#XLMT

[polaroid-bread]

Unseen Love | Yanojoo | Seo Sangwon x Kim Byungjoo

Summary: Sangwon watches the one person he loves drift closer to someone else.

Keep reading below or read on ao3 (recommended): https://archiveofourown.org/works/58860856

Sangwon sat in the dimly lit corner of the practice room, watching Byungjoo laugh with Gon. His fingers tapped mindlessly against his thigh, pretending to be engrossed in his phone, but every laugh that escaped Byungjoo’s lips pulled Sangwon's attention back to them. To him. Byungjoo glowed when he was around Gon, as if the world shifted just for the two of them.

"You're staring again."

Byungjoo’s voice cut through the noise in Sangwon’s head, startling him. Sangwon looked up, forcing a grin onto his face, his usual defense mechanism when he was caught in moments like this. The teasing was inevitable.

"Why wouldn’t I stare? You’re practically a comedy show,” Sangwon quipped, trying to mask the aching twist in his chest. “You should pay me for all this entertainment.”

Byungjoo rolled his eyes, but there was a hint of fondness in the gesture. "Sure, sure. But you’d probably still be staring if I paid you not to." He turned back to Gon, oblivious to the way Sangwon’s grin faltered when he wasn’t looking.

Gon stood taller than Sangwon, more confident in the way he carried himself. His dancing was smoother, his smiles brighter. Even Byungjoo’s jokes hit harder whenever Gon was around. Sangwon had heard it too many times to count—the playful comparisons that made his stomach twist.

"You know, if you just trained a bit more, maybe you'd be as good as Gon," Byungjoo had said once, laughing. A friendly jab, nothing malicious. But Sangwon had smiled through it, hiding how those words pierced deeper than they should have.

"Yeah, yeah. I’m not quite there yet," Sangwon had replied with a casual shrug, pretending it didn’t matter. But it did. Every time.

Sangwon wasn’t blind. He could see how Byungjoo’s eyes lit up when Gon walked into the room. He could see the unspoken fondness in every glance, the way Byungjoo seemed softer, more vulnerable when Gon was around. And then there was the way Byungjoo recoiled, if only slightly, whenever Sangwon’s shoulder brushed his in the middle of their playful arguments. No skinship. No lingering touches. Byungjoo wasn’t that comfortable with him.

But with Gon… it was different. They touched. They stood close. The casual hand on a shoulder, the way Byungjoo didn’t seem to mind when Gon leaned in too close during practice, or when Gon draped his arm over Byungjoo's shoulders, pulling him closer than Sangwon ever could.

And each time Sangwon saw it, a small piece of his heart crumbled.

-

It was always like this.

Sangwon had learned to live with the hollow feeling, the one that took up residence in his chest. He knew how Byungjoo felt about Gon. He could see it every day—the longing looks, the quiet conversations, the subtle closeness between them. But Byungjoo only ever saw Sangwon as a friend. A younger brother, maybe. Someone to tease and bicker with, someone who would always be there to laugh off the hard days.

Never more than that.

He couldn’t even remember when it all started—when the teasing had turned into affection, when the affection had become something deeper, something that hurt more than it should. Sangwon had loved Byungjoo for longer than he cared to admit. But loving him was like standing in front of a locked door, knowing he could never cross the threshold.

"You okay?" Byungjoo’s voice interrupted his thoughts again. He was looking at Sangwon now, his eyebrows furrowed slightly in that way that made Sangwon's heart skip a beat. It was a look of concern, but it was fleeting, too fleeting to mean anything more.

"Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?" Sangwon plastered on a grin. "You worried about me, Hyung?"

Byungjoo clicked his tongue, shaking his head. "Worried? Not really. Just wondering if you're going to survive your next practice. You’re gonna need a lot more work to catch up to Gon." Another joke, another comparison that sank like a weight in Sangwon's chest.

But Sangwon just laughed, because that’s what he always did.

-

Later that night, Sangwon lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling of his dorm room. His phone sat on the pillow beside him, notifications from the group chat lighting up the screen, mostly from Byungjoo sending memes and practice schedules. The last message from Byungjoo was simple: "Gon and I are heading to the café. Want to join?"

Sangwon had declined, saying he had to study. He didn’t. But he couldn’t be around them tonight, not again. He couldn’t watch them get closer, couldn’t see the way Byungjoo smiled at Gon like he was the center of the universe.

Because it wasn’t just about Byungjoo falling for Gon. It was the realization that Sangwon had never even had a chance. He was the friend, the one Byungjoo could joke with, the one who would never be as tall, as skilled, as charming as Gon.

And the worst part? Sangwon respected Byungjoo too much to ever say anything. He cherished him too deeply to ruin what they had. If Byungjoo was happy with Gon, that was enough, wasn’t it?

But why did it hurt so much?

Sangwon reached for his phone, staring at Byungjoo’s messages before locking the screen again. He didn’t reply. What could he say? That he was fine? That he was happy for Byungjoo? That he wished it was him instead of Gon? None of those words would ever be true.

I can’t even tell you, Hyung, Sangwon thought, closing his eyes. I can’t tell you how much I love you. Not in that way.

He laughed bitterly, the words of the song he'd been listening to echoing in his mind. They weren’t new, but they were true. He couldn’t love Byungjoo the way he wanted. He couldn’t tell him that every joke, every touch that was avoided, every comparison to Gon chipped away at him. Because Byungjoo didn’t see him that way. He never would.

Sangwon turned onto his side, curling in on himself as if that would make the ache in his chest subside. He could keep pretending. He’d done it for this long, right? He could keep smiling, keep teasing, keep bickering with Byungjoo. He’d stay by his side, watch as Byungjoo and Gon grew closer, and continue being the friend that Byungjoo needed.

But at night, when he was alone, Sangwon allowed himself to feel it. The hopelessness. The longing. The love that would never be returned.

And as much as it hurt, Sangwon knew he could never say it aloud.

Because Byungjoo deserved to be happy. Even if it wasn’t with him.

-

Sangwon didn’t know why he agreed to meet Byungjoo and Gon at the café one night. His body felt heavy as he walked down the street, the cool night air doing little to calm the tightness in his chest. It was another act, just like every other time. He was good at pretending. But even pretending had its limits.

He arrived at the café to see Byungjoo and Gon already seated by the window, deep in conversation. They didn’t notice him at first—Byungjoo’s attention was completely on Gon, his eyes shining in the soft café lighting. Sangwon’s heart twisted painfully at the sight. He stopped just outside the door, wondering if it was too late to turn around and leave.

But then Byungjoo looked up, catching his gaze through the glass. He waved, his smile bright and welcoming, the kind that always made Sangwon’s resolve falter.

"Hey, you’re here!" Byungjoo called as Sangwon pushed open the door and stepped inside. “Took you long enough.”

“Yeah, sorry. Got held up,” Sangwon lied, forcing a smile. He slid into the seat across from them, trying to ignore the way Byungjoo’s hand lingered on Gon’s arm as he spoke.

Gon smiled politely at him, as he always did, but Sangwon could see the way Byungjoo’s attention was fixed on Gon, how their conversation seemed to flow effortlessly, with a comfort and ease that Sangwon had never been able to replicate. He was the odd one out, the third wheel, and no matter how much he tried to pretend otherwise, the truth hung over him like a weight he couldn’t shake.

The evening went by in a blur of polite smiles and forced laughter. Sangwon felt like a spectator, watching the way Byungjoo leaned in closer to Gon when he spoke, the way Gon’s smile made Byungjoo’s eyes crinkle at the corners. It was painful, like watching something precious slip through his fingers, knowing he could never hold onto it.

By the time they left the café, Sangwon’s chest felt unbearably tight, and he couldn’t take it anymore. He needed air, space—something to break the suffocating ache that had taken root in his heart.

“You okay?” Byungjoo asked, falling into step beside him as they walked. Gon was a few steps ahead, talking on the phone with someone, leaving them alone for the moment.

“Yeah, just tired,” Sangwon muttered. It was easier than admitting the truth. It was always easier to lie.

Byungjoo shot him a sideways glance, his lips quirking into a teasing smile. “You sure? You’re usually full of energy. Or are you just intimidated by Gon?”

The words were a joke, but they stung more than they should have. Sangwon forced a laugh, but it sounded hollow even to his own ears. "Yeah, right. Who wouldn’t be intimidated by someone who’s practically perfect?"

Byungjoo laughed, but Sangwon’s stomach twisted painfully. He didn’t mean for it to sound so bitter, but it was getting harder to keep the hurt from slipping through the cracks.

"You’re not jealous, are you?" Byungjoo’s voice was playful, teasing, but Sangwon felt the question cut deep.

Jealous. Of course, he was jealous. Jealous of Gon’s ease, of the way Byungjoo’s eyes always seemed to follow him, of the fact that Gon could have what Sangwon never would. But what could he say? The truth was too heavy to spill, too dangerous to let loose.

Sangwon shook his head, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Me? Jealous? Of course not. I’ve got better things to worry about.”

Byungjoo didn’t respond, and for a moment, the air between them felt thick, as if something unsaid hung in the space between their silence. But Byungjoo was quick to move on, quick to fill the space with more lighthearted conversation, oblivious to the way Sangwon was barely holding himself together.

-

Later that night, Sangwon found himself standing outside Byungjoo’s dorm. He hadn’t meant to follow him back, but something in him had needed to. Maybe it was the hope that Byungjoo would notice. Maybe it was the desperation to hold onto whatever fragments of their friendship he still had.

Byungjoo leaned against the door, fumbling with his keys, Gon still lingering beside him. Sangwon stayed a few steps behind, watching from the shadows as Gon reached out, resting a hand on Byungjoo’s shoulder, drawing closer in a way that felt too intimate, too real.

Sangwon’s heart clenched painfully. He wanted to turn away, to leave before the inevitable happened, but he couldn’t move. He was rooted to the spot, trapped in the cruel reality of watching the person he loved slip away.

"You sure you don’t want to come inside?" Byungjoo’s voice drifted back to him, casual, but there was an undertone to it that Sangwon didn’t miss. It wasn’t meant for him. It was for Gon. It always had been.

