MYFL | Chapter 3.6

When he finished talking, Beomjin quietly pushed himself away from the table. He didn’t say another word, just turned to leave.

Beomchan thought to himself—so even in his brother’s eyes, he must look pretty damn pathetic.

He would have kept thinking that, if not for the one thing Beomjin muttered at the entrance.

“Don’t do anything stupid.”

Beomjin slipped his feet into his shoes and spoke in a low voice. The moment those words hit, Beomchan couldn’t help but frown.

Did he even listen properly?

“I told you, he has a kid. He’s married.”

“Which is exactly why you should just stay out of it. Stop sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

Beomchan bit down hard on his lower lip.

Beomjin smirked, like he had expected that reaction, and continued.

“Do you think I don’t know you? What are you gonna do if your little fantasy is actually right and his husband is cheating? What if he’s a total piece of shit? What then?”

Beomjin scoffed.

“You couldn’t even confess properly back then because you were too busy tiptoeing around. And now, after all this time, you think you’re gonna do something? Do you even realize how you look right now?”

His words were sharp and ruthless.

“You look like someone who’s hoping for it.”

“….”

“Just live your life. Stop dragging other people into your mess.”

Every word Beomjin threw at him had made Beomchan’s anger rise to a boiling point.

And then, in a single instant, it all turned ice cold.

You look like someone who’s hoping for it.

It felt like swallowing something rotten.

His stomach churned.

For the past few days, something had been eating away at him, hovering over him like a shadow. And now, he had finally seen what it was.

A disgusting, repulsive thing crawling on his skin.

Beomchan rubbed at his eyes with his fingertips, trying to clear his vision.

“You’re not gonna answer?”

Beomjin, mistaking his silence for defiance, demanded a response with an irritated scowl.

But right now, of all things, his brother’s pestering barely even registered in Beomchan’s mind.

“…I got it.”

He took a deep breath, filling his chest to the brim before he finally forced the words out.

“Look me in the eye and say it properly.”

“I said I got it!”

Beomchan snapped. His voice rang out, trembling, raw, almost like a scream.

The whole house fell into a suffocating silence.

“…I got it. I heard you, so just—leave. Please.”

His voice shook.

Then, without waiting for a response, Beomchan shoved Beomjin out the front door and immediately locked it.

Of course, Beomjin, who absolutely could not stand being disrespected, started cursing him out, pounding on the door like he was ready to break it down. But Beomchan ignored him.

Thud, thud, thud.

The racket didn’t last long.

Soon, the knocking stopped. Then, as if Beomjin had finally given up, the sound of footsteps faded away down the hall.

Beomchan stood frozen in place for a long time. Eventually, he turned and walked into the house.

Why did the distance to his bed feel so damn far?

He trudged over, then collapsed onto the edge of the mattress.

His hands, clenched tightly together as if in prayer, rested between his knees.

His head, too heavy to hold up, drooped forward, his shoulders sinking with it as if something invisible was pressing him down.

Like something was crushing him from above.

No.

A faint whisper escaped him.

But that weak voice was swallowed up by the empty air, disappearing without a trace.

He tried shaking his head.

That, too, felt feeble.

Because deep down, the moment he heard Beomjin’s words—

He had already admitted it.

Looking back now, had he ever had any solid proof to justify his suspicions? Even once?

No.

Everything was just his own assumptions, his own twisted interpretations, forcing the pieces to fit the conclusion he wanted.

Because he needed an excuse.

Something to justify himself, to convince himself that even though he had always taken pride in his job as a taekwondo master, even though he had always tried to live with integrity—

It was okay to throw all of that away.

Because he needed a reason good enough to fool even himself.

A laugh slipped out.

How ridiculous.

He had always believed that loving someone meant wishing for their happiness.

That was the normal thing to do.

And he had believed, without a doubt, that he belonged in that category.

But now—

Now, he had to face the truth.

He didn’t want Seungjae to be happy.

He wanted Seungjae to be miserable.

So that he could be the one to save him.

The realization made him sick.

Beomchan ran his hands over his face, over and over, as if trying to scrub something off.

A strained, shaky breath leaked through his clenched teeth.

He buried his face in his palms, shoulders rising and falling with each deep, shuddering breath.

He looked like he could collapse at any moment.

His stomach twisted even harder.

⋆˚🐾˖°

“Ah…”

Monday morning.

