Archive of Our Own

Focus wasn’t something Seungho usually lacked, after years of channeling all his energy into focusing on work and business—his father's business more specifically. But tonight was different, and not just because of the din of the diners or the clang of cutlery. 

“Once we have this stage of the takeover underhand, we can start projecting next year’s gains with more accuracy.” 

Seungho nodded. It wasn’t exactly necessary to be so engaged at this point; they were on day four of the week-long trip to smooth out the last details of this acquisition. 

Seungho took a sip of his wine. “And I’ll definitely need the CFO on hand for that—and less wine.”

The men around the table chuckled. 

Seungho mused silently his appreciation for all the training in his upbringing to keep an unfazed demeanor, a perfect outside presentation, whilst his insides whirled like a fairground ride. 

He felt sick. Sick and conspicuous. He grinned and bared it, nodded and muttered until they drained the last of the wine and rolled out the formal farewell handshakes. Seungho made it out the door, into the crisp winter air, without being detected. He felt relief in that and ignored the tinge of disappointment.  

The car waited, engine running, just out on the road. Seungho slid into the backseat and pulled the door closed. Kim pulled away feeling no need to break the silence. 

Did he leave it alone? Could he let it be? 

“Kim,” Seungho began.

“Yes, sir?”

Seungho hesitated, fingering the card he’d taken on the way out of the restaurant. Tomorrow marked the midpoint of the business trip, and the meetings and schedule would only intensify. Spare time at this moment didn’t exist. “Can I ask you to look into that restaurant?” 

Kim glanced at Seungho in the rearview mirror. “The restaurant?”

Seungho leaned forward and passed the card over to his assistant. “Yeah, the owner. Who runs it, who owns the building, for how long—stuff like that.”

There was a moment’s pause. “For acquisition?”

“No.”

“If you don’t mind my asking, what is the information needed for? It’ll help me figure out what I need to find.” 

Seungho eased back in his seat and looked out into the blur of city lights. “I saw him.”

There was a politely awkward pause. Kim was well aware enough, having worked for Seungho’s family since before Seungho could recollect, to know where and when he could tread. Yet, even then, a man had limits. “Are you sure?” he offered. 

The scrutiny was expected. Seungho had claimed to have seen him at least twice yearly, roughly, since he’d vanished. Sighing, Seungho let go of any irritation that the question piqued, considering he had no grounds to be defensive when about to send someone on what they considered a fruitless hunt. Before it had felt like clutching at straws, hearing a laugh that sounded similar and fixating on it through a crowd, or seeing a profile that matched his and making an entire room uncomfortable with his staring. This time it was different. “His hair is longer—he’s let it grow out. And… he’s—” It was hard to describe, especially from the fleeting glances he dared steal. How did you explain it? Last he’d seen of him, the tail end of youth made his limbs scrawny, made him willowy. And he was still the same height, of course; nothing that drastic had changed. But there was a softening to him, a gentle easing of the edges of adolescence. A deepening of smile lines—or worry lines. “Older.” It was about all he could sum it all up as. 

“That would happen, sir. It has been five years.”

Seungho grunted a short and humourless reply. It wasn’t until today, til this evening, that he realised he was searching for that young man he’d known before. The truth of it was that time would have weathered some of him and sculpted other parts. Would he still be as naïve? No—that wasn’t right. It was hard to reconcile that gentle and naïve nature, which Seungho would have bet his life on, when compared to the calculated and purposeful approach he’d taken to completely disappearing. And, just like clockwork, Seungho oscillated between blind fury and pitiful obsession. “It’s likely me just seeing things again, but I would appreciate you having a look.” 

“Of course, sir.”

“I hear a lot of positivity from our partners.”

Seungho hummed, taking a drag on his cigarette and letting the smoke coil out of his lungs slowly on the exhale. His father’s voice always took the same monotone, whether he was pleased or angry. He’d long since given up on trying to parse through his father's behaviour, and even longer since he’d been hoping to win his approval. He served approval coldly when he offered it at all. “Everything has tied up as well as we could have wanted. No hitches—yet, that is.”

“Yet,” his father repeated, affirming the point. Always prepare for the worst; that was probably the most positive ethos his dad owned. “Whatever arises, I leave it in your hands.”

It could be interpreted in two ways: as a sign of faith or as a threat. Seungho banked on the latter. He flicked the ash into the ashtray, one of the front desk staff had spent thirty minutes looking for. Apparently they weren’t used that much anymore, whether that meant guests could smoke in their suites Seungho didn’t know. They wouldn’t say no to him, not when booked under the name Yoon. There was a small ball of what looked like water, plugged into the wall, making a low hum in the main living space of the suite. It apparently took the smoke out of the air, deodorised or something. “We’re still planning on wrapping up by Saturday, so I’ll be home on Sunday.”

His father gave a quick sound of perfunctory agreement. “I have something lined up for you Monday, so make sure you rest when you can.”

Seungho closed his eyes and leaned against the glass wall, the view encompassing the city below, glistening like diamonds in the dark. “What’s that?” he asked, knowing what would come. 

“I was talking to Mr Park yesterday, you know, at TellCo?”

Of course, Seungho knew. It was the collaboration, or merger, next on his father’s list—one that Seungho had pulled the strings on at social events. “I know.”

“Turns out, he has a daughter and son—omegan twins. Younger than you. I said you’d meet with the daughter and see how it goes. But maybe you can have a look at the pictures and tell me what your preference is—I’ll send some over now. He was more than happy to share them with me.”

Seungho just stared at the phone on the table, next to the ashtray, his father’s name set as the contact name—no fatherly title, definitely not a nickname. Just Mr Yoon. That said something, Seungho assumed. How many of these meetings could be thrust upon him? The greed and desperation of men like his father, using their children as bargaining chips on the betting table of business they were married to. “You pick,” Seungho muttered, a hair shy of stating: I don’t care. It didn’t matter; Seungho would not become agreeable on these dates, and his father would have to force him into marriage if he wanted it so badly. Seungho couldn’t refuse, because staying alone wasn’t a socially accepted stance for someone of his standing and responsibility, but he would not facilitate the farce. 

An argument simmered in the static between Seungho’s earpiece and his father’s microphone. No doubt, if they shared the same space, Seungho’s scowl would have sparked the explosion. “Daughter then,” he said simply, “I’ll see you Sunday.”

The call ended without polite goodbyes. They had long passed the point of politeness between them. Seungho let the dregs of his father’s tone wash off him in the shower, let his frustration dwindle in the back of his mind as he ran a towel over his hair. He’d pulled on his soft joggers and hoodie, happy to cast off the business shell he wore during the day. 

A knock came on the suite door as he settled on the couch, lighting another cigarette. “Come,” he called. 

Kim walked in, two suit bags over his arm. “Evening, Sir,” he intoned. 

Ordinarily, Seungho would see Kim between meetings and on the way back to the hotel, considering he drove. Today, after lunch, someone from their new branch ferried him from building to restaurant to hotel. “Ah, Kim. Did my father send you on an errand today?”

Kim hung the suit bags in the entrance wardrobe, fresh from the cleaners. He insisted on getting them cleaned at least every other day, claiming if they waited any longer the smell of smoke would taint them forever. Seungho didn’t quite believe that, but he wasn’t about to micromanage someone that kept him alive. He turned and raised an eyebrow. “It was your errand, sir.”

Seungho turned his head away when he blew out smoke, barely noticing the slight wrinkle of his assistant’s nose. He really despised the habit, and if it was just his displeasure Seungho had to consider, he would have quit by now. Unfortunately, his dad hated it too. So, naturally, Seungho had to keep it up. He sat up. “Did you get anywhere?”

Kim hesitated, but not in the way Seungho had grown accustomed to, whereby he’d search in that moment for the diplomatic way to tell Seungho he was a hallucinating idiot. This felt uneasy. “It’s... interesting.”

“What is?” Seungho asked, gesturing for Kim to sit. 

He shook his head at the invitation to the sofa opposite Seungho, too informal for his boundaries, and instead opted for one of the tall-backed chairs at the small oval dining table for two. “It is likely a coincidence, but the owner has another branch and residence near your old university.” 

Seungho waited, but Kim wasn’t forthcoming; there was more to it. “Is that all?”

Kim shook his head slowly. “A daughter, the same age as you, studied marketing there.” He cleared his throat as though that was all he needed to say. 

Frowning, Seungho took in the information, pulled it apart, and sought the clues. And in a moment, the light hit the dust just so, making the vague clear. “In Heena’s class.”

“Still, it is likely a coincidence.”

“Did you find anything else out?” 

Kim shrugged. He’d likely sought many leads and enquiries today that weren’t worth noting. “Nothing that seems coincidental.”

He kept using that word, for caution, Seungho knew it. However, if Seungho saw him there, or believed he saw him, and the owner knew someone connected to Heena, Seungho considered it more than a coincidence. But of course it would; Seungho wanted it to be a sign, a clue, an indication of where he had run to. And then what—if he was right, then what? What would he do?

“Will you go back?” Kim asked tersely when Seungho didn’t respond. He’d watched Seungho on countless occasions make a fool out of himself, and rescued him on a handful of those occasions. 

Seungho took a drag on the cigarette and held onto the question as long as held onto the smoke. “I don’t know.” 

Kim nodded, hearing the lie. 

It was Wednesday. There were three days left for him to decide when, not if. 

Not even a full twenty-four hours passed before Seungho sat at a small table in the corner by himself. He’d ordered and hid behind reports that he decided were an appropriate prop, although he was none the wiser of what information they displayed. He ate a few forkfuls of food; the rest moved around the plate. Nerves thrummed through him, yet he felt like stone on the surface. The last five years could be described as such for him, and if he wasn’t careful, he’d evolve to be even more severe than his father. 

But the nerves were for nothing as Seungho hadn’t seen him. He might not have been scheduled for work tonight, or Seungho could have imagined everything. After years of false alarms, he could believe that. 

A young woman with long black hair, braided down her back, approached his table with a smile. “Was everything okay?” she asked, glancing at the remains of Seungho’s meal. 

“Fine, I just wasn’t all that hungry.”

“Would you like to see the dessert menu?” She collected the plate and cutlery Seungho had pushed to the other side of the table. 

He shook his head and swirled the dark red wine in his glass. “Just a coffee.”

“That’s all?”

Seungho glanced up at her, ready to nod and dismiss but at the last moment veered off passivity. “Actually, no. Can I ask a question?”

