Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

2016.6.13 / Seongnam / Hansol

Lee Seokmin dies in the early hours of Tuesday morning. Hansol wakes up, gets dressed for school, and walks into his kitchen. Instead of his usual toast, his mom has made bacon and eggs, already set out on the table.

“Hansol,” she says. “You’re not going into school today.”

And that’s how he finds out his best friend is dead.

He eats his bacon and eggs and then they head to the Boo household together. Ma opens the door with red eyes and brings Hansol into a tight hug. He holds her back, and lets her cry into his shoulder. She ushers him in, going to hug his mom too, so he moves past her into the house.

In the main room, Seungkwan is crying into Sojeong’s shoulder, cheeks wet and face red. When he sees Hansol, he reaches out to him like an infant asking help; open, unashamed, and deeply unsettled. So Hansol sits on the other side of him, and lets him cry into his shoulder, body wracking with loud sobs. Sojeong stays beside them, eyes distant.

The two of them sit together, and later lie in Seungkwan’s bed together, for the whole day. People talk around them, and they talk together, but it’s nothing. They talk, and talk, and Seokmin is dead. He was alive yesterday; he is dead today. He was alive for barely nineteen years, and now he is dead. He’s not coming back.

Something is gone from inside his chest, leaving him hollow. The word is unfair. Seokmin is dead, and there’s nothing he can do about it. The best he can do is hold his other best friend, and let him cry.

-

2005.9.3 / Seongnam / Seungkwan

“I think he’s from America,” he whispers, peering at the new boy taking his chair. Seokmin takes a glance over at him, looking back at Seungkwan quickly, but Seungkwan stares without shame, as several others in the class are.

“He’s a foreigner?” Seokmin says.

“Yeah. Well, no, I heard him speaking Korean.”

“Really? He doesn’t look like he would speak Korean.”

“He does! I heard it! Anyway, it makes sense, doesn’t it? Why would you come to school in Korea if you can’t speak Korean?”

“Anyone who doesn’t finish their worksheet by the end of the hour will be taking it home for extra homework!” their teacher calls, and all eyes return back to the worksheets on the table.

When they’re let out for their break, Seungkwan is the first to approach the new kid. He knows this, because the other kids eye him up as he does, watching for his fate. The boy is surprised too, his eyes going wide when Seungkwan stops in front of him in the coat room.

“What’s your name?” he demands. He can feel Seokmin nervously hovering at his shoulder.

“Hansol,” the boy says, looking unsure. “What’s yours?”

“Seungkwan,” he says. He turns to Seokmin expectantly.

“I’m Seokmin.”

Seungkwan nods at him, satisfied, and turns back to Hansol. “You came from America, right?”

“Yes,” Hansol says, picking his coat off the peg and not meeting his eyes.

“Will you tell us what it’s like?” Seokmin blurts.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “You should tell us everything!”

Hansol shrugs. “It’s just a place. It’s not that interesting.”

“It is,” he insists. “I heard things are really big over there. Like huge burgers and stuff. That’s what my dad says anyway. Won’t you come and play with us?”

Hansol looks up at them again, and Seungkwan finds him fascinating. He doesn’t look like anyone else he’s ever met.

“Play?”

“Let’s play, and you can tell us about America at the same time!” Seokmin says.

The coat room is empty but for them, with only a few stragglers not-so subtly watching their conversation from the door. Seungkwan sends them a stern look, and they turn to run outside for their break.

“Okay. Where do you guys play?”

They run outside to show Hansol the playground, and Seungkwan pushes Chan away from the monkey bars so that they can play on them together. In between their turns, Hansol tells them about the big roads in New York City, and about how his first-grade class had been full of lots of people who looked different. How strange it is to be in Korea, where everyone looks the same—apart from him, who only looks like his sister.

“But no one told me I looked weird in America. Everyone looks at me funny here.”

“You don’t look weird,” Seokmin tells him, as Seungkwan huffs, reaching for the next bar with his arms straining. “You look cool.”

“Thanks,” Hansol says, and Seungkwan drops to the playground floor, landing on his feet. Their teacher is at the door, calling the class back in.

“You didn’t finish telling us about your school,” he says. “You should come over after school so we can finish talking about America.”

“Yeah!” Seokmin says. “His mom makes the best seafood. You should come!”

Hansol looks between them. “Are you sure?”

“Of course!” Seungkwan says, ushering him back to the school before they get a warning. “I want to hear more about the big food!”

-

2016.6.16 / Seongnam / Seungkwan

Seokmin’s parents had asked the two of them to do a speech at the memorial, but Hansol had politely declined. He’s adamant that he’s not good at speaking, and that he could never do Seokmin enough justice. So Seungkwan is doing a speech alone, because talking is the one thing he can do, as long as he’s not crying at the same time. His priority for today is to avoid bursting into tears in the middle of his sentences, as he’s been prone to do over the last few days.

Except the Chwes are arriving here before the service, and when Hansol knocks on his bedroom door he has to swallow down the lump in his throat. It’s always been the three of them, for as long as he can remember, and every time he sees Hansol he half expects Seokmin to come through the door behind him. When he doesn’t, the fact that Seokmin is dead digs in deeper, and he has to turn away to bury the thought.

He wonders if Hansol thinks the same whenever he sees Seungkwan. Maybe this is their curse now. Wondering how to overcome the huge, unfillable gap between them.

“You ready?”

He looks back into the mirror, at his own glassy eyes. “No. I never could be.”

“Yeah. I know.”

Hansol comes over to stand beside Seungkwan, looking over his shoulder and into the mirror as he does up the last few buttons on his shirt. He glances back into the mirror too, at the two of them together. He can’t stand the sight of it for long, and turns away to pick up his blazer. “What about you? Are you ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

As expected, the service is full of people. He doesn’t know most of them. He knows Seokmin’s immediate family, and he recognises some of Seokmin’s friends from choir, but they’ve never been properly introduced. Most of the rest seem to be extended family members who’ve travelled into Seongnam for the service, or older family friends. Some of Seokmin’s medical team are sitting together at the back.

Throughout the service, people stand up and say nice things about Seokmin. The ceremony is supposed to be a celebration of his life, which is important, but it’s hard to understand how it helps anything. People say things like he brought happiness to those around him, even on his hardest days. They remind the room of his love for singing, his characteristic kindness, his endless love for friends and family. He doesn’t know how any of this is supposed to be a comfort, when it only reminds him that all the goodness Seokmin had is gone, permanently.

When it’s his turn, Hansol squeezes his hand before untangling their fingers so he can go to the front. He turns at the podium to face the room of people, and doesn’t attempt a smile, though he knows his face is swollen from all the crying.

“Hello, everyone. I’ve been asked to come up here and talk to you today about Seokmin, my best friend. At this point, I don’t know what there is left to say about him that hasn’t already been said. So many people here have been impacted by his kindness, his talent, and his genuine heart. He’s an amazing person.”

Was an amazing person.

He swallows, and waits for the lump in his throat to shift so he can speak again. “It’s unbelievable to me that a person as bright as him could ever be gone. He’s the sort of person who seems eternal. Someone that everyone should know, who could be friends with anyone. The goodness in him is something the earth should always have. I’m heartbroken for his loss, but also for everyone around him, and for everyone who should’ve known him, but never got the chance. We’ve lost someone unbelievably precious.

