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The Pokemon Go craze hit their neighbourhood somewhere between Jihoon finishing his second year of university and spending the next two and a half months only leaving his house to grab ice cream bars and sour keys from the convenience store across the street.
It’s a sticky hot July, the weather muggy and humid more often than not, sending Jihoon into an immediate state of emergency the moment he steps outside. He hates the heat, hates the feeling of sweat trickling down his arms and forehead, the back of his neck. He’s taking a summer course—Fantasy Literature, something meaningless to him, just an extra class to get his credits in Humanities for graduation requirements—and besides the three-hour-long evening classes two days a week, he refuses to leave the safety of the air-conditioned house he’s renting for any other reason.
“Jihoon, have you even seen the sunlight since April?” Soonyoung says, eyes narrowing as he shoots Jihoon the kind of grin that indicates he thinks he’s being funny, which he hardly ever is. “Have you become a vampire?”
“Vampires feed off of blood,” Seungkwan points out, stir-frying something that smells of peppers and Korean red chili paste, the spice tickling Jihoon’s nose in the familiar way only food cooked in the style of his culture can. Seungkwan also likes to think he’s funny. “What does Jihoon feed off of?”
“Lack of social interaction, maybe,” Soonyoung says, which makes Seungkwan laugh and makes Jihoon scowl.
“You two think you’re so cute,” Jihoon mutters, waiting for his bowl of Kraft Dinner to finish heating up in the microwave. It’s not much of a meal in terms of nutrients, but he knows Seungkwan always makes too much food for dinner and he can steal some later. “It’s hot outside. It’s gross. I don’t need to go anywhere except class.”
“You missed out on lunch with us yesterday,” Soonyoung points out. “We went to eat Vietnamese, it was awesome, Seokmin dropped a spring roll into his bowl and soup went everywhere.”
“That’s just embarrassing, I don’t want to be seen with guys like that.”
Too late, as always, Seungkwan forgets to turn on the stove’s ventilation fans and their kitchen’s fidgety smoke alarm begins to beep loudly and obnoxiously, causing everyone to swear and start opening windows and struggling to manually turn it off. Jihoon flaps at the air around him with his hand, as though he might be able to waft the smoke from Seungkwan’s frying pan towards the window.
It’s a bit of a ridiculous story how they all became friends and roommates, really. Soonyoung was the first, loud and ridiculous and always falling asleep and snoring away next to Jihoon in first year Psychology, and somehow it started with Jihoon begrudgingly lending him notes and ended with the two of them renting a place off-campus together. Then there was Seokmin and Seungkwan the year after—Seokmin clinging to him like barnacles on whales the moment Jihoon gave him an (astonishingly generous, especially for him) impromptu campus tour during orientation week, and Seungkwan insisting on following him around when he heard rumours that Jihoon had tickets to a concert, not stopping even once the rumours were proven false—and Jihoon suddenly found himself sharing a tiny little house with a couple of annoying happy-go-lucky goofballs, the lot of them.
Midway through everyone crowded around the kitchen shoveling bowls of mixed-up food into their mouths, the front door down the hall opens and Seokmin rushes in, kicking his sneakers off and squeezing through the cramped hallway towards them.
“Guys!” he shrieks. “It’s out, it’s out!”
“What’s out?” Jihoon asks through a mouthful of KD macaroni and watery artificial cheese, but apparently he’s the only one who doesn’t know what’s going on because Soonyoung and Seungkwan both shout in delight, grabbing for their phones. “Hey, what’s happening?”
Seokmin stares at him with wide eyes. “Pokemon Go, Jihoon! Pokemon Go? We’ve been waiting for this app to come out for, like, a year?”
Jihoon shrugs his shoulders in a sort of I’m-clueless gesture. He watches, stealing some red peppers and kimchi from Seungkwan’s bowl now that he’s not looking, as they start downloading some app with all the frantic speed of people trying to defuse a bomb before it explodes. He rakes his brain for anything about Pokemon Go—he thinks he read about it a year or so ago, some company was trying to develop a game where you could go out and catch Pokemon in the real world, but it sounded either technologically unfeasible or bound to be a disappointment, so he had ignored it. He never expected it to actually be done.
“Jihoon, you download it, too.” Soonyoung nudges his knee with a slipper-covered foot.
“Why should I?”
Soonyoung clucks his tongue at him, exasperated. “Because, smartass, we’re all going out Pokemon hunting tomorrow, and you’re coming with us because you need to leave the house once in a while.”
“No offense, Soonyoung, but you really can’t make me.”
Soonyoung narrows his eyes at him, a wicked grin forming. “Wanna try me?”
“Don’t test him, Jihoon,” Seungkwan threatens. “If he starts blasting Don’t You Forget About Me at top volume in your bedroom tomorrow morning at six a.m., I’m going to blame you.”
Jihoon rolls his eyes, but does as he’s told. There’s a brief character creation screen, just as pitiful and uncreative as every other Pokemon game he’s played, and he watches as a rough GPS-like map blinks into existence on his screen. There are starter Pokemon just close enough for him to catch, but nothing that could let him enjoy the game from inside the peace and air-conditioned tranquility of his house.
This is a game that’s forcing him to go outside and walk around. He doesn’t care how excited the others are about it—he’s horrified, and this is going to suck. He just knows it.