“Sure,” she said, planting her feet as she waited.  

“I was here earlier in the week. There was a guy waiting tables, long hair, hazel eyes, about your height—” he left off as she nodded, a rueful smile said that this wasn’t the first time someone had asked. 

“That would be Na-min.” 

“Na-min?”

She nodded. “He’s not working tonight, but just so you know, he gets a lot of attention and turns it all down. He only really has time for—” she cleared her throat and shook her head. “Anyway, don’t get your hopes up. If he were nice to you, it’s just because he is nice.”

“Noted,” Seungho said. So, he got a lot of attention? Of course he would. “Has he worked here long?”

She frowned. “I’ve only been here four months, but I think I remember him saying he joined when the restaurant first opened. So, about five years.”

There wasn’t really more he could say without becoming more memorable than just another admirer, and perhaps sounding alarms. “Thank you,” he said. 

She gave a curt nod of understanding and left. 

Na-min? Was he going by a different name, or was it a completely different person? Part of Seungho wanted to be mistaken, and that this was just someone who looked a little like him. That way, he could continue being lost and wondering without aim. But what if it were him? He sipped his wine, the restaurant slowly emptying as the evening drew thin, and simmered with the undetermined facts he’d bought. The coffee came, and he ignored it as much as he ignored his food. 

He heard the door open and close on the periphery of his attention, sitting forward as he came to a conclusion. He wouldn’t come back here; he would write this off as it seemed. Mistaken, this was indeed another dead end. Maybe the last dead end. Perhaps he should give up entirely, give in to his father, get married, be a passable husband, take part in the engineering of some offspring, and die at some point. 

He needed a cigarette. 

Looking up across the restaurant, he intended to wave over his server and sign for the bill. His hand froze halfway. The server stood at the bar, half turned to Seungho and spoke to someone, their back shielding them from Seungho’s view. With a giggle, she nodded in his direction, and the person turned. A familiar, curious frown quickly dissolved into pale shock. 

All the mental preparation couldn’t help Seungho as he stared directly into the eyes of his childhood best friend, his first and only lover, who’d disappeared without a trace or reason. The moment he’d been searching for pricked the surface of a sphere of emotion. It rushed Seungho so immediately, so powerfully, it built a current, and suddenly Seungho wanted nothing more than to run away. 

Nakyum had left him without feeling the need or want to tell him why. Why on earth would Seungho search for him, wanting the reason behind the betrayal, the abandonment? Why had he come? And now he stood here, solid, and as beautiful as ever. His hair was in a ponytail at his nape, his eyes wide and dark, but there was that softening that came with age that only made him look more ethereal. 

Turning his attention to the server, he gestured for the bill and looked down at the table, beginning to gather the reports. He would pay and leave, pretending they hadn’t ever collided, and Nakyum would likely be grateful for it. This could remain some tragically accidental occurrence—which it was, to a point. 

A pair of worn Converse stopped at his table; the server wore simple black slip-ons.

Seungho froze.

“Seungho?” Nakyum’s soft voice was unmistakable. 

And then hardened.

It was too much to deal with out here in the open; these unresolved feelings that had lingered so long had to be repressed, otherwise who knew what would happen. 

“You don’t have to talk to me, Na-min. You can pretend you never saw me.” He looked up and straight into Nakyum’s gaze that quickly dropped from his.

“Can I sit?” 

“It’s not my chair. You can sit where you want.” 

Nakyum wavered for a moment before pulling the chair out and sitting down. “Aera said you were asking about me.”

Seungho crossed his arms. “I was here Tuesday and thought I saw you, but wasn’t entirely sure. I came back to see.”

Nakyum nodded towards the stack of papers on the table. “Are you here on business?”

“Yes,” Seungho said.

“Is, um,” he licked his lips, “is your dad with you?”

Seungho shook his head, tongue entirely dried out and unable to look up. But without looking, he still felt the relief that melted from Nakyum. 

“It’s been so long. How have you been?” he picked his way across the words carefully, an edge of awkwardness that Seungho shared. 

“Five years.” Seungho said simply. 

“Yes. I know.” 

Did he? That acerbic anger bit at him, giving him the strength he needed to look Nakyum in the eye. He had always imagined he would act in a number of ways if they ever met again—cool and calm, assured and persuasive, aloof and arrogant. But nothing could have prepared him for the anger. 

“I didn’t change my number, I didn’t move, even my email address is the same. Pretty sure you could Google me, too. You know where I work, my parents—Kim, for God's sake. You know me better than anyone else and the ways to get to me. The place I go to be alone. If you wanted to know how I was, Na-min, you would have tried.”

Nakyum wilted and swallowed before nodding. “Doesn’t mean I didn’t think about you.”

“And I’m supposed to take your word for that?”

Nakyum shook his head and leant forward. “Seungho, I’m—”

This was too much for him, and he had acted the fool far too many times before this to know better. Even with Kim waiting in the car, he felt his presence, guiding towards a dignified demeanor. But if Seungho stayed, if he heard any more of what Nakyum had to say, especially if what it sounded like Nakyum was trying to say materialised, he needed to leave. There was no way he could hear an apology, let alone consider accepting it. 

He stood, cutting off Nakyum, and turned his back on him. “Sorry, I think I did mistake you for someone else.” Until that moment, it had never been so clear that Seungho didn’t know who Nakyum was, and maybe had never really known. Everything he’d believed had built a person who couldn’t just turn around and leave him in the dark, but now he knew. There could be no conspiracy theories or dark fantasies; Nakyum had done just that. 

 As he made his way out, he threw back to the server, half-way across the room and wearing a heavy shade of bewilderment, “I’ll call to pay my bill.” And he left. 

Sometimes it irked Seungho that Kim knew him so well, but today, as they drove in silence, he appreciated it. Kim could read his bleak mood, knew what it likely meant, and gave him a wide berth. Seungho muttered about calling the restaurant to pay, and he nodded and drove on. 

Done with the long week already, Seungho stood in a scalding shower trying to clear his mind of all the archaic and infectious thoughts that afflicted him anew. He knew too well it would only lead to a dark spiral downwards, and so he tried to find the calm, the coldness that detached him from everything else. 

Sweats and dressing gown donned, Seungho slid a fresh pack of cigarettes from the suit jacket he’d left hanging over the sofa. A knock came at the door. 

“Come.”

There was a pause before the handle turned, and Kim lingered in the gap. “I wanted to take your clothes to be cleaned.”

Seungho nodded, pointing to where he’d chucked his clothing and throwing a cigarette between his lips. “Here.”

Kim grimaced, looking back over his shoulder. “There’s something else.”

“What?” It was blunter than Seungho had intended, more than was earned. 

“Someone to see you.”

The cigarette hung from his lips as his hands froze, bringing the lighter up. There was no need to specify. Kim’s body language, blocking the door, unsure what the right way to go would be. Likely there wasn’t a right or wrong way, and Kim knew that. 

“Seungho?” Nakyum’s voice pitched over Kim’s should yet still low, soft. Irritatingly familiar. 

He let his hands fall, pocketing the lighter and plucking the cigarette free, putting it behind his ear. “What do you want?” Yet he didn’t move; he didn’t necessarily want Kim to move into the room and leave the way clear. 

“You forgot something.”

“Your files, sir. You left them.” 

Seungho raked his hair back. “Fuck.” He hadn’t even thought about them, the papers, all confidential and incredibly sensitive. If they fell into the wrong hands. “You could have left them at reception,” Seungho called out. How did he even know where to find him?

“Sir, those were quite sensitive documents, and Mr Baek was quite adamant to give them to you. I thought one turn deserved another, if you will.”

Seungho snorted. It seemed the soft spot Kim had for Nakyum hadn’t disappeared, even if he doubted his actions by remaining a blockade between them. After another tense moment, and with no rebuttal from Seungho, Kim edged into the room and collected the clothing strewn over the sofa back. Just as swiftly, he returned to the door and nodded his farewell to Seungho. “Call me if you need me, sir.”

As seconds passed, Seungho glared at the open doorway, its golden light cutting into his dark world. He resumed the task of lighting up, and Nakyum stepped forward gingerly. He clutched the files to his chest, keeping them safe inside his coat. Water drenched him everywhere else. Had he walked all the way in this weather?

Seungho held out a hand, and Nakyum closed the door behind him before pacing forward. “Is that all you wanted?” he asked. It wasn’t any easier to look at Nakyum, though now that was more because Seungho had to wrestle down any empathy that tried to spring up. 

“You know that’s not all. You didn’t let me finish earlier.”

“I don’t want to hear you apologise, Nakyum.” 

He’d come close enough to pass the files, and Seungho grabbed them and chucked them roughly on the dining table. “But I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

He looked down. “For leaving.”

Sorry for leaving? “Can’t be that sorry because you never came back.”

Nakyum shook his head. “I couldn’t.”

“Why not?” he asked, blowing out smoke with the demand.

Gaze narrowing, Nakyum’s focus deviated. “When did you start smoking?”

“Can’t answer a question with a question. Why not?”

He stuttered. “I can’t tell you.”

Seungho turned his back and widened the distance between them. “Then what’s the point of the apology?”

“So you understand: I am sorry.”

“How can I understand if I don’t know why? If you didn’t want me that way, you could have said. We could have stayed friends. I would have dealt with it fine. But I must have disgusted you, somehow made you sick enough to fuck off without a trace or word. Right?”

Nakyum followed, quick feet across the carpet. “No, that’s not it. You know I wouldn’t have gone if I didn’t have to.”

“But you still can’t tell me why?”

“No,” he admitted quietly. “And I’m sorry about that, too. I just wish you could trust me, that I am sorry. That I missed you—I still miss you. I just had to leave.”

Seungho closed his eyes, hardening himself to the words. To hear Nakyum say he missed him and it wasn’t a dream, he thought it would feel good. But without reason, it left him just as lost as he’d been. Maybe even more. “What can I do with that Nakyum? Hm? That you miss me but feel no need to speak to me or see me—even just as my friend. We were best friends. I had no one when you left.”

“Neither did I.”

Seungho turned then, heated at the reply. “Then why go?”

But Nakyum just looked at him, lips slack and his eyes hopeless. The answer wouldn’t come. “I wish I could talk to you about it. You’re the only person I want to tell. But I can’t, it wouldn’t be safe.”

“Safe?”

