Sa-yoon dragged the soaking-wet Shin-jae home, shoved him into the bathroom, and then started wiping up the mess on the floor.
“Sesame, no.”
After changing clothes and coming out, he saw his overly curious cat tapping at a box on the dining table. It had already shifted slightly from where it had been placed.
It’s going to fall at this rate. Sa-yoon picked Sesame up and set him down on the floor. The kitten let out a disgruntled noise at being shooed away, perked up his ears, then trotted off to the rug in front of the bathroom.
…Guess I should put this away.
The square cake box had a noticeable weight to it. When he pulled out the flat handle, a transparent film slid back, revealing a glimpse of the cake inside.
And the cake was… peculiar.
For one, it was gray—a color never used in food. And its shape… what the hell? Am I seeing this right? Sa-yoon frowned and brought the box closer to the light.
He wasn’t mistaken.
The semi-circular surface was covered in sharp, spiky protrusions, and to top it off, it even had fins, eyes, and a mouth.
In other words…
“A pufferfish?”
He muttered dumbly at the utterly random design.
A fish…? On a cake? Aren’t cakes usually decorated with lettering or something meaningful? Do they really like pufferfish that much…? Sa-yoon scratched his cheek.
He wasn’t sure, but he knew one thing—custom cakes like this weren’t something you could just walk into a store and buy on the same day. As he was about to close the fridge, he tilted his head again.
Still, a pufferfish…?
God was definitely fair. He’d made sure not to give Shin-jae any sense of fashion or design ability.
And just as he turned away, a past conversation flashed through his mind like a lightning bolt.
“You look like a pufferfish when you sit like that.”
“Don’t make fun of me.”
“Isn’t it cute, though? The way it puffs up all round?”
“Do you even like pufferfish?”
“Uh… it’s cute? I’ve never eaten one, so I wouldn’t know.”
Something like that had been said.
Sa-yoon had said it without much thought at the time.
Why the hell did I say that? As he retraced his thoughts, he suddenly remembered watching a pufferfish documentary back then and being oddly moved by it. And also thinking that Shin-jae, when sulking, looked kind of similar.
“Wow, I was already a lost cause back then…”
He had completely forgotten about it. But now that he knew the reason behind that ridiculous cake, he was dumbfounded.
Why the hell would he go this far?
“I just… really wanted to celebrate your birthday too, hyung.”
No, if he was being honest, he already knew. He knew just how miserable Shin-jae’s birthday had been this year. So of course, Shin-jae wanted to celebrate Sa-yoon’s properly, just like he had been comforted before.
If only he hadn’t lied in the first place, they would have spent the whole day together. He was angry at the sheer stubbornness of waiting in the rain, frustrated by the foolishness of it, and at the same time, he felt sorry. And mixed in with all of that was a sense of betrayal.
His emotions were a tangled mess.
“Meow.”
Sesame, who had been tilting his head curiously in front of the bathroom, let out a small cry. He must have been worried after seeing a completely drenched human go in, only to hear the sound of running water for so long.
With a sigh, Sa-yoon walked over and started picking up the clothes Sesame had been sitting on. He couldn’t wash them right away, but he could at least throw them in the dryer for now.
“Huh?”
Out of habit, he reached into the pockets while sorting through the clothes. In the back pocket of the pants, he found a small envelope.
“To Sa-yoon hyung.”
Did he write this for me?
The envelope wasn’t even sealed, and the dampness had already warped the paper. Sa-yoon frowned slightly, then carefully unfolded the wet, smudged letter.
“…Ha.”
He let out a breath, staring at the ruined paper.
The letter had started with “Hyung, I’m sorry.” The words had been packed tightly onto the page, and though most of them were too blurred to read, he could tell how much force had been put into each stroke. Only the last line remained clear.
“Happy birthday. I hope today was a happy day for you. And…”
Sa-yoon read the next line aloud in a quiet voice.
“…I want to talk to you in person.”
Repeating the last sentence under his breath, he walked back to the dining table and sat down. Tok, tok. His index finger tapped the tabletop at a steady rhythm.
[Whisper] Killer: I really have something important to say to you, hyung.
[Whisper] Chasa: You know, we live in an age where we can talk without meeting face-to-face.
[Whisper] Killer: No, this is something I have to say in person.
“…Something you need to say in person.”
Come to think of it, there was a time when Killer suddenly became desperate to meet him.
“Hey… what do you think about meeting someone you got to know online?”
“Hm? Like a small meetup?”
“No, more like… um, something similar to that.”
Wasn’t that around the time Shin-jae had asked about gay communities? Sa-yoon hadn’t paid much attention to most of Killer’s words back then, but the timing lined up. Once a single memory surfaced, the rest started unraveling like tangled threads.
The peak of it all had been in the reed fields. Shin-jae had hesitated over and over, saying he had something to tell him, and Sa-yoon had found his stalling frustrating.
