Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Beomgyu would recognize those eyes anywhere.

He remembered describing them initially as "too big for their own good." He had later settled on “deceptively innocent.” Beomgyu had thought he was beautiful the first time they'd met, too. An angel, he thought again now. There was no way Kang Taehyun wasn't in some way ethereal.

"Taehyun," His eyes widened fractionally; he really hadn’t meant to say anything. Beomgyu blamed it on those eyes.

"Oh, Beomgyu."

Almost immediately Beomgyu wished he could wipe that look of recognition from Taehyun's face, somehow erase everything the other boy knew about him, the embarrassing things he'd shared, the times he'd made him mad, the memories that now held a version of himself that was lost to time.

Taehyun waved the program Beomgyu hadn't even realized he'd been holding, "Congratulations."

Beomgyu blinked, his heart giving one strong push against his ribcage. "Thanks. It's just a small part."

Taehyun gave him a sage nod, his lips carrying just a hint of a smile. His hair was lighter now — a chocolate brown — and swept back in a style Beomgyu had never seen before. But it suited Taehyun well, in a way that made Beomgyu wish Taehyun had worn it like this just once while they’d been dating, so he could tell him.

"Is it any good?" Taehyun asked. Startled, Beomgyu thought Taehyun had somehow been able to hear his thoughts. It wouldn’t be the first time he had known, unnervingly well, exactly what was going through Beomgyu’s head.

But, no, of course not. "The movie?"

Taehyun nodded again. This time it was two punctuated bobs — a prompt.

Beomgyu blew out a slightly embarrassed breath, looking away towards the dark screen of the theater. He saw some of the cast mingling below, where he had been headed before being sidetracked by some pretty eyes — again. "Uh, I don't know. I didn’t see the full script, so I guess we'll find out."

The audition, casting and filming had all been far more subdued than Beomgyu had expected. A big film by a famous director to boot. He'd been ecstatic when he got the part, treating his friends out for a celebratory dinner even though he could barely afford it.

Starry-eyed and eager, he'd shown up on his first day of five, prepped with twelve lines. It all passed by in a blur. Quick handshakes and greetings followed by hollow periods of waiting; A few takes and a compliment that Beomgyu played over and over in his mind, keeping close to his heart as a badge of "yes, I did well" and then it was over.

And then half a year later, a call. They needed him for a few more scenes, three more days. Reshoots were normal, Insong, his agent, had said. Keen and ambitious, Beomgyu had wrung a few more compliments from the director this time around, even gotten a couple phone numbers and a promise of "I'll give my friend a call; he's casting for a new pilot soon."

"And does," Taehyun's eyes lowered to glance at the piece of paper, "gang member #2 do anything exciting?"

Beomgyu lifted his chin, his eyes narrowing through a smile. "He's got a pretty kickass chase scene."

Taehyun hummed, as if considering. "You would be good at that."

Snickering, Beomgyu leaned forward, eyes sparkling because they always were and not because Taehyun was here. "I didn’t do three years of track for nothing."

"Then you better have outran them all." Oh, Taehyun's voice was warm. Oh no, his eyes were warm, too. Beomgyu straightened, feeling awkward all of a sudden. The suit he'd rented for the night now felt too tight, though he knew he wore it well.

"Uh, you'll see for yourself. I can't spoil the whole thing, you know," Beomgyu's voice was teasing, but he was scared Taehyun could hear the strained quality of it.

He probably did. They were not that far off in each other's pasts that they'd had enough time to shed old tells, to become someone completely new and escape this uncomfortable familiarity.

How quickly Beomgyu had grown to hate those eyes; it had only really taken this one short conversation. They’d seen far too much of him, moments he wished he could snatch back now. More than anything, Beomgyu wanted to go back to being strangers. He really shouldn’t have said hi.

Just as he was searching for a way to ease the tension before departing swiftly, Taehyun’s eyes flickered over his shoulder. Following his sharp gaze, Beomgyu saw another boy, brown hair, gentle face, soft eyes.

“Sorry, I’m blocking the aisle.” Beomgyu stepped back — perfect, he’d use this interruption to give Taehyun a quick goodbye before following this other boy down the steps.

Except the boy didn’t walk past him, he scooted into the same aisle as Taehyun. Okay, okay, that’s fine, Beomgyu could still make an escape. It worked just as well, really. But wait— the boy had sat down next to Taehyun, and before Beomgyu could toss out his prepped farewell — preferably for forever — Taehyun was glancing expectantly at him and saying something really, really strange, “Beomgyu, this is Hueningkai.”

Oh?

Oh.

“Hueningkai, this is Beomgyu.” Beomgyu briefly heard Taehyun say, face turned away from him now. Were they adjusting the theater screen or something? What was that buzzing sound? “We used to date.”

We used to date. Four words that minimized their three years of late night phone calls and Beomgyu stealing Taehyun’s food and after school trips to the arcade and Taehyun absolutely wrecking him at a game of tennis before Beomgyu promised to never play again into something trite but painfully accurate.

“Yeah, we used to date ...” Beomgyu heard himself echoing, two pairs of eyes staring up at him. He didn’t know which one was more familiar now. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“What kind of name is Hueningkai?” Beomgyu grumbled, shaking the bottle of sauce a bit too vigorously, though his present company was too preoccupied with their own food to restrain him — or more likely just not in the mood to contradict him when he was on one of his rants.

“It sounds foreign,” Seungbin mumbled around a mouthful of noodles, not even looking up from his bowl despite the fact his glasses were fogging up from the steam.

“Yeah, he definitely looked foreign.” So fine, Taehyun had a new boyfriend. Fine, it was fine. Hadn’t he said he wanted them to be strangers again? Even if he hadn’t said it out loud, he’d thought it, right? This was all part of that.

Beomgyu knew there would be pieces of Taehyun that he would never get to see, that Taehyun would move on and change and meet new people and be a new person. Hell, there was so much about Beomgyu that Taehyun didn’t know either. Not the way he cried for three days after not getting a callback for a part he’d desperately wanted — one he’d thought would make or break his career; not the way he was slowly learning to tolerate the taste of cilantro even though he nearly barfed when he forgot to ask the corner shop to take it out of his spring rolls that one time; not how much it hurt when he got his hair bleached because he had to sit in the salon for eight hours and go through three different treatments.

He was slowly growing into a new Beomgyu, too. So it was all fine, really.

“If you’re not going to use it, pass it over,” Sangyoon said from his right, making Beomgyu notice that he still had a death grip on the bottle. He handed it over. “Was he cute?”

