Chapter Text
“What if I cry and screw up my eyeliner?”
“Don’t cry then,” Seungmin says even as he tosses Jiseok a spare stick that the other takes gratefully, stuffing it into his small pocket on his vest. His hair is pulled back, and the freshly dyed red peeking out from beneath matches the streaks in Jooyeon’s own hair. “Why would you even cry?”
Gawking at him, Jiseok shakes his head and clicks his tongue. “Why? It’s going to be our last dance with Jungsu and Gunil. And then they’re gonna go off to college and forget our names and have kids and forget to invite us to their weddings and only remember when they’re looking at their baby shower gift of a toy chick and go oh my god we totally forgot that Jiseok kid from that lame high school .”
Popping an orange slice into his mouth, careful not to disturb the shine Jooyeon had applied to his lips, Hyeongjun notes wistfully, “You should become a writer when you grow up, Jiseok. You’re very creative.” Causing Seungmin to laugh quietly into his hand.
Pulling his head up, Seungmin strokes Jiseok’s hair fondly. “Very. Really, you think Gunil is going to forget about us. He’s obsessed with us.”
“We’re his only friends actually,” Jooyeon inputs, struggling to put up his own hair. Hyeongjun stands up to help him, equipped with a comb and hairband, pearly bobby pins held between his teeth.
“Can affirm,” he says through them, carefully bundling Jooyeon’s hair between his fingers, delicate and painstaking with each moment, terrified to mess up any of their hard work. “When Jungsu was taking his SATs and we were still in class, I looked out the window and saw Gunil in the quad, alone and sad like a kicked puppy.”
That makes Jiseok giggle a little, probably going to bring it up to tease Gunil whenever the moment called for it, which could literally be any minute of the day. “You’re right. I wonder how he survived when he only had Jungsu. I think all of his friends are in a different state.”
Leaning back his head, making Hyeongjun hiss and curse, shoving him back into a straight posture, Jooyeon reminds, “He can’t forget us anyways. We still have Seungmin as a hostage. Gunil won’t forget him for sure.”
“Shit,” Seungmin curses, bursting to his feet, “Speaking of. We’re going to be late. Hyeongjun can you do his hair in the car?” But Hyeongjun already reveals Jooyeon’s hair with a flourish, pulled into a bun, strands of hair framing his face, held up by fancy clips that match the cuff links on his blazer.
“Stunning. Let’s go.”
+
Instantly upon arrival you can hear the beat of music well into the parking lot, with a mixture of dense chattering and occasional shrieks of joy. The atmosphere is instantly drenched in a sentimental chaos, as soon as they exit Jiseok’s car, rose tinted and exuberant. It has Jiseok and Jooyeon bouncing on their heels, Hyeongjun’s eyes sparkling impossibly bright.
They walk the stone path to the venue, looking to their sides at couples and friends, people lifting their skirts as they flit about the perfect trimmed, green grass, laughter and shouting rolling over the fields. It’s like they’ve entered a whole different reality, the stars brighter than usual overhead, the moon bouncing off every surface with powerful luminescence.
All Seungmin can really think of, besides how beautiful it all is, is how beautiful Gunil will look with it as his backdrop. To spare his friends, he keeps those thoughts to himself, though his energy is gradually rising, as he imagines all that the night has in store.
“Where are we supposed to meet up with the seniors?” Jiseok shouts as they enter the building, their tickets scanned and tucked in the backs of their phone cases, the tile floors glistening beneath their loafers, a soft arrangement of rainbow colors playing over the ground and walls. The music is upbeat as of now, and people are shouting to the lyrics they know, jumping messily over the dance floor, wide smiles painted on all their faces, heels in hands, hands in hands.
Hyeongjun surveys the room, a hint of anxiety upon his face at the sheer amount of seniors and juniors, and how utterly unrecognizable they all are, a few familiar faces here and there, but none belonging to their friends. Seungmin places his hand on his shoulder, assuring as possible. Hyeongjun looks at him, defeated, “We should have planned this better.”
Shrugging, Seungmin remarks, “It’s us, we kind of always screw up a little. It won’t mess with tonight.” It’s a promise. A fact. And thankfully, Hyeongjun takes it as such.
“Seungmin!”
He turns around, mouth drying, butterflies dancing about in his stomach all of a sudden, honeybees cloying between his ribs, building honeycombs around his heart, sticky and molten. Approaching them is Jungsu, and his date.
There’s this boy. And his name is Goo Gunil. He smiles and laughs funnily, and is kind of innately awkward in a way no one can even begin to describe. He has straight As except for the one class in his junior year because it was right after lunch and he would always fall asleep during the lectures. He’s so incredibly talented, but he’s such a dork no one would believe him until they’re shown it. He’s wonderful in every way one could imagine, and he’s Seungmin’s crush, and he’s Seungmin’s date to prom.
And he’s dressed in a red so deep it almost looks black until the light hits it just right, like a garnet among quartzes, gloss swiped across his lips in a clear influence from Jungsu, dark shadow blended out around his eyes, glitter spattered all over his face, like it’d been spilt there. And his stare doesn’t leave Seungmin. Not once, as they near.
