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The harsh glare of the afternoon sun has him peering through his fingers, grimacing at the sweat clinging onto his cardigan. He’d driven for six hours to get to his destination, but now he’s too busy driving down memory lane to ring up his hotel and ask about his reservation. Fanning his neck with his free hand changes nothing, not when the air conditioning gives him warm air instead of the pleasant chill that the rental place had promised him.
Maybe he should’ve rented something else – something more recent, but he’d reasoned out that a shiny Mercedes would attract too much of unwanted attention in a place where time was rumored to stand still. The guy manning the car hire agency had only stared at him as though he’d grown a second head when he’d asked for something older.
Squinting at the light seeping in through the glass – the light he’d grown to love as a child, Younghyun accelerates, wishing he could leave that familiar light behind. He blinks away the black spots in his vision, and he doesn’t stop until he reaches a familiar stretch of land.
It brings back memories of his childhood. It makes him recall how he’d spent fifteen years of his life treating his childhood friend as though he were the sun in his orbit. In Kang Younghyun’s orbit. A childhood friend from so long ago, now nothing more than a stranger to him.
In a way, he supposes that the neglected state of the playground resembles their relationship. The swing sets look older, unfamiliar even – all rusted metal, chipped wood and faded paint to indicate that everything here has outlived its usefulness. But it still makes him smile to think about how they’d tug on the old chains and pretend as though they could fly when they were kids.
It also makes him think of an old memory.
*
He was kicking the sand at his feet, drawing a look of disgust from the only adult in the playground who was watching them from afar. “What’d you like to be, Jae?” He’d asked, cheeks rounded with a fullness called immaturity. “I wanna be like dad. I wanna earn lots of money in the big city.”
The boy beside him – Jae closed his eyes. “Happy.”
“Huh? Aren’t you happy now?”
“I am.”
“Then what’s up with that?”
There’s a bashful smile playing on Jae’s lips when he shakes his head, looking as though he’s forcing himself out of a daydream. “I just want to be happy forever. That’s all.”
“Why’re you wishing for something that’s definitely gonna happen?”
Jae looks at him, his lips parted in an ‘o’ shape which manages to convey his surprise. That’s one of the reasons why Younghyun had wanted to befriend him – that openness in expressing himself in a way that was both shy and mild had always intrigued him. His mother, on the other hand, had encouraged him to not feel too deeply, lest he get hurt.
“You’ll be happy forever,” Younghyun mutters, shoving his clammy hands under his thighs. “I’ll make sure it happens.”
“Really?”
He stares at him in a way he hopes is intimidating. “Yeah! Don’t you believe me?”
“No, I do. I just—” he begins, his eyes glistening with tears. He brings his hands toward his face, furiously dabbing at the tears trickling down his cheeks with his sleeves.
He clenches his fist, waving it over his head. “So suddenly? You’re crying? Is it those meanies again?”
“No, just— just— thank you, Brian.”
Younghyun forces himself to look away from his friend – to stare at the way the skies are no longer a pastel blue but a pretty shade of lilac. “Don’t thank me, stupid. Just stay by my side.”
*
Sliding his key into the ignition slot, he waits for the engine of the old 1999 Ford F250 to roar back to life. Gripping the steering wheel with a force that makes his knuckles turn white, he waits for the prickling sensation at the back of his eyelids to go away. Because he doesn’t want to admit to himself that he misses Jae – that he misses the sound of Jae’s bright laughter and the warmth in his voice as he’d apologize after a silly argument of theirs. And the sincerity in his voice would have him scrambling to apologize too, until they were both parroting a chorus of “I’m sorry” s at each other.
He doesn’t want to admit that he misses what they used to have, because he’s afraid of how feelings once acknowledged become feelings which one grows accustomed to. The raw ache of separation in his heart is still there, and it still pierces through his bravado in the city at night. It still renders him inconsolable with a longing that has him muffling his sobs against his pillow as he envisions what it might've been like if they’d still been together. If they’d had more than the two minutes they were given to whisper tearful goodbyes to each other.
