Chapter Text
Jaehyun knows it’s wrong.
That this whole situation isn’t right—he knows he won’t be able to keep it up for much longer. Even if his mind ignores it the next day, he knows that sooner or later he’ll have to face reality.
But he doesn’t care. He rests his head on Taesan’s chest, breathes slowly, and closes his eyes while the other isn’t looking. He waits a few seconds for Taesan to wrap his arms around him and hold him.
It had become a routine.
Jaehyun couldn’t fall asleep at dawn unless he was wrapped in the warmth of Taesan’s body. And now, unfortunately, it seems his body betrays him—it misses it.
He walks, opens the door, and sees him. He’s always there, with a glass of water on the counter, the lights still on, some movie paused. He’s always watching him, always waiting, and Jaehyun doesn’t know how much longer he can keep this lie going.
But he breathes against his chest, and Taesan wraps his arms around him, and they stay there, in silence, holding each other under the midnight moon.
Suddenly, he forgets that he’s pretending to be sleepwalking, lost in some unconscious dream. He forgets he’s betraying Taesan just to have him close again. And he feels awful—he hates himself—but his heart beats so hard it reminds him he’s alive. He hates himself, but Taesan runs his hand down his back, and a shiver climbs his spine.
It’s the fifth dawn this has happened. The fifth dawn he’s there, in the living room, breathing in his scent, listening to the beat of his heart. The fifth dawn that Taesan gently leads him back to his room, covers him with a blanket, waits a few seconds, and then quietly walks away.
Jaehyun knows he needs to stop. But he can’t. His body misses him, and it acts on its own.
He was a sleepwalker—yes. It started when he was a child, and he used to scare his mother more than once. The doctor said it was normal for kids his age who didn’t sleep well, that she should be cautious, gently guide him back to bed, but never wake him. His mother followed those instructions—until his teenage years.
It embarrassed him. Once, Sohee got so scared seeing him standing in a corner, tugging at the sleeve of his black shirt. Jaehyun hit his forehead and woke up from the impact, overwhelmed, heart in his throat and tears in his eyes. His mother scolded him for scaring him. After that, Sohee didn’t want to sleep over anymore, and he didn’t blame him. For months, his mother locked the door so he wouldn’t wander the apartment—for his own good—until it eventually stopped.
Now that he thinks about it, maybe he never actually stopped sleepwalking… maybe it’s just that he lives alone.
That night, yes, he had been sleepwalking. He had woken up half-aware in a dream and had hugged Taesan.
But when Taesan hugged him back, he fully woke up—slowly, with wet eyelashes and damp cheeks. What was he doing there?
Why did his chest ache? He remembers his scent—his cologne—and Taesan is still the 17 year old who gathers his broken pieces and glues them back together with love. He’s still the one who caresses him after being hurt by him.
Jaehyun thought that if he could hold onto that moment just a little longer, maybe it would be enough.
Maybe he’d be able to look him in the eyes the next morning, eat breakfast next to him, talk about anything but them.
But that morning, Taesan bought LED projectors—for him.
And his mind couldn’t stop spinning with thoughts that ate him alive from the inside out.
Guilt arrived, and his throat tightened.
But his heart still beat when he remembered how Taesan carried him to bed, tucked him in, and stayed by his side until he was deeply asleep.
His heart still beats for him.
Taesan remembers it.
The humid air after the rain clung to the skin like a second layer, making the red in his hair look even more vibrant under the football field lights that were just starting to turn on.
He had been waiting for the past twenty minutes, leaning against his worn-out blue bike, watching as the last players packed up and left in loud groups.
Jaehyun was always the last one to leave.
Not because he was the team captain —though technically, he was— but because he had this habit of checking every little detail, making sure everything was in place before leaving. It was something Taesan had noticed since their first year, that almost obsessive need for perfection that both fascinated and annoyed him.
There were so many things he still didn’t know about him, and that bothered him. It bothered him to never know what the other was thinking.
“Have you been waiting long?” The familiar voice made Taesan look up from his phone, where he had been pretending to read messages so he wouldn’t seem too eager.
Jaehyun was walking over with his sports bag over his shoulder, hair still damp from the shower, and a tired but real smile. His school uniform was perfectly messy.
“Nah, i just got here,” Taesan lied, straightening up and resting his hands on the handlebars. As if he hadn’t been waiting for minutes, mentally preparing to see that boy step out the school doors without letting his heart jump out of his chest.
