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Hangyul never asked for much. Just a warm home and a practice room to dance in until his body gives out. Yohan used to ask for many different things at once; a chance to sing on the stage on top of an athletic scholarship he was struggling to keep, for instance.
They never asked for each other.
Hangyul bounces on his feet, his black duffel bag slung across his body off his right shoulder. Inside the bag is a change of clothes, the travel pouch he’s brought everywhere since the group debuted, and a swimming trunk he threw in at the last minute after being told by a Naver search that the hotel will have an indoor swimming pool. He’s at the Seoul Express Bus Terminal with two tickets to Sokcho in hand. The weather is unforgiving, seeing as it’s past six in the evening, and he’s considering a second cup of coffee when he finally picks out a familiar face.
“Over here!” Hangyul shouts with his hand raised.
And even amongst the sea of Christmas crowd, behind the mask, he manages to catch Yohan’s eye smile.
“I told you not to come too early,” says Yohan as he walks up to Hangyul.
Hangyul does not have to respond verbally—just gives him a welcoming smile. There’s a certain degree of closeness that allows them to do this, or so Hangyul likes to think. If it were any other person, Yohan would’ve probably started off the conversation with an, I’m sorry, have you been waiting for long?, but with Hangyul—it was expected of him to wait. Yohan would’ve done the same.
But still, once in a while, he surprises Hangyul like this:
Yohan places the bag he was holding at Hangyul’s feet. “Wait a second.” And then he runs back towards the main entrance.
Not long after, he returns with two cups of steaming fish cake soup. “Apology eomuk,” he says, shoving one cup into Hangyul’s hand. “For being late."
On the bus, Hangyul holds out an arm as a signal for Yohan to pass his jacket over and lets Yohan take the window seat while he places their bags and jackets on the overhead compartment. Sitting down, he notices that Yohan has lifted the armrest divider. Their thighs and arms touch everywhere.
“I’m so excited for you to try out my mum’s kimchi pancake,” Yohan starts at the same time as the bus takes off. "She told me she prepared a less-spicy version of it for you.”
Yohan is looking out the window, but Hangyul makes sure to look in his direction even though the only view he’s having is the back of Yohan’s head as he answers, “That’s very kind of her, Yohan.”
“My sisters have been asking about you, too,” Yohan resumes. “It’s funny how they think we’re coming to them after a win.”
Hangyul hums. “What do you mean?”
“What does disbandment mean?” Yohan asks instead.
Hangyul does not usually ask for much, but for a split second he prays he doesn’t say the wrong thing. “I think it means nothing to our friendship because we’re beyond that.”
At this, Yohan turns his head to look Hangyul in the eye. “I think they’re being fucking cruel.”
With Yohan’s face in front of his, Hangyul can see a fallen eyelash on his cheek. His fingers reach out to remove it. “You’re right, they’re fucking cruel.”
Twenty minutes into the bus trip, the driver announces that they won’t be making a stop at any rest area. Yohan pokes Hangyul on his side and gives him a grimace. “Hate it when I don't get what I've been promised.”
Hangyul chuckles, deep in his chest. “Like a bathroom break?”
“Like five years instead of five months.”
It’s Hangyul’s turn to grimace. “You know that if it happens—”
“—when it happens,” Yohan corrects him. When Hangyul narrows his eyes at him, he continues, "Let's be real."
"You don't know that.”
“Do you?”
Hangyul sighs, defeated. “I’m just saying; if it happens, it doesn't mean we'll lose," he pauses, gesturing at the hypothetical—because with the way they're currently seated, all of Yohan's left side is sticking to his right—distance between them, "this."
Yohan makes a sound of acknowledgement and they don't explore the topic further.
Ten minutes later, Hangyul asks him in a quiet voice, "Do you always prepare for the worst?” His fingers are playing at the seams of Yohan’s grey sweater. He snags a loose thread.
The person being questioned shrugs. "I'd rather set myself up for disappointment than be crushed by news I should’ve already expected.”
Hangyul doesn't respond; instead holds Yohan's hand like he's passing on a butterfly that might escape through Yohan's fingers.
Somewhere between Chuncheon and Inje, Yohan’s head finds its way to rest against the weird empty space between their headrests to watch the game on Hangyul’s phone screen. Every time Hangyul’s character dies, they look at each other before giggling simultaneously.
“I’m gonna fall asleep,” Yohan says at one point, repositioning his chin on Hangyul’s shoulder.
Hangyul twists an arm awkwardly to pat Yohan on the head, eyes not leaving the phone screen. “You’re tired.”
Hangyul lets him sleep.
Yohan is already wide awake by the time the bus approaches Sokcho. His head is still on Hangyul’s shoulder.
“I should've never quit taekwondo,” he murmurs indistinctly. "I should've never started singing. A hobby should remain a hobby, right?"
Hangyul nods along, because he knows there's no use arguing with a Yohan who's rambling to himself. “But you did quit,” Hangyul states with confidence. Yohan needs a little bit of that too. “And now you’re here. With me.”
What often happens when the world hands you a gift you had not previously requested for is that you wonder if it's a misdelivered package that you will have to return to its rightful owner as soon as they catch on. If Yohan has to pick one fear, it’s that the ever fearless and buoyant Hangyul was sent to him by mistake.
Yohan sits up, straightening himself, and gives Hangyul's hand a squeeze. "I guess I am."
"What do you plan on doing first thing?” Hangyul asks as they step off the bus. Yohan is on his phone, distracted, texting his parents that they’ve arrived, so Hangyul continues, "I wasn't kidding about the fruit shop."
And for the first time in hours, Yohan laughs without carrying the weight of broken promises on his shoulders. Hangyul likes to believe he was the one who did this. "You should totally open a fruit shop.”
Much later, Yohan spots Hangyul playing the role of a holiday photographer for his sisters by the beach and he smiles to himself, knowing that even if he dares to leave, Hangyul will not let him.