the next morning, hongjoong sat cross-legged on the floor of seonghwa's apartment, his laptop open in front of him and papers scattered like fallen leaves around them both. the soft hum of lo-fi music played from a speaker in the corner, but hongjoong could barely hear it over the sound of his own thoughts. he watched the cursor blink on the application screen like it was mocking him. like it knew exactly how hard it was to press "begin."

he did not want to be there. not really.

and yet, he was.

seonghwa had made tea. the smell of chamomile lingered in the air, sweet and warm. he sat beside hongjoong, not too close, but close enough that their knees touched sometimes when one of them shifted. it was quiet in the room, the kind of quiet that made hongjoong feel like he was being held too gently.

"you don't have to rush," seonghwa said after a while, his voice soft, careful. "we can just look at the websites today. see what feels right."

hongjoong gave a small nod, fingers twitching near the keyboard. "yeah. okay."

but his hands stayed still.

his throat felt tight, like every word he wanted to say got trapped somewhere.

this was harder than he thought it would be.

not the applications, not the essay prompts, not the stress of trying to figure out how to afford it all.

what made it hard was seonghwa.

seonghwa sitting beside him with kind eyes and quiet support. seonghwa who saw parts of him no one else had ever seen. seonghwa who said things like we will figure it out and you are not alone anymore.

because the truth was, hongjoong did not know how to let someone be this close to something that mattered.

baking was his. it was the only thing in his life that had always made sense, that had never hurt him. every time he folded dough or measured out vanilla, it felt like a whisper from his mother, like a memory he could hold in his hands.

and now, letting seonghwa help... it felt like giving that away.

like maybe if seonghwa saw too much, if he stepped too far into this sacred part of hongjoong's world, it would stop being his. or worse, seonghwa would change his mind.

what if he saw all of it and realized hongjoong was not worth the effort?

"you okay?" seonghwa asked quietly, his head tilted just slightly.

hongjoong blinked back into the moment and forced a smile. "yeah. just thinking."

seonghwa did not press. he just reached over and opened a tab on the laptop. "this is the one in brooklyn you mentioned, right? the culinary institute with the pastry program?"

"yeah," hongjoong said, voice thin. "that's the one."

they scrolled through the page together. the images were bright and warm; students laughing in clean kitchens, golden pastries lined up on cooling racks, hands shaping dough with precision and care.

hongjoong felt something stir in his chest. longing, grief, hope. it all tangled together into something that hurt a little.

"it looks amazing," seonghwa said.

hongjoong shrugged, trying to seem indifferent. "it's just a website."

"yeah, but it's your dream, right?"

hongjoong did not answer. instead, he clicked into the application form and stared at the first question.

tell us why you want to pursue culinary arts?

a laugh caught in his throat. bitter.

how do you explain that the only good thing in your life came from a woman who died too soon? that baking is the only way you know how to survive missing her? that every cinnamon roll is a memory and every loaf of bread is a prayer?

"i don't know if this is a good idea," he said suddenly, leaning back against the couch.

seonghwa looked over at him, concern flickering in his eyes. "what do you mean?"

"this. all of this." hongjoong gestured at the laptop. "school. applications. letting you in. it feels like too much."

seonghwa did not react right away. he just sat with the words, like he knew they were not thrown in anger but spoken from a place of fear.

"it's okay to be scared," he said quietly. "but why does it feel like too much?"

hongjoong chewed the inside of his cheek. "because this part of my life... it's mine. it's the only thing i've kept safe. and now you're here, and i'm not sure if it's safe anymore."

he did not mean it to sound cruel. he just did not know how to say it gently.

"i'm sorry if that was rude, i don't mean for it to sound that way. it's just the truth," hongjoong admitted.

seonghwa nodded slowly, looking down at his hands. "i get that."

hongjoong blinked. "you do?"

