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This is how Jihoon meets Soonyoung: standing in the pouring rain outside the doors of his new school, getting drenched because he doesn’t want to go in.
A student walks up and stops beside him. “What are you standing out here for?” He asks.
Jihoon darts a glance at him. He has an umbrella so he’s mostly dry, and his uniform looks like it hasn’t seen an iron in years, wrinkles everywhere and the hem untucked from his black trousers. Earphones dangle around his neck and his messenger bag is slung over his left shoulder.
Jihoon frowns, not bothering to answer him. He’s contemplating running away instead, but he knows it wouldn’t fare well for him on his first day.
Instead, he looks at the entrance doors again.
He doesn’t want to go in. Going in means officially saying goodbye to his old life. His home in Busan, his friends, his childhood.
Starting a new school means starting a new life completely.
Seoul is big and he hates it. It’s as noisy as Busan, but the roads are stuffy and everywhere you look, it’s a concrete jungle. Nothing but grey on grey - a sad, mind-numbing palette. He wants to go home already. At least Busan has spots of green – artificial trees wedged in between the grey.
“Are you going to go in?” The boy from before asks. Jihoon is surprised to find he’s still here.
Shrugging, he mumbles, “I like the rain.”
He doesn’t. He feels the same way about the rain as he does about Seoul: he hates it. He doesn’t like being cold or wet or having to walk around places with cold and wet clothes. The only exception is when he’s by the beach, because at least there’s something beautiful about the sea.
And he’s all of this right now – cold and wet and not enjoying it one bit – but his reluctance to go in beats all of that. He knows he should’ve brought an umbrella with him, too, but he doesn’t like carrying stuff around in his hands, either.
He doesn’t like a lot of things, he realises. But that’s just him.
“You’re crazy,” the boy says, but he doesn’t sound like he means it harshly.
Jihoon is absolutely miserable.
“Well, I don’t want to leave you out here to freeze to death or anything.”
He stills when the other boy shuffles closer to him, only allowing himself to relax when the latter lifts his umbrella over the both of him. “Do you have a spare change of uniform?”
Shaking his head, Jihoon tells him, “I’m new here.”
The student lets out a noise of interest, nodding. “That explains it. You got cold feet?” Jihoon nods, pursing his lips. “That’s fine,” the boy continues. “It must suck, huh? Moving to a new school.”
Everything sucks, Jihoon wants to say. He wants to scream and yell and stomp his feet on the floor in despair. He doesn’t want to be here. He wants to be back in Busan, where the streets don’t constantly smell like rough tyres and exhaust fumes.
“Yeah,” he replies after a while.
The other boy gives him a nod, slowly making his way towards the doors. When he realises Jihoon isn’t following behind, he turns with a puzzled look on his face.
“You’re really not coming in?” He asks.
Jihoon gives another shrug. He wants to tell him that the thought of going in fills him with dread, but he doesn’t want to admit it.
“Come on,” the boy tells him. “I’ll lend you my spare uniform.”
Jihoon closes his eyes, breathing in deep.
One second is enough. In the brief darkness, he can picture the view of the sea from the kitchen windows of his family’s apartment in Busan and smell the salt water and the sand. Memories of home; the nostalgia, the belonging.
He lets out a sigh, opening his eyes to find the student still waiting for him.
Leave me alone, he wants to say, but doesn’t. It’s not fair on the boy, not when he’s been nothing but kind to him so far.
“Thanks,” Jihoon mumbles. It comes out stiff and stilted, but the boy takes it with a smile.
“No problem,” the latter chirps. When he opens the door, Jihoon’s breath hitches.
If he takes the first step, it means it’ll finally be over. Busan and home will cease to become his life. They will fade into the past, and he will have no choice but to let them go.
The boy smiles again when Jihoon steps forward. His reluctance makes him drag his feet, but the other is patient.
“Don’t worry, okay?” the student says, reeling back his umbrella as they walk through the door, “We’ll grab my uniform from my locker and I’ll show you where the bathrooms are so you can change. We’re a bit late for class but it’s fine, you know, considering. I’m sure your teacher will understand.”
Jihoon looks to the ground. Cold, hard rain drips from every inch of him, pooling around his water-logged school shoes. He’s freezing – almost so much that he’s shivering and his hands are numb. Even when he clenches and opens them, he can’t feel them.
The boy crouches down to untie his shoelaces and slip his shoes off. When he straightens, he’s carrying them in his hands, looking down at Jihoon. “Ready?”
Jihoon nods, feeling as numb as his hands do. He starts slipping his shoes off, cringing at the sloppy sounds his uniform makes when he bends down. His nose wrinkles as soon as he touches his feet, the awful, soaked material soft and worn down by the rain.
“You didn’t have to do this,” he mutters, unable to meet the other’s eyes, “but thank you.”
The latter laughs quietly, the sound of it raspy. Something about it reminds Jihoon of the sea, of waves upon waves clashing and slipping away, of the tender ebb and flow.
“No one deserves to be left out in the rain,” he says, so quietly Jihoon almost misses it under the squelching sounds of his wet uniform as he tries to pull it away from his skin.
Jihoon glances up. The other boy is waiting, his shoes in his hand, his bag on his shoulder. He has unruly black hair and his eyes are soft as he looks at Jihoon, but something about them says they’re more mischievous than mellow. There are three holes along his left earlobe, too, but Jihoon’s aware of the general rule all schools have that high school students are prohibited from wearing piercings.
Briefly, he wonders what the boy looks like with earrings in.
Jihoon swallows, opening his mouth. He goes back and forth trying to find something to say, but the other just smiles, still waiting.
No one deserves to be left out in the rain.
In the end, he settles on, “I’m Jihoon. What’s your name?”
The boy flashes him a crooked grin. It makes him look boyish and frivolous, as if his smile is letting Jihoon in on a secret.