The nearby park is a pitiful thing, mostly grass with a sad little sand pit containing a half-hearted slide and a few swings. Jihoon’s gone here a couple of times before, mostly last summer when he and Soonyoung felt like studying out in the brilliant warm sunshine. The study session itself was not great (Jihoon’s laptop died an hour and a half in, to his supreme irritation), but at least they weren’t bothered by any screaming children or arguing couples.
Today, however, he couldn’t have studied here if he tried. The two rough wooden picnic tables by the side of the park’s perimeter are full to bursting with people, as are the benches lining the plot of land. There are dozens of people milling around the grass, and while they are all glued to their phones, everyone is talking and laughing and shouting out eagerly to one another. Some have even brought fold-out chairs or blankets and sit in loose circles or pairs, bags of snacks from the closest convenience store huddled at their feet.
Jihoon hadn’t been expecting anything like this.
“Come on, let’s get to it!” Soonyoung says, as though he hasn’t been getting to it the moment they stepped out of the car. His phone is already out and in his hand, and he had already caught two Digletts by the time they left the park’s shabby little parking lot.
“This is so stupid,” Jihoon mutters, opening the app and grimacing as immediately four or five weak, common Pokemon pop up on the little map and he starts reluctantly throwing Pokeballs at them.
He keeps his grumbling to a minimum, though—the others look ridiculously excited, grabbing their fold-out chairs and shoving their Gatorade bottles into the built-in cup holders. The stress from his summer organic chemistry course that’s been pinching at Seungkwan’s nerves for weeks has melted away, leaving nothing else but the sunshine radiating off his round face and the way he laughs when Seokmin bolts like a track runner to get to a Bellossom just out of reach.
Eventually, though, even Jihoon’s patience starts wearing thin. The sun is so hot it’s starting to burn the crown of his head and the back of his neck, sweat lining the creases in his palms and leaving gross fogged-up marks on his phone. He’s tired of dumbly swiping Pokeballs at every single Pokemon that pops up in the area and sets his phone down, looking around at everyone else congregating in the park.
His eyes gloss over crowds of kids, high schoolers, couples, sad sacks of thirty-year-old shut-ins, all with disinterest, until he eventually stops at the sight of a handsome man maybe his age or older, standing alone on the other side of the playground’s sand pit. He’s looking down at his phone like everyone else, but Jihoon can see from this distance that he has tousled black hair and strangely charming ears.
He hadn’t been expecting it—everyone’s so involved in the game, he didn’t think anyone would—but just when he shifts in his chair to get a better look at the way the sun bounces off the tight white T-shirt wrapping around his defined arms, the stranger looks up and their eyes meet.
Jihoon immediately feels embarrassed, horrified at being caught staring, and quickly looks away. Through his peripherals, he thinks he can see the man looking at him curiously for maybe a few seconds more, before returning back to his phone.
Crisis averted, maybe. Flustered and annoyed at himself, Jihoon jumps to his feet and claims he just wants to see if there is better Pokemon at the hotspot down the road. By the time he cools his head and returns, he can’t find the man and his distracting deltoids anywhere.
Jihoon would have been fine never seeing that handsome Pokemon-catching stranger ever again, if at least to just successfully purge the memory out of his mind. But of course, the others are dragging him to the park almost every afternoon now, except for the days where Jihoon has class and insists on not going, and of course every single time he manages to see that guy somewhere in the park as well.
Maybe it would be fine, except Jihoon suddenly has a problem with his eyes or brain or whatever and he can’t stop staring. He doesn’t know why he does it—he’s single, sure, but not desperate, and there’s plenty of attractive people he spots all the time on campus, and yet, he doesn’t seem to have his eyes glued to any of their faces when they walk into his line of sight.
Maybe it’s because it’s the summer, and he’s hot and cranky and doesn’t know why he’s here, and maybe it’s because he gets bored easily and needs to people watch to pass the time.
Maybe he’s more desperate than he thought, and he still hasn’t recovered from his month-long bout of weakness when he decided against his will to develop a small crush on Soonyoung after watching his (admittedly rather sexy) dance practice; but Soonyoung’s boisterous and over-the-top personality made him regret that almost as soon as it started, letting it die out peacefully and without anyone’s knowledge, and he hasn’t felt the panging throes of juvenile romanticism ever since.
But either way, every time he and his friends are at the park, so is the stranger—lounging on a bench, curled up under the shade of a tree, perched atop the plastic yellow roof of the playground’s slide—and Jihoon’s eyes find themselves automatically searching and landing on him. And automatically turning away with embarrassment when the stranger inevitably meets his gaze.
Today seems like it’ll end the same way—with Jihoon flustered and feeling stupid, the handsome stranger probably thinking he’s stupid, and Jihoon leaving annoyed with himself but too tired to break everyone else’s happy little bubble of Pokemon-hunting. The sun is being an asshole today, low to the ground and burning his eyes every time he tries to look up from his phone. Not even the brief triumph of catching a Poliwrath is really making him feel like this trip was worth it.