He doesn’t want to admit that he’s still in love with him. He knows he is, but he still tries to convince himself that his feelings have changed since then. But have they?
His next destination is a place he remembers all too well, so much that it seems as though it were just yesterday that Jae and him were exchanging guitars and quiet smiles as they’d compared the sounds of each instrument in Mr. Samuel’s store.
It’d been their home away from home; their favorite refuge from reality, and Mr. Samuel had always filled the void that their own parents left behind with his vast knowledge of music.
For Jae, it was always a “study this, study that” at home, and the pressure of staying at the top of his class had gnawed away at any confidence he’d once had. He’d come to believe that he was nothing without those numbers circled at the top of each test paper – that he was nothing without those numbers which dictated his life. For Younghyun, it was always an “I miss you, son” on a Christmas card from the city, but the radio silence which would prevail until the Christmas after that told him all he needed to know – that his father didn’t really miss him. That his father was only fulfilling his “duty” as a parent by reminding his mother and himself that he still had a role to play in their family.
Mr. Samuel was different. Maybe he’d known all along what it felt like to have parents who weren’t really there for you, or maybe every kind gesture of his was driven by sympathy.
He’d been old then, so much that his fingers would tremble whenever he scribbled something on his ledger. But whenever his fingers brushed against the strings of a guitar, it seemed as though he’d grow younger before their eyes. Most of the wrinkles on his face would disappear then, and the quivering of his hands would stop as his calloused fingertips pressed the strings to the fretboard.
He’d always welcome them inside Diamond Instruments, and the moment they’d left their bags by the cashier, he’d hold out two acoustic guitars for them to take. He’d encourage them to follow his instructions and to mimic each movement that he’d make on his older guitar.
That store doesn’t exist anymore. Save for himself, he doubts that anyone else would remember what Diamond Instruments was like back then. But, as he peers into the vacant interior which was once occupied with so many crates of vinyl records, he can almost picture himself inside. He sees Jae deftly plucking at each string with a look of concentration furrowing his brows, and then he sees himself watching him, with a smile curling the corners of his lips upward.
Now that he’s older, he wonders if Mr. Samuel had known all along that he’d liked Jae. Maybe that was why he’d lectured them on the importance of being honest with their feelings, all the while throwing strangely meaningful looks in Younghyun’s direction as he’d recounted how he’d met his wife.
He wonders if it’d always been this way – if he’d been in love with Jae from the beginning.
Eight years ago, he’d wanted to tell him how he felt. He’d asked Jae to meet him at the playground – to wait for him on the swings. But his father had returned just as he was about to leave. He’d left Jae waiting for him on those swings, but Jae was never one to complain. In the end, his father took his family back with him to the City of Dreams, and he’d locked away his feelings in his heart. Stored it elsewhere. Thrown away the key.
Maybe that’s why he could never picture himself dating anyone, much less settling down with someone.
He’s a musician now, with renowned singles topping the charts. He’s got fans in the city, so many of them that he can only leave his house after donning a disguise. But every lyric he’s even written – every song he’s ever sung, everything was only made possible because of him.
He whistles lowly under his breath, and he scrubs his hands across his face. “Time to get to the hotel,” he thinks.
Two hours later, he’s strolling down the corridors of his old public school. The obnoxiously yellow pass taped onto his maroon sweater tells the few teachers in the vicinity all they need to know, so they pay him no heed. He’s thankful that no one recognizes him here. Although he treasures his fans in the city, he’s thankful that he still has this old town to be himself in. It’s no home, but it’s the closest thing he’s ever had to one. Belatedly, he realizes that he might feel this way because of all the memories he’s made here – because of how every memory he has of this place has Jae in it.
The school is surprisingly functional. He’d left it when it was on the verge of collapsing. But now, it’s been repainted in a godawful shade of green that he knows Jae would’ve rolled his eyes at – that is, if he were still here.
