Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

“I like you, Jay hyung." 

Jay’s throat went dry all of a sudden. 

Jungwon liking him isn’t exactly news. 

Normally, he would get mad, reject Jungwon outright, and bluntly tell him to stop liking him from now on. 

But this time, something felt different.

Maybe it was the sight of Jungwon’s glistening eyes, that soft and warm gaze he always reserved for Jay. 

Maybe it was the way the sunlight poured through the window, brushing against the younger’s features and illuminating his face with a gentle glow. 

Or maybe it was the faint hum drifting from Heeseung’s room that made the moment feel unbearably intimate. 

Whatever it was, Jay’s throat tightened, his voice refusing to cooperate as his heart unwantedly skipped a beat.

“I…” he muttered, his voice soft after several seconds of silence. “I don’t feel the same way, Jungwon.” His tone deepened, steady, carefully neutral.

Jay watched the hurt flicker through Jungwon’s eyes, even though the expression on his face remained unchanged.

Still warm.

Jungwon drew in a shaky breath before offering a smile, the kind that didn’t quite reach his eyes, and slowly pulled his hands back from Jay’s hold and began fidgeting with his fingers, as if trying to distract himself from the ache.

“I know. I just… I just thought I hadn’t properly confessed to you before. And the timing felt right, so… I took the chance.”

Jay stared at him unapologetically, scrutinizing every subtle twitch and shift in his expression.

“I’m not expecting you to like me back, hyung. I knew from the start I didn’t have a chance with you. I knew I was bound to be rejected either way.” Jungwon smiled again, this time tinged with quiet defeat.

“And about your apology…” Jungwon trailed off, letting out a soft, almost self-conscious chuckle. “There were times I did get hurt. But I understand that you were just trying to set boundaries between us and you didn't want to lead me on.”

Jay watched as Jungwon glanced down from his gaze, nodding faintly as if confirming the realization to himself. “It was also my fault. I was too delusional to see that you were setting those boundaries. I understand that now.”

Jay wanted Jungwon to get mad at him. To cry. Anything. 

Anything other than the smile he’s putting on his face like he just hadn’t experienced a heartbreaking day.

He didn’t understand why Jungwon, who had every reason to resent him after all the harsh things he’d said, was trying so hard to act strong, to appear unaffected. 

He wanted Jungwon to lash out. If he did, maybe Jay wouldn’t feel this crushing guilt. Maybe he wouldn’t feel this sudden, irrational urge to take back his rejection.

And to make things worse, at that very moment, Jay realized he had grown soft for Jungwon.

He didn’t know when it started. He didn’t know why. Maybe it was the first time he actually had a conversation with Jungwon during their second tutoring session, maybe it was during his recital. 

No one really knows. 

But somewhere along the way, he had begun to care about Jungwon, about his feelings, about the way his smile trembled at the edges.

Jay didn’t like this discovery.

“We’re still okay though…right?”

Jay parted his lips to respond, his gaze locking with Jungwon’s still-glistening eyes. The pause stretched longer than he intended.

Are they really okay?

“...Yeah. We’re okay.”

Jungwon smiled warmly at him, though it looked fragile up close. His gaze drifted toward his guitar as he placed it carefully inside its case and slipped the strap over his shoulder. Jay could tell that Jungwon wanted to leave. To escape the suffocating tension and the awkward air hanging between them.

“Jungwon.”

“...Yes?”

“Wait for me.”

buzz buzz

Jay’s eyes flew open as he stared blankly at the ceiling, still adjusting to the harsh brightness of sunlight slipping through the gaps in the blinds. The shrill ringing of his alarm echoed through the room, but he couldn’t bring himself to move.

Jungwon’s sudden confession the day before yesterday replayed in his mind—the entire scene looping relentlessly, as if his dream had refused to let it rest and wanted him to suffer.

He dragged himself to the bathroom and splashed water onto his face, as though he could wash away the memory. The way Jungwon had looked. The way his dream had distorted that final moment, turning it into something else entirely. As if his subconscious had urged him to say those words.

‘Wait for me.’

Wait for what, exactly?

He splashed water more aggressively this time, then shut off the faucet with a sharp twist. Gripping the edges of the sink, lowering his head, and his knuckles whitening against the cold porcelain.

—

Jay

Hey

It's 9:30

Dimpled devil

Oh, hey Jay hyung

Sorry, I can't go today

My fingers aren't really in great shape 😅

Jay

Oh

Ok

Just tell heeseung if you want to reschedule

Dimple Devil

Mhm

Hyung, if you’re thinking I’m doing this to avoid you for

you know

what happened

I’m not, ok?

My fingers are just really calloused from the guitar then the violin then the guitar

Ok i’m oversharing again

Sorry 😅

Jay

Okay.

Jay lets out a deep sigh as he turns off his phone, sinking back into the sofa like he has been doing for the past few days.

Ever since that day, even he is aware that he’s been acting like someone who had the life sucked out of them. 

He finds himself sighing louder and more often than necessary, getting distracted while tutoring his other tutees, and staying cooped up in his room most of the time, either sighing endlessly or sleeping—completely neglecting his unfinished thesis.

Heeseung watches the familiar scene and shakes his head.

“Hey, you need to eat,” he says, a little louder than usual, glancing at Jay, who still doesn’t bother moving.

Heeseung sets a plate with a perfectly decent-looking sandwich on the kitchen island. The faint clack of porcelain against the marble countertop rings in Jay’s ears, finally making him look up and drag himself toward it. He even slaps his cheeks lightly, as if trying to pull himself together.

As the exhausted-looking Jay approaches, the scrumptious, neat focaccia sandwich almost mocks the disastrous state he seems to be in.

Jay didn’t even know Heeseung could still afford to buy or make a focaccia sandwich, considering their tight budget, but he wouldn’t complain.

At this point, they’ve practically forgotten they even own a four-seater dining table. With how often they eat at the kitchen island or the coffee table in the living room, the dining table has become nothing more than decoration.

And once again, Jay lets out a deep sigh as he takes a bite from the mocking sandwich.

Heeseung mentally facepalms at the dramatic sighs his roommate keeps letting out, the loud scrape of the stool against the floor, and the lazy, obnoxious chewing that follows. He lets out a low, frustrated groan.

“Fucking hell.”

“What? What is it?” Jay asks while throwing innocent glances at him with lazy eyes, like a puppy waiting for its owner to notice how behaved they are to give them a treat, while Heeseung looks dangerously close to losing his patience.