Nakyum shook his head. “Forget what I said, please. Just know that I wish none of this had happened. But I can’t change it.”

Seungho swallowed the acceptance that the answer wouldn’t come. Not right now, at least. Suddenly, those conspiracy theories didn’t seem so far-fetched. What did Nakyum mean by safe? “I guess whatever it is you can’t tell me is the reason you didn’t get in touch.”

Nakyum nodded. 

“This is either something I should be concerned with or a ploy for me not to ask you questions and feel sorry for you.” But something snagged that last assertion: if Nakyum had truly wanted nothing to do with him, he would have taken the out offered at the restaurant. An apology couldn’t be that important to someone without a conscience. Still, that left a wide gap for interpretation with little to go on. 

“I don’t want you to feel sorry for me, Seungho.”

“Then what do you want?”

“That doesn’t matter. I just—” Nakyum began before huffing out some frustration. Then he paced. “I tried not to think about you or find out much. It was too hard to do that, but when I did, when I couldn’t stop myself from thinking, I always thought you would be okay. I wanted you, somehow—even though it hurt—I wanted you to forget about me and move on. I wanted you to be happy with someone, and then I would fade and just be a memory, some bad, some good, but so faded it didn’t matter to you. It wouldn’t keep you up.” He stopped and looked at Seungho. “I’d hate myself if I held you back. You have so much going for you, so much you can achieve. I never wanted you to waste your time on me.”

Seungho could do nothing but gawk. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

And Nakyum scoffed a short, quiet laugh; it sounded like a memory. A rosy pink made its way into Nakyum’s cheeks that Seungho could pick out on a colour chart, even after all these years. Move on? “I just wanted you to be happy.”

It fell short of asking, and Seungho knew why. Nakyum knew now, his fantasies crumbling, that he couldn’t hold on to that hope. “And what do you think? Now you’ve seen me? What’s your prognosis?” That quieted any humour. The room grew quiet. “And I suppose, whatever mysterious reason you left, will mean there’s nothing past this point either?”

Nakyum shook his head, just once. “No,” he admitted. 

Seungho took a long drag on the cigarette before stubbing it out in the tray. “This is fucking stupid. There’s nothing so serious that I can’t deal with it. If you had just told me, then we could—I would find a fix. So it’s hard to believe you. You know I can throw my weight around in more ways than one. Who the fuck is scarier than me?”

Nakyum smiled then, but it held a sadness. “No, it wouldn’t be fair to you.”

“You can’t decide what’s fair for me.”

“Well, I did and I am. So. Besides,” and he trailed off. 

“What?”

Nakyum firmed his jaw as he gathered himself to carry on. “If you knew it all, you would probably hate me. I don’t have much, but I will be selfish over this. I don’t want you to hate me. Forget me, or be angry with me, or laugh at me—I don’t care. But I would die if you hated me.”

Seungho frowned. “I wouldn’t—”

“You don’t know that,” Nakyum cut him off, turning away. 

“Neither do you,” Seungho said, stepping forward to grab Nakyum’s arm and turning him back. 

“Well, I know more than you, so you’ll have to trust me.” And Seungho knew that stubborn set of his shoulders, the firmness in his gaze. They could be as hard-headed as each other. No, this was no stranger; this was his best friend. This was the only person he held in his heart. Trust him? Somehow that didn’t sound like such an outlandish ask now, despite the way ignorance gnawed at his bones. He wanted to know desperately, but if they just had a few moments, would it be worth wasting them over a fruitless argument? 

“How long?” Seungho asked quietly, the first soft thing he’d felt in years. 

How long can you stay with me? 

Nakyum blinked, understanding the question implicitly. “Not long.”

He didn’t let go of Nakyum’s arm. “Can I ask how you’ve been at least?”

“Surviving, I guess,” he said with an unsure laugh and followed by a nervous shrug. There was too much to say to answer truthfully; Seungho knew it.

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” Seungho murmured. He allowed himself to see Nakyum clearly: his bright, determined gaze, the dampness of his dark hair, the way he bit his lower lip to clamp down on any discomfort his wet clothes lent in Seungho’s air-conditioned room, suffering in silence. He clicked his tongue in annoyance. “You shouldn’t have come in the rain. You’ll catch a cold.” 

“I’m fine,” Nakyum protested.

Seungho studied him for a minute before shaking his head. “Sit,” he said, gesturing to the sofa, not leaving any time for dissent as he hastened to the entrance washroom to grab a towel. By the time he returned, Nakyum still dithered. Seungho grabbed a large, soft cushion and dropped it to the floor, flush against the sofa. “Please,” he added, gesturing to the cushion. Nakyum let out a soft huff before doing as he was told and sitting with his back to the sofa, and Seungho settled behind him, a knee on either side of Nakyum’s shoulders. He dropped the towel over Nakyum’s head and rubbed gently against his skull. 

They sat for a while in quiet, with only the rain hitting the glass as background noise. It had grown heavier. 

“You should stay until it stops,” Seungho said. 

Nakyum hummed noncommittally. 

“How did you get here?” 

“There’s a night bus that comes most of the way, only about a five minutes walk to the stop from here.”

“I suppose Kim told you where I was.”

Nakyum nodded.

And now they were here, breathing in the same space, Seungho had time to question Nakyum’s life. There was so much he wanted to know. Had he stopped studying? Did he work full-time? What were his goals now? He’d always wanted to paint, to open a gallery. Was that shelved? Who did he hang around with? Was his family close? Did he have a new best friend? The questions multiplied as he sat and mulled, slowly drying Nakyum’s shoulder-length hair, but none of them made their way to the surface. Seungho had limited time and did not know how to spend it wisely, so he remained frozen. 

The rain had come down hard enough for Seungho to feel Nakyum’s wet clothes through his sweats. And the downpour had reached his skin, washing away any blocking cream Nakyum wore to mask his scent. As the towel brushed his nape, the scent bled into the rumour. So familiar to Seungho it seemed impossible he’d lived five years without it. The suppressant he used himself blotted his own scent, mostly. Could Nakyum sense him? 

Seungho cleared his throat. “You should stay until it stops.”

Nakyum let out a soft laugh. “You said that already.”

He frowned. “Did I? Well, you should. And you should get out of these wet things. There’s a dryer somewhere; I’ll ask Kim to come.” 

“You don’t have to worry.”

“I know, but let me.” 

It took little to convince Nakyum to his feet, and as he took to the washroom with some spare clothes, Seungho sent a message to Kim. A reply came immediately. 

The door creaked open and Nakyum stepped out sheepishly, wet clothes held out and drowned in Seungho’s much larger clothes. Seungho swallowed before taking the pile from him. He didn’t need to worry about finding some words once the image of Nakyum in soft light, in Seungho’s suite, in his clothes, because a knock came at the door.

Seungho opened it wide enough that Kim would see Nakyum fully dressed and decent behind him. He wouldn’t want his man to worry unnecessarily. “Could you get these dried, please, for Nakyum?” 

Kim’s eyes fluttered to Nakyum and back before he nodded. “Of course, sir. Won’t take long.” 

“No rush,” Seungho said before catching himself. Kim only arched an eyebrow before inclining his head and taking his leave. 

Nakyum stood at the window, cutting a lonely silhouette against the stars. Seungho watched him for a moment, the borrowed clothes dwarfing him, before pacing across the divide. He cast his gaze down at Nakyum, who held the neck of the sweater up, covering his nose with his eyes closed, long dark lashes falling across the soft of his skin. 

“Nakyum? Are you okay?”

He opened his eyes, looking up at Seungho, glistening with tears. He left the sweater drop, baring his trembling chin. “I just want you to know I’m sorry,” he whispered. One tear broke free and ran down his cheek.

“Hey,” Seungho urged, hands rushing to hold Nakyum’s face and brush away the tear with his thumb. “Stop,” he chided softly, “you know I can’t stay angry at you when you cry.” And another sharp turn spun Seungho around, the emotions that had overwhelmed this evening kept moving forward and fast, and each milestone made the scenery of feelings that came before feel like a distant memory. Had he truly felt angry with Nakyum? There was no evidence for it now, except a lingering memory.

Not a moment of hesitation snagged him as he hugged Nakyum close, shushing him as he sobbed softly into Seungho’s chest. More answers spun his mind, desiring to reach Nakyum, asking him what he’d been through, what ghosts haunted him at night. Seungho knew nothing—or next to nothing. Only one thing was clear, something that didn’t help Seungho’s maelstrom of emotions. Nakyum’s scent strengthened, his neck so close to Seungho’s nose, and it was exactly how he recalled, the exact scent that waited for him in his dreams. The freshness of blossom, a richness of rain-soaked soil, the cloying nectar of a bloom. Nakyum remained unmarked, unmated, like himself. Seungho tried to distance himself from that fact; it wouldn’t help the here and now, especially when there was so little time. The last thing Nakyum likely needed was an alpha trying to seduce him, and considering it was the last thing that passed between them before he vanished all those years ago.

But that scent was so rich, so heady… 

Seungho cleared his throat as he inched back. Cupping Nakyum’s face, he studied his expression. The tears had dried up; only that familiar blush afflicted him now. “There. That’s better.” 

He meant to step back and broker some space between them—mostly for his own sake. But Nakyum’s palms landed on Seungho’s wrists, holding him there, turning to nuzzle against his hold. A relieved sigh left his lips, parted as if he’d been yearning for this, just as Seungho did every waking moment. 

“Kyum-ah,” Seungho said softly, frowning as he tried to decide which way to run. Toward pain or away from desperate nourishment? 

The question melted under the warmth of Nakyum’s amber gaze as it turned up to Seungho. “I missed you so much.” 

Closing his eyes, Seungho leant his forehead against Nakyum. Scared. Terrified. Both at the thought that this moment would end, and of not holding tight to Nakyum while he could. “I’ve ached for you every day.” It wasn’t a romantic notion meant to flatter, but a raw truth that left wounds in its wake. 

“Me, too.” Words as shaky as the hands that reached for Seungho, holding his face. Seungho felt as he rose, imagining his perfect feet rising to tiptoe, and any resistance rushed from him before the molten promise of Nakyum’s lips. Because in reality and deep down, Seungho knew he’d give anything for just a moment more. His best friend, his lover, the thorn that would never relent, that flanked the stem of the only flower that he could see the colour of, the only bloom he could scent.

