It had been three weeks since Yeonjun last stepped foot in the café.
No word. No calls. No text.
Just… silence.
Soobin noticed first, casually commenting one morning while wiping the counter, "Has anyone seen Yeonjun lately?"
Kai and Taehyun glanced at each other, then at Beomgyu, who sat alone at a window seat, quietly sipping his drink. He didn't react, but the way his eyes flicked toward them—just for a second—betrayed that he'd been wondering the same thing.
Kai frowned. "No… not since that night."
"Maybe he's just busy," Taehyun offered gently, though there was a noticeable unease in his voice.
Soobin didn't buy it. He reached for his phone, trying to call.
No answer.
Tried again the next day.
Still nothing.
By the end of the week, Soobin couldn't shake the feeling.
+×+
The neighborhood was quiet, save for the sound of leaves rustling and the distant bark of a dog. Soobin stood outside the modest two-story house Yeonjun had moved into years ago, holding his phone in hand. He'd tried calling. Again. And again.
Still no answer.
The curtains were all drawn. No movement. No signs of life.
Soobin sighed, walked up to the door, and knocked firmly. "Yeonjun?"
Silence.
He knocked again. Harder. "It's me. Open up."
After a long pause, he heard faint shuffling inside. The door creaked open just a little, revealing a disheveled, weary-eyed Yeonjun.
He looked like a ghost of himself—unshaven, dark circles bruising the skin under his eyes, hair a messy tangle. "Soobin…" he rasped, blinking against the light.
Soobin pushed the door open wider and stepped inside without waiting for an invitation.
The living room was a mess. Empty bottles lined the coffee table, clothes were tossed haphazardly over the couch, and the faint smell of liquor and stale air hung thick. The once tidy home now looked abandoned—forgotten even by its own owner.
"You look like shit," Soobin said softly, "What happened to you?"
"What're you doing here?" Yeonjun's voice cracked.
"You've been gone for weeks. We were worried. I tried calling."
Yeonjun gave a weak laugh. "Yeah, I saw. Didn't have the strength to answer."
Soobin's eyes scanned the room, then landed back on his friend. "You drinking yourself to death? That's your plan?"
"I don't know," Yeonjun muttered. "Maybe."
Silence hung for a moment before Soobin asked gently, "Why?"
Yeonjun leaned back, resting his head against the wall. "Because I deserve it."
"Yeonjun—"
"I tried," he said, eyes reddening. "I really did. I tried apologizing to Beomgyu. To you. To Kai. I tried fixing it… but I broke too many things."
His voice quivered. "He was right. I don't deserve forgiveness. I used people. I stepped on everyone. And for what? A fucking promotion?"
Soobin didn't respond right away. He just sat there, quietly, watching Yeonjun fall apart.
Then, carefully, he said, "You hurt us, yeah. You hurt him most of all. But we're still here, aren't we? And Beomgyu… he came back. That has to mean something."
Yeonjun let out a bitter breath. "He looked at me like he didn't know me anymore. Like he didn't want to."
"He's hurt. But he came back, Yeonjun. That means there's a reason. You don't have to give up."
"But what can I do, Soobin?" His voice cracked. "What else is there to do? I told him I loved him. I begged. He's seeing someone else—"
Soobin raised an eyebrow. "You believe that?"
Yeonjun didn't answer.
Soobin placed a steady hand on Yeonjun's shoulder. "Stop punishing yourself. He didn't want to forgive you yet—but that doesn't mean he never will. But he won't if you keep disappearing. Get up. Clean yourself. Show him you're still here, still trying, even if it takes years more."
Yeonjun looked up at him, eyes shining with unshed tears. "I don't know how to live with what I've done."
Soobin's voice softened. "Then learn. Start by living. That's the first step."
+×+
Soobin arrived back at the cafe just as Kai was wiping down the last table. The soft scent of caramel and espresso still lingered in the air. Beomgyu sat at one of the small tables in the back, a half-empty cup of tea in front of him, untouched and cold.
He looked up as Soobin walked in. "You were gone long."
"I went to see Yeonjun," Soobin said, setting down his coat and taking the seat across from him.
At that, Beomgyu stiffened. "Why?"
Soobin studied him. "Because he disappeared. No one had seen or heard from him in weeks."
Beomgyu's fingers curled slightly around his cup, his knuckles whitening. "And?"
"He's… not okay," Soobin said carefully. "He's wasting away in his own house. Barely eating. Drinking too much. He hasn't been able to forgive himself. He thinks he deserves every ounce of misery."
Beomgyu scoffed under his breath, eyes staring into the cup like it could explain the chaos in his heart. "So he's punishing himself now? That's convenient."
"He's not asking for pity, Beomgyu. He never even said your name. But everything about him screams it." Soobin's voice was gentle, but firm. "He's broken. And not because you left. Because of everything he did. He knows it."
