〈 I Wish You Were Mine ╱ MarkHyuck 〉 ✓

마흔하나

Donghyuck used to think falling in love would feel clean. Straightforward. Like the rhythm of a favorite song—you'd know the melody, you'd know the beat, and all you'd have to do was follow it.

With Nakyung, it almost felt that way.

She was light. She was warm. She was the kind of person who laughed with her whole face, who linked her arm through his without asking, who pressed a candy into his palm just because she thought he looked tired. She gave affection without calculation. Acts of service came naturally to her: tying his scarf when he forgot, slipping notes into his notebook, remembering to bring water during long rehearsals.

And he liked her. Really, he did.

But every time her hand brushed his, another ghost brushed too.

It started small.

They were at the campus café, a place full of clinking mugs and the smell of roasted beans. Nakyung leaned forward, telling a story about her professor, her voice animated, her eyes bright. Donghyuck smiled, sipping his drink.

Then, in the middle of her laughter, her lips curved in a way he'd seen before—just slightly crooked, as though amusement lived at the edge of seriousness.

Minhyung.

For half a second, he swore it was Minhyung laughing across from him.

Donghyuck's heart lurched, his fingers tightening on his cup until the cardboard buckled. He blinked once, twice. The vision snapped back. It was only Nakyung. Only her.

"Babe?" she asked. "What's wrong?"

He shook his head, forcing a grin that didn't reach his eyes. "Nothing. Just zoned out."

But as she continued her story, his chest remained tight, as though Minhyung's shadow sat at the edge of the table, listening in.

Walking her home should have been simple. Evening air was cool, the city glowing in patches of neon and lamplight. Their arms brushed, her perfume faint and floral.

It should have been perfect.

But when her fingers slipped between his, he stiffened. For one split second, the hand was too warm, too familiar. Minhyung's hand. The one that had dragged him across busy streets. The one that pushed snacks into his grip after practice. The one that clutched him during thunderstorms when the power went out.

Donghyuck's stomach twisted.

He wanted to shake the thought away. This is Nakyung. Focus. Be present. She's here. She chose you.

So he squeezed her hand tighter, as if pressure could drown out memory. She smiled at the gesture, oblivious.

And he hated himself for pretending.

They took pictures together. Cute ones. Silly ones. Selfies where she pressed her cheek against his and raised peace signs.

On the surface, he looked happy. Anyone scrolling through would say: What a perfect couple.

But later, when he checked his gallery, he found his thumb hesitating. Because when he tilted the photo just so, the way her cheek pressed against his looked like another face entirely. Minhyung's grin, Minhyung's cheekbones, Minhyung's warmth pressed close.

The overlap was terrifying.

He turned off his phone, his chest rattling with uneven breaths.

He told himself it was guilt. That was all.

He had chosen Nakyung because she deserved someone fully hers, and because Minhyung deserved freedom. Minhyung had sacrificed too much already. The dream of Mapua, abandoned. The shift to DLSU, all because of him. He could still hear Minhyung's mother's voice echoing in his head—sharp, brittle, accusing: You're ruining him.