Chapter Text
Yeosang
Seemingly staring blankly in front of him, Yeosang attempts to melt into his surroundings. He breathes in heavily, allowing the sweet summer air to enter his system. The grass under his palms, he grips it tightly, waiting for a response. Across the road, a glass tower looms over him, imposing upon the juxtaposition of nature that encases him. Okay, I might be exaggerating, but it is a tall building. Relatively. Or maybe I’m just short.
His eyes light up. “Why didn’t I think of this earlier?”
Pulling his notebook out of his backpack and a pen with a green fluffy top out of the front pocket, Yeosang wastes no time in anxiously scribbling down his thoughts before it escapes his memory. He spins his body around with his feet, and a small forest greets him back, standing close enough for the leaves to meet one another. He writes a stanza or two, reveling in the wonder of nature. Making sure to jot down every single detail of the scene in front of him, he quickly fills up the remaining space in the margin of the page.
Yeosang springs to his feet, his body already moving towards the trees, his mind a slave to his muscles. He wanders under the trees, the gaps in the leaves scattering golden speckles on the grass under his feet. Touching the tree closest to him, Yeosang feels the grooves of the trunk under his fingertips and memorises the sensation. He closes his eyes, imagining a lake with the forest next to it, twilight slowly turning into dusk. Utopia. The thought brings a peaceful smile to his face.
He sits like that for a while, allowing the landscape to create itself around him, his hand rushing so quickly across the pages that – if it weren’t for the quick-drying ink that his mother had bought him – the details would have cascaded into rippling smudges. Only pausing for a brief moment to shuffle his Spotify playlist and take sips of pink lemonade, the sun lazily crawls across the sky while his mind remains fully absorbed in his writing.
It takes him a few minutes to register clicks in his surroundings. Yeosang looks up, and a camera lens is awfully close to his face. “Oh, yes – that form is perfect! Look at that hair… just radiant!”
Normally, he would have been surprised or even intimidated by the sight, but Yeosang just played along for the camera and pretended. Pretended to be a model. An actor. A guy having the time of his life, living his dream. All three of them at once, maybe. Without a moment’s notice, he turns and winks at the camera, holding his bucket hat closer to his head.
“Agh!” Jongho splutters, pushing the camera away from him, almost hurting his neck because of its strap. “Yeosang, did I tell you that I wanted to burn my eyes today? Because – news flash – that made me want to cough my lungs out.”
Yeosang only laughs in return, starting to collect his things, which is turning out to be exceptionally difficult. How did my eraser end up by the duck nest? “That’s what you get for invading my privacy,” he replies while Jongho hands him a purple watercolour pencil.
“The park does not count as a private space.”
Yeosang retorts, “What about my mental private space?”
Jongho’s eyes light up. “So you wrote something today? Can I see?”
Shit. “Uh, about that… you know that my drafts need to be revised –” Yeosang trails off, seeing Jongho wordlessly ask for his journal, his hand outstretched as if he’s waiting for a hand, like an invitation into an adventure novel. Sighing, he pulls the book out of his shoulder bag and places it on Jongho’s palm.
Jongho’s expression is eager yet pensive when he pulls out the bookmark that Yeosang left, although he would have known where to find the newest entry because of them animatedly sharing pieces the night before. His facial features grow more pensive, eyes widening and shrinking while becoming more engrossed in the details, the plot pulling him in. At least, that’s what Yeosang is hoping for. He may be my best friend, but he’s also my worst critic.
Jongho stares at the unfinished chapter’s last paragraph and hands the journal back to Yeosang without a sound, subconsciously permitting his heart to race. “So?” He bites his tongue, not wanting to press Jongho for an answer, while simultaneously wanting to strangle him in order to force an answer out of him. “My life’s work and passion – on the floor for you to rip apart, and… go!”
He turns to Yeosang, and Yeosang braces himself. “If you were trying to make me bored,” Jongho pauses, and Yeosang’s heart sinks to his stomach. “Then I’m sorry, dude – you are sorely disappointed.”
It takes a moment for the slick compliment to hit him, but when it does, he immediately pushes Jongho’s shoulder, who evidently doesn’t expect that amount of strength from Yeosang and falls to the ground. Instinctively gripping onto Yeosang, they both land into a heap over their belongings. “Have you been going to the gym lately?” Jongho asks, puffing grass blades out of his mouth. “That was quite a shove.”
“Nope, but annoyance can be quite an energy source,” Yeosang rolls his eyes, lifting himself from Jongho’s shoulder. Then realizing what just happened, he starts looking frantically around Jongho. “Where’s my journal? Please don’t tell me it’s damaged.”
Jongho chuckles and springs to his feet, pulling a hand from under his jacket. “Do you really think that I’d let something happen to your magnum opus? I’ve had far too many manuscripts and compositions be nearly destroyed to take that chance.”
