15

Han blinked his eyes open.

The curtains were still drawn, and the world outside was wrapped in that heavy blue stillness only the early morning knew. The room he was in smelled like expensive cologne and faint paint — Hyunjin's room. But Hyunjin wasn’t beside him.

He sat up groggily, running a hand through his tangled hair. The clock on the wall blinked faintly: 5:10 AM.

“What the hell…” he muttered.

Why was he even up?

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he tossed the sheets off and got to his feet, stretching once before grabbing a clean tee from Hyunjin’s dresser. A quick shower, fast and forgettable, and he padded barefoot down the wide stairs.

The house was silent. Unusually so.

No maids. No clinking plates. No morning news echoing from the dining hall TV. Just… stillness.

And then —

Music.

Soft. Distant. Familiar.

Han paused mid-step, frowning. He tilted his head slightly, the delicate notes of a piano floating up from below.

“…The basement?”

His eyes narrowed.

He moved quietly, descending the spiral staircase toward the lower level — the one reserved for arcade machines, the sleek bar with the neon backsplash, velvet couches, and a beautiful grand piano tucked in the corner.

The melody grew clearer the closer he got — a melancholic tune, soft and haunting, laced with a kind of vulnerability that almost didn’t belong in a house like this.[🎵 Yiruma – "River Flows in You"]

Han stopped near the final step.

Through the dim lights of the basement bar, he saw him.

Minho.

Sitting at the piano, bathed in the faint silver-blue glow of early morning light streaming from the high, narrow windows. His fingers glided over the keys with a kind of absent familiarity, brows furrowed slightly, lips parted — as if each note was pulled from somewhere deep inside him.

Han froze.

He didn’t dare interrupt. Not even breathe too loud.

Instead, he leaned silently against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, head tilted back as he closed his eyes.

The song filled the space between them like a confession neither of them would ever speak aloud. Gentle. Raw. Laced with pain and longing.

Minho didn’t know he was there.

And Han didn’t announce himself.

Because somehow… hearing Minho like this — in a moment stripped of pride and pressure — was more intimate than any kiss they’d ever shared.

And Han felt it — in his chest, in his throat, in the base of his spine.

That ache.

That damn ache Minho always left behind.

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[Moments Later]

As the final note lingered in the quiet air, Han opened his eyes, breath catching in his throat.

Minho was already looking at him.

Eyes shadowed. Unreadable. Like he'd known Han was there the entire time.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt your privacy,” Han said quickly, stepping off the last stair. His voice cracked slightly — too soft, too exposed in the stillness. “I… I’m sorry.”

Minho didn’t say anything for a moment — just stared at him.

Then he shook his head. “It’s okay.”

He turned away, slowly — reached to pick up his phone from the low side table near the piano bench. His posture was calm, but something about the way his shoulders held tension betrayed him.

As he stepped forward, Han’s hand moved on instinct.

“Minho—”

His fingers curled around Minho’s wrist.

Minho stopped.

Looked down at the hand. Then up — meeting Han’s eyes.

Realization hit Han too late. He quickly let go, pulling his hand back as if burned.

But the words had already formed. They slipped out anyway.

“One week… Until your wedding ceremony.”His voice was quieter now. But steadier. “You’re really still that stubborn about the whole thing?”

Minho’s eyes flickered.

He didn’t answer right away. Just looked at Han — long enough for the silence to sting.

Finally, he exhaled. “Forgive me, Han,” he said, voice low but resolute. “But I’ve already made my mind.”

And just like that — he walked past him.

Step by step. Calm. Controlled.

Han didn’t follow.

He just stood there in the basement, the scent of old wood and echo of piano keys wrapping around him like smoke.

He stared at the door Minho had disappeared through. Then down at his own hand — the one that had held on, just for a second too long.

A bitter smile tugged at his lips.

“…Right,” he whispered.

The piano stood quiet beside him.

And Han suddenly felt very, very alone.

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[EVENING – LIVING ROOM]

The soft clinking of teacups and idle conversation filled the grand living room, bathed in warm lamplight. Outside, dusk painted the sky in fading streaks of orange and lilac, but inside—inside, the atmosphere was shifting.

On the long couch, Felix sat beside Minho.

Close enough to brush shoulders.But not close enough to feel him.

Minho’s posture was perfect. Always was. Spine straight, hands folded neatly in his lap. But his eyes… his eyes were somewhere else entirely. Staring ahead, unmoving. Jaw tight. Like he was holding something in.

Felix glanced sideways at him.

No movement.

Not even a blink.

Across the room, Ms. Hwang was in the middle of excited chatter with Grandma and Mr. Hwang, talking about how the wedding suits had already arrived at the penthouse downtown.

“We’ll have to leave tomorrow or the day after,” she was saying. “Just one week left. We can’t have anything go wrong now, right?”

Grandma hummed in agreement. “It’s good to be early. The tailor’s coming in for final fittings.”

“Everything’s happening so fast,” someone added. “But it’s going to be beautiful.”

Felix swallowed, fingers curling around the edge of the cushion beneath him.

Just a week.

He looked back at Minho — still unreadable, still lost in a silence that screamed louder than words.

And on the opposite couch…Hyunjin and Han.

Han’s head rested lightly against Hyunjin’s shoulder, like it belonged there. His hair brushed against Hyunjin’s jaw, and neither of them seemed to care that the others were watching. Or maybe that was the point.

Hyunjin was scrolling lazily through his phone, gaze flat, detached. His fingers moved but his eyes didn’t really follow. Not focused.

Not interested.

“Jinnie,” Han whispered — loud enough for Felix to hear. “Look at this one. We should try that pose next time.”

Hyunjin didn’t look. Just smirked faintly. “Mm. Later.”

Something twisted in Felix’s chest.

He looked away.

The talk around the room kept going — about suits and flowers and guest lists — but the four of them sat in a quiet, private storm of their own. Two pairs of ghosts on couches.Two broken hearts beating too loud beneath calm faces.

Minho finally blinked, jaw working once before he whispered — so quiet, Felix barely heard:

“One week.”

Felix looked at him.

His heart sank.

He didn’t know what to say anymore.

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