Archive of Our Own

AGE 27

The rain against the window of the upscale lounge was rhythmic, a dull thud that matched the steady, aching beat of Sunghoon’s heart. Across the small candlelit table, Jake was vibrating with a frantic, nervous energy that Sunghoon had learned to map out years ago.

"I’m telling you, Hoon, she was it," Jake groaned, dropping his forehead onto the mahogany surface with a dramatic thud. "Three months. I thought three months was the charm. And then she tells me she’s moving to Milan for a gallery opening and 'doesn't do long distance.'"

Sunghoon didn't flinch. He didn't even put down his glass of neat whiskey. He simply watched the way the candlelight caught the golden highlights in Jake’s hair, hair that Sunghoon had wanted to run his fingers through since they were eighteen, long before even understanding why.

"Milan is a long way away," Sunghoon said, his voice a smooth, practiced neutral. "You hate flying anyway."

"That's not the point!" Jake sat up, his eyes wide and pleading, searching Sunghoon’s face for the comfort he always found there. "The point is, I'm twenty seven. Everyone is settling down. I feel like we've had this exact conversation like a million times.. Mom sent me a link to a 'professional matchmaker' this morning. A matchmaker, Hoon! Am I that hopeless?"

Sunghoon’s grip tightened on his glass. He thought of the three women he’d turned down this month alone. He thought of the coworker who had practically thrown herself at him last Friday, and how he’d felt nothing but a vague sense of annoyance that she was taking up time he could have spent texting Jake.

"You aren't hopeless," Sunghoon said quietly.

"I feel like I'm just... auditioning people for a role that's already written, you know? And honestly i thought I'd be settled down with like 2 kids by now," Jake sighed, leaning back and looking at the ceiling. He waved a hand dismissively. "Whatever. I guess I’ve still got time. If the world ends and I’m still a disaster at thirty, I’ll just drag you to a courthouse and make you deal with me. At least you know how I like my eggs."

He laughed, a bright, throwaway sound. A joke. To Jake, the pact was a dusty insurance policy tucked away in a drawer, something to chuckle about when he felt lonely.

To Sunghoon, it was a blood oath.

"I should get you home," Sunghoon said, standing up abruptly. The chair scraped harshly against the floor.

"Wait, already? You haven't even told me about that girl from your firm." Jake asked, grinning as he grabbed his coat. "Did you take her out?"

"No."

"Why not? Sunghoon, man, you're a monk. You’re literally everyone's dream guy and you live like you’re in a monastery. Is there some secret supermodel I don't know about?"

Sunghoon paused at the door, a few droplets of rain hitting his face. He looked at Jake, the latter was shivering slightly, reaching out to tug at the sleeve of Sunghoon’s coat for warmth, entirely unaware that he was the center of Sunghoon’s entire universe.

"I'm just waiting," Sunghoon said, his voice barely audible.

"For what?" Jake tilted his head.

Sunghoon reached out, his hand hovering for a fraction of a second near Jake's cheek before he pulled it back to adjust Jake's scarf instead. He tucked the wool tight around Jake's neck, his knuckles grazing skin.

"For the deadline," Sunghoon whispered.

Jake let out a confused snort, bumping his shoulder against Sunghoon’s. "You and your work schedules. Seriously, you need a hobby that isn't writing a fifty page brief. Come on, let's go. I'm freezing. Shit I almost forgot the umbrella! Wait here."

As they walked towards the car, Jake started humming a song from the radio, already onto the next thought, the next laugh. He didn't see Sunghoon look back at the lounge, the place where Jake had just mourned another "almost", with a look of terrifying, patient triumph.

Three years left. Sunghoon could wait three more years. He’d already waited seven.

AGE 20

The air in the basement of the campus house was thick with the scent of cheap beer, stale popcorn, and the humid warmth of a summer night in their sophomore year. Jake was sprawled across a moth eaten beanbag chair, staring up at the cracked ceiling, while Sunghoon sat on the floor beside him, his back against the base of the couch, nursing a single drink he hadn’t touched in an hour.

Most people had drifted off to sleep or gone home, leaving them in the dim, golden haze of a single desk lamp.

"I’m never gonna find it, Hoon," Jake groaned, his voice thick with the dramatic despair of a twenty year old who had just been dumped for the second time that semester. "I’m clearly cursed. I’m gonna be sixty years old, living in a house with twelve dogs, and I’ll still be scrolling through dating apps."

Sunghoon looked at him, really looked at him. Jake’s hair was a mess, his shirt was wrinkled, and he had a tiny smudge of chocolate on his chin. He looked like chaos. He looked like everything Sunghoon wanted to protect.

"You won't be alone, Jake," Sunghoon said softly.

"You don't know that! Look at me. I'm a disaster." Jake rolled onto his side, propping his head up on his hand to look at Sunghoon. "What about you? You’re so... you. You’re perfect. You'll probably be married to someone just as perfect by twenty five."

Sunghoon felt a weird sharp pang in his chest. 

"I’m not sure about that," Sunghoon murmured.

Jake’s eyes suddenly lit up with a mischievous, drunken spark. He sat up, leaning into Sunghoon’s space. "Hey. I have an idea. A brilliant, life saving idea. Let’s make a deal."

Sunghoon’s heart skipped. "A deal?"

"Yeah! A marriage pact. Like in the movies." Jake reached out and grabbed Sunghoon’s hand, his fingers warm and clumsy. "If we’re both single when we turn thirty... we just marry each other. We already know how to live together. You can do the dishes, I’ll do the laundry— wait, no, I hate laundry. You do both, and I’ll... I’ll just look pretty! Deal?"

Jake giggled. He was joking. He was twenty and tipsy and looking for a way to make the future feel less scary.

But Sunghoon didn't laugh. He looked down at their joined hands, at the way Jake’s smaller fingers fit between his own. He felt the weight of the moment like a physical shift in the earth’s axis.

"Thirty?" Sunghoon asked, his voice barely a whisper.

"Thirty!" Jake chirped, shaking Sunghoon's hand vigorously. "It’s the perfect age. Plenty of time to fail at romance before we settle for each other. Come on, Hoonie. Promise me."

Sunghoon looked into Jake’s eyes and saw a distraction, he was probably not even going to remember this tomorrow.

Then he looked at himself and saw a vow.

"Okay," Sunghoon said, his grip tightening on Jake’s hand just enough to be noticed. "I promise. Thirty."

"Sweet!" Jake cheered, falling back onto the beanbag, pulling his hand away. "Man, I feel so much better. I’m gonna go get a slice of pizza. You want one?"

Jake scrambled up and headed for the kitchen, leaving Sunghoon sitting in the dark. Sunghoon stayed there for a long time, his hand still tingling from the contact. He wasn't thinking about pizza. He was thinking about the fact that he now had ten years to prepare.

Ten years to become the man Jake wouldn't just "settle" for.

AGE 21

The apartment was too quiet for a Saturday morning.

Sunghoon noticed it the second he stepped inside, no music leaking from Jake’s room, no half sung lyrics drifting down the hall, no clatter of dishes or the telltale hum of the coffee machine being abused beyond its limits. The silence pressed in, heavy and wrong. He set his keys down slowly.

“Jake?” he called.

Nothing.

Sunghoon frowned and moved further in, shrugging off his jacket. His eyes swept the living room automatically, couch rumpled, throw blanket tangled like someone had slept there, Jake’s shoes abandoned near the door instead of neatly lined up where they were supposed to be.