Tentative lips brushed over his, trembling as they offered themselves, just as vulnerable as Seungho felt. The kiss, a brief ray of sunlight in the deep winter, Nakyum wavered on his toes, breath rushing from him, a tendril of nervous laughter lost somewhere in the hot air.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

But Seungho couldn’t bear to hear even an ounce of regret or apology. Nakyum couldn’t take it back, it wasn’t fair. His hands firmed, bringing Nakyum’s jaw back to him, capturing his mouth in his own urgent kiss. Harder, fuller, before he opened and Nakyum mirrored, so Seungho could delve into him, his tongue passing those sweet lips, and surging into the soft of his mouth. 

The last five years had built a dam that seemed insurmountable, but with just a tiny crack, it disintegrated. And Seungho didn’t even think to fight the surge. 

Nakyum’s fingers swept through his hair, then his arms were around Seungho’s neck, hugging him tight, as the kiss quickly became a tangled, wet mess. Seungho’s hands swept down Nakyum’s graceful neck, glancing over his chest, garnering a soft moan, lost in tongue and teeth. Then Seungho gripped his waist, tugging Nakyum up from his toes and against him, his hands sliding to rest under his ass. And Nakyum needed no further encouragement to wrap his limbs around Seungho. 

Breaking away from Nakyum’s mouth, Seungho nuzzled against his throat, kissing along his jaw down over his pulse point, buzzing with life and anticipation. He could taste it in the scent, the need and want so raw it made Seungho’s mouth water. Did Nakyum taste the same? 

“Seungho,” Nakyum moaned, his fingers gripping tight to hair and nape. “You smell so good.” There was a painful lilt to the statement: the torture of long-abstained pleasure encroaching upon touch-starved senses—like a numbed limb coming back to life. 

And Seungho felt it too. He could weep if it weren’t for the greed overshadowing the pain, greed for every inch, every moment, every moan he could harvest. He moved without thought, without hindrance, though he held Nakyum in his arms, straight to the suite. Flinging out an arm, he searched for the switch. 

“Leave it off,” Nakyum said. 

“I want to see you.”

“Please,” he urged. 

Seungho looked at him. Only the sliver of warmth from the living space encroached, along with the muted glow of cool city light. Smoothing out the frown that had formed, he threw curiosity away. It was enough light to see, to encapsulate every detail. Besides, his hands could note just as much as his eyes. 

As an answer, he let Nakyum fall back onto the mattress, and appreciated the gaze that ate him up as he tugged off his sweater and T-shirt, before placing a knee between Nakyum’s thighs and both hands on either side of his head. He wanted to tease like they used to, provoke Nakyum into frustration, but the only thing that came when he opened his mouth was blunt honesty. “Fuck, you’re beautiful.” 

He gave into Nakyum’s hands as they reached for him, as pleadingly as his eyes. Seungho pressed his body down on Nakyum, finding his mouth, resuming their kiss. He made space between Nakyum’s thighs, rocking against him to make it clear the effect Nakyum had cast, and to seek validation there—and with a moan, as Seungho’s length moved against Nakyum’s, hard through the cotton of the sweatpants, he found it. Now, there was a hunger in the room; it made Seungho nip at Nakyum’s plump lower lip and down his neck, sucking marks against his pale skin. Undulating beneath him, Seungho barely staved insanity away as Nakyum clung and clawed, sound and motion matching the desperation flooding Seungho. 

He pushed up the borrowed sweater, ducking his head to find the smooth skin encasing Nakyum’s chest, covering his ribs that protected the heart that beat so wildly within. The flesh plumped beneath Seungho’s mouth, and he licked over and kissed the first, cupping Nakyum gently as he inched towards the stiff peak his nipple made. The low moan became a groan, deep in Nakyum’s throat, as Seungho tasted him, tongue flicked to coax an aching fullness, before moving to the other side of his chest.

It felt like a dream. Seungho wasn’t sure if he’d done this before during the one night they’d had before. It had all become so clouded with the things he’d wanted to do, the fantasies mixed with reality, to the point the whole night was unverified. If it hadn’t been for the marks Nakyum had left that needed tending, Seungho would doubt it all. But the taste of his skin was more than a wistful thought; he had pressed his tongue flat to Nakyum before, sweeping over goose flesh and a sheen of light sweat upon fresh skin. 

It was the keening and the urgent buck of hips that dispelled Seungho’s thoughts, and he gave one last, teasing suck to Nakyum’s nipple. Both now matched in their darkened hue and firmness, wet trails covering them, glinting indecently in the ghostly filaments of light that sought Nakyum. He eased the sweater from Nakyum, tossing it to the floor, before sitting back to admire him—as much as he could in the dark. 

Nakyum’s chest heaved under the inspection and the exertion that Seungho’s mouth had caused. His memories sculpted Nakyum slender—lanky almost, like a baby deer in proportions. Adulthood had only added allure to the softness and gentle curves present before him, etched in a silver glow. 

Nakyum whispered, “Don’t tease me, Seungho,” his words almost disappearing into the sound of the rain hammering the glass. Even that seemed like a fragment of memory—had Nakyum said that before? He reached out towards Seungho. 

“I’m not trying to.” He took Nakyum’s hand, kissing the tips of his fingers before turning his palm and kissing his wrist. “I’m trying not to lose my mind.” He came down on one elbow, brushing the hair from Nakyum’s forehead, damp already where they’d created heat. “I’ve been thinking about this most days—every day. It feels unreal. And there’s a list of things I want to do, to see. I don’t know where to start. A-and I don’t know how much time—”

One of Nakyum’s slender fingers lay across Seungho’s lips, stilling his words. “I ache so much it hurts.” He combed through Seungho’s hair, urging him closer. “I need to feel you—” The finger that had pressed to Seungho’s lips made a quick path down his chest, determined in its search, fingering the waistband of Seungho’s pants. With a heartbeat of hesitancy for pause, Nakyum pushed beneath the material and down, fingertips stroking over dark, short hair before finding Seungho. He gasped as his cock twitched when Nakyum’s fingers wrapped around him, already leaking onto his palm. To his surprise, Nakyum’s head fell back, eyes heavy-lidded as a heavy groan rolled off his tongue, deep in his imaginings as Seungho had been, as eager for fulfilment in each other. 

Seungho stole the breath from Nakyum, kissing him deep and rough, as that eager palm worked over him. Pulling back, Seungho broke the kiss with a harsh curse and settled back on his knees. He gripped the band of Nakyum’s borrowed pants, pulling roughly to release one lithe leg and then the next. The garment tossed into the ether to join the rest of the abandoned clothing. A heavy breath rushed from him as he parted Nakyum’s naked thighs, fingertips stroking down the inside of his knees. Nakyum arched beneath his touch, moaning his encouragement. Seungho glanced at him, and although he couldn’t see clearly, knew the rosy blush in his cheeks matched the shade of his kiss-worn lips. Nakyum met his eyes and brought his palm to his mouth as he licked the cum collected with his stroking.  

“Fuck.” But cogent theories about how Nakyum could act so brazen slipped away when the scent of his slick wrapped itself around his senses. It was one thing to wrestle with the omegan scent unique to the gland on Nakyum’s neck, but to add it to the perfumed lubrication that his body produced in anticipation of Seungho wrecked him. “I want to taste you,” he growled. His hands held Nakyum beneath his knees and rocked his hips backward, spreading him further apart. 

Despite the darkness, his gaze ate Nakyum up—from his neck to his navel, over his length that leaked and jolted alongside Seungho’s, to his tight smooth sac and the delicate skin beneath, where slick glistened along a perfect slit. Before he could decide what to do first, Nakyum’s hands moved down; one resumed stroking Seungho, and the other followed the lips of his slit, two fingers sinking deep before spreading himself. He guided Seungho’s cock to replace his fingers, rubbing the head back and forth, hitched breath punctuating each stroke, and his freed fingers reached towards Seungho, and without question he opened his mouth. They passed across his lips, over his tongue, spreading the intoxicating taste of Nakyum. Sweet and earthy, Seungho’s head spun as it overwhelmed him—like a high. The taste of his lover, the only mate he would ever want to take, inside his body, beneath his skin, in his blood. Where he belonged.

Letting go of one of Nakyum’s perfect knees, Seungho gripped the base of his cock as he canted forward, pushing past tight muscle that submitted to the intrusion yet constricted so tight Seungho couldn’t breathe. Nakyum’s hands flew to the sheets, gripping the material tightly as he choked on a moan, head pushed back into the pillow. Mesmerised, Seungho watched where their slick and sweat-covered bodies met, dragging himself free and watching Nakyum cling to him before sinking deeper. 

“Kyum-ah.” Seungho closed his eyes as he moaned, knowing if he wanted to last longer than a minute he needed to get a hold of himself. But it was too tempting just to let it flow so easily out, into Nakyum, where Seungho belonged. 

Was it like this before? 

He followed Nakyum down to the mattress, framing his hips with a knee on either side, and bringing their chests close, tilting Nakyum’s body so he could thrust deep. 

“Hold me, not the sheets,” Seungho said, kissing his long, graceful neck. 

Nakyum groaned Seungho’s name as his fingers anchored to flesh instead of cotton; the harsh drag of his nails sat in perfect balance to the firm grasp his body had on Seungho. Rocking again, he sank impossibly deep into Nakyum, forcing another cry from his lungs. 

“You feel so good,” Nakyum whimpered. 

“Fuck—I know. You feel like—” There were no words to describe the heat, the tightness, the pulsing of Nakyum’s body around him, the wetness, the purr of his moans against Seungho’s ear. “—Perfect. You’re so perfect.” He took Nakyum’s open mouth, thrusting his tongue into warmth, greedy to be as deep as possible, to take as much of Nakyum as he could. And yet the hunger burnt insatiably. 

Just a few hours ago it had felt an age had passed since they’d been together, and now? And now it felt as if they’d never been apart. Seungho knew him, every facet. There were slight changes the years had garnished them with, but the crux of it, the fundamentals of the man beneath him, he knew each and every one. From the small freckle behind his ear, to the three counts of nervous laughter that hid in his exhale when he was unsure, to the tear that always fell from his left eye before another came from the right, to the way his tongue wrapped around Seungho’s name when he wanted to ask something from him—whether to request the last chocolate or to fuck him deeper, it was the same. 

And Seungho knew it would be mirrored, that no one in the world could read him like Nakyum could. They were made for each other, and they’d been wasting away without the other. So why? What reason justified this pain? 