Beomgyu paused, stirring his chopsticks in his bowl, dragging the noodles one way and then the other through his slightly murky broth. “Yeah, but not as cute as me.”

Seungbin snorted, though he still didn’t look up from the bowl. “Give him some slack; the guy’s only had a year to look.”

“Please, it’s been, like, almost two years.”

“Really?” Sangyoon’s tone halted Beomgyu’s internal litany of it’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine. “Two years? Isn’t that kind of a long time to still be hung up on your ex?”

“It’s fine!” Beomgyu exclaimed, a bit too loudly into the brightly lit noodle shop, causing a few heads to turn their way. “I’m not hung up on him! It was just weird seeing him again, that’s all.”

“Was it a bad breakup or something?”

“No, but it’s not like we really talked after, you know? The reason we broke up in the first place was we just … I don’t know, we grew apart? So there wasn’t much to say.”

“Okay, so you saw him once, said hi, met his new boyfriend. You’re not going to see him again, so it doesn’t matter if he’s moved on, you’ve moved on, too,” Seungbin said, laying it all out rather logically for Beomgyu.

When he put it like that, it really didn’t seem like a big deal. So why did it feel like Beomgyu was being punched in the gut every time he replayed Taehyun’s “we used to date”? Why was he even still thinking about it?

“Has he?” Sangyoon pointed his chopsticks at Beomgyu. “Have you even gone on one date after you split?”

Before Beomgyu could say you, Sangyoon cut in, “And ours doesn’t count.”

“Okay, asshole, I’ve been busy?” Beomgyu said, his voice rising once more. “You know, being the star of a movie?”

Both his friends rolled their eyes simultaneously. This was a familiar routine for them. But Beomgyu still felt great satisfaction in telling them to shut up.

One of the biggest hazards of dating someone for such a long time, three years, almost both of their high school careers, was that it was practically impossible to keep separate friend groups. Anyone Taehyun knew, Beomgyu knew, too. It was inevitable; it had been comfortable. Until it became inconvenient.

Beomgyu was grateful, in a way, that their split had happened so late in his last year. Most of their friends were already in university anyway; Taehyun was a year behind him. Looking back, it had been the perfect time to break up, really.

And Seungbin was right, he had met them, made new friends, grew into an improved version of himself with blond hair and an acting portfolio and perhaps a more refined palette. Each day would take him further away from the Beomgyu who had been Kang Taehyun’s boyfriend. It was fine.

Sprawled on his bed, one of his pillows was digging awkwardly into his side, but Beomgyu had been too tired to move since he’d flung himself into this position ten minutes after coming back from dinner. Sangyoon had really insisted on getting three rounds of drinks, and if it weren’t for the last train leaving in 20 minutes, Beomgyu probably would have let him talk him into another.

His phone screen shone brightly above him in the dark room. His arm swaying slightly as he glanced at the chat. Beomgyu shook the foot that dangled off the edge of the bed, typing out a message with jittery fingers.

Beomgyu: how was the flight
Beomgyu: when are you free? Let’s go out I’ll treat

Letting his phone slip out of his hands, narrowly missing his head as it fell onto the bed with an echoing thump in the dim and quiet room, Beomgyu stared up at the ceiling with wide eyes. The occasional sound of a car driving by broke the silence and darkness, but other than that, there was no other way to gauge how much time had passed with him just lying there. The pillow was still digging into his side.

He really should get up, take a shower, or at least brush his teeth. Insong had promised to send over new scripts tomorrow. It had been two months since he’d done that apple soda commercial — he couldn’t afford to be picky or half-ass auditions at this point. He really needed to—

Beomgyu closed his eyes. He never got a headache from drinking. He was blessed with a great tolerance and a “flattering” flush, or so he’d been told but maybe it had just been someone trying to butter him up — the inconveniences of being so good looking, he thought. So why did his eyes really burn right now?

After running his repetitive recitation of “it’s fine” into the ground, Beomgyu’s mind had landed on one question somewhere between rounds two and three. He vaguely remembered subjecting Seungbin and Sangyoon to a six-minute-long monologue about how he hated that his first — and only — boyfriend would show up on one of the most important nights of his life.

“What was he doing there anyway? He doesn’t even like movies! Do you know how long I had to beg for him to watch ‘Lord of the Rings’ with me? And when we did, all he did was complain about how long it was taking and some bullshit school assignment that was due, like, hello? You’re watching a cinematic work of art, can you be any less unappreciative?”

Beomgyu pressed his fingers against his eyes. It was far too much effort to even think about opening them right now. Maybe if he just laid here — not moving an inch, barely breathing through his nose — tomorrow would never come. He could be suspended here in the darkness with the occasional rumble of an engine rattling his thin window. It was kind of a shitty oblivion to be subjected to forever, but somehow it seemed far more enticing than greeting the morning, reading lines for roles he wanted out of desperation rather than inspiration, going through the motions as he discarded more and more of himself.

He didn’t know how long he spent on his bed before a vibration, louder than a distant car, tickled his right ear. Ah yes, other people existed, too.

His fingers had been pressing against his eyes for so long now that when Beomgyu finally lifted them to grab at his phone, he actually felt a few tears slip down his cheeks. They stung for real now. Blinking a few times, Beomgyu squinted up at the fuzzy screen he held overhead with shaky arms once again.

Beomgyu snorted, thumb running over his smooth screen as he typed out a quick response. He didn’t dare glance up at the time.

Beomgyu: chicken

Beomgyu: god I haven’t been there in forever okay

Beomgyu: I haven’t seen him in forever too

Beomgyu fell asleep before he could hit send on his reply.

As far as Wednesdays went, this one was going considerably well. Usually, Beomgyu hated feeling like he was stuck in the middle of the week, having exerted so much energy to get through Monday and Tuesday and all he had to show for it was two more days to struggle through. But he was excited about a script for the first time in months, and he could feel it; this was his next big role.

Things had slowly tapered off after opportunities and calls and auditions fell through after reshoots for the movie wrapped over a year ago, but this would redeem him. Hell, this would be much better than a brief appearance — a cameo, really, little better than an extra — in an albeit profitable and popular film.

Beomgyu sat at his small dining table, scanning the fifth script Insong had sent him this week. His eyes whisked over it briefly before glancing at another one, considerably more worn in the corners than the rest in his stack, on the side of the table.

Taking a sip of his tea — he was still detoxing after that splurge session with Seungbin and Sangyoon the past weekend — Beomgyu tossed his current script aside, taking the other one out of the stack and reading it once more, maybe for the fourteenth time, he wasn’t keeping count.

