tries to ruffle his hair. “So, you teach kids?”

“Sometimes I help out. I mostly fix up classrooms, do admin work…”

Youngjae trails off at the end of his calm, no-nonsense explanation, while Seeun and Yujun nod slowly, mouths formed in attentive, polite, ‘o’s. 

In the moment, Dohoon doesn’t know why—but his mouth works faster than his brain, and he jumps in. “It’s pretty fun, though, right? You go with the kids on lots of field trips, too.”

Youngjae’s eyes widen the slightest bit, only for a split-second. Only Dohoon notices the microscopic crack in his perfect façade. “Mm… Yeah! Our school values a lot of hands-on learning and new experiences, so we go a lot of places, yeah.”

“Woah, you’re making me jealous!” Yujun reacts with a slight whine, not unlike how Dohoon might imagine him teaching his own students. For some reason, the reaction makes Dohoon beam with pride. 

“It’s not in the near future or anything, but you were thinking of getting your Master’s someday, too, right?” Dohoon looks at Youngjae, expectant. Youngjae just blinks.

“Um. Yeah. Maybe. If the time is right, but, well… I’m pretty happy right now, too, so…”

Seeun and Yujun smile and nod, and Dohoon, without a thought, brings his hand up again to the small of Youngjae’s back.

This time, Youngjae stiffens. Dohoon immediately takes his touch away, and grabs two flutes of champagne from the server that passes by, perfectly timed.

Just as he’s handing one of the glasses to Youngjae beside him, some other voice from the room calls out from behind them:

“No way! Is that Kim Dohoon? And Choi Youngjae! Yah, get over here! Yujun-ah, Seeun-ah, bring them over here!”

“Go, go ahead,” Youngjae says gently, taking the glass of champagne from Dohoon’s hand. The smile on his face is a thin line. It’s Youngjae’s way of expressing that he’s willing to put up with everything, even if he’s already worn down. That’s how he always is. Dohoon is starting to wonder now if that’s how he’s always been. “I’ll be right behind you.”

Either way, all the questions and tensions float away with one, two, three drinks. If Dohoon shuts his brain off enough, it almost feels like seven years ago—except what once was a spark is now a bright, burning flame. And nothing good happens when you mix fire with too much champagne.

They don’t say a word in the car on the way home.

Youngjae drives this time. In the passenger seat, Dohoon is tipsy and wonders how the hell Youngjae always manages to keep his cool the way he does, no matter how upset Dohoon knows that he is. There’s a bitter taste in Dohoon’s mouth that comes from all the champagne, mixing in with the quiet resentment that comes with wondering what he would even have to do to get that cool, calm, collected façade to break. These days, Dohoon finds himself thinking about it a lot: how good it might be for Youngjae to finally just snap. Just lose his shit, say what’s really on his mind.

Instead, Youngjae drives in silence. Taps his finger on the wheel to the rhythm of the soft music on the radio. Dohoon leans against the window, stares out at the moving road below them so the mild dizziness fades away by the time they get home. He didn’t have that much to drink, either—but, of course, Dohoon being Dohoon, he might have let loose a little too much. A couple hours into the night, when everyone had already eaten and there was a more stark line between the people who wanted to socialize and the ones who were probably eager to go home, they’d brought out a karaoke machine and one of their old classmates was going around with a mic, interviewing people at random tables for fun. Someone had dragged Dohoon along to sing an R&B track for them all, and of course, Youngjae had followed it up with a softer ballad of his own. People cheered for them. They cheered for each other. Towards the end, Youngjae had won a box of collagen drinks in a raffle. People cheered for that, too.

“Youngjae-yah…” Dohoon mumbles, eyes still glued onto the road—and he doesn’t really know what he’s about to say, or ask for, or really do.

Youngjae seems to know that, too. “We’re almost there. Just close your eyes for a bit.”

And just like that, whatever conversation that could’ve happened is shut down, and Dohoon lets his eyelids flutter shut the rest of the way home.

Dohoon doesn’t even notice when they get back to their apartment building, his eyes opening to a perfectly parked car, the sound of the engine turning off, the stained concrete of the parking lot’s walls. Youngjae only seems to glance at him for one second, and then gets out of the car when he notices that Dohoon’s stirred awake. He doesn’t open the door for him, either. Youngjae opens the trunk door to bring out the comically large collagen drink box.

Dohoon is mostly sober now, only bogged down by the tiredness of all that social interaction seeping down into his bones. Still, he makes sure to jog ahead when they walk away from the car so he can press the elevator button while Youngjae has his hands full. They step inside, Dohoon hits the button for the fifth floor, and Youngjae stares straight ahead at the gap between the closed doors until they open with a beep. Dohoon wants to say something, but he doesn’t. Youngjae doesn’t even look at him when they reach their front door and Dohoon has to reach into the pocket of Youngjae’s pants to get their house keys.

The tension doesn’t break even as they walk through the door, even when Youngjae crouches down to drop the heavy box onto the floor with a quiet grunt. Dohoon swallows as he watches his boyfriend’s forearms flex with the action, rolled-up sleeves now uneven after the events of the entire night. He tears his eyes away before Youngjae can notice, of course, slipping off his shoes and making his way across the living room. He’s not sure Youngjae would appreciate it, when they have more pressing things to address.

“You have something to say, don’t you?” Dohoon decides to say it first, keeping his voice as neutral as he possibly can. “Spit it out.”

Youngjae stands up from where he’s crouched on the floor, his steely gaze burning a hole through Dohoon’s skull. His sigh says that he’s tired, that he’d rather not do this. So he doesn’t beat around the bush. “Why’d you do that, earlier? When we were talking about my job?”

Dohoon hums. He had a feeling that that’s what it would be about. He had an inkling, even right after he said it—and yet, even with all that time to think, Dohoon still doesn’t have an answer. Not one that makes any real sense, at least. “That’s what you’re upset about?”

Youngjae sighs. Again. “My Master’s Degree? Why would you bring that up, all of a sudden?”

“I don’t know, so you’d have more to talk about?” Dohoon throws his hands up in the air. “Yujun was just trying to relate with you, ‘cause you’re in the same industry. Why do you always put yourself down like that?”

Youngjae runs a hand through his hair, chuckling dryly. 

“I put myself down?” he scoffs. “I like my work, I’m good at it, so I was talking about it. You’re the one who doesn’t see it that way. Now, aren’t you the one looking down on me?”

Dohoon eyes widen, taken aback. “That’s not what I meant.”

“See, but that’s why I was worried about us even going to a high school reunion,” Youngjae explains, still all calm and shit, like he’s talking to one of his kindergarten kids at work. “Why do you even care so much about looking good for those people that we don’t even know anymore?”

