Chapter Text
Amicus usque ad aras.
“I think I like Kang Yeosang.”
Choi San stopped chewing for a second. Then he continued, his mouth full of rice mixed with anchovies and milk. He was eating a meal his mom packed for lunch. Jung Wooyoung looked at San for a second, then looked back down at his own packed lunch, slightly shy.
“Kang Yeosang from class 3?”
“Yea.”
“He’s cute.”
“He’s gorgeous.”
“Okay,” San wanted to roll his eyes, but he stopped himself. “Why suddenly?”
“I don’t know, I don’t think it’s suddenly. He just seems like a nice person.”
He is. Yeosang’s not only really good looking, he’s down to earth too; generally a good person. Humble for a guy with his face, in San’s opinion. But he doesn’t think he’s a suitable fit for Wooyoung, or at least, from what San knows of him. They’ve been close friends since middle school, so he knows Wooyoung pretty well. Their parents know each other and they go everywhere together, so maybe, to be more accurate, San knows him very well. He doesn’t know much about Kang Yeosang, though.
“Are you gonna… like… confess to him?” San asked slowly. Wooyoung’s previous crushes had always been just someone to adore from afar. But Wooyoung’s unpredictable.
“Well, maybe I’ll try to be friends with him first.” San can tell Wooyoung’s still slightly shy about confessing his crush.
“He’s really cute, isn’t he?” San grinned.
“He’s reaaaaally cute.”
The two giggled.
-
San was walking with Wooyoung from class when he spotted Yeosang buying bread in the cafeteria from afar. He decided to quietly drag Wooyoung with him as he paced faster towards the bread kiosk. Wooyoung followed.
“You want bread today?” he asked.
“Yeap, can you get me a red bean bun?” San briefly ordered. “I’m gonna buy a sandwich.”
“Okay,” Wooyoung obeyed as they separated; sweet breads to the right, savory breads to the left. Wooyoung started towards the pile of buns when he realized the taller build in front of him, his head small and his skin as white as milk. Wooyoung felt his heart miss a beat, then gulped some saliva. He turned to San, who only grinned back, then paid for his sandwich. Wooyoung turned back to the buns, his face already drained of blood.
“ Just take the bun and pay, Woo, don’t overthink it, ” Wooyoung thought to himself. He reached for the bun labeled ‘red bean’, trying to not push the boy in front of him. His fingers stretched but didn’t reach the plastic packaging. A white hand reached for the same bun and offered it to Wooyoung. Wooyoung looked up to see Yeosang looking at him peculiarly, his eyes sculpted like a doll’s, his lips thin, his nose high. Wooyoung took it gratefully.
“Thanks,” Wooyoung said, his voice as small as a mosquito’s. Yeosang smiled back.
“Wooyoung, right?” the pale boy asked.
“Yea,” Wooyoung replied. “We were in the same class for orientation week.”
“Right, I remember,” Yeosang replied. “I’m Yeosang. You’re not eating a meal for lunch?”
“I’m buying for my friend, San,” he looked across his shoulder to see if San was around but he wasn't. Wooyoung cursed at him in his head. “What about you?”
“Just dessert,” Yeosang replied. He paid for his bun and walked away. “Well, see you around.”
“Yea, see you.”
Wooyoung felt his throat dry and almost jumped out of his skin when San patted his hand on Wooyoung’s shoulder.
“Good job,” San whispered, carton of milk in his other hand.
“I WILL kill you,” Wooyoung threatened without looking at the other. They walked back to class, and as they passed by class 1-1, they heard someone shouting their names. They turned simultaneously to see Jung Yunho, one long arm hanging out the class window, his face bright as always. They were from the same middle school, three of about ten boys that got into the same high school.
“Bread for lunch?”
“Dessert,” Wooyoung replied bitterly. San quietly sipped his milk.
“Come eat with me,” Yunho invited. “Mom packed eel today.”
