Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

    His name is Kim Wonpil.

    This is all Sungjin knows - his name is Kim Wonpil, and he’s part of the Student Council. His name is Kim Wonpil, and he manned the punch bowl for the second half of last year’s prom.

    His name is Kim Wonpil, and he is on Sungjin’s bus.

    Here - some context, just to keep things on track. Sungjin has a job over the summer, teaching kids how to play the guitar and sing sort of on-key. Every weekday, he busses over to the community centre where the lessons take place - maybe twice, if he wants to go out for lunch. He meets up with Jae, who has a job there too, and Brian afterwards, when he’s not busy making out with Dowoon or anything else they lie terribly about not doing. The entire day, he gets lost in joking about how gross BriWoon is with Jae and painstakingly explaining chord progressions to confused nine-year-olds.

    Well - the entire day, beginning from ten AM. Before that, though, is Kim Wonpil.

    The bus is usually pretty empty on summer mornings, but Wonpil always manages to sit behind, beside, in front of him - always manages to somehow make brief eye contact with him as he’s greeting the bus driver. Always manages to do just the right amount to keep him hooked but also questioning his sanity.

    And, okay, most people would describe this kind of thing as a crush, but it isn’t. Sungjin would like to believe himself a more reasonable person than to fall for someone he’s never spoken to.

    “Dude,” Jae says loudly one afternoon as they’re talking over burgers and fries, mouth full, “you’re totally into him.”

    Sungjin tries to glare, but it’s hard when he also has to wipe all the crumbs and sauce off Jae’s mouth. “I’m not . You can’t be into someone when you’ve never even technically met them.”

    Jae chokes back a scoff, which is very insulting. Sungjin wishes his other, less annoying best friend weren’t so occupied with his gross perfect romance. “And you call me insane.”

    Sungjin blinks. “Jae,” he starts, “one time you skateboarded down a hill at midnight singing Take On Me so loudly someone called the cops.”

    Jae rolls his eyes. “These double standards,” he says. Sungjin has to restrain himself from throwing a fry at him.

--

    There’s about a week left of summer when Wonpil shows up at the community centre, trailing behind the general manager in a loose gray shirt and a flower tucked behind his right ear. His blue sneakers match the string around his wrist and the string around his wrist kind of matches the leather bracelet around Sungjin’s wrist, a little bit. He tries not to think about it too much.

    “This is Wonpil,” the manager introduces, and Wonpil steps forward with a smile that lights up rooms. Out of the corner of his eye, Sungjin can see some of the older girls whisper to each other. “He’s going to teach you some basic theory and play a little piano. Treat him as well as you treat Sungjin, okay?”

    “Okay!” the little ones chorus, and it makes Sungjin smile despite himself. He doesn’t notice Wonpil walking towards him until they’re face-to-face, and the latter is extending a hand in greeting.

            “Hi,” he says, and his voice is quiet and encouraging. It’s the kind of voice Sungjin wishes he had when some of the kids are nervous about performing. “I’m Wonpil. You’re Sungjin, right?”

    “Right,” he says, and they shake hands. Wonpil’s fingers are long, delicate-boned and tapered. They look almost breakable next to Sungjin’s, which are hard-knuckled and calloused from years of playing the guitar. “Nice to meet you. We go to the same school, don’t we?”

    “Right,” Wonpil echoes, and tilts his head like he wants to say something else before a girl, old enough to know an attractive guy when she sees one but young enough to not quite fully understand social constructs, tugs on his shirt and directs his attention away. Sungjin blinks in the sudden cold, and feels vaguely like something’s been stolen from him.

    “Be my boyfriend,” the girl says, and Sungjin chokes a little on his saliva.

    To his surprise, Wonpil just laughs like this is something that happens every day. It probably does, looking at him. “I would, but my girlfriend wouldn’t like that.”

Sungjin blinks. Oh. He turns to work with the other kids, and tries to forget about the way Wonpil’s shirt falls off his shoulders.

--

Kim Wonpil is on his bus.

Like, his actual bus. School bus. It's the first day of his senior year and Kim Wonpil is boarding his school bus in the same gray shirt he'd worn a week ago. When he puts his hand on the seat in front of him, Sungjin notices that the blue string is there, too. He doesn't know why he remembers.

“Here,” he says when it's clear there are no places to sit that aren't next to a drug dealer or a couple making out. He pats the spot next to him. “Sit.”

Wonpil’s smile is grateful, brightens up the dim light of the early morning. “Thanks,” he says quietly. Sungjin thinks that maybe his entire existence is just one big quiet, peaceful smile. “No guitar this time?” he teases.

In the summer, Sungjin'd had to bring his guitar with him on the bus to the center. The joke shocks a laugh out of him, and he says, “If I could sing my way to university, I would. Besides,” he nods at Wonpil’s ear, “no flower today, huh?”

“If half the school didn't have pollen allergies, I would,” Wonpil replies easily. “Either way, I feel like seventeen-year-olds would appreciate it a lot less than seven-year-olds.”

“I don't know,” he says before he can stop himself. He's usually more controlled than this - a lot more polite and a lot less relaxed. “I think maybe we need a little light in the crushing despair of high school life.”

Wonpil actually laughs then, a delighted kind of sound that makes Sungjin smile before he even realizes he's reacting. “I can't argue with that,” he concedes. His face has opened up into an expression of contentment, and it reminds Sungjin of sunny mornings and billowing curtains.

My girlfriend wouldn’t like that , Wonpil had said a week ago. Sungjin doesn’t know why he’s thinking about it now.

--

    At some point between then and now, Wonpil becomes Sungjin’s unofficial bus buddy.

    They talk before and after school - about trees and politics and abject despair - but not in the hallways or at lunch. Wonpil has his own friends and Sungjin has Jae and Brian and Dowoon, and university looming just around the corner. So he doesn’t talk to Wonpil during school, not really, but after school he gets on the bus and Wonpil’s there, in their seat, lunchbag in his lap and one earbud hanging off his finger as an invitation. An invitation Sungjin always, always takes.

    At some point between then and now, Wonpil becomes something he can look forward to.

--

    Sometimes, Wonpil will mention his girlfriend.

    Not to Sungjin, of course - he never talks about her directly with Sungjin. But one afternoon, when the bus feels more like a freezer from how cold it is, the girl who’s been sitting near them the entire year leans over and says, “hey, you. Sunshine Boy. My friend wants me to ask you out.”

    Sungjin raises an eyebrow - because really, asking someone out by proxy? What is this, the third grade? - but Wonpil just laughs in a way that’s meant to be as nice as possible and says, “sorry, I already have a girlfriend.”

    “Oh.” The girl leans back into her seat, eyebrows furrowed in disappointment. Me too, Sungjin thinks. Me too.

--

    Sungjin is tired, and he forgot to take his meds.

    Sungjin is tired, and a whole lot more depressed than he usually is. Usually, it doesn’t matter too much - maybe he’ll walk around feeling hollow, maybe he’ll say things he regrets later, but it doesn’t change much. He just studies and talks to his friends and comes home and goes to sleep. That’s all.

    Except - except. Wonpil.

    He’s trying to study for a test on the coming week, but the words are swimming in front of him and there’s this weight bearing down on him, turning his insides into liquid metal. His fingers shake when he tries to type and he doesn’t see the point in doing anything at all, has to grip the seat occasionally so he won’t get the Exacto knife out from his pencil case and run the blade along his wrists until he sees red.

    And then- and then. Kim Wonpil.

    The bus door opens and closes, and Wonpil is only halfway down the aisle when he sees him, sees his shaking hands and blurry eyes and rushes over. He dumps his bag into the seat across from them and grabs Sungjin’s wrists, using an elbow to close his laptop. Sungjin’s breath is rattling in his ribcage, slow and painful.

    “I’m here,” he says, and when his vision clears he’s right there, bright eyes clouded in worry. “I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere. Okay? Okay?”

    Sungjin nods, swallows hard. A hand comes up to the side of his head, pushing gently until he’s leaning on Wonpil’s shoulder, one arm linked with his. The scenery outside the window exists only in paint strokes, and he watches his fingers melt into chords and melodies as he drifts into sleep.

    And - and. There’s only Wonpil.

--

    Brian and Dowoon love perfectly.

    That’s the only way to describe it. They’re not always together, and they don’t always have to be, but you take one look at the two of them in the same room and you know. Dowoon wears Brian’s shirts and knows where his earrings are before he’s even aware they’re lost and writes math equations on the insides of his wrists so he’ll remember better. Brian can pick up on Dowoon’s mood from across the room and serenades him with purposefully off-key singing and texts him good morning the second he wakes up.

    They love perfectly, but the only person that crosses Sungjin’s mind when he thinks of romantic love has maybe, maybe, maybe bright eyes and a flower behind his ear and blue string around his wrist. Who maybe, maybe, maybe has a girlfriend.

    And maybe, maybe, maybe Kim Wonpil has become the highlight of Park Sungjin’s life.

--

    Days become weeks become months become a year, and suddenly it’s June when Wonpil says, voice cutting through the humid air, “how do you feel, graduating?”

    Sungjin tries not to grimace. He thinks Wonpil sees it anyways. “From what I’ve heard about university life, I’m really not looking forward to it. I mean,” he breathes in, “I’m lucky that Jae and Brian and I are all going to the same university, and I got early admission so I don’t know half the stress they went through, but I’ll miss this, you know? Maybe not the cafeteria food, but,” he watches Wonpil laugh, wonders if this is the right time, “definitely the free tuition. And definitely, definitely…”

    “Definitely what?” Wonpil’s eyes look like summer, Sungjin thinks. It makes sense, for someone with a smile like the sun. “What else will you miss?”

    Sungjin swallows, takes the leap. “You,” he says. “I’ll miss - I’ll miss you.”

    Who thought putting a bunch of high schoolers in a bus with an interior temperature of 100 degrees was a good idea? Sungjin’s finding it hard to breathe, and Wonpil’s gaze boring into him like a searchlight isn’t helping, either. Did he cross a line? Did he make it weird?

    My girlfriend won’t like that , Wonpil had said to that little girl at the community centre, but it feels like he’s saying it to him.

    Wouldn’t like what? He wishes he’d have the opportunity to ask. Maybe then he’d be less confused.

    The Wonpil in his mind, of the summer past, gives him the same look the real Wonpil is right now. You know what.

    “This is my stop,” real Wonpil says, as the bus screeches to a halt. He doesn’t stand up, doesn’t move to gather his things. Next to him, in the aisle, the others are already filing out of the bus.

    Sungjin swallows. His lungs have deflated to half their size. “You should go, then.”

    “Yeah.” Wonpil stands, swings his backpack onto his shoulders. He steps into the aisle, walks away, away, away until he reaches the doors and looks back. Their eyes meet, and Sungjin can almost picture himself three years later, dissecting the moment until he goes insane. Wonpil mouths something - Sungjin has to remind himself to read what it is - and steps out, quickly left behind as the bus rolls back into motion. Sungjin barely catches hair tumbling in the wind and eyes searching, searching before he’s lost in the distance.

    I’ll miss you, too, Wonpil had mouthed. Like plugging a live wire right next to his sternum, right where his heart is.

--

He talks to Wonpil off the bus for the first time at his graduation ceremony.

