THE THREE of us – ksn
✿︎ 𝐕𝐎𝐋 17 : nine years old y/n has always thought Kim sunoo was prettier than all of her charms and stickers collection, the dolls her mum brought for her from carnival and maybe the prettiest in her entire block. Too bad she thinks sunoo looks better with her boyfriend than her.───── ✹ 𝑺𝐔𝐍𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐋𝐒 !
# # coming of age , childhood bsfs to ? , angst , fluff , reader is dealing with self confidence and insecurity , exploring sexuality , romance , soulmates , a little bit self insert , amateur writing
𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐚𝐩𝐬 : this is my first time exploring themes like this sooooo let me know if you all liked this one (^^) ... [ library ]
When your family first moved into the narrow little street lined with brick houses and peach trees, you noticed him right away, the small boy next door with the soft hair and softer eyes. There was something about Kim Sunoo that caught your attention before you even learned his name. Maybe it was the way he stood half-hidden behind his mother’s skirt whenever someone spoke to him, or the way sunlight seemed to cling to him longer than anyone else.
He was shy for his age, painfully so and always holding his mother’s hand.
You found it ridiculous. Cringe, you had muttered under your breath once, rolling your eyes. You would never do that. Your second-grade ego wouldn’t allow anyone to call you a mama’s girl.
Still, you couldn’t stop looking.
Your grandmother used to tell you bedtime stories about elves, delicate creatures with porcelain skin and glimmering eyes. You didn’t believe in them until you met Sunoo. He wasn’t magical in the storybook way, but he was almost too pretty to be real. Prettier than the doll your mother had won at the carnival, prettier than the charms and stickers you guarded in your desk drawer. And because you were you, loud, nosy, and unreasonably confident it didn’t take long for curiosity to turn into obsession. You started knocking on his door every afternoon, insisting he come out to play.
“Come on, Sunoo,” you would groan, dragging him out by the wrist. “You can’t just stay inside forever.”
He would gulp, hesitant but smiling. “What if my mom—”
“She’ll survive,” you would interrupt, already leading him toward the street.
By the time you were ten, you were certain there was nothing left to learn about Kim Sunoo. You knew his favorite cartoon characters, the shows that made him laugh until he snorted, and the exact way his pupils trembled with excitement whenever he talked about making new clay furniture for his dollhouse. You never had one yourself... dolls never really fascinated you, but you would sit beside him anyway, legs crossed, chin in your palm, watching him fuss over tiny ceramic teacups and flower shaped chairs.
“Does this look better in pink or yellow?” he would ask, holding up two blobs of clay.
“They look the same,” you’d answer flatly.
He’d pout. “You have no taste.”
And somehow, even though you didn’t care much for color palettes or dollhouse themes, you always ended up helping, cutting tiny curtains from your old notebook covers, stealing bottle caps to make stools. You weren’t sure you were ever much help, but Sunoo always looked at you like you’d built half the house yourself.
He was popular, of course. Everyone liked him, the teachers, the girls who braided their hair with ribbons, even the older boys who teased him for being “too sissy.” You told yourself you didn’t mind it, but your stomach always twisted when someone else called him their best friend. What you did mind were the boys who laughed at him, called him names, mocked his voice.
The first time that happened, you had marched straight up to one of them and swung before you could even think. The crunch of cartilage under your knuckles was sharp, satisfying, and terrifying all at once.
You were suspended weeks. Sunoo cried for one.
When you came back, he scolded you quietly, voice trembling. “You can’t just hit people, Y/n.”
“Then they shouldn’t talk about you like that.” He smiled through his tears, small and helpless. “You’re impossible.”
You shrugged, pretending not to care. But deep down, you knew you’d do it again, for him, always.
But pause. Fifth grade. Enters Park Sunghoon.
A fresh transfer from Seoul, he had that unmistakable air of someone who had never struggled a day in his twelve-year life. His uniform was crisp, his shoes always clean, and his lunchbox smelled expensive. You thought instantly that he looked like every other rich kid who’d never known what it felt like to be scolded by a teacher or trip in the hallway.
He wasn’t even cute. His teeth were crooked, his eyes half-hidden behind thick glasses, and there were way too many moles on his face. You didn’t mean to be mean, but seriously, why the hell did he have those?
Still, Sunghoon was… necessary. With Kim Sunoo’s dazzling face and sparkly pencil case dominating your group, someone had to balance things out. So you made it your new life mission to recruit the slightly weird bookworm into your trio.
“Y/N, don’t embarrass me again,” your mom had begged that morning, blocking the door with a ladle in her hand. “His parents are businesspeople. Important ones.”
“Boogeymen,” Sunoo corrected, swinging his backpack over one shoulder. “That’s what my mom said.”
But embarrassment meant nothing to a fifth grader with determination and a questionable sense of boundaries. So, every day after school, you and sunoo climbed up the fence, sneaked past Sunghoon’s fancy garden, and knocked on his window until he gave up pretending not to see you. “Come on, Park Sunghoon!” you’d yell through the glass. “We’re playing house! You’re the dog today!” He would groan, shove his book aside, and mutter something about “childish games,” but he always followed you out anyway. And by sunset, there he’d be tail wagging imaginary, glasses slipping down his nose, barking dutifully while you and Sunoo bickered over who cooked the better imaginary soup.
Poor Sunghoon, honestly. He didn’t stand a chance.
Sunghoon was...well...inevitable in your life. He was simply there. Always. Like a stubborn bookmark you couldn’t pull out, sitting quietly between the chapters of you and Sunoo. You didn’t quite know why you liked his presence so much especially when it irritated you at the same time. He wasn’t loud like you, or radiant like Sunoo. He was awkward, careful, always overthinking before speaking. When the three of you were together, he often sat quietly, eyes darting between you two as if afraid to break the rhythm.
