spaces | c.h.w + l.m.h

七

Hyungwon sat alone in the dimly lit dance studio, his back pressed against the cool wall, knees pulled to his chest. His hands were trembling slightly, still sore from hours of rehearsal. His body ached, but it was nothing compared to the ache in his chest. The one that had been festering for nearly two years.

He stared at his reflection in the mirror across from him—red-rimmed eyes, sweat-drenched hair clinging to his forehead, and the unmistakable look of defeat. He blinked slowly, and only then did he realize his vision was blurred with tears.

"Why am I still here?" he muttered bitterly to himself.

For the hundredth time, he pulled the crumpled letter from his bag—the rejection notice from the scholarship board. His eyes scanned the words he could already recite by heart.

We regret to inform you that we are unable to provide further financial assistance for your continued enrollment.

The words might as well have been a death sentence. He didn't have enough money for another semester. His dream was slipping through his fingers, and all he could feel was exhaustion. Exhaustion and a longing so fierce it made him sick.

Minhyuk's face appeared in his mind. His bright eyes. That cheeky smile. The way he used to throw his head back when he laughed. The ghost of him lingered everywhere. Hyungwon hadn't heard his voice in nearly two years, not since the day he boarded the plane to New York. He didn't even know why they stopped talking—it just... happened.

Hyungwon let out a shaky breath, burying his face in his hands. The tears came hard and fast, and he didn't bother trying to stop them.

"Hyungwon?"

He jerked his head up at the voice. His dance director, Hyunwoo, stood in the doorway, brows furrowed with concern.

"You okay?" Hyunwoo asked in perfect Korean, his tone gentle.

Hyungwon quickly wiped his face with his sleeve and forced a weak smile. "I'm fine."

Hyunwoo crossed the room and lowered himself onto the floor beside him. He didn't say anything at first—just sat quietly, letting the tension settle. He was good at that. He was patient, like a steady presence in a storm.

"Missing home?" Hyunwoo finally asked softly.

Hyungwon's breath caught in his throat. "Yeah... bad." He nodded slowly, his voice breaking.

Hyunwoo waited for a beat, then cautiously added, "You know... you can talk to me, right?"

Hyungwon's lips parted slightly, but the words caught in his throat. He hadn't spoken about Minhyuk in so long that it almost felt foreign. But suddenly, he wanted to tell someone. Needed to.

"Hyunwoo... can you keep a secret?"

The older man nodded solemnly.

Hyungwon exhaled sharply. "I... I'm not coming back next semester. I can't afford it. I'm leaving." His voice cracked slightly. "I just... I can't do this anymore. I miss home. I miss my friends. And..." his breath hitched, "I miss the boy I've loved for the past eight years."

Hyunwoo's eyes softened with sympathy. "Your boyfriend?"

Hyungwon let out a broken laugh. "No. My ex." His voice lowered to a whisper. "But I think... I think I still love him."

Hyunwoo's expression shifted slightly—something wistful flashing in his eyes. He gave Hyungwon a soft smile, as though he understood more than he let on.

"I get it," he murmured. "I had to leave mine when I came here too."

Hyungwon blinked at him in surprise. "Really?"

"Yeah," Hyunwoo's voice grew quiet, almost distant. "He was training to debut. His name is Kihyun."

Hyungwon's breath caught in his throat.
No... it couldn't be.
He stared at Hyunwoo, unable to stop the trembling in his hands. There had to be more than one Kihyun in Korea... right?

"What's his family name?" Hyungwon asked cautiously, though he already knew the answer.

"Yoo."

And just like that, the floor dropped out from beneath him.

"No... no way," he muttered under his breath. "I—"

Hyunwoo's brows furrowed. "Do you... know him?"

"I... I'm sorry, but... I think he cheated on you." The words barely came out as a whisper, but they hung heavy in the room.

Hyunwoo's face went pale. "W-What?"

"With Minhyuk." Hyungwon's voice was hollow. "They were together for a while. But... Kihyun broke it off. For his debut." He swallowed thickly. "I'm sorry... you probably never knew."

For a long moment, Hyunwoo said nothing. His eyes stared blankly at the floor as if trying to process what he'd just heard. Then, slowly, his fingers clenched into fists.

"I gave up everything for him," he whispered hoarsely. "I came here... I left my family, my friends... for him."

Hyungwon opened his mouth to speak, but Hyunwoo shook his head, tears brimming in his eyes. He stumbled backward slightly, gripping the doorframe for support.

"I—I think I have a phone call to make," he muttered hoarsely before slipping out of the room.

–––––

Two years. Two long, empty years.
Hyungwon sat stiffly in his airplane seat, staring out the window as the plane descended over Incheon. His fingers were trembling against the armrest, but he didn't care. He was finally home.

Once he landed, he didn't know what to do.
He wandered aimlessly through the streets of Incheon, pulling his coat tighter against the chilly evening air. Everything felt familiar, yet distant. The scent of grilled meat from a street vendor, the faint chatter of strangers—it was all so painfully familiar it made his throat tighten.

He pulled out his phone and hovered over Minhyuk's contact.
His thumb brushed the screen, but he couldn't bring himself to call.
What if Minhyuk had moved on?
What if he was happy without him?

Instead, he called Jooheon.

The line clicked, and Jooheon's familiar voice filled his ears. "Hyungwon!! How's America?"

Hyungwon smiled softly, his voice cracking slightly.
"I don't miss it. The smell of shrimp and bulgogi from the local restaurants is calling my name, though."

There was a pause.
"Wait... there's Korean food there?" Jooheon asked.

Hyungwon chuckled weakly, shaking his head. "No, idiot. I'm in Incheon. Come get me."

There was silence on the line, then Jooheon let out a loud gasp.
"You're HERE?!"

"Yeah... but don't tell Minhyuk." His voice was barely above a whisper. "I want to surprise him."

And for the first time in two years, he finally felt like he was going home.