Dohoon huffs out a bitter laugh, leaning forward and grasping at the armrest of the couch below him. “Are you serious right now? I know you don’t like those things as much as I do, but come on. Don’t act like you didn’t have a good time at all.”

“I did!” Youngjae’s shoulders sag, and he crosses his arms against his chest. Distracting. “But that’s not the point, Dohoon-ah. We were already there, I’m not petty enough to ruin the whole vibe—”

“Yah, I literally asked you right before if you wanted to change your mind, and we could have gone and done something we would both enjoy instead. But you said no, and now you’re complaining?”

Youngjae frowns. “God, do you seriously believe that you wouldn’t have been mad at me if I said I didn’t want to go at that point?” He looks Dohoon right in the eye. “You know you only ask me things like that so you can use it against me whenever we argue like this, right? That’s exactly what you did just now. Am I wrong?”

“Wow,” Dohoon scoffs, pushing himself off the couch, both hands coming up to his face. He turns to face away from Youngjae, all the hurt and anger boiling beneath his skin—but Youngjae is still so fucking calm. And Dohoon hates losing more than anything. But— “God, whatever. Fine. You win. I just wanted them to see how well you’re actually doing, I didn’t want to hog all the attention.”

“Did I ask you to do that?”

“I said fine. Fucking hell. Whatever.”

“Yah, how about let’s just break up, then? Like I said?”

Their verbal tennis rally comes to an end right there—like it always does. Dohoon would hate to admit the number of times he’s heard those words out of Youngjae’s mouth over these past couple of years, always there to round out their bigger fights, a one-two punch in the gut. The first time that Youngjae said it had hurt the most—but at this point, he’s said it enough times that it’s lost its bite, it’s just another thing they say when they get on each other’s nerves. Is still hurts a little bit, of course, but only like that same pinprick feeling from earlier in the night.

Besides, Dohoon had learned pretty quickly, anyway, that Youngjae doesn’t actually push back when Dohoon just acts all tough and says, “No.”

For the millionth time, Youngjae says, let’s break up, and for the millionth time, too, Dohoon says, no, I don’t think we should.

And, yeah—they would never have reached a million if Youngjae didn’t always let Dohoon win.

“No. You don’t even mean that,” Dohoon continues, when all that he’s met with is Youngjae’s cold glare. “You always just say that instead of telling me what you’re really mad about.”

Dohoon spits it out while he still has the upper hand. The words settle into the space between them, falling uselessly onto the couch that Youngjae has been sleeping on. Dohoon would ask him to come to bed, but it seems Youngjae would rather marinate in those fucked-up words than spend a whole night next to the person who said them. They made the mistake of settling for a one-bedroom arrangement when they’d just graduated college and still fully believed it would always be the two of them against the world.

“I literally just told y—” Youngjae tries to argue, before a hand comes up to his face to pinch his brow, and he apparently decides against it. “Whatever, let’s just say you’re drunk. Wash up and go to bed.”

And now, too, like always—something about that softens a weak part of Dohoon’s heart. Youngjae just sounds so tired—but he’s never gone to find another bed to sleep in. He’ll threaten to leave, but only to the next room. He’ll fight with Dohoon on nights like this and leave them both wondering if they’ll ever be able to get through to each other again—but still, he’s still Youngjae. Dohoon never imagines life without him in it.

Dohoon takes one step forward, around the back of the couch. Youngjae only stares back at him with those tired eyes. The firmness of his words always makes them sound so final, even if it feels like putting out a single house fire in a burning village. Dohoon wants to go over there and kiss him good night—but he decides against it. He knows it will be meaningless, after all that’s already been said. He’s a little bit afraid that Youngjae will push him away, now that there’s no one watching.

So Dohoon turns away instead, fighting against the gravity that urges him to reach out instead of pulling away. 

Dohoon hasn’t tried to reach Youngjae in a long time. 

Deep down, he knows he’s just afraid he might find out that he no longer can.

It takes a few days, but the tension eventually fizzles out.

They go about their lives as normal; Youngjae comes and goes at the same time every weekday, and Dohoon’s schedule is all over the place, following the whims of whatever gigs his manager gets him. They don’t talk about the fight after the fact, but the pleasant, casual conversations that they have over meals or on the couch aren’t really fake, either. They still ask about each other’s days—Youngjae hears about whatever the latest gossip is in the modeling industry, and Dohoon hears about the most outlandish things that kindergarteners are capable of when their parents aren’t watching—and for the most part, every day, it feels like things are going to be fine.

There’s always that stinging feeling, though, hidden beneath even the thickest layers of skin. There’s probably a part of both of them that knows, that’s dreading the moment that the tension reaches a tipping point again, boiling water spilling over into the mess that they probably thought they’d have more time and opportunity to clean up. Dohoon’s not sure how long it’s been like this with them. He wonders which of them will get sick and tired of it first.

“Youngjae-yah,” Dohoon chirps, approaching the dining table where Youngjae’s catching up on some work. Permission slips and tuition payments, or whatever it is that he actually does.

Today seems like a good day to clean up some of that mess that they never acknowledge. It wouldn’t hurt to make an effort—and Dohoon swears, he’s going to do his best not to say anything that could set Youngjae off. He really will.

“Mm?” Youngjae looks up with a smile from the table, glasses sliding off the bridge of his gumdrop nose. Dohoon takes the liberty of being the one to push them back up, resulting in a cute, little scrunch. 

“I was thinking,” Dohoon pulls out the other dining chair beside him, “We haven’t been on a date in a while.”

His heart beats a mile a minute, just letting go of those words, waiting for how they’ll be received—but luckily enough, Youngjae seems to be in an agreeable mood. “Mmm… you’re right. Is there something you wanted to do?”

Dohoon immediately lights up, a smile blooming across his face when Youngjae puts down the stack of papers in his hands, looks him right in the eye, and listens. “Well… How about you?”

“Hmm…” Youngjae hums again, even looking up at the ceiling for a second in contemplation. “Nothing in particular, either. We could go to our favorite barbecue place, like always. And you know I don’t mind staying home, watching a movie.”

“Oh, well… yeah! That sounds good,” Dohoon responds with a smile, reminding himself of his own promise. He can get on board with what Youngjae wants. It’s not like it was a bad suggestion or anything, just— “Anything else you wanna do? You know my schedule’s pretty flexible, so, if you say the word, I’m down for anything. We’ll definitely still do the restaurant, too! And the movie night. Whatever you want.”

Youngjae looks at him in this… way. Dohoon can’t explain it. It’s a type of reluctant emotion that seems to match with the one that’s knocking from the inside of his ribcage the more he tries to measure out his words, over-explain his intentions. He just isn’t sure what Youngjae might take the wrong way, these days. Dohoon knows that it’s messed up. He’s trying to work around it, anyway.