The stretch of classrooms which he recognizes have now been abandoned, and are awaiting months of construction to be remodeled into some kind of a laboratory. That’s what his friend, Park Sungjin, had said when he’d phoned to ask him about obtaining a visitor’s pass.
He slips into his old classroom, with its old desks and its old, rickety chairs. From where he stands, leaning against the old board, he remembers how Jae would often gaze out the window with a faraway look in his eyes. He’d noticed it when he’d been called up to write down some of his answers on the board. It was a strange look – one which made him seem distant, as though he were in a different world. And, occasionally, the wind would breeze by, caressing his freshly dyed blond locks as it did. The sunlight would glint off his gold-rimmed glasses as he quietly shifted his attention to the board, offering him a smile of encouragement once he’d checked his answers.
He was beautiful then. He must be beautiful now.
Sometimes, Younghyun would be the one to break that spell – to tap him on the shoulder to bring him back to reality. And Jae, pink-cheeked for reasons which he never divulged to him, would offer him a sweet smile of gratitude and squeeze his hand before returning to his worksheet.
He’d loved him throughout high school.
It almost feels like yesterday that they were sprinting toward Jae’s house, eager to have some time to themselves before Jae’s mother got back. Jae’s house, painted in a shade that was neither fully pink nor red, and his house, painted in browns.
What must Jae be doing now?
He folds his arms over his chest, uttering a quiet sigh of defeat. He’d never written to him despite promising that he would. He’d always put it off, not because he didn’t care but because he cared too much. So much that he was afraid of saying something he’d regret. So much that he was afraid they’d drift apart. But now that it’s come to this, he wonders if saying anything would’ve made a difference.
Jae’s probably living elsewhere with a family of his own. He’s probably singing his kids to sleep while Younghyun’s still in the past, clawing at his memories, desperate to keep them – to keep him close.
What if I pay him a visit?
He forces the thought away. They’re nothing more than ghosts in each other’s pasts now – they’re meant to be buried with all of the baggage they’d borne as kids. So he walks out of his old school, and he slides his key into the ignition slot once more. He drives to his last destination.
He kills the engine by the old lake. The fiery oranges of the sky have long since metamorphosed into darker shades of blue, and if he were to squint for a while, then perhaps he’d see the stars peering out from behind the veiled clouds.
Pocketing his keys with a sigh, he heaves himself out of the truck. A part of him doesn’t want to be here, and the other part of him, which he’s stored away with his feelings, comes alive at the sight of the overgrown field. The grass is soft under his shoes; it presses itself against the earth with every step he takes. It smells like petrichor here, with fireflies taking to the skies and lighting up the path ahead of him with an unsteady glow.
The path ahead of him, which leads to him.
“Looking for someone, old-timer?”
He’s seated on the grass, leaning against the tree they’d lean on when they were teenagers with big dreams for the future. His glasses are askew, and his brown hair is a little longer than what Younghyun is accustomed to, but he looks the same as ever. Perhaps even more beautiful than he was before, with his features made a little sharper with the experience that comes with age. But he looks at him with a quiet gaze, offering him a knowing smile which somehow tells Younghyun that he’d known all along. That Younghyun would come back.
“Jae?” Younghyun asks, his voice dropping to a low whisper. He almost reaches out for him – to touch him and to make sure that this isn’t all a dream, but he holds himself back. Because if this is an illusion, he wants to make it last.
“Younghyun.”
He bites back a gasp at the way he calls out his name. Because the raw tenderness in his voice mirrors the fondness in his eyes. “You’re really here?”
Jae rises to his feet, offering him a carefree grin once he sees the look on his face. “Was I able to surprise the Young K?”
“You— You know who I am?”
Jae nods, breaching the distance between the two of them until they’re facing each other – until they’re both so close that their bodies are touching, sharing their heat. “I’d recognize you anywhere, and I see you haven’t lost your spunk,” he jokes, embracing him tightly. “Still, don’t they teach idols better manners? Maybe I should complain to your boss.”
The lightness of his tone is soon replaced with a quiet sob, and it tells Younghyun all he needs to know. So he holds him close, combing his hands through Jae’s hair as he cries, as he muffles his gasps against his maroon sweater.