It was an ensemble drama; on the surface it sounded trite — even boring: Sixteen episodes of seven people living in a shared house. However, something about the way the script was written, the dialogue between the characters, made it feel so raw. Certain lines had immediately settled in Beomgyu’s bones, rattling around in them until they grew comfortable and familiar. He wanted this part, bad.

Just as Beomgyu was re-reading a particularly engaging scene, his phone buzzed on the tabletop.

Beomgyu: it’s 6 pm
Beomgyu: what time?

Beomgyu: maybe if you didn’t spend 12 hours sitting on a plane you’d have an ass
Beomgyu: Soobin coming?

Beomgyu let out a loud shriek at the meme Yeonjun sent in response, letting his phone clatter on the table as he threw his head back, cackling. Through his boisterous laughter, he heard his discarded phone ping again, still chuckling as he picked it up.

Beomgyu: YES let’s celebrate!

Sometimes Beomgyu really hated being the only one who was employed. Employed being an extremely loose term in his case. He had been doing better over the fall — but now that school was winding down and the winter was settling in, places weren’t looking to hire part-timers anymore. He had money from his parents — and Beomgyu knew he was lucky for it — but it didn’t feel right. He was the one who chose to pursue an acting career in favor of going to college. This was his thing. He wanted to own it completely. He turned back to his script.

Beomgyu had only seen Taehyun a handful of times since they’d broken up. He didn’t count the time they were still both in school for two months. He definitely didn’t count the week after their breakup when they didn’t really know how to tell their friends yet. Those couple months had been stained with fresh clumsiness and an intimate discomfort. It was better to forget about them altogether.

In the year after graduation though, Beomgyu had come up with a hypothesis. By the summer, it had become a full-fledged theory: People only appeared if you thought about them.

When he was sixteen, he had suddenly remembered his old guitar teacher, a friend of the family, from Daegu while out shopping with Taehyun. They’d passed by a music store and Taehyun had casually asked, “Do you actually know how to play one of these? Or is the guitar in your room just to charm girls?” It had been before they started dating, but Beomgyu distinctly remembered wanting to at the time.

“I took lessons when I was young; I still play sometimes.” Beomgyu raised his eyebrows, already knowing how charismatic his looks were at that awkward age where most people were still growing into their own skin. “Let me play for you sometime.”

“Do you know ‘Sunkissed’?” Taehyun asked, not giving any indication that he was impressed at all by Beomgyu’s talent — or dazzling looks. Beomgyu hadn’t known Taehyun well enough yet to realize that his question alone meant he’d taken the bait.

But not two days after that conversation in passing, Beomgyu had gotten a text from his father saying his old teacher had moved to Seoul, that he should go greet him and take some food. And so that weekend he’d begrudgingly cancelled plans with Yeonjun and brought some cake he’d bought with pocket money at a corner bakery to go see his teacher.

The first time Beomgyu had seen Taehyun again was much the same. Beomgyu had gone to pick up a few things he’d left at his friend’s dorm a couple weeks after school ended. Unbeknownst to him, one of Taehyun’s hoodies had snuck its way into his things, another hazard of dating for so long. In a moment of weakness, Beomgyu had worn it around his new apartment for a week, changing into it after a tiring day of auditions, and then eventually washing it and burying it under his mountain of clothes in a fit of frustration.

At the end of that week, Beomgyu had gone to an out-of-the-way bookstore because it was the only one with the acting manual he wanted in stock. While leaving the store, he’d spotted Taehyun across the street.

Even now, Beomgyu remembered what he had looked like with startling clarity — because Taehyun hadn’t changed, not really. Not in the four months they’d been apart. But Taehyun had suddenly looked more beautiful than Beomgyu remembered, whether it was because of the light or the sheer surprise of seeing him again or the fact that the smell of his hoodie still lingered in Beomgyu’s hair.

Beomgyu had quickly turned around and camped in the bookstore for another hour — just in case. He had flipped through his book, casually leaning against a shelf. No big deal, he’d thought, he would just get a head start on reading, he didn’t have other plans that day anyway.

After that, Beomgyu had started being cautious. He wouldn’t think about Taehyun. It might seem counterintuitive. Wasn’t thinking of not thinking about him still thinking about him? Beomgyu had considered that for an afternoon, giving himself a rather nasty migraine, but came to the conclusion that no, it didn’t count. Regardless, he was firm about keeping Taehyun out of his thoughts. And it had worked, for the most part.

He’d slipped up a few times: The first time he’d picked up his guitar again post-breakup, his fingers instinctively strumming the melody to ‘Sunkissed’ before he stopped himself; when he brought some new friends to his favorite tteokbokki place, before remembering that it had been Taehyun who had introduced it to him.

Yet by far the most detrimental moment to Project Forget Kang Taehyun was when Beomgyu’s school hard drive crashed six months post-breakup, and he had desperately taken it to the store to fix. After an hour of waiting and then another hour of fiddling and plugging in and restarting and cracking open and more waiting, they’d come to the conclusion that everything was gone — more than three year’s worth of papers and projects and scripts and files; more than three years with Taehyun.

Maybe Beomgyu had cried that night, maybe Beomgyu had thought a lot about Taehyun that night.

Though perhaps the one thing that reminded Beomgyu most about Taehyun weren’t items or places or even photos, it was the friends that had nearly been as intertwined in their relationship as they’d been.

It hadn’t been a conscious decision at first — he’d made new friends, those who were taking acting workshops with him, those who he saw frequently at auditions, production assistants and makeup artists in the industry who said they would put in a good word to producers and directors and writers they knew — but Beomgyu had eventually seen less and less of those friends he and Taehyun shared, until their messages became few and far between and their meetups even less frequent.

It hadn’t occurred to Beomgyu how long it’d been since he’d seen Soobin until he stepped off the train, his feet taking him by instinct to the street carts lined up outside station entrance 3. There had been a span of years when Beomgyu had been able to walk this path blindfolded. “Soobin!” Beomgyu’s boisterous, infectious voice rang out in the space between them.

Soobin glanced up from his phone, his black hair slightly curled, making the gentle boy look even softer than Beomgyu remembered, his round nose, slightly pink from the cold, wrinkling as he smiled. “Beomgyu, it’s been a while.”

Beomgyu approached Soobin with a wide grin, bumping his shoulder in greeting. “I think last time was around summer. How was Chuseok at your place? Sorry I couldn’t make it.”

Soobin chuckled, wrapping an arm around Beomgyu as they shuffled in the tight space between commuters and shoppers on the sidewalk. “Don’t worry about it; it was great. How have you been?”