    Jae’s crying. Brian’s crying. Dowoon’s crying. He might be crying, a little, but he’s a lot better at hiding it than the other three. His knuckles are white around the brim of his graduation cap when Wonpil approaches him, watery-eyed but smiling widely.

    “Guess I'll have to find someone else to sit with.” It's the worst thing to say. Wonpil’s button down is this really nice shade of purple, half tucked and rolled up to his elbows. The string on his wrist is gold instead of blue, this time.

“There's no way they'd have as good of a music taste as me,” Sungjin says, which earns him a quiet chuckle. It lightens the weight in his chest a little. “Besides, what are you gonna do when I'm not there to help you study?”

“You're right, I'm never going to pass twelfth grade,” Wonpil says. “How am I going to keep being on your bus if I never get to uni?”

Sungjin laughs. “Tragic,” he teases. “A real Shakespearean masterpiece.”

    Wonpil’s eyes are pensive, thoughtful. It feels like something is supposed to happen, but before he can open his mouth to talk someone calls him from across the field. “Sorry,” he says, and it looks like he means it. “I have to go.”

    Sungjin swallows. “Right.” It doesn’t feel right, though; not after a year of talking. Not after a year of starting and ending his day next to Wonpil; not after that day he was drowning without his meds and Wonpil helped keep his head above the surface. Wonpil walking away from him doesn’t feel right, so he calls out “wait” before he knows what he’s doing. His fingers have been working at the leather band around his wrist for the past ten minutes - now he knows why, because the knot keeping it in a loop comes undone and it drops into his hand.

    “What…?” Wonpil looks almost afraid, glowing in the sunlight and the heated air, when Sungjin walks up to him and holds the bracelet out. “What is this?”

    “So you won’t replace me so quickly,” he says, but he doesn’t really know what he’s saying. All he knows is that it feels better than watching him walk away.

    Wonpil laughs. Sungjin watches as he takes the bracelet, fingers wrapping slowly around the leather like he expects him to take it back. “I could never,” he says, and maybe it’s supposed to be a joke but it doesn’t quite ring right.

    Sungjin lets Wonpil leave this time, rooted to the ground. I could never.

           It almost sounds like a promise.

--

    Her name is Seo Hwasung.

    This is all Sungjin knows. Her name is Seo Hwasung, and she sits exactly one row down and two seats to the left of Sungjin in his Anthropology class. Her name is Seo Hwasung, and she smiles more like the moon than the sun and has string-free wrists and never carries around earbuds.

Her name is Seo Hwasung, and she's the opposite of Wonpil but that's not important, is it?

--

“You like her?”

Sungjin turns. Seated across from him, surrounded by open textbooks, Brian raises an eyebrow. It means he's about to say something that'll keep Sungjin up through some of his lonelier nights.

“What?” It's hard to fake ignorance in front of someone who's known you for four years, Sungjin quickly learns. Brian points behind him and Sungjin turns for, he will admit, not the first time to see Hwasung sitting with a few friends.

“Seo Hwasung, right?” he says. “She's in my Ethics class. You like her?”

Sungjin coughs. His throat feels like someone -probably Brian - shoved a bunch of cotton balls down his mouth without warning. “Maybe,” he admits. Brian’s eyebrows climb even further up his forehead. It's hard to seem justified when your judge is so unimpressed all the time - Sungjin blames Dowoon. “Why is it important?”

Brian shrugs. “It's not,” he says. “To me, at least. But distance only makes the heart grow fonder, you know.”

There it is - the words he'll be mulling over for hours on end; later, darker hours. But they haven't quite sunk in yet, so Sungjin manages to smile and say, “thanks, Dr. Phil.” Brian snorts, and throws a pencil at him.

--

It's the last day of the semester, the last day of Anthropology. Sungjin’s making his way to the door with his exam results taunting him from his backpack when he hears, “You're Park Sungjin, right?”

He turns, slowly. He can feel his heartbeat in his suddenly-clammy palms. In front of him, Hwasung looks a lot more intimidating up close, a lot more out of his league. “Yeah,” he says slowly. “What's up?”

“You're on the dean's list, aren't you? Pretty impressive.” She sticks her hand out, stares at Sungjin as he shakes it. Her eyes are so clear it's unsettling. “I'm Seo Hwasung. Nice to meet you.”

“You too,” Sungjin says. His hand drops back to his side; he watches Hwasung wave her fingers and leave, feeling a little breathless.

And - well. He should be head over heels - should be ecstatic, really, because this feels a little like the start of something others only dream of. A beautiful girl he's been pining after for a year just came up to him and knew his name and shook his hand, and he should be happy, shouldn't he?

He should be happy. But what he thinks about instead, surrounded by the current of university freshmen, is this:

Hi, I'm Kim Wonpil. You're Sungjin, right?

--

“Hi, I'm Kim Wonpil. You're Sungjin, right?”

Sungjin blinks at the boy sitting down next to him on the shuttle bus, eyes and smile and voice familiar. “Oh my god,” he says. “You really did follow me to uni.”

Wonpil’s laugh is the same; there's so many things that are the same, but the year they spent apart puts a rift between them and a skip in Sungjin’s heartbeat. But his eyes still remind him of summer, and the light around them brightens a little. “I did say I would, didn't I?”

Sungjin laughs, too; he’s almost forgotten how easy it is, being around him. Happiness settles in his stomach, solid but light and a little nostalgic. “And did you replace me?”

Wonpil’s smile falters a little. It’s almost like watching the sky darken. (Maybe he’s making too many sun analogies - maybe he’s making too many analogies, period.) “I could never,” he says, echoing the Wonpil of a year ago, a little shorter and a little less tired. He’s fiddling with the hem of his shirt sleeve, a familiar leather cord wrapped around the shadowed part of his wrist.

His bracket. The realization makes the skip in Sungjin’s heartbeat magnify, echo in the cavern of his ribcage. “Wonpil,” he starts, “this entire year, did you…?”

The bus grinds to a stop. Wonpil glances out the window; Sungjin thinks he can see relief in the slump of his shoulders and doesn’t know what to make of it. “This is my stop,” he says, pulling himself up. He's lost a lot of weight; the space above the low collar of his sweater is all harsh lines and shadows. “It was nice seeing you again, Sungjin.”

It feels like grad again; Sungjin closes his eyes, and sees Wonpil walking away. Just like that day, his automatic reaction is to stop him. “You don’t have to say it in past tense, you know.”

“It’s nice seeing you again?” Wonpil looks amused, finally. It’s mostly a relief, but it also comes as a shock, hearing that familiar teasing tone again. “I’m pretty sure the meaning stays the same.”

“I didn’t mean-” Sungjin’s only pretending to be exasperated. He knows Wonpil can tell. “I meant , we should talk more often. You know, go back to how we were before. Does that sound okay?”

“Yeah.” The bus is going to start again, and Wonpil is going to miss his stop. Good , Sungjin thinks, doesn’t know why. He just knows that Wonpil’s smile hasn’t changed. “Yeah, that sounds great.”

--

    They fall back into their natural routine pretty quickly. It’s not nearly the same as high school - they don’t start or end their days at the same time - but they have some classes that line up and they seem to live in basically the same house with how often they take the same bus. Sometimes Wonpil will show up from his job at the grocery store with an extra donut, and sometimes Sungjin finds himself ordering two coffees when he visits the on-campus cafe alone. Which, really, he shouldn’t be doing, because the on-campus cafe is way overpriced, but Wonpil’s smile always gets a little warmer when his hands are around a steaming cup of coffee.

    (And he thinks, maybe, that that smile is worth spending an extra couple bucks on crappy coffee.)

He doesn’t have any classes with Hwasung this semester but he sees her around campus sometimes, and she’s never alone but always manages to send him a smile. (He wonders, sometimes, briefly, what it would take for her smile to turn less polite and more fond. Less like they’re acquaintances and more like the smile Wonpil gives him when he gets powdered sugar all over his face.) They exchange a few words when they bump into each other at the library or the cafe, but the conversation never really flows in a way that makes hours feel like seconds.

(In the same way he feels on the bus on the days their classes line up, powdered sugar all over his face.)

“I can’t believe you have a crush on Seo Hwasung, of all people,” Jae says. They’re in the library, which was a mistake - Jae knows pretty much everything except how to be quiet. At this point, probably everyone within a ten-meter radius knows he likes Hwasung.

    “I can’t believe how incapable you are of speaking in volumes lower than 75 decibels,” Sungjin shoots back, glancing around the library for what seems like the fifth time. He’s not looking for anyone, he swears - but he spots Wonpil walking through the doors and stands up before he realizes he’s doing so. Wonpil has that effect on people, maybe - makes them gravitate towards him subconsciously. Or maybe it’s just him.

    (Maybe it’s just him.)

    Wonpil doesn’t even greet him when they come face-to-face - doesn’t have to, because they’ve gotten past that point. Instead, he just leans closer and whispers, almost conspiratorially, “are all the people at that table crying?”

    Sungjin follows his subtly outstretched finger to a corner of the library, where a few tables are set up separated from the others. Sure enough, the few occupants of the area all have tears streaming down their faces, hands shaking around thick textbooks and empty coffee cups. “That’s the architecture and engineering area,” he says. “They’ve got it worse than the rest of us. Don’t worry about it - by exams they become stripped of any emotion whatsoever.”

    “I don’t want to be in uni anymore,” Wonpil says with a mildly horrified undertone. Sungjin laughs, pats him on the back; pretends not to see the way his shoulders stiffen underneath his shirt.

    Of course, it’s right as Sungjin is pulling away that Hwasung walks in.

    She doesn’t even see him, surrounded by people like she usually is, but he clears his throat and stands a little straighter anyways. Her presence is magnetic - he can sense he’s not the only one who follows her with his eyes as she crosses the library. He almost wants to follow her, even though his throat is dry and his brain is all static and he’s probably going to make a fool of himself, but Wonpil speaks then, breaking his reverie.

    “Who’s that?” there’s a darker undercurrent to his voice, the kind actors playing tortured characters spend months perfecting. But it’s not an act, this tone - and it stops Sungjin in his tracks.

    Sungjin turns his head to face Wonpil. “Seo Hwasung,” he explains. “She was in my Anthro class last year. I’ve spoken to her a couple times.”

    “She’s pretty,” Wonpil says, looking at her. Sungjin nearly asks if his girlfriend is okay with him calling other girls pretty before he continues, “do you like her?”

    “I’m not that obvious, am I?” Sungjin jokes. Wonpil turns to face him so fast Sungjin feels secondhand whiplash just from looking at him. His eyes are unreadable, but there’s a certain wistfulness to the way he’s looking at him, a kind of nostalgic longing that Sungjin is too scared to define. “She’s just an acquaintance, is all. Sure, I’d like it to become more than that, but she’s out of my league, so.” His sad excuses fade into a sad shrug, but Wonpil looks at him with more curiosity than pity.

    “Sungjin,” he says, “exactly how attractive do you think you are?”

    Sungjin shrugs again. It’s an uncomfortable question to begin with, and Wonpil’s eyes boring into him aren’t helping the situation. But he can’t deny the amount of time he’s spent scrutinizing his own reflection, or the spark of jealousy that lights up in him when he sees people admiring Brian on the street. “I think I’m just average,” he says. It’s the most truthful he’s ever been, he thinks, about his own appearance.

