first of all, the people who subscribed to this story without much information about it (besides that description that doesn't really describe much) is being to nice with me. also, I HATE THIS FIC IT'S RUINING MY LIFE AND IT'S NOT A ONE-SHOT ANYMORE UGH i have some issues with the lenght of this; i hope you don't mind it suddenly becoming a one-shot divided in three parts (or a three-shot if you may)

oh and it's sungjong-centric and woogyujong. do people even read things like this? i promise it's mostly woogyu. and yes i do talk a lot, i'm sorry. i only have to say this is pg-13. enjoy!

Sungjong lets out a puff of breath, relieved to have served his last customer. The café where he works is busting up with life, stream of people hasn't stopped coming since midday. Luckily for him, his shift is about to end. His boss—a well-built body, awkward smile, and too sharp of a tongue—waves at him as a dismissal and he sighs in relief. Finally time to go home.

While he's untying his apron, his eyes roam around the place. There's nothing that makes it different from yesterday, and nothing that will tomorrow. The windows are wide and occupy the space where walls should be, and checkered tiles shine with the golden sunlight of the afternoon. Still, as Sungjong knows, nothing remains unchanged for too long. The customers, for example, aren't always the same. Sometimes there are noisy boys messing around and breaking things they'll have to pay for later, some others there are groups of girls who die to ask for the employees numbers—him included.

But still, the familiarity of the place stays the same.

And talking about things that stay on their place, Sungjong throws a surreptitious glance at his side. The costumer that favors the table next to the window is there, as always. He's a mystery. Sungjong's tried to start conversation with him before, while he takes his order, but it's been useless. The young man is all quick words (and smiles), but nothing more. He comes half an hour before the end of his shift, orders—the same, a cup of Americano and a piece of the dessert of the day—and sits back, lost in thoughts.

He's sad; Sungjong knows that much.

Sungjong's taken the time to see him when the place lacks customers and he has the time to. The man brings a book on occasions to go with his sweet and coffee. Other times he plays around in his phone, or listens to music and shakes his head with the tempo almost inadvertently. Still, Sungjong's favorite view of him, even though it sounds rather mean, has to be when days are dark and gloomy and the male does nothing but stare at the window. It gives him a distant feel, especially when rain falls and the droplets hitting the window give him an effect that reminds Sungjong of the old Polaroids his father has stored in the attic.

The boy shakes his head when he notices the male shifting on his seat, probably realizing he's being observed. He hurries his steps and exits the store, shouting a cheerful "Goodbye!" to his co-workers.

∞

The way to Sungjong's home is always similar, too. He walks half a block to the bus stop, sits for ten minutes to wait, and hops in once the transport has come. Occasionally, he helps the old woman that carries heavy bags with her and gets out of the bus two stops before his. He's tired and selfish enough to get on before the kids waiting close to him other times, though.

The bus comes and Sungjong gets in, head tilting to the side. There's someone he's expecting to see behind him. It's a habit he's acquired since a bit. The reason comes after five seconds (which he does count) and gets in. A red-haired man, carrying endless papers, who takes the same bus, never fails to come last-minute.

Sungjong sits almost at the back, nodding at a young student next to him, who spares a glance and looks through the window. The man sits two seats over on the opposite side, juggling with the stack of books an papers he carries with him. Sungjong can't help but look at him, as always.

The man puts the papers on his lap and fishes something on the pocket of his jacket at the same time the bus starts moving. Sungjong knows the redhead gets out a stop before his. He's also assumed is a music student (or teacher, who knows) by his looks. His hair is always messed up and his clothing style is rushed and messy. Who knows, the man with the untidy dye job looks like the type of person who's never here; the type who has his head far off from the place where he is, wandering on green-filled schemes or star-filled skies.

And he looks sad; for some reason Sugjong has that feeling.

