Chapter 31 — Confessions & Bad decisions
Haneul’s borrowed bicycle squeaked like protest under every frantic pedal, chain rasping, wind turning his braid into a whip. He didn’t care. His body needed motion the way his brain needed static—something to drown out the echo of a voice still lodged under his ribs.
The air tasted like rust and asphalt. Seoul simmered under a noon that refused to blink.
I’ve never been in love… but when I see you, it feels like I’ve lost something I didn’t know I had.
The sentence looped like a curse. He gritted his teeth, pedaled harder.
Cars hissed past, heat shimmered off windshields. The city throbbed, indifferent.
By the time he skidded into Ji-ho’s street, his legs shook, shirt glued to his spine, breath hitching in short angry bursts.
He didn’t bother knocking.
??????
Ji-ho’s apartment door swung open on a scene of enthusiastic chaos: limbs, bare skin, perfume, music from someone’s phone speaker.
The woman shrieked and tried to cover up; Ji-ho swore.
Haneul blinked once, twice, then marched in and snapped, mildly intimidated by the naked female form, “Put your tits away, I need therapy.”
The woman gasped. Ji-ho, half-naked and very unbothered, threw an arm over his face. “Jesus, Sky, ever heard of privacy?”
“Ever heard of clothes?” Haneul shot back, kicking a pair of jeans out of the way. “Emergency. Existential crisis. Out.”
The girl looked between them, sputtered, and fled with a curse in heels.
Ji-ho dragged on a shirt, still laughing. “You’re insane.”
“Correct,” Haneul said, collapsing onto the couch. “Fix me.”
Ji-ho eyed him. “You’re pale. Did my brother finally yell?”
“He doesn’t yell.”
“Did he… breathe near you too meaningfully again?”
Haneul groaned into a cushion. “He said stuff.”
“Stuff?”
“Lonely stuff. Soul stuff. Stuff that makes you question reality while making pancakes.”
Ji-ho’s grin sharpened. “So you wanna bang my hyung, hm?”
Haneul shot upright. “WHAT—no! I don’t ‘bang’ people, you perverted—”
“Big word for someone who broke into my house during sex.”
“I don’t ‘bang,’ I bond,” Haneul hissed, cheeks burning. “And it’s not even that. It’s—he—he looks at me like he remembers me.”
Ji-ho leaned back, suddenly quiet. “And that scares you.”
“Yes! No! Maybe! He’s straight. I think. Probably. He said he’s never been in love but somehow remembers losing me—” He stopped, breath shallow. “Tell me that’s normal.”
Ji-ho exhaled, slow. “Nothing about my brother is normal. But I’ll tell you this—he doesn’t talk like that to anyone.”
Haneul’s mouth twisted. “You think he—”
“I think,” Ji-ho interrupted, voice gentler now, “you already know the answer. You just haven’t accepted what kind of story you’re in.”
Haneul stared. The city hummed through the window, distant traffic, someone shouting downstairs.
Something in his chest fluttered—half-terror, half-hope.
He slapped his own cheek. “Nope. Denied. Deleted.”
Ji-ho laughed. “You’re ridiculous.”
“I’m leaving.”
“Good. My sheets thank you.”
Haneul grabbed his bag, muttering curses all the way to the door.
“Hey,” Ji-ho called after him. “Whatever it is—don’t run from it.”
Haneul paused just long enough to glare. “I’m not running. I’m… relocating.”
And he was gone.
Outside, the afternoon heat hit like a slap. He straddled the bike again, legs trembling, heart louder than traffic.
Maybe Ji-ho was right. Maybe he already knew.
Maybe that was the problem.
He pushed off, tires humming against the road, the wind catching the ends of his braid like threads of memory.
He remembers me… but from where? What does that mean, anyway?
The thoughts flared once, bright and frightening, before he crushed it with speed.
Tomorrow, he told himself. Tomorrow he’d stop thinking about it.
He didn’t believe it for a second.
??????