“Just reading a bunch of scripts and doing a lot of auditions. I’m quite in demand, you know. If you want an autograph it’s best to ask now while I still remember you,” Beomgyu joked, leaning into Soobin’s side and hearing the older boy giggle. “Oh! Guess what I saw on my way back from an audition yesterday?”

Beomgyu didn’t wait for Soobin’s reply before launching into an animated description of a couple he’d seen on the train last night. His story was occasionally punctuated by wild gestures and loud exclamations, with Soobin nodding along, chuckling and giving him barbed retorts that were sharper than what someone who looked like him was capable of.

“Yo!” A loud call stopped Beomgyu mid-description. Both he and Soobin turned towards the sound, spotting a tall boy with striking blue hair, wide lips and radiant eyes.

“Yeonjun!” Beomgyu exclaimed, arm flailing as he waved wildly at Yeonjun, whose eyes flashed at hearing Beomgyu speak informally. As soon as he was close enough, he jabbed at Beomgyu’s side, “Just because you’re an adult now doesn’t mean you can speak to me like that.”

Beomgyu snickered, his mouth gaping wide. Despite not seeing Soobin or Yeonjun for months, there was no awkwardness. And the three of them bundled together quickly as they made snide remarks and jabs, walking the two blocks to the chicken place that was just as comfortable as each others’ presence.

Settling down across from both Soobin and Yeonjun, Beomgyu waved at the staff. The smell of oil and seasoning and salt and a slight tang of chili hung in the air. He’d practically worn this scent like a cologne when they were in high school, coming here at least four times a week. As Soobin placed their order, Beomgyu and Yeonjun chatted easily.

Beomgyu definitely didn’t look at the empty chair next to him.

It had gone well, hadn’t it? The producers had seemed pleased, the director, too. Beomgyu thought he’d had good chemistry with the girl who had read with him — so did she, apparently, since she’d wanted his number after.

He had gotten a callback days after his first audition, so why was he now on the subway, two weeks later, not having heard another thing? The uneasy feeling that had started off as just a slight pressure in his chest last week had now grown into something menacing.

Beomgyu rubbed at the sore spot now, his foot tapping a staccato rhythm on the floor incongruous with the slow, melancholy melody playing in his ears. He leaned against one of the side partitions of the train as it sped through the cool November air.

It was just before the afternoon rush hour, early enough that it wasn’t crowded but late enough that there were no seats left. Outside the train windows, the sun was going down — a brilliant dash of red and orange and purple bruising the sky. It looked like it hurt.

The robotic voice over the intercom indicated it was his stop: Sincheon. Beomgyu checked his texts again as he stepped off the train. Nothing new from Soobin, just his “Ok I’ll meet you there thank you!” from thirty-two minutes ago.

“Why would he text me?” Beomgyu had actually asked out loud when he’d received Soobin’s initial messages.

There had been three:
Soobin: Beomgyu are you free?
Soobin: I need help
Soobin: can we meet up?

Surprise was the first thing Beomgyu had felt, as he read the texts dated fifteen minutes ago while squashed between some friends at their favorite tteokbokki place — yes, the one Taehyun had shown him. After leaving the company, Beomgyu had needed a particular sort of pick-me-up that only big crowds, loud friends and good food could provide.

Relief was the second thing he felt, quickly eclipsed by a third: worry, a slow-creeping sort of alarm. Beomgyu’s mind whirred through what could possibly be happening right now. They were close — they always would be after growing up together, sharing so much of themselves and their past with each other — but they didn’t do this sort of stuff, not anymore.

Regardless, they were friends — best friends, right — so Beomgyu had quickly bid his company friends goodbye, pretending he’d forgotten about other plans, left and hopped on the train.

Rushing out of the station, Beomgyu quickly put the address of the coffee shop into a maps app, cursing internally at the nine minute walk time. He ran.

The inside of the shop was a blend of art pop and cozy chic. It didn’t seem to want the panting boy in a loose shirt, sweatpants and baseball cap who had barreled through the door three minutes late.

Beomgyu saw Soobin sitting at a high table near the back wall and waved before quickly diverting to the counter to order. There were no frappuccinos or fizzy fruit blends on the menu here. And it was how much for a cappuccino?? Beomgyu barely suppressed his wince as he handed over his card.

The first thing Soobin said when Beomgyu appeared at his table, hoisting himself into a high chair was, “I watched your movie.”

Beomgyu’s eyes widened, legs immediately bouncing under the table. He remembered mentioning that he’d gotten the part to Soobin, hell, he’d been so excited he probably would have told anyone in Seoul who would listen to him at that point.

They had maybe texted a few times while he’d been filming, but Soobin was busy with school, and they didn’t even see each other that much anymore. Beomgyu hadn’t even told him the movie was out yet when they’d last met.

As if reading the bewilderment on Beomgyu’s face, Soobin chuckled, thumb flicking at the loose tab of his hot drink. “Taehyun told me he went to the premiere. What a coincidence, huh? But he said it was good.”

Beomgyu could feel himself gaping like a fish. Hearing Taehyun’s name when he least expected it felt like he’d been impaled in the gut. Beomgyu didn’t even know he and Soobin still talked, but of course they did, they were friends, too. When did they meet? Where did they go? Or was this over text? A phone call? The questions blurred in Beomgyu’s mind, unsatisfying but insistent. “Does he- does he talk about me?”

Soobin’s lips pursed, folding in to make him look more like a bunny. “I guess so, I never really noticed since we’re all friends, you know? I remember he talked about you a lot when you guys first broke up,” Soobin gave him a crooked, awkward smile. “But whenever we meet up nowadays— just from time to time, I guess.” Soobin gave him a decisive nod, eyes clear as if his words hadn’t just thrown Beomgyu off the emotional equivalent of a 60-floor high rise.

“Oh,” Beomgyu breathed out, and even that small noise had to be punched from his chest. Sure he and Taehyun split on relatively good terms. There had been no big blow up or shouting match or even that many tears, but sometimes that made the heartbreak even more bitter.

In a way, Beomgyu had wished they could have given their ending some sort of justice, given it a bit more levity, anything to look back on and blame and say “this is where we went wrong.”

But instead, seemingly, one day they were together and the next they weren’t and every day after that was a resolute, melancholy march in the opposite direction from each other. Beomgyu flinched, and Soobin seemed to take that as his fault.

“We don’t say anything bad. He never said anything bad. I mean, you guys were cool after, right?” Soobin shuffled, as if he could hear Beomgyu’s uncomfortable thoughts.

