Work Text:
It had been a week since Junhyuk’s diagnosis. Vocal nodules. Jaeho had never heard of them before, but he knew they had taken something precious from his friend—his voice. Junhyuk wasn’t allowed to speak for at least a month, and while Junhyuk took it in stride, scribbling notes or using his phone to communicate, Jaeho could tell it was eating at him.
Jaeho was quite the talkative type, but he missed the easy conversations they used to have. It felt strange, like something was missing. They were in Junhyuk’s dorm room now, Jaeho helping him with some class notes he’d missed while at the doctor’s appointments.
Junhyuk tapped the table to get his attention and held up his phone.
“What did the professor say about the group project again?” it read.
Jaeho opened his mouth to respond, but the words died on his tongue. His eyes flickered to Junhyuk, who was waiting patiently, leaning back in his chair with a soft smile. There was something about the way he looked so relaxed, so comfortable around Jaeho, that made his heart flutter. Shaking his head to clear the thoughts, he leaned forward and opened the notes.
“Uh, he said we need to submit the outline by the end of next week. I can take care of it for you,” Jaeho mumbled, flipping through the pages nervously.
Junhyuk tapped the table again to get Jaeho’s attention. This time, he didn’t use his phone. Instead, he pointed to his chest and shook his head—a silent ‘no.’
Jaeho chuckled. “You’re stubborn, you know that?”
Junhyuk grinned and gave him a thumbs-up. Just as Junhyuk reached across the table to grab his notebook, their hands brushed. And then it happened.
“I wish I could tell him how much I miss talking to him.”
Jaeho froze. His heart leaped into his throat, eyes widening as he stared at Junhyuk. The voice—no, not just any voice—Junhyuk’s voice, crystal clear, had rung in his mind. But Junhyuk hadn’t opened his mouth. His eyes were still downcast, flipping through the notebook as if nothing had happened.
Jaeho swallowed hard, his pulse racing. Did he imagine it? He glanced at Junhyuk, who was completely oblivious, still smiling as he pointed out a passage in the notebook. But Jaeho couldn’t focus. His mind was spinning. That voice... it wasn’t possible. Was it?
For the next few days, Jaeho couldn’t shake the strange feeling. Every time he saw Junhyuk, the memory of that thought—his thought—came flooding back. It had been so clear, like Junhyuk had spoken directly to him. But how? Was Jaeho just losing it? The stress of exams, perhaps? He was so distracted that he even started avoiding Junhyuk a little, afraid of what might happen if they touched again.
He wasn’t sure what to do. How could he even bring it up? Hey, Junhyuk, so I think I heard your thoughts the other day. That’s normal, right? He shook his head at the absurdity of it.
A few days later, they were back in Junhyuk’s dorm room. This time, Junhyuk was flipping through a book, sitting cross-legged on his bed. Jaeho sat at the desk, eyes glued to the open book in front of him, but none of the words made sense.
Junhyuk tossed a pillow at him, startling Jaeho out of his daze. The silence was deafening as Junhyuk smiled apologetically and typed something on his phone.
“You’ve been out of it all week. Is something wrong?”
Jaeho’s stomach dropped. Was it that obvious? He quickly shook his head, forcing a smile. “No, I’m fine. Just... tired.”
Junhyuk raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. He got up and walked over to where Jaeho sat, placing a hand on his shoulder, his expression soft with concern.
And then it happened again.
“I hope he’s okay. I hate seeing him like this.”
Jaeho nearly jumped out of his skin, his breath catching in his throat. There it was again—Junhyuk’s voice, his thoughts. This time, Jaeho was certain he wasn’t imagining it. He froze under Junhyuk’s hand, trying to keep his composure, but his heart was racing, and he felt like he was going to break into a cold sweat any second.
“I’m fine!” Jaeho blurted, shrugging off Junhyuk’s hand a little too quickly. Junhyuk looked at him, startled, his expression hurt. Jaeho regretted it immediately, but he didn’t know how to explain himself.
Junhyuk slowly pulled back, sitting down at the desk beside Jaeho, his smile a little dimmer. He typed another message on his phone and slid it across the table.
“If you say so. Just don’t push yourself too hard, okay?”
Jaeho nodded, forcing a smile as he looked down at the phone, but inside, his mind was racing. What was happening to him? And, more importantly, what was he supposed to do now?
Jaeho tried to keep his distance after that, but it was impossible. Every time they touched, he could hear Junhyuk’s thoughts—his worries, his frustrations, and most surprisingly, his gentle affection for Jaeho.
It was driving him insane.
How was he supposed to act normal when every time Junhyuk so much as brushed his arm, he could hear him thinking things like, “I wish he’d just relax around me. I miss when he smiled more.”
Jaeho’s heart ached with every thought, every unspoken word that Junhyuk couldn’t voice. But it wasn’t just the thoughts themselves that were messing with Jaeho’s head. It was the realization that Junhyuk cared about him—really cared about him—in a way that felt different. More personal. More intimate.
And now, Jaeho couldn’t stop thinking about it. Thinking about him.
Jaeho usually was the composed one between the two of them. He prided himself on being steady and cool under pressure. At least, he used to. Now, every time he was around Junhyuk, it felt like the ground was slipping from beneath his feet.
The problem was simple. Jaeho couldn’t figure out if hearing Junhyuk’s thoughts was a blessing or a curse. On one hand, every fleeting touch revealed the most heartwarming, sincere sentiments. But on the other hand, they were driving Jaeho to the edge. The more he heard Junhyuk’s unspoken affections, the harder it became for him to keep his composure.
One evening, they were sitting in their usual café, with Junhyuk furiously typing on his phone to compensate for his silence. Jaeho was pretending to focus on his laptop, but his thoughts were all over the place.
Junhyuk reached out to tap Jaeho’s arm to get his attention, and before Jaeho could stop it, the voice came again: “He always looks so focused. I wonder if he knows how attractive he is when he concentrates.”
Jaeho almost choked on his coffee. He glanced at Junhyuk, whose face was completely neutral, smiling like nothing was wrong. But the voice—that thought—echoed in Jaeho’s mind. He quickly turned back to his screen, his heart racing. How was Junhyuk so calm? Didn’t he know what his thoughts were doing to Jaeho?
Junhyuk gently tugged Jaeho’s sleeve again, his expression growing concerned. He pointed to his phone screen, which read: “You okay? You’ve been acting weird all week.”
Jaeho forced a grin, trying his best to act like everything was normal. “Just distracted,” he said, his voice a little too light. “Lots on my mind lately.”
He wasn’t lying. His mind had been consumed with Junhyuk’s thoughts. The unspoken affection, the subtle admiration, the quiet longing. It was like Junhyuk was harboring a secret crush, and Jaeho was right in the center of it.
The longer this went on, the more Jaeho noticed the little things. How Junhyuk always found excuses to be close to him, how his eyes lingered just a bit longer when Jaeho spoke. And the thoughts—those were the hardest to ignore.
Like the time Junhyuk had accidentally fallen asleep during one of their late-night study sessions. His head had slumped against Jaeho’s shoulder, his breathing soft and steady. Jaeho had stayed perfectly still, too nervous to move, but that’s when he heard it.
“I feel so safe around him. He has no idea how much I cherish moments like this.”
Jaeho’s heart had nearly stopped. He’d sat there, frozen, letting Junhyuk’s head rest against him for what felt like hours, all the while trying to process the fact that Junhyuk—his best friend—liked him. More than just as a friend. And Jaeho wasn’t sure how to feel about it.
But, truthfully, as the days passed, Jaeho realized that maybe he didn’t mind it. Maybe he liked it, too. He liked being the one Junhyuk leaned on. He liked knowing that Junhyuk thought about him as much as he thought about Junhyuk.
