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The cursor blinks at him, as if it was mocking his empty screen. Jeonghan sighs, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his temples. He’s been at this for hours, but the words won’t come. Every line he writes feels wrong, too shallow, too distant from the whirlwind of emotions churning inside him.
He stares at the notebook beside him, filled with scratched-out lines, half-finished metaphors, and lingering regrets he can’t quite shape into coherent lyrics. The deadline is creeping up on him, but that’s not what makes his chest feel tight.
It’s the thought of leaving.
Enlistment. It’s been hanging over him like a storm cloud, inching closer with each passing day. The others talk about it in passing, making plans to meet for dinner, promising to video call him when they’re overseas on tour, and Jeonghan always just smiles quietly. He hasn’t said anything himself. Not to Seungcheol, not to anyone. Because if he says something, it becomes real. And he’s not ready for that.
His fingers hover over the keyboard before he types a single line.
Will you wait for me?
He exhales, his chest aching. Maybe he’s just tired. Maybe he’s just overthinking. But when he closes his eyes, all he can see is Seungcheol— laughing beside him, dragging him out for late-night meals, looking at him like he’s something special even when Jeonghan doesn’t feel like he is.
Jeonghan swallows hard and pushes himself up from his chair. He needs air. Needs to get out of his own head before he drowns in it.
—
The dorm is quiet when he steps into the living room, but Seungcheol is there, sitting on the couch with his phone in hand. He looks up with his usual gummy smile that always makes Jeonghan’s heart do something stupid.
“Still working?” Seungcheol asks, patting the empty space beside him. Jeonghan hesitates before sitting down.
“I guess,” Jeonghan mutters. “Nothing good is coming out of it, though.”
Seungcheol chuckles. “You always say that before you write something amazing. You said the same thing when you were writing Purple Rose, and everyone loved it.”
Jeonghan shakes his head. “I know but this one’s different.” He hesitates, glancing down at his hands. “I mean, it’s a goodbye… to Seventeen, and to Carats. I need to get it right.”
Seungcheol sets down his phone to give Jeonghan his full attention. Jeonghan swallows and forces himself to continue. “I just don’t know how to write about this, about leaving. About how it feels like I’m losing something I can’t get back.”
The words are barely above a whisper, but they feel heavier than anything he’s ever said.
Seungcheol exhales slowly, running a hand through his hair. “You’re not losing any of us, Hannie. It’s just one and a half years.”
“But it feels like I am,” Jeonghan admits. “How am I supposed to write a comforting goodbye to everyone when I’m terrified to leave?”
Silence stretches between them. Then, Seungcheol shifts closer, his hand finding Jeonghan’s.
“Let’s go for a walk.” Seungcheol doesn’t say anything else, just gently tugs Jeonghan’s wrist until he stands.
—
The night air is crisp when they step outside, and Jeonghan shoves his hands into the pockets of his hoodie, trying to gather his thoughts. He doesn’t know where they’re going, but Seungcheol doesn’t seem to have a destination in mind either. He just walks beside him, like he always does. Steady. Constant.
They walk in silence at first, the quiet hum of the city filling the space between them. It’s comfortable, familiar. Seungcheol has always been good at this, knowing when to push, when to stay, and when to simply exist beside Jeonghan without demanding anything from him.
Jeonghan breathes in deep, then exhales. “I don’t know how to say goodbye to something that’s been my whole life for so long.”
Seungcheol hums, thoughtful. “Then don’t make it a goodbye.”
Jeonghan glances at him. “What do you mean?”
Seungcheol tilts his head back, staring at the stars. “It’s not like you’re disappearing, Hannie. We’ll still be here. The fans will still be here. You just need to leave for a while, but that doesn’t mean everything stops.” He looks back at Jeonghan, his gaze steady. “It doesn't have to be a goodbye, maybe it’s more of a ‘see you soon’.”
Jeonghan looks away, biting his lip. “Not a goodbye? Even after I come back, things won't be the same, most of the members will probably be enlisted, or busy with their own schedules.”