Gon smiled, shaking his head. "I’ve got an early class tomorrow. But… maybe another time?"

Byungjoo smiled back, and Sangwon felt the breath leave his lungs.

"Yeah. Another time."

Now, standing in the cold outside Byungjoo’s door, the weight of those thoughts pressed heavier than ever. Gon reached out and playfully ruffled Byungjoo’s hair, earning a bright, genuine smile from him. It was the kind of smile that Sangwon had always wanted to see directed at him. But it never came.

Sangwon watched as Byungjoo and Gon exchanged goodbyes, laughing softly about something he couldn’t hear. The ache in his chest deepened. Gon left, his footsteps fading into the distance, and it was just Sangwon and Byungjoo now.

But it didn’t feel like it was just the two of them anymore. It hadn’t for a long time.

Byungjoo turned to him with that familiar smile, the one that always seemed to disarm him, but tonight, it only made the pain worse. It wasn’t meant for him—not in the way he wanted it to be.

"You’re still here?" Byungjoo asked, sounding surprised.

Sangwon nodded, his voice caught in his throat. He wanted to say something, anything, to break the silence, but all the words he needed to say were trapped behind the wall he had built to protect himself.

Protect himself from what? The truth? The inevitable heartbreak?

"Yeah," he muttered finally, barely audible. "Just… making sure you got back okay."

Byungjoo tilted his head, eyes softening in that way they always did when he thought Sangwon was being sweet. "You’re too good to me, you know?"

Sangwon swallowed the lump in his throat and forced a smile. Too good? He wanted to tell him the truth. That being good to Byungjoo was the only way he knew how to show love—the only way he could without crossing the line, without losing what little he had with him. But he couldn’t say that. He could never say that.

-

Byungjoo’s words echoed in his mind as they stood there in the quiet night. Too good to me. As if Byungjoo didn’t realize just how much Sangwon loved him. As if Byungjoo couldn’t see that every little thing Sangwon did was for him.

But Byungjoo didn’t know. He couldn’t know. Because Byungjoo didn’t love him. Not in that way.

Sangwon’s heart tightened painfully at the thought. Every day, he had to live with the knowledge that Byungjoo saw him as nothing more than a close friend. Someone to joke with, someone to lean on when things got tough—but never someone to love. Not like Gon.

And the worst part was, Sangwon couldn’t even blame him. How could he? Gon was perfect. He was the kind of person who could sweep someone off their feet without even trying. He was everything Sangwon wasn’t.

Sangwon stood there, frozen, as Byungjoo’s smile faltered just a little. But before he could say anything more, Byungjoo stepped closer, his voice soft. "Sangwon… are you okay?"

For a split second, Sangwon considered telling the truth. Letting it all out, pouring every unsaid word into the air between them. But the moment passed as quickly as it had come, and Sangwon shoved his hands deeper into his pockets, shaking his head.

"Yeah," he lied, his voice steady despite the storm raging inside. "I’m fine."

-

The walk back to his dorm was quiet, the streets empty, the night air thick with unsaid words and unspoken feelings. Sangwon’s mind raced with thoughts he couldn’t stop. He had always known this would happen—that Byungjoo would eventually fall for someone else. He had always known that Byungjoo didn’t see him in that way.

But knowing it didn’t make it hurt any less.

In some twisted way, he had almost convinced himself that things would stay the same forever. That Byungjoo would always be his, even if it was only as a friend. But Gon had changed everything. Gon had opened a door that Sangwon had kept closed for so long, and now, there was no going back.

-

Sangwon stopped in front of his dorm, staring up at the dark windows, his chest tight with the weight of everything he couldn’t say.

He had always been the one watching from the sidelines, waiting for something that was never going to happen. He had always been the one holding on, hoping that maybe, just maybe, Byungjoo would look at him the way he looked at Gon.

But now, it was clear. Byungjoo was falling in love with someone else.

Sangwon could feel the cracks in his heart widening, the fragile pieces of hope he had clung to slipping away. He couldn’t compete with Gon. He never could.

And yet, despite everything, Sangwon knew he could never stop loving Byungjoo. He would always be there, always be the one standing quietly by his side, even if it meant watching from the shadows as Byungjoo found happiness with someone else.

He would always love him.

But not in the way Byungjoo needed. And not in the way Byungjoo would ever love him back.

The thought weighed heavily on his chest as he turned away, the night swallowing him whole. But deep down, somewhere in the recesses of his heart, Sangwon knew the truth.

It was better this way. It had to be.

-

As Sangwon walked further into the darkness, he didn’t see the way Byungjoo stood at his window, watching him disappear into the night. He didn’t see the way Byungjoo’s smile had faded, replaced by something more complicated—something that looked a lot like regret.

And Sangwon never saw the tear that slipped down Byungjoo’s cheek, because no matter how much Byungjoo tried, he couldn’t understand why the one person he wanted to notice... never seemed to see.

[solplparty]

[M/V] TRENDZ (트렌드지) - TNT (Truth&Trust) https://youtu.be/5qYECbE6o9o [M/V] TRENDZ (트렌드지) - TNT (Truth&Trust) ‘데뷔 D-DAY’ TRENDZ, 데뷔 앨범 ‘BLUE SET Chapter1. TRACKS’로 출사표 신인 보이그룹 TRENDZ(트렌드지)가 정식 데뷔한다. TRENDZ(하빛, 리온, 윤우, 한국, 라엘, 은일, 예찬)는 5일 오후 6시 데뷔 앨범 ‘BLUE SET Chapter1. TRACKS’를 각종 음원사이트를 통해 공개, K-POP 트렌드를 이끌 주역의 탄생을 알린다. 가요계에 첫발을 내딛은 TRENDZ의 데뷔 앨범 ‘BLUE SET Chapter1. TRACKS’는 TRENDZ가 앞으로 써내려갈 이야기의 시작을 알리는 앨범으로, 7인 7색의 개성 넘치는 매력과 함께 본격적으로 K-POP 트렌드를 이끌어갈 예정이다. 타이틀곡 ‘TNT(Truth&Trust)’를 비롯해 ‘Villain’, ‘Trauma’, ‘□(BE MY LOVE)’ 총 4곡이 수록된 ‘BLUE SET Chapter1. TRACKS’은 힘든 순간들을 벗어나고자 노력했지만 벗어날 수 없음에서 오는 상실감과 분노, 그리고 그 순간 나타난 ‘BLUE SET’이라는 미지의 공간으로 벗어나고자 하는 열망을 강렬한 사운드를 기반으로 풀어냈다. 특히 멤버 개개인의 가창력과 랩, 퍼포먼스가 돋보이는 타이틀곡 ‘TNT(Truth&Trust)’은 어둠과 안갯속을 헤쳐 나가면서 자유를 향해 나아가는 TRENDZ만의 다채로운 색깔과 세계관을 엿볼 수 있는 곡이다. TRENDZ 멤버 라엘이 작사에 참여하고 보이그룹 아스트로(ASTRO) 멤버 진진이 작곡 및 작사, 편곡을 맡은 ‘Villain’은 험난한 세상 속에서 소중한 것들을 지키기 위해 자신은 악당이라도 될 수 있다는 각오를 담았다. 여기에 TRENDZ 멤버 한국, 라엘, 은일, 예찬이 작사에 직접 참여한 ‘Trauma’는 절망 속에서 벗어나려고 하지만 뜻대로 되지 않은 상황을 음악으로 표현했다. ‘□(BE MY LOVE)’는 사랑에 푹 빠져서 헤어 나오지 못하는 상황과 설레서 어쩔 줄 모르는 마음을 노랫말로 표현한 중독성 강한 곡으로, 모든 수록곡에서는 TRENDZ만의 폭 넓은 음악 스펙트럼을 확인할 수 있다. 본격적으로 정식 데뷔하는 TRENDZ는 소속사 인터파크뮤직플러스가 모든 인프라를 활용해 처음으로 선보이는 보이그룹인 만큼, 전 세계 팬들의 뜨거운 기대가 모이고 있는 가운데 이들이 그려낼 아이덴티티와 세계관, 다양한 콘셉트에 대한 폭발적인 기대가 모이고 있다. 한편, Z세대의 트렌드의 주역이 되겠다는 당찬 포부로 가요계에 출사표를 던진 TRENDZ는 앞으로 다채로운 활동과 콘텐츠로 전 세계 팬들을 저격할 예정이다. 1. Villain Lyrics by 진진(ASTRO), 오래(ORAE), Moode, DASH GUY, 라엘 Composed by 진진(ASTRO), 오래(ORAE), Moode, DASH GUY Arranged by 진진(ASTRO), 오래(ORAE), Moode, DASH GUY, Sam Carter Background Vocals by Sam Carter Digital Editing by 오래(ORAE), Moode, Sam Carter Drums by 진진 Bass by DASH GUY Piano, Synthesizer by 오래(ORAE) Recorded by 정모연_Jeong Mo-Yun (@ Vibe Music Studio 606) Assist by 이강현_Lee Kang-Hyun, 이유나_Lee Yuna Mixed by 마스터키 @ 821sound Mastered by 권남우 @ 821sound 2. TNT (Truth&Trust) Lyrics by 한국, 라엘, 은일, 예찬, SWIN LEE Composed by Carlyle Fernandes, ALYSA, Moa “Cazzi Opeia” Carlebecker, Ellen Berg, Gabriel Brandes, SWIN LEE Arranged by Carlyle Fernandes, ALYSA, SWIN LEE Original Title: TNT Original Writers: Carlyle Fernandes, ALYSA, Moa “Cazzi Opeia” Carlebecker, Ellen Berg, Gabriel Brandes Original Publisher: EKKO Music Rights Europe (powered by CTGA) Sub-publisher: EKKO Music Rights (powered by CTGA) Vocal Directed by SWIN LEE Recorded by SWIN LEE Digital Edited by SWIN LEE @ EGO+T Background Vocal by Jhnovr Mixed by 마스터키 @ 821sound Mastered by 권남우 @ 821sound 3. Trauma Lyrics by 한국, 라엘, 은일, 예찬, SWIN LEE, SocioKate Composed by SWIN LEE, 이현상(ARTMATIC), 최지산(ARTMATIC), XLMT(ARTMATIC), LUKA Arranged by SWIN LEE, 이현상(ARTMATIC), 최지산(ARTMATIC), XLMT(ARTMATIC) Vocal Directed by SWIN LEE Recorded by SWIN LEE Digital Edited by SWIN LEE @ EGO+T Background Vocal by XLMT(ARTMATIC), SWIN LEE Mixed by 이태섭 @ Gateway Studio Mastered by 권남우 @ 821sound 4. □ (BE MY LOVE) Lyrics by SWIN LEE, Ruddie Miller, 한국, 라엘, 예찬 Composed by SWIN LEE, Ruddie Miller Arranged by SWIN LEE Vocal Directed by SWIN LEE Recorded by SWIN LEE Digital Edited by SWIN LEE @ EGO+T Background Vocal by Jhnovr, SWIN LEE Mixed by 이태섭 @ Gateway Studio Mastered by 권남우 @ 821sound 5. TNT (Truth&Trust) (Instrumental) Composed by Carlyle Fernandes, ALYSA, Cazzi Opeia, Ellen Berg, Gabriel Brandes, SWIN LEE Arranged by Carlyle Fernandes, ALYSA, SWIN LEE rhybeat 리빗

[popy-maho-blog]

Bergabung Bersama Kami Dapatkan Bonus Turn Over (25%) Maupun Bonus Referal(20%)!