“Um… you know my schedule’s not as open as yours,” Youngjae says carefully, lips formed into a pout, “and I don’t really do a lot of things in general, but, if there’s anything specific that you’re thinking of, I’m sure I can find the time,” Youngjae smiles soothingly, resting his chin in the palm of his hand, “just let me know.”

Dohoon softens up a bit, as Youngjae’s voice mellows down in that familiar, disarming way. These are the times that—despite the lack of people watching that fuel the need to keep up appearances—Dohoon knows that the silent affection between them is real. No smoke and mirrors and trying to one-up each other at every turn.

(At least, not yet.)

“Youngjae-yah,” Dohoon starts up again after a few seconds of silence, something about the moment suddenly having him feeling bold enough to suggest, “I was actually thinking… I was thinking we could go on a trip.”

Youngjae’s eyes widen a fraction, considering the idea. “Oh… Well, where were you thinking?”

“I don’t know yet. Somewhere like Jeju would be nice—though we’ve already gone there, so, somewhere out of the country would be good, too. Don’t you think?”

Dohoon leans forward in his chair in anticipation, watching Youngjae’s face carefully for any twitch or slight change in his expression. Before he can catch anything, though, Youngjae replies, “That’s a nice idea. We’d have to plan it out a few months in advance, though. You know I can’t just take time off of work on a whim.”

“Oh. But…” Dohoon pouts, heart clenching involuntarily at the sight of the documents scattered on their dining table, always getting between them in more ways than one. “I mean, it’s fine. We don’t have to go now, but… I don’t know,” Dohoon sighs, trying to plaster back on a semblance of a smile. “I just thought it would be good for us, you know.”

Of course, Dohoon has never been as good as Youngjae at hiding his emotions, and his voice trails off towards the end of his sentence.

Youngjae raises an eyebrow. “Good for us?”

Dohoon gulps. “You’ve worked your ass off without a break for these past three years, you know? I thought you could take some time off to have some fun, for once. Can’t you?”

“I mean, it’s not…” Youngjae sighs as he tries to explain himself, purses his lips as he thinks over his words. “It’s not that I don’t want to, yeah? I said, we’d have to plan it in advance. And you said that we haven’t gone on a date in a while, which is true, and I’m sorry about that. I really do want to spend more time with you, but we can do that in simple ways, too.”

“I know, I know.” Dohoon pinches his brow, already internally berating himself for losing his resolve. He usually lasts longer than this. “I just don’t… Honestly, won’t you even consider it? Taking some time off of work so we can have time to focus on just each other? Am I not allowed to ask for that?”

“You’re allowed to ask for that. I didn’t say you weren’t,” Youngjae answers, quick-witted and sharp. “But I’m telling you, my work situation is different from yours. And I’m trying to offer a compromise.”

“Youngjae-yah, we’re twenty-five. We have enough money to afford a nice apartment and not worry about food and go out with our friends whenever we want to. It’s not like it’s going to be the end of the world if you take, like, five days to say fuck work, and just have some fucking fun,” Dohoon rambles, Youngjae’s expression of concern morphing into a resigned frown. Dohoon knows he can’t change that anymore. His earlier promise has all but turned to dust, the damage has already been done, and so— “I’m sorry if this sounds harsh, but, Youngjae-yah—why do you insist so much on just living this boring life?”

Dohoon doesn’t expect Youngjae’s reaction to be to stand up abruptly from their tiny dining table, walking away from both Dohoon and his stupid work, at the same time.

“Youngjae.”

“I’m not doing this with you today,” Youngjae turns around to say to him, his expression scarily neutral, voice still perfectly calm. “You’ve known me for a long time, Dohoon-ah. You know the kinds of things that I like. You’ve always known I was a simple person. For the record, I enjoy going out to restaurants with you or just staying home and ordering in to eat on the couch, but if I’m so boring to you, then go out with your friends and do everything on your bucket list, since you can’t wait for me to find a decent window in the school year. That’s all that I was asking for, too.”

“You’re missing the point. I just wanted to do something nice for us, ‘cause we’ve been—” Dohoon sighs in defeat, Youngjae’s words cutting right through to his heart, “we’ve been fighting a lot, lately.”

Youngjae’s expression falters, but only for a split-second.

“Yeah?” he clicks his tongue. “And we’re fighting again now. So what exactly is it that you’re doing, then?”

Dohoon stays silent. His heart’s too busy being hurt for his brain to think of something to say to that. He’s always hated how Youngjae always got the last word.

Truly, genuinely—all that Dohoon wanted was to try and patch some things up. Dohoon remembers those times, back in the earlier days of their relationship, when the two of them could understand each other so easily, always knowing what the other wanted without even having to ask. All of it seems so far away now, and Dohoon wishes he’d never taken them for granted. These days, Dohoon feels like anything that he tries to say only hurts Youngjae even more, despite all of his best intentions. Dohoon will come in with an open heart and all the love in the world, and then—like today—there’ll be one little mishap, and suddenly Dohoon’s saying all of the worst things he can think of. He knows this. He wants to stop doing it. It’s harder than it sounds.

There’s just so much that’s broken between them, and Dohoon’s just never been the patient one, between the two of them. They could have been fine if he’d settled with bandaging one of the tinier wounds he’d left on Youngjae’s heart, but he got carried away, tried to reinvent the fucking wheel—and now the wedge between them is driven in deeper than it even was before he’d sat down.

“Just let me know if you still want to go on that date,” Youngjae just sighs after a few more seconds of silence, turning his back to open the fridge door. “I can do whatever you want, you know. Just has to be on a weekend. Sorry.”

Dohoon rolls his eyes.

He knows he’s being childish. Pathetic, even. He does. (Childishly, he thinks: They both are.)

Still, Dohoon gets up from the dining table—Youngjae still with his back turned, pouring a glass of water—and he storms through the hall, into their empty bedroom, and without a care for the consequences, slams the door shut.

For the rest of the day, their apartment stays quiet. The plans are never made for their little date.

It’s around 9:30 PM on a Friday when Dohoon comes out of the shower, refreshed after shedding off all the makeup and sweat from a full day of being under bright studio lights, and he finds Youngjae curled up the couch, watching something on the TV with this dazed, tired look in his eyes.

Dohoon approaches him carefully, taking his usual spot on the couch. Youngjae spares a glance at him, regarding his presence. He doesn’t make any move to pull away.

“Hey,” Dohoon starts quietly, bringing his legs up onto the couch as well, turning to his boyfriend with a soothing expression. “Are you okay?”

Youngjae turns to look at him again then, attention torn away from the drama on the TV. “I’m fine. Just tired, I guess.”