“But that doesn’t mean we can’t value our memories together. I have so many good memories with him. It would be impossible to pick one anecdote to sum him up with, and if you’re here today, I’m sure he touched you in your own, unique way. He was special to all of us. So instead of telling you about him, I will tell you one thing about us, instead.

“The best way we can process this loss is to be kind. Be good. Take the experience of knowing Seokmin, and use it to be better. He barely reached adulthood, but he was a better person than a lot of people with double or triple the life experience that he had. If you remember him through his good heart, then Seokmin will not be gone. Follow his example, and impact the world the way he did. There’s nothing we can do about death, but there are many things we can do about how we live.

“I’m sorry these aren’t words of comfort, or sweet memories. I’m still young, and I don’t know how to handle grief. I don’t know how we move on from here. What I do know is that we have do our best for his sake. Thank you all for loving him very much—I hope you will go on to live with even more love. I hope you will love him still.”

He bows and takes his seat again, flushed and feeling strangely distant from the light applause around him. Like he left his body empty a little while ago, spirit barely tied down. Hansol puts an arm around his shoulders and pulls him close, and it anchors him a little.

Later, they hold hands as the hall empties out around them. He’s numb all over, and glad that Hansol is holding on tight, stopping him from slipping away.

-

2007.11.13 / Seongnam / Hansol

“But I wanted to do Grease!” Seungkwan pouts. “Grease Lightning!”

“The movie is just called Grease,” Hansol informs him, and Seokmin waves his stick around wildly. Before he can say anything else, Hansol shouts, “Expelliarmus!” and points his own stick at Seokmin.

Seokmin throws his own stick with a look of surprise.

Seungkwan scrunches up his nose in distaste. “I haven’t seen Harry Potter! You guys just talk nonsense about it all the time.”

“Harry Potter!” Seokmin hisses, flattening his nose. “Harry!”

“Did you put your name in the goblet of fire?” Hansol says, and Seokmin laughs at the quick English, breaking character.

Seungkwan stomps his foot. “I can’t join in!”

“Maybe if you’d watched it, you’d know what we were talking about,” he says, turning his wand on Seungkwan. “Avada Kedavra!”

“But we all know Grease Lightning!”

“It’s just Grease,” he corrects again. “And that’s only because you made us sit through it at your house three times already.”

Seungkwan crosses his arms in front of his chest. “Grease Lightning is way more fun. It has songs.”

“It’s Grease, Seungkwan.”

“I don’t care!”

“How about we do both?” Seokmin says, picking up his stick-wand from the street. With the other hand, he flattens his nose, returning to the Voldemort impression. “Grease Lightning!”

Hansol laughs, and Seungkwan gives a laugh despite himself, though he quickly shakes it off.

“That doesn’t make any sense. I want to be Sandy! I want to fall in love, but you’re both stupid wizards!”

“Oh, Sandy,” Seokmin says hoarsely, coming up to Seungkwan and shimmying his shoulders. “Grease Lightning!”

He uncrosses his arms, and laughs in Seokmin’s face. “Stop. That looks dumb. Let’s just play something else.”

“But Sandy!” Seokmin says, then pauses for thought, trying to come up with some other reference to Grease. “Sandy!”

Hansol laughs again. “Let’s make something up instead!”

“Like what?”

“Like anything. We could be pirates and kidnap Sandy.”

“Sandy!” Seokmin exclaims, going for Seungkwan’s legs, but he doesn’t have the strength to pick him up. Seokmin is a year older than them both after having delayed entry into school as a kid, but he’s no bigger or stronger than either of them. Seungkwan is the biggest, actually, which is why he goes straight to the floor when Seokmin tries to lift him.

“Sandy doesn’t want to be kidnapped!” he shouts, and wrestles him onto his back.

Seokmin starts screaming, conceding in seconds, pinned to the floor under Seungkwan. Hansol is laughing like crazy watching them, and Seungkwan stands up again, complaining about not having more normal friends.

“Fine! At least if we play pirates, I’m being Jack Sparrow.”

“No way!” Hansol says, pointing his stick at Seungkwan now. “I’m definitely the captain!”

“You’re not much of a captain without any crew!” he shouts, and grabs Seokmin’s arm, hauling him up from the street floor. “Come on!”

Seungkwan drags Seokmin along as they start running up the next street, laughing together and looking back at Hansol.

“Mutiny!” he cries, grinning as he runs after them, stick waving in the air.

-

2016.6.19 / Seongnam / Hansol

They’re back in school on Monday, left with a few final exams before school officially ends. Mom hadn’t wanted him to come in at all, but Seungkwan and his Ma are convinced that he should try and complete them, and he couldn’t let Seungkwan come into school alone. So he walks into the exam hall thinking Seokmin is dead, and walks out thinking Seokmin is dead, and doesn’t remember much in between; the two of them leave the school together afterwards, ignoring the looks from other students headed to their study groups.

“I don’t think I got a single answer right in that stupid exam,” Seungkwan says, kicking a rock on the road. It’s quiet in the residential streets, everyone at work or school apart from them. “I really need to study for the last ones.”

“Do you actually think you could study if you tried? I can’t even read messages right now. It’s so much effort.”

“I need to do something. Ma gets worried whenever I sit and do nothing. And she’s right, I do better when I’m busy.”

“It’s not like it’s easy to get things done, though. I didn’t even know what exam it was before I sat down and saw the paper, to be honest.”

Seungkwan laughs, empty, and knocks their elbows together. “We’re so screwed.”

“Nah. The school said they’d submit a special circumstances notice to the exam board for us. We’ll be okay. At least we did most of the important ones before all this.”

“Not like it was easy to study then, either.”

He thinks back to rushed hospital visits, the late nights of anxiety, the whispers of his parents from the other side of the house. “Yeah. True.”

Taking the streets to Seokmin’s house is as familiar as breathing, as familiar as the path to his own home. With no Seokmin at the end, though, arriving is so very different. Seokmin’s mother greets them at the door, giving them both firm hugs and copious kisses. She’s never been one to kiss guests, but neither of them mention it.

“It’s good to see you boys. I hope your exam went well?”

“As well as you could hope,” Seungkwan says, and she nods, cupping his cheek.

“You’re both very strong,” she tells them, reaching out to squeeze Hansol’s arm. “I admire you so much for how mature you’ve been.”

They follow her through to Seokmin’s bedroom, and he puts a gentle hand to Seungkwan’s back when they step into the room. He’s not usually the one to initiate contact between them, but it feels important to reach out, give a gesture of support. One of comfort, too—Seungkwan likes that sort of thing.

She picks up the documents from the desk, flicking through them. “He didn’t specify what he wanted for everything he owned, but he did write a few things down. You might have to help me find some of them. I haven’t wanted to tidy yet, you know….”

“Don’t worry about it,” he says. He has a four-day old mug of cold coffee in his bedroom that’s starting to stick to the window ledge. Seokmin’s bedroom is a dream in comparison.

Mrs. Lee clears her throat, and starts to read out the document. “To Hansol Vernon Chwe, I leave the Star Wars Lego set we used to play with, so that he’ll finally have the full set. Please say sorry to Mrs. Chwe for filling her house with more Lego.”

For the first time in what feels like an age, he can feel a smile growing on his face. “No way! That’s what he left me?”