It flashes before Jihoon then. Seagulls flying across the sea. The violent song of crashing waves. Sandcastles decorated with shells and ribbons of seaweed. All the things he’s left behind, all the thing’s he’s letting go.
He’s very far from home.
“Soonyoung,” the boy says. “Kwon Soonyoung!”
Jihoon doesn’t smile often. He hasn’t smiled since he packed up his childhood bedroom and moved from Busan two weeks ago. He has barely spoken to his parents, too angry with them to start a conversation, too heartbroken to eat dinner at their new dining table with them. This is the most he’s spoken in a while, he realises.
But when he does smile – curved unusually from lack of use – he’s proud of himself.
For one second, he doesn’t hate the world for his misfortune.
This is how they become friends: Soonyoung learns they are of the same age and in the same class, inviting him to become part of his life.
He waits for Jihoon every morning by the school gates with two bottles of yoghurt for the both of them to drink before they go in. He walks Jihoon to the convenience store after school, where they then part ways to go home. He sends Jihoon pictures every night of him suffering over his homework, pleading for help with difficult equations and English translations.
Jihoon equates it to him being the sea and Soonyoung as the buoy in the middle of his waters, the former keeping the latter afloat in the deep hell of high school.
Seoul is still dreadful and he still misses Busan like crazy, but it’s a bearable kind of conflict now. He’s had two months to get used to the concrete hand around his throat and the dusty air in his lungs. Two months in a place he can’t bring himself to call home, but will still, albeit half-heartedly, try to find his footing in.
Compromise, he calls it. He’ll tolerate his new life for now, but he’ll always have his misgivings.
Jihoon counts the ninth Thursday since moving when Soonyoung asks Jihoon to swing by his football practice after school. It’s not that Jihoon purposely counts – he finds it an awful reminder of how long it’s been since he last felt at home – but it’s ingrained into him; a bad habit.
“Please?” Soonyoung asks again.
Jihoon puts his English textbook away into the little cubby under his desk. “I don’t know…”
He’s feigning mulling it over, his mouth quirking side to side with a slight pout, but he knows he’ll go. Truthfully, with the new apartment mostly empty with his parents always at work, he doesn’t have anything better to do. He spends most Thursdays after school doing homework in the classroom while he waits for Soonyoung to finish at practice.
Soonyoung gets down on his knees, clasping his hands in front of him. “We have our first game today and I bet an entire month’s allowance against Wonwoo if we win!”
Glad there’s no one else around to watch his friend make a fool of himself, Jihoon swats the latter’s hands away, gesturing with his hands for him to get up. “Christ, don’t do that. Why did you make such a stupid bet?”
“The bastard started it,” Soonyoung tells him, straightening. “Please come! You’re my good luck charm, Jihoonie.”
Jihoon purses his lips. The nickname isn’t something he’s particularly fond of, but Soonyoung hasn’t stopped using it from the moment he sat down to eat lunch with him in the first week.
It reminds him of his family, who used to affectionately call him our Jihoon or Ji. Jihoonie is a product of Soonyoung’s own making. He has a feeling it won't go away any time soon.
Sighing, he nods. “Fine. But if you lose the match and your allowance, I’m not to blame.”
Soonyoung grins, stepping back to let Jihoon out of his seat. “I’ll buy you anything you want when I win Wonwoo’s money!”
The football match ends in a 2-2 draw. Wonwoo’s team had more possession of the ball for most of the first half, but Soonyoung’s team had ended up taking back the second half for themselves. Jihoon had watched from the bench with Mingyu, a boy from the year below who is friends with Wonwoo and so therefore is also Soonyoung’s friend and then Jihoon’s.
“Next time, I guess,” Jihoon tells him on the way home, shrugging.
“I was so close! If Seungcheol had just waited to blow the whistle – ugh. Could’ve scored one last goal.”
“Were you that desperate for the money?”
Soonyoung lets out a frustrated whine. “I just wanted to have something over Jeon Wonwoo I could gloat about.”
“Petty idiot.” Jihoon clicks his tongue. “Just study well and beat him in class.”
“Jihoon, have you seen me?” Soonyoung gasps, hands held out in despair. “I am the worst student in the world.”
Jihoon shakes his head. “No, you are the laziest. You daydream when you should be paying attention in class.”
“It’s not my fault they’re boring –“
“Your attention span amounts to the desire I have to stay in Seoul,” he deadpans. “And you know how that goes.”
They look to each other. “Hopeless,” they say in unison, bursting out into laughter.
A month into Jihoon’s new life, Soonyoung had finally asked him how he felt about moving.
Jihoon, having been previously reluctant to open up about the old, not wanting it to mix with the new and have the latter taint his memories, had confessed, “I hate it here. I want to go home.”
Soonyoung had looked at him strangely, as if he couldn’t believe it. After a while, he'd smiled. “It’ll get better. I’ll have to make sure it does!”
But Jihoon had just shook his head, knowing it was useless.
Nothing is going to stop him from longing for home. Not even Soonyoung taking him under his wing, giving him something to look forward to every day – even if it’s school.
At his insistent reluctance, Soonyoung had nudged him playfully and said, “Jihoon, you’re hopeless.”
A small smile had spread across Jihoon’s lips. “Hopeless,” he'd agreed.
It’s a terrible joke between them now. A crude one, he thinks, because it’s an awful way to cope with how much he hates it.
As they walk, Soonyoung continues to complain about his lack of motivation to study and his dream to go into the field of music. Jihoon comments here and there about how he’ll need to do more than just doodle in the margins of his notebooks, but the former waves him off dismissively each time.
“Here, let me carry that,” Soonyoung says, reaching for the bag on Jihoon’s back.
Frowning, Jihoon shakes his head. “It’s not that heavy, it’s fine.”
“You’re kidding, right? How many books do you have in there?”