He looks around at everyone else milling in their own groups. Seungkwan has one hand tapping at a nearby Pokestop, the other wrist-deep in a bag of chips. Seokmin’s blasting music from his phone, too quiet for Jihoon to make out any words but loud enough for him to hear the incessant drum beat. Not for the first time, he wishes he wasn’t the grumpy one in their friend group, the cynical one, the one that always has to have a bad time and want to go home and make sure everyone isn’t having too much fun. He wants to be like them, able to find actual enjoyment in this hellish game under the blistering summer sun. He knows that in the balance of the universe, a group of high-energy, loud, overly-enthusiastic friends must have someone with a clear head, someone who can ground them and remind them that reality is a cold hard earth and they better get their heads out of the sand before they wind up buried beneath it. He’s more than aware of his importance in their friendship dynamics. It’s just, sometimes he wishes that person didn’t have to be him.
And then, he hears it.
“There’s a fucking Snorlax!” someone shrieks, cutting through the hum of voices like knife in butter. For a solid heartbeat or two, the park is reduced to pure, stunned silence. People are staring slack-jawed, unable to fully process what had just been said, wondering if it’s real or just a dumb joke.
Jihoon slowly trades glances with the others—Seokmin blinks dumbly, like he’s surfacing from a dream—and just like that, he and the maybe thirty other people in the park are all jumping to their feet and running.
The sheer pandemonium that occurs in the span of two and a half seconds is overwhelming. People are pushing and jostling each other, shouting for directions, panicked and gleeful and howling, growing more stressed with every victorious voice that calls out that they caught one. Even Jihoon, who has only been invested in the game at the most superficial level possible, finds the tension mounting and his excitement rising. He races after Soonyoung and nearly has a heart attack when Soonyoung screeches to a stop right in front of him, screaming, “I got it! I got it!”
“Where is it?” Jihoon demands, staring at his phone. There’s a Chansey a couple feet away and two Kakunas hovering uselessly behind him on the map, but no Snorlax. “Fucking Christ, Soonyoung, where did you get it?”
“Try moving a little further!” Soonyoung snaps at him, already investing in the best Pokeballs he’s got in his inventory. Jihoon spots Seungkwan and Seokmin a little ways off and charges towards their general direction, spinning uselessly in circles in the large expanse of a soccer field just beside the park, growing more and more frantic with each passing second.
“Yes!” someone crows right beside him, pumping their fist in the air. Jihoon’s temper, always at a low tolerance rate in the sticky discomfort of a hot summer, reaches its breaking point—this is the first time he’s ever found himself genuinely invested in this stupid game, and catching that Snorlax would have made these past two weeks of awful, cicada-infested hell worth it, and the universe still refuses to give him a break, and instead hands their fucking trophy-of-the-day over to someone else?
“Oh, fuck you!” Jihoon spits, whirling around to face the lucky son of a bitch with murder in his heart and fury in his eyes.
Only to come face-to-face with the handsome stranger he’s been ogling all this time.
Shit.
“I mean, um,” Jihoon stutters, an awful, embarrassed heat beginning to flush up his cheeks and ears. The stranger is looking down at him in surprised bafflement—he probably has no idea what’s going on, he just wants to get a god tier Pokemon for this shitty fucking game like everybody else, why is someone yelling at him like he committed a crime—and Jihoon wishes he could just dig a hole into the grass beneath his feet, crawl in there, and die. “I mean, uh, fuck—that I didn’t—get—a Snorlax.”
To his complete and utter shock, the stranger doesn’t look all that offended, or pissed off, or like he might deck Jihoon in the face. Instead, a small grin breaks out across his face, slowly, before spreading into a full-blown smile. His eyes crinkle. Up close, he has the most ridiculous eyelashes.
“Sorry,” he says with a laugh, “I guess today’s my lucky day.”
Jihoon smiles shakily back, awkward and stiff and mortified, and thinks that the lucky day might belong to him after all.
His name is Choi Seungcheol, and incredibly enough, he goes to Jihoon’s college. Jihoon balks at the thought of that—he’s spent two years there, and he never saw him even once?—but when Seungcheol explains he’s a Kinesiology major, and spends most of his time in the Health Sciences building and gymnasium, both two places Jihoon and his Music major avoid with a burning passion, it makes a little more sense.
“I think I’ve seen you around before, actually,” Seungcheol says. With the Snorlax craze dying down, everyone has dispersed back to the park. Jihoon lost sight of his friends ages ago, but now that he’s sitting in the itchy, slightly damp grass next to Seungcheol, he doesn’t really care all that much.
“Have you?”
They’re blessed with a breeze, and Seungcheol’s rich brown hair ruffles in the wind. Jihoon’s mouth goes dry. “This year’s concert. That girl, uh, what was her name? Yeri? Yuna? Yeah, her, whatever. She was singing that song, and I remember you were on the piano.”
“Oh.” He’s surprised that Seungcheol seems to remember him more than he remembers Choi Yuna, the pretty first year girl in his program who begged him to play the accompaniment for her solo for the music concert at the end of the year. Jihoon hates performing for an apathetic audience of fellow peers more than he enjoys playing the piano, but he had correctly assumed everyone would be too busy ogling her to care about him plonking away in the background. “Kinda suspicious of you to remember me from a single performance from, like, months ago.”
Seungcheol raises an eyebrow at him, a playful glint in his eye. “I dunno. Kinda suspicious of you to be staring at me every day.”
