1

Twenty-six-year-old Yoon Jeonghan stood on the concrete pavement stretched in front of a towering penthouse. His gaze was dropped down to the blue bag hanging on his wrist, its Velcro unattached, revealing a plethora of multicolor key chains stored inside.

It was their three-hundredth day together, and all he got Seungcheol were key chains.

But they were not just key chains, oh no. They were directly flown all the way from Italy, from that art museum they both visited last year in Rome, and they were the exact key chains Seungcheol had yearned but then realized that they had no money left, because—

Detailed recall interrupted by a faint Somewhere Beyond the Sea.

“Hello?” Jeonghan didn’t even bother checking the caller’s ID as he fished his cellphone out.

“Are you just going to stand there all night and let me finish Moët and Chandon alone?”

Jeonghan instantly lifted his head up. He was barely visible, being on the twenty-ninth floor balcony, but he could make out the popping dot of neon yellow against the dark blue backdrop of the sky. The yellow seemed to wave, and Jeonghan waved back.

“That’s what you get? For our three hundredth day together?”

“I’m saving the best for sixty-five days from now,” Seungcheol airily chuckled.

Jeonghan scoffed. “Better not be for less than ₩51,000.”

“Psh, alright.” He pretended to sound annoyed, but Jeonghan detected some excitement in his tone. “Just come on up. I don’t want to spend the three hundredth day freezing to death watching my indecisive boyfriend.”

When Jeonghan arrived upstairs and stepped over the threshold of their apartment, Seungcheol was right in front of him, a porcelain plate in his hands. Furrowing his brows, Jeonghan brushed the long strands of his hair away. On that plate was what looked like a horrific version of a raspberry pie.

“For me?” he giggled.

Seungcheol broke a smile. “Yep. I came home early just to make this for you! I hope you realize and appreciate all the time and effort and heart I’ve poured into this—”

The long-haired man rolled his eyes as he gingerly took the plate from his boyfriend’s hands and set it on the kitchen counter. Seungcheol handed him a fork before he got the chance to sit.

“I hope you realize that South Korea’s most renowned chef is going to taste your pie,” Jeonghan said as he spun the fork in his fingers.

“Yes, I do realize that,” Seungcheol grumbled, elbows against marble, “And I hope you wouldn’t remind me. It only makes me anxious. Now dig in! I’ve done enough waiting for one day!”

Chuckling softly, Jeonghan promptly stabbed his fork into the increasingly soggy mush of a pie and dug in.

“Well?” Seungcheol waited, his eyes beaming with anticipation.

He silently thanked his mom for forcing him to sign up for acting class back in middle school.

With a wide grin, Jeonghan answered, “It tastes good.”

The pie was terrible.

Seungcheol pumped a happy fist into the air and cheered loudly, while Jeonghan chewed through sands and rocks molded together, his grin reaching to his eyes. The former proceeded to pop the champagne with much fuss. Jeonghan knew that Seungcheol was fully aware that he was a wine guy instead of champagne, but he let it pass this time.

Moët and Chandon surprisingly aided in getting rid of the bitter taste on Jeonghan’s tongue, and they danced near the glass paneled wall, basking in the golden moonlight, tipsy lips slurring cheesy words and delicate fingers on champagne glasses.

This was how Jeonghan liked to remember that night: happily drunk, two left feet, pie that was so gross he was surprised he finished it all, Seungcheol’s crescent eyes, a weirdly fitting movie-watching of 300, Italian key chains, sleepy “I love you”s, delightful.

2

He tightly gripped on the strap of his leather bag, his other hand shoved into his pocket. The bleachers were totally empty, but the basketball court was not. Teenage guys filled the place, bouncing and passing and throwing a rubber orange ball to each other in a monotonous rhythm. Jeonghan gulped. Nervous beads of perspiration were beginning to form on his nape and forehead.

Get it together, Jeonghan.

“Ah, here’s our star!”

The dribbling cadence was abruptly stopped by the coach’s words. Every pair of eyes were glued on Jeonghan, who descended the bleachers with quick steps. He could hear the faint words of “geek” and “math genius” and “science fair winner” swapped on chapped lips and in hushed tones.

He jumped over the last one instinctively, reaching the court in a matter of seconds. As the coach introduced him to his fellow teammates and vice versa, Jeonghan scanned every pimply face, every sweaty arms, and every gangly legs, recording new identities to his mind. Most of them were seniors, a few juniors, and there was only one sophomore besides himself.

And that sophomore turned out to be the team captain.

“Hey, I’m Seungcheol,” he voiced as he held his hand out to Jeonghan. “It’s nice to have you on the team. We’ve been out of our game lately. Maybe you could help us get our crown back like the old days.”