By fifteen, you had sworn you had figured your heart out. You had recently learned the word soulmate, and it rolled so perfectly off your tongue that you couldn’t imagine it belonging to anyone but Kim Sunoo.
“Sunoo,” you muttered, as he was applying the new peach lip gloss he had brought that afternoon. “You and me are forever… then what the fuck is Sunghoon?”
Sunoo sighed, exasperated. “He’s our dog.”
You burst out laughing, almost smudging the gloss. “Right.”
“There you go!” Sunoo chirped, stepping back to admire your face as you blinked up at him. His eyes, sharp yet soft, traced the curve of your lips for a moment longer than usual. Your pulse jumped.
“Wah…” he whispered, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. “It looks so pretty.”
The warmth of his palm seeped through the thin fabric of your sleeveless top, grounding you as he turned you toward the mirror. You stared at your reflection, your lips glossy and shyly curved, your eyes catching a hint of disbelief. “Eh,” you murmured, pouting. “Looks pretty. But it’d look prettier on your lips.”
Sunoo let out an incredulous laugh. “Yeah? That color doesn’t even suit my undertone!”
“Yes it does!”
“No, it doesn’t!”
“Wanna see?”
The argument stopped midway when you leaned forward, fast, too fast. Your hand cupped his cheek, fingers slightly sticky from the gloss tube, and before he could react, your lips were on his. It was soft and clumsy and smelled faintly of peach candy. You felt his breath hitch, his lips warm beneath yours. His eyes were open for a moment before fluttering shut. He didn’t push you away. He didn’t move either, just froze, letting you steal the air between you.
When you finally pulled back, a string of laughter escaped you first, nervous, disbelieving. His eyes blinked rapidly, gloss smeared messily across his mouth.
“Y/n…” he started, voice breathless. You burst into another laugh, half from panic, half from joy. “Oh my god—your lips! You look ridiculous!” Sunoo blinked, then started laughing too. He leaned forward, resting his forehead against your shoulder as the two of you shook with laughter, the tension dissolving like sugar in tea. When he finally pulled away, his lips were still shiny with your gloss, and your heart, your stupid fifteen year old heart decided right then and there that if soulmates were real, his name had to be written next to yours.
By seventeen, you were convinced that Park Sunghoon’s parents were actual boogeymen for birthing a child like him. There was simply no other explanation. Because what the hell did they feed him? The boy who once stuttered through sentences and tripped over his own laces now stood a full head taller than you and Sunoo. His uniform sleeves were always rolled up, his hair fell in soft waves over his forehead, and those moles, the same ones you once found mildly irritating now sat on his skin like constellations. Even worse, he had ditched the thick glasses for contact lenses, and his nose… since when was it allowed to look that good?
You swore the universe was playing a sick joke on you. The first time you saw him after summer break, you genuinely thought he was someone else. He had walked through the classroom door, casually adjusting his bag strap, and for a second you thought a college senior had walked into the wrong room. It wasn’t until he gave that small, polite smile, still awkward, still Sunghoon that your brain caught up.
“Holy shit,” you had whispered under your breath. Beside you, Sunoo clutched your sleeve, jaw dropping. “That’s not him.”
“It is.”
“Liar.”
“No, really, that’s him.”
“Then what the hell happened?”
You didn’t have an answer. Sunoo’s eyes lingered on him longer than usual that day. And maybe that’s when the first, tiny crack appeared somewhere in your chest.
“It’s just a puppy crush,” Sunoo had said weeks later, clicking his tongue dismissively while painting his nails in your room. His tone was casual, but the slight shake in his voice didn’t miss your notice. You were lying on your stomach beside him, chin resting on your crossed arms. “Yeah, right. You’ve been staring at him like he’s a limited edition Barbie doll.” Sunoo gasped dramatically. “Excuse you, I am the limited edition Barbie doll here!” You snorted, grabbing a pillow and smacking him with it. “Whatever you say, pretty boy.” He smiled, but then the smile faded, softening into something more unsure. “You know I’m still your soulmate though, right?”
The question caught you off guard. His voice was quieter than usual, hesitant, even. You turned to look at him, the polish brush frozen midair. His eyes refused to meet yours, lashes trembling just a little. You frowned, sitting up. “Of course. I don’t care how hot Park Sunghoon turns out, you’ll always be hotter.” That earned a small, shy laugh from him. He reached over to smear a dot of polish on your finger in revenge, and just like that, the awkward tension between you melted into the familiar warmth again. Still, that night, when you lay in bed staring at the ceiling, the question echoed in your mind.
You’re still my soulmate though… right? And for the first time, you weren’t entirely sure what a soulmate even meant.
Sunghoon had started hanging out with you two more that year. He wasn’t much different personality wise but there was a new kind of ease to him now. He laughed more, even teased Sunoo sometimes, though always in that shy, awkward way that made you smile without meaning to. He’d show up to study sessions with perfectly neat notes, and you and Sunoo would promptly ruin them with doodles of cats and frogs. You liked seeing him flustered how his ears turned red when Sunoo leaned too close, how his lips twitched like he was fighting a smile. And you noticed. Oh, you noticed everything. The way Sunghoon’s eyes softened when Sunoo talked. The way Sunoo brushed invisible lint off Sunghoon’s blazer with that teasing glint in his eyes. The inside jokes that didn’t need explaining. The subtle tension whenever they sat too close.
