Second Chance [SEOKSOO]

07: Between the Words

Seokmin stepped into the room, his shoulders tense, his gaze fixed firmly on the floor. He moved with careful, deliberate slowness, as if each step took effort. Joshua watched him, his heart sinking with each passing second, waiting for Seokmin to look up, to give him any kind of reaction. But Seokmin’s eyes stayed downcast, never once meeting his. The silence between them grew heavier, each unspoken word thickening the air around them.

The silence was thick, pressing down on Joshua as he searched Seokmin’s expression for some sign of what he was feeling. But Seokmin’s face was unreadable, locked behind a mask of composure that made Joshua’s heart pound harder.

Joshua opened his mouth, his voice barely a whisper. “Seokmin, I…”

But before he could finish, Seokmin turned his back to him, moving toward the closet without a word. The distance between them felt like an insurmountable chasm. Joshua’s fingers dug into the bedsheet, an ache settling in his chest as he watched Seokmin’s every move.

As Seokmin pulled out a fresh shirt, Joshua felt the weight of everything unsaid, the guilt and confusion swirling inside him. He wanted to reach out, to bridge the gap, to make it right somehow. But Seokmin’s silence, his refusal to look at him, held him back like an invisible wall.

Seokmin’s voice cut through the silence, low and restrained. “I’m… sorry about last night.”

The words were calm, but Joshua felt them like a blow. He stared at Seokmin’s back, searching for any sign of the emotions he knew had to be hidden there, but Seokmin’s posture was rigid, carefully composed. His hands tightened around the shirt he held, knuckles pale against the fabric.

Joshua’s throat felt tight, his voice barely more than a whisper. “Seokmin, don’t… don’t say it like that.”

Seokmin’s shoulders tensed further, but he didn’t turn. “Like what?” he asked, his tone hollow.

Joshua swallowed, fighting against the knot in his chest. “Like it was your mistake.”

Seokmin went still, his hand pausing mid-movement. For a brief, agonizing moment, Joshua thought he might finally look at him, that he might say something that would pull them back from the edge of whatever had come between them. But instead, Seokmin straightened, exhaling slowly as if steeling himself. “Maybe it was.”

Those three words dropped like stones between them, final and irreversible. Joshua’s breath hitched, the ache in his chest spreading, sharp and relentless.

Joshua took a slow, steady breath, forcing his feet to move as he crossed the room toward Seokmin. His heart pounded, each step carrying the weight of his own guilt, his regret. This wasn’t Seokmin’s fault—it was his. Every reminder of the night, every look Seokmin refused to meet, only deepened the ache in Joshua’s chest, a reminder of the lines he’d crossed.

As he drew closer, he reached out, his hand hovering just inches away from Seokmin’s shoulder. He could see the tension in Seokmin’s stance, the way his hands were clenched, as if bracing himself for something he couldn’t bring himself to face.

“Seokmin,” Joshua’s voice was rough, barely a whisper. “I… I’m sorry.”

The words hung between them, raw and unfinished. Seokmin didn’t turn, but Joshua could see his shoulders tense, his breathing shallow. He knew that apology alone couldn’t fix this, couldn’t erase the memory of last night. But Joshua needed him to understand, needed him to see that he hadn’t meant to hurt him.

“It wasn’t… it wasn’t supposed to be like that,” he added, his voice breaking slightly. “I didn’t mean to—”

Seokmin cut him off, his voice soft but firm. “Please, don’t. Just… don’t.”