He had assumed Shin-jae was just building up to a second confession. But thinking about it now, Shin-jae had always been expressive about his feelings—he didn’t need to make such a big deal out of saying it again.
“…I was going to tell you.”
“I wanted to tell you too! But every single time, you—”
Shin-jae had insisted on his innocence over and over. Back then, Sa-yoon had dismissed his words and expressions as nothing but lies. But if he had actually been trying to confess before getting caught…?
And what had he said in response back then?
“…So you’re not even going to listen to me now.”
“Yeah, that’s right. I don’t believe a liar.”
Right. He hadn’t even given him a chance to explain before forcing him into the role of the liar. And then he told him to break up.
Of course, the fact that Shin-jae had intentionally hidden his identity and lied hadn’t changed. But if he had planned to come clean on his own before being found out…
Tok. Tok. The tapping on the table quickened.
He had to talk to Shin-jae.
***
By the time Shin-jae finally stepped out of the bathroom after a longer-than-usual shower, Sa-yoon was sitting on the sofa.
“You done?”
His face was cold, not a single trace of a smile.
Shin-jae, who had always been used to Sa-yoon smiling, found that expression eerily unfamiliar. Unconsciously, he bit his lower lip. It was obvious what was coming, and if possible, he wanted to run away.
“Come here. We need to talk.”
But Sa-yoon’s words left no room for escape.
Hesitating, Shin-jae left some distance between them as he sat down next to him. Sa-yoon gave him a brief glance, his face as serious as ever.
“If you have something to say, say it now.”
“I’ll listen to everything you have to say.”
There wasn’t a trace of warmth in his low voice. It sounded like he was only listening because this was the last time.
Before going into the bathroom, the cake box had definitely been on the table—but now, it was nowhere to be seen. Had he thrown it away? He wouldn’t have… not when they hadn’t even talked yet, hadn’t even celebrated. Shin-jae’s chest tightened. He couldn’t let go of Sa-yoon like this…
That thought alone made tears well up in his eyes. Without hesitation, he sank to his knees on the floor.
“Hyung, I’m sorry…”
Pressing his forehead against Sa-yoon’s knee, he grasped his hands tightly. Unlike his own body, burning with heat, Sa-yoon’s hands had always been cold—but today, they felt as if all warmth had drained from them entirely. Shin-jae’s heart clenched. He didn’t have the courage to meet that icy gaze.
“I won’t lie again, I promise. Just this once, can’t you forgive me? I won’t call, I won’t bother you—I’ll wait quietly for as long as it takes until you’re ready to forgive me…”
So please, don’t say we’re breaking up. Please… it was my fault…
The more he spoke, the further he felt himself sinking into a bottomless abyss. His voice gradually faded, but Sa-yoon still didn’t say a word.
“…Haa.”
Shin-jae didn’t know how much time had passed before he heard Sa-yoon sigh. His breath brushed against the nape of Shin-jae’s neck. Was he exhausted from this? Disgusted? But Shin-jae had no other way to hold on to someone who was trying to leave.
“If you’re that angry, you can curse at me, hit me—I don’t care.”
It really felt like the end. His eyes burned, threatening to overflow.
“I can’t… I can’t break up with you.”
He let go of Sa-yoon’s hands and curled in on himself, hugging his knees. That was when he felt fingers comb through his hair. His stiff, dry strands—dehydrated from lingering in the shower for too long—slipped between Sa-yoon’s fingers over and over again.
“So that’s why you ghosted me? You thought if I heard from you, I’d break up with you?”
Had he gotten his hopes up too much? Was his mind playing tricks on him? For some reason, Sa-yoon’s voice sounded… gentle.
Cautiously, Shin-jae nodded. His face rubbed against Sa-yoon’s knee, and his tears soaked into the fabric of his pants.
“What am I supposed to do with you…”
Sa-yoon let out another sigh. This whole time, he had worried—wondering if Shin-jae was sick, if something had happened. And yet, it had all been because of this.
Looking down at Shin-jae, curled up and sobbing against his knee, Sa-yoon reached out and cupped his cheek. The moment he touched him, he could tell—his face was thinner, his skin rougher. Just how had he been living these past few days? Sa-yoon’s brows furrowed as he tilted Shin-jae’s chin up.
From rubbing against his pants, Shin-jae’s cheeks were flushed red, and his tear-streaked face was a mess.
Sa-yoon had never liked seeing men cry. Especially not the person he was dating.
But strangely enough, even with his hand pressing into Shin-jae’s face, making it look all squished and pitiful, he still looked beautiful.
Seeing him again, Sa-yoon knew for sure—he had missed this face every single day for the past week.
Though… this wasn’t how he had wanted to see it.
His thumb brushed over Shin-jae’s lips, feeling the roughness there. Then, as if stamping his claim, he pressed his lips against them—just for a moment—before pulling away.