Still, he wasn’t ready to face the reality of his own feelings yet. He wasn’t ready to admit that maybe, just maybe, he was starting to fall for his best friend.
To cope with everything, Jaeho did what he always did: he pretended to be confident, to act like nothing fazed him. Whenever Junhyuk was around, he put on a brave face, joked around like always, and tried to ignore the way his heart pounded whenever they accidentally brushed hands.
But it was getting harder. Especially when Junhyuk’s thoughts were so sweet, so gentle, and so full of unspoken love.
One afternoon, they were walking through the campus park together, the soft breeze ruffling Junhyuk’s hair. Junhyuk pointed to a bench by the fountain, signaling for them to sit. Jaeho, trying his best to stay composed, flopped down on the bench next to him, making some joke about how he was getting old.
Junhyuk laughed silently, his shoulders shaking with amusement. He reached over to nudge Jaeho playfully, and that’s when Jaeho heard it again.
“I wish I could tell him how happy I am when we’re together. Just the two of us.”
Jaeho’s stomach flipped, his chest tightening with a mix of panic and warmth. He was starting to lose his grip on this whole situation. The confident front he was putting on was becoming harder to maintain with every passing day.
Still, he leaned back casually and stretched his arms over his head, pretending like nothing was wrong. “You know,” he said, his voice light, “you’re lucky you can’t talk. I bet you’d just keep talking about how great I am.”
Junhyuk rolled his eyes and playfully shoved Jaeho, but he was smiling. And that smile—that soft, affectionate smile—was making it impossible for Jaeho to breathe normally.
Jaeho’s act of pretending everything was fine was wearing thin. He kept hearing Junhyuk’s thoughts, and they were all so... loving. Tender. Each time their shoulders brushed or their hands touched, it was like a window into Junhyuk’s heart.
One evening, after a long study session, Junhyuk waved goodbye, his usual bright smile on his face. But as they hugged briefly, Jaeho heard it again—clearer and more heartfelt than ever.
“I love him. I wish I could just say it.”
Jaeho felt like his entire world had stopped. The word love echoed in his mind, and his heart raced as he pulled away, doing everything he could to keep his expression neutral. Junhyuk hadn’t noticed anything wrong, still smiling warmly as he waved goodbye and walked toward his dorm.
But Jaeho stood frozen, rooted to the spot, his mind swirling. It wasn’t just a crush. It wasn’t just admiration. Junhyuk was in love with him.
Jaeho’s heart pounded, and for the first time, he wasn’t sure if he could keep pretending. He wasn’t sure if he could keep acting like he didn’t know.
Because now, he had to face the truth: he was falling in love, too.
It all started with one harmless night out. Jaeho wasn’t even much of a drinker, but somehow he got roped into a drinking battle with Byungjoo, one of his friends from college. It was Byungjoo’s idea, as usual—some half-baked challenge about who had the better alcohol tolerance. Jaeho knew from past experience that both of them were terrible at holding their liquor, but pride got in the way, and before he knew it, he was several bottles of soju deep, his vision blurring at the edges.
Junhyuk, who had tagged along for the night, watched with silent amusement. He didn’t participate, of course—his vocal nodules meant that he had an excuse to avoid drinking. But he sat beside Jaeho, occasionally patting him on the back as he downed another shot, his lips curled into a gentle smile.
The night spiraled out of control quickly. Byungjoo was the first to drop, slumped over the table, barely able to sit upright. Jaeho, having won the ‘battle,’ grinned in drunken triumph, but it was clear he wasn’t doing much better. His cheeks were flushed a deep red, and his eyes had a hazy, unfocused look to them.
“Ha! Told you… I could… outdrink you,” Jaeho slurred, swaying in his seat.
Junhyuk shook his head and typed something quickly on his phone. He showed the screen to one of their friends: “We need to get him home before he passes out.”
With some effort, they managed to lift Jaeho from the table. His friends were laughing, teasing him about being a lightweight, but Junhyuk didn’t say a word. His smile was fond as he helped guide Jaeho outside to flag down a taxi. It took a few tries before they managed to get one, but when they finally did, it was Junhyuk who gave the driver the address.
The taxi ride was a blur for Jaeho, who had one arm slung over Junhyuk’s shoulder, his head leaning against the window. Junhyuk had been quiet, occasionally glancing at Jaeho to make sure he’s alright. When they finally arrived, Junhyuk paid the driver and half-carried Jaeho up to the latter’s apartment.
They stumbled into Jaeho’s place, Jaeho barely able to walk straight. Junhyuk, ever patient, helped him over to the couch and laid him down gently.
“You’re… the best,” Jaeho mumbled, his speech slurred. He reached out, grabbing the hem of Junhyuk’s shirt as he tried to sit up, but his arms felt like jelly, and he ended up slumping back down. “So tired…”
Junhyuk just smiled softly, kneeling beside the couch to check on him. His hands were gentle as he unbuttoned Jaeho’s shirt a little to help him breathe easier in his drunken state. But in the process, Junhyuk’s fingers brushed against the bare skin of Jaeho’s chest.
And that’s when Jaeho heard it.
“He looks… so vulnerable right now. So… sexy.”
The words echoed in Jaeho’s mind, startling him despite his intoxicated state. His heart thudded in his chest, but he couldn’t be sure if it was because of the alcohol or Junhyuk’s thoughts. He blinked groggily, his head swimming, but Junhyuk’s thoughts didn’t stop.
“Why does he have to look like this? Why does he have to be so perfect? I… I shouldn’t be thinking about him like this.”
Jaeho’s pulse quickened, and he shifted slightly on the couch, his half-open shirt hanging loosely over his frame. Junhyuk was still kneeling beside him, unaware that Jaeho could hear every thought running through his mind. But those thoughts—Jaeho wasn’t prepared for the heat they stirred inside him.
“I can’t… I can’t do this. We’re friends. I shouldn’t… push him down like I want to.”
Junhyuk’s thoughts were a mess of confusion and desire. Jaeho could feel the tension building in the small space between them, the air growing thick with something unspoken. His shirt had slipped down his shoulder slightly, and Junhyuk’s eyes lingered there for just a moment too long before he quickly averted his gaze.
Jaeho, still foggy from the alcohol, felt his breath hitch. He wasn’t sure if it was the soju or the realization of Junhyuk’s feelings that had his mind spinning. His fingers twitched against the couch, and without thinking, he mumbled, “Junhyuk…”
Junhyuk froze, his gaze snapping to Jaeho’s face. For a brief second, panic flashed in his eyes, as if he was terrified that Jaeho had heard his thoughts. But Jaeho’s face was flushed, his eyes half-lidded, and Junhyuk seemed to relax slightly, convinced that Jaeho was too drunk to notice anything.
“I can’t. I can’t touch him like I want to. His long black hair… I want to pull him close, kiss him until he knows how I feel, but I can’t. He’s my friend.”
Jaeho’s heart was pounding now. Junhyuk’s thoughts were too loud – he could head it without touching the other. He thought it must be because of alcohol. He could feel the tension rising between them, feel Junhyuk’s internal struggle as clear as day. The thought of Junhyuk wanting to kiss him—of Junhyuk holding back—sent a jolt through Jaeho’s body. The air in the room felt suffocating, the silence deafening.
Junhyuk ran a hand through his hair as if trying to shake off his thoughts—both physical and emotional. He turned his back, sat on the floor and leaned his back on the couch in frustration.
“He’s drunk. I can’t take advantage of him. Even if I want to.”
Junhyuk’s thoughts were filled with conflict, and Jaeho could hear the frustration in every unspoken word. But the more Junhyuk tried to distance his thoughts, the more Jaeho felt pulled toward him. The alcohol in his system had dulled his inhibitions, and now, with Junhyuk’s thoughts laid bare, Jaeho didn’t know what to do.
