Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“I was wrong,” Nicholas whispers. So simple, but everything Euijoo needs to hear. Nicholas slides his hand onto Euijoo’s neck, thumb pressing against his pulse, as if checking that it’s the same as his – hammering, pounding, threatening to burst at this contact. There’s a sniffle, and it doesn’t really matter who it is at this point. They’re both at the point of tears, blurred vision stinging their eyes; Euijoo’s hands tighten around Nicholas’s shirt at his waist, so tight he could tear a hole, like he’ll disappear if he lets go for even one second. “I never should’ve left. It was a mistake, Juju, my mistake. Please forgive me.”

Euijoo’s long arms wrap around the smaller boy, eyes squeezing shut so tight that he’s seeing white behind his eyes. Nicholas is soft, so, so soft, and Euijoo can’t help the kiss he’s pressing to his forehead. He opens his eyes after a long time. Heart sinking to his stomach, gut freshly-punched, his pillow is in front of him, locked in his embrace. There are tear stains streaking the pillowcase, damp and salty and mocking. There’s a lump in his throat that just won’t go away. He freezes, stuck in that same spot, in bed and in life. Maybe this is the dream, he thinks. He hopes. But the sun is out, and the birds are chirping, and he can hear the schoolkids passing by, chattering as if the world isn’t ending. As if there’s more to this moment, this empty bed, this ache in his soul that touches everything.

Time passes. The calendar is looking at him crazily, April 2nd. April Fools is over, so why is life a fucking joke, he chokes up. The moment lasts another eternity before his alarm goes off, blaring, far too loud for this moment when every single thing is so, so fragile. Hearts break, but so will his bank account if he calls out again. He wills himself up, awake, upright, anything - but he’s cemented into this bed, this empty, way-too-big bed. I’m going to be so late. He absentmindedly wonders if he qualifies for bereavement pay.

Waking up is harder in the morning. But that’s life one week post-Nicholas. His pillowcase is staining with the abuse it’s been through this week, but he can’t seem to give a damn.

---

“Life existed before, and it will exist again.”

Euijoo locks eyes with himself in the mirror, “I am so much more than one relationship. I am so much more than this pain.”

He scrolls on his phone, reading through some of the affirmations he’s researched. The heat from the shower he’s just taken is making him light-headed, but he’s dedicated to this – Google said it would help! So that must be true. “I am healing every day, and my heart is becoming lighter.”

He smiles, saves that one to his list that he repeats before bed, an attempt to drown out the thoughts of a certain boy with a whisker smile, the contagious laugh, the blinding radiance, heart full of care and joy and so, so much more. Euijoo is trying to find some for himself, fighting to hold onto any semblance of positivity.

“I am grateful for my own love.”

He’s so close to believing it, he thinks. He’s doing it, he’s really doing it! Pride swells in his chest. It’s covering that sore spot, the one just to the left in his chest and a few thousand miles away. This is life one month post-Nicholas, thinly veiled confidence and podcasts about self-worth.

---

He’s lying. Oh, he’s always been a terrible liar, but this is a record. Now he’s lying to himself, feels the blood rushing to his head as he looks out the bus window. “I’ve always liked street fashion” is the current offender. Like it isn’t a learned habit from someone else to take note of new trends, internet sleuthing to find styles he wants to try out. But he won’t - because that would hit a little too close to home. He won’t admit it, will do backflips to avoid even thinking his name, won’t allow himself to consider his clothes that he forgot in the back of Euijoo’s closet, not even boxed up because it hurts so fucking much. Did he just buy a new wardrobe when he went back home? He loved these jeans, so how could he ever part with them, discard them, forget them in a foreign land in a closet that he no longer considered his own; did he even miss these shoes, when they’re beat-up from how much he wore them? Euijoo pushed everything to the back, heart ripping in two when he sees the hoodie he let Euijoo steal, the one he agreed to sleep in once a week so it could hold onto his smell, the one that Euijoo craved on the nights he couldn’t sleep over, the one that surrounded him when they hugged, drove him crazy when they first got together. It’s too much, too fresh, too brutal to think about in public, to think about at all. So he nods to himself when he sees a fashionista on the streets, ignores how his gut twists when he sees someone pulling off an outfit too well, a style too familiar. This is life two months post-Nicholas. He hasn’t bought clothes in months.

—--

Euijoo reads online that it gets better. “It’s a cycle!” they say. “You’ve got to forgive yourself!” they say. He laughs, bitterly, and it’s a foreign sensation. When was the last time he really laughed, smiled a sincere smile - he’s not a cynical person, or he wasn’t, or he thought he wasn’t. Was he always hopeless, dim in the eyes, looking for excuses to be sarcastic, to laugh at someone else’s misfortune as a substitute for his own? Who even is he, really? Wasn’t that Nicholas’s point all along? Whatever, fuck that guy. They were together for so long, too long, not long enough, should still be together now- Euijoo slams his laptop shut, chest rising and falling way too fast, blind anger and melancholy and longing. Who was he mad at? Nicholas, obviously. That bastard. You can’t just take up years of someone’s life just to turn around and say you don’t recognize them anymore. What the fuck could that even mean? Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Both of them. Nicholas for breaking his heart. Euijoo for letting him.

He rubs the top of his laptop, apologizing for his outburst. I really can’t afford a new computer right now, please forgive me. Google greets him, not for the first time, nor the second. Nor the third. “How to get over a break-up”. “What to do when you can’t get over someone”. “How to find yourself after a relationship ends”.
There’s a consensus among all of the sites and blogs and articles: break-ups are a form of loss. You’ve got that damn right. A loss of self, a loss of human connection, a loss of someone you knew and loved or thought you did. Euijoo takes a deep breath. Once more, twice more. Oxygen hits his lungs like ice cube melting down your back, shocking his system out of its daze. He writes down his findings.

5 Steps to Moving On

1. Acknowledge and Process Emotions
- Talk it out with a trusted friend or journal
- Allow yourself to grieve
- Don’t suppress your feelings
2. Self-care
- Do things that make you happy
- Prioritize your well-being by focusing on getting enough rest, exercising, and eating well.
3. Support System
- Consider therapy to work through hard emotions
- Reconnect with friends who can support you
4. Distance
- Remove anything that remind you of them
- Avoid contact with your ex
- Don’t compare your post-relationship journey with your ex’s
5. Focus on future
- Plan a solo trip to reconnect with yourself
- Set goals and make plans to achieve those goals
- Be patient with yourself - you have your life ahead of you!

This is life three months post-Nicholas, and he is so, so fucked.

—

“It’s been so long since you agreed to come out with us!” Yuma exclaims, crossing the street without looking, a skip in his step, dragging Jo behind him. Maki’s texting faster than Euijoo can even process, and he looks so grown suddenly, as tall as him, his boyish looks gone. Euijoo pulls his jacket closer to him, the air isn’t even really that cold tonight, but he feels better with it on. Euijoo doesn’t check for cars either, but he knows Fuma will. They’re in-step with each other, synchronized even after a long time apart. Too long, probably. “The kids are really happy you’re here,” Fuma starts to explain in a hushed tone, but it’s roaring in Euijoo’s ears. Guilt builds in his system as he watches Harua and Taki going back and forth about something. He’s not even sure what their conversation is about, it’s been so long. He’s out of touch. It makes him feel like shit. He tries a distraction. “Kei is coming too, right?”

“He’s finishing up a class right now, but he should be able to meet us soon. He nearly fell out when I told him you asked to come. Said he wouldn’t miss it for anything.” Fuma smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Like he knows why Euijoo agreed to come in the first place. It’s Jo’s birthday dinner. July 8th. He nearly trips over the curb as they round the corner, and it gets him laughed at by the kids who’ve turned around just in time to catch it. Their laughter soothes the roar in his ears, and he lets a sheepish grin form on his face. Maybe this is a good sign.