They haven’t played in a few years now, but those Lego sets are ridiculously nostalgic for him. It was something Seungkwan got bored with quickly, so they’d often play when it was just the two of them, Seungkwan at a singing lesson or visiting his Dad or away at summer camp. They’d re-enact their favourite scenes by merging Seokmin’s set with his; between them, they had the full Star Wars collection. Despite not having seen it in a while, he knows exactly where it’s kept.

He goes over to the wardrobe, opens it, and pulls out the tub out from the back corner. “I bet you won’t be sad to see this go, Eomma.”

“You know, I still find pieces between furniture and on low shelves, though he hasn’t played with Lego outside of the bedroom in years,” Mrs. Lee says. “I don’t think I’ll ever be rid of them.”

“Is there anything else?” Seungkwan asks.

She looks back at the paper. “I also leave him all of my consoles and games, yu-gi-oh cards, action figures, and any other game, relic, book, or artefact that he wants. Just don’t beat my high scores, or I will come back and haunt you.”

Seungkwan shifts from foot to foot while Hansol beams. “Thank you, Mrs. Lee.”

“Don’t thank me. He was always thinking about you two,” she says, though she’s smiling too. “Now, to Boo Seungkwan: I leave my scrapbook. It’s on the top shelf, to the left. I hope you’ll be able to look through it and remember the good times. Also, any other belonging he wishes to keep him company.”

Seungkwan’s eyes are welling up before he even makes it to the bookcase. The scrapbook is clear, now that it’s been pointed out to them—a thick book standing amongst textbooks and Minecraft guides and the general clutter of Seokmin’s shelves. He pulls it free, and carefully opens it—the pages part easily, packed full of stuck-down photographs, movie tickets, and sketches, the odd note labelling them.

A tear drops from Seungkwan’s cheek onto the book, and he quickly wipes at the page before shutting the book again. He drags his sleeves across his cheeks, and Hansol gently thumbs away the tear clinging to the corner of his lashes.

“Thank you,” he says to Mrs. Lee, voice wet.

“There’s one more thing,” she says, so softly he barely hears her. “To Boo Seungkwan and Hansol Vernon Chwe, I leave my endless love.” She puts the documents back down on the desk and opens the drawer underneath. Seungkwan sobs, and turns into Hansol, muffling his crying in his shoulder. The hard corner of the scrapbook digs into his side, but he doesn’t move away.

Mrs. Lee turns back around, an envelope in each hand. He reaches for the one with his name on, and Seungkwan wipes his hands on his jeans before accepting his.

“If you want to take some clothes or anything else from the room, it would have a better home with you. Don’t be reluctant, okay?”

He thanks her, bowing slightly, and Seungkwan does the same. “Thank you, really.”

Mrs. Lee smiles at them, shiny-eyed. “No, thank you. You made him very happy for a long time. If there’s anything you need, you can come to us, alright?”

“We will. Thank you.”

As soon as she leaves the room, Seungkwan sinks to the floor, clutching the scrapbook and letter to his chest. Hansol drops down to sit next to him—it feels too wrong to sit on Seokmin’s bed without him here. It isn’t even made, covers hanging halfway off the bed from the last time he’d woken up. Or the last hospital rush.

“Are you going to open it?” he asks, pointing at the envelope.

“No.”

He stands, tucking the letter carefully into his back pocket. “Yeah, I think I’ll wait too. You want to come and look?” He walks back to the wardrobe, doors still open.

“No,” he says again, watching Hansol rifle through hangers. “His dress sense is sub-par.”

He pulls out the items he recognises best, slinging t-shirts over one shoulder and jackets over the other, a pair of jeans for good measure. They should be about the same size in everything. “You don’t want anything? Not even a hoodie?” He pulls out one of Seokmin’s better-loved hoodies—grey with a pizza slice graphic on the front—and throws it at Seungkwan.

He catches it, holding it out like it’s a fragile relic. “It feels wrong.”

He shuts the wardrobe, mindful not to take too much despite what Mrs. Lee had said. He has a handful of t-shirts, mostly, more of the stuff that Seokmin liked than anything to his own taste. He doesn’t want to see them gather dust. “It might help, you know. When you miss him.”

“I always miss him.”

“I know. Me too. But at least you’d have it if you ever needed it.”

“Mm. I suppose.”

Between the two of them, they manage carry the Lego pack and Seokmin’s PS4 back to the Chwe household. Mrs. Lee had insisted they take some of Seokmin’s bags for the load, and he can tell Seungkwan hates the idea. Still, he doesn’t want him to regret not taking anything in a few years time, when Seokmin’s stuff is inevitably faded and unused or donated away to charity. So he doesn’t press it when Seungkwan leaves the bag behind, but makes sure he takes the grey hoodie with him. Just in case.

He doesn’t have the energy to do much of anything with his evening. He eats, and turns into bed early and lays in the dark with his thoughts. Some time passes, and he drifts in and out of sleep until the house settles down. With everyone in his house is asleep, he feels alone.

He turns on his desk lamp, and pulls the envelope out of his jeans.

The writing on the page is scrawled, messier than Seokmin’s usual handwriting. He must’ve written it during one of his infections. Maybe in the last few days, when he was constantly in pain and tired.

Dear Hansol,

This is new, right? I don’t think I’ve written you a letter before! It’s kind of fun. I was thinking about leaving a bunch of letters for you to open in the future, but I don’t know what I would say in all of them. I feel like you know everything I could say, and it’s a bit embarrassing to put everything into words. But I’m here to say all the important things, just in case you don’t know.

Firstly, I love you. You’re my best friend, and I’m really glad Seungkwan made you talk to us when you joined Elementary. Thank you for all the fun times, and thank you for sticking with me through the hard ones, and thank you for always being yourself.

Secondly, I’m sorry. Knowing I’m going to die really sucks, but I know it’s hurting a lot of people around me, too. I wish I didn’t have to put you through all this with me, but at the same time, I’m so grateful for you. I don’t know what I’d do without your visits.

Finally, take care of yourself, and take care of Seungkwan. It hurts that I won’t be able to see you guys for a long time, but at least you have each other. Live well, eat well, love well. They’re the three important parts of life, I think. Especially eating.

I’m going to miss you, but don’t miss me too much, okay? I’ll see you soon!

Love and hugs,

Seokmin-hyung <3

The weight in his chest is dense. He folds up the letter and slides it back into the envelope, placing it in his desk drawer. The room is dark, and sleep comes heavy.

-

2009.7.20 / Seongnam / Hansol

Seungkwan is swinging his legs restlessly as they wait together on the wall outside the Lee house. “Do you want to try volleyball today?”

“No, it’s no fun without more players. Handball is okay for three of us.”

“No ballgames are all that good for three players. What about netball?”

“Are you tired of handball now?”

“No! Handball is fine. Let’s play handball.”

Truthfully, he can’t always remember the differences between the three games. He just knows that handball is the easiest, and the best compromise between Seungkwan’s great passion for ballgames, and his own mild interest.

“I’m here!” Seokmin says, dragging a hoodie on as he darts out of his front door. Over his shoulder he calls, “Back later, Mom!”

“Let’s go!” Seungkwan says, gripping his ball under one arm. “Race you guys to the sports ground!”

“But it’s uphill the whole way!”

