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The sheet, still creased, held the warmth of two entwined bodies, bathed in the soft light filtering through half-open curtains. Morning stretched lazily, just like the two of them, in this room soaked in tenderness. Woobin had his head resting against Serim’s chest, and their calm breaths matched in a quiet melody, intimate, almost unreal.
Woobin’s fingers traced light circles on Serim’s bare skin, as if trying to memorize every fragment, every shade of him. Their legs were tangled, and from time to time, one of them moved just a little closer, as if closeness could never be close enough. The silence between them wasn’t empty. It was full. Overflowing with gentle glances, stretched smiles, muffled laughter against skin.
Serim slipped his fingers through Woobin’s hair, left them there, then pulled them back just to place them again. Woobin turned his head, and their eyes met. Serim smiled, the smile he saved only for him. Fragile and bright, shy and certain all at once. Woobin answered by nuzzling his nose against Serim’s, until a soft, silent laugh escaped from him.
Then, with a gesture so natural, Serim was above him and straddled him. Woobin looked up at him, a smile still clinging to his lips, and let his hands slide to the nape of Serim’s neck. They stared at each other for a long time. No words needed. Everything was said in their shining eyes, in trembling skin, in the almost surreal tenderness of the moment.
Serim leaned down and kissed him. Slowly, gently, again and again. Their noses brushed, their breaths mingled. Woobin giggled softly against his lips, and Serim smiled into his mouth. They were young, in love, invincible. The world had stopped, just for them, just for this eternal moment.
Then suddenly, with a playful impulse, Woobin slipped away, ducked under Serim, and leapt out of bed. He was laughing freely as he darted through the apartment. The floor creaked under his light feet. He nearly slipped turning the corner, one hand braced against the wall for balance. Serim, frozen for a second in surprise, burst into a soundless laugh and chased after him.
Their footsteps echoed softly in the stillness of the apartment. Serim laughed, half running, half tripping over clothes strewn across the floor. Woobin stopped at the end of the living room, back to the window, cornered. He backed up until his spine met the wall. His heart was racing, not from fear, but from joy.
Serim slowed. He approached like a playful predator, eyes sparkling with tenderness. He raised his arms, wrapped them around Woobin’s waist, and lifted him as if he weighed nothing. Their foreheads touched. Their gazes met and sank into a sea of silent love.
And in that look, wide as a summer sky, Woobin felt something too big to name. A soft certainty, full of promises and light. He told himself he wanted this look, this love, to last forever.
****
The university was bathed in a soft light, filtered through the tall windows. Students filled the hallways with muffled conversations, hurried footsteps, quiet sighs. Woobin walked through the calm chaos, earbuds in, but without any music. Just to feel a little removed from the world.
He wasn’t expecting anything in particular. There was no urgency, no discomfort. He was simply there, existing within the scene like everyone else. His bag hung heavily on his shoulder, and he felt a bit cold. His thoughts drifted vaguely to overdue assignments, to what he might eat for dinner.
He entered the classroom, took his seat, and pulled out his things. Next to him, two students laughed. Someone yawned loudly in the back. The professor hadn’t arrived yet. An ordinary day, filled with forgettable details.
And then, as he lifted his eyes toward the door, he saw him. Serim.
Standing, surrounded by two friends, talking. He was laughing a little. His shoulders were relaxed. His hand in his hair, like always, either out of boredom or to seem effortlessly cool.
He was so beautiful, Woobin never knew someone as stunning as Serim before. He was for sure one of the most handsome man of the university, even of the city, if you wanted the opinion of Woobin.
Woobin was looking at him, a flame taking place in his chest.
Their eyes met. And in Serim’s gaze, there was nothing.
Not even the hint of a smile.
Not a shadow of tenderness.
Just a brutal retreat. A silence that settled deep in the chest.
And Serim looked away immediately.
As if the contact burned.
Woobin didn’t move. But something inside him wavered.
He was there. Laughing, talking, pretending everything was just like before.
Except he wasn’t the same Serim anymore.
Not the one Woobin knew. Not the one who kissed him in the dark, who ran through the apartment with his hand in his, eyes filled with overwhelming love.
He remembered the warmth of their embraces, fingers at the nape of his neck, muffled laughter beneath the sheets, the way Serim looked at him like he held the entire world in his arms. He replayed the simple moments, tender and timeless. Pillow fights. Stolen kisses. Quiet happiness.
And now, there was nothing. Just the emptiness beside him. Just the absence.
His heart tightened, though he didn’t yet know why. He didn’t want to understand. Not yet. So he went on. Pretended nothing had happened. He listened to the lecture. He took notes. Nodded when someone spoke to him. Ate lunch alone without even noticing.
The day dragged on. Hours fell, one after the other, into an inner silence no one could see. Woobin stayed there, his gestures automatic, frozen in silent grief.
He didn’t look for Serim, he didn’t have to. Serim was everywhere. In the halls, in the books they once flipped through together, in the shadows on the walls. In his mind.
And when the day finally faded into bruised light, he saw him.
Serim.
Walking toward him like a ghost.
Hands buried deep in his coat pockets. Gaze dropped to the floor, as if looking at Woobin might burn him.
He stood there, stiff, too stiff, like his spine was the only thing keeping him upright in the storm he’d summoned himself.
He didn’t say hello.
Didn’t ask how he was.
Didn’t even pretend.
Woobin waited. His chest tight, throat aching from all the words he wasn’t sure he’d be able to say without falling apart. He just needed something. Anything. Even a scream. Even a slap. Something human.
But Serim only opened his mouth, and gave him three words.
Three lifeless, cold-breathed words.
"It is over."
No hesitation.
No tremor in his voice.
No flicker of guilt in the way he stood.
But his eyes.
His eyes betrayed him.
Because in them, Woobin saw it. That sorrow. That desperate, buried shame.
Serim was trying so hard to look like he felt nothing, but his gaze was soaked in regret.
In fear. In cowardice.
And Woobin understood.
He wasn’t rejecting Woobin.
He was running away from himself.
He saw it clearly now.
Serim was terrified of being seen.
Of being known. Of loving in the open.
He’d rather drown in silence than admit how much it all meant.
He’d rather leave than risk being vulnerable.
Woobin didn’t answer. He just looked at him. For a long time.
He wanted to scream at him.
That he wasn’t ashamed. That he never had been.
That Serim could have been himself with him. Truly, wholly.
That his love had been soft, and real, and something sacred.
That he would’ve fought for them.
That he would’ve carried Serim’s fear on his back if it meant they could stay.
That he had been ready. That he had always been ready.
But he said nothing.
Because Serim wouldn’t hear it.
Because Serim had already decided.
And that silence was the loudest goodbye Woobin had ever known.
So he let him go.
He watched as Serim turned. Walked away. No glance back. No hesitation.
Just that rigid posture, like if he stopped for even a second, he’d collapse under the weight of everything he couldn’t say.
And Woobin stayed. Arms by his sides, throat tight. A hollow ache slowly grew inside him, one that didn’t cry, but burned.
And in that endless silence, a thought rose, soft and devastating :
I would’ve stayed, Serim.
I would’ve waited.
I would’ve loved you hard enough for the both of us, if I had it to.
But you ran.
You ran away before you ever gave me the chance.
And maybe that was the part that hurt the most.
He hadn’t been abandoned because he was unworthy.
He’d been abandoned because Serim never believed he was worthy of love at all.