That was the second warning sign. The third came when he reached the kitchen.

Jake was sitting at the small dining table, shoulders hunched, hoodie pulled tight around himself despite the mild weather. His hair was uncombed, dark circles faintly shadowing his eyes. One hand rested against his temple, fingers pressing like he was trying to hold his head together.

A half full glass of water sat untouched in front of him. Sunghoon’s chest tightened.

“Hey,” he said gently. “You okay?”

Jake lifted his head at the sound of Sunghoon’s voice and tried to smile. It didn’t quite land.

“Morning,” he said, voice hoarse. “you just came back?”

“Mom wanted me to stay the night, leave in morning,” Sunghoon replied automatically, already crossing the space between them. “What’s wrong?”

Jake hesitated. That alone told Sunghoon everything.

“I’m fine,” Jake said, too quickly. “Just… headache.”

Sunghoon reached out without thinking, pressing the back of his hand to Jake’s forehead. Warm. Not feverish, but not great either.

Jake froze for half a second at the touch, then relaxed.

Sunghoon pulled his hand back immediately, as if burned.

“I’ll make you something,” he said. “You eaten?”

Jake shook his head. “Didn’t feel like it.”

Sunghoon nodded, already turning toward the stove. He tied an apron around his waist, a ridiculous one Jake had bought as a joke, patterned with tiny ducks wearing chef hats, and pulled ingredients from the fridge with practiced ease.

Flour. Eggs. Milk. Pancakes, Easy.

Jake watched from the table, chin resting in his palm, eyes following every movement. “You don’t have to,” He murmured.

“I want to,” Sunghoon replied.

He cracked eggs with careful precision, movements smooth, almost meditative. Cooking had always been easy. Predictable. If you followed the steps, things turned out right.

Sunghoon liked that.

Behind him, Jake shifted in his chair. “I didn’t sleep,” He admitted quietly.

Sunghoon’s hands stilled for just a fraction of a second. “Nightmares?” he asked.

Jake shrugged. “Something like that.”

Sunghoon didn’t push. He flipped the first pancake, watching it land perfectly golden on the other side. The smell filled the kitchen, warm, comforting, grounding.

When he finally turned back, he placed a plate in front of Jake. Three pancakes, stacked neatly. A drizzle of syrup. Cut fruit arranged carefully on the side.

Jake stared. “You’re spoiling me,” he said, trying to sound light.

Sunghoon sat across from him, resting his elbows on the table. “Eat,” he said simply.

Jake did.

He took a bite, then another. Color slowly returned to his face, the tension in his shoulders easing just a little. He fed Sunghoon a few bites too despite Sunghoon telling him he had already eaten. He watched Jake closely, memorizing the way his eyes softened when he was taken care of.

“Better?” Sunghoon asked after a while.

Jake nodded. “Yeah. Thanks.”

Their eyes met.

For a moment, something lingered there—unspoken, heavy, warm. Jake looked like he wanted to say something else. Sunghoon felt the familiar pull in his chest, the instinct to lean closer, to reach out, to fix whatever ache lived behind Jake’s eyes.

Instead, he stayed still. Jake was the one who broke the silence.

“You’re gonna make someone really happy someday,” he said, casual but sincere. “You know that, right?”

Sunghoon smiled but It didn’t reach his eyes.

“I already am,” he thought, he didn’t say it.

Age 22

The argument started in the middle of a crowded sidewalk outside a trendy bistro, the neon signs of the city blurring into streaks of angry light.

"I don't understand what the problem was!" Jake huffed, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. His pace was frantic, his sneakers slapping against the pavement as he stomped toward their shared apartment. "She was a concert violinist, Sunghoon! She was beautiful, smart, and she actually laughed at your boring ass joke about the stock market!"

Sunghoon walked two steps behind him, a shadow that wouldn't be shaken. His hands were shoved deep into his pockets, his face a mask of cold, simmering frustration.

"The 'problem,' Jake, is that I told you I didn't want to go," Sunghoon said, his voice clipped. "I told you three times."

"I was trying to help you!" Jake spun around suddenly, forcing Sunghoon to halt. Jake’s eyes were bright with hurt, shimmering under the streetlights. "You spend every Friday night watching movies we’ve seen a thousand times! You don't even wanna go out with me and Sunoo. You’re becoming a hermit, Hoon! I spent two weeks convincing her to go on a blind date, and you spent the whole night looking at your watch like you were waiting for a bus!"

"I was waiting for it to be over," Sunghoon snapped. The sharp edge of his voice made Jake flinch, but Sunghoon was too fed up to soften it. "Stop trying to outsource my life, Jake. I don't need a violinist. I don't need your 'help.' If I wanted to be with someone else, I would be."

"Fine!" Jake yelled— luckily he didn't catch the slip up —his voice cracking, drawing looks from a passing couple. "I get it! I'm annoying and overstepping. I’ll stop caring, then! If you want to be alone and miserable for the rest of your life, be my guest!"

Jake turned and sprinted the last half block to their building. By the time Sunghoon got upstairs, the bedroom door had been slammed so hard the frames on the hallway walls rattled.

The apartment was silent for two hours. Sunghoon sat in the dark living room, the city’s hum muffled by the windows. The weight of his own cruelty pressed against his chest, he hated making Jake cry. But he hated even more the way Jake kept trying to hand him over to strangers, as if Sunghoon were a problem to be solved or a piece of furniture that needed a matching set.

Finally, Sunghoon stood up. He went to the kitchen and grabbed a bag of Jake's favorite honey butter chips and a cold soda. He knew the ritual of forgiveness by heart.

He knocked softly on the bedroom door. No answer.

He pushed it open. Jake was a lump under the duvet, curled into a ball of pure, concentrated sulk. The room smelled like Jake’s laundry detergent and the faint citrus of his cologne.

"Jake," Sunghoon murmured, sitting on the edge of the mattress. The bed dipped under his weight.

"Go away," came a muffled, watery voice from under the fabric.

Sunghoon sighed, reaching out to gently tug at the corner of the duvet. "I brought the chips you like. The ones from the international market that are always out of stock."

The lump shifted, but Jake didn't emerge. "I don't want chips. Go. Away."

"I’m sorry," Sunghoon said, his voice dropping to that soft, velvet tone he reserved only for this room, only for this person. "I shouldn't have snapped. I appreciate that you care about my happiness, Jake. I really do. It’s just... my happiness doesn't look like a blind date with a stranger. And I've told you this like a million times."

Jake peeked out from under the blanket, one eye visible, red rimmed and puffy. "You were mean. You looked at her like she was a bug under a microscope. She's a nice girl Hoon, so what's the problem?"

"She wasn't you," Sunghoon whispered.

The truth slipped out once again, raw and dangerous, before he could catch it. He saw Jake’s eyes widen slightly, and he quickly pivoted, his mind racing to mask the confession. "I mean... she wasn't someone I could talk to. Not like we talk. It felt forced."

Jake fully emerged then, sitting up and hugging a pillow to his chest as if it were a shield. He looked small, exhausted, and heartbreakingly earnest.

"I just don't want you to be lonely, Hoon," Jake whispered, his voice small. "Everyone has someone. Someone to talk to, spend time with, someone to look forward to... I’m scared that one day I’ll find someone, and you’ll be left behind in this apartment by yourself. I can't handle the thought of you being the only one left alone. So tell me hoon, what is it? What's going on? You've been so quiet lately. I get it if you don't want to tell me but maybe if you found someone you-"

Sunghoon felt a pang of intense, agonizing irony. Left behind? He wasn't left behind. He wouldn't be. And he didn't want anyone else. He was only waiting for the world to finish failing Jake so he could be the one to pick up the pieces.