He counts them in his head – all but his English textbook. A total of four, plus his two notebooks. And his pencil case. And his water bottle and lunch box and –
He sighs, pulling the straps tighter. “I’m fine.”
Soonyoung tugs at his bag anyway, practically yanking it off his back. “I’ll think of it as weight training!”
Jihoon gives in, only because Soonyoung is naturally persistent and almost never takes no for an answer when it comes to him. He slides it off and hands it over. “You’re just torturing yourself.”
Grunting as he swings Jihoon’s back over his own, Soonyoung grins at him. “Just making your life a little easier any way I can.”
It’s not the first time he’s said this.
Jihoon remembers exploring the school on his fifth Wednesday at school, climbing up a number of stairs to check out the school rooftop. It hadn’t been anything special – nothing, again, compared to Busan. In his school back at home, he’d come to school early in the mornings just to study to the rise of the sun.
He’d wanted to compare it, to try and see if he could calm his heart. But it’d been pointless. In Seoul, the sun is impossible to see where you want to see it. It’s blocked off in all directions by stacks of brown and grey.
Soonyoung had found him at lunchtime, claiming to have been looking all over for him. He'd brought a bag of sandwiches and drinks, handing a set to Jihoon.
When he'd asked why, Soonyoung had smiled and said, “Just making your life a little easier any way I can.”
That was the first time Jihoon had seen the sun in Seoul.
“Thanks,” he mumbles, looking down at his feet.
Swinging an arm around Jihoon’s shoulders, Soonyoung tucks him into his side tightly. “No problem, Jihoonie,” he says with a quiet laugh.
Funny, Jihoon thinks, because it still sounds like the sea.
This is how they study for their mid-year exams exactly one week before they have to take them: they don’t.
Soonyoung has an unhealthy tendency to procrastinate for important deadlines. Jihoon’s known him long enough now – precisely twelve weeks – to know that there’s no convincing him to prepare himself for school in advance.
He should’ve known it from the start, really. On that rainy day, Soonyoung had been late and his shirt had been untucked. Those should’ve been dead giveaways to his academic recklessness.
Jihoon, on the other hand, has studied enough to know he deserves a break, so he invites Soonyoung over on Friday night to watch a movie.
Soonyoung ends up choosing. It’s a Hollywood film with big-name actors, but beyond the casino setting and the quirky soundtrack music, they don’t really pay attention.
It’s difficult to when Soonyoung complains about the Korean subtitles being too fast for him to read. And instead of watching and figuring the plot out himself, he jokes around by doing irrelevant but funny voiceovers throughout the scenes.
Jihoon ends up laughing until his stomach is ready to give up and burst out of him, joining in to play Julia Roberts’ parts whenever she’s in a scene with George Clooney.
“This is why Jeon Wonwoo beats your ass in class all the time,” he exclaims, breathless from so much laughter.
Soonyoung wipes a tear from his eye. “I have a plan for that, don't worry,” he says, snickering in between his words. “You’ll be the one to surpass him, Jihoonie!”
“Don’t drag me into your stupid competition, Kwon Soonyoung –”
“Oh, but you’re good enough to,” he says, grinning as he unwinds himself from the cocoon he’s made for himself with Jihoon’s blanket. He sprawls his entire body across Jihoon’s crossed legs, stretching his arms over his head. “There’s always a narrow gap between you two.”
Jihoon rolls his eyes, trying to shove him off his lap. Soonyoung winds both of his arms around his middle, however, giving him no room to escape. “We study, that’s why. And get off me, you’re so heavy.”
“My friends are nerds,” Soonyoung mutters. “I’m good for nothing.”
Jihoon gives up pushing him away when it becomes apparent that his best friend is more determined to hold onto him than to study his ass off for exams. “Don’t be silly, you child. You provide the comedic relief.”
“I am pretty funny, right?”
“Humble, too, it seems.”
Silence washes over them while the movie fades into the background, completely forgotten. He counts the seconds to a metronome in his head, imagining the beats swing back and forth, back and forth.
He lets Soonyoung rest on his lap, eyes closed and burrowed into his lap. His arms are still either side of him, unsure of where to place them.
Soonyoung is naturally clingy. Often, he'll throw an arm around Jihoon’s shoulders while they walk in the hallway or as they walk home. Other times, when they eat lunch on the school rooftop together, Jihoon will sit on the bench and Soonyoung will sit on the floor in between his legs, leaning his head on one of the former’s thighs.
Or, like this, they’ll spend time at each other’s houses in the evenings to catch up on homework together, sitting side by side on Jihoon’s bed. Sometimes, Soonyoung will doze off in the middle of an attempt to solve an equation and lean his head on Jihoon’s shoulder, and Jihoon will let him.
He lets moments like this pass, uncertain of what to think or say, let alone how to act.
Because it’s Soonyoung, he thinks. Because he’s the first friend I made. Because when I’m with him, I ache less for home.
“Soonyoung, you dummy,” he whispers, shaking him slightly. “Don’t fall asleep.”
Stirring from his lap, Soonyoung lets out a sigh. “Tired, Jihoonie.”
“Your mother will worry if you don’t go home.”
“Call her for me, then.”
Jihoon’s eyebrows furrow. “And tell her what – you’re slacking off?”
Soonyoung squints open one eye up at him. “That would be disastrous, don’t you think?”
“You’re pretty disastrous yourself,” Jihoon utters under his breath. When the latter pouts at him, he smirks.
Soonyoung clings to him tighter, shuffling around until his head is in a position comfortable enough to look up at him. “I’m very glad you’re my friend, Jihoonie.”
“Oh? So suddenly?”
“I’m glad you moved to Seoul,” he blurts, with sincerity that surprises Jihoon. His voice, his words, his gaze. He must catch Jihoon’s sobering expression, because he continues, “I’m glad even though you hate it here. I didn’t think we’d be friends so easily like this, but I’m really, really glad.”
