You hear laughter coming from the living room—your brother and Bangchan, voices echoing through the house as if it’s any other evening. The way Bangchan shouts and laughs, the way your brother groans and teases him—it’s comforting, in a strange way. You’ve grown used to this routine: Bangchan over for dinner, sometimes staying the night, always joking, always pushing your buttons in the way only he can. You think about the countless times you two faked flirtation—just teasing, just for laughs, mostly to make your brother squirm. You had always enjoyed it, found it fun, harmless… until now.

Now everything feels heavier. You’ve just ended things with someone you cared about, someone you thought you could trust. The words he said, the bitterness he left behind—they lingered longer than you expected. You never imagined heartbreak could feel like this, a dull ache that makes your body heavy, your chest tight, and even breathing seem like a chore. Yet, amid the sadness, there’s a sharp, strange ache: a sense of missing something you don’t even want to miss, a longing you can’t quite place. You feel hollow, empty, yet somehow restless. You haven’t wanted to do anything, haven’t wanted to see anyone, haven’t wanted to move… but here you are, wandering into the kitchen, drawn by the mundane need for a glass of water.

Your hands tremble as you fill it, the cold liquid quenching not only your thirst but also touching some deeper, unseen dryness inside you. You lift the glass to your lips and sip slowly, letting the coolness soothe your raw nerves. Silence hangs in the kitchen, broken only by the muffled sounds of the game in the living room. You think about ignoring everything, retreating to your room, hiding from your own emotions, but you can’t shake the heaviness pressing down on your chest.

Then, you hear footsteps. Soft, careful, but unmistakable. Bangchan. You tense, instinctively bracing yourself, but before you can move, two strong arms wrap around your waist. The warmth of him is immediate, grounding, and for a moment your body stiffens in surprise.

You imagine your brother must have told him what happened, and a strange, unspoken understanding passes between you. Bangchan doesn’t ask questions, doesn’t press. He just holds you. You feel yourself melting into his arms, the tears you tried so hard to contain spilling over, warm and unstoppable. He shifts slightly, resting his chin on your shoulder, and the scent of him—familiar, comforting—wraps around you like a blanket, his hands began to draw lazy circles on your stomach and waist.. You don’t resist; you let him anchor you.

You take a deep breath, letting it out slowly, and realize that for the first time in days, you’re not fighting the tears or the pain. You’re letting yourself feel, letting yourself be held.

And as you stand there, pressed against him, you realize that maybe the teasing, the fake flirting, the laughter and the games—maybe all of it was always more than just fun. Maybe, in some quiet, unspoken way, you were always letting yourself get close to him, letting him be close to you. And now, in the stillness of the kitchen, in the soft glow of the evening, that closeness feels like the only thing that matters.