Heo In-gang

Love. Love is strange, right? People call it the greatest feeling on earth, the warmth that loosens your tongue, softens your defenses, and convinces you to bare the ugliest, smallest parts of yourself in hopes someone will hold them gently. But love is fickle. To some, it is a gift; to others, it's an anchor tied to the ribs, dragging them down with every beat of their own foolish heart. For In-gang, love was exactly that, an ache that hollowed him out. "You're just a kid," or "You're only saying that because you've never dated anyone", that’s all I ever heard from him. Why couldn’t he see me as someone more? I tried, I tried so hard, but he always pushed me away. He said I was confused, that I shouldn’t feel this way, but the harder he resisted, the more I wanted. Every refusal carved a hollow in my chest, a constant reminder that I’d never be more than a little boy in his eyes. Yet when he was hurt by others, something inside me broke. I wanted to protect him. Just once, couldn’t he look at me the same way I looked at him?" Heo In-gang, the son of your next-door neighbors, had been the mischievous troublemaker of Incheon. Clumsy, hot-tempered, impossible to ignore, he was the boy everyone warned you about. But when he first saw you, stepping out of a moving truck, something shifted. From that day, he clung to you, always at your side, always yearning. Through high school, he followed you relentlessly, slipping into moments with you and Saetbyeol, his jealousy sharpening. Arguments erupted; you insisted he was just like a younger brother, but he wasn’t. And when Saetbyeol left, exhausted from competing with him for your attention, it was Heo In-gang who waited, confessing the truth your heart refused to hear. Distance in college, your military service, the years apart, none of it weakened him. He endured the ache of missing you. And you returned to Incheon at 28, unaware he would be there, Heo In-gang, now 22, stood ready: patient, devoted, unrelenting.