Seungho pushed back, resting on one palm as he looked down at Nakyum and drove into his body, again and again. He teetered on the edge of abandon and frustration, so much he didn’t know and yet in that moment those unknowns were dwarfed by the physical, by the here and now, the skin and kisses, the cries of pleasure and secret runes being carved into his skin. 

Nakyum’s eyes fluttered open, his palm rested on Seungho’s cheek, tethering them mentally in the sweat-damp sheets and cool darkness together. His thumb stroked the corner of Seungho’s mouth, contradicting the animal way he was being fucked. Their eyes met. 

I love you.

The thought blossomed so easily, so naturally. It was true, and it had always been so; Seungho had just never been able to say it. Once realised to its fullest capacity, Nakyum had vanished. 

A pained expression ghosted Nakyum’s face. He bit his lower lip as a tear streaked from the corner of his eye down his temple, as though he felt the words all the same. He pushed up onto an elbow, coming to Seungho and pressing their foreheads together. His willowy legs wrapped around Seungho, and his free hand dragged down Seungho’s spine until it gripped tight to his ass, pulling him deeper. 

“Knot me,” Nakyum demanded. 

That was something Seungho knew hadn’t happened before in their first fumbled encounter, partly because it had been so new for them both that there was no time to prepare. The rush had hit them both with need but no provision of experience to assist. It seemed Nakyum had imagined the things he would like differently, just as Seungho had. How often did he think about Seungho like this? Every night? Every morning? In the shower? Mid conversation? Had it plagued him like it plagued Seungho? 

Instead of giving an answer, Seungho kissed him, slowing the roll of his body against and into Nakyum as he did. He weighed Nakyum back down onto the bed. Drawing back, he bit Nakyum’s lower lip before brushing a kiss on the end of his nose. Then he righted himself, towering over Nakyum’s splayed and beautiful body, his night-black hair painting the white cotton at his head. Seungho’s heart beat at the confines of its cage; there was nothing on earth as enchanting as Nakyum, and there never would be. 

Seungho gripped Nakyum’s waist and tugged him snug into his lap. He slid one of Nakyum’s legs over his shoulder, the other resting in the crook of his arm. Turning his head into the warmth of Nakyum’s knee, he kissed him there before his grip firmed on Nakyum’s waist. He began to fuck him in earnest, knowing he couldn’t hold out much longer, his hips canted to meet Nakyum’s body, guided to meet each blow. Nakyum choked on the first rough thrust, eyes rolling back as his fingers twisted in the sheets, but Seungho didn’t give him time to breathe, simply kept thrusting into Nakyum’s tight, hot body until the wails of uncontrollable pleasure rolled from his tongue, fucked free in one continuous cry. 

“Cry for me, baby,” Seungho rasped, voice deep and gravelly. His knot was full, ready, and desperate to anchor within Nakyum. 

And Nakyum sobbed, Seungho’s name mixed in amongst the unintelligible pleas before a sudden and sharp inhale demarcated his euphoria. His cock jerked before spurting come up over his lean stomach, long lines that glinted in the low light. Seungho could feel Nakyum’s body constrict around him, slick leaking heavier now, demanding his orgasm be met with another. Seungho cursed as he fell forward with a heavy thrust, sinking everything into Nakyum, his thighs trembling as he was spread wide for Seungho’s knot before everything locked around him. Arms and legs, Nakyum’s body, everything clung so tight that he couldn’t breathe. Air rushed from him in a long groan as he came, hard and long, flooding Nakyum’s body. But there had never been a more satisfying, satiating moment in his existence. It left him winded and dazed, the world spinning around him while Nakyum milked him for every drop of come, wrung out every ounce of orgasm possible. And Seungho would give it all, he’d give Nakyum everything—anything. 

That blaze of white heat branded the moment into Seungho’s mind, capturing every sensation he could detect. The moment blurred and encased them, and all they could feel between them was warmth and their hearts beating as one. Heavy breaths evened, slowed, like the waves calmed after a storm. Seungho came to himself, dusting kisses over whatever skin he could find. He rested his head in the crook of Nakyum’s neck, letting their mixed scents settle into his DNA. He pushed all thought away from him that didn’t centre on just them, their bodies, their connection in this moment. Everything else could wait. 

“Seungho,” Nakyum whispered, tone frayed silk. 

Seungho edged back to look down at Nakyum. He smiled so wide and brilliantly that it made Seungho’s heart swell. He stroked the damp hair from Nakyum’s forehead, pushing a strand behind his ear before thumbing the corner of his mouth. Their bodies would stay locked together for a while until Seungho’s knot subsided. 

“Kyum-ah,” Seungho said in response. 

It didn’t seem possible, but Nakyum’s smile deepened. It faltered for a moment on a thought that came quickly to his lips. “I’m sorry that you thought anything you did made me leave.”

Seungho cocked his head to one side. “That day, the things that happened, it ate me up with worry. I remember it all happening because I came to you when you weren’t feeling well. You said you were fine, but you had a temperature. Afterwards, I thought maybe I’d take advantage of you. I couldn’t remember clearly what happened, who touched whom first, who kissed whom. And because of that, I don’t really remember what happened that night anymore, what’s true and what’s not.”

Nakyum's expression softened; it held a small measure of sadness at Seungho’s words. “You came over with ramen and soup and water and medicine—even though I said it wasn’t necessary.” He scoffed at the memory. “When I said I didn’t need any medication, you said you’d make me take them. I told you to try it, so you did. Water and tablet in your mouth, you tried to give it to me like I was delirious with flu—you were dead serious about it, too.” He cupped Seungho’s cheek. “And then, after you’d pinned me down, you put your mouth on mine, and so I poked my tongue out. Partly to get back at you and partly—” he licked his lips, “—mostly because I’d been thinking of kissing you for years, and I took the chance to see what you’d do.” 

There was a moment of quiet as Seungho digested that. “Years?”

Nakyum smirked. “Years.” 

Seungho shook his head. “And then?” 

“You almost choked on the water laughing, and I got offended.”

“You turned your back on me and said I was making fun of how you kiss—which I wasn’t—so I told you to try again.”  

Nakyum nodded, pleased. “And that was that. I don’t think anyone can take a claim for the first move after that; hands were everywhere, and no one was saying no.” 

“I remember feeling an urgency to be with you that night. I had to look after you because something bad was going to happen. It sounds stupid or paranoid, but I was worried for a reason I couldn’t figure out.“ Seungho shook his head, remembering things clearly for the first time in years. “But I’d been thinking about it for years, too.” 

Nakyum pursed his lips. “I think I knew, but I was so scared I was wrong. I didn’t want to lose you.” 

And it was impossible not to let grief in on that moment. “But we did lose each other.”

Glancing away, Nakyum nodded. “Yes, but not because of how we felt—how we feel.” 

Seungho hesitated before trying one last time. “Then for what?” he asked quietly. 

Nakyum shook his head slowly, sadly. “You’re the only person I want to talk to about it, and you're the only person I can’t. But please trust me, it has nothing to do with me and you and this,” he emphasised the meaning of his words, tightening the grip he still held on Seungho with his legs and arms. “You did nothing wrong.” 

Closing his eyes, Seungho hung his head. “I don’t know if that makes things worse. At least then I could do something about it.” 

There was a lull; nothing could ease the sorrow in what they were missing with each other, especially when one party was ignorant of the cause of their pain. “I’m sorry,” Nakyum said, sensing the sentiment. Seungho had lost track of the number of times he’d uttered that word, but it didn’t irk him anymore.

“You don’t have to say that,” he said. “So there’s no hope for us? Ever?”

Nakyum frowned. “If there comes a time it’s possible, you will know everything and then… then you won’t want me.” 

Seungho snorted and shook his head. “I just can’t imagine anything that would make that happen. If the past five years didn’t stop me from loving you, what could?” The words came without thought, passed by his tongue without inspection. 

Nakyum closed his eyes, his fingers tightening on Seungho. He shook his head, and Seungho could feel the tears brimming anew. “I don’t deserve it,” he whispered.

Love. 

Snorting, Seungho felt irritation for the first time. Not at Nakyum, but the situation. Whatever could have made him think that way? Seungho could not believe Nakyum had it in him to kill in cold blood, and that was about the only thing Seungho could think that would hamper his feelings. And even then, he wasn’t sure. 

“Stop that. You were made to be loved. If not by me, then… well, fuck it, I’m not endorsing anyone else, but you deserve love, Kyum. You’re the most incredible person I’ve ever known.” 

The words hit correctly, straying from sorrow and towards joviality. Nakyum smiled before the expression turned into a smirk. Pushing himself up, he urged Seungho to his side and then onto his back.

“What are you doing?” Seungho asked.

Shifting his seat, Nakyum placed one foot down on the mattress, widening his thighs. The knot subsided, and a stream of come and slick leaked out. Nakyum shifted forward as if to pull himself free from Seungho’s hardening cock, but halfway he sank back down, letting out a satisfied groan. 

“Fuck, what are you—“

Nakyum rocked his hips back and forth, stealing every thought from Seungho and the words off his tongue. “It’s still raining outside,” he said simply.

It was the cold that reached him first, a sensation detached from the actual temperature around him, but one he hadn’t noticed evaporated last night. Sitting up, Seungho scrubbed at his face before casting his gaze to the other side of the bed, now empty. His hand sought empty, cool sheets, just in case his eyes lied. 

“Sir?” Kim called from the door, his knuckles rapping tentatively against wood. 

Seungho cleared his throat. “Come.” 

“Sorry to disturb you, but I left it as long as I could. We should leave in an hour for the morning meeting.” He was discrete with his motions, as usual, but cast a quick glance at the bed, clearly trying to assess the morning after the night before. He placed Seungho’s fresh suit over a chair and a carafe of iced water on the breakfast table before collecting the discarded clothes from the floor. 

Considering Kim’s quiet assessment, it seemed stupid to ask, but he’d do so all the same. “Did you see him leave?” 

Kim shook his head. “No, sir.” 

“I wanted you to drop him off. He must have taken a bus.” 

Kim huffed in displeasure. “You didn’t see him go?” 

Seungho shook his head. He’d tried not to drift off, had done everything possible to distract himself from the bone-deep ache to sleep deeply, besides the warm body of his soulmate. But it hadn’t worked, clearly. 

He could see Kim fighting to ask questions of Nakyum, after all he’d been on the same journey as Seungho, and had known Nakyum just as long. Despite his cautious nature, Seungho knew he cared more than most. 