He reached out, his hand covering Jake’s on top of the pillow. His skin was cool, Jake’s was burning. "I will never be left behind, Jake. And I’m never alone when I’m with you. I swear there's nothing going on, it's just the exams and classes and everything. It's just hard keeping up."

Jake sniffled, looking down at their joined hands. The anger was gone, replaced by a soft, sleepy vulnerability that made Sunghoon’s protective instincts flare into a roar.

"Promise? You're not hiding something important from me right?"

Sunghoon’s grip tightened just a fraction, his thumb grazing the back of Jake's hand. "I promise. Now eat your chips. You’re grumpy when you’re hungry."

Jake finally cracked a small, shy smile, the kind that always made Sunghoon feel like he was winning a war no one else knew was happening. He leaned his head against Sunghoon’s shoulder, reaching for the bag. "You're still a jerk."

"I know," Sunghoon murmured, resting his chin on top of Jake’s head.

As he smelled the scent of Jake’s hair, Sunghoon felt that dark, patient triumph swell again. Jake was worried about "leaving him behind," completely unaware that Sunghoon had already built his entire future around the space Jake occupied. 

Eight years down. Sunghoon was a master of the long game.

AGE 23

The change didn’t arrive all at once.

It crept in quietly, disguising itself as routine.

At twenty three, their lives fell into a rhythm that felt effortless from the outside. Shared grocery lists taped to the fridge. Laundry folded on the couch while bad reality shows played in the background. 

To anyone watching, they looked settled but Sunghoon noticed the shift long before Jake did.

It started with little things, Jake’s calendar filling up faster than it used to. Names Sunghoon didn’t recognize scribbled into the margins. Group dinners, late nights, vague “might be back late” messages that left behind a hollow silence in the apartment.

Sunghoon told himself it was normal. Jake was social. He always had been.

Still, the first time Jake came home smelling like someone else’s cologne, Sunghoon froze halfway through washing the dishes.

“Went out with friends?” he asked, careful to keep his voice even.

Jake shrugged out of his jacket. “Just someone from class. It was his birthday.”

Sunghoon nodded and turned back to the sink. He scrubbed the dishes until his knuckles were raw. And After that, he started noticing everything.

How Jake checked his phone more often. How he smiled at the screen before catching himself. How he’d leave the room to take calls he used to answer openly.

Sunghoon never asked. Instead, he adjusted. He cooked more. Stayed up later. Made sure there was always something warm waiting when Jake came home, food, conversation, a soft place to land.

If Jake was going to drift, Sunghoon would make sure he had something to drift back to.

The first argument happened over nothing.

Jake was late, two hours late, and when he finally walked through the door, breathless and apologetic, Sunghoon was still awake on the couch.

“Sorry Didn’t see your text,” Jake said, already defensive. “My phone died.”

Sunghoon stood slowly.

“You could’ve borrowed someone else’s,” he replied.

Jake blinked. “What?”

Sunghoon swallowed. “You could’ve told me you’d be late.”

“I did,” Jake insisted. “I said ‘might be.’"

“That’s not the same,” he said.

Jake scoffed lightly. “Why are you acting like my boyfriend?”

The room went very still.

Sunghoon felt the heat rise behind his eyes, but his voice stayed calm.

“I’m not,” he said. “I just—”

“What?” Jake challenged. “Care too much?”

Sunghoon didn’t answer.

Jake exhaled hard and ran a hand through his hair. “Look, I’m sorry,” he said, softer now. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

Sunghoon nodded. “I know.” He let it go.

But something had shifted.

After that, Sunghoon began to insert himself more deliberately into Jake’s life, not in obvious ways. Subtle ones.

He learned the names of Jake’s new friends. Remembered details. Made sure to be present when they visited, polite and helpful and impossible to dislike.

He’d sit close to Jake on the couch. Rest his arm along the back, just close enough to feel Jake’s warmth without touching.

Sometimes Jake leaned into him.

Sometimes he didn’t.

Each time he didn’t, Sunghoon noticed.

“You don’t have to wait up for me,” Jake said one night, pulling on his shoes.

“I don’t mind,” Sunghoon replied.

Jake hesitated. So Sunghoon smiled at him reassuringly. Late at night, alone in his room, Sunghoon began counting.

Not days but Names.

Who stayed longest. Who laughed loudest. Who texted the most. Fortunately no one stayed long enough.

But when one name started appearing more often than the others, something dark and possessive coiled quietly in his chest.

It was mostly Fear.

And fear, when left unchecked, had a way of becoming something else entirely.

Sunghoon knew every sound Jake made, the rhythm of his footsteps in the hallway, the way he hummed when he was relaxed, the sharp click of his phone locking when he didn’t want to be asked questions. He could tell Jake’s mood from the way the front door closed.

Tonight, it slammed.

Jake tossed his keys onto the counter harder than necessary and paced the length of the kitchen once, twice, before turning back.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he said.

Sunghoon looked up from the couch. “Do what?”

“Cancel my plans,” Jake snapped.

Sunghoon’s expression remained calm. “You said you were tired.”

“I said I might be tired,” Jake corrected. “Not that I wanted you to text my friend and tell them I wasn’t coming.”

Sunghoon wiped his hands on a towel slowly.

He knew it wasn't a friend.

“You weren’t answering your phone,” he said. “I thought—”

“You thought you’d decide for me?” Jake interrupted.

Silence stretched.

Sunghoon felt something fracture inside him, not loudly, not cleanly, but in a way that left sharp edges.

“I was helping,” he said quietly.

Jake laughed, humorless. “That’s not help. That’s control.”

The word hit harder than any accusation before it.

Sunghoon’s jaw tightened. “You’re overreacting.”

“No, I’m not,” Jake said, voice shaking now. “You don’t get to manage my life.”

Sunghoon took a step closer. “You’ve been running yourself into the ground,” he said. “You barely sleep. You forget to eat. Someone has to look out for you.”

Jake stared at him. “I didn’t ask you to.”

Sunghoon stopped. Something dangerous flickered behind his eyes, quickly buried, but not gone.

“I’ve always looked out for you,” he said. “You’re acting like that’s suddenly a bad thing.” The words stung because they were true.

Jake’s voice softened, pleading now. “I need space, Hoon.”

Sunghoon swallowed. “From me?”

“Yes.”

The answer came too fast.

For the first time, Sunghoon felt the future wobble.

Ten years. Thirty. The pact.

All of it suddenly felt fragile.

“I’m not going anywhere.” Sunghoon said.

Jake blinked. “That’s not what I said.”

Sunghoon stepped back, forcing himself to breathe. “I’ll try,” he said finally. “To… give you space.”

Jake nodded, exhausted. “Thank you.”

That night, Sunghoon lay awake in his room, staring at the ceiling, replaying every word.

Control.

The next morning, he apologized. Bought Jake coffee. Acted normal. But something had changed. Sunghoon no longer believed patience would be enough.

He learned how to wait better.

He learned how to soften his presence without removing it, how to step back just enough that Jake stopped bristling but never far enough to disappear. It was a skill, one he perfected with quiet precision.

Things had improved. They were back to the way they used to be.

