Chapter Text
Brian doesn’t know what it is about Jae, exactly--it isn’t love the way that he’s seen love shown on TV shows or in the dramas and films that he grew up watching, isn’t the kind of love sung about in songs: it isn’t that his heart is pounding or that he’s nervous or that his skin is on fire. It’s a lot quieter than that. It’s knowing that he doesn’t want their time to end, knowing that he just likes this , likes being in their room with the books stacked against the walls (now packed in boxes) and vinyls and CDs and old games tossed together in an old hamper (now divided neatly between them, half-packed into suitcases and backpacks), likes the way that when he wakes up in the morning he’ll know that across from his own single bed is going to be Jae’s duvet-covered silhouette, face half-covered by fabric, the top half of his face barely visible: an adorable flurry of mussed hair, eyes shut in slumber.
He likes the way that no matter what--even if Brian has a date that night or if Jae has one of his Polisci society meetings or if Brian has band practice or if Jae has a talk to go to, every Saturday they’ll both come home before midnight to haul their dirty laundry up the street to the laundromat where they’ll spend the next hour and a half reading side-by-side, both snacking on the same bag of chips, after which they’ll head over to one of the smaller korean restaurants to chow down on a taste of home: splitting tteokbokki and fried chicken and rice (plain--because of Jae’s allergies which Brian’s gotten used to) between them. He’s gotten used to these cadences, these small rhythms, is paralyzed with the realization that in exactly a week, they’ll cease to exist.
Throughout college Brian’s dated people like he’s always dated people--just a part of everyday life, an element to be fulfilled: you had food, clothing, shelter, an education, a passion, friends, a special someone. Boys, girls, boys who liked to dress like girls, girls who identified as boys: Brian fell in love with personalities. And now, a week before graduation, as he’s packing away photos of him and Jae, he can’t help but wonder if he’s missed the person who’s been right under his nose all this time. Teary-eyed, Brian sets aside old Instax pictures taken Sophomore Year at a mixer of Sungjin’s Film Club that they’d crashed and ended up getting trashed at, a couple of 2x2 ID photos that they’d collaged into a newspaper mugshot, and the photograph that had been magnet-stuck to their fridge since Freshman year, so long that there was a permanent round indentation where the magnet held it up. In the photograph, Brian is smiling with his eyes squinting into crescent moons, fingers held up in a peace sign; Jae has an arm around his shoulders, is smirking and trying to look cool--a hopeless cause because he’s wearing giant reflective shades and a shirt studded with Hawaiian print. Brian touches the photograph, smiling softly as he remembers how drunk they’d gotten that night, how they’d hogged the karaoke machine until someone called the cops--carefully, he slips it between the pages of his favorite book (The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupery).
For safekeeping.
“Hey, loser.”
The door opens and Brian jumps as Jae walks into the room, rubbing his hands together from the cold. He takes off his scarf, his coat, tosses them onto the bed in a way that warms Brian’s heart, a way that’s so familiar, so taken for granted, for the moment he feels he needs it like air. Brian smiles as he watches Jae wipe the fog off of his gold-rimmed round glasses on the hem of his sweater before putting them back on and plopping onto his bed.
“Did you buy me food?”
Jae lets out a sigh of mock-exasperation (which Brian knows means yes) before handing Brian a take-out bag from their favorite burger place in town. It’s still warm and just by feeling what’s inside, by the heft and shape of it, Brian knows Jae’s known to get him his favorite criss-cut fries and two servings of ketchup.
“Thanks.”
“I know I’m the most reliable person in the world,” Jae says, a grin spreading like sunrise on his face.
Brian rolls his eyes. “Don’t let it go to your head.”
“What’s this--” Jae loves, pulling Brian’s copy of The Little Prince out from under him. The photograph of them falls out and the sentence dies on Jae’s lips. He picks up the photograph and Brian sees his face change--sees the sentiment ripple through him. “--September 12th 2010.”
“Hey, that’s--”
“--four years tonight. That was the first night we spent here and I thought that we’d hate each other--”
“--no,” Brian says, scooting closer to lean his head on Jae’s shoulder. “You thought that I hated you but--”
Jae smiles, tracing Brian’s face in the photograph just as Brian had done moments ago. He knows how the story goes from the number of times they’ve told it to each other, to their friends.
“--but you actually thought I was cool. And we went out for my birthday.”
Brian smiles then, looks up at Jae and wonders if he’s thinking the same thing Brian’s thinking. He takes a breath, decides to be brave.
“I still do.”