“Can you stop making unnecessary noises? Especially when you chew, please,” Heeseung says, emphasizing the word please while flashing a smile that is obviously fake and doesn’t reach his eyes.

Jay clears his throat and, thankfully, chews quietly this time. Unfortunately, the chewing becomes painfully slow and deliberate instead, which makes Heeseung groan.

“Get out.” Heeseung snaps. “Get out!!”

Jay blinks in slight surprise at the sudden raise in Heeseung’s voice.

“No.” 

“Then why are you acting this way? Why are you torturing me?! What’s the matter with you?!”

Bingo.

Jay quickly gathers himself now that Heeseung has asked the question he’s been waiting for, even clearing his throat for a reason only he could understand.

“...Did he reschedule?” Jay asks in a low, slow voice before taking a small nibble from his sandwich.

Heeseung only blinks at him, his mouth slightly open in confusion, something between disbelief and annoyance.

“What? What the hell are you talking about?”

Jay simply stares at him innocently before tilting his head toward the guitar resting against the wall, silently expecting Heeseung to connect the dots.

“What about your guit—…Ah. Jungwon?” Heeseung mutters under his breath as realization dawns on him, making Jay raise an eyebrow as the older scoffs and shakes his head. 

Heeseung mentally slaps himself, as if he’s just discovered the most obvious solution to a problem he couldn’t figure out before. 

“He said he’ll come on Friday evening.”

Jay’s brows knit together at the mention of Friday. 

“Isn’t he a library volunteer on Fridays?” he mutters, his grip on the sandwich loosening slightly.

“What?”

“Nothing.” Jay takes another bite of his sandwich and, thankfully, chews like a normal person this time before swallowing. 

Jay pressed his lips at how he remembers such a thing, like Jungwon’s volunteer work when he shouldn’t be caring this much. But then again, something changed. 

Across from him, Heeseung squints, watching how suspiciously weird Jay is acting.

After sharing the same space for almost their entire university life, Heeseung knows Jay like the back of his hand, one of it being his personality is usually grumpy or rational, but he has only seen Jay act this strange or act so coyly three times.

One: Jay wanted to know if the dean or professors had announced some sort of miracle like classes being cancelled.

Two: Heeseung had gone on a date, and Jay wanted to know about it. But instead of asking like a normal person, he’d approach him coyly like this, which only ended up annoying Heeseung.

Three: This.

Heeseung sighs and points a finger at him, his expression completely deadpan. “…You’re weird.”

Jay ignores him. He takes the final bite of his decent-looking sandwich and wipes the sauce from his fingers with a tissue from the dispenser beside him before picking up his phone and searching for something.

Heeseung notices and immediately scoots closer, hoping to catch a glimpse of whatever Jay is so busy with.

“Whatcha lookin’ at?”

“Get lost!”

The younger stands up and throws Heeseung a dirty look before taking a sip from his glass of water, which Heeseung watches with a teasing, lopsided smile. 

‘Okay, that’s the Jay I know,’ Heeseung thinks as he takes a sip from his glass of water, seeing the grumpy Jay he knew back like nothing had happened.

Jay heads to his room and drops into his swivel chair. He leans his head against the headrest, arms stretched out as he holds his phone in front of him, only to realize he’s completely forgotten what he was supposed to search for in the first place.

He sighs for the nth time and lets the phone fall onto his lap, lazily spinning the chair in slow semicircles. His eyes eventually land on a poster plastered on the wall, immediately putting his spinning to a halt.

A signed poster from his favorite singer.

One that Yang Jungwon got for him.

As much as he hates to admit it, he can still remember the exact day Jungwon gave it to him.

Almost ten months ago, it was Jay’s birthday when the event happened, one he had signed up for, the same event where Jungwon was volunteering.

Jay remembered signing up because it was a concert event for their university week featuring his favorite artist. He thought it would be the perfect opportunity to meet him backstage, which was why he didn’t mind volunteering even though it fell on the same day as his birthday. What he didn’t expect, however, was ending up at the same event as Jungwon.

What Jay also completely underestimated was the workload, which quickly shattered his fantasy of casually meeting his favorite artist behind the scenes.

Instead, Jay was assigned as an usher on the concert grounds—far away from backstage, where the artists actually were.

By the end of the night, his only interaction with his favorite artist was a quick group photo and a brief, formal handshake that felt like it disappeared the moment it happened.

He wasn’t exactly happy or satisfied with it.

But he supposed he was content enough. 

He got to hear his fav say his name. 

That’s enough.

Later that night, Jay waited at the bus stop just outside the campus grounds, unsure of what he was feeling other than pure exhaustion rather than thrill. The excitement he’d felt earlier and for the past few days leading up to the concert had completely burned out.

And as if on cue, a familiar voice called his name.

“Jay-hyung!”

Jay turned his head, sighing. “What?”

“Thank God you’re still here,” Jungwon said between breaths, slightly out of breath from running.

Jay frowned, his exhaustion taking over him so that he couldn’t afford to push the younger away like he usually does. “What is it?”

“I wanted to give you something.”

“I’m not exactly—”

“Ta-da! Happy birthday, hyung!”

Jungwon held out a rolled-up poster. Jay blinked.

Jay takes it with a raised brow, his expression slowly softening as he unrolls the poster. 

It was a poster of his favorite artist, a large signature sprawled across it, with a short message written neatly in the bottom corner.

“…It’s a signed poster.”

“Yes!” Jungwon beamed. “I knew he was your favorite artist, so when I learned that I was assigned backstage, I asked him to sign it for you. Happy birthday, Jay!”

Jay stared at the poster, then slowly looked up at Jungwon.

The younger was wearing that same infuriating bright smile he always had.

But that night, under the soft glow of the lamppost beside them, it looked…strangely different from infuriating...

…almost mesmerizing.

It has been 10 months since, and Jay finds himself smiling at the memory.

Then another realization quietly settles in.

Jungwon really did like him.

Not just a fleeting crush or a passing admiration like he had thought all these years. Jungwon had shown it, again and again, making genuine effort for him.

And somehow, that realization only makes Jay feel more guilty, the unfamiliar feeling in his stomach doing wonders that he couldn’t name.

He swallows the growing lump in his throat, his eyes drifting toward the mirror standing across the room. His thoughts snap back as he notices the faint stubble along his chin and upper lip.

He hasn’t even bothered shaving these past few days, all because he’s thinking of Jungwon. And because he ran out of shaving foam.

Jay stood up, determined to pick himself up and make himself look neat, removing the traces of how Jungwon infiltrated his brain the last few days up to the point he couldn’t take care of himself.

