Chapter 15: chapter 14: it meant everything

Two months later.

Gyuvin stepped into the art exhibition with effortless confidence, his sharp suit tailored perfectly to his frame, a sleek pair of glasses resting on the bridge of his nose. The soft hum of conversation and the gentle clinking of champagne glasses filled the air, but he barely paid attention. He walked with purpose, his eyes scanning the walls as if searching for something.

The gallery was dimly lit, spotlights illuminating the artwork, casting long shadows across the marble floor. He passed abstract pieces, portraits, and sculptures, but nothing seemed to hold his attention for long. His gaze flickered from one work to the next, the faintest hint of impatience in his expression.

And then, at the very end of the hall, he stopped.

His breath hitched for just a second as his eyes settled on it.

The painting was striking, yet eerily familiar. A boy stood in the middle of a dimly lit room, his back facing the viewer. He was dressed in a loose white shirt, slightly wrinkled, as if he had been lost in thought for hours. The light from a nearby window cast a soft glow on his sharp features, but his expression remained unseen. The walls around him were adorned with blurred, indistinct figures.

Gyuvin stared at it, lips pressing together.

"The piece is called Unfinished Symphony," the woman beside Gyuvin said, her voice gentle yet professional. "It was created by one of our youngest artists. He's currently an intern here, but his work has already caught quite a bit of attention."

Gyuvin arched an eyebrow, intrigued. "A young artist?" he mused, tilting his head as he continued to study the painting.

The woman nodded with a small smile. "Yes. His name is Shen Quanrui."

Before he could process what she had just said, a smooth, familiar voice cut through the air behind him.

"How flattering."

Gyuvin turned around.

Standing there, looking as composed as ever, was Ricky.

Dressed in an all-black ensemble—black slacks, a fitted turtleneck, and a blazer slung effortlessly over his shoulders—he looked impeccable, elegant in the way only he could be. His silver earrings caught the light, glinting as he cocked his head slightly, lips curling into a polite yet unreadable smile.

"Good evening," Ricky greeted smoothly, slipping his hands into his pockets.

Gyuvin adjusted his glasses, his expression schooled into effortless nonchalance. "Good evening."

The woman, oblivious to the tension that crackled between them, beamed. "Ah, speak of the devil! Shen, this guest was just admiring your work."

Ricky's gaze flickered to Gyuvin, amusement dancing in his eyes. "Is that so?"

Gyuvin turned back to the painting, feigning thoughtful admiration. "Yes. It's quite... compelling," he said, voice smooth, as if he were speaking to a stranger. "The emotions are raw, but there's a sense of restraint too. Like it's deliberately unfinished."

Ricky hummed, stepping closer, but still maintaining a respectful distance. "That's an interesting interpretation." His voice was unreadable, but something in the way he spoke felt like a challenge.

Gyuvin tilted his head slightly, adjusting the cuff of his suit. "I like to analyze things in detail," he said with a knowing smile. "Especially when they feel personal."

The air between them thickened.

Ricky didn't blink. "Well, art is meant to be personal."

Gyuvin met his gaze, eyes sharp behind the glass of his lenses. "Of course."

The woman looked between them, pleased with the conversation but oblivious to the underlying currents of tension. "It's always wonderful to hear different perspectives on a piece," she said cheerfully. "I'll leave you two to discuss further—I have other guests to attend to."

As she walked away, silence settled between them.

Gyuvin exhaled softly, lips curling into an unreadable smirk. "So, Shen Quanrui," he said, emphasizing the name. "Didn't know you had this side to you."

Ricky chuckled, slow and deliberate. "There are a lot of things you don't know about me."

Gyuvin's smirk didn't falter. "Oh, I wouldn't be so sure about that."

They barely made it past the threshold before Gyuvin shoved Ricky against the metal shelves, the impact rattling through the cramped storage room. A sharp breath left Ricky's lips, but before he could say anything, Gyuvin was on him—gripping his waist, pressing their bodies flush together, and kissing him like he was starving for it.

It was messy, desperate. Their mouths clashed, teeth grazing, tongues tangling as they devoured each other. Gyuvin's fingers dug into Ricky's sides, holding him in place as if he was afraid he'd slip away. Ricky wasn't going anywhere—not when his hands were already buried in Gyuvin's blazer, clutching at the fabric, pulling him even closer.

Then, Ricky suddenly reached up, fingers brushing against Gyuvin's face before he plucked the glasses right off his nose and carelessly tossed them to the side.

"Hey," Gyuvin murmured against Ricky's lips, breathless, half-annoyed.

Ricky smirked, his voice low, teasing. "You don't need those in here."

Ricky had Gyuvin by the collar, yanking him back into a fierce, consuming kiss. Their breaths were erratic, their hands roaming, grasping, clawing at whatever they could reach. Gyuvin's fingers curled around Ricky's waist, pulling him flush against him, and Ricky gasped—soft but sharp—before biting down on Gyuvin's lower lip in retaliation.

