The night was uncharacteristically cold for October, a biting chill in the air that seemed to pierce right through Seungcheol's jacket. He wrapped it tighter around himself as he made his way up the familiar path to the rooftop. It had been their place for years-where they would talk until the first light of dawn, dream about the future, and laugh until their stomachs hurt. But tonight, it was different. The air felt heavy, laden with unspoken words and unshed tears.
When Seungcheol pushed open the rusted door, he found Jeonghan already there, leaning against the railing, staring out over the city. The glow of the streetlights washed over his features, making him look ethereal, but also distant-like he was slipping away, and there was nothing Seungcheol could do to stop it.
Jeonghan didn't turn when he heard the door creak open. He knew who it was. He always did. They were too familiar with each other, their lives intertwined in a way that neither of them could explain. But there was a wall between them now, one that Seungcheol didn't know how to break down.
"You're late," Jeonghan said softly, his voice barely audible over the sound of the wind. There was no accusation in his tone, but Seungcheol winced anyway, feeling the weight of all the times he had been late-not just tonight, but all the moments when he should have been there and wasn't.
"I'm sorry," Seungcheol replied, his voice rough. He walked over to stand beside Jeonghan, resting his hands on the cold metal of the railing. He glanced at Jeonghan's profile, noting the dark circles under his eyes, the way his lips were pressed into a thin line. Jeonghan looked tired-more than tired. He looked worn down, like he had been carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders for far too long.
They stood in silence for a long time, the city stretching out below them, indifferent to the turmoil that roiled between them. Seungcheol opened his mouth to speak, but every time, the words caught in his throat. He had always been good with words, but how could he possibly find the right ones to fix this? To make up for all the times he had failed Jeonghan, for all the times he had looked the other way when Jeonghan needed him most?
"Do you ever wish we could go back?" Jeonghan's question broke the silence, but he didn't turn to face Seungcheol. His eyes stayed fixed on the skyline, as if he could find some sort of answer there. "Back to when everything wasn't so... complicated?"
Seungcheol's chest tightened, his breath catching painfully. "All the time," he admitted, his voice barely more than a whisper. "But we can't, can we?"
Jeonghan finally turned, and Seungcheol wished he hadn't, because the look in his eyes was enough to shatter him. It was raw and unguarded, a reflection of the hurt that he had been carrying alone for too long.
"No, we can't," Jeonghan said, his voice breaking on the last word. He looked down, his hands clenching around the fabric of his sweater as if he could hold himself together if he just held on tightly enough. "But sometimes, I think maybe it would have been better if we never... if we had never gotten so close in the first place."
Seungcheol felt like the ground had been pulled out from under him. He had known that things were bad between them-that they had drifted, that he had hurt Jeonghan in ways he couldn't even understand-but he hadn't known that it was this bad. That Jeonghan wished they had never even tried.
"Don't say that, Jeonghan," he choked out, reaching out to touch Jeonghan's arm, but Jeonghan flinched away before his fingers could make contact. The rejection stung more than Seungcheol could have imagined, and he dropped his hand, feeling the distance between them grow even wider. "Please... don't say that."
Jeonghan's shoulders shook, and he laughed-a bitter, broken sound that cut through Seungcheol like a knife. "Why not? It's true, isn't it? We keep hurting each other, over and over again. I don't even know who we are to each other anymore. Friends? Strangers? Something in between?"
Seungcheol felt his throat tighten, a lump forming that made it hard to breathe. "I never wanted to hurt you, Jeonghan. You have to believe me. I... I just didn't know how to fix it."
Jeonghan shook his head, a small, sad smile pulling at his lips. "Maybe that's the problem, Seungcheol. You always think you have to fix things. But sometimes, things are just broken."
The words hung between them, heavy and final. Seungcheol wanted to argue, to beg, to find some way to change Jeonghan's mind. But he knew, deep down, that this wasn't something he could fix with apologies or promises. They had reached a point where words couldn't bridge the gap between them.
"I don't want to lose you," Seungcheol whispered, the desperation bleeding into his voice. "Please, Jeonghan. Don't leave like this."
Jeonghan looked at him for a long moment, and for a second, Seungcheol thought he saw a flicker of the old Jeonghan-the one who used to laugh at his terrible jokes and lean on his shoulder when he was tired. But then it was gone, replaced by the same weary resignation that had been there before.
"You already lost me, Seungcheol," Jeonghan said softly. "We just never said it out loud."
He turned away then, and Seungcheol watched as he walked towards the door, each step taking him further away. He wanted to run after him, to pull him back, to find the right words to make him stay. But his feet stayed rooted to the ground, and all he could do was watch as the door swung shut behind Jeonghan, leaving him alone on the rooftop with nothing but the echoes of their broken conversation.
The city lights blurred through Seungcheol's unshed tears, and he wondered how long it would take for this feeling to fade, if it ever would. He stood there for a long time, the cold seeping into his bones, but he couldn't bring himself to leave.
Because a part of him still hoped that Jeonghan would come back. That he would turn around and say he didn't mean it, that they could start over. But as the minutes stretched into hours and the sky began to lighten with the first hints of dawn, Seungcheol knew, deep down, that he would be waiting alone.
And for the first time in a long time, he let the tears fall.
