Chapter 9: 

Scope Part 1

The pantry was quiet, the hum of the building faint behind its walls. V leaned slightly against the counter, cold water gurgling from the dispenser into a tall glass. The condensation slid down the sides, beads forming like tiny crystals in the dim light. He tilted the glass just right, letting the water settle before turning to step back, the subtle chill of the liquid grounding him.

At that exact moment, a shift in the air made him pause. He didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. Kaimin had entered, moving with that same composed, deliberate precision that always set V on edge. Detached. Cold. Curt.

V’s heartbeat hitched as Kaimin’s hand reached for the glass on the counter behind him. V froze mid-step. They were now face to face, their proximity tight enough to make the air between them feel thick. Kaimin’s gaze landed on V’s, sharp, calculating, like he was measuring something unspoken.

V tilted his head slightly, raising the glass as if nothing had happened. “Need water?” he asked lightly, keeping his tone bright and easy, letting the moment appear casual.

Kaimin’s eyes flicked to the glass, then up to V, sharp and unyielding. “I'll manage,” he said, curt, each syllable clipped and precise.

V smirked faintly, setting the glass on the counter with a soft clink. “Just making sure the right people stay hydrated,” he said, the teasing edge soft but deliberate.

Kaimin’s hand brushed the counter as he reached past V. No words. A tilt of his head, a sharp glance—it was enough. He got the water. “Thanks,” he muttered before leaving the pantry.

V let out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, feeling it leave him in slow, uneven pulls. The quiet click of the pantry door echoed longer than expected, leaving an emptiness that pressed against his chest. The bright, easy persona he’d relied on to navigate the room, to charm the people around him, felt suddenly thin and fragile, barely holding back the tight coil in his stomach.

Maybe it would have been better to stay in Hong Kong. To carve out a career there, quieter, smaller perhaps, but without the weight of expectation crushing him. He could have focused on acting for the craft, not the spotlight, not the endless choreography of appearances and rumors. Maybe then he wouldn’t feel like he was constantly drowning, like the bright, charming version of himself was just a thin mask over something jagged and hollow.

Perhaps, he thought, leaving again—without looking back, like he had when he first ran from home—would have made the emptiness more manageable. He could have escaped the orbit of people who saw him only as a reflection of what he was supposed to be. Maybe his feelings would have been simpler, easier to sort, not tangled in the history and gravity that Kaimin carried with him.

Yet here he was, back in the same orbit, pulled into a gravity he didn’t ask for but couldn’t resist. The familiarity of Kaimin’s presence—the cold, precise weight of it—reminded him of every misstep, every retreat, every moment he’d abandoned and now longed for in ways he couldn’t articulate. V could feel the ache of regret threading through his chest, bitter and persistent, and he wondered if he was punishing himself more than anyone else ever could.

The bright, easy persona he carried for the world felt thinner than ever. Even the memories of laughter and applause seemed distant, hollow echoes against the tension of the present. Every instinct told him to move, to escape the quiet judgment of empty glances and clipped words, but he stayed, leaning against the counter, lost in a spiral of “what ifs” and “maybe I shouldn’ts.”

V exhaled sharply, the sound too loud in the empty pantry, and realized he didn’t have an answer. Coming back might have been a mistake. Yet, it might have been the only choice. Either way, he was trapped between the past he could never undo and the present he could barely navigate. And if asked, if he would be given a chance to return to the past, would he make the same choice? Would he still leave knowing he would still long for him after all these years? That despite how much his mind willed for them not to collide, his heart whispered otherwise?

V stared at the door.

In hindsight, he knew that being bound by the same gravity after his return was inevitable. The moment he knew the warmth within Kaimin's touch and the way he showed affection, he was branded by it. The intensity of it—the gentleness of it, was something he never thought he needed. He never thought of him wanting it even. Yet, despite all that, despite the regret constantly running through his veins, he understood himself enough to kow that leaving was inevitable. The way he left too.