Archive of Our Own

Let me ask you a question first, what’s crueler? Losing the person you love, or being forced to love them again when you’ve already learned to let them go? Maybe fate has a twisted sense of humor. Such a bitch. It tears two people apart, only to stitch them back together with the same thread that once connects them together.

Well love doesn’t always return as a miracle. Sometimes, it comes back as an obligation, like a vow written on a paper, and everything you once buried begins to breathe. The memories, regrets, the what-ifs that you are the only one who can answer, they all sit between you, pretending to be strangers.

And suddenly, the past you thought you have already escaped suddenly becomes your future.

But now tell me first, what do you believe in more? Fate, the cruel force that takes and gives without second thoughts, perhaps without mercy? Or faith, the fragile hope that maybe this time, the love will stay?

Because sometimes, fate brings you back to the same person, not to relieve the pain, but to see if your faith is strong enough to forgive it.

“50 Years of Park Holdings” hung proudly across the grand ballroom.

The company hall shimmered under the warm glow of chandeliers, filled with laughter, polite chatter, and the occasional clinking of wine glasses. With banners celebrating the success of the Parks.

With the future heir, Jay sat at one of the front tables, posture straight and his expression was clearly blank, the very image of elegance and restraint. But behind the composed façade, he was just simply sulking.

He’d known for days now. That his father had arranged him to be engaged, to someone he’d never even met, the son of an important investor.

It wasn’t that Jay hated the idea of marriage. He just hated how it was handled like another one of his father’s business negotiations. He didn’t even have the energy to argue anymore.

So he sat there, annoyed, playing the half-empty glass of champagne in front of him, his jaw tight as the crowd applauded his father’s speech onstage.

He almost didn’t notice when someone slipped into the seat beside him, until the faint scent of cologne hit him. Clean, familiar, painfully familiar, even the time had passed.

Jay froze. His eyes darted sideways, and his heart stopped for a beat.

The man sitting next to him adjusted his tie casually, completely at ease. His sharp jawline caught the golden light as he glanced over with a small, knowing smile.

“Long time no see,” Sunghoon said.

Jay blinked, words caught in his throat. For a second, he genuinely thought he was hallucinating. Then, slowly, the shock on his face twisted into irritation. Or simply saw a ghost, a handsome ghost that has been haunting him for 3 years.

“Gosh…You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered under his breath.

Sunghoon’s lips curved slightly, that same teasing calmness still there, the kind that used to both charm and annoy Jay. “So I suspect that you didn’t know”

Jay turned toward him, and knitted his forehead with a clipped tone. “You knew?”

“Of course,” Sunghoon replied easily, leaning back in his chair. “My parents told me a week ago. I didn't expect my fiancée to be my ex-boyfriend for 5 years, but—” he tilted his head toward the stage, “—life’s full of surprises.”

Jay let out a sharp exhale, half scoff, half laugh. “You’re taking this too lightly.”

“What, you want me to cry?” Sunghoon whispered back, amused. “Relax. It’s just an engagement, not a totally wedding.”

Jay shot him a glare but quickly composed himself when his mother glanced their way. He forced a polite smile, the kind he used when he wanted to disappear into the wallpaper.

Meanwhile, Sunghoon looked completely at home, greeting guests, smiling when someone recognized him, occasionally sneaking glances at Jay like this was all some private joke between them.

Then, the host’s voice boomed across the hall.

“And now, Mr. Park would like to introduce the next generation who will carry on this partnership between families!”

The spotlight found their table. Jay’s fake smile froze in place.

Sunghoon, of course, lifted his glass in calm acknowledgment, like he’d been waiting for this all night.

Jay wanted to melt into the floor.

The sound of applause still rang faintly in Jay’s ears as he pushed open the double doors and stepped into the garden. Cool night air wrapped around him, carrying the faint scent of jasmine and the muffled hum of music from inside. Strings of fairy lights shimmered above, too soft and romantic for what he was feeling.

His steps were sharp, his shoes clicking against the stone path as he made his way toward the fountain. He wanted to scream, or at least throw something to let his anger out, but instead, he just let out a long, tight breath, staring at his reflection in the water of the fountain.

“Of all people,” he muttered under his breath. “It had to be him.”

The door creaked again. He didn’t need to look to know who it was.

“Jay-ah,” Sunghoon’s voice came, calm and unhurried. “You walk fast for someone who just got engaged.”

Jay’s shoulders tensed and crossed his arms. “Don’t start.”

Sunghoon’s footsteps grew closer. “You left right after the announcement. Kind of rude, don’t you think?”

Jay turned around, his expression sharp. “Oh, I’m sorry, should I have stayed to toast my ex-boyfriend turned new fiancé? Maybe pose for the cameras too?”

Sunghoon smirked slightly, hands sliding into his pockets. “You could’ve at least smiled. You looked like you were attending your own funeral.”

Jay let out a humorless laugh and rolled his eyes. “Trust me, it felt like it.”

Sunghoon tilted his head, eyes steady on him. “You really didn’t know, huh?”

Jay scoffed. “Would I be out here if I did?”

“Fair point.” Sunghoon leaned casually against the stone railing, looking maddeningly at ease. “I promise, I didn't think it’d be you, but I can’t say I’m shocked. You’ve always had a way of showing up where I least expect.”

Jay crossed his arms, glare sharp enough to cut. “You sound like you’re enjoying this.”

Sunghoon’s smirk softened into something quieter. “I’m not. I’m just… processing. Well you’re the one acting like I planned it.”

“You didn’t need to,” Jay said bitterly. “You already left once. This is just a rerun.”

Sunghoon’s expression froze for a moment, the teasing glint fading. “You still hold that against me.”

“You walked out without even trying to fix anything,” Jay said, voice firm but low, the edge of hurt creeping in. “You said you wanted to ‘find yourself.’ You made it sound like I was the reason you lost who you were.Tch.”

“I was eighteen,” Sunghoon said quietly. “Everything I did revolved around you, Jay. You, your schedule, your moods, your needs—”

Jay cut him off, voice rising. “That’s what being in a relationship is, Sunghoon. You don’t just leave because it gets inconvenient.”

“It wasn’t about convenience,” Sunghoon said sharply. “It was about breathing.” He took a step closer. “I couldn’t even figure out who I was outside of us. And that wasn’t fair, to either of us.”

Jay clenched his jaw, looking away. “So your solution was to disappear. And leave without a proper explanation.”

Sunghoon sighed. “If I stayed, I would’ve kept depending on you for everything. You’d have kept trying to fix things that weren’t yours to fix. We were both drowning, Jay.”

Jay’s lips pressed into a thin line. “You sound like you’ve rehearsed that.”

“Three years gives you a lot of time to think,” Sunghoon replied and smiled bitterly.

Jay met his eyes again, cold but shaking slightly. “Then why are you here? Why didn’t you tell them to call it off?”

Sunghoon’s gaze softened. “Because when I heard your name… I didn’t want to.”

Jay blinked, startled by the honesty that slipped through Sunghoon’s calm tone. “Oh, fuck. You’re unbelievable.”

“Probably,” Sunghoon said, a faint, tired smile tugging at his lips. “But you can’t tell me you don’t feel anything about this either.”

Jay took a step back, anger flickering beneath the surface. “Don’t. Don’t start that.”

“I’m serious,” Sunghoon said, stepping forward this time. “You can glare all you want, pretend you’ve moved on, but you looked at me the same way you did three years ago, like you didn’t know whether to hit me or hold me.”

Jay’s breath hitched, and for a second, his mask slipped. But then he scoffed, covering it with sarcasm. “You have the guts to say those things huh? You’re overestimating yourself again.”

Sunghoon chuckled under his breath. “Maybe. But you’re still here talking to me, aren’t you?”

Jay turned away, muttering, “Because you followed me.”

“Because I always do,” Sunghoon murmured, so soft Jay almost didn’t catch it.

Silence fell between them, heavy, electric.

Jay exhaled, tired. “This isn’t going to work. Whatever this arrangement is, we just… play along. For them.”

Sunghoon nodded slowly, eyes never leaving him. “Sure. If that’s what you want.”

Jay walked past him, brushing his shoulder lightly, a touch so faint yet full of weight.

“Good,” he said, not looking back. “Because I don’t want anything else.”

But as he disappeared into the glow of the garden, Sunghoon stood still, staring after him, his chest tight with all the words he never said.

It was almost midnight. The only light in Jay’s condominium came from the desk lamp, its glow reflecting off the open textbooks and highlighted notes scattered across the table. His eyes stung, shoulders aching, but he refused to stop.

The soft hum of the refrigerator filled the silence, broken only by the occasional sound of pages flipping. Jay took a deep breath, stretching his neck before reaching for his tumbler, empty. He sighed, debating if caffeine at this hour was still a good idea.

