Chapter Text
The first time Martin realized he was in love with Juhoon, it was because Juhoon had laughed at something stupid.
Not even funny stupid. Just dumb.
A professor had accidentally written an entire paragraph on the board with the cap still on the marker, and everyone sat there awkwardly pretending not to notice until Juhoon leaned back in his chair and whispered:
“Bro’s fighting invisible ink.”
Martin had laughed so hard coffee nearly came out of his nose.
That was the problem with Juhoon.
He made everything lighter.
The campus felt warmer when he walked through it. Cafeteria food tasted less terrible when he sat beside you. Group projects stopped feeling like torture. Rainy days became movie scenes somehow.
And unfortunately for Martin, Juhoon loved someone else.
Not officially.
Not publicly.
But everyone with eyes could tell.
Especially when it came to James.
—
“You’re staring again.”
Martin blinked, dragged from his thoughts as Keonho dropped into the seat beside him in the student lounge.
Across the room, James sat on top of a study table swinging one leg lazily while talking to Juhoon. The late afternoon sunlight poured through the windows behind him, outlining his hair in gold.
He looked unreal sometimes.
Which Martin hated.
“I’m not staring,” Martin muttered.
Keonho snorted. “You look like you want to commit a crime.”
“I might.”
“About James?”
Martin didn’t answer.
That was answer enough.
A few seats away, Seonghyeon glanced up from his phone. “You’re still on that?”
Martin scoffed softly. “Juhoon follows him around like a lost dog.”
“James isn’t doing anything wrong though,” Seonghyeon said carefully.
Martin’s jaw tightened immediately.
That annoyed him more.
Because technically, yes.
James was nice.
Painfully nice.
He shared notes with people he barely knew. He remembered birthdays. He bought extra drinks because “someone might want one.” He stayed after class helping freshmen find buildings like some campus angel sent to increase Martin’s blood pressure.
And Juhoon adored him for it.
Everyone did.
But Juhoon’s feelings were different.
Martin noticed it in tiny things.
The way Juhoon always looked for James first in crowded rooms.
How his voice softened around him.
How he remembered every random thing James ever mentioned.
One time James casually said he missed strawberry milk from childhood.
The next day Juhoon showed up with six different brands “for comparison.”
Martin nearly lost his mind.
—
“Martin?”
Juhoon’s voice snapped him out of it.
He looked up.
Juhoon stood there holding two iced coffees.
“One’s yours.”
Martin took it automatically. “Thanks.”
Juhoon smiled — easy, warm, devastating.
“Why do you look depressed during lunch break?”
“Maybe because I’m in engineering.”
Juhoon laughed loudly.
There it was again.
That stupid laugh.
Martin wanted to bottle it up and keep it forever.
Then James appeared beside Juhoon, slightly breathless.
“Sorry, the printer on the third floor is evil.”
Juhoon immediately turned toward him. “Did it work?”
“After threatening it emotionally.”
Martin watched the shift happen in real time.
The attention.
The brightness.
Like Juhoon unconsciously revolved around James.
It made something ugly twist inside Martin’s chest.
James looked at him then smiled politely. “You going to the festival prep meeting later?”
Martin shrugged. “Maybe.”
“You should come,” James said. “Seonghyeon’s already helping and Keonho promised free labor.”
“Hey,” Keonho complained from nearby. “I was manipulated.”
James grinned.
Everyone laughed.
Martin forced himself to smile too.
But underneath it all, he thought:
I wish you’d disappear.
And the terrifying part was—
he meant it.
—
The university festival became the beginning of everything.
Preparation weeks were chaotic.
Students ran around carrying paint buckets and posters. Music blasted from open classrooms. Clubs fought over booth placement like nations at war.
James somehow ended up involved in everything.
Dance committee.
Decorations.
Social media.
Volunteer coordination.
Martin swore he saw him in three buildings at once once.
“He’s insane,” Seonghyeon muttered one evening as they watched James rehearse performances while answering calls at the same time.
Juhoon looked openly fond. “He just likes helping.”
Martin stirred his drink too hard. Ice clinked sharply against plastic.
Then Juhoon added quietly
“He’s kind.”
That word lingered in Martin’s head all night.
Kind.
James was kind.
And Martin hated him for it.
—
The first real crack appeared during midterms.
James had been overworking himself for days, surviving on caffeine and maybe two hours of sleep. Everyone noticed except James himself.
Until he collapsed during rehearsal.
Not dramatic.
Not unconscious.
He just suddenly sat down against a hallway wall breathing hard while pressing a hand to his forehead.
Juhoon panicked instantly.
“James?”
“I’m okay—”
“You look terrible.”
Martin stood nearby watching as Juhoon crouched in front of him, worry written all over his face.
James laughed weakly. “That’s kinda mean.”
“I’m serious.”
“I just forgot to eat.”
“Again?”
Again.
The word bothered Martin.
Because it sounded familiar.
Close.
Practiced.
Juhoon removed the hoodie tied around his waist and shoved it toward James. “Come on.”
James blinked. “What?”
“You’re skipping rehearsal.”
“No—”
“You literally look like you’re dying.”
Martin watched James hesitate.
Then softly
“…Okay.”
And somehow that hurt worse.
Because James trusted him.
Trusted Juhoon enough to listen.
Martin suddenly stood up.
“I’ll take over rehearsal.”
Three heads turned toward him.