Jihoon can feel his cheeks burn pink like he’s in middle school again and crushing on the girl who smiled at him when he let her borrow a pencil. “I wasn’t staring,” he splutters weakly. “I just—I get bored, I was people watching. You just so happen to catch me every time I’m glancing in your direction.”
Seungcheol’s eyes widen in mock surprise. “Oh, my apologies. I didn’t realize blatantly checking out someone’s ass counted as just ‘glancing in their general direction’.”
“Okay, first of all; I have never stared at your ass.” That’s an awful lie, but Jihoon’s always been good at lying through his teeth. “That is a gross misunderstanding on your part. Second; what were you even doing at the concert, anyway?” It’s a very obvious attempt to change the subject, but maybe Seungcheol can see the discomfort and embarrassment in Jihoon’s face, because he shrugs and follows along with it.
“I like music. I’ve gone to all the Music department concerts.”
“All of them?”
“What? A college jock studying Health and Fitness can’t enjoy a band performance every now and then?”
This man just has an insane ability to render Jihoon flustered with every word. “I-I wasn’t trying to stereotype you. I just. Am surprised, that’s all.”
Seungcheol only laughs. “I’m only kidding, Jihoon. I really do like listening to bands, though. Like, that one concert I think in first year? When you guys did that Phantom of the Opera medley? That was awesome.”
He’s tall, athletic, handsome, has a good attitude, and he knows Phantom of the Opera? Jihoon thinks he’s about to cry—this guy can’t be real. He can’t be real and smiling at Jihoon like he genuinely enjoys talking to him.
“I should probably go,” he says, standing up slowly and regretting every second of it. “I’ll … see you, I guess.”
Seungcheol looks up at him, dark eyes wide and soulful and unexpectedly reminding Jihoon of every damn cheesy love poem he’s ever read, and Jihoon desperately wishes he has the courage to ask Seungcheol for his number. Or for Seungcheol to ask him, instead.
“See you around,” Seungcheol echoes, and Jihoon trudges back to find his friends like it’s a death sentence. Suddenly, going back tomorrow to catch more stupid Pokemon is something he’s kind of looking forward to.
“Something’s up,” Seokmin says suspiciously as they head to the park the next day. Or, well, as suspiciously as he can. Seokmin is like the human personification of buttered toast, or honey; he’s physically incapable of producing negative emotions. “You’re too eager to come with us today. Did something happen when you disappeared on us yesterday for, like, an hour?”
“Oh, so you admit that you guys have been dragging me here against my will?” Jihoon snarks, masterfully deflecting the question.
Seokmin has the decency to look ashamed—Jihoon knew he liked him best for a reason—but unfortunately, Soonyoung is within earshot and Soonyoung knows Jihoon far more than he should for a best friend/ex-crush. “Don’t fall for it, Seok, he’s trying to change the subject. Why are you so eager, huh, Hoonie? Is it that guy you’ve been ogling for the past week?”
“How do you know about that?” Jihoon says, too shocked to remember to lie.
“Because I know you, dumbass. Anyway, is it?”
“What, what, what are we talking about?” Seungkwan demands, sidling up closer to them. “What’s going on?”
“Don’t drag him into this, too,” Jihoon warns, just as Soonyoung turns to Seungkwan and says with a cheeky grin, “Jihoon’s got some hot date today.”
“Hot date? With who?”
“With nobody!” Jihoon snaps. “Nobody, okay? Jesus Christ, I can’t meet and have a short conversation with someone new without being scrutinized?”
Seungkwan smirks at Soonyoung, but doesn’t say anything more. Feeling his ears start to burn, Jihoon walks a little faster to separate himself from the group, trying to scan the crowd already at the park for signs of Seungcheol’s messy black hair. It takes him a moment, but eventually he sees him standing in the shade of one of the trees that line the park’s unofficial perimeter, wearing a loose blue jacket made of something light and cottony and ridiculously attractive. Jihoon quickly tries to plan his escape.
“I’m going to find some place in the shade,” he says, slowly beginning to edge away from them. “I’ll see you guys in a bit, I guess.”
“Hot date!” Seungkwan screeches after him, loud enough to make every head in a teen feet radius turn. Jihoon forces his legs into a half-run, determinedly not looking back. It’s easier to deal with this embarrassing crowd when he pretends he doesn’t know them.
Despite his eagerness to ditch his miserable excuse for friends, Jihoon hovers around stupidly for almost five or six minutes before he actually strolls up to Seungcheol, trying to look casual and very likely failing. “Guess you’re here again,” he says. His voice sounds too high, too nervous. “You really don’t skip a day, do you?” Too low. Now he sounds like he’s trying to seduce him. Oh, this is awful.
Seungcheol looks up from his phone (he just caught a Pikachu, lucky bastard) and he breaks out into a smile that makes Jihoon want to shrink in his shoes. “Jihoon,” he says, brightly. “Glad you came.”
“I had to,” Jihoon scoffs, pretending Seungcheol’s happiness at seeing him isn’t making his ears burn. “My stupid housemates would drag me out of bed.”
“You only come here because of your housemates?”
“This might surprise you, but I really couldn’t care less about this fucking app.” Seungcheol laughs, encouraging Jihoon to speak more. “I mean, I don’t get the hype over it, there’s nothing else to do? It’s just catching those dumb Pokemon and fighting for a gym to be a different colour. You can’t really interact with the Pokemon in any way. The only cool part was when you could make a Jigglypuff look like it’s, like, sitting on your couch or something, but nobody even uses that feature because it eats away your phone battery like nobody’s business. It’s just … stupid.”