    Wonpil walks away.

    “Hey, wait-!” Sungjin catches Jae’s eyes as he’s following Wonpil to the door. He’s got a shit-eating grin on his face and his phone in hand, thumbs furiously typing even though he’s not looking at the keyboard. Probably texting Brian, Sungjin thinks, so they can laugh at him about it later. “Wonpil, hey, what’s up?”

    “I will admit,” Wonpil says, turning on his heel and staring straight at Sungjin with an intensity that scares him a little. It’s a little off-putting, too - especially with his wide eyes and wide mouth. “I will admit, you were just cute when we were in high school. Like, bring home to your parents, quiet study sessions cute. But you can’t call yourself average when half the library’s interns have been psyching each other up to get your number for the past five minutes.”

Sungjin glances at the front desk. About three people turn away; one ducks under the counter. His self esteem climbs upwards slowly. “Oh,” he says. “Huh.”

Wonpil rolls his eyes. “For someone who got early admission to such a good university, you're really dumb, you know that?”

“For someone who wore my bracelet for a year and followed me to university,” Sungjin shoots back, “you're really mean to me, you know that?”

It's the wrong thing to say. Wonpil’s smile wavers, his sunny disposition shuts down; cold guilt curdles at the bottom of Sungjin’s stomach. “I didn't follow you to university,” he says. His voice is low, quiet in a way that’s almost threatening. Like a verbal step back. “This is the best one in the region. Why would I follow you to university?”

“Wonpil,” God, he is such a bad person. “Wonpil, I didn't mean-”

“Sorry,” Wonpil interrupts. Back in high school, he’d always waited for Sungjin to finish his sentence, whether it was some long-winded tangent about Greek philosophy or just a simple ‘see you tomorrow’. Sungjin finds it hard to breathe, hard to swallow, hard to function. “Sorry, I have to go. I’m looking for someone.”

“Your girlfriend?” It’s a futile attempt to keep the conversation going, to keep the mood light and conversational. But really, how could Sungjin have expected them to go back to the way they were in high school when Wonpil is thinner and taller and so much more tired than the last time he’d seen him?

Wonpil looks at him like he’s insane - he probably is. “I have to go,” he repeats.

--

Wonpil works at the local grocery store, brings a donut for Sungjin on the days they bus together. Sungjin goes there on a Sunday morning armed with spare change and the intention of seeking forgiveness, and buys a whole bouquet of chocolate roses before he can stop himself.

Wonpil is closing up aisle 5 when Sungjin approaches the counter. He's talking to a girl, taller than him but only because of her sky high heels. Her hair is long and unbelievably straight, makeup perfect; she looks like she's never had a bad picture taken of her. He’s not jealous; it doesn’t make sense, because what is there to be jealous of? After all, Wonpil has a girlfriend. Unless-

The girl laughs, grabbing Wonpil’s arm for balance. Wonpil doesn’t shrug away, leans into the touch almost, familiar and fond and- oh.

Oh.

The bouquet feels heavy in his hand, and jealousy and humiliation burn heavy in his heart. He’s suddenly aware of how ridiculous he looks, standing there with chocolate roses in his hands like a hopeful suitor underneath a balcony when Wonpil is so clearly taken. And why wouldn’t he be? He’s got a smile like the sun and eyes like summer and an array of clothes that fit him perfectly; his voice sounds like dandelions floating in the breeze and when he closes his eyes and plays the piano with abandon it’s hard not to fall for him.

(It’s hard not to forget Hwasung in the mornings spent with him on the bus.)

“Who’s the lucky girl?”

Sungjin glances up. It’s the girl who addressed him, comfortable smile replaced by a pleasantly plastic one. Next to her, Wonpil’s mouth is slightly agape, wide eyes filled with surprise. It’s better than the reproachfulness he’d been expecting. “Guy, actually,” he corrects, and it’s enough to overcome the burning shame and propel him forwards. “Here,” he says, holding the roses out over the counter. Wonpil’s mouth falls completely open. “For you. To say sorry.”

Wonpil takes the bouquet with slow, cautious hands. His eyes are a scared kind of reverent, like he’s standing at the edge of a precipice and Sungjin’s the one keeping him from tumbling over. “You didn’t have to,” he mumbles, but the curl of his mouth is pleased and it lightens the darkness filling Sungjin’s lungs.

“Oh,” the girl says. She’s looking between the two of them like she’s watching a high-stakes table tennis match, her eyes alight with epiphany. Wonpil is turning an alarming shade of red. “ Oh, ” she repeats, mouth stretching into an obscene grin. “ Oh my God. ”

Sungjin blinks. “What?”

The girl - her nametag reads Nana - redirects her attention to him, looking him up-and-down with an intensity that makes him want to cover himself. It’s very much terrifying and also a little protective, more like a mother than a girlfriend. “So you’re the one Wonpil’s been angsting over-”

“That’ll be $8.95, please,” Wonpil interrupts with a sort of desperation. His outstretched hand is trembling a little, continues to shake as Sungjin gives him both the money and the flowers. Their fingertips brush, and they both startle; electricity has begun coursing through Sungjin’s veins. Nana looks more amused than anything. “I wasn’t mad, you know,” he adds. “You didn’t have to do this.”

“I didn’t want to take any chances,” Sungjin explains, and the look on Wonpil’s face turns into a pleasant kind of surprised. It’s almost like he’s never been offered something like this before, which doesn’t make sense because he has a girlfriend, right? “I also, uh, wanted to ask for your number.”

“I swear to God,” Wonpil says to Nana, “this isn’t what it looks like.”

Oh. Wait a second- “Sorry,” Sungjin blurts out, “I wasn’t aware you were dating, I just wanted to ask as a friend-”

“Whoa, wait,” Nana says, holding her hand out to stop him as Wonpil makes retching noises next to her. “We’re not dating. I have a boyfriend, and trust me, he and Pilli here are nothing alike. Besides, he already has someone else in mind-”

“Here,” Wonpil interrupts desperately for the second time in five minutes. He’s holding out a napkin, black ink bleeding through the fibers even as Sungjin takes it. This time, he’s careful not to let their fingers touch again, because he’s already given him roses and asked for his number and he already has someone else in mind.

And Sungjin is not disappointed. He has someone else in mind, too - with a smile like moonlight and clear, dark eyes. It’s not a rejection - it’s a mutual pining for someone else. He’s not disappointed. He isn’t .

He already has someone else in mind .

Sungjin puts the digits on the napkin into his phone, wonders how often he’ll use it. If Wonpil’s name will make it to his favorites list, and then slowly climb up. If Wonpil will make it to speed dial, even. He wonders if he could ever hope for the same with Hwasung. “Thanks,” he says. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah.” Wonpil’s smile is relaxed even when his ears are still red around the tips. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Sungjin opens up his contacts list as he walks out of the grocery store, and sets Wonpil as speed dial #8.

--

“Look, I’m just saying,” Wonpil says as Sungjin walks into the lecture hall, “Arthur was way more nuanced than The Backyardigans.”

“But it was too grounded in reality,” Sungjin argues, shrugging off his jacket. His phone is sandwiched between his ear and his shoulder as he gets ready for class, Wonpil making sounds of vehement disapproval on the other end of the line. “Kids deserve to dream, at least.”

“Hey, Arthur and Buster both wanted to be Bionic Bunny, I count that as a dream,” Wonpil says. “Plus every character was well-developed and relatable. The only distinctive trait about the Backyardigans was the color of their skin, and is that really a message you want to be pushing to six-year-olds?”

“I don’t think six-year-olds read as far between the lines as you do,” Sungjin refutes.  He’s glad he made the advance decision to put Wonpil on speed dial, because ‘BACKYARDIGANS ARE BETTER’ would’ve made its way up his favorites list anyways with how often they talk. “Listen, I have to go, class is starting. That doesn’t mean I’m admitting defeat, though.”

“Sure, whatever you say,” Wonpil teases, and Sungjin makes a sound that can only be described as a verbal frown before he hangs up. He’s smiling, though, so wide and for so long it kind of hurts, and he knows he looks like an idiot but hey, the lecture hall is pretty crowded so who’s going to notice?

“Girlfriend?”

“Why do people always assume I’m straight?” is the response that automatically comes out of his mouth before he realizes that, oh, it is Seo Hwasung in front of him, and when was she in his class? “Sorry, I meant, uh,” his smile fades and he’s pretty sure his face is turning red, waves his hands around frantically so he can cover it up. “It was just a friend.”

Hwasung raises an eyebrow in a way that, weirdly, reminds him of Brian. (He really shouldn’t be comparing the girl he has a crush on to Brian.) “Friends don’t make you smile like a bride on her wedding day.”

Bride on a wedding day. Sungjin pushes the image of Wonpil in a suit standing at the end of the aisle, flower tucked behind his ear, to the far depths of his mind. “It’s not what it looks like, I swear. Everything’s just… it’s all platonic. He has a girlfriend.”

Hwasung hums under her breath. She really is terrifying, Sungjin thinks, up close. She doesn’t try to be, but the way she carries herself reminds him of a host watching over a high-stakes poker game, perched on the edge of the table. “This might seem a little weird, then,” she continues after a brief pause, “but I was wondering if you wanted to hang out sometime, maybe go out for coffee? It’s all platonic, of course,” she adds, making quotation marks with her fingers. She’s smiling, though, and it makes Sungjin’s heart rate spasm.

“Yeah, sure, I’d like that,” he stammers. “Uh, I think I have you on Instagram…?”

“Yeah,” she says, straightening from her perch on the back of the seat in front of him. “I’ll DM you, alright? Can’t wait.”

“Yeah,” Sungjin echoes, feeling a little winded. “Yeah, me neither.”

Hwasung leaves. He doesn't stop smiling for the rest of the lecture.

--

“Congratulations,” Wonpil says. His smile is a little ghostly in the cold white overhead lights. “So you've got a date, huh?”

“It's not a date,” Sungjin clarifies, but his cheeks hurt from grinning so widely. “She just wants to hang out as friends.”

Wonpil’s shoulders slump in relief. Sungjin doesn't know why- he's  already got someone else in mind, doesn't he? “But I take it you're gonna be busier now?” he teases - or at least tries to tease, because Sungjin can see the city lights swimming in his eyes. “Guess I'll have to adjust to sitting alone.”

“Don't say that,” Sungjin says, because Wonpil was the highlight of his senior year and not much has changed now. Even with Jae and Brian and Dowoon; even with Hwasung’s name popping up in his notifications. “I'd never abandon you. Even not for a dumb crush.”

Wonpil winces at the word ‘crush’, which doesn't make sense at all. Sungjin wants to ask, but he looks like he's a second away from collapsing in on himself and he hates seeing the light dim, so he doesn't say anything. They spend the rest of the ride in silence.

--

“You're going out with Hwasung?” Dowoon looks surprised. His eyebrow raise is almost exactly like Brian's, which is adorable but also awful and gross.

“I wouldn't call it going out ,” Sungjin corrects. “We're just friends.”

No one seems to hear him. From his perch on the back of an armchair, Jae exchanges a look with Brian, who's fiddling with Dowoon’s hair. “Does Wonpil know about this?” he asks.

“He does,” Sungjin says. “Why does that matter? It’s not like he’s going to be jealous.” This earns him scoffs from around the room, which only increases his confusion and inexplicable urge to fold into the carpet he’s sitting on. “Why do I feel like I'm being left out of something?” he wonders aloud.