They sit around the table, and Jo starts excitedly about how they have such good rice here. It’s touching that he hasn’t changed after all this time, unlike someone else Euijoo knows. He swallows that thought down with a gulp of his drink. The topics vary across the board, complaints about school, about work, about how Kei is 30 minutes late as he plops down beside Fuma, pressing a quick kiss to his lover’s cheek. “Not as late as Nicholas,” is heard from down the table, unsure of who even said it, as he chokes on his own spit. There’s a chorus of shushes from at least three different people, and someone’s smacking Maki’s shoulder as he purses his lips in realization. Fuma’s hand comes under the table to Euijoo’s thigh, a small squeeze, small but so, so much. Euijoo just smiles, as he shakes his head quickly, erasing the existence of the comment altogether. We can just pretend! No fault in that. “Should we do a toast? To the birthday boy!”

They raise their glasses, a chorus of yells across the table as they celebrate one of their youngest. Not so young anymore, Euijoo realizes. They go into stories of their first time meeting Jo, their first impressions and funny memories, laughter erupting at their antics. Maki’s ordering them shots, and that’s when it hits him that they can all legally drink now. He’s missed a lot. He’s glancing around the table, taking it all in. The laughter, the smiles, the happy tears as the lightweights start to unravel. He’s missed them. Missed this. But it’s wrong, so, so wrong. Like he’s a passerby, a witness to the friend group, standing outside of the circle. No one notices that he’s three drinks in and still going. When dinner ends, and the ones with early mornings leave, the rest of them decide to hit up their favorite bar. Maybe that’s where it stops making sense for Euijoo.

It’s nearly 2:00 a.m. as he’s carried out of the bar by Fuma and Kei, and Euijoo’s laugh dies in his throat, a ill-timed joke about being carried by two strong men. Should we all kiss? He snorts, thinking it’s funny, thankfully not able to articulate any of these jokes aloud. In fact, he’s gone non-verbal, in the sense that nothing coming out of his mouth sounds like any language known to man. His feet trip over nothing as he stumbles all over the sidewalk. Fuma and Kei are letting him crash on their couch, an easier solution than trying to get Euijoo conscious enough to get into his apartment. He’s covered with a blanket, warm, suffocating, and he’s on his phone, eyeing the time. It’s past midnight there now, and he can’t stop himself from wondering if he’s awake, if he’s celebrated his birthday with anyone else yet, if he’s waiting for a message. Fuck, Euijoo wants to text him. But what good will it do? He obviously doesn’t need his well wishes. He wouldn’t have fucking left if he needed anything from Euijoo. So he tosses his phone across the room, settles further into the couch, and lets himself cry.

That’s life four months post-Nicholas. He’s drunk. Well, that’s an understatement. He’s hammered. Absolutely smashed. And it’s not enough. Not nearly enough.

– - -

His therapist tells him to love himself more. Isn’t that what caused all this in the first place? Nicholas finding out he’s rejecting opportunities so he can stay close to him, not hanging out with friends because he doesn’t value time without him. They’re a package deal, he thinks it’s obvious. But here they are - Nicholas is going on and on about being independent, how Euijoo’s losing his sense of self, “I don’t even know that you’re really yourself anymore, what if you’re just changing for me? The thought of that kills me,” and it’s killing Euijoo too. He’s biting his lip so hard that there’s a metallic taste on his tongue, and his therapist is calling his name. “You’re picking your fingers again,” she’s motioning to the freshly opened skin on his cuticle, still red from a rough night. The affirmations haven’t been helping recently. The dreams are back, vivid, haunting. “I’m working on it,” he says; but he isn’t.
He has tried to do things he hasn’t done in a long time, go to coffeeshops or local markets or eat new foods. It’s hard. So hard, in fact, that he caught himself crying in public when he sees a pair of jeans that cost $900. Who the fuck would buy pants that are $900, he sniffles. He knows who would. He also knows who would look so damn good in these jeans, the pattern accentuating his ass, fitting so well into his wardrobe. He eats a new dish he’s already forgotten the name of, way too aware of someone who would absolutely love it. Do they serve this in Taiwan? Should he text him to try it? Wait, no. Is he stupid? Well, yes. Obviously. He doesn’t even bother packaging up the leftovers, trying not to feel shame that over half of the food is untouched.
This is life five months post-Nicholas. It’s a lot of waste. Waste of food, waste of energy, waste of time. But he’s trying. His therapist says she’s proud of him. That’s good, he thinks. At least one of us is.
— - -

This time it’s Euijoo on a plane back home, not him, not to Taiwan, not leaving someone he said he loves behind, not intending to stay forever. Just for his birthday, just enough, he promises himself, convincing himself this isn’t him giving up on his current life. He just needs to hug his mom, talk with his dad, be comforted by his sister, laugh with the people that have always loved him, supported him, no matter what version of him he was on. He needs to feel his native language on his lips, be nostalgic long enough to find who he should’ve been now, who he wanted to be when he was younger - before he left home, too young, too alone, too open, too honest, giving too much of himself to others, to him. But that isn’t the point. This is a trip for healing, for soul-searching, for forgiveness (for himself first, but somebody else second. Maybe. If he can manage it). He’s welcomed by his family at the airport, and it’s everything he can do to not fall to his knees. It’s been a long damn time since he was home, too long. He lets himself tear up, but no tears make it down his cheeks. They’re being wiped away first by gentle hands, warm hearts. “Welcome home,” someone says through their own tears. It’s a long time before they pull away. His favorite food is ready for him when they get home, and the familiarity is overwhelming. Byun Euijoo is surrounded by love, and it fills his chest for the first time in forever.

He always wanted to bring him home to meet his family, properly, as his lover, his partner. They never did, afraid of consequences or reactions, afraid of souring a good thing. That was so stupid, he realizes. I’m so loved.

He’s crying because there’s an orange-shaped pillow in his bedroom, shaped so cutely with a green stem, handmade by his mom. His parents had worked together to plan a gift for him, something practical but cute. Just like their son. Fruity, just like their son. He didn’t plan to do this here, certainly not now, but he’s crying harder now as he’s telling his family – I like boys. I’m so sorry I’m such a disappointment. Please forgive me. Please still love me.

There’s nothing to forgive, they assure him. There’s more hugging. More crying. Euijoo is sad, so sad, that he didn’t share the good memories of Nicholas with them. He never gushed about him to his sister, never asked for advice from his dad, never got told “as long as you’re happy” by his mom.

Could he have mentioned his crush to his sister, told her about all the times Nicholas would tuck Euijoo's hair behind his ear when they ate lunch together? When he'd wipe his mouth with his thumb, when he'd smile at him like he hung the sun, the moon, the stars. He'd smile as he recounted their first date, their first time toeing the line between friends and more, acknowledging whatever this was, where Nicholas made them an indoor picnic, everything handmade, cut into cute shapes. Fuck, Euijoo's family would love him; not that they would now, if they knew he'd caused this mess. It wasn't Nicholas's fault, not alone, but how would they know? He couldn't explain any of it, the sour memories of sweet lip balm, the pain surrounding the best days of his life.

But he was happy. For so long, he was. He’s got all these arms around him, all these tears being shed in support, in acceptance, in reluctance that he thought he wouldn’t be loved.

This is life six months post-Nicholas. Maybe he can be okay again. Happy, even. Not now; not soon. But someday, maybe.

