Archive of Our Own

“Want some coffee, Sang-woo-ya?”

“No.”

The single syllable cut deeper than any knife ever could. Hot piping coffee carefully curated with a French press. It was love brewed in a cup. And Sang-woo? He’d rejected Gi-hun’s love.

“What the hell do you mean, ‘no’?!” Gi-hun cried, stomping over from the counter to the kitchen table where Sang-woo sat.

Sang-woo looked up from his MacBook Pro. He adjusted his glasses, pushing them up a fraction of an inch on the bridge of his nose. “I mean what I just said. ‘No’ shouldn’t require further elaboration, hyung.”

Gi-hun folded his arms across his chest. “You’re lucky I don’t dump the coffee all over that dumb computer of yours,” he said. “How many times do I have to tell you that this is a kitchen, not an office?”

Sang-woo returned his attention to his work. He began typing rapidly. “You can make the rules when you start paying the bills.”

Gi-hun balked at that. “I pay for the Netflix!”

“That still leaves the utilities, rent, groceries…” Sang-woo glanced up from the screen. “I can print you out the spreadsheet I made of our budget, but you never seemed all that interested.” He went back to typing.

“Well, my company is priceless. You’ve said so yourself!”

Sang-woo made no reply. Instead, the clicking of the keyboard filled the silence. 

Gi-hun stared him down with his brow furrowed, his anger on full display. This living arrangement at Sang-woo’s apartment in Seoul started out unconventionally. In fact, tragedy had brought the two childhood friends together. It happened last summer when Sang-woo attempted to take his own life.

The thought alone made Gi-hun’s countenance transform into something more somber. The image of Sang-woo hooked up to all those machines lying in a hospital bed would never leave his mind. Suicide by charcoal briquette was evidently a painless way to go. Like falling asleep, survivors said. Sang-woo had been in the bathtub, bottles of soju littered around him, while carbon monoxide filled the small space of the bathroom, courtesy of a tiny stove that was a lot like the one they used to warm their lunchboxes on back in grade school. He hadn’t taken off his suit, but he had taken off his glasses.

A well meaning neighbor, a young man by the name of Hwang Jun-ho, had saved him. He hadn’t seen Sang-woo for several days. It was a deviation from Sang-woo’s commute to work. Usually, Jun-ho and Sang-woo walked to the train station together. Jun-ho wondered if Sang-woo was sick. When he couldn’t get Sang-woo to answer the door one morning, he used his police training to break it down.

That was when he found him in the bathtub. Jun-ho rushed Sang-woo to the hospital. The hospital alerted Sang-woo’s mother, who alerted Gi-hun.

The doctors said if Jun-ho had arrived just minutes later that Sang-woo would have been gone.

Guilt still plagued Gi-hun to this day for not noticing something was amiss. But how could he? He’d been living with his mother in Ssangmun-dong at the time. Of course, he tried reaching out to Sang-woo by phone call every week. He even tried texting from time to time when that didn’t work, which occasionally rewarded him with short responses that fizzled out at some point on Sang-woo’s end. He always wanted to hang out with him. He was always willing to travel to the city to rekindle the flame of the good old days with Sang-woo.

However, more often than not, Sang-woo rarely replied. It reminded Gi-hun of the silent treatment he was getting right now.

Gi-hun sighed, looking down at his bare feet against the wooden floor. His arms dropped to his sides, hands clenching into fists.

At the hospital, he remembered Jun-ho giving him a folded note handwritten by Sang-woo. It was addressed to him. It read:

Gi-hun-hyung,

I don’t expect you to understand any of this. Just know that I am sorry.

I’m not the success you think I am. I’ve made some bad investments. Like you, I’ve gambled but with other people’s money. Once they find out, I’ll lose everything. It won’t matter. I’ll already be gone. In reality, I lost everything a long time ago.

I could never tell you this, so I’m writing it here: I love you, hyung.