He sat up slowly, his shirt slipping further off his shoulder, and whispered, “Junhyuk…”
Junhyuk turned around, his eyes wide, startled by the sound of his name. “Close. He’s too close.” He opened his mouth as if to say something, but no words came out. The tension between them was thick, electric, as Jaeho stared at him, the room spinning slightly.
For the first time, Jaeho wasn’t sure if it was just the alcohol making him dizzy—or if it was the way Junhyuk was looking at him, like he was barely holding himself back.
And in that moment, as Junhyuk’s thoughts flooded Jaeho’s mind, one thing became painfully clear: this was no longer just about being friends.
Jaeho’s head spun, the alcohol still clouding his thoughts, but it wasn’t just the dizziness that made everything feel off. It was Junhyuk. His friend was standing just a few feet away, but the tension between them felt unbearable. Junhyuk had been thinking things—things Jaeho wasn’t sure he was ready to hear. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t stop hearing them.
“I want to kiss him… I want to touch him… but I can’t. He’s too drunk. We’re friends. I shouldn’t…”
The thoughts kept coming, louder, sharper, cutting through the haze of Jaeho’s drunkenness like a knife. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat growing louder in his ears. Junhyuk’s desire was palpable, radiating off him, filling the room like a weight Jaeho could barely stand.
Jaeho squirmed on the couch, pulling his shirt tighter around him, but the fabric had already loosened, baring more of his chest. He felt exposed—vulnerable in a way he hadn’t been before. And yet… the more he heard Junhyuk’s thoughts, the more a strange warmth spread through him.
“I can’t… God, I can’t stop looking at him. He looks so damn good right now. His hair… his skin… I want to be above him, kiss him, touch him, but… no. No, I can’t.”
Jaeho groaned. His head was heavy, but the thoughts were too much. They were pressing against him, suffocating, and no matter how hard he tried to push them away, they kept coming. Dirty, hungry, aching thoughts. He could feel Junhyuk’s restraint, but all it did was make Jaeho’s body react in ways he couldn’t control.
“Junhyuk… stop,” Jaeho mumbled, his voice weak, barely coherent. He didn’t know if he meant to say it or if it just slipped out, but Junhyuk froze at the sound of his name.
For a moment, the thoughts stopped, and Jaeho felt the sudden emptiness in his mind, like a door had slammed shut. But it didn’t last. The silence was replaced by something even worse—Junhyuk’s raw, unfiltered desire.
“I want to kiss him… so bad… I need him.”
Jaeho’s breath hitched. He couldn’t take it anymore. Junhyuk’s inner voice was too loud, too overwhelming, and the heat pooling in his body was too much to ignore. Before he even realized what he was doing, Jaeho’s hand shot out, grabbing Junhyuk by the wrist and pulling him down onto the couch.
Junhyuk’s eyes widened in shock as Jaeho tugged him close, their faces just inches apart. For a split second, Junhyuk’s mind went completely silent, as if he couldn’t believe what was happening. But Jaeho wasn’t thinking anymore—he was too far gone for that. His body was acting on instinct, driven by the heat and the alcohol and Junhyuk’s persistent thoughts.
Without a word, Jaeho pulled Junhyuk down and kissed him.
The world seemed to stop. For a brief moment, there was nothing but the feel of Junhyuk’s lips against his. Jaeho’s heart raced, pounding in his chest like it was about to explode. The kiss was hot, fevered, and full of desperation, but as soon as their lips met, Jaeho felt something shift.
Junhyuk’s shock was evident, his thoughts going completely quiet. But then, as if something inside him snapped, Junhyuk kissed him back—hard. His lips moved against Jaeho’s with a hunger that sent a shiver down Jaeho’s spine. His hands, trembling at first, found their way into Jaeho’s hair, tugging gently but firmly, as if he couldn’t help himself.
Jaeho’s head spun, but this time, it wasn’t from the alcohol. It was Junhyuk—Junhyuk’s hands in his hair, Junhyuk’s mouth on his, the way his body seemed to fit so perfectly against Jaeho’s. The kiss was messy at first, frantic and needy, but it quickly became something more.
Jaeho wrapped his arms around Junhyuk’s neck, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss. The room felt impossibly small, the air thick with tension and desire. Junhyuk’s hands roamed over Jaeho’s body, gentle but firm, as if he was memorizing every inch of him. His fingers brushed against the exposed skin of Jaeho’s chest, sending a jolt of electricity through his body.
“God… I love him. I love him so much.”
Junhyuk’s thoughts were soft now, reverent, and Jaeho could feel the sincerity in every kiss, every touch. There was so much emotion behind it—so much tenderness that Jaeho hadn’t expected. He could feel Junhyuk’s love in the way his hands trembled, the way his kisses became slower, more deliberate.
The kiss deepened, Junhyuk’s lips moving against Jaeho’s with a passion that was almost overwhelming. Jaeho’s heart swelled in his chest, and for a moment, he forgot about everything else. All that mattered was the way Junhyuk was kissing him—like he was something precious, something Junhyuk had been waiting for forever.
Junhyuk tugged on Jaeho’s long black hair, just like he’d imagined in his thoughts, pulling him closer, and Jaeho couldn’t help the soft moan that escaped his lips. The sound only seemed to fuel Junhyuk’s desire, his kisses becoming more fervent, more desperate, as if he couldn’t get enough.
Jaeho’s mind was a haze, his body melting into Junhyuk’s touch. He could feel everything—Junhyuk’s hands, Junhyuk’s lips, the way Junhyuk’s breath hitched every time Jaeho touched him. But more than that, he could feel Junhyuk’s love, the way it radiated from him in waves, filling the room with an undeniable warmth.
The kiss was long and intimate, filled with all the emotions Junhyuk had been holding back for so long. Jaeho could feel it in every touch, every brush of Junhyuk’s fingers against his skin. It was like Junhyuk was pouring all of his feelings into the kiss, telling Jaeho everything he couldn’t say out loud.
And for the first time, Jaeho felt loved.
But just as the heat between them was about to reach its peak, Jaeho’s body started to betray him. The alcohol was catching up to him, his eyelids growing heavy, his limbs feeling like they were made of lead. He tried to hold on, tried to stay in the moment, but his body was too tired, too drunk.
Junhyuk pulled back slightly, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his lips swollen from the kiss. His eyes searched Jaeho’s face, filled with a mix of desire and concern. But Jaeho couldn’t hold on any longer.
“I…” Jaeho mumbled, his voice thick with exhaustion. “I’m… tired.”
And with that, his body gave in. He slumped back against the couch, his eyes fluttering closed, his arms slipping from around Junhyuk’s neck.
Junhyuk’s thoughts were quiet now, a soft hum of emotion that Jaeho could barely make out as he drifted off to sleep. But even in his half-conscious state, Jaeho could feel it—the love, the warmth, the tenderness.
The last thing Jaeho heard before sleep claimed him was Junhyuk’s quiet thought: “I love you, Jaeho. I always have.”
And then, everything went dark.
Jaeho woke up to the soft hum of morning light filtering through the curtains, the remnants of a pounding headache reminding him of the night before. His mouth felt dry, and his body ached in a way that went beyond just the alcohol. The grogginess lingered as he slowly sat up, rubbing his temples, trying to piece together the fragments of his memory.
He blinked, glancing around. A covered chicken soup on the coffee table next to a glass of water, he noticed a small packet of hangover medicine.
Beside the packet was a note. Jaeho reached for it, his fingers trembling slightly as he unfolded the paper. Junhyuk’s handwriting was neat, composed, just like him.