[polaroid-bread]

Closer Still | Yanojoo | Seo Sangwon x Kim Byungjoo

Summary: Longtime friends Sangwon and Byungjoo navigate the thin line between friendship and something more.

A slow-burn journey filled with heart-fluttering tension, and the sweet ache of unspoken love.

Keep reading below or read on ao3 (recommended): https://archiveofourown.org/works/58788748

The afternoon sun poured through the large windows of the university library, casting long, golden beams that stretched across the wooden tables. Sangwon leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms above his head as his eyes drifted from the textbook in front of him to the figure across the table. Byungjoo was absorbed in his notes, his pen moving steadily across the page.

Sangwon had known Byungjoo for years, ever since they met during freshman orientation. Their friendship had been built on a foundation of mutual teasing and relentless bickering, which, in a strange way, had become a comforting constant in Sangwon’s life. There was something about the way they could argue about the most trivial things—like who was worse at cooking or whose music taste was more questionable—that made everything else seem a little less complicated.

Today was no different. They had spent the better part of the afternoon in the library, supposedly studying for midterms, but more often than not, they ended up sniping at each other about who had been less productive. Sangwon’s eyes traced the curve of Byungjoo’s brow, the way his hair fell into his eyes, and the little furrow between his eyebrows when he was deep in concentration. It was a look Sangwon had seen countless times, but today, something about it made his heart stutter in his chest.

He blinked, startled by the sudden, unfamiliar sensation. Shaking his head, he dropped his gaze back to his textbook, forcing himself to focus on the printed words. It’s nothing, he told himself. Just the stress of exams.

But as the days passed, the strange feeling didn’t fade. If anything, it grew stronger. It was in the way Sangwon’s heart leaped a little when Byungjoo greeted him in the morning, the warmth that spread through his chest when Byungjoo flashed him that rare, genuine smile. It was in the way his stomach fluttered when Byungjoo leaned in close, their shoulders brushing as they both stared at the same screen.

Sangwon found himself drawn to Byungjoo in ways that went beyond their usual banter. He noticed things he hadn’t before—like how Byungjoo always carried an extra pen because Sangwon constantly lost his, or how he remembered Sangwon’s coffee order down to the exact amount of sugar. These small gestures, which Sangwon had always taken for granted, suddenly seemed significant, meaningful.

But with this growing awareness came confusion. Sangwon didn’t understand why his thoughts kept circling back to Byungjoo, why his presence seemed to take up so much space in his mind. It made no sense. They were friends—close friends, sure—but nothing more.

It was during one of their usual late-night study sessions that the realization began to creep in. The campus was quiet, the library almost deserted save for the two of them. Byungjoo was typing away on his laptop, the soft clicking of keys the only sound in the room. Sangwon, unable to concentrate, found himself watching Byungjoo again, his eyes tracing the lines of his profile.

As he watched, a thought slipped, unbidden, into his mind: What would it be like to kiss him?

The moment the thought formed, Sangwon felt his face heat up, his pulse quickening. He quickly looked away, trying to banish the image from his mind, but it was too late. The thought lingered, teasing him, refusing to be ignored.

Panic set in. No, no, no. This can’t be happening. Sangwon squeezed his eyes shut, trying to will away the thought, the feeling. But it was still there, simmering beneath the surface. How could he even think something like that? This was Byungjoo—his friend, his hyung, the person he argued with over the dumbest things.

He tried to rationalize it away. Maybe it was just the stress. They had been spending so much time together, practically living in each other’s pockets. It was bound to mess with his head, right? But the more he tried to convince himself, the less convincing it sounded.

Denial became Sangwon’s constant companion in the days that followed. He avoided spending too much time alone with Byungjoo, threw himself into his studies, and even started hanging out with other friends more often, hoping to distract himself. But no matter what he did, the feelings wouldn’t go away. If anything, they seemed to grow stronger, becoming an undercurrent that ran through every interaction he had with Byungjoo.

It was in the way his heart raced whenever Byungjoo laughed at something he said, in the way he found himself lingering in their conversations, reluctant to leave. It was in the way his chest ached with a strange, bittersweet longing whenever they parted ways at the end of the day.

Sangwon tried to convince himself that it was all in his head, that he was just overthinking things. But deep down, a small, nagging voice whispered that this was something more, something he couldn’t ignore. And that terrified him.

Because if he admitted to himself what he was starting to feel, everything would change. And Sangwon wasn’t sure he was ready for that.

But as much as he tried to fight it, the truth was undeniable. Every time he looked at Byungjoo, every time they bickered or laughed together, Sangwon felt himself falling a little bit more.

And that was something he couldn’t run away from.

The days bled into weeks, and Sangwon found himself in a strange, suspended state of denial. On the surface, everything seemed normal. He and Byungjoo still bickered over the smallest things—whose turn it was to pay for coffee, who had the worst study habits, who was slacking off during group projects. Their arguments were familiar, comfortable, a routine they had perfected over years of friendship. But underneath it all, something had shifted within Sangwon.

It was in the quiet moments, the ones where Byungjoo wasn’t aware of Sangwon’s gaze, that the truth became impossible to ignore. Sangwon found himself watching Byungjoo more often than not, his eyes tracing the lines of his face, the curve of his lips, the way his hair fell into his eyes when he was lost in thought. He had always known that Byungjoo was handsome, but now that observation carried a weight, a significance that hadn’t been there before.

Sangwon tried to be discreet, to keep his growing feelings hidden beneath layers of nonchalance and sarcasm. But it was hard—so, so hard—when everything about Byungjoo seemed to draw him in like a magnet.

There was something captivating about the way Byungjoo moved, with a grace and ease that Sangwon couldn’t help but admire. When they walked side by side on campus, Sangwon noticed the subtle way Byungjoo’s stride matched his own, the way his hand would sometimes brush against Sangwon’s as they navigated through the crowded hallways. Each fleeting touch sent a shiver down Sangwon’s spine, a quiet thrill that he buried beneath his usual banter.

It wasn’t just the physical presence of Byungjoo that had Sangwon’s heart in knots. It was the little things—the small, unspoken gestures that made Byungjoo who he was. The way he would carefully pack an extra snack in his bag because he knew Sangwon always forgot to eat during long study sessions. The way he would patiently explain a difficult concept to Sangwon, never once making him feel stupid, even when Sangwon felt completely lost.

And then there were the times when Byungjoo was completely absorbed in something—whether it was reading a book, typing away on his laptop, or scribbling down notes during a lecture. In those moments, Byungjoo’s brow would furrow in concentration, his lips pressed into a thin line of focus. Sangwon would sit beside him, pretending to study, but in reality, his mind was miles away, lost in the sight of Byungjoo’s profile.

There was a certain beauty to Byungjoo’s intensity, a quiet allure that Sangwon couldn’t resist. He would find himself staring, captivated by the way Byungjoo’s eyes narrowed slightly when he was deep in thought, the way his fingers drummed absently on the table when he was lost in his own world. It was in these moments, when Byungjoo was completely unaware of Sangwon’s gaze, that Sangwon felt his heart swell with a fierce, unnameable emotion.

But with that emotion came a pang of longing, sharp and undeniable. Sangwon knew he was falling—falling harder than he had ever imagined possible. And with that fall came a deep, aching fear that he couldn’t shake. Because with every passing day, with every lingering glance, Sangwon felt the distance between them growing, even though they were physically closer than ever.

One evening, after a particularly grueling day of classes, they found themselves at the library once again. The sun was setting, casting a warm, golden light across the room. Byungjoo was seated across from Sangwon, his head bent over a thick textbook, his pen moving steadily across the page. Sangwon was supposed to be reviewing his notes, but his mind was elsewhere, completely consumed by the sight in front of him.

The golden light caught in Byungjoo’s hair, turning it into a soft halo around his head. His skin glowed in the fading sunlight, and Sangwon found himself marveling at how beautiful Byungjoo looked—how he had always looked, but especially now. There was something ethereal about the way the light played across his features, highlighting the sharp angle of his jaw, the gentle curve of his lips.

Sangwon’s heart ached with a mixture of wonder and despair. He wanted to reach across the table, to brush the stray strands of hair from Byungjoo’s forehead, to trace the lines of his face with his fingers, to feel the warmth of his skin beneath his touch. But he didn’t—couldn’t—because that would mean crossing a line he wasn’t sure he was ready to cross.

Instead, he sat there, his hands clenched into fists beneath the table, his eyes locked on Byungjoo’s face. The longing in his chest was almost unbearable, a heavy weight that threatened to crush him. How had he fallen so completely, so helplessly, for someone he had always seen as a friend?