Pathetic, he thought.
“Ready to go?”
“Please,” Jaehyun said with a sigh, “Coach Kim is trying to kill me.”
Taesan laughed, easily imagining the scene. “Did he make you run for five minutes again?”
Jaehyun got on the bike behind Taesan, his hands naturally finding his waist.
Taesan let out a small breath at the contact —Jaehyun had no idea the effect he had on him.
“I get it, we’ve lost the last two games,” he said, as Jaehyun’s cheek leaned against his back —and Taesan was completely sure he might actually die in that exact moment.
He started pedaling, feeling the familiar weight of Jaehyun behind him, the way he leaned forward a little on turns, how their knees brushed during the closest moments.
The way to Jaehyun’s house was a route Taesan knew by heart; out of school, down the main road to the traffic light, left at the pharmacy, then straight for ten blocks.
But that day, as they passed the small neighborhood park across from a bar, Taesan stopped the bike suddenly.
“What’s wrong?” Jaehyun asked, noticing the slow down.
“Nothing, just… do you have something to do right now?” he asked. His red hair glowed under the sunset light. Jaehyun looked at him for a few seconds and shook his head.
Taesan nodded toward the park, where tree leaves still dripped the last of the rain and puddles reflected the streetlights like broken mirrors.
Jaehyun didn’t complain as Taesan steered the bike down one of the paved park paths. The place was empty —not surprising, since it had rained all morning. The air smelled like wet earth and grass.
They stopped near a small fountain that no longer worked but served as a landmark in the center of the park. Taesan got off the bike and leaned it against a bench, stretching his legs after the ride.
The breeze was nice, soft wind, birds chirping in the distance.
“You know what’s weird?” Jaehyun said, looking around. “I’ve passed this place a million times but never really stopped here.”
“It’s nice, right? I sometimes come here after my taekwondo classes,” Taesan said, sitting on the edge of the fountain, ignoring how the damp stone soaked into his pants. “Especially at night. It’s peaceful.”
Jaehyun sat down next to him, just a few centimeters away.
They stayed in silence for a while —a comfortable silence they’d grown used to. Taesan had realized that one of the things he liked most about Jaehyun was that he didn’t feel the need to fill every moment with words. They could just be, and it was enough.
It was Jaehyun who finally broke the silence.
“Can I tell you something embarrassing?”
Taesan looked at him, curious at the playful tone in his voice. “Go ahead.”
“I don’t know how to ride a bike.”
Taesan’s mouth opened. “What?”
“You heard me.” Jaehyun laughed, but there was a hint of nerves in it. “Myung Jaehyun, football team captain, extrovert and kind of an idiot… never learned how to ride a bike.”
Taesan covered his mouth, trying not to laugh. Jaehyun frowned and lightly hit his shoulder.
“Sorry, sorry.”
Jaehyun shrugged. “My mom was always too busy to teach me. And then when I got older, I was too embarrassed to admit it. You know when you lie about something so small, but for so long that telling the truth feels impossible?”
Taesan nodded, biting his tongue, too surprised to speak.
He wasn’t stupid —he knew there were two Jaehyuns. The one with his friends at school, and the one who was with him. He knew Jaehyun’s relationship with his mother wasn’t good; his voice always broke when he mentioned her, and it was strange that Taesan had never seen her.
Every time he’d been to Jaehyun’s apartment, Jaehyun had been alone.
But it wasn’t something he wanted to dig into. The 17-year-old Taesan preferred to ignore it. Preferred to keep him company in the quiet of his mind.
“Why are you telling me this now?” he asked.
Jaehyun ran a hand through his hair, messing it up slightly. “I don’t know.”
Taesan looked at him, noticing how the drops from the trees looked like constellations on his shoulders, how the golden sunset light made his eyes look warmer than usual.
“Do you want to learn?” he heard himself say before he could stop.
“Now? Here?”
“Why not? The ground’s wet but not slippery. There's plenty of space. No one here to watch you fall dramatically.”
“Hey.” Jaehyun pushed his shoulder again. “Do you really have that little faith in me?”
Taesan got up and went to the bike. “I promise I won’t laugh. Not much.”
Jaehyun followed, shaking his head but smiling.
“Okay, first lesson,” Taesan said as he adjusted the seat height. “It’s easier than it looks… but harder than you think, if that makes sense.”
“You suck at explaining.”
