It was almost dawn when Minjun found himself standing at the base of the old apartment building — the one with the staircase that led to their rooftop. He hadn't planned to come here. His feet just carried him through neon alleys and sleeping streets, like they knew where he needed to be even if he didn't.
Above him, the sky was a heavy bruise, streaks of purple giving way to gray. No stars — just the glow of Seoul's restless lights drowning them out.
He climbed the steps two at a time, breathless when he reached the door to the roof. He hesitated, hand on the rusted handle. Half of him expected Jiwoo to be there, guitar perched on his knee, singing off-key to the city like nothing had broken.
But when he pushed the door open, the rooftop was empty.
The wind caught him first — cold, cutting, the last bite of winter. He stepped forward, the familiar crunch of gravel under his sneakers. The skyline stretched out in every direction — towers, blinking cranes, neon signs promising dreams that cost more than they gave back.
Minjun dropped his bag beside the old folding chair they'd stolen from the convenience store dumpster last summer. He sat down, pulling his knees to his chest. The city below felt so loud and so far away all at once.
He replayed the showcase in his mind on an endless loop. The polite applause. The scouts who looked through him like he was one more product to test and shelve. Seojin's sharp grin afterward — Good job, Rooftop Boy. You're ready to leave that nobody behind now.
Jiwoo's voice cut through all of it. The memory of it. The warmth of it.
Minjun pulled out his phone. He typed a dozen messages, deleting each one.
I'm sorry.
I messed up.
Please come back.
I don't want this without you.
He left them all unsent. The screen went dark in his hand.
He remembered the first night they'd come up here. Two nobodies with a borrowed guitar and too-big dreams. They'd made a pact then, laughing between sips of stale coffee: If we ever forget why we started, we come back here and remind each other.
Minjun realized now he'd forgotten first. He'd let the promise turn to paper the second Seojin whispered solo debut and fast track in his ear.
He stood, pacing the edge of the roof. Below, the city was waking up — delivery scooters humming down alleys, neon signs flickering off as the sun began to push through the smog.
Minjun wanted to scream. To shake the sky until the stars came back, until the rooftop felt like theirs again.
His phone buzzed in his pocket — so sudden he nearly dropped it.
One message. From Jiwoo.
[Jiwoo | 5:02 AM]
Don't come looking for me. Just go live your dream.
Minjun read it once. Twice. The words sliced through him worse than silence.
He typed back: It's not my dream without you.
The message sat there, the cursor blinking like a heartbeat. He pressed send before he could lose his nerve.
No reply came. Not in the next minute. Not in the next hour as dawn swallowed the last of the night sky.
Minjun stayed on the rooftop, guitar-less, star-less, dream-less — a boy in a city that never stopped moving, wondering if the cost of wanting more was losing the only thing that had ever felt real.
When the sun finally climbed over the skyline, Minjun stood at the edge of the roof, breath white in the early morning chill. He made himself a new promise, voice small but steady in the wind.
I'll find you, Jiwoo.I'll make it right.Even if it means giving up everything else.
And for the first time since he'd signed that contract, Minjun felt like he could breathe again.