Jeonghan nodded, giving his hand a firm handshake. “There’s always a possibility for a win. I’ll certainly try my best.”

This was how Jeonghan liked to remember that afternoon: glossy orange floor, hoarse croaks thrown in the not-so-fragrant air, loose high school basketball uniform, noisy unnecessary high-fives, squeaking soles of discolored shoes, his first meeting with Choi Seungcheol.

3

“… And they have the worst banana pancakes ever.”

“In Washington D.C.? I doubt it.”

“I’m serious! There was this diner that—”

“Well, you do have an odd taste for food, Cheol—”

A short pause.

“Lucky I’m dating you.”

A playful wink.

Jeonghan rolled his eyes at him. “Whatever. I’ve had enough with your dinner requests, you know?”

“No you haven’t.”

“No I haven’t.”

An exchange of smiles.

“You know, I can’t wait to see you smiling for real.” Seungcheol heaved an exasperated sigh, resting his head against the table, the tip of his nose almost poking the laptop screen.

“Draw your head back—all that radiation is going to be bad for you,” Jeonghan groaned, but his boyfriend didn’t budge a bit. “You’ll just have to wait for about… fifteen hours more, baby.”

Seungcheol ran his fingers through his black hair, pursing his lips. “If only I could fast-forward time. I’d tackle you on bed and hug you so tightly you wouldn’t be able to breathe.”

He burst into laughter. “What’s the point of coming back if you’re just going to make me dead?”

“Well, at least I’d get to hug you one more time,” Seungcheol replied with a cheeky grin.

“You’re always so cheesy,” Jeonghan huffed through his smile.

They stared longingly at each other for a while, gazes meeting and eyes locking. So far yet so close, halfway around the world yet separated only by a digital screen. If Jeonghan could miss Seungcheol more than how he missed him now, that would be impossible.

“Anyway, how’s your work?” Jeonghan opened another topic. “Did you get the dream painting you’re looking for?”

Seungcheol enthusiastically nodded. “Mhm! It’s by this up-and-coming painter guy. It’s really cool.”

“Is it a mismatched puzzle?”

Seungcheol glared at him. “For the hundredth time, it’s crystal cubism. And it’s really cool—I think you’ll like it.”

“I like you better,” Jeonghan remarked, yawning afterwards. “Is this painter guy cute?”

“Whoa.” A chuckle. “You’re taken, as far as I can remember.”

Jeonghan scoffed. “I have to take all measures possible. I don’t want you cheating with anyone.”

“How can you think so low of me!” Seungcheol exclaimed, feigning a hurt expression on his face as he clutched his chest. “I will never, not once in a lifetime, never ever ever, cheat on you, Yoon Jeonghan.”

“You better, Choi Seungcheol,” Jeonghan replied menacingly. “I’m the only one for you.”

“You’re the only one for me.”

“No cute American painters can stand between us.”

Seungcheol couldn’t help a chuckle. “Calm down, honey. What time is it there?”

Jeonghan’s gaze momentarily darted on the clock installed in his laptop. “Seven forty-seven.”

“It’s almost time for work,” Seungcheol announced, grudgingly bringing both of them back to reality. “Have you even showered yet?”

“I’ve got no one to shower with, so no,” Jeonghan innocently reasoned, inviting a certain twinkle in Seungcheol’s eyes. “Oh, stop looking me like that.”

Seungcheol emitted a low chuckle as he propped his head up, his lips slowly turning into a smirk. “Well, it has been two months—”

“Stop it! Stop stop stop stop.” Jeonghan disentangled himself from the fluffy duvet and got up to his feet afterwards, purposefully leaving his battered laptop positioned as it was so that he would be omitted from view.

“Hey!” He could hear Seungcheol shouting. “Turn the laptop around! I’m not going to spend the night watching our bedroom wall!”

Stifling giggles, Jeonghan peeked through for only a moment, waving his hand at the pouting Seungcheol. “I’m running late. Have a safe flight, okay? See you in nine hundred minutes and fifty-four thousand seconds!”

Laughter slipped out of Seungcheol’s lips. “See you, math geek.”

This was how Jeonghan liked to remember that morning: cozy white duvet, tired-yet-ecstatic Seungcheol, a cup of un-drunk coffee, long stares, his own half-lidded eyes, unbearable ache of heart, the imaginable taste of Washington D.C.’s banana pancakes on the tip of his tongue.

4

One summer day, they decided to have a typical, cliché amusement park date. They let it pass for now—after all it was to celebrate their first year together as a couple. Seungcheol was the driver for today; he had Halsey on repeat and the speakers of their Mini Cooper were blasting New Americana mercilessly, and Jeonghan insisted on Backstreet Boys, to which Seungcheol disregarded for a moment or two before he snapped that Jeonghan was just jealous of Halsey, especially her hair.