“Yeah,” Beomgyu choked out. He took another sip of his drink, the coffee against his tongue no more bitter than the word he’d just spat out. Yeah, they were cool. He was cool.

“Sorry,” Soobin twisted his lips, eyes wavering as he glanced at Beomgyu, then away.

Trying to school his features, Beomgyu just shrugged, not really trusting himself to speak, briefly wondering what kind of expression he had on. Making an effort to widen his eyes, his words maybe coming out faster than he intended, Beomgyu leaned forward, asking, “So what was up with your text? Your emergency was that you saw my movie and had to tell me how amazing it was immediately?”

Even though Soobin’s smile widened, he also visibly tensed, and Beomgyu had to say he was liking this reversal of roles. Soobin flicked the tab of his drink again, sighing, “I wanted to talk to you about … uh, dating.”

Beomgyu’s face stretched into a grin, at ease now. He was fine with dating, relationships even, as long as Taehyun wasn’t in the picture. “I’m flattered Soobin, but I can’t get cuffed while I’m on the cusp of fame.”

The dark-haired boy snorted, “I would never date someone famous. That sounds like a pain in the ass on top of, you know, who you are as a person.”

Beomgyu leaned back, bug-eyed and clutching his chest, “I run here in your time of need and this is how you treat me?”

Soobin quickly waved his hand between them, reaching with his abnormally long arm to pat Beomgyu on the shoulder once, twice, in a placating gesture, letting out a stilted laugh, “I was joking, Beomgyu; you are such a good friend, anyone would be lucky to date you. I mean, you’re famous!” Soobin’s exaggerated smile made Beomgyu want to punch him, instead he choked on his laughter and caffeine.

“So, who’s your second choice after me?”

The discomfort was back in Soobin’s gaze, his posture suddenly as flexible as a sheet of glass. Breakable. And for how genteel and earnest Soobin had always been, Beomgyu would never have described him as breakable. He wasn’t weak.

“I- I don’t know if I should tell you this,” Soobin paused a bit, seemingly warring with himself as Beomgyu rocked his legs impatiently under their narrow table.

“Now you don’t know if you should tell me?” Beomgyu asked incredulously, though in a jovial and teasing way, wearing those mannerisms like a second skin.

Soobin bit his lip, working the edges of his mouth the same way he did when Beomgyu and Yeonjun had wanted to do something incredibly stupid but said they wouldn’t have fun without him. Finally, Soobin sighed, “Has Yeonjun texted you?”

“Honestly, as far as second choices go, Yeonjun isn’t bad,” Beomgyu perked up, his grin a shining, shit-eating one.

Soobin recoiled, a faint blush tinging his cheeks. “Has he uh … told you anything?”

“About wanting to date?” Beomgyu asked, not quite following what Soobin was saying though the growing redness on the other’s face was slowly making it clear.

Breathing out a heavy sigh, Soobin sounded defeated, “No, no, he said he’s coming back to Seoul for his last year of uni.”

“Oh, really? Like next year?”

“No, like, now. He said he’s not leaving when the semester starts again.”

Beomgyu blew out a breath, his eyebrows shooting up. No, Yeonjun certainly hadn’t told him about this. A slight pang bounced around Beomgyu’s chest until he took a big sip of his drink; who knew overpriced coffee would be so good at dulling aches.

Soobin continued, “So, I never told you guys this, but, um, at the end of our senior year, Yeonjun told me he liked me.”

“No way,” Beomgyu deadpanned, his eyes rolling to the top of his head so hard he feared his contacts would get stuck.

“Wha- what? Beomgyu what do you mean?” Soobin spluttered, looking disproportionately indignant for someone who had asked Beomgyu here to talk about his problems.

“I mean it was so obvious you guys liked each other. Taehyun and I talked about it all the time.” Beomgyu hadn’t meant to let his name slip. He cleared his throat, “Like whenever we all hung out, it was pretty much a double date.”

“I- That’s not true. We were not dating,” Soobin said, a bit too adamantly for someone who had once made goo-goo eyes at Yeonjun all day when the four of them had gone to the amusement park. Beomgyu would have whipped out the photos as proof right this moment if they hadn’t, unfortunately, been lost to Apple’s shitty quality processing system or something.

“Okay, okay, fine, so he confessed. You turned him down?” It was pretty much a rhetorical question because even though they’d grown apart and Yeonjun had moved, he would like to think he’d know if two of his best friends were dating. Beomgyu waved his hand rapidly, signalling for Soobin to hurry up with the story.

Sighing through a smile, Soobin explained, “Yeah, I- I turned him down because he was leaving in just a few months, you know? And we were both going off to college, and I didn’t know what was going to happen and I was scared.

“I thought that was the end of it. Like, it was a weird thing but we forgot about it. Whenever he visited or when we talked, it didn’t come up again. I think we both tried to not make it awkward.

“But then today, he suddenly texted me saying he was near campus and we should go get a late lunch, and I was free, so I said ‘yeah, sure, why not’. And as we were eating, right over the jajangmyeon—” Beomgyu snorted because the way Soobin said it, he would have thought Yeonjun had committed first-degree murder in that restaurant. “He said ‘hey Soobin, let’s date now.’ Let’s date? Let’s date??”

Soobin slumped back in his chair, exhausted from dumping his tame-to-mild-at-best problem on Beomgyu’s lap.

“And? What did you say?” Beomgyu prompted.

“Well, I choked on the jajangmyeon, first of all, and then after hacking it up, I said I needed to think about it and then just ate like the world was ending and left right after,” Soobin pouted. “And then I texted you.”

Beomgyu let out a peel of laughter so loud some girl studying two tables over shot him a dark look around her laptop. “You’re so stupid!”

“Beomgyu,” Soobin whined, brows furrowing, lips trembling. “I panicked!”

“You dumbass,” Beomgyu spat out in between fits of giggles. His feet kicking beneath the table, his shoulders shaking madly. Still letting out occasional chuckles, Beomgyu said, “Just say yes!”

“What if I don’t want to?” Soobin asked indignantly.

“That’s a big, fat lie,” Beomgyu said, finger wagging between the two like a mother admonishing her child. “You guys have been in love since sophomore year of high school. God knows what you both were like before I even got there.”

“Okay, yes, I liked him, but that doesn’t mean I want to date him!”

“Don’t be silly, of course you want to date him.”

“No, I don’t!” Soobin sounded firm this time, his agitation starting to show on his face. Soobin didn’t get angry easily, he didn’t even get stressed easily. Soobin was probably the most mild-mannered person Beomgyu knew.

“Okay, fine, why don’t you want to date him?” Beomgyu crossed his arms, humoring him.