Gyuvin growled, pressing Ricky harder against the shelves, one hand slipping down to squeeze his hip. Ricky's breath hitched, his nails digging into Gyuvin's shoulders as he tilted his head up, eyes dark and hazy.

Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, Ricky muttered, "We have to be quiet."

Gyuvin smirked, his lips brushing against Ricky's jaw, his breath warm and taunting. "Then you better keep your voice down."

Ricky inhaled sharply, his grip tightening, but before he could respond, Gyuvin kissed him again—slower this time, deeper, dragging it out until Ricky was melting against him. It was hot, overwhelming, the air thick with tension and need. The distant sounds of the exhibition outside were muffled, forgotten.

Ricky tilted his head, lips parting just enough to let out the smallest sound—a quiet, helpless exhale that sent a shiver down Gyuvin's spine.

Gyuvin smirked against the curve of Ricky's neck, whispering, "Didn't you just say we have to be quiet?"

Ricky's breath stuttered, but he still managed to glare at him through half-lidded eyes before whispering, "Shut up."

The sharp buzz of Ricky's phone shattered the moment, cutting through the heat between them. Gyuvin was still catching his breath, lips swollen, body pressed against Ricky's as the other boy hesitated for just a second before sighing and reaching into his pocket.

"Wait," Ricky muttered, voice low and rough from their kiss.

Gyuvin's stomach twisted as Ricky accepted the call, his entire demeanor shifting in an instant. His breath steadied, his expression smoothed over, and just like that, the Ricky who had been pressing him against the storage shelves like he couldn't get enough was gone.

"Hey," Ricky answered, voice calm, measured. "Yeah, I'm nearly done. I'll be there in a few minutes."

Gyuvin didn't have to ask, but he did anyway. "Who is it?"

Ricky barely glanced at him as he pocketed his phone. "Jeonghyeon."

Gyuvin let out a sharp laugh, incredulous. "Are you serious?" He stepped back. "I thought you were done with him."

Ricky exhaled, straightening his shirt, fixing the buttons Gyuvin had just tugged open minutes ago. "And why would I be done with him?" he asked, voice frustratingly nonchalant.

Gyuvin's patience snapped. "Because of this!" he hissed, motioning between them. "Because of what just happened—because of what's been happening for the last two months!"

Ricky finally looked at him, his eyes dark, unreadable. Then, slowly, a smirk curled at his lips, lazy and sharp.

"What exactly has been happening, Gyuvin?" His voice was quiet, but each word was laced with something sharp, something that made Gyuvin's stomach twist. "Are you talking about sneaking around in old, dirty storage rooms? The secret glances? Making out in places like this—" he gestured at the dim storage room, "—where no one can see?"

Gyuvin's breath hitched, but he forced himself to hold Ricky's gaze.

Ricky took a step closer, his smirk deepening, voice lowering to something almost cruel. "Tell me, Gyuvin—would you be able to walk out of here right now and kiss me in front of everyone?"

Gyuvin's hands clenched into fists.

"Would you tell your mother?" Ricky pressed, tilting his head slightly, eyes glinting with something almost amused. "Your friends? That you're with me? That you're dating a man?"

Gyuvin opened his mouth—

But nothing came out.

Because he couldn't.

His heart pounded, his breath shallow, frustration curling up inside him like something toxic.

Ricky let the silence stretch, watching him, waiting.

Then he let out a small, quiet chuckle.

"That's what I thought," he murmured, the final blow, before stepping past Gyuvin and walking out the door.

The soft click of it closing felt deafening.

Gyuvin stood there, fists clenched, his entire body thrumming with frustration. His mind was a storm, thoughts crashing into each other so fast he couldn't keep up. His breath was uneven, his lips still tingling from Ricky's kiss, but all he could hear was that damned question repeating in his head.

Would you be able to?

He swallowed hard.

And then—

A flash. A memory.

Messy. Hazy. Like a bad dream bleeding into reality.

The sound of ragged breathing. A dimly lit room.

Bruises. Dark, ugly marks marring pale skin.

A body curled in on itself. Shaking. Helpless.

The metallic scent of blood. The sting of words he couldn't unhear.

Gyuvin's breath hitched, his pulse roaring in his ears. His head spun, nausea clawing at his stomach.

No. Not now. Don't think about it.

He squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head hard, as if that alone could erase the memory.

The storage room suddenly felt suffocating.

Without another thought, he turned and pushed the door open, stepping out into the cool air of the gallery.

He needed to get out of there.

As Gyuvin stepped out of the exhibition, the cold night air hit him like a wave, sharp and sobering. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself, to push down the frustration still buzzing under his skin.

But then—his eyes caught movement in the distance.

Ricky.

Sliding effortlessly into the passenger seat of a sleek black car.

Jeonghyeon was behind the wheel, smiling at him, saying something that made Ricky laugh—actually laugh, soft and easy, like he didn't have a care in the world.

They looked normal. Happy.

Gyuvin stood frozen, watching as the car pulled away, its red taillights disappearing into the city.

Like nothing had happened.

Like he hadn't happened.

His jaw tightened. His chest ached in a way he didn't want to name.

He scoffed under his breath, shoving his hands into his pockets.