Taesan laughed. “What I mean is, the technical part is simple: pedal, balance, steer. But your brain is going to try and overthink everything. The key is to not think too much.”
“Oh, perfect. ‘Don’t think too much’ is definitely my specialty,” Jaehyun said with a sarcastic smile.
Taesan should’ve seen it —the playful eyes, the hidden secrets in his words, the smile on his face and the tiredness in his eyes. He bit his cheek so Jaehyun wouldn’t notice how nervous he was.
“That’s exactly the problem,” Taesan said, positioning the bike so Jaehyun could get on easily. “You’re too aware of everything you do. You have to let your body find the balance naturally.”
Jaehyun walked toward the bike carefully. “What if I fall and break something important? I have a game on Friday.”
“You won’t fall. I’ll hold you.”
The promise came out more intense than he meant, and he saw something flicker in Jaehyun’s face before he nodded and swung a leg over the bike.
“Alright.” He looked at him. His breath hit Taesan’s cheek, and Taesan swore his face turned red. Jaehyun smiled. “I trust you.”
The first tries were… a disaster.
Jaehyun couldn’t keep the bike straight for more than two seconds. He wobbled wildly, knuckles white from gripping the handlebars, cursing under his breath every time Taesan had to catch him —running alongside the bike, one hand on the seat and the other on the handlebar.
Then Jaehyun found his rhythm, pedaling more confidently while Taesan ran beside him.
“Oh my god… I’m doing it!” he shouted, full of surprise and pure joy. “Taesan, I’m doing it!”
That’s when Taesan realized —he wasn’t holding the bike anymore. He had let go without even noticing, and Jaehyun had been riding on his own for the last few meters.
Taesan laughed and raised his arms, cheering. He heard Jaehyun’s laughter from a distance and saw him smiling.
He smiled too —because he knew he was completely in love with him, and he didn’t care. He didn’t care because every day, he seemed to love him more and more. He didn’t care if Jaehyun didn’t feel the same or if it ended up hurting.
His love was so big, he could love for both of them.
Even if he’s the first one to bleed.
The scent of garlic and fresh herbs floated through the apartment, blending with the soft sound of rain against the windows on the fourth floor.
Jaehyun looked up from his laptop for what felt like the hundredth time in the past twenty minutes, pretending to focus on the final minutes of his project when in reality, he was watching Taesan’s every move in the kitchen.
From his spot on the counter, he had a perfect view of Taesan’s back as he moved with natural grace between the stove and the counter. His dark hair had grown a little longer, just enough for a few rebellious strands to fall over his eyes whenever he leaned down to check the pots. He was wearing a short printed t-shirt, and every time he reached up to grab a spice from the top shelf, Jaehyun could catch a glimpse of pale skin where the fabric lifted from the waistband of his jeans.
He should be paying attention—this week he had one of his final assignments and reports due for his course. But Jaehyun seemed to have his mind elsewhere—or rather, on someone else.
Taesan had arrived home two hours earlier; apparently, his class had ended early, and he didn’t take long to start making dinner.
There was something hypnotic about the way Taesan cooked. He didn’t follow recipes to the letter; instead, he seemed guided by instinct, adjusting amounts and timing based on some internal knowledge Jaehyun didn’t possess. He’d seen him add spices without measuring, taste and tweak sauces with the confidence of someone who’d been doing it their whole life.
Jaehyun found himself wondering—there were still things he didn’t know about him. Like when he became so skilled in the kitchen. Or when he started preferring savory over sweet. Or when he stopped biting his cheek when he was focused.
At that moment, Taesan turned from the stove, and their eyes met. A small, private smile spread across his lips when he realized he’d been caught staring.
Jaehyun felt his cheeks heat up slightly. He looked back at his laptop, pages and pages he still didn’t fully understand. The sharp buzz of his phone saved him—he pulled it from the pocket of his black hoodie. The name “Sungho” flashed on the screen, along with a photo of his friend pouting beside him, flashing a peace sign.
“Hey, Sungho. Everything alright?” Jaehyun glanced over to see Taesan grabbing plates from the nearby cupboard, close enough to overhear the conversation.
“You won’t believe what I just found out, but it doesn’t matter—don’t make any plans for Friday night,” Sungho’s voice was buzzing with excitement through the phone. Jaehyun smiled.
“What’s happening Friday?”
“Are you serious?” he blurted. “It’s your birthday, idiot! I’ve been reminding you for days!”