When he closes his eyes, he smiles.
A burning lump lodges itself in Jihoon’s throat; he swallows, feeling it scorch his insides all the way down.
When he thinks of Busan, he can still smell the sea. He can still see the view from his kitchen and still imagine waking up to watch the sun rise. He can still hear the seagulls cawing and flying overhead. He can feel it all in him – a part that has never left him, a part that he’ll never let go; home, no matter how far he is from it.
But in the dark, when he has his eyes closed, he sees something else. Sunlight pouring in through the school windows, painting hallways in vivid orange hues, Soonyoung in the middle of it all, graceful even as he walks with his shoelace undone on one shoe and his shirt eternally untucked from his trousers.
Sometimes, he feels something different, too. Rain clinging to his uniform, goosebumps riding along his skin, toes wrinkled from drenched shoes. He can still hear himself shivering under his breath, half-frozen in the entrance of the first floor with a stranger offering him his clothes, telling him, “don’t worry!” with a smile.
Soonyoung is a part of him, just like Busan is.
Jihoon doesn’t know how or when, but he's let go of some of his misgivings to let him in.
His breath hitches when Soonyoung opens his eyes.
“Thank you for coming to Seoul,” he says.
Jihoon searches his face, unable to tear himself away from the sheer adoration in his gaze. His heart is leaning out of his chest, peering into it.
His hand comes up slowly, losing itself in between the messy strands of Soonyoung’s hair. He combs it through a few times, caressing the latter’s eyes closed.
He smiles. I am the one that should be grateful to you, he thinks but doesn’t say.
Because this is enough.
This – Soonyoung’s head in his lap, his heart slipping out of his grasp – is enough.
This is how they spend the week off from school they have for spring break: Soonyoung’s head on Jihoon’s shoulder, sitting side by side on a three-and-a-half-hour long bus journey to Busan.
It had been a struggle to convince his parents to let him go back, even just for a short while. They didn’t want him doing it out of spite, for a home they say they’ll never return to again. But he’d promised them he’d be on his best behaviour and said that he only wants to see the sea again.
He wants to walk along the coast and watch the skies change colour, to bury his feet beneath piles of sand, to lie down under the moonlight and let the sea sing him a lullaby.
And, more than anything, he wants to do all of it with Soonyoung.
It takes a moment for Jihoon after stepping off the bus to realise that everything still looks the same. The streets are still wide, still thriving with rushing cars, still bustling with busy people. The cafes, the restaurants, the game rooms, the clothes shops – still all the same, still flashing colourful signs, still alive.
Even on the bus ride to their hostel, he can see nothing has changed much, or at all.
“How does it feel?” Soonyoung asks, nudging him with his elbow.
Jihoon drags his eyes away from the familiar scenery, his heart pounding with excitement, to smile at him. “Weird. Really weird.”
Soonyoung laughs and leans his head back down onto Jihoon’s shoulders. The rest of the bus ride is quiet, but neither of them mind.
Jihoon knows Soonyoung is giving him space to think, to lose himself in his thoughts and gather his courage together to face home.
On the first night, they decide to save the sightseeing for tomorrow and the rest of the week, and grab dinner at a nearby restaurant. They eat until their bellies are a bite or two away from bursting at the seams and retreat to the hostel where the food coma eagerly sends them to sleep.
Jihoon takes him to the beach late afternoon the next day, when the sun sits proudly in the middle of the sky, looking down at its people.
They take their shoes and socks off, and chase each other around in the sand until Jihoon steers Soonyoung close enough to the water to push him in.
He falls onto one knee after successfully struggling to make sure his entire body doesn’t get wet, and Jihoon gloats at him from two feet away, laughing when he apologises to the nearby parents and children for his careless swearing.
“I’ll get you for that, Lee Jihoon,” he whispers callously when they lug themselves back to the dry sand.
Jihoon leans back on his elbows with his legs stretched before him. “Whatever, big dummy.”
Soonyoung grumbles in despair under his breath, lying on his stomach with his arms propping his head up. “Puny punk.”
Raising a brow, Jihoon snorts. “’Puny punk’?” He grabs a fistful of sand and throws it onto the other’s back. “You wanna die, Kwon Soonyoung?”
Soonyoung yelps, pushing himself up onto his feet with his hands blocking his face. “Okay, okay! I didn’t mean it –“
“That’s right.”
“- puny punk!” Soonyoung makes a run for it, his cackles echoing in his wake.
Jihoon jumps up with a growl, chasing after him.
He successfully pushes Soonyoung into the sea this time, but not without dire consequences – Soonyoung manages to grab his arm before he falls, pulling him down with him.
The water is ice-cold, jolting him into shivers. He thrashes around, trying to splash Soonyoung, but the latter runs away again, kicking his feet up high to stop the water from dragging him down.
Jihoon tackles him once he’s out of the water, knocking the both of them down onto the sand with a loud and firm oof! Breathless, they wheeze and shudder under the chill of the air on their soaking-wet bodies.
Soonyoung grins up at him, leaning his head down fully on the sand. “Truce?” Beads of water decorate his face in translucent dots, his sand-stained hair matting to his forehead under the sway of them.
The familiar weight of Soonyoung’s arm slung over his waist and the unfamiliar force of his body is the only thing keeping Jihoon warm in his uncomfortably wet state.
He forces his eyes to look anywhere but at Soonyoung’s wide smile.
“Truce,” he says, breathless from the running and the sea and Soonyoung.
Soon after, when the sun bids goodnight and greets the moon on its way out, they sit on the sand, and Jihoon scatters his heart out along his sand, telling Soonyoung stories about his childhood in Busan.
Soonyoung listens to him attentively, with his knees pulled up to his chest, his arms wrapped around them. He has his eyes on the waters, but Jihoon knows he’s paying attention.
