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“I didn’t know you liked fishing too.”
Khun’s normally bored and unfazed eyes suddenly widens at the familiar voice. Normally, he gives his full attention to the water and the rod whenever he’s fishing—after all, he really had no one to fish with back then—but just this once, he looks back.
“Hockney,” he eyes the boy, “I thought you were with Bam?”
Hockney settles down beside Khun, fixing his own fishing rod. “We were about to fish together, actually. But Endorsi borrowed him for a while,” he replies with a lilt. Khun never really observed the way the boy spoke, but the faint pout from his lips tell him that Hockney was a bit disappointed. It is understandable, really.
Khun wanted to hang out with Bam too, to spend time with him like what friends usually do—like what he’s always wanted to do. Maybe if he was the same, old Aguero his family knew, it wouldn’t matter. After all, he’s used to the biting cold loneliness; it was okay, he shouldn’t trust anyone anyway. After all, Bam used to be just someone interesting, someone he realized is capable of reaching greater heights. But then this is Bam he’s talking about—someone who isn’t like anybody else in the tower, someone who, in the span of years, managed to dig himself a special place in Khun’s heart. An ally turned comrade, someone he’s willing to die with and to die for.
So Khun yearned the idea of sitting beside his best friend, resting inside the bubble of safety the final station of the Hell Train offered, no matter how fake that safety is. Khun is someone who rather believed in reality, but just this once, he wanted to savor this moment—even if it felt like too good to be true.
They both sat in silence, patiently and calmly waiting for their rods to bend down. Khun wanted to focus on the water and the rod once more, but to no avail. His mind wandered far away. The way his mind questioned where Bam is was natural and annoying, but he knew it was a helpless case. The years he’s spent climbing up the tower and the actions he’s painstakingly done were all connected to him—to his best friend Bam. Knowing the fact that a handful of people wanted to kill Bam, he can't help but develop a protective sort of reflex response when it comes to him.
Khun can’t afford to lose Bam again. The thought of it scares him.
“I never thought I’ll peacefully ever fish again, you know,” Hockney breaks the silence. “I mean, after everything that happened in the Hell Train.”
“It was… a lot,” Khun says. He relives the fresh memories he’s had inside the Hell Train, wincing and wondering at how they were able to go through it all. The mere memories exhausted him.
Hockney hums in agreement, “But still… I’m still thankful that I met you guys. Especially Bam,” his lips tug into a faint smile, “it’s embarrassing, but I… I never really had another friend before. I’m so happy that someone like him exists in this tower.”
Khun notices the familiarity of Hockney’s words; if anything, they almost mimicked his thoughts. At first, he only went with Bam because he was interesting, but then Bam’s kindness, selflessness, and pure will to protect his friends was a firefly’s glow that lit up the dark nights, more beautiful than the so-called stars in the tower; it got him reeling in. Interest grew deeper within his chest and bloomed into a desire to protect that faint glow, which he found more precious than all heavenly-light combined.
For him, Bam’s existence weighed heavier than seeing the stars Rachel so desperately wanted to see.
“I’m just happy that we got him back. I thought I’ll never see him again,” Khun finally breathes out. The words were like a fresh breath of air for him. The years he spent believing his friend’s death choked him for so long. It was tough, and although he prepared himself for it, it still felt like a nightmare. It was hard, trying to keep an act each day and weighing the burden of everything. It was hard to stay nice to the person he desperately wanted to kill, and he knew it was Rachel’s entire fucking fault, but he can’t help but blame himself too.
Everyday, he worked hard and formed a group to climb the tower, while what-if’s bugged his head. What if he was more vigilant? He should have read Rachel’s movements earlier. What if he met Bam earlier than Rachel did?
But at least, Bam’s back, right? Maybe the present should matter more, and if the present he’s living in is one where they get to savor and enjoy the moment, then he’s going to live in it. Bam is here with them, and they are going to take a rest. Bam is here, he came back, and he’s not going away—at least for now.
Khun delved deep too much in his thoughts, only snapping back to reality when the slight tug at his rod fades away.
“You’re too happy for someone who lost a bite,” Hockney playfully laughs.
“Whatever,” Khun says, which sounded more like a mumble to himself.
The fish getting away was such a bummer. So he can’t really explain the fond and reassuring smile etched on his lips.
The fire crackles in the quiet night, its reddish orange glow illuminating the dark greenery. Much to their awe, the final station of the Hell Train was indeed close to paradise, offering them various areas for relaxation which switched to whatever they desired. For tonight, their team decided to camp outside and eat dinner around the campfire.
Khun sat beside Bam, warming their hands on the fire’s heat. It was a starless night, as usual, and as much as Bam wanted to lie down and watch the night sky, the fire enticed his eyes. It was beautiful.