Sangwon’s gaze drifted to Byungjoo’s hands, the way his fingers curled around the pen, the subtle strength in his grip. There was a quiet confidence in Byungjoo’s movements, a steadiness that Sangwon admired more than he could ever put into words. Those hands had pulled Sangwon out of more than one tight spot, had steadied him when he stumbled, both literally and figuratively.

Without thinking, Sangwon’s mind conjured up the image of those same hands cradling his face, the warmth of Byungjoo’s skin against his own. The thought sent a shiver down his spine, his breath catching in his throat. It was an image that was both beautiful and terrifying in its intensity, because it wasn’t just a fleeting fantasy—it was something Sangwon wanted with every fiber of his being.

But that desire was a double-edged sword, because with it came the realization of what he stood to lose. If he let himself fall completely, if he allowed these feelings to take root and grow, there was no turning back. The friendship they had built over the years would change, irrevocably, and Sangwon wasn’t sure he could handle that.

Yet, despite the fear, Sangwon couldn’t stop himself from falling. Every moment he spent with Byungjoo was another step closer to the edge, another nail in the coffin of his resolve. And every time Byungjoo smiled at him, every time he laughed or teased Sangwon, the feelings only grew stronger, more intense, until Sangwon felt like he was drowning in them.

There were nights when Sangwon lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling, his mind filled with nothing but Byungjoo. He would replay their conversations over and over, analyzing every word, every glance, searching for some hidden meaning, some sign that Byungjoo might feel the same way. But all he ever found was more confusion, more longing, and the growing certainty that he was in way over his head.

And then there were the moments when Byungjoo did something so small, so ordinary, that it took Sangwon’s breath away. Like the time Byungjoo had fallen asleep during one of their late-night study sessions, his head resting on the table, his breath slow and even. Sangwon had watched him sleep, his heart aching with a tenderness that scared him. Byungjoo looked so peaceful, so vulnerable in that moment, and all Sangwon wanted to do was reach out, to brush his fingers across Byungjoo’s cheek, to protect that quiet, unguarded part of him.

But Sangwon didn’t move. He just sat there, staring at Byungjoo’s sleeping face, his chest tight with a love that he didn’t dare speak aloud.

Days turned into weeks, and the feelings only grew stronger, more impossible to ignore. Sangwon knew he was falling—falling deeper, falling harder, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. Every time he saw Byungjoo, every time they argued or laughed together, the love he felt for him grew, until it was all-consuming, a fire that burned within him, bright and unquenchable.

And yet, despite the intensity of his feelings, Sangwon kept them hidden, locked away in the deepest part of his heart. Because as much as he loved Byungjoo, as much as he wanted to tell him, to show him, Sangwon was terrified—terrified of what would happen if he let those feelings out into the light.

So he watched, and he waited, and he loved Byungjoo in silence, his heart breaking a little more with every passing day.

And through it all, Byungjoo remained blissfully unaware of the storm raging inside Sangwon’s heart.

The late afternoon sunlight filtered through the blinds, casting soft, warm streaks of light across the dorm room. Byungjoo sat on his bed, his laptop balanced on his knees, half-heartedly scrolling through his notes. He was supposed to be preparing for a group presentation, but his mind kept drifting, his focus slipping away like sand through his fingers.

He leaned back against the wall, letting out a sigh as he absentmindedly rubbed the back of his neck. It wasn’t like him to get distracted so easily, but lately, something had been off. It was a feeling he couldn’t quite put into words—something that lingered at the edge of his thoughts, elusive and frustratingly out of reach.

Byungjoo had always been a pretty straightforward guy. He liked to think he was good at reading people, especially when it came to his closest friends. But lately, Sangwon had been throwing him off balance. It wasn’t anything big—at least, not on the surface. They still bickered about the same old things, still joked around and teased each other like they always had. But there was something different about the way Sangwon acted around him, something that made Byungjoo’s heart race and his stomach twist in ways he didn’t quite understand.

It started with the little things. Sangwon had always been considerate—he was the type to hold doors open and lend a hand without being asked. But lately, those small gestures had taken on a different weight, a new meaning that Byungjoo couldn’t ignore.

He thought back to the other day, when they had met up to grab coffee before heading to class. The café had been crowded, the usual mid-morning rush filling the small space with noise and energy. Byungjoo had been balancing his phone, wallet, and a stack of notes, trying to keep everything from tumbling out of his hands when Sangwon had suddenly appeared at his side.

Without a word, Sangwon had taken Byungjoo’s coffee cup from him, holding it as they navigated through the throng of people. Byungjoo had been about to protest, to tell him that he could manage just fine, but something in the way Sangwon had looked at him—calm, steady, almost protective—had made the words catch in his throat.

And then there was the way Sangwon had handed the cup back to him once they were outside, his fingers brushing against Byungjoo’s for just a moment longer than necessary. It was such a small thing, so subtle that Byungjoo might have dismissed it as nothing. But he hadn’t. Instead, he’d found himself staring down at the coffee cup in his hands, his heart thudding in his chest as he tried to make sense of the sudden, inexplicable warmth that had spread through him.

He hadn’t been able to shake the feeling since.

Then there were the study sessions. They had always studied together—it was one of the things Byungjoo liked most about their friendship, the way they could sit in comfortable silence, each focused on their own work, yet still feel connected. But even those moments had started to change.

Byungjoo couldn’t help but notice the way Sangwon had started taking care of him in the smallest, most unassuming ways. If Byungjoo’s pen ran out of ink, Sangwon would silently slide his own across the table without a second thought. If Byungjoo forgot to bring a snack, Sangwon would reach into his bag and pull out something—an apple, a granola bar, whatever he had—handing it over with a nonchalant shrug, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

And then there was the time when Byungjoo had stayed up late cramming for an exam, his eyes burning from lack of sleep. He’d shown up at their study spot the next morning, bleary-eyed and barely functional, only to find Sangwon waiting for him with a cup of tea—“for your headache,” he’d said, with that same easygoing smile that never failed to make Byungjoo’s heart skip a beat.

Byungjoo had taken the tea, the warmth seeping into his fingers, and had tried to ignore the way Sangwon’s gaze had lingered on him, soft and attentive, as if he were the only thing in the world that mattered at that moment.

But it wasn’t just the thoughtful gestures that had Byungjoo on edge. It was the way Sangwon looked at him—those moments when their eyes met and Sangwon’s expression softened, his usual teasing smirk giving way to something deeper, something more intense. It made Byungjoo’s breath catch in his throat, made him wonder if there was something he was missing, something Sangwon wasn’t telling him.

And yet, despite all the small, almost imperceptible changes, Sangwon was still Sangwon—still the same guy who teased Byungjoo about his taste in music, who poked fun at his height, who laughed too loudly at his own jokes. They still bantered back and forth, their conversations peppered with the usual mix of sarcasm and genuine affection that had always defined their friendship.

But lately, Byungjoo had found himself paying more attention to the way Sangwon’s voice dipped just a little when he said his name, or the way his laughter seemed to linger in the air, wrapping around Byungjoo like a warm embrace. It was almost like Sangwon was trying to tell him something without actually saying it, leaving Byungjoo to piece together the puzzle on his own.

But Byungjoo wasn’t sure what to make of it all. Part of him wanted to believe that it was just his imagination, that he was reading too much into the little things because of how close they were. But another part of him—a part that he wasn’t quite ready to acknowledge—couldn’t help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, there was something more to it.

He tried to shake off the thoughts, to push them to the back of his mind, but they kept creeping back in, especially during moments when Sangwon did something that caught him off guard. Like the time they had gone out for dinner and Sangwon had insisted on paying, brushing off Byungjoo’s protests with a casual, “Don’t worry about it, Hyung. My treat.”

Byungjoo had felt a strange mix of gratitude and confusion, his mind racing as he tried to figure out if Sangwon was just being his usual generous self, or if there was something else at play. And then there was the way Sangwon had walked him back to his dorm afterward, his hand hovering near Byungjoo’s back, as if he were ready to catch him if he stumbled.

It was such a small thing, something that a close friend might do without thinking twice. But it left Byungjoo feeling strangely unsettled, like he was teetering on the edge of something he didn’t quite understand.

And then there were the late-night texts. Sangwon had always been the type to send random messages at odd hours, whether it was a meme he’d found funny or a question about something trivial. But lately, the messages had taken on a different tone—more thoughtful, more personal.

Byungjoo found himself reading and rereading them, trying to decipher the meaning behind Sangwon’s words. Was it just friendly banter, or was there something more to the way Sangwon would say, “Don’t stay up too late” or “Make sure you’re getting enough rest”?

It was driving him crazy, this constant push and pull, the uncertainty that gnawed at him every time they were together. He didn’t want to overthink it, didn’t want to ruin what they had by imagining something that wasn’t there. But the more he thought about it, the more he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something Sangwon wasn’t telling him.

The tipping point came on a quiet afternoon when they were hanging out in Byungjoo’s dorm room. It was one of those rare moments when they weren’t doing anything in particular, just lounging around, enjoying each other’s company. Sangwon was sprawled out on the floor, flipping through one of Byungjoo’s textbooks, while Byungjoo sat on the bed, absentmindedly tapping away on his phone.

“Hey, Hyung,” Sangwon’s voice broke the comfortable silence, drawing Byungjoo’s attention away from his phone. He looked up to find Sangwon watching him, his expression unreadable.

“What’s up?” Byungjoo asked, trying to keep his tone casual.

Sangwon hesitated for a moment, his gaze flicking away before settling back on Byungjoo. “Nothing, just… I was thinking, you’ve been working really hard lately. You should take it easy, you know? Maybe we could go do something fun this weekend. Get your mind off things.”

Byungjoo blinked, caught off guard by the suggestion. It wasn’t unusual for Sangwon to propose hanging out—they did it all the time—but there was something about the way he said it that made Byungjoo’s heart skip a beat.

“Yeah, maybe,” Byungjoo replied, his voice sounding a little too uncertain for his liking. He couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to Sangwon’s words than what he was letting on, but he wasn’t sure if he wanted to push for answers.

Sangwon didn’t say anything more, just gave him a small, almost shy smile before turning his attention back to the textbook.