“You got valedictorian and early admission and you still can’t figure it out,” Brian mutters under his breath. Jae shushes him.

--

He meets Hwasung in the same campus cafe where he buys that extra coffee for Wonpil in the mornings. She's sitting at a booth near the back window, a bright red scarf wrapped around her neck. It's hard not to notice her, and even harder not to notice all the people checking her out. It makes him feel a little inadequate.

She's on her phone texting, but puts it down when he approaches. The lighting on her face and her attention on him makes his system falter. “You really took ‘on the dot’ seriously, huh?” she teases. It's like she rehearses a witty quip before each social encounter, which would be believable if she weren't also ridiculously popular.

All Sungjin can come up with is a shaky “You can't say anything, you're the five-minutes-earlier type.” Objectively, he knows he shouldn't be this flustered.

Her smile grows. “Guilty as charged,” she says, gesturing for him to take a seat. He does, but with his heart beating against his ears. “Are you gonna order something?”

Her smile is very different from Wonpil’s, Sungjin thinks. He doesn't understand why that feels like a bad thing. “No,” he answers. “The coffee here is too overpriced anyways.”

--

They have a nice time. They really do. Sungjin is extremely nervous the entire two hours and he can feel his crush getting worse, but Hwasung is funny and smart and gorgeous and it's not hard to imagine why she's always surrounded by people. They're studying for similar majors, and complaints about shared classes fill up their entire conversation. When Sungjin gets home, he grins all through the rest of the day and maybe a little into the next morning.

“You're terrible,” Jae tells him over the phone. “I don't need Brian and Dowoon all over again.”

“I don't think Hwasung and I are quite like those two,” Sungjin says. There's a long, static pause on the other end of the line.

Finally, “I wasn't talking about Hwasung.”

--

It gets better.

Or- or worse, depending on where you're looking from. Especially if you're Brian or Jae or Dowoon. But for Sungjin, it gets unimaginably better.

He hangs out with Hwasung a few more times. They're friends, technically, but Sungjin thinks they could be more. Sometimes, over gradually cooling cups of coffee, she'll lean over and grab his arm, let their hands brush. She'll ask him for his coat or his scarf or his drink, and he'll always, always say yes.

It gets better. But it also- it also gets worse.

--

“I'm in love with you

Tried my best to hold it back but

I can't live like this anymore

I want you

Took me a long time to say this

But now there's nothing left to do

For you"

Brian looks sympathetic. “You really wanna tell her, huh?”

Sungjin looks up, cracking his knuckles against the chair. His arm is a little sore from strumming so aggressively, but there's that familiar rush of adrenaline that comes with each performance. “It's that obvious, huh?”

Brian shakes his head, smiling. “I've only ever written like that when things were bad with Dowoon. Sungjin, you've got it bad.”

Sungjin shrugs, but he can feel his cheeks reddening. “So what if I do? It's not like it's hurting anyone.”

Brian stares at him. “You,” he says slowly, “are so dumb.”

--

It's the second last day before winter break. Wonpil watches him, eyes overcast. “Still thinking about her, huh?”

Sungjin jolts, blinks the image of Hwasung in his sweater out of his mind. “No,” he lies, but he can't help smiling.

Wonpil eyes him. “You're lying,” he teases, but there's only a fake kind of humor behind the set of his mouth. It makes Sungjin, who doesn't like physical contact beyond hand holding, want to pull him close and apologize. It doesn't make sense.

“Yeah,” Sungjin says. “Is it that obvious?”

Wonpil opens his mouth to reply before his eyes catch on someone entering the bus. Something in his expression shifts for the barest fraction of a second; Sungjin follows the direction of his gaze to where Hwasung is paying the fare. Suddenly, the tension in Wonpil’s mouth is pushed to the very back of his mind.

“Holy shit,” he whispers to Wonpil, who leans just a little bit further away. “Do you think I should tell her now?”

His eyes widen in surprise. “And spend the rest of the ride in awkward silence? Maybe wait until tomorrow.”

“But I can't wait,” Sungjin says. There's no exaggeration- all the times their hands have touched casually as they were walking, all the times Hwasung has stolen his scarf or jacket or gloves have built up to this, really. His heart is hammering in his chest, drowning out all the doubts and fears. “I can't , Wonpil, my hands are shaking so bad right now. Look, she's getting off.”

Hwasung stands up as the bus slows to a halt. Sungjin stands up, too, even though it's another ten minutes until his stop. It's another ten minutes until his stop but Hwasung is funny and smart and gorgeous, and sometimes buries her face in one of his scarves. His bag catches on the seat, a little - he hears something fall to the ground, but how can he be bothered to care? All he sees is Hwasung, leaving.

“Sorry,” he mutters to Wonpil, doesn't look at him-

(Wishes he had-)

-As he follows Hwasung off the bus. It's dark out and the wind hits him hard, but it doesn't take long before he catches up to her. Stops, and waits, breathing hard. (Not from the running.)

“Hey, Sungjin,” she says, taking out an earbud. It's the first time he's seen her with them. “I didn't know you lived around here-"

“I like you,” Sungjin blurts out. Hwasung’s eyes widen, and the wind picks up, just a little. “Like - more than a friend. I'm romantically interested in you.”

“Oh.” is all she says, eyebrows slanting downwards. His heart falls down with them.

“You don't feel the same.” he doesn't mean to sound bitter, really- he can't help it that his words are spat out more than spoken, that his hands have suddenly gone very, very cold. “I understand.” He walks backwards - god, how is he going to get home? “Sorry.”

“I should be the one apologizing.” She's so out of his league; how had he not seen it before? How could he have been so foolish to expect something more? “Do you know how to get home?”

The concern hurts worse than if she'd yelled at him. “Yeah,” he lies. “Don't worry. See you tomorrow, Hwasung.”

“Okay,” she says. Her eyes are sad. “See you.”

He turns, and runs. He doesn't know where- he doesn't know what he does, just remembers the skyline blurring and his phone shaking in his hand. Remembers her sad eyes and soft ‘oh’ and the feeling of falling down, down, down.

He's still falling when Brian comes to pick him up.

--

The next morning is one without Wonpil. It sucks more than he imagined, because Brian and Jae try to cheer him up, they really do, and in a Wonpil-less world it would've worked but now their efforts just dull in comparison. He only makes it through his first lecture before he's pressing speed dial 8 on his phone.

“Hello?” Wonpil’s is a little dazed, like he just woke up and didn't check the caller ID. The sound of it makes the numbness in Sungjin collapse.

“Wonpil.” His voice rattles in his throat. “Are you- are you busy right now?”

He hears the shifting of bedsheets on the other end. Then: “No, my lecture’s at 2. Where do you want me to be?”

Sungjin closes his eyes. This is what he needs. “The bridge near that park,” he says. “Remember? The one we went to once?”

“I'll be there in ten,” Wonpil says before the line goes dead. Sungjin shuts off his phone, feels the pressure underneath his ribcage lighten just a little.

--

Wonpil’s already there when he arrives, elbows propped up on the handrail, framed by the sunlight. He's turning something over and over in his hands, and only looks up when Sungjin comes to stand right next to him. “You dropped something,” he greets, holding his hand out. It's the keychain Sungjin’s had since freshman year - he wasn't even aware he’d lost it. “Last night, on the bus.”

Sungjin smiles, tries not to think about last night . “Thanks,” he says. His fingers brush against leather when he takes the small toy from Wonpil’s outstretched hand; the feeling sends warmth up through his veins. “Still wearing my bracelet?”

“I don't know what you're talking about,” Wonpil jokes. “I've had it for two years. It's basically mine now.”

“No fair, it was expensive,” Sungjin says. He's smiling- a real smile, something he thought he forgot how to do. The river underneath their feet glitters; a breeze nips at the skin under his collar. “A whole five dollars.”

“I'm sorry for your loss,” Wonpil tells him. With how his smile has faded, Sungjin isn't sure if he means the bracelet or Hwasung. “I'll buy you a coffee to reimburse you?”

“It better be good coffee,” Sungjin tells him, but he's already following Wonpil off the bridge, keychain held tight in his hand.

--

“How are you taking it?” Wonpil asks him, after all possible means of avoiding the elephant in the room have been exhausted and their cups have long since gone in the trash. His eyes are quiet, soft in the warm light. It slows down the way Sungjin’s heart drops to his diaphragm, but doesn’t stop it.

“I don’t know how to talk to her again,” Sungjin admits, smile sliding off his face. “I don’t know if she’ll talk to me again. I don't know if I lost more than I was prepared for.”

“I think,” Wonpil starts, standing up and pulling his coat off the back of his chair. It's an offer to leave - Sungjin takes it, mirroring his actions. “I think she'd have to be a really bad person to let something like this end your friendship. And she's not, is she?” Sungjin thinks he hears remorse under the lightness in his voice. He doesn't point it out.

(Maybe he should have.)

“No, she isn't,” he says as they push their way out the door. Winter billows into their faces, full-blown and menacing, cold wind tucking itself into the gaps and refusing to let go. “Which is why she’s gonna avoid me for as long as she thinks it’ll take me to get over it.”

“That’s not necessarily a bad thing,” Wonpil points out. Sungjin follows him back into the park, to the part of the path they haven’t seen. It’s the nicer part, too - all rustic lampposts and snow-dusted benches. It’s cold even at midday; Sungjin pretends not to notice when Wonpil huddles a little closer to him as they walk.

“I know it’s not. Doesn’t mean it’ll hurt any less, though.” That's what Sungjin says, but what he thinks is- what do you know? You have a girlfriend .

Wonpil doesn’t answer; Sungjin keeps walking, lost in thought. He doesn’t notice the footsteps next to him cease - doesn’t notice much of anything, really.

He’s only yanked out of his stupor when snow explodes across the back of his head, and laughter bursts through the blue sky. He turns, sputtering and cold, to see Wonpil laughing, cheeks pushed up underneath his eyes and mouth open wide. He laughs all the way until Sungjin scoops up a pile of snow and fastballs it straight to his chest.

When the snow hits him, Wonpil’s mouth snaps shut so fast there's an audible click. His eyes go wide, and for one terrible second Sungjin thinks he's legitimately hurt until he's bending down in front of the nearest snowbank and pushing his hands in.

“I’ll have you know, I’m a regional snowball fight champion.” It’s a lie, but it’s fine, because Wonpil can tell anyways. “Like Buddy from Elf. You don’t want to mess with me.”

Wonpil answers by hurling a snowball at his face. He blinks the snow out of his eyes and swears a little; then, because his hands are empty, he rushes forward and tackles Wonpil. They hit the ground as one, Sungjin on top, Wonpil laughing inches away from him. “So much for being a snowball fight champion,” he says.

Sungjin’s breath stills in his throat. They’re so close, and Wonpil, hair fanned out against the snow, looks up at him like the entire future is in his hands. If he were anyone else, it would feel like something special. If he were anything else, maybe he’d take a few risks.

But Wonpil has a girlfriend and the memory of Hwasung’s eyes as she told him no still sits heavy in his ribcage, so he stands up and holds out a hand to help Wonpil up. He takes it, smile fading, the moment gone. Sungjin is suddenly very aware of the time.