“You looked like you needed the rest. I borrowed your kitchen and made you breakfast. Drink water, take the meds.– Junhyuk”
For a moment, Jaeho’s heart stuttered. He read and reread the note, feeling a strange mix of emotions he couldn’t untangle. Junhyuk wasn’t here. Of course, he wasn’t. But the absence of his presence, after everything that happened last night, made Jaeho’s chest tighten in ways that felt suffocating.
He remembered it all now—the kiss, the heat of it, the way Junhyuk had tugged his hair, the way they had melted into each other. Jaeho squeezed his eyes shut, willing the memories to fade, but they came flooding back with too much clarity.
The thoughts—Junhyuk’s thoughts—echoed in his mind. “I want to kiss him… I can’t… I love him…”
Jaeho’s stomach twisted with a mixture of guilt and shame. His face flushed hot as the full weight of what he’d done settled over him. He’d kissed Junhyuk. He had been drunk, and yet he’d pulled his friend down and kissed him, ignoring every sign that he was crossing a line he shouldn’t have. The realization hit him like a brick—he might have taken advantage of Junhyuk’s kindness. His heart pounded with the horrible thought.
What if Junhyuk hadn’t wanted that? What if, despite everything Jaeho had heard in Junhyuk’s thoughts, Junhyuk wasn’t prepared for it to happen that way? The kiss had been too fast, too desperate. Jaeho had pushed it, had acted without thinking, and now, he wasn’t sure what Junhyuk truly felt.
The note in his hand felt heavy, mocking in its simplicity. Junhyuk hadn’t mentioned anything about the kiss. No awkward hints, no suggestion that something had changed between them. He had just left, as if nothing had happened at all. And maybe that was worse. Maybe Junhyuk regretted it and was trying to move on without saying anything.
Jaeho swallowed the lump in his throat, staring at the note like it could somehow give him answers. What was he supposed to say now? How was he supposed to face Junhyuk after that? His mind was a mess, tangled with confusion, guilt, and something else—something he didn’t want to admit.
He thought back to the kiss again, the way Junhyuk had responded, the heat of their bodies pressed together. It wasn’t just that Junhyuk had kissed him back—it was the passion behind it, the feeling of being wanted, of being loved. And that terrified him.
Because Jaeho had liked it.
He’d liked the way Junhyuk touched him, the way his hands had gripped his hair, the way their lips had fit together so perfectly. He liked the way Junhyuk’s thoughts had been so filled with desire, so raw and unfiltered.
And now he didn’t know what to do with that.
Guilt churned in his stomach as he stood up from the couch, the note still clenched tightly in his hand. He should apologize. He should message Junhyuk—say something, anything—but the words wouldn’t come. How was he supposed to explain what had happened? How could he apologize for something that he wasn’t even sure Junhyuk regretted?
“You kissed him,” a voice in his head whispered. “You kissed your best friend, and now you don’t know how to deal with it.”
He couldn’t shake the feeling that he had crossed a line he couldn’t uncross. But at the same time, the memory of the kiss lingered in his mind, warm and soft and… so full of emotion. There was a part of him—a small, selfish part—that didn’t want to apologize at all. A part that wanted to pretend everything was fine because, for just a moment, it had felt perfect.
Jaeho’s hands trembled as he made his way to the kitchen, pouring himself a glass of water. His throat felt dry, and his mind was racing with too many conflicting thoughts. He took a sip of water, trying to calm the storm inside him, but it wasn’t enough. The weight of last night clung to him like a shadow, impossible to shake off.
He glanced around the empty apartment, feeling the silence press in on him. Junhyuk wasn’t here, and that only made it worse. The absence was too loud, too heavy. Jaeho didn’t know how to face him again—how to pretend like things hadn’t changed. And yet, the thought of not seeing Junhyuk, of things being awkward between them, made his chest tighten with something that felt too much like fear.
Jaeho glanced at his phone, his fingers hovering over the screen. He could text Junhyuk. He should text him. But every time he tried to think of what to say, the words felt wrong, too heavy or too meaningless.
“Thanks for taking care of me?”
No. That didn’t feel right.
“I’m sorry for last night?”
Even worse.
Frustration built up inside him, and he let out a sigh, pushing his phone away. He couldn’t deal with this right now. He couldn’t deal with the confusion, the guilt, the way his heart pounded every time he thought about Junhyuk’s lips on his.
His thoughts swirling in a confusing mess.
As much as he wanted to forget what happened, he couldn’t. He couldn’t stop thinking about the kiss, about Junhyuk’s thoughts, about the way he had felt in that moment. And that scared him more than anything.
Because deep down, Jaeho wasn’t sure if he wanted to forget at all.
Jaeho had been avoiding Junhyuk for days now. After the night of the kiss, everything felt complicated—messy. It wasn’t just the kiss that weighed on him; it was the guilt, the uncertainty, and most of all, the fading connection. He hadn’t spoken to Junhyuk since that morning when Junhyuk had left a note and disappeared off to his weekend classes.
But the real panic began when Jaeho overheard from their friends that Junhyuk’s voice was coming back.
“He’s starting to talk again, little by little,” Byungjoo had mentioned casually during lunch, clearly not understanding the weight of his words.
Jaeho felt his chest tighten. The news hit him like a punch to the gut. Junhyuk’s voice coming back meant something more for Jaeho—it meant that his ability to hear Junhyuk’s thoughts might be slipping away. The thought of losing that silent connection, of no longer being able to understand what Junhyuk truly felt, terrified him more than he could admit.
As the days passed, Jaeho found himself actively avoiding Junhyuk. It wasn’t hard to do; he skipped out on their usual hangouts, made excuses to their friends, and changed his routes to avoid bumping into him on campus. He was too afraid—afraid of confronting what had happened, but more than that, afraid of the silence that would replace the thoughts he had come to rely on.
But all the avoidance couldn’t last forever.
One afternoon, as Jaeho was walking out of class, he caught sight of Junhyuk standing near the campus entrance, waiting for him. His heart stuttered in his chest. There was no escape this time.
Junhyuk noticed him, and their eyes met across the crowded space. Jaeho could see the confusion in Junhyuk’s expression, the question in his gaze. He had been expecting this—he had known Junhyuk would eventually try to talk to him. But that didn’t stop the wave of panic from washing over him.
He took a deep breath and forced his feet to move, even though every fiber of his being wanted to turn and walk the other way. When he finally reached Junhyuk, there was an awkward silence between them.
“Jaeho,” Junhyuk said softly, his voice a little raspy, but clearer than it had been in weeks. The sound of his voice made Jaeho’s chest ache. “Can we talk?”
Jaeho swallowed hard, nodding, and followed him to a quieter spot by the large oak tree near the campus edge. The air between them felt thick, heavy with all the unspoken things hanging over their heads.
As they stood there, Jaeho felt a familiar pull, the urge to reach out and touch Junhyuk—just to feel that connection again. Hesitantly, his hand brushed against Junhyuk’s, and for a brief second, he listened.
But the thoughts… they were faint. Barely audible. Like whispers fading into the distance. It was as if Junhyuk’s mind was slipping away from him, the bond they’d shared growing weaker with every passing moment.
Panic surged through Jaeho’s chest. What if I can’t hear him anymore? What if I can’t ever know what he’s really feeling?
“I… I don’t understand why you’ve been avoiding me,” Junhyuk’s voice broke through his spiraling thoughts. “Did I do something wrong?”
Jaeho’s heart clenched at the sound of Junhyuk’s confusion. He could hear the sincerity in his voice, the quiet hurt. But the thoughts… they were so faint, he could barely make them out. Jaeho had never felt more alone.
“No, you didn’t do anything,” Jaeho said quickly, his voice shaking. He tried to compose himself, but the fear of losing this connection—this window into Junhyuk’s feelings—made it impossible to think straight. “It’s me… I… I messed up.”