— - -

He’s back in Japan, and Kuma are both here, Fuma carrying in some boxes, Kei with the lunch they brought. Today’s going to suck, and they all know it. There’s a heaviness in the air, gut-punching almost, like all the oxygen has been vacuumed out of it. It’s remarkable, really, that Euijoo has left these things scattered around his apartment as long as he has. The remnants of a years-long relationship falling apart, of someone falling out of love while the other person has no damn idea. There’s tissue boxes all around the apartment, just in case. “You won’t need them,” Fuma exclaims, confident and beaming at Euijoo, hand on his shoulder. He’s lying, obviously, as he was the one who set them out. But it makes him smile regardless. He’s grateful, after all, that he’s got such fantastic friends. Ones that didn’t take his months of radio silence personally, ones that understood that he’s got his own journey to go through. Kei once tried to get him to go on a blind date, and Fuma nearly strangled him, leading to a fierce debate on the efficacy of rebounds. Euijoo was in no damn place to be doing any of that, but he knew Kei knew that. It’s funny, that’s all. He just needed to laugh. And he did. When he’s with them, he laughs a lot. It’s a good feeling.

But here they are, the day after Euijoo summoned the courage to ask Kuma to help him pack Nicholas’s things. His leftovers. It’s a solemn day, but his therapist has been encouraging him to push himself. He doesn’t need these reminders. He doesn’t need to hold onto things that aren’t good for him. He can charge Nicholas the damn shipping if he wants, but he cannot have any of this in his home anymore. Everything must go.

So the clothes come out of the closet, and Euijoo is shocked just how much room is available now. It’s a dull pain to realize, that there was so much room being occupied by something long gone. Something far away. Something unlikely to come back. Kei’s asking if he can keep any of these, and Euijoo shrugs, a sad smile on his mouth. Fuma is scolding him, it’s not ethical to try to keep your friend’s ex-boyfriend’s clothes and yes, this jacket is half our rent, no, we cannot sell it.

They have to take a break before they get to his accessories because Euijoo can feel the weakness hitting him. Surely he can keep some of the rings he was gifted, right? They were his, after all. Yes, they were almost definitely pseudo-engagement rings, and yes, they make him so damn sad that he can’t even wear them, but they’re nice rings. He doesn’t have the matching rings, and it makes him wonder what Nicholas has done with his rings. Trashed them, maybe. Pawned them off, sold them for pocket change. Gave them away to a new partner, giving them a new meaning with someone new. Euijoo feels sick. He says it’s lunch not sitting well. They know it’s not true. He knows it’s not true. He sits in the bathroom and cries.

When he comes back, eyes swollen but he’s rubbing his stomach anyway like he’s unwell. The rings are gone. So is everything else. Out of sight, just like someone he knows. Someone he knew.

That’s life seven months post-Nicholas. He later hears Fuma whispering, asking Kei to put the small box on the closet shelf. He can feel the heavy weight of the rings on his fingers, the way he would twist the ring when he was nervous for an exam, the way he would only remove it when he showered. The way he really, really wanted to marry him someday. Oh, well.

— - -

It’s an early morning in November when he gets a message from an unknown number. He’s finalizing his internship application, setting his nerves on fire as he considers how much time has passed since he finished his degree, how much time has passed since he’s even thought about architecture. He’s thrown himself head-first into his job at the bookstore, working overtime whenever possible. Surrounding himself with stories has helped him so much, touched him so deeply, creating an infinite number of worlds he can bury himself in, how many happy endings can heal him, how many sad endings help him forget his own. He’s consulted a former professor, one he admired so much – he expressed nothing but faith in Euijoo, attaching a letter of recommendation without him even having to ask. He almost cries over this, absolutely touched by the encouragement, but he’s distracted as customers pile into the store; some students coming in after classes, some girls giggling. This happens sometimes; some students coming in only to look at him. He used to be bothered by it, upset that they’re there for him and not for a good read. But now, maybe he likes the attention. It sounds ridiculous, but for a while, he wondered if anyone would ever find him attractive ever again. It had been so, so long since he had even considered the opinions of others, much less cared about them; he had Nicholas. What did anyone else’s thoughts matter? But Nicholas wasn’t here anymore, and he didn’t have that reassurance anymore. Euijoo spent months looking in the mirror, wondering who the hell was looking back at him. He’s worked really hard to earn that recognition again. His eyes gaining back their expressiveness, his laugh to sound familiar again, un-frizzing his hair. He’s even found himself going to the gym sometimes. He used to hate it, used to feel burdened by how he never seemed to gain muscle, never seemed to physically compare to anybody else in there. But he only looks at himself now. How long had it been since he had focused on himself? God only knows.

His phone buzzes as he’s typing away on his laptop, perfecting everything. Double-checking his grammar, adding his references, making mental note to reach out to them all. It’d been far too long. He checks his phone. 5:22 a.m.

Hi Euijoo. Thank you for the package. I appreciate it. I hope you’re well.

PS: Happy belated birthday, Juju

His blood runs cold, freezing in his veins. His brain’s moving too fast and not at all. He puts his phone down. His composure is absolutely shot. He can hear his therapist now, the same one who told him to block his number. He didn’t block it, but he did delete it. His therapist is in his mind now, telling him to do his breathing exercises, stay present, don’t let your mind wander. His phone buzzes again. It’s the same text, but slightly different.

PS: Happy belated birthday _edited

Whatever his therapist is saying is a little too late now as he’s picturing the boy on the other side of this text, maybe his eyebrows are furrowed, maybe he’s in bed, debating with himself whether pressing send was the best choice after all. Maybe he’s alone in that bed. Maybe he isn’t. Fuck.

This is eight months post-Nicholas. He doesn’t reply to the text.

—

Euijoo finds himself in a karaoke room on December 1st. He thought about inviting the others; they haven’t done karaoke together in years now, minus that one time they were bar-hopping and got shit-faced. Someone put Adele on while drunk Euijoo was on stage, which was the final mistake of the night before they had to send him home, full body shaking with the intensity of his crying. He’d done some research for the best post-breakup songs. He’d journaled about this months ago, but never really thought it was the right time. Now he’s got to do the thing - uplift himself, use his voice to tell himself, indirectly, that he’s going to be okay. His warm-up included a few Christmas tunes; ‘tis the season, after all. He loved singing but couldn’t really remember the last time he’d really done it. Not like this anyway; sober, intentionally. On a mission.

He queues up the first song. This is absolutely ridiculous now that he’s here, not even sure that he’s ever listened to this full song. But as someone in the break-up help forum once said: You can’t be sad listening to disco!

The song starts with the piano run. Euijoo takes a deep breath.

“At first I was afraid, I was petrified,” he starts. He’s unsure of what ‘petrified’ means, but it’s really not the point. He’s gripping the mic between both hands so tight that his knuckles are white. “Kept thinking I could never live without you by my side.

“But then I spent so many nights thinking how you did me wrong, and I grew strong-” he starts moving, picking up the tambourine, fully dedicated to his healing man-hating karaoke session, “and I learned how to get along!”

Euijoo starts jumping, the lights in the room going crazy now as the beat kicks in. He’s never noticed the disco ball hanging from the ceiling, but now he feels so alive, tambourine going absolutely nuts to the beat as he sings along. Gloria Gaynor absolutely knew what he needed.

There’s a part of him that feels sad that it took him this long to unleash this energy, to let disco heal his soul. But he’s jumping now, dancing like an absolute madman as he’s giggling into the mic, too damn happy for the occasion. Did he always have this ability inside him? Did he always have the ability to let loose and feel free, to be alone in a room and not feel alone? How long had it been since he had fun by himself? For himself?

Weren’t you the one who tried to hurt me with goodbye? Did you think I’d crumble?