"yeah," seonghwa said, still quiet. "sometimes the things we love most are the hardest to share. because if someone hurts it... they're not just hurting the thing. they're hurting the part of you that loves it."

hongjoong felt something catch in his throat.

seonghwa looked up again. "but i'm not here to take it away from you, joong. or change it. or make you do anything you don't want to. i'm here because i care, genuinely care, about you, and i want you to feel happy about this part of your life."

he could tell seonghwa was genuine, but it did not make things easier.

hongjoong stared at him for a long time, unsure of what to say. unsure of how to bridge the space between i do not want to need you and please do not leave.

he hated this feeling. the feeling that something inside him might still be soft enough to hope.

"i haven't written the essay," he muttered, deflecting. "and even if i did, i don't know what to say. they probably get thousands of essays. why would mine matter?"

"because it's yours," seonghwa said, simple and sure. "because it's honest. and because it doesn't have to be perfect. it just has to be real."

hongjoong looked at the blinking cursor again. still there, still waiting.

he reached forward and typed slowly. the keys felt unfamiliar under his fingers, like every word was being pulled from someplace deep and buried.

i want to pursue baking because it is the one place i have always felt safe.

my mother taught me how to bake in the quiet spaces between fear and silence. it was our way of surviving. it was how we found joy when there was not much else.

she is gone now. but when i bake, she is still with me.

i want to learn more so that i can carry her with me into something better.

so that i can build a life that tastes like home.

hongjoong continued writing for longer than he had anticipated. after a while, he stopped typing. read it over once, then twice. his hands were trembling.

"can i read it?" seonghwa asked gently.

hongjoong hesitated, his chest tight. but then he turned the laptop toward him. let him read.

the room was still. hongjoong watched seonghwa's face carefully for any sign of pity, of discomfort, of pulling away.

but seonghwa just smiled. soft, quiet. the kind of smile that did not ask for anything.

"it's beautiful," he said.

hongjoong felt like he might cry again, but instead, he nodded and turned the laptop back toward himself.

he filled out the rest of the form in silence. name, address, work history. every click felt heavy, like the next breath might knock it all over. but still, he kept going.

seonghwa stayed beside him, only moving once to refill the tea. when he came back, he placed a warm mug in front of hongjoong without a word.

it was comforting, the way seonghwa gave without pushing. like he knew the space between support and smothering. like he understood how delicate this part of hongjoong was.

when the final page of the application loaded, hongjoong froze.

submit.

just a button.

small. quiet.

but it felt like it weighed a hundred pounds.

"you don't have to do it today," seonghwa said softly. "we can save it. come back later."

hongjoong did not answer right away. he stared at the screen like it might disappear if he blinked too long.

"if i don't do it now, i might never do it," he whispered.

"then i'm here," seonghwa said. "right beside you."

hongjoong inhaled slowly, his finger hovering over the trackpad.

he thought about his mother.

the kitchen light above them.

her hands in the dough.

her laugh, low and tired but always full of warmth.

he thought about her saying, you're gonna make something beautiful one day, baby.

he thought about seonghwa.

sitting beside him.

quiet, patient.

offering nothing but presence.

it was terrifying, how much that meant.

hongjoong pressed the button.

the screen flickered for half a second, then changed.

thank you for your submission.

hongjoong stared at the message like he did not quite believe it. like maybe the whole thing had been a dream.

"you did it," seonghwa said gently.

hongjoong did not respond. he just sat there, eyes wide and dazed, like something in him had shifted.

"you really did it," seonghwa said again, a little smile tugging at his lips.

hongjoong exhaled shakily. it was not a loud sound, but it felt like a release.

"yeah," he whispered. "i guess i did."

then, without thinking, he leaned sideways until his shoulder rested against seonghwa's. it was not dramatic. was not a big moment. just a small, quiet one. the kind that mattered most.

seonghwa did not say anything. did not move or flinch or make it into something larger than it was.

he just leaned back. gently.

and in the quiet warmth of the apartment, hongjoong let himself breathe.

not because everything was okay.

not because he was not still scared.

but because for once, he was not alone.

and maybe that was enough.

cute little chapter! i hope you're enjoying!

-vic