Keonho looked shocked. “You?”
“Why do you sound offended?”
“Because you hate responsibility.”
James smiled tiredly. “Thanks, Martin.”
Martin forced a shrug.
But inside, something colder formed.
He had spent months trying not to become bitter.
Trying not to resent James.
Trying to ignore the ugly jealousy eating him alive.
But seeing Juhoon care for someone that gently—
it ruined him.
—
“What exactly is your plan?” Seonghyeon asked later that night.
The four of them sat on the rooftop of their apartment building, city lights glowing below.
Martin stared ahead silently.
Keonho sighed. “You can’t just glare at James until Juhoon magically falls in love with you.”
“I know.”
“Then what?”
Martin finally spoke.
“People stop loving others when they see who they really are.”
Seonghyeon frowned. “James is pretty transparent.”
“No one’s that perfect.”
“But what if he is?”
Martin’s expression darkened.
“He isn’t.”
And maybe Martin needed that to be true.
Because if James truly was as good as he seemed—
then Martin would become the villain no matter what he did next.
—
Rumors started small.
Tiny things.
Easy things.
“James said he might quit festival planning.”
“James ignored the freshmen committee.”
“I heard James complained about the dance team.”
Nothing severe.
Just enough to shift perceptions slightly.
Enough to make people wonder.
Martin never said things directly.
That was the clever part.
He only planted ideas.
Little seeds.
And then watched them grow.
At first he told himself it wasn’t serious.
James would survive some gossip.
People at university forgot things fast.
But then came the photography incident.
And everything changed.
A private photo of James sleeping in the library appeared online with captions mocking him.
Then more photos followed.
Bad angles.
Exhausted expressions.
Clips taken out of context.
The comments turned cruel fast.
Attention-seeker.
Fake nice guy.
Acts sweet for popularity.
Martin stared at the screen in horror.
Because he hadn’t posted those.
Keonho leaned over his shoulder. “This is getting bad.”
Martin’s stomach twisted.
He only wanted Juhoon to doubt James.
Not this.
Not humiliation.
Not watching James walk through campus while whispers followed behind him.
And worst of all—
Juhoon looked furious.
Not at James.
At everyone else.
“You people are insane,” Juhoon snapped during one lunch break after overhearing gossip nearby.
The cafeteria went silent.
James sat beside him staring down at his tray quietly.
Juhoon continued coldly
“He’s done more for this university than half of you combined.”
Martin watched James lightly tug Juhoon’s sleeve.
“Leave it.”
“No.”
“It’s okay.”
“No, it isn’t.”
That protectiveness.
That loyalty.
Martin felt sick.
Because somehow all this had only pushed Juhoon closer to James.
—
That night James ended up on the rooftop alone.
Martin found him there by accident.
Or maybe not by accident.
James sat on the concrete ledge with his knees pulled up, headphones around his neck, city wind moving through his hair.
For a moment neither spoke.
Then James said quietly:
“Do you think people secretly hate me?”
Martin froze.
James laughed softly afterward, but it sounded sad.
“That sounded pathetic.”
“You care too much about what people think.”
“Maybe.”
Silence again.
Then James looked at him.
“You don’t like me much, do you?”
Straight to the point.
Martin swallowed hard.
“I don’t hate you.”
“Not what I asked.”
James always did that.
He noticed too much.
Martin looked away first.
And James smiled faintly like he’d gotten his answer already.
“You know,” James murmured, “I used to think you were intimidating.”
“Used to?”
“Now I think you’re just… hurting.”
Martin’s chest tightened violently.
Because James said it gently.
Not mockingly.
Like he genuinely cared.
And suddenly Martin understood why Juhoon loved him.
That was the worst realization of all.
James made people want to protect him.
Even when they were trying to destroy him.
Martin didn’t sleep that night.
Not after the rooftop conversation.
Not after the way James looked at him like he understood him.
That irritated Martin more than hatred ever could.
Because James should have hated him.
It would’ve been easier.
Instead, James kept doing this impossible thing where he stayed soft even when the world gave him reasons not to be.
Martin sat in the darkness of his apartment living room, laptop open, city lights flickering through the windows.
Across from him, Keonho was sprawled across the couch half-asleep.
“You look insane,” Keonho muttered.
“I probably am.”
Seonghyeon glanced over from the kitchen island. “You need to stop before this gets worse.”
Martin’s eyes stayed fixed on the screen.
Campus forums.
Anonymous posts.
Group chats.
Everywhere people discussed James.
Some defended him.
Others mocked him.
Rumors spread fast in university environments. Faster than truth ever could.
“What if I don’t want it to stop?” Martin said quietly.
The room fell silent.
Seonghyeon stared at him carefully. “Martin.”
“He’s all Juhoon sees.”
“That’s not James’ fault.”
Martin finally looked up.
And there was something ugly in his expression now.
Sharp.
Cold.
“You think I care whose fault it is?”
Keonho straightened slightly at the tone.
Martin continued calmly
“If James disappeared tomorrow, Juhoon would eventually move on.”
“Don’t say weird things,” Seonghyeon muttered.
“But it’s true.”
Martin closed the laptop slowly.
“I just need Juhoon to stop seeing James as perfect.”
—
Unfortunately for Martin, the universe had a sick sense of humor.
Because only three days later, he discovered something infinitely more useful than rumors.
James was in love with him.