Luckily, they arrived at the park with Seungcheol still intact, mercifully saved from his (sometimes) viciously stubborn boyfriend. The park overlooked a crowded beach, the blue ocean a plain backdrop against the assortment of popping colors of the park, with its glowing rides and whirring machines and bountiful of wooden booths and kiosks. Seungcheol didn’t waste one more second as he practically dragged Jeonghan along behind him, paying their entrance ticket while giddily jumping.

“I can't believe I'm dating a high school girl,” Jeonghan murmured, much to Seungcheol’s annoyance, but he quickly let it go once he spotted the Ferris wheel.

They already rode at least half of all the rides at the park by noon; they ate lunch at a fast food kiosk, heaping piles of fries and hot dogs and sodas on their aluminum table, taking turns smearing ketchup on each other’s cheeks and noses and ignoring all the curious, intrigued stares the passing strangers threw at them. They laughed hard, they kicked each other’s legs under the table, Seungcheol pretended to listen to Jeonghan’s passive-aggressive insults to the food they were eating, then Seungcheol instantly fled from his seat once Jeonghan discovered that the former had stolen most of his fries, ensuing a relentless chase all around the park.

Around one o’clock, they stopped at a crafts booth, which was filled with tweens and toddlers, but Jeonghan confidently swooped in and took a seat on the carpeted ground, while Seungcheol tried not to flush in embarrassment. But in a matter of minutes, all the kids and even their moms had their attention solely on the long-haired man, captivated as he painted two heart-shaped pendants in varying hues. The end result was certainly not disappointing; Jeonghan had carved his name on one pendant and Seungcheol’s on the other before sliding each of them to a silver chain, pinning them into two separate necklaces.

“One for you, one for me,” Jeonghan remarked cheerfully as he handed Seungcheol the one with the blonde’s name. Seungcheol only gaped at their matching items, before slowly leaning in and landing a full, mouth-on-mouth kiss on his lips. Right in front of the watching kids. And their moms.

It was Jeonghan’s turn to get his cheeks red.

They spent the rest of the afternoon trying out the remaining rides. At the carousel, Seungcheol acting as if he were a prince by helping Jeonghan up on a caramel horse, with the latter complaining, “Why do I always get to be the princess?”; they won a giant purple Boov doll on a children variation of beer pong and they didn’t waste a second to argue about who could sleep while cuddling it tonight; they fought each other using squeaky bumper cars that could barely even fit them, unceremoniously losing to five-year-olds; Jeonghan almost hitting his head on the seat before him while riding the kamikaze; Seungcheol’s total bullting about being manly and protecting Jeonghan from all the ghosts in the haunted house—Seungcheol’s scream ended up being the most deafening one.

When nightfall came, they exited the park and strolled towards the beach, sitting on the golden sand and gripping each other tightly as they observed the starry sky. Jeonghan expertly (and cockily) pointed out the names of certain stars and the constellations they formed, while Seungcheol cluelessly interrupted him by yelling that he saw a few formed a heart, or another few formed Jeonghan's eyes, or another few formed a beard--not that it was really important to Jeonghan, but Seungcheol insisted that it resembled Da Vinci’s.

“What kind of constellation is that?” Jeonghan grumbled.

“A beard constellation! I shall name it Da Vincius Beardus,” Seungcheol announced proudly.

“That’s stupid. You’re stupid.”

“All the constellations’ names end with –us!”

“Andromeda?”

“That’s a galaxy, Jjeongie.”

“And also a constellation! Gosh, forget what I said about me dating a high school girl. I’m dating a primary school student now.”

“We have no astronomy in whichever grade we’re in!”

“That depends, you know—”

This was how Jeonghan liked to remember the entire day: booming female voice, scorching heat, fingers interlocked, the overly sweet taste of cotton candy, enthusiastic Seungcheol, limp fries, a very large doll, pendants rattling against chains, Seungcheol’s cheeky grin, lots of bickering, sandy toes, Twenty-Four Cabernet Sauvignon Napa Valley, plastic cups, tender kisses, three hundred and sixty fifth day.

5

“Jjeongie!”

“Cheol!”

“What took you so long?” Seungcheol pursed his lips in annoyance as Jeonghan took a seat next to him. With the last passenger aboard, the bus began to smoothly advance forward. “I’ve been asking the driver to wait for you since fifteen minutes ago.”

“Sorry,” Jeonghan apologized breathlessly, resting his head against his seat. “I just had to—chemistry project—extra credit stuff—”

Seungcheol shook his head as he slipped a strand of Jeonghan’s hair away from his face. “Smartypants.”