Then, without another glance, he turned and walked the other way.

For the last two months, Ricky and Gyuvin had been making out like it was an unspoken rule. There was no schedule, no pattern—it just happened. It was impulsive, thoughtless, like breathing.

It always started the same way. A casual text:

"What are you doing?"

"Come over."

"You free?"

And by the time the night ended, just before parting ways, their hands would linger, their eyes would hold for too long, and then suddenly, they'd be pressed against walls, against car doors, against each other, mouths colliding like they needed it.

Other times, it was even less planned. When they were out with friends, they'd steal glances across the room. Sometimes, the eye contact was accidental—a fleeting moment too intense, too electric—and then suddenly, they both had to leave.

"I'll be back."

"Gotta go to the bathroom."

Seconds later, they'd find themselves in some dimly lit, half-locked space—a bathroom stall, a storage closet, an empty hallway. Clothes slightly askew, lips swollen, breath ragged. The desperation was never spoken about, never addressed.

Gyuvin didn't want to. He didn't need to. Why would he ruin something so perfect? He got the best of Ricky—his mouth, his warmth, his hands gripping his waist like he was his—without the weight of commitment. No questions, no expectations.

Each time, it was enough.

Until Jeonghyeon.

Until his name slipped into conversations, reminding Gyuvin that Ricky wasn't his. Reminding him that, outside of stolen moments, Ricky had someone else. And Gyuvin was just... what? A distraction? A secret?

He didn't know.

And he didn't ask.

Because if they talked about it, it would ruin everything.

Gyuvin was in the middle of scrolling through his phone, aimlessly wandering the city, when a text from Taerae popped up.

Taerae: Come over. Hao is going insane.

Gyuvin frowned, pausing mid-step. His fingers hovered over the keyboard before he simply sent:

Gyuvin: ???

Taerae's reply came instantly.

Taerae: Please just come.

Something about the urgency in his words made Gyuvin uneasy. He let out a sigh, shoved his phone into his pocket, and changed directions, heading toward their dorm.

By the time he reached the door, he could already hear it—sharp, aggressive music slicing through the walls, a frantic melody played with too much force, too much emotion. It was erratic, angry, almost violent.

Gyuvin swallowed hard. His fingers hovered over the door for a second longer than necessary before he finally knocked.

The music stopped.

Silence.

And then—

"WHO?!"

The voice from inside was sharp, strained, almost feral.

Gyuvin flinched. His stomach twisted. He had never heard Hao sound like that before.

The door swung open so fast that Gyuvin took a step back on instinct.

Hao stood there, gripping the edge of the doorframe, his face twisted in frustration. His hair was a mess, his breathing uneven, and there was a wild, untamed energy in his eyes that made Gyuvin uneasy.

"What?" Hao snapped, his voice sharp.

Gyuvin blinked, glancing past him. The room was a disaster—papers scattered, books knocked over, an overturned chair in the corner. The violin sat precariously on the edge of the desk, its bow discarded carelessly on the floor. The air was thick with tension.

Gyuvin's throat went dry. "Uh—Taerae told me to come—"

"There's nothing wrong," Hao cut in before he could finish, his tone biting.

Gyuvin looked at Taerae for help, but Taerae just sighed, rubbing his temples like he had been dealing with this for hours.

Hao, as if trying to prove a point, marched over to his violin and grabbed it with jerky, frustrated movements. Without another word, he set the instrument under his chin and started playing.

The sound that came out wasn't music—it was pure chaos. Sharp, aggressive, frenzied notes filled the room, too forceful, too unstable, like he was trying to rip the emotions out of himself through the strings.

Gyuvin flinched at the intensity of it, eyes widening. "What the hell—"

"Hao." Taerae stepped forward, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Enough."

Hao jerked away and let the violin fall to his side. "I said I'm fine."

Gyuvin's gaze flickered between them, still trying to process what he had just walked into.

Taerae let out a slow breath and whispered to Gyuvin. "Hanbin and Hao fought. They're on a break."

Gyuvin's stomach dropped.

"What?" His voice came out almost disbelieving. That couldn't be right.

"They did," Taerae said. "And it's already been a week. Hao's losing it."

Hao scoffed, rolling his eyes like this entire conversation was ridiculous. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Gyuvin swallowed hard.

Hao and Hanbin were supposed to be perfect—especially together.

Gyuvin staring at Hao like a detective in a crime drama. "Alright. What happened with you and Hanbin?"

Hao, still fiddling with his violin strings aggressively, barely spared him a glance. "Nothing."

Gyuvin scoffed. "Yeah, nothing explains why you've been playing the violin like you're summoning demons."

Hao glared at him. "You don't understand the complexities of an artist's emotions."

Gyuvin leaned back, raising an eyebrow. "Okay, Mozart, relax." He paused dramatically. "So you're saying that you just randomly started going full psycho mode on your violin and it has nothing to do with your perfect boyfriend suddenly disappearing?"

Hao plucked a string so hard it nearly snapped. "Drop it, Gyuvin."