“You should go to class,” he tells Wonpil. “It’s the last day before break.” There's snow in every crevice of his upper body; there's a little snow in his mouth, too, melting against his tongue. There’s snow in the way Wonpil looks at him while nodding in agreement.

“I’ll go now, then,” he says. “See you tomorrow, Sungjin.”

“Yeah.” The corners of his smile are tight. It always seems to be him who ruins the moment; him who says the thing that makes it all fall apart. “Yeah, see you.”

Wonpil leaves with a half-hearted wave; Sungjin spends the next hour in the park, walking the same path over and over until his next lecture starts.
--

The next day, Brian and Jae pack their bags and go to stay with their families for the break. Sungjin stays at school, because it was either a week in the Caribbean without Wifi or not leaving at all and Sungjin loves his family, he really does, but he can't afford to miss any studying time. He's considering spending the entire day with Wonpil, makes it all the way to his dorm just to see him climb into a girl’s car, smiling brightly.

It's probably his girlfriend. Sungjin spends the rest of the first day of winter break studying, Kill Bill playing in the background.

--

Christmas season rolls around; he gets invited to a party Hwasung’s having, which helps lighten his mood a little. His family has sent in a care package for Christmas with sweaters, socks, and all of his favorite snacks from home. He writes every one of them their own song, and mails them the sheet music.

Brian and Jae Skype him sometimes; they come back for Christmas Eve so they can have a Christmas movie marathon at Sungjin’s apartment. Brian gets him an incredibly expensive guitar; Jae’s presents are a Bob the Builder keychain and a World's Best Dad mug. Sungjin cooks dinner and lets them pick the restaurant for their next few outings, which is really the best gift he can give. They fall asleep at 3 in the morning, and Sungjin drives them home a few hours later.

Then- Christmas. Sungjin’s in the midst of picking an outfit for Hwasung’s party when the doorbell rings, and it's-

“Wonpil?” He blinks a few times, rubs his eyes for good measure. When his vision clears it’s still him - bundled up in a big coat and a scarf,, smiling brightly. “I thought you were-”

“Home for the holidays?” Wonpil answers for him. He's bouncing on the balls of his feet, like a puppy. The smile curling across his face tells of barely contained excitement. “I was, but I was relieved from my duties today so I could come and drag you out of your house. Jae tells me you haven't left the entire time.”

Sungjin blinks, feeling mild horror at the idea that Jae talks to Wonpil in his own time. “Actually,” he starts, about to turn Wonpil’s offer down because he has a party to go to,  party to get all dressed up for-

But. But. Wonpil probably drove all the way just to make sure he wasn't lonely, sacrificed Christmas morning with family for him, and who is he to turn that down? He hasn't spoken to Hwasung in weeks, barely recognizes any of her friends; meanwhile, Wonpil’s company is nice and comfortable and warm. And, really, comfortable and warm is what Christmas is all about, isn't it?

His hand, perched on the edge of the door, moves to grab his shoes. “Actually,” he says, “I'd love to. Where are we going?”

Wonpil tells him as he puts his shoes on and locks the door. “There's a market that's open downtown. I want to pick up some gifts for my family.”

“Buying Christmas gifts on Christmas day?” Sungjin snorts. “Reinventing the term ‘last minute’, are we?”

Wonpil laughs, pushes at his arm playfully as they step out into the hallway and Sungjin locks the door. “Maybe these are my second round of gifts. Because I'm a good boy who loves my family very much.”

Sungjin pauses. “That's actually not hard to imagine,” he says, “sometimes you're so sunny it hurts my eyes.”

“You're welcome for lighting up your world,” Wonpil retorts, but when Sungjin looks at him he's smiling. “Come on, we're gonna miss the train.”

--

The train station and train itself are both almost entirely empty; they greet every poor soul forced to work on Christmas day with as much cheer as they can give out. (It's mostly Wonpil being Wonpil and Sungjin lurking in the background, but hey, it's the thought that counts.) They find nice seats and sit across from each other, Wonpil kicking up his snow-wet feet to rest on Sungjin’s lap. He pushes them off, wrinkling his nose, but he doesn't really mean it, knows Wonpil can tell.

They chat a bit, but after a while the conversation fades out until they're both looking out their own windows. Sungjin’s got his earbuds in, listening to his throwback playlist. A swarm of birds rise to the air just as the song that's playing crests, and he turns to tell Wonpil but the words die in his throat.

Some artist - Day7? Day5? It doesn’t matter - sings “ I’m falling for you ,” and Wonpil is silhouetted in the white light from the window, watching the landscape fly past. His eyes are wide in unadulterated awe, like a little kid at a theme park but quieter, more tranquil. He's mouthing along to whatever he's listening to, and all Sungjin seems to be able to see is his cheekbones against the pale light. His mouth, moving to an invisible song.

This time, when the line comes back, he sings along: “I’m falling for you.”

That breaks the moment, and he's grateful for the chance to breathe as Wonpil takes out his earbuds and turns to face him. “Did you say something?”

“No,” Sungjin lies.

Maybe he'd said too much.

Wonpil is about to say something when the speakers buzz, and a voice comes on telling them they'll be at the station in 5 minutes. “Come on,” he says, looks reluctant to let the subject go. “That's our stop.”

It’s a ten-minute walk to the entrance; they forget to buy tickets, and have to circle around to the back to buy them. It’s six dollars apiece; Sungjin grumbles about the price even as they’re walking in. Wonpil laughs, and shushes him half-heartedly.

“They’ll kick us out if you don’t shut up,” he says, but Sungjin knows he doesn’t really mean it.

The start of the market - a cobblestone path lined with small stands selling warm drinks and lit from above by gold-tinted lamp posts - is relatively empty, but the moment the street takes a sharp turn they’re swallowed by the crowd, shoulders knocking against each other as they try not to get lost. Wonpil’s fingers find their way around Sungjin’s; it’s only when they reach a relatively clear area that they let go.

Sungjin’s hands are burning despite the cold. Wonpil’s cheeks are pink from the frosty air, his breath coming out in puffs as he says, “come on, let’s go find a place to eat and then we can do some shopping.”

Sungjin nods. “Lead the way,” he says, and Wonpil’s smile tells him he doesn’t need to ask twice.

--

Wonpil pulls him into store after store, bakery after boutique after some weird art gallery selling sculptures that look suspiciously like genitalia. Wonpil almosts buys one, until Sungjin yells at him so much they get kicked out of the store.

“That was a perfectly reasonable purchase!” Wonpil protests as they stumble out of the doors, feet hitting the packed snow hard. “Could’ve been a great addition to my room-”

“You were willing to spend $40 on something just because it looked like a penis and you know it ,” Sungjin says with anger. Wonpil just laughs, but it’s hard to stay angry at someone who left their family to make sure you weren’t lonely. “Come on, let’s go get dinner before you spend all your money buying useless things.”

“That sculpture isn’t useless , it’s art ,” Wonpil corrects, but he turns in the direction of the food court anyways.

All the restaurants are packed - predictable - so they find a smaller food stand selling some Canadian thing (he’ll ask Brian about it later) called poutine and buy two bowls before setting out to find some place to sit down. The market is surrounded by a strip of snow-lined forest, and Wonpil seems to know his way through it because he walks with purpose, down nearly invisible and definitely untrodden paths.

“You’ve been here before?” Sungjin asks, busy trying not to trip over an exposed root.

“Last year, yeah,” Wonpil says. “On a date. I just hope it’s still there.”

Sungjin looks up at that. A date, Wonpil’s voice echoes through his head. A date. Because he has a girlfriend, remember? What did you think?

Nothing, he tells himself, and gets a scoff in response. He thinks it sounds alarmingly like Jae.

He’s debating whether or not to ask when Wonpil grabs his wrist. “Look,” he says, and Sungjin does.

They’re at a clearing in the forest; someone’s set up a singular picnic table in the middle of the circle of trees. The branches surrounding the table are all strung with fairy lights that glow gold in the wintry dusk; candles are everywhere - covered ones, newly lit, flickering in groves of trees and across the table. It’s almost like someone has come beforehand armed with printouts of Pinterest date ideas, and it’s cheesy, it really is, but also kind of beautiful and breathtaking at the same time.

They sit at opposite ends of the table, plastic cutlery in hand. Poutine is this messy dish of fries covered in gravy and cheese, and they have fun stealing it from each other’s bowls. Gravy gets everywhere, as do the fries; by the time their bowls are empty, Sungjin has to go wipe the sauce off Wonpil’s face with a napkin. Wonpil’s skin is warm and unbelievably soft under his fingertips, and he maybe takes more time than necessary; tells himself it’s because Wonpil keeps moving so much.

They’re arguing about who started the Poutine War when Wonpil stops mid-sentence, holds up a finger so Sungjin won’t take the opportunity to interject. “Wait,” he says. “Do you hear that?”

Sungjin stops. Someplace nearby, probably the market, music has started drifting into the air -  coffeeshop music, all acoustic guitar and soft voices crackling through a low-quality microphone. Some girl is doing a cover of I’m Yours, and Sungjin is busy analyzing her vocal technique when there’s a pair of hands grabbing his and pulling him up.

“Come on,” Wonpil says when Sungjin looks at him, smile wide and eyes hesitant, hopeful. “Dance with me.”

“We haven’t even finished the argument yet,” Sungjin protests, but it’s weak from the very first word and Wonpil takes that as an opportunity to pull him closer. His heart thuds in his ribcage in time to the beat, and he can’t hear the song over the ominous chant of he has a girlfriend he has a girlfriend he has a girlfriend. “Should we really be doing this?” he asks.

Wonpil shrugs, looks confused. “Why not? There’s nothing wrong with a little waltz,” he says. “Do you know how to waltz?” Sungjin shakes his head. “I’ll teach you.”

And he does. Sungjin is far from a dancer and seems to possess two left feet, but Wonpil is a good and patient teacher and by the third song they’re mostly in sync, footsteps crunching in the snow with every beat. This close, Sungjin can see the little creases that fan out from Wonpil’s eyes when he smiles, the happy set of his mouth and the soft light playing across his cheekbones. Warmth travels, from where their hands are clasped together, down Sungjin’s arm, pouring down his spine. His arm is around Wonpil’s waist and Wonpil’s arm is against his shoulder and he thinks they might fit together perfectly like this, framed by the music and the glowing lights.

Just then, the song changes, and Wonpil lets out a burst of laughter at the first chord. “Oh my god, I can’t believe this song came up,” he says, and when Sungjin listens harder, he knows why.

“ Cause we were just kids when we fell in love, ” he sings along under his breath, feeling himself smile involuntarily. It is an incredibly cheesy song - but he’s in an incredibly cheesy mood, thinks he’s forgotten what the rest of the world feels like beyond this little clearing in the forest and Wonpil in front of him.

(Forgotten all about any girlfriend, or any girl at all, really.)

“ Darling, you look perfect tonight, ” Wonpil adds. His eyes are golden in the candlelight, and Sungjin is beginning to find it hard to breathe. “Can you imagine what it must be like to fall in love that completely?”

“I’d be terrified,” Sungjin admits. Wonpil’s eyes widen a second before his smile does.

“The best parts of life are scary sometimes, I think,” Wonpil says. “Falling in love, performing, success, failure, change… it’s scary, but that’s how you know it’s worth it.”