Junhyuk’s brow furrowed, clearly confused. “What do you mean?”
Jaeho’s mind raced, the guilt pressing down on him. How could he explain this? How could he tell Junhyuk that he’d been hearing his thoughts, that he’d kissed him because he knew Junhyuk wanted it too, but now… now he was losing that connection?
He bit his lip, forcing the words out. “That night… the kiss… I shouldn’t have—”
“You don’t have to apologize,” Junhyuk interrupted, his voice soft but firm. “I… I wanted to kiss you too. But we could just forget about it.”
Jaeho’s breath hitched. He stared at Junhyuk, the words sinking in, but it wasn’t enough. The words were spoken, but they felt hollow without the thoughts behind them. He couldn’t tell what Junhyuk was really feeling anymore, and that terrified him.
He reached out again, his hand brushing Junhyuk’s arm, desperate for that familiar rush of thoughts. But again, it was barely there—just a whisper, so faint that it might as well have been silence.
The realization hit him hard: as Junhyuk’s voice returned, his ability to hear his thoughts was disappearing. The connection that had been so strong between them was fading, and with it, the certainty of knowing what Junhyuk truly felt.
Jaeho’s throat tightened. What if he lost this entirely? What if he never really knew what Junhyuk wanted, or what he meant by his words? The fear of that silence—that unknown—clawed at him, making it harder to breathe.
“I’m still your friend, Jaeho,” Junhyuk said gently, his hand resting on Jaeho’s arm. “Nothing’s changed.”
But everything had changed. Without the connection, Jaeho felt lost. He couldn’t rely on hearing Junhyuk’s thoughts anymore—he couldn’t just listen in and know what Junhyuk truly wanted. And that made everything feel more fragile, more uncertain.
Jaeho wanted to speak, to say something, but the words stuck in his throat. How could he tell Junhyuk that he was afraid—afraid of losing him, afraid of not understanding him anymore? He couldn’t. So instead, he just nodded, feeling the weight of everything they weren’t saying pressing down on him.
As they stood there in silence, Jaeho realized that he didn’t just miss the connection—he missed knowing Junhyuk’s heart. And now, as that connection faded, he was more afraid than ever of what might come next.
The kiss, the avoidance, the awkwardness—it was all piling up, and Jaeho didn’t know how to fix it. But he knew one thing for sure: he wasn’t ready to let go of Junhyuk. Not as a friend, and certainly not as something more.
But as Junhyuk’s voice returned and the thoughts disappeared, Jaeho was left with one terrifying question: How could he ever know for sure what Junhyuk felt, if he could no longer hear his heart.
The next time Jaeho heard Junhyuk's voice again, it was quiet—almost uncertain, like the sound of something delicate breaking after being held in silence for so long.
“Hey,” Junhyuk had said, voice a little hoarse but undeniably his. They were sitting at their usual café, their drinks untouched as the rain drizzled outside, a soft pattering against the window.
Jaeho smiled, pretending like nothing was different, like nothing had shifted between them. "You sound... better," he replied, his voice a little too casual, a little too forced. But inside, Jaeho’s chest clenched, because with that simple greeting, he felt the loss of something he didn’t even realize he had grown to depend on.
No thoughts. No whispers. Just silence.
For the past few weeks, Jaeho had grown used to the constant stream of Junhyuk’s thoughts, whether they were conscious or not. The silent confessions, the quiet affection that came through when words couldn’t. Jaeho had learned more about Junhyuk in those weeks of unspoken connection than he had in the years they’d been friends. It had been terrifying at first, yes, but eventually… it became comforting. It became something Jaeho craved.
But now, it was gone.
Jaeho forced a smile, trying to brush off the sinking feeling in his stomach. "Yeah, sounds like your voice is almost fully back," he said, trying to sound light-hearted, as if nothing had changed.
Junhyuk smiled back, but Jaeho could feel the shift between them. The tension. The uncertainty. And with Junhyuk’s voice returning, Jaeho had no idea what was going on in his friend’s mind. He missed it—the quiet thoughts, the feelings that went unsaid but were still heard.
It was as though a barrier had formed between them.
Over the next few days, Jaeho found himself clinging to the memory of those quieter moments. He tried, desperately, to recreate them—to feel close to Junhyuk again, the way he had when everything was left unsaid. But now, whenever they were together, it felt different. Junhyuk spoke more often, his words filling the silence that Jaeho had once relied on to hear his friend’s true feelings.
Like that time at the library. Junhyuk had fallen asleep while they were studying, his head resting on his arm, his breathing soft and even. Jaeho had glanced over, feeling that familiar warmth that came whenever he saw Junhyuk like this—unguarded, vulnerable. Before, he would have heard Junhyuk’s quiet thoughts, the fragments of dreams or sleepy confessions about how comfortable he felt around Jaeho.
But now? There was nothing.
Jaeho reached out, as if on instinct, his fingers brushing against Junhyuk’s hand, hoping for a glimpse of the connection they once shared. But the moment he touched him, all Jaeho got was the cold silence. He quickly withdrew his hand, feeling foolish, as if the magic had disappeared, leaving him stranded on the other side of an invisible wall.
Junhyuk stirred, waking up. “Sorry, did I fall asleep?” he asked, his voice still groggy but clear.
Jaeho’s heart ached at the sound. “Yeah, don’t worry about it,” he replied, forcing a chuckle, trying to hide the frustration building inside him. He missed it—the feeling of knowing Junhyuk’s thoughts, the way they used to speak without words. Now, everything felt forced, artificial.
It wasn’t just the library. The same feeling gnawed at him during their movie nights too. They’d sit on the couch, side by side, sharing popcorn and laughing at the bad dialogue, but Jaeho couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing. Before, he could feel the pull between them, the silent confessions hiding beneath the surface. Now, with Junhyuk’s voice back, the unspoken intimacy had evaporated, replaced by the awkwardness of spoken words.
He tried again. Subtly. Jaeho brushed his hand against Junhyuk’s arm during a particularly tense scene, as if seeking comfort. Normally, in the past few weeks, that simple touch would’ve opened the floodgates to Junhyuk’s thoughts—his nervousness, the way his heart raced when they touched.
But now, all Jaeho got was a quiet, casual, “Oh, did that part freak you out too?” Junhyuk’s voice broke the moment, and Jaeho quickly pulled his hand back, his heart sinking.
“Yeah... something like that,” Jaeho muttered, feeling frustrated and foolish. The closeness they’d had, that deep connection, was slipping through his fingers. And the worst part was, Junhyuk didn’t seem to notice.
Or maybe he did. Maybe he felt it too. But neither of them said anything.
The more time passed, the more anxious Jaeho became. Without the ability to hear Junhyuk’s thoughts, he felt lost. Before, he had known. He had known what Junhyuk was feeling, had known the quiet affection that lingered beneath the surface. But now, every word Junhyuk said felt like a mask, and Jaeho couldn’t tell if he was hearing the truth or if Junhyuk was holding something back.
He began to obsess over it. What if Junhyuk wasn’t as close to him as he’d thought? What if the feelings he had sensed before had all been in his head? What if Junhyuk had moved on from that night—the night they kissed—and Jaeho was the only one still holding onto it?
It was driving him crazy, the not knowing. He missed the silence, the unspoken connection. And every time Junhyuk spoke, it only reminded him of what he had lost.
One night, as they sat in Junhyuk’s apartment, talking about some trivial thing—school, their weekend plans, something that didn’t matter—Jaeho couldn’t take it anymore. His heart was pounding, and he felt like he was suffocating under the weight of his own silence.