But then he sat back down, and opened his reddit account he left unopened for the last 2 years.

How to |

How t|

How|

H|

|

…

‘r/AskReddit’

‘How to make it less awkward with someone you just rejected?’

‘For context, there’s this guy who follows me around a lot, and I wasn’t really fond of him. In fact, I was annoyed, and I disliked him a lot. Until the past two weeks. For the first time, I felt… wrong?  Like I was able to appreciate him more, then I started thinking about him. Then, a few days ago, he just confessed to me out of nowhere. I rejected him because I still think I hated him, but I don’t really know now. He left me a text that he wasn’t avoiding me because of it, but I feel like he is. As someone who’s never approached him or initiated anything with him first, I don’t know what to do.’

…

‘What should I do?’ 

As if not to waste any more time on second thoughts, his thumb pressed the post button on his screen, the posted message staring directly at him. 

He waited for a good five minutes, his posture remaining unchanged, and when he finally accepted that no one had responded and that it was just too early, he sighed, placing the phone in his pocket as he grabbed his keys and wallet, heading out to grab a can of shaving foam. 

Hopefully, he’d look alive and well-maintained for the whole week.

—

“That would be seven dollars,” the attendant announced tiredly, snapping Jay out of his thoughts.

Jay blinked once, the words settling in, then sighed before reaching into his wallet and pulling out the exact amount as if he didn’t want to let his money go, eventually handing it over without a word. 

The soft clatter of the register followed, accompanied by a faint song playing somewhere in the convenience store, the sound barely filling the quiet space. His foot tapped idly against the tiled floor, a rhythm he didn’t quite notice himself keeping.

Aside from the shaving foam, he had picked up a cup of instant ramyeon for lunch. It wasn’t much of a choice, really.

He stuffed the receipt into his pocket and stepped out of the store, the small plastic bag rustling in his hand. 

Jay barely makes it a few steps before a familiar voice calls out to him, a voice he misses dearly.

“Jongseong-ah!”

Jay froze mid-step.

For a second, he didn’t move. Then slowly, he turned around, his eyes widening at the familiar figure approaching him. Something in his chest loosened at the sight, warmth spreading before he could stop it. His mother reached him in seconds, arms already open, pulling him into a tight embrace.

“Mom?” he said, the word coming out softer than he intended.

He pulled back just enough to look at her, as if to make sure she was really there. His expression eased, the tension in his shoulders slipping away. “What are you doing here?”

“You’re my son,” she replied with a small smile. “Do I need permission to see you?”

Her hands rested briefly on his shoulders before her gaze drifted downward, landing on the plastic bag he was holding. The thin material did little to hide the contents inside. The cup of instant ramyeon peeked through, and her smile softened in a way that made something twist uncomfortably in his chest.

Jay noticed.

Almost instinctively, he shifted the bag behind him, the motion subtle but not enough to go unnoticed.

“Come on,” she said gently. “Let’s grab dinner together.”

The words settled over him more heavily than they should have.

Jay felt it then, that sudden lift in his chest, unfamiliar after days of living off on instant meals and whatever he could manage on his own. Something warm, almost fragile, spread through him at the thought of real food, of not having to worry, even if just for a while. So, he nodded.

The restaurant wasn’t far, only a couple of blocks away, but the walk felt longer than it should have.

His mother talked beside him, her voice light, filling the space between them with easy questions, the kind she had always asked. Nothing had changed in the way she spoke, and yet Jay found himself hesitating before every answer, but he’d respond anyway.

Carefully. Casually.

Each word measured, each detail adjusted, shaped into something that sounded more put together than it really was.

The further they walked, the heavier it sat in his chest.

His mother had always been like this, warm, attentive, talkative in a way that used to comfort him without question.

Now, it only made things harder.

Because lying to her, of all people, was the one thing he never quite learned how to do.

A few minutes later, Jay finds himself stepping into a Korean-owned restaurant, the kind that serves familiar dishes without trying too hard to impress.

Like his mother already knew where to take him. A taste of home.

The interior is simple but unmistakably familiar. It reminds him of the places he used to pass by in Itaewon, with posters of Korean celebrities lining one wall, faces he half-recognizes promoting brands he never paid attention to. Across from it, another wall is filled with signatures, a mix of local and foreign names layered over each other, proof of people who had once stopped by and left a piece of themselves behind.

The space is filled with quiet chatter, voices blending together in different accents and languages. The scent of roasted sesame and pork belly lingers in the air, warm and heavy, settling somewhere deep in his chest. His stomach reacts before he can think, tightening, almost impatient.

It has been a while since he last ate something like this.

They find a table without much trouble. Jay slips into his seat across from his mother, who doesn’t hesitate to order for him. He doesn’t need to ask what she picked. He knew that his mom knew that he loved Jajangmyeon.

The dish arrives sooner than expected, steam rising from the bowl in soft curls.

His mother picks up her chopsticks, twirling the glossy noodles with practiced ease before taking a small, careful bite. In contrast, Jay doesn’t bother.

He leans forward slightly and takes a mouthful, slurping the noodles without thinking twice, the warmth and richness hitting him all at once. There’s no attempt to be composed, no effort to match his mother’s quiet grace.

He eats like he hasn’t had this in months! 

…Well, maybe it’s because he hasn’t.

Across from him, his mother watches with a fond smile, something soft settling in her expression, like she’s looking at someone much younger than the person sitting in front of her now.

“How are your guitar sessions holding up?” she asks, her voice gentle against the low hum of the restaurant. A K-pop song plays faintly in the background, unfamiliar, blending into the noise of conversations and clinking utensils.

Jay pauses.

Just a second too long.

The smell, the warmth, the familiarity of it all had been enough to steady him, but the question pulled him somewhere else entirely. Back to the past few days, to everything he’s been trying not to think about.

It sits there, at the edge of his chest.

Heavy. Waiting.

“It’s fine,” he says after swallowing, clearing his throat as he reaches for a napkin and wipes the corner of his mouth. The motion is quick, almost careless, though not enough to hide the slight tremor in his hand. He lifts the back of his palm briefly, brushing it against his upper lip before lowering it again.

“I’m currently teaching four people.”

“Oh?” His mother’s brows lift slightly, interest flickering across her face. “How does that work?”

“It’s alternate,” Jay explains, picking up his chopsticks again, though his movements have slowed. “Heeseung handles my schedule… two every other day, then two different people the next day. One in the morning, one in the afternoon.”

