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It's hard to see his footing like this, but Dongheon is thankful that the lights are low enough to hide his blush as he stares down at the ground.
“Hyung,” Yeonho is saying to him as he offers Dongheon his hand, Yeonho’s voice barely audible beneath the loud dance music that seems to shake the walls and the floor, the beat pulsing in time with a rainbow of lights. “It’s alright, I’ve got you.”
The year is 1996. Today is their friend Gyehyeon’s birthday and for some reason, their little group of friends had decided to relive some treasured high school memories by throwing a party at the old roller-skating rink that they used to frequent back then, back before they were all too busy for it, back before college and jobs and adult responsibilities, back when they were all just dumb teenagers and life was simple.
“Hyung,” Yeonho repeats, reaching down and taking Dongheon’s hand in his, Dongheon looking up and meeting Yeonho’s big brown eyes, the lights dancing over Yeonho’s cute face and Dongheon’s heart thumping hard in his chest with a particular memory, one that’s been kept quietly tucked away all these years.
Yeonho gives him a sweet smile, then gently tugs Dongheon forward by his hand to roll out onto the rink, Dongheon reluctantly letting go from where he was gripping with white knuckles to the edge of the rink before immediately reaching for Yeonho’s other hand, the two of them facing each other and Yeonho now holding both of Dongheon’s hands like Dongheon is four years old, but Dongheon is too scared to feel embarrassed, too scared that he’ll slip and fall right to the floor that, despite how pretty it glows under the lights, looks positively unforgiving.
The rink isn’t exactly at full capacity tonight, but there are plenty of witnesses as Yeonho slowly leads Dongheon forward while himself skating backwards. In particular, two of their friends, Minchan and Yongseung, and the birthday boy himself soon approach, slowing down to snicker and whistle as they pass by and continue on, Yeonho admonishing them with laughter while Dongheon clutches hard to Yeonho’s hands and just tries to stay on his feet, his face so hot it feels like it’s on fire.
Yeonho turns back to him, their eyes meeting again, and Dongheon has another vision of that same night when Yeonho was fifteen and Dongheon was seventeen and their friend group was