Myungsoo reached the right flat without much trouble, except for the fact that he was carrying most of Sungjong’s weight. He had asked Woohyun to text him Sungjong’s flat number, which was all he had needed since he already knew where he lived, having given him a lift previously. Fumbling in Sungjong’s coat pocket for the key, he tried to steady the younger, who lurched forward, grunting softly. Myungsoo tugged at his arm around is shoulder, stopping him from falling off.

The drive to the apartment had been really quiet – Sungjong had been asleep on the back seat, his head pushed up against the headrest. Myungsoo had an urge to place his head in his lap, so that the younger could sleep more comfortably but he hadn’t dared. How would he have answered to himself if he had done that? Wouldn’t it be against everything he stood for?

He’s the enemy, the enemy!

There was no light in the landing so he had difficulty turning the key in the lock. After a minute of trial and error, he succeeded. Pushing the door open, he took a step forward, his shoulder painful from where the younger’s head had rested for so long. Sungjong was now completely asleep and he wouldn’t take another step forward by himself. Sighing, he picked the younger man up in his arms, placing a hand behind his knees and the other behind his back. He was lighter than he had expected.

The door shut behind him with a slam.

It took him some time to adjust to the surroundings but within a minute, he located the bedroom and brought Sungjong in, laying him down carefully on the bed. Sungjong let out a light snore. As he looked down at the younger, he felt something within him stir.

He had loved him, he had loved him so much. He could have – he would have done everything for him.

“Why did you have to do this to me Sungjong, why couldn’t you love me like I loved you?”

Sungjong turned a bit, a frown of dissatisfaction appearing on his forehead, his eyes still tightly shut. Apparently, he was uncomfortable. Hesitating, Myungsoo lowered his trembling hands to his feet to take off his shoes and socks. Slipping off his own jacket, since it was difficult to maneuver in, he bent down and raised Sungjong’s torso, one hand supporting his back. With difficulty, he took off the younger’s coat and loosened his tie. He was wondering if he should take off his shirt as well since he seemed to have dribbled some drinks on it when Sungjong cracked an eye open. He froze, like a man caught red-handed.

“Myungsoo hyung? Are you here to torture me in my sleep?” Sungjong asked groggily. He was obviously very drunk, his eyelids drooping wearily.

Myungsoo’s heart churned painfully – he tried to remember the last time the younger had called him hyung. It was dangerous to try and prod the pages from the past. They were a secret, even to himself, so that he didn’t have to go through them again every single day and feel broken, beyond repair. But that one year, that one year in his early adulthood, he had heard the younger call him ‘hyung’ every single day - the sound he had almost worshipped.

“No,” he muttered, feeling embarrassed for holding Sungjong in his arms, even though he knew that the younger was thoroughly drunk and probably wouldn’t remember anything in the morning.

But he would, he was sure he would remember every bit of this; he would remember every touch, every breath of Sungjong’s that he had felt on his skin and they would burn him. There was not a single memory of Sungjong he could remember without feeling a knife through his heart. This was not what he had wanted – why did he do this to himself?

I have to stay away, I just have to. I’ll have my revenge from afar.

Before he could move away, Sungjong cupped his cheeks with his hands, surprising the editor with the sudden gesture. His eyelids were drooping but the parts of the eyes that were visible under the lid were glistening with tears. His lips were parted and dangerously close to Myungsoo’s. He shivered as he felt Sungjong’s cold, soft hands against his skin.

I don’t want this, he reminded himself sternly. Even as he said so, he leaned into the touch, feeling guilty. This wasn’t right.

He was about to drop the man and leave but what came next was beyond his wildest dreams, that rooted him to the spot momentarily.

“You hate me so much hyung and I know I hurt you, but can’t you forgive me? Hyung, hyung, you know, I love you. I’ve fallen for you hyung – I have -”

Tears streamed down his cheeks as he gazed at Myungsoo through half-open eyes.

The wind outside was howling. The flimsy white curtains across the bedroom window billowed in the dark as Myungsoo felt all the sadness he had suppressed in his heart till now well up. Without knowing it, he became tearful. He tasted salt; it made no sense, what Sungjong was saying right now. Did he even hear him right?

He – he loves me?

Maybe the younger was so intoxicated that he was spouting nonsense. It didn’t mean anything, it meant nothing. Perhaps he just heard him wrong.