As soon as he’s within reaching distance, Gunil pulls Seungmin closer, pinning a flower, a white rose, from the bouquet he never got to give, to Seungmin’s jacket. He has one too, in purple. And when he grabs Seungmin’s wrists, leans up and presses his lips against Seungmin’s cheek, soft and shy, he smells overwhelmingly like lavender.
“Alright!” Jungsu claps his hands together, ushering the others away as Gunil pulls back, searching Seungmin’s face, no, exploring it, with his gaze, finding out everything he can in the few seconds he has where Seungmin is caught off guard, vulnerable and exposed to no one else. “Let’s leave them alone.” Their friends jeer and tease them as they walk off to the snack tables.
Tugging at his jacket, Seungmin points to the flower. “What’s this?”
“A boutonnière,” Gunil answers, voice distant, too quiet when everything else around them is too loud. But Seungmin can almost hear him perfectly fine. “My brother said his girlfriend at the time gave him one. And—” He holds up his wrist, dropping Seungmin’s, twisting it around to show off his sleeve, “It’d be hard for either of us to wear a corsage. So we both get one of these.”
“Does that make me your boyfriend?”
Pausing, blinking vacantly, Gunil asks, “Does it?”
“I’d like it to. Is that advised though, when one of us is going off to college?”
Nodding, understanding, Gunil takes it entirely seriously, thinking. “Well, I don’t plan on meeting anymore Oh Seungmins to fall for in college. You can trust me. But it’s up to you, if you want to take that risk.”
Leaning in, Seungmin returns Gunil’s earlier affection, placing a tender kiss on Gunil’s forehead, where his hair doesn’t lay. “We can decide that later. Tonight it’s just prom. You look very handsome, very pretty, by the way,” he says into Gunil’s hair, “And you smell really nice, too.”
Gunil doesn’t speak for a long while, fluster very apparent, lips parted and stare distant. Seungmin pinches his nose, bringing him back down to Earth. “Are you alright?”
Nodding emphatically, Gunil pats his own face in a stiff manner, feeling the blush there, awkward about it. “Yeah, of course. I think it’s just really hitting me, that you’re my prom date. I didn’t really think about it. Uh, you look really nice too. Gorgeous actually. I kind of feel underdressed now. I know I’m not though. Jungsu planned my outfit actually, knowing it won’t offset yours, since you didn’t show me it, and I should have just asked if that’s weird but—”
Putting his finger beneath Gunil’s chin, Seungmin forces the older’s mouth shut. “You’re perfect. Believe me.”
Toothily, Gunil grins. “You’re more perfect. I bet no one else here was serenaded. I’m the luckiest guy in this entire building. I’m going to remember that forever. Everyone will be so jealous of me.”
Pleased, Seungmin rolls his eyes and acts affronted. For a moment, they just sit there silent, with nothing else to really say, admiring each other, more openly than they’ve ever allowed themselves. And then, the lights dim, just slightly, and a hush falls over the room, and the music audibly softens, and everyone knows what time it is.
Gunil holds out his hand, excited. “Dance with me?”
Seungmin takes it. “Guess there’s no one else around.”
They blend into all the rest of the couples on the dancefloor. Distantly, Seungmin can see their friends, huddled in a circle, spinning around slowly, shoulders shaking and smiles beaming. There’s a hesitance, before Gunil drapes his arms over Seungmin’s shoulders, hands laced and pressed against the height of Seungmin’s back.
“Do you have to be so short?” Seungmin jokes, to lighten the weight of his hands over Gunil’s waist, nervous and eager, each finger dropping one by one to Gunil’s belt, cold against his palms. An adolescent anxiety rears in him, and he questions how he’s never done any of this before, at any of his previous dances. Not even with a friend.
Gunil tugs on his collar, petty. “I am not that much shorter than you. Stop it.” He goes completely silent, once the music starts, low and gentle, a flowing river beneath moonlight that takes them along its current, and encourages them. Gunil steps closer, and Seungmin pulls him closer, until they’re chest to chest, foreheads just a millimeter from meeting.
“I’m really glad I met you,” Gunil murmurs, so close Seungmin can feel his words pressing into his collarbone, as comforting and warm as an embrace. Technically, they are; embracing that is.
“Funny, I always thought that too.”
Smiling, Gunil tries to hide his face, but it only results in him burying it in the junction of Seungmin’s neck, and Seungmin can feel his breath, ghosting over his nape, and he rests his chin on his head, soaking in their mutual admiration, so warm and pure, a special ambrosia concocted by their very own hands.
“I really like you a lot,” Seungmin confesses, completely earnest, easy for Gunil not to hear, but not opposed to it being revealed so rawly. Gunil must hear though because he pulls away just slightly, staring at Seungmin intently.
“I like someone a lot too,” he hums, biting back a smile, elated with his little game, “This boy. You might know him.”
“His name is Oh Seungmin.”
There’s this boy. His name is Oh Seungmin. He’s the definition of charming and hardworking and devoted. He gives everything his all even when he’s unsure of it, and he’s kind of obsessed with the color purple, in the same ruthless approach as with everything else. His playing was heaven, and his voice even more divine. And Gunil kind of always thought he was really cute. From the beginning. He was gorgeous now, under soft lights. He kissed really nice too, to even softer music. Gunil has never really liked someone so much.
He kind of thinks he could love him.