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Chapter 27
First Love’s Ending
The warmer weather could be felt in full.
The wind, which once felt like it would flip the skin inside out, had softened. Sunlight shattered on the waves, scattering in glimmers of silver ripples.
In front of that scenery, two people sat side by side in the same place as before. Normally, Woo Jeong-ha was never slow to speak his mind, but today he said nothing, instead idly playing with the sand.
“What are you doing?”
“Making a sand house.”
“Sand house?”
Jeonwoo tilted his head, but Jeong-ha didn’t answer further. Instead, he began piling sand over the back of Jeonwoo’s hand pressed against the ground.
What is he doing.
In the blink of an eye, a thick mound of sand had formed, like a toad’s burrow. When Jeonwoo tried to wiggle the hand hidden inside, it barely moved at all—it was built too solidly.
Just as Jeonwoo was about to scold him, Jeong-ha lifted his gaze from the sand and met Jeonwoo’s brown eyes. Caught off guard, Jeonwoo ended up holding that gaze for longer than intended.
A sharp nose beneath those dark pupils, and below that, lips faintly moving as though about to say something—Jeonwoo blinked nervously at the sight.
“…!”
Then, breaking apart the sand house he’d just made, Jeong-ha suddenly seized the hand hidden beneath it.
“Seo Yeon-woo.”
“…”
Jeonwoo feared that Jeong-ha could hear his breath hitching. It felt as if his heartbeat had transferred into their clasped hands, thudding wildly. He was terrified it might be noticed.
“Come to Seoul with me.”
“…”
“Next year, let’s go to Seoul together.”
For a moment, silence stretched between their locked gazes. In that pause, a flush spread across Jeonwoo’s neck, like red paint bleeding into water.
“I…”
The words wouldn’t come. Jeong-ha’s face, his eyes—they were too overwhelming. The hand clasping his own burned, hot enough to steal his breath away.
He didn’t want to pull free from Jeong-ha’s grip. So instead of rejecting him outright, Jeonwoo chose to ask for time.
There was still plenty of time left to etch Jeong-ha’s face into his memory.
Their time was still in spring. Summer had yet to come.
“Can I… think about it for just a week?”
“…Yeah.”
The reply was aching, but sincere. Rather than press him, Jeong-ha simply tightened his hold on Yeon-woo’s hand.
In truth, he wanted to take that hand and run away right then. To carry him somewhere safe, where no worries could touch them, where Yeon-woo could only smile brightly.
Being only nineteen was frustrating.
“Once I graduate from university, I’ll inherit my father’s business.”
“…”
So don’t worry about debts or anything like that.
Even though he knew the words left unspoken, Yeon-woo pretended not to. He couldn’t accept Jeong-ha’s help—not his.
That, at least, he didn’t want.
I want to stand by your side, not be someone pitiful who only leans on you. That was Yeon-woo’s final line of defense.
When Yeon-woo’s expression still wouldn’t soften, Jeong-ha spoke more firmly.
“Promise me. Promise you’ll give me your answer in a week.”
“…I promise.”
Leaving their joined hands as they were, Jeong-ha extended his pinky finger. The childish gesture made Yeon-woo finally relax, a laugh slipping out.
He lifted his own hand and hooked pinkies with him. Their thumbs pressed together like a seal, and though the size difference was great, the warmth at the point of contact was the same.
Yeon-woo understood perfectly what Jeong-ha’s words about going to Seoul together really meant. His face burned scarlet. The more it did, the more Jeong-ha fidgeted with his hand, tickling the soft skin.
“That’s weird.”
“…What is?”
“It feels like my heart’s beating in my palm.”
At the honest confession, Jeong-ha turned to look at him. The scent of flowers drifted from Yeon-woo’s long hair falling over his shoulder. Sweet, like blossoms—just like Yeon-woo himself.
Jeong-ha tightened his grip. This wasn’t just about holding hands—he knew that, even if he played the fool.
Soon he’d be an adult, and inside he was burning. He knew he shouldn’t do more, or Yeon-woo might run.
So he put on the mask of a mere friend, his tone casual as he said,
“The weather’s nice today.”
Even such simple words made Yeon-woo’s face flare crimson, like petals stained with balsam. The ticklish warmth curled all the way down to his stomach.
Already, the pain in his ankle and the shadows of darker thoughts were fading from his mind.
Then, when Jeong-ha let go of his hand, Yeon-woo’s eyes widened.
“…!”
But a moment later, Jeong-ha unfolded each of his limp fingers, weaving them tightly together one by one, binding them closer still.
“…Hhh.”
The touch was so deliberate, so lingering, that a soft breath escaped his lips without him realizing. Just holding hands, and yet his mind went blank white.
His lips parted like a babbling child’s, then closed again without a word, sealed tight.
Every point of contact blazed as though fire had bloomed there.
Jeong-ha’s heart grew restless.
Even without speaking of Seoul, the brief brush of their hands, the way he sometimes leaned close as if to pull Yeon-woo into an embrace—it all did the same.
Too warm. Too tender. And so his chest raced anxiously.
Today was no different. Even though Yeon-woo couldn’t focus at all in class, Jeong-ha never once scolded him. He only, gently, carefully, closed the distance.
Time slipped away mercilessly. Time Jeonwoo wished he could hold back.
“Want to get ice cream before heading back?”
“…If you want.”
They stopped in front of a small shop with benches out front. Spring was fading; summer was nearly here.
Rummaging in the freezer, Jeong-ha pulled out a double-stick ice bar.
“What, we’re eating that?”
“Let’s share. You split it.”
“I’m terrible at splitting those.”
Even at Yeon-woo’s worried tone, Jeong-ha just smiled and paid. Sharing a five-hundred-won ice cream—such was the closeness between them.
Yeon-woo laughed openly.
His leg not yet healed, he sat on the bench while Jeong-ha peeled off the wrapper and handed it over.
“Really? I’m splitting this?”
“Afraid it’ll break crooked?”
“Exactly. No way it’ll split clean.”
“Then let’s do it together.”
Jeong-ha sat down close beside him. At such a small distance, his scent filled the air. Even with chocolate ice cream right in front of him, Jeong-ha’s smell was sweeter.
What does he eat to smell like that.
Clutching at his thumping heart, Yeon-woo handed him one stick.
As they each held one side, Yeon-woo’s eyes sharpened. Frowning slightly in concentration, he made Jeong-ha chuckle quietly.
“You’re so competitive.”
“It has to split evenly. Don’t pull too hard. Got it?”
“Got it.”
“…No, maybe I should just split it myself.”
Muttering indecisively, Yeon-woo finally spoke firmly,
“On three, we pull together. One, two, three.”
His serious tone made Jeong-ha laugh softly.
“You look more nervous than during practice exams.”
“If one side ends up smaller, it’s not fair!”
Pouting over such a thing, Yeon-woo made him nod indulgently and scoot even closer. Their hands gripping the sticks were different in size, a noticeable contrast.
Out of the corner of his eye, Jeong-ha saw Yeon-woo pursing his lips in concentration. What was so serious about this? His own lips quirked up, his gaze softening.
“Okay, let’s do it. One, two…”
But instead of waiting for three, Jeong-ha suddenly yanked.
The bar snapped with a sharp crack—but instead of a neat split, it ended in a ridiculous, lopsided mess.
“Hey!”
Yeon-woo couldn’t hold back his frustration, whipping his head to the side to yell.
And just then—
Chup.
Something warm and soft brushed against his lips.