He can barely finish his complaint before Seungkwan is running, Seokmin in hand, dragging him along the path. Seokmin doesn’t resist, running along with him, so Hansol stands to chase after them. They know the way by heart, and take the quickest streets and hidden shortcuts together (slowing down to a brisk walk after a few minutes; the uphill slope is not forgiving).

Reaching the sports ground revitalises Seungkwan. He sees the ball court and straightens up, one hand on his hip, watching them both drag their feet to catch up with him. Seokmin’s breathing is short, and he’s doubled over to try and catch some air.

“Are you ready? I bet I can take you both on!” Seungkwan says, throwing up and catching the ball. “Come on!”

“Shouldn’t we take turns in pairs?” Seokmin wheezes.

“No! I can play against you both! Watch me!” He bounces the ball against the court, urging Seokmin and Hansol to take their side of the net.

“I’m surprised you’re not making more friends just to give us enough people for a volleyball team,” he remarks, pushing his sleeves up ready. “Do you want to take a minute, Hyung?”

“No, I’m fine.”

“Are you ready?” Seungkwan shouts over, and he shouts back the affirmative.

Seungkwan does pretty well at being his own team. He knows all the cool moves from his hours watching women’s volleyball, and regardless of how well he can perform them, he has all the enthusiasm of someone whose biggest dream is to meet his favourite team.

He wouldn’t say it, but it certainly helps that Hansol’s team is closer to one and a half players than two. Seokmin is enthusiastic, too—he loves to watch the volleyball games with Seungkwan, while Hansol would rather read, or play a game on his own. But Seokmin doesn’t have the same athletic energy as Seungkwan does, and it’s clear to Hansol that he’s struggling to keep up.

When a particularly strong serve from Seungkwan has Seokmin falling back instead of hitting back, Hansol goes to squat beside him instead of chasing after the ball.

“You okay, Hyung?”

“Yeah,” Seokmin huffs, but the air comes whistling through his lungs. He’s exhausted.

“Do you want to watch for a bit? I can handle Seungkwan, you know.”

“Are you okay?” Seungkwan’s voice sounds, running over to Seokmin’s other side. “Did you hurt yourself?”

“No, I’m okay.”

“Do you want to sit out and watch for a bit, Hyung?”

“Just a bit,” he agrees, holding his hands out. “Five minutes?”

Hansol takes both hands and pulls him up. “No problem. We could go to the arcade after this if you want?”

“Oh, yes!” Seungkwan says, running over to catch the ball before it starts rolling down the slope. “Let’s play a little longer, then go to the arcade.”

He plays with Seungkwan for a while longer than he really wants to, mostly to make up for Seokmin’s absence, who sits at the side for the rest of the hour slot they have there. Neither of them say anything about it; sometimes Seokmin gets like this, and it’s obvious he’s embarrassed by it, so they have this unspoken agreement to carry on as they were. It’s just how they work.

When they’re done with the game, they come to sit by him for a little while, catching their breath.

“You guys are getting really good now,” Seokmin says, hugging his knees. “It’s fun to watch. Almost as good as watching a KGC match!”

Seungkwan glows with the praise, and the sheen of sweat on his face. “Thanks. You did well, too.”

“Do you want to head to the arcade now?” Hansol suggests. “I’d have to stop by and check with my Mom, and pick up some money, but it could be fun…”

“Actually,” Seokmin says, quietly. “I think I might head back home, now. I don’t feel that great. Sorry.”

“That’s okay,” he says, as Seungkwan spins the ball in his hands anxiously. “We should probably go back to Kwanie’s and get something to eat, anyway. We played for so long.”

“Are you going to be okay?” Seungkwan says, hoisting the ball under one arm.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”

They stand together and walk back down the slope, through the shortcuts and winding streets back to Seokmin’s house again. He waves to them both with a smile. “I’ll see you guys at school!”

They wave their goodbyes and watch the door shut, then turn to go back to Seungkwan’s house, walking the winding streets together.

“Did you still want to go to the arcade?” Seungkwan asks, bouncing the ball once.

“I mostly said it for Hyung’s benefit. Let’s just go back to yours instead.”

“Okay.” Bounces it again. “I hope he’s okay.”

He steals the ball from him, throwing it into the air. “He’ll be fine. You know how he gets sometimes.”

“Yeah.” Steals the ball back. “I know.”

-

2016.6.30 / Seongnam / Seungkwan

Seokmin’s plaque was put up the day after his cremation, but between the exam stress and the cemetery’s awkward placement on the other side of the city, he and Hansol haven’t had the chance to go yet. His Ma and sisters have been, placed their own flowers and informed him that the location is beautiful. They stop off and buy their own flowers before they go—it’s been long enough that he knows the old ones will be dead.

They’re quiet on the bus ride there. The last few weeks have been exhausting, and the bus is so quiet that the rumble of the engine is soothes him. He spends the journey resting against Hansol, head on his shoulder and dozing off as the streets of Seongnam pass by. He holds their bouquet tight, and Hansol loosely holds his waist, and neither of them speak until their stop comes up.

The park is beautiful. The trees are blooming green at this time of year, aged and strong and vividly coloured with life. Windfall and bug-bitten leaves scatter the path into the park, and carefully planted pink flowers line the flowerbeds. The rows and rows of memorial plaques only come into view as they pass through the gate, set in the well-trimmed grass, flowers and the odd ancestral offering decorating the stones.

“Do you know where it is?” he asks. His chest heaves at the thought of looking through all these names to find his best friend.

“I’m not sure. Let’s keep a lookout for the old flowers.”

They walk together, barely speaking. It feels wrong in a place like this—like they’re disrespecting someone else’s home. The birth dates on every plaque they pass go back way before 1997, so it’s almost startling to spot Seokmin nestled amongst them. The old flowers are gone, so he places theirs down beside Seokmin’s smiling picture, and tries to swallow some more air.

He feels Hansol put an arm around his shoulders, and the weight is grounding. He wraps an arm back around his waist as they look down on the shiny new plaque together, honouring Seokmin’s last place marker on earth.

“It’s a nice place, here. He probably would’ve liked it.”

He nods vaguely. Seokmin would’ve preferred to be alive.

There are cherry blossoms drifting about the park, petals breezing by them occasionally but mostly littering the grass. In a gust of wind, they scatter over the engraving of his death date and half of his name. Seungkwan can almost pretend that it isn’t his plaque anymore. If he shuts his eyes, he can pretend that he’s just standing under the cherry blossoms with Hansol, visiting a park with his two best friends.

“Did you want to say anything?” Hansol asks.

“Not really.”

“Not much left to say, is there?”

They stand there for a few minutes. People in the park pass by them, and he looks at Seokmin’s picture for as long as he can bear it.

“Can we go?” he says, as a man holding a baby enters the cemetery.

“Okay. Bye, Hyung. Miss you.”

Seungkwan looks away and leads them back through the gate.

“Do you want to walk through the gardens for a bit? They’ve got some more flowerbeds over that way.”

“Sure.”

Hansol holds his hand loosely as they make their way along gravel path, framed by the artfully placed flowers and bushes lining the walk. They’re pretty to look at, but he finds it hard to properly appreciate much of anything lately.

“Man, this must be old,” Hansol says, craning his neck to look up at a great big oak tree in the centre of the park. “I could probably fit inside that trunk five times over.”

“Not after you’ve had seconds of Ma’s cooking.”

“You’re right about that.”

“She wants you to come over and eat with us tonight, by the way. She’s making japchae.”