Jeonghan only smiled.

They always rode the bus together every single day, to school and back home. The unwavering routine had begun ever since Jeonghan joined the school’s basketball team. Soon enough, Jeonghan found himself swept into a naturally formed friendship with the team captain. They did not have any classes together in their sophomore year, but when in junior, Seungcheol practically took Jeonghan’s list of preferred classes and copied it as his own.

It was always weird to Jeonghan, how the school’s ultimate jock could be best friends with the long-haired genius. But then again, when life throws something at you—

“Jjeongie?”

He was snapped out of his train of thoughts. “Yes, Cheol?”

“I like you. Romantically speaking.”

This was how Jeonghan liked to remember that very, very small yet very, very significant part of that afternoon: air-conditioned bus, screeching tires, tired lungs drawing urgent breaths, seventeen years old, Seungcheol’s unusually quiet voice, his nervous eyes, his flushing cheeks, his first of the many, many sincere confessions for Yoon Jeonghan.

His own first of the many, many sincere rejections for Choi Seungcheol.

6

“And that’s the last one!” Jeonghan exclaimed, causing an eruption of cheers and applause from his fellow workers. “Well done, ladies and gentlemen, well done! Another night wrapped up.”

After trading polite bows and thankful smiles to every one of his restaurant chefs and employees, Jeonghan retreated himself into his office. He quickly plopped himself down on the sofa, taking even breaths to cure his stamina. It had been an exhausting night, just like always, but tonight’s service at Crimson Lane was perfectly executed, just like always.

He almost drifted into slumber, but he caught himself. It was almost eleven p.m., and the airport was quite far from here. His fatigue was immediately replenished by the thought of seeing his boyfriend again. A smile was already plastered on his face as Jeonghan reached for his jacket. It had been the most torturing two months he had ever spent in his life, and tonight, it will all be paid off.

Jeonghan was out the door when his cellphone buzzed. Surprisingly and fittingly, it was Seungcheol.

“Babe!”

“What are you doing? Aren’t you supposed to turn off your cellphone during flights?” He instantly gasped. “Oh my goodness. Cheol, turn this off. Turn this off! What if there’s a disturbance and the plane’s signal gets messed up and you’ll crash into some kind of mountain and you—and you—”

“Ssh, relax,” Seungcheol cut him off soothingly, “I already asked the stewardess. It’s okay! It’s okay, honey. There won’t be any disturbance and no plane’s signal is going to get messed up and I won’t crash into a mountain.”

Jeonghan bit his lips doubtfully. “Alright, if you say so.”

Seungcheol softly hummed, “I’ll land in an hour or so. Are you on your way to the airport?”

“About to. Which gate will you be in?”

“I don’t know.”

“Cheol—”

“I’ll always find you, baby.”

This made Jeonghan smile.

“You’ll always find me.”

7

The rain was seeping through his favorite sweater, his blue jeans, his old shoes. The rain was pouring mercilessly on his hair, and Jeonghan reminded himself to condition it at least twice when he got home.

If he got home.

He could hear the distant cries of his friends, of his teachers, of his neighbors, of his mother. He straightened the sleeves to cover his entire arms from view and circled them around himself more tightly than before.

Partly due to the nipping temperature.

Partly to hide the pink scars.

Who am I kidding?

His teeth were beginning to chatter.

Never loved, never loved, by someone who never wanted you—

He dropped his chin down his chest.

I just want to make you proud, you’re my father, I’m your son—

His legs were wobbling.

“You never deserved to be born.”

He didn’t know if it were rain or tears on his face.

“Jjeongie! Yoon Jeonghan, where the hell are—JEONGHAN!”

Seungcheol’s voice drummed in his ears, but it took a long while for Jeonghan’s mind to register it. When it did, the black-haired boy was already crouching before him, concern and anger and confusion painted all over his face, slipping his jacket off and covering Jeonghan’s head with it.

Jeonghan lifted his head up. He thought he hid well. Behind the green bushes, near the empty, abandoned house, no one ever went there, heck, no one even spared a glance there—

“You found me.”

The words flew out, caressed by the falling water.

Seungcheol shrugged slightly, an unexplainable smile on his lips, but the word that Jeonghan reckoned would describe it the most was sheepish.

“I’ll always find you.”

This was how Jeonghan would like to remember that particular night: temporary hypothermia, rain droplets stabbing his skin like daggers, early senior year, far-away voices, blue jacket against beige sweater, violent pokes of broomsticks, harsh slaps, the day after Choi Seungcheol’s two hundred and thirty sixth confession, the day after Yoon Jeonghan’s two hundred and thirty sixth rejection, thankfulness to the boy who was desperately in love with him.