You told yourself you were happy for them. They deserved to like whoever they wanted. You had no reason to feel weird about it. But you did. You felt it in the small silences when they forgot you were there. In the way Sunoo’s laughter changed, softer, fonder, whenever it was for Sunghoon. You felt it in your stomach, twisting tighter each time you caught yourself staring at Sunghoon a little too long.
Were you jealous? Envious? Of who?
You didn’t know. You just knew you couldn’t name the ache blooming in your chest.
The morning of graduation smelled like summer and endings. The air was humid, clinging to your skin, and the sky was a little too blue to feel real. You remembered thinking, this is it, the last day of wearing that itchy uniform, the last time Sunoo would nag you to fix your tie, the last time Sunghoon would lend you a pen and pretend he didn’t secretly have five more in his pocket.
You didn’t expect the day to start with a confession.
Sunghoon was alone. His tie hung loose, his hair brushed against his forehead, and his expression calm but trembling around the edges, didn’t look like the Sunghoon you’d known for years.
“You’re gonna miss the class photo,” you teased lightly, hoping to fill the strange silence between you.“I will,” he said. “But there’s something I need to do first.”
You tilted your head. “What, confess your undying love to me before the ceremony?”
He smiled, a tiny curve of his lips that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Something like that.” And then, almost casually, he said, “Let’s go out.”
You blinked. “...What?”
“I’ve been meaning to ask you out since middle school,” he continued, scratching the back of his neck. His eyes darted away, his ears flushed pink. “Guess I just never had the guts to say it until now.” For a moment, your brain refused to process it. You laughed, because that’s what you did when things didn’t make sense. “You’re joking.”
“I’m not.” He said it so simply that it felt like the ground shifted beneath you. There were a thousand things in your mind, confusion, disbelief, guilt, but none of them screamed no.
“Okay,” you said softly, almost testing the word on your tongue. “Let’s go out.”
And just like that, Park Sunghoon was your boyfriend. The title clung to you faster than you expected. Sunghoon’s girlfriend. The words felt strange, too mature for the girl who once chased him across the yard with mud pies. Your classmates whispered, giggled, and stared. Sunoo was thrilled. “I knew it!” he shouted when you told him, nearly dropping his boba cup. “Oh my god, I knew you two would end up together. You’re basically childhood sweethearts! I saw it coming from a mile away!”
You tried to laugh with him. You really did. But that shaky feeling, that small, gnawing thing had already started to grow in your chest. You told yourself it was nerves. That it was normal to feel awkward after years of friendship shifting into something else. That the weird flutter in your stomach wasn’t guilt, it was excitement. But deep down, you couldn’t shake the thought
Did I just betray Sunoo? You weren’t sure where that thought came from, only that it stayed. Sunghoon was perfect in the way that always made you feel slightly off balance. He’d walk you home after cram school, carry your bag when you complained, and text you good night in his awkwardly polite way. His hands were gentle when they brushed against yours, and sometimes his smile made your stomach twist in a way you didn’t know how to name.
But every time you caught Sunoo watching the two of you, something inside you tightened. He was happy, always smiling, always teasing. But you noticed the pauses. The small, almost invisible hesitation when Sunghoon touched your hair or when you leaned against his shoulder. You noticed how his laughter didn’t quite ring the same as before. And you hated yourself for noticing. Because wasn’t this what growing up meant? Falling in love, moving on, figuring yourself out? Weren’t you supposed to be happy?
Then why did it feel like you were slowly losing something you didn’t mean to trade away?
College felt like a borrowed life, too big, too noisy, too fast. Seoul was all silver light and subway rush, a city that didn’t wait for anyone to catch their breath. You tried, though. You tried to keep up, to pretend that the new rhythm didn’t shake you. You and Sunghoon rented a tiny apartment near the university, a place where the ceiling dripped in summer and the walls were too thin.
Sunoo stayed behind in your hometown, helping his mother with the family shop. It felt strange leaving him there, like you’d forgotten something important behind. You called him often. Then sometimes. Then only when your coursework eased up enough for your mind to wander back to him. When semester breaks came, you and Sunghoon always made the trip home together. The town never changed much, the same sleepy roads, the same gossiping aunties, the same creaky swings in the park you once fought over. And every time you stepped off that train, it felt like exhaling after holding your breath for months. Sunoo was always waiting for you at the station, waving both arms like a maniac, his cheeks red from excitement. He never changed much either, still impossibly radiant, like someone had bottled sunlight and told it to walk on earth.
Those evenings at home were easy. It hurt a little because you knew it wouldn’t last. Sunghoon would help your dad grill barbecue in the backyard, laughing with a looseness he didn’t show in the city. Your mother adored him always fussing over whether he had eaten enough, always calling him our future son in law as if to test the sound of it. Meanwhile, you’d sit on the porch with Sunoo, legs folded, his voice carrying through the quiet summer air.
“None of the guys I went out with interested me,” he would say, waving a skewer before biting into it. “Like, none. They’re all so… boring. Or weird. One of them asked me if I believed in star signs and then ghosted me because apparently cancers are sensitive.”
You would laugh, half-listening, because what mattered wasn’t the stories, it was the light in his eyes when he told them. You never remembered their names, but you always remembered the way he tilted his head when he laughed, how his lashes brushed his cheeks when he smiled up at the sky. Sunoo was still the prettiest in your dictionary, even after all that time. And sometimes, when the laughter faded, your mind wandered, back to that morning after graduation, when Sunghoon had asked you out. You said yes because it felt like something you were supposed to do. Because the idea of him liking you made your chest flutter. Because Sunoo had smiled so brightly when you told him that you hadn’t stopped to wonder why it hurt a little too.
