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nwritiing · 3 months ago

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stage three: bargaining

꒰ pairing ꒱ა park sunghoon x park jay

꒰ word count ꒱ა 10.5k

꒰ synopsis ꒱ა jay loved Sunghoon—he just never said it out loud. instead, he pushed him away, convinced that sunghoon deserved someone whole, someone better. but now, watching him smile beside someone else, yay is haunted by the words he never said and the love he was too afraid to claim. because the cruelest part of losing him? sunghoon would have stayed… if only jay had asked him to.

꒰ song ꒱ა thinking about you, about you, iris

꒰ notes ꒱ა read previous chapters here: denial ╱ anger

The Prayer That Comes Too Late (Stage Three: Bargaining)

Jay knew he was losing Sunghoon. The realization clawed at him every day, a constant reminder that he had let something good slip through his fingers, and there was no way to take it back.

He had always known, somewhere deep inside, that this was coming. That the moment he started getting too close, he would push him away. Sunghoon deserved better—someone who wasn’t so broken, someone who didn’t live in the shadows of their own mistakes.

But that didn’t make it hurt any less. In fact, it made it worse.

Because Jay was the one who broke him first.

They had been friends for a long time, or at least, that’s what he told himself. That’s what he let himself believe, over and over again, until the lines between what was real and what he wished for blurred beyond recognition.

Friends didn’t kiss like that, didn’t touch like that, didn’t stay up all night whispering secrets into each other’s skin.

Friends didn’t share that kind of closeness, the kind that made everything feel like it could fall apart at any moment.

But Sunghoon was different. Jay knew that.

There was something in the way Sunghoon looked at him that made everything feel dangerous, like maybe if he let himself fall, it would be too deep to get out of.

He had always been afraid of that kind of vulnerability. Afraid of how quickly it could break him.

And so he did what he always did… He ran.

He pushed Sunghoon away, even though every fiber of his being screamed to pull him closer.

Yet, Jay wasn’t whole.

He wasn’t ready. He didn’t deserve someone like Sunghoon, who was light in a world that felt too dark. He couldn’t give him what he needed.

So he let go, bit by bit, until the space between them felt like an ocean. And maybe Sunghoon hadn’t noticed at first. Maybe he had thought it was just a phase. But Jay had seen the hurt in his eyes when he pulled away for good. The confusion. The silence.

And that’s when Jay knew.

He had lost him.

Jay drowned himself in strangers.

Lips that weren’t his. Hands that didn’t know him. Names that blurred into nothingness the moment the night ended. He let them pull him close, let them whisper empty promises into his skin, let them touch him in ways that were supposed to make him forget.

But the truth was, Jay never forgot.

Every kiss tasted wrong.

Every touch felt hollow.

Every fleeting moment in someone else’s arms only made the ache inside him worse.

It was like trying to drink salt water to quench his thirst—desperate, endless, self-destroying.

He knew their names. Knew the way they smiled, the way their fingers traced his jaw, the way their voices dipped when they leaned in close.

But he didn’t care. He never cared. Because none of them were him.

None of them had Sunghoon’s quiet warmth, the way he used to look at Jay like he saw right through him and didn’t run away.

No one held him like they were afraid to lose him.

No one kissed him like he was something to be cherished, something real.

Jay let himself fall into their beds, let them take what they wanted, but he never stayed. Never let them linger in the morning light. He always left before the sun could rise, before the weight of his own loneliness could settle into his bones.

Because the truth was, no matter how many people he let into his arms... he still felt like he was reaching for someone who was already gone.

There was one night—whiskey heavy on his tongue, a stranger’s hands ghosting over his skin—when he closed his eyes and pretended.

Pretended it was Sunghoon.

Pretended it was his fingers pressing into his waist.

His breath against his lips.

His voice whispering his name like a prayer.

And for a second, Jay let himself believe.

But when he opened his eyes, it was someone else. Someone who didn’t have Sunghoon’s brown eyes, full of questions Jay never had the courage to answer.

Someone who didn’t hold him like he was worth staying for.

Jay pulled away. Left without a word. He barely made it down the street before his breath hitched, before his chest tightened with the weight of it all—this endless, vicious cycle of wanting and losing and breaking himself apart just to feel close to something that no longer belonged to him… Oh wait, he never belonged to him in the first place.

God, he wanted to forget.

But how could he, when Sunghoon was carved into every part of him?

When no one else ever felt enough?

Jay laughed, but it came out broken.

Maybe this was his fate—to spend his nights chasing ghosts, kissing strangers just to remember how it felt to be wanted. To run his hands over unfamiliar skin while his heart bled for someone he could never touch again. To hum a name into the dark that would never be answered.

But no matter how much time passed, he could never erase Sunghoon from his mind. His name was carved into every thought, every aching breath.

No matter how hard he tried to move on, Sunghoon was there—haunting him, tearing at the wounds that never healed.

He would always remember. Always would want him to stay.