Dohoon hums. He knows that it means a million things, right now—but he’s not going to go and stir the pot, considering that Youngjae is opening up to him at all. “Yeah? Long week?”

“Mm,” Youngjae exhales with a nod, eyes never leaving Dohoon’s, even for a second.

“Did you take the train today?” Dohoon asks softly, one hand coming up naturally to rest on the exposed skin of Youngjae’s knee.

Youngjae doesn’t flinch. “Mhm.”

“You could have asked me to pick you up after work,” Dohoon pouts, fingers rubbing circular motions on the warm skin. 

“It’s okay,” Youngjae answers, the faintest of smiles on his lips. Dohoon can immediately tell that he’s relaxing more and more into their conversation every second, and it makes him a bit more relaxed, too. “You didn’t tell me what time you were getting off your shoot. I didn’t wanna bother you.”

“You should just ask anyway, next time,” Dohoon says in a low whisper, eyes darting to the floor as guilt starts sets in. He knows the words are futile, especially now when it feels like they find a way to fight about every single thing. Maybe Dohoon’s a fucking hypocrite for wishing that Youngjae would be more open about what he wants, and then growing resentful when he finds out it’s not something he can always give.

Youngjae doesn’t say anything after that, and the silence that fills between them is filled with a different kind of tension, cut through only slightly by the sounds on the TV. Dohoon keeps his hand on Youngjae’s knee, and Youngjae lets him. He’s not sure if Youngjae’s still watching or if his mind is somewhere else completely, but Dohoon’s definitely focused on something other than the show.

“This drama’s sad,” Youngjae comments with a light chuckle, as if sensing that Dohoon hasn’t really paid any attention to it at all. “I was thinking I should go and visit my family soon. I miss them.”

Dohoon’s ministrations on his knee come to a halt, but only for a brief second. There’s even more that’s hiding behind those seemingly simple words, and Dohoon understands what Youngjae’s trying to say, even in the most indirect way.

“Yeah?” Dohoon says, his smile probably unconvincing. “That would be good.”

He knows that he should offer. To go with him, that is. Dohoon has been Youngjae’s boyfriend for seven years, for god’s sake; he’s basically already part of his family, too. But they both know that it’s been a while since Dohoon had seen Youngjae’s family, and Dohoon wishes that that wasn’t the case, but they also both know what Youngjae’s really asking for when he says he’s tired and wishes he could go home. It’s not like the home he has with Dohoon has been particularly loving or warm lately. Dohoon just wouldn’t feel right encroaching on the spaces in Youngjae’s life that still are. 

But really, deep down—Dohoon just isn’t sure how he would face them. Youngjae’s family. It’s a different story with Dohoon’s, because they’re all just like him. Looks and reputation were always the most important, even if it meant constantly living in what’s basically a practiced, memorized act. They were never too thrilled about the fact that Dohoon was dating a boy—but if it was going to happen anyway, Youngjae was just the perfect kind of boy to bring home. Dohoon’s parents fell in love with him, like everyone does, and Youngjae didn’t even have to put on any kind of act. He was smart and respectful and had an integrity about him, a self-assured confidence that told Dohoon’s parents very early on that he was not the type to get so easily shaken up. Youngjae was the perfect person for Dohoon to introduce to everyone during family reunions, always getting along with everyone so perfectly, while still making sure to let Dohoon know that when things got too much—he would always still be on Dohoon’s side.

Meanwhile, all that Youngjae’s family ever wanted was for their son to be loved.

Dohoon’s too scared to go back there and face them, knowing he’s been failing miserably at the one thing that should be so, so simple.

“Youngjae-yah,” Dohoon calls his name softly, taking in all the features of this person he cares so much about. It’s still the same face that he’s memorized, every single day for these past seven years. “Can’t you just come to bed tonight, mm?”

Youngjae’s breath hitches, and for a moment, Dohoon feels like he’s stopped breathing, too. “Are you going to convince me?”

Dohoon swallows hard when Youngjae looks at him to ask. Dohoon tightens his grip ever so slightly on Youngjae’s knee, the side of his thigh. One of the most unfair things about Youngjae is how he still looks so stupidly good, even just wearing some old, white t-shirt, so big that Dohoon can only see the hem of the shorts he’s wearing underneath.

This—this is the one thing they’re still good at. Even after all the fighting, all the distance that’s suddenly in between their hearts.

Dohoon trails his hand further up Youngjae’s thigh, slowly, slowly, for as long as Youngjae doesn’t pull away. He takes the opportunity to lean his entire body further into Youngjae’s space, too, his free hand coming up now to gently brush his fingertips against Youngjae’s cheek.

“Can I kiss you?” Dohoon asks sweetly—a sharp contrast to all cruel, brash things they’ve been saying to each other over these past few weeks. 

And of course, Youngjae nods, his answer only just a breath now onto Dohoon’s lips. “Yeah.”

Dohoon is the one who inches forward, closing the distance, the kiss tender and slow, even while his other hand squeezes hard at Youngjae’s thigh.

Dohoon moves on instinct the moment that Youngjae makes the softest, little whine into Dohoon’s mouth, and one of his hands comes up to pull Dohoon in further by the nape of his neck. This is something they both still know how to do; this is still something that hasn’t changed in the course of all the time they’ve known each other. Dohoon doesn’t care what anyone else says; he and Youngjae both know that they still have these fucking crushes on each other, and they’re still reminded of that every single day. Dohoon is sure that if all the years they’d been together were suddenly erased, and the universe decided that they’d cross paths for the first time on a busy street tomorrow, Youngjae would still be the one who catches Dohoon’s eye. 

Dohoon is lucky that that isn’t the case, though. It means he gets to have Youngjae here, kissing him, tension leaving his body with every breath and touch. It means that when Dohoon stands up and Youngjae follows him into the bedroom, Dohoon doesn’t have to ask him to do anything for Youngjae to fall back-first onto the bed, pulling Dohoon on top of him like he’ll die if he doesn’t kiss him again. Sex with Youngjae has always been good, always, and anyone would be an idiot to think that Youngjae doesn’t feel the exact same way. Selfishly, Dohoon thinks back to their high school reunion from a couple weeks ago, scoffing at the thought of what everyone might have said about Dohoon and Youngjae behind their backs when they got back home. Maybe they’d seen through their little act. Maybe they’d made up stories or made bets, secretly hoping for their collective demise.

Anyone could say what they want—but Dohoon and Youngjae still wanting each other is undeniable. It’s only gotten better and better with time.