Sunghoon no longer commented on his schedule. He didn’t cancel plans, didn’t ask probing questions about where Jake was going or who he was meeting. He smiled more easily, laughed at the right moments, even encouraged Jake when he talked about family or friends.

He watched instead of intervening. He memorized patterns. He waited for Jake to come to him.

And Jake always did.

It happened in small, ordinary ways. Jake would come home late, drained and irritable, and Sunghoon would already have dinner waiting, not flashy, not romantic, just exactly what Jake liked. Jake would complain about a group mate for an upcoming project, and Sunghoon would listen without interrupting, offering a perfectly timed, devastatingly accurate observation that made Jake feel understood in a way no one else ever managed.

But on the nights when Sunghoon was a ghost in his own home, buried under a mountain of assignments, it was Jake who became the caregiver. Jake was the one who would quietly bring him a warm glass of milk before he went to bed, or gently closed Sunghoon's laptop when he noticed Sunghoon had been staring at the same line for twenty minutes. Who noticed the slight tension in Sunghoon's jaw that signaled a headache, and who would wordlessly start a hot shower for him before he even had to ask. 

When Jake dated, Sunghoon didn’t comment.

That unsettled Jake more than the questioning ever had.

There was a girl in spring, soft spoken, kind, beautiful. Jake brought her up casually over breakfast, watching Sunghoon from the corner of his eye.

“She seems nice,” Sunghoon said, sipping his tea.

That was it. No tension. No warning. No edge.

Jake felt oddly disappointed.

The relationship fizzled out within a month. Jake didn’t tell Sunghoon why. He didn’t know how to explain that every time she asked about his future, his mind went blank. That every time she kissed him, it felt like he was borrowing someone else’s life.

Sunghoon noticed anyway.

He noticed when Jake stopped mentioning her. When her name disappeared from conversation like it had never existed. He logged it away, not in writing, but in memory.

The pact came up less often now. Not because it mattered less, but because it didn’t need to be said aloud. It hovered between them, unspoken but heavy, like a countdown neither of them could fully escape.

One night, after too much wine, Jake laughed and said, “It’s kind of funny, isn’t it? If we actually end up doing it.”

Sunghoon looked at him. “Doing what?”

“You know,” Jake said, waving his hand. “Us. Getting married. You didn't forget did you?” he giggled, an edge to his voice.

Sunghoon didn’t smile. “There’s nothing funny about it.”

Jake sobered instantly. “I didn’t mean-” he cut himself off. He didnt know what to say. 

The silence afterward was thick. Jake changed the subject. But the unease lingered, curling low in his stomach. That was the year Jake realized something else, too.

Every time something went wrong, Sunghoon was the first person he wanted. Not out of habit, but instinct. Sunghoon knew how to fix things. Or if he couldn’t, he knew how to make them feel survivable. And Jake was always measuring people against him without meaning to. But no one measured up.

Sunghoon noticed the way Jake’s eyes followed him sometimes, unfocused, thoughtful. He noticed the way Jake leaned closer when they sat together, the way his voice softened when he said Sunghoon’s name.

He didn’t push. He didn’t need to.

The night Jake had a panic attack, unexpected, ugly, terrifying, Sunghoon held him without hesitation, arms firm and unyielding as Jake shook apart in his grip.

“I’m here,” Sunghoon murmured, over and over. “I’ve got you.”

Jake clung to him like a lifeline. And Later, wrapped in blankets on the floor, Jake whispered, “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Sunghoon pressed his lips to Jake’s hair, just once. “You’ll never have to find out,” he said.

The words had slipped out on their own. 'i don’t know what I’d do without you.’ In the moment, with Sunghoon’s steady hand still on his shoulder, their bodies pressed up together, it felt like the only truth in the world. But later, the thought turned into a cold realization. It was a confession of how much of himself he’d let slip away. Sunghoon’s care was so seamless and safe that Jake had stopped learning how to stand on his own. He realized with a jolt of panic that he didn't want to just be a person Sunghoon had to 'handle' or fix. He needed to figure out who he was when Sunghoon wasn't there to catch him.

AGE 25

The storm outside was howling, a summer gale that had rattled the windows until the transformer down the street blew, plunging the apartment into a thick, velvety darkness.

"Hoon! Where are the candles? My phone died." Jake’s voice drifted from the kitchen, accompanied by the sound of him stubbing his toe against the island. "Ow! Seriously, why do we have so much furniture?"

"Under the sink, left side," Sunghoon called out. He was already in the living room, the glow of his phone the only light. He watched the shadow of Jake moving toward him, guided by the tiny beam of a flashlight.

They settled on the sofa, a single large vanilla scented candle flickering on the coffee table between them. The heat was stifling without the AC, and Jake had stripped down to a thin tank top, his skin glistening faintly in the amber light.

"This is kind of nice," Jake murmured, leaning his head back. "No phones, no noise. Everything is... So calm."

Sunghoon didn’t answer right away. He was looking at him, at the way the light softened Jake’s face, made even the smallest expression feel amplified. Earlier that day, Jake had mentioned moving out again. Said it lightly, like testing the weight of it.

Try living alone. Try not leaning on Sunghoon so much. The words had stayed behind after he said them, lodged somewhere Sunghoon couldn’t ignore.

"I was serious, you know," Jake said suddenly, his voice dropping. "About the moving out thing. I think... I think I rely on you too much, Hoon. You’re twenty five and you still don't have a partner because you’re too busy taking care of me. I feel like I'm holding you back."

Sunghoon’s hand, resting on the cushion between them, twitched. "You aren't holding me back, Jake."

"I am! Look at tonight. You've been so busy with exams all week but even then you stayed in to watch a movie with me instead of going to that bar with Jay. It’s not fair to you. You should've gone out, had fun, maybe met someone." Jake turned his head, his eyes searching Sunghoon’s. "Don't you want that? Someone who actually belongs to you?"

Sunghoon felt the mask crack, it all surged to the surface. He leaned in, his face inches from Jake’s, the candle flame reflected in the dark depths of his pupils.

"I already have someone who belongs to me," Sunghoon whispered, his voice vibrating with a sudden, raw intensity. "I’ve had him since I was eighteen."

Jake’s breath hitched. The air between them became electric, the kind of heavy, pressurized silence that precedes a lightning strike. Jake didn't pull away. 

"Hoon?" Jake breathed, his voice a mix of terror and wonder. 

Sunghoon closed his eyes, his forehead almost touching Jake’s. He was a second away from saying it. You're right. You are holding me back. Don't you see it? I just wanna be with you.

Suddenly, the lights flickered and surged back to life. The hum of the refrigerator kicked in, and the AC unit groaned as it started up. The harsh overhead LED light flooded the room, stripping away the intimacy and the shadows.

Sunghoon pulled back instantly, the mask slamming back into place with a physical finality.

“I just meant you’re overthinking,” he said evenly, already standing. “Go charge your phone. Power’s back.”

Jake stayed frozen on the sofa long after he left the room, staring at the now normal space like it had changed shape without warning.

Something in his chest wouldn’t settle.

Jake moved out on a Saturday in April, and it was remarkably quiet. There were no slammed doors or tearful goodbyes; instead, there was Sunghoon, leaning against the doorframe, watching Jake pack the last of his mismatched mugs into a cardboard box.

"I just feel like I need to prove I can do it, you know?" Jake said, taping the box shut with more force than necessary. "I’ve gone from my parents' house to a dorm to living with you. I want to see who 'Jake' is when he’s the only one in the room."