Now, with your head on Sunghoon’s bare chest, that ache returned like a ghost you couldn’t exorcise. The fan hummed lazily above, the sheets tangled around your legs. He smelled faintly of detergent and your lavender shampoo, too familiar, too domestic.
“What are you thinking so hard about, hm?” he murmured, nudging your shoulder with his head. His voice was soft, the way it always was when it was just the two of you. You turned to face him. His hair was messy, sticking to his forehead, and his arm slid around your waist, pulling you close until you could feel the slow rise and fall of his breathing. “Nothing,” you whispered. “Just… stuff.”
“Stuff?” His lips curved into a sleepy grin. “You’re always thinking about something.”
You hesitated, fingers brushing along his arm. “What do you think of Sunoo?”
That made him pause. “Sunoo?” He blinked, staring at the ceiling as if the answer was written there. “What to think of him…” He trailed off, tracing absentminded circles on your skin with his fingertips. “He’s… one of a kind, I guess,” he said finally, chuckling softly. “Like, too bright for this world. Sometimes I wonder how he still manages to be that happy all the time.” And there it was, the flicker in his eyes you had learned to read, warmth that lingered just a bit too long, too genuine to ignore. You swallowed the lump in your throat.
“Don’t you think he’s sweet?” you asked, your voice thinner than you meant it to be. Sunghoon hummed quietly, as if he was considering it. “Yeah… I guess so. He really is sweet.” Your heart twisted. You wanted to ask how sweet, or sweeter than me?, but the words never came out. Instead, you tucked yourself closer to his chest, burying your face in his warmth, pretending that closeness could drown out the thought clawing at your chest.
“Yeah,” you murmured. “He’s the sweetest.”
But you weren’t sure who you were trying to convince, him, or yourself.
You wondered, what would’ve happened if you had rejected Sunghoon that day? Would the three of you have stayed the same? Would you have stayed back in that small town, helping Sunoo close the shop every night, maybe teasing him about his terrible taste in men? Would you have been happier? You didn’t know. But as you watched the stars fade behind the city haze, one thing felt certain, love didn’t always mean romance. Sometimes it was a quiet ache, a bond that defied labels, something that stayed even when everything else changed. And maybe that was what you and Sunoo were. Not lovers. Not quite friends. Something in between, something bittersweet and painfully beautiful.
With growing age came growing responsibilities and somewhere along the grey air of Seoul, you found your little self aching for air. Seoul was sterile. It smelled like ambition and burnt coffee, and your lungs never seemed to fill completely. The walls of your apartment felt too close that evening. You stood in the kitchen, arms crossed, watching the clock blink 11:42 PM. Sunghoon had just come home, looking disheveled but composed. You should’ve been used to it by now,
the attention, the admiration, but it still bared teeth at you.
“Y/n—baby, hey, listen to me!” he said, voice rising as you stared at the floor. “This is not it, okay? Just because I didn’t tell you about my schedule doesn’t mean I was doing something behind your back.” You bit your lip, the sting of tears already blurring your vision. “Yeah, I’m sorry. I know I’m the problem,” you muttered, voice trembling. “But you know how easily I get insecure, and you know I need assurance—”
“Everything doesn’t revolve around you.” His words were soft but sharp enough to slice through the silence. You froze. Sunghoon sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose as if exhausted by the weight of you. His expression wasn’t cruel, but it wasn’t kind either, it was tired, that came from too many conversations that ended the same way. The apartment felt colder suddenly, quieter.
“Please… can we not do this right now?” he whispered, stepping closer. His hand found your wrist, gentle but firm. “Come here.” You hesitated, but he pulled you into his chest anyway, arms wrapping around your shoulders with practiced ease. His chin rested on the top of your head. “I’m sorry, baby,” he murmured into your hair. “I thought you knew… you’re my favorite girl.”
Yeah...right...favorite girl.
The words should’ve soothed you, but instead, they echoed hollow in your chest. Favorite girl. Like a compliment. Like a consolation. Like you were one of many categories in his life.
Sunghoon and you were supposed to get engaged by the end of the month. Your parents had already started asking about rings, venues, dates. You smiled and nodded, played along with the idea that this version of love was enough. But lately, everything between you and him felt different. Bitterness had crept in slowly, like damp in a corner, until one day you realized the walls were already rotting. Sunghoon had grown into his own kind of success. His career was thriving, and the admiration followed him everywhere. Your colleagues whispered about him when they thought you couldn’t hear, how lucky you were, how unfair it was, how good he looked even in exhaustion.
You saw the way their gazes lingered on him, undressing him in real time, and it made your chest tighten.
You weren’t jealous of him. You were jealous for him,
jealous of how easily he could exist here, breathe here, belong here. Seoul loved him back. But you weren’t sure if the city even noticed you.
And in those quiet, suffocating nights when Sunghoon was too busy to call or too tired to listen, your mind wandered back to a certain pretty boy. Sunoo. You still talked, of course. Over text, sometimes over the phone. But the distance between words felt wider now. He wpuld send you pictures of the shop’s new seasonal decorations, or of the stray cat that had started sleeping by the counter. You would reply with a blurry photo of your takeout dinner, or a tired selfie in your office clothes, and he’d tease you for turning into a working woman™.
But you missed him—badly.
You missed the way his hair caught sunlight, the way it smelled faintly of honey and something floral whenever you braided it. You missed the warmth of his skin when you looped charms into his hair, the lazy tilt of his smile when he looked up from his phone to say something ridiculous. You missed the version of yourself that existed around him. Too bad Sunoo was different now too. He’d started hooking up with men, mostly, but never labels. Never names that lasted. You pretended not to mind, but your chest clenched every time he mentioned a new one.