Then,

three knocks.

Jay frowned, glancing at the clock. 11:48 p.m. He wasn’t expecting anyone.

He walked toward the door, still in his loose white shirt and gray shorts, hair slightly messy from running his fingers through it too much. When he opened the door, he almost thought he was hallucinating.

“Evening,” said Sunghoon, standing there with a paper bag in one hand and a cup holder in the other. “Or… midnight, I guess.”

Jay blinked, expression caught between confusion and disbelief. “What are you doing here?”

“Visiting,” Sunghoon said, like it was the most normal thing in the world. “You weren’t answering my messages.”

Jay’s brows are knitted. “I already blocked your number, so what do you expect? And now your solution was to show up uninvited?”

Sunghoon’s mouth curved faintly. “It worked, didn’t it?”

Jay exhaled, annoyed. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Yeah, I get that a lot from you.” Sunghoon lifted the items in his hands. “I brought you something. Americano and—” he pulled out a small box, “—your favorite glazed donuts. From that shop you used to love near campus.”

Jay froze for a second. He hadn’t thought about that café in years. Back then, Sunghoon would always show up before his early morning labs, holding the same order.

But he quickly masked the flicker of emotion with indifference.

“I don’t drink Americano anymore,” he said quietly, crossing his arms. “Too bitter.”

Sunghoon blinked, the smile faltering slightly. “…Oh.”

A beat of silence. Then Sunghoon nodded, the tone softer. “Right.”

He looked down at the cup in his hand, then backed up with a small chuckle. “Guess I’m three years late on your taste updates.”

Jay didn’t respond. He just looked away, as if refusing to let any more emotion slip through. “You didn’t have to bring anything. I’m busy.”

“Yeah, I noticed.” Sunghoon’s eyes drifted past him to the cluttered table, papers everywhere, pens scattered. “You really haven’t changed when it comes to studying. It’s like you forget the rest of the world exists.”

Jay frowned. “And you still don’t know how to take a hint.”

“I know,” Sunghoon said lightly, leaning against the doorframe. “But I figured I’d try anyway.”

Jay sighed, stepping aside. “Fine. Five minutes. Then leave.”

Sunghoon entered quietly, setting the bag on the counter. He didn’t say much, just watched Jay return to his seat, head bowed over his notes, pen moving with surgical precision.

He placed the Americano near Jay’s elbow anyway. The scent filled the air, nostalgic and familiar.

Jay noticed, glanced at it, then at Sunghoon. “You’re wasting your time.”

Sunghoon shrugged. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Jay stopped writing, lifting his gaze to meet his. “Sunghoon. You know what? Back off.”

The words were firm, controlled, but his voice was quieter than he wanted it to be.

Sunghoon didn’t move for a moment. Then, he smiled, not mocking, not smug, just a small, tired smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Okay,” he said softly. “But I’m not giving up.”

Jay’s chest tightened, but he looked away quickly, pretending to focus on his notes again. “You should.”

“I know.” Sunghoon reached for his coat. “Still won’t.”

He turned toward the door, but before he left, he glanced back at Jay one last time. “Goodnight, Jay.”

Jay didn’t look up. “Close the door behind you.”

The lock clicked a few seconds later. The apartment was silent again.

Jay stared at the Americano sitting beside him, untouched. He didn’t move it away but he didn’t drink it either.

Jay hadn’t slept much. When the glow of the morning sun spilling through the blinds only made the dull ache behind his eyes worse. He’d stayed up till nearly four, rereading the same paragraph of his notes without processing a word.

He stepped out of the elevator, crisp white polo tucked into black trousers, coffee tumbler in one hand. He was on autopilot or at least he was until the voice he least wanted to hear greeted him in the lobby.

“Morning,” said Sunghoon, far too casually, leaning against a marble pillar like he had all the time in the world.

Jay’s steps faltered. His stomach tightened instantly. “Don’t tell me you waited here,” he muttered.

“Technically, I was early,” Sunghoon said with a faint grin. “Didn’t want to miss you.”

Jay let out a dry laugh, eyes rolling. “Congratulations, you achieved that.”

Sunghoon’s smile didn’t waver. “You made me leave in a hurry last night. Thought I’d make sure you’re okay.”

“I was fine until now,” Jay shot back, brushing past him.

Sunghoon followed, hands in his pockets, voice light but probing. “You look tired. You didn’t sleep, did you?”

“Why do you care?”

“Because I—” Sunghoon stopped himself, biting back the instinctive still do. He shrugged instead. “Old habits.”

Jay turned sharply, eyes cold. “Stop treating me like we’re still in whatever that was.”

“‘That’?” Sunghoon repeated, a faint scoff escaping. “You mean our relationship?”

Jay’s tone hardened. “Don’t say it like it still matters.”

For a moment, silence stretched between them. The bustle of the lobby faded to background noise, just them, tension coiled tight.

Sunghoon studied him, eyes steady but sad. “You’re acting like I didn’t mean anything to you.”

Jay met his gaze head-on. “You didn’t leave because you didn’t love me, Sunghoon. You left because you didn’t love yourself enough back then.”

That made Sunghoon pause. His usual composure faltered for a fraction of a second.

Jay continued, voice low, clipped. “And now you’re what, back? Trying to fix it? To fix me?”

Sunghoon swallowed hard. “I just thought maybe we could start over.”

Jay laughed once, bitter and quiet. “Start over? You ended it, remember? You walked away like I was something to grow out of.”

The words hit deeper than Jay intended, but he didn’t retract them. Sunghoon looked at him for a long time, the air between them heavy.

“I didn’t want to lose you,” Sunghoon said finally. “But I also didn’t want to keep you in something that was breaking us both.”

Jay stepped closer, his tone calm but sharp. “And now you think three years makes that any less broken?”

Sunghoon held his ground. “Maybe not. But it made me realize I still—”

“Don’t,” Jay interrupted, voice low. “Don’t say things you can’t finish.”

The elevator chimed beside them, breaking the tension. Jay exhaled, jaw tight, and stepped inside without another word.

Just before the doors closed, Sunghoon said softly, “You can hate me all you want, Jay. But I’m not leaving again.”

Jay didn’t respond. The doors slid shut, leaving Sunghoon staring at his own reflection in the metallic surface, tired, determined, and maybe a little haunted.

After a month, their families gathered at an upscale restaurant, a formal dinner to discuss “the future partnership,” which was really just code for the engagement. The atmosphere was elegant, polite laughter echoing between expensive wine glasses and dishes Jay barely touched.

Jay kept his expression perfectly neutral throughout, answering questions with the kind of poise his parents adored, but every time his gaze brushed past Sunghoon, his stomach twisted. Sunghoon, on the other hand, played the part effortlessly. Polite, charming, even offering to refill Jay’s glass once or twice, which Jay ignored completely.

Both families seemed thrilled by how “compatible” they looked.

Damn.

If only they knew.

And if that wasn’t bad enough, their parents dropped another bombshell before dessert; they had already arranged where the couple would live in order for them to get to know each other before the wedding.

Apparently, both families thought it was “practical” and “sweet” for Jay and Sunghoon to stay together in the same condominium complex, the same one Jay currently lived in, since both of their universities weren’t far from each other.

Jay nearly choked on his water when he heard it and even sacrificed his own condominium unit as he suggested that Sunghoon can just stay at his place so Jay don't have to pack anymore. Sunghoon, on the other hand, only smiled politely and agreed with Jay like it was no big deal, causing their parents to just agree on their suggestion.

However Jay was not amused. In fact, he was livid.

So when they left the restaurant and his parents happily told Sunghoon to drive him home, “so they can get used to each other again”, Jay had to force his expression into something passably civil while suppressing the urge to scream.

On the drive home, Jay stared out the window refusing to talk or even look at Sunghoon, his arms crossed, expression unreadable. With only the faint sound of Lany songs filled the car can be heard inside the car, it was something soft, expensive, and irritatingly peaceful.

“Still not talking?” Sunghoon asked after a few minutes, glancing at him.

Jay did not even bother looking back. “Didn’t realize silence was a crime.”

Sunghoon huffed a small laugh. “It’s just… awkward, don’t you think? We just got engaged, apparently.”

Jay turned his head slowly, deadpan. “Oh, I didn’t realize. Thanks for the reminder.”

Sunghoon smiled faintly. “You were ignoring me the whole dinner and too quiet while looking at your food. And I thought you were gonna stab your steak with how tense you looked.”

Jay scoffed. “I was debating whether stabbing you would’ve been more satisfying.”

That earned a genuine laugh from Sunghoon. “Ouch, I should see you on the Court trial, Jay-ah. Well there’s the Jay I remember.”