The realization came accidentally.
It was raining that evening.
Most students had already left campus, but Martin returned to the arts building after forgetting his charger in one of the lecture rooms.
The hallway lights flickered dimly.
And that’s when he heard voices from the partially open stairwell door.
Juhoon’s voice first.
“Why do you always look at him like that?”
Martin paused immediately.
Silence.
Then James laughed nervously.
“What are you talking about?”
“You know exactly what I mean.”
Martin moved closer without making a sound.
His heartbeat slowed strangely.
Instinctively.
Like a predator going still.
Inside the stairwell, James sat two steps above Juhoon holding a canned coffee.
His expression was unreadable at first.
Then Juhoon sighed.
“You’re horrible at hiding things.”
James looked down quietly.
And that alone told Martin everything.
Still, Juhoon asked softly
“How long?”
James smiled faintly.
“A while.”
“A while meaning?”
“…Since last semester.”
Martin’s stomach twisted.
Not from guilt.
From opportunity.
Juhoon leaned back against the railing with a disbelieving laugh. “Wow.”
“I know.”
“Does he know?”
James immediately shook his head.
“God, no.”
“Why not?”
James looked away toward the rain outside the stairwell window.
And his answer came so quietly Martin almost missed it.
“Because he already looks at me like I’m difficult.”
Something in Martin’s chest flickered strangely at that.
But it vanished quickly.
Juhoon spoke again.
“You should still tell him.”
James smiled tiredly. “And ruin everything?”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do.”
The conversation paused.
Then James admitted softly
“I think I’d rather stay near him like this than lose him completely.”
Martin stood outside the door unmoving.
His mind worked fast.
Faster than it ever had before.
Because suddenly everything made sense.
The way James watched him during conversations.
How he remembered tiny details about him.
Why he always forgave him so easily.
James loved him.
And for the first time in months—
Martin smiled genuinely.
Not because he was happy.
Because now he finally had control.
—
“You’re smiling again,” Keonho said warily the next day.
Martin stirred his iced americano lazily. “Am I?”
“Yes. That evil one.”
Seonghyeon narrowed his eyes. “What did you do?”
“Nothing yet.”
Yet.
That word bothered both of them immediately.
Martin looked across the cafeteria where Juhoon and James sat together reviewing festival schedules.
Juhoon kept stealing fries from James’ tray.
James kept pretending to be annoyed.
It looked natural.
Close.
Warm.
Martin hated it.
But not helplessly anymore.
Now he saw the weak point.
James.
Sweet, emotional, hopeless James.
A person in love was easy to manipulate.
Especially someone desperate to stay loved.
“You know what’s funny?” Martin murmured.
Keonho regretted asking already. “What?”
“James thinks I dislike him.”
“…You do.”
Martin smiled slightly.
“But he’d still do anything if I asked.”
Seonghyeon went still.
And for the first time, genuine discomfort crossed his face.
“Martin,” he said carefully, “don’t mess with someone’s feelings like that.”
Martin looked almost amused.
“You think people don’t do that every day?”
“That’s different.”
“How?”
“Because you sound like you want to break him on purpose.”
Martin didn’t answer immediately.
His gaze drifted back toward James.
James was laughing again at something Juhoon said.
Completely unaware.
And Martin realized something terrifying about himself in that moment:
Part of him wanted to see how far James would bend before snapping.
“I just want Juhoon,” Martin said softly.
But even he knew that wasn’t fully true anymore.
Because jealousy had evolved into something darker.
Possession.
Control.
The desire to win.
—
Martin started changing tactics after that.
Subtly.
Carefully.
Instead of pushing James away—
he pulled him closer.
And James fell for it instantly.
“Can you help me with these notes?”
“James, can you stay after class for a second?”
“You understand this professor better than anyone.”
Tiny requests.
Tiny moments.
Enough to create closeness.
Enough to confuse James.
Enough to make Juhoon notice.
One evening in the library, James sat across from Martin helping him organize presentation slides.
The library lights glowed softly overhead while rain tapped against the windows outside.
James looked exhausted again.
Dark circles under his eyes.
Sleeves covering his hands.
Still beautiful somehow.
Martin leaned back in his chair watching him quietly.
“You like me that much?”
James nearly dropped his laptop.
“…What?”
Martin’s expression remained calm.
But his eyes were sharp.
Observing.
Dissecting.
James laughed nervously. “Where did that come from?”
“You’re obvious.”
Silence.
James stared at him in complete shock.
And Martin almost enjoyed how pale he became.
“I-I’m not—”
“You are.”
James swallowed hard.
His hands trembled slightly.
Martin noticed everything.
“You don’t need to look so scared,” he said softly.
That only made James look worse.
Because hope appeared too.
Tiny.
Fragile.
Dangerous.
Martin could practically see James trying not to imagine impossible things.
And that was exactly why Martin continued.
“You hide it pretty badly.”
James looked down immediately, voice barely audible.
“Sorry.”
That word nearly made Martin laugh.
Sorry.
As if loving someone was a crime.
“No need to apologize.”
James finally looked at him again slowly.
And there it was.
Pure, helpless affection written all over his face.
Martin had never held that kind of power over someone before.
It felt intoxicating.
Then he delivered the final blow carefully.
“You know Juhoon likes you, right?”
James froze.
Completely.
Martin watched panic bloom across his expression.
