Chapter Text
Seoul, Present Day
Three Weeks After the Reunion Dinner
Jin's apartment smells like cardboard and indecision. That's the first thing he thinks every morning when he wakes up, not quite conscious yet, not quite floating, just aware of the boxes he hasn't touched and the life he hasn't built. Cardboard and indecision. The scent of three years of not knowing how to stay.
He's been back in Seoul for two months. His apartment still looks like he just moved in.
Today, he tells himself for the thirtieth day in a row. Today I'll unpack the rest.
He doesn't.
---
His job is fine. That's the word he uses when people ask, fine ,because it's neutral, because it doesn't invite follow-up questions, because it's the opposite of some days I edit photos of products I don't care about and wonder how I ended up here.
Commercial photography. Studio work. Clean lighting, perfect angles, nothing that requires feeling.
He's good at it.
That might be the worst part.
---
His phone buzzes on the nightstand. Hwan, his one real friend from military service, now somehow also his one real friend in Seoul.
Hwan is a high school history teacher. He spends his weekends hiking and sending Jin photos of mountains with captions like "you should be here instead of whatever you're doing." He's blunt, impatient, and inexplicably loyal to someone he met in basic training who spent the first three months barely speaking.
You alive? Hwan's message reads.
Jin types back: Barely.
Dramatic. Coffee. Today. That place near Hongdae, close to your old campus. 4pm.
I have work.
You're always working. 4pm.
Jin sighs. Fine.
He knows exactly which café Hwan means. The one with the terrible lighting and the good pastries. The one where Jin used to meet someone between classes, and watch—
No.
He should unpack
---
The café hasn't changed.
That's the problem with this city, it moves through time makes everything unrecognizable and the next second, it refuses to acknowledge that time has passed, that people have left, that everything is different now. The same chipped mugs. The same aggressive air conditioning. The same window seat where Jin used to sit and pretend he was studying when really he was just... waiting.
Hwan is already there when Jin arrives, sprawled in a corner booth with the expression of someone who's been grading papers for six hours and is functioning entirely on caffeine.
"You look terrible," Hwan says by way of greeting.
"You look like a history teacher."
"I am a history teacher." Hwan pushes a coffee toward him. "Drink. You look like you need it."
Jin wraps his hands around the cup. The warmth is grounding. He focuses on it instead of the window, instead of the door, instead of the way his eyes keep drifting toward the street like they're looking for someone they'll never find.
"So," Hwan says. "You going to tell me what's wrong, or do I have to guess?"
"Nothing's wrong."
"You've been back two months. You've seen me twice. You look like you haven't slept in weeks." Hwan leans forward. "I'm a teacher. I'm trained to spot when people are lying."
Jin laughs despite himself. "That's not a real teaching skill."
"It's absolutely a real teaching skill. Now talk."
---
They talk. Or rather, Jin talks around things while Hwan listens with that patient expression he probably uses on students who are struggling. Work is fine. The apartment is fine. Everything is fine.
"So it's not about work," Hwan says finally. "And it's not about the apartment. Which means it's about a person."
Jin's hands tighten on his cup.
"Ah." Hwan nods slowly. "That face. I know that face."
"What face?"
"The one you made in basic training every time someone mentioned going home. Like you were missing something you couldn't name." Hwan pauses. "Who are they?" Jin doesn't answer.
"Let me guess. Someone from before military. Someone you didn't say goodbye to properly." Another pause. "Someone you're still not over."
"It's not—" Jin stops. Starts again. "It's complicated."
"It's always complicated." Hwan leans back. "But complicated doesn't mean nothing. Complicated just means you haven't figured it out yet."
---
They talk about other things after that. Hwan's students. Hwan's latest hiking trip. The documentary He wants Jin to watch because "the cinematography is incredible, you'd appreciate it."
But underneath the conversation, something else is happening.
Jin's eyes keep drifting.
To the door. To the window. To the street.
And then, finally, inevitably, to the table in the corner near the window.
The one where Jungkook used to sit.
"Hyung, you put too much sugar in your coffee."
"It's not too much. It's perfectly calibrated."
"It's white. Your coffee is literally white."
"That's called cream, Jungkook-ah. Very sophisticated. You wouldn't understand."
Jungkook had laughed—that bright, unguarded laugh that made everyone in the café turn and look. And Jin had thought, stupidly, dangerously: I want to make him laugh like that forever.
He'd thought a lot of stupid things back then.
---
After Hwan leaves, "I have papers to grade, actually show up next time" Jin doesn't go home, but he doesn’t stay either. He cannot keep this longing tear his heart in this place.
He walks. His feet carry him through streets he used to know. Past the station. Past the convenience store. Past the university gates. He tells himself he's not looking for anyone.
He's lying.
---
And then, in a flash he sees them. Across the street. Outside a small café Jin doesn't recognize.
Such a huge city, hundreds of places and thousands of people but here he is back again, in the shackles of the longing he ran to escape.
Jungkook.
And Minjae.
They're standing close, close enough that Jin can see the way Minjae's hand rests on Jungkook's shoulder. Close enough that Jin can see Jungkook laugh at something Minjae said. Close enough that Jin can see how natural they look together. How easy.