“You don’t like Pokemon?” Seungcheol asks, eyes twinkling. Nobody should have eyelashes that long—there should be a law against it, or something. Jihoon is abruptly reminded of Seungkwan’s ridiculous crush on some kid called Vernon who was in his Cell Biology course. He’s seen him around before, and on an objective level can see why Seungkwan’s been crushing so hard on someone he’s barely spoken two full sentences to in one sitting—the kid has the kind of bone structure attractive Youtubers only dream of, with eyelashes that brush his cheeks when he looks down or blinks. Jihoon never really understood why Seungkwan cared so much about such a useless facial feature before, until now, when Seungcheol’s got lashes like a goddamn camel and it’s somehow impossible to not stare.
“It’s not that I don’t like it, I do. I have all the games on my 3DS and I used to watch the show when I was a kid. I just … don’t care enough about the app, is all.”
“Well, that’s fair.”
A gust of wind blows by, sending Jihoon’s baggy T-shirt flapping and Seungcheol’s jacket blowing back against his shoulders. Jihoon’s struck dumb at the realization that Seungcheol is wearing a tank top underneath and his arms are bare, and almost forgets to say, “Why do you like the game so much?”
“I dunno. It’s fun, I guess?” Seungcheol idly taps at his phone screen. “I’ve always liked the idea of being a Pokemon trainer. It’s kind of like being able to live your childhood dream. Well, almost. Anyway, it’s my last free summer vacation before my final year of undergrad starts and I have to start looking for a job. I just want to relax and enjoy something simple, you know?”
Jihoon can’t even imagine a life after his undergrad. He still has two more years to go, and despite how fast time seems to fly in school, a future where he actually completes his Music degree seems like a lifetime away.
“I get that,” he says anyway, because he wants to sound like someone Seungcheol can relate to. “What do you, uh, wanna do after you graduate?”
Seungcheol shrugs. “Who knows? Maybe be a fitness instructor. Or a PE teacher.” He shoots Jihoon a sly grin, one that looks far more flirtatious than it really should be, and adds, “Maybe I’ll get you to make some workout tracks for me.”
Jihoon tries to laugh it off, but it’s hard to laugh anything off successfully when your face is as red as a tomato. He sounds a little audibly pained when he says, “That’s gonna cost you.”
“Yeah?” Seungcheol’s voice drops. He leans in a little closer, close enough for Jihoon to breathe in and get a whiff of whatever cologne he uses. It smells closer to Axe body spray than it does to Chanel, but it’s still enough to get Jihoon’s heart to stutter out of pace. “How much, exactly?”
“Ji-hoon!” Seokmin’s voice yells, and Jihoon scrambles several steps away from Seungcheol as Seokmin and his stupidly cheerful yellow polo shirt comes striding towards them. “Jihoon, Soonyoung’s looking for you! He said there’s, like, a thousand Dragonairs by the river, we’re gonna drive over there instead.”
“We’re leaving?” Jihoon splutters. He doesn’t know why he’s so embarrassed, why he’s acting like Seokmin just caught him and Seungcheol in the act of something indecent. They were just talking. Only talking. That’s all it was.
“Yeah.” Seokmin seems to finally connect the dots and looks between Seungcheol and Jihoon rapidly. “Uhh …”
“Hi,” Seungcheol says, stepping forward and smoothly extending his hand. There goes his blinding megawatt-smile. Jihoon spies a set of dimples deepening in his cheeks and looks up at the sky in despair. “I’m Seungcheol. I’m a … new friend of Jihoon’s.”
That’s a friendly enough introduction for him. Seokmin beams back, and gives Seungcheol’s hand an enthusiastic shake. “I’m Seokmin! I’m Jihoon’s friend and housemate. Are you here catching Pokemon, too?”
“I’ve been coming almost every day since it came out.”
“Awesome, so have I! Hey, do you wanna come to the river with us? I’m sure the others won’t mind, and there’s room left for one more in the car.”
“Seokmin,” Jihoon hisses, mortification lacing its way almost painfully into the very marrow of his bones. The idea of Seungcheol being in the same cramped confines of a car with Soonyoung and Seungkwan for a solid twenty minutes, with Jihoon forced to be in the same breathing space, is a terrifying prospect to consider. “I’m sure he’s got better stuff to be doing—I mean—”
“Yeah, sure,” Seungcheol says, and Jihoon dies a little inside. “Lead the way.”
The two of them, both bright and sunny personalities, chat up a storm as they head back to the others where they’re waiting in the parking lot. Jihoon trails along, far less bright and sunny and a bit more like a miniature storm cloud, mentally preparing himself for all the embarrassment waiting for him. It’s not that Soonyoung and Seungkwan enjoy seeing Jihoon look bad in front of important people—they just like to watch him suffer sometimes.
Soonyoung is leaning against the car, Seungkwan jumping through a dozen different radio channels in the passenger seat. At the sight of the three of them approaching, Soonyoung taps at the windshield and he and Seungkwan exchange very obvious grins that Seungcheol can probably see.