But Byungjoo couldn’t focus on his phone anymore. He kept sneaking glances at Sangwon, watching the way his brow furrowed in concentration as he flipped through the pages, the way his lips curved into a thoughtful frown. It was such a familiar sight, something he’d seen countless times before, and yet, today, it felt different—more significant, somehow.

Byungjoo found himself tracing the lines of Sangwon’s face with his eyes, noticing details he hadn’t really paid attention to before—the way his hair fell into his eyes when he was lost in thought, the way his fingers absently tapped against the pages as he read.

And then there was the way Sangwon’s eyes lit up when he found something interesting, the subtle curve of his lips when he was amused, the way his entire presence seemed to fill the room with warmth and energy. Byungjoo felt a strange tug in his chest, an inexplicable pull that made him want to reach out, to brush that stray lock of hair out of Sangwon’s eyes, to feel the warmth of Sangwon’s skin beneath his fingertips.

He shook his head, trying to dispel the sudden rush of feelings that had taken hold of him. It wasn’t like him to get so caught up in his own thoughts, especially not when it came to Sangwon. They were friends—had been for years—and he’d always valued that friendship more than anything. But now, he couldn’t help but wonder if there was something more lurking beneath the surface, something that had been there all along, waiting for the right moment to reveal itself.

Sangwon looked up suddenly, catching Byungjoo off guard. Their eyes met, and for a moment, it felt like the world had narrowed down to just the two of them, the space between them charged with something unspoken.

“You okay, Hyung?” Sangwon asked, his voice soft, laced with concern.

Byungjoo blinked, realizing that he must have been staring. He quickly looked away, heat creeping up his neck as he fumbled for a response. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just… tired, I guess.”

Sangwon’s expression softened, and he closed the textbook, sitting up and stretching his arms over his head. “You should really get some rest then,” he said with a worried expression.

Byungjoo nodded, grateful for the excuse to change the subject. But as he lay back on his bed, closing his eyes and trying to will himself to relax, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted between them. It wasn’t anything he could put his finger on, but it was there—an undercurrent of something deeper, something that made his heart race and his thoughts spiral in ways he didn’t fully understand.

Over the next few days, the feeling only grew stronger. Sangwon continued to be his usual self—teasing, playful, always ready with a quick comeback or a sarcastic remark. But there were moments, fleeting and almost imperceptible, when Sangwon’s behavior seemed to take on a different tone. It was in the way he lingered just a little too long when they hugged goodbye, the way his hand would brush against Byungjoo’s as they walked side by side, the way his gaze would soften when he thought Byungjoo wasn’t looking.

Byungjoo found himself thinking about Sangwon more and more, replaying their interactions in his mind, searching for signs, for clues that might help him make sense of the growing confusion in his heart. But the more he thought about it, the more tangled his feelings became. He didn’t want to ruin what they had—didn’t want to risk losing the easy camaraderie that had always defined their friendship. But he couldn’t deny that something was changing, and it scared him more than he cared to admit.

One evening, after a long day of classes, they found themselves back in Byungjoo’s dorm room, sprawled out on the bed, scrolling through their phones in comfortable silence. The sky outside was painted with the deep hues of twilight, the first stars beginning to twinkle in the fading light.

Sangwon was lying next to Byungjoo, close enough that their shoulders were almost touching. Byungjoo could feel the warmth radiating from Sangwon’s body, the steady rise and fall of his breathing, and it made his heart ache with a strange, bittersweet longing that he didn’t quite understand.

He glanced over at Sangwon, watching as his friend’s face was illuminated by the soft glow of his phone screen. There was something so peaceful, so content about the way Sangwon looked in that moment, and it made Byungjoo’s chest tighten with an overwhelming rush of affection.

Without really thinking about it, Byungjoo reached out, his fingers brushing against Sangwon’s arm. Sangwon looked up, surprised, his eyes meeting Byungjoo’s in the dim light.

“What is it, Hyung?” Sangwon asked, his voice quiet, almost hesitant.

Byungjoo opened his mouth to speak, but the words caught in his throat. He didn’t know what to say—didn’t know how to explain the jumble of emotions that had been building inside him for days. So instead, he just shook his head, offering a small, almost shy smile.

“Nothing,” he finally said, his voice barely above a whisper. “J-just… glad you’re here.”

Sangwon’s expression softened, and for a moment, Byungjoo thought he saw something flicker in his friend’s eyes—something warm and tender that made his heart skip a beat. But then Sangwon just smiled back, his usual easygoing grin that never failed to put Byungjoo at ease.

“Me too, Hyung,” Sangwon replied giggling, his voice just as soft. “Me too.”

They fell back into silence after that, but the air between them felt different—charged with something unspoken, something that neither of them was quite ready to acknowledge. Byungjoo couldn’t help but wonder if Sangwon was feeling it too, if the subtle shifts in their friendship were as confusing and exhilarating for him as they were for Byungjoo.

As the night wore on, Byungjoo found himself inching closer to Sangwon, their bodies eventually touching, sharing warmth in the quiet stillness of the room. And in that moment, as he lay there next to Sangwon, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing, Byungjoo realized that he didn’t want to let go of whatever this was, even if he didn’t fully understand it yet.

Because even though it scared him—this new, unfamiliar territory they were navigating together—there was a part of him that didn’t want to turn back. A part of him that wanted to see where this path might lead, even if it meant risking everything they had built over the years.

So he stayed there, close to Sangwon, letting the warmth of his friend’s presence soothe the confusion in his heart. And as he drifted off to sleep, he couldn’t help but wonder what tomorrow would bring—if it would bring them closer together or push them further apart.

But whatever happened, Byungjoo knew one thing for certain: he wasn’t ready to let go of Sangwon. Not now, not ever. And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.

Byungjoo wasn’t entirely sure when it started—the way his heart seemed to stumble over itself whenever Sangwon was near. It was subtle at first, just a flutter here, a moment of hesitation there. But as the days passed, those flutters grew into something more, something that made his chest tighten and his thoughts whirl in directions he didn’t quite understand.

Today was no different.

They were in Byungjoo’s dorm room, getting ready to head out for a late-night study session at the campus library. It wasn’t unusual for them to study together like this, burning the midnight oil over textbooks and shared snacks. But tonight, something felt off. Or maybe it was just Byungjoo—just the way he couldn’t seem to shake the nervous energy that had settled into his bones.

He stood in front of his closet, rifling through his clothes, trying to decide what to wear. It wasn’t like it mattered—just a hoodie and some jeans would do—but he found himself overthinking it anyway. His hand hovered over a simple white shirt, and with a sigh, he pulled it out, tossing it onto the bed.

“Are you changing, Hyung?” Sangwon’s voice cut through the silence, casual and unassuming, but it made Byungjoo freeze for just a moment too long.

“Yeah,” Byungjoo replied, keeping his tone even as he grabbed the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head. He tried to be quick about it, to make the motion as natural as possible, but the second the cool air hit his skin, he became acutely aware of Sangwon’s presence.

Sangwon was sitting on the edge of the bed, eyes fixed on his phone, but there was a tension in the air that Byungjoo couldn’t ignore. He could feel Sangwon’s gaze, even if it was just his imagination, feel the way those dark eyes might be tracing the lines of his back, the curve of his shoulders, the way his muscles flexed with each movement.

His skin prickled with the awareness, a strange mixture of self-consciousness and something else—something warmer, something that made his heart beat just a little faster.

He fumbled with the buttons of his new shirt, suddenly all thumbs as he tried to force them through the holes. His fingers trembled slightly, betraying his nerves, and he cursed under his breath, willing himself to calm down.

But it was no use. He could still feel it—the weight of Sangwon’s gaze, the way the air between them seemed to thrum with something unsaid, something electric. It was ridiculous, he told himself. Sangwon had seen him shirtless countless times before; there was no reason to feel so… exposed.

And yet, here he was, heart hammering in his chest as he struggled to button up a simple shirt.

“Hyung, you okay?” Sangwon’s voice was closer now, and Byungjoo glanced up to see that he had moved, standing just a few feet away, concern etched into his features.

Byungjoo swallowed hard, forcing a smile. “Yeah, just… can’t get this stupid button to cooperate.”

Sangwon chuckled, the sound low and warm, and before Byungjoo could protest, Sangwon’s hands were on him, gently pushing his fingers aside to take over the task. Byungjoo’s breath caught in his throat as Sangwon’s fingers brushed against his skin, sending a jolt of electricity through him.

“There,” Sangwon said softly, his eyes lifting to meet Byungjoo’s as he finished the last button. “All set.”

For a moment, neither of them moved, the world narrowing down to the space between them, the heat of Sangwon’s hands still lingering on Byungjoo’s chest. The air was thick with tension, with the unspoken words that seemed to hang between them, and Byungjoo couldn’t help but wonder if Sangwon felt it too.

But then Sangwon stepped back, breaking the spell, and the moment was over. Byungjoo let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, his heart still pounding in his ears as he forced himself to focus on something—anything—other than the way Sangwon had just looked at him.

The study session at the library was a blur of half-hearted concentration and stolen glances. Byungjoo couldn’t focus, his mind still reeling from the earlier encounter. He found himself hyper-aware of Sangwon’s every movement, every shift in his seat, every time their hands brushed as they reached for the same book. It was driving him crazy, this new awareness, this… attraction.

But he couldn’t let himself dwell on it. He couldn’t afford to. Sangwon was his friend, had been for years, and Byungjoo didn’t want to mess that up—not for anything. So he pushed the thoughts aside, burying them deep, and tried to focus on the pages in front of him.

Hours later, they finally called it quits, deciding to head back to their respective dorms. Byungjoo was grateful for the excuse to escape, to put some distance between himself and Sangwon, to try and clear his head. But as they walked through the dimly lit halls, Sangwon’s presence beside him was a constant reminder of the confusion that had taken root in his heart.

They parted ways outside Byungjoo’s dorm, exchanging quick goodnights before Sangwon turned to head back to his own building. But as Byungjoo watched him walk away, something in him ached, a deep, throbbing pain that he didn’t know how to name.