Junhyuk was saying something about their upcoming assignments when Jaeho cut him off. “Can we… just sit in silence for a while?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Junhyuk blinked, surprised, but nodded. “Yeah, sure.”
The silence stretched between them, thick and heavy. Jaeho stared at the ground, his chest tightening. He wanted to reach out, to touch Junhyuk, to feel that connection again. But he was terrified—terrified that there would be nothing there.
So, he stayed quiet, hoping that somehow, things would go back to the way they were. Hoping that the silence would bring them closer again, like it had before.
But it didn’t. And Jaeho realized, with a sinking feeling, that things were different now. Junhyuk’s voice was back, but everything else felt wrong.
The silence they shared wasn’t comfortable anymore. It was just… empty.
It was one of those moments again. Jaeho could feel the tension between them, lingering like smoke, thick and inescapable. They were at Junhyuk’s apartment, the atmosphere quiet but charged. It had been a while since they’d spent time like this, just the two of them. Jaeho had been avoiding these moments, avoiding him. But somehow, Junhyuk always managed to pull him back in, like gravity.
They were sitting on the couch, a show playing in the background, but neither of them was really paying attention. Jaeho was too focused on the space between them—the space that used to feel so comfortable but now felt like a chasm.
Jaeho had been fidgeting with his shirt, absentmindedly tugging at the collar that had become slightly askew after he leaned back. Junhyuk noticed and, without a second thought, reached over to fix it.
It was such a small gesture. A normal, everyday thing. But as soon as Junhyuk’s fingers brushed against his shirt, Jaeho felt a jolt of electricity shoot through him. His heart started racing, and his breath caught in his throat. He could feel Junhyuk’s warmth, could almost hear his thoughts again—if only it were that simple.
Junhyuk’s hand lingered a second too long, his fingers brushing against the side of Jaeho’s neck before he pulled away, and Jaeho felt it—the sudden, intense pang of loss. It hit him harder than he expected. He hadn’t even realized how much he missed those small touches, how much he craved that unspoken connection they once had.
Before he knew it, the words slipped out of his mouth, unbidden and unguarded. “I miss hearing you,” Jaeho whispered, barely audible but loud enough in the quiet of the room.
Junhyuk froze.
The air between them went still, like the calm before a storm. Jaeho’s heart plummeted as he realized what he’d just said, the weight of those words crashing down on him all at once. Why did I say that? he panicked inwardly. His pulse raced, the silence growing heavier, suffocating.
Junhyuk’s hand stilled midair, hovering just inches from Jaeho’s shoulder. His eyes flickered with confusion, but there was something else there too—something Jaeho couldn’t quite read, something he wished he could. “What do you mean?” Junhyuk asked quietly, his voice almost uncertain.
Jaeho’s mind raced, scrambling for a way out, but the words kept echoing in his head, mocking him. I miss hearing you. I miss knowing how you feel. He hadn’t meant to let it slip. He hadn’t meant to make things even more complicated than they already were.
“I—” Jaeho started, his voice trembling, but he couldn’t bring himself to explain. How could he? How could he tell Junhyuk that the silence between them was unbearable? That he missed the moments when everything felt raw and real? How could he admit that he missed hearing Junhyuk’s thoughts, hearing the quiet love that had always been there but never spoken?
Junhyuk’s gaze softened, and he leaned in slightly, his breath warm against Jaeho’s cheek. His eyes searched Jaeho’s face, looking for something, anything that would make sense of the words that had just slipped out.
Jaeho could feel his heart pounding in his chest, the distance between them shrinking. He was close—too close. The air between them was thick with unspoken words, with feelings that neither of them were ready to face. Jaeho could see it in Junhyuk’s eyes, the way his lips parted, the way he was teetering on the edge of something—something Jaeho wasn’t sure either of them was ready for.
But Jaeho was panicking now, the vulnerability eating away at him, his mind screaming at him to escape before he made things even worse. He could see the confusion in Junhyuk’s eyes, the way he was struggling to understand, and it terrified him.
“I—I have to go,” Jaeho blurted out suddenly, standing up so fast he nearly stumbled. His heart was racing, his mind a mess of tangled thoughts. He needed to get out of there before he said anything else—before he ruined everything.
Junhyuk blinked, surprised by the sudden shift. “Wait, Jaeho—”
But Jaeho didn’t wait. He couldn’t. He grabbed his jacket and practically bolted for the door, his chest tight with guilt and confusion. He couldn’t face Junhyuk right now—not after what he’d just said. Not after what had almost happened.
“I’ll text you later,” Jaeho mumbled quickly, avoiding Junhyuk’s gaze as he fumbled with the door handle. His hands were shaking, and his mind was screaming at him to just leave before everything fell apart.
And then he was gone, out the door and into the cold night air. The silence in the hallway was deafening, a stark contrast to the chaotic storm of emotions swirling inside him.
As Jaeho hurried down the stairs, his mind was racing. What did I just do? What did I just say? His chest tightened as the realization of his words sank in. He hadn’t meant to let that slip. He hadn’t meant to reveal so much. And now, he was left with the overwhelming fear that he had gone too far—that he had broken the fragile balance between them.
He kept walking, his footsteps echoing in the empty street as he tried to calm his racing heart. But no matter how far he got from Junhyuk’s apartment, he couldn’t shake the feeling that everything had just changed.
And it terrified him.
Jaeho sat on his couch, staring at his phone, the missed call from Junhyuk glowing on the screen. His heart raced, his fingers trembling as he swiped the notification away. He had been avoiding Junhyuk ever since that night. The accidental confession. The kiss. The panic that followed. It was too much, too fast, and Jaeho hadn’t been ready.
But Junhyuk had come to his apartment anyway.
Jaeho could hear him now, pacing in the small hallway outside, knocking lightly before stepping inside when Jaeho finally opened the door.
Junhyuk stood by the entrance, his face a mask of unreadable emotions. The silence between them was heavy, and for the first time in a long while, Jaeho couldn’t hear his thoughts—just the quiet tension that hung in the air.
“Hey,” Junhyuk said softly, stepping inside and closing the door behind him.
Jaeho’s breath hitched. “Hey.”
The word felt hollow, as if it couldn’t possibly hold the weight of everything they had left unsaid. Jaeho shifted uncomfortably on the couch, the ache of awkwardness settling in his chest. He could feel Junhyuk’s eyes on him, but he couldn’t bring himself to meet his gaze.
Junhyuk moved toward him slowly, sitting down on the armchair across from Jaeho. He looked tired, his usually bright eyes clouded with uncertainty. There was a moment of silence, the tension between them almost suffocating.
“I’ve been trying to figure out what happened,” Junhyuk finally said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Why you’ve been avoiding me.”
Jaeho’s chest tightened. He had been avoiding him—avoiding the truth, avoiding the way his heart pounded when he thought about Junhyuk. But what could he say? He hadn’t meant to hurt him, but everything had changed after that night. He hadn’t been ready to face the feelings he’d buried for so long.
“I—” Jaeho started, but the words caught in his throat. He glanced away, his hands clenching in his lap. “I don’t know what to say.”
Junhyuk’s eyes softened. “You don’t have to say anything. I just... I need to know why. What changed?”
Jaeho exhaled shakily, his mind racing. He wanted to explain, to tell Junhyuk that everything had changed—that he couldn’t stop thinking about the kiss, about the way Junhyuk’s thoughts had become silent and how that had scared him more than anything. But the words wouldn’t come.
Junhyuk shifted in his seat, his gaze never leaving Jaeho’s. “Was it... because of what we did? Did I—did I scare you off?”
Jaeho’s heart lurched. “No. It’s not that.”
“Then what is it?” Junhyuk pressed gently, his voice raw with emotion. “I don’t understand, Jaeho. You’ve been distant, and I’ve been trying to figure out what I did wrong.”