The man's stop comes and he gets out, swinging his card while he struggles to stop his things to fall. Sungjong's had the impulse of standing up and helping him, probably advicing him to buy another bag (because the one he's carrying around too looks too full to fit more books) in the process. But he's discarded the idea before; it would be too awkward, and who knows how would the man take it? At the end, Sungjong watches him walk off through the window while more passengers get in and the bus starts back.
 

∞

Howon, his boss, hires a new assistant without caring about what anyone thinks—or if it's necessary; they have enough people after all.

"It's because she's pretty," Sungjong hears his co-workers mumble between hurried servings of Frappuccinos on the peak of the day. "It's because she's made her ways into Howon's life," they spit before Sungjong's curious eyes. "It's because he's head over heals for her. It's because she has nice legs to compensate her stupidity. It's because It's because It's because—"

He thinks they're too hard on their comments. But, despite his disagreements with their words, Sungjong has to give them credit for not being completely clueless. The truth is that the girl is hopeless. She has broken more crockery than the staff has done in a month in mere two weeks that Howon decides to ignore, for example. And not to mention her most current mistake.

She's managed to dump the coffee on the dessert she was forced to serve because Sungjong was helping another of the workers to carry boxes on the back, on the everlasting—or maybe not anymore—client: Sungjong's object of observation, the sad man.

"I'm so so so sorry," Sungjong apologizes, cleaning after sending the girl to serve another coffee. Howon is not on the café today, which makes things much more easier—like, for example, scolding the noona. "We can offer you another piece of cake with extra chocolate mousse. A coupon, too. Free drink and dessert next time you come. We can—"

"It's okay, kid," the man says. He stops Sungjong's hand from moving frantically in circles in his desperate attempt to clean the table. One of the sleeves of his blazer is soaked and reeking of Americano, but he seems not to mind. "Quite a girl you got there."

Sungjong makes an annoyed sound between aish and pff. "I know right?" He sits down in front of the man, still moving his hand in soft circles. The boy moves closer to the man, secrecy on his movements and mumbles, "She's only here because Boss likes her." The man chuckles, and Sungjong realizes he's never heard him make a sound as close to amused as this. Then, he realizes his careless position and hops back on his feet. "I'm really sorry, sir." He bows. "We'll pay for the cleaning of his suit."

"Woohyun."

Sungjong looks up from the now shinning table. "Excuse me?"

"I've been in this place for too long to keep the formalities. I'm Woohyun." The man chuckles again. It sounds calm, amused, but there's a layer of something inexplicable Sungjong can't put a name on. "And don't worry about the blazer. No big deal."

"I-I'm sorry," Sungjong apologizes again, bowing. "I'm Sungjong."

"Well that's what your name tag says." Sungjong flushes, embarrassed, and looks at Woohyun's hand that is clamped around the stained arm. He does it to avoid the curious eyes from the man. His next apology also comes as a flustered, repetitive sound that Woohyun dismisses. "Come and sit, I bet you haven't had a break."

The man is right. Sungjong considers his options; he hasn't been able to sit down with the stream of customers coming and going, and Howon going missing without explanations. But, what if the boss comes in at that moment? Or his hyungs at the cashier (or at the back), they must need help. Woohyun taps the table with a graceful movement and the waiter has made up his mind.

Sungjong is sitting when the girl comes back with the servings for the customer. This time she manages not to stumble with her own feet. Giving a clumsy, abashed smile to the man, she retreats after shooting a curious look at Sungjong, who shakes his head to avoid questioning. The trail of perfume she leaves hanging in the air when she leaves is heavy, but not unpleasant, mixing with the warm scent of coffee and the sweet look of the strawberry cake put on a decorated dish in front of the customer.

It almost feels like home.

"It's a good thing you didn't bring your book," Sungjong says—still awkward, still shy—when he looks around. He tries a slight laugh that doesn't sound too forced. "It would have been drenched by now."

The man, now taking a sip from his newly presented coffee, looks at him with curiosity. Sungjong takes five seconds (more or less, he's not counting) to realize how odd his words sound and flushes even more. Woohyun puts the coffee back down, grabbing the fork put next to him and tilting his head to the side. "Are you the one who's always observing me?"

