Half of it had been a test. But judging from Inho’s expression, it seemed he really had deleted Seong-gu hyung’s message.
“I’m sorry.”
Inho immediately apologized, openly admitting his mistake. Even if Haon were to explode in anger, he had no excuse.
He had touched Haon’s phone without permission and even erased the messages that had piled up. And the person who’d reached out—was someone Haon considered family.
The moment he saw the message asking how Haon was doing and saying they missed him, his finger had moved on its own to hit delete. He couldn’t stand the presence of someone who seemed even more closely connected to Haon than he was. He hated the idea of Haon saying I love you to anyone but him.
I only have Haon. But Haon had so many others he loved and missed besides him. And that, he just couldn’t bear.
Inho scrubbed his forehead in self-reproach, disgusted with himself. Haon gently took hold of Inho’s hand.
“You won’t delete any more messages, right?”
He didn’t ask why Inho had done it. He just asked him not to do it again.
Inho looked at Haon, eyes wavering.
“I won’t delete them.”
Hearing the answer he wanted, Haon smiled brightly and led Inho to the table. He tried to shift back to everyday conversation, chatting about dinner. But Inho suddenly stopped walking.
“You’re not going to ask why I deleted it?”
The more he spoke, the more his left chest throbbed. His heavy heartbeat felt like it was rising to his throat.
He was anxious. He just couldn’t read what Haon was thinking.
“You can be mad. I messed up. I was wrong.”
Even though Haon constantly showed with words and actions how much he liked and loved him, the anxiety didn’t go away. It felt like Haon might just soothe him now… and then vanish.
That relentless fear kept surfacing. Because he’d exposed the ugliest parts of himself to Haon.
He should’ve known. That’s why he tried so hard to hide it—because he knew it would make him look pathetic.
“Inho-ssi.”
Haon gently pushed Inho into a chair and looked down at him. His soft smile didn’t betray a single emotion.
Inho felt the urge to run. Somehow, it felt like if this conversation continued, his heart would completely collapse. Just as he bit his lip and turned his head away, Haon cupped his cheek and held his gaze.
“I… make the people next to me really anxious.”
What Haon said was something Inho hadn’t expected at all.
“My grandma was like that. So was Seong-gu hyung. They never even let me ride a bike alone. I kept getting hurt.”
“When I was little, even when I was sick, I always tried to hide it and just ended up making it worse. That’s why my grandma and hyung would ask me almost every day if I was okay, looking after me. Just like you do, Inho-ssi.”
As Haon spoke softly, the corners of his eyes gradually reddened.
“If someone stayed by my side… I think they’d be really anxious, too.”
His faint breath, barely let out, shimmered with dampness. Inho could feel Haon’s moist breath brushing against his cheek and gently grasped the back of Haon’s hand.
“That’s why I completely understand why you worry, Inho-ssi.”
Inho’s hand against the back of Haon’s felt cool to the touch. Haon lowered his head and gently rubbed Inho’s cold hand against his lips.
“And… I also want you to only look at me, Inho-ssi.”
Inho opened his mouth wordlessly, inhaling as he looked up at Haon. Whether it was contagious or not, he could feel heat rising behind his own eyes too.
“Then why did you pack your things?”
A small tear welled up at the corner of Inho’s eye.
“You were trying to leave.”
Inside the hidden bag, clothes were neatly folded. The watch Inho had given Haon was buried among them. It was obvious—the bag had been packed for leaving.
Inho’s rough heartbeat, barely letting him force the words out, was transmitted straight to Haon. But Haon, with even more tears clinging to his lashes, smiled brightly. It was a smile meant to reassure Inho.
“You like me, right, Inho-ssi?”
Then, without warning, Haon asked.
“You do love me, don’t you?”
“Of course.”
Inho answered immediately, without the slightest hesitation. His heavy, unwavering sincerity reached Haon. The tears gathered at the curve of Haon’s eyes finally spilled over, falling in a single drop.
“You’ll keep loving me, right?”
When Inho nodded, the tears in his own eyes slid down his cheeks. His mouth filled with a hot, stinging heat.
Haon gently wrapped his arms around Inho’s shoulders and continued speaking slowly. Inho, as always, never rushed him.
“Last time…”
“Yeah.”
“You said you’re only happy when you’re with me.”
It was true. When Haon had asked if he was happy being with him, Inho hadn’t even needed to think. He had answered right away—that he was only happy when he was with Haon. It had been pure honesty without the slightest exaggeration.
“Then… would you still be happy even if you only had me?”
Again, it was a question that required no hesitation. Inho swallowed against the heat rising in his throat and parted his damp lips.
“Of course.”
“Even if we lived in a tiny house full of bugs?”
“As long as you’re there, Haon-ssi, that’s all I need.”
“The internet won’t work well… and we won’t be able to go to fancy restaurants either.”