The semester went on like the cold fall breeze; quick and excitingly. San figured out that Yeosang was in the basketball club, so he told Wooyoung to join the same club. Wooyoung didn’t like basketball, so he picked the next best thing; the baking club, a club that ran on the same days as basketball. San joined in for fun, since he wasn’t planning to join any clubs anyway. On the first meeting, they found out it was run by stoners.
“Wait that actually sounds fun,” Yunho giggled when they met up for lunch the next day. “Did you see you-know-who though?”
San couldn’t keep the secret to himself, but Yunho seemed to agree that Kang Yeosang is someone to pay attention to. Wooyoung slowly felt himself shrivel as the topic emerged.
“Yea we saw him,” Wooyoung quickly replied, trying to change the subject. “Yunho, what did you bring for lunch?”
“He didn’t even say hi!” San said exasperatedly. “He pretended he didn’t see the boy. And he was bad at pretending too, since he was staring for ten whole seconds before looking away.”
Wooyoung stole a piece of San’s kimbap and put it in his mouth whole. San just stared unbelievably.
“That’s okay, it’s only the first day,” Yunho said brightly, putting some kimchi on his rice before eating a mouthful. “You’ll get used to seeing him, and you’ll finally get the courage to say hi, then you’ll be good friends at first, and then you’ll eat hotteok together, holding hands in the cold of winter, and spend Christmas together, then… kiss?”
Yunho and San laughed when Wooyoung only kept quiet, his ears visibly red.
“Here’s a reminder that it’s already over a quarter through the semester though,” San told Wooyoung. “You need to speed up if you really want to spend Christmas with him.”
“Hey, that’s not even my plan. That’s Yunho’s plan.”
“Speaking of which, maybe I’ll join you guys today,” Yunho piped in.
“Then you’ll get to meet some stoner friends and get high with them or something,” Wooyoung grinned.
“Seoul kids are scary.” San nibbled on the ends of his chopsticks. He moved to Seoul back in middle school, and his Seoul accent is immaculate now compared to back then. Wooyoung was the only one who wanted to be friends with him, “because he’s good looking”, Wooyoung said, “despite talking like a hillbilly”. San didn’t take offense to that; they were kids, and they’re much more understanding about each other’s backgrounds now. Wooyoung even uses dialect words when talking to San’s parents. Wooyoung hadn’t visited his home in a while. Maybe high school is about to drift them apart. San was ready for that.
At the baking club meeting, the third year students huddled at the front of the class and talked about who should get their cannabis trim. The rest sprawled across the room, sitting in a random arrangement of chairs. The second years were near the windows; about four of them. The rest were a handful of first years, unknowing of what the future of the club was. Some came after knowing what the club activities were, some came because they had nothing else to do after school. After a few minutes the crowd grew louder in chatter of boredom, so a third year cleared his throat to regain their attention.
“So first things first, welcome. I see a few fresh faces,” the short lanky boy nodded at Yunho and a few others; Yunho awkwardly looked on, “and I’m glad that we have so much interest. However, even though the school is providing the baking materials and kitchen, please know that the baked goods will not be distributed to everyone, as the ‘special ingredients’ are provided solely by us third years.” A few groans emerged from the crowd. “Don’t worry, if you work hard enough we might offer you a reward in return. We are a democratic system that allows opportunities to those who fight for it.”
“Fucking idiot doesn’t know the difference between democracy and socialism,” a tall skinny first year said under his breath, but just loud enough for the rest of the first years to hear.
“Anyway, we’ll start baking next week, make sure to do your homework because these things are rather complex; you have to be really careful or else you might cause someone’s bad trip.”
“Why should they be concerned about a bad trip when they can’t even get a decent score on home economics,” the tall boy sassed again. Giggles sputtered from the group.
“If we find ourselves a bad batch, there will be consequences.”
“Other than your growth stunt?”
The group bursted into laughter, causing the calm to suddenly disrupt. The second years finally leave the classroom, leaving the ruckus in annoyance.
“Is there a problem over there?” The third year in charge asked in a loud voice.
“Just your height,” the tall boy giggled.
“Excuse me?” the third year exclaimed. “Do you mind speaking up?”