Hansol groans appreciatively. “She’s amazing. Of course I will. What are we doing until then?”

“I don’t know. What is there to do in this part of town?”

“We could go see a movie, or something. Isn’t that new Tarzan movie showing? The one Hyung wanted to see?”

He twitches and pulls his hand from Hansol’s. “Why would you say that?”

“What?”

“I know he wanted to see it. Why would you talk about it like that?”

Hansol frowns at him. “Because it’s true?”

“We both know he can’t see it. Why would you bring it up?”

“I’m not. I didn’t mean it like that.”

He bites his tongue and turns away. “Okay.”

“Come on, don’t be like that. You know I wasn’t saying it to upset you.”

“Fine. Can we go home now?”

For a second, he thinks Hansol will persevere against him. But it’s rare for Seungkwan to drop a fight first, and he can see him breathing out, backing off. “Yeah. Okay.”

They walk to the bus stop in silence, and don’t touch each other on the way back home.

-

2011.3.17 / Seongnam / Seungkwan

He grabs Hansol as he’s coming out of Biology, taking his hand and pulls him down the school corridor. It’s important they get to the exit doors before the bell officially ends the school day to have any chance of getting ahead of the crowds.

“Seungkwan!” he calls, grasping his bag with one hand as they duck and weave through students. “I said I’d go to a study group this evening!”

“And let Seokmin suffer on his own?” he scoffs. He knows Hansol isn’t actually planning to study. He just likes to be contrary sometimes.

“I’m really bad at applied sciences!” he shouts, and the door to the main building comes into sight. Classes of students are being released around them as they run through the hallways, and he’s determined to get ahead of the school rush so as not to be held up at the street crossings.

“Then maybe you should actually listen in class!”

The school bell rings right as he reaches the main door and pushes through, several other speedy students spilling out with them. The two of them pull ahead, and Seungkwan starts to run towards the school gates. He can hear Hansol’s feet hitting the ground behind him, and smiles to himself. He knew Hansol would never choose something as boring as a study group over his best friends.

Once they’re over the initial main road crossing ahead of the rest of the school, it’s a straight shot to Seokmin’s from there. They can’t run the whole way, but he does maintain a speedy walk, keeping an ear out for cars doing the pick-up run, and dodging the parents with young children walking the streets. Hansol keeps up with him the whole way, only complaining mildly.

“You know it will be the same as ever. He’s sick all the time these days.”

“Well, excuse me for wanting to check my best friend isn’t back in the hospital!”

“We only saw him on Saturday!”

“So? I need to yell at him for not answering my texts.”

“Don’t tell Mrs. Lee that. Then we definitely won’t be allowed in.”

They slow down as they finally reach Seokmin’s street. He re-tucks in his school shirt and pats down his hair, turning to brush down Hansol’s untidy uniform too. “You ready?”

It’s Mr. Lee who answers the front door to their hopeful faces. “Ah, boys…”

“We’ve come to check on Seokmin!” he announces, delving into his satchel. “I brought the work he missed out on today, and I have this seaweed snack to give him! I originally bought it for myself, and I would’ve bought him better things if we weren’t trying to beat the school rush just now, but I still want him to have it—”

“I appreciate that,” he says, taking the worksheets from him. “But Seokmin is too sick to have visitors right now. I’ll let him know you stopped by, though.”

He places the seaweed bar on top of the schoolwork. “Are you sure? I can’t even give him a hug?”

“Sorry, kiddo. We’ll call when he’s back on his feet, okay? Thanks for coming by.”

“Hyung!” he shouts through the house as Mr. Lee is closing the door. “We miss you!”

When the door is shut on them, he turns back to Hansol. “Let’s go around the back.”

“What?”

“Come on,” he says, pushing Hansol down so that he’s ducking his head down under the front window. He joins him there, bent low enough so that they can’t be seen, and leads the way around to the side of the house.

“Seungkwan? What are we doing?”

“Be quiet,” he whispers back. “Just follow.”

They meet the glass double doors that look from the kitchen into the small yard, and he peers around slowly. No one is inside. He rushes past, and urges Hansol to do the same.

He rolls his eyes and shuffles past the doors. “Seungkwan—”

“Stay down,” he says, turning to carry on around the house. They duck past the master bedroom window and successfully make it to the back, where the only window belongs to Seokmin’s room.

The curtains are drawn shut and the windows closed, so after listening out for any voices, he raps on one of the panes as loudly as he dares.

“Mrs. Lee will chase us down the street as soon as she finds us,” Hansol remarks, but he straightens up too, looking up at the window with him.

“She would never. She loves me too much.”

A curtain is pulled back from behind the window, and they’re met with Seokmin’s face, eyes round and hair messy. His face breaks out into a wide smile upon seeing them there, and he pushes back the curtain the rest of the way, opening the window enough to talk to them.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, his words curling with delight.

He props his elbows up on the edge of the window, grinning at him. “Here to see you, of course! How are you doing?”

Seokmin beams at them. “I’m okay. Better now you’re here! Did I miss anything at school?”

“Only the usual. Literature is way more boring when you’re not there.”

“Myungho asked after you,” Hansol says. “I told him you probably had another chest infection.”

“I hope it’s not another infection. The last one wasn’t fun. My parents are trying to get me to take it easy, though, in case it is. Will you give him my number? I can message him if he wants to talk about our project more.”

“Are you sure you’ll reply to him? I haven’t heard from you in two days!”

“Ah, sorry. I was kind of tired yesterday, and my phone has been out of battery today. Wait, I’ll plug it in now.” He ducks away, rooting around on his floor for the charger. “I heard Seungkwan shout through the house just now. I miss you guys too. It’s good to see your faces again.”

He comes back into view to show them the plugged-in phone, now powering back up. He’s out of breath even from moving slightly out of bed, and Seungkwan suddenly feels like he’s pushing a boundary.

“I hope you get better quickly,” he says, putting a hand to the window. “We’re not the same without you.”

Seokmin puts his hand to the other side of the glass, over Seungkwan’s. “I’ll be back soon! I miss you guys.”

By the sound of his wheezing breaths, he won’t be back in school any time this week.

“Seokmin?” Mrs. Lee’s voice calls from inside the house, and the two of them duck down below the window just before Seokmin’s bedroom door squeaks open. “You’re not on the phone, are you?”

“No!” Seokmin says quickly. “Just… you know. Talking to myself.”

“Don’t tire yourself out, okay? Your friends came by just now, though I’m sure you heard Seungkwan. Maybe you’ll be able to see them this weekend, if you’re feeling better.”

“I’d like that.”

“Do you need anything?”

“No, I’m okay.”

Mrs. Lee bustles about the room for another minute before he can hear her leaving. He tentatively peeks his head over the window ledge again, only to come face to face with Seokmin, doing the same from the other side. They both laugh and step back, and Hansol brushes his knees off to stand with them.

Only Seokmin’s laugh turns into a hacking cough in seconds, and he bends over out of sight again. It’s followed by the sound of him spitting into the trash.

“We’d better go,” Hansol says from behind him.

Seokmin rights himself, face flushed from the short coughing fit.

“Right, we’ll stop annoying you,” he says, blowing a kiss as Seokmin smiles at them.

“You guys could never annoy me. Thank you for coming to say hi.”

“Anytime.”

“See you soon, Hyung.”