Did you think I’d lay down and die?! Oh no, not I! I will survive!

He’s yelling now, fully aligned with the song, sure that he sounds insane, he HAS to look insane, arms flailing, hips grooving, butt wiggling. All these things that he couldn’t have done nine months ago. nor eight months ago. nor seven months ago.

By the time the song ends, he’s drenched with sweat and his throat is sore. He’s dog tired but so, so, so alive. He’s going to survive this after all.

This is nine months post-Nicholas. The weight of the unanswered text in his phone still wears on his mind, but he’s ignoring it. He’s got a point to prove; to himself or to Nicholas, doesn’t really matter after all. He’s got all his life to live, and he’s got all his love to give. To himself this time.

–

But then it’s December 7th. And fuck, Euijoo hasn’t felt this low in a while.

The entire friend group is over for game night; they’re hoping to bury him in the ito game and Uno and Just Dance and really, just anything to take his mind off the calendar. It works for a while; after all, this is more than enough stimulation to keep Euijoo’s mind busy.

Maki pulls Fuma over to the edge of the couch, shows him his phone screen. Fuma’s face hardens into a serious line, and he’s whispering something back. Euijoo isn’t an idiot. He knows the group still talks to Nicholas. They were all friends, all nine of them. And it’s impossible to not feel his absence when they’re all together like this. Maki took it especially hard when Nicholas announced his return home, swearing to visit but never seeming to make good on it. They talk often, every day if Euijoo had to guess, but now it’s their would-be anniversary and he’s alone, their first benchmark after their break-up, in a different country. He’s home, in an Euijoo-less land. Wouldn’t this be just fine for him? What the fuck is he distracting his friends for? Surely Nicholas knows Euijoo needs them today, more than ever? Fuma claps his hand on Maki’s back sweetly before making his way over to Kei, whispering something in his ear. Euijoo tries not to be dramatic, really and truly, but how is everything all about Nicholas again? He would never make his friends choose between them, but now they’re having to whisper about him behind Euijoo’s back. He hopes this comes out nicer than he feels like it does: “Whatever you’re whispering about, you can speak out loud. You can talk about it. I swear I can take it.”

He doesn’t really know that he can, now that he thinks about it. He’s spent so long worrying about his own recovery that he buried any thoughts of how the other man is doing. His method of not giving a shit is backfiring now. He has no idea how Nicholas is doing. He’s afraid to know.

It’s Kei who gives Fuma a worried look, but Fuma keeps his expression cooled, trying not to trip any alarm systems. “It’s just that Nicholas is having a hard time tonight,” Fuma explains, simply, “Maki’s just worried about him.”

Euijoo smiles, but not from happiness. If he doesn’t smile, he’s going to cry, and that’s going to ruin everything. “Oh, okay,” he replies, “that’s too bad.”

Maki grimaces; obviously he doesn’t like this answer. He’s always been so open, so honest, and now he’s standing, pushing his phone into Euijoo’s face. “Hyung, I don’t think you understand how selfish you sound right now.”

Nico:
how is he?
I really hope he’s doing better than me rn

Maki:
I’m not sure
he seems to be okay
they’re playing games and eating fruit

Nico:
i fuckign miss him sossoso much maki
idk how much longer i can do this

Maki:
tbh euijoo’s had such a hard time of it
i think it’d make it worse if you were back here
although i miss u a lot bro

Nico:
i miss u too bro
i miss u all sof kn bad
it was for the best rite?
ijust want ed him to be hppy
for him to be himslf agn
can i call u
i’ll mute myself i just need to here him
hear
hear his voice plz

Euijoo’s been punched in the gut, ran over by a truck, received an uppercut to the jaw, and had a hammer taken to his heart. Fuck. He couldn’t have imagined he’d be this rough, obviously heavily drunk (not that it took much for him), but god. All these nights he’s imagined Nicholas, living life, working on his lookbooks, his fashion page, trying to get accepted as an editor, not even needing to piece together the Euijoo-sized hole in his life. Happy. Successful. Not like this. He wants to hug him. He wants to punch him. He needs to hear his voice, too.

But can he even handle it? He can hear his therapist sighing, deep in thought about how this impacts his progress, how this affects his sleep at night. He’s finally past the insomnia. Finally. How far is this going to set him back? Will he even be able to sleep again in this lifetime?

There’s a long silence while Fuma silently shoots stern looks at Maki, trying to take his phone back. Euijoo grabs it from him, jaw stuck open, tears in his eyes. “I’m really sorry, Maki. You’re right, and I’m sorry. I need to step out for a minute.”

He sets Maki’s phone down, stepping into his bedroom, his too-big room with his too-big bed. There’s a balance he needs to strike here, understanding but firm. Distant but warm. He’s never been more unsure about anything in his entire life. He opens that text, the one he ignored, the one that weighed heavy on him for a whole week. He clicks the number. Hits the call button.

Chapter Text

It rings three times, and Euijoo is convinced he’s not going to answer before the line connects. There’s shaky breathing on the other side. It stabs him right in the chest, a pain he’s almost forgotten. He’s always hated hearing Nicholas cry, hated watching his face contort with the world’s heaviest sadness, watching the corners of his mouth pitch down as his eyes fill with tears. If they had to be like this, if they had to be apart, he didn’t want him to cry. Maybe he did. Maybe he wanted him to hurt like hell. He’s spent so long picturing this moment, planning his monologue in advance for when Nicholas begs for him to take him back and Euijoo responds that he’s moved on, that he’s happier than ever, that he doesn’t need him. He’s dreamed of this moment, his revenge, his chance to put the nail in the coffin. But he’s picturing the boy on the other end, shaking, hair messy, eyes swollen. Euijoo decides on something easy, “Hello?”

“Oh my god, it’s you,” he hears in response, in English, “I’m sorry, fuck, wait, I haven’t spoken Japanese in so long, I’m sorry.”

Euijoo’s heart squeezes, and it’s like watching your entire world crumble. They used to practice their Japanese together, and here’s Nicholas, out here forgetting it. Ouch.

“I heard you’re not well.” He’s unsure of how to word it, even more unsure of what kind of tone to use. He’s biting his lip so hard that he’s afraid it might bruise. His fingers instinctively go to pick his cuticles only to be blocked by his bandages. He hopes his voice is steady.

“God damn it, Juju,” he laughs bitterly, sniffling heavily, gasping for air, “you’re right. I’m not well.”

Euijoo’s eyes burn, stinging with unshed tears. He crumples against the bed, onto the floor where he ended up the night Nicholas left him. He pulls his knees to his chest, laying his head on his arms, “I’m sorry.”

He is, it’s true. After all, he’s the one who caused all of this. Nicholas found out he turned down a huge opportunity for a study abroad graduate program, complete with a major scholarship - Euijoo hadn’t even mentioned to him; he didn’t want his boyfriend to convince him to do it, to be so far for so long. They hadn’t really been apart in their three years together, for short trips back home, no more than a week at a time. This was different. This was at the very least a year, plus longer if he got an internship offer. Euijoo loved architecture, loved creating and problem-solving and designing. But he loved Nicholas more, so, so much more. His soulmate, his lover, his other half. He truly didn’t feel complete without him. Was that where Nicholas started to hesitate? Euijoo conceded everything to him; their plans, their meals, their travel, their schedules – everything was up to Nicholas. He didn’t feel like he had a partner anymore, he tried to explain, but Euijoo just wanted to keep him, to please him. Maybe that’s where it went wrong. Maybe that’s why they’re here now, on the phone on their anniversary. Four years, Euijoo sighs. Four fucking years.

