some loves only know one north

content warning: no warnings apply, no angst, no explicit content, gentle feelings, canon-adjacent/interview references, grammar mistakes, english isn’t my first language

he learned the shape of the question before it was finished.

it arrived in different rooms, under different lights, with different smiles attached to it, and still it always made the same quiet curve in his chest.

who is your favourite member? who is the cutest? who is the most handsome?

the words changed coats, but the answer kept its old well-worn shoes.

jake, he said, as if naming a direction rather than a person, as if north had a face and it smiled back.

someone once tried to turn it into a game: are you a fan of him, or is he a fan of you?

sunghoon thought about it for a breath, then decided honesty didn’t need ceremony. he said he was a fan of jake, because jake was cute, and the room laughed the way rooms do when they’re handed something simple and true.

when they asked about photographs, he chose the day the city looked as if it had been rinsed in pale spring light, new york opening behind them like a page just turned. it was the time he shared with jake.

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when they asked what kind of person he was, he talked about evenings that smelled faintly of noodles and electricity, about music on low volume and games that lasted longer than they should, because jake was there and time agreed to be generous.

when they asked if they were close, he said, again, that jake was cute, as if closeness were a weather and cuteness its name.

he chose jake for journeys. japan first, because maps like to be tested, and later a ski resort, because some silences need snow to make sense of them.

he chose jake for shopping, because reactions matter and so does taste, and because it’s easier to walk when someone else keeps pace.

he chose jake for conversations, because preferences line up like well-set books and the talking keeps finding its way back to the same shelf.

people noticed the pattern. they always do.

sunghoon didn’t mind. patterns are only strange when you pretend they aren’t there.

for him, the answer had never been a performance. it was a habit of gravity. in a room full of names, one kept arriving first, unannounced, like light through a familiar window.

for sunghoon, it was always jake. and somehow, that was the whole story, told over and over, without needing to change a single word.

if love is a habit of gravity,
then watch how he falls,
not once, but always,
and always into jake.

© subgjake, 18/02/26