The countryside was alive with early summer warmth, the kind that made the air heavy with sweetness and the orchard glow like a dream. Haru walked the dirt path from the clinic to his home with his bag slung over his shoulder, hoping the steady rhythm of his steps might calm the chaos inside him.
It had been a week since that night in the orchard with Symhon and Soojin. A week since the petals fell around him like promises he had no idea how to keep. He had tried to bury himself in work—tending to villagers, treating children’s scrapes, listening to old men talk about their aches—but their faces haunted him. The way Symhon’s fingers had brushed his shoulder. The way Soojin’s voice had cut the silence, bold and warm. The orchard was no longer just trees and blossoms—it was the battlefield of his heart.
When Haru pushed open the door to his small home, music greeted him. Soft, haunting—Cry by Cigarettes After Sex, still playing from the old speaker he sometimes used to fill the silence. He forgot he had left it on that morning, and the melancholy notes filled the air like a ghost.
He shut the door and leaned against it, pressing his eyes closed. “What am I doing…?” he whispered.
The next day, Soojin appeared at the clinic again. He was holding a basket, heavy with pears and fresh vegetables, his face flushed from the sun.
“You skipped breakfast,” Soojin said, setting the basket firmly on Haru’s desk. “I swear, if I don’t feed you, you’ll collapse.”
Haru smiled faintly. “You don’t have to take care of me, Soojin. I’m the doctor, remember? I should be taking care of you.”
Soojin leaned over the desk, lowering his face until they were eye to eye. “Maybe I like taking care of you.” His words were light, teasing, but his gaze lingered, steady and intense.
Haru’s throat tightened. He looked away, fumbling with the papers on his desk. “You… shouldn’t say things like that.”
“Why not?” Soojin grinned, leaning back but still watching him. “You’re not a boy anymore, Haru. You can’t pretend you don’t know how I feel.”
Haru’s chest clenched, but before he could answer, the door opened.
Symhon stepped inside, his tall frame filling the doorway, his dark eyes immediately finding Haru’s.
“I told you not to hover around the clinic, Soojin,” Symhon said, his voice calm but edged.
Soojin smirked. “And I told you I’ll be wherever I want to be. Haru doesn’t seem to mind.”
Haru froze between them, the air charged with something dangerous.
Symhon’s gaze softened as it fell on him. “Haru, you should rest. You’ve been working since dawn.” He stepped forward, brushing his fingers lightly against Haru’s wrist. “I’ll walk you home.”
The brush of skin was enough to send shivers up Haru’s spine. His heart thundered as the two men faced each other over him, each claiming him in their own way.
That evening, Haru couldn’t resist. He wandered back into the orchard, the place that had become both his solace and his torment. The blossoms were fading now, petals carpeting the earth in soft white. He crouched down, scooping a handful into his palm, letting them slip through his fingers.
“Always here,” a voice murmured behind him.
He turned to see Symhon, his figure calm and still in the twilight.
Haru stood quickly. “You’re following me now?”
“I’m worried,” Symhon said simply, stepping closer. “You look like you’re carrying something too heavy. You don’t have to.”
Before Haru could speak, another voice broke the air. “He doesn’t need protecting. He needs someone who makes him laugh.”
Soojin emerged from between the trees, eyes bright, chest rising with the energy he always carried. “And that’s me, not you.”
Haru’s heart pounded. “Please, stop—”
Neither listened.
Symhon’s gaze didn’t leave Haru as he spoke. “He deserves peace. Not chaos.”
Soojin snorted. “Peace? Or control? Haru isn’t fragile porcelain. He doesn’t need a cage.”
The orchard seemed to tighten around them, the night air charged with heat.
“I—” Haru’s voice broke. He pressed his hand to his chest, where his heart was racing so hard it hurt. “Both of you… please.”
They both fell silent then, finally turning their full focus on him.
And Haru, trembling, confessed, “I can’t breathe when you’re like this. You’re pulling me apart.”
Soojin stepped closer first, his hand finding Haru’s cheek. “Then let me put you back together.” His thumb brushed Haru’s skin, his eyes burning with unspoken want.
Haru’s breath hitched, lips parting, their faces close enough that the world shrank to nothing but the space between them.
But before he could close that space, Symhon’s hand was there, firm but gentle, pulling Haru back just slightly.
“Not like this,” Symhon said, his voice low, his eyes dark with restraint. “Haru deserves more than heat under the blossoms. He deserves someone who won’t break him.”
Haru’s knees nearly gave out. His body ached with the intensity of it—the warmth of Soojin’s touch, the safety in Symhon’s pull, the unbearable need inside him.
“I don’t know what I deserve,” Haru whispered, tears blurring his vision. “All I know is… I can’t choose. Not yet.”
The orchard fell into silence, save for the rustling of petals falling around them.
Soojin pulled his hand back, jaw tight, but his eyes softened. “Then don’t choose yet. Just let us love you.”
Symhon’s gaze held Haru’s, steady, grounding. “We’ll wait. But Haru… don’t run from us.”
Haru’s tears slipped free, falling onto his hands, mixing with the petals he had caught.
The blossoms swirled, clinging to his hair, his lips, his chest. And as the music from his speaker back home replayed in his mind—Cry—he realized this was what it meant to be caught between desire and devotion, heat and tenderness.
And he knew, sooner or later, he would break.
Later that night, lying in his bed, Haru pressed his face into his pillow, the ghost of Soojin’s hand and Symhon’s restraint still burning on his skin. His headphones hummed the same song on repeat, every note dragging him deeper into longing.
The petals and promises were no longer silent. They were alive, demanding.
And Haru’s heart—fragile, aching, hungry—was already theirs.
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and then Add to home screen.