“What if we ... don’t like each other as much as we thought?” As Beomgyu opened his mouth to tell him why that was dumb as hell, Soobin put up his hands to stop him. He knew Beomgyu too well, too.

“I mean, it’s been so long since we’ve actually spent time together for more than a few days. What if he’s not the same Yeonjun I had a crush on back in high school? And I’ve changed, too. What if we’ve already fallen out of love and just don’t know it yet?”

Beomgyu pursed his lips, elbow resting on the table as he thought for a moment. “It’s not that easy to fall out of love. You’ve known each other for, what, six years now?”

Soobin nodded slowly, going back to flicking his cup.

“And how long have you liked him?”

“Maybe five and a half years?” Soobin mumbled.

“You think neither of you have changed at all in five and a half years?” Beomgyu asked.

“I guess,” Soobin said, quietly, lips pursed. There was a moment's pause. “And what if we break up?”

Ouch.

“And what if an eight-foot shark suddenly grew legs, rampaged around Seoul and ate one of you while you were in line for fish cake?”

Soobin giggled, “That’s so dumb.”

“Exactly.”

Soobin nodded, sloped nose and head tilted downward, making him look so round, so soft. “Okay, you might have … many points.”

Beomgyu wiggled his head happily, an easy smile on his face. “I know; that’s why you came to me!”

The two of them chatted for a while longer, Soobin needing the distraction after wasting away his entire afternoon on thoughts of Yeonjun. The clouds slowly grew darker and darker until the bruise in the sky turned mottled and purple.

Beomgyu caught Soobin up on his auditions. He complained about having to wait and how much he wanted this part, Soobin giving him sympathetic looks all the while, agreeing with him when he said the second production assistant had been so annoying.

The constant stream was the only thing that stopped Beomgyu from asking Soobin if Taehyun had mentioned his new boyfriend. It was fine; he had brought the younger boy up so long ago, it’d be weird to ask about it now.

Before they parted ways outside the cafe, Soobin placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, “Thanks for coming today, I know we haven’t- it’s been a while.”

Beomgyu grinned casually, a slight twinge of guilt flaring in his chest. Most of it had been him, he knew.

“I’m going to do something for my birthday next week,” Soobin said, nodding eagerly. “Will you come?”

“Of course!” Beomgyu chirped, feeling the residual need to patch things up with Soobin, to make it up to him somehow for the past two years of distance. “Just tell me where and when.”

The train was crowded on his way back home, but Beomgyu was thankful that he could get lost in the crowd. Buried between shuffling businessmen and rowdy middle schoolers, Beomgyu wished — not for the first time — it was that easy to fall out of love.

Beomgyu snorts as he reads the message off his lockscreen. He was currently curled into a ball on his sofa binging every Best Picture Oscar winner since 1998 in an attempt to drown out the consistent and alarming buzz of failure and dread that seemed to claw at his chest and make it hard to breathe whenever he thought of his callback, which was now three weeks out without any news.

Any day now Beomgyu dreaded opening up his browser homepage or his email or turning on the TV or maybe even just scrolling on Twitter and seeing the cast for up-and-coming brilliant producer Oh Hyerim’s new ensemble drama and realizing he had still not heard anything, because he was not going to be in it.

Maybe Beomgyu hadn't been as good at pretending everything was fine recently, or maybe his agent was just alarmed by the long stretch of time he was going without a job, because Insong had actually shown up unannounced at his apartment earlier this week. God, what day was it even? Either way, maybe two days ago Insong had shown up at his door to personally hand him more scripts and even a couple possible modeling bookings because he’d been “in the area” and thought to just “drop by and check on things.”

Maybe Beomgyu had been feeling too pathetic at the fact his agent had felt it necessary to also act like a glorified babysitter that he had let Insong talk him into going into the company later this week to get his measurements taken and updated headshots done for a comp card. It was like a business card but for models, Insong had explained.

He wasn’t a model, Beomgyu had wanted to scream. But shame had made him stay silent.

He was supposed to go in tomorrow to get them done, on Thursday. Huh, so today was Wednesday. He hated Wednesday’s.

Beomgyu sighs, not even bothering to pause “Chicago” as he picks up his phone. Yeonjun had been complaining nonstop for the past 20 minutes, and if it weren’t for the fact that Beomgyu had not put it past the older to show up at his door, too, he would have continued ignoring him.

Beomgyu: ikr how dare he try to plan his own birthday party

Already seeing the three dots pop up at the bottom that signalled Yeonjun typing, Beomgyu quickly locked his phone so the older’s reply wouldn’t automatically be marked as ‘Read’. Tossing his phone by his curled feet, he leaned against the back of his couch once more and fixed his eyes on the screen. He was busy.

Beomgyu must have fallen asleep — an unfortunate affliction he’d recently developed, probably out of a lack of things to do and the misery weighing down on him whenever he was, you know, thinking. He wouldn’t mind it so much if it weren’t for the slow drag back to reality each time, where his brain had to spend 10 minutes reorganizing itself only to realize, oh shit, we’re still here.

When Beomgyu woke, he began by registering the coarse brush of the sofa cushion against his cheek; his body was still warm, huddled under the afghan he’d dragged onto the couch with him, but he could feel the cool air threatening to seap down the little gaps by his neck. He tucked his chin in, his half-lidded gaze cloudy as his brain refused to kick-start back to life.

This was the sort of oblivion he could sink himself into, not uncomfortable with a pillow digging into his side and the smell of smoke and alcohol and grease pressed uncomfortably into his skin. Beomgyu’s feet were cold; he tucked his knees in tighter.

“Lord of the Rings” was playing on screen.

Drenched in a haze that only a specific mix of denial, wistfulness and a lingering, soaked desperation could bring, Beomgyu mumbled, eyes already closing to shut the world out again, “Hyunnie, don’t you hate this movie?”

“What? You’re not coming?”

Beomgyu huffed out an exasperated breath as he rushed down the sidewalk, already late. “I told you, it’s my friend’s birthday tonight.”

“Well, can’t you tell them something came up?”

Maybe not keeping track of the date had been a bad idea. Maybe allowing himself to lie in bed the entirety of Friday and today had been a bad idea. Maybe everything that had culminated to this moment of him running down a busy street Saturday night, a present tucked under his arm that was mostly likely going to be crushed when he arrived — at least Soobin would know who it was from without needing a tag — had been a bad idea: leaving school, thinking he could live on his own, thinking he could do any of this on his own.

“No, I literally can’t. It’s my friend’s birthday, are you stupid?” Beomgyu didn’t care that his words had come out venomous. His friends were used to his mood swings. They were all like him, too: shallow, reckless, hopeless.