It’s something they both still memorize, even when it feels like they’re suddenly speaking different languages ninety percent of their waking lives. Dohoon takes his shirt off first, and then Youngjae follows, and the rest comes off in a frenzied mess of lips and hands and skin. Dohoon’s touches are gentle and intentional, and it always sets Youngjae’s body alight, the sweetest sounds escaping his mouth that Dohoon wants to coax out of him over and over and over again. In some sad, fucked-up way, sometimes it almost feels like it’s the one time when the two of them act the way that they’re too afraid to in their real life; Dohoon has to wonder if that means everything else is just some elaborate act, and this—Youngjae pliant and open underneath him, Dohoon love-drunk and reverent as he settles between his legs—is one of the few things left of them that doesn’t take so much effort to feel real. 

Because when they’re together like this, Dohoon has no inhibitions about letting his affection show. His voice comes out so gentle with every question: Can I touch you? Can I kiss you? Does this feel good, baby? and it flips a switch in Youngjae that makes it easy for him to shed the mask of calmness and ask for, demand the things that he wants: Need you inside, fuck me harder, come inside me, just like that.

And even here, in the bed that Youngjae hasn’t been sleeping in, Youngjae holds onto any part of Dohoon he can find like a lifeline while Dohoon fingers him open, leaving kisses all over his neck and chest to distract him from the stretch. They don’t have to talk much with the amount that Youngjae moans, especially when he gets on his knees, face smushed into the pillows, and Dohoon pushes into him, folding himself over Youngjae’s back to leave kisses there, too. Dohoon has a hand on the curve of Youngjae’s waist, possessive, whispering constantly into his ear, god, fuck, you’re perfect, so hot, so good for me, baby—and when he pulls out to flip Youngjae over onto his back before pushing in again, Dohoon grabs one of his boyfriend’s hands, laces their fingers together, and presses it into the pillows beside Youngjae’s head, saying, “Fuck, you’re mine. All mine. Say it, Youngjae.”

And Youngjae nods, absolutely no resistance, the sounds punched out of him with every slide of Dohoon inside of him, “Yours. I’m yours.”

Dohoon kisses him right after, fucks him harder when he realizes he can still hear the TV from the other room. He wants them to drown out all the rest of the noise in their house: the background TV, the refrigerator’s buzz, the tumbling laundry, the airconditioner’s hum. Dohoon hits Youngjae’s favorite spot over and over when he can tell that they’re both close, and before long, Youngjae grabs him by the hair to whisper, I’m close, babe, faster, I’m gonna come. 

In the back of Dohoon’s mind, he doesn’t want this to be over—but he can feel his own release approaching, and there’s a sheen of sweat already forming on Youngjae’s brow, and when Dohoon touches his boyfriend’s cock, it pulls a shuddery whine out of his mouth that he tries but fails to cover with his hand. It only takes a few strokes to have Youngjae releasing into Dohoon’s fist, chanting in rushed pleas for Dohoon to come inside of him, make him feel it. Dohoon buries his face into Youngjae’s shoulder, still inside of him, and shudders through his orgasm with Youngjae’s nails digging into his shoulder blades, right above the bone.

Youngjae turns his head toward Dohoon’s, searching for him after it’s over. Dohoon cups Youngjae’s face in one hand, kisses him sweetly. “Feel good, baby?” he asks.

“Good,” Youngjae nods weakly, still lost for words. He kisses Dohoon again. “Perfect.”

Dohoon leans up to place a kiss on his forehead, and they lay together in silence for a few more moments, Youngjae’s hand still resting on Dohoon’s back.

Youngjae sleeps in the bed that night after they clean up, one of Dohoon’s arms thrown around his waist.

Dohoon’s mostly surprised to find that in the morning, Youngjae still wakes up next to him, too.

At his core, Dohoon knows that the real reason they fell in love wasn’t some egotistical need for popularity. Neither of them were that shallow, even back then.

The fact that it started out mostly as a stunt doesn’t erase all of the complicated things they had to navigate to make it work after. Dohoon and Youngjae had been different from the very beginning—but maybe there was something different about their lives back then that made it easier for them to accept and even cherish each other’s little flaws. Dohoon didn’t try too hard all the time to impress him, but Youngjae ended up finding it charming when he discovered Dohoon’s clingier side, his more playful, carefree outlook on life. Throughout college, when they weren’t this sensational, campus power couple, it had been easier for Youngjae to reassure Dohoon he was allowed to be himself, that he was worthy of love and affection even without having a bunch of eyes on him—and it was easier for Dohoon to believe him, especially when so much of that love and affection came in bucketloads from Youngjae himself. They supported each other’s wide-eyed dreams, never harped on about each other’s insecurities, were secure in the knowledge that if everything suddenly fell away—at least they’d still have someone standing by their side at the end, willing to do what it takes to fix whatever had been broken by the harsh realities of the world.

When Dohoon’s family had put boatloads of pressure on him to finish a degree he didn’t care about, Youngjae was there. Whenever Youngjae’s family would make surprise visits to Seoul after a stressful week of midterms, Dohoon was the first to know, and he’d tell them what would cheer Youngjae up just right. Whenever they’d fight, Youngjae would shut down, Dohoon would get anxious—but he’d grit his teeth and give Youngjae his space and trust that Youngjae would come to him when he was ready—which Youngjae always did. Neither of them really had room for too much resentment in their hearts; not when they were the best things in each other’s lives. 

It’s not that Dohoon thinks differently, now. Youngjae is still one of the best things in his life—but there’s suddenly so much that’s broken between them that Dohoon doesn’t even know how to explain. Maybe they just had too many expectations. Dohoon thinks, maybe, he just wants more of Youngjae—but Youngjae wants less of him.

And yet, it’s hard to believe something as bleak as that, when Youngjae walks into the living space while Dohoon’s on the couch, leaning back onto the kitchen counter and asking quietly, “Dohoon-ah… can we talk?”

Dohoon’s heart picks up the pace in his chest immediately, but he looks up at him anyway, eyes wide. “Oh, um… yeah. What’s up?”

The room falls silent when Dohoon picks up the remote to switch off the TV.

“I wanted to say sorry,” Youngjae says, jumping straight into it, cheek caught between his teeth.

Dohoon waits, thinks he’s going to say more. He doesn’t. “Um… Sorry for what?”

It feels a bit wrong, asking that; it makes Dohoon question if maybe he should have thought of apologizing sooner. He knows he hasn’t been the kindest person to Youngjae lately at all.

Youngjae shrugs. “I don’t know,” he laughs. “I mean… I think, maybe, I was a bit harsh, last time we fought. When you asked me to go on a trip.”

Dohoon blinks, confused. That was weeks ago. “You… You weren’t. I was being stubborn, too.”

“That thing during the reunion, too,” Youngjae continues regardless. “Maybe I overreacted. I’m sorry.”

Dohoon presses his lips together, completely unsure about how to feel. He barely even remembers what they’d said to each other, that night. Just that they’d both gotten hurt for no reason—but mostly because of Dohoon’s stupid mouth. “You didn’t overreact. I overstepped. I’m sorry, too.”