8

They were entangled on bed, limb against limb, skin against skin, the messy sheets rustling underneath them. Jeonghan had found himself sitting on Seungcheol’s lap, the duvet wrapped around both of them, up reaching the middle of their s. The long-haired heaved a contented sigh as Seungcheol’s warm, strong arms pulled him closer, closer, until he could press his lips against the other, yet again. They were immediately engaged in a passionate session, before Jeonghan managed to let out a soft mewl, causing the elder one to withdraw and start peppering tender kisses along the skin of his neck. Jeonghan hummed softly, tilting his head willingly to the side as to give his boyfriend more access.

“I love you.” This time, it was whisper against skin. “I love you. I love you so much. I love you.”

Jeonghan stiffened once he felt teeth sinking, lip biting. He was going to have a hard time making excuses for those hickeys—and yes, plural form. Seungcheol had always made it a severe point that Jeonghan belonged to no one but him.

“C-Cheol…”

“Yes, my angel?”

Seungcheol still had half of his attention on the crook of his neck, and Jeonghan bit the insides of his cheeks, unsure of how to say it. Should he bring it up now and ruin this perfect moment?

“Do… Do I make you happy?”

Just as he had expected, Seungcheol stopped.

“Baby,” he began, his tone still soft and quiet, but all the joy was out of it and replaced by warning instead. “What makes you say that?”

Jeonghan gulped. He tried hard not to let himself tremble—it was one of his reflexive, inevitable nervous antics—but his efforts came up short. “I just—it’s just something—I have been thinking about lately.”

Slowly, Seungcheol drew his head and stared at him properly, right in front of each other. “You don't need to think about that, Jjeongie. You always make me happy. You, of all people, should know that...”

Jeonghan shrugged slightly, extending a hand to his fingers against the black-haired man’s cheek. Somehow, it calmed him, the way his skin felt on his fingertips, how Seungcheol leaned in to his touch.

“I just... sometimes I feel like what I’ve done isn’t enough.” He paused to steady his breath, which was getting heavier by the second. “You’re always the one taking the initiative, you’re always the one showering me with kisses and giving me presents and planning dates and I feel so, so loved, but... I don't feel like you do too. And it’s kind of weird because I love you, I really truly love you, and yet... I think I can’t express it well. I don’t know. I don’t know.” He groaned in exasperation and leaned their foreheads together, half-expecting that Seungcheol wouldn’t lean back, and releasing a breath he didn't know he held once Seungcheol did. “I just want to be able to express it well. To hug you when you least expect it. To shower you with kisses that will catch you off-guard. To buy you a lot of presents, to let you stay at home and rest while I plan dates and take you on them instead of you taking me.”

Seungcheol’s lips was parted, ready to fire a counterattack, but Jeonghan was quick enough to seal his lips momentarily against his, reminding that he wasn’t finished.

“I want you to feel loved. Because you, Choi Seungcheol, of all people, deserve to be loved the most. Heck, I’m surprised that anyone isn’t in love with you as much as I am, but I’m grateful for it too. You deserve love. You deserve happiness. You... deserve...”

He was choking, the words escaping as a strained whisper, tears beginning to form on the corners of his eyes. He closed his eyelids and dived his fingers into Seungcheol’s messy black locks, gritting his teeth against his lips so hard it bled.

“You deserve... everything good in this world. More than anyone I’ve ever known. More than anyone out there I don’t know. You were so distraught when your parents... didn’t approve of us being together... and they’re the most important people in your life... and you left them... for me. And—and I feel obligated—to love you—to express it—to make you feel so—”

Hot tears were already cascading down his cheeks. Jeonghan felt a pair of lips kissing them away. Jeonghan felt a fingertip wiping the increasing amount of blood away from his lips.

“You. Stupid. Little. .”

Jeonghan merely emitted a chuckle at his words.

Seungcheol tightened his grip around the younger, and Jeonghan breathed in, breathed out, his fingers trailing down to his boyfriend’s nape, breathed in, breathed out, those arms he knew so well, always guarding him in a simultaneous firm and gentle hug for as long as he could remember.

“That, Jjeongie, was one of the sweetest things I’ve ever heard from you.” Oh, that husky voice. It was music to his ears, a harmonious melody he knew like the back of his hand. “Albeit how incorrect it was. Haven’t you realized how never short on love I am when I’m with you? Haven’t you realized how incredibly blessed and happy I feel for having you as my boyfriend and for this relationship we’re having and building now? I don’t care if I’m always the manlier guy in our relationship—hang on, bear with me for a moment, don't give me that look—because you have your own way of expressing your affections. And I love that. I love that so, so intensely much.