Seungcheol smiles at him, his features illuminated softly by the dim moonlight “It’s still just a ‘see you soon’, we’ll definitely be back eventually. All 13 of us. We’re a family.”
Something tight in Jeonghan’s chest loosens. He looks away, biting his lip. “You make it sound so simple.”
Seungcheol hums beside him, tilting his head in question.
“This whole thing,” Jeonghan continues, voice quieter now. “Like it’s easy to leave when it’s not. Like it’s easy to come back and expect everything to be the same.” He shakes his head. “What if it’s not? What if I come back and—”
He stops himself before he can finish that thought.
Seungcheol doesn’t push him to continue, but his voice is soft when he finally speaks. “You think we’ll move on without you?”
Jeonghan hesitates. That’s not exactly what he means, but it’s close. He’s seen it happen before, the way things shift when people leave— even if it’s temporary. The team will go on, schedules will continue, and maybe after a while, the space he leaves behind won’t feel like an absence anymore. Maybe he’ll come back and find that he doesn’t quite fit the way he used to.
“It’s just…” Jeonghan sighs, rubbing at his temple. “I don’t know how to put it into words.”
Seungcheol stops walking.
Jeonghan notices too late, turning just as Seungcheol reaches for him. A hand on his wrist, a tug— gentle but firm, grounding him.
“Then don’t try to say anything,” Seungcheol murmurs. “Just listen.”
His grip lingers for a second longer before he lets go. Jeonghan’s skin feels cold without it.
“We’re not going anywhere,” Seungcheol continues. “You think you’ll come back and everything will be different, but it won’t. You’re our Jeonghan. You’ll always have a place with us.”
Jeonghan looks down at the pavement, scuffing his shoe against a crack in the sidewalk. “And you?”
Jeonghan hates the way his heart beats a little harder. He shouldn’t ask. Shouldn’t let himself want more than what they have, but the words are slipping out before he can stop them.
“You said the group will be here. The fans will be here.” Jeonghan swallows. “Will you?”
Seungcheol’s breath catches.
For a moment, the air between them shifts, something fragile settling into the space where their hands almost touch.
Then, Seungcheol smiles— soft, unwavering. “Of course, Hannie. Always.”
They keep walking, but Jeonghan’s heart is racing now. Seungcheol’s words should be enough. But they aren’t. Not anymore.
Because Jeonghan knows what he really wants, what’s been sitting on his chest, heavy and unspoken, for years. It’s not just about waiting. It’s not just about coming back to the group, to the fans, to the stage.
It’s about coming back to him.
Jeonghan stops walking.
Seungcheol takes a few more steps before he notices and turns back, brows knitting together in concern. “Hannie?”
Jeonghan takes a breath, trying to steady himself. “I…” His fingers twitch at his sides. “There’s something I need to say.”
Seungcheol tilts his head, waiting, patient as always.
Jeonghan exhales sharply, his pulse thrumming beneath his skin. Just say it. Before it’s too late.
“I love you.” The words are quiet but firm, cutting through the cold night air like they’ve been waiting to escape all this time. “Not just as a friend. Not just as a brother or a teammate. I love you, Seungcheol.”
Seungcheol’s breath hitches, his eyes widening.
Jeonghan’s heart pounds as he forces himself to keep going. “And I know— I know I should’ve told you sooner. I know it’s selfish to say it now, right before I leave, but I couldn’t—” His voice shakes. “I couldn’t go without telling you.”
Seungcheol stares at him, unreadable for a moment. And then, suddenly, he’s moving.
His hands cup Jeonghan’s face, warm despite the chill, and before Jeonghan can even process what’s happening, Seungcheol presses their lips together in a tender kiss.
It’s soft at first, tentative, like Seungcheol is making sure Jeonghan is real beneath his fingertips. But then Jeonghan grips onto Seungcheol’s hoodie, pulling him closer, and the kiss deepens— full of all the words they never said, all the nights spent lingering too close, all the unsaid promises hanging between them.
When they finally pull apart, Seungcheol rests his forehead against Jeonghan’s, his breath uneven.
“I love you too,” he murmurs, voice thick with emotion. “I always have.”