The tall boy cleared his throat and stood up with a straight face. “I was just explaining my adoration to your confidence, hyung.”
“Hyung?” The third year chuckled. “Hoon-sunbaenim will do.”
“Yes, Hoon-sunbaenim. Despite your lack of vertical length, I completely admire your ability to lead and confidence in speaking. I hope I can learn well from you.” The group started giggling again.
“What’s your name?” Hoon asked.
“Song Mingi.”
“Mingi from the Song family, know that you just made your life in this school five times harder than it had to be.”
“That’s okay sunbaenim, I don’t expect to live easily.”
-
“That Mingi guy was something, huh?” Yunho asked as he glanced at the other two. They decided to get ddeokbokki after the meeting adjourned earlier than expected, each with a full cup in one hand, the other hand holding a long toothpick.
“He was kinda obnoxious,” Wooyoung said.
“I think he’s cool, just a bit noisy,” San piped in. He smiled at Yunho playfully. “Why? Are you interested?”
“What? Pff, no,” Yunho shuddered. After a moment of silence, he continued. “But he’s pretty cute, don’t you think?”
“You’re seriously thinking about it?” San exclaimed.
“I said no-“
“Yunho, if you wanna date someone, at least find someone nice. Like us. We’re nice kids. Song Mingi? He’s going to break your heart into itty bitty pieces,” Wooyoung lectured, gesturing crushing something with the hand that held the toothpick. The toothpick wobbled out of his grasp, but he caught it before it fell to the ground.
“Kang Yeosang?” Yunho suggested. “Is he a nice kid?”
“Kang Yeosang’s the purest human being I’ve ever seen,” San snorted. He thought about how Wooyoung completely froze when Yeosang waved at him with a smile when they made eye contact as they left the school. San had to nudge him before Wooyoung actually raised a hand in return. Yeosang wasn’t the friendly type, but in Wooyoung’s mind he imagined asking if Yeosang’s meeting ended early too, and if he wanted to join them for ddeokbokki. By the time he had built up the courage to speak, Yeosang’s friends from basketball had already dragged him along somewhere else.
“There’s progress,” Wooyoung smiled to himself as he bit into another piece of rice cake. San shuddered.
“That’s creepy.”
“If you consider an exchange of waves as progress, then you’ll get married at the age of 40,” Yunho said.
“You can’t rush these things. If you rush it, he’ll run away like a little lamb.”
“Wow, you’re suddenly the love expert,” Yunho teased.
“So by progress do you mean to say that you’re planning to make a move?” San asked, genuinely curious.
“I mean, why not, right?” Wooyoung pondered out loud. “If he waved at me first, and remembered me from orientation class, then probably that means he’s also interested in me, right? Right?”
The other two kept quiet.
“Why can’t you guys support me?” Wooyoung whined.
“This is realistic support,” Yunho told.
“Don’t get your hopes up.” San shook his head.
-
“I’m home,” Yeosang mumbled as he entered the doorway of his apartment. Sounds of a chair falling rang through the hallways as he pulled his foot out from his shoes. He froze in place, the echoes ringing in his head. His eyes widened and his breath shortened, tears swelling in his eye sockets. His back curled as he dropped on his side, his shoe in his face, staring at it with the blur of his tears. The boy sobbed, the tears streaming down his cheeks and over his nose, his teeth biting into his lower lips. He couldn’t stop crying, his consciousness half wanting to stop, the other somewhere else, to another time, to a time when he was helpless, and he could only watch in fear and sadness, the sight of his own mother-
“Yeosang!” His father’s shouts rang through his consciousness. “Yeosang, are you okay?”
The pale boy felt his father’s hands raise his torso by the shoulders. He was now facing the aging man, still a blur from the tears. He hiccuped.
“Dad…”
“Yeosang, please, stop crying…” he felt his body drop onto his father’s, his face hanging over his shoulder. He felt like screaming, but instead he let his throat dry. The tears stopped streaming, but he didn’t have the strength to move. He felt himself fall into a void as he closed his eyes.
Why did mom have to go?