As if to confirm that he had heard him just right, Sungjong repeated, “I love you hyung, I love you so much. You have no idea, how much I love you.”

No Sungjong, you have no idea how much I loved you. I would have sacrificed everything for you.

A friend of his had once told him that you were the most honest when you were drunk. If Sungjong went by that rule then…

And yet it seemed ethereal that the words he had been looking for eight years ago would finally find him and form the confession he didn’t want to hear anymore.

“I loved you Sungjong, I really, truly loved you,” he croaked, feeling the dam that usually kept his melancholy at bay threatening to break. It was as if a wall was coming down on him, crushing him, inch by inch.

I’m in pieces and this is his entire fault.

How he wished this confession had come earlier. Sungjong had been his vigor, his strength, he had made him feel more alive than he had ever felt. But now, it was too late.

“But the time for forgiveness is over. It’s over. I can’t -”

His insides had died and nothing could revive them, not even Sungjong. If you run someone with a knife, it doesn’t do any good to pull the blade out. The wound will still be there, blood will have been shed.

“Can’t you l-love me once again? J-just one more time?” the younger hiccupped, but his eyes were closed now, while tears squeezed out from under his lids.

All of a sudden his body felt white hot in Myungsoo’s arms. It burned him, his touch, his words. His arms were numb under him.

All I ever wanted was a chance to love you. You’re a little too late, Sungjong.

Dropping Sungjong on his pillow, but not forgetting to cover him with a blanket, he ran out of the bedroom, stemming the flow of his tears. Sungjong’s words rang in his ear continuously – “I love you.”

It was so maddening, he wanted to scream. He chided himself over and over again for letting this happen. Why had he whimsically decided to help Sungjong? If he hadn’t, he wouldn’t be in this place now, feeling his stitches coming apart, the ones he had used to heal himself after Sungjong had ripped him apart.

Why now, Sungjong, why now?

---

Sungjong woke up with a splitting headache. There was fire in his throat and needles at his sides. His bones were jaded. Discomfort reigned all over his body. Waking up to the worst hangover ever hadn’t happened to him in a while. He felt that he aged a lot in the past few months and his body just couldn’t take it anymore.

Pulling off the blanket, he made a beeline for the bathroom, where he threw up so much that his stomach hurt and his throat burned. He held his head under the shower, the cold water hitting the back of his neck and hair mercilessly. It felt good. He splashed water onto his face until his shirt was drenched.

He dragged his feet to the bedroom and fell on the blanket, letting out a loud sigh. He was getting too old for this.

I can’t do this anymore, it feels like hell.

After lying on the bed for half an hour, he got up unsteadily and changed into his pajamas after a shower. He still wanted to chop off his head from the pain and his stomach was growling. Grumbling under his breath, he went to the kitchen and heated up some food he had in the fridge. Then he began to make the hangover soup he used to have in college after a wild night out with his friends. He wasn’t sure if it worked but at least it helped with the headache. In University, they got over hangovers just by sleeping in, not caring about classes next day.

Luckily, it was a Sunday and he didn’t have to go to work.

Wait, wasn’t I working yesterday?

Chucking all the ingredients into the blender, he pressed the button. While the contests whirred inside the blender, he tried to recall what had happened yesterday. He remembered the party – he had been drinking, but then…

He felt a searing pain run across his brain.

He dropped whatever he was holding in his hand and slumped onto a chair, clutching his head in his hands.

It would hurt to prod the memories from last night right now, but he had to find out. He didn’t remember coming home; given his condition, he couldn’t have come home alone. What had happened last night?

What seemed after ages, the events from last night started to unfurl in his mind in slow motion.

Minho had been there, pressing drinks on him. He remembered drinking for a long time, maybe around an hour. And then someone was groping him, or had it happened before the drinks? Had it not been that model, or was there someone else after him?

Come on, concentrate.

As hard as he tried, he couldn’t remember anything else. The last thing he recalled was sitting with Minho and that was it. What had happened after was a mystery.

From that, he could conclude that Minho had brought him home, but how had he known his address? Someone had put him to bed with care, made him comfortable and even remembered the blanket – that sounded like Minho.