Jin stops walking.
He should look away. He should cross the street. He should go home and forget he saw anything.
He doesn't.
He watches.
Minjae says something. Jungkook laughs again, that laugh, the one Jin used to hear in darkrooms and convenience stores and on balconies at 3 AM. The one Jin thought was just for him. Minjae's hand stays on Jungkook's shoulder. Jungkook doesn't move away.
They're close, Jin thinks. Of course they're close. Minjae stayed.
I don't get to feel this ache
I don't deserve to want, not anymore.
---
He forces himself to move. Walks past the café without looking back. Tells himself the tightness in his chest is nothing.
---
His apartment greets him with the same cardboard silence it always does. And he stands in the living room, if you can call it that, this small box of a space with windows that face another building and looks at the boxes he hasn't touched in two months.
One of them is marked, in his own handwriting: STUDIO - FRAGILE
He knows what's inside.
He opens it anyway.
---
The camera is old now. A vintage film camera Jungkook had found at a flea market and spent months restoring. He'd given it to Jin for no reason, not a birthday, not a holiday, just a Tuesday, with that hopeful expression he used to wear when he wasn't sure if something would be received well.
"It's for you," Jungkook had said. "Because, well, I don't know. Because you deserve nice things. Because you're always giving and never taking. Because I wanted to."
Jin had held the camera like it was made of glass.
"Jungkook-ah, this is too much."
“It's not too much. It's exactly the right amount."
"I can't accept—"
"You can. You will. I already fixed the shutter, see?"
Jungkook had shown him how it worked, standing close enough that Jin could smell his shampoo, close enough that Jin could see the tiny mole under his eye, close enough that-
Jin had stepped back.
"Thank you," he'd said. Formal. Careful. Wrong.
And Jungkook's expression had flickered…hurt, quickly hidden, before he'd smiled and said, "Anytime, hyung."
Jin runs his fingers over the camera now. It still works. He's kept it clean, kept it safe, kept it even when keeping it felt like holding onto something he had no right to want.
I don't get to want anything anymore.
But he does.
God, he does.
—
Instagram,
It was a huge shock when jungkook accepted his request, 5 days after he’d sent it. Jin had lost all hopes of being let in, but well here he is.
He tells himself he's just checking. Just scrolling. Just passing time. But his thumb knows exactly where to go. Jungkook's profile.
Sparse these days. Not like before, when he'd post constantly,photographs, selfies, stupid videos of sunsets. Now it's mostly work. Commercial shots. The occasional landscape. But today there's something new. A photograph of a café. The one Jin just walked past. Jungkook's caption: good company.
Jin stares at it.
Good company.
Minjae.
Good company means Minjae.
Of course it does.
Jin closes the app. Opens it. Closes it again.
His thumb hovers over the message icon.
*Hi. I saw you today.*
Delete.
*You looked happy.*
Delete.
*I miss you.*
Delete.
He types nothing. Sends nothing. Locks his phone and sets it face-down on the table.
---
Two Days Later
The group chat, a new one actually, that they made at their last meetup to stay in touch properly this time with the newer alumni as well, is shockingly, active again.
Someone—Sunho, jin doen’t recognise him, atleast not by name— is organizing a casual meetup. Drinks. Nothing formal. "Like old times," the message says.Jin almost ignores it.
Then,
Minjae: I'll bring JK if he's not working
Sunho: Bring him!! Haven't seen him in forever
Minjae: He literally came at the last meetup
Sunho: Before that dudeee, yk what I mean, when does he ever show up
Minjae: yeahh, He might say no but I'll try
Sunho: Tell him we miss him
Minjae: I tell him every day lol
Jin reads the exchange too many times.
*I'll bring JK.*
*I tell him every day.*
Minjae texts Jungkook every day. Minjae knows where Jungkook is, what he's doing, whether he's sleeping. Minjae stands close to him at cafés, hand on his shoulder, making him laugh.
Minjae stayed.
And Jin is..what?
Someone who left.
Someone who didn't say goodbye.
---
He goes to the meetup anyway. Because he's an idiot. Because he's a glutton for punishment. Because somewhere underneath all the self-denial, there's a desperate hope that maybe…maybe
Jungkook isn't there.
Jin tells himself he's not relieved. He's not disappointed. He feels nothing.
---
The evening passes in a blur of small talk and soju. People ask about his job. He gives the same answers he always gives. People ask about military service. He deflects. People ask if he's seeing anyone. He laughs at that one. Actually laughs.
"No," he says. "Not really my thing."
Not really my thing.
The words echo as he says them. He's said them before, years ago, to Jungkook, on a balcony at a party. I don't think I need romantic relationships.
He'd meant it then.
He'd been lying.
---
Minjae is there. Without Jungkook.
Jin watches him across the table, the easy way he talks, the way people gravitate toward him. He's good, Jin can admit that. Genuinely good. The kind of person who stays. Jin looks away.
But Minjae catches his eye anyway.
Later, much later, when the group has thinned out and only a few people remain, Minjae slides into the seat beside him. "You keep looking at me," Minjae says. Not accusatory. Just observant.