With a sigh, Byungjoo turned and headed inside, hoping that sleep would bring some clarity.

But clarity wasn’t what he found the next day.

He had been walking past one of the music rooms on his way to a study group when he heard it—soft piano notes drifting through the air, accompanied by a voice so achingly beautiful it made him stop in his tracks.

It was Sangwon.

Byungjoo recognized his voice immediately, even before he peeked through the small window in the door to confirm it. Sangwon was sitting at the piano, his back to the door, fingers moving gracefully over the keys as he sang.

The song was slow, melancholy, each note dripping with unspoken emotion. Byungjoo stood frozen, unable to tear his eyes away as Sangwon poured his heart into the music, his voice filled with a longing so deep it made Byungjoo’s chest ache in response.

He wasn’t sure how long he stood there, watching, listening, letting the music wash over him. It was like nothing he had ever experienced before—this feeling of being so completely captivated, so utterly entranced by someone’s voice, by the raw emotion that Sangwon was laying bare with every word, every note.

It was a love song, that much was clear. But it wasn’t just any love song—it was a song about unrequited love, about the pain of loving someone who couldn’t or wouldn’t love you back. The lyrics were simple, but they cut deep, each one a dagger to Byungjoo’s heart as he realized that this was more than just a song to Sangwon. This was something personal, something real.

And suddenly, it hit him—harder than anything ever had before.

Sangwon might be in love. Truly, deeply, in love with someone, someone who probably didn’t even know it. And Byungjoo, standing there in the shadows, was hearing Sangwon confess that love in the only way he knew how.

Byungjoo’s throat tightened, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes as he listened, as he watched Sangwon’s fingers dance over the keys, as he let himself imagine, just for a moment, what it would be like to be the person Sangwon was singing to.

But that was just it—it was only a fantasy. Whoever Sangwon was in love with, it wasn’t him. It couldn’t be. And that realization hurt more than anything else.

When the last note faded into the silence, Byungjoo stepped back, slipping away before Sangwon could notice him standing there. His heart was heavy, a lump lodged in his throat as he walked away, trying to make sense of the whirlwind of emotions that had taken hold of him.

But one thought lingered, persistent and painful, as he made his way back to his dorm room.

Whoever Sangwon was in love with… they were lucky. So incredibly, heartbreakingly lucky. And for the first time, Byungjoo found himself wishing—hoping, even—that it could be him.

But that was a foolish hope, wasn’t it? After all, Sangwon had never given him any reason to think that he was anything more than a friend. And Byungjoo had to remind himself of that, had to keep his heart in check before it got the better of him.

But as he lay in bed that night, Sangwon’s voice still echoing in his mind, the raw emotion of that song still coursing through his veins, Byungjoo couldn’t help but wonder… what if?

What if it really was him? What if Sangwon had been singing to him all along? What if…?

The questions swirled in his mind, refusing to let him rest, and as he finally drifted off to sleep, one last thought whispered through his tired, aching heart.

Maybe, just maybe, there was hope after all.

The soft hum of the evening breeze drifted through the open window, filling the small study room with a faint whisper of the outside world. The sun was setting, casting long shadows across the floor as the two of them sat huddled together at the desk, textbooks and notes scattered around them.

Byungjoo was struggling—again. English had never been his strong suit, and tonight was no exception. The words seemed to swim before his eyes, letters jumbling into a mess of incomprehensible shapes that only added to his growing frustration.

Sangwon sat beside him, close enough that their shoulders brushed whenever either of them shifted. He was explaining a particularly tricky grammar rule, his voice low and patient, but Byungjoo was finding it hard to focus. It wasn’t the material that was the problem, though. No, it was something else—something that made his heart race and his palms sweat, something that had nothing to do with English.

It was Sangwon. Or rather, the way Sangwon’s presence seemed to overwhelm him in the quiet of the room. Sangwon’s voice was deeper than usual, smooth and rich as it filled the space between them. Byungjoo wasn’t sure if it was the intimacy of the setting or just his own heightened awareness, but every word that fell from Sangwon’s lips seemed to resonate in his chest, stirring something deep inside him.

He was hyper-aware of Sangwon’s proximity, the warmth of his body so close, the subtle scent of his cologne that lingered in the air, making Byungjoo’s head swim. Every time Sangwon leaned in to point out something in the textbook, Byungjoo could feel his breath against his skin, could hear the soft rustle of fabric as their legs brushed beneath the table.

Byungjoo’s heart pounded in his chest, a wild, erratic rhythm that had nothing to do with the material in front of him. His eyes flicked to Sangwon’s hands, long fingers moving gracefully as they traced the lines of text, and he couldn’t help but wonder how those hands would feel against his own skin, how they would feel tangled in his hair, pulling him closer…

No. He couldn’t think like that. Not now, not when they were supposed to be studying. But it was hard, so incredibly hard, when Sangwon was so close, when his presence seemed to fill every inch of the room, leaving no space for Byungjoo to breathe.

Byungjoo shifted in his seat, trying to put some distance between them, but Sangwon seemed oblivious to his discomfort, continuing with the lesson as if nothing was amiss. Byungjoo’s gaze flickered to Sangwon’s face, taking in the way his brow furrowed in concentration, the way his lips moved as he spoke, the soft, almost hypnotic cadence of his voice.

And that was the problem, wasn’t it? Sangwon was completely unaware of the effect he was having, completely oblivious to the way his mere presence was unraveling Byungjoo, thread by thread. It was maddening, this constant push and pull between them, this unspoken tension that crackled in the air whenever they were alone.

Byungjoo could feel it building, a slow burn in his chest that threatened to consume him, a longing so intense it left him breathless. He wanted to reach out, to close the distance between them, to see if Sangwon’s lips were as soft as they looked, to feel the weight of Sangwon’s body against his own.

But he couldn’t. Not without risking everything they had. And so he stayed silent, swallowing down the words that threatened to spill from his lips, burying the longing deep within him where it couldn’t do any harm.

The session dragged on, each minute stretching into eternity as Byungjoo fought to keep his composure. But it was a losing battle, and by the time they finally called it a night, his nerves were frayed, his body trembling with the effort of holding himself together.

Sangwon smiled at him, that warm, easy smile that never failed to make Byungjoo’s heart skip a beat, and Byungjoo could only nod, not trusting himself to speak. He mumbled a quick goodnight, practically fleeing from the room before Sangwon could notice the flush creeping up his neck.

But even as he walked away, the echo of Sangwon’s voice lingered in his ears, a deep, resonant sound that played over and over in his mind, keeping him awake long into the night.

The next day, Byungjoo found himself wandering the campus, trying to clear his head. He needed to focus, needed to get a grip on his emotions before they spiraled out of control. But it was easier said than done, especially when every corner seemed to remind him of Sangwon, of the way he felt when they were together.

And then he saw them—Sangwon and a girl standing near one of the courtyards, deep in conversation. Byungjoo’s steps faltered, his heart lurching in his chest as he watched them, an uneasy feeling settling in the pit of his stomach.

The girl was pretty, with long hair that fell in soft waves around her shoulders, and she was looking up at Sangwon with an expression that Byungjoo had seen a thousand times before—shy, hopeful, a little bit nervous. It was the same look that so many girls had when they approached Sangwon, asking for help, asking him to pass on their feelings to Byungjoo.

Byungjoo was used to it by now. It happened all the time—girls too shy to confess directly would ask Sangwon to do it for them, knowing that he was close to Byungjoo, trusting him to be the intermediary. And usually, Byungjoo would roll his eyes, offer a polite but firm rejection, and that would be the end of it.

But this time, something felt different. There was a strange tightness in his chest as he watched them, a gnawing feeling that he couldn’t quite shake. He found himself creeping closer, keeping to the shadows as he strained to hear what they were saying.

The girl’s voice was soft, almost too soft to hear, but Byungjoo caught snippets of her words, enough to piece together what was happening. She was nervous, her hands fidgeting as she spoke, and Byungjoo felt a pang of sympathy for her. He knew how hard it was to confess, to put yourself out there, and he was already preparing the gentle letdown in his head, thinking of the right words to say when Sangwon brought her message to him.

But then, something unexpected happened. The girl’s voice wavered, and for a moment, Byungjoo thought he had misheard her. But no—there was no mistaking it. She wasn’t asking about him at all. She wasn’t interested in Byungjoo.

She was confessing to Sangwon.

Byungjoo’s heart stopped, a cold shock of realization washing over him as her words registered. She wasn’t asking Sangwon to pass on a message; she was asking Sangwon to be with her. She was the one with feelings—for Sangwon, not Byungjoo.

He felt like the ground had been pulled out from under him, the world tilting on its axis as he struggled to make sense of what he was hearing. His mind raced, trying to process the reality of the situation, but all he could feel was a growing sense of dread, a hollow ache in his chest as he watched them.

The girl’s voice was trembling now, her confession pouring out in a rush, and Byungjoo’s breath caught in his throat, the air suddenly too thick to breathe. He didn’t want to hear this, didn’t want to witness this moment, didn’t want to see Sangwon’s reaction, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away, couldn’t stop the wave of jealousy and hurt that crashed over him, drowning him in its wake.

And then, without thinking, without even fully realizing what he was doing, Byungjoo turned and walked away, his steps quickening as he put as much distance between himself and the scene as possible. He couldn’t bear to stay, couldn’t bear to hear whatever Sangwon would say next, couldn’t bear to see the look on Sangwon’s face as he responded to the girl’s confession.

The pain in his chest was sharp, an almost physical ache that threatened to choke him as he fled, his mind reeling, his heart shattering with every step. All he knew was that he needed to get away, needed to escape before the truth of what he had just witnessed could fully sink in.

And so he ran, leaving Sangwon and the girl behind, leaving his own heart in tatters on the cold, hard ground.

Sangwon had spent countless hours trying to understand the shifting dynamics of his relationship with Byungjoo. His feelings had evolved from simple admiration to something far more complex, a mixture of longing and hope that he struggled to articulate. Observing Byungjoo in moments of vulnerability, seeing his reactions, and interpreting the unspoken messages between them had become a part of Sangwon’s daily existence. Each glance, each touch, had taken on new meaning, leaving him both elated and anxious.