“Hey there,” Soonyoung says, smile widening and widening until he looks like he’s scheming something dastardly. “I’m Soonyoung, that’s Seungkwan. We’re Jihoon’s friends. Are you coming with us?”
“If the invitation still stands,” Seungcheol says.
“Climb into the back, pal.”
Jihoon finds himself squashed in between Seokmin and Seungcheol on the ride over. He’s not sure how Seungkwan managed to communicate his devious master plan to Seokmin, but he knows for a fact that Seokmin isn’t taking up so much space in the back seat by accident, or by his own design. Seokmin’s too nice to be devious or concoct master plans. Jihoon’s wedged uncomfortably close to Seungcheol, practically plastered to his side, and every time Soonyoung’s genuinely terrible driving makes them swerve into a pothole or he hits the brakes too hard, Jihoon’s knees bash into Seungcheol’s muscular legs and he mutters low apologies and feels like dying.
The river is much cooler than the park, and Jihoon’s instantly annoyed that they haven’t been coming here every day instead. The water itself is nothing special, a grimy-looking blue-grey that’s probably filled with more city pollution and algae than water, but there’s an ice cream shop and a Starbucks right next to the harbour, and the river is lined with smooth rocks that they can climb up on and catch Pokemon to their heart’s content.
“So, Seungcheol,” Seungkwan says loudly and too causally, “how do you know Jihoon?”
“When the Snorlax appeared at the park,” Seungcheol says. He shoots Jihoon a brilliant, playful grin. “I caught one instead of him and he told me to fuck off.”
Seungkwan has the nerve to laugh, hard. “That sounds like our Jihoon.”
“Both of you shut up,” Jihoon snaps, hoping the slight spray of the water when it crashes against the side of the rocks will be able to calm the heat rushing into his cheeks.
“What about you guys?” Seungcheol asks, tapping at a nearby Pokestop. “How do you all know Jihoon?”
“Can’t you tell? Jihoon is just so popular, he charmed us all with his good looks and magnetic, outgoing personality.”
“Seungkwan, I hate you.”
Seungkwan smiles sweetly at him and mouths something when Seungcheol’s back is turned, either saying I like this guy or sweet chili fries, but either way Jihoon dutifully ignores him and instead does his best to work up the nerve to talk to Seungcheol.
“Sorry about my friends. They’re, um. They’re just assholes.”
Seungcheol snickers into the screen of his phone. His dimples are as prominent as ever. “I like them, they’re fun. I’m glad you’ve got them around.”
“I mean …” Jihoon can’t bring himself to be snarky forever. His voice drops, just so that they won’t be able to hear him. “They’re good. They get me out of the house and doing shit. Without them, I’d be sleeping in every day and only leaving to go to my Fantasy Lit summer course.”
“I see.” Seungcheol’s smile is carefully friendly, eyes softer than they really should be. “So if it wasn’t for them, you wouldn’t have ever gone to the park?”
What is he trying to say? The same thing that Jihoon is thinking—that without them and their annoying persistence, he’d never have met Seungcheol? He looks down at his feet, at his black sandals, and wishes he was brave enough to say it, maybe make Seungcheol’s smile look less friendly and look more like it means something. But he’s awkward, and introverted, and not that great at talking to people, and more than any of that, his sarcasm and standoffish behaviour hides the fact that he’s shy and self-conscious in a way most people wouldn’t expect from him. So he watches the waves crash against the rocks three feet away from him and says nothing.
It’s Seungcheol who speaks first. “You said you were taking Fantasy Lit for the summer?”
Jihoon nods. “Yeah.”
He hesitates. “I never took that course, but I’ve got a friend who aced it and I’ve read most of the books on their list. If you want, I could help you. With the course. If you need help, that is.”
Behind him, on a different slab of rock that’s just within earshot, Seokmin and Soonyoung give Jihoon eager nods and thumbs up gestures. Seungkwan’s taking a picture of the two of them that Jihoon’s probably going to see in his Snapchat in a couple of minutes.
“I—yeah.” He keeps his eyes trained on a couple of ducks paddling lazily by on the opposite side of the river, just so he doesn’t have to turn around and see the way Seungcheol is looking at him and get his tongue all mixed up. “Yeah, that sounds great.” And then, before he can chicken out, “I’ll give you my number, I guess?”
Seungcheol’s smile looks like it means something. Maybe one day, when he’s strong enough to face the answer, Jihoon might be able to decipher it.
A blistering hot July makes way for an equally insufferable August. Jihoon passes his summer course with flying colours, something Seungcheol is impossibly pleased about.
To be honest, Jihoon really didn’t need his input to do well—but when Seungcheol was so eager to spend some late hours with him to go over fantasy novels and essays analyzing the genre, just the two of them with their heads bowed together, whispering quietly so a snoring Seungkwan next door won’t come in to complain, who did Jihoon think he was to deny him?
(Seungcheol once fell asleep at his desk. Jihoon was too embarrassed and insecure to wake him up, to maybe do something bolder like invite him to share his bed, so he let him stay there until morning. But he spent more time than he would usually dare to look at his face, trace his eyes over the slope of his nose and the turn of his cheekbones and the curl of his jaw. Seungcheol looks younger when he’s asleep, like a dreaming child. Jihoon could barely fall asleep himself that night, too focused on the rhythmic breathing in the same room as him.)