"I have," he pauses, trying to find the right words. At the end, he doesn't, and his words are a poor excuse of an explanation. "I've just noticed."

"Really? What else have you noticed?" Woohyun finishes cutting the small piece of his cake and puts the fork down, lying on his elbows. His eyebrows furrow casually and his lips quirk enough for Sungjong not to notice. He's interested, Sungjong realizes, but there's also that layer of something.

"You're sad," he finds himself blurting before he can stop himself.

Woohyun's eyebrows rise up in mild surprise, him leaning back against the cushioned seat. "Am I?"

Sungjong realizes he has made a mistake again. He apologizes once again, but the nod from the man, as if saying it's okay, encourages to keep talking. "It's just that, I don't know how to say it." He struggles with the words, fingers playing with the wrinkles that form on his apron when he's sitting. "Your eyes are sad. You have that kind of… aura, I guess."

"We're all a bit sad, Aren't we? To some degree, at least."

"But it's different." You and the sadness are in a different level; you wear it. It's like she's a woman sitting next to you and sharing pleasantries next to a warm cup of coffee. Or like a lover who holds you from behind and whispers promises close to your ear. He lets out a soft laugh, realizing how strange (dumb, lame) all of that sounds.

But then Woohyun is laughing too, but not the wow, kid's weird-kind of laugh. His laugh is quiet and lighthearted; the I've been caught-kind of laugh.

"You're good at reading people."
 

∞

Sungjong is late for the bus the first time of his life since he's been working at the café on a friday's rainy afternoon. He's spent more time than necessary with Woohyun—hyung; the man has insisted—after his shift, talking about trivialities (pastries, pleasantries) and now he's had to run to catch his bus. Luckily for him (or more like unluckily, since traffic will be hell), a collision and closing of one of the main streets has caused public transport to be delayed. As a result, it's also caused more people to wait at the stop where he gets in.

He comes to the stop right in time to collide with another person, who also looks like he just got in. Bowing repeatedly, Sungjong looks up only to see papers flying everywhere. He hurries to help picking them up, collecting as much as he can before they're left off the bus. There are some books sprawled near the benches and some other more where the people is getting on.

Sungjong repeats his apologies like a mantra, muffled between the buzzing of conversations and traffic. When he looks up to give back the papers to the person he bumps into, the boy grasps that it's the red-haired man, sporting a neutral smile and tired eyes.

"It's alright," he says, even though Sungjong has the feeling he says it for the sake of etiquette. He motions the boy to get and it's only then when they realize they're the last ones left before the bus entrance.

Both of them stay standing, gripping the packets of papers with one hand and holding on to the metallic bars with the other, next to each other. There's no silence, as the voices—drowned and mixed until they're nothing but distant buzzing to Sungjong's ears—keep going, but the atmosphere is still awkward.

He tilts his head to the side, as always, to look at the redhead. From the corner of his eye, Sungjong watches him do the same—struggle with the papers, nearly drop them, and take out his earphones to later put them on. He scoffs; even when the man has his routine slightly shaken off, he still manages to get it back.

Trying to appear casual, the boy looks down at the papers he's holding. They're music sheets, filled music sheets. Sungjong is not specialized at music (heck, he doesn't even know if he will be able to finish high school) but he can see a la, and a sol, and, well—Other things he doesn't recognize. But the thing is that, if it's not obvious, the man is specialized in music.

Sungjong is so lost in the papers he's trying to read that misses the smile the redhead gives him. But when he looks up, the boy sees the warmth reflected on the curled-up lips and crystalline eyes, and flushes in embarrassment. The man looks at him with familiar curiosity, even though there's the same sense of distance he always carries. That distance is highlighted by the white earphones he has on.

"Can you read it?" he asks, yanking one of the sides off his ear. His voice is just as warm and distant as his eyes.

Sungjong shakes his head. "I was just curious."