Gyuvin gasped, clutching his chest. "You're hiding something. Oh my god. You cheated on him, didn't you?"

Hao whipped his head toward him, eyes flashing. "WHAT?!"

Gyuvin smirked, enjoying the reaction. "Or wait—he cheated on you?" He gasped dramatically again. "Hanbin... no. He's too pure. Wait—" He narrowed his eyes. "You got bored of him, didn't you? Damn, Hao, you're ruthless."

Hao threw a violin bow at Gyuvin's head.

Gyuvin dodged it by a millimeter, laughing. "Ohh, hit a nerve, didn't I? So that means it was you, huh?"

Hao gritted his teeth. "For the last time, it's none of your business."

Gyuvin squinted at him, rubbing his chin. "Hmm... Taerae said you guys are just taking a break, but a week is pretty long. Sounds like someone wants to break up for real—"

"SHUT UP!" Hao suddenly stood up, kicking the chair back. "I did not cheat! Hanbin did not cheat! And it's not what you think, so just LEAVE IT ALONE!"

Hao groaned loudly, grabbing his violin case and shoving random items into his bag with the energy of a man on the verge of complete chaos. "I cannot do this right now. I can't even find peace in my own damn room!"

Gyuvin and Taerae sat frozen on the couch, watching him in fascination.

Hao, muttering aggressively under his breath in Chinese, yanked his coat off the hanger and stormed toward the door. "You—" he pointed at Gyuvin with an accusing glare, "

are the worst."

Gyuvin blinked innocently. "Wow. And here I was, just trying to be a concerned friend."

Hao let out a dramatic sigh before whipping the door open. "Goodbye." And with that, he slammed it shut so hard the walls shook.

Silence.

Taerae exhaled, rubbing his temples. "I regret calling you here."

Gyuvin leaned back, stretching his arms behind his head. "Yeah, yeah. But now we definitely know something is up."

Taerae shot him a look. "We already knew that before you accused Hao of cheating."

Gyuvin barely hesitated before bolting after Hao, dodging past a group of students as he rushed to catch up. Hao was stomping down the sidewalk, his steps sharp and irritated, his whole body radiating frustration.

"Hao, wait—"

"Go away, Gyuvin."

"No, listen—" Gyuvin grabbed his arm, but Hao yanked it back so aggressively that Gyuvin nearly tripped.

"I said go away," Hao snapped, turning to face him. His eyes were dark with fury, his chest heaving from frustration. "I'm not talking about it."

Gyuvin ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. "I just—just tell me what's going on. I don't get it! You and Hanbin were fine—"

Hao let out a bitter laugh. "Yeah, well, clearly we weren't."

Gyuvin frowned. "Is it serious?"

Hao clenched his jaw. "I told you—I'm not talking about it."

Gyuvin groaned. "You are so complicated."

Hao whirled on him, stepping closer. "Oh, I'm complicated?"

"Yes! Because you're being so—"

"What about you, then?" Hao cut him off, voice sharp.

Gyuvin blinked. "What?"

Hao scoffed, shaking his head. "You're so damn nosy about me and Hanbin, but what about you and Ricky?"

Gyuvin's stomach dropped. A wave of shock, panic, and confusion washed over him.

He forced a laugh, but it came out awkward. "W-What are you talking about?"

Hao crossed his arms, staring him down. "Don't act stupid."

Gyuvin swallowed, suddenly feeling like he couldn't breathe properly. "There's nothing—"

"Oh, please." Hao rolled his eyes. "You think people don't notice? You two always leave at the same time. The way you avoid each other just a little too much when everyone's around. And the worst part?" Hao tilted his head, smirking slightly. "Your dumb faces after making out and pretending like nothing happened."

Gyuvin opened his mouth, but no words came out.

Hao's gaze was steady, knowing. He had caught him—fully.

Gyuvin's throat felt dry. He licked his lips, trying to think of something—anything—to say. "I—That's not—"

"You're stuttering," Hao noted, amusement flickering behind his anger.

Gyuvin clenched his fists. "It's not like that."

"Oh yeah?" Hao leaned in slightly. "Then what is it like?"

Gyuvin couldn't answer. His mind was spinning, his pulse racing. Hao had him completely cornered.

And the worst part?

He didn't have a good excuse.

Gyuvin's breath caught in his throat. His body stiffened, and for a moment, his mind went completely blank.

"What—what do you mean?" he stammered, forcing out a nervous laugh.

Hao scoffed, crossing his arms. His eyes were sharp, filled with irritation, like he had been holding this in for a long time and finally snapped. "Don't play dumb."

Gyuvin's mouth opened, but no words came out. His heart was pounding, his hands suddenly clammy.

"You really think no one notices?" Hao continued, voice laced with frustration. "Honestly, I don't know how everyone else is so oblivious."

Gyuvin swallowed hard. "It's not—" He stopped himself. What could he even say? That it was nothing? That it didn't mean anything? It would be a lie, and Hao would see right through it.

Hao shook his head, running a hand through his hair, clearly exasperated. "It's actually insane how you act like this whole thing isn't happening. Like you can just keep sneaking around forever."