As the others were still preparing, Khun and Bam sat on their mats in solitude. Khun liked how the atmosphere relaxed his nerves. It should be awkward, with the way he heard nothing else but the crackling of the fire and his breathing, but it was comfortable nonetheless.
Bam then breaks the silence, “Khun, can I braid your hair?”
Khun blinks at him. “Alright,” he softly laughs. It’s weird, but it was rather cute, to be honest. Bam then scoots over the little distance between them, and then Khun’s breath hitches because fuck, Bam is so close and him threading his hands on his hair felt so soothing.
“Khun,” Bam catches Khun’s attention with a shy smile, one that he uses when he’s about to ask for a favor. “Can you lie down here?” Bam taps his lap, “it’s easier to do a side braid that way.”
Oh. Oh, okay, he thinks. Taking a deep breath, he lays down on his side, cozily lying down on Bam. The latter combs his fingers on his hair once more, and Khun realizes how this is so cruelly delicate. It’s cruel, because he realizes he’s never been held like this before. Khun knew that he did not need anything like this—it was okay as long as he achieved his desires and surpassed his father—but he just can’t understand how he now craves this feeling, this serene feeling beside Bam. It’s cruel, because it keeps him reeling in, keeps him wanting for more. It scared him, how this feels too perfect and how it might be snatched from him in a blink of an eye.
He’s always been there for Bam, willing to embrace him and keep him grounded when things get tough, but maybe, there’s a small portion of his heart that wished to be held too.
Bam hums softly, his eyes focused on Khun’s blue locks. Khun wanted to paint this scene vividly inside his head, to capture this exact moment and his exact feelings and keep it at the back of his chest. It was irrational, he thinks. But he wanted it.
Why is he feeling this way, anyway? The fluttering of his chest mixed with the tranquility of his entire system felt too confusing. He knows Bam has always been special for him, a person so special that it felt like the world is going to end if he ceases to exist, but what is this feeling exactly?
Khun stares at the dark night sky, as if the void of shinsu will answer his confusion. Bam is special, of course, because he is indeed one of a kind among the people in the tower. He found hope with Bam the same way he did with Maria back then; that amid the hostile and competitive world they’re living in, there is someone who resembles a fresh breath of air—someone that could possibly make the world a better place. Amid the darkness the tower brings, there is that faint firefly light that glows and brings hope. But Bam exceeded that, because he is Bam, the friend he treasured the most, knew him the most, went through thick and thin with him the most.
Khun couldn’t name the fluttering of his belly. Maybe he could, but forcefully shoves it at the back of his head. Maybe it’s better to not name it at all. It’s probably the wise option, and he thinks he deserves it anyway.
All he knows is that he wants to stay with Bam, and fight alongside him for as long as he could.
“I hate loneliness,” Bam suddenly says, catching Khun off-guard. “It was so lonely, back there in the cave. It was lonelier when I met you guys and lost you too.”
Khun gets up as soon as he felt Bam’s fingers loosen their touch on his hair. Concern brimmed his eyes, “Bam… “
“But I’m happy now, you know! I-It’s hard, yeah,” Bam looks down, avoiding Khun’s gaze, “but at least it’s not as lonely as before. You’re warm and breathing beside me, and that’s so much better than the image of you inside my head back when I was in FUG.”
Khun couldn’t take it anymore. He scoots closer and wraps his arms around Bam’s torso, embracing him gently.
“I’m so happy that our friends are here with us too. We also made new friends!”
“We met a lot, mhm,” Khun responds, his voice muffled by Bam’s shoulder. He releases whatever restraint he’s had and nuzzles his chin at the crook of Bam’s neck. Warmth spreads way better when they embrace each other like this.
“I couldn’t have done this without you all. So thank you,” Bam finally relinquishes and cozily leans onto Khun. It felt nice and warm. “Thank you, Khun. For everything. For staying,” Bam whispers softly, like it’s meant to be heard by Khun and Khun only.
Khun pats Bam’s head, eyes crinkling as he gazes onto the fire, “Thank you for everything too. I—"
Bam was the firefly’s glow that kept him trudging through the dark. The glow is ephemeral— darkness might swallow it up one day, or the light might burn out—but it keeps Khun reeling in nonetheless. It is ephemeral, but he wants to grasp it and hold onto it, even for just a little bit longer.
He treasures Bam more than anything else, and losing him again scared him. The fluttering feeling on his chest, Khun realizes, is too risky. It’s an unknown area he wanted to venture into, but it’s the uncertainty that scared him.
So if Khun would like to say, “I love you, Bam,” right here in this nearly perfect moment, he opts to whisper it in the wind instead.
He supposes it's better to keep this feeling at the back of his heart. It was precious, and he would rather keep it than lose it.
“I’m always here for you, Bam,” he says instead. Bam’s golden eyes then crinkle, as his lips morph into a bright smile.
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