He talks about everything – growing up in his family’s apartment, the way home from school, the old lady who used to run the grocery story his mother shopped in, the posters of baseball players and teams he used to collect and tape to his wall.
All the things he hasn’t thought of in a while, all spilling out of him. Memories untouched and kept treasured in a box wedged between his rib cage, each one bringing an ache of longing and loss.
He lets a tear or two fall when it gets too much, in mourning of what used to be.
He doesn’t have any more family in Busan anymore. His grandparents had passed away long ago, and his parents’ siblings moved as soon as they grew families of their own. His family had been the last, remaining members until they moved. It’s why he thinks it hit him so hard all those months ago – because he’d wanted to stay and live the life they refused to live.
Soonyoung wraps an arm around him when his stories fade into silence, and the two sit there watching the sea whisper a song to them with its waves; the soft peaks, the tender crashing.
It’s a little after midnight when Jihoon suggests they go back to the hostel and sleep. Soonyoung takes his hand as they walk, squeezing it tightly in his.
The memories he let go of will always be a part of him.
Later, Soonyoung curls up into Jihoon’s bed instead of his own, an arm around his waist, his chin tucked into his neck, his breath kissing his skin.
And all Jihoon thinks as he drifts into a hazy dream is that this, too, will always be a part of him.
This is how they say goodbye to their second year of high school: they make their way to the rooftop after class, lying on the floor with Jihoon’s head nestled in Soonyoung’s lap.
“I can’t wait to stay up late doing fuck all,” Soonyoung says, sighing contentedly.
Jihoon scoffs. “You did that the entire year anyway.”
“Is it funny always being right, Lee Jihoon?” Soonyoung huffs.
“Because it’s you that’s always wrong, yes. It’s extremely entertaining for me.”
Soonyoung playfully whacks him on the head, ruffling the back of it. Jihoon bats his hand away, but the former starts using his other hand to tickle his stomach, making him cry out into a fit of giggles.
“Fuck,” Jihoon squeals, trying to wriggle his body away, “off –“
Soonyoung grabs hold of his waist when he tries to stand up, pinning him down onto his lap. “You can’t escape me, Jihoonie!”
Jihoon’s laughter dies down when he realises how close they are. He’s almost straddling Soonyoung – and, hell, it’s making him blush.
If Soonyoung notices anything, he doesn’t give it away. He simply smiles, his arms still around his waist. “Stay,” he says.
“As if I’m going anywhere,” Jihoon blurts. He looks away after, chewing on his bottom lip in embarrassment. He wonders briefly if he should stand up, if he should put some space between them.
But then Soonyoung places a hand on his back, his other hand tilting his head back to face him. “Spend the summer with me,” he whispers, his thumb caressing the plane of his cheek.
Jihoon doesn’t realise he’s been holding his breath until his chest pounds a pair of angry hands against him, demanding that he let it go. When he does, it comes out much shakier than he expects it to.
He doesn’t know what to say, so he just nods.
Soonyoung smiles, the hand he has on Jihoon’s chin trailing upwards to brush stray strands of hair out of his eyes. “You made it through the year.”
Only because I had to, he thinks but then stops himself, because it isn’t true – not anymore.
“Only because I had you,” he corrects himself aloud.
Soonyoung makes a noise of satisfaction, ducking his head moments later with a shy laugh. “I – I think that’s the first time you’ve complimented me properly.”
Jihoon shakes his head. “It’s not.”
For his birthday, Soonyoung had taken him to watch the latest animated movie in the cinema, which he’d enjoyed immensely – not that he cried or anything after the credits pulled up on screen – and though he hadn’t directly said it at the time, he’d thanked Soonyoung and nodded to his good taste in movies.
On Christmas Day, Jihoon hadn’t been allowed over Soonyoung’s to join their family dinner, but when they returned to school the boy had brought him his attempt to recreate parts of the feast they'd eaten on the day. Jihoon is a picky eater and he doesn’t have much to compare Soonyoung's cooking skills with, but back then he’d thought him to be the greatest cook.
A week before their final exams, Soonyoung had diligently avoided messaging him to let him study – though Jihoon had hated the quiet it brought – and left him a long paragraph wishing him good luck on the eve of their deadline. Jihoon had screenshotted it for keeps to use as something to look back on once in a while to gain courage.
You are doing your best and I admire that, Jihoonie, he’d wrote. Let’s keep aiming for the stars together!!
When he’d read that, he’d buried his face into his pillow and smiled. “The best idiot I could ask for,” he’d said to himself.
“It’s not?” Soonyoung asks now, eyes widening at the revelation.
Jihoon feigns a look of disinterest. “No, but let’s move on –”
“But you’ve never said anything to me!”
“Not to your face.” He shrugs, really hoping he’s coming off as nonchalant as he wants to, because he’s burning up and being trapped in Soonyoung’s arms on his lap isn’t helping anything at all. “Anyway.”
Soonyoung throws his head back, his laugh incredulous. “Lee Jihoon. You’ve been hiding so much from me all along!”
“Not really,” Jihoon mutters, because, in truth, Soonyoung’s the only person who knows him better than he knows himself.
In the space of nine months, he’d shared with Soonyoung most of his heart and soul – he’d given more than he’d ever given anyone before.
And he’s glad. He’s grateful. He trusts Soonyoung with his memories and his thoughts because he knows by the way their steps match when they walk next to each other that he’ll always take care of them. Of him.
Soonyoung combs one hand through his hair and brings the other up to cup Jihoon’s face. His touch is gentle and patient, the way one holds a delicate dandelion to not blow its soft bristles away.
“You made it through the year,” he repeats his words from earlier. “I am proud of you, Jihoonie. How do you feel about Seoul now?”
Jihoon doesn’t remember when exactly he’d stopped counting the number of weeks since his move, but he does know he no longer hates it. Or, at least, he’s stopped putting all of his energy into hating it.