“No he doesn’t.”
“He does.”
“That’s not—”
“You really can’t tell?”
James looked genuinely distressed now.
And Martin almost admired how easy this was becoming.
Because now James would pull away from Juhoon himself.
Out of guilt.
Out of confusion.
Out of fear.
Martin leaned forward slightly.
“And if he found out you liked me instead?”
James said nothing.
But his face fell apart quietly.
Exactly as Martin expected.
Perfect.
Absolutely perfect.
—
After that conversation, everything shifted.
James became distant with Juhoon almost immediately.
Not cold.
Never cold.
That wasn’t who he was.
But cautious.
Hesitant.
Like he was constantly monitoring himself.
Juhoon noticed within days.
“Did I do something wrong?”
James blinked from across the cafeteria table. “What?”
“You’ve been weird lately.”
“I’m just tired.”
“No, you’re avoiding me.”
Martin watched silently from beside them, hiding satisfaction behind his coffee cup.
James looked genuinely guilty.
“I’m not avoiding you.”
“You literally left after class without me yesterday.”
“I had work.”
“You could’ve texted.”
James opened his mouth.
Closed it.
And Juhoon’s expression slowly dimmed.
That hurt to watch.
For James especially.
Martin could tell.
James looked miserable.
Good.
Because miserable people made mistakes.
And Martin intended to use every single one.
The first time James found out he was dying, it was raining.
Not dramatic movie rain.
Just cold, ordinary rain tapping against hospital windows while people walked past holding umbrellas and coffee cups like the world wasn’t ending.
Because for them, it wasn’t.
For James, it was.
—
At first it started small.
Fatigue.
Stomach pain.
Dizziness that came randomly during lectures.
He ignored it for months because university students were always tired. Everyone lived on caffeine and poor decisions anyway.
But eventually it became harder to pretend.
Sometimes he’d wake up shaking.
Sometimes pain twisted through his abdomen so sharply he had to grip sink counters until it passed.
One evening he nearly collapsed walking back from campus.
That scared him enough to finally agree to tests.
His parents reacted immediately.
Money moved fast when rich people were afraid.
Private specialists.
Scans.
Bloodwork.
Appointments.
James kept joking through all of it.
“Maybe I’m secretly pregnant.”
His mother nearly cried in the waiting room.
His father kept making phone calls in hallways with a face James had never seen before.
And then came the final appointment.
The one James somehow already knew would ruin him.
—
The doctor’s office smelled too clean.
That was the first thing James noticed.
Sterile air.
Soft lighting.
Rain sliding down enormous windows overlooking the city.
The doctor sat across from him holding a folder too carefully.
People only held paper like that when lives were inside it.
James sat there wearing a gray hoodie, fingers tucked inside the sleeves.
The doctor spoke gently.
Too gently.
And James understood immediately.
That tone always meant bad news.
“We received the final results.”
James smiled automatically. “Sounds terrifying already.”
The doctor didn’t smile back.
That was when fear truly hit.
Real fear.
The kind that starts low in your stomach and spreads upward until breathing feels strange.
“There’s significant progression.”
James stared silently.
Words followed.
Medical terms.
Treatment discussions.
Management plans.
Risk percentages.
But they blurred together after one sentence.
Chronic.
Aggressive.
No guaranteed recovery.
James remembered blinking slowly.
Then looking out the window because suddenly looking at another human being felt impossible.
The city outside continued normally.
Cars moving.
People crossing streets.
Someone laughing below.
Meanwhile his life had just been reduced to statistics.
“How long?” James asked quietly.
The doctor hesitated.
That hesitation hurt more than any answer.
“We can’t predict exactly.”
“Approximately.”
Another pause.
“…If treatment stops responding, possibly a few years.”
Few years.
James was nineteen.
Nineteen.
He stared at his own hands for a long time after that.
They looked normal.
That was the strange thing.
Nothing about him looked like someone dying.
He still had clear skin.
Steady hands.
Soft hair falling over his forehead.
He still looked like himself.
And somehow that made it worse.
Because the disease was hidden.
Silent.
Living inside him while nobody noticed.
The doctor kept talking.
Treatment options.
Support systems.
Mental health resources.
James nodded at appropriate moments like a good student listening to a lecture.
Then suddenly laughed softly.
The doctor stopped speaking.
James rubbed his eyes quickly.
“Sorry,” he whispered. “I just…”
His voice cracked.
For the first time that day.
“…I had plans.”
That sentence shattered something inside the room.
Because he sounded so young when he said it.
Not graceful.
Not brave.
Just young.
Like a boy realizing the future he imagined might never arrive.
—
Afterward, James cried in the hospital bathroom.
Not elegantly.
Not quietly.
He locked himself inside a stall and pressed both hands over his mouth because horrible broken sounds kept escaping him.
He cried until breathing hurt.
Until his stomach cramped violently again.
Until mascara from students passing outside suddenly felt like the most normal problem in the world compared to his own.
“I hate my life,” he whispered shakily.
Then again, harsher this time
“I hate myself.”
As if his body betrayed him personally.
Eventually he washed his face.
Fixed his hair.
Smiled at his reflection.
And walked out looking perfectly fine.
That became his talent after that.
Looking fine.
—
Nobody at university noticed.
Not really.
Because James made sure they didn’t.
He smiled through pain.
Laughed through exhaustion.
Memorized medication schedules between classes.