Sunghoon nodded, his expression calm, almost serene. "I understand. You need to build your own foundation, Jake."

And he meant it. But what he didn’t say, what he never said, was that he wasn’t guessing anymore.

By this point in his life, Sunghoon wasn’t a junior associate anymore. He was an associate corporate lawyer at a top firm, finally earning enough stability and savings to think beyond rent and survival. He had been planning this phase quietly for years without ever calling it what it was.

Preparation.

He had already begun looking at properties months before Jake even brought up moving out. Not impulsively, but strategically. A place that would make sense long term. A place that could hold a future without needing to be rebuilt later.

It was something he stepped into after becoming stable enough to support the life he had already been designing in his head.

But he didn’t mention any of that to Jake. Instead, he helped carry the boxes down.

“I’m only ten blocks away,” Jake said, trying to smile as he got into the cab. “We’re still doing Fridays, right?”

“Of course,” Sunghoon replied.

Certain. Like nothing had changed.

As Jake drove off, waving enthusiastically out the window, Sunghoon stood on the sidewalk with his hands in his pockets. He felt a twinge of loneliness, yes, but it was overshadowed by a deep, patient certainty. He viewed this move as Jake’s "sabbatical", a necessary period of growth before the inevitable.

Because in his mind, this wasn’t separation. It was spacing. Just A necesssary step before return.

A month later, Sunghoon also moved. He didn't tell Jake the full extent of it, just that he "needed a change of scenery." 

A high rise apartment, top floor, floor-to-ceiling windows, clean lines, city view. He spent his weekends meticulously designing the layout, choosing textures and colors that he knew would make Jake feel instantly at home.

He lived in the quiet space like a king in an empty castle. Every night, he would sit in the living room and look at the empty spot where the dining table would go, the table big enough for a family, big enough for Jake’s chaotic breakfast spreads.

He listened to Jake talk about his new neighbors and his struggle to learn how to cook for himself. He smiled when Jake complained about the leaky faucet his landlord wouldn't fix and then fixed it for him the next time he went over.

Take all the time you need, Jake. Sunghoon thought. I’m not going anywhere, I’ll be right here whenever you’re ready to come back.

AGE 27

The engagement party for Jay and Jungwon was exactly the kind of event Sunghoon usually loathed: high pressure, high romance, and filled with people asking why a man with his face and paycheck was still single.

The ballroom was a sea of champagne flutes and soft lighting. Sunghoon stood near the edge of the dance floor, his posture perfect, his expression an unreadable mask of polite detachment.

"Look at them," Jake sighed, leaning heavily against the high top table beside him. He was three drinks in and getting into his 'philosophical' stage. "They look so... sure. Who doesn't want that, that certainty."

Sunghoon, as always, didn't look at the happy couple. He looked at the way Jake’s tie was slightly crooked, a tiny imperfection that Sunghoon felt a physical ache to correct. "I have certainty, Jake."

"Yeah, in your bank account," Jake teased, though there was a hint of genuine sadness in his eyes. "I tried talking to that girl in the red dress for you, the one who’s been staring at you since the hors d'oeuvres. She’s a pediatric surgeon, Hoon. She’s literally perfect."

"I told you, I'm not interested," Sunghoon said flatly.

Jake threw his hands up, nearly splashing his drink. "Why! You do this every time. It’s like you’re actively trying to be the last bachelor on earth. You’re twenty seven hoonie. If you don't start dating now, you’re going to end up—"

"—Married to you?" Sunghoon interrupted, his voice dropping an octave.

Jake paused, the joke dying on his lips as he looked at Sunghoon. For a second, the loud music and the clinking of glasses seemed to fade into the background. "I meant alone..." Jake said, his laugh a bit forced this time. "But that’s a 'worst case scenario' thing. You’re supposed to be out there finding the love of your life so we can go on double dates and complain about our mortgages together."

"I don't want a 'worst case scenario,'" Sunghoon said. He took a slow, deliberate step closer, invading Jake’s personal space just enough to make the air between them feel thick. "And I don't want a double date."

Jake blinked, his heart fluttering in a way he didn't quite understand. 

Before the moment could break, a mutual friend drifted over, clapping Sunghoon on the shoulder. "Sunghoon! Still flying solo? My cousin is dying to meet you, she’s—"

"He's busy," Jake snapped.

Both the friend and Sunghoon looked at Jake in surprise. Jake’s face flushed a deep crimson. "I mean... he’s my ride. And we were just talking about leaving..."

Sunghoon’s lips quirked into the smallest, deadliest ghost of a smile. He didn't move away. He stayed right in Jake’s space, letting the heat of his body anchor Jake to the spot.

"Talking," Sunghoon repeated, his eyes locked on Jake’s.

The friend took the hint and shuffled away, looking confused. Jake let out a breath he’d been holding, his hand trembling slightly as he reached for the table.

"You're being weird tonight," Jake whispered, unable to look up.

"I'm being honest," Sunghoon replied. He reached out, finally straightening Jake’s tie with agonizing slowness. His fingers brushed against the sensitive skin of Jake’s throat, and he felt the shudder that went through the shorter man. "I'm not looking for 'perfect,' Jake. I'm just waiting for the person who already has my word."

Jake finally looked up, his eyes searching Sunghoon’s for the punchline, for the 'just kidding' that usually followed their pact mentions. But Sunghoon’s eyes were dark, intense, and terrifyingly sincere.

"Three years, Jake," Sunghoon murmured, his hand lingering on the silk of the tie. "The clock is ticking. Are you sure you want me to keep 'practicing' with other people?"

Jake opened his mouth to reply, to say something to break the tension, but he found he couldn't breathe, let alone speak. It all felt like a trap that was slowly, inevitably, closing in. And Jake didn't feel the usual panic at that thought.

The silence in Sunghoon’s apartment wasn’t empty; it was curated.

It didn’t feel abandoned or lifeless. It felt like a space built with patience, like someone had designed it around a presence that wasn’t constant yet never truly absent.

Everything here was clean, minimal, carefully placed, but not sterile. There was warmth here, just not the loud kind. The kind that waited.

The living room sat at the center of it all. The coffee table was clear except for a few small, lived in details, a coaster slightly out of alignment, a faint scratch on the surface from where Jake once carelessly set down a glass, laughing as Sunghoon told him not to rush. That scratch stayed. Sunghoon never tried to get rid of it.

There were other traces too, scattered quietly through the apartment if someone knew how to look. A hoodie once left behind after a late night that Sunghoon had folded and placed carefully in the bedroom drawer instead of returning it immediately. A mug that didn’t match the set because Jake had insisted on using it one morning and then forgotten it behind. A pair of socks that had somehow ended up in the laundry cycle and never quite made it back to their owner.

The kitchen carried the same feeling. Marble counters, brushed steel, everything precise, but softened by repetition that didn’t belong to one person alone. A second glass always cleaned and placed beside his own. Ingredients in the cabinet that Sunghoon didn’t touch often, but always restocked because Jake once mentioned liking them during a late night conversation that had started as a joke and ended in laughter.

The espresso machine sat polished and ready. Sunghoon didn’t drink coffee. He never had. But Jake did. Always too much, always too fast, always with the kind of energy that filled rooms before he even fully stepped into them. So the machine stayed. Like everything else.

The bedroom was quieter, more personal, but still unfinished in a way only Sunghoon understood. The bed was always neatly made, but not untouched. Jake had been there before, falling asleep once after a movie night, clothes half tossed onto the chair, waking up with sunlight in his eyes and laughing like it meant nothing that he had stayed. In Sunghoon's bed. In Sunghoon's heart.