"So, did you find out?" At the same moment, the bus stops and the door opens with a loud screech, drowning some of the sounds. Before Sungjong's questioning gaze, he adds, "About the papers, I mean."

"They're um, music sheets?" Sungjong tries, looking back at the papers for a moment, and then glancing at the window. He chews the insides of his cheek. The man's stop is close.

The man chuckles—a pleasant, barely there sound that has Sungjong's heart fluttering. Of course they are. "What's your name, kid?"

"Sungjong," he replies faster that what he intended to. Realizing he's leaning a bit too forward, the boy moves back down, embarrassed. Some awkward seconds later, he manages to ask in a polite tone, "And yours?"

"Sunggyu." The red-haired man moves his hand towards him. Sungjong doesn't understand at first, but then realizes he wants to take the stack on his hands. "You're holding the best kind of music sheets in there, Sungjong," he says while Sungjong passes them. "Self-composed songs."

"Really?" Sungjong asks, impressed. He wishes he had something more interesting to say, something to make him look like a mature person who understands the merits of music and performance, but nothing else comes to mind except, "Are you a singer?"

Sunggyu shakes his head softly. The bus is about to stop, and he's juggling once again with the stacks of paper and his earphones. Sungjong almost offers to keep helping him carry the papers until his destination, but shakes the thought off his head. Who would trust so easily someone they just met?

"More like used to be." The elder struggles with the earphones' cable that gets tangled with the spiral cord notebooks on the bottom of the stack he's carrying. "I'm a music teacher at a near Studio."

Sungjong nods. He's about to say something else, when the bus stops with a movement that would send them to the front if they weren't holding on to the bar and the man announces it's his stop.

"Hope to see you later, Sungjongie," he announces when he's exiting the transportation.

For a second, Sungjong thinks, only for a second, the sadness of his eyes disappears. He even gives a smile wave accompanied with that same homely smile that has Sungjong's heart beating with rapid movements and cheeks flushed red. Somehow, the boy realizes Sunggyu is lonely, but are times like these when people just look the loneliest.

He ends up waving back until Sunggyu is not in sight anymore, bittersweet feeling settled on his heart.
 

∞

After the incidents of those particular days, Sungjong gets a new resolution. He plans to help his new friends to cope with the sadness they carry, but it's hard to do so. After all, Woohyun's nostalgic smile keeps reaching his lips unwittingly, and Sunggyu's distance never manages to leave his eyes. The sadness attaches to them like a second skin—like a thin, flimsy layer that doesn't come off. It has to do with the way they carry themselves; with the words they don't speak, with the movements that falter and the promises hanging in the air.

And yet, even though Sungjong knows it's almost natural for them to be like that (because they've been struck with sadness for so long; they must be) he keeps trying to shake them off their state, even if it's only for a short amount of time.

He serves Woohyun the sweetest of the desserts and chats with him when there aren't much customers. Sometimes they talk about Sungjong's studies—general gossip of his classroom, or when they feel more serious, about the study sessions he skips to help his mother with money and following impact on his grades—or about Woohyun's work.

The young waiter learns he's an accountant who is good, but doesn't particularly like it. He finishes his work early and doesn't really feel like going home, because it's "too lonely". He's also a dog-lover, and has one named Dubu whom he's proud to show pictures of on his phone, and has a terrible taste in music.

When Sungjong's shift if over and he has to go home, he takes a bit of a turn and stops a block before the bus stop to find Sunggyu, the red-haired man walking hurried steps. He helps carrying half of the stack of papers while they walk to the bus stop, and later, sits down with the elder. At first there was nothing but awkward silence, but Sunggyu—a shy man by nature, Sungjong realizes—began to open up by the third time sitting together.

They talk about their day (tiresome, agitated) and Sungjong discovers Sunggyu's preference for being called hyung, frustrated dream of being a singer, and undying love for Nell. Sunggyu gives the boy one of their earphones and they listen to Nell's songs until they reach the elder's stop and he's waving goodbye and juggling with the eternally heavy stack of papers from his music students.