Gyuvin finally found his voice, albeit shaky. "It's not like that," he said, but even he wasn't sure what he meant by that.

Hao let out a sharp laugh. "Then what is it like, huh?" He stepped closer, eyes narrowing. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you're in way over your head, and you don't even realize it."

Gyuvin's jaw clenched. "And what about you?" he shot back, desperate to shift the focus off himself. "You and Hanbin—"

Hao's expression darkened instantly. "Don't," he warned, voice dangerously low.

Gyuvin hesitated, but the moment had already passed. The anger between them crackled like static in the air, and for a few seconds, neither of them spoke.

Then, suddenly, Hao let out a breath and took a step back. He glanced to the side, looking tired, the frustration fading into something less volatile. Gyuvin was still tense, his thoughts racing, but the shift in Hao's demeanor made him exhale slowly.

The silence stretched between them before Gyuvin hesitated and said, quieter now, "Can we just sit down?"

Hao didn't answer right away. Then, after a moment, he sighed and gestured toward a bench facing the river. Without another word, they walked over and sat down. The city lights shimmered on the water's surface, and the tension between them finally started to settle into something less aggressive, something almost... understanding.

After a long pause, Gyuvin spoke again. "You're the only one who knows," he admitted.

Hao turned his head slightly, looking at him. "Yeah," he said. "I figured."

Gyuvin let out a humorless chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. "I don't even know what we are. It just... keeps happening."

Hao tilted his head, watching him. "And you don't want to stop?"

Gyuvin didn't answer right away. He thought about Ricky's hands gripping his waist, the way he smirked against his lips, the way he pulled away but never too far. He thought about the way Ricky sometimes looked at him when he thought no one was watching.

"No," Gyuvin admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

Hao raised an eyebrow. "What about Jeonghyeon?"

Gyuvin exhaled, dragging a hand through his hair as he leaned back against the bench. The cool night air bit at his skin, but he barely felt it. His mind was too loud, drowning out everything else. "Jeonghyeon's a jerk," he muttered, voice low.

Hao, sitting beside him with his arms crossed, turned his head slightly. "Are you ashamed?"

Gyuvin flinched slightly. His fingers curled into the fabric of his pants, gripping tight. "What kind of question is that?"

"A real one." Hao didn't even blink. "So? Are you?"

Gyuvin hesitated, but the silence that stretched between them felt like a confession in itself. "...Yeah." The word slipped out before he could stop it. He sighed, shaking his head. "It's complicated."

Hao scoffed. "It's not."

Gyuvin turned to glare at him. "It is."

Hao held his gaze, unimpressed. "Because you make it complicated."

Gyuvin wanted to argue, wanted to tell him that he didn't understand, but the words got stuck in his throat. He let out a frustrated exhale, slumping forward. "And Ricky—" His voice wavered. "He wants something serious. Public." His fingers clenched tighter. "And I—" He shut his eyes for a second, exhaling sharply. "I can't. I'm not ready."

Hao watched him, quiet for a moment. Then, with a sigh, he said, "You like men, Gyuvin." His voice was softer now, but still firm. "Face it."

Gyuvin's breath hitched. He wasn't sure why those words made his stomach twist the way they did.

Hao leaned back, tilting his head up to stare at the sky. "Look, I get it. It's terrifying. But you're already halfway there, aren't you?" He shot Gyuvin a knowing look. "You kiss Ricky, you want Ricky, but you don't want to be seen wanting him. That's not fair. Not to him, not to you."

Gyuvin swallowed, looking away. "It's not that simple."

Hao leaned back against the bench, exhaling deeply. "Look, I get it. It's terrifying. Admitting what you want, letting people see it. But you're being a coward."

Gyuvin whipped his head toward him, eyes flashing. "Excuse me?"

Hao didn't flinch. "You heard me." His voice was calm, steady, and that only pissed Gyuvin off more.

"You think it's that easy?" Gyuvin scoffed. "To just—just accept it? To be open about it?" He shook his head, a bitter laugh escaping. "Not all of us have the luxury of being fearless, Hao."

Hao turned to him fully now, eyes sharp. "And not all of us have the luxury of being selfish, Gyuvin."

That shut him up.

Then, after a moment, Hao let out a slow breath, his voice shifting—quieter now. "Just be careful with Ricky."

Gyuvin frowned. "What?"

Hao's lips curled into a small, humorless smirk. "Ricky's like a bomb that's ticking. You never know when he's going to go off."

Gyuvin frowned at that, turning to Hao. "What do you mean?"

Hao's lips curled into something between a smirk and a grimace. "He's smart. He's calculated. He knows exactly what he wants, and he'll do anything to get it." He looked back at Gyuvin. "Just make sure you're not collateral damage."

Gyuvin exhaled sharply, turning away. Something about the way Hao said it made his chest tighten in a way he didn't like.

A silence stretched between them, heavy but not uncomfortable. Then, out of nowhere, Hao's voice shifted, quieter now, almost like an afterthought.

"Hanbin was the one who stopped it," he murmured.