I love you more than a brother and a friend. I love you like how I’m not supposed to. I love you like how a man should love his wife, but I could never find a woman.

I regret not telling you before you got serious with Eun-ji. I know you’ve been divorced for a few years now, and I still can’t find a way to say this to your face. But I couldn’t die until I made it possible for you to find out after I’m gone. It’s selfish, but this is just how it has to be.

I love you. I love you, and I’m sorry.

Sang-woo

The news hit Gi-hun like a suckerpunch to the gut. He never knew until he read what was supposed to be Sang-woo’s last letter. He never considered being with his best friend like that. Strangely, the thought didn’t repulse him. It felt more like treading into uncharted territory, like venturing into waters unknown where you could either drown or find a tropical paradise. Would rough, turbulent waves swallow you whole? Or would you sail gracefully across the sea?

Gi-hun found it was somewhere in the middle. Like any couple, they had good days and bad days.

When Sang-woo had woken up back then, Gi-hun remembered squeezing his hands painfully tight. Tears streamed down his cheeks and dampened Sang-woo’s hospital gown.

“None of that stuff’s worth killing yourself over. Gae-sae-kki!”

“I shouldn’t be alive right now.”

“Don’t give me that,” Gi-hun said, pulling back and looking at Sang-woo, his own eyes still misty. “I’ve got news for you, Sang-woo. You’re not leaving this world until you’re an old man, and you’re gonna die warm in bed.”

Sang-woo exhaled a tired breath. “Did you rip that off from Titanic, hyung?”

“Who cares where I got it from? That’s just how it’s gonna be, and you’re just gonna have to accept it.” Gi-hun stared him down. “You don’t get to leave early! Not if I can help it.”

Sang-woo only shared the intensity of his gaze for a few seconds before averting his eyes to the white hospital sheets. “I take it you read the letter, hyung?”

“…Yeah.”

It was all Gi-hun could say for a while. Looking at Sang-woo now gave him the suspicion his friend still wanted to crawl into a hole and find a way to die. However, he refused to let that happen. A world without Sang-woo wasn’t a world he wanted to live in.

“So what?” Gi-hun asked.

“What do you mean, ‘so what?’” Sang-woo demanded. Despite being in the hospital bed, he sounded like he summoned some strength that he hadn’t had moments ago. “Knowing how I feel… It changes everything between us.”

Gi-hun rolled his eyes. “Not really. The only thing that’s changed is how it’s not a secret anymore.”

“What?” Sang-woo asked.

Gi-hun gave his hands a squeeze. He loosened his grip to be more comfortable but didn’t let go. “Well, I’m guessing you’ve always been in love with me, so… All that’s left to do is just try.”

Sang-woo’s brow crinkled with confusion. “Hyung… You’re not even gay.”

“True,” Gi-hun said in agreement. A small smirk found its way to his lips. “But that doesn’t mean I’m against gay stuff. You don’t know all the things Eun-ji and me did in bed.”

Color was finding its way to Sang-woo’s pale face. “Wh-What?”

Gi-hun shrugged, blushing too. He leaned in, whispering in Sang-woo’s ear in a low voice, “Sometimes, it feels good to get pegged.”

Sang-woo swallowed hard. “You’re crazy, hyung.”

Gi-hun clicked his tongue. His smirk smoothed out into an amused grin. “Sang-woo, you’re the dog covered in shit, and I’m the one dirty from the corn husks.”

Sang-woo huffed. “Why do I always have to be the one covered in shit whenever you say that?”

Gi-hun let go of one of his hands and ruffled Sang-woo’s hair, just like he used to do when they were much younger. “‘Cause I’m older.”

Sang-woo finally looked at Gi-hun, his cheeks still stained pink. “So where does this leave us?”