They wave, and creep back around the house, taking a stealthy crawl past the glass doors. Once they round the front of the house and speed-walk back down the street, he’s confident they weren’t seen by either of Seokmin’s parents. Mission success.

“He’s always positive, isn’t he?” Hansol says. “I would be so miserable if I kept getting infections like that. But he acts like it’s nothing bad at all.”

“He takes it way better than I would. I would demand so much from everyone if I were sick all the time.”

“Thank God it’s not you, then.”

Seungkwan punches his arm, and Hansol dodges him with a laugh. “You’re so annoying.”

“At least I’m not a cry-baby.”

“At least I’m not you.” He elbows him before stepping a safe distance away. “Do you want to come back to mine?”

Hansol rolls his eyes, falling back in step with him. “Yeah, alright.”

-

2016.7.23 / Seongnam / Hansol

He’s realising more than ever these days just how different he and Seungkwan really are. It’s always been apparent to some degree—considering how well they get on, they have widely disparaging tastes in just about everything. But it’s never struck him more than now, when they try and compromise without Seokmin here, who was usually their decider. Somewhere between being their hyung, sharing interests with the both of them, and being a terminally ill teenager, he always got the last word.

Now, the best compromise they have is Seungkwan’s force of will meeting his own easy-going attitude. He’ll watch The Notebook with him again because he knows it soothes him, and Hansol doesn’t mind half-watching, half playing on his phone. He suspects Seungkwan likes the cathartic cry it gives him. He also has the advantage of being able to hear the dialogue by ear, while Seungkwan is kept engaged by the subtitles.

They watch the movie in comfortable quiet for a while, until Seungkwan pauses it halfway through to take a phone call; he sits up, kneeing Hansol as he does, with the two of them crammed onto Seungkwan’s single bed. “Hello?”

He stays quiet and focuses on his virtual pet as Seungkwan talks. The app wants him to pay real-life money for a virtual pet jungle gym, and he’s seriously considering it. Seungkwan fiddling with his fingers in front of his face distracts him, and he puts one hand over his to stop him from twitching.

“Yes, that’s fine,” he’s saying. “I’ll be living on campus.”

He puts his phone down to prop himself up on one elbow, watching Seungkwan nod to himself as he listens.

“Yes. Thank you very much. Okay. Goodbye.”

He ends the call and turns to Hansol, who looks right back. “What’s up?”

“Kookmin University just accepted me.”

He sits up properly. “Are you serious?”

“They said that they wanted to contact me personally, to let me know that they understand my grades were under special circumstances, and that they think I’m an admirable student. They want me to study with them, and that they’ll support me as a student. She’s going to help me sort out my accommodation as soon as possible.”

“Congratulations!” he says. “Seriously, that’s so good! That’s the one you wanted to go to, right?”

“Yeah! They’ve got amazing extracurriculars.” He drops his phone onto the bed. “I can’t believe it!”

He shuffles further up the bed and beckons for Seungkwan to come and sit by him again, pressing play on the movie. “We should celebrate. Do you want to do anything?”

“Other than drink myself silly? Not really. Shouldn’t we wait until you get accepted somewhere, too?”

“Oh, I already did. I’ve been accepted by UCLA.”

“What? When?” Seungkwan whips around to look at him. “You didn’t tell me?”

“I forgot, I guess. Sorry.”

“UCLA? Where is that?”

“University of California, Los Angeles. It’s a good school.”

Seungkwan stills beside him. “You’re going to America?”

“Yes, it’s in America.”

“Why?”

“My Mom is moving back to Florida to care for my Grandma, and Sofia is about to enrol at a boarding school in New York. It makes sense to move with them. But I would’ve applied there even if they weren’t moving. It’s a really cool school, and I want to try living abroad for a while.”

Seungkwan is looking at him like he said he’s about to move to the moon. He pauses the movie, leaving them in the heavy silence of the bedroom.

“So you’re leaving?”

“Just for school, yeah.”

Seungkwan frowns at him, creases deep between his eyebrows. “How could you do that? Did you think ahead about this at all? Would you still be going abroad if Hyung were still alive?”

The questions are fired at him rapidly, and he’s thrown by the anger in his voice. “What?”

“Would you go all the way to America if Seokmin were still in and out of hospital, if he needed you here?”

“I don’t know. Probably not. Does it matter? That’s not the situation, is it?”

“I can’t believe you.” Seungkwan’s voice rises as he stands from the bed, slamming his phone onto the bedside table. “You’re leaving the country? Now, of all times?”

“I’m going to school, Seungkwan, you always knew I was going to apply abroad—”

“I didn’t think you’d actually go through with it! We talked about this, about how Seokmin hyung was stuck in Seongnam, and how Seoul is only a train ride away—”

“No, you talked at me, and gave me a lecture on responsibility. Not that it matters now, because Seokmin isn’t here. You’re not mad because I’m making a bad decision, you’re mad because I won’t fit into your plans.”

Seungkwan reels back, staring at him. Hansol hates how Seungkwan can make him feel small with just a look, like he deserves every ounce of his contempt over this; like his decisions are outrageous, even though he’s always had plans to study in America, and Seokmin was more supportive of them than anyone.

“Why are you acting like this? Why do you go around acting like everything you do has no consequence?”

“What?” he’s lost. Seungkwan is working himself into a fit over nothing, and resolutely ignoring his protests about it. “What exactly is it that I’ve done, Seungkwan?”

“You—you’re being selfish! And you’re an idiot! You’re going to America when it’s the worst possible idea right now—it’s stupid, and irresponsible, and you don’t even care!”

“It’s only for school!” He can’t help but laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. He’s not even sure why this has to be an argument. “It’s not forever!”

“I don’t want to hear it!” Seungkwan turns and throws open his bedroom door. “I don’t want to see you!”

He gapes at him. In all the disagreements and petty arguments they’ve had over the years, he can count on one hand the amount of times they’ve actually had a full-blown fight like this. In all those times, Seungkwan has never kicked him out.

“I’m serious! Get out!”

Anger kicks up in his chest, in a way he hasn’t felt in a long time. He can tell Seungkwan is angry too, over some imagined wrong Hansol has done, and there’ll be no reasoning with him right now. Not that he wants to. He’s acting like a child, throwing a tantrum because Hansol won’t do exactly what he wants him to.

“Fine.”

He grabs his phone and stands from the bed, striding past Seungkwan through the open doorway. As soon as he turns into the hallway, the door slams shut behind him, followed by the sound of something inside dropping to the floor.

“Hansol?” Ma stands up from the sofa as he passes her in the main room. “Did something happen?”

He bows politely at the front door, grabbing his shoes from outside. “Thank you for having me over, but I think we both need some space from each other right now.”

She watches him go without another word, and as he’s shutting the front door behind him, he sees her turn and head to Seungkwan’s room.

He takes the stairs of the apartment building rather than the elevator. By the time he’s at the ground floor, the trip hasn’t burnt off any of his anger. He breaks into a run as he hits the cool night of Seongnam, and doesn’t stop until he’s back home.

-

2012.9.9 / Seongnam / Hansol

Seokmin and Seungkwan have signed up for the school play this year. It’s something they’ve been talking about for a long time, but the timing had never been right for them. Now that Seokmin has had a stretch of good health and Seungkwan’s grades are finally up high enough, their parents have been convinced to allow them to spend some time on auditioning.