Sunghoon had said nothing that morning. But he had that scene burned behind his eyelids for everytime he closed his eyes. The domesticity, the fragility of that moment. He never wanted to leave. The sheets were still smooth, but there was a memory of warmth in them that never fully disappeared.

Down the hallway, the second room held a different kind of anticipation. He didn't open the door alone often. It felt too much like looking at a ghost that hadn't died yet. But tonight, after the tension at the engagement party, the urge was clawing at his chest.

A recording setup sat because Jake had once mentioned wanting to try music seriously, voice soft and uncertain in a way Sunghoon had noticed immediately but never pressured. The chair near the window was slightly worn at the arms, not from neglect, but from someone sitting there during conversations that ran too long, leaning back, talking with their hands, forgetting the time.

And the room remembered it better than anyone else did.

Even the balcony carried that quiet imprint. Two chairs angled slightly toward each other instead of perfectly aligned, because Jake never sat still, always turning slightly when he spoke, always leaning in when he laughed. The city air came in gently through the glass doors, and Sunghoon sometimes stood there long after Jake had left, replaying conversations that had ended too quickly.

The apartment looked like it belonged to one person. But it didn’t feel like it was made for one. It felt like it was holding space.

Not for absence. But For return.

Sunghoon stood in the kitchen, palms resting lightly on the cool marble, eyes drifting over the quiet order of everything around him. The city shimmered beyond the glass, distant but alive.

And yet none of it mattered more than the thought that had built every room here without ever needing to be spoken aloud:

Jake had already been here. Jake had already filled this place with sound, movement, chaos, warmth. And Sunghoon had never once let it go back to being empty afterward. Because even in silence, this apartment was not waiting for a stranger. It was waiting for him. Like sunlight that had already touched the walls once… and was expected to come back again.

Sunghoon reached into the cabinet and pulled out a specific bag of beans, imported from a small roastery Jake had mentioned once three years ago during a trip to Australia. Sunghoon kept them stocked, rotating the bags every few weeks so they were always fresh, just in case this was the day Jake finally decided to stay permanently.

He remembered the look on Jake's face at the party, the confusion, the flicker of something that looked like fear. Or was it realization?

Sunghoon sat on the sofa, he closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the cool leather. He had been "intentional" for so long it felt like a second skin. He had passed up promotions that would’ve pulled him away from this city. He had even tried the dates his mother pushed on him, and the ones Jake himself had jokingly encouraged, wanting Sunghoon to "get back out there."

But they were always doomed to fail. He’d sit across from perfectly kind, beautiful people and feel nothing but a polite detachment, because his heart was already occupied. It wasn't that he was being stubborn; it was just that every face that wasn’t Jake’s felt like a pale imitation of the truth. To Sunghoon, it wasn't a choice, it was a law of nature. He felt it in his bones that they were two halves of the same story, the kind of soul deep connection that would have found its way home in any century, under any name. No matter the life or the circumstances, he knew he would have always spent his time waiting for Jake to realize the same thing.

The chime of a text message broke the silence.

Jake: U awake? 

Jake: ...r we okay?

Sunghoon stared at the screen. He could feel the familiar pull to comfort him, to laugh it off and say “Of course, it was just a joke, Jake.” To put the mask back on and wait for the clock to strike midnight on their thirtieth year.

Instead, he typed:

Sunghoon: We’re fine. I told you. Get some sleep.

He set the phone down on the side table. He didn't want Jake to be "okay." He wanted Jake to be unsettled. He wanted the idea of the pact to stop being a safety net and start being the only floor Jake had left to stand on.

The shift in the air after the engagement party left Jake buzzing with a low grade anxiety he couldn't name. Sunghoon’s intensity wasn't new, but it had a sharp edge that Jake didn't know how to dull with a joke anymore.

So, he did what he always did when things got too real: he invited a buffer.

"So, I was thinking," Jake said, trying to sound breezy as he leaned against Sunghoon’s kitchen island. Sunghoon was meticulously slicing an apple, the blade hitting the cutting board with a clinical thud-thud-thud. "You know that cabin trip we do every autumn? Just the two of us?"

Sunghoon didn’t look up. "October 14th to the 18th. I’ve already cleared my schedule."

"Right, yeah! Well, I ran into Minho, you remember him from the gym? He’s actually a huge hiker so I thought it might be fun to, you know, shake things up. Invite him along? Maybe a few others? Probably not Jay or Jungwon though, they're probably busy you know, I heard they-"

The knife stopped. Sunghoon finally looked up, his dark eyes boring into Jake’s with a cold, terrifying stillness. "You want to invite a stranger to our cabin."

"He's not a stranger, Hoon! He’s a nice guy. And honestly," Jake laughed, though it sounded thin even to his own ears, "it might be good for you. He has a sister who’s single, and he mentioned—"

"No."

Jake blinked. "No? Just like that? Come on, it’s been the two of us for a decade. Don’t you think it’s getting a little... stagnant? We’re almost thirty, man. We should be expanding our circles, not closing them."

Sunghoon set the knife down. He walked around the island, his movements slow and predatory, until he was standing directly in front of Jake. He was taller, broader, and currently, he felt like a wall closing in.

"I don't want an expanded circle, Jake. I want what was promised."

"Promised?" Jake huffed, looking at the ceiling. "This again- Hoon, we were kids when we made that stupid pact. And Minho is a great guy, he's handsome and kind and so easy to talk to, I'm sure his sister is too. I thought maybe if you met someone new, you’d stop being so... intense lately."

"Intense?" Sunghoon leaned in, his voice dropping to that dangerous, velvet register. "I’ve spent every autumn for ten years in that cabin with you. I’ve memorized how you look in the morning, how you take your morning coffee and evening tea, the way you trip over the porch step everytime you walk by. And you want to bring Minho so you don't have to look at me and pretend it all means nothing?"

"That's not—"

"Or is it because you’re scared?" Sunghoon’s hand came up, not to touch Jake, but to grip the edge of the counter on either side of him, pinning him in place. "Because the closer we get to thirty, the more you realize I wasn't joking. That its never been just a 'stupid' pact. And you’d rather bring a stranger along than face the fact that you already belong to someone."

Jake’s heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird. "I don't belong to anyone, Sunghoon. We’re friends."

"Are we?" Sunghoon tilted his head, his gaze dropping to Jake’s mouth for a heartbeat before snapping back to his eyes. "Because friends don't spend their lives waiting for each other. I'm not inviting Minho. And if you do, I won't be there."

"You’d blow off our tradition over one guest?" Jake asked, breathless.

"It’s not about the guest," Sunghoon whispered, his breath warm against Jake’s skin. "It’s about the fact that you’re still trying to run. But there’s nowhere left to go, Jake. The clock doesn't stop just because you're in denial."

He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous velvet. "And if you’re still going to stand there and tell me you feel nothing, then maybe you need to look at how your hands are shaking right now. You’re terrified, Jake, because you know exactly how much you want this to happen. But If you're still confused, maybe you should think through why you haven't pulled away yet."

Sunghoon straightened up, the crushing tension breaking as he calmly picked up the plate of apples. He walked towards his bedroom, leaving Jake in the kitchen, the word belong echoing in his head like a threat.

Jake was exhausted of the pauses that stretched too long, of the things Sunghoon never said but somehow always made present. Of the way every silence felt weighted, like it was asking something from him he didn’t have the energy to give.