Answered messages normally while sitting in hospital waiting rooms.
Sometimes he threw up before lectures then showed up five minutes later smiling like sunshine.
He became frighteningly good at pretending.
And the loneliness of that nearly killed him before the disease could.
Because pain became something that only existed when he was alone.
Like tonight.
James sat curled on his apartment floor beside his bed, textbooks scattered nearby.
A sharp ache twisted through his stomach so violently tears streamed down his face before he could stop them.
He held himself tightly.
Breathing uneven.
The room was dark except for the desk lamp still glowing beside unfinished notes.
“I hate this,” he whispered.
Another wave of pain hit.
His shoulders shook.
“I hate this so much.”
No audience.
No smile.
No performance.
Just James alone with the reality he carried every day.
He thought about university.
About unfinished dreams.
About how everyone around him talked about the future so casually.
Internships.
Careers.
Marriage someday.
Apartments.
Travel.
Meanwhile James measured time differently now.
In treatments.
In symptoms.
In “while you still can.”
And worst of all—
he had fallen in love.
—
Martin was the worst thing that could have happened to him.
Because James loved him quietly.
Completely.
Hopelessly.
Not because Martin was kind.
Because he wasn’t.
Not always.
Martin was sharp-edged, observant, cruel in subtle ways.
But sometimes he looked at the world like he was angry it existed without asking him first.
And James understood loneliness like that.
So he loved him.
Unfortunately Martin loved Juhoon instead.
James knew very early.
It was obvious in every glance.
Every softened expression.
Every jealous silence.
And honestly?
James accepted it.
Because it was safer that way.
Someone loving him back would only end badly.
He knew that.
He had already decided long ago
No one would be allowed to need him too much.
No one would be allowed to break when he disappeared.
That was why hearing Juhoon loved him nearly terrified him.
—
The night James found out happened accidentally.
He had returned to campus late to grab forgotten notes from a classroom.
Voices echoed from the student lounge nearby.
Martin.
Keonho.
Seonghyeon.
James almost walked away.
Until he heard his own name.
“…I just need Juhoon away from James.”
James froze immediately.
Through the slightly open door, Martin sat sprawled on a couch with one arm over the backrest, expression dark under dim lounge lighting.
Keonho looked uneasy. “You’re getting too obsessed with this.”
Martin laughed softly.
Coldly.
“You don’t understand.”
“Then explain.”
Martin leaned forward slowly.
And James would remember those next words forever.
“If James disappeared tomorrow, everything would be easier.”
Silence filled the room afterward.
Heavy silence.
James stood outside unable to move.
Something inside him hurt sharply.
Not physical this time.
Something deeper.
Martin continued quietly
“Juhoon would eventually forget him.”
Forget him.
James stared at the floor.
His chest ached so badly he genuinely thought for one horrible second maybe his condition had worsened again.
But no.
This pain was simpler.
He loved someone who wanted him gone.
And strangely—
James smiled.
Not because it didn’t hurt.
God, it hurt horribly.
But because it confirmed something important:
Martin would survive losing him.
That meant James could stay.
Just a little longer.
—
So James began pulling away from Juhoon.
Not because he didn’t care.
But because Juhoon cared too much.
And now that he knew Juhoon loved him, every moment together felt dangerous.
Juhoon was the type to cling forever.
To grieve forever.
James saw it clearly.
If James disappeared suddenly, Juhoon would shatter.
So James stepped back little by little.
Answered slower.
Avoided being alone together.
Smiled from farther away.
And every single time Juhoon looked hurt by it, James nearly gave in.
But he forced himself not to.
Because love sometimes meant leaving first.
Meanwhile, he drifted closer to Martin.
Because Martin was safe.
Martin didn’t love him.
Martin wanted someone else.
Martin would never collapse over losing him.
And selfishly…
James wanted to spend whatever time he had left near the person he loved.
Even if it was one-sided.
Even if it hurt.
So when Martin suddenly became gentler, James assumed it was manipulation.
An act.
Part of Martin’s attempts to create distance between him and Juhoon.
James saw through it immediately.
But he allowed it anyway.
Because even fake affection from Martin felt precious to him.
What James didn’t realize—
was that somewhere along the way, Martin stopped pretending.
—
It happened slowly.
Too slowly for Martin himself to notice at first.
He began memorizing James unconsciously.
The way he rubbed his wrist when exhausted.
How he smiled weaker on bad health days.
How he stared out windows during quiet moments like he was counting time.
Martin started noticing absences.
Started getting irritated when James skipped class.
Started watching him constantly.
And the terrifying part?
Jealousy changed shape.
At first Martin hated James because Juhoon loved him.
Later—
Martin hated everyone else for getting James’ attention.
He became possessive without understanding why.
When James laughed with classmates, Martin felt irritated.
When James looked tired, Martin felt angry at the world.
When James disappeared for hospital visits without explanation, Martin became unbearable.
“You care too much now,” Seonghyeon warned him once quietly.
Martin scoffed immediately.
But later that night he realized something horrifying:
The person occupying his thoughts from morning to night was no longer Juhoon.
It was James.
And by then—
it was already too late.
—
Because James disappeared quietly.
No dramatic goodbye.
No confession.
No final scene.
One day he simply stopped coming to university.
At first everyone assumed he was sick temporarily.
Then days became weeks.
Messages went unanswered.