“Remember the hug you always give me whenever I get home? That’s for ‘I miss you’. Remember the constantly, creatively innovative breakfast, lunch, and dinner you always make me every single day and they’re not even on your restaurant menu? That’s for ‘I care about you and I’m willing to take some time to make my boyfriend happy’. Remember the way you fix my tie and kiss me lingeringly every morning before I leave for work? That’s for ‘I love you’. And we just had—”

“Ssh!” Jeonghan immediately cut him off. “Don’t say it!”

“Why not?” Seungcheol pursed his lips. “We just did it; I guess it’s safe to say what we just did exactly—”

“Just continue,” Jeonghan urgently whispered through flushing cheeks.

Seungcheol quickly realized this and let out a chuckle. “Aw, my poor baby. You know, there’s not only one single way to express ourselves, darling. If I could choose between you and another guy who’s more outspoken about his affections for me, I’d still pick you. Keep in mind that I love you for who you are and I won’t stop loving you because of that. Your little affectionate ways always get me every time, and you don’t even know how goofily I smile at every sassy comment, at every half-playful rejection, at every embarrassed groan you make.”

Jeonghan stayed still.

And then he let go.

He sobbed and he whimpered. He pulled the elder close and crashed his lips desperately against his, murmuring how thankful he was and how he loved him and Seungcheol murmured it all back, and they curled their bodies so close against each other they didn’t know where Seungcheol’s began and Jeonghan’s ended.

That was how Jeonghan liked to remember that memorable night: twenty-seven years old, messy sheets, short breaths, parted lips, noisy apartment, crying, gasping, kissing, loving.

9

The café was wooden and warm, light flooding from every corner, the smell of roasted beans wafting in the air.

Cementing his hands in his pockets, Jeonghan took uncertain steps towards the end of the vast room. He observed the room for anyone that would match up with the physical traits which he had embedded in his mind earlier. He found them in a brown-haired girl—Sooyoung? Soojung? He couldn’t remember—who donned a pink sweater and white pleated skirt.

Over-trying, that was his first impression. She was trying too hard to please him.

The girl didn’t bother to reintroduce herself once Jeonghan occupied the seat before her, and Jeonghan wouldn’t bother to remember her name if she did. She chattered animatedly, not even sipping from her cold coffee to pause or to catch some breath. She seemed that she didn’t even acknowledge Jeonghan’s presence.

She was pretty, though.

What the hell, Jeonghan. Focus on this girl. You wouldn’t ask Jisoo to match you up with anyone if you were just going to ignore her.

He tried. He did try.

But nothing.

He felt nothing.

Not even the smallest bit of attraction.

I like girls.

I like girls.

I like girls.

I like girls.

I don’t like girls.

Jeonghan instantly got up to his feet.

“I’ve got to go. It was nice spending time with you.”

He vacated his seat and ran out of the café, leaving the girl bewildered.

10

He was struggling to open his lids. They were tightly shut in effort to sleep and stay asleep. Jeonghan groggily mumbled something incomprehensible and forced himself to strike them open. Slightly disoriented, he was greeted by the view of droplets of rain against a glass window.

What the—

The first thought that came to mind was that he was being kidnapped. He didn’t have his sheet of paper with him, the one that said My Annoying Boyfriend—he didn’t have his carton cup of coffee, which he was holding in his hand while he waited for Seungcheol’s arrival—but he did have a dark brown stain across his white shirt, and the fabric clung stickily on his chest and—

“You’re awake.”

Jeonghan’s head immediately shot up.

And there he was.

A grin was playing on Seungcheol’s lips. His eyes were blooming to crescents. He had both of his hands on the steering wheel. His hair and jacket were damp with water and he seemed to be shivering, though only slightly. And his voice—his ing voice—

It took all Jeonghan’s might not to tackle him straight against the driver’s side of the door; he opted for a more gentle hug, yet more unspoken words, more tears, more tugs on his heart, more of everything were poured out. It took only five seconds or so for him to be sobbing his eyes out on Seungcheol’s collar, and the elder swiftly parked the car on the side of the street, only to return the bone-crushing hug with the same urgent force.

Jeonghan grabbed fistfuls of the elder’s shirt, bawling audibly, and Seungcheol had his fingers running through his long blonde hair, his touch calming and caring.

A weak whisper through cracks of crying.

“You found me.”

A deep assurance through silent tears and tightening grip.

“I found you.”

This was how Jeonghan liked to remember that blissful night: falling asleep at the airport, warm coffee spilling, fogged-up windows, fingers desperately curling against fabric, tears that burnt his eyes, a gradual relief of releasing all the invisible weight on his shoulders he’d been holding for two months, crumpled paper, so much longing, Seungcheol’s kisses all over, twelve o’clock, happy third anniversary.

11

“Cheol! Cheol! Cheol!”