And Sunghoon was wrong. He wasn’t in denial.

Maybe, years ago, back when they were sharing cramped spaces and late nights and borrowed futures, there had been something small. A flicker. A harmless, passing thing he’d noticed and then let go of. It hadn’t meant anything. It certainly hadn’t lasted.

FLASHBACK

Jake hadn’t meant to stay long.

That was the lie he told himself as he leaned against the tall table near the windows, plastic cup warm in his hand, conversation blurring into background noise. He’d come because people expected him to. Because it was easier to show up than to sit at home and feel watched by the quiet.

The guy next to him, he barely remembered his name, was easy company. Talkative. Animated. He laughed at Jake’s jokes like they were new instead of recycled, leaned in close when the music swelled, said things like 'you’re funny' and 'you should come out with us sometime' with an ease that felt… simple.

Jake let himself enjoy that.

He leaned back. Let his shoulder brush the other guy’s. Let himself laugh a little louder than usual. He told himself it meant something. Still, every few seconds, his attention drifted. Not toward the exits. Not toward the stage or the food table.

Toward the far side of the room.

He told himself he wasn’t looking for Sunghoon. But his eyes found him anyway.

Sunghoon stood near the edge of the crowd, posture composed as always, talking to someone Jake didn’t recognize. They looked good together in a way that made something tight coil low in Jake’s stomach. The person was leaning in, smiling, clearly interested.

Jake looked away immediately. 

He took a bigger sip of his drink than he meant to. Let the guy beside him keep talking. Nodded, laughed, touched his arm without thinking, too casually, too familiarly.

'See?' he told himself. 'Normal. This is normal.'

He didn’t notice when Sunghoon stopped talking. Didn’t see the way his gaze locked, distant and fixed.

What he 'did' feel was the sudden shift, an unease he couldn’t place, like the air had changed pressure. Jake straightened without meaning to, fingers curling tighter around his cup.

He glanced back. Sunghoon was gone. So was the person he was talking to. He looked around for both.

The absence landed harder than Jake expected. His chest felt oddly hollow, like he’d stepped onto a stair that wasn’t there. He felt like he was going to puke.

“You okay?” the guy beside him asked.

He took a step back, then another. “I’m sorry. I- i really need to go. I’m not feeling great.”

The guy started to protest, but Jake was already moving, pushing through the crowd, mumbling apologies that dissolved into the noise.

Outside, the night air hit him like a shock. He sucked in a breath, then another, pacing as his pulse thudded painfully in his ears. His stomach was still twisting, unsettled, like he’d eaten something bad.

As he walked, no, half jogged, back, he tried to catalogue the feeling. To name it. To file it away into something manageable.

It wasn’t jealousy. It was… discomfort. A strange sense of imbalance, like he’d leaned too far one way and tipped something delicate off its center. Like he’d reached out expecting solid ground and found nothing but air.

He told himself it didn’t matter. This was just concern. That was all.

Sunghoon didn’t do things like this. He didn’t do parties, didn’t disappear with strangers. In all the years Jake had known him, he’d gone on maybe five dates, and most of them had been set up by Jake himself. Sunghoon was careful. Predictable. He didn’t do one night stands.

And Sunghoon knew Jake was there tonight. If something had been happening, if it had actually been going well, Sunghoon would’ve said something. A text. A look across the room. A quiet check in before leaving. Sunghoon always told Jake.

The fact that he hadn’t didn’t mean anything. It probably meant Sunghoon had just stepped outside. Or gone to the bathroom. Or decided the party was too loud and left early, alone.

Jake clung to those explanations like a lifeline as his stomach continued to churn. He wasn’t upset. He was just… thrown off. Just reacting to something unexpected.

The apartment was dark when Jake let himself in, the quiet wrapping around him like a held breath.

He flicked on the entry light... and froze.

Sunghoon’s shoes were by the door, placed neatly side by side. The ones he’d worn out tonight.

Jake sagged forward a little, the tension draining out of him so fast it made his knees weak. He let out a slow, shaky breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

He kicked off his own shoes and moved through the apartment on autopilot, the familiar layout grounding him. Sunghoons bedroom door was cracked open, a thin line of warm light spilling into the hall. He was in bed, propped slightly against the headboard. Awake.

Their eyes met.

Something in Sunghoon’s expression shifted instantly, relief, unmistakable, raw enough that Jake felt it like a pull in his chest. Sunghoon didn’t say anything. He just lifted the covers in a quiet, practiced invitation.

Jake didn’t hesitate. He crossed the room and slid in beside him, still in his outside clothes, the scent of the night clinging to him, sweat, alcohol, the city. Normally, Sunghoon would’ve commented. A soft reprimand, a sigh, a reminder to change.

Tonight, there was nothing. Sunghoon wrapped an arm around him the second Jake settled, pulling him close with a firmness that startled them both. Jake’s face pressed against Sunghoon’s chest, the clean scent of soap and something warm and familiar filling his lungs. He’d showered. Changed. He smelled good. Safe.

Sunghoon’s hand came up to cradle the back of Jake’s head, fingers threading into his hair, holding him there. 

Jake stiffened for half a second, surprised by the strength of it, the way Sunghoon’s body curved around his like a shield. Then he melted into it without thinking, his own arms sliding around Sunghoon’s waist.

Sunghoon exhaled, long and uneven, his grip tightening just a fraction more.

“You okay?” he murmured, voice low, careful.

Jake nodded against him. “Yeah. You... You left without me...”

Sunghoon didn’t say anything. Didn't reply. He didn’t loosen his hold either.

They lay there in silence, Jake’s heartbeat slowly evening out, Sunghoon’s hand steady at his back like an anchor. Outside, the city hummed faintly, distant and irrelevant. If anyone had asked, Jake would’ve said this was normal. Just comfort. Just habit.

But as Sunghoon held him like he was afraid to let go, Jake closed his eyes and let himself believe, just for tonight, that this was exactly where he was supposed to be.

END

He remembers it all so clearly. But He was over it. He had to be. It's been Years.

Because if he wasn’t, then all this, this tension, this careful distance, this constant second guessing, would mean something else entirely. Something heavier. Something he wasn’t willing to carry.

And he could prove it.

Not because he wanted to hurt Sunghoon, but because he wanted the silence to stop pressing in on his chest. Because he wanted peace, even if it meant convincing himself he’d already left those feelings behind.

Because believing he was over it was the only way he knew how to survive it.

So, Jake called Minho. He didn't invite him to the cabin; but he did ask him out for drinks. He made sure to mention it to Sunghoon with a forced, airy cheerfulness as he was getting ready.

"Don't wait up for me, I'll probably go back to my own apartment when we're done," Jake said, adjusting his collar in Sunghoon’s hallway mirror. 

Sunghoon was sitting on the sofa, a book open in his lap. He didn't look up, but the page he was holding was trembling slightly. "Have a good time, Jake."

The bar was loud, crowded, and smelled of cheap gin. Minho was perfectly nice, he laughed at the right times, he was handsome, and he talked about his dog. But every time Minho reached out to touch Jake’s arm, Jake flinched. Every time Minho asked a question about Jake’s future, the only image that flashed in Jake’s mind was a two bedroom apartment and Sunghoon standing in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, quietly cooking something he didn’t even like just because Jake once mentioned it in passing.

It wasn’t Minho’s fault. Nothing about him was wrong.