“I should’ve been there for you, Juju. I should’ve gotten you the help you needed. I should’ve tried to understand you instead of shaming you for shit that wasn’t your fault.” His voice is trembling so hard that it’s barely understandable, his voice thick and sad and desperate. Euijoo’s shaking his head as if he’s still there, as if he could see the taller boy on the ground hugging himself, holding onto himself as everything falls apart around him all over again. He dreamed of this moment, right? When Nicholas would realize he was wrong, when he would apologize, when he would beg Euijoo for forgiveness. When he’d come through the door, any minute now, ready to scoop him into his arms like always, pepper his face with kisses like always, promise to love him forever and ever, like always.

Euijoo’s mind wanders to the walk he took that morning. In the hazy precursor to the day, sunrise just a single brushstroke at that point – he’s on a bridge, and the water is reflecting the moon hanging on by a thread in the sky. Is that them? The water and the moon, only meeting in these reflections, in memories, never meant to meet, never meant to reunite. He’s thinking of every single therapy session he’s had to this point, including the one where she recommended organizing his thoughts on these morning walks. Early, before the world wakes up. Early, before the thoughts of him took over. Would he have ever done this if Nicholas hadn’t left? Would he have ever appreciated brisk air, silent paths and gentle breezes? He’s cold, but there’s warmth waiting for him at home – morning tea, cozy blankets, new pillowcases. He’s learned to appreciate these moments when the world is still, when it’s just him and the bridge. The water and the moon, destined to find beauty and meaning in their existences apart.

Euijoo takes a deep breath. He’s unsure that any of this will really make a difference. After all, Nicholas didn’t listen to him when he broke down, begging for him to stay. He didn’t listen as he cried so hard he thought he might die. He was the one who refused that one last hug, Euijoo remembers with a huff, said it would make things harder than they need to be. “You told me I needed to be better at being alone. Do you remember that?” Euijoo asks simply. He’s met with a pained cry on the other end, Nicholas half-groaning, “Of course I do. How fucking stupid was I to say that?”

But it’s not, Euijoo assures him. He was right, after all. How could Euijoo eat if Nicholas wasn’t eating? How could he hang out with friends if Nicholas wasn’t there? Self-care? How could he give himself attention that could go to his lover. There was no life outside of him. It was Nicholas - only Nicholas. Not even Euijoo. He had stopped considering himself a long time ago.

“You were right, Nicholas. I turned into something really sad. I couldn’t see a life outside of our relationship. I loved you so entirely that I forgot how to love myself. I forgot my family, my friends. I forgot how much I love sunrises, sunsets, everything in-between. I slept without dreaming. You were right, Nicholas,” he’s rambling now, fist buried in his own hair, and he’s drowning in tears, his face soaking wet. There’s full sobbing coming from the other end of the phone, choking on “I-told-you-so” and how badly he didn’t want to be right. He pictures Nicholas’s chest rising and falling at the speed of regret, aching from lack of oxygen, lack of love.

“I’m sorry I don’t think we can be friends again. Not now anyway. I don’t know how much I have left in me to handle this tonight, but there’s something I need to tell you,” Euijoo draws in a deep breath, steels his nerves. “Life is so much more than a broken heart. I forgive you. Thank you for leaving me.”

He hangs up before he can ruin nine months of affirmations, five months of therapy sessions, four months of mindfulness morning walks – the phone is heavy in his hands with the weight of responsibility. He hopes Nicholas can find sleep tonight. Euijoo isn’t sure he will, but he holds onto the hope. He aches, he’s sore, and his head is throbbing. But he’s smiling as he lets out all his tears. He’s crawling into bed, giving up the rest of the party. He’s collapsing into his blankets and waits for a shooting star to come fix all of this. Waiting for the moon to meet the sea.

This is their first anniversary post-Nicholas. Everything hurts.

–

Euijoo’s wide awake the night before his application results come in. He’s hoping for a position on an advanced path for a graduate program, getting him one step closer to his dreams. He’s worked so hard to improve where he’s lacking, to push through when he wants to rest, to tidy up his resume and stand out. It’s a hard career, but he’s qualified… right? He’s got ridiculous work ethic, great decision-making skills, negotiation tactics perfected, communication… hmph. That’s a sore spot. It’s unexpected, out of the blue like this. How long had it been since they had even communicated? His brain answers immediately against his will: eight months and six days. He would’ve been impressed, but he didn’t realize he was counting. It felt unreasonable to do that; he’s so busy finalizing his career plans, working overtime at the bookstore to save up, doing anything but thinking about him. It’s not taboo for Euijoo anymore; three years is a long time to be with someone; his therapist assures him that it’s normal for it to be on his mind from time to time. But he’s occupied with so many things, the last thing he needs is to think about how nice it would be to curl up into Nicholas’s arms right now, lean into his chest, relax his nerves by counting his heartbeats, trying to sync their pulses together. He can’t waste time wondering what color his hair is now, if he’s published his first article yet, if he’s stressed with the fall/winter fashion weeks coming soon. It’s so silly to think about how he might’ve moved on with all his connections in this new world, all the models, all the influencers, all the networking parties he dreamt about frequenting. He’s secretly hoping Nicholas is alone tonight. Not that he really cares. Why should he?

This is life a year and six months post-Nicholas. It’s not his business at all… but the mind wanders.

—

Euijoo drinks tonight. Not enough for him to be plastered; life continues tomorrow, hangover or not. But he’s struggling through a hefty double shot of something brown and hot as it hits his throat. Fuma is a great listener; he’s honest but kind. He knows when to tone down the truth until it’s palatable. Euijoo wishes someone else had that skill.

There are other opportunities waiting for him, Fuma assures him. Being rejected from one internship isn’t the end of the world. He’s a foreigner in a field that requires near-perfect fluency; it’s no wonder some places wouldn’t want to bet on him. His understanding doesn’t make it any fucking easier. He’s pent up, angry, sad, full of envy at whichever bastard got a better email than he did today. Fuma requests a glass of water. The bartender obliges, then pours another drink, ice clinking as it’s displaced by more feel-good juice. Fuma’s about to question it, but the bartender speaks up first, “The guy down the bar bought your friend here a drink.”

Euijoo’s skin is on fire. Maybe it’s the whiskey. Maybe it’s the idea of receiving any sort of attention for the first time in so, so long. He tries to be sneaky as he peeks down the bar, past other patrons. There’s a guy smiling crookedly at him, maybe a little cocky, stirring his drink gently. He’s hot, Euijoo knows objectively. But the heat in his stomach is wrong; desire is feeling a lot like longing for familiar hands, strong arms with a scar just below the right elbow, a mouth that knew exactly what to do. He asks Fuma to drop him off before he gets lost.

Honestly he doesn’t know what leads him here, face pressed hard into his pillow, hips jutting up against the firm mattress, desperate for something, anything. Fuck, maybe he should’ve asked for that guy’s number at the bar - but he doesn’t have game anymore. Maybe he never had it in the first place. It was all Nicholas, leading him for his first time, consoling him when he nearly finished way too early and ended up barely lasting inside Nicholas. They perfected the art over time, crafting together their hormones, a flawless dance. Nicholas, so desperate, so needy, always so impatient and bratty, tears filling his eyes so easily as he got overstimulated. He coaxed Euijoo into letting loose once, his swears filling the room, Nicholas guiding Euijoo’s hand to his neck, enough pressure to make his eyes flutter closed. That’s how he knew it was good; Nicholas loved to watch until he physically couldn’t take anymore. That’s when his breath would stutter, cries sharp and pitchy, begging for more, more, more, fuck please-

Euijoo’s the one begging now, turning over to wrap a hand around himself. He’s so desperate that embarrassment can’t reach him here, hot and exhausted and needing something so far away, something with messy hair and lustful eyes and dirty words, beautiful words from a beautiful mouth. Am I making you feel good, baby? he would ask, and fuck, yeah, he always did. Made him feel so, so good, so alive. Euijoo’s thrusting up into his own hand now, desperation absolutely wrecking him. He needs that hot familiar tongue on him now, his eyes squeeze shut as if he can feel it if he tries hard enough. Fuck, he’s so close. He just needs it, it’s almost there, and he's moaning out loud now"God, Nico, baby, fuck, fuck, Nico - god-” his hips stutter as he spills all over his stomach, panting like he’s run a marathon. Guilt flares up in his gut, setting him ablaze. He lies there far too long, shame hitting him like a truck.