“Will we be seeing Mr Baek later?” 

Seungho shook his head. “He wants to remain lost.” 

“Did you find out why?”

“No. He said he couldn’t tell me. Asked me to trust him.” 

Kim paused, his eyes landing on the breakfast table in the room's corner. “And you will just leave it at that?” He poured a glass of water from the carafe and brought it to Seungho. 

And Seungho drained half of it, thirstier than he’d ever been—for good reason. “I don’t know. He said If I knew why he left, I’d hate him.”

Kim didn’t have a reply, simply cleared his throat and set out the clothes for Seungho. But the silence spoke for itself. 

“What would you do, Kim?” 

He stopped for a moment, looking back over his shoulder, bewildered by the question. “What would I do?” 

“Yes.”

His eyebrows rose, shocked at Seungho asking anyone else’s opinion on what to do. Was he really that hard-headed? 

“I would have to weigh up which I would regret more: living without them or learning something that might change how I see them forever.” He left off, something lingering in the air that he hesitated voicing. 

“And what?” 

He shrugged. “I’d consider the personality of the person saying that I’d hate them if I knew the big secret they were hiding. Some people are forgiving of everyone but themselves, and I wouldn’t trust them to gauge my response to their wrongdoings accurately. And if Nakyum has lived with this secret all on his own, that can eat a person up. He might not be a reliable perspective to weigh up the situation.” 

Seungho cocked his head to one side as he listened. “I really don’t know what to do, Kim. He seems under the impression that it’s impossible for us to be together. I’m scared what that reason might be.” 

“You think it might be someone else?” 

Seungho frowned. “If there is, they aren’t an alpha. He’s unmated.” 

Kim nodded, processing that information. “Well, there’s no need to act now; you can consider it and return if necessary. I’m sure we will be up this way more often.”

Seungho hummed. “Unless he runs away again.” 

“Yes, that’s a possibility.” 

“And even if I decide to see him, I don’t want to skulk around the restaurant hoping he’s working. We don’t even have that much time for me to do that anyway.” The conversation didn’t clear things up, but did highlight elements Seungho hadn’t yet considered. “Thank you, Kim.”

He gave a respectful nod. “Any time, sir. I’ll organise something for you to eat while you ready yourself.” 

“I won’t be long,” Seungho said, shifting across the mattress, pulling the covers to himself. 

“Oh, sir,” Kim said, halting at the door. 

“Yes, Kim.”

“Two things: first, there’s a note on the table for you. Second—“ he paused. “When I was looking into the restaurant owner, I did find out that there are apartments the owner leases to some of the staff. That was about all I could gather without getting police involved. Might be worth keeping in mind.” With another curt nod, he shut the door. 

So perhaps something to go off if he needed to find Nakyum. Seungho stood and paced to the table, easily finding the hotel-branded notepad. There was a simple heart with I love you too within it, quickly scrawled yet still artistic. Seungho traced the words with a fingertip; he’d recognise Nakyum’s hand anywhere. Carefully, he peeled off the top sheet and put it safely in a zipped compartment of his suitcase. Something new to add to the collection of trinkets he kept in Nakyum’s memory at home. 

Kim shut the boot on the last of the cases and leapt into the driver’s seat, wiping the rain from his face with a kerchief. It hadn’t really stopped since the night he’d seen Nakyum, and now Seungho had to leave. 

“We’ve left plenty of time, so there’s no rush—which is good, considering this awful weather.” Kim tutted, speaking to himself as much as to anyone. 

Seungho hummed absentmindedly. He’d found it difficult to focus on anything since seeing Nakyum again; every thought ended on a soundbite or flashback. And Kim wouldn’t have missed that. He’d remained in the no-man’s-land, making no firm decision or move one way or another regarding the choice in his hands. 

“Anything you want to pick up before we go to the airport?” Kim asked, a delicate probe into just what Seungho was thinking. He should either offer the man a pay rise or fire him, but he couldn’t decide whether he appreciated the acute perception. 

Seungho sighed. “Can we go via the centre?” It was all that needed to be said, it was the way they’d come back from meetings since, and spent an hour both evenings parked on the road outside the restaurant, waiting. Nakyum was giving the place a wide berth until he knew Seungho had left, or it was a coincidence and he had early shifts or time off. Regardless, Seungho wasn’t sure what he’d have done if Nakyum had been there. The last thing he wanted was to stress him out when whatever Nakyum had been through was enough on its own. 

“Of course.”

They drove in silence until Kim slowed at their usual spot. “Shall I pull in, sir?” 

“Just for a minute.” 

Once they’d stopped, Seungho peered into the restaurant, windows steamed, and tried to find Nakyum. But again, it looked like there was no luck. 

“Should I ask?” 

“No,” Seungho said. “If it’s not meant to be, it’s not meant to be.” 

Kim sighed. “Well, perhaps not in the way you’re looking at it.” He nodded to the left of the restaurant, a door that led into the upper levels. They had seen no one come or go that way in their stakeouts, but today a box propped the door open as someone emerged carrying a second box, placing it in the back of a parked van. “Looks like someone’s moving out,” Kim mused.

Seungho swallowed, his palms clammy. “Do we have time?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

Flinging open the door, Seungho made a dash through the rain and into the entrance. The hall was dark and small, and a metal shelf held mail in compartments, but a quick glance didn’t provide any clues. He took the stairs, two at a time, to the first floor, meeting the same man he’d seen outside with another box. 

“Moving out?” 

The man frowned at Seungho, but took in the suit and tie, clearly deciding that this was someone who had a right to ask questions. “No, just decluttering. Did I park in the wrong place?” 

Seungho shook his head, somewhat relieved. “No, no. Just thought you might need a hand.” It was a lie; Seungho wasn’t about to heft boxes around for a stranger—the stranger’s face uttered the same disbelief as his frown deepened. With a quick nod, the man carried on his way. 

As he looked down the hall, three doors on either side and a fire exit at the end, Seungho floundered. What was he going to do, knock at every apartment? If he were going to do that, he may as well start at the top and work down. Grabbing the banister, he half pulled and half jumped into action. It turned out that the second floor was also the top floor, with another three doors on either side of the hallway. He set out to start at the back left apartment and zigzag, but his eyes locked onto the ground just outside the first door to the right. There was a faded welcome mat with a damp pair of beaten-up Converse next to it. 

What had Kim said—a sign? If he was waiting for one, it was here, clear as day. 

Seungho’s heart tripled production, hammering away in his chest. Nakyum had said to trust him, that they couldn’t be together. But Seungho couldn’t leave it at that. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he didn’t try. The silver-shaped number three that sat above the peephole stared back at him. What was there to lose? Except for Nakyum, all over again. 

He knocked three clear times. 

A voice, Nakyum’s voice, rang out behind the divide. “One second!” And then footsteps, his voice coming clearer when he said, “You’re back early.” The door opened onto Nakyum’s wide smile before his eyes found Seungho and the colour drained from his face. “Seungho,” he half said, half gasped.

“I need to know—I need to know why you left.” 

Nakyum glanced down the hall nervously. “How did you know where to find me?” 

“Kim found out the owner had these apartments and let them to some staff. It was just a guess. The door was open, and then I saw your shoes—“ He cut off, losing steam and feeling insecure. Nakyum avoided his eyes. “I couldn’t not try,” he added, almost a whisper. 

“I thought you were leaving today?”

“I was—I am. We’re on the way to the airport, so I asked Kim to pass by. Just in case.” 

“Aera said she saw your car outside the last two nights.”

Seungho couldn’t help the abashed shade that heated his face. “Sorry. I just—I can’t just lose you again.”

Worrying his lip, Nakyum sighed, and his shoulders loosened. “Come.” He stepped back, half hidden by the door, and Seungho hesitated before following. The door closed, and Seungho toed his shoes off. “Do you want a drink?” 

“No. I’m okay. Thank you.”

Nakyum started down the narrow hall. They passed an open door that led into a small kitchen, and then the space opened into a living space. It was compact but cosy. The furnishings and space were simple but functional; a few framed photos dotted the space, ones Seungho recognised, others more recent. A handful of plants made it feel fresh. 

“Do you want to sit?” 

Seungho nodded, nerves creeping up his neck, sweat prickling on his back. He eased into the sofa, and Nakyum took the armchair across from him. 

He sighed again. “Are you sure you want to know?” 

“Yes.”

Nakyum scratched his wrist in the same nervous manner he always did when approaching a hard conversation. He cleared his throat. “I guess you can remember when I left, Heena had just started her apprenticeship and my mum was in hospital. You were due to start your internship, too.” 

Seungho nodded. 

“The day after we were together, your dad came to my house. I was still unwell; I didn’t know until later it was a heat.” 

“A heat?” 

“Yes. It’s why it was just a temperature and not much else. I’m sure it helped with how things went between us. Anyway,” Nakyum turned his face to look out of the window—there were two, and they were large enough to bathe the space with light, or they would if the sky wasn’t overcast with rain clouds. “I still don’t know how much your dad knew about us, but he made it clear that day that I was a distraction for you. He said you had responsibilities you needed to take care of, and you didn’t have the luxury for fun. Something like that.” 

“My dad?” Seungho realised he sounded slow, repeating the basic facts sandwiched between Nakyum’s words, but he truly felt that way. And Nakyum had only just begun to explain. 

Nakyum hummed. “I always got the idea he didn’t like me, or didn’t like us being close. I guess he could see where it might go, where it did.” 

“But it’s none of his business.”

“I guess he’d disagree with that.” 

Seungho swallowed. “And then?”

“He—he made a proposal.” Nakyum’s jaw clenched as though the word tasted sour. “He’d move Mum to somewhere she could get the best treatment, and arrange a well-paid position for Heena—her dream job, actually. Both abroad.”

Seungho felt lost. He recalled how worried Nakyum had been for his mother. But Seungho could have helped; he would have done the same, no matter what his dad said. “He offered you those things if you left?” 

Nakyum cocked his head to one side. “No, not exactly. He said those things would happen if I disappeared. I refused; I was upset. I told him I could make those things happen anyway—though I do not know how. That’s when he showed me the other side of his deal. He said if I stayed, he would make it impossible for Heena to progress in her field—not through any company he had any connection to. And you know how well-connected he is.” Nakyum paused, wavering on the words he carefully strung together. “He also said he’d disown you if we were together—made it clear that there would be no way for me or Heena to care for Mum the way we wanted to because we’d have nothing.” 