Jay rolled his eyes, leaning back. “Don’t act like you miss him.”

“I do,” Sunghoon said softly, eyes on the road. “Even if he hates me now.”

Jay’s tone sharpened. “Don’t confuse hate with indifference. I’m not a teenager anymore, I don’t waste energy on feelings that don’t matter.”

“Really?” Sunghoon’s voice lowered, almost teasing. “Because you’re putting a lot of effort into pretending you don’t care.”

Jay snapped his head toward him, glare sharp. “You’re seriously testing how fast I can open this door while the car’s still moving.”

Sunghoon grinned. “You’d never risk your life just to escape a conversation with me.”

“Believe me, I’ve done worse,” Jay muttered, turning back to the window.

The car fell into silence again, but it wasn’t comfortable. It was thick, charged, every passing streetlight carving their faces in alternating shadows.

After a while, Sunghoon spoke again, quieter this time. “You really changed, you know.”

Jay exhaled, eyes still on the view. “That’s what people do when they get left behind.”

Sunghoon’s fingers tightened slightly around the steering wheel. “That’s not fair.”

“What part?” Jay asked dryly. “The leaving or the growing?”

“Both,” Sunghoon said, his voice low. “You make it sound like I didn’t care.”

Jay gave a small, humorless laugh. “Okay then. You cared, sure. Just not enough to stay.”

Sunghoon opened his mouth to reply but stopped when he saw Jay’s reflection in the window, tired eyes, expression too calm to be casual. He sighed instead, the weight between them settling like fog.

By the time they pulled up in front of the condominium, neither said a word.

Jay unbuckled his seatbelt, hand already on the door handle. “Next time, don’t bother playing chauffeur. I can manage myself.”

Sunghoon glanced at him. “I know. You’ve always been good at pretending you don’t need anyone.”

Jay paused, grip tightening on the handle for just a second before he pushed the door open.

“Night, Jay-ah.”

Jay stepped out, shutting the door firmly, not loud enough to be rude, but just enough to make a point.

As he disappeared into the building, Sunghoon leaned back in his seat, letting out a long breath he didn’t realize he was holding. Hurt. Deeply Hurt. But it was all part of the process. With his side, the passenger seat still smelled faintly like Jay’s cologne, clean, sharp, and frustratingly distant.

And tomorrow, when he’d have to move into the same building as Jay, he couldn’t decide if it was a blessing or a curse.

Sunghoon wasn’t sure what was more ridiculous, the number of boxes he had, or the fact that he was unpacking them in Jay’s living room.

He crouched by the low cabinet under the TV, unwrapping his books one by one, stacking them neatly beside Jay’s medical reference volumes. His blazer hung over one of the dining chairs, sleeves rolled up as he moved around the space like he’d lived there before.

The apartment smelled faintly like fresh coffee and citrus cleaner. Everything screamed Jay: spotless counters, muted colors, no sign of warmth anywhere except for a small succulent on the windowsill.

It felt strange. Familiar, but foreign, like walking into a dream you’d already forgotten once.

The door clicked open behind him.

Jay stepped in, a paper bag from the convenience store in hand. His hair was slightly messy, the kind that came from being too focused to care. He froze when he saw the scene in front of him.

Sunghoon turned, casual as ever, holding an open box. “Oh, you’re back. Perfect timing. Where do you want me to put these—”

Jay blinked, his voice sharp. “Why are you unpacking here?”

Sunghoon raised an eyebrow. “Because the movers dropped everything here? I figured I’d sort them first.”

Jay placed the bag down on the counter with a soft thud. “You’re supposed to unpack in the guest room, Sunghoon. The one you’ll be staying in.”

“Relax,” Sunghoon said, a hint of amusement tugging at his mouth. “I’m just organizing. I’ll move them later.”

Jay crossed his arms, unimpressed. “You’ve been ‘organizing’ since I left twenty minutes ago.”

“Maybe I work too slowly.”

“Or maybe you’re purposely making a mess in my space.”

Sunghoon chuckled under his breath. “You’re acting like I’m intruding.”

“You are intruding.”

That earned a quiet laugh. “You offered, remember?”

Jay rolled his eyes, muttering, “Biggest mistake of my life.”

Sunghoon didn’t reply right away. He bent down to pick up a small frame that had been wrapped in paper. He peeled it open carefully, and when he saw what was inside, his lips curved into a faint smile.

A photograph, old, sun-faded, but unmistakably theirs.

Jay, in a high school uniform, grinning wide, slung over Sunghoon’s back as he was carried by Sunghoon. Their laughter is practically visible in the still image.

Sunghoon chuckled quietly. “Wow. I didn’t even realize I still had this.”

Jay stiffened immediately. “Where did you get that?”

“In one of my boxes,” Sunghoon said simply. “Didn’t expect to see it again.” He turned the frame toward Jay. “Remember this day? You wouldn’t stop complaining that it was so hot that day.”

Jay frowned. “That’s because you made us walk in the middle of the afternoon inside the campus.”

Sunghoon grinned. “You said you wanted the ‘full tour experience.’”

“I was joking!”

Sunghoon laughed, the sound light, genuine, the kind that once made Jay’s chest warm. “You still make that same face when you’re mad.”

Jay’s glare sharpened. “Put that away.”

“Why? It’s a good picture.”

“Because I don’t want my past mistakes framed in my living room.”

Sunghoon’s smile faltered slightly. “Mistakes, huh?”

Jay didn’t hesitate. “You said it yourself once, we were unhealthy. Toxic. It’s the same thing, isn’t it?”

That hit a nerve. Sunghoon placed the frame gently on the counter, voice quieter now. “I didn’t mean you were a mistake.”

Jay opened his mouth, then shut it again. His jaw clenched. “Doesn’t matter. It’s in the past.”

“Then why do you sound like it still bothers you?”

Jay turned away, pretending to organize the convenience store bag. “You left, Sunghoon. That’s what I remember.”

Sunghoon exhaled. “I didn’t leave because I stopped caring.”

“No, you left because it was easier,” Jay snapped, spinning back around. “Because you wanted to ‘grow.’”

“I did,” Sunghoon said, meeting his eyes evenly. “And I thought you’d understand someday.”

Jay laughed once, cold. “Well, congratulations. You grew. Now you can unpack your emotional baggage somewhere else.”

Sunghoon blinked. “You’re mixing metaphors.”

“Shut up,” Jay muttered, grabbing a bottle of water and walking past him, too fast, too defensive.

“Still running away when it gets uncomfortable,” Sunghoon said softly behind him.

Jay stopped mid-step. His shoulders stiffened. “Still making everything about you,” he said, voice flat, before continuing toward his room.

Sunghoon watched him disappear down the hall, the faint slam of the bedroom door echoing through the condo.

He sighed, glancing back at the photo in his hand. For a long moment, he just stared at it, the way Jay’s younger self smiled at him like he used to be his whole world.

Finally, he placed it face down on the shelf. Because of them, their memories hurt less that way.

The club throbbed with bass, deep, pulsing, alive. Lights flashed across glass tables and half-finished drinks, laughter echoing over the music. Jay sat between Heeseung and Sunoo, Jungwon lounging across from them, scrolling through his phone between sips.

It was loud, crowded, distracting, exactly what Jay needed.

Heeseung leaned closer. “Didn’t think I’d get you out of that condo. You’ve been glued to your notes for days.”

Jay shrugged, lazily stirring the ice in his glass. “I needed to breathe. That’s all.”

“Breathe or brood?” Heeseung teased, bumping his shoulder.

Jay gave a quiet, humorless laugh. “Both, probably.”

Before Heeseung could retort, Sunoo’s voice broke in, sharp, curious. “Wait. Don’t look now, but… isn’t that Sunghoon hyung?”

Jay’s head snapped up.

Across the dim room, Sunghoon stood with his group, Jake, Ni-ki, Yeonjun, and Soobin, near the opposite couch. His white button-down glowed faintly under the lights, sleeves rolled and collar undone just enough to draw attention. He was smiling at something Jake said, but the moment his eyes caught Jay’s, everything in him stilled.

The air shifted.

Heeseung immediately frowned. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Don’t start,” Jay murmured, already sensing Heeseung’s annoyance.

But it was too late, Sunghoon had spotted them, and he was walking over.

Heeseung set his drink down a little too hard. “He better not try anything.”

Jay sighed. “It’s fine.”

“Yeah? Then why do you look like you’re about to bite someone?”

Before Jay could answer, Sunghoon reached their table, polite smile, steady eyes, pretending the tension didn’t hum between them.

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” he said, voice calm but low enough that it only reached Jay.

Jay’s eyes didn’t leave his. “You could’ve kept it that way.”

Heeseung immediately leaned forward, his tone sharp. “You’re interrupting, Sunghoon.”