Gyuvin blinked. "What?"

Hao didn't look at him. He just sighed, shoulders tensing slightly. "Our relationship. It wasn't me. It was him."

Gyuvin stared, caught off guard. Hao had been acting like he was the one who needed space, the one who had decided they needed a break. But now...

For the first time tonight, Hao looked genuinely tired. His fingers tapped idly against his knee, his posture a little slouched.

Gyuvin hesitated before asking, "Why?"

Hao let out a slow breath, his gaze fixed on the river. "Because he thought it was the right thing to do." His lips twitched into something that wasn't quite a smile. "Because he always does what's right. Even if it kills him."

Gyuvin stared at Hao, his mind trying to process everything he had just said. The river breeze was cold against his skin, but the weight of the conversation made him feel even more suffocated.

Hao ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. "I was selfish," he muttered, voice low. "I needed him. I—I don't know how to explain it, but I just—" He sighed, his frustration evident. "I wanted him to need me just as much."

Gyuvin remained silent, letting Hao talk.

"For the last few weeks, I barely saw him. He was too busy. Too caught up in everything else. I didn't know what was going on in his life, and I hated it." Hao clenched his jaw, eyes dark. "So I started pushing. Saying things. Ugly things. I wanted a reaction—I just wanted something."

Gyuvin frowned. "And Hanbin?"

Hao let out a bitter laugh. "He stayed calm. Of course, he did. That's just how he is." He looked away, his voice quieter now. "But then he said it. That maybe it'd be better if we just... stopped."

Gyuvin inhaled sharply.

He didn't know what to say to that.

Hao scoffed, shaking his head. "And I just let him. I'm so dumb"

Gyuvin looked at him for a long moment, then sighed. "You aren't."

Gyuvin was about to say something else when, suddenly, Hao stood up abruptly, dusting off his pants.

Gyuvin blinked. "Where are you going?"

"I can't discuss this when I'm sober," Hao muttered, already walking away.

Gyuvin was caught off guard. "Wait—what?"

"Get up," Hao called over his shoulder. "We're going to the bar."

Gyuvin groaned but got up to follow him. "This feels like a bad idea."

Hao didn't even turn around. "It is."

Gyuvin sighed, shoving his hands in his pockets as he walked after him. "Great. Can't wait."

At first, everything was fine. They found a quiet table in the corner, ordered drinks, and kept the conversation light.

But it didn't last.

Hao downed his first drink quickly, then ordered another. And another.

And soon, all he could talk about was Hanbin.

"I love him," Hao muttered, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. His voice was thick with emotion, his usual sharp demeanor completely stripped away. "I love him so much, it's pathetic."

Gyuvin, who had been nursing the same drink for the past half hour, shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "It's not pathetic."

Hao scoffed. "It is. You don't get it. Hanbin is—" He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "He's too good for me. He's kind. He's patient. He never asks for anything. And me? I'm selfish. I take and take and take."

Gyuvin frowned. "That's not true."

Hao laughed bitterly. "I miss him. I miss him so much, and he's just—" His voice cracked, and he immediately hid his face in his hands, exhaling shakily. "He's out there, living his life like nothing happened. And I'm here, falling apart."

Gyuvin stared at him, unsure of what to do.

He had never seen Hao like this before. Sure, Hao was dramatic, he could be moody and snarky, but this? This was something else entirely.

Gyuvin awkwardly reached for his glass, taking a sip just for something to do with his hands. "Maybe you should—"

"I don't deserve him," Hao interrupted, his voice quiet now, almost broken.

Gyuvin sighed, rubbing his temple. "Hao—"

Hao lifted his head, his eyes slightly glassy from the alcohol. "Have you ever felt like you're ruining the best thing in your life, and you can't stop yourself?"

Gyuvin's stomach twisted uncomfortably. He knew that feeling all too well.

But this wasn't about him.

He swallowed, forcing himself to meet Hao's gaze. "Yeah," he admitted. "I have."

Hao sighed again, finishing his drink. "I don't know what to do, Gyuvin," he admitted.

Gyuvin hesitated, then reached across the table, patting Hao's arm awkwardly. "I don't either, man."

Hao let out a weak laugh. "Useless."

Gyuvin rolled his eyes. "You're the one getting wasted in front of me."

Hao groaned, slumping back in his seat. "God, I'm a mess."

Gyuvin didn't argue.

Gyuvin stared at the mess in front of him—Hao, completely wrecked, his head down on the table, his fingers loosely gripping the empty glass. He had stopped talking at some point and just cried silently, and now he was out cold, his breathing slow and uneven.

Gyuvin exhaled, rubbing his temples. He had no idea what to do with him. Carry him home? Leave him here? Neither seemed like a good option.

And then, suddenly, a genius idea hit him.

He grabbed his phone, scrolling down his contacts until he found the number.

Hanbin.

Gyuvin hesitated for a second, then pressed the call button.

It rang twice before a familiar voice picked up. "Gyuvin?" Hanbin sounded surprised, like he hadn't expected a call from him at all. "What's up?"