Seungho simply stared at Nakyum as he looked down at his knees, shame shrouding him. Anger bubbled in his gut. “He said what?” 

Nakyum waved it away. “There’s no use for anger. It’s done, and you know which decision I chose. I felt like there wasn’t a choice unless I wanted to ruin everyone’s lives. I couldn’t even discuss it with anyone. So I left. I did as he asked: told Heena not to speak to you if you’d tried to contact her. She always assumed you did something wrong, that your dad was making up for whatever it was.” Nakyum tsked at himself as he shook his head. “I hated it. He even deposited money—so much money—after I left. I felt so sick. I was gonna just refuse it but then—“ Nakyum cut off and licked his lips. “I put it in an account that I don’t touch.” 

There were far too many things, too many angles, to process at once. “How is your mum?”

Nakyum looked at him then, a gentle crease in his brow. “She’s much better. I don’t think that would have been the case otherwise. They live on the coast, by the sea. Heena stays with her, and her career has gone from strength to strength.”

Seungho’s heart cracked; the pain sliced across his chest. Everyone got what they needed, except Nakyum. Except them. “You could have waited… contacted me after a while. Months, maybe a year, you could have told me.” 

“No,” Nakyum said sadly. “I mean, that’s what I always thought I would do. But then something else happened.” He resumed the study of his lap, frozen almost in fear of whatever was to come. 

Seungho shivered. “What happened?” 

Nakyum brushed his fingers against his left eye, likely stopping a tear. “You know I said my heat had come? Well—”

Whatever came next would have to wait, as a knock came at the door. Nakyum closed his eyes, a pained expression on his face. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly before standing and walking towards the door.

Seungho watched him, irritation spiking his heart rate at the intrusion while confusion continued to mar his perspective. There was so much for him to get his head around. His dad? Of course, it would have been him meddling. And he had left Nakyum no choice, knowing he’d never choose to be so selfish as to ruin everyone else’s lives—as far as he’d see it. But why had he not tried to speak with him? Seungho could have kept a secret; they could have been covert. 

The door opened onto a muddle of voices; it was hard to detangle each strand until one small voice said, “See you tomorrow, Jihwa. Bye aunty.”

Seungho stood as the door closed once more and footsteps came closer, the voice of the child animated. “Papa, what’s for dinner? We did painting today—I can bring it tomorrow. They had to dry. I painted you and me.” 

“I look forward to it, sweetheart. And I haven’t decided yet what we’re eating.” 

Heart racing, the realisation hit that this small child was referring to Nakyum as papa. Papa? How? A child? With who? Seungho had been sure he was unbonded—unmated.

The two of them entered the room, and the ramblings of the child stopped once he noticed Seungho. The child stared him down, golden eyes fierce, as he planted himself in front of Nakyum. An alpha child, Seungho knew it instantly. He was as tall as Nakyum’s waist, perhaps four years old. 

Nakyum squeezed the child’s shoulder reassuringly. “This is my friend, Seungho.” Then he looked to Seungho, expression a mixture of grief and pride. “Seungho, this is my son Seunghwa.” 

Seungho sank back down to sit. Seunghwa didn’t relent in staring him down in a way that Seungho now understood was familiar. He had long, dark hair gathered over one shoulder. “It’s nice to meet you, Seunghwa.” He wasn’t entirely sure how the words came, but they simply appeared. 

The boy looked Seungho up and down before turning back to Nakyum. “Your friend?” 

Nakyum nodded. “We grew up together since we were babies.”

“Like me and Jihwa?”

Nakyum smiled and nodded. “I haven’t seen him in a long time.” 

“Why?” 

“Sometimes people just get a little busy. Hm?” 

Seunghwa nodded slowly, accepting the answer but skeptical all the same. “Can I play in my room?” He asked, bouncing from one thought to the next without transition, as kids often did.

“Just wash your hands first.” 

“Yes, Papa.” 

The boy bounded out of the room, leaving them both in silence. 

“Seunghwa?” Seungho whispered.

Nakyum nodded as moved to take the armchair again, but Seungho reached out and took his wrist, pulling him down next to him on the sofa. 

“How?”

“I was surprised, too. I didn’t realise until pretty late. When I went to the doctor, that’s when I finally figured out that time was my heat. I told the doctor that you weren’t in rut and we didn’t knot or bond, but he said that although the chances are low, they are never zero.” He turned to stare at Seungho with wide, pleading eyes. “And I swear there was only that time with you. I’ve never—“

Seungho tsked before interrupting. “I know my face, Nakyum. He has my entire face.” And even then, Seungho knew somehow. 

Nakyum looked towards the sounds coming from a happily playing child in the next room. “He does. That always helped when I felt alone. Like a part of you was with me.” He smiled sadly. Seungho wanted to speak but did not know where to start. “I’d planned, once Mum was better and Henna had settled—out of reach of harm—that I’d get back in touch with you. I didn’t know how I’d explain everything. I never wanted to put a wedge between you and your dad, but I thought maybe there was a way we could at least talk. Maybe you’d find someone, and then we could be friends without your dad worrying. But when I found out,” he let out a heavy breath, his hands shaking as he fiddled at the spot on his wrist. “I worried about what he could do, not against me but against Seunghwa. I had no idea what I was up against, and I felt so small, so alone. I knew I had to do it alone to keep him safe. In the back of my mind, I thought there would come a time I could reach out to you, but as the months passed, and then the years, the guilt set in. What I’d taken from you, the choices I’d removed, the things I’d deprived you of—if you’d wanted them. I knew you’d never forgive me.” 

The words left Seungho stranded. There was too much to take in, too much to process. He placed his hand over Nakyum’s wrist, stopping him from scratching himself raw, and let his palm slide down over his skin till his fingers linked with Nakyum’s. “But you had Heena? Your mum?” 

Nakyum shook his head. “Heena was already so mad because of everything with you, even though she was only working on assumptions. It took everything to persuade her to just block you and not call you to cuss you out. If I told her, there was nothing I could do to stop her. She would assume you knocked me up and wanted nothing to do with me and Seunghwa, and that your dad was stepping up to provide.” His lips pressed together in distaste.

“So you haven’t seen them? They don’t know?”

Nakyum looked at him. “No.” 

Seungho’s heart splintered further. “Kyum.”

He shook his head. “I guess it’s karma.” 

“No,” Seungho said, frowning. “I don’t know what to feel. I’m in shock and none of this is gonna sink in for a while.” He placed his free hand over his chest as if it would help him seek those emotions out. “It hurts, but part of that is because you’ve been alone in this. I feel angry because I haven’t been able to help. There’s nothing in me that hates you. Nothing makes me feel that you have some blame. I know him; how he manipulates a deal that really has only one choice. You did what you thought you had to. Maybe I’m a little frustrated you didn’t think I could help, but really,” he paused and licked his lips. Now was different to then; now Seungho had ingrained himself into the business. He was indispensable; the success of the business rested on him now, his father having mostly passed on the torch. Now he had the power to protect and do what he wanted. But back then? Then he could have been cast out and disinherited. Sure, he would have worked his way out of it, and in truth, given the option, that’s what he would have chosen, though it would have been hard on them all. Nakyum had tried to spare that for him, tried to protect everyone. Something Nakyum said needled him. “The money he gave you, you put aside for Seunghwa?”

Nakyum nodded. “I put it in a savings account. Anything I had to borrow for the costs of hospitals, I’ve paid back. And I add to it, every month, as little as I can. It was already an amount I can’t imagine earning in a lifetime, but it will grow steadily. He will have security and opportunities, able to study whatever he wants, wherever he wants.”

He squeezed Nakyum’s hand. “I don’t know what to say.” 

“You’re shocked, I know. But I won’t be surprised when you get mad at me.”

Seungho huffed. “I won’t.”

“You can’t say that.” 

 “I can and I am. As much as I hate this, what you had to do, I know you did the best you could; you chose the best you could.”

Nakyum slumped forward, his chin trembling and his eyes closed. “I didn’t want to hurt anyone,” he breathed. 

“But that meant you were the only one suffering.”

“At least I wasn’t alone,” Nakyum said softly, as if on cue small feet pattered across the room. 

Seungho turned his attention to the small distraction who brandished a plastic Godzilla toy in one hand and a segment of its tail in the other. Seunghwa slowed as he frowned at Nakyum, his eyes dropping to where Seungho held his hand and then back to his father’s face where emotion strained beneath a weak smile. 

“Papa, can you help me fix this?” 

Seungho could feel Nakyum, still shaking from revealing the truth he’d hidden for years. He let go of his hand and instead reached out towards Seunghwa. “Could I give it a go? I used to have an enormous collection of these when I was young. I probably still have them somewhere.” 

Seunghwa scrutinised him for a moment before offering the toy. “Okay.”

A kernel of pride smouldered with the acceptance of help, as small as it was. He looked at the broken figure, a plastic ball made to slot into the joint. Pushing them together, it only took a pinch of strength to have the two pieces click into place. “There’s a trick if it is too hard to fix. If you have a hairdryer and heat that ball part for a minute, the plastic softens, and it’s a lot easier to put together.” He handed it back to the boy. 

Seunghwa inspected it and after a moment gave a perfunctory nod, content with Seungho's handiwork. “Thank you, mister.” And then he looked again at Nakyum. “Papa, are you okay?” 

“I’m good, thank you, Seunghwa.” 

“I think Seunghwa is right. You look a bit tired,” Seungho put in. Nakyum opened his mouth to protest, but he simply nudged him backwards into the soft pillows of the sofa. “You should rest a little. If only there were someone who knew where things were in the kitchen and could help me get some tea and snacks for you.” 

“I know. I can help!” Seunghwa offered. 

“You can? Okay, come on then.”

Nakum's eyes followed them, but he didn’t protest. Seungho made his way back to the kitchen he’d passed ten minutes before and did a quick three-sixty. It seemed pretty obvious where things would be, and there weren’t a lot of cupboards to forage through. “Your dad used to drink a lot of chamomile tea when we were younger. Does he still like it?”

Seunghwa stood on a stool near the countertop and thought. “Papa drinks coffee or the tea in the yellow box.” He pointed at one cupboard. 

Opening the cupboard, Seungho found the tea. It was chamomile. “And he used to like a lot of honey because he has a sweet tooth.” 

Seunghwa giggled. “He has a secret sweet drawer. But I’m not supposed to know.” 