“They’re all so boring,” he’d laugh over the phone one night. “Half of them can’t even tell what perfume I wear. Like, hello? I smell amazing, it’s not that hard to notice.” You laughed along, though your voice cracked. “You do smell amazing,” you said softly. He hummed, pretending not to hear the weight in your tone. “You remember which one it is?” You smiled, even though he couldn’t see it. “Le Labo Santal 33. But you mix it with that vanilla mist you stole from your cousin.” He went quiet for a moment, and when he spoke again, his voice was smaller. “You still remember that?”
“Of course I do,” you said.Because you remembered everything about him. The brands of his lip gloss, the way he bit the straw of his drinks, the songs he hummed when he was bored, the quiet sighs he let out when he pretended to sleep on your lap. You remembered it all because Sunoo wasn’t just a memory, he was a home you never really left. And as you sat beside Sunghoon that night, your head on his shoulder while he scrolled absently through work emails, you realized how hollow everything had become. The warmth of his embrace didn’t chase the cold away anymore. His touch was familiar, but not comforting. You were two people playing the parts of lovers who had forgotten their lines. And maybe that was the problem. You had built your life on promises that no longer fit. Somewhere along the grey air of Seoul, you had lost the girl who once believed in soulmates.
But Sunoo still lingered in your chest like a heartbeat you couldn’t unlearn. Too bad, you thought bitterly, watching the city lights flicker through the window. Too bad he was with people who didn’t even know the brand of his lip gloss. Too bad you still did.
The soft pink dress hugged your body in all the right places, the satin glimmering faintly under the golden chandeliers. Your glitter clad eyes curved like crescents as new guests came to bid their goodbyes. The room had begun to empty, laughter fading into distant echoes, the clinking of champagne glasses softening to background noise. The air smelled of roses, wine, and exhaustion. Sunghoon was nowhere to be found. Probably gone to see his parents off.
You hadn’t seen them since their polite, practiced smiles earlier that evening, their questions still ringing in your ears.
“Who paid for the dress, dear?” his mother had asked, tone featherlight but sharp underneath. “And the decorations? The venue?” You had smiled through it, of course. Because what else could you do? They had meetings to attend, apparently. Important ones. But you knew it wasn’t about schedules, it never was. His family and yours had never stood on equal ground,not in tax brackets, not in class, not in manner. You could feel it every time they glanced at your parents, every time they praised Sunghoon’s achievements and politely ignored yours.
You didn’t blame them anymore. You were just… tired. The jazz music in the background shifted into something slower, softer, and your gaze drifted toward the bar. That was when you saw him. Sunoo.
He was leaning against the counter, a faint blush tinting his cheeks, his usually neat hair slightly tousled. His champagne glass was empty, and his smile was lazy, unguarded. You bit your lip, trying not to laugh as he wobbled slightly, catching himself before he stumbled. “Wassup, pretty boy?” you called, waving him over. His eyes lit up instantly, and within seconds he was by your side, his familiar warmth wrapping around you like the smell of home cooked food after a long day.
“Enjoying by yourself?” you teased, steadying him as he swayed a little. “Mmm,” he hummed, voice thick with alcohol and affection. “You look… so pretty, Y/n. Like… disgustingly pretty. I hate it.”
You snorted, the sound bubbling into a laugh that drew a few glances from across the hall. You didn’t care. “Thanks, you’re not too bad yourself,” you murmured, tugging him closer until his head found your shoulder. His hair brushed your cheek, soft and familiar, and your heart betrayed you by skipping. The scent of his cologne, clean, sweet, something citrusy filled your lungs, and suddenly you were seventeen again, laughing over lip gloss and mascara stains. You felt him exhale against your neck, a sound halfway between a sigh and a laugh. “You’re getting married,” he whispered, voice barely audible. “Engaged,” you corrected softly, though it didn’t make a difference. A beat of silence passed. Then another. You wanted to say something light, something that would make him laugh again, but your throat felt dry, and your pulse drummed too loudly. His fingers brushed yours absently, tracing circles on your knuckles. And just like that, the noise of the hall faded.
“Mhm… engaged, whatever,” Sunoo slurred, his voice soft but teasing as he leaned closer, chin propped on your shoulder. His breath brushed the shell of your ear, warm and ticklish. “When did you get so old, oh my god?”
You giggled, swatting at his arm. “I was always big. Don’t you remember me being the husband beater in our house–house game?”
That earned a loud, unrestrained laugh from him, head thrown back, shoulders shaking, laugh that made your heart flutter stupidly. His hand came to rest on your knee, grounding and familiar. Both of you laughed until your stomach hurt, until the empty hall echoed with the remnants of your childhood, two kids who had grown up too fast, still clinging to the same warmth that had once made the world feel small and safe. The air had grown quieter now. The chandeliers still glowed softly overhead, scattering fractured light across the marble floor.
Somewhere, a waiter stacked champagne glasses. The night had dwindled into whispers, and your head felt light, pleasantly dizzy.
Then Sunoo sighed “I missed you, Y/n.”
You pressed your lips together, eyes on the faint shimmer of his gloss. “Me too…” But he shook his head, a wry smile tugging at his lips. “No, you don’t. You got engaged.” He smacked your shoulder lightly, pretending it was a joke, but something in his voice, something soft and brittle made your chest tighten. You blinked at him, unable to laugh this time.
How dare you get engaged, when your soulmate was right beside you,
his ring finger painfully bare under the golden light.