He’s happy for them, really. It’s what they’ve wanted for years. What he didn’t anticipate was how much louder it would make the two of them. All of the time.

“Wait, can we try the duet again?” Seungkwan says, fussing through the script papers they’re highlighting and marking. “I really want to get Romeo. I know they’ll probably give it to stupid Lee Chan, because he’s a better dancer, but I’m definitely a better singer, and maybe if I can’t get Romeo I’ll at least get Mercutio—”

“Do you think I can try for Juliet? I heard that they’re short on girls who can sing, this year,” Seokmin says, underlining Juliet’s name on the sheet in pink.

Hansol snorts, looking up from his phone. “Only if you want to kiss Lee Chan.”

“Chan doesn’t have the role yet!” Seungkwan says, feverishly highlighting a whole paragraph of dialogue. “Don’t discount me so fast!”

“Would you rather kiss Seokmin, then?”

“No! That’s not what I said!”

“Is Friar Laurence a big role?” Seokmin asks.

“It’s decent, but I don’t know if they gave him any songs. Check the sheet at the back. Will you practise the duet with me now?”

“Okay. Where are the lyrics?”

He times his trip to the kitchen for the moment they start the duet. It’s not that he doesn’t like their voices—anyone can tell that they’re good singers—but it’s different when you have Seungkwan belting into one ear, Seokmin in the other. No human can take the volume for too long.

It’s also hard not to feel a little left out whenever they start doing things like this. He loves music, but he can’t sing at all, and only ever joins in to make them laugh. It’s better he goes to make himself some toast, listening in from the kitchen, leaving them to their own devices.

He searches around in the cupboards for some good spread. The Lees always have their cupboards stocked full of food, the expensive brands and everything, and victory approaches him when he spots the chocolate spread on the bottom shelf. Somewhere behind him, Seungkwan is singing about his aching heart.

Their voices cut out just in time for his toast to pop up. He takes the slices from the toaster and unscrews the jar, pulling open the drawers in search for a knife.

“Hansol?” Seungkwan calls from the main room.

“Mm?” he calls back, sticking the knife into the jar.

“Hansol!” he calls again, significantly more alarmed. “Get in here!”

He stops, leaves the toast to jog back into the main room. “What’s wrong?”

In front of him, Seungkwan is guiding Seokmin to the sofa, sitting him down as Seokmin clutches at his chest and gasps for air.

“C—can’t breathe,” he manages, scrunching his eyes shut.

Seungkwan holds his shoulders, turning to see Hansol. “Call an ambulance!”

He scrambles in his pockets for his phone, pulling it out and staring. Call the ambulance, Hansol. He dials, puts the phone to his ear. Seungkwan is encouraging Seokmin to match his breathing, but he’s panicking too badly to even try. That, or he really can’t breathe at all.

The lady on the phone is kind but firm, guiding him as he stammers his way through an explanation. The ambulance seems to take both a minute and a year, and Seokmin is red-eyed and breathless when the paramedics arrive, but at least he’s still alive. He supposes he should be grateful for that.

“Are either of you family?” a paramedic asks them, as Seokmin is being loaded onto the stretcher.

“We’re his friends,” Seungkwan supplies, shaken, tear tracks down his cheeks. “Can we come with him?”

“I’m afraid not,” she answers. “Do you live here?”

“No, it’s his house.”

“Then you’re going to have to go home for now, okay? Don’t worry, we’ll take good care of him.”

And then they take Seokmin away. They’re left alone in the empty Lee household, his toast long gone cold.

-

2016.8.4 / Seongnam / Seungkwan

He watches the TV absently, head in Sojeong’s lap, her hands running through his hair. He knows she’d asked to watch it with him because it’s one of his favourites, so he doesn’t have the heart to tell her that it doesn’t feel the same anymore.

Ma comes through the front door with a huff. “Seungkwan, tell your Ma she’s great.”

“You’re the best mother I’ve ever had,” he says, pulling himself up to squint over at her. She’s lugging a large carboard box into the house, and from where he’s sat, he can tell it has smaller boxes packed inside. “Why are you so happy about empty boxes?”

“Would you rather carry everything to Seoul by hand?”

He grimaces as she sets them by his bedroom door. Packing. University preparations have come to a standstill since his fight with Hansol, thoughts too strung up on more pressing matters. He’s been considering the best way to make things up with him. They need to sort it out before school starts, regardless of where either of them decide to go, and if Hansol had called or messaged him it would be easy to say sorry. Then Hansol would say sorry, and admit that he’s been an idiot about the whole thing. They’ll come to some sort of compromise, and it’ll all be fine again. Well. As fine as things can get, these days.

Only it’s been nearly two weeks, now, and he still hasn’t heard from him. He hadn’t wanted to be the first one to break, waiting for Hansol to come to his senses about how stupid it is to move to America when he’s needed here. But he hasn’t heard anything at all from him since their fight. It hurts, knowing that Hansol hasn’t even tried to see him after this long.

Seungkwan knows he’s upset. He’s still angry too. But Ma is here with his moving boxes, and he’s starting to realise that he can’t win this one, not with the timescale they’re on. Hansol will have accepted his place at UCLA by now, will be packing to move out any day. Maybe this decision is something far bigger than him, something Seungkwan could never understand. Not that he’s ever fully understood Hansol anyway.

Maybe, just this once, he should try and accept that.

Sojeong looks up at him when he stands from the sofa. “Where are you going?”

“I’m going to talk to Hansol.”

“Thank Christ,” Jinseol says from her chair. “Finally. I don’t know how much longer I could handle your sulking.”

He makes a face at her as he wrestles on his shoes. “Not all that different to your mood on a daily basis, is it?”

“Good luck, Kwan!” Sojeong calls, and he waves to her as he leaves the apartment.

It’s been a little while since he’s properly been outside. The fresh air is nice, and the evening sunset glows in sky. Things that make him feel calm have become a rarity, so he stops for a minute just to watch the yellows and pinks soothe the sky.

The walk to the Chwe household is sun-kissed and quiet. By the time he makes it to Hansol’s street, lights are starting to turn on inside houses, leaving windows glowing. He stops outside the house, tugs at his shirt and considers texting Hansol that he’s outside. Then he shakes himself, because he’s never been a coward, and knocks on the front door clear and loud.

Mr. Chwe answers quickly, house dark behind him and clothes looking ruffled, like he’d just been woken from a nap. He smiles when he sees Seungkwan, though, and it lights up his face better than the last of the sunlight can.

“Seungkwan! It’s good to see you! How have you been?”

He hates that question. He’s obviously a mess. “I’ve been okay. Getting by, you know.”

“That’s good, very good to hear. To what do I owe the pleasure today?”

“Is Hansol in?”

His smile falters, and Seungkwan feels his heart sink. “Ah, you know… Hansol said that you two were fighting. I didn’t know it was still going on.”

“I’ve come to try and make it up to him,” he says, alarm building in his chest. “Has something happened?”

“Seungkwan,” he says, leaning against the doorway. “I’m sorry, but he left for America two days ago. He starts school on Monday.”

The implications set in all at once, sending a wave of dull panic through him. “He’s gone?”

“He’s gone. Took the flight out with Sofia and his Mom.”

He steps back from the house, reeling. “He didn’t tell me.”

“I’m sorry, son. If you try and call him, you’ll probably catch him. I don’t think he’s adjusted to the time difference yet.”