"I wasn't."
"You were." Minjae takes a drink. "Want to tell me why?"
Jin considers lying. Considers deflecting. Considers all the things he usually does.
Instead: "How is he?"
Minjae doesn't pretend not to know who Jin means.
“Why do you keep asking that?”
“I only asked once, and did not get an answer” Jin bites back
Minjae takes a deep breath and pretends to think, or maybe he’s not - pretending
"He has bad days," He says quietly. "And worse nights."
Jin's chest tightens. "What do you mean?"
"I mean he doesn't sleep. I mean he works until he collapses. I mean he still" Minjae stops. Shakes his head. "You really want to know? After three years?"
"Yes."
Minjae studies him for a long moment. Then: "He used to go to every party. After you left. Every single one. He'd stay until the end, and I'd watch him watch the door, and I knew- " Another pause. "I knew he was waiting for someone who wasn't coming."
Jin's hands are shaking. He presses them flat against the table.
"I didn't know."
"No. You wouldn't." Minjae's voice isn't cruel. Just tired. "He doesn't talk about you. But he doesn't have to. I see it."
"See what?"
"How he still checks his phone. How he takes photos of places you used to go." Minjae meets his eyes. "He never stopped waiting, Jin. He just stopped showing it."
---
Jin sits there, in the dim light of the bar, and lets the words settle.
*He never stopped waiting.*
*He just stopped showing it.*
Jungkook had always been afraid of people leaving. And Jin had left anyway.
Not because he didn't care.
Because he cared too much and didn't know how to stay.
But Jungkook didn't know that.
Jungkook only knew that someone else had walked away.
---
Jin doesn't know what to say.
"I have to go," Jin says suddenly.
Minjae nods. Doesn't stop him.
Jin leaves before he can say something he'll regret.
---
He doesn't go home. He walks to the river.
Because some places pull you back even when you're trying to move forward.
The river at night, is dark. Water moving under bridges, under streetlights, under the weight of a city that doesn't stop for anyone. Jin stands at the railing and watches it.
He thinks about Jungkook. About the boy who waited. About the man he's become, the one who doesn't show it anymore, who works until he collapses, who let Minjae stay but no one else.
He never stopped waiting. He just stopped showing it.
Were they both lying awake, three years apart, wanting the same thing?
---
His phone buzzes.
Hwan: You okay? Disappeared on me again, for a week
Jin: Fine.
Hwan: You're a terrible liar.
Jin almost smiles. Almost.
Hwan: Whatever it is, you can figure it out. You're not as hopeless as you think.
Jin: Thanks.
Hwan: Go home. Sleep. Try again tomorrow.
Jin pockets the phone.
He stays at the river a little longer.
---
The Next Morning
His phone has one notification.
Instagram.
*@jk.jpg just posted.*
Yeah he has turned on post notifications, 3am decisions is what he calls them
Its a photograph of the river at night. Dark water, city lights, empty bench.
No caption.
Jin stares at it.
*The same river. The same night.*
He doesn't know if Jungkook was here. Doesn't know if they stood at different points along the water, both watching the same current. He screenshots it anyway.
---
And then, because he can't help himself:
He types a message.
Jin: The river looks cold.
He sends it before he can stop.
---
The reply takes twenty minutes.
Jungkook: It is.
Jin: Why do you go there at night?
Jungkook: Why do you care?
Jin stares at the question.
He types: I've always cared.
Sends it.
---
The typing indicator appears.
Disappears.
Appears again.
Then:
Jungkook: You have a funny way of showing it.
Jin's chest caves in.
Jin: I know.
Jungkook: I waited, hyung.
Three words. Three years. Everything.
Jin's hands are shaking.
Jin: I'm sorry.
He waits.
No reply comes.
---
He waits an hour. Two hours.
Nothing.
He tells himself it's fine. He tells himself he doesn't get to expect more.
Then:
Jungkook: Sorry doesn't change anything.
Jin: I know.
Jungkook: Then why are you texting me?
Jin types
Because I don't know how to stop.
---
No reply comes.
But Jungkook doesn't block him.
That's not nothing.
---
Three Days Later
The group chat is quiet until Jin drop the announcement
Housewarming party. My place. Two weeks from Saturday. You're all invited.
Replies flood in. Emojis. Confirmations.
One name is silent.
Jungkook.
Jin watches the chat for hours. Jungkook doesn't respond.
Finally, privately, Jin types:
You probably won't come. I get it. But you're invited.
He sends it before he can stop himself.
---
No reply comes.
But Jungkook doesn't leave the group chat.
That's not nothing either.
---
That night, Jin dreams.
Jungkook at nineteen, laughing on a balcony. Jungkook in a darkroom, sleep-deprived and beautiful. Jungkook looking at him across a convenience store table, eyes soft, saying “I like this. Us. Just this.”
He wakes up reaching for someone who isn't there.
---
I don't get to want anything anymore.
The mantra feels useless now.
Because wanting doesn't care about permission.
And somewhere across the city, Jungkook is probably staring at his own ceiling, wondering why the past won't stay buried.
Jin has no right to wonder.
But he wonders anyway.
He always will.