Dawn crept through Jiho's window like a shy confession, bathing everything in honey-gold light. The small room breathed with quiet intimacy books scattered across shelves, pillows strewn on the floor, and that familiar scent of lavender detergent that somehow made the cramped space feel infinite.
Minjae sat cross-legged on the carpet, a weathered photo album spread across his lap. The pages whispered secrets as he turned them, revealing glimpses of Jiho's childhood—round cheeks, impossibly wide eyes, always caught mid-giggle or mid-pout like he'd been born knowing how to steal hearts.
"God," Minjae breathed, pressing a hand to his chest where his heart was doing something ridiculous. "You've been devastating people since day one."
One photograph made him pause completely tiny Jiho drowning in oversized glasses, clutching a stuffed turtle like it held the secrets of the universe. Minjae had to bite his lip to keep from laughing out loud.
His gaze drifted to the bed.
There lay the grown version of that same boy, hair falling across his forehead in dark waves, lips slightly parted in sleep, lashes casting delicate shadows on his cheeks. He looked like something out of a dream too beautiful to be real, too peaceful to disturb.
"Still such a baby," Minjae whispered, his smile soft enough to break hearts.
He couldn't help himself. Moving with the careful silence of someone handling precious things, he crawled closer to the bed.
With trembling fingers, he brushed those wayward strands from Jiho's forehead. The touch sent electricity through his fingertips. Heart hammering against his ribs, he leaned down and pressed the softest kiss to Jiho's cheek. Then his nose. Another to the opposite cheek. A lingering one to his forehead.
And finally...
His lips found Jiho's in a kiss so gentle it felt like a prayer.
Just a moment. A stolen breath. A secret written in the space between sleeping and waking.
When he pulled back, his voice came out raw and barely there. "I'm sorry I never told you the truth about Hyunwoo..."
Jiho remained still.
Minjae's fingers traced the curve of Jiho's jaw with reverent slowness, memorizing every angle. "The thing is... I don't actually hate him. I know I should. After everything he's put you through, everyone expects me to hate him. But I can't. He used to be my best friend, and even now, seeing how broken he's become... I can't bring myself to hate him completely."
The memory surfaced like a wound reopening:
---
FLASHBACK
The school courtyard buzzed with afternoon chatter. Minjae balanced his textbooks against his chest, completely unprepared for the storm heading his way.
"Hyunwoo? What's—"
The slap came out of nowhere, sharp and brutal enough to send his books scattering across the concrete. Minjae stumbled backward, hand flying to his burning cheek, staring in shock at his best friend.
"We're not friends anymore," Hyunwoo said, and his voice was all wrong hollow, like something had carved out his insides. "I hate you."
"What are you talking about?" Minjae's voice cracked. "What did I do? Hyunwoo, please, just tell me what's wrong—"
But Hyunwoo was already walking away, shoulders rigid, never once looking back.
He never looked back.
---
PRESENT
Minjae blinked the memory away, his thumb brushing across Jiho's cheekbone.
"I still don't understand what I did to make him turn on me like that. Or what broke inside him that day. Sometimes I wonder if he was already drowning and I just... never noticed."
A soft exhale interrupted his confession.
"Thank you," Jiho murmured, voice thick with sleep.
Minjae froze. "You're awake?"
One eye cracked open, followed by the most devastatingly smug smile Minjae had ever seen. "Did you really think I could sleep through you having a whole emotional breakdown over there?"
Heat flooded Minjae's face. "Wait—how much did you hear?"
Jiho stretched like a cat, all lazy limbs and satisfaction. "Mmm... everything from the part where you called me devastating."
"You were faking?" Minjae's voice pitched higher. "This entire time?"
"Guilty as charged," Jiho laughed, and the sound was pure sunlight. Then, quick as lightning, he leaned up and pressed a kiss to Minjae's flushed cheek. "But that was a beautiful speech, for what it's worth."
Minjae groaned. "I hate you."
"No, you don't." Jiho's grin was absolutely lethal. "You think I'm devastatingly beautiful, remember?"
"Have I mentioned ." Jiho's eyes sparkled with mischief. "You know, you look like some manhwa protagonist when you sleep. So handsome I couldn't fall asleep I kept watching you instead."
"You were—what?!" Minjae sputtered, face turning bright red.
Jiho buried his face in his pillow, shoulders shaking with laughter. "You're so easy to tease."
"And you," Minjae said, crawling onto the bed with a grin that promised trouble, "are absolutely impossible."
This time, he didn't hesitate.
He cupped Jiho's face and kissed him properly slow, deliberate, like he was memorizing the taste of him. Jiho melted into it with a soft sigh, fingers curling into the fabric of Minjae's shirt, pulling him closer.
The kiss deepened, became something desperate and sweet and absolutely perfect until—
"Wait." Jiho pressed a palm over Minjae's mouth, eyes wide. "I haven't brushed my teeth yet."
Minjae blinked at him for a moment. Then, with a smile that could start wars, he pressed a kiss to Jiho's palm. "I don't care."
He gently moved Jiho's hand away and kissed him again.
This time, there was nothing gentle about it. It was heat and hunger of wanting distilled into something that made the world disappear. Jiho let out a soft gasp against Minjae's lips, his hands fisting in Minjae's hair, pulling him impossibly closer.
The quiet sounds of their breathing mingled-soft sighs, gentle hums of contentment, the whisper of skin against skin as their mouths moved together like they were made for this-for eachother.
When they finally broke apart with a soft, reluctant sound, both breathing hard and lips slightly swollen, Minjae rested his forehead against Jiho's.
"I've wanted to do that for so long," he whispered against Jiho's lips.