“Oh, he does?” Seunghwa nodded. “Sounds about right. I bet he says you shouldn’t eat sweets, too.” 

Crossing his arms, Seunghwa nodded. “Yes. Papa is mean sometimes.”

“I’m sure it’s just to make sure you keep all your teeth.”

The boy huffed. “You sound like him.” 

Seungho reached out to ruffle his hair, earning himself a swat. He grinned down at this small furious version of himself. “If you behave, I’m sure he’ll let you have some.” 

The serious expression evaporated as quickly as it had descended. “He usually says I can have a treat if I’ve been good.”

“And I’m sure that you aren’t ever bad.” 

“Never.” 

Seungho laughed, and the boy considered him for a moment before grinning. “The kettle is there. Papa doesn’t let me use it.”

“That’s smart. The water gets very hot. It could be dangerous.”

Seunghwa nodded. “Can I get a cup?”

“Sure.” Filling the kettle, Seungho watched the boy step down from the stool and move it to the other side of the kitchen, then he was up on it again and reaching into another cupboard to where the cups and glasses lined up. 

“This one is his favourite.” He pulled out a purple mug with stars and the moon painted on it. It was a fragment from a different world, a mug Nakyum had had since he was eleven. Seungho knew because he’d bought it as a birthday gift. “I like it, too. It has the moon on it.” 

“So it does,” Seungho said, taking it and turning it in his hands. There was a small nick on the lip, but otherwise it had held up well. “You want to put the tea bag in?” Seunghwa nodded, moving to go for the stool again, but Seungho just grabbed him and plopped him on the kitchen side, with a small yelp from the boy. He leant over to the box and plucked a bag free and deposited it in the cup as the kettle boiled. Seungho had the honey and a spoon ready. “What else shall we get him?” 

“Fruit?” 

“Good idea. Is there a tray?” 

Seunghwa pointed to the cupboard below the sink. “Down there.” 

Seungho pulled one out that had pictures of animals with their names underneath—clearly belonging to Seunghwa. He placed the cup, honey, and spoon on the tray, and grabbed a banana and an orange from the fruit bowl. He found a small bowl on the sink and plucked some grapes from a larger bunch to put in it. “What else?” 

“I think there’s leftovers in the fridge from yesterday.” 

“Good call,” Seungho said, opening the fridge. Seungho found the fridge well organised and on the light side. He imagined Seunghwa influenced most items, and Nakyum made do. There was a covered plate holding a handful of barbecued skewers, which he grabbed. A curious quiet resonated as he worked; Seungho could hear the kid’s brain working. 

“Are you Papa’s best friend?”

“Yes, I’d say so.”

Seunghwa pursed his lips. “Why haven’t I seen you before?” 

The kettle came to a boil. “Your Papa had to move away so he could look after you. And I was very busy, but if you don’t mind I might be around more.” 

Seunghwa nodded slowly. “You wear a suit,” he pointed at Seungho’s clothes. “Do you work in an office?” 

“I do. It’s very boring.” Seunghwa nodded as if that was a truth he already knew. “You’re lucky; you can wear whatever you like at school.” 

“While I’m in nursery. When I get into year one, I have to wear a uniform.” 

“That’s true. But you can always wear some cool trainers.” 

Seunghwa looked down at his dangling feet. “I need new trainers. Papa says my feet keep growing.” 

Seungho laughed. “Yes, you’re gonna do that for a while yet. If you like, and your Papa doesn’t mind, we can get you some new trainers.” 

The kid beamed at him then. “Oh, he’ll say yes!” 

“I hope so.” The kettle turned off, and Seungho poured the water into the mug. “Do you like nursery?” 

Seunghwa nodded. “It’s fun. We get to paint, and I like doing numbers.”

“Numbers? Like math?” 

He nodded. “I’m not so good with writing cos I get tired. Papa says I need to try harder.”

“Well,” Seungho pulled the kid from the side and set him on his feet before grabbing the tray. “Maybe we can make a deal with Papa? Do some writing and get some trainers?”

Absentmindedly, Seunghwa reached up to grip the corner of Seungho’s suit jacket as they walked together. That kernel of pride bloomed. 

Apprehension emanated from Nakyum as they returned. Seungho could feel the anxiety coming from him in waves. He placed the tray down. 

“Here you go,” he said. 

Nakyum smiled tremulously. “Thank you.” 

Seunghwa grabbed the bowl of grapes and slipped next to his Papa, plucking a grape free and offering it. “Here, Papa. You should eat. The tea will be hot for a while.” Seungho could hear the mimicking in the kid’s voice, clearly hearing the same sentiments daily coming from Nakyum. 

His phone buzzed in his inner pocket. “Seunghwa, can you look after Papa for a minute? Make sure he puts a lot of honey in his tea?” 

“Yup!” he said happily. Nakyum frowned thoughtfully as Seungho slipped into the hall.

Answering the call, he pushed the phone to his ear. “Kim.”

“Sir. Is everything well?” 

“Everything is… explained.”

“We will need to leave in the next five minutes if you want to make the flight.”

Seungho chewed his lip. “Is there anything in the schedule I need to be present in person for next week?” 

“Aside from the dinner your father organised, not until Friday. There’s a product launch you are meant to attend.” 

“He can cancel the dinner. Could you find a hotel nearby, make a reservation until Wednesday?” 

“Of course, sir.” The words were clipped, overly polite. He was bursting with curiosity. 

“I will fill you in on everything soon. Some things will be self-evident.” Seungho imagined Kim’s eyebrows arching. 

“Shall I wait down here for you? Or should I get the luggage to the hotel?” 

“I shouldn’t be long. I just need to ask Nakyum.”

“Very well, sir. I shall book a hotel and extend the car rental while I wait.” 

“Thanks, Kim.”

“My pleasure, sir.”

Seungho trod carefully through the dim and not uncomfortably messy hotel suite. It was the kind of mess that made it clear living had been done: a colouring book with crayons covered the coffee table, some action figures lay frozen in a forgotten battle, and building blocks were stacked near the glass wall looking out over the buildings below. The newly fixed Godzilla toy Seunghwa had bought, too, but it never left the boy’s side. 

“Is that everything, sir?” Kim asked, voice pitched low as he stood at the entrance. 

Seungho nodded, handing over the last of the clothes to be laundered. “I think so. Not the end of the world if we missed something.”

He nodded and turned to go, but hesitated.

“What is it, Kim?”

He glanced over to where the apartment hall led on to the double bedroom and then back to Seungho, a rare open softness to his expression. Seungho had found him just staring, watching on, bewildered and already enchanted by the third generation of Yoons he would attend. But of course, Seunghwa wasn’t a Yoon yet. Not legally. 

“You have stayed rather solid.”

Seungho nodded curtly. 

There was a pause as Kim analysed him, then he reached out, his hand coming to rest on Seungho’s arm in reassurance. “If it all catches up with you quickly, you have every right to feel it. It is quite an immense development.” 

It was, and he was correct. The fortitude had come at first because he could see the distress Nakyum toiled in, and then he had taken charge of the situation, wanting to make them both feel welcome and entertained. “Thank you, Kim. I’ll remember that.” He was sure things would catch up with him eventually. 

“And I will be up when you requested, to take the young master to school.” 

Seungho mulled that one over. “Yes, unless I let you know otherwise. I might try to talk Kyum into letting him have a day off, or two.”

Kim nodded and smiled. “Have a good night, sir.” 

“You too.”

Once the door shut, the room became still but for the sound of the shower. Seungho drifted down the hall and peered through the door at the young boy sleeping as soundly as a child should. The moment turned sharply; the air became heavy, and the seconds long. The world shifted into another quiet dimension.

Seungho paced closer and then sat on the edge of the bed. Seunghwa lay on his side, curled around Godzilla. His dark, long hair was loose and spread across the pillow as if it had been caught in the wind. His chest moved with each deep breath, and he looked utterly peaceful. Reaching out, Seungho gently touched his warm cheek. The boy was very real. His boy. Though his genes had passed on strongly, Seungho could still see the shade of Nakyum on his skin. His features were a little softer, and blessed with a modicum more patience than Seungho had ever known. He imagined that in summer, Seunghwa’s hair would lighten like Nakyum’s did. 

Lost in his reverie, Seungho didn’t realise Nakyum was at his side until a palm rested on his shoulder. Seungho looked up at him, unaware until that moment that his cheeks were wet with tears. He latched onto Nakyum’s eyes, wide with concern, emotion bearing down heavily. 

“My son,” he whispered, the only thing he could articulate. 

Nakyum’s expression pained, his frown deepened as he nodded. His fingers stroked through Seungho’s hair as he stepped forward and hugged him, cradling Seungho’s head against his chest. Seungho gripped tight to the towelling gown Nakyum wore, and let himself be held, be steadied, while the tears came. 

Years. They’d lost years. 

And yet, how could he be bitter? The greatest treasure Seungho could dare to dream of had fallen at his feet. He was alive, and so he could make up for lost time. The thrumming of the myriad of emotions galloping through his being slowly came to a steady flow. He pulled back from Nakyum’s warmth and stood,

“Let’s go sit,” he whispered. 

With a nod, Nakyum followed.

“Do you need a drink? Tea? Water?”

Nakyum shook his head. “I’ll have a tea a little later. I’m okay for now.” 

Seungho took to the sofa and gestured for Nakyum to sit next to him, which he did. The nerves were palpable, and despite Seungho inviting—or more so insisting—they stay with him for a few days, they hadn’t spoken alone. 

“How are you feeling?” Nakyum asked. 

Seungho sighed. “I don’t really know. There’s so much, so many thoughts rushing me at each moment. It’s a lot to comprehend.”

“If you need space—”

But Seungho cut Nakyum off, reaching between them to take Nakyum’s hand. “I’ve had all the space I need for a lifetime. I need you. And Seunghwa.” 

The small, pleased smile, the gentle blush, it coaxed pleasure from Seungho. They didn’t have to doubt each other, and he would make sure Nakyum knew. 

“What do we do next?” Nakyum asked. 

Seungho hesitated and then squeezed Nakyum’s hand. He met Nakyum’s gaze and held it. There were many things they had to decide on together, obstacles they had to agree on how to counter, but for now, tonight, it was enough to be together. “I don’t care what we do next as long as we do it together. No more secrets.”

Nakyum nodded and leant in to Seungho. “No more secrets.”