The first time Beomgyu heard the song, it was raining. Beomgyu sat on the floor of his room with his headphones on, knees pulled to his chest. The music was slow. Dreamy. A little sad.

The band was Cigarettes After Sex.

It sounded like memories. Like something that had already happened… but still hurt.
Beomgyu stared at the ceiling and thought about Choi Yeonjun. Which was always a mistake.

Beomgyu had noticed him on the very first day of university. Music department orientation. Everyone had been awkward and quiet until Yeonjun walked in late, hair messy, guitar case slung over his shoulder.

Beomgyu remembered thinking one very unfortunate thought. Oh.

Three months later, the rain was falling again. And Beomgyu was still thinking about him. Their friendship had started accidentally. Yeonjun had wandered into the practice room while Beomgyu was playing guitar. Not playing well. Just repeating the same melancholic melody over and over.

Yeonjun leaned against the doorway.
“That's depressing,” he said. Beomgyu nearly fell off the bench. “Thanks.” Yeonjun walked over and sat beside him like they had known each other for years. “Play it again.”

“Why?”
“I like sad music.”

At some point, listening to Cigarettes After Sex became their thing. It started casually.

*Yeonjun would show up at Beomgyu’s apartment after practice, claiming he was “escaping reality.” He’d kick off his shoes, drop his guitar near the door, and immediately reach for Beomgyu’s speaker.
“Put on something good,” he’d say. And Beomgyu always knew what that meant. *

Sometimes they’d sit on the floor first, backs against Beomgyu’s bed, knees touching without realizing it. Yeonjun would close his eyes while the music played, head tilting slightly as if the songs were touching something inside them. But the nights that changed everything…

One rainy evening, the kind that felt endless — they were lying side by side on Beomgyu’s mattress, lights off, only the glow from the streetlamp outside painting the room in silver.

CAS was playing low in the background.
Yeonjun lay back first, one arm behind his head. “Don’t you think this band sounds like falling in love but being scared of it?” he murmured.

Beomgyu turned his head to look at him.
Yeonjun wasn’t joking. That was the thing.

*“I think you’re the only person who sees me clearly,” Yeonjun said it. And that was it. That sentence. The room felt smaller.
The music felt louder. *

*Beomgyu didn’t remember who moved first. Maybe it was both of them. But suddenly b reathing slowed. The song was still playing. And then Yeonjun kissed him. Soft. Not rushed. Like the music. Like it had been building for months. *

But the kiss didn’t come with a promise. That was the first problem.

It began subtly. Yeonjun started being “busy.” Practice. Late rehearsals. Group projects. New friends.

Beomgyu noticed the gaps between their meetings growing wider, like silence stretching across a room. But when Yeonjun did show up, he was warm.

He’d sit close. Let their knees touch. Play CAS softly. Rest his head against Beomgyu’s shoulder like he belonged there. “Missed you,” he’d murmur. And Beomgyu would melt.

Because how could someone sound that genuine?

The first time Beomgyu saw it, it was accidental. Yeonjun wasn’t supposed to be at that café. Beomgyu had gone there to study, headphones in, Cigarettes After Sex playing quietly. The familiar sound made everything feel softer, safer. Then he looked up. And there was Yeonjun. With someone else. A girl from the literature department.

That night, Yeonjun came to his room like nothing had happened. He kicked off his shoes. Dropped his bag. Reached for the speaker. Beomgyu’s voice came out quieter than the music. “I saw you.”

Silence.

The kind of silence that feels like rain about to start. "Are you seeing her?"