This is life two years post-Nicholas. He takes way too long to get into the shower, washing his sin down the drain. Hoping that maybe next time won’t get him so bad. But it always does.

—

He’s on the phone with his sister. He’s stressed now, projects piling up at work, his to-do list getting longer, impossibly expanding. She’s asked him what he’s doing for self-care. He answers simply: the same as always. His early morning walks, exercise twice a week, rewards any fantastic productivity with a hangout session with his friends. She’s confused at him – what does he think self-care actually is?

“Self-care is when you start your tasks early so you don’t have to do them later. Self-care is a nice lavender soap in the shower. Google told me all of that was good, anyway.”

She scoffs at him, pulling out her big-sister-voice, “But have you considered just being nicer to yourself? You’re not giving yourself any grace. You can’t do everything all the time.”

It’s a simple thought, one he moves past quickly. But he’s meditating on it later while working on some rough blueprint drafts. He’s worked so hard the past few years to move on, to be better, to find meaning where he’d lost it. He’s beaten himself up and rebuilt from the bottom; he’s found hope in a hopeless place. But when he thinks back, shame bites at him. He’s worrying over his future but never accepting the past. It hits him then. He’s never thought about forgiving himself. Maybe that’s something he needs to talk to his therapist about. He scribbles it in his journal, slams it back into the drawer before it can harass him in the dark of his bedroom.

This is life two and a half years post-Nicholas. He’s hoping sleep finds him before he can call his own bluff.

Chapter Text

Euijoo’s on his usual morning walk, tea in hand as he makes his way down the same path he’s walked for the past 2 and a half years. This week had him waking up at 4:00 a.m. to fit the journey into his busy schedule, his 45 minutes off the clock where he knows he doesn’t have to stress about deadlines or meetings or sitting in on budget overviews or progress reviews or-

He stops at the bridge, his usual spot. The moon is blindingly bright in the sky, dancing in the reflection of the water. He smiles, waves at it. It’s been such a good friend of his these past few years. Really, without these walks, this bridge, that damned old moon, he doesn’t even know if he would’ve made it this far. He takes a long sip, letting the warmth fill his bones against the frigid air. Just one more day of work and then he’s on a week-long vacation, his first in years. He had been grinding himself to dust trying to finish his Master’s while doing his internship. He really doesn’t know how he’s done it; sheer will and passion and a soft, deep voice within him that believed he could. And he did. He’s in an entry-level position at a highly respected company that saw his dedication during his internship and asked him to stay on the team. Now he’s just working toward his license test, trying to maximize his chance of passing first-time.

“I was such a mess back then,” he laughs sweetly to no one in particular. There’s no bitterness, not anymore. It’s been enough time that he looks back, is able to clearly see where it went wrong, where they went wrong. It’s something he only discovered with time, with his mistakes made along the way, that he was so much more than someone’s boyfriend, though he couldn’t see it at the time. They say hindsight is 20/20.

He’s more himself than he’s ever been, finally back in touch with who he was at 18, fresh off the plane, his self-taught Japanese no longer impressive when surrounded by native speakers. It was Kei who approached him first on campus, good enough Korean to befriend the wide-eyed boy with the sweet smile and no idea what was happening. That’s when he’s introduced to more of them - Fuma, Kei’s partner, who became his first proper language instructor. He eventually found the international students club, full of people in the same situation, but no one impacted Euijoo like him. He smiles at the memory, no longer tinged with pain. Just fondness, how he still blushes at the thought of it, all unique style and polite smiles and hidden quirks. He seemed so cool, so untouchable, unreal. Then he’d open his mouth, and Euijoo always found himself laughing, even when nothing was funny. That’s how it was then. Fun, easy. Natural. Could’ve been still. Oh, well, Euijoo thinks. That’s life. Sometimes you win, like Fuma and Kei, together for so long that their hearts are in perfect sync, communication so well-kept that their fights are so rare, so mild, so gentle. Full of love. I want to understand you, he’s overheard once, please explain to me how I can support you. Damn, how he would’ve loved to hear those words once. But it didn’t happen like that, time reminds him, with his early morning alarms, his journal tucked in his bedside table, his therapist who always reminds him how far he’s come and how proud she is of his progress.

One more day of work before vacation. He’s just got to make the time he has count. So he sets off again, wishing the moon’s reflection a gentle goodbye.

This is life 3 years post-Nicholas. Euijoo’s proud of himself, too. Finally.

—

It’s here: Euijoo’s vacation, kicking off with Maki’s college graduation. The cherry blossoms are so, so close to full bloom, littering the streets with soft pink and white petals. The anticipation of what’s coming makes him smile; there’s a building buzz of energy as they start to gather together, right under a banner that says “hello spring, goodbye graduates”. The weight of it doesn’t hit Euijoo until they’re all standing together that morning, reminiscing about how they all first met Maki, a range of different reactions across the board. There’s nothing but pride on Fuma’s face, nostalgic and solemn as Kei fixes the graduation cap on Maki’s head. Was it always this big?! No wonder you can’t get it to stay on properly! he’s exclaiming, Maki fully offended and hitting him back twice as hard with a quip about his forehead size. Euijoo can’t help the laugh that bubbles up within him, his smile a permanent fixture on his face. He’s happy. Really happy. There’s something bittersweet about this moment, and he’s trying to strike a balance with where to put his emotions. This won’t be their last time all together, he’s sure, but it’s so rare these days – between his insane schedule and the real world finally coming for the younger ones, they couldn’t get all eight of them together anymore. Much less all nine, for obvious reasons. Had it really been that long since they were all nine together: loud, chaotic, way too comfortable - a family? The hustle and bustle around them is distracting, so much so that he almost misses someone coming up behind him speaking in English, “Sorry I’m late!”

Euijoo feels like he’s had cold water dumped all over him and a toaster thrown into his hands.

He turns, slowly, unable to hide his shock as he locks eyes with Nicholas - hair cut short, back to his natural color, bangs barely covering up an eyebrow slit. He’s got a natural blush to him right now, a dusting of red set deep in his cheeks, eyebrows raised as his mouth makes an ‘O’ shape. There’s a small lick of his hair sticking up and out, the tiniest bit of mess in an otherwise put-together look, a fluffy pink sweater that matches the trees, jeans with a ribbons on them. He has two more piercings in his ears that weren’t there before, and a closed-up hole where there may have been a lip piercing at some point. He checks out Nicholas’s necklace, tracing the shape down to the middle of his chest, where at the end of the chain laid a ring. One he recognizes. One whose match sits at the top of his closet in a small, dusty box.