“Sunoo, I—”
“Wanna see something funny?” he interrupted, his tone perked up again, bright and hurried. He fished out his phone, fingers swiping across the screen with the same nervous impatience you’d known since childhood. He finally stopped and turned the screen toward you, smiling. “Look! I got it right in time.”
The air thinned instantly.
It was a picture. Of him and Sunghoon. They stood inside a jewelry shop, both grinning at the camera. Sunghoon’s arm was looped over Sunoo’s shoulders, his other hand gently pinching Sunoo’s cheek. They looked close, too close. In the background, rows of silver bands gleamed under bright lights. “We were trying on couple rings,” Sunoo said, his smile wide, oblivious. “Isn’t it cute? The size was perfect—”
You stopped hearing the rest. The world blurred for a second, sound dimming under the rush of your heartbeat. The laughter, the light, the glitter, it all bled together until all you could see were their hands. Sunghoon’s palm on his shoulder. The exact curve of the same hand that had held you this morning, sliding a ring onto your finger. The ring suddenly felt heavy.
“Y/n?” Sunoo’s voice softened. “Hey, are you okay?” You forced your lips into a smile, even as your eyes burned. “Yeah. You guys look good… together.”
He frowned, phone lowering. “What?”
“I mean—” you tried to laugh, but it came out cracked. “You’ve always looked good with him. No offense.” Sunoo stared at you, confusion replacing his smile. “What are you—”
“I think we both know you look better beside him than me.”
The words escaped before you could stop them. They hung there, fragile and ugly in the golden light. For a long moment, there was only silence. The faint clinking of glasses somewhere down the hall, the muffled hum of the city beyond the glass windows. Then Sunoo scoffed, low and sharp. “Really?”
You flinched. He leaned back slightly, eyes narrowing, not angry yet, but wounded in a way you had never seen before. “That’s what you think?” You tried to look anywhere but him. “It’s not—”
“Y/n.” His voice cracked slightly, and when you met his gaze, his eyes were wet. “Do you seriously think I’d do something like that to you?”
“I don’t—” You bit your lip, fingers twisting in your lap. “I don’t know, Sunoo. You and him—”
“Me and him, what?” His voice grew louder, trembling. Your chest ached, shame curling under your skin like something corrosive. “I’m sorry, I just—”
“Just what?” He met your eyes again, and for the first time, you saw it. The anger beneath the hurt. "Sunoo I'm sorry just leave it—" he shook his head "I'm leaving nothing...fuck look at me and answer me!" He grabbed your hands guarding you from getting up. You bit your trembling lips "stop being so annoying Sunoo I told you its nothing!" He scoffed "yeah? That's why you're crying so ugly right?" You felt the lump in your throat pushing everything out, "fuck....if you stop being such a pushover maybe then you'll find a boyfriend!"
He was stunned as the words left your mouth then a quiet chuckle escaped his mouth “You think everything revolves around who loves who. That if I’m not your soulmate, I must be someone else’s. But maybe the reason I haven’t found my boyfriend yet—”
He stopped. His voice faltered, his breath catching between words. Your pulse froze. “—is because I like you, Y/n.”
The world tilted slightly. You stared at him, the confession hanging heavy in the air between you, too raw, too sudden. His lips trembled, but he didn’t take it back. And for the first time that night, the glitter of the chandeliers didn’t look beautiful anymore, it looked cruel, reflecting every unspoken truth you’d spent years pretending not to see. Your throat tightened as you whispered, almost to yourself, “You’re not supposed to say that.”
But Sunoo only gave you a small, broken smile. “Yeah,” he said softly. “You’re not supposed to make me.”
“Stupid… you don’t like girls,” you mumbled, gaze fixed on the marble floor. Your voice trembled with a mix of shame and longing you couldn’t quite name. But before you could look away again, Sunoo’s palms framed your face, warm, insistent, trembling slightly. His touch burned, even through the haze of alcohol and exhaustion. “Don’t say that,” he whispered. “I’m not interested to know or label anything. I don’t care.” His breath hit your skin, soft and uneven. “All I know is I like you. You, as a person. You, who claimed me as your soulmate before anyone else did.”
His thumbs brushed over your cheekbones, and the familiar scent of his cologne wrapped around you.
“I’ve always wanted you,” he continued, voice cracking. “You who told me I was pretty when everyone else thought that was an insult.” His words poured out like confession after years of suppression.
“Have you though?” he asked, his tone quiet but sharp enough to cut through every layer of denial you’d built. Your throat ached. Beads of sweat gathered along your hairline, trailing down your temple. “Sunoo, stop… I don’t deserve this.”
He laughed softly, though it wasn’t joy, it was despair with a cracked edge. “Yes, you do. You deserve every explanation, every reassurance, every answer. Especially something that has to do with you and me.”
He took a shaky breath, fingers curling tighter around your cheeks, grounding you, forcing you to meet his gaze. “You’re going to listen to it.”
You could barely breathe. Your heart hammered against your ribs like it was trying to escape. “Sunoo…” you whispered. He leaned closer until his forehead rested against yours, and for a fleeting second, you felt fifteen again, barefoot in his living room, pinky fingers linked, whispering promises about soulmates under fairy lights.
“Please don’t, Sunoo,” you breathed, your voice splintering. “Don’t say it.”
But he did.
“Don’t marry him,” he whispered. “Don’t be with him. Be with me. Please.”
The world tilted. You blinked hard, the corners of your vision blurring. The music from the empty hall outside had long faded, replaced by the rhythmic pounding of your own pulse. You wanted to say no, to tell him it was impossible, wrong, selfish, whatever word made sense in that moment. But none of them fit. Not when he was looking at you like that. Not when your heart hurt so much you could barely stand it.