He reaches for his glass, taking a small sip. The cool water settles him, if only a little.

“It’s a bit exhausting, but…” He pauses, eyes dropping briefly to his bowl. “It’s fulfilling. It fills our stomachs.”

His mother nods, a quiet sense of pride softening her expression. “That’s good.”

The conversation fades after that, easing into a silence that isn’t quite empty. Around them, voices rise and fall, laughter slipping in between, utensils clinking softly against metal. The music becomes harder to distinguish, blending into the background noise.

It isn’t awkward, but it isn’t entirely comfortable either.

Something unspoken lingers between them, subtle but present, and Jay feels it. Feels like he should say something. Anything.

But starting a conversation feels different when he knows he can’t say what actually matters. When he has to hold parts of himself back, keep them tucked away where they won’t reach her.

So instead, he clears his throat.

“…How’s Dad?” he asks finally, his voice careful, eyes fixed on his bowl. “Is he still, you know… mad?”

His mother exhales softly, setting her chopsticks down as a small smile forms on her lips.

“If only you knew,” she says gently.

Jay doesn’t look up.

“I’m not saying you have to understand him,” she continues, her tone steady, patient. “But he just wants you to realize that money doesn’t grow on trees. Especially after recklessly purchasing that 7-stringed guitar.” She pauses, her gaze softening. “He’s actually very pleased to see you working this hard. Especially using your talents to support yourself.”

Jay lets out a quiet scoff. Not loud. Not sharp. Just enough to show he doesn’t believe it.

“I don’t know why he scolds you every time you visit,” she adds, a faint, almost amused smile appearing. “He’s always the one complaining about missing you when you leave.”

“Yeah, right,” Jay mutters, pushing his noodles around his bowl, the earlier hunger fading into something duller, heavier.

“Like I’d believe that someone who treats affection like a liability actually thinks that way.”

“Hon,” his mother says softly, the word gentle but firm at the same time. Her hand reaches for his. Jay flinches, just slightly, at the contact.

“He’s trying, alright?”

Jay froze.

For a moment, he doesn’t respond. Then he exhales, the tension in his shoulders easing just a fraction.

“I know,” he says quietly, the edge in his voice softening. “And I know he’s changed compared to how he was before…”

He trails off, gaze lowering further.

“I just… can’t help thinking about how I’d be different if he had raised me differently.” The words linger longer than he expects. “If… i-if you were the one who got to stay at home instead of dad.”

Memories from his childhood begin to surface, slow and uninvited.

He sees his mother coming home late from her hospital shifts, her steps quieter than usual, exhaustion written in the way her shoulders sagged. His father would already be there, a man of routine, having just returned from his nine-to-five job, his presence filling the house in a way that never quite felt warm.

There were nights his father would fix him a meal.

They would sit at the table in silence, the only sound coming from utensils against plates. No questions. No attempts to know how his day went. No effort to reach across the space between them.

Just quiet.

Jay remembers how rarely his father smiled at him, how distant he always seemed, like someone observing rather than participating.

And he remembers the words more than anything else.

He could still remember how his father had warned him that having a crush, liking someone, was a weakness for someone his age. The same man who said that was the one who claimed to love his mother.

How ironic.

He had been twelve when he first heard it, and somehow, the words stayed.

They settled somewhere deep, shaping something in him that he never quite learned how to undo.

Now, as the thoughts pile over each other—regret, guilt, questions he can’t fully form—another image slips in where it doesn’t belong.

Jungwon.

Brief. Fleeting. Like a memory that surfaces out of place.

If that were the case… maybe I wouldn’t be so afraid of affection. 

The thought lingers longer than the rest. 

He realizes, maybe too late, that Jungwon isn’t hard to love.

He’s easy in a way that doesn’t demand effort. Bright without trying. Like something you only recognize the absence of once it’s gone.

Jay thinks back to the first time he saw him, how his presence felt oddly refreshing, even when he found him loud, overstepping, too much at times—but maybe that was never the problem.

Maybe the problem was that Jay never learned what to do with something like that.

If he had been taught how to hold affection instead of avoiding it, how to return it instead of pushing it away, maybe things would have been different.

Maybe he wouldn’t have pushed Jungwon away.

Maybe he wouldn’t be sitting here now, caught in something he doesn’t know how to name, trying to make sense of feelings he doesn’t fully understand.

Across the table, his mother watches him. Her eyes glisten, softening as she takes in the subtle changes. Jay’s shoulders tensed, his movements slowing, the way his attention drifts somewhere far from the space between them.

“I’m sorry, Jongseong-ah,” she says quietly. “I’m sorry you felt that way.”

Jay blinks, the words pulling him back.

“No, Mom,” he replies quickly, shaking his head. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up. You are a good mother to me. It’s just… it’s just—”

The words fall apart before they can fully form. Something in his chest gives.

He hadn’t meant to make her cry.

Not now. Not ever.

Tears formed in his eyes, blurring his vision as he watched his mother lift her hand, gently wiping the tear that slips down her cheek. A quiet sniffle follows, soft but enough to make his chest tighten.

Jay has always hated seeing his mother cry.

Even as a child, he held onto the belief that she should always be happy. That she should always feel loved.

Maybe it came from the distance, from the nights she came home exhausted from her shift at the clinic, yet still found the strength to tuck him into bed, to read him stories with tired eyes that never once made him feel like a burden.

She never made him feel small.

He had always been her Jongseong. Her boy.

Someone she loved without hesitation.

And in his own way, he had decided early on that he would protect that. That he would be the one to make sure she never felt hurt.

But now… Now he’s the one who caused it.

Not with anger.

Not with intention.

But with something far worse.

His own words.

“Why are you crying?” Jay blurts out, his voice breaking as tears finally slip down his cheeks. “I should be the one crying.”

For a moment, everything feels too much.

Then his mother lets out a soft laugh.

It’s quiet, gentle, but enough to ease something in him. When he looks at her again, her expression has softened back into something familiar, something steady.

“Jongseong-ah,” she calls softly.

Jay meets her gaze, his vision still blurred, but he can feel it—the warmth in the way she looks at him, the quiet reassurance that nothing he said has changed the way she sees him.

“From now on,” she continues, “tell me if you’re having a hard time. You may be in college now, living on your own…”

Her hand tightens around his slightly.

“But you’re still my child,” she pauses. “My Jongseong-ie.”

Her voice pulls him back. And just like before, he hesitates.

The moment lingers for a second too long, but it passes, softened by the way the conversation shifts. It moves into something easier, something familiar—how good the food is, how much they missed home, how nothing ever quite compares to his grandmother’s kimchi.