“Whatever, if you’re not going to come to workshops then don’t fucking whine about not getting any jobs.”

Beomgyu shoved his phone back into his pocket with a scowl, anger heating up his face even though the evening chill was relentless. Fuck him, he thought, as he tried to not think about the words that came a little too close to the truth.

Yeah, fuck him was a lot easier to digest right now.

Even when he arrived at Soobin’s building, slightly out of breath, Beomgyu could still feel the simmering anger under his skin. And under that, guilt. And under that, a space so vast that it scared him to even consider tackling whatever the hell was going on down there. So he gripped onto his fury like a lifeline.

Beomgyu: i’m here

Hurt wasn’t quite the right word to describe what Beomgyu felt when he’d gotten Soobin’s text earlier, but it was close. The message had been innocuous enough for Beomgyu to think he was being silly; it was stupid, there could be a number of reasons why Soobin told him to text when he got here instead of telling him to come up like all the other times he’d visited before. God, has it really been more than a year since?

Well, it wasn’t like he remembered the code anyway.

Shifting from foot to foot, Beomgyu huffed out deep breaths, using the anger in his stomach as a furnace to keep warm. His eyes kept flickering around the familiar front of the building. It was tiled in an awful matte grey color with four glass doors at the front. The doors on the left were always locked — Beomgyu had found out the hard way after slamming into them excitedly way too many times.

He remembered the first time he visited: Soobin hadn’t even moved in yet. At that time, to the Beomgyu who was going to be left behind in high school, the prospect of a studio apartment, the idea of living alone, was the coolest, most dazzling thing in the world. He and Taehyun — mostly him — had pestered Soobin to show it to them constantly until Soobin finally got the keys a week before moving in.

It had been dusty and bare and there was a faint stain in the far left corner of the ceiling that was water damage waiting to happen, but Beomgyu had been enamored. He remembered deciding then and there that he would move out after high school, too. He remembered telling Taehyun they should—

How long was Soobin going to keep him out here?

He checked his lockscreen: four minutes had passed.

Beomgyu: LET ME IN

The sound of footsteps behind him made Beomgyu look up. At least now he could tailgate and wait in the lobby. That was a bit less pathetic than standing outside in the cold on your supposed best friend’s birthday almost an hour late because they were too busy having fun with their other friends to let you in.

“Oh, hey.”

Oh. Oh no. Beomgyu had fucked up: this is what he got for thinking about him. He’d been doing too much of that lately in the month since their chance premiere encounter.

The anger in Beomgyu’s stomach felt a lot less like rage now and much more like the cold soba he scrounged up for lunch, and it was currently threatening to come back up. Beomgyu whipped around.

He was met with Taehyun’s smile. God, his eyes were so bright.

Beomgyu must have managed to strangle out a greeting in return because Taehyun nodded, his eyes reflecting the street light.

Oh god, Beomgyu could not do this right now.

“Did you text Soobin?” Taehyun’s voice was steady, soft.

Obviously Beomgyu was the only one having a crisis here with the way he had to shove his hands into his pockets because they were trembling so much. “Yeah, he hasn’t answered.”

Taehyun shrugged, and only then Beomgyu noticed the white turtleneck and black peacoat he wore. He’s never seen either of them before — they must be new. “I’ll wait with you. He’ll probably see it soon.”

Oh, this was not fair. Beomgyu rocked back and forth on his feet, nodding assertively like he wasn’t about to throw up. “I hope so; it’s really cold,” Beomgyu smiled widely. “My face is probably going to be beet red by the time he lets us in.”

It had always been hard to make Taehyun laugh. Or no, sometimes it was easy, Beomgyu used to make him laugh without even trying; it was just hard to know what would set him off.

But Taehyun laughed now. It was a small one: a quick flash of slim teeth. But for just a moment he looked like he was 16 again. Beomgyu couldn’t breathe.

“I forgot you hate the cold,” Taehyun smirked, arms crossing. “This is definitely Soobin paying you back for arriving late.”

Beomgyu let out a scoff, though it was hollow because hello, there was currently no air residing in his lungs. “It’s basically my personality at this point. He can’t punish me for that.”

Taehyun just hummed in response. The two of them falling silent.

Beomgyu couldn’t look directly at Taehyun or else his eyes would get all prickly and weird. So he glanced at the uneven pavement under his boots, the gates of the houses across the street, the license plate of the car parallel parked next to them like it was a line in one of his scripts he was trying to memorize.

All the while his brain played the windows shutdown sound on repeat.

The quiet between them seemed to expand as the seconds ticked on, threatening to engulf Beomgyu completely. It was suffocating. It was all too familiar: Taehyun’s hum, the gentle hush that followed. This lull in their conversation that had always felt like a balm between their rapid-fire comments and excited rambles. A place where Beomgyu could just be with Taehyun, with nothing in between.

He could not be with him right now.

He had to put something between them right— “The movie! What did you think?”

Taehyun pursed his lips, just slightly, but enough for Beomgyu’s heart rate to speed up: “I didn’t think you were very good.”

Beomgyu froze on his toes. He’d never pegged Taehyun as someone who was vindictive. All these years, he never thought Taehyun hated him.

What he’d told Sanghoon and Seungbin had been the truth. They’d split on okay terms, hadn’t they? They were fine, weren’t they? Fine, fine, fine the chant from that night almost a month ago was now making a very unwelcome return.

“I asked you about the movie, not me,” Beomgyu pouted, trying to brush it off. But something must have given him away — or perhaps Beomgyu had just not been as successful, as fast as Taehyun in becoming someone new — because Taehyun gave him a knowing smile.

When Taehyun smiled he no longer looked distantly beautiful, no, he was beautiful in a different way — golden, precious, like something to be cherished. “You were never any good at taking criticism.” And Taehyun had the nerve to giggle. Giggle.

“Wha-” Beomgyu stuttered, his mouth pulling comically wide, wondering if his mock outrage could successfully mask its genuine counterpart.

Taehyun was smiling wide enough that the corner of his eyes crinkled — there had been a moment in Beomgyu’s life when he would have done anything to make Taehyun smile like that. But Beomgyu would not continue the train of thought about cherishing him right now, no.

“What part of my performance was so unsatisfactory?” Beomgyu sniffed, all pretenses about not being annoyed flung out of the window at just one slight provocation.

Taehyun had once told him, “You’re not good at lying at all.”

He had been annoyed at Taehyun over something dumb — he couldn’t even remember what anymore; it had always been like this. They rarely fought, at least not the kind that mattered, the kind that was actually worth remembering. It had always been these little spats and small frustrations.