“Looks like you won’t need me around anymore,” Seungcheol says. Once again, his features tell different stories. His smile is bright and teasing, but his eyes seem genuinely concerned.
Jihoon scoffs and elbows him in the gut, meeting more taught muscle than soft flesh and immediately imagining a shirtless Seungcheol and wanting to die.
“Who else is gonna drive me to the library?” he says with a snort, and it’s almost laughable that the only reason he would want Seungcheol around would be for a handy designated driver and vents blasting A/C. It’s a laughable, absurd reason, because Seungcheol is bright and refreshing and brilliant, and his presence does so much more to Jihoon than he’d ever dare admit, but Seungcheol’s smile fades a little and it looks like he thinks Jihoon is serious.
“You know, I’ve never really tried that shawarma place down by the river,” Jihoon says idly, ignoring the way his heart patters loudly against his ribcage. “If you don’t mind driving us there, I’ll treat you.”
The smile is back in full force. “Are you spoiling me?”
Of course. Seungcheol is someone who deserves to be spoiled, and Jihoon’s never been very good at being sweet with his words. But Jihoon only grabs his wallet and dangles it teasingly just out of reach, waiting for Seungcheol to pull out his keys. The feeling of the suffocating, dry, hot air when he opens the door and steps outside feels more welcoming than damning for some reason, and after almost four months of cursing mother nature, that’s saying something.
Jihoon is surprised to find that he doesn’t hate summer anymore. Well, he still does, but now summer doesn’t mean gross heat and uncomfortably sweating every time he steps outside. Now, summer means Seungcheol in tank tops and shorts, treating everyone to ice cream after they go Pokemon hunting together (“I love this guy,” Seokmin declares after he gets a double scoop of chocolate mint in a waffle cone). Summer means Seungcheol pushing his hair back whenever he readjusts his snapback, revealing strong eyebrows and a determined forehead that makes Jihoon’s mouth go dry and his mind start swimming with impossible possibilities. Summer means freedom, and long days of nothing, and lying on his back in the grassy field by the park and watching clouds roll by.
And somehow, it feels like the time he has to enjoy this—the time he has with Seungcheol—has an expiration date. And that expiration date is the start of school in September.
Jihoon knows it’s silly—this isn’t high school, where people can only seem to hold friendships if they share classes together and physically see each other every day of the week. This is college. This is adulthood. He has Seungcheol’s number on his phone and records of their daily text messages. He doesn’t need to stress out about something so childish, act like they’ll become ghosts to each other the moment the calendar flips to the next page.
And yet, that’s the feeling he gets whenever Soonyoung or Seungkwan or someone makes an idle comment about school, or about the upcoming autumn. That when summer finally ends, so will his time with Seungcheol. It will be a brief fling, a summer night, and then reality will hit him hard and fast and Seungcheol will become just another faceless body Jihoon passes by on his way to his classes. Or worse yet, Seungcheol will be someone who stands out from the crowd, but always out of reach and painfully unapproachable, and the only time they’ll ever be able to cross paths will be when he attends the Music program’s concerts and watches Jihoon play the piano.
“Where’s everyone else?” Seungcheol asks when he pulls into their driveway in his hulking disaster of a green Jeep.
“They went to the river earlier today,” Jihoon says with a shrug, trying to remain nonchalant as he climbs in. Even after weeks of this, being together alone with Seungcheol still makes his skin itch and his cheeks feel hot. “We can join them later.”
Seungcheol doesn’t say anything for a moment. Jihoon wonders if he wants to ask why they can’t join them now, why Jihoon wants to go catch Pokemon with just him for a little while. But maybe he already has an answer to that question, or maybe he doesn’t want to know, because he just says, “Okay then,” and heads towards the park.
For some reason, there is a strange tension between them as they sit up against the rough bark of an arching oak tree and mindlessly throw Pokeballs around. Jihoon can’t really figure it out—they’ve been alone plenty of times before, and it always seemed okay. He doesn’t understand why this feels different. Why Seungcheol’s silence feels more poignant than before. Why the sight of him and his stupid long eyelashes and full lips fills Jihoon with a bizarre sense of sadness and finality.
“Seungcheol?” he starts to say, nerves twisting and wriggling beneath his skin.
“Mmm?” Seungcheol doesn’t look up from his phone.
“I—never mind.”
Seungcheol looks up now, head turning to face him, but Jihoon’s already staring resolutely at his phone and pretending he gives a shit about the Magikarp he just caught. Through his peripherals, he can see Seungcheol looking at him like he wants to say something, or do something, but after a few moments he returns to his phone as well.
Over an hour passes by in this way, and by the time Seungcheol raises his arms up over his head and stretches, neck and back cracking at least three times in different places, Jihoon’s fingers are digging anxiously into his phone case and he’s feeling a little more than desperate.
“We should head to the river now,” Seungcheol says. “They’re probably wondering where we are. Better Pokemon there, anyway.”
They stand up, Jihoon stumbling a little on numb legs. This can’t be over yet. Their time can’t be up yet.
Seungcheol is already starting to make his way to the Jeep, the reassuring slope of his back inexplicably forlorn and distant, and Jihoon can’t breathe. He can’t think. He needs to say something, before his time ticks down to zero and the leaves are red and gold and Seungkwan is obsessing over pumpkin spice lattes again and there’s nothing left but the ashes of all his unfinished words choking the dying air between them. He opens his mouth and takes a great big gulp of stuffy, warm air and freshly cut grass.