Small things. Safe things. Fragments of a childhood he hasn’t let himself think about in a while.

Time slips by without him noticing, but the weight in his chest doesn’t follow. It stays, quiet but persistent, showing in the way his movements slow, in the way his thoughts drift again.

He twirls his noodles absentmindedly, watching them wrap around his chopsticks, tightening before slipping loose again. Over and over. As if repeating the motion might buy him more time.

“…Actually, Mom,” he mutters, clearing his throat. “Can I—uh… can my friend ask for your advice?”

Her expression softens almost immediately, like she’s been waiting. “Of course, hon.”

Jay reaches up, scratching the back of his neck. 

“There’s this friend of mine,” he starts, already aware of how it sounds. The words feel awkward the moment they leave him.

“He was… kind of a jerk to someone who likes him. A lot.” He pauses, jaw tightening slightly. “But lately, he’s been thinking about that person more. Caring more, too… and now he doesn’t really know what to do.”

He glances up, hesitant. His mother is smiling. Not amused. Just… knowing.

“Sounds like a changed man,” she says lightly, leaning forward, her chin resting against her clasped hands. “Do I know this friend?”

Jay nearly chokes.

“N-not sure,” he says quickly. “I don’t think so.”

She hums, tilting her head just slightly. “Why is he a jerk?”

Jay looks down again, his attention shifting to the now-cooling jajangmyeon in front of him.

“He’s… pushing him away,” he says quietly, like the words aren’t meant to be heard. “Calling him things he shouldn’t. And… other stuff.”

“Why the sudden change of heart?”

Her gaze doesn’t leave him. Jay exhales slowly, shoulders sinking just a little.

“I don’t know,” he admits. “But it’s hard for him because… he already rejected him.” He clears his throat, the words catching slightly. “He says he doesn’t know what to do, but he knows he wants to start over with… him.”

The sentence hangs there, and Jay waits.

But when he finally looks up, all he’s met with is that same soft gaze, that same quiet smile. His chest tightens.

“Do you like this person, Jay?”

The question lands exactly where it should.

“I don’t know,” he blurts out too quickly. “I mean—he doesn’t know—” 

He stops. The realization hits him mid-sentence.

The way he’s rambling. The way his thoughts spill over, unfiltered, unsteady.

It feels familiar. Too familiar.

He groans under his breath, dragging a hand down his face.

“Okay,” he exhales. “You got me.”

His mother chuckles softly.

“You know,” she says, “whenever someone starts with ‘a friend,’ they’re usually talking about themselves.” A small pause. “And besides, I’m your mother. I already had a feeling.”

Jay leans back in his seat, the tension in him easing just slightly.

Defeated. But lighter.

Something in his chest aches at the thought, and for a brief moment, he lets himself smile.

It’s small. Fleeting. Almost fragile.

“I don’t know how liking someone like that feels.”

The honesty slips out before he can stop it.

He exhales, rubbing his face again, but this time there’s less resistance in the motion. Across from him, his mother reaches out, her hand resting gently over his.

Warm. Steady.

“You did put yourself in a difficult position,” she says kindly. “But if you really care about this person, you should let them feel it. Let them see that you’ve changed.”

Jay listens. Quiet. Focused.

“Don’t force him to start over right away,” she continues. “Give him space. But at the same time, show him through your actions that you care now.”

A small pause.

“Prove it.”

The words settle deeper than he expects, sinking somewhere he can’t easily ignore.

—

When Jay gets home, the quiet greets him first.

It fills the space almost immediately. Familiar. But heavier tonight.

He slips off his shoes near the door without thinking, leaving them slightly out of place, and walks toward his room. The plastic bag slides off his hands with a dull thud against his desk.

For a moment, he just stands there. Then, almost instinctively, he reaches for his phone. The screen lights up his face in the dim room.

Notifications. More than he expected.

His thumb hovers for half a second before he taps in.

He didn’t think anyone would actually care enough to answer.

And yet, there they were. Replies. More than he expected.

Jay sits and shifts slightly on his chair, phone resting in his hand as the screen lights up his face in the dim room. His thumb hovers for a moment before scrolling.

enjini01234: Oh, you’re f*cked. But I think what you should do is pretty obvious.

A quiet huff leaves him, the corner of his lips twitching despite himself.

“Great,” he mutters. “Very helpful.”

He scrolls.

rumixjackfrosttruther: Are you a dude? I feel like you’re a dude.

Jay blinks.

“…What does that even have to do with anything?” he murmurs, brows pulling together as he leans back against his chair, the wood creaking softly under his weight.

Another one.

lhsoong: Lol, you’re going through the same thing as my good ol’ friend. But my advice? Come to terms with your feelings first. Once you get a clear sense of what or how you’re feeling, decide what to do from there. If you like him, let him know. If you don’t, let him know. But regardless, you should still apologize because the poor guy was probably hurt—even if he was smiling while you were being a dumbass and an asshole to him these past three years. Man up, friend. ;-D

Jay stills.

The faint amusement on his face fades, replaced by something quieter as his eyes linger on the last few lines

“...even if he was smiling…”

The memory comes back too easily.

Jungwon’s smile—steady, almost reassuring.

Jay’s grip on his phone tightens just a little.

“…Dumbass and an asshole,” he repeats under his breath, the words settling somewhere uncomfortable, heavier than they should be.

His gaze drifts back to the username.

Lhsoong.

He squints slightly.

“…hsoong…”

He pauses.

“…Heeseung—” The realization clicks. “Fuck you, Heeseung!” Jay blurts out, his voice cutting through the quiet of the house, louder than he meant.

“It’s great advice!” comes the immediate reply from outside his room, muffled through the door, his tone far too amused.

Jay closes his eyes for a second, already regretting everything.

He rolls them anyway, staring back at his screen before letting out a quiet exhale, dragging a hand down his face.

Annoying. But, not wrong.

ꕥ

The number you have dialed is—

“He’s not responding.” 

Two weeks have passed since the day Jungwon confessed to Jay, leaving him and his thoughts in a mess. Jay is certain that Jungwon is avoiding him.

He should’ve known. Jungwon not showing up for their last session should’ve been a clear sign.

Usually, the younger would greet him, wait for him at the campus entrance, and walk with him, which was before Jay started realizing that Jungwon was someone he wanted in his life and given a chance to start over.

Now, it just feels odd to enter the campus without the smiley, dimpled devil waiting for him, walking beside him, and following him to class before leaving him alone. Jay could honestly laugh at how the tables had turned.