Jaeho’s throat tightened. He couldn’t take it anymore—the guilt, the confusion, the fear of losing Junhyuk. His eyes flicked up to meet Junhyuk’s, and for the first time in days, he let himself be vulnerable.
“I miss hearing you,” Jaeho whispered, the words tumbling out before he could stop himself. “I miss hearing your thoughts.”
Junhyuk froze, his eyes widening in surprise. The room seemed to grow still, the air between them charged with electricity.
“What do you mean?” Junhyuk asked, his voice soft, barely audible.
Jaeho swallowed hard, his heart pounding in his chest. He had kept this secret for so long—his strange ability to hear Junhyuk’s thoughts when he couldn’t speak. But now, with Junhyuk sitting there, looking at him with that quiet vulnerability, Jaeho couldn’t keep it inside anymore.
“I could hear you,” Jaeho confessed, his voice trembling. “When you couldn’t speak... I could hear your thoughts. Everything. Every time we touched, I could hear what you were thinking. But now, now that your voice is back, I can’t hear you anymore. And I... I don’t know what you’re feeling.”
Junhyuk’s breath caught, his eyes wide with shock. He stared at Jaeho, the realization slowly dawning on him.
“You... you heard everything?” Junhyuk whispered.
Jaeho nodded, his hands shaking. “Everything.”
For a moment, neither of them spoke. Junhyuk looked away, his jaw clenching as the weight of the confession settled between them. Jaeho’s heart sank, the fear of losing Junhyuk overwhelming him.
“I never meant to hear it,” Jaeho continued, his voice cracking. “But I... I didn’t know how to tell you. And after that night... after the kiss... I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want to ruin everything.”
Junhyuk’s shoulders tensed, and Jaeho could see the conflict in his eyes—the same fear he had been carrying for so long.
“I’ve been holding back too,” Junhyuk admitted, his voice raw and shaky. “I’ve been so afraid, Jaeho. Afraid that if I told you how I felt, it would ruin everything between us. You’re my best friend, and I... I didn’t want to lose you.”
Jaeho’s breath hitched, his heart pounding in his chest. Hearing Junhyuk’s voice—hearing the honesty in his words—made everything feel so real. Even without hearing his thoughts, Jaeho could feel the love behind them.
“I’ve been feeling the same way,” Jaeho whispered, his voice barely audible. “I didn’t want to admit it, but I... I love you, Junhyuk.”
Junhyuk’s eyes widened, his breath catching in his throat. For a moment, they just stared at each other, the silence between them heavy with years of unspoken feelings.
Jaeho’s confession hung in the air, vulnerable and raw, and for the first time, Junhyuk let himself feel the relief wash over him. He leaned forward, closing the distance between them, his hand reaching out to brush against Jaeho’s.
And in that touch—without words, without thoughts—Jaeho knew. He knew that Junhyuk had been holding back just as much as he had, that the love they had been afraid of was real. The fear and uncertainty that had held them apart for so long dissolved in the warmth of Junhyuk’s fingertips grazing Jaeho’s skin, a touch that held so much more than words could ever convey.
Jaeho’s breath hitched as Junhyuk’s hand lingered on his cheek, his touch soft yet electrifying. It was as if the world around them had ceased to exist, leaving only the two of them, wrapped in the tension they had been running from. Jaeho’s heart raced, the intensity between them growing with every passing second.
Junhyuk leaned in slowly, his eyes searching Jaeho’s for permission, for reassurance, but Jaeho didn’t need to say anything. He could see the desire reflected in Junhyuk’s gaze, the same longing that had been building inside him for so long. Without hesitation, Jaeho closed the distance, their lips brushing softly, testing the waters of something that had been simmering just beneath the surface for so long.
The kiss started tender, gentle, a slow exploration of feelings they had both kept locked away. Junhyuk’s lips were soft, and the way he moved was careful, as if he was savoring every second of this long-awaited moment. Jaeho’s hands, trembling slightly, found their way to Junhyuk’s shoulders, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss as a spark ignited between them.
But the moment the floodgates opened, the kiss grew more intense, more passionate. Jaeho’s fingers slid into Junhyuk’s hair, tugging gently at the soft strands, and a low sound escaped Junhyuk’s throat, something between a sigh and a moan, sending a shiver down Jaeho’s spine. Junhyuk responded by wrapping his arms around Jaeho’s waist, pulling him flush against his chest, their bodies pressing together as the kiss became more urgent, more desperate.
Jaeho couldn’t think anymore—he could only feel. The heat between them was overwhelming, consuming, but in the most beautiful way. The way Junhyuk kissed him, slow yet filled with so much unspoken passion, made Jaeho’s knees weak. Every brush of their lips was like fire, igniting something deep within him that he had never allowed himself to acknowledge until now.
Junhyuk’s hands were everywhere—running down Jaeho’s back, tracing the lines of his hips, exploring every inch of him as if he were something precious, something cherished. And Jaeho gave in, letting himself get lost in the feeling of Junhyuk’s touch, the weight of his body, the taste of his lips.
The kiss wasn’t just about passion—it was about everything they had been holding back. It was years of friendship, of longing, of fear all wrapped up in this one moment. And it felt perfect.
Jaeho’s hands slid down Junhyuk’s chest, feeling the warmth of his skin through his shirt, the steady beat of his heart beneath his palm. He could feel the way Junhyuk was trembling, the way his breath hitched every time Jaeho’s fingers brushed against him. It was intoxicating, the way they moved together, like two pieces of a puzzle that had finally clicked into place.
Junhyuk’s lips moved from Jaeho’s mouth to his jaw, then down to his neck, kissing a slow, burning trail that left Jaeho breathless. His heart pounded in his chest as Junhyuk’s hands found their way under his shirt, his touch warm and gentle, yet filled with so much desire that it made Jaeho’s head spin.
Jaeho’s breath came in ragged gasps, his fingers tightening in Junhyuk’s hair as he tilted his head back, giving Junhyuk more access to his neck, more of him to explore. And Junhyuk didn’t hold back. His lips were soft yet firm, his kisses both tender and consuming, leaving Jaeho trembling in his arms.
It was too much and not enough all at once, and Jaeho wanted more. He wanted to feel all of Junhyuk, to be closer than they already were, but the intensity of it all was overwhelming. The passion, the love, the way Junhyuk was holding him as if he was the most important person in the world—it was almost too much for Jaeho to handle.
“Junhyuk...” Jaeho breathed out, his voice barely a whisper, full of need and longing. He didn’t even know what he was asking for, but Junhyuk seemed to understand. He always did.
Junhyuk pulled back slightly, just enough to look into Jaeho’s eyes, his thumb brushing gently against Jaeho’s cheek. His gaze was dark, filled with the kind of desire that made Jaeho’s breath catch, but there was something else there too. Something deeper. Something more.
“I’ve wanted this for so long,” Junhyuk whispered, his voice thick with emotion, his forehead resting against Jaeho’s as their breaths mingled. “I’ve wanted you for so long.”
Jaeho’s heart clenched at the sincerity in his voice, and in that moment, everything else fell away. It didn’t matter that they had been afraid. It didn’t matter that they had been running from this. All that mattered was that they were here, together, and that this was real.
“I want you too,” Jaeho whispered back, his voice trembling with emotion. “I’ve always wanted you.”
And with that, Junhyuk kissed him again, slow and deep, pouring everything he felt into that kiss. It was a kiss filled with love and longing, with passion and tenderness, and Jaeho could feel it in every touch, in every movement. It was as if Junhyuk was baring his soul to him, letting him in completely, and Jaeho welcomed it with open arms.