“I really must be dreaming.”
Jae doesn’t answer, but his grip around Younghyun tightens. It’s enough to make Younghyun kneel, lowering their bodies to the ground until they’re cushioned by the soft grass. Curiosity has him sniffing at the frayed edges of Jae’s worn cardigan. He smells just like he used to – like vanilla, comfort, and that feeling of coming home to a loved one.
It’s only when he manages to pry Jae away from his shoulder that he gets a good look at him, at how much he’s changed. His eyes, though glistening with tears, are somehow twinkling with delight, and his skin’s a little tan now. He’s more beautiful than he remembers, so he cups his cheeks and asks, “Are you sure this isn’t a dream?”
“God, it isn’t,” Jae whispers, leaning closer to kiss the corners of Younghyun’s eyelids. That’s when Younghyun realizes that he’s crying too. “But I feel so, so happy, that I’m scared this isn’t real,” he continues, pressing his lips on Younghyun’s forehead. “I’m scared that if I let go, you’ll say goodbye to me like you did before. And that’ll be the last I ever hear from you.”
“Wait, Jae. I’ve been meaning to ask – how’s your family? How’s your wife?”
And all at once, the spell binding the two of them together is broken. Jae abruptly jolts away from his hold to give him an incredulous look. “My wife?” he parrots, looking mortified. “I have a wife? Me?! Younghyun, I oughta—”
He snickers at him in response. “I’m kidding. I’m kidding! But, I can’t lie, I’m a little surprised.”
“Why?”
“It’s just surprising to hear that someone so beautiful as yourself isn’t taken.”
Jae furrows his brows then, eyeing him with a look of genuine confusion. “But, I never said I wasn’t taken?”
Younghyun chokes on air, feeling as though the wind has been knocked out of his lungs. “Jae, shit. I’m so, so sorry. Go back—”
“I’m taken by an idiot who doesn’t even know that I’ve been in love with him for the past eighteen years.”
“You—”
“Yes, Kang Younghyun,” Jae mutters, puffing out an exasperated breath. “I’m in love with you.”
“You’ve been in love with me?! All this time?”
Jae scrubs his hands across his face before placing his palms on Younghyun’s cheeks. “Aren’t you supposed to do something romantic now? I just confessed to you.”
“Something romantic? Like what?” he asks, opting to tease him for a while before giving them both what they want.
“Aren’t you supposed to kiss me? Like in the movies?”
Younghyun rolls his eyes fondly, unable to ignore the warmth which spreads in his chest at the knowledge of loving and being loved in return. “Do I look predictable to you?”
Jae pouts. “So you’re not gonna kiss— mmph!”
He cuts him off there, pressing his lips over his in a kiss that’s both chaste and mild, soft and sweet. He pours his heart and soul into their first kiss, hoping that it’ll somehow convey even a fraction of the adoration he feels for him. And, when he pulls away, Jae can only stare at him, wonder parting his lips and widening his eyes in a look of innocent surprise.
“Isn’t it more romantic when it’s done that way?” Younghyun whispers, his voice raw with emotion as he caresses Jae’s cheek.
All it takes is a few seconds for Jae to recover – a few seconds for his fingertips to rest at the back of Younghyun’s neck, pulling him closer as he kisses him more fervently than before. And he doesn’t let go, not until Younghyun’s the one pulling apart for them to catch their breath, both panting and pink-cheeked.
“You always have to have the last say, huh?”
“But you love me for it, don’t you?”
“Shut up. I want a divorce.”
“We’re not even married,” Younghyun huffs, folding his arms in disbelief.
“Not yet.” Jae grins, intertwining their fingers as he brings Younghyun’s hand to his mouth. He presses a firm kiss on his knuckles. “Kang Younghyun, I always knew you’d come back to me. Thank you for coming back.”
And Younghyun, with a loving smile, can only shake his head. “Thank you for waiting for me. Park Jaehyung, home is wherever you are.”