Gyuvin kept his voice casual. "Hey, where are you?"

"At the dorm. Why?"

"You busy?"

"...Not really." There was a pause. "Why?"

Gyuvin smirked to himself. "You should come to the bar near campus."

"The bar?" Hanbin sounded even more confused now. "Why?"

"Just come," Gyuvin said vaguely. "It's important."

Hanbin sighed. "Gyuvin—"

"Trust me," Gyuvin cut him off. "Just come."

There was silence on the other end. Then, finally, Hanbin let out a small sigh. "Fine. I'll be there in ten."

Gyuvin grinned. "Great. See you soon."

He hung up before Hanbin could ask anything else.

Then, he turned back to Hao, who was still slumped over, completely unaware of what was about to happen.

Gyuvin leaned back in his chair, satisfied.

This was either going to go really well or really, really badly.

Gyuvin waited, tapping his fingers on the sticky bar counter, stealing occasional glances at Hao, who was still knocked out cold. He hadn't moved since Gyuvin had made the call, except for the occasional twitch of his fingers against the glass.

The bar was dim, filled with the low hum of conversation and the occasional burst of laughter from groups of students celebrating the weekend. Gyuvin barely registered any of it—his focus was entirely on the door.

And then, finally, Hanbin walked in.

He looked around, clearly searching for Gyuvin, and when their eyes met, Gyuvin waved him over. Hanbin weaved through the crowd, his brows slightly furrowed in suspicion.

"What's this about?" he asked as soon as he reached the table. Then, his eyes dropped, and he finally noticed the slumped-over mess that was Hao.

His entire body froze.

"Why... is he here?" Hanbin's voice was quiet, but there was something tight about it, something uncertain.

Gyuvin leaned back in his seat, giving him a knowing look. "You tell me."

Hanbin didn't respond. Instead, he just stared at Hao, something complicated flashing in his eyes.

Gyuvin sighed. "He got drunk off his ass ranting about you for, like, two hours," he said, keeping his voice casual. "And then he passed out. So, I figured... you should be the one to deal with him."

Hanbin didn't move. His hands clenched at his sides. "I shouldn't be here," he murmured.

Gyuvin raised a brow. "You're already here."

Hanbin exhaled sharply, glaring at him. "You tricked me."

Gyuvin shrugged. "Would you have come if I told you?"

Hanbin didn't answer. He looked down at Hao again, his expression softening, almost against his will.

Hao stirred then, letting out a small, incoherent mumble. Hanbin stiffened.

"...Bin?" Hao's voice was hoarse, slurred, barely above a whisper.

Hanbin hesitated. Then, finally, he reached out, brushing Hao's hair out of his face. "I'm here," he said quietly.

Hao blinked up at him, his eyes unfocused. He looked exhausted—his cheeks were flushed from alcohol, his lips slightly parted.

For a second, they just stared at each other.

Then, all at once, Hao's face crumpled.

"You left me," he whispered, his voice breaking.

Hanbin flinched, like the words physically hurt. "Hao—"

"You left," Hao repeated, his voice rising. "You—" His breath hitched. "You said we should take a break. You said—"

"I know," Hanbin cut in, his voice tight, strained. "I know, Hao."

Hao shook his head furiously, gripping Hanbin's wrist like he was scared he'd disappear again. "Why?" he choked out. "Why would you do that?"

Hanbin exhaled sharply, closing his eyes. "Because I had to."

"Bullshit," Hao snapped. "That's bullshit, Hanbin."

Hanbin swallowed. "I didn't want to hurt you."

Hao let out a humorless laugh. "Well, guess what? You did."

Gyuvin, who had been watching all of this unfold, suddenly felt like he was intruding on something he shouldn't be witnessing. He stood up, stretching.

"I'm gonna get some fresh air," he said casually, even though neither of them were paying attention to him anymore.

Neither of them responded.

Gyuvin took that as his cue to leave.

As soon as Gyuvin left, Hao staggered up from the table, shoving his chair back so hard it nearly toppled over.

"I'm going home," he muttered, rubbing at his face with the sleeve of his jacket, his voice rough from all the drinking—and crying.

Hanbin, who had been silently watching him the entire time, instantly followed, his expression unreadable but his body tense.

"Hao, wait—"

"I said I'm going home."

Hao shoved past the bar's entrance, stepping into the cold night air. It was biting against his flushed skin, but he barely felt it. All he could feel was the anger burning inside him, the dull ache in his chest that wouldn't go away no matter how much he drank.

Hanbin sighed, rubbing a hand over his face before jogging after him. "Can you just stop for a second?"

"No."

"Hao—"

"I said no, Hanbin."

Hao was already near the edge of the street when it happened.

Bright headlights.

A sudden blur of movement.

And then—Hanbin's hands grabbing him, yanking him backward with so much force that Hao barely had time to process what was happening before he was colliding into Hanbin's chest.

Everything was a blur—the sound of a car honking, the rush of wind as it sped past, the sharp pounding of his heart in his ears.

And then—silence.

Hanbin's arms were tight around his waist, holding him firmly in place, their bodies pressed together, sharing the same breath.