Sunghoon’s gaze flicked to him, unfazed. “Wasn’t talking to you, hyung.”

“Yeah, well, I’m talking to you,” Heeseung shot back. “He’s here to relax. You don’t get to ruin that.”

Jay placed a hand lightly on Heeseung’s arm, a silent, with Sunghoon spotting it that made him ache his heart a bit. Then, turning back to Sunghoon, his voice went cool again. “What do you want?”

Sunghoon hesitated, just a beat. “Was going to ask if you wanted to go home together. It’s getting late, you know.”

Heeseung scoffed. “Unbelievable.”

Jay raised an eyebrow. “You really think I’m leaving with you?”

Sunghoon’s expression didn’t waver. “You live with me. It makes sense.”

Jay leaned back, lips curling faintly. “Maybe it makes sense for you. But not for me.”

The words cut sharper than they should’ve, and Sunghoon’s eyes flickered, not with anger, but something more complicated.

Heeseung leaned forward again, voice steady but biting. “He said no, Sunghoon. Take the hint.”

Jake had noticed by now, watching from across the room, tension visible in his jaw. But Sunghoon didn’t move, he just nodded once, quiet resignation slipping into his tone.

“Fine,” he said. “Just thought I’d ask.”

Jay didn’t reply, didn’t even look at him as he took another sip of his drink.

When Sunghoon finally turned to walk away, Heeseung muttered under his breath, “Guy never learns.”

Jay’s lips twitched, barely a smile. “He doesn’t. But he’s persistent.”

Heeseung huffed. “Persistent doesn’t mean welcome.”

Jay didn’t answer. His gaze drifted across the room again, just for a second, catching Sunghoon’s back as he rejoined his friends. Jake said something to him, Ni-ki laughed, but Sunghoon barely responded.

Jay looked away quickly, downing the rest of his drink.

Heeseung saw it. Of course he did. But he said nothing, only shifted closer, leaning back with a mutter that was more protective than casual.

“Don’t let him pull you back in, Jay. You don’t owe him a damn thing.”

Jay didn’t reply. His hand tightened slightly on his glass, and under the dim light, his reflection looked as tired as he felt.

The night ended earlier than it should’ve.

Heeseung’s hand was firm on Jay’s wrist as they walked out of the club, weaving through the crowd. “Come on,” he muttered. “You’ve had enough drama for the night.”

Jay didn’t argue. He was tired of the flashing lights, the noise, the pretending. The air outside was cold, and the silence between him and Heeseung was almost a relief.

Across the street, Jake was half-carrying Sunghoon toward his car, the latter laughing weakly as he mumbled something Jake couldn’t even decipher. Jay caught it from a distance, that same careless laugh he used to fall for.

It made his jaw tighten.

Heeseung noticed. “Ignore him,” he said quietly. “He’s not worth it.”

“Chill. Wasn’t planning to,” Jay muttered, but the words didn’t sound as convincing as he wanted them to.

Jake ended up driving Sunghoon home while Heeseung took Jay. Of course, fate, criminally as fuck, or whatever twisted sense of humor the universe had, made both cars pull into the same condominium building driveway at the same time.

Jay’s shoulders slumped. “Great.”

Sunghoon got out of Jake’s car, hair tousled, tie hanging loose, grin lazy. “Fancy seeing you here, fiancée.”

Heeseung visibly bristled. “Watch it, Sunghoon.”

Jay glared at Sunghoon, ignoring Heeseung’s tone. “You could’ve stayed with your friends.”

Sunghoon shrugged, swaying slightly. “Could’ve. But my home’s here… with you.” he said as he smiled at Jay.

“Don’t start,” Jay warned, voice flat.

Jake exhaled, rubbing his temple. “You’re on your own from here, man. I’m not dealing with this round two.”

Sunghoon just waved, slurring, “Night, Jake!” before stumbling toward the lobby.

Jay sighed, muttering to Heeseung, “I’ll deal with him. Just go home.”

Heeseung frowned. “You sure? He looks one sentence away from passing out.”

“Exactly why I should handle it.” Jay’s tone left no room for argument. “Goodnight, Hyung.”

Heeseung hesitated, then shot Sunghoon a glare sharp enough to cut glass. “If he does anything—”

Jay gave a small nod, and Heeseung reluctantly left.

The elevator doors slid shut.

Jay pressed the button for their floor without looking at Sunghoon. The air felt heavy, thick with the faint scent of alcohol and cologne.

Sunghoon leaned against the mirrored wall, half-smiling at Jay’s reflection. “You’re mad at me.”

Jay didn’t even glance up. “Wow, I'm impressed. Smart observation.”

“You shouldn’t be,” Sunghoon continued, voice low. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

Jay’s laugh was short, sharp. “You drank half a bottle, flirted with everything that moved, and then tried to play chauffeur. You call that nothing?”

Sunghoon grinned. “You were watching me.”

Jay turned to him slowly, eyes narrowing. “You’re seriously doing this right now?”

“Doing what?”

“Being insufferable.”

Sunghoon straightened, inching closer. “You liked that about me once.”

Jay’s glare could’ve cut steel. “Once, and that was before and a long time ago. And now, you’re drunk. Go to bed.”

“but I’m talking,” Sunghoon said softly. “You’re listening. That’s progress.”

Jay scoffed. “You sound pathetic.”

Sunghoon’s smile faltered for a second, but he hid it quickly, leaning back again. “Maybe. But it got you to look at me.”

The elevator dinged open. Jay stepped out first, fast. “You are unbelievable,” he muttered, storming toward the door.

Sunghoon followed behind, quieter now. When Jay unlocked the condo, he pushed the door open and turned. “You’re sleeping on the couch.”

Sunghoon blinked. “We’ve got two rooms.”

“I don’t trust you to find yours.”

Sunghoon chuckled, voice raspy. “Cold as ever.”

Jay turned away, slipping off his jacket. “And you’re still a mess.”

Sunghoon’s tone softened, slurred words brushing the quiet between them. “You used to like my mess.”

Jay stopped mid-step. For a second, neither of them spoke — the city lights outside spilling into the living room, casting shadows across the floor.

Then Jay sighed, exhausted. “You’re drunk, Sunghoon. Don’t say things you’ll regret in the morning.”

Sunghoon smiled faintly. “You think I regret you?”

Jay’s jaw clenched. “Go to sleep.”

Without waiting for a reply, he walked off to his room and slammed the door, firm, final, but not loud enough to wake the neighbors.

Sunghoon stared at the closed door for a long moment, then sank onto the couch, laughing quietly to himself.

“Still mad, still beautiful,” he mumbled before leaning back and closing his eyes.

Inside his room, Jay pressed his back to the door, heart pounding despite himself.
He hated that one line could still sting, and worse, that it made him feel anything at all.

Saturday afternoons were supposed to be quiet. At least, that’s what Jay told himself when he left the condo with his tote bag and earbuds, intent on running errands alone, groceries, a few essentials, maybe a quick stop for coffee before heading back to study.

He needed space.

Space away from Sunghoon’s voice, his grin, and the frustrating ease that man carried around like air.

Jay was halfway through the grocery section of the mall when he heard it.

“Didn’t expect to see my fiancé shopping alone.”

Jay froze. Then sighed. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

He turned, and there was Sunghoon, in casual clothes this time: a plain white tee under a navy jacket, hair slightly tousled, holding a drink in one hand. The picture of effortless charm.

Jay crossed his arms. “Are you stalking me now?”

Sunghoon smiled. “Coincidence. I was meeting Jake here, but he ditched me for Ni-ki. Thought I’d walk around.”

“Walk around somewhere else.”

“Ouch.” Sunghoon clutched his chest dramatically. “Still hostile.”

Jay turned back to the shelf, checking expiration dates like the labels were more interesting than Sunghoon’s face. “Still here.”

Sunghoon leaned on the cart handle. “You know, for a guy who says he hates me, you sure look good every time I run into you.”

“Flattery doesn’t work anymore,” Jay said flatly.

“I wasn’t expecting it to work,” Sunghoon replied easily. “Just stating facts.”

Jay exhaled sharply through his nose, tossing another item into his cart. “If you’re done, I actually need to finish shopping before the next century.”

“Need help carrying your bags?”

“No.”

“Driving you home?”

“No.”

“Coffee?”

Jay gave him a hard look. “Sunghoon.”

Sunghoon grinned, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Okay, okay. You’re terrifying when you’re annoyed.”

“Then stop giving me reasons to be.”

For a moment, Sunghoon didn’t reply, just watched him, quiet now. When Jay moved to the next aisle, Sunghoon followed anyway, pushing his own cart for no reason.

Jay sighed. “Are you seriously following me through the frozen section?”