Looking at his phone, with Dimpled Devil flashing across the screen, Jay let out a huff and ran a hand down his face, slight frustration evident on his features.

If he had known that things would end up like this, he wouldn’t have—

…What wouldn’t he have done?

If things had stayed the way they were before, if Heeseung hadn’t dragged Jungwon into those guitar sessions, Jay probably wouldn’t have given him a second thought.

It would've been easier that way. 

But now, he knows what Jungwon is like when he laughs too loudly, when he talks without thinking, when he looks at him like he means it.

And somehow, that’s the problem.

Because going back to being cold, distant, and borderline unbearable doesn’t feel as simple as it used to.

Not when he’s already seen what he’d be turning away from.

Jay exhales quietly, leaning back slightly.

Jungwon had already slipped past whatever walls he spent years building. Not all at once, not dramatically—just little by little, until one day, Jay realized there wasn’t much left standing.

And rebuilding it? Yeah. No.

The thought made him frown. Besides, he’s not even sure he wants to.

Which leaves him with one very inconvenient conclusion. If his calls won’t go through, then fine. 

He’ll just have to be a little more persistent.

Jay glances down at his phone, already dialing a certain cousin’s number, anticipation settling in whether he likes it or not. He sits on the bench outside his department’s building, one leg bouncing restlessly as his hands stay tucked inside his university jacket pockets. His backpack hangs off one shoulder, barely held in place.

He pulls his cap lower, covering most of his face.

Not that it helps much.

A few people passing by slow down just enough to glance at him, their looks lingering a second too long, but Jay ignores them.

He’s got more important things to deal with.

“Yo?”

Jay jerks upright the second Jake’s voice comes through, nearly dropping his phone in the process. He clears his throat quickly, trying (and failing) to smooth over the sudden rush of energy.

“Do you know where Jungwon is?”

There’s a pause. Then Jake laughs. “What happened to hi and hello?”

“Do you know which department Jungwon’s in? Or his major?” Jay pushes on, completely ignoring him.

On the other end, Jake exhales like he’s already tired.

“Isn’t he in liberal arts?”

“Is he? What’s his major?”

“I’m not sure,” Jake admits, and Jay’s shoulders visibly slump, whatever hope he had deflating a little. “Why? You looking for him?”

“Yeah. I need to talk to him.”

“Hm.” Jake hums thoughtfully. “I don’t know his major, but I can ask Hoonie.”

Jay physically cringes at the nickname, already picturing the exact expression Jake probably has right now.

Way too smiley.

Way too fond.

“But what I do know,” Jake continues, “is that he’s in rehearsals right now. With Hoon.”

Jay straightens almost instantly. “Rehearsals?”

“Yeah, he’s part of the college orchestra. Didn’t you know that?” Jake’s tone carries that annoying hint of amusement, like he can somehow feel Jay’s reaction through the phone.

Jay frowns. “Would I be asking if I knew that?”

Jake laughs—loud, unapologetic, and very much getting on his nerves.

“Geez. Would it kill you to answer me properly?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” Jay shoots back. “Anyway, thanks.”

He hangs up before Jake can respond, already hearing the distant echo of complaints he doesn’t care enough to listen to.

No time for that.

He needs to find Jungwon. Fast.

Jay wastes no time dialing another number, pacing slightly as it rings. It barely takes a second before the call connects.

“Jay?”

“Hey, Hoon. I, uh…” He clears his throat again, suddenly aware of how dry it feels. “Jake said you’re in rehearsal. Did I call at a bad time?”

“Not really,” Sunghoon replies calmly. “I’m not rehearsing right now, but I’m with the orchestra. Why?”

“Oh.” Jay pauses, heart picking up for no good reason. “Then—can you tell me where practice is being held?”

There’s a brief silence.

Just long enough to make Jay overthink it.

“Why?” Sunghoon asks. “Do you want to watch?”

“Uh—yeah. Yes.”

“Oh. Okay.” A beat. “We’re in the studio at the music department building. You know where that is, right?”

“Yeah. Thanks, Hoon.”

“No problem. I’ll wait for you at the entrance so you can get in.”

The call ends, and Jay is already moving.

The building isn’t far—three minutes at most—but his mind doesn’t seem to care about that. It runs ahead of him, spiraling into every possible scenario before he even gets there.

What is he supposed to say?

What if Jungwon ignores him?

What if he doesn’t—

…What if he doesn’t like him anymore?

He exhales sharply, shaking the thought off, though it lingers anyway. His chest tightens slightly. How annoying. 

He barely notices he’s arrived until—

“Hey. You good?”

Sunghoon stands in front of him, composed as ever, dressed in a white shirt layered under a black collared bomber jacket, paired with slacks and polished Doc Martens. There’s an ease to the way he carries himself—quiet, effortless, like everything about him is intentional.

Jay, on the other hand, looks at the plain shirt he’s wearing. Then at his university jacket. Then at the same pants from yesterday. His cap pulled low.

He glances around.

Most of the students nearby look… put together. Not flashy, but polished. Some in soft, flowy pieces, others with a kind of understated edge, as they belong onstage even when they’re not.

And then there’s him.

Looking like he accidentally walked into the wrong building.

“Don’t worry. You’re not out of place.”

Jay looks back at Sunghoon, brows pulling together slightly.

He didn’t say anything.

Sunghoon’s expression remains the same. Calm and unreadable.

“A lot of music majors have practical midterm exams today,” he explains. “They're required to dress a bit more formally.”

“Oh. How about you? Do you have practical exams as well?" 

"No. This is just how I dress."

Jay nods, the tension easing just a little as he processes that. Makes sense. “…Right.”

“Come on,” Sunghoon says, already turning. “Let’s go.”

The two make their way up a flight of stairs, footsteps echoing faintly against the walls, before heading down the hallway toward the last room at the end. 

With every step, Jay feels it creeping back. That same uneasy twist in his stomach. The kind that doesn’t go away, no matter how much he tries to ignore it.

He exhales slowly, trying to steady himself, and lets his gaze drift forward instead. Sunghoon walks a few steps ahead, posture relaxed, completely unaffected—like this is just another normal day for him.

Meanwhile, Jay feels like he’s about to walk into something that could determine how his life will turn out after. No pressure.

He lets out another breath, deeper this time.

It’s enough to catch Sunghoon’s attention. He glances back, one brow lifting slightly while Jay shakes his head quickly.

“I’m fine.” He’s not convincing. Not even a little.