At the end of the day, when Sungjong is lying on his bed calling for sleep, a smile finds its way to his lips when he thinks back of Woohyun and Sunggyu. Rather than the eternal sadness that never leaves both, he remembers the way Woohyun's eyes shine when he asks about Dubu, or how easily Sunggyu's lips curve when he mentions he's bought Nell's latest single, and he thinks he's a bit in love with both.
 

∞

"You look happier than usual."

Sungjong hums, placing the usual strawberry cake in front of the black-haired man. White Night echoes softly in the nearly empty café. "You think?"

Woohyun nods, but doesn't add anything else about the matter. Instead, he puts aside the hardcover he's reading and looks up to ask something else, eyes scanning the place. "What happened to the girl?"

"Fired." Sungjong shrugs, sitting in front of him. "I guess boss finally got between her legs and realized she was a total klutz."

Woohyun chuckles (a faint, distant sound that reminds him of Sunggyu) and says, "Such a shame, she had nice legs."

"Tell me about it. That was probably the only good thing about her."

Sungjong looks at the older man, trying to finds hints—of what, he doesn't know; maybe he liked the girl? After long seconds on which Woohyun takes a sip of his coffee and looks at the window, he realizes he might have striken a soft nerve.

"Did you like her, hyung?" he asks in a joking tone.

"What? God, no." Woohyun looks back at him. His tone is light and similar to the boy's, but eyes dark and foreigner. "She was an awful waitress. And dumped coffee on me."

Sungjong places his chin on his palm. Woohyun has something hidden behind his eyes, he acknowledges; thousands of unspoken memories that only serve to damage. He wants to keep asking, but at the same time, doesn't want to push it too far.

"But she had nice legs," the boy ends up saying in hopes the other male eases a bit.

"But she had nice legs," Woohyun echoes with the ghost of a smile hanging on his lips. Sungjong gets that same feeling again; the feeling he got when Sunggyu waved at him from the sidewalk while the bus started again. Except that this time, it's Woohyun the one who makes Sungjong feel self-conscious and embarrassed, but also giddy and mindlessly hopeful.

They keep talking for a while about everything and nothing. Their conversation travels back and forth between them, but never touching their personal lives too deeply. Somehow, after their discussion about the saga Woohyun is reading, a pleasant silence settles for brief seconds, Time Spent Walking Through Memories as company.

"You didn't quite struck me as a fan of Nell," Woohyun mutters. Sungjong observes him. He has both hands placed around the white, empty cup. His head is turned towards the window, and his eyes are lost, unreadable, on the streets of Seoul. He guesses that was supposed to come out as a teasing phrase.

"A hyung of mine likes them. I guess their music has stuck around." He shrugs even though he knows Woohyun is not paying attention to his movements. "It's not bad, though. If it was up to my boss he'd put hip hop all day."

"It fits the atmosphere of this place," Woohyun muses. Then, he starts mouthing the lyrics as if they were native to him. Sungjong thinks that he could stand up and sing every word of the song if he wanted.

"Do you like them?" he asks, intrigued by the swift change in Woohyun.

The man shakes his head. "Not really." Then, Sungjong notices it. His shoulders are tense, although tense may not be the right word. They're more like hunched up with an unrecognisable emotion. A bit of pain and another of happiness mixed up with nostalgia and the fondness proper of someone who goes through his drawers to find a graduation photo from a school year that didn't go so well. "I used to have a lover who was a fan of them."

Oh, then this is about a break-up. The young waiter understands. The tension, the mouthing of the lyrics, the fondness on his eyes. His ex-girlfriend must be the reason Woohyun is sad.

"How was she?" he asks before he can stop himself. It's probably a mistake, judging by the way Woohyun's eyebrows curve upwards before his expression becomes neutral. It's too late to do something about it anyway so he settles for apologizing. "Y-your ex-lover, I mean."