“Seungcheol,” he blurts out, stuttering a little over his words, a bit too loud and a bit too fast, “listen. I—not that I give a shit or anything—but do you still wanna hang out, like, when school starts or whatever?”
Seungcheol stops and turns around quickly, like he had been waiting—hoping—for Jihoon to say something. His eyes are glittering with an inner light but utterly unreadable. “What was that?”
“I just—” oh god, this is so embarrassing, Jihoon can feel his face on fire and his stomach is twisting hard enough to make him nauseous, he wants to swallow back everything he just said and pretend nothing is different, nothing will change, summer will last forever and time doesn’t exist except for him and Seungcheol and this stupid Pokemon game that brought them together. “I just—uh, I—when school starts. If you still want to. Um. See me. When school starts.”
Seungcheol stares at him for a moment, eyes shrewd and intense and enough for Jihoon to shrink into himself.
“Jihoon,” Seungcheol says, and the way he says his name—
Before Jihoon can try and figure out the meaning of it, Seungcheol is already closing the space between them in long, impatient strides, and kissing him full on the mouth.
When he pulls away a thousand years later, Seungcheol looks a little flustered and he says, “Sorry if that wasn’t okay, or whatever.”
Jihoon blinks at him, struck dumb. The sensation of Seungcheol’s hand resting lightly against the side of his cheek is seared into the very flesh beneath his skin, a boiling hot tattoo. “You’re asking if it was okay after you already kissed me?”
“Well, I’ve wanted to kiss you for weeks now.” Seungcheol shrugs, acting nonchalant to hide how insecure he’s starting to look. “And I kind of had the feeling you wanted it, too. Did I, um, did I read that wrong, or …?”
“No.” Jihoon blushes. His lips tingle from the ghost memory of Seungcheol’s mouth on his. Tattooed. Marked. He feels like everyone in the park is staring. “You, uh, didn’t read that wrong.”
Seungcheol’s shoulders sag with barely restrained relief. His face splits into a glowing smile. “Good. Does that mean you like me back?”
Jihoon blushes even harder, but he still has enough sarcasm in him to let out a snippy, “You never said you liked me, you said you just wanted to kiss me.”
Seungcheol, bless his big dumb muscly heart, only laughs at that response. “If it makes you feel better, Hoonie, I’ve wanted to kiss you since the day you decided to randomly swear at me at the park. And I’ve liked you for almost as long as I’ve wanted to kiss you. And if you’re asking me if we can still see each other when school starts, I’d answer that I would want to do more than just see you, but that’s up to what you want out of this.”
“I haven’t dated anyone in a while,” Jihoon stutters out, wholeheartedly embarrassed and pleased all at once. “And the last person I even had f-feelings for was—”
“Soonyoung. Yeah, I know.”
“Wait, you know? Who told you?”
The grin that faces him is one both triumphant and unapologetic. “Soonyoung.”
“Motherfucker. Don’t tell me he knew the whole time?” Jihoon’s gonna have some words with that ass when he gets back. Or maybe not. Maybe he’ll just never talk to him ever again. But whatever, he doesn’t want to derail this extremely important conversation by talking about Soonyoung. “Anyway, that’s not the point.”
“Yes, your point was that you like me and want to date me.”
“Shut up for a second, dammit. I, I’m not good at this sort of thing. But, I mean. I want to try. For you.”
“I only need you to try, Jihoon.” Seungcheol takes him by the hand and slowly pulls him in closer. Jihoon thinks he can see the entire damn world reflected off of his eyes, something bright and glittering and hopeful for the future. Something that doesn’t feel like ending anytime soon. “I only need you to try.”
The summer is still as impossibly hot and gross and awful as ever. A long period without rain sends the grass slowly withering to a dull yellowish-green, sapping the energy out of the very earth itself until even the squirrels and birds seem lethargic, barely shuffling aside when Jihoon passes by. Somehow, his friends are still full of life and vigour, still dragging his ass out of bed at ridiculous hours of the day and forcing him out of the house and into the taxing heat. There are brief moments of respite here and there—Seungkwan treating him to a surprise venti iced coffee at Starbucks; Soonyoung and Seokmin taking him to karaoke so he can passionately let out his feelings into a shitty microphone; the pleasantly cool air-conditioning of Seungcheol’s apartment, watching a movie and fighting back slight shivers whenever Seungcheol leans over to whisper in his ear—but all in all, this year’s summer has proven to be a brutal piece of work, and even as September draws closer and closer it doesn’t seem to be letting up anytime soon.
Despite all of this, Jihoon can safely say he’s no longer desperately counting down the days until the end of summer vacation—not that he’s particularly dreading it, either. He managed to get a Gyarados, a personal victory just grand enough for him to almost (almost) not regret downloading the game, Seungcheol still manages to make him blush every time he kisses him (even when the others aren’t looking), and the passage of time doesn’t feel so threatening anymore.
He lets himself forget about his pessimism, about dragging himself and everyone else back down to earth when they float a bit too high. He lets himself relax and think of Seungcheol’s hand in his, enjoy the world and what it has to offer to him.
One day at a time.