The morning light crept into Haru’s room with a gentleness that felt almost cruel. His head was heavy, his body still tingling with the memory of last night’s orchard, the way the blossoms had swayed under the moonlight while his heart tangled itself tighter between Symhon and Soojin. The faint echo of the song Cry by Cigarettes After Sex still haunted his ears, even though his headphones had slipped away hours ago.
He sat on the edge of his bed, staring at his hands as if they might tell him what to do. The petals he had clutched the night before were gone, scattered somewhere on the floor, but the promises spoken and unspoken still pressed against him like the weight of the orchard’s branches.
At the clinic, Haru tried to lose himself in work. Villagers came and went with colds, cuts, and the usual countryside ailments, and for a while, he managed to hide inside the rhythm of care. But it didn’t take long before Symhon appeared, tall and calm as ever, leaning against the doorframe of Haru’s office with that unreadable expression.
“You look tired,” Symhon said softly, voice almost too intimate for the small space. “Did you sleep at all last night?”
Haru fumbled with his pen. “I’m fine. Just… busy.”
Symhon stepped closer, placing a thermos on the desk. “Tea. To keep you steady.” His fingers brushed Haru’s hand in the passing—light, deliberate, enough to make Haru’s pulse skip.
Before he could respond, the door swung open and Soojin burst in, cheeks flushed from the sun, the scent of earth and pears clinging to him. “Haru! You’ve been cooped up in here all morning. Come eat with me.” He plopped a basket of fresh pears onto the desk, nudging the thermos aside with deliberate mischief.
Symhon’s brow tightened, but he said nothing.
Haru’s heart hammered. Their rivalry was so transparent, and yet, so unbearably sweet. One offered tea, the other pears; one leaned in with quiet protection, the other barged in with warmth and laughter. And here he was, caught between them, pretending to focus on his patients.
By midday, Haru found himself outside with Soojin. The farmer boy laughed as he tossed a pear into Haru’s lap, his sleeves rolled up, sweat glistening along his collarbone.
“You work too hard,” Soojin said, biting into a pear of his own. “Do you even remember how to smile anymore?”
Haru looked away, embarrassed. “I smile.”
“Not like you used to.” Soojin leaned closer, eyes playful but soft. “Back then, you smiled just because the blossoms fell. Or because I tripped in the mud.” He laughed at the memory, and Haru found himself laughing too, despite everything.
It was too easy with Soojin—too natural. His laughter could mend cracks Haru didn’t even realize had formed. But even as he basked in the warmth, Symhon’s presence lingered at the back of his mind, steady and watchful.
And later, when Haru returned to the clinic, Symhon was waiting at the doorway, as though he had never left.
That night, Haru walked into the orchard again. The air was cool, the blossoms whispering overhead. He thought he was alone until Symhon’s voice came from the shadows.
“You always come here when you’re troubled.”
Haru startled, clutching his coat tighter. “I just… needed air.”
Symhon stepped closer, moonlight catching in his dark hair. His hand lifted, hesitated, then brushed a stray petal from Haru’s shoulder. “You don’t have to carry everything by yourself.”
Haru’s breath caught. The gentleness in Symhon’s eyes was almost unbearable. “I—”
But before he could finish, footsteps crunched against the soil. Soojin emerged from between the trees, eyes flicking between them.
“Am I interrupting something?” His voice carried a note of challenge, though his smile was playful.
Symhon’s hand dropped to his side, his expression shuttering.
Haru’s chest twisted.
The three of them stood beneath the blossoms, petals drifting around like confetti at a celebration none of them could name.
“I wanted to see you,” Soojin said, stepping close enough that Haru could smell the sweetness of pears still clinging to him. “You didn’t eat dinner.”
Symhon’s jaw tightened. “You shouldn’t come here alone at night.”
“I’m not alone,” Haru whispered, voice trembling.
The orchard seemed to hold its breath. Both men stood before him, each a promise in their own right—Symhon, with his quiet devotion; Soojin, with his fiery affection. And Haru, caught in the middle, torn between the safety of one and the thrill of the other.
The petals swirled, clinging to his hair, his clothes, his lips. He felt the warmth of Soojin’s hand brushing his, the steadiness of Symhon’s gaze anchoring him.
“I can’t…” Haru’s voice cracked. “I can’t choose. Not yet.”
Neither of them pressed. Instead, they stood with him in silence, as though the orchard itself understood the fragility of the moment.
Above them, the blossoms continued to fall, carrying with them the weight of unspoken promises.
Later, back in his room, Haru lay awake. His headphones rested against his ears, Cry replaying on a loop. The lyrics blurred into his thoughts, into the memory of Symhon’s hand, into the echo of Soojin’s laughter.
Tears slipped down his cheeks, as soft as petals.
Between blossoms and promises, he was lost.
And deep inside, he knew—sooner or later, desire would demand more than silence.
ns216.73.217.39da2
and then Add to home screen.