He shakes his head and turns away, wiping at his eyes with his sleeve. “I don’t think he wants to talk to me.”

“Seungkwan…” Mr. Chwe sighs. “You mean a lot to him. I know you two are having a very difficult time right now, but you can still support each other from different countries. Give him a call when you can.”

He feels a surge of irrational anger at Hansol, at Mr. Chwe, at the expectations hanging over their heads and at the whole world, for pulling him apart from both of his best friends in the space of two months. It’s quickly followed by a wave of crushing disappointment. Hansol is in another country, in an opposite time zone, thousands of miles away from him, and hadn’t even let him know he was leaving. He’s made it very clear he doesn’t want to hear from Seungkwan.

“Thank you. I hope you have a good night.”

“Goodnight, Seungkwan.”

Mr. Chwe watches him from the doorway as he retreats down the street, headed away from the house. Instead of going left at the end of the road, the direction of home, he turns right, walking the short distance to the playpark. With the last of the sun gone below the city, the kids have dispersed, and the apparatus is starting to form strange shadows along the ground. He sits on a swing, looks out over the residential view below him, and bursts into tears.

No one is around to hear, and there’s no Hansol or Seokmin sat nearby to comfort him. So he cries for as long as he likes, out of earshot of his sisters and Ma, rocking himself gently on the swing. The cool air kisses his wet cheeks, and he sits there until the night gets cold.

When he gets home, Sojeong is the only one still awake, waiting for him on the sofa. He shuts the door behind him and looks at her.

“Hansol’s gone,” he says. “And he didn’t say goodbye.”

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2012.9.13 / Seongnam / Seungkwan

Ma won’t stop repeating to him that Seokmin is doing just fine, no matter how much he badgers her for some real information. It’s Mr. Chwe who tells him that Seokmin’s left lung had collapsed, that he’s mending well now, and that the doctors are predicting he’ll be able to go home in a few days. He knows more than anything that he’s just antsy, that he needs to see Seokmin to fully believe he’s okay, and to hear the full truth about what had happened that night.

He can’t stop replaying the moment in his head. Seokmin’s face full of pain, hand on his chest, breathing horribly stalled. The agonising wait for the ambulance, the people who had swarmed into the house. He hasn’t been sleeping properly the past few days, anxious to see him again.

So when Seokmin’s parents finally emerge from the children’s ward and give Seungkwan and Hansol permission to go in, he can barely stop himself from running straight across the room to Seokmin’s bed. They’d been warned not to be too loud, not to walk too fast or upset any of the other children in the room, and not to let Seokmin talk too much if they could help it.

Seeing him there, sitting up in the hospital bed—he feels like he can breathe again, like maybe they weren’t lying about Seokmin healing. He might just be okay, because here he is, awake and smiling and definitely alive, lungs (almost) fully functioning.

“Hyung!” he wails, clutching at the bar along the side of his bed rather than grabbing him. He has an intimidatingly big mask over his mouth and a couple of wires trailing under his hospital gown, his heartbeat loud and steady on the monitor. Despite it all, Seokmin is smiling at him, reaching out for Seungkwan’s hand.

“You came!” he says, voice small and muffled under the mask, but clearly delighted. “I wasn’t sure if Mom would let you!”

“Seungkwan annoyed everyone until they let us in,” Hansol says, taking his seat on the other side of Seokmin’s bed.

“Don’t act like you didn’t too,” he says. “Hyung, they told us you had a collapsed lung. Is that true?”

He squeezes his hand. “Yeah. It’s mending well, though, so I’ll be back out of the hospital soon!”

“Why did it even happen?” Hansol says. “I looked it up, and collapsed lungs usually happen after things like rib fractures. You were just singing. It was so sudden.”

Seokmin looks down at the bedsheets. “It wasn’t because of the singing, really. The doctors have been looking at my lungs a lot, trying to figure out why I get so many infections and everything—they think that the collapse happened because they’re too weak on their own, and they’ve been under too much pressure.”

“But why?” he presses. “Do they know what’s wrong?”

“They’ve given me a new diagnosis, actually. I have something called cystic fibrosis.”

“What’s that?” Seungkwan asks.

“It’s a chronic illness that affects the lungs. It what makes it harder for me to breathe, and gives me chest pains, and means I get chest infections so easily.”

“Wait, this is good, right?” Hansol says. “If you have a diagnosis, doesn’t that mean they can give you the right treatment for it?”

“Mm,” Seokmin says, twisting the sheets in his hands. “It’s really rare in Korea, so they’re bringing in a specialist from overseas. I’m going to start with treatment as soon as possible.”

A smile breaks out on his face. “Hyung, that’s so good! You’re going to get better!”

Seokmin doesn’t look up from the sheets, and his voice starts to falter. “In the west, the life expectancy for someone with cystic fibrosis is about 40 years old. But because I wasn’t diagnosed for ages, and I haven’t had any treatment for it… they said it’s a miracle that I’m even alive. And that, with treatment… I’ll probably live for a few more years at best.”

His breath catches in his throat. Seokmin rubs at his eyes with the back of his hand, and Seungkwan feels dizzy. “I haven’t said that out loud yet. It’s really scary. I don’t know what to do.”

He might fall over. For the first time in his life, he’s truly speechless.

Seokmin is going to die?

He’s always been a pretty sick kid, but with no discernible diagnosis, it had been assumed to be a weak immune system coupled with serious asthma. But that had never explained the chest pains, the digestion problems, the way Seokmin has always been smaller and skinnier than kids his age. He’d never even considered it could be something like this, though. Something terminal.

He gently pulls Seokmin’s head into his shoulder so that he doesn’t have to see his hyung cry, and so that he won’t see Seungkwan’s tears, either. Seokmin grips his shirt, and Seungkwan buries his face into his hair, pretends like he’s not shaking. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Hansol take Seokmin’s other hand.

“Hyung… I’m so sorry. It’s awful. You don’t deserve something like this.”

“I know,” Seokmin says, voice thin. “It’s hard to process. I thought being diagnosed would help, too, but this…”

“Hyung, hey. You know what? If you think bad things, it’ll only make everything worse. I know it’s easier said than done, but—don’t think about it. Get your treatment, heal up, come back home. Once you’re back, we can hang out loads, and do fun things together. You should write a list of things you want to do, and we’ll tick everything off. A few years is loads of time! We can fit a whole lifetime in if we try hard enough.”

Seungkwan stares, and Seokmin pulls his head back. “You think?”

“Yeah!” he says, and he sounds more certain than Seungkwan has ever heard in his life. “You’ve now got good reason to do anything you like, and no one can tell you no. And we can do it together, right? You’re not getting rid of us any time soon.”

“Yeah,” Seungkwan says, finally finding his voice again. “We’ll stick together. We’ll be together for as long as we can.”

Seokmin blinks at them, eyes wet. “Promise?”

“Of course!” Hansol says. “You can count on us.”

“We’ll beat your cystic thingy together!” he agrees.

“I love you guys,” Seokmin says. His voice still shaking, but he’s smiling again, and that’s all that matters. “We’ll do loads of fun things, yeah?”

“I can’t wait,” he says, finally taking his seat in the hospital chair, lightheaded and breathless. “I love you guys the most, you know.”

“We’ve got each other,” Hansol says, resolute. “So we’ll be okay.”