Calls failed.
Juhoon grew frantic.
Martin grew terrifying.
He searched everywhere.
Apartment.
Campus.
Mutual friends.
Nothing.
Until eventually a letter arrived.
One for each of them.
Martin’s hands shook opening his.
Inside was familiar handwriting.
Soft.
Careful.
Martin,
You were right.
It’s easier if I disappear.
Don’t be angry at yourself for the things you said before. I stayed beside you because of them.
You never looked at me in a way that would make leaving impossible.
That’s why I felt safe with you.
I knew about Juhoon, so I had to leave him behind slowly. He loves too deeply.
Please take care of him for me.
And please don’t hate yourself for not loving me back.
I think being near you already made me happier than I deserved.
Sorry for disappearing suddenly.
I just wanted everyone to remember me smiling.
— James
Martin reread the letter until the words blurred completely.
Then came the final realization.
James never knew.
Never knew Martin eventually loved him too.
Really loved him.
Not obsession.
Not jealousy.
Not possession.
Love.
The genuine terrifying kind.
And now there was nowhere left to put it.
Only silence.
Only grief.
Only the unbearable reality that the one person Martin finally loved had spent all this time preparing himself to be forgotten.
———
For three days, Martin didn’t speak properly.
Not because he physically couldn’t.
Because every word felt wrong now.
Too late.
Everything was too late.
The letter remained folded in his hoodie pocket everywhere he went, the edges slowly softening from how often he unfolded it with shaking hands.
I stayed beside you because of them.
Because of the cruel things he said.
Because James believed Martin would survive losing him.
Martin sat alone in his apartment at four in the morning rereading that sentence until nausea crawled up his throat.
Safe.
James felt safe around someone who wanted him gone.
The irony was monstrous.
And now Martin couldn’t breathe without feeling him everywhere.
—
The apartment had become unbearable.
James existed in pieces now.
A mug left behind after study nights.
A charger forgotten beside the couch.
Tiny sticky notes in neat handwriting.
One still clung to Martin’s refrigerator:
buy actual food please
Martin stared at it for nearly ten minutes before ripping it off violently.
Then immediately smoothing it back out afterward like something sacred.
He hated himself for that.
He hated himself for everything.
—
“You need to sleep.”
Seonghyeon stood near the kitchen doorway watching him carefully.
Martin sat on the floor beside the couch, letter in hand again.
“You’ve said that six times.”
“And you still look like death.”
Martin laughed quietly.
Not humor.
Something emptier.
“That’s funny.”
Seonghyeon’s expression shifted immediately.
Because Martin looked frightening now.
Not loud.
Not angry.
That would’ve been easier.
Instead he looked hollowed out from the inside.
Like grief had carved through him slowly.
“Did you know?” Martin asked suddenly.
“About what?”
“The illness.”
Silence answered first.
Then Seonghyeon looked away.
And Martin understood instantly.
“You knew.”
“I found out recently.”
Martin stood so abruptly the chair behind him nearly tipped over.
“You knew?”
“Martin—”
“You knew he was dying?”
“Lower your voice.”
Martin laughed again, harsher this time.
“No, seriously, this is insane.”
His breathing became uneven.
“He sat beside us every day.”
His voice cracked violently.
“He smiled every fucking day.”
Seonghyeon swallowed hard. “He asked me not to tell anyone.”
“When did you find out?”
“A month ago.”
Martin stared at him in disbelief.
“A month.”
“I couldn’t betray him.”
Martin looked like he might break something.
Or himself.
“Did Juhoon know?”
“No.”
That answer somehow made everything worse.
Because suddenly Martin could picture it too clearly:
James carrying all that pain alone.
Going to hospitals alone.
Receiving terrifying news alone.
Then still showing up to campus smiling like sunlight because he didn’t want anyone to hurt with him.
Something inside Martin collapsed completely then.
Not dramatically.
Quietly.
The way buildings do before they finally cave in.
He sat back down slowly and covered his eyes with one hand.
And for the first time since the letter arrived—
Martin cried.
Not pretty tears.
Not cinematic grief.
It was ugly.
Sharp.
Humiliating.
His shoulders shook violently while he tried to stay silent and failed.
Because now every memory looked different.
Every single one.
—
James laughing during lunch while secretly in pain.
James disappearing randomly for “appointments.”
James looking exhausted all the time.
James pulling away from Juhoon because he thought love would destroy him later.
And worst of all—
James staying beside Martin because he believed
Martin wouldn’t care enough to break.
God.
That one destroyed him.
Because Martin broke the hardest.
—
Juhoon stopped functioning normally after the letter.
At first he denied everything.
“He’ll come back.”
Then
“There’s no way he’d leave like this.”
Then eventually silence.
Terrible silence.
The kind that settles into a person permanently.
Martin found him sitting alone outside the arts building one evening long after sunset.
The campus glowed softly under streetlights.
Students walked past laughing.
The world kept moving disgustingly normally.
Juhoon sat on the concrete steps staring ahead blankly.
Martin sat beside him quietly.
For a while neither spoke.
Then Juhoon asked
“Did you know?”
Martin already knew what he meant.
“No.”
Juhoon nodded slowly.
“He looked tired sometimes.”
His voice sounded distant.
“I thought he was overworking himself.”
Martin couldn’t answer.
Because guilt lived inside every inch of him now.
Juhoon laughed softly then.