Jeonghan squeezes his eyes shut, something between a laugh and a sob escaping him. “You idiot. Then why didn’t you ever say anything?”
Seungcheol huffs a breathless chuckle, thumbs brushing against Jeonghan’s cheek. “Why didn’t you?”
Seungcheol pulls back just enough to meet his eyes, unwavering. His eyes are glistening with tears as he finally unravels in front of Jeonghan. “I’m terrified too, Hannie. I don’t know how I’ll cope without you by my side.
“But I promise I’ll wait for you, no matter how long it takes. Just please… wait for me too, and promise me you’ll come back.”
Jeonghan swallows the lump in his throat, biting back tears and gripping onto Seungcheol like he’s afraid to let go. “Of course I’ll be back. Here, with you . This is the one and only place I belong to.”
Seungcheol is sobbing into his shoulder now, spilling all of his bottled-up feelings on Jeonghan’s sleeve. Jeonghan places a hand on the back of his neck, pulling Seungcheol even closer to his chest. “But instead of tears, wait for me with a radiant smile, okay?”
Seungcheol just nods, catching his breath as he finally lifts his head to meet Jeonghan’s eyes. He trails a gentle hand across Jeonghan’s jawline to his chin, “I need to imprint this memory in my mind forever— to get me through the lonely nights and weary moments.”
Jeonghan chuckles softly, before pulling Seungcheol into another kiss.
Later that night, the words seemed to flow effortlessly. He knew exactly what he wanted to say. To Carats, to Seventeen, and to Seungcheol.
—
Jeonghan is awoken from his nap by the sounds of the doorbell ringing. He rubs the sleep from his eyes as he pads toward the door, still groggy from his nap.
With a tired sigh, he swings the door open.
And freezes.
Standing in front of him, slightly disheveled from travel but with that familiar, heart-stopping smile, is Seungcheol . He’s still in his airport outfit, hoodie slightly wrinkled, hair tousled like he’d been running his hands through it the whole flight. In his hands, he holds a bouquet of flowers— lilies and baby's breath, wrapped neatly in soft paper.
For a second, Jeonghan wonders if he’s still dreaming.
“Surprise,” Seungcheol says, breathless but grinning. “I came straight here.”
Jeonghan blinks, mind still catching up. “But you should’ve just landed–” he glances up at his wall clock, “an hour ago?!”
“Yeah.” Seungcheol tilts his head. “And?”
Jeonghan stares at him, his heart swelling with something too big to name. The last time he saw Seungcheol, it had been through a screen— video calls full of soft words and tired smiles, messages exchanged at odd hours across different time zones. And now, he’s here.
“For me?” Jeonghan asks, eyeing the flowers.
Seungcheol chuckles, shaking his head fondly. “No, for the neighbor down the hall.” He nudges the bouquet toward him. “Of course they’re for you, Hannie.”
Jeonghan takes them, fingers brushing against Seungcheol’s. The petals are soft, delicate— nothing compared to the warmth of Seungcheol’s hands, but they still make his chest ache.
“You didn’t have to,” Jeonghan murmurs, voice quieter now. “You must be exhausted.”
Seungcheol just shrugs. “I wanted to see you first.”
The words settle deep in Jeonghan’s chest, curling around his ribs. He looks down at the flowers, then back up at Seungcheol, his lips pressing together like he’s trying to hold back a smile. “You’re ridiculous.”
Seungcheol smirks. “You love it.”
Jeonghan rolls his eyes, stepping aside. “Come in, before you pass out in the hallway.”
Seungcheol doesn’t need to be told twice. He slips inside, dropping his bag by the door, and the moment Jeonghan sets the flowers down on the table, he finds himself being pulled into a tight embrace.
Jeonghan exhales, letting himself sink into the warmth, into the familiar scent of Seungcheol— like home, like everything he missed.
“I listened to your song,” Seungcheol murmurs against his hair. “The lyrics…” His arms tighten just slightly. “Thank you for waiting for me too, Hannie.”
Jeonghan swallows hard, his own arms curling around Seungcheol’s waist.
“Always.”