Sunghoon shrugged. “You said I can’t drive you home or buy you coffee. At least let me exist in the same building.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“Yet you keep talking to me,” Sunghoon teased, his grin returning.

Jay finally stopped walking, turning to face him properly. “Listen. I came here to get away from you for a bit, okay? I just wanted peace.”

Sunghoon blinked. “From me?”

“Yes. From you.”

There it was, honesty, clean and sharp. Jay didn’t raise his voice, didn’t glare, but enough to sting Sunghoon's heart. And now, he just sounded… tired.

For a moment, Sunghoon’s playful smile softened. “You really hate me that much?”

Jay stared at him for a beat, then looked away. “I don’t hate you,” he muttered. “But you make it hard to forget why I should.”

Sunghoon opened his mouth to respond, but stopped when Jay walked off, pushing his cart toward the counter.

He watched him go, the fluorescent lights flickering across Jay’s hair, his silhouette fading into the noise of the crowd.

Jake’s voice buzzed through his phone seconds later. “Yo, where are you?”

Sunghoon smiled faintly, eyes still on where Jay disappeared. “Running into the past, and fixing it before it fuck up the future” he said softly, before hanging up.

The rain poured like the sky had finally given up holding itself together.
The city blurred behind gray sheets, neon lights bleeding into puddles, thunder cracking somewhere distant.

Jay stood beneath the narrow waiting shed, arms crossed, soaked from the knees down. His bag hung loosely on his shoulder, and his expression was unreadable, that cold, calm mask he wore whenever he was just done with everything.

He checked his phone again.
No messages.

He exhaled sharply, muttering under his breath, “Of course.”

Then came the sound of a car pulling over, the familiar hum of an engine he didn’t need to see to recognize.

He didn’t even look up when the window rolled down.

“Get in,” Sunghoon said, voice low but firm.

Jay looked away. “Not in the mood.”

“Neither am I,” Sunghoon snapped back. “Just get in, Jay.”

Jay’s head finally turned, sharp eyes meeting Sunghoon’s. “You don’t get to order me around.”

“It’s raining. You’ll get sick.”

“I said I’m fine.”

Sunghoon muttered something under his breath, probably a curse, before pushing the door open and stepping into the downpour. He slammed the door shut, water instantly soaking his white dress shirt as he walked toward the shed, irritation etched into every line of his face.

“Why are you so damn stubborn all the time?” he demanded.

Jay glared. “Because you’re the last person I want to listen to.”

“Yeah? Well, news flash, I didn’t want to see you either today,” Sunghoon bit out, running a frustrated hand through his drenched hair. “But here we are.”

Jay laughed bitterly. “Then why are you here? Go play the perfect fiancé somewhere else.”

“That’s not fair—”

“Oh, now you care about fair?” Jay snapped, voice rising. “You didn’t when you left.”

“Don’t start this again.”

Jay took a step closer, eyes sharp with fury. “You started it the moment you showed up again, acting like you didn’t ruin me three years ago.”

Sunghoon’s voice cracked with frustration. “You think I wanted that? You think it was easy for me to walk away?”

“You did walk away,” Jay hissed. “You made me feel like I was too much. Like loving me was a mistake.”

“I never said that!”

“You didn’t have to,” Jay said coldly. “You made sure I believed it.”

The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by rain hammering the tin roof of the shed.

Sunghoon’s shoulders rose and fell, his breathing uneven. “You have no idea what it was like for me, Jay. I was drowning too. Everything in my life, my studies, my family—they were falling apart and I couldn’t balance it. You were the only thing that mattered, and that scared the hell out of me.”

Jay scoffed, his voice trembling now. “So your solution was to leave me?”

“I thought it would help you. Help us.”

Jay let out a dry, disbelieving laugh. “You don’t fix something by breaking it, Sunghoon. You don’t love someone by making them feel small. You even left me with just a text message. Damn, 5 years is just over by a text message.”

Sunghoon’s composure cracked then — he stepped closer, rain dripping down his face like tears he didn’t want to shed.

“I know I messed up,” he said quietly, voice raw. “I was selfish, stupid, and scared. But I never stopped loving you.”

Jay shook his head, his throat tightening. “Don’t say that.”

“It’s the truth.”

“Then why now? Why after three years? Why did you come back when I finally learned to stop waiting for you?”

Sunghoon’s voice broke. “Because I still can’t look at anyone else without seeing you. Because every time I try to move on, it feels like I’m cheating on something sacred.”

Jay’s eyes glistened, anger dissolving into something heavier, grief, maybe.

“Stop,” he whispered. “Stop saying things you didn’t mean back then.”

“I mean it now,” Sunghoon said, stepping closer again until they were inches apart, the air between them tight, electric. “I’m sorry, Jay. I’m sorry for everything, for leaving, for hurting you, for thinking I was doing the right thing when all I did was destroy you.”

Jay’s lip trembled. “You did.”

“I know,” Sunghoon whispered, voice shaking. “And I hate myself for it.”

Jay took a shaky breath, his anger finally cracking open into exhaustion. “And now you think sorry fixes it?”

“No,” Sunghoon said, rain dripping off his chin, eyes red. “But that's all I have.”

Jay looked at him for a long time, seeing everything he used to love, everything he tried to forget, and it hurt. God, it hurt so much.

He finally said, voice barely above the rain, “Then if that is what you are feeling, you should’ve said it back then.”

And with that, he walked past him, through the rain, toward the curb where headlights blurred through water.

Sunghoon didn’t move.
He just stood there, drenched, eyes burning, the echo of Jay’s footsteps fading into the storm — the sound of something irreparable.

The rain hadn’t stopped for hours. The city outside their windows was swallowed in gray, headlights blurring through the downpour. By the time Sunghoon got back to the condo, he was soaked, shoulders heavy with exhaustion and guilt.

He half-expected silence — maybe Jay was gone, maybe locked doors and walls between them again.

But when he opened the door, there it was: the faint hum of the air purifier, the low buzz of the desk lamp still on in Jay’s room.

He frowned. Jay hated leaving lights on.

“Jay?”

No answer.

He walked down the hall, water dripping from his hair, shoes squeaking faintly against the floor.
The door to Jay’s room was ajar.

He pushed it open.

And there, in the dim orange light — Jay was lying messily across the bed, still in his day clothes, cheeks flushed with fever. The blanket was tangled around his legs, his body shivering slightly even under the heavy quilt.

“Damn it…fuck” Sunghoon muttered under his breath, striding closer.

He crouched beside the bed, reaching out to touch Jay’s forehead. Burning. Too hot.

“Jay,” he said softly. “Hey. Wake up.”

Jay groaned, voice weak and rough. “What do you want…”

“You’re sick,” Sunghoon said, keeping his tone calm. “You look like you didn't even take your medicine.”

Jay’s eyes fluttered open halfway, unfocused and glassy.
“Oh. So now you care?” he muttered, turning away. His voice was faint, but the sarcasm still found a way through the fatigue.

Sunghoon sighed. “Don’t start—”

“You started it,” Jay mumbled, burying his face into the pillow. “Just go away. I don’t… want to talk.”

“Too bad.” Sunghoon sat at the edge of the bed and gently reached for the medicine pack on the nightstand. “You need this.”

Jay groaned and pulled the blanket over his head. “You’re so annoying.”

“I know,” Sunghoon murmured, tearing the packet open. “Now come on. Sit up.”

“No.”

“Jay-ah.”

Jay didn’t move. His voice came out muffled and small under the blanket. “I said no.”

Sunghoon exhaled sharply through his nose, patience slipping. “You’re acting like a kid right now.”

“I feel like one,” Jay muttered weakly. “My head hurts… my body hurts… and then you’re here making it worse.”

“Making it worse?” Sunghoon echoed softly. “I’m literally trying to help.”

“Then don’t.” Jay’s voice cracked, trembling with exhaustion. “I don’t want your help.”

Sunghoon froze.

For a second, the only sound between them was the steady tap of rain against the window.

Then Jay’s voice came again, quieter this time, almost breaking. “You make everything harder, Sunghoon. Even when you’re being nice. Especially when you’re being nice.”

Sunghoon swallowed hard, guilt rising like bile. “I’m sorry.”

Jay laughed bitterly under his breath, pulling the blanket tighter. “You always say that.”

“I mean it.”

“You always mean it.” His tone cracked again, sharp and shaky. “And then you leave, or you change your mind, or you make me feel like I’m the one who ruined everything.”

Sunghoon’s shoulders stiffened. “That’s not—”

“It is.” Jay’s voice was louder now, his emotions spilling past the fever’s haze. “ I already told you earlier that you think sorry fixes things? You think it erases how it felt when you walked away from me like I didn’t matter?”

Sunghoon didn’t know what to say. The weight of Jay’s words hit like a punch to the chest.