Silence falls over the room, nothing else to break through. It doesn’t really feel like they’ve gotten anywhere, just two cats chasing a moving laser, always bound to miss the point.

“So… Are we good?”

Youngjae is the one who breaks the silence, a nervous expression on his face.

Against his better judgment, Dohoon nods. “Yeah. We’re good.”

More silence. Youngjae brings his gaze down to the floor.

“...It doesn’t feel like we’re good, Dohoon-ah.”

Dohoon tears his gaze away this time, too. It seems, this time—maybe they’re going to start talking about something real.

It’s fucking terrifying.

“Yeah? Why not?”

“You tell me,” Youngjae shrugs, eyes darting around the room. “It feels like you’re angry at me all the time.”

Dohoon scoffs. “You know, I feel like that, too.”

Youngjae takes in a sharp breath, purses his lips like he’s about to say something, but decides against it. “Why do you feel like that?”

“I don’t— I don’t know,” Dohoon scratches his head, laughing dryly in frustration. “It’s like—whatever I say, whatever I do, it’s wrong. I’m not trying to guilt-trip you, either, it’s just… nothing gets through to you anymore, no matter how hard I try.”

“How do you try?”

Dohoon raises an eyebrow. “What?”

“It’s a real question. What do you mean when you say you’re trying to get through to me?”

Dohoon sputters, caught off-guard. “I— I try to get us to spend time with each other. I always tell you to just come to the bed, but you’d rather sleep here.”

Youngjae pouts. “Ever tried apologizing?”

“Oh my god.”

Youngjae sighs heavily, shuts his eyes tight. 

Dohoon just looks at him, a harsh set in his jaw—angry because he’s angry and it’s just proving Youngjae’s point.

“Why are we so fucking terrible to each other now?” Youngjae asks, pained. “Let’s just break up, Dohoon-ah.”

“No.”

“Why did you even date me in the first place?”

Dohoon’s throat tightens. “Don’t. Don’t even go there.”

“Why is it so hard for you to even acknowledge that you hurt me, then?” Youngjae opens his eyes, expression morphing into a steely, scary smile. “You say all these hurtful things like it’s nothing, and then say that you try to fix it, but give up the moment you don’t get an instant reward. I need time to think over things like this, you know?”

“Well, I need you to give me something!” Dohoon raises his voice, standing up from the couch before he can think better of it. “You talk all this shit about not putting on an act in front of other people, but you refuse to just own up to your anger with me, and I have to find out like this when every little thing’s already piled up!”

“That’s ‘cause I don’t want to say things I might regret!”

“I don’t care if you just say them!” Dohoon yells, throwing his hands up into the air. “Just fucking be angry. When we’re fighting, for god’s sake, it’s not like I’m expecting you to be nice!”

Youngjae clenches his teeth.

Dohoon should really be more careful what he wishes for.

“You know, Dohoon, you care so much about people’s reputations, and yet you’re acting like you didn’t know from the start that that’s just not the kind of person that I am.” Youngjae pushes himself off of the counter, taking a few steps closer to where Dohoon stands beside the arm of their couch. “So why did you even date me, again?”

Dohoon laughs, crosses his arms over his chest, takes a few steps of his own. “Right. I could have been Prom King if I dated literally anyone else.”

“And I might have avoided having all these useless fights.”

“Go on and find someone else, then! I don’t care!”

“Yah. Do you not remember that there were boys lining up and banging at my door, too?” Youngjae scoffs, not backing down. Just like Dohoon told him not to. “Do you not remember why I chose you, out of everyone? ‘Cause you were the only one who wasn’t trying too hard to impress me. I thought it was charming. I guess I was too young and stupid to realize that when the charm fades away, all that’s left is an ungrateful asshole who’s already won the prize and thinks that means he no longer has to care. I’m sick and tired of it.”

Dohoon feels his lip quiver, and he sees the tears pooling in Youngjae’s eyes.

He lets Youngjae have the last word, then.

It’s not like he was wrong.

It’s the most fucking frustrating thing in the world. Dohoon thinks that they can probably both sense just how much they care—and yet it ends up coming out in all the wrong ways. Youngjae can be mean when he wants to, and Dohoon—Dohoon is the one who keeps score. And so they end up pushing each other relentlessly into little boxes made up of all their worst insecurities, when all that they both really want is to search through all the rubble—even if the scattered shards could break skin—to find the person that will hold them. The same one that's hiding inside the person that’s caused them so much pain.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t what you thought you wanted, Dohoon-ah,” Youngjae whispers between them, and Dohoon almost gives in.

Youngjae steps past him before Dohoon builds up the courage to tell him he’s wrong. The tears only fall out of Dohoon’s eyes after Youngjae grabs his coat off the rack and walks out of the door.

They’re sitting in silence in their living space again, Youngjae busy with papers at the dining table, while Dohoon’s scrolling on his phone on the couch.

Their fight was a week ago. They haven’t said much to each other since.

Usually, it’s Dohoon who tries to make the first move. He’d even said as much while he and Youngjae were exchanging all those emotion-filled words, and Youngjae had said himself that Dohoon needed to lay off. Give him some time.

Dohoon didn’t think he was petty enough to take it this far—but apparently, he’s determined enough to get Youngjae to think, at least once, that he should be careful what he wishes for, too.

They still follow their usual routines. Youngjae cleans, Dohoon cooks, they take turns with the dishes. Youngjae says they should do their own laundry, but still puts Dohoon’s in the washer when he sees it in the basket. They let each other know if they need to use the car. Sometimes, one of them will sit down quietly at the other end of the couch when the other is watching whatever they want on TV. 

They’re both just waiting for the pin to drop, neither of them really well equipped to try and make it better or make it worse, both still just nursing their own wounds.

There are times that—whenever Dohoon sees Youngjae’s calm expression tainted with a little too much dejection—he still wants to reach out, offer him some kind of comfort, in the simpler ways that he knows how. A hug. An innocent kiss. A squeeze of his hand. A gratuitous reminder: I’m here.

But those kinds of things are difficult to do when Dohoon’s also the source of all the pain. It doesn’t matter how much it hurts him to see Youngjae hurting; it was Dohoon’s fault.

Besides—Dohoon is hurting, too.

It takes all he has within him to sit still, when all he wants to do is reach out. He doesn’t want to retreat to the lonely atmosphere of their empty bedroom, but it’s also exhausting to pretend not to notice Youngjae’s presence under the dim kitchen light across the room. Every time Youngjae so much as moves—moving stacks of paper, uncapping pens, taking a sip of water from his glass—Dohoon wonders if he’s finally going to say something, finally put an end to their stubborn bouts of pretending like they’re strangers in their own home. When it doesn’t happen, Dohoon doesn’t know if he should be frustrated or relieved. He doesn’t know how much more his heart can take of this. All the running back and forth between two extremes.