Brokenly.
“You know what’s messed up?”
Martin looked over.
Juhoon’s eyes were red from exhaustion.
“I spent months thinking he stopped caring about me.”
That hurt to hear.
Because Martin helped cause that.
No—
Martin caused that.
Entirely.
“He was protecting you,” Martin said quietly.
Juhoon smiled bitterly.
“Yeah.”
A long silence followed.
Then Juhoon whispered something that nearly killed Martin where he sat.
“I would’ve stayed anyway.”
Martin looked down immediately.
Because yes.
That was exactly why James left him behind.
Because Juhoon loved too deeply.
And James knew it.
—
After James disappeared, the university changed strangely.
People spoke softer when mentioning him.
Rumors died completely.
Nobody joked anymore.
Even professors seemed subdued.
It was like the campus itself realized too late what kind of person it had lost.
One afternoon Martin walked into an empty classroom and found one of James’ old notebooks left inside a drawer.
He recognized the handwriting instantly.
His chest tightened painfully.
Against all better judgment, he opened it.
Most pages contained lecture notes.
Messy doodles.
Tiny reminders.
But near the back—
Martin froze.
A page filled with his name.
Not obsessively.
Not crazily.
Just absentmindedly written between notes.
Martin.
M.
Martin likes iced americanos too much.
Tell Martin to stop skipping breakfast.
Martin looked pretty today.
Martin laughed today :)
Martin stopped breathing for a second.
There were hearts too.
Small ones.
Careless ones probably drawn unconsciously.
The kind someone makes when they’re hopelessly in love.
Martin shut the notebook immediately.
Then pressed it hard against his chest like he was in physical pain.
Because he was.
Everything hurt now.
Air hurt.
Memories hurt.
Existing hurt.
He finally understood why James always looked quietly sad when alone.
Some pain never leaves your body after entering it.
—
Weeks later, Martin visited James’ old apartment for the first time since he disappeared.
The landlord had begun clearing things out.
Most belongings were already gone.
The place looked painfully empty.
But James still lingered there somehow.
In the soft scent of detergent.
In sunlight touching the floorboards.
In the quietness.
Martin walked slowly through the apartment until he reached the bedroom.
And stopped.
Because on the desk sat a small framed polaroid.
The three of them.
Martin.
Juhoon.
James in the middle smiling brightly.
Martin picked it up carefully.
His hands trembled slightly.
Then he noticed writing on the back.
James’ handwriting again.
My favorite people.
The date underneath was from months ago.
Back when everything still existed.
Back before Martin ruined it.
Before he poisoned every relationship in the room because he was too selfish to love properly.
Martin stared at the photograph for a very long time.
Then finally whispered into the empty room
“I loved you.”
The silence afterward was unbearable.
Because James would never hear it.
Never know.
And maybe that was Martin’s punishment.
To carry a love that arrived too late to save anything at all.
—
That night Martin dreamed about him for the first time.
Not sick.
Not disappearing.
Just James sitting in the library with sunlight across his face smiling softly while saying:
“You look less angry today.”
Martin woke up crying before dawn.
And the terrifying part wasn’t the grief anymore.
It was the realization that James had become woven into every part of him permanently.
Like thread stitched through skin.
Impossible to remove without destroying everything attached to it.
For the rest of his life, Martin would hear certain laughs and think of James.
See certain sunsets and think of James.
Pass certain classrooms and think of James.
Love itself had become haunted now.
And somewhere far away, maybe in another city, maybe in another hospital, maybe nowhere Martin could ever reach—
James still believed he had left this world unloved.
— — —
Years passed.
Not the healing kind.
Just time.
Cold, continuous time that dragged everything forward whether people wanted it or not.
University ended.
People graduated.
Moved cities.
Built careers.
The campus changed buildings, professors, cafés.
New students walked the same hallways without knowing a boy named James once smiled there like he invented warmth itself.
But Martin never moved on.
Not really.
—
At twenty-seven, Martin had become famous.
The kind of famous where strangers analyzed his expressions online and turned his sadness into aesthetics.
Interviews called him mysterious.
Fans called him poetic.
Music critics called him emotionally devastating.
None of them knew the truth.
Every song Martin ever wrote belonged to James.
Every single one.
Even the happy sounding tracks carried traces of him hidden inside lyrics and melodies like ghosts stitched into music.
Martin never confirmed it publicly.
But people noticed patterns.
The repeated name references.
The imagery.
Hospitals.
Rain.
Letters.
A boy with sunlight in his smile.
A love that disappeared before it could be held properly.
Fans built theories for years.
None of them understood the full horror of it.
Because how could they?
How could strangers understand that Martin’s entire career was built on grief?
—
“You’re doing it again.”
Keonho leaned against the studio doorway watching Martin silently stare at old lyrics.
The recording studio glowed dimly under midnight lighting.
Martin sat barefoot on the floor beside the couch, guitar resting across his lap.
“What?”
“You have that look.”
Martin looked up tiredly. “What look?”
“The Jamie look.”
Silence settled immediately afterward.
Even after all these years, they still said his name carefully around Martin.
Like handling cracked glass.
Martin looked back down at the notebook in his hands.
On the corner of the page, absentmindedly written over and over:
Jamie.
Jamie.
Jamie.
Keonho sighed softly.
“You know, normal people eventually stop acting like this.”
Martin almost smiled.