Euijoo’s breath catches in his throat, and he thinks he might throw up. His heart squeezes, pounding; he’s convinced this is what a heart attack feels like. It’s been three years since he’d last seen him, other than the pictures he struggled to delete off his phone, the polaroids he made Fuma and Kei take away from him, the memories and dreams that held him hostage. Three years since Nicholas closed the door behind him, refusing a final hug, not able to look at his now-ex as he told him how much he loved him, how much he wishes it could be different, how he hoped Euijoo could heal and find himself again. Took years, but he did. He wants Nicholas to see it - see the improvement he’s fought so hard to achieve, the stability that only comes from hitting rock bottom. He wants Nicholas to know that he really, truly forgives him for breaking his heart. His mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. Nothing comes out, just a deer-in-headlights look as he feels stuck in place. There are too many thoughts in his mind to process. Nicholas is here. Nicholas looks fucking good. Nicholas is wearing their ring around his fucking neck. Nicholas is looking at him with a smile, and Euijoo genuinely fears this might be the end of his life. He should’ve dressed hotter.

“NICHOLAAAASSSSSS!” Maki screams at the top of his lungs, voice cracking as he ran full-speed towards his older brother, jumping and latching onto him like a koala with a deathgrip. Nicholas squeezes his eyes closed, cackling with an oof as he catches his baby, “You know I wouldn’t miss this for the world, bro.”

The rest of them erupt in a chorus of yells, some that’s not fair, you missed mine!, some you should’ve asked us to pick you up at the airport. They all crowd him, causing a scene as if it was his graduation day. “I know, I know, I’m sorry!!!” Nicholas is throwing his hands up in self-defense as Harua is throwing bunny-punches at his arm, Yuma going on and on about how he only got a phone call on his grad day, Taki suddenly pulling out a dramatic You HATE Me! in English. Kei finally calls off the battle, suggesting that they all hug it out before Maki’s late to his own graduation. There’s general complaints in response, but one-by-one, they all come up to Nicholas, tightly hugging him. After he lets go of the last friend, Fuma, who had been dad-smiling the entire time, Nicholas sets his sights back on Euijoo. He’s visibly unsure, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He takes a deep breath, calming his nerves, before holding out his arms in Euijoo’s direction, “Juju?”

Euijoo swallowed thickly. He looks Nicholas up and down - the boy who made Japan feel like home. The boy who made him feel like he could fly. The boy who made him laugh the most in his entire life, gave him the biggest smiles, kept him going when times were rough. The one who let him go so he could learn to be there for himself. The one who, after all, cared about Euijoo the most in the world. After all this time, there’s still something indescribable between them - tension, yes, but more than that - understanding. Wordless communication. So much is said in this one look. Euijoo smiles. Nicholas smiles back. He shuffles forward, letting his arms move automatically around Nicholas’s middle. The arms circling his own waist makes him shiver. They’d hugged an innumerable amount of times before, almost never not touching throughout their time together, but this felt so different. Like they, for the first time in a long, long time, were meeting as their true selves. Not just as former lovers or friends, but as two people who have a connection so natural, so genuine. There’s an eruption of cheers behind them, some claps, some whistling, some singing; embarrassment rises between them, but they can’t seem to break away. They rock side-to-side together as the weight of the hug shifts, and they’re turning to look at their friends now crowding around them in a gigantic group hug. Nine people is a lot, they realize as they block almost the whole pathway. But they don’t care. There’s a tangle of arms, someone’s stepping on Jo’s foot, someone’s tickling Harua – it’s loud. It’s chaotic. It’s comfortable. It’s them. Nine of them, for the first time in a long, long time.

–

The after-grad dinner wraps up without a hitch. Except for when Euijoo was worried they might get kicked out when Yuma asked, “What was your degree in again? Disney Channel?”

Maki replies at the top of his lungs with “What was yours in? Homosexuality?”

Absolute madness ensued: Harua’s choked on his drink, coughing up all over the table; Jo’s covering his rice to protect it. “HOMOSEXUALITY?!” Taki’s screaming on repeat for dramatic effect. Euijoo’s laughing so hard he’s crying, his laugh nothing but squeaks at this point. Nicholas is weeping, clapping his hand so hard against Euijoo’s thigh that it might just bruise. When the commotion dies down, Nicholas squeezes the muscle there, once, lingering for just a moment before moving his hand away.

–

They’re all pushing out of the restaurant, about half of them intoxicated and still cackling about nothing and everything. Fuma and Kei rally up the kids too far gone to make it home safely, about to escort them to their living room couch. Been there, done that, Euijoo thinks. He blinks it away as soon as it passes through his mind.

“God, I feel old,” Nicholas groans into a yawn, stretching his arms up over his head. “Tell me about it,” Euijoo hums back. It’s nice. This ease between them, this mental dance they’re sharing, the buzz between them echoing the street lamps.

“It’s been a while,” Euijoo states, unsure if commenting on it is even wise.

“Yeah,” Nicholas agrees, sighing heavily, “way too long.”
“You look good,” Euijoo gestures to Nico’s sweater vaguely. It complements the blush across Nicholas’s cheeks. Euijoo pretends not to notice it.
“You do, too,” the older boy parrots.
“I look the exact same,” a corner of Euijoo’s mouth quirks, shy grin growing uncontrollably.
“Yeah. I still mean it, though.” Nicholas replies simply, cocking his head a tiny bit, looking up at him through his bangs. The tall boy tucks his hands into his pockets.

This is too close to flirting, too familiar; Euijoo feels like he should run, but there’s a weight keeping him in place, like a magnet keeping him from getting too far from this right here, this moment, this tiny step closer to the moon.

“Can I walk you home?” Euijoo speaks after a moment, eyes searching for any sort of fight from Nicholas. He wasn’t going to find any. Nicholas nods slowly, burying his arms in his sweater as if the extra warmth could protect him.

Euijoo’s nerves settle down as they fall into comfortable silence during the walk. This is much more like them - sharing heartbeats and unsaid confessions, tacit understanding. The sky is littered with stars, twinkling with anticipation. Euijoo can’t help but feel like they’re guiding them back to each other - back home. He’s surprised when they arrive, not too far from his own place. For someone visiting from a different country, this isn’t where he expected Nicholas to be staying. They come to a slow stop in front of the doors. This is it, he guesses.

He turns to face his ex, gaze fixed down to their shoes, “Look, I-”
“Come in,” Nicholas cuts him off, wide-eyed, eyes locked onto the bright-faced boy. “please. I have an article I’d love your opinion on. If you have time, that is.”

He does. Of course he does. Even after everything, he will always have time for him. Not that he says that out loud. He just nods, feigning hesitation. He can’t ignore the small smile that grows in response.

Euijoo’s unsure as he steps into Nicholas’s place, boxes scattered all over, clothes hanging just about everywhere. His cheeks are on fire, shy from feeling the weight of the intrusion. Nicholas kicks his shoes out of the doorway, hurriedly pushing stuff out of the way as they come inside, “I’m moving; please ignore the mess.”

Shock fills his system. His blood runs cold. “Moving?”

“Yeah, so I was offered a position for digital editor. I’m basically getting my own column. I’m a little worried my Japanese isn’t good enough anymore, but I can already feel it improving now that I’m back,” Nicholas says the last part slower, and Euijoo can’t tell if this is really about his language skills, “I can feel the strength coming back.”

Euijoo blinks. “You’re coming back to Japan?”

Nicholas nods, silent, hoping Euijoo will ask the right question next. He does, of course.

“What brings you back? I’m sure you had a ton of opportunities in Taiwan.”

Moonlight spills in from the window, illuminating the bare vulnerability in his expression. Nicholas’s chest heaves, and he’s inhaling shakily. One breath in. One breath out. One breath in. “Euijoo, I’ve accepted that I’m going to be in love with you for the rest of my life.”