Youngjae stands up from his table again, and Dohoon sees him out of the corner of his eye, arms stretching upward and back arching like a cat.

Dohoon wills himself to direct his attention back to whatever he’d been mindlessly looking at, adjusting his position on the couch when—

Shatter.

Dohoon whips his head around quickly when he hears the sharp, high-pitched noise of breaking glass—and his body moves before his brain can tell it to.

“Shit,” Dohoon curses as he runs over to the kitchen, Youngjae frozen in place in front of the sink, the pieces of his water glass all broken at his feet. Dohoon only gives him a confused once-over for a single second, before crouching down to pick up all the bigger shards. “Don’t move. Are you okay? Did you get cut anywhere?”

Dohoon asks all this as he inspects the bare skin of Youngjae’s shins, his ankles, the part of his feet that aren't covered by the house slippers. Dohoon can already feel a spot on his thumb where he’d nicked himself, trying to clean up the mess. When he realizes that what he’s doing isn’t particularly smart, he stands up and throws the shards in his hand into the garbage, decides he’ll get the rest with a broom and some rubber gloves later, and then grabs one of Youngjae’s shoulders with his clean hand to move him to a less hazardous part of the kitchen.

Through the whole ordeal, Youngjae just stands there, frozen. He looks at the blood on Dohoon’s thumb with an unreadable expression on his face, but doesn’t do anything about it.

It only leaves Dohoon more and more concerned. Youngjae has never been the clumsy one between them. And he isn't the type to not want to clean up a mess when he knows he’s the one who made it.

Dohoon is still caught up in that worry, that gripping fear, when Youngjae grabs his wrist and just utters, out of the blue, “Let’s break up, Dohoon-ah.”

There’s something different about it, this time. Of course there is. Dohoon feels that same, familiar ache in his throat when he realizes: this time, it sounds like it’s real.

“Yeah, sure,” Dohoon just laughs, in a last-ditch attempt to hide the tears that are about to fall out of his eyes. “Sure.”

Surprisingly, this time—it’s Youngjae who pushes back. “Is this funny to you?”

“Yeah,” Dohoon spits out, pain burning against his chest and blood dripping into his palm and his legs threatening to give out, sending him knees first into shattered glass— “You keep saying it, and you never actually mean it. If you did, then why aren’t we over by now?”

Youngjae’s lips turn downward into a frown, similarly pained.

Dohoon wants to take it back. He can’t.

“You wanna know why?” Youngjae asks, voice small.

Dohoon wants to just tell him he’s sorry. He can’t.

Youngjae says, “Because I love you.”

Youngjae looks him right in the eye—and Dohoon realizes that neither of them have heard it from each other in a long time. Too long.

“What did you say you hated so much about me? That I was so boring? Simple?” Youngjae huffs, eyes swelling with held-back tears now, too. “Well, yeah—that’s why I’m still here, Kim Dohoon. ‘Cause I still love you. That’s pretty simple for me, too.”

Dohoon purses his lips, vision going blurry. He doesn’t know what kind of pained noise will come out of his mouth if he opens it. He’s more afraid of finding out that Youngjae won’t care.

But then, Dohoon realizes—so much of this happened because he’d only ever been thinking so much about himself.

Because the next thing that Youngjae asks, vulnerable and too soft, is, “When did you stop? Loving me?”

Dohoon’s eyes fall shut on their own, tears finally falling, right onto the floor.

Youngjae asks again, “What did I do so wrong?”

Dohoon shakes his head. “No. No.”

“I think I can still guess when you started hating me—” Youngjae finally lets his tears fall, too, “—but when did you stop loving me, Dohoon-ah?”

“Hey, hey. No, no, no, no,” Dohoon shakes his head frantically, and finally, finally gains the courage to step forward, and take the person he loves into his arms. “I love you. I love you so much, Youngjae, okay? Okay?”

Youngjae melts into Dohoon’s touch immediately, arms coming up to wrap around his torso, hands clutching tight onto the fabric of his shirt. He cries into Dohoon’s shoulder, and Dohoon lays a comforting hand on the back of his head. Youngjae’s answer is muffled, but Dohoon hears it loud and clear, “It doesn’t feel like that anymore.”

Dohoon just nods, despite the hole that it burns through his heart. “I know,” he says through ragged breaths, holding onto Youngjae for dear life, “I know. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I love you. I know it’s hard to trust that now, but I do. I do. I’m sorry.”

This time, Dohoon says all that he knows he should have, a long time ago. No more excuses, no smart quips. Just the truth—that he loves Youngjae, that he never should have made him feel like he wanted to let go. It’s the last thing he wants.

“I know that this hurts now,” Youngjae says in reply, head still buried in Dohoon’s shoulder, “but I think… I think, if I leave you, it’s going to hurt forever.” Youngjae comes out of his hiding place for one second to look into Dohoon’s glassy eyes, Dohoon reaches up to brush the matted hair out of his face, and then, “Just tell me: if I stay—is it going to hurt forever, too?”

Dohoon shakes his head immediately, pulls Youngjae back into his arms. “No,” he breathes out, holds onto him tight. It’s a promise. He’ll do what it takes until Youngjae trusts him enough again to believe that it’s true. “No. I don’t want that. I’m really sorry. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not.”

Youngjae says, “I’m sorry, too.”

It’s Dohoon’s turn to tip his head into Youngjae’s shoulder this time, and Youngjae doesn’t hesitate, rubbing slow patterns onto Dohoon’s back.

“I love you,” Youngjae whispers, lips pressing softly to the pulse point under Dohoon’s ear. “I said a lot of things that I didn’t mean, too.”

“You know that I never hated you, right?” Dohoon tells him, holding onto him tighter. “I don’t know what I was so angry about—but I never hated you. I love you, okay?”

Surprisingly, Youngjae takes that moment to hug him tighter. Dohoon melts into it, makes himself smaller in Youngjae’s arms. “We’re gonna have to talk about everything, you know. Not now, but… eventually.”

Dohoon nods in agreement, sighing into Youngjae’s neck. “I know. I know.”

“Dohoon-ah. I still want to make this work.”

“Me, too,” Dohoon answers, pulling back for a moment to look at Youngjae properly. “I’m just scared.”

Youngjae brushes his thumb underneath Dohoon’s eye—and then he stops midway through the action, suddenly remembering, “Hey. Give me your hand.”

Dohoon is confused for a moment, and so Youngjae acts faster, gently taking hold of the hand where Dohoon had nicked his thumb on one of the glass shards earlier, the bleeding mostly stopped, but the blood still dried all over his hand. Probably also on the back of Youngjae’s sleepshirt.