“Sunoo…” you tried again, but it came out as a sob. His breath hitched. His eyes glistened, mouth trembling as if he’d said too much and not enough all at once. And you poor, reckless, already broken, you went for it.
You closed the space between you. Your lips met his.
A soft, trembling kiss, hesitant, brief, and so painfully human it almost didn’t feel real. His lips were warm and trembling, tasting faintly of wine and unspoken things. For a second, everything stilled. The hall, the lights, the whisper of night outside. It was only you and him, the bride-to-be and her best friend, colliding at the wrong time, in the wrong place, for all the wrong reasons.
Then you pulled away, gasping softly. The air between you felt electric, heavy, poisonous. You pressed your fingers against your lips as if you could undo it, erase the heat still lingering there.
“Oh my god,” you breathed. Sunoo’s eyes searched yours, desperate and scared. “Y/n…”
You shook your head, stepping back until your heels hit the edge of a table. “We shouldn’t have—”
“But we did,” he cut in, voice barely above a whisper. “And you kissed me back.”
Tears welled up, burning hot trails down your cheeks. “That doesn’t mean anything—”
“It does to me!” Sunoo’s voice cracked, raw emotion spilling through. “It’s always meant something to me! Every time I looked at you and pretended I didn’t feel it—every time you said ‘we’re soulmates’ like it was just some stupid childhood thing...it killed me.”
You stared at him, heart twisting painfully. “Why now? Why say this now when I’m—when I’m supposed to marry him?”
“Because it’s the last time I can,” he said simply. He looked exhausted. Beautiful. Tragic. Like every confession that came too late.
“Sunoo…” you whispered his name like a prayer and a curse all at once. “You deserve someone who isn’t a mess like me.” He smiled faintly, eyes shimmering. “You are a mess. But you’re my mess.”
A quiet laugh escaped you, shaky and small. “That’s not how real love works.”
“Maybe not.” His hand fell to his side, limp. “But maybe it’s how ours does.” Silence stretched between you again, heavy, suffocating, fragile.
You looked at him one last time. His lips were still parted, his eyes still pleading. And then you turned away. You didn’t know if it was guilt, fear, or love that held you back, but something inside you told you that if you stayed another minute, you’d never leave. When you finally walked out of the hall, your lipstick was smudged, your heart bruised, and your engagement ring felt heavier than ever. Behind you, Sunoo stood alone under the dim chandelier light, hands in his pockets, lips still trembling, staring at the spot where you had stood, like maybe if he waited long enough, you’d turn back.
You didn’t.
"Finally..." Sunghoon sighed, tugging loose his tie as he stumbled into the living room. “God, I’m so tired.” He tossed his jacket over the armchair and looked at you. You were still sitting on the couch, body slack, the glittering dress from earlier slipping off your shoulder too was tired of pretending. The faint sound of traffic filtered in through the half open balcony door. The apartment smelled faintly of champagne and lilies, remnants of the engagement party you were supposed to be happy about.
He frowned slightly, brushing his hair back. “You still haven’t freshened up?” You didn’t look at him. “I don’t know,” you said softly. He laughed under his breath. Then he crouched in front of you, elbows resting on his knees. “Don’t know what, Y/n?” You forced a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Us,” you murmured. “Are we happy?”
His brows pulled together. “Of course we are! So many people came today—you saw how impressed Manager Kim was with the venue, right? And my mom loved your dress, by the way. She was telling my aunt—”
“I’m not talking about people, Sunghoon,” you cut in, sharper now. “I’m talking about us.”
The smile on his face faltered. He clicked his tongue, irritation flickering behind his calm expression. “Well,” he said, standing again, “I’m just glad it’s over. Finally I can start focusing on that new project—”
You stood, too, faster than you meant to. The room tilted slightly, a mix of wine and adrenaline surging through your veins. “Sunghoon, can we please stop talking about your projects, your achievements, your boss—and for once talk about us?”
He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Are we really doing this again?”
“Yes,” you said, your voice trembling. “Again and again until I get an answer.” He exhaled, frustrated. “Fine. What answer do you want?” You looked at him for a long moment, then asked quietly, “Do you like Sunoo?”
He blinked. “I—wait, what?” You crossed your arms, heart hammering. “Do you?” He laughed in disbelief. “Y/n, I’m painfully straight. What are you—”
“Good,” you cut him off, your voice shaking. “me too. And I do like him.” His laughter died. “Yeah, of course, he’s our best friend—”
Before he could finish, you lounged at him, grabbing his collar and pulled him down to your level, your knuckles whitening around the fabric. “He’s my best friend,” you hissed. “He’s mine. He was always mine. And he’ll always be mine.”
Sunghoon froze, staring at you. That look in your eyes, it was familiar. The same wild, untamed fire you used to carry as a teenager, the girl who would stand in front of anyone who dared to mock that pretty boy she called her soulmate. That girl would throw punches without flinching, and he could see her now, alive again in front of him.
“Y/n, calm down,” he said softly. “I—”
“I’m sorry,” you interrupted, voice breaking. “I can’t calm down when it comes to him, okay? I’m so fucking sick of everyone trying to claim what’s mine.”
“Y/n—”
“At first it was you,” you went on, tears pricking your eyes. “You and your stupid heart eyes every time he smiled. You think I never noticed those? And then—then comes your little office whores who would do anything to suck your dick—”
“Y/n!” he barked, pushing you back. “Are you insane? What the fuck are you talking about?”
You laughed—hollow, bitter, exhausted. “Yes, I’m insane! And the reason is you! Maybe if your stupid ass hadn’t proposed to me on graduation day, none of this would’ve turned out like this!”