The memory of Byungjoo changing clothes had become etched in Sangwon’s mind. He could still recall the way his heart had raced when Byungjoo had walked into the room with his shirt halfway off. The sight had been both jarring and exhilarating. Byungjoo’s back, exposed and illuminated by the soft afternoon light, had been a canvas of graceful strength and effortless elegance. Sangwon had been entranced, his breath catching as he admired every curve, every shift of Byungjoo’s muscles.

The way Byungjoo moved, so naturally, had made Sangwon’s emotions surge with an intensity he had never quite experienced before. The vulnerability of that moment, the intimacy of being so close, had made Sangwon ache with a desire he struggled to suppress. He had fought to maintain a semblance of normalcy, trying to focus on his work even as his mind replayed the scene over and over.

Despite his best efforts to hide his feelings, Sangwon had found himself increasingly drawn to Byungjoo’s subtle gestures. Byungjoo’s casual smiles, the way he would lean in a little closer during conversations—each small action had begun to resonate with Sangwon in ways he hadn’t anticipated. It was as if Byungjoo’s mere presence was enough to make Sangwon’s heart flutter, leaving him both hopeful and fearful of what might come next.

One particularly telling moment had been when Sangwon helped Byungjoo with his shirt. The task had seemed trivial, but for Sangwon, it had been a chance to be close to Byungjoo in a way he could never fully articulate. The brush of his fingers against Byungjoo’s skin, the way their bodies had been so close—it had been a sensory overload that left Sangwon both exhilarated and anxious. The proximity had only intensified his feelings, making him yearn for something more, even as he struggled to keep his emotions in check.

The recent events with the girl on campus had added a new layer of complexity to Sangwon’s emotional landscape. He had been caught off guard when the girl had approached him, asking to talk privately. His initial thought had been that she was asking for Byungjoo’s number or perhaps some other form of assistance. But as he listened, his heart had sank with the realization that she was confessing her feelings to him.

Sangwon had tried to maintain his composure, but his gaze had inevitably flickered to Byungjoo, who had been standing a short distance away, hidden yet visible. Sangwon had seen the surprise on Byungjoo’s face, the way his expression shifted from curiosity to something more painful. The sight of Byungjoo’s reaction had been a gut-wrenching moment for Sangwon, his heart aching as he realized how much the situation was affecting him.

As the girl’s confession unfolded, Sangwon had been acutely aware of Byungjoo’s presence. The way Byungjoo had watched them, the hurt and confusion in his eyes, had made Sangwon’s heart ache with an intensity he hadn’t anticipated. It was clear that Byungjoo had been caught off guard, his feelings laid bare in a way that was both raw and vulnerable.

When Byungjoo had turned and walked away, his departure had been abrupt and filled with a kind of desperate hurt that Sangwon could only imagine. The sight of Byungjoo running, the pain in his stride, had left Sangwon with a deep sense of regret. He had wanted to call out to him, to explain that his feelings were not what Byungjoo might have feared, but the words had caught in his throat.

Sangwon had been left standing there, torn between his feelings for Byungjoo and the unexpected confession from the girl. The weight of the situation had pressed down on him, making him question everything he thought he knew about his own heart. The hope he had clung to, the fragile belief that Byungjoo might one day see him in a different light, seemed to waver in the face of the new, painful reality.

As he walked away from the scene, his thoughts were a chaotic whirl of emotions. He wondered if there was still hope for his feelings, if Byungjoo could ever see beyond their friendship and recognize the depth of Sangwon’s affection. The memory of Byungjoo’s hurt and the way he had run away lingered in Sangwon’s mind, a painful reminder of the uncertainty that surrounded their relationship.

In the quiet moments of solitude, Sangwon allowed himself to dream of a future where Byungjoo might understand, where their feelings could be acknowledged and embraced. It was a delicate hope, one that he held onto with a mixture of longing and trepidation. But for now, he was left to navigate the delicate balance of friendship and love, trying to find his way through the maze of emotions that had become his reality.

Byungjoo had been turning over the events from the previous day in his head, trying to make sense of the hurt lodged deep inside his chest. His mind replayed the moment he saw the girl confessing to Sangwon over and over, a dull ache throbbing with each repetition. It had to be for her—Sangwon’s change in behavior, the subtle kindness that felt too personal. Maybe he had overthought everything. Perhaps he had foolishly convinced himself that it was something more, only to find out that the shifts in their friendship had been for someone else.

He could still picture the way Sangwon had stood there, listening to the girl. Byungjoo had watched from afar, his heart sinking at the realization. He had believed, for a moment, that Sangwon's subtle glances and soft actions might’ve been meant for him. But now, the sinking truth hit hard: it was never for him. He was just reading too much into it.

The next day, he felt heavy. His chest was tight with confusion, hurt, and that sinking sense of loss he couldn't shake off. But when Sangwon texted him about hanging out later at his dorm, Byungjoo shoved it all down. Pretend. Act like nothing is wrong. He could do that. He wouldn’t ruin their friendship over his stupid emotions.

By the time he arrived at Sangwon’s dorm, his face was carefully blank, hiding the churning feelings beneath the surface. He greeted Sangwon with his usual half-smile, masking everything with the thin veil of normalcy. They sat together like they always did, with Sangwon on his bed, Byungjoo on the floor, leaning against the bed frame. They talked, but it felt a little different—like both of them were skirting around something they couldn’t say. It was there, unspoken in the air between them.

Sangwon was acting normal too, but there was something in his gaze, a weight in his eyes that made Byungjoo nervous. He couldn’t figure out what it was—did Sangwon know? Could he feel the shift in Byungjoo too? The thought sent his heart racing, making him more uncomfortable with each passing second. It felt like they were balancing on the edge of something—neither willing to step over the line first.

When Sangwon shifted slightly on the bed, leaning forward, Byungjoo moved to stand up, maybe to break the tension. His foot caught on the edge of a pile of clothes near the bed, sending him stumbling forward. The world tilted, and before he knew it, he fell right on top of Sangwon.

His heart slammed into his throat, blood rushing to his cheeks in embarrassment as he hurried to push himself up, his hands braced against Sangwon’s chest. “Shit. S-sorry…” he stammered, trying to pull away, but Sangwon’s arms had wrapped around him, holding him tightly in place.

Byungjoo’s breath caught. His entire body froze as Sangwon didn’t let go, pulling him even closer. Sangwon’s face was turned away, hiding, but the hug was firm—desperate, almost. Byungjoo’s first instinct was to struggle, but when he realized Sangwon wasn’t letting him go, his face flushed even harder. He could feel the warmth of Sangwon's breath near his neck, and something inside him stirred—a mix of nervousness and something else he didn’t dare name.

He buried his face into Sangwon’s shoulder, trying to calm his racing heart. “Ya... what are you doing?” he mumbled, his voice muffled.

Sangwon’s grip didn’t loosen. Instead, he spoke quietly, his voice thick with something that made Byungjoo’s heart pound harder. “I saw you... yesterday.”

Byungjoo stiffened. “W-What?”

“I saw you watching... when the girl confessed,” Sangwon said, his voice quieter now, but the weight of his words was heavy.

Byungjoo’s throat went dry. “No… I didn’t…” He tried to deny it, stubbornly shaking his head even as his face stayed hidden in Sangwon’s shoulder. His mind raced. How could he possibly admit that he’d seen? That he had felt hurt? He couldn’t—he shouldn’t.

But Sangwon didn’t let him retreat into that denial. “You don’t have to lie,” Sangwon whispered, his voice soft but unyielding. “I rejected her.”

Byungjoo’s heart skipped a beat. Huh? He slowly lifted his head, his eyes wide with confusion. “W-Why…?”

Sangwon shifted slightly, finally turning his face toward Byungjoo, their eyes meeting. The look in Sangwon’s gaze wasn’t the teasing, lighthearted one he was used to. It was deeper, more serious—and Byungjoo felt his stomach twist at the intensity of it.

“Because I like someone else,” Sangwon said softly, his eyes never leaving Byungjoo’s.

Byungjoo’s mind went blank. The tension in the air grew thicker, a slow burn that made his entire body feel too warm. Sangwon’s hand lifted, gently cupping Byungjoo’s cheek. The touch was soft, intimate, and it sent a shiver down Byungjoo’s spine.

He wanted to ask, to say something—anything—but the words stuck in his throat. Instead, he stared at Sangwon, his heart pounding wildly in his chest.

Sangwon didn’t say anything more. He didn’t need to. His thumb brushed against Byungjoo’s cheek, and then, slowly, he leaned in. Byungjoo’s breath hitched as Sangwon’s lips pressed gently against his, the kiss soft, slow—filled with the kind of affection that Byungjoo had never expected, but had longed for without realizing it.

Byungjoo’s eyes fluttered shut as he melted into the kiss, the nervousness slowly fading into something sweeter—something that felt right.

When they finally pulled apart, Sangwon’s forehead rested against Byungjoo’s. Neither of them spoke. There were no more words needed. The gestures—the kiss, the way Sangwon held him, the way he had looked at him—said everything.

For the first time, Byungjoo let himself believe it—believe that maybe, just maybe, Sangwon had always felt the same way.

And in that moment, as Sangwon’s arms tightened around him again, Byungjoo couldn’t help but smile, feeling the weight of all the unspoken things between them finally lift.

Byungjoo's breath was shaky as he lingered in the moment, his heart racing uncontrollably. He was still trying to process what had just happened, but everything about Sangwon's kiss—the tenderness, the warmth—seemed to drown out his ability to think. He could still feel the soft brush of Sangwon’s lips against his own, the gentle pressure that lingered even as they pulled away.

His whole body felt like it was on fire, his pulse pounding in his ears. Byungjoo’s mind screamed at him to move, to say something, but he was frozen, caught in a whirlwind of emotions he had never been prepared for. Everything about this—about being held so tightly by Sangwon, about the way their foreheads rested against each other, their breaths mingling—felt so intimate, so incredibly vulnerable.