That was the problem. Everything was fine. Normal. Expected. The kind of life Jake had once said he wanted, simple conversations, easy laughter, someone who didn’t know him too deeply but still chose him anyway.

But all Jake could think about was the way Sunghoon’s apartment felt at night, like it already had a rhythm that only broke properly when Jake walked into it. The way Sunghoon would glance at him without needing to speak, like he had already accounted for Jake’s next move before Jake even made it.

Minho was talking again, smiling slightly, asking something about travel plans.

Jake nodded too late. Because in his mind, he wasn’t here.

And for the first time that night, Jake realized something with a slow, uncomfortable clarity:

It wasn’t that Minho felt wrong. It was that nothing else ever felt like home.

By 11:00 PM, the guilt was a physical weight. By 11:30 PM, Jake was checking his phone.

There was nothing from Sunghoon.

Jake told Minho he had a headache and practically ran to the curb to hail a cab. When he let himself into Sunghoon’s apartment, the lights were dimmed. Sunghoon was exactly where he had left him, but the book was gone. There was a single glass of wine on the coffee table, untouched.

"The easy-to-talk-to guy let you out early?" Sunghoon’s voice was like ice.

"I just... I wasn't feeling it," Jake muttered, kicking off his shoes. He felt small. He felt like he had tried to start a fire and only succeeded in burning himself.

Sunghoon stood up. He didn't look angry; he looked exhausted. "How many more people are you going to use as shields, Jake? How many more dates are you going to go on just to realize they aren't me?"

"It's not about that!" Jake snapped, his voice cracking. "I just wanted to feel... normal. Like a regular twenty seven year old. Not like I'm part of some countdown you've been running in your head since we were kids."

Sunghoon crossed the room in three strides. He grabbed Jake’s hand, pulling it up and pressing Jake’s palm flat against his own chest. Jake could feel it then, the terrifying, frantic thud of Sunghoon’s heart. 

"You think this is a game to me? Is that why you're trying to push me away?" Sunghoon hissed. "You think I stayed single for years because I couldn't find anyone? I watched you date half the uni, Jake. I sat through every 'breakup' drink, every 'I think she's the one' speech, and I stayed quiet because I knew you needed to get it out of your system."

"You... you stayed quiet?" Jake whispered, his eyes wide.

"I stayed quiet because I had a promise," Sunghoon’s voice broke, the angst finally spilling over. "But watching you walk out that door tonight to meet someone else, knowing you were doing it just to spite me, that was the limit. I’m done being a back up. If you want out, tell me now. Tell me you’re never going to marry me, it was all a joke, and I’ll move out of this place tonight. I’ll stop waiting."

Sunghoon’s grip on Jake’s hand was almost painful. "Tell me you don't love me, Jake. Say it, and I’ll let you go."

Jake looked at Sunghoon, really looked at the desperation behind the cold mask, and realized with a sickening jolt that he couldn't say it. Because the thought of Sunghoon actually leaving, 'letting him go', was the only thing more terrifying than him staying.

The air in the living room felt thin, charged with the kind of electricity that precedes a total collapse. Jake’s hand was still pinned against Sunghoon’s chest, the frantic rhythm of that heart echoing through his own palm. It was the most honest thing Sunghoon had ever given him, no cold logic, just raw, vibrating desperation.

"I can't say it," Jake whispered, his voice failing him. "You know I can't say that."

Sunghoon’s eyes searched his, dark and predatory but shimmering with a vulnerability that made Jake’s chest ache. "Is it because it’s the truth? Or is it because you’re a coward, Jake? Are you staying because you love me, or because you’re terrified of being alone?"

The word coward stung, mostly because it hit the mark. 

“It’s not about that, Hoon,” Jake said, his breath uneven as he finally closed the small gap between them, fingers curling into the lapels of Sunghoon’s shirt like he needed something solid to hold onto. “It’s about you. It’s always been you. I just… I didn’t think you were actually waiting.”

His grip tightened slightly, knuckles pale.

“I thought you were living your life,” he continued, voice trembling despite himself. “That you cared about me, yeah, but the same way you care about something familiar. Safe. I thought what I was seeing in your eyes was just… my own wanting reflected back at me.”

He swallowed hard. “And I was scared to hope,” Jake admitted. “Because if I let myself believe it, if I dared think you felt the same, and I was wrong… I don’t think I could’ve survived that.”

His voice dropped, almost breaking.

“I’ve run through every version of it in my head,” he said quietly. “You telling me I misunderstood. You laughing it off. You saying you never meant it that way. And every time, I realized the same thing, that if that happened, I wouldn’t be able to move on. I wouldn’t be able to love anyone else. I don’t think I ever have.”

Jake exhaled shakily, forehead pressing against Sunghoon’s. He closed his eyes.

“So I ran,” he whispered. “I told myself it was the right thing to do, that you deserved more than me standing in the way. Even when it hurt like hell. Even when it felt like I was tearing something out of myself just to keep from hoping.”

He lifted his head, eyes glossy but steady now. “I didn’t realize I wasn’t just part of your life,” Jake said softly. “I didn’t realize I was the whole thing.”

Sunghoon let out a jagged, bitter laugh, his forehead completely dropping to rest against Jake’s. "How could you not know." 

"I'm sorry," Jake sobbed, the weight of his own carelessness finally breaking him. He buried his face in Sunghoon’s shoulder, breathing in the familiar scent of expensive cologne and the faint, metallic scent of winter air. "I'm so sorry. I’ve been so stupid. I love you. I do." He wrapped his arms around his neck.

Sunghoon didn't move for a long moment. Then, slowly, his arms wrapped around Jake's waist, pulling him in so tightly it was almost difficult to breathe. It wasn't a comforting hug; it was a reclamation.

"Don't go on another date," Sunghoon commanded, his voice muffled in Jake’s hair. "Don’t keep reaching for other names just to put space between us. If you’re staying, stay for good. We've already lost so much time."

Jake nodded against him, his hands clutching the back of Sunghoon’s shirt. "Okay. No one. Just you. I just want you."

Sunghoon pulled back just enough to look at him, his thumb catching a stray tear on Jake’s cheek. His expression was still intense, still slightly terrifying, but the ice had melted into something far more dangerous: hope.

"We still have thirty six months until the deadline," Sunghoon murmured, his gaze dropping to Jake’s lips again. "But I don't think I can wait that long to start."

Before Jake could ask what he meant, Sunghoon’s hand slid from his cheek to the back of his neck, tilting his head back. He didn't ask; he just took. The kiss was desperate and long overdue, tasting of wine and years of repressed longing. It was the feeling of a clock finally stopping.

The wet slide of his lips against sunghoon's shattered him, and he whimpered, dizzy and stunned at the taste and the feel of lips against his own.

Jake swayed forward, his chest pressing against sunghoon’s chest, melting against him, melting into the kiss, as he felt sunghoon's fingers at the back of his neck twitching against his skin.

Sunghoon bit his bottom lip gently before giving it an apologetic lick. Jake gave a low sound, enough like a moan that Sunghoon chased after, coaxing Jake's mouth open as his tongue slipped into Jake's mouth.

When Sunghoon finally pulled away, his eyes were blown wide, his breathing heavy. "The cabin," he rasped. "Let's go Tomorrow. Just us."

Jake could only nod, his lips tingling, his mind finally, mercifully quiet. He realized then that Sunghoon hadn't just been waiting for the deadline. He’d been waiting for Jake to finally see the home that had already been built for him.