Woohyun's lips curve into a smile that is too ironic for Sungjong's liking. "Don't worry," he says in a way that reminds the young waiter of when he bumped into Sunggyu and made him drop his things, and the elder said it's alright all too forced. But Woohyun continues, "Let's see, how can I describe her?" He looks down at the empty cup, lost in thought. For a second, the nostalgia is back with him again, saying love words to his ear in hushed tones and sensual ways. Sungjong wonders, could his ex-girlfriend be like that woman?

"Physically?" Sungjong tries, and Woohyun's smile molts into something close to a sheepish curve of lips.

"She had short, brown hair the last time I saw her. Her cheeks were cute and chubby, and her smile was beautiful." His smile becomes nothing but a ghost, clinging on to his lips with fierce desperation. "She was also well-mannered and mature, and used to smile a lot. God, Sungjong," he chuckles. At that moment, he looks like an excited kid talking about his first day at school, or a teenager talking about his crush. Maybe, after all, she is his first crush. Sungjong's heart stings a little when he realizes that, but curiosity wins. "She was something else."

"A noona? Was she pretty?"

Woohyun nods. "Eh, maybe 'pretty' is not the right word, but she hated when I called her beautiful, though. I guess she was embarrassed." His eyes are fixed in the table, but at the same time, they're unreadable; clouded. Sungjong suddenly understands that, if he were to try to gain his love (or, let's be realist, at least his whole attention) the battle would be already lost. "She loved to wake up late on sunday mornings, and a warm cup of coffee next to the window with a good book." Then, his head snaps up and his eyes come back to life, but it's only for a second that Sungjong almost misses. "You know that book, the one I'm always carrying? Not this one, the other."

"The one with the old, green cover?" Sungjong tries and the older male nods. "Is that hers?"

"It was one of his—her favorites." A sigh (a sob) looks like it's about to break at any moment, but Woohyun keeps his voice even and eyes dry. Still, Sungjong can feel the tears far, far behind his shadow. "And she had a voice—her voice, you should have heard her. She wanted to be a singer."

There is a pause after that. The expression on the elder's becomes glazed, and Sungjong feels like they're back to the beginning. But despite the idea that being a singer must have had to do with their break-up, and that it must be a sensitive topic, the boy decides to press it further. Maybe, if he's right, talking about it will help Woohyun.

"What happened to her?"

"I had the feeling you would ask that." Woohyun makes a grimace that is far from a happy smile. He finally sighs. "I guess differences got between us. Actually, that was one of our last fights. I hurt her badly." His eyes are back down, fixed on the cup, and Sungjong notices the layer of sadness that covers him gets thicker. It's only a bit, almost unnoticeable, but the boy knows it's his fault. "You know what? She told me once she dreamed in Technicolor. Ah, I guess I really loved her."

Sungjong confirms it. Even though Woohyun speaks in past, there's no way he can compete with a memory of the lover he used to have.
 

∞

With Sunggyu is different.

With Sunggyu, Sungjong has that sense of stability, hidden between the folds of the elder's thin smile. The boy feels as if he could tell him everything and Sunggyu wouldn't get offended or mad; he would give Sungjong a pat in the head or a slight nudge at worst. Sungjong can be straight to the point and the man will take him as a mature person.

That's why it doesn't come as a surprise Sunggyu's reaction when Sungjong ends up blurting, "I think I like you," somewhere between the bus starting moving after its first stop and their fingers busy untangling the earphones' cord.

There's a moment of silence after the boy realizes his actions and Sungggyu stops struggling with the cord. The red-haired man takes out the strawberry lollipop from his mouth (the one that one of his students must have given him and paints his lips in a pretty red) and Sungjong thinks, he must get confessions a lot.

"Is that so?" he says with the right amount of apologetic sadness and warmth. He turns to face Sungjong, flashing the same slight smile that makes him look so distant. "I'm sorry Sungjongie."

"I know." Sungjong smiles, trying to hide the fact he's hurt. Of course he knows; there's not even a remote chance. "I understand."