He went back inside his bedroom to check to see if he could find any clue even though he was feeling quite sure that it had been Minho. But maybe, he didn’t want it to be Minho, maybe he had someone else in his mind…

No, this is wrong. What I’m thinking is wrong. He hates me, he hates me…

Someone had taken off his shoes and socks, as well as his coat and tie. They had put them carefully on one side of the room so that he didn’t trip when he got up. The key to his flat was sitting on the bedside table.

It has to be Minho hyung.

Dropping into his armchair as his head tugged painfully again, he closed his eyes. Frustration pulsed through him, this was the worst feeling ever. Why did it have to be so complicated? Why couldn’t he just live a normal life? These sudden surges of feelings for Myungsoo weren’t helping at all. It was eating him up from the inside to think that he might be in love with Myungsoo, after all these years, after he had hurt the elder.

He wanted to escape from it all.

Myungsoo was living a happy life; he had no right to interfere.

He turned in his chair, feeling something lodged underneath him. Pulling it out, he found it to be a jacket. One look told him it wasn’t his – it was a size larger than what he usually wore. So whoever had brought him home must have left it there.

Putting the jacket on his lap, he went back to thinking – who had been wearing this jacket? It was black, branded, fashionable – but that didn’t help because every guest at the party was somehow related to the fashion world and thus could possess this jacket. He knew for sure it wasn’t Minho’s, because he had been wearing a navy suit. He searched his mind but he couldn’t recollect who had been wearing what; the only reason he remembered Minho’s was because he had spent the most time close by him.

Then it couldn’t have been him, right?

Letting out a sigh of despair, he rested his head on his knees, clutching the jacket tightly. Who had it been? Woohyun? Taemin? Sungyeol?

Suddenly, a faint scent rose to his nose. He picked up the jacket and sniffed again, once, twice. It reeked of alcohol, but there was another smell as well – the scent of a very specific cologne. He remembered getting a whiff of it somewhere –

No, it can’t be…

And yet, there was no other possible explanation. He knew that this was the same cologne that Myungsoo was wearing that day in the elevator. He had also smelled it on him when he had driven him home all those months ago.

It had to be him. Myungsoo also knew his address.

The story made sense – he was passed out from drinking too much and Myungsoo had brought him home.

But I was drinking with Minho and Myungsoo was busy with his girlfriend.

If he was honest, he had to admit that things didn’t add up perfectly but what other explanation could there be? True, he would expect Minho to drive him home, but maybe he couldn’t for some reason. Maybe he was just as drunk as him. But why would Myungsoo do it then? Why would the chief editor leave his girlfriend to…

He wanted to scream out in frustration. Wasn’t it enough for Myungsoo that he was torturing him at the office? Did he have to reach out and torment him at his home as well? There were times when he was horribly mean to him, but what was up with these sudden acts of kindness?

Was this another way to get back at him, taunt him?

Hiding his face in his lap, he let out a sob. His career was at stake here and all he could think about was how much he loved Myungsoo…

“Hyung, hyung, you know, I love you. I’ve fallen for you hyung –”

Suddenly, it came back to him in a chilling flash. Myungsoo, leaning over him, his face inches away from his.

“But the time for forgiveness is over. It’s over.”

A deep, intense pain shot through his body, paralyzing him. He was doubled over in anguish as his fingers tightened around the jacket. The tears started flowing even before he could do anything to check them. It felt like someone had wrenched out his heart and there was a gaping hole in his chest now, where his heart should have been, which was filled with sorrow.

God, why does it hurt so much?

He couldn’t sense any part of his body, or the ground beneath him, only the dull throbbing in his chest. He felt weak, helpless; he was ashamed. A pair of scissors was at work, tearing his insides apart into tiny pieces. All of it hurt crazily, so much so that he couldn’t breathe.

Was this how Myungsoo hyung had felt?

He tried to get up; he had to apologise to Myungsoo, but lost his balance and fell face-down on the floor. A hot throbbing on his temple told him that he might have another wound to worry about but it couldn’t compare with the one on his heart.

Having not fallen in love like this ever in his life, he didn’t know what to do. The stupid, idiotic, out-of-control part of him had already confessed, leaving him with bitter rejection.

How could he even imagine that Myungsoo would accept him with open arms, that they would kiss and make up and it would be perfect again. As far as his life was concerned, it had never been perfect, not even when he had thought it was.

He was a little bit late, a little bit changed, and he knew a little bit more now, enough to realize that Myungsoo was miles and miles out of his reach.