The rapping of his knuckles on his door ended when it swung open. Seungcheol popped his head into the doorframe, a brow raised in confusion.

“What is it?”

“Confess to me,” a breathless Jeonghan gasped.

Another brow. “What?”

“Confess to me, you little .”

A subtle roll of eyes, and Seungcheol said in a monotonous tone, “Yoon Jeonghan, I love you. Will you be my boyfriend?”

A wide smile. “Yes.”

“You can go no—wait what?”

Seungcheol’s jaw dumbly dropped, inviting a growing smile from Jeonghan.

“I said yes, I’ll be your boyfriend.”

This was how Jeonghan would remember that Sunday afternoon: bitter coffee, endless rambling, wooden seats and tables, blurry sceneries, sore legs, Seungcheol’s widened eyes, his own reassuring smile, late senior year, arms around each other, lips against each other, Choi Seungcheol’s two hundred and fiftieth and his final confession, Yoon Jeonghan’s first ever acceptance.

12

“Well?”

“I…”

“Spit it out, I don’t have all day.”

Seungcheol lifted his gaze up, his eyes b with joyous tears. “I got in.”

Silence.

Then an excited shriek; and Jeonghan dangled his arms around Seungcheol’s neck and the latter hugged back, the letter embossed with Royal College of Arts still firmly held in his fingers.

Jeonghan couldn’t be happier. Seungcheol got in, he got in to his dream school, he was going to be an art curator, he was going to be surrounded by people who appreciate art just as much as he did and—

Jeonghan couldn’t be sadder.

“We’ll make it work,” he whispered, mostly to himself, but he knew Seungcheol heard it. “We’ll make it work, they always say absence only makes the heart grow fonder—”

“Jjeongie…”

“We’ll definitely make it work, I’ll buy tickets to UK every half a year, I’ll work three jobs simultaneously while I’m in college—”

“Stop…”

Before he knew it, Jeonghan was choking on the words.

“I’ll save up money, I know my dad took my entire college fund, but I’ll work my way through it, I’m not going to not see you—”

“I don’t want that…”

His heart was clenching.

So much pain. So much loss.

So unfortunate.

So unlucky.

The words died on his lips.

A patch of silence was stretched around and between them.

“How long? For you?” Seungcheol managed an inquiry.

“Five years,” Jeonghan warily answered. “If I’m lucky. Probably two years to make a name for myself.”

“Four years for me,” Seungcheol remarked with a sigh. “But I’ll need lots of training.”

Jeonghan slowly retracted his arms and rested them on Seungcheol’s chest. He made a serious effort to draw his eyes to his, to be a man and talk through the problem with ease…

But he couldn’t.

“Do you wish I fell in love with you sooner?”

“No.”

“Why?”

Seungcheol tilted his head to the side.

“You said it yourself. Absence makes the heart grow fonder. All those years when I loved you, and you didn’t, it was an absence—of you in my life, loving me back. But that only made me more eager to chase you and make you mine. I didn’t—don’t—care how long it takes because I never need you to love me in return. Sure, it’s better now that we’re both in love, but the possibility of you loving me back wasn’t the reason why I fell in love with you.”

Jeonghan scoffed, closing his eyelids and trying to hold back the tears.

They were outpouring a lot lately ever since they got together.

“Shut up, you’re so cheesy.”

This was how Jeonghan liked to remember that damned morning: two mugs of cold tea, a rusty mailbox, the sense of being eighteen, nervous fingers against rustling paper, eyes swimming through words, hugs in the hallway, racing minds, loving words, their break-up, possibilities, eternity.

13

“Jeonghan!”

He reluctantly withdrew his napkin-gripping hand from the almost-shiny plate, lifting his head up to a blonde maître d’, standing in the doorframe of the kitchen.

“What is it, Soonyoung?”

“There’s a customer here who’d like to give the compliments to the chef.”

Twenty-six-year-old Jeonghan let out a frustrated sigh. It was immensely satisfying for him to have multiple customers rushing into the crowded kitchen to gush admiringly over his dishes, but he grew to hate it over time. It interrupted with the steady momentum of the dining service, and he wasn’t known as a person with high level of patience, either.

“Tell that customer I’m busy,” Jeonghan decided, going back to work almost immediately after throwing out the words.

Soonyoung cleared his throat as he pulled on his tight collar. “Eh, this one insists.”

Cursing under his breath, Jeonghan motioned for Soonyoung to let the customer in.

“This way, sir.”

“Thank you.”

Jeonghan abruptly stopped moving.

That voice.

I’d know it anywhere.

He wanted to turn around, but a pair of arms already enveloped themselves around his waist, his back instantly hitting someone’s sturdy chest.