It hits him like a freight train - that tightness in his heart, that squeeze that makes him feel dizzy; an icy fire in his veins. It’s then that he takes a proper look around the room. His hoodie on the chair. Couple selfies on the fridge. Euijoo’s missing favorite mug. Their grad pics framed, treated with care. A life shared laid out here as if it never ended. His touch was everywhere - his favorite books, boots he had gifted for his birthday, model sketches in his lookbook that felt like looking in a mirror. He struggles to articulate the words, tears pooling in his eyes instead as he steps forward, closes the physical distance between them.

“I couldn’t erase you, as you can tell. Burying my feelings didn’t work, so why force it?” Nicholas follows up. Hesitant. His fingers twitch as he reaches his hands up to cup Euijoo’s flushed cheeks. Tucking a hair behind his ear, Nicholas rubs small circles into the soft skin with his thumb. Euijoo melts into the touch, eyes closing as his hand comes up to rest on top of Nicholas’s, fingers sliding together like puzzle pieces. “I’m sorry I let you go.”

“Don’t,” he opens his eyes, dragging his gaze up slowly to where Nicholas is staring, soft, like this moment was glass, “you were right, Nico. We both needed to be free.”

“I didn’t want to be free, Juju. I just wanted to be yours.”
Chills run through his body and heat flares up into his stomach as his breaths get heavier. He blinks, a tear escaping down his nose. “And are you?”

The distance between them closes as Nicholas presses their chests together, arms circling up around Euijoo’s neck. The taller boy sniffles, hands moving down to grip his waist hard, cold fingers on hot skin, like he might disappear if they aren’t touching, if he isn’t closer, closer, closer. Nicholas grabs the back of Euijoo’s neck, pulling him down as he brings their foreheads together, gasping an honest breath, “Always.”

Their lips slot together at last. Nicholas’s mouth tastes like lip balm and strawberry dessert and comfort, like sweet dreams and early mornings on a quiet bridge where the moon meets the river. The corners of his mouth curl into a grin as he deepens their embrace. It’s a slow, tender start, figuring out how to pick up where they left off, lips pushing and pulling like tides. Give and take, borrow and return. Nicholas’s hand follows up through Euijoo’s hair, and he tugs lightly, just enough for him to let out a small groan at the contact. There’s a pulse of energy between them, and Euijoo’s hips jerk up against Nicholas’s, gasping together at the friction, the need. He’s breathing heavy into the kiss, tongues teasing bottom lips and small moans as they make contact, hot and wet. Euijoo tightens his grip and brings his hips up again, frantic for as much contact as possible. Nicholas pulls away like he’s been burnt, abused lips red and swollen. Absolutely strung out as they gasp for air.

“Fuck, I’m sorry. We shouldn’t… We have so much to talk about, I’m not trying to take advantage of you, I swear,” Nicholas says, sincere and respectful, full of decency and kindness. Euijoo can’t stand it, desperate, “I know who I am now. I don’t need you, Nicholas. I want you. I always have, and I always will. So shut up and kiss me.”

Nicholas’s eyes widen at the sudden confession, and he traces his spit-soaked lips with his thumb. “Are you sure?”

“I swear to fucking God, Nico-”

The shorter boy’s hands grab Euijoo’s collar roughly, eyes dark and eyelids heavy, voice hoarse and demanding, “I asked if you’re sure. Answer me.”

Euijoo moves forward, backing Nicholas up until his back hits the wall, sturdy and hard; their sweaters come off with ease, and Euijoo’s pinning Nicholas’s wrists up over his head with one hand. He leans down, brushing his lips over a racing pulse. He kisses, gentle once, then scrapes his teeth against the skin, just hard enough to make his point, eliciting a loud whine from the boy in his hold, suddenly pliant. He flicks his tongue over the spot, soothing the mark, bursting with new color. “Baby,” he moans into Nicholas’s ear, soft, “please.”

Euijoo finds out quickly where Nicholas’s bedroom is; finds out that Nicholas is still as sensitive as ever, still so desperate to please, so eager and willing. He rolls them over, straddling Nico’s thick, muscular thighs as their lips reconnect too harshly, teeth against teeth. The pain makes him recoil, eyes huge and perfectly round. Nicholas looks absolutely ruined but still has the audacity to laugh, “Oh my god, I’m so sorry. I’m really out of practice.”

“You’re telling me the hottest man on the planet didn’t have anyone to kiss for the past 3 years?” Euijoo says with disbelief, sitting back on Nico’s lap and intertwining their fingers.

“How could I when I had the most beautiful person on the planet and I let him go?” Nicholas responds, obvious, exasperated. A silence falls between them; contemplation, as if there’s a right answer here somewhere, and they’re having to search for it together without saying it out loud. Nicholas sits up, making Euijoo huff a disappointed noise. He squeezes their hands together.

“I want you to be sure this is what you want. No, don’t pout, just listen – I-I want to pursue you, to get to know this version of you. I want you to be able to pick me on your own, no stress or pressure. I want you to choose me because I chose you a long, long time ago,” he brings their joined hands to his lips, pressing a small kiss gently into the back of Euijoo’s hand, “I ran away from our past. But I need to learn your present so I can be your future. Juju, can you please give me the honor of taking you on a date?”

Nicholas’s eyes meet his, searching for any sort of hesitation, any second thoughts - he finds only resolve and gratitude and relief. Pure relief, like your first breath after drowning, like landing after a long flight, like a perfect score on a test you didn’t study for.

“I told you this forever ago, Nico, you have to forgive yourself. You didn’t run away; you trusted me to find the answer inside myself. I found it. I am so much more than I ever thought possible. And you? You are my first love,” his hands cup Nicholas’s cheeks gently, pressing a kiss to his forehead, “and my last. But I won’t make it easy on you! This better be the best date of all time.”

Nicholas’s entire face lights up, beautiful and blinding, like fireworks, like sunrise, like love. He springs forward, pulling Euijoo in close, peppering his face with kisses, forehead, cheek, chin, nose, cheek, nose, chin, forehead, all around, back again before catching lips between his own, sighing into it. Thank you, he says. Euijoo smiles, kissing back with such passion that he might cry again, no - thank you.

–

Six Months Post-Post-Nicholas

“What are these?” Nicholas flops onto their bed beside his lover, tracing the edges of the paper splayed out in front of them.

“This is a habit I picked up a year or two ago; it’s a passion project I work on sometimes when I can’t sleep,” Euijoo explains, erasing a stray line gently and brushing off the eraser crumbs.

“What’s it supposed to be?” Nicholas studies.

“A bookstore. I’ve always dreamt of having my own shop one day, and I’m thinking maybe I can save up for when I’m old and want to settle down.” Euijoo turns his head to look up at him, eyebrows raised and mouth set in a sure, confident grin.

“Sounds like a good idea, I think. I can be your first investor!” Nicholas smirks, kissing his boyfriend’s nose.

“Oh yeah? Aren’t you too young to be a sugar daddy?” Euijoo scrunches his nose, sitting up and pulling the blueprint onto his lap.

“No no no, Juju, this is PEAK time to be a sugar daddy. When you’re still hot and inflation hasn’t ruined the market yet!” Nicholas follows him, pushing himself up to sit right in front of the younger boy, “of course, I’ll need the supporting documents for the business, y’know, as the investor.”

“Like what?” Euijoo questions, tilting his head 45 degrees, bottom lip sticking out.

“Can I get the blueprints to your heart?” Nicholas asks, holding out his hand expectantly. Euijoo’s grin takes up his entire face, absolutely silent as he soaks in the cheesy joke, “You think you’re funny, huh?”

“Yeah, well, you laughed, so obviously, I am!” Nicholas takes advantage of their closeness to kiss the apples of his lover’s cheeks, both sides, twice each. “You wish!” Euijoo responds, but he’s smiling so hard it hurts. A good hurt this time; the best kind of pain.