I was going through some old drafts and found my first iteration of the fic before I changed the story mostly. So if you're interested I decided to post it here with the parts which did make it into the final version edited out. i obviously prefer the final version more compared to this "sad" one. 

And Youngjae notices how tense Daehyun’s voice sounds, along with the stiffness of his embrace. But Youngjae wants to believe that, perhaps, something can grow between them. Maybe their relationship could move forward and create its own separate story arc. The plot could progress.

Youngjae holds him close, so much so that their heartbeats harmonize together. However, that could just be Youngjae’s imagination. He grips Daehyun’s shirt, the soft fabric bunching up between the gaps of his fingers. He smells like lilacs and lavender. The floral cologne is almost strong enough to overcome the mild scent of cigarette ash embedded into his clothes.

Daehyun’s arms hover over him unlike the way Youngjae clings so feverently. Youngjae hugs him as if letting go would mean the end of him. He shuts his eyes and breathes him in heavily. This is the moment he will remember and think back on. It’s ironic, though, because Youngjae knows in a month’s time, he will be begging to forget this.

He’ll down liquor like it’s antiseptic to a wound. They both burn the same, afterall. But one actually helps and the other doesn’t. In a dingy bar off by the corner of some ugly street will be him. He’ll wipe the alcohol away from his mouth and with the other hand his tears.

It’ll hurt to drink because his lips will be chapped from his cries. Each deep intake of breath, the desperate attempt to inhale to lungs that can’t keep up with him, will cause his chest to ache. Dry him out. Acid--that’s what it’ll feel like to him. And his tears will stream down the apples of his flushed cheeks and the salt will break apart the bitterness tequila leaves on his tongue.

And he’ll stay in that bar because he can’t force himself to go home to nothing.

Youngjae chews on his lips, bringing him back to this current moment in time. He’s not at a bar. Right now he’s in Daehyun’s arms. And he’ll stay there despite the time bomb that is Daehyun to his mental health.

Because the role of a secondary character is simple and clear cut: move the story along--provide incentive and urgency. He must become the hurdle to overcome. Be the hardship that proves the sincerity of the protagonists’ relationship. He is the character development Daehyun needs for him and his real main love interest.

Daehyun feels so warm in his arms.

Youngjae wishes he could be a protagonist, too.

They stare at each other after Youngjae releases him. Youngjae looks into his eyes and a part of him dies. He’s entitled to be selfish, Youngjae thinks, at least once in his life. He could love Daehyun the way he deserves and they could be happy. Maybe they could grow old together and have a yappy little dog. A little house with a white picket fence.

Or maybe Youngjae could learn to move on. But that just sounds even more unrealistic than his other fantasies.

Secondary characters have very limited options when being introduced to a story: (a) be the childhood friend or (b) meet the main character after the other protagonist already has. Youngjae falls into the latter category. He meets Daehyun in the middle of a rainfall in April. They’re seventeen in that moment, so five years ago.

Youngjae doesn’t know if there’s anything beyond him than Daehyun. Does he have dreams or aspirations past the main character? Prior to him, he was just a background character, decorating cafes or walking along the street for scenes.

He was brought in for only one purpose. Everything Youngjae is or was meant to be exists to love Daehyun. He pines and yearns. In the credits of the story, he’ll be listed as “plot device.”

So five years is what he gets. And this leads him to now, pulled away from Daehyun after their hug. “I love you,” he finally says aloud, the secret he tried so hard to deny finally out in the world. It sounds so foreign to his ears.

Reject me, Youngjae pleads, destroy all hope so I can finally move on.  

Daehyun’s eyes widen, as if Youngjae’s forceful hug on him wasn’t enough to convey his emotions already. “Youngjae, I-” he pauses, thinking.

Youngjae’s already prepared himself for the only logical answer he can expect. He isn’t beautiful long hair or a pretty doll face like Jieun. Certainly not as interesting or multifaceted like her character was made out to be. He’s Youngjae.

Fantastic. He’s already crying and weeping all over the sleeve of his sweater. Way to keep it together, Youngjae. You look so ugly. How the do you mourn over a love that was never reciprocated in the first place, just because you ing hoped and dreamed. You ing idiot.

Daehyun casts his gaze to the ground, avoiding Youngjae’s tear filled eyes, “I’m sorry, Youngjae.”

It’s over, Youngjae mulls. However, his tears still fall freely from his eyes, like the rain shower from the day they first met. It’s over, yet his chest still burns. He thought these feelings would disappear after finally admitting them. Why does it still hurt?

Youngjae pinches Daehyun’s cheeks, pulling his lips up, “What’s with that sad look,” he sniffs, “Idiot. I’m supposed to be the sad one here.”

It’s suffocating.

“Youngjae, it’s just that I-”

“You love Jieun.” Youngjae finishes Daehyun’s sentence before he himself can understand what he’s trying to articulate. There it is. Daehyun has finally realized he is in love with Jieun. How does this epiphany take so many ing years? How hard is it to realize your feelings and admit it, given it did take Youngjae five years (but that was still less time than Daehyun and Jieun needed).

Daehyun’s eyes widen as Youngjae’s words sink in.

Daehyun loves Jieun and it’s time for Youngjae’s story to come to an end.

Along with theirs.

The ultimate plot device. Youngjae’s done it. He’s revealed to Daehyun himself how he feels for her.

He didn’t have to do this, he thinks. He could have let them both continue being stupid and keep onto the shred of hope that Daehyun could be his one day. But it’s not within Youngjae to be the bad guy. He was never made for that. This was his entire ing purpose in life. . . .

Please, why can’t he be the protagonist.

“I’ll get over you, Daehyun. Please. You aren’t that special. Now why don’t you run to Jieun with your new found feelings, lover boy?” Youngjae laughs and pats Daehyun on the shoulder, all the while still wiping his tears. It’s so ing cliche but he has to do this. He adds a thumbs up for good measure. “I’m going to find someone so much cooler than you. Someone who won’t need to eat seven dishes for dinner to consider it a good meal.”

He’s lying, but Daehyun doesn’t need to know that.

“Hey!” Daehyun chides him, laughing.

There it is. There is the Daehyun he loves: laughing and smiling. He loves that.

He loves him.

Three weeks later, Youngjae attends their engagement announcement dinner with all their other friends. He claps and celebrates with everyone else, saying “about time!” in a rowdy chorus.

Afterwards, when everyone else has left, Daehyun will come up and personally thank him for helping him confess to Jieun.

Youngjae shrugs and nonchalantly replies, “what are friends for?”

It’s over, isn’t it?

Youngjae resists the urge to clutch his chest and nurse the ache in his heart.

Why can’t he move on?

So, as Youngjae predicted earlier, he ends up at that dirty bar he imagined, crying over a pint. That brief second he embraced Daehyun before confessing to him, he could pretend Daehyun did love him back. He replays it over and over again, trying to reminence the joyful emotions he felt.

Jieun’s great. She’s pretty, nice, confident. Every way better than Youngjae. Which just makes it hurt all the more that he would never compare to her. He never had a chance.

With the story now just about complete, Youngjae supposes it’s time to return to the background. There is no more use for him, he finished his duty. There’s a satisfying conclusion. Well, not for him, but that never mattered in the first place.