Sungjin closes his eyes. He’s not thinking straight, isn’t thinking at all; only realizes that he’s leaned forward when their foreheads meet, and he can feel Wonpil’s startled exhale against his own lips. His eyes fly open, and he wants to lean away, stutter out an apology maybe - because his girlfriend wouldn’t like that - but then Wonpil’s relaxing into it and he is too, and now there’s barely any space between them, a distance Sungjin could close in an erratic heartbeat.

“Is this worth it?” he asks, but what he really means is: is this okay? Is this dangerous? It feels dangerous.

“What do you mean?” Wonpil breathes.

Sungjin opens his mouth to respond - and that’s when the concert ends.

The music fades, as does the moment. Reality snaps back, cold and painful, and they stumble away from each other so fast they almost fall into the snow. It’s dark outside - how much time has passed? The candles in the trees are flickering, and their empty bowls of poutine are just sitting on the table, cardboard soaked through with grease. “We should start heading back,” they say at the same time, neither of them making eye contact.

“Yeah,” Sungjin says. He gathers their things and throws the empty bowls into the trash can nearby, then follows Wonpil back through the woods, back into the real world where Sungjin just danced with someone with a girlfriend. On the train back home, on the way back to his apartment, saying goodbye - he doesn’t meet Wonpil’s eye once.

“The best parts of life are scary sometimes,” Wonpil had told him.

“ We are just kids but we’re so in love, ” the song had gone.

What have I done?

--

Wonpil’s eyes are wounded when they meet Sungjin’s, across the bus from each other for the first time in years. “Why aren’t you sitting here?” he pats the seat next to him; the seat that, if Christmas hadn’t happened, is where Sungjin would be.

“Too much stuff to hold,” he explains, holds up the numerous bags he’d purposely laden his arms with in the morning. “I need two seats.”

“Oh.” Wonpil seems to shrink away, close in on himself; the guilt sitting heavy in Sungjin’s stomach deepens. “Okay, then.”

“Yeah.” Sungjin forces himself to smile and look ahead. Next to him, the spot that Wonpil would’ve, should’ve occupied is unbearably cold.

--

Brian stares at him. “You are so stupid ,” he says in awe.

Sungjin glares, but gets no satisfaction when Brian flinches and raises his hands in surrender. “Mind telling my why this time?”

Brian rolls his eyes, and puts down the pen he’s been spinning just so he can lean forward and look Sungjin dead in the eye. “You're scared of being a homewrecker,” he says, “so instead of talking to him about it you just… stopped talking in general?”

Sungjin winces. “One,” he says, holding up a finger, “He’s taken, not engaged, so I’m not a homewrecker, and two,” raises a second finger, “Wonpil’s an affectionate person, so he probably doesn't think there's something wrong.”

Brian just looks unimpressed. Sungjin really needs to have a talk with Dowoon about how much of his habits are rubbing off on his boyfriend. “And you’re not talking to him about it because you don’t want to ruin what you have, right?”

Sungjin sighs. There’s no use lying to Brian, especially not when he’s so focused, eyes boring into him like laser beams. “Yeah,” he admits. Brian pumps a fist in the air victoriously. “Yeah, you’re right. I don’t want to ruin what we have because what we have is-” perfect, is the right word, but Sungjin chokes on it. He thinks Brian understands anyways.

“Oh man,” he says. “You're… so fucked.”

--

Nothing much happens for the rest of the year.

Actually- actually, something does. Sungjin does his best to keep Wonpil at arm's distance: sitting across instead of beside him on the bus, pulling away every time they make contact, watching what he says in case it gets too dangerous. They still talk as often as before and Wonpil is still saved as speed dial #8, but there's a new distance between them that Sungjin can only hold himself responsible for.

And so it goes- Sungjin pushing Wonpil away, convincing himself he doesn't miss the warmth of their proximity. Tells himself it's for the best; he's not going to ruin someone's relationship.

(Asks himself sometimes, in those small pale moments when there's nothing to distract him, if it's really worth it.)

Then, after the last day of school has ended and he's waiting in the library for Brian and Jae so they can find some crowded bar and drink until they regret it the next morning, Wonpil approaches him.

“Waiting for someone?” is how he greets him. Sungjin looks up from his phone. Wonpil is dressed in a denim jacket thrown over a striped shirt and dark pants, accommodating the first tendrils of summer seeping into the weather. He smiles.

“Yeah,” he says. “Jae and Brian have Composition together so I'm waiting for them here.” He pauses, wonders if he can ask, if he's allowed. “You know, if you're free today you're welcome to join us. We're just going to go downtown, find a bar.”

Wonpil looks surprised; guilt floods Sungjin at the realization that it's been a while since they've hung out, a while since Sungjin did things without thinking of Wonpil’s relationship- a relationship Wonpil doesn't even talk about. “I’d love to,” he says, “but my family and I are going to go visit my aunt in America for the entire break, and my flight is tomorrow morning. Don’t really want to deal with airport traffic with a raging hangover, you know?” He laughs, and looks legitimately regretful that he can’t go.

Sungjin’s stomach drops to his feet. “You’ll be gone the entire break?” he asks, voice low, disbelieving. He thinks back to all the outings he’d planned with just him and Wonpil; all the spots in his hometown he would’ve liked to show him, telling him stories about the beaches in Busan and slipping occasionally into dialect. All the places he passed on his way to the store or school and thought, “ What would Wonpil say if he were here?”

But now he won’t be here - not for two months, at least. Not the two months Sungjin had looked forward to the most.

He tries not to seem too disappointed when Wonpil nods. “Yup,” he says. “Kinda sucks though, because I’m garbage at English, but hey, I’ve heard people there are into the ‘cute fresh-off-the-boat’ look now.”

Sungjin forces a chuckle. It’s hard to believe that Wonpil, who probably cries whenever an animal dies in a movie, is maintaining a romantic relationship while also acting so… so single . Like he’s actively searching for love despite already having it, maybe. It’s a little unsettling, and definitely more morally dubious than he’d pegged Wonpil to be.

But it’s not Sungjin’s place to confront him about it, so he just jokes around with Wonpil until Jae and Brian enter the library, bickering about something-or-other. (He’s so glad Jaehyungparkian isn’t a real thing.) Wonpil says something about not having started packing yet and leaves, waving goodbye and smiling over his shoulder until he disappears from sight. Sungjin barely catches the look Jae and Brian exchange before Brian clears his throat, produces a bus card from his wallet and says, “ready to go?”

“Yeah, of course,” Sungjin says, and spends the rest of the night trying to lift his mood in Wonpil’s wake.

(It doesn’t work.)

--

The break drags by more slowly than he’d like. He spends most of his time working at that same community centre where he’d met Wonpil two years ago - has it only been two years? It feels like much longer. Wonpil doesn’t text him, though; just a message on Skype telling him he won’t have any internet the entire trip. Sungjin tries not to feel disappointed.

Hwasung messages him two weeks into break, just a simple ‘hey, how are you, we haven’t spoken in a while, wanna catch up?’ Sungjin stares at it for a little longer than necessary before typing in a generic response, sending a meme just to spice it up a little and going to bed smiling. He’s missed Hwasung - not as a crush, not as a pretty girl brightening up his boring life, but as a friend. Someone to joke with over cups of coffee, someone to lend his clothes to because that’s what friends do, right?

Sungjin thinks so.

Jae goes back to America at the start of the second half. He pretends to be sad and unwilling to leave, but he starts slipping into English more and more the closer it gets to his departure and they can all tell he’s excited. Sungjin drives them all down to the airport because that’s the kind of friend he is and they all sniffle a bit and promise to ‘video call anytime anything interesting happens’. Jae tags him in all his photos of California - sunset on a crowded beach, ice cream at his favorite food truck, his reflection in his bedroom mirror wearing garishly colored swim trunks.

A week passes. Something interesting does happen, then: after another one of her ‘bad episodes’, Dowoon finally allows Brian to call in Child Services. They arrest his mother and collect enough evidence to build an indestructible case against her, but tell him that their jurisdiction ends there; after all, he’s eighteen - a legal adult.

“I’ll take care of him,” Brian had volunteered unflinchingly, hand holding Dowoon’s tight. “He can come live with me.” He’d grinned at his boyfriend, then; a smile that spoke of hope, of relief, of years of unwavering love. “He’ll have to pay rent, of course.”

Dowoon had turned red, muttered something about “dear God, Younghyun, why are you so embarrassing ,” but his smile was bright enough to rival Brian’s.

--

It’s two weeks before the new semester starts. Sungjin is in his room, reviewing his notes from the previous year, when he gets a call.

The caller ID is unfamiliar to him; he accepts after a few rings’ worth of hesitation, and says only a wary “hello?” by way of greeting.

“Hey,” Wonpil says.

Sungjin nearly drops his phone.

“Uh- uh, hi, hey,” he stammers, feeling like a second grader caught in front of his crush with how his heart has started beating against his ribcage, faster than a flash flood and louder than the pounding of a bass drum. “Hey, Wonpil - how was America? Are you back yet?”

“America was great,” Wonpil says. “Listen, I, uh- you don’t live very far from the airport, do you?”

It dawns on Sungjin that they’ve never seen each other’s houses. Wonpil has stood on his doorstep before, been framed against the hallway light on Christmas Day and told him to get ready to go out, but he’s never been inside his apartment. Sungjin wonders what Wonpil’s place looks like - if it’s messier than his or impeccably clean, if there are little hints of his personality strewn around and what they could be. “Like a twenty minute drive, yeah,” he says. “Not too far. I don’t have a car, but I can just borrow Brian’s. Why? What’s up?”

“Oh, okay.” Wonpil sounds relieved. “Listen, my ride- she cancelled on me, so uh, if it’s not too much of a problem I was thinking could you maybe-”

“Of course,” Sungjin interrupts. “What terminal?”

A sigh of relief crackles through the receiver. “Terminal 3. Thanks, Sungjin. You’re the best.”

“I know, I know,” Sungjin says, already pulling his coat on. “Wait for me, okay? I’ll be there soon.”

“Okay,” Wonpil says. As they say goodbye and hang up, Sungjin realizes that maybe it’s him who was waiting for Wonpil this entire time.

--

Sungjin officially hates airports.

This is a fact. They’re loud and noisy and they stress him out; they’re obnoxiously sterile while still maintaining a permeating sense of danger. Most importantly, they’re filled to the brim with guys the exact height and build of Wonpil.

Terminal 3 is bustling with activity; Sungjin wishes he had a few more inches on his height as he’s swept up in the crowd, craning his neck high to search. Once he gets past the crowd at the baggage claim section it’s slightly easier to move around, so he cups his hands to his mouth and puts 5 years of vocal performance to use as he yells, “Wonpil! Kim Wonpil!”

At first, he’s met with indifference. Then: “Sungjin!”

Sungjin’s world brightens, just a little.

He turns in the direction of the sound to find Wonpil waving from the other end of the terminal, holding a single suitcase to his side. He feels his face break into a smile as he takes off towards him, vision narrowing until all he can see is Wonpil, standing there, grinning so brightly it’s like-

Like being able to breathe again.

And it’s strange, really. Wonpil’s only been gone for two months and yet Sungjin is running towards him with the impatience of people separated for years, for eternities. It’s strange, really, because Wonpil looks tired despite his wide smile and almost sickly in the shitty airport lights, and yet he’s somehow the best thing Sungjin has seen in two months.