“Oh, right.” Sunghoon stops just in front of the door and turns to face him fully. One hand slips into his jacket pocket while the other rests on the handle. His expression stays as unreadable as ever.

“Don’t distract them too much,” he says calmly. “Especially Jungwon.”

Jay feels the heat crawl up his neck almost instantly.

He’s not entirely sure what he’s more embarrassed about—the idea of distracting an entire orchestra, or the way Jungwon’s name alone is enough to throw him off.

“R-right.”

Sunghoon studies him for a second before a lazy smirk forms on his face.

“Jake told me about it.”

Jay freezes.

“And Jungwon hasn’t exactly been subtle about his crush on you,” Sunghoon continues, a small smirk finally breaking through his usual blank expression. “So I think I have a pretty good idea why you’re here.”

That does it. Jay is sure his face is burning now.

Sunghoon doesn’t say anything else. He just pushes the door open, and faint music spills out into the hallway, soft but clear enough to make Jay’s chest tighten for an entirely different reason.

Before stepping aside, Sunghoon glances at him once more.

“Good luck.”

Yeah. Jay’s going to need it.

—

“Dismissed. Don’t forget to practice and be on time tomorrow.”

The maestro’s voice cuts cleanly through the room, followed by a wave of quiet relief—soft sighs, chairs shifting, instruments being packed away.

All of it feels distant to Jungwon.

He lowers his gaze to his music sheet, fingers moving to close it, ready to leave with everyone else—

“Especially… some people could use extra practice.”

The words aren’t shouted. But they don’t need to be.

Jungwon stills.

Ah. So that’s how it is.

A quiet sigh leaves him, his grip on the paper tightening just enough to crumple the edge. Around him, people begin to move—some tapping his shoulder on the way out, offering quick goodbyes, small praises.

“You did well today.”

“See you tomorrow.”

Jungwon nods, smiles, and doesn’t say much. 

He keeps his eyes on the sheet in front of him, even when the room starts to empty. 

He knows he hasn’t been at his best lately. Between midterms, everything piling up, and—well. Everything else. Still, he didn’t think it had gotten this obvious. Obvious enough to be called out. Again.

Jungwon presses his lips together slightly.

Being scolded is one thing. Being scolded in front of everyone? Yeah. Not his favorite experience.

He doesn’t notice how long he’s been sitting there until a hand lands lightly on his shoulder.

Jungwon blinks, looking up. “Jungwon. You’re not leaving?”

It was Sunghoon, of course. His favorite senior from the orchestra.

“I’ll practice a bit more,” Jungwon says, voice steady enough.

Sunghoon hums, a small smile tugging at his lips, the kind that says he already knows what’s going on. Which is… mildly concerning.

For Jungwon, Sunghoon had quickly become more than just a senior. Somewhere along the way, he turned into something closer to a brother—someone who shows up, uninvited sometimes, but always at the right time.

Annoyingly reliable.

“Was it because of what Grace said?” Jungwon physically flinches. Very subtle. But not subtle enough, and Sunghoon’s expression shifts just slightly. 

When Jungwon makes no move to get up, Sunghoon pulls a stool closer and sits beside him, leaning just enough to get a better look at his face. The usual cool, composed demeanor softens, something quieter settling in.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Jungwon says automatically, almost immediately.

“…I just don’t want to slow everyone down.”

“You aren’t,” Sunghoon replies without hesitation. “And you need to rest too.” His gaze sharpens slightly. “You haven’t been sleeping.”

Jungwon gives him a tight-lipped smile… Busted. It feels oddly similar to getting caught sneaking into the kitchen as a kid.

“Take a break,” Sunghoon continues. “Or I’ll ask your halmeoni if you’ve been sleeping properly.” Jungwon groans, dropping his head slightly.

“Please don’t.”

He still has no idea how Sunghoon managed to get his grandmother’s contact details. Or why he uses them so freely. Or why his halmeoni is so willing to cooperate. It’s a little concerning, but also kind of nice.

“What?” Sunghoon says, unfazed. “I’m your senior. That basically makes me your dad.”

Jungwon lets out a small laugh despite himself, shaking his head.

“What nonsense.”

His shoulders feel lighter now, the tension easing just a bit. Even his dimples make a brief appearance.

“Okay. I’ll rest.”

“I’m serious.” Jungwon laughs again, reaching out to lightly press between Sunghoon’s brows, smoothing out the crease there without thinking. “Relax.” 

Sunghoon huffs a quiet laugh, letting it slide. But as he stands, that familiar composure slips back into place almost instantly.

Then he leans down slightly, closer to Jungwon’s ear, and whispers something.

Jungwon freezes. A small, involuntary gulp follows.

“Also, don’t avoid him,” Sunghoon says casually, like he’s commenting on the weather.

Jungwon already knows who he means.

Jay. Of course.

The same Jay who is currently standing near the door like he’s trying very hard to look like he’s not waiting for something important, even though he absolutely is.

“You never know,” Sunghoon continues, patting Jungwon’s shoulder lightly. “It might give you the peace of mind you’ve been looking for.”

Jungwon looks up just in time to catch Sunghoon giving him a small, knowing wink, and before Jungwon can protest, Sunghoon is already walking away. 

“Hey—wait—” 

...Too late.

Jungwon barely has time to panic before Jay starts walking toward him.

Directly. Calmly. Like, he didn’t just rearrange Jungwon’s entire emotional stability by existing in the same room.

Jungwon straightens immediately, his brain briefly considering several escape routes that all somehow lead to nowhere.

He wants to tell Sunghoon to come back. To stay. To not leave him alone in this situation. But his voice doesn’t cooperate. Neither does his heart.

“Are you going to avoid me forever?” 

Jay’s voice lands first. Simple. Direct. Way too calm for Jungwon’s current internal chaos. Then Jungwon blinks.

“…Hi, Jay-hyung.” 

Jay doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, he takes the stool Sunghoon was sitting on, settling into it as if he belongs there, and suddenly, Jungwon forgets how to function. It’s ridiculous.

Jay isn’t even doing anything dramatic. He’s just sitting there, looking at him, waiting. But somehow that’s worse. 

Jungwon stares at his music sheet as if it suddenly holds the answers to life. He forgot how heavy silence could feel. He also forgot how close Jay feels when he’s this near. Which is ironic, considering he used to like that feeling. 

Right now, though, it’s a problem.

A very distracting one.

A very unfair one.

The younger shifts his focus to flipping his music sheet back to the first page, hoping to look like he’s practicing and maybe even impress Jay a little with how serious and professional he is.