The words hit him like a slap. Your tears glistened under the dim light, streaking through your leftover makeup. Mascara smudged down your cheeks, and you looked almost unrecognizable, even to yourself. Sunghoon stood there, speechless, his chest rising and falling with uneven breaths. “Y/n… baby, please—”
“I can’t, Hoon,” you whispered, shaking now. “I can’t pretend anymore. I’m an insecure bitch who needs reassurance every second. And I fear…” Your words wavered. “You’ve just wasted all these years being with me.” The silence that followed was deafening. He blinked at you as if trying to process the words one by one. “The truth is,” you continued softly, “I’m greedy. I wanted Sunoo all to myself. Then you came into the picture, and I didn’t mind, because you were kind. You were safe. You loved me enough to make me forget what I really wanted.” You paused, your lips trembling. “But I was happy, even though I hated you for it. I hated you because I thought Sunoo had a thing for you. And I still don’t understand why you liked me in the first place.”
Your chest rose and fell rapidly. Sunghoon’s jaw clenched. The hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen filled the room, absurdly loud in the silence.
“So that’s it?” he finally said, voice hollow. “You were jealous because you liked Sunoo and thought he liked me?”
You nodded once, barely able to breathe. His face softened for a moment, then he sighed, a long, heavy exhale that seemed to deflate him completely. He stepped forward and, to your surprise, pulled you into his arms. His embrace was tight, desperate, familiar.
“You’re a dumbass,” he whispered against your hair. “And that’s why I love you.” You stood still, his heartbeat thudding against your ear. It should’ve comforted you. It used to. But tonight, it just felt wrong. His warmth was a weight instead of safety. He pulled back slightly, his thumb brushing your cheek. “Sorry,” he said quietly. “Sorry if I made you feel like you weren’t enough.” Your lips parted, but no words came out. You wanted to tell him you were the problem, that it wasn’t about enoughness, it was about truth. You’d been lying to him, to yourself, for years.
“Sunghoon…” you whispered finally, meeting his eyes. “Let’s call it off.”
His hands stilled on your arms. “What?”
“Let’s end it,” you said, steadier this time. “Before we make it worse.”
“Fine,” Sunghoon said finally, his voice even but hollow. “Let’s just end it.”
There was no shouting after that, no slammed doors. Just the faint sound of the city outside, of tires hissing over wet roads, of something quietly breaking between you two.
The next morning, the news spread faster than you expected. Friends, coworkers, relatives, all had opinions. Some sympathetic, some cutting, all exhausting. But with the arrival of fall, the chill in the air washed the noise away. Seoul was grey, yes, but the grey this time felt cleansing. You didn’t feel broken anymore, only emptied out. You told yourself emptiness was good, it meant there was space for something new to grow.
The last time you visited home, you took the earliest train you could find. Your parents greeted you with warm smiles and unspoken questions. You answered them all with the same half-smile and the same sentence
It just didn’t work out.
The block you’d grown up in looked smaller now, like childhood had folded in on itself. Cracked pavements. The same rusty swings. The same fence with peeling paint behind Sunghoon’s old house, the one you used to climb when you were kids. Even the streetlamps buzzed the same way they used to when you three would sneak out with stolen ice creams and loud laughter. You thought you’d forgotten all of that. But memories have sharp edges, and they cut easily.
Your parents helped you pack the last of your things, a few photo frames, old textbooks, the graduation day picture where sunghoon kissed your cheeks, sunoo's hand tightly grabbing yours, and that faded friendship bracelet you three had made when you were sixteen.
As you loaded your luggage into the car, your eyes almost turned down the familiar lane toward Sunoo’s house. The temptation ached. But you didn’t let yourself look.You didn’t need to. He would see the letter you had left on his bed. You were sure of it.
For sure.
Still, your heart raced as if you could hear him finding it, the small white envelope tucked beneath his pillow, your name written in uneven ink, your perfume lingering faintly on the paper.
Hi, I guess you’ve already heard. Sunghoon and I broke up and no, the reason wasn’t you. It was me. I kind of crashed out at the end and said some awful, hurtful things. But we’re okay now. The three of us… or whatever we are. Maybe time will make it less strange. I’m moving to Singapore next week. Landed a job there, can you believe that? You'd better be proud of me. I know I should be excited, but all I feel is this dull ache in my chest that won’t go away.
I’m sorry, Sunoo. I wish I could’ve talked to you face to face, cleared things out, maybe laughed about it the way we used to. But I don’t think I’m ready to see you. I’ve embarrassed myself too much already, and I need to recollect myself before I stand in front of you again.
Truth is… I’ve always liked you. Even before I understood what it meant, before I knew what love or preference or anything else was supposed to be. You were just it for me. The prettiest boy on our block, the one who made me want to stay longer in every conversation. I didn’t care, and I still don’t. About what it meant. About what anyone thought. I just liked you. Sunghoon… he made me happy too, in a way. I loved him, I won’t deny it. But not the way I loved you. What we had felt like holding sunlight, warm, fleeting, always on the verge of slipping through my fingers. I think a part of me always wanted you, and maybe I always will. The three of us were so happy together, and I'm still going to regret the way it went wrong. I’m going to miss us. I already do. Sorry, it was me who ruined it. Sorry, I loved too loudly, too selfishly. So… goodbye, I guess. Until I get better and stop being bitter every time I imagine you with someone else, one of those lucky guys who don’t even know the name of the perfume you use.
Take care of yourself, pretty boy.
Love you.
Your soulmate.
sunishake signing off: ©sunishake