(And two months is too long.)

Sungjin slams bodily into Wonpil, knocking him backwards a bit as he wraps his arms around shoulders tense with shock. “Welcome back,” he mutters, ignoring the stares of passersby and the amused smiles of security guards. Welcome home , is what he really means. “I missed you.”

Wonpil laughs, delighted, and hugs back. “I missed you, too,” he teases, “but I was only gone for two months, it’s not like it was forever. ”

Sungjin pulls away, a little breathless - but not from the running. “It felt like it,” he says. “Do you know how lonely I was this entire break? Jae went back home and Dowoon moved in with Brian, and the one person who could’ve saved me from my crushing isolation decided to go halfway across the world. ” Sungjin jabs a finger into Wonpil’s chest, although there’s no malice behind it. “How dare you?”

Wonpil is still laughing a little. “How was your break, Sungjin?”

“Shut up,” Sungjin huffs. “I’m not letting you leave ever again, do you hear me?”

“Yes, sir!” Wonpil does a little salute, grabbing his suitcase with his other hand. “Come on, let’s go. I’m exhausted; it’s, like, 3 in the morning in America.”

“Didn’t you sleep on the plane?” Sungjin scolds. He holds out a hand to take Wonpil’s suitcase for him, because his mother raised him well, but his offer is declined. “Come on,” Sungjin says. “If you’re tired you can just give me your stuff.”

“It’s no big deal,” Wonpil says. “You’re already doing me a favor by driving me so last-minute, I don’t want to inconvenience you any further.”

Sungjin scoffs, tries to pry Wonpil’s fingers away from the handle of the suitcase. They don’t budge - damn piano playing skills , Sungjin thinks. “The only way you inconvenienced me was by leaving me alone ,” he insists. “Just let me hold it.”

“I may be pretty but I’m not a princess ,” Wonpil tells him. It startles a laugh out of him, makes him wonder how Wonpil can say everything he didn’t know he needed to hear.

“What, so I can’t be your Prince Charming?” Sungjin jokes. Wonpil’s fingers are impossible to move, but he has pride and a very polite upbringing backing him up so he settles for placing his hand over Wonpil’s, slotting his fingers in between the knuckles. He watches the tendons in Wonpil’s arm tense at the touch - then, after a second, relaxing fully into it, letting out a sigh of contentment.

“Of course you can be my Prince Charming,” Wonpil says, and it reminds him of Christmas Day all over again.

--

“There’s another issue,” Wonpil says on the way back, holding his phone in his hand. Maybe it's just the lighting, but Sungjin thinks he’s gotten a little paler.

Sungjin looks at him out of the corner of his eye. “What is it?” he asks, wary.

Wonpil sighs. His hair gleams in the light when he pushes it out of his face, rubbing at his temple with his thumb. “I rented my place out this month because I thought they'd be gone by the time I was back, but they're leaving the day school starts.” He pushes the back of his seat down until he's lying flat, staring at the ceiling. “So I don't have a place to stay for five days.”

It's funny. Sungjin thinks he's a pretty reasonable person- otherwise, why would he make the conscious decision to keep Wonpil at arm's length? But he barely stops to consider it before he's blurting out, “You could come live with me.”

Wonpil sits up, snaps the seat back in place. “Really?” his voice is hesitant, hopeful; barely a whisper. Then: “no, wait, I can't. I've already asked too much of you, this is-"

“You're not asking anything of me,” Sungjin assures, even though yes, he kind of is. But he and Wonpil fit - their personalities, their preferences. And Sungjin has always found his apartment a bit too big for one person.

It's only for five days , he tells himself, but as he watches Wonpil smile, he thinks it could be something more.

--

“The couch pulls out,” he tells Wonpil as he unlocks the door and steps in. He's grateful for his paternal cleanliness- even at its dirtiest, his place is decently presentable. “I think I've got some spare sheets in the pantry. Unpack your stuff, we can figure out what to put it all when I get back.”

Wonpil gives him a thumbs up. “Thanks again,” he says, smile sheepish. Sungjin waves him off.

The sheets in the pantry are mismatched, but Sungjin manages to find a full set and two slightly depleted pillows amidst the mess. When he makes his way back to the living room Wonpil has already sorted his clothes out. “I washed everything before I left, so it's all clean,” he says. “Nice place, by the way.”

“It's nothing special.” Sungjin shows Wonpil around the kitchen/dining room, the washroom, his room. “I usually wash up pretty early,” he says, “so if you're gonna use the bathroom it'd be best to do it sometime in the late evening. Is that okay?”

“Yeah.” Wonpil smiles at him. “Yeah, that sounds perfect.”

They stand in awkward silence for a few seconds before Sungjin clears his throat and says, “so. What do you want for dinner?”

--

Wonpil fits into his life perfectly.

He's never lived with a roommate before, but having Wonpil there feels more comfortable than being alone. He’s forgotten the odd delightfulness of hearing someone else living in tandem with him - the flip of pages in their quiet study sessions, the muffled strumming of the guitar Sungjin hasn’t touched in a while coming from the other room, the rumbling of the kettle in the background when Wonpil pokes his head around the corner to ask if he’d like some tea.

And when Wonpil comes out of the shower shrouded by a cloud of steam, hair wet and skin glistening above the low collar of his shirt, Sungjin starts wondering if it wouldn’t be so bad having him here forever.

On the sixth night of his stay, when they’ve settled into a nice sort of routine, Sungjin is curled up on the couch in front of the TV. He’s exhausted - work has been tiring, what with the new batch of kids being so much more cynical and sarcastic than the ones from the years before. There’s a can of beer sitting open on the coffee table in front of his feet, half-empty. None of the shows on Netflix seem very appealing - too funny, too complex, too meaningless. Eventually, he makes a game out of scrolling through the titles, barely pausing to read the descriptions.

“Can I join?” Wonpil’s voice startles him out of his haze; he’s leaning forward against the back of the couch, speaking right into his ear. Sungjin tries to ignore the feeling of it, the strange intimacy that the low light gives the moment.

“Sure,” Sungjin says. Wonpil swings his legs over and lands on the couch with a thump, pulling the blanket Sungjin offers him over his shoulders. “I don’t really know what to watch, though.”

When he turns to look at Wonpil, the younger is busy eyeing the can of beer in front of him. Then, “you know, everything is fun to watch when you’re drunk.”

Sungjin almost tells him no- too irresponsible, too reckless, too dangerous- but then he thinks, what part of getting drunk with Wonpil on the couch on a Wednesday evening is irresponsible, reckless or dangerous ? Then he thinks, Jaebum owes me so many favors - why not call one of them in?

“What are you doing?” There it is again - Wonpil’s voice, too close, too quiet. It sends tremors down Sungjin’s spine.

“Telling my coworker to cover my shift tomorrow morning,” he says, pocketing his phone. “Just in case we drink too much and I wake up with a soul-shattering hangover.”

Wonpil laughs. “I’ll pick the movie.”

--

They end up watching Inception - which is, really, the worst movie to watch when inebriated. Sungjin tells Wonpil as much, slurring the words through the numbness in his mouth. “This is,” he says, “the worst movie to watch while drunk. Why did you say this was fun? This isn’t fun.”

Wonpil pouts. “That’s because we’re trying to watch it seriously. Isn’t it so weird that Joseph Gordon-Levitt is white? He looks,” he presses two fingers to each temple like trying to cure a headache, “so Asian. ”

“That’s just his eyebrows,” Sungjin says, shifting. Oh- when did they get so close? “His face is, like, weirdly flat.”

Wonpil sighs longingly. “That just means it’s easier to ride,” he says. Sungjin chokes on his own spit.

“Okay,” he says, grabs the remote beside him and turns off the TV. “It’s time to stop. Let’s go to bed.”

“But it’s so cold out there,” Wonpil protests. “And so warm in here. Don’t kick me out, Sungjinnie, I’ll freeze and then there won’t be anyone to make you coffee.”

“I can make coffee for myself, thanks,” Sungjin says, mind locked onto Sungjinnie. “One of us has to leave and it clearly isn’t me.”

“Or,” Wonpil says, cutting off mid-sentence to yawn, “we could both stay. Here. And sleep. Together.”

“We are not sleeping together ,” Sungjin says. “You have a girlfriend.” Then, when he’s met with silence: “are you even listening to m- are you asleep ?”

“Shut up,” Wonpil mumbles. He shuffles a little closer to Sungjin, wraps an arm around his waist and buries his face into the crook of his neck. Wonpil’s nose is cold but his breath is warm where it comes out in puffs, slowly evening out as he approaches unconsciousness. “Just sleep. With me. You’re so comfortable.”

Sungjin sighs. He puts a hand on Wonpil’s arm to push it away, but it’s then that Wonpil curls up closer to him. They kind of fit together this way - like jigsaw pieces, like that dance on Christmas Day.

“Just this night,” he tells himself out loud, too drunk to bother keeping it in his head. “Just this once.”

With that, he leans his head against Wonpil’s and lets sleep pull him down.

--

Sungjin’s only half-awake when he realizes the mistake he’s made.

Sunlight is pouring steadily into the room; they’d forgotten to draw the blinds the night before. Wonpil is incredibly warm next to him, chest rising and falling steadily. A strand of hair slips free to tickle his nose; when he frowns and snuffles, Sungjin can’t help but reach out to brush it away.

He takes in the situation - Wonpil, curled up with him on the couch, sharing a blanket. The TV remote in his hand. The cans of beer littered about the coffee table, some only half-empty. With a growing sense of dread, Sungjin turns on the TV and opens up Netflix - sure enough, the most recently watched movie is Inception, which, judging by the progress bar, they’d only seen half of last night.

Last night. Sungjin groans in despair, sends a mental apology to whoever Wonpil’s girlfriend is because hey, your boyfriend literally has his nose buried in my neck and an arm around my waist, want to come get him?

“Sungjin?”

Sungjin startles at the voice. He looks down to find Wonpil staring up at him, blinking drowsily in the bright mid-morning light. His hair is rumpled and his skin looks petal-soft, eyes half-lidded. Sungjin suddenly finds it hard to breathe.

Wonpil sits up. There’s a crease in his cheek from the sleeve of Sungjin’s shirt; when he puts some distance between them, he sees that there are matching creases in the arm he’d draped around Sungjin’s waist.

“Morning,” Sungjin says. It feels inadequate. “Want me to make breakfast?”

Wonpil waves him off, slips out of the blanket and gets to his feet. “I’m the freeloader here, I’ll cook.” He grins, then, and suddenly the cold Sungjin feels in his wake disappears. “Pancakes? Or eggs?”

Sungjin stands up, too, pushing the heels of his hands into his eyes. “I’m so hungry I could go for anything right now,” he says. “We didn’t even eat dinner last night.” He mock-glares. “Because someone thought it would be a good idea to get drunk on a Wednesday evening.”

“Don’t bully the chef, he’ll spit in your food,” Wonpil shoots back, dodges the kick Sungjin sends flying his way and disappears into the kitchen. “Pancakes it is, then!”

--

Sungjin’s tossing the last of the cans into the trash when the smell of frying pancakes, warm and buttery, wafts into the living room. His mouth waters in response. “Need any help?” he calls.