Sunggyu sighs, looking at the front. His stop is nowhere near, for better or worse. Then, the redhead chuckles. "I used to have a lover once. He was like you, in a sense."

"He?" the boy can't help but ask. Is Sunggyu…?

"Yeah, he." Sunggyu's eyes find his, surprise and curiosity reflected in them. "I thought you knew, that's why you were confessing to me."

"Oh," Sungjong chockes a laugh. It doesn't make much of a difference anyway; Sunggyu is as distant to him as he is to the understanding of the music sheets. He scratches the back of his head with a sheepish grin. "I didn't."

"So you didn't…" Sunggyu trails off, lower lip moving to form a pout he's not aware of. Then, his face relaxes and his expression becomes something akin to amusement. "Look at this kid." As expected, he pats Sungjong in the head and as a flipped switch, the tension creeping between them dissipates. "That's what I mean when I say you were like him."

"How?"

"Curious." Sunggyu leans forward and presses Sungjong's nose, pushing him back. He chuckles when the boy furrows his eyebrows and grimaces. "Acting before thinking." The smile in his lips becomes affectionate at a memory, eyes lost somewhere far where, Sungjong realizes, he can't reach. "But you're more mature than him sometimes, too."

"Was your lover young?" The boy asks, ignoring the fact that he might be asking for too much. He's made the mistake of butting in before, causing Woohyun to return to the distress that causes pain. "Sorry, that's too much."

"It's alright, I've gotten over it." He hasn't, but says it to make Sungjong feel better. Sunggyu would do something like that. "He wasn't much younger. Two, maybe one and some months than me? He was the kind of person who feels like he's known you all your life." His smile is fond, like the one someone puts after going through a photo album full of memories. "Very clingy and emotional." (The stop is getting near and Sunggyu is nowhere near ready.) "A crybaby, you should've seen him. But he was caring and romantic, too. He used to say he cried my tears."

"Sounds like the perfect man."

"Far from it." Another long, all too familiar, sigh looks like it's about to break from his chest. And it does, right when Sungjong is expecting it.

"Isn't your stop next?" Sungjong motions the stack of papers on his own lap. Sunggyu blinks, shaken out of his reverie. The boy gives him a sheepish smile and in hopes of lighten the mood, changes the topic. "You need a bigger bag."

"Ah, you're right." He looks through the window next to Sungjong, voice disappointed. "I'm always running out of time, aren't I? I'll buy one, some day."

The silence between them extends after that, with the rustling of papers and other conversations echoing in the background. Sungjong observes the older man, trying to decipher what's behind the long eyelashes that cover his sad eyes and the thin line that his dry lips form.

"Hyung?" he calls him tentatively. "What happened to your lover?"

It is, again, a sensitive topic that might end up hurting the man. Sungjong is aware, but can't help himself. Is it better to leave it unspoken, eating Sunggyu from the insides of his mind, or to ask about it and cause him the pain of reliving it?

Sunggyu's mouth moves in a broken smile. "Relationships don't always work out." He shrugs, trying to appear nonchalant. "Our goals were too big and too different for us. At the end, I don't know what happened to him," he confesses while he stands up, hands full with the stacks of papers. "See you later, Sungjongie." His smile looks slightly quivery, and Sungjong thinks he's almost successful in hiding the fact that sadness holds his hands like a family member or a lover. "And sorry about today."

"Don't be, hyung," he hurries to reply. I wasn't expecting much anyway. You, too, are still in love with a memory. He forces a cheery grin and waves him off. "Take care!"

Later, when Sunggyu is gone, Sungjong hugs his chest and leans against the window, proud that even though his eyes are watering, there isn't any tear close to falling.

so… what do you guys think? first time trying times new roman on a fic, looks fancy. comments are welcomed and again, thank you to everyone who subscribed beforehand. also, friendly reminder that this fic is already finished and after some editing (or pseudo editing, since you know, i'm really careless when it comes to things like these), the next two parts will come soon.

and because i don't like leaving it out, thank you for reading! it means a lot to me~