“What the hell could you possibly have to say to him?”

Everyone in the room stared at Minhyuk, who was standing with his back against the kitchen counter, his arms folded tightly across his chest. Kyung’s eyes flickered to Jaehyo in time to see his face darken and teeth clench. “What are you even doing here?” Minhyuk continued.

“I didn’t think I was talking to you. Besides, I could ask you the same thing,” growled Jaehyo, who was met by an incredulous scoff.

“Maybe you forgot that I don’t need your permission to do things anymore.”

“I’m here to talk to Kyung, not you.”

Minhyuk choked noisily on his words, and Jaehyo took the opportunity to turn back to Kyung. Kyung’s heart skipped when their eyes met, and he nervously wondered what he would possibly want. He knew just how much Jaehyo disliked his apartment; if he was there, Kyung knew, it was important.

“So, can we?”

Kyung merely stared with his mouth half-open. Talking to Jaehyo seemed daunting. Terrifying. He was sure – 100% sure – that Jaehyo was only there to yell at him and blame him.

That was all he ever did.

The red-head heard Minhyuk give a loud intake of air. “Would you just – ”

“Let him talk to him.” All eyes jumped to Saehim when she suddenly spoke, and all bodies recoiled under her gaze. Her eyes were narrowed into sharp, dangerous slits, and her voice laced with disdain more potent than acid. “Maybe our Jaehyo has finally found his redeeming qualities.”

Before Minhyuk could protest, Saehim dragged him away. Silence flooded the room, and Kyung and Jaehyo were alone.

After a bit of awkward shuffling of his feet, Jaehyo wandered to the living room and slowly sank into a chair. Kyung followed and sat timidly on his own couch, his hands twitching in his lap.

“You sure have a funny way of making everyone hate me.”

The younger man cringed. He was sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Nothing ever went the way he wanted, and for that, he would always be sorry.

“That doesn’t really matter though. I’ve never really cared about what little people think of me.”

Kyung stared on, his eyes never leaving the space just below the other man’s collar bones. The pale, smooth skin kept him from having to look Jaehyo in the face. He didn’t want to know what his eyes were doing behind those bitter words.

“Pyo sure made this whole talking thing seem easier than it actually is.”

Pyo. That was a name he hadn’t heard in a while. What was he doing talking to Pyo? Kyung’s mind slowly began making connections. Pyo. He was a therapist now. Was Jaehyo also seeing a therapist? Kyung couldn’t understand why someone as utterly perfect as Jaehyo would need something like a therapist. It didn’t make sense to him.

“Do you remember that letter you called me about?” Kyung nodded silently in response. “When you and those lawyers had me sign that letter, I thought it had to be a joke. ‘The Woo family has found several items addressed to you at Woo Jiho’s former household.’ I didn’t get it. Why would he leave me anything? But a few days after…there it was, at my door. A box, with my name on it.

“It took me a while to open it. I even hid it from Minhyuk. But when I did open it, I laughed. It looked like a bunch of trash. Paper, pencils, socks. I mean, why would I want his smelly socks?

“But then I found this.”

There was a sound of paper slamming against the table, and Kyung’s eyes snapped up. He didn’t notice Jaehyo carrying anything in his hands, so he was initially confused at what he saw. It was a notebook he’d never seen before, slightly battered with the edges of the pages hanging out. “Go on,” Jaehyo urged. “Pick it up.”

Kyung did as he was told and picked up the notebook. It immediately felt strange in his hands, like something he had no business picking up. It wasn’t his to touch. But under the scrutiny of Jaehyo’s gaze, he opened it and his eyes fell to the words written neatly on the inside cover.

Property of Woo Jiho

“You know, he never once let me look at this thing. He said he couldn’t let anyone see his ‘imperfect doodles.’” With a bitter laugh, he added, “Artists.” He must have noticed Kyung still hadn’t left the front cover. “Are you gonna look through it or not?”

He glanced up, worried at the sudden hit of irritation. But he flipped through the pages anyway, and he immediately sighed.

He should have known there would be drawings. Jiho always had some sort of notebook and pencil in his hand, especially when he visited him in the hospital. Art was the one thing Jiho loved consistently, passionately. He felt strange looking at his drawings.

He felt even stranger when he saw his own face staring up at him.

Kyung’s face reddened as he continued to go through the pages. Portrait after portrait of himself were etched onto the pages, and he wondered why Jiho would ever want to draw him.

“He had a lot of secrets. One was this notebook. Another one was you.”

Me?

Kyung was sure he didn’t hear him right. Him? A secret? They were best friends for most of his life. They were friends through high school, through college. Through Jiho’s brief absence as he pursued his dreams of art school in Japan and Europe. Through Jiho’s struggling career. Through Kyung’s illness. How was he possibly a secret?

“You know, Kyung-ah. You were always his best friend. Before we were together, and while we were together. I never put too much tho