Byungjoo swallowed, his throat tight with nerves. What did this mean? Was this real? He was so used to hiding his feelings, so used to telling himself that it could never be this way. But Sangwon's arms were around him, and his kiss had been so full of meaning that it made Byungjoo’s heart ache in a way he didn’t know was possible.

It was terrifying.

Sangwon's thumb traced slow circles on the back of Byungjoo’s neck, his touch sending a shiver down Byungjoo’s spine. Every single nerve in his body felt alive, hyper-aware of the way Sangwon held him, the steady rise and fall of Sangwon's chest as they breathed in sync. The closeness between them was overwhelming.

Sangwon was quiet, his forehead still resting against Byungjoo's, his eyes closed as if savoring the moment. Byungjoo could feel the warmth radiating from Sangwon’s body, and he couldn't help but focus on the steady thrum of Sangwon's heartbeat. It was grounding, but it also made him more aware of the chaos swirling inside him.

Byungjoo’s hands were still pressed against Sangwon's chest, and he had no idea what to do with them. He felt like he should pull away, create some distance between them, but his body wouldn’t move. Instead, his fingers curled into the fabric of Sangwon’s shirt, holding on tightly as if he was afraid that if he let go, everything would disappear. Maybe it was all a dream. Maybe if he pulled away, he would wake up, and Sangwon wouldn’t be there anymore.

But it wasn’t a dream.

Byungjoo opened his eyes slowly, his gaze meeting Sangwon’s. The intensity in Sangwon’s eyes made Byungjoo’s heart skip a beat. It was like looking into a mirror, seeing all the unspoken feelings reflected back at him—the longing, the fear, the hope. It was all there, laid bare between them.

Byungjoo’s voice was barely a whisper when he finally spoke. “S-Sangwon… what are we doing?”

Sangwon’s grip tightened slightly, his fingers pressing more firmly into Byungjoo’s waist, but his voice remained soft, steady. “I’ve been wanting to tell you… for so long.”

Byungjoo’s breath hitched. “Tell me… what?”

Sangwon shifted then, pulling back just enough to look at him fully. His eyes searched Byungjoo’s face, and for a moment, everything seemed to still. Byungjoo could feel the weight of the moment settling between them like a heavy blanket, thick with tension. His heart hammered in his chest, each beat sending waves of nervous energy coursing through his veins.

Sangwon’s hand moved from the back of Byungjoo’s neck, trailing up to cup his cheek. The touch was soft, but the heat of Sangwon’s palm felt scorching against Byungjoo’s skin. His thumb brushed lightly over Byungjoo’s cheekbone, a small, comforting gesture, but it only made the butterflies in Byungjoo’s stomach flutter more wildly.

“I rejected her,” Sangwon said softly, his eyes never leaving Byungjoo’s.

Byungjoo blinked, his brows furrowing in confusion. He was too overwhelmed, too caught up in everything to fully comprehend what Sangwon was saying.

“I rejected her,” Sangwon repeated, his voice a little firmer, like he needed Byungjoo to understand. “Because… I like someone else.”

Byungjoo’s stomach twisted painfully, his heart lurching in his chest. He knew what Sangwon was trying to say, but his mind was too muddled, too clouded by doubt and fear. Could it really be him? Was it possible that all this time, Sangwon had been feeling the same way?

“I like you, Byungjoo hyung,” Sangwon whispered, his thumb brushing over Byungjoo’s bottom lip in a way that made his breath catch.

Everything stopped. Time itself seemed to halt as the weight of Sangwon’s words sank in. Byungjoo stared at him, his chest tightening with a mix of disbelief and something so profound it left him speechless.

He couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe. All he could do was stare at Sangwon, feeling like his world had just been turned upside down. Sangwon’s eyes were soft, vulnerable in a way Byungjoo had never seen before, and it made him want to reach out, to say something, anything—but his throat felt too tight.

Before Byungjoo could even think of a response, Sangwon leaned in again, closing the small distance between them, and pressed another soft kiss to his lips. This time, it was more deliberate, more tender, as if Sangwon was pouring every single unspoken emotion into that kiss. Byungjoo’s body responded instinctively, his hands sliding up to rest against Sangwon’s shoulders as he kissed him back, his heart pounding in his chest.

There was no more hesitation. No more fear. Just the overwhelming feeling of warmth and belonging as they held each other, their kiss deepening with every second.

When they finally pulled apart again, Byungjoo was breathless, his face flushed, his heart still racing. He rested his forehead against Sangwon’s, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "I like you too." He whispers. He felt light—like a weight he had been carrying for so long had finally lifted.

Sangwon’s hand slipped down to entwine with Byungjoo’s, their fingers lacing together as he held Byungjoo close. There was no need for more words. The gestures, the touches, the way Sangwon’s thumb brushed against his skin—it all spoke louder than anything they could say.

Byungjoo’s heart was full, and for the first time, he let himself believe that this—everything between them—was real.

He smiled softly, burying his face in the crook of Sangwon’s neck, feeling the steady rhythm of Sangwon’s heartbeat against his cheek. It was a slow burn, the kind of affection that had built over time, but now that it was out in the open, it felt like coming home.

The tension that had been there before melted away, replaced by something softer, warmer—a quiet, mutual understanding of the love they had both been hiding.

The next day, campus life carried on as usual, but everything felt different for Byungjoo. Walking through the familiar hallways, sitting in the usual classrooms, and glancing over at the same familiar faces—except now, every time his eyes landed on Sangwon, something fluttered inside him. The shift between them had been subtle yet powerful, and now they carried the weight of it with every glance and every accidental touch.

As the two walked side by side across the campus grounds, there was an easy quiet between them. The awkward tension from before had dissipated, leaving a new kind of warmth in its place—a warmth that had always been there, simmering under the surface, but now it was undeniable. Every time their arms brushed, Byungjoo felt a pleasant jolt, like a quiet promise shared between them.

Sangwon nudged him playfully as they reached the campus cafe, his shoulder brushing against Byungjoo’s. “Are you sure you’re not hungry? You didn’t eat much earlier.”

Byungjoo’s heart stuttered at the softness in Sangwon’s voice—how everything he said now seemed laced with affection, even in the smallest ways. But still, Byungjoo couldn’t help the shy smile that tugged at his lips as he shook his head.

“I’m fine,” Byungjoo replied, his voice quieter than usual, but his heart louder in his chest.

Sangwon raised an eyebrow but didn’t push. Instead, he gave Byungjoo a small, knowing smile—the kind that said he understood, even if Byungjoo didn’t say anything. They kept walking, their steps in sync as they made their way toward a quieter spot on campus where fewer students wandered.

As they neared a secluded bench under the shade of a tree, Byungjoo felt Sangwon’s fingers graze his. It was barely a touch, a soft brush of knuckles, but it sent sparks through his skin. Byungjoo glanced sideways at Sangwon, only to find him already looking back with that same quiet intensity that had made his heart race last night.

Without a word, Sangwon gently took Byungjoo’s hand in his. It wasn’t showy or dramatic—just a simple intertwining of their fingers, but it carried the weight of everything they hadn’t spoken yet. Byungjoo’s breath caught for a moment, his cheeks heating up as he looked down at their hands, the sight of them together making his heart swell.

There was something so wonderfully natural about it—like their hands had always been meant to fit together this way. Byungjoo’s thumb traced slow circles over Sangwon’s knuckles, feeling the roughness of his skin, and suddenly, everything else melted away. The world around them seemed to blur into the background, leaving just the two of them in this quiet bubble of warmth and affection.

As they sat down on the bench, still holding hands, Byungjoo leaned his head against Sangwon’s shoulder. The gentle weight of Sangwon’s body beside him was comforting, grounding him in a way he hadn’t expected. The cool breeze ruffled their hair, and Byungjoo closed his eyes, letting himself sink into the moment.

Sangwon shifted slightly, turning just enough so that his lips brushed the top of Byungjoo’s head in the softest, most tender kiss. The gesture sent warmth flooding through Byungjoo, filling every corner of him with a quiet, overwhelming sense of happiness. It was in these small moments that the enormity of their feelings became clear—how much they had always cared for each other, and how easily they had fallen into this new rhythm as lovers.

Byungjoo didn’t need grand gestures or declarations. He didn’t need fireworks or dramatic confessions. This—these quiet, tender moments shared between them—was everything he had wanted and more.

As he sat there, wrapped in the warmth of Sangwon’s presence, Byungjoo felt a sense of peace settle over him. The confusion, the doubts, the fear—they were all gone now, replaced by the certainty that this was where he was meant to be. With Sangwon.

They spent the rest of the afternoon like that, just sitting together, talking about nothing and everything. Every now and then, Sangwon would reach out to brush a stray lock of hair from Byungjoo’s face, or Byungjoo would find himself leaning in closer, craving the warmth of Sangwon’s body beside him. It was as if they were both discovering what it meant to love each other in this new way—gently, quietly, but deeply.

At one point, Byungjoo lifted his head to look at Sangwon, his eyes soft and full of affection. There was a lightness in Sangwon’s gaze that made Byungjoo’s heart flutter—a lightness that came from finally being able to share everything they had kept hidden for so long.

Sangwon’s thumb grazed Byungjoo’s cheek, the touch so tender that it made Byungjoo’s breath hitch. “Hey, you look happy,” Sangwon murmured, his voice low and full of warmth.

Byungjoo smiled, leaning into Sangwon’s hand. “Duh? I am.”

There was no need to say anything else. In the gentle way they held each other’s gaze, in the soft brush of their skin, in the quiet moments shared between them—it was all understood. This was what they had both been waiting for, what they had both longed for without even realizing it.

As the sun began to dip lower in the sky, casting a golden glow over the campus, Sangwon tightened his hold on Byungjoo’s hand. Byungjoo glanced up at him, catching the quiet smile on his lips, and he felt his heart swell once again.

For the first time in a long time, everything felt right. There were no more unspoken words, no more hidden feelings. They had found each other in the simplest, most natural way—through the small, quiet moments that made up their lives.

And as they sat together under the golden sky, fingers intertwined, hearts full, Byungjoo knew that this was just the beginning of something beautiful. Something real. Something that had always been there, waiting for them to finally reach out and take hold of it.

And now, they had.