Haon kept trying to scare him. He said winters would be so cold their toes would freeze, and in summer, it would be so hot they’d have to sleep without any clothes on. It wouldn’t be like Inho’s home, always maintained at the perfect temperature.
It would be like the countryside house Haon had lived in.
“As long as I have you, Haon-ssi… I can live.”
Inho gazed at Haon with reddened eyes, his trembling lips forming a fragile smile. All he wished for was to be with Haon. That alone would be enough.
“Then… come with me.”
Haon finally spoke the words he had been agonizing over for so long. Ever since he had sat by Inho’s hospital bed, he had been thinking about the countryside home he had left behind, far removed from the bustling city of Seoul.
Maybe if they moved away from this city, where everything was crammed full, to a countryside where, even though there was less, the air was clear and hearts were generous… Maybe then they could endure the time that otherwise refused to flow.
Before his grandmother passed away, the town where Haon had lived had been a place full of abundance and love. Because there were so few residents, they treasured one another, worrying over each other’s problems as if they were their own.
When young Haon caught a bad fever, the entire village had gathered to nurse him back to health. It was that kind of warm, affectionate place. Surely, there would be an endless supply of kindness even for Inho.
“There’s a little vegetable patch in front of our house, too.”
Haon whispered, mentioning how anything he grew there always flourished. He had scared Inho enough—it was now time to start tempting him.
“Seong-gu hyung’s family also grows rice nearby. So we’ll always have plenty to eat.”
At the very least, they wouldn’t have to worry about going hungry. But for Inho, it might feel unbearably dull. In that tiny village, there were only people—nothing more. They lived close, sharing everything warmly, but there was nothing of the entertainment that young people in the city enjoyed.
Could someone like Inho, who had lived his entire life in the city, really adapt? Haon wasn’t sure. He couldn’t even guarantee that Inho wouldn’t come to regret throwing everything away to follow him.
Inho had so much, and Haon wasn’t confident he could offer anything that could compare.
“No matter how much I think about it…”
Even so, he spoke for one reason alone.
“I don’t think I can live without you, Inho-ssi.”
In other words, he was asking if Inho could live with him for the rest of their lives. The words he really wanted to say—that he would never be able to part from Inho—were swallowed by tears.
He had tried so hard to hold it in until the end. But from the burning heat in his throat, a choked sob escaped. Seeing Inho cry just as much as he did made it impossible to stop.
“I’ll try… so you won’t have to feel anxious because of me.”
Even so, Haon managed to say everything he had prepared.
“I’ll try not to get sick often. And if I do, I’ll get better quickly.”
Haon gently placed his hand on Inho’s tear-streaked cheek. He softly brushed his thumb over the scabbed wound on Inho’s left cheek.
It was a scar shaped much like the ones that had been left on his younger brother’s face. Every time he looked at it, fury like wildfire ignited inside his chest. He hadn’t even known he could harbor such burning anger. If he had never met Inho, he might never have known.
Thanks to Inho, he had come to understand yet another part of himself.
“Inho-ssi, come with me.”
Haon didn’t want to live in a place where people hurt Inho. Even if it meant running away, he wished, more than anything, for Inho to leave everything behind and come with him.
Haon’s fingers threaded tightly between Inho’s, weaving through them as if urging him. He shook their interlocked hands lightly and gazed at him.
Asking Inho to leave behind everything he had and come away with him, Haon waited for an answer. And Inho responded first with a tear-streaked smile. He parted his lips to speak, but then closed them again, simply smiling once more. He couldn’t bring himself to answer easily.
Inho’s throat bobbed with hesitation. After stacking up a brief silence, he finally muttered in a deliberately playful tone,
“The only thing I have is money.”
It was the truth. Money was the only thing he possessed. If he gave that up, there would be nothing left he could offer Haon.
“You have me.”
Haon whispered quickly, tightening the grip between their interlaced fingers.
“Just have me. I’ll give you everything.”
With each word spoken firmly, Haon’s eyes grew steadily more resolute. Bathed in love, Haon’s expression was stronger than Inho’s. Right now, nothing in the world scared him—nothing except being rejected by Inho.
Haon showed no intention of ever letting go of their tightly intertwined hands. Caught so helplessly by him, Inho’s heart calmed almost immediately—as if it had been waiting for this.
Rising from his chair, Inho pulled Haon into his arms. As their chins brushed, they sought each other’s lips.
A sweet warmth seeped between their overlapping mouths. It was a heat that allowed them to breathe freely again.
Whenever they enveloped themselves in each other’s warmth like this, the painful memories seemed to blur and fade. Even the crumpled parts of their hearts felt like they were smoothing out.
They were, to each other, an irreplaceable source of comfort.
At the corners of Haon and Inho’s eyes, there were no more tears—only smiles blooming now.