The kiss lingered, long and intimate, their hands exploring each other with a new sense of freedom and love. There was no rush, no urgency—just the pure connection between them, the quiet understanding that they had been searching for all along. It was a kiss that left them both breathless, their hearts racing, their bodies pressed so close that it felt like they were one.
When they finally pulled apart, their foreheads rested against each other, their breaths mingling in the quiet of the room. The air around them felt heavy with everything they had shared, everything they had finally admitted, and yet it was the lightest Jaeho had felt in a long time.
In Junhyuk’s eyes, Jaeho saw the love that he had been afraid to acknowledge, and in that moment, he knew—this was where he belonged. With Junhyuk. Always.
In the days following the kiss, everything felt different, but not in an awkward or overwhelming way—just…new. Jaeho woke up every morning with a flutter in his chest, his thoughts immediately wandering to Junhyuk. It wasn’t just the memory of their kiss, though that certainly lingered. It was the way Junhyuk had looked at him afterward, as if years of silent longing had finally melted away, leaving only the raw, beautiful truth between them.
They were finding their way, navigating this new relationship, both excited and a little uncertain. Junhyuk still had his weekend classes, so their time together was limited. But when they did meet, the air was charged with an undeniable spark. Jaeho noticed it in the way Junhyuk’s hand lingered on his waist, or how his gaze flicked from Jaeho’s lips to his eyes like he was thinking about so much more than their next conversation.
One day, they found themselves back in Jaeho’s apartment after lunch break, before the afternoon classes, sprawled comfortably on the couch. Junhyuk was pretending to study, his textbook open on his lap, but Jaeho could tell his attention wasn’t on his notes. Every few minutes, Junhyuk would glance over at him, and Jaeho would catch the faintest smirk on his face.
“You’re staring,” Junhyuk finally said, closing his book with a soft thud, eyes gleaming mischievously.
Jaeho grinned, leaning in a little closer, enjoying the game they were playing. “Maybe. But can you blame me?”
Junhyuk’s smirk widened, his gaze dipping to Jaeho’s mouth. “I don’t mind. I like the attention.”
Jaeho chuckled, feeling the familiar heat rising between them. There was a lazy, languid energy in the air, thick with anticipation. He watched as Junhyuk set his book aside, leaning back against the cushions. His hand brushed Jaeho’s knee, slowly trailing up to rest on his thigh.
“You’re a distraction, though,” Junhyuk murmured, his fingers absently tracing patterns on Jaeho’s leg. “How am I supposed to focus when you’re looking at me like that?”
Jaeho raised an eyebrow, shifting closer until their knees touched. “I’m the distraction? You’re the one touching me.”
Junhyuk’s lips curled into a playful smile, his fingers sliding just a little higher. As his hand drifted toward Jaeho’s torso, his fingers lingered over the solid curve of Jaeho’s well-defined muscles, the result of hours spent at the gym. Junhyuk’s eyes darkened slightly as he felt the hard lines of Jaeho’s abs beneath his touch.
“You’ve been working out a lot, haven’t you?” Junhyuk’s voice was almost a whisper now, his hand moving appreciatively over Jaeho’s toned chest. “I can tell.”
Jaeho’s breath hitched, but he didn’t back away. Instead, he let his hand fall to Junhyuk’s wrist, stopping his teasing touch just before things got too heated. He leaned in, his lips hovering near Junhyuk’s ear, his voice low and teasing. “Careful, or we might have to finish this conversation at your place after class.”
Junhyuk’s eyes darkened, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. “I was hoping you’d say that,” he whispered back, his tone smooth, laced with innuendo. “You know, we’ve been holding back for a long time. I’m ready to... catch up on what we missed.”
Jaeho’s stomach flipped at the implication, but he met Junhyuk’s gaze with a teasing smile. “Is that so? What exactly do you have in mind?”
Junhyuk’s hand slipped from Jaeho’s thigh and grazed his lower back, pulling him just a little closer. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe everything we didn’t get to do... before. Whatever you want.”
The heat between them flared up in an instant, but Jaeho didn’t break. Instead, he leaned forward, his lips brushing Junhyuk’s ear again. “Everything, huh? I think we’re going to need a lot of time for that.”
Junhyuk laughed softly, the sound vibrating in the space between them. “I’ve got time. The question is... do you?”
Jaeho’s smile widened, his hand still resting on Junhyuk’s wrist, keeping them connected. The tension between them was thick, but it wasn’t uncomfortable—it was warm, magnetic, the kind of pull that made Jaeho want to say to hell with it and close the distance right now.
But instead, he leaned back slightly, biting his lip in thought. “I have a lot of time for that.”
Junhyuk swallowed hard, the flush in his cheeks deepening. “You’re going to kill me, Jaeho.”
Jaeho smirked. “We’ll see.”
The playful banter filled the room, but underneath it was something much deeper—something tender and raw that made Jaeho’s heart ache in the best way. He wanted Junhyuk in every way possible, but more than that, he wanted this. The comfort, the ease, the way they fit together like they’d been waiting for this moment all along.
Junhyuk’s hand found its way to Jaeho’s cheek, gently turning his head so their eyes met. The teasing smile on his lips softened, and for a moment, they just looked at each other—really looked. No games, no innuendo, just the quiet understanding that had always been between them.
“I’m serious, Jaeho,” Junhyuk said softly, his thumb brushing lightly over Jaeho’s skin, feeling the firmness of his jaw, the strength in his form. “I’ve wanted this... wanted you for so long. I don’t want to hold back anymore.”
Jaeho’s heart skipped a beat, his breath catching in his throat. The sincerity in Junhyuk’s voice, the intensity in his gaze—it was almost too much. Almost.
“I don’t want to hold back either,” Jaeho whispered back, his own voice barely audible. “Not with you.”
Junhyuk leaned in then, closing the distance between them in one smooth motion. The kiss that followed wasn’t rushed or desperate; it was slow, deliberate, filled with all the passion and tenderness they’d been holding back for so long. Junhyuk’s lips were soft, warm, moving against Jaeho’s with a kind of quiet intensity that made Jaeho’s whole body tingle.
Jaeho let out a soft sigh, his hands finding their way into Junhyuk’s hair, tugging lightly as the kiss deepened. Junhyuk responded in kind, pulling Jaeho closer until there was no space left between them. His hands traveled down, resting on Jaeho’s chest, feeling the hard muscles beneath his shirt, the strength that had always been there but now felt even more tangible, more real.
The world outside disappeared, leaving only the warmth of Junhyuk’s mouth, the feel of his hands on Jaeho’s skin, the soft hum of desire that buzzed between them.
It wasn’t just lust—it was something far more intimate. Every touch, every movement was filled with emotion, with the unspoken promise that this was just the beginning of something much deeper. Jaeho felt it in the way Junhyuk’s fingers caressed his jaw, the way his breath hitched when Jaeho kissed him a little harder, a little more desperately.
They broke apart only when the need for air became too great, their foreheads resting together, breath mingling in the small space between them.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Junhyuk murmured, his voice low and full of emotion. “Not after this. Not ever.”
Jaeho smiled, his chest swelling with warmth. “Good,” he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to Junhyuk’s lips. “Because I’m not letting you go.”
The days that followed were filled with quiet moments like this—moments where they found solace in each other’s arms, where the tension that had once plagued them gave way to a kind of comfort and love that neither of them had expected.
The physical connection was still there, of course, but it was softened by the trust they had built, the understanding that they didn’t need to rush. They had time—time to explore, to grow, to love in ways that neither of them had thought possible.
And even though Jaeho could no longer hear Junhyuk’s thoughts, he found that he didn’t need to. Junhyuk’s love was clear in every word, every touch, every lingering glance. The silent connection they had once shared had evolved into something deeper—something unbreakable.
And Jaeho couldn’t have been happier.