Jay pushed himself up slowly, face flushed and damp with sweat, eyes glassy and teary.
“I hate that I still want to be near you even when I’m mad,” he whispered. “I hate that you can just show up and I…” His voice faltered. “…I forget how much you broke me.”

“Jay…”

“Don’t ‘Jay’ me.” His tone was sharp, but the tears falling down his cheeks made it fragile. “You don’t get to say my name like that anymore.”

Sunghoon’s throat tightened. He reached out — slowly, gently — brushing a tear from Jay’s cheek.

Jay flinched, swatting his hand away.

“Stop saying sorry,” Jay snapped, voice cracking mid-word. “You keep saying it like it means something.”

“I don’t know what else to say,” Sunghoon admitted, voice trembling. “I can’t undo it, Jay. I just,
I want to make it right.”

Jay glared weakly, tears blurring his vision. “You can’t. You don’t get to just come back and fix it because I’m sick and too tired to push you away right now.”

“Then don’t push,” Sunghoon said softly. “Just rest. Please.”

Jay let out a shaky sigh, then his strength gave out. His head dropped forward, and Sunghoon caught him before he fell.

“Hey, hey— easy,” Sunghoon whispered, wrapping an arm around him.

Jay’s voice came out small, muffled against his chest.
“I hate you so much right now…”

“I know.”

“…but you’re warm,” Jay mumbled, sniffling, voice heavy with fever and exhaustion.

Sunghoon gave a quiet, broken laugh. “Then I’ll stay right here.”

Jay’s hands weakly gripped his shirt, his body trembling as if resisting the comfort even while craving it. “You’re not allowed to leave again.”

“I won’t,” Sunghoon whispered, tightening his hold. “I promise.”

“Liar.”

“I’ll prove it this time.”

Jay didn’t answer — just made a small, frustrated noise, half-whine, half-sob, and buried his face deeper into Sunghoon’s shoulder.

Sunghoon stayed still, holding him through the quiet, through the rain, through the heat of his fever and the heaviness of everything left unsaid.

“Sorry,” Sunghoon murmured again, barely audible. “I’ll keep saying it until it doesn’t hurt anymore.”

Jay’s fingers twitched against his chest. His breathing slowed, quieting into uneven rhythm — still sulking, but drifting toward sleep.

Sunghoon brushed the hair from his damp forehead, pressing a soft kiss there, voice shaking as he whispered,
“Just let me stay, Jay. Even if you hate me for it.”

Outside, the rain kept falling — steady and relentless, like the world was giving them both permission to fall apart, just this once.

And now, Jay had been ignoring Sunghoon for a week.

Not the usual kind of ignoring, the sharp, deliberate kind. The kind where Jay would leave early for class, close the bedroom door when Sunghoon was home, and even schedule his laundry around the other’s absence.

If Sunghoon said “good morning,” Jay would nod without looking.

If Sunghoon asked if he’d eaten, Jay would reply, “Don’t worry about it,” and leave the room.

After that night, the fever, the apologies, the half-whispered words that neither wanted to admit mattered, Jay decided space was safer.

He wasn’t sure if he was protecting himself or punishing Sunghoon. Maybe both.

Of course, the ignoring stopped when it comes to wedding preparations.

Such a lifesaver for Sunghoon, and a pain in the ass for Jongseong.

The jewelry shop they partnered with smelled faintly of polished glass and perfume, definitely looks expensive, elegant, and far too bright for a Saturday afternoon.

Jay stood by the counter, both hands in his pockets, expression unreadable as the staff brought out a velvet tray of engagement rings. The kind of scene anyone else would dream about, but to him, it just felt like another carefully arranged performance.

Sunghoon stood beside him, crisp white shirt rolled at the sleeves, posture relaxed. He looked far too comfortable for someone about to pick a ring for his ex.

The saleslady smiled warmly. “These are the designs your parents agreed on. We can adjust sizes and settings if needed.”

Jay hummed a polite acknowledgment, eyes scanning the rings. All of them sparkled, catching the light, too much, almost blinding.

Sunghoon leaned a little closer, pointing at one. “This one looks like you.”

Jay didn’t even glance at him. “That doesn’t make sense. I’m not a ring.”

Sunghoon grinned. “I meant it’s elegant. Minimalist. Kind of sharp around the edges.”

Jay finally looked at him, unimpressed. “Sharp? You’re calling me sharp?”

“I mean it as a compliment.”

Jay sighed, turning his gaze back to the tray. “You really don’t know when to shut up, do you?”

“Not when you look this annoyed,” Sunghoon replied easily.

The staff member hid a small smile before clearing her throat. “Shall I note down this pair, sir?”

Jay blinked, realizing Sunghoon had picked two rings — a simple platinum band for himself and one with a subtle diamond edge for Jay. They matched without being obvious.

He hesitated, eyes flicking between them. “You’re sure about that?”

Sunghoon nodded. “Yeah. It fits us.”

“Us,” Jay repeated under his breath, the word tasting foreign.

Still, he didn’t object. He only watched as the staff wrapped the rings carefully, the small boxes clicking shut like the end of a sentence neither of them wanted to say.

Outside, the rain had stopped, leaving the pavement glistening. Jay walked slightly ahead, the bag from the shop in his hand.

Sunghoon caught up, hands in his pockets. “You could’ve let me carry that.”

“You picked it. I’ll keep it.”

Sunghoon laughed quietly. “So you trust me less than a paper bag?”

Jay shot him a sideways look. “Maybe.”

They stopped at the pedestrian light, the city’s hum filling the silence between them. When the light turned green, Sunghoon spoke again, softer this time.

“Do you hate it?”

“The ring?”

“Yeah.”

Jay glanced at the small bag in his hand. The truth was, he didn’t. It was simple, subtle — something he would’ve chosen himself. But saying that out loud felt too much like giving ground.

“It’s fine,” he said instead. “You did well for once.”

Sunghoon smiled faintly. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It wasn’t one.”

“Still sounds like progress to me.”

Jay shook his head, trying to hide the small smile tugging at his lips. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Maybe,” Sunghoon said, eyes still on him, “but at least now you’re smiling.”

Jay blinked, caught off guard, and just like that, his faint smile vanished. “You talk too much.”

“Maybe that’s why you missed me,” Sunghoon teased.

Jay groaned, walking faster toward the car. “Keep talking and I’ll make you wear the ring alone.”

Sunghoon followed, laughing quietly under his breath.

And for the first time in a long while, their laughter didn’t feel out of place, like maybe, somewhere beneath the history and the noise, there was still something that fit.

Now they are in a private hotel. It was the kind of place that looked straight out of a magazine, the chandeliers catching the morning sun, white roses lining every corner, and the faint sound of a piano echoing through the lobby. Jay arrived first, dressed in a cream suit tailored to perfection, his hair neatly parted, a quiet calm masking the storm underneath.

He looked like he belonged there. He always did.

Sunghoon arrived a few minutes later, black tuxedo crisp, hair swept back just enough to show the sharp line of his jaw. He greeted the photographers with a polite smile before his eyes found Jay across the room, standing near the window, scrolling on his phone like he wasn’t aware of how the entire room seemed to notice him.

Sunghoon exhaled softly. Handsome, as always.

The coordinator clapped her hands. “Alright, we’ll begin with a few shots by the grand staircase. The concept is timeless elegance, like you’ve been together forever.”

Jay almost laughed at that. If only they knew.

Still, he nodded, stepping toward the marble steps as Sunghoon followed, keeping a small distance. The staff guided them into position: Jay standing slightly ahead, Sunghoon’s hand resting lightly on his shoulder.

“Closer,” the photographer said. “You’re engaged, not business partners.”

Jay forced a small smile, shifting an inch closer. Sunghoon leaned in, his breath brushing the side of Jay’s neck.

“Relax,” Sunghoon murmured low enough for only him to hear. “You’re too stiff.”

Jay didn’t look at him. “I don’t make a habit of pretending to like my fiancé.”

Sunghoon chuckled softly. “You’re doing a good job then.”

The photographer counted down, “Three… two… one—perfect! Now, look at each other.”

Jay turned his head just slightly, their eyes meeting for a moment that lasted longer than the click of a camera. The room seemed to fall away, and for a heartbeat, Jay couldn’t tell if the warmth in Sunghoon’s gaze was part of the act, or something real bleeding through.

Then the flash went off, breaking the spell.

“Beautiful!” the photographer praised. “Let’s move to the garden setup.”

Outside, the garden was bathed in gold light. A white arch framed with lilies stood at the center, and Jay’s breath caught for a moment when he saw the smaller setup — two champagne glasses, a velvet box placed beside them, and a path of petals leading to the center.

Sunghoon let out a quiet laugh. “They’re going all out, huh?”

