“Ah, damn it!” Jeon Jiwoon had been in the living room for at least two hours. Sitting in front of the TV setup, he tormented the remote with a confused look. Every channel spoke in a different language, foreign, irritating.

“What the hell are you doing?” Hanjae’s voice reached him soft but firm. It didn’t catch him by surprise. He had heard the door close and the light footsteps on the floor.

“I’m trying to make this damn thing work… but every channel’s in Cyrillic! Or Arabic! Or, I don’t know, Sanskrit?!” He scratched his head, his frustrated eyes glued to the leaflet.

Hanjae burst into laughter, then came closer and sat on the couch beside him. “Aren’t you in the engineering department?”

“Engineering, yes. But I don’t deal with decoders, damn it!” He ran a hand over his face. “And it’s not intuitive, okay? The manual looks like it was written by an alien.”

Hanjae said nothing. He grabbed the remote, pressed a few buttons. The menu appeared, a couple more clicks… and Korean showed up on the screen.

“Done.” He grinned proudly.

Jiwoon looked at him, half humiliated, half resigned. “Go to hell.” He tossed the leaflet in the air and let himself fall to the floor, arms spread wide.

“At least now we have the new TV. Happy?”

Hanjae lay down next to him, resting his head on his bicep. “Very. Though… I would have preferred you not breaking the old one.”

“Damn… that again? I said I was sorry, okay?” Jiwoon grumbled. “It wasn’t intentional.”

“Like the chair. And the picture in the hallway. And the photo album from when we were kids.”

The tone was light, but Jiwoon still felt the sting. A mix of nostalgia and reproach.

“I’m really sorry… I mean it.”

Hanjae looked at him. The silence between them was intense, complicit.

Then Hanjae reached out a hand to his face, brushing a dark strand from his forehead. The gesture was so tender, so slow…

Jiwoon closed his eyes for a second. His mind calmed.

Then Hanjae sat up. “How about barbecue for dinner?”

“You bought a barbecue?!” Jiwoon’s eyes sparkled.

Hanjae disappeared into the kitchen and returned with two bags. “Even better. We’ll cook it ourselves.”

Jiwoon looked at him, his smile fading instantly. “Wait… we?”

“Yes, Chef Jeon.”

“Hanjae… you’re a disaster in the kitchen.” He came closer, gripping his shoulders dramatically. “I’m serious. You’re good at many things. Cooking isn’t one of them.”

Hanjae gasped, scandalized. “I can cook pasta!”

“Boiling water doesn’t make you a chef.” He laughed while Hanjae shoved him away in annoyance.

Then, with a suddenly devilish look, Hanjae crossed his arms. “Well, at least I fuck better than you.”

Jiwoon froze. Stared at him. “What did you say?”

“You heard me.”

“I’m amazing in bed!”

“Oh yeah? Why? Have you had partners besides Minji?”

Jiwoon opened his mouth, ready to argue, but Hanjae pierced him with a glare. “That peck on the lips with Emma Choi in elementary school doesn’t count.”

“That’s not what I meant!” he yelled, chasing him into the kitchen.

When Hanjae grabbed the knife for the meat, Jiwoon snatched it from him. “Oh, no. Forget it.”

“What?!”

“You handle the sides. I’ll take care of the knife work. The last thing I want is to spend the night in the ER because you chopped off a finger.”

Hanjae looked at him, offended, but ended up smiling. It was the same line Jiwoon had been telling him since they started living together. And not without reason. That cut on the second day, they’d never forget.

The kitchen quieted down. The sound of the knife on the meat. The flatbreads on the stove. Everything was peaceful, until Jiwoon broke the silence.

“Have you… have you talked to Minji lately?”

Hanjae didn’t answer immediately. For a moment, he had almost forgotten everything. He kept warming the flatbreads.

“You can tell me. I won’t get mad. I know you two are friends too and—”

“No. I haven’t spoken to him.”

Jiwoon exhaled softly. “You don’t have to force yourself not to talk to him. You… you have nothing to do with this mess—”

Hanjae slammed his hand on the counter.

The scent of jasmine grew stronger. His eyes lit up for a moment.

“I chased you through the streets when you were falling apart, I offered you my ass, I wiped your tears!”

His voice vibrated, as if trembling from within.

“Say it to my face again, that I have nothing to do with it. Go on!”

Jiwoon stared at him. His heart pounded in his chest. The expression Hanjae wore, Jiwoon recognized it instantly.

He didn’t know why…

He couldn’t explain it…

But Hanjae had the same expression he himself wore every morning. The same look of someone hollowed out inside.

“Hanjae…”

He moved automatically.

He reached him, grabbed him by the wrist, and pulled him close.

He hugged him. Tightly. Without thinking.

Because this was what Hanjae always did whenever he wore that expression. Because this was what his soul told him to do.

“I didn’t mean it like that…” he whispered. “But I know Minji is important to you… I don’t want you to lose your friendship with him.”

Hanjae stayed rigid. His breath came in jerks. Then, slowly, he softened. He buried himself in the crook of Jiwoon’s neck. Held him with all the strength he had.

“You’re more important…”

His voice broke.

“More important than anything else. Than anyone else.”

His fingers clutched at the hoodie, as if afraid the other might vanish.

Jiwoon stroked his back. He didn’t know what to say. He only knew that, for the first time in days, he felt less lost.

He stayed silent.

In that embrace that felt like a refuge.

The oven timer rang.

Dinner was ready.

And yet… neither of them moved