“Yeah, set the table, would you?” The sound of sizzling punctuates Wonpil’s sentence as Sungjin pads over to the kitchen. “I think there’s juice in the fridge.”

“I know,” Sungjin tells him. “This is my house. ”

Wonpil laughs from his spot in front of the stove. “Sorry. I’ve been spending too much time around my sister.” Sungjin gets the half-empty bottle of orange juice from the fridge, sets it on the table. “Besides, I fit in awfully well with your place, don’t I?”

Sungjin huffs as he makes his way to where the mugs are, tucked into the back of the counter right next to the stove. “Awfully self-confident, aren’t we?” There’s not much space between the counter and the table, so he has to lean against Wonpil from behind. “Sorry my kitchen is so small,” he mumbles as he reaches around to grab the mugs, nearly losing his balance with how inconvenient his position is and having to put a hand on Wonpil’s hip to steady himself.

And he’s about to lean away, because this position is crossing all sorts of lines, but then-

But then Wonpil sort of leans back against him, relaxing. Sungjin’s chin gets tucked perfectly over his shoulder; the hand on Wonpil’s hip settles there, as if that’s where it’s supposed to be. Sungjin melts.

“What are you doing?” he asks quietly, tries not to think about Christmas Day, about the neat fit of Wonpil’s shoulders against his chest. About how he’s just a bit taller, how his lips brush against the shell of Wonpil’s ear when he speaks.

“I don’t know.” Wonpil turns, then; their lips nearly graze. Sungjin forgets how to breathe for a single, suspended moment.

But the moment passes and Sungjin takes a mental and physical step back, putting some much-needed distance between them. Wonpil’s eyes are wide, fearful as he watches him; Sungjin’s heart is beating so hard it hurts, the imprint of Wonpil’s breath on his mouth lingering even as the feeling rips a chasm between them- the feeling of being so, so close to closing the distance and the unspoken something between them.

So close- too close. Too close for someone with a girlfriend.

Anger and shame rise in Sungjin’s throat; he spits out acid when he says, “I can’t believe you.” The mugs in his hands are slammed onto the table in the same way the door to his bedroom is slammed open and then shut, putting a barrier between him and Wonpil.

Wonpil, who’d tried to kiss him; selfish, unfaithful Wonpil, who believes he can keep a girlfriend and play with Sungjin’s heart at the same time. Sungjin falls backwards onto his bed, staring up at a ceiling that seems to mock him.

Wonpil, who, against his better judgment, Sungjin has completely and utterly fallen for.

--

When Sungjin finally comes out of his room there is a stack of pancakes sitting on the coffee table - an apology, an offer of reconciliation. Wonpil himself is nowhere to be seen - Sungjin isn’t sure if the crushing weight he’s feeling is relief, or disappointment.

When he sits down on the couch they’d fallen asleep together on, next to the blanket that had been enough to cover them both because they had been pressed so close together, he notices a note next to the pancakes. His heart falters - he recognizes that handwriting.

Sungjin,

I’m sorry I offended you. I’m going to go live with Nana for a bit. Thank you for giving me a place to stay. Thank you for giving me a ride back from the airport. Thank you for being friends with me.

Wonpil

Sungjin sits there for a long, long time, reading and re-reading the note, until the pancakes have gone cold and his heart has gone colder.

--

It’s hard to live without Wonpil, Sungjin quickly learns.

Somehow, the two months they’d spent on opposite corners of the world felt less lonely than the three days that Sungjin has spent after Wonpil left, going through his normal routine in the silence of his empty apartment. He misses Wonpil, despite everything; misses Wonpil, aches for him in a way that’s oddly unsurprising. Like-

Like maybe he’s had these feelings for much longer than he’s been aware of.

And what makes it worse is the drastic difference between now and a few days ago. A few days ago, he was doing his homework to the sound of Wonpil’s fingers on a keyboard, Wonpil humming a familiar tune underneath his breath. A few days ago, he was warm and content, comfortable and at peace. Now, he’s angry and sad, and doing his homework to a playlist that is, frankly, making his head hurt.

What makes it worse is that he has fallen so, so hard for someone who isn’t available, and only realized it when he was gone.

On the fourth day after Wonpil’s departure, a knock comes at his door. A distinctly female voice yells, “Park Sungjin, if you don’t open this door right now -”

“I’m here, I’m here!” Sungjin throws the door open with so much force it ricochets off the wall and he has to stop it before it closes again. “Jesus Christ, have you ever heard of noise pollution?”

The girl on the doorstep glares at him, arms crossed. Long hair, almond eyes - Nana, Wonpil’s coworker from the grocery store. “Have you ever heard of ‘not being an asshole’? It’s a pretty interesting concept, maybe you should try it out.”

Sungjin is at a loss for words for about 0.5 seconds before indignance surges in him and propels him to say, “ I’m the asshole? You’re the one who almost knocked my door down!”

“And you’re the one who broke Wonpil’s heart, ” she says darkly, shouldering past him into his apartment. Sungjin closes the door in a daze.

When he makes his way to the living room Nana is already seated on one of the couches, looking out of place. Unlike Wonpil , Sungjin thinks, before shutting the thought down. “I didn’t break Wonpil’s heart,” he says, leaning on the wall so he can run away if she tries to strangle him with her hair or something. “If you’re looking for heartbreak you should try asking his girlfriend.”

Nana stares at him like he’s an idiot. It looks strangely like the look Brian and Jae have been giving him for months now. “What are you talking about?”

“His girlfriend? The one he cheated on just so he could fuck with me?” The words taste like bile on Sungjin’s tongue, reminds him of the fear in Wonpil’s eyes after that almost-kiss.

Nana rubs at her temples. “You’re lucky you’re hot,” she says. “Otherwise you wouldn’t have gotten away with so much stupidity. ”

“Hey, what are you-”

“Wonpil doesn’t have a girlfriend,” Nana interrupts. “Wonpil’s never had a girlfriend, because he is literally the gayest man to ever exist. Have you heard him sing? No one who sounds that angelic can be heterosexual! If there was a record for ‘Most Homo’ you’d find ‘Kim Wonpil’ underneath in big fat gay letters because he is gay , so gay , and an absolute sweetheart. Do you think he would cheat on anyone? That boy has never done anything wrong in his life- except, it seems, fall for someone like you .”

Sungjin’s world is tilting off its axis. “Wait. Wait, then why does he- when people ask him out why does he say-”

“Because it’s a lot easier to pretend to be taken than to reject someone,” Nana bites out. “Wonpil gets asked out a lot, you know? And he doesn’t like hurting people, even if there’s no other option. I was the one who told him to say he had a girlfriend, so it would lessen the blow. And you .” She points a manicured nail straight at his chest. “Did you even bother to ask? About his relationship, about his girlfriend? Or did you just assume everything like the dumbass you are?”

“Wait,” Sungjin says. He feels weightless. “He fell for me?”

“Oh my God,” Nana says with something like incredulous horror.

“Oh my God,” Sungjin echoes. “I have to go.”

--

He finds Wonpil, with Nana’s help, at the park near campus, the one where they’d played in the snow last winter. Sungjin wonders if there are any places in the area that aren’t littered with memories of Wonpil.

He finds Wonpil, and stops in his tracks.

The leaves have started changing with the first breath of autumn; the sunlight is warm, gold like the candles in that clearing they’d gone to Christmas Day. Wonpil is standing on the bridge over the river, watching the landscape with a tranquility Sungjin has grown to associate exclusively with him. Wonpil’s personality compliments Sungjin’s nicely - glowing steadiness with constant motion, fine-spun silk with rough-hewn edges.

Wonpil is breathtaking, and all the words Sungjin had rehearsed on the way suddenly seem inadequate.

In the end, he settles for holding out one of the coffees in his hand, made the way he knows Wonpil likes. “You look like you need some coffee,” he says, hopes it comes across as I’m sorry.

Wonpil’s eyes, when he turns to face him, are that same kind of fearful as that morning in the kitchen. It drives a wedge between Sungjin’s ribs. “Thanks,” he says quietly, takes the cup. The movement seems muted, muffled by pain and shame.

Sungjin hates himself.

Sungjin hates himself but he also thinks Wonpil is the most beautiful person he’s ever laid eyes on, the most beautiful soul he’s had the pleasure to know and-

And love. Because this is love, isn’t it? They fit perfectly and Sungjin spends every waking hour thinking of Wonpil and that’s love, isn’t it?

Sungjin thinks it is. But Wonpil doesn’t know that, and there’s a sort of sadness to it when Sungjin thinks about how Wonpil doesn’t know how much he loves him; how Wonpil thinks Sungjin hates him, is angry at him for something that maybe saved his life.

There’s a sort of sadness to the slump of Wonpil’s shoulders, a sadness Sungjin would do anything to alleviate. And he- it’s amazing, but he knows how to do exactly that.

“ I’m in love with you

Tried my best to hold it back, but

I can’t live like this anymore

I want you

Took me a long time to say this

But now there’s nothing left to do

For you ”

Sungjin finishes singing, out of breath. There’s a terrible pause of silence afterwards, a moment where Sungjin’s emotional wellbeing is teetering on a precipice and he can feel the cracks in his heart grow. Please, he finds himself thinking. Praying. Please.

Then Wonpil is turning towards him and there are tears in his eyes; then Wonpil is putting his coffee down on the lip of the railing and wrapping his arms around Sungjin, closing that final gap between them. Bringing that unspoken something out into the light.

Finally, Sungjin thinks.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers when they pull away. Then, because he’s wasted too much time, he takes Wonpil’s face in his hands and pulls him closer so their foreheads meet, so Wonpil can feel his heart beating through his chest. “I’m sorry I was so stupid, I’m sorry I assumed things, I’m sorry I-”

“It’s okay.” Wonpil closes his eyes, smiles in a way that makes Sungjin’s pulse stutter. “It’s okay. Thank you for coming back.”

“Thank you for staying.” Wonpil’s smile grows - that smile like the sun, brightening up the world. “But you missed, you know.”

His eyes fly open. Eyes like summer. “What do you-”

“That day. When you were making pancakes and I came up behind you? You missed.” To demonstrate, Sungjin closes that final, final gap between them. Closes that gap and kisses Wonpil- and. And.

It feels like being reborn.

When he pulls back, much later, Wonpil’s eyes are shining. “I,” he says, “am so in love with you.”

Sungjin closes his eyes. “That’s okay,” he says. “I’m in love with you, too.”

Wonpil laughs. “Come on,” he says. “Let’s go home.”

“Let’s,” Sungjin agrees, but what he really thinks is:

I’m already there.

Chapter Text

Before

It's prom night in his junior year of high school. Jae is weirdly drunk off questionable fruit punch, Brian is moping about Dowoon, and Sungjin-

Sungjin thinks the boy manning the punch bowl is the most stunning thing he's ever seen.

He isn't one to take risks, as a rule- doesn't like the feeling it gives him, the slow crawl of uncertainty and doubt that consumes him. But the boy's smile is more blinding than the strobe lights, so he sets aside his preconceived notions and takes the leap.

“Hi,” he says, approaching the table. When the boy looks up and their eyes meet, it feels like- like- “I'm Sungjin.”

The boy's smile grows. “Wonpil,” he introduces. “What can I get for you, Sungjin?”

It feels like the start of something incredible.