Sure, the nostalgia and the sentiments of Busan still manages to creep in during the lonely hours of the night to haunt him sometimes, but he’s long since stopped wishing to return home.
In fact, somewhere along the way, he’s stopped calling Busan home.
Home is somewhere else now. Home is someone.
Jihoon mirrors Soonyoung by cupping his face with both of his hands. He smiles, actions certain this time; less clumsy, less unsure. It takes the other boy by surprise, but he quickly leans into Jihoon’s palms.
“I love it,” he whispers.
Perhaps, for the first time, he just lets himself feel the new summer breeze on his skin and in between them. He lets himself hear the bustling city below and the cars somewhere beyond the school walls, lets himself smell the stuffy, dusty air, lets himself feel present in the moment.
He lets Soonyoung’s arms tighten around him, his heart leaning out of his ribcage to feel the warmth of Soonyoung’s sun.
He doesn’t kiss him, however. He leans in, but doesn’t search for his lips, doesn’t pull him in any closer.
Because this is okay. This is enough.
They made it this far, he thinks. They have time for more.
This is how they spend their summer: unchanged and in a dreamy daze, where they claim the days as their kingdom and their nights as their haven.
Picnics in different parks, sprawled out lazily on top of a blanke, Soonyoung’s head in Jihoon’s lap, the former reading manga aloud in funny voices because he knows Jihoon likes it a lot when he does it.
Idle nights riding rental bicycles along the streets, Jihoon laughing at Soonyoung’s ridiculous but adorable full set of safety gear, Soonyoung almost cycling into disposal bins because he can’t seem to go in a straight line.
Three days spent back in Busan, visiting old haunts and building child-sized sandcastles, getting fake tattoos of each other’s initials from a street vendor. Eating grilled seafood in a restaurant overlooking the sea, watching the sunset from the rooftop of their hostel, staying up to take a walk along the beach to catch the sunrise.
In a dark cinema with Soonyoung leaning his head on Jihoon’s shoulder, their hands entwined over the cup holder.
A sleepover snuggled up next to each other, marathoning anime episodes until sunlight creeps into Jihoon’s room and they have to get up for breakfast.
A spontaneous walk after a failed attempt to sleep, Jihoon answering Soonyoung’s call straight away, listening to him vent about his parents being unsatisfied with his desire to pursue music. Jihoon embracing him until his frustration melts away, encouraging him to keep going so they can walk the same road together.
A day trip to a theme park with Wonwoo and Mingyu, Jihoon losing his favourite hat on a rollercoaster, Soonyoung buying them matching character hats to replace it. Soonyoung losing to air hockey against Wonwoo twice and having to buy all four of them lunch. Mingyu giving Wonwoo a back-hug to distract him from his attempt to win Pokemon dolls from the claw crane, Jihoon doing the same to Soonyoung but without the same excuse.
Animal café trips with Soonyoung trying to find cute lookalikes of the two of them and Jihoon threatening to go home if he makes them visit another cat café three times in one day again.
Normal café trips with Jihoon buying slices of cake even though he doesn’t really have much of a sweet tooth, always taking one bite before pushing the plate towatrds Soonyoung, because his happy, hungry face is the only thing Jihoon’s willing to spend money on dessert for.
Seconds, days, weeks together. Jihoon’s heart jumping out of its cage and Soonyoung cupping his hands together to catch it.
Unwavering smiles, wandering hands, curious hearts.
This is how they fall in love: slowly, and with ease.
Like the tender descent of leaves in the wind; like the changing of the seasons from summer to spring.
This is how Soonyoung breaks his heart: he walks up to the convenience store they always meet at to walk to school, his shirt predictably untucked, his hair styled up to show off his forehead, and the faint sunlight gracing him with a halo.
He looks good. Fatal and flawless and good.
So good, Jihoon has to clench his jaw hard to keep it from dropping to the floor.
Soonyoung grins at him, skipping over. He throws an arm around him, hugging him tightly, as if they haven’t just returned from an entire summer together.
“Good morning, Jihoonie!”
Jihoon winds his arms around him, breathing him in.
Soonyoung used to smell like the sea. Now, he smells like his mouthwash – minty and fresh and intoxicating.
If the way he looks today has succeeded in breaking Jihoon’s heart, it’s the scent of him that will piece it back together.
“Morning,” he mumbles against his shoulder.
They walk with their hands constantly brushing against each other until Jihoon takes Soonyoung’s hand, feeling his heart calm when their fingers find the spaces in which they belong.
“New hairstyle?” he asks, trying to sound as casual about it as possible.
Nodding, Soonyoung hums. “Just for today! I wanted to try it out. How is it?”
Jihoon swallows. He stammers over his words for a second before stopping to take a deep breath to calm himself again. “It’s – it’s good. Suits you.”
“Really?”
He clears his throat. “Yes, definitely. You should, er, wear it like that often.”
Soonyoung positively beams. “Does it sweep you off your feet?”
Jihoon attempts a dismissive grunt but it spills out of him in an awkward squawk instead, causing Soonyoung to jump with raucous laughter.
He makes fun of Jihoon all the way to school, claiming to have experimented with the hairstyle for him. Jihoon shoves him into a bush somewhere along the way, but Soonyoung catches up with him in no time to keep gloating.
Their first day back goes without a hitch.
Wonwoo puts his name forward for class president, winning over a student named Doyoung after Jihoon gives him his vote as payback for Soonyoung’s teasing.
Soonyoung sulks the entire day, much to his and Wonwoo’s delight, and does so even more when Wonwoo joins them for lunch in the cafeteria with Mingyu trailing behind him.
It’s weird how one day in the summer has changed the four of them. Jihoon feels surprisingly more comfortable with Wonwoo and Mingyu than he did before, as if he’s known them as long as Soonyoung has.
Mingyu gets his jokes and laughs like a seal at almost everything, and Wonwoo teases the younger boy the way Jihoon does with Soonyoung – with affection.