Though Jay doesn’t buy it. Instead, he finds it endearing.

Jay exhales softly, his lips forming a small smile as he notices how Jungwon is looking everywhere but him.

“Don’t tell me you’re not avoiding me,” he says.

“I-I wasn’t!” Jungwon immediately responds, eyes widening as he finally turns to Jay, who now looks satisfied to finally see him after weeks. “I was just busy and…”

Jungwon presses his lips together, his gaze shyly meeting Jay’s. Jay raises a brow, as if urging him to continue, even though he already seems to have figured it out.

“Yes, I was avoiding you.”

There’s no use lying, Jungwon thinks.

“Are you mad?”

Jay chuckles, low and warm—the kind Jungwon could listen to every day. “No. Seeing you do well is enough.”

Jungwon blinks. “Uh… I could say the same.”

There it is again, that familiar silence they used to have when Jay would pause after playing his guitar and Jungwon would just sit there, listening and admiring him.

Jungwon knows he’s always been good at reading people, and right now, he can tell Jay isn’t here just to watch them.

“What are you really doing here, hyung? I doubt you just wanted to watch.”

“Uh…” Jay hesitates, clearing his throat as he shifts his gaze from Jungwon to the music sheet, landing on a familiar name as if it were an escape from the question—which, for a moment, works. “Is this Tchaikovsky?”

Jungwon’s eyes sparkle. “You know Tchaikovsky?”

“Of course. One of the few.”

Jay glances back at Jungwon, who suddenly leans forward slightly, excitement slipping through his calm demeanor.

“Oh, do you want to hear me play?”

“Yes!” Jay answers almost immediately, a little too enthusiastically, before clearing his throat to tone it down. “Impress me.”

Jungwon lets out a small breath, straightening in his seat as his fingers hover over his violin. The moment he begins to play the first note of Tchaikovsky’s Serenade for Strings in C Major, Op. 48, the room seems to be quiet around them, the notes flowing smoothly, filling the space between them with something soft and heavy all at once.

As Jungwon decides to finish half of the piece, he was a bit proud of himself as this was one of the best runs he’d ever had for the past few rehearsals, so he expects it was enough to impress Jay hopefully, so Jungwon waits.

But a second passes… Then another… No response.

With the lack of reaction, he glances at Jay, only to find him staring, lips slightly parted, eyes fixed on him with an intensity that makes his chest tighten. Like he’s seeing something unreal. Like Jungwon had just done something mesmerizing.

“…You’re really good,” Jay finally says, his voice quieter than before, almost in awe.

Jay inhales, like he’s about to say something else, his expression shifting into something more serious. 

This wasn’t Jay’s first time seeing Jungwon play the violin, but watching him up close and hearing each note so clearly made it feel as though the music carried a hidden message. Jay didn’t know why, yet he found himself silently thanking Tchaikovsky for creating a piece Jungwon could perform so mesmerizingly, and apologizing for something long overdue.

“Jungwon… I’m sorry, but that time, I lied.”

Jungwon’s hand is still on his violin, the other on his sheet music, though his gaze slowly lifts to meet Jay’s at the sudden mention of a word he kept on hearing from Jay the last time they met, his brow also raising at the confusion which made Jay’s gaze fall.

“I was there during your recital at the library’s fundraising event,” Jay admits, his voice steady but careful, his gaze lifting to meet Jungwon’s, whose eyes are now less confused and more startled. “I know I lied, and I’m sorry for that.”

Jungwon exhales softly. He doesn’t know how to respond, but the tension in his shoulders visibly eases just a bit before giving the older a soft, reassuring smile.

“I know,” he says, this time it was Jay’s turn to have his eyes widened. “I know you were there.” A faint smile tugs at his lips. 

Jungwon lets out a soft giggle at Jay’s startled expression, “The cap didn’t do a good job covering your handsome face, you know?”

Jay blinks, clearly caught off guard. “You aren’t mad?”

Jungwon shakes his head lightly. “Why would I be? You still watched, didn’t you?”

Jay lets out a quiet breath, but it doesn’t seem to ease him.

“That wasn’t the only time I lied to you.”

Jungwon’s expression shifts, more attentive now.

“Jungwon…” Jay starts, his voice softer, more careful. “You were wrong.”

Jungwon’s brows knit slightly.

“You don’t not have a chance with me,” Jay continues, stumbling slightly over his words as he tries to get them out right. 

“I just realized it recently, and I didn’t want to confuse you more, that’s why I didn’t push you, even though I wanted to.” He pauses, swallowing. “But I feel like I have to say this. I need to say this.”

He lets out a breath, like he’s steadying himself.

“I guess what I’m saying is—I think…” He stops, then corrects himself, firmer this time. “No. I do like you, Jungwon.”

Jungwon’s fingers tighten slightly on the edge of his music sheet.

“Just not as intense as what you feel right now,” Jay adds, his voice gentler, almost apologetic. “But I think I just need time to prove myself…”

Silence settles between them again—but it feels different now. Heavier.

“Jungwon, are you okay?” Jay asks, leaning forward slightly, searching his face. Jungwon looks up at him, something unreadable flickering in his eyes.

“Jay…”

“Y-yeah?” Jay answers, a bit too quickly, gulping at how serious Jungwon is, especially with hearing his name without the usual hyung that came after.

Jungwon inhales, steadying himself.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly, “but don’t get mad at what I’m about to do.”

Jay’s brows furrow. “What—”

Jungwon doesn’t let him finish.

The younger leans in, closing the distance between them, his hand lightly gripping Jay’s sleeve as he presses a quick, soft kiss to Jay’s chapped lips, making the older freeze in place, his eyes widening as his heartbeat quickens with every passing second.

After what felt like only a second to Jay, how inconveniently short it was, Jungwon pulls back just enough to look at him, his face flushed, eyes steady despite the tremble in his breath.

Jay is still shocked. You can tell by the way he remains stuck in the same position with the same expression.

All he can think about is how he wasn’t even able to savor the moment or describe how it was!

It still hasn’t sunk in yet that Jungwon actually gave him a kiss, or a peck, or whatever he calls it. It was such a short moment. If he could, he would ask Jungwon to repeat it when he hears the younger say something he didn’t quite catch.

"Y-yeah? What did you say?"

Jungwon sweetly laughs, his dimples making an appearance once again. There goes his Dimpled Devil.

“I said, okay," he murmurs. "Prove it to me, hyung."

“Prove your feelings for me.”