Hao felt dizzy, but not from the alcohol. It was the way Hanbin was holding him, like he was something fragile.

He could feel Hanbin's heartbeat against his own chest, could see the way his lips were slightly parted, like he wanted to say something but couldn't find the words.

"Be careful," Hanbin murmured, his breath ghosting over Hao's cheek.

Hao swallowed hard. His voice came out softer than he expected. "You still care?"

Hanbin's grip tightened. "Of course, I care."

Hao exhaled shakily, his hands gripping Hanbin's jacket, steadying himself. "Then why did you leave?"

Hanbin sighed, his forehead nearly touching Hao's. "Because I was scared."

Hao furrowed his brows, confused, but Hanbin continued before he could say anything.

"I was scared that I wouldn't be able to give you what you deserve."

Hao blinked up at him, breath caught in his throat.

"You always wanted more," Hanbin admitted, his voice quieter now. "More time, more effort. And I—" He exhaled sharply. "I didn't know if I could be that person for you."

Hao let out a short, humorless laugh. "You're an idiot."

Hanbin gave him a small, sad smile. "Yeah."

Hao searched his face, looking for any sign of dishonesty, but all he saw was sincerity—raw, unfiltered, heartbreaking sincerity.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

Slowly, carefully, Hao reached up and cupped Hanbin's face in his hands. His fingers trembled slightly as he traced the curve of Hanbin's jaw, the warmth of his skin seeping into his fingertips.

"I don't need perfect," he whispered. "I just need you."

Hanbin inhaled sharply, his hands still resting on Hao's waist, his body warm and solid and grounding.

They stood there, faces inches apart, the city buzzing quietly around them, the stray cat watching them like it understood everything.

Hanbin's eyes flickered to Hao's lips.

For a second, it felt like time had stopped.

Like the universe had paused just for them.

For a long moment, neither of them moved. The air between them was charged, the city buzzing in the distance, the soft glow of streetlights casting a warm haze around them. The stray cat stretched lazily, watching as if it knew exactly what was about to happen.

And then—Hao moved first.

It wasn't sudden. It wasn't desperate. It was slow, inevitable, like gravity pulling him forward. His hands slipped around Hanbin's collar, fingers curling into the fabric of his jacket, and Hanbin didn't hesitate—he met him halfway.

Their lips collided in a kiss that was both fierce and tender. Hanbin's hands gripped Hao's waist, pulling him impossibly close, and Hao melted into it, sighing softly as he tilted his head, deepening the kiss.

There was nothing else in the world but this.

The city blurred around them—cars passing, muffled laughter from a bar nearby, the occasional gust of wind that sent a shiver down their spines. But they were locked in their own moment, their own world, where nothing mattered except the way their lips fit together, the way their hearts raced in sync.

It was messy. It was passionate.

And then—slowly, it softened.

The urgency melted into something sweeter, something delicate. Their lips barely brushed, their foreheads resting against each other, breaths mingling in the cool night air.

Hanbin's thumb traced lazy circles on Hao's hip, grounding him. Hao let his hands slip from Hanbin's collar to his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath.

Hao smiled against Hanbin's lips.

"You're an idiot," he whispered.

Hanbin chuckled, pressing the lightest of kisses to the corner of his mouth. "Yeah."

But then, Hao exhaled and took a small step back, breaking the moment.

"We're still talking about this," he said, his voice softer now, but still firm.

Hanbin nodded. "Yeah."

They didn't let go of each other just yet. But when they walked this time, they walked together, side by side, their hands brushing, their shadows overlapping under the glow of the streetlights.

Gyuvin lay sprawled on the floor of his dimly lit room, the ceiling stretching endlessly above him. The sketch in his hands felt heavier than paper should. It was slightly crumpled at the edges, aged by time yet untouched, as if frozen in the moment Ricky had left it behind two years ago.

The drawing was of a garden. Not just any garden—Ricky's garden. The soft strokes of flowers, the intricate vines curling along a stone path.

But now, with Hao's words echoing in his head, the garden felt like something else. Something fragile. Something Gyuvin had carelessly stepped all over.

"Have you ever felt like you're ruining the best thing in your life, and you can't stop yourself?"

Gyuvin let out a slow breath, pressing the sketch against his chest as if that could somehow hold everything inside him together.

Of course, he had felt that.

Every time he looked at Ricky, every time he let himself want him but refused to do anything about it. Every time he kissed him in the dark but couldn't bring himself to stand beside him in the light. Every time he saw Ricky with Jeonghyeon and felt something bitter twist inside him, something ugly, something possessive—but said nothing.

He was ruining it. He knew it. And yet, he couldn't stop.

His phone buzzed beside him, but he didn't reach for it.

Instead, he turned his head, staring at the way the shadows stretched along the ceiling, at the way the city outside his window moved on, unaware of the mess unraveling inside him.

Two years ago, Ricky left this drawing behind.

Two months ago, Gyuvin started kissing him like it didn't mean anything.

Two minutes ago, he realized that maybe, just maybe, it meant everything.