“Bri--” Jae’s cheeks are tinged pink. Brian knows that if he raised a palm to them, they’d be warm.
“I mean it,” Brian says, putting his burger down, forgetting about the hunger, about the weather, about everything that isn’t Jae. “You’re--the best person that I’ve ever met, pretty much.”
Jae meets his gaze, then, his expression serious.
Brian smiles. “What?”
Jae chews on his lower lip--a nervous tick.
“I--I mean. Well. You and I--”
“--yeah?” Brian asks, hoping this is what he thinks it is.
“--I mean. We never--I mean I--really--you know how you make waffles every Sunday morning--”
“--yeah,” Brian says, smiling at how nervous Jae is.
“I guess what I mean to say is that--I waffle--I waffles you--”
“--well.” Brian moves so that they’re facing each other, knees touching. He leans in closer, closer until the smallest of nudges would push them together, moves closer, until the tips of their noses brush, until the distance between them is bridged in a soft kiss. “I waffles you too.”
The rest of the week goes by in a strange kind of haze, like light shining through a fog--both of them knowing time is going to be up soon, both of them already knowing the other’s plans (Jae making for Los Angeles to take on an internship in Political science, Brian heading to New York to pursue a talk show opportunity) but choosing to set that knowledge aside for the time being.
They go through every routine like it’s sacred, knowing that soon it won’t be theirs to have, to take for granted: Brian waking up earlier than usual to take in the way that Jae looks snuggled under the blankets, blonde hair a mess against the pillowcase, Brian getting up to make them breakfast, Jae pretending to be asleep a moment longer to listen to the small sounds that Brian’s movements make--the softness of a footstep against the wooden floor, the clink of a coffee cup against the kitchen table; Jae savoring the way that Brian feels sitting on the floor between his knees as they spend afternoons reading comics, magazines, snacking on chips settled between them. At night, for the most part, they kiss: let themselves explore the warmth, the taste, the softness of each other--lust fires up in both of them, but they leave it be for now, Brian unsure how far Jae is comfortable with going, Jae not wanting to ask too much of the moment, not wanting either of them to feel indebted to the other for promises they aren’t ready to make.
They spend Jae’s birthday on a hill overlooking the city, a blanket spread out beneath them. The night is cool and crisp but clear, the stars shining. Brian’s brought a small cupcake--Vanilla, Jae’s favorite, but frosted in ice-blue and dappled with assorted sprinkles. He takes his lighter out and sets a small, silver candle ablaze atop the icing.
“Make a wish."
Jae grins but doesn’t bother to close his eyes before making a wish: they both know what he wants, they’re both holding their breath hoping for it.
Their last day together is spent in their room, cuddling with the blinds rolled down but flipped open so that sunlight fills Brian’s bed, on which both of them lay holding each other. Brian watches Jae with his small idiosyncrasies--his eye twitching a bit when he smiles, his hoarse way of saying Brian’s name whenever he makes him laugh--and tries to memorize everything for the long days ahead. Jae maps out the territory of Brian’s face: those sly eyes, that mischievious mouth, that voice that Brian uses only for him--deep and quiet and serious-sounding even when he’s saying something funny.
“Jae?”
“Mmmm?”
“We won’t let time tear us apart, will we?”
“Pshhhh,” Jae says, rolling his eyes. “I’d like to see it try.”
Brian grins but his expression remains worried. “I mean it. A lot of people say that they’ll stay in touch and I mean--I know us, I know more than to ask for something committed or whatever. We’re both ambitious, we both have dreams and I love you but I know that there’s a lot more out there for both of us--”
“--Bri--”
“--hold on, let me finish.” Brian takes a breath. “And your friendship means the world to me. More than anything romantic, I don’t think I could bear to have that be taken away. So when we go tomorrow, kiss me goodbye and promise me that we’ll stay in touch, that we’ll see each other--”
“--at least once a year,” Jae says, cutting him off, punctuating his sentence with a soft kiss planted on the corner of Brian’s mouth. “Let’s promise we’ll keep in touch and see each other once a year on our anniversary. September 12th.”
Brian smiles, stroking Jae’s cheek. “Alright. I swear. We’ll see each other every year on our anniversary--no matter who we’re dating or what we’re doing or whatever the circumstances. If one of us can’t make it, the other will find a way. Kapish?”
Jae nods. “Kapish.”
They kiss soft and slow, holding each other close until they fall asleep. And when Brian wakes up in the morning, Jae is gone, only a note left on what used to be his bed.
See you in a year. I waffles you--don't you forget that.