“Come here,” Youngjae says resolvedly, wiping his tears with one hand while dragging Dohoon towards the bathroom with the other, after deeming the floor below their kitchen sink too close to all the broken glass. “Wash it with soap and water.”

When they get to the bathroom, Dohoon does as he’s told, watching silently as Youngjae takes some iodine and bandages out of the medicine cabinet. When most of the dried blood is off, Youngjae grabs a fresh towel from the basket and dries Dohoon’s hand himself, insisting despite Dohoon’s reluctance. Soon enough, Youngjae’s soaking the iodine into a cotton ball and pressing it gently against the small cut, eyes focused on the task at hand, while Dohoon’s eyes are focused on him.

“Dohoon-ah. I’m scared, too,” Youngjae utters as he takes out one of the smaller band-aids from their box, looking up at him through his eyelashes for a split-second before putting it on. “I don’t think the hard part’s over. We’re definitely still going to fight, sometimes. I don’t want you to hold yourself back from asking for the things you want from me—but I need you to give me time to learn how I can do those things without holding myself back, too. Because I want you to be happy.” Youngjae wraps the band-aid around Dohoon’s thumb, and then leans down to press a kiss to the knuckle below it, looking into Dohoon’s eyes. “I want to make you happy, too.”

“Alright, Youngjae-yah,” Dohoon nods in content—no protests, no excuses. For the first time in a while, he takes a step back, listens to Youngjae’s words, and takes them as they are. “Tell me how I can make you happier, too.”

After the whole ordeal—and several, half-hearted protests—Dohoon sends Youngjae to bed. He’s clearly tired, and Dohoon is as well, but Dohoon makes some joke about how if he gains another cut from the broken glass, Youngjae can just fix him up again and they won’t have to be two idiots with band-aids all over their hands. Besides, Dohoon’s heart still hurts an unfathomable amount, still processing all the thoughts that he’d apparently put Youngjae through. He lets more of his tears fall freely as he sweeps the floor for the larger shards of glass, soaks up the spilled water with paper towels, brings out the vacuum for everything he might have missed. His heart aches when he sees the piles of paper that are still scattered across the dining table, reminding him of some fight they had that Dohoon doesn’t even remember the actual subject of anymore. Dohoon just grabs a bunch of random things to use as a paperweight over each stack, so he doesn’t mess up whatever way Youngjae had them organized. Dohoon looks at the couch, and lets out a shaky breath—Youngjae isn’t there anymore.

Youngjae’s in the bedroom, waiting, “Dohoon-ah, are you done cleaning up?”

Dohoon looks down at the band-aid wrapped around his finger, cartoon prints of a Pokémon that Youngjae thought looked like Dohoon, back when they were twenty. He wonders if Youngjae still remembers that. Dohoon has a feeling he did. “Yeah, I’m coming!”

Dohoon shuts the lights off outside, walks into the bedroom, and slips under the covers with a kiss on Youngjae’s head.

Youngjae hums contentedly, and falls asleep holding Dohoon’s hand.

epilogue.

Dohoon wakes up the next morning with Youngjae still asleep on the left side of their bed.

He tries to blink his eyes blearily awake, rolls over onto his side to quietly watch the rise and fall of his boyfriend’s chest. He worries over the state of Youngjae’s still swollen eyes, the redness at the tip of his nose. Dohoon wonders how much has been haunting Youngjae, even in his dreams—but mostly, he’s both surprised and relieved to learn that everything that had transpired the night before wasn’t a dream at all. 

He remembers how, last night, as they’d been falling asleep, Dohoon would jolt awake a few couple of times from a sudden, tight squeeze of Youngjae’s hand. He hadn’t even realized he’d been pulling away.

After a few minutes of silent watching, Dohoon catches Youngjae’s eyes fluttering open, too. Youngjae squints a little to fight against the slivers of sun that come through the gaps in their curtains, and Dohoon takes in the sight with a patient smile. He’s missed this—waking up next to him. Laying comfortably in the silence, every part of them so, so close.

“Hey,” Youngjae utters first, voice still raspy with sleep, noticing Dohoon’s eyes on him.

“Hey,” Dohoon whispers back, barely a sound. Youngjae smiles, and Dohoon has to clear his throat. “Morning.”

“Morning,” Youngjae echoes, wordlessly reaching for Dohoon’s hand over the covers.

Dohoon happily takes it, brushing his injured thumb over Youngjae’s knuckle with a smile. “I love you.”

Youngjae scrunches his nose, light and playful. “All of a sudden?”

“Just…” Dohoon drags out the thought, “...need you to know.”

Youngjae smiles. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Dohoon blinks at him, some of the sleep still not having left his eyes. He can feel now that his face is probably all swollen, too, after all the emotion of last night. It’s still scary to think of what will happen when they leave this bed—it’s not like a single night of vulnerability is going to magically fix everything that led up to their breakthrough in the first place—but Dohoon does remember that he promised to do the work. He has to believe that he can. He has to believe in them.

Dohoon is the one who asks this time: “Do you still wanna break up?”

And this time, it’s Youngjae who says, “No.”

Dohoon closes his watery eyes, squeezes gently at Youngjae’s hand.

“I gave it some thought,” Youngjae says. “I want us to make this work.”

Dohoon nods. “Me, too.”

“Are you willing to do the work?”

“I am.”

“Even if it hurts your pride?”

Dohoon sighs. He might as well start now. “Yes. Even then.”

He doesn’t know if Youngjae believes him, really. Dohoon wouldn’t blame him if he didn’t.

Interestingly, what Youngjae asks is, “Why?”

Dohoon squints at him. He’s gonna have to do a lot to make sure Youngjae never has to ask that again. “Because I love you.”

“I love you, too.” Youngjae smiles—and then lets go of Dohoon’s hand to brush a finger onto his cheek. Dohoon didn’t even register the tear that had fallen onto his pillow. “You can still leave now, if you want. I don’t think this is going to be easy.”

“I think I’m going to stay,” Dohoon replies in a whisper, resolved. Youngjae laughs when he sniffles.

“What if it doesn’t work out?”

Dohoon pouts. His heart aches to think of it, but he can understand that they’d both have their doubts.

“That could happen,” he agrees, somber, “but let’s agree, we’ll only say that once we can also say we gave it our best shot. Okay?”

Slowly, Youngjae nods. He reaches for Dohoon’s hand again, curls himself down to kiss the back of it. Dohoon pulls him by that same hand, throws Youngjae’s arm around his waist, pulls the covers over them both to hold him safe and soft.

They stay in bed until noon. Youngjae wakes up first, this time. Dohoon is still there.