A year ago, he wouldn’t have talked to them at all. But now, he can easily imagine many lunchtimes like this and hangouts out after school. A static group in his changed life – a family.
“Football again this year, Jeon Wonwoo?” Soonyoung says with a smirk.
Wonwoo, unbothered, doesn’t look up from his bowl of seaweed soup. “Ready to kick your ass, Kwon Soonyoung.”
Jihoon rolls his eyes. “When will this rivalry end?”
“Never,” Mingyu says, shuddering. “Wonwoo hyung told me this has gone on since before high school.”
At this, Jihoon raises a brow. Wonwoo looks up then, fixing him with a shrug. “Soonyoung’s stupidly competitive.”
“Because you’re stupidly stupid!” Soonyoung splutters, spitting grains of rice over the table.
Wonwoo pinches his eyes shut, flicking the one that’s landed on his cheek off him. “One, you’re disgusting. Two, you get so riled up, you're ultimately bringing this down upon yourself. And three - you're the stupid one.”
“Seconded,” Jihoon mumbles through a mouthful of food.
Soonyoung gasps incredulously. “You’re meant to be on my side, Jihoonie!”
“I’m on the side of the truth, Soonyoung. And close your mouth, it’s rude to eat with it open.”
Slumping back in his seat with his arms across his chest, he huffs. “I feel attacked.”
Jihoon rubs his back with a lazy hand, cooing at him mockingly. “Aw, poor baby. Do you need a nap to make you feel better?”
With a pitched whine, Soonyoung leans on his shoulder. “Maybe.”
Mingyu snorts into his glass of juice. “All this and I can’t believe you guys aren’t officially a thing yet.”
Jihoon doesn’t have a retort for that. Soonyoung doesn’t, either.
They sit quietly, letting the moment pass by. Mingyu returns to eating and Wonwoo disregards them entirely, too invested in his lunch.
Nothing is awkward about it – they know it themselves. As if the maypole they’ve been dancing around for months is suddenly tired of holding up their ribbons for them, telling them it’s time.
Jihoon takes their trays back for them and Soonyoung waits patiently behind for him while Wonwoo and Mingyu head back to their classrooms.
“Well, lunch is definitely different when it’s not just us,” Soonyoung says.
“Different, but not awful.”
Nodding, Soonyoung laughs. “Good different, then?”
Jihoon looks at him, smiling. Flashbacks of summer and the weight of Soonyoung leaning on him during their adventurous nights and days breeze past him like the wind. He inhales deeply, letting the nostalgia flood his lungs.
When he exhales, he takes Soonyoung’s hand in his.
“Good different,” he answers, walking them out of the cafeteria.
This is how Jihoon asks Soonyoung to be his: he doesn’t, and Soonyoung doesn’t, either.
They are something at the same time they are not – but they’re not nothing.
Jihoon’s never given his heart away like this before. He’s never even entertained the idea of liking someone, not even back in Busan.
But he’s certainly never felt like this before - like he’s on top of the world, like he’s at the centre of the universe and the stars bow down to him.
It’s how Soonyoung makes him feel whenever he so much as looks at him; his emotions painted all over his face as if he’s unafraid of letting Jihoon know how he feels.
It's one of the things Jihoon likes about him. He’s fearless like this, reckless but patient with the way he shows his affection. Always asking, never taking.
Jihoon wonders why they’ve never spoken about it. But the answer is easy – there’s nothing to talk about.
It just is; they just are.
He feels strongly for Soonyoung, and he knows Soonyoung feels strongly for him, too.
And it’s enough. To know that someone has given you their heart just as you’ve given yours – it is more than enough.
This is how Soonyoung breaks his heart again: he turns up on Jihoon’s doorstep with his bag and tear tracks trailing down his face, wiping his nose with his sleeve as he asks, “can I stay with you for a few days?”
Jihoon doesn’t answer. Instead, he pulls him inside and wraps his arms around him.
Soonyoung holds onto him tightly, burying his face into his shoulder. His body shakes with the force of his sobs, and Jihoon feels his heart shattering at the sound of it, tears building in his own eyes.
He takes Soonyoung to the living room, settling him down on the couch. He leaves him once only to fetch water and some blankets to wrap the both of them in. He lets Soonyoung cry in his lap, bending his body over him to huddle their heads together.
He cries with him, unable to keep it in. This is the first time Soonyoung’s cried in front of him – and it’s hardest thing he’s ever had to face.
Later, when Jihoon takes him to his room and lays down with him on the bed, Soonyoung tells him, “I want to study music, Jihoon. I want to sing and dance and do goddamn music, not – not business.”
Jihoon tucks him into his chest, resting his chin atop his head. He’d guessed it was about his parents – it’s the only thing that gets to Soonyoung. The only piece of him that's broken and not whole.
Gently stroking his hair, Jihoon blinks his reforming tears away. “You will, Soonyoung. Don’t give up on that dream, because you will.”
“What am I going to do after high school, Jihoon?” Soonyoung sounds so hopeless, he feels his heart breaking again. “If I do music, they won’t support me. They’ll cut me off.”
Jihoon listens to him swear and curse just about everything under his breath. Anger and disappointment lace his voice, his body trembling with the overload of emotion. He vents, lets it out, quietly screams into the void.
Not once does he say anything terrible about his parents. It says a lot about him, Jihoon thinks; if it were him, he’d be cursing them by now. But he doesn’t, and it only makes Jihoon want to cry more.
Soonyoung calms down hours later, way past midnight. He sighs heavily, pulling himself out of Jihoon’s chest. “I’m sorry for suddenly springing this up on you,” he says.
Jihoon firmly shakes his head. “What are you apologising for, idiot? You will always have a safe place with me.”
Soonyoung’s swollen eyes search his face, nodding seconds after. The corners of his lips slowly curve upwards, a soft smile breaking through his heartbreak.