They’d been on the bus, and Beomgyu had been petty and hadn’t wanted Taehyun to sit next to him, so he had sat next to a stranger instead, forcing Taehyun to choose between standing next to him in the aisle or a seat further back in the bus. It had been a small victory; they always got off at the same stop anyway.

As they walked through their neighborhood, Beomgyu pattering on about some new game he was playing probably, Taehyun had dropped that bomb.

Beomgyu had argued with him about it then, but — as he often was — Taehyun had been right. He always knew when Beomgyu was lying, no matter what.

Much later, they’d been laying on the floor of Taehyun’s room, windows open to let in the air though it was muggy and humid all the same. The plants on the sill, from when Taehyun had his brief foray into botany of all things, moving far too occasionally with the spare breeze. A small rotating fan was the only thing keeping the two of them from sinking into heated despair.

It was silent as Beomgyu played some game on his phone and Taehyun read a comic next to him — just another afternoon among a myriad of similar days that blended together more and more with each year tucked between them — when Beomgyu suddenly turned on his side, “Hey, Taehyun.”

He received a slight hum in response. “Do you think I’ll be a good actor?”

Taehyun had glanced up then, his eyebrows quirking but he didn’t bother asking Beomgyu where this had come from. “Of course, hyung.”

From anyone else, Beomgyu would not have settled for this noncommittal placating, but he knew Taehyun didn’t give false compliments. “But didn’t you say I’m not good at lying?”

“Is that what acting is?” Taehyun asked back, putting down his book; the two of them lay facing each other, both their bangs damp from the heat.

“I mean, yeah, maybe? I’ll have to pretend a lot, won’t I?”

Taehyun furrowed his brows, “You’re not good at lying because you always show how you’re feeling. Like, it’s so easy to tell when you’re annoyed because you try not to smile and that makes your dimple show.” He reached out to tap right where Beomgyu’s solo dimple would sometimes appear.

Beomgyu shrank back, a traitorous smile forming on his lips, “I’m not annoyed!”

“Hmmm, but you’re smiling like you are.” Taehyun seemed relaxed, a lazy smile of his own spread across his face.

“I’m not! I just … “ Beomgyu trailed off, finger tapping against the wooden floor. “Hey, teach me how to lie.”

“I’m not good at it either, hyung.”

“Yes you are! I never know what you’re thinking,” Beomgyu frowned.

“Maybe you’re just exceptionally bad at reading people,” Taehyun giggled, turning on his back.

Beomgyu shrieked, hand reaching out to shove at Taehyun’s shoulder but it was so hot in the room the two of them were practically glued to their spot on the floor.

“But don’t worry,” Taehyun’s voice was honeyed and warm as he gazed at the squares of sunlight on the ceiling. “You’ll be a great actor.”

How quickly that had turned into “I didn’t think you were very good.”

Taehyun had replied with something, Beomgyu was sure of it. He could see his lips — lovely — moving and maybe, if he strained his ears hard enough above the echo of “didn’t think you were very good”, he could even make out a few words: feel, anything, you.

Oh god, he hated this.

“Not everyone can be naturally talented at everything like you, Taehyun,” Beomgyu sniffed, jutting his chin out. By all counts it would seem like he was joking, his exaggerated manner, the way he tried to keep the bitterness from weighing down his tone.

But Taehyun could tell. “You know that’s not true; that’s not what I meant.”

“Don’t patronize me.”

Taehyun seemed unfazed, his wide eyes holding his steady. “I’m not. I know you’re really good, hyung, that’s why I can tell you these things.”

Hyung. Oh no. Taehyun couldn’t call him that — didn’t get to call him that anymore. Certainly not after their break up; certainly not after telling Beomgyu that his crowning achievement as an actor was subpar in every way.

Distantly, Beomgyu heard a familiar chirp.

His phone. Soobin.

It was like being jolted out of a haze — slowly the sound of a car driving by on some distant road filtered in, the cracked pavement now bathed in a yellow light as the night grew dark around them came into focus, and finally, Taehyun looking at him expectantly at the center of it all.

Beomgyu glanced down at the phone he didn’t realize was still in his hand.

“Soobin?” Taehyun prompted.

He nodded weakly, turning around quickly and making his way to the glass doors. Beomgyu was having an out of body experience. That was the only thing that could explain how he was feeling right now. He couldn’t tell what was between him and Taehyun at this moment. Did they just have an argument? A disagreement? Was he the only one feeling this unbearable pressure in his chest that make it hard to take in more than little gasps of air?

Beomgyu could hear Taehyun following behind him but didn’t dare glance back. They waited for the elevator in silence.

But this was a different kind of quiet — no longer comforting or familiar. This emptiness was bursting at the seams.

Neither of them spoke during the ride up to Soobin’s floor. And if this wasn’t an out of body experience, Beomgyu really didn’t know what it was, because before he knew it they were outside the apartment and his fingers were trembling as they reached out towards the doorknob. Had he really not been back here since then?

Soobin’s apartment door was an off-color green, faded and uneven. There was a patch near the bottom that was slightly discolored; Beomgyu knew without even having to look, because it was his paint job.

It’s just a door, Beomgyu told himself.

He knew what he would find on the other side. Familiar couches and maybe a bigger television and Soobin’s smiling face. So why was he so scared? Why was he convinced that the teary-eyed, blank-faced Taehyun from his memory would be there, too?

“Beomgyu?” Taehyun’s voice seemed overly loud in the empty hallway. Beomgyu flinched, just slightly.

“Uh,” Beomgyu paused, curling his fingers into a fist and knocking on the door.

He couldn’t do this right now. He felt like his legs would give out at any moment. He couldn’t look at Taehyun.

But his theory was useless now that the boy himself was a mere three feet away. So fuck it, fine, he would think about Taehyun. He would think about the slight crease between Taehyun’s brows, and the hurt in his eyes, and the slight frown that still only did nothing but make his face more beautiful when Beomgyu said he wanted to break up.

He would remember the feel of tears — far too commonplace nowadays — as they tipped past his lashes and the way Taehyun’s eyes had grown red at the sight of them. He remembered his breathy, weak, “I’ve got to go” and Taehyun’s resigned nod, even slight smile. Acceptance followed by heartbreak — they’d done it all wrong.

Soobin’s front door swung open, and Beomgyu jumped.

As if watching from afar, he smiled at Yeonjun, he joked about being late, he nodded readily and stepped into the apartment like it was nothing. Like he wasn’t about to fall apart.