The moment Beomchan woke up, a sharp migraine made him squeeze his eyes shut again. He raised an arm, blocking out even the faint light seeping through his eyelids. But the pain didn’t subside.

Eventually, he forced his heavy body up and rummaged through the drawer of his nightstand. He rarely got sick, so he didn’t have much medicine stocked. At most, a few painkillers that were dangerously close to expiring, some band-aids, and a couple of suppressants.

He popped a painkiller into his mouth and washed it down with the water sitting on his nightstand. A fleeting thought crossed his mind—wasn’t it bad to take medicine on an empty stomach? But it was already too late. The pill had slid down his throat.

He picked up his phone and scrolled through the high school group chat that had been buzzing all weekend with plans for a meet-up. After skimming through, he tossed the phone back onto the nightstand, screen facing down.

Then he collapsed back onto the bed. His body felt heavy, like he was coming down with a fever.

Yesterday, he hadn’t stepped outside even once. Ever since Beomjin left the day before, he’d been practically locked inside this cramped rooftop room.

Stuck in bed, overthinking everything. Just like eight years ago.

He even skipped his daily workouts, something he never did. Instead, he spent the entire weekend drowning in his thoughts. Most of them were self-reproach. The rest—worry.

How was he supposed to face Seungjae from now on?

By the end of the weekend, he had reached a conclusion—he needed to distance himself.

It had taken him an embarrassingly long time to arrive at such an obvious answer.

The more he thought about it, the clearer it became that disappearing from Seungjae’s life was the right thing to do. But doing so immediately wasn’t going to be easy.

Too many ties kept them bound together.

He had been reckless, thinking it was okay to stay close just because those ties existed. And now, he was paying for it.

Would he really be able to stay away?

If he was being honest—he wasn’t sure.

If he could, he would have done so the moment he found out Seungjae was married. But it hadn’t been that simple.

Letting go of his feelings, trying to move on—nothing had ever gone the way he wanted.

But now that he realized just how ugly things had gotten, maybe this time would be different.

It had to be different.

If it were up to him, he’d shut himself away in his room like he had eight years ago, waiting for his feelings to fade.

But that wasn’t an option.

Beomchan sluggishly got up, rubbing his face before stumbling toward the fridge.

Nothing to eat.

Even the side dishes his mom had packed for him were completely gone.

With nothing left to do, he shut the fridge and grabbed the hoodie draped over a chair, pulling it over his bare torso. He shoved his feet into his sneakers and yanked a cap down over his head.

The moment he opened the front door, the winter air slapped him in the face.

It had only been two days, yet stepping outside felt strangely unfamiliar—like someone who hadn’t seen sunlight in ages.

The hoodie alone wasn’t nearly enough against the full-on winter cold.

But instead of going back for a coat, he decided to just move quickly.

The mart was close, and maybe letting the cold air clear his head wasn’t such a bad idea.

As he made his way down from the rooftop, he instinctively glanced into the dojo. It was empty. He continued downstairs.

His heart started pounding the closer he got to the café.

By now, they’d probably just started opening up.

Maybe he should’ve left earlier.

No—actually, this was better.

It was much easier to walk past while they were busy rather than bump into Seungjae and be forced into a conversation.

Don’t look. Don’t look.

With his hand on the door handle of the building’s first-floor entrance, Beomchan muttered to himself like a mantra before stepping outside.

But he couldn’t stop his eyes from drifting on their own.

…What the hell?

He had planned to walk past without a second glance, maybe even cross the street.

But his steps came to an abrupt halt.

Something was off inside the café.

Seungjae stood there, looking grim, while Yeonji was angrily saying something to him.

Were they… fighting?

Beomchan had been in and out of that café more times than he could count, but he had never seen those two argue before.

This was prime time for opening up shop—what could possibly be wrong?

He debated whether to just ignore it and keep walking.

But before he could decide, Yeonji stormed out of the café, fuming.

She spotted Beomchan first and immediately approached him.

“Master.”

“What’s going on?”

The question slipped out before he could stop himself. He hadn’t meant to sound so surprised—but he was.

And then, regret sank in. Hadn’t he just decided to stop caring?

“…Ah.”

For a moment, Yeonji’s face brightened like she was about to answer.

Then, just as quickly, it crumpled again. Would it really hurt just to listen?

Seeing her reaction, Beomchan decided not to take back his question. Instead, he silently waited for her to speak.