“Of course,” Jay said flatly. “Our parents love theatrics.”

“Can’t blame them. We do look good together.”

Jay shot him a look. “You sound way too confident for someone whose tie is crooked.”

Sunghoon blinked, looking down. “Wait, is it—”

Before he could fix it, Jay sighed, reaching forward. “Hold still.”

He fixed the tie with practiced ease, his fingers brushing the fabric, and Sunghoon’s chest, in the process. It was quick, nothing intentional, but the silence that followed felt louder than the clicking cameras.

“Better,” Jay said quietly.

“Yeah,” Sunghoon replied, softer than before. “Much better.”

The shoot went on — formal poses turned into candid ones. The photographer asked them to hold hands, to walk across the garden, to laugh naturally. At first, Jay resisted, keeping his composure; but when Sunghoon cracked a quiet joke about “acting like a toothpaste commercial,” Jay’s lips twitched despite himself.

“See? You can smile,” Sunghoon teased.

“Don’t push it,” Jay muttered, but his eyes softened.

Then came the final setup, the rooftop terrace. The sun was setting, painting everything gold. The photographer asked them to stand close, foreheads nearly touching.

“Pretend you’re in love,” she said warmly.

Jay’s heart stumbled at the words. He didn’t have to pretend. Not completely.

Sunghoon’s hand found his waist, steady, gentle. “You okay?” he whispered.

Jay swallowed, forcing a small nod. “Yeah. Just—don’t overdo it.”

“I’ll try,” Sunghoon murmured, voice low and sincere.

The flash went off again, but this time, Jay didn’t move away immediately. For once, he let the moment linger — their breaths mingling, silence stretching between them like something fragile and new.

“Cut,” the photographer called. “That’s perfect. You two are natural.”

Jay stepped back quickly, clearing his throat. “Let’s just get the files and go.”

Sunghoon only smiled, watching him walk ahead.

“Natural, huh?” he said under his breath. “If only they knew how hard it is not to mean it.”

The night smelled like smoke, beer, and the faint sweetness of barbecue sauce.
Riverfield University’s student organization party was loud, laughter echoing across the backyard, music thrumming through portable speakers, fairy lights swaying above the crowd.

Jay sat at the edge of one of the picnic tables, a half-empty red cup dangling loosely in his hand. Heeseung was across from him, busy talking to someone from another department, while Sunoo danced with Jungwon near the center, their energy pulling laughter from everyone around.

For once, Jay wasn’t thinking about his thesis, or lab work, or the condo waiting for him later that night. He wasn’t even thinking about him.

He just wanted to be another college student at a Friday night party, simple, loud, forgetful.

Sunoo returned briefly, already flushed from dancing. “Jay! Come on, get up! They’re playing your song!”

Jay smirked. “Which one?”

“The one you pretended to hate but never skipped, ‘Cool With You.’”

Jay rolled his eyes but didn’t move. “I’m fine right here.”

“Boring,” Sunoo teased, spinning away again.

Jay chuckled to himself, taking another sip. The laughter, the light, it was easy to melt into. He was finally relaxed.

Until a familiar laugh drifted from the other side of the lawn.

It was deep, low, and painfully recognizable.

Jay froze mid-sip.

No way.

Slowly, he turned his head.

There, sitting casually at another table near the grill, was Park Sunghoon.

Dressed neatly even in a casual setting, black slacks, black dressshirt and rolled-up sleeves, that stupid confident posture that made it look like he belonged anywhere he stood.

He was surrounded by Jake, Ni-ki, Yeonjun, and Soobin, all laughing over something Jake said. Sunghoon’s eyes curved when he smiled, that familiar warmth on his face that Jay used to find comforting.

Now, it just made his stomach twist.

“Heeseung,” Jay muttered, setting his cup down a little too hard. “Why is he here?”

Heeseung followed his gaze, and immediately groaned. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Do not tell me you invited him.”

“Of course not,” Heeseung said quickly, glaring at the other table. “But Jake’s here. And where Jake goes—”

“Sunghoon follows,” Jay finished bitterly.

Heeseung leaned closer, lowering his voice. “You wanna leave?”

Jay shook his head, jaw tight. “No. I was here first.”

“Jay—”

“No,” he repeated, his tone sharp. “He doesn’t get to ruin this night for me.”

Heeseung sighed, leaning back, though his eyes never strayed far from the other group.

For the next few minutes, Jay tried to ignore the heavy awareness sitting in his chest. Tried to laugh when Sunoo came back with another drink, tried to focus on the music, the chatter, the familiar faces.

But it was impossible.

Every time someone laughed too loud, he could hear Sunghoon’s voice mixed in. Every few seconds, he caught himself glancing that way — just to see if Sunghoon was looking back.

And of course, he was.

When their eyes finally met across the crowd, Jay’s breath hitched — not that he’d admit it. Sunghoon’s expression didn’t change, but there was a flicker there. Recognition. Amusement. Maybe even something softer.

Jay quickly looked away, muttering under his breath. “Unbelievable.”

A few minutes later, a shadow fell across his table.

“Didn’t expect to see you here, Jay,” came the calm voice.

Jay didn’t bother hiding his annoyance this time. “Yeah, that makes two of us.”

Sunghoon slipped his hands into his pockets, smiling like he wasn’t intruding. “You always pick the quiet corners.”

“I’m avoiding you, actually,” Jay replied dryly, not even looking at him.

Sunghoon chuckled. “You always say that.”

“Because you don’t listen.”

Heeseung stood up instantly, blocking part of Jay’s view like a wall. “You’re interrupting again, Sunghoon.”

Sunghoon’s eyes flicked briefly to him, unbothered. “Relax, I’m not here to start anything.”

“Good,” Heeseung said coolly, arms crossed. “Then leave.”

Jay sighed, rubbing his temple. “Both of you, stop. I’m too sober for this.”

Sunghoon tilted his head, his voice softening slightly. “Then let me fix that. One drink?”

Jay scoffed. “You think drinking with you will make this less awkward?”

“Maybe not,” Sunghoon said easily. “But it might make it more fun.”

Despite himself, Jay’s lips twitched — not quite a smile, but something close. “You really don’t know when to quit, do you?”

Sunghoon grinned. “You knew that when you dated me.”

Heeseung groaned under his breath. “And that’s why you broke up with him.”

Sunghoon just chuckled and, without waiting for permission, sat down across from Jay — close enough to make him shift slightly in irritation.

Jay tried to stay annoyed. Tried to roll his eyes, to ignore the faint heat crawling up his neck when Sunghoon leaned closer to make a joke about the playlist, about the cheap beer, about how Jay still furrowed his brows the same way when he was trying not to laugh.

By the time the music softened and the night settled, Jay realized he hadn’t moved from that table.
And Sunghoon was still there — smiling faintly, pretending this was all normal.

Heeseung noticed, of course. But for once, he didn’t say anything — just sighed, watching the two from a distance.

Because even in denial, Jay had stopped looking for an exit.

The night air outside the backyard party was cold enough to make Jay’s breath fog in front of him. He tugged his jacket tighter, grumbling under his breath as he stepped through the gate. The faint thump of music faded behind him — a relief.

He’d had enough small talk, enough half-drunken laughter from people he barely knew. All he wanted was silence.

But the universe, as usual, had other plans.

Because leaning casually against a black BMW by the curb was Park Sunghoon — white shirt slightly unbuttoned, Ferrari-red jacket hanging off one shoulder, and that familiar smirk tugging at his lips.

Jay froze mid-step. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Sunghoon straightened up with a lazy grin. “Took you long enough.”

“What are you doing here?” Jay asked sharply.

“Waiting for you.”

Jay blinked. “For me?”

“Mm.” Sunghoon’s tone was light, teasing, but there was something soft underneath it. “Figured I’d make sure you got home safe.”

Jay crossed his arms. “You could’ve texted instead of—”

“You weren’t answering,” Sunghoon cut in smoothly. “So I waited.”

Jay scoffed, eyes narrowing. “You’re unbelievable.”

Sunghoon only grinned wider. His cheeks were flushed, the kind of rosy that came with just enough alcohol to loosen his tongue. “What? I’m being responsible.”

“You’re drunk.”

“Tipsy,” Sunghoon corrected, stepping closer. “And responsible.”

Jay sighed. “Go home, Sunghoon.”

“Can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because my fiancé isn’t home yet,” Sunghoon said, tilting his head playfully. His gaze flicked down to Jay’s hand, specifically, the glint of silver around his finger.

Jay followed his stare, realizing too late that he’d forgotten to take off the engagement ring.

“Cute,” Sunghoon murmured, voice dropping a little. “You’re still wearing it.”

Jay’s jaw tightened. “It’s not like I have a choice.”