Leaning down, Jihoon grazes a kiss on his forehead. “You’ll make it. I know you will because I’ll make sure of it. We’ll both make it.”
They have time. They have this year and the year after to think about what comes next. For now, all they have to do is take it one day at a time.
“You said so yourself,” he continues. “’Let’s keep aiming for the stars together’ – remember? So I know you know, too.”
“It’s my dream,” Soonyoung whispers.
“I believe in you, Soonyoung. Even if your parents cut you off, you’ll find a way to keep chasing it. And I’ll be with you every step of the way.”
Soonyoung sighs, this time with reverence. “Thank you, Jihoon. I…I’m really grateful.”
Jihoon doesn’t say anything, tangling their limbs together instead until there’s no space left between them.
It's cold enough outside at night that he needs thick blankets to sleep in, but in this moment, Soonyoung is enough to keep him warm.
He only hopes he’s enough, too.
This is how Jihoon falls all over again: standing under the canopy of their favourite convenience store, drinking bottled blueberry yoghurt whilst waiting for the rain to let up so they can walk to Jihoon’s apartment.
He still hates it - the cold and wet sensation of droplets clinging to his uniform, his shoes getting soaked in unavoidable puddles. He definitely still hates it.
“It doesn’t look like it’ll pass any time soon,” Soonyoung grumbles.
The sky is awfully grey. No sun in sight, just a despicable downpour.
Jihoon sighs. Apart from the fact that his birthday falls in November, he hates this month the most. It always brings the hardest rain before the freezing winter. On days like this, he wishes they didn’t have school, desperate to be under his blanket where it’s warm and cosy.
“I’m going inside,” he tells him, turning his back on the rain.
“I’ll wait out here.”
“Do you want something?”
Soonyoung holds out a cupped palm to the rain. Drops pool into it quickly, splashing all over him. “I’m alright for now,” he replies.
Jihoon catches the sight of a smile on his face. He doesn’t know how Soonyoung can like the rain like this – it ruins everything.
He heads inside the convenience store, taking his time in picking out snacks to prolong the inevitable. After ten minutes, he goes with a bag of honey-apple twists and a jelly drink he knows Soonyoung likes.
When he walks back outside, he almost drops the items onto the ground.
Soonyoung is in the middle of the street, dancing in the rain.
“What are you doing?” Jihoon yells over the noisy pitter-patter.
Soonyoung throws his head back to the sky, laughing. He’s absolutely drenched – his uniform sticking to him, exposing his slender silhouette.
He moves with grace, something Jihoon thinks should be impossible in this weather, his limbs fluid as they thrive at the sound of the rain. It’s as if his body answers him without a second thought.
Jihoon is rooted to the spot as he watches, starstruck.
Soonyoung is absolutely magnificent.
“Seriously,” Jihoon says, laughing despite it all. “What the hell are you doing?”
Soonyoung spins, sending droplets flying in every direction. When he stops, he faces Jihoon, stepping closer to him but staying far enough to not get any rain on his shoes.
“Do you remember,” Soonyoung breathes, “the first day that we met?”
It’d been raining back then, Jihoon recalls. Soonyoung had been the dry one, holding an umbrella over him despite him already being soaking wet.
A grin spreads out onto his face, the memory injecting euphoria into his veins. “It was a day like this.”
Soonyoung nods, matching his wide smile. “You hate rainy days, I know. But I love them so much, Jihoon, I really do. I love them because it had been raining when I met you.”
Jihoon feels his words knock the breath out of him.
Briefly, he wonders if he’ll ever get over this feeling. Like he's discovering something precious for the very first time, breath held so as to not taint its fragile beauty as he holds it in his hands, struck with admiration over how any of it is real.
Soonyoung leaves him breathless and speechless and utterly in awe as he jumps back into the rain with his arms in the air.
“I like you a lot, Jihoonie!” He bellows without a care, to the sky, to Jihoon, to anyone who’ll listen.
Jihoon puts the items he’d bought in his bag before shrugging it off and throwing it next to Soonyoung’s.
He’ll always hate the rain, he thinks. It makes his entire body feel so awful and heavy afterwards when he gets home and has to clean up the trail of puddles he leaves behind him with every step. Freezing cold and wet and uncomfortable; everything he hates.
But he throws himself at Soonyoung anyway, winding his arms around his waist, burying his face into his chest.
He doesn’t hate this.
This is how they say I love you: in a hundred, thousand, million little gestures that never fail to make Jihoon’s heart skip a beat, because he believes in actions speaking louder than words.
Soonyoung always placing a hand on the small of his back as they walk out of the classroom, carrying Jihoon’s bag on top of his own.
Jihoon getting a spare key modelled to give to him, in case he needs space away from his family to breathe.
Soonyoung greeting him in the morning with a bottle of yoghurt or a can of cold coffee.
Jihoon wishing him good night on his tip-toes, brushing a kiss against Soonyoung’s cheek.
Soonyoung hugging him in front of Wonwoo and Mingyu, resting his chin on his shoulder, finally giving up the gauntlet when he tells Wonwoo, “I don’t need to win against you anymore, because I’ve already won life's prize.”
Jihoon passing him a tissue without looking up from his tray of food because Soonyoung is a messy eater.
Soonyoung letting him wear his hoodies on their spontaneous walks at night, and Jihoon breathing in the scent of home.
Jihoon reaching for Soonyoung first, because he’s so certain of this - that they are best friends and more. And Soonyoung leaning in and letting Jihoon kiss him, because it’s time.
They've made it this far, and now they have all the time in the world.
This is how they become lovers: winter meets spring, bringing the soft thaw of the snow into a flourish of flowers, nature awakening to the call of the sun.
Slowly but steadily; a cycle that never stops.
This is who they are: Jihoon and Soonyoung – the sand and the sea, the moon and the stars.