Just right after one of his gigs, he had stepped outside for some air, trying to shake the lingering tension of the performance. But when he turned the corner, there was Sunghoon, walking down the street. His eyes caught sight of him, and for a split second, Jay thought...

Maybe he could make it right. Maybe he could fix this, tell Sunghoon how sorry he was, how much he regretted everything.

Maybe, just maybe, Sunghoon would look at him and everything would fall back into place.

But then Jay saw the other guy. The one walking beside Sunghoon, laughing, the way Sunghoon used to laugh when they were together. The way he used to look at him before Jay had turned him away.

And in that moment, something inside Jay broke.

Sunghoon looked happy. Really happy. There was no mistaking it. His smile was wide, his shoulders relaxed in a way Jay hadn’t seen in months.

He was free.

Free from the weight Jay had put on him.

Free from the constant push and pull of a friendship that was never meant to be.

And Jay stood there, frozen.

His heart hammered in his chest, but it wasn’t the excitement of seeing Sunghoon that made it race. It was the realization that Sunghoon had finally moved on. Finally found someone who could give him what Jay never could.

For a long moment, Jay just watched while his chest tight, his throat thick with the words he couldn’t say. He wanted to call out to him, to tell him how much he missed him, how much he needed him. He wanted to reach out, to make it right, to ask for a second chance, even though he knew it was pointless.

Sunghoon was no longer his to claim. And Jay had no one to blame but himself.

Jay’s footsteps felt heavy as he walked away, each step taking him further from the one person who had managed to make him feel something real.

The night air was biting, but it was nothing compared to the ache gnawing at his chest. He walked aimlessly, not knowing where he was going, because it didn’t matter anymore. The weight of what he had done crushed him from the inside out.

He thought he would be fine, that pushing Sunghoon away would be the right thing. But now, in the quiet of the night, he realized that he had been lying to himself all along.

Jay had always been a coward. He had been too scared to face his own feelings, too scared of hurting Sunghoon, and in doing so, he had hurt him more than he could ever imagine.

The images of Sunghoon with someone else burned into his mind. The way his eyes sparkled with happiness, the way he laughed effortlessly, a laugh that no longer echoed in Jay’s ears. It should have been Jay beside him.

It should have been me.

But it wasn’t. And it never would be again.

Jay stopped walking, his breath coming out in shallow gasps as the cold wind whipped past him. He leaned against the nearest lamppost, his hands gripping the metal like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to reality. His chest tightened, his throat constricting as the words he had never said came crashing down on him.

"I love you."

The words were almost too soft to hear. He’d never said them before. Not when it mattered. Not when Sunghoon had been standing there, looking at him with those soft eyes, waiting for Jay to open up, to admit what had always been there.

But Jay had been afraid.

Afraid of what it meant.

Afraid of what he might lose.

And now he had lost everything.

But, if he could go back, if he could do it all over again, maybe he could tell Sunghoon the truth.

That he wasn’t pushing him away because he didn’t care. No, it was the opposite. He had pushed him away because he cared too much, because the thought of Sunghoon loving him, trusting him, was something Jay didn’t feel he deserved.

Sunghoon was everything that was good and pure and bright, and Jay had been too broken to give him the love he needed.

But what did it matter now? What good was regret when the moment was gone, the door closed, the chance lost forever?

Jay’s hands shook as he wiped his eyes, cursing the tears that threatened to fall. He was alone. And it was his fault. His fault for not fighting harder, for not loving harder. His fault for not telling Sunghoon that he had fallen in love with him too. That he had wanted to be the one to make him smile, to hold him close, to kiss him like it was the only thing that mattered in the world.

He could see it so clearly now, the way things could have been. Sunghoon’s hand in his, their fingers intertwined as they walked through life together. The quiet moments when they didn’t need words, just the comfort of each other’s presence. But those were all just what ifs now.

His heart ached in a way he hadn’t known was possible. It was a pain deeper than anything he had ever experienced, sharper than the regret that cut through him like a knife. He had broken both of their hearts.

And now, there was no way to fix it.

Jay stumbled back down the street, the cold wind biting at his face, but nothing could freeze the rawness in his chest. He would carry this with him for the rest of his life—the weight of what could have been, the weight of what he had lost.

He had never understood the finality of loss until now. It wasn’t just that Sunghoon was gone. It was that he had never truly known how to hold him in the first place.

But the words were too late. The chances were gone.

And now, all Jay had left was the sound of his own broken heart echoing in the silence.

If only he had told him sooner.

If only he had let himself want without fear, love without hesitation.

If only he hadn’t been so much of a coward, so consumed by his own darkness that he pushed away the only light he ever had.

If only he could rewrite the past, beg the universe for another chance, another moment, another lifetime where he wasn’t too afraid to hold on.

But regrets don’t mend broken hearts. They don’t turn back time.

And now, the cruelest truth of all settled deep into his bones.

Sunghoon would have still loved him. Even in all his ruin, even in all his wreckage, even when Jay had been too broken to love him back.

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