Gi-hun took a look around the room. The door was open, but they were still alone. No nurses or doctors walked the hall. Their mothers were both at the cafeteria, so it seemed like as good of a time as any. He cupped Sang-woo’s cheek and leaned in, planting a firm but tender kiss on his lips. To Gi-hun’s surprise, it somehow felt like coming home, even though he’d never shown any interest in men until now. However, he was always far too interested in Sang-woo as long as he could remember.

“It leaves us together,” Gi-hun answered, speaking in a low tone, lips brushing against Sang-woo’s. “Like it or not, you’re stuck with me now.”

“H-Hyung…” Sang-woo stammered, eyes fluttering and rolling back in his head. The pink burned into red, his entire face flushed. His heartbeat picked up on the monitor.

“Sang-woo-ya?” Gi-hun asked, pulling back to get a better look at him. Concern was written all over his face. “You okay? In pain? Should I get someone?” He still kept Sang-woo’s hand in his.

Sang-woo shook his head. “Don’t get anyone. I… I’m fine. It’s just… It’s a lot. Maybe give me some warning next time.”

Gi-hun nodded. “Sure, as long as you don’t go dying on me.” He gave Sang-woo’s hand an affectionate squeeze. “This is the first day of your new life, and you’re gonna see it through until the end.”

The stay in the hospital brought more changes that weren’t natural for men from their generation, but thankfully Sang-woo didn’t fight them. A therapist to talk to, a psychiatrist to prescribe medicine for clinical depression and anxiety, and, most importantly, the natural medicine of Gi-hun’s love that seemed to know no bounds. Shameless, just like so many other aspects of the man, but for the better.

While Sang-woo lost his job at the bank, he thankfully wasn’t in enough trouble to face jail time. Debts could be repaid. The kind neighbor, Jun-ho, got Sang-woo a stable desk job at the police station. Gi-hun felt better with the kid also helping look out for Sang-woo, too.

He never wanted Sang-woo to get to the point of taking his life ever again.

When Gi-hun thought about all that, mundane fights about coffee weren’t really a big deal, even though he wished Sang-woo would just talk to him.

Gi-hun ruffled Sang-woo’s hair in the present. He walked away from the kitchen table. The coffee had gone cold, so he spilled Sang-woo’s down the drain and put his own cup into the microwave.

Arms circled around Gi-hun’s waist from behind and pulled him in close. Sang-woo rested his chin on Gi-hun’s shoulder. “Hey, hyung?”

Gi-hun put his calloused hand on top of Sang-woo’s smooth one. “Hmm?”

“The doctor said I should try avoiding caffiene… It’s, um… An anxiety thing,” he muttered into Gi-hun’s ear.

Gi-hun looked at Sang-woo from over his shoulder. He gave him a wry smile. “Is that all?”

Sang-woo nodded.

Gi-hun chuckled. “You know, decaf exists for a reason.”

”Do we have any?”

“Yeah,” Gi-hun said. “I got some for when our eommas visit. Mine’s not supposed to have any, and yours seems to take hers that way in solidarity whenever they have coffee together.”

“Hmph… It tastes shittier without caffeine.”

“Now’s not the time to be picky with hot and cold rice, yeobo,” Gi-hun said, and he could feel how Sang-woo’s face got warmer from the pet name he parceled out for moments where they needed it most.

The microwave dinged. Gi-hun pulled away to retrieve his cup of coffee. He went to the fridge to add some cream. “So? Do you want a cup of decaf?”

“Yes, hyung. Thank you.”

Gi-hun grinned. “I’m warning you now that it’s the instant stuff, so it’s not gonna be as good as the French press.”

”That’s fine.”

“You know, if you find room in our budget for a high quality decaf espresso, I’ll make you affogato next time.”

Sang-woo adjusted his glasses. “I’ll crunch the numbers.” He went back to the table.

A few moments later, Gi-hun joined him with the cup of decaf, sweetened with one spoonful of sugar and a few splashes of cream. He leaned back in his chair at the table, sipping his own cup of coffee while he enjoyed this quiet moment with Sang-woo.

The air felt lighter with newfound understanding.