The night was restless. Haru lay on his bed with his headphones in, staring at the pale ceiling as if it might give him answers. The soft hum of his phone glowed against the darkness, and he let the music wrap around him.
Cry…
The slow, aching melody of Cigarettes After Sex filled his ears, each lyric pressing deeper into the places he tried not to touch in his heart. The voice was hushed, almost whispering into his soul, coaxing him to let go. It was as if the song itself understood what he refused to admit — that his chest ached not from loneliness, but from longing, a longing split between two people who had become his entire world.
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Soojin.
Every time he closed his eyes, he saw their faces, their hands, the way their eyes lingered on him. He felt the ghost of their touches still burning across his skin.
He pulled the blanket over his head, but the music only made the ache worse. His heart pounded with a rhythm not unlike desire, not unlike fear. Haru pressed a hand against his chest, whispering into the fabric, “Why can’t I stop?”
He knew sleep would not come, so he slipped quietly out of bed, pulled a jacket over his shoulders, and stepped into the night.
The orchard lay ahead like a sea of pale blossoms, swaying softly under the moonlight. The petals glimmered as they fell, scattering across the ground like a trail of memories. The night air was cool, carrying the faint scent of pears and soil.
Haru let his fingers graze a low-hanging branch, the fragile petals brushing against his skin. He thought he was alone, until the sound of footsteps stirred behind him.
“Haru?”
He froze. That voice. Steady, low, threaded with warmth. Symhon.
Haru turned slowly, his breath catching as the English teacher emerged from the shadows of the trees. His dark hair caught the silver of the moon, his eyes softer than Haru had ever seen them. Symhon’s presence was always grounding, but tonight it felt heavier, like gravity itself had shifted to keep Haru close.
“What are you doing out here?” Symhon asked, though his tone was more gentle curiosity than reprimand.
Haru hesitated. “I… couldn’t sleep. The music—” He lifted his phone as if to prove himself, the song still humming faintly from the headphones around his neck.
Symhon stepped closer, his eyes flicking briefly to the screen. “Cigarettes After Sex,” he murmured. “You always choose songs that hurt.”
A soft laugh escaped Haru. “Maybe I like the pain.”
Symhon’s expression shifted, something deep and unreadable swimming behind his eyes. He stopped just a breath away, close enough that Haru could feel the warmth radiating from his body against the cool night air. “Or maybe,” Symhon said slowly, “you just want someone to take it away.”
The words struck too close. Haru’s lips parted, but no sound came out. His chest tightened, his pulse racing as Symhon’s hand lifted, hovering near his cheek.
“You’re shaking,” Symhon whispered. “Why do you always carry this weight alone?”
“I don’t—” Haru began, but the lie dissolved as quickly as it formed. His eyes burned, not from tears but from the force of everything unsaid.
And then, before he could retreat, Symhon’s fingers brushed against his jaw, tender and deliberate. The world seemed to still, the blossoms pausing in their fall, the song echoing faintly from his headphones as if urging him forward.
Haru’s breath hitched. “Symhon…”
The teacher’s eyes lowered to his lips. “I’ve been patient, Haru. Too patient. But tonight…” His thumb traced the corner of Haru’s mouth. “…tonight I can’t pretend anymore.”
The kiss came like a breaking wave. Soft at first, hesitant, almost reverent. Haru’s body stiffened, his mind screaming that this was dangerous, that everything would shatter. But the warmth of Symhon’s lips melted through every defense he’d built.
He surrendered.
The orchard blurred around them as Haru leaned in, his trembling hands clutching the fabric of Symhon’s shirt. The kiss deepened, no longer shy but hungry, as though both had been waiting for years. Symhon’s arm circled around his waist, pulling him closer until Haru could feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat against his chest.
Petals rained down, catching in Haru’s hair, brushing their skin as if blessing the moment.
When they finally broke apart, Haru gasped for breath, his lips tingling, his face flushed. “I… I don’t know what I’m doing,” he admitted, voice shaking.
Symhon rested his forehead against Haru’s, his breath ragged. “You don’t have to know. Just feel. Just… be here, with me.”
Haru closed his eyes. The music still played faintly from his phone — Cry (Cigarette after sex)… it hurts, it hurts… —and in that aching melody, he found a strange comfort.
For the first time, he wasn’t running.
Symhon’s arms tightened around him, holding him as if he were something fragile, something irreplaceable. Their breaths mingled, their bodies pressed close, and Haru felt every ounce of restraint slip further away.
It wasn’t just a kiss. It was a promise.
But in the orchard’s silence, Haru knew nothing had been resolved. If anything, everything had just grown more complicated.
Because even as his lips still burned with Symhon’s kiss, another face flashed in his mind Soojin’s. His laughter, his reckless warmth, the way he always made Haru feel alive.
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And Haru, caught beneath the pear blossoms, finally realizing that surrendering to one heart meant breaking another.
and then Add to home screen.