Jaehyun’s eyes widened—he had completely forgotten. “Oh, right. So what’s the plan?”
A laugh echoed from the phone, so contagious Jaehyun couldn't help but grin. “I managed to get the day off work, so I was thinking dinner—what do you say? I’ve been looking up places…”
Before Jaehyun could answer, Taesan appeared in front of him, holding out a spoon to his lips. The sauce was a deep reddish color, with small bits of tomato and visible herbs.
“Taste,” Taesan said, and there was something in his voice—something soft and rough at once—that made Jaehyun’s heart speed up.
Jaehyun opened his mouth automatically, letting Taesan guide the spoon between his lips. The flavor burst on his tongue immediately; sweet tomatoes, garlic, fresh basil, and something more complex he couldn’t quite place. It was delicious—but what really distracted him was Taesan’s closeness, the way he leaned over the counter, how his eyes watched Jaehyun’s reaction with an intensity that felt too much for something as simple as tasting food.
“Jaehyun… you still there?” Sungho’s voice crackled through the speaker.
Taesan wiped the corner of Jaehyun’s lips with his thumb, then brought it to his own mouth, tasting it. Jaehyun swallowed hard.
“Hmm,” Taesan muttered, clicking his tongue, not even looking at him. “Needs salt.”
They finished dinner while the rain continued tapping gently against the windows. Luckily, neither had to wake up early the next morning—Taesan had virtual class, and Jaehyun didn’t teach until the afternoon.
Jaehyun insisted on doing the dishes while Taesan wiped down the counters.
When they finished, with no set plans for the rest of the night, they moved into the living room. Their apartment was small but cozy. They turned off the lamps and pulled a soft cotton blanket from the armchair.
Taesan flopped onto the couch and turned on the TV. Jaehyun settled into one end of the sofa, Taesan at the other. Their chubby black cat, Helena, curled up between them, circling and kneading with her paws before falling asleep in a little bundle.
“The Notebook” lit up the screen, and both of them sank into the film's plot.
“Who was that?” Taesan finally asked, leaning back against the couch. “On the phone, I mean. He sounded… close.”
Jaehyun squinted at the screen. “Oh, Sungho? Just a friend.”
“Ah.” Taesan replied, and a silence settled between them as Allie and Noah danced under the moonlight.
“How did you meet?” Taesan asked. “You and Sungho.”
Jaehyun had to think for a moment. The story wasn’t particularly exciting, but something in the way Taesan asked suggested the answer mattered to him.
“He works at a coffee shop near where I used to live,” he began. “We didn’t get off to the best start… but later we got closer. I was alone when I moved to the city, and my therapist said I should try to connect with more people. Sungho was really kind to me, I didn’t even have to order—he already knew what I wanted. So I thought, why not? I learned a lot from him.”
Taesan clicked his tongue—soft and sharp, a sound he made when something bothered him but he didn’t want to admit it out loud.
“What did you learn?”
“Well,” Jaehyun said, “I learned what real friendship is. I learned that my high school friends were anything but friends,” he sighed, meeting Taesan’s gaze. “A friendship where I don’t have to change who I am just to be liked.”
Taesan looked at him then, and there was something in his eyes that Jaehyun hadn’t seen before.
“We were friends.”
“Oh, come on, Taesan,” Jaehyun laughed dryly, his throat burning and his heart racing. “Whatever that relationship was, it wasn’t friendship.”
Jaehyun couldn’t stand the way Taesan was looking at him—his eyes glossy, his throat tightening like words were trying to escape but couldn’t. He sighed and turned back to the movie, just in time for the scene where Allie runs to Noah and he tells her he wrote her 365 letters for a whole year—“It wasn’t over,” he says before kissing her in the rain.
Jaehyun felt like he might cry. He’d seen that scene thousands of times and it always felt like the first—all alone, and all too sad.
He closed his eyes and the voices faded, the warmth wrapped around him, and the rain no longer echoed off the balcony floor. Maybe it was early morning, maybe just past midnight—sleep took him quickly, his head resting on a familiar shoulder. Helena stretched out and tucked herself under the rug.
Taesan felt his throat tighten and his heart pound. He looked at Jaehyun—long lashes resting on round cheeks, lips slightly parted, slow breathing. He watched for a few more seconds before turning his gaze back to the television.
He thought—Jaehyun wouldn’t be sleepwalking tonight, and smiled.