"What took you so long?" Jiho whispered back, eyes still closed, smile soft and perfect.
The morning light painted them in gold, two boys tangled in blankets and possibilities, everything felt exactly as it should be.
---
Caged Silence
The black sedan tore through the streets like a predator returning to its den, tinted windows reflecting nothing but storm clouds and shattered futures. When it screeched to a halt behind the imposing gates of the Jang estate, Hyunwoo was hauled from the backseat like cargo—two bodyguards gripping his arms hard enough to leave fingerprints in his bones.
The iron gates clanged shut behind them with the finality of a coffin lid. Freedom had officially become a memory.
The mansion loomed ahead, all cold marble and cruel angles, every surface polished to mirror perfection. Their footsteps echoed like gunshots as they dragged him through the foyer, past oil paintings of dead ancestors with judging eyes, up the sweeping staircase toward the place that had haunted his nightmares since childhood: his father's office.
Chairman Jang sat behind his mahogany desk like a king on a throne of bones, spine straight, hands folded with mechanical precision. His expression revealed nothing, but the air itself seemed to thicken with his displeasure.
The guards forced Hyunwoo to his knees on the marble floor.
"Father... please..." Hyunwoo's voice broke like glass. "I'm sorry."
Silence stretched between them, sharp enough to draw blood.
"I know I've made terrible mistakes," Hyunwoo continued, head bowed in submission. "I hurt Jiho. I hurt innocent people. But I can fix this—I'll apologize to him properly. I'll be the son you want me to be. No more trouble,
Just... please. Forgive me. One last time."
Chairman Jang's response was swift and brutal. The crystal water glass shattered against Hyunwoo's face in an explosion of ice and fury, droplets mixing with blood on the pristine floor.
"You'll what?" The chairman's voice could have frozen hell itself.
Hyunwoo didn't flinch, even as liquid dripped from his chin. He'd learned long ago that showing pain only made his father hungrier for it.
Chairman Jang leaned back with the satisfied smile of a predator. "I offered that boy money. Generous compensation. He refused."
Something cold settled in Hyunwoo's chest. "What?"
"He wants a public apology," the chairman continued, each word dripping with disdain. "As if he has any right to demand anything from us."
Hyunwoo's heart clenched. So Jiho had really turned down the money. He'd chosen dignity over money, truth over transactions. Of course he had.
"Then I'll do it," Hyunwoo said quietly. "I'll apologize to him. Publicly."
The slap that followed could have split stone.
Chairman Jang's palm connected with brutal precision, sending Hyunwoo sprawling across the marble like a broken doll. The sound echoed through the room like a gunshot.
"You will NOT humiliate this family!" the chairman roared, towering over his fallen son. "A Jang kneeling before some nobody? You think I'll let you drag our name through the mud for your pathetic conscience?"
Hyunwoo lay still for a moment, tasting copper and shame. The pain was familiar—an old friend that had visited him countless times in this very room. But something was different now. Something had shifted.
Slowly, he pushed himself upright. Water and tears painted tracks down his face, but his eyes... his eyes were no longer those of a frightened child.
"Have you ever loved me?" The question escaped like a dying breath. "Even once? As your son, not as an extension of your empire?"
Chairman Jang's face darkened.
"Do you even see me?" Hyunwoo's voice grew stronger, fed by years of swallowed pain. "Do you know how I've been living? Dying inside piece by piece? Did you ever think to ask what I needed, how I felt? Or was I always just another asset to you—something to polish and display when it served the Jang name?"
The chairman raised his hand again, but this time when the blow landed, Hyunwoo didn't crumble. He absorbed it, stood straight, and met his father's gaze with eyes that burned.
"No wonder mother left you," Hyunwoo said, each word a bullet. "She saw what you really are—a man who only loves what he can control."
Chairman Jang's entire body went rigid. Murder flickered in his eyes.
"I kept quiet about her leaving because I didn't want to hurt her more than she'd already been hurt. I thought... maybe if I tried harder, if I became perfect enough, you might actually care about me. But I was wrong. You're incapable of love that doesn't serve your ego."
Hyunwoo stood now, wiping his face clean with trembling hands.
"I'm done, Father. I'm going to apologize to Jiho—publicly, properly. And then I'm leaving this house forever."
Chairman Jang shot to his feet so violently his chair toppled backward. "Running to that Soobin, are you?" he snarled. "Think he'll save you? Let's see how far you get without my name protecting you. Without my money."
He snapped his fingers. Secretary Park materialized like a shadow.
"Lock him in his room," the chairman commanded. "Take his phone. Cut all communication with the outside world.
He needs to learn discipline."
The bodyguards closed in again, but this time Hyunwoo didn't struggle. His heart was pounding not with fear, but with a clarity that felt like being born.
As they dragged him toward the door, he looked back one last time at the man who had raised him with fists and fear.
"You're not my father anymore."
The door slammed shut .
---
The room they imprisoned him in was vast and cold—marble floors that reflected nothing, sterile walls that absorbed sound, a king-sized bed that felt more like a monument to loneliness. The windows were sealed shut, curtains nailed down like bandages over wounds. Security cameras blinked from every corner like mechanical eyes.
His phone was gone. His freedom was gone. The fingerprint bruises on his wrists were already darkening.
But his resolve had never been clearer.
He would apologize. He would make amends for every cruel word, every moment of pain he'd caused. He would reclaim the pieces of his soul that had been scattered in this house of mirrors and lies.
And then he would leave. Far from this mansion. Far from this man who wore the title of father like stolen clothes.
Far from this beautiful, suffocating prison.
He was done being a captive in his own life.
---