“Good thing I’m not normal.”
That answer should’ve sounded joking.
Instead it sounded frighteningly sincere.
Because it had been nine years.
Nine.
And Martin still loved James with the intensity of an open wound.
—
The public adored Martin’s love songs because they sounded too real to be fiction.
That was the problem.
Real grief leaves fingerprints on art.
People could hear it.
Feel it.
Even if they didn’t understand why his voice sometimes sounded like he was barely surviving the lyrics.
One of his most famous songs was written at four in the morning after dreaming about James again.
The title was Yellow Hallway.
Fans thought it symbolized nostalgia.
In reality it referred to the hospital corridor James once described casually during university.
Martin remembered everything James ever said.
Every tiny thing.
Like scripture.
The song broke streaming records in three countries.
People called it one of the greatest love songs of the decade.
Martin threw up after recording it.
—
“You should date someone.”
Seonghyeon regretted saying it immediately.
Martin sat on the balcony outside the studio apartment staring at city lights below.
“You say that every year.”
“Because every year you get worse.”
Martin laughed quietly.
Older now.
Softer around the edges.
But the sadness in him had deepened into something permanent.
“I tried once.”
Seonghyeon blinked. “What?”
“Three years ago.”
“You never told us that.”
Martin shrugged slightly.
“She laughed like him.”
That explained everything instantly.
The relationship lasted two weeks.
Because nobody survived comparison to James.
Not even close.
And honestly?
Martin stopped trying after that.
Because loving James had ruined ordinary love forever.
Everything else felt incomplete.
Smaller somehow.
Like trying to replace the moon with a streetlamp.
—
The worst part was how alive James remained inside Martin’s head.
Sometimes it genuinely terrified him.
Martin remembered the exact sound of James laughing while tired.
The exact way he pronounced certain words.
The exact warmth of his shoulder during late study nights.
Memory preserved him cruelly well.
Meanwhile Martin himself had changed completely.
He grew taller.
His voice deepened.
His face matured.
Fans called him beautiful now.
James would’ve teased him endlessly about it.
That thought alone nearly destroyed Martin some nights.
Because James never got older.
Not in Martin’s mind.
Jamie remained nineteen forever.
Forever smiling.
Forever walking through campus with oversized hoodies and sleepy eyes.
Forever disappearing before Martin could love him correctly.
—
One winter evening, Martin returned to the university for the first time in years.
Not publicly.
No cameras.
No management.
Just him alone wearing a hoodie and baseball cap walking through old paths quietly.
The campus looked smaller now.
Strange how places shrink once memories become larger than them.
Martin eventually found himself outside the arts building automatically.
His chest tightened immediately.
Because for one horrible second—
he could almost see James there.
Sitting on the stairs swinging one leg absentmindedly while waiting for someone.
Martin stood frozen in the cold.
Then slowly sat down in the exact same spot beside the empty space.
Like muscle memory.
The silence hurt.
“You know,” Martin murmured quietly into the night, “I became famous.”
Wind moved softly through nearby trees.
Martin smiled faintly.
“You’d think that was funny.”
His eyes burned.
“I wrote hundreds of songs about you.”
His voice cracked slightly.
“Isn’t that insane, Jamie?”
No answer came.
Only cold air.
But Martin kept talking anyway.
Because after all these years, speaking to James still felt natural.
“I still can’t love anyone else.”
That confession sounded pathetic coming from a grown man sitting alone on university stairs at midnight.
But it was true.
Painfully true.
“I tried,” Martin whispered. “I really tried.”
His eyes closed briefly.
And suddenly he could hear it again so clearly—
James laughing softly while saying:
You look less angry today.
Martin covered his eyes with one hand.
Nine years later.
And he still missed him with the violence of fresh grief.
—
The public eventually started calling Martin “the tragic romantic.”
Articles analyzed his discography like literature.
People online quoted his lyrics during breakups and weddings and lonely nights.
One particular line became legendary:
I loved someone once so deeply that even time got jealous.
Fans tattooed it onto their skin.
Meanwhile Martin had written it while crying alone in his kitchen at dawn because he found one of James’ old sticky notes inside a cookbook.
That was the reality of it.
James still lived everywhere.
In drawers.
In songs.
In dreams.
In breathing itself.
—
One night after a concert, Keonho found Martin backstage staring at an old polaroid again.
The same one from James’ apartment.
The edges were worn now from years of handling.
“My favorite people,” Keonho read softly from the back.
Martin looked exhausted.
Not physically.
Soul exhausted.
“You still carry that thing?”
Martin’s thumb brushed carefully over James’ smiling face in the photo.
“Of course I do.”
Keonho hesitated.
Then finally asked the question none of them had dared ask in years.
“Do you think you’ll ever stop loving him?”
Martin looked genuinely confused by the idea.
As if the question itself made no sense.
“How would I?”
Quiet silence followed.
Then Martin smiled faintly.
Small.
Heartbroken.
“That’s my baby Jamie.”
The words were so soft they nearly disappeared into the room.
But Keonho heard them.
And suddenly understood something devastating:
Martin wasn’t surviving grief anymore.
He was living inside it.
Comfortably.
Permanently.
Like James had become less of a memory and more of a second heartbeat inside him.
Something constant.
Something eternal.
The kind of love people only believed existed in stories because in real life it was too painful to survive.
Yet somehow—
Martin did.