“Sure,” Sunghoon said, smirking. “Totally not because you wanted to.”

Jay glared. “You’re seriously picking a fight right now?”

Sunghoon took another step forward, the smell of faint whiskey and mint filling the air between them. “No,” he said softly. “Just stating facts.”

Jay’s patience was thinning fast. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet,” Sunghoon murmured, “you’re still here.”

Jay’s throat went dry. “Only because I don’t want you driving like that.”

“Mm, sure.” Sunghoon leaned in, close enough that his breath brushed Jay’s cheek. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, Jay.”

“Sunghoon,” Jay warned.

But Sunghoon only smiled, slow, tipsy, almost fond, and before Jay could step back, his hands came up to cup Jay’s cheeks gently.

Jay’s breath caught. “What are you—”

“Just checking,” Sunghoon murmured, thumb brushing along Jay’s jaw. “Still warm. Guess that fever’s really gone, huh?”

Jay’s pulse stumbled. “You’re drunk, let go.”

But Sunghoon didn’t. His hands stayed there, steady, soft, almost trembling. “You know,” he said, his voice quieter now, “you look really good under this light.”

“Sunghoon—”

“You even match me,” he added with a faint grin, nodding toward Jay’s ring again. “Red and silver. Fate’s got style.”

“Stop talking,” Jay muttered, trying to push him away, but his fingers only ended up clutching Sunghoon’s jacket, tugging weakly as if grounding himself.

For a second, neither of them moved. The air between them hummed, the silence filled with everything they hadn’t said since the night Jay got sick.

“Sunghoon,” Jay said again, quieter this time.

“Hmm?”

“You’re impossible.”

“Maybe,” Sunghoon whispered, his thumbs still stroking Jay’s cheeks. “But you never really stopped looking at me like this, did you? Gosh, I miss you so much.”

Jay’s heart twisted. “You’re drunk,” he said again, but it came out softer, more like a plea than an insult.

Sunghoon’s smile faltered for just a moment. Then, before Jay could pull away, he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his lips, slow, brief, and trembling just slightly at the edges.

When he pulled back, Jay didn’t say anything. He couldn’t. His hands were still gripping the front of Sunghoon’s jacket, knuckles white.

“Blame it on the drinks if you want,” Sunghoon murmured, his voice faintly slurred but achingly sincere. “But I meant it.”

Jay stared at him, breath uneven, eyes burning from the weight of everything unsaid.

Sunghoon smiled weakly, stepping back toward the driver’s door. “Come on,” he said softly. “Let’s go home.”

Jay didn’t answer,

but he followed anyway.

Because no matter how much he wanted to deny it, some part of him still couldn’t walk away, of course not when Sunghoon said home like that.

Weeks later, the open field of Riverfield University was alive with lights, laughter, and the low hum of excitement that only a Christmas celebration before the semester break could bring.

Stalls selling hot chocolate, roasted chestnuts, and candy canes lined the edges of the campus, the scent of cinnamon and sugar drifting through the cool evening air. Students wandered in groups, their footsteps mingling with bursts of laughter and the occasional cheer from the main stage where performers, both students and local media personalities, played holiday music and games.

Jay was with Heeseung, Sunoo, and Jungwon, laughing at a ridiculous game on the side stage where a group of students tried to balance ornaments on their heads while hopping on one foot. He was enjoying himself, genuinely smiling, letting the festive energy wash over him. But amid the laughter and chaos, he couldn’t shake the familiar weight in the pit of his stomach, the awareness that Sunghoon could be anywhere.

And, as if on cue, he felt it: the light touch of someone brushing past him.

“Jay-ah.”

He froze.

That voice, soft, confident, familiar definitely made his chest skip a beat. He turned, and there he was: Sunghoon, casually stylish in a dark coat with the collar slightly popped, hair a little tousled from the evening air, eyes tracking him with a mix of amusement and warmth.

Jay blinked, surprise crossing his features. “What are you doing here?” he asked, though his tone carried no accusation, only disbelief.

“I came to get you,” Sunghoon said simply, stepping closer, brushing lightly against his arm as he threaded it through Jay’s. “I thought you’d enjoy the crowd, but I wanted you to see this with me.”

Jay opened his mouth, then closed it again. The protest died somewhere in his chest; it wasn’t needed. Not tonight. He let Sunghoon guide him gently toward a quieter spot near the edge of the field, close enough to see the performers on the stage but far enough that the crowd felt distant.

The music floated around them, cheerful holiday songs, laughter, occasional shouts from excited students, but here, pressed close against Sunghoon, it all faded into a comforting background hum.

Jay leaned back slightly against Sunghoon, allowing the warmth behind him to seep in, feeling the familiar curve of his back and the steady rhythm of his chest. Sunghoon rested his chin just above Jay’s shoulder, low and gentle, letting his hands settle comfortably on Jay’s stomach and side.

“You didn’t have to do this,” Jay murmured, soft, almost breathless.

“I wanted to,” Sunghoon said, voice quiet, intimate, as though he were confessing something sacred. “Not because you need me to, but because I get to be here. With you.”

Jay tilted his head slightly, letting the motion pull him closer without even realizing it. The lights of the stage reflected off Sunghoon’s eyes, golden and warm, and for the first time in weeks, Jay felt the lingering tension inside him finally dissolve, replaced by something lighter, something that resembled peace.

“You’ve changed,” Jay said softly, almost as a statement rather than a question. “Not that it matters, because… I like who you are now.”

Sunghoon’s lips curved into a quiet, almost shy smile. “I’ve been trying,” he said, voice low. “Trying to be someone worthy of this, for you.”

Jay let out a small, humorless laugh, pressing back a little more firmly into Sunghoon’s embrace. “You’ve always been enough,” he whispered. “I just… didn’t know it then.”

Sunghoon’s arms tightened slightly, a gentle pressure that grounded Jay without being suffocating. “I know,” he murmured. “I didn’t either. But I do now. And I don’t want to waste another second.”

They stood like that for a while, the festive noise around them fading to a distant hum. Jay’s fingers brushed against Sunghoon’s, then entwined naturally, as if it had always been meant to be that way. The warmth of his hand was grounding, comforting, a silent promise that the space between them was closing, piece by piece.

A performer on stage began singing a slow, melodic holiday song, and Jay tilted his head slightly so his ear brushed against Sunghoon’s shoulder. “It’s… nice,” he murmured.

“Not as nice as this,” Sunghoon whispered back, pressing a soft kiss to the top of Jay’s head. “Being here. With you. Seeing you like this.”

Jay closed his eyes briefly, letting himself absorb the sensation, the safety, the intimacy. He leaned back further, pressing fully into Sunghoon’s chest, his arms curling around Sunghoon’s waist almost reflexively. There were no words, no declarations, just the quiet understanding that they were here together, now, and it was enough.

“I missed this,” Sunghoon murmured after a while, voice low and thick with feeling. “Being close. Feeling like… we can start again.”

Jay pressed a hand to Sunghoon’s chest, feeling the steady thrum beneath his palm. “We are starting again,” he said softly, not as a question, not as a warning, but as a statement. “And it feels… right.”

Sunghoon rested his forehead against the side of Jay’s head, breathing him in, lingering in the warmth and stillness that was theirs alone. Around them, the campus erupted in cheers and laughter, the performers bowing on stage, students clapping and shouting. But none of it touched the bubble that had formed around the two of them, a bubble of quiet intimacy amid the chaos.

“You’re letting me in again,” Sunghoon whispered, voice husky. “And I promise… I’m not letting go this time.”

Jay didn’t speak. He simply leaned back a little more, eyes half-closed, pressing into Sunghoon’s warmth. He didn’t need to say it — the simple act of staying, of allowing Sunghoon so close, said everything.

And for the first time in so long, Jay felt like he was exactly where he belonged: not in the past, not in the hurt, not in the distance, but here. With Sunghoon. Safe. Warm. Known.

As the song on stage swelled to a gentle climax, Sunghoon pressed soft kisses to the side of Jay’s temple, lingering in a silent vow. Jay tilted his head into it and even laughed because it tickled a little with his heart thudding in a quiet, steady rhythm, letting himself be held, letting himself hope.

In the middle of the festive chaos, surrounded by laughter and lights, they found their quiet, their closeness, their second chance.

And it was perfect.

Because love doesn’t always follow the path we expect. Sometimes it returns in ways that surprise us, in moments we never thought possible, bringing the past gently into the present.

And then, when you least expect it, the person you once lost becomes the person you choose to keep. Not because fate forced it, but because hearts recognize what they were meant to hold all along.

Life can be stubborn, even messy, but in the end, it gives you the chance to begin again, wiser, braver, and together. And maybe that’s the kind of miracle that matters most: a second chance, taken with eyes wide open, and hearts finally ready.