Silence stretched. Kai passed behind them quietly, giving Soobin a brief glance as if to ask: Should I leave you two? Soobin nodded slightly. Kai retreated to the front of the cafe.
Beomgyu leaned back in his chair, exhaling shakily. "I saw how regretful he looked that night. But... I don't know if I can forgive him. Not yet. Maybe not ever."
"You don't have to," Soobin said. "Forgiveness isn't a requirement. It's something you decide. But Beomgyu… you asked me once how to deal with pain, how to move forward. Hating someone forever might not be the healing you're looking for."
Beomgyu's eyes welled slightly, but he blinked it back, jaw tight. "Do you think he's changed?"
Soobin nodded. "I don't think he even knows who he is anymore. But I saw something today. He didn't ask to be saved. He just let himself fall apart. Sometimes… that's the first step toward becoming someone better."
Beomgyu didn't respond. His thoughts were loud in the silence.
+×+
Yeonjun sat in the shower, fully clothed, water pouring over him like a slow baptism. His head leaned against the tile, the noise drowning out the silence that had haunted his home for weeks.
He could still feel Soobin's hand on his shoulder. Still hear his words.
Come back.
The idea of facing everyone again made his stomach twist. But the thought of never seeing Beomgyu smile at him—even from a distance—was worse.
When he finally emerged from the bathroom, he picked up his phone. The light from the screen was almost too bright in the darkness of his bedroom.
He opened Beomgyu's name in his contacts.
He didn't type anything.
He just stared.
Then, slowly, he typed:
> I'm not asking for anything. Just… I'm trying to be better. Even if you never see it.
He hesitated.
Then deleted the message.
+×+
The afternoon sun poured gently through the half-open window, casting soft golden rays across the wooden floor of Beomgyu's new home. It was quiet—comfortably so. A sanctuary away from all the noise and chaos that had unraveled just weeks ago.
Beomgyu sat on his couch, legs curled beneath him, a half-used journal open on his lap. His pen hovered over the page as he tried to translate the whirlwind in his head into ink.
"It's strange to be here alone. A different city, a different space, but the same heart still aching in my chest. I tell myself I'm healing, that I'm learning how to breathe again. But some nights, I still see his face. And worse, I saw mine—when I was breaking."
The scratch of the pen slowed, then stopped. He stared at the words, feeling their weight settle into his bones.
A soft knock interrupted the silence.
"Hey," Taehyun's voice came gently from the kitchen. Moments later, he emerged holding two mugs, steam curling upwards in soft spirals. "Thought you could use a break."
Beomgyu glanced up and offered a faint smile as Taehyun handed him the warm cup. "Thanks. It's really nice having a friend like you come over." he said, wrapping his hands around it, letting the heat seep into his fingers.
Taehyun sat beside him, sipping his own coffee. "You've been writing a lot lately."
"It helps," Beomgyu murmured. "Feels like... I can talk to myself without being interrupted."
Taehyun watched him quietly. "You've been doing better. I can see it."
Beomgyu nodded slowly, though a shadow still lingered behind his tired eyes. "It's easier during the day. But at night, I still remember everything. Even the parts I wish I didn't."
Taehyun hesitated before placing a hand on Beomgyu's shoulder. "You don't have to forget, you know. Healing doesn't mean pretending nothing happened."
Beomgyu blinked down at his journal, the ink still fresh. "I don't know if I'll ever forgive him. But... I don't think I hate him either. That's what hurts the most."
Taehyun didn't respond. He just squeezed Beomgyu's shoulder a little before changing the subject to lighter things—the new curtains Beomgyu had bought, how badly he needed indoor plants, anything to bring a little air into the room again.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the city, Yeonjun stood in front of his bathroom mirror, razor buzzing in his trembling hand. His reflection was haggard—unkempt hair, dark circles, and days-old stubble.
He exhaled shakily and turned off the razor. Setting it down, he leaned over the sink and splashed cold water on his face.
The past few weeks had been silent and self-loathing. Nights spent drowning in guilt. Mornings spent staring at his phone, hovering over messages he never sent.
But today was different. Today he made his bed. Today he washed the dishes. He even opened the blinds.
Small things. Stupid, quiet victories.
He sat at his desk later, laptop open, his old portfolio displayed on the screen. He wasn't sure what he was doing exactly, only that he needed to try. Whether it was to rebuild his career or find something to anchor himself to, he didn't know. But he refused to let himself rot in regret any longer.
The image of Beomgyu at the cafe haunted him—so close, yet unreachable. The lie Beomgyu told him about seeing someone else still echoed in his chest like a cruel melody. But even so, Yeonjun whispered into the silence of his room:
"I still love you."
He didn't know if Beomgyu would ever hear it. But for the first time in a long time, Yeonjun hoped that someday, maybe, he'd be ready to say it again—this time face to face.