“Compliments to the chef. I absolutely enjoyed that foie gras, great opening for an amazing three-course menu—that sear on the steak was absolutely perfect, especially with that wine reduction sauce—and don’t get me started on the soufflé—”

His lips tugged into a smile and the corners of his eyes were pooling with tears.

“Stop it, Seungcheol.”

“I told you I’d find you.”

“Stop—”

“Are you crying?”

“Just—Cheol—”

“Don’t let your tears spill on that crème brulée.”

This was how Jeonghan remembered that night: determined beads of sweat, smoky kitchen, streaks of blonde hair against metal doors, soothingly deep voice, warm arms, warm hug, messy kisses, surprised gasps of sous chefs, the time they were reunited after eight ing painful years.

No more pain.

14

It was their special day. Three-year anniversary. Jeonghan’s cellphone had been bursting with an unbelievable amount of messages, congratulating and wishing the two of them all the best. He kept his smile worn on his lips the whole day—nothing could ever ruin today. Nothing at all.

“So, I told your sous chef to close the restaurant for tonight,” Seungcheol spoke with ease as he sipped his morning coffee.

Jeonghan curled his brows in inapprehension. “What?”

Seungcheol gave a mischievous grin. “I want us to have an anniversary dinner.”

“Anniversary dinner? Really? We had that last year,” Jeonghan complained.

“This one will be different!” the black-haired man uttered confidently.

And it was.

The restaurant was completely deserted, excluding Jeonghan’s fellow chefs and staffs. They were seated in the VIP section, and his employees had decorated the place so beautifully Jeonghan was awestruck. Soonyoung played the piano for them, vacating his sous chef position for a little while. It didn’t take a long time for Jeonghan to figure out that his boyfriend had planned this since a long time ago. His maître d’s served them their multiple-course meal—and all were not on the menu.

“Where did you get these recipes from?” Jeonghan asked, stunned at the very final dish that was placed before them. An intricate-looking dessert that pictured a garden, with chocolate cakes piled carefully to build a small house, sweet multicolor sauces as the ground, scattered with flakes of chocolate and edible glitter, with a flower-resembling element on the center, made out of edible rose petals that hid a pink sugar ball inside from view. It was the most incredible dish he’d ever laid his eyes on, and he wished he was the one who made it.

“You’ve got to give more credit to Soonyoung,” Seungcheol explained. “He’s more than capable to run a branch of your restaurant, baby. Especially since you’re going to be preoccupied from now on.”

Jeonghan’s attention to every minutiae of the dessert was successfully torn at his words. “Excuse me? Preoccupied? But why?”

Seungcheol only curved up a smirk. Jeonghan squinted his eyes at him.

“Choi Seungcheol, you tell me what’s going on or else—”

“Blow it.”

“What?”

“Blow the flower.”

As odd as it was, he did.

A ring.

A diamond ring.

His breath hitched.

He should have seen this coming.

“Jeonghan, I—”

“Yes,” Jeonghan automatically blurted out.

Seungcheol frowned. “What?”

“Yes, I’ll marry you.”

Seungcheol shook his head as he cautiously picked the ring up from the plate. “No, I haven’t asked—”

“You shoved a ring in front of me, Seungcheol, what else could I—”

“No, wait, I have to do this properly!” Seungcheol said with gusto, quickly falling to one knee.

“Oh my God, baby, that’s absolutely unnecessary—”

Seungcheol shook his head, a determined look etched on his facial features. “Yoon Jeonghan, the first time I met you at the basketball court—”

“Yes.” Jeonghan leaned forward towards him, a grin on his lips.

“Knock it off, honey, I’m trying here—”

“Yes I’ll marry you, baby.”

“You were so beautiful I couldn’t even—”

“Yes.”

“Would you let me—”

“Yes.”

“Yoon ing Jeongh—”

“Yes.”

“YoonJeonghanIloveyousomuchwillyoumarryme?”

Jeonghan couldn’t help but giggle happily. “Yes, I will.”

This was how Jeonghan—

No.

He didn’t remember.

As Seungcheol’s arms hugged his waist tightly, he didn’t remember the shocked words buzzing in his mind or the delighted applause of his staffs or how the ring felt pleasantly cold against his fourth finger.

He felt.

He let himself felt all of it, the warmth, the affection, the love.

And that way, he remembered everything.

IT'S SO LONG OMG I GOT CAUGHT UP WITH MY JEONGCHEOL FEELS AFTER YESTERDAY'S FANSIGN AND I'M NOT EVEN SURE IF YOU ALL CAN UNDERSTAND THE TIMELINE

thank you to jrt131, inimeg19, hahahaharlequin, adrienlee, turtlepop, and coffeecrumble- for upvoting! < 3