“I appreciate the sentiment, but what I don’t appreciate is your subtle flexing about how much experience you have,” Yeosang gripes, handing Jongho his skateboard, to which he shakes his head in decline. “You just went to the gym for leg day and then walked here, are you sure?”
“I drank a protein shake diluted with Monster before I came here,” Jongho smiles conspiratorially at his best friend. “My muscles aren’t even aware that they exist right now.”
Turning his head sharply to Jongho, squinting in disapproval (while also trying to not show him how impressed he was by the feat). “How are you even alive?”
He intertwines his fingers behind his head while he replies, “Living in the gym has its perks, I guess.”
The two walk together in companionable silence for a while, and Yeosang pulls out his phone every now and then to take note of their changing surroundings – photos documenting the change from the quiet and green atmosphere of the park into the bustling nature of the city, typing the sounds of the cars into his phone.
“Is that for your blog?” Jongho suddenly asks him, almost making Yeosang drop his phone from surprise. “I really can’t believe that you do that. It’s great that you’re putting your work out there, but wow – kinda lame, bro.”
Rolling his eyes, he doesn’t make much of Jongho’s obvious joke. His smile makes it all the more obvious, anyway. “First of all –“
“Oh, here we go,” Jongho fake whines, but Yeosang ignores it.
“It’s not a blog; it’s an Instagram page – what era do you think we live in? 2009? No one’s on Wordpress or Tumblr, anymore.”
“Nerd.”
Yeosang stops in his tracks to stare incredulously at Jongho. “Says the guy who wrote an entire symphony in honour of Lin-Manuel Miranda.”
“He wrote the Moana soundtrack!” Jongho’s eyes goes wide at the idea of disrespecting the Broadway master. “And Hamilton! A musical genius.”
“Whatever – you’re just as big as a nerd as I am, if not more.”
“You really sure about not wanting to work on the project with me?” The tone in Jongho’s voice completely changes, suddenly extremely serious. The sudden change in subjects almost gives Yeosang whiplash, but he keeps silent when he remembers what Jongho’s referring to. He continues, “Because it would really be good exposure for your lyrics.”
“Poetry,” he responds curtly.
“Can be really easily adapted into lyrics. You have talent.”
“Yeah, but –“ He trails off, thinking of the possibility of hundreds, if not more, of people hearing his words on stage. “That’s terrifying.”
“No one’s going to see you on stage,” Jongho shakes his head. “I mean, not unless you want them to.”
Yeosang splutters for breath after the suggestion. “Um, no. Not in the slightest,” he coughs out. Turning to Jongho, he’s immediately ridden by guilt, seeing the subtle plea in his expression. Sighing in submission, he says, “Just – just give me until the end of the summer to think about it, okay?”
He knows that Jongho only needs to begin production for the next May, as part of his final production assessment, but he wants to give it a bit of time before he lets his friend down. The thought makes him bite his lip in deep thought.
“Cool,” Jongho grins at him, already beginning to walk again. “Too bad that I’ll have to celebrate with you over text and not in person.” Yeosang furrows his eyes in confusion while Jongho says, “I can’t wait to spend the days on the beach. Surfing’s gonna be so cool, don’t you think?”
“Where – where are you going?”
“I’m spending the summer with my cousin and his friend in California. He’s apparently got a huge beach house-mansion thing nearby the beach.”
Yeosang flutters his eyes, his emotions fighting one another to take over his facial expression. “That’s, uh, cool. Really… cool, yeah.”
While Jongho animatedly chatters on about how excited he is about the trip, wakeboarding, and strawberry farms, Yeosang attempts to make it seem like his heart did not physically plummet into his stomach. At least, not to visibly show it, anyway. He knows that, if Jongho leaves for LA, his summer plans are basically driven into the dust. It’s not like there’s anyone else in Chicago that he knows well enough to hang out with him.
“Hello?” A hand waving in front of his face brings him back to reality. “You’re okay, right? Don’t need any medication or Gatorade?”
Taking a deep breath, he smiles back and says, “No, no. I’m good.”
“I’m being serious, Yeosang,” Jongho deadpans, stopping in front of him, making him aware that they have already made it back to the outskirts of campus, nearby his dorm. “I haven’t seen you this nervous since your final French presentation last month.”
“I just – it’s really nothing. Just thinking about how I’ll have to go to my dad’s this summer.”
“But you hate going to your dad’s.”
“Yeah, but –“
Jongho’s eyes suddenly wake up in excitement, and Yeosang doesn’t know whether to catch onto the excitement or be scared. He grips Yeosang’s shoulders. “Come with me.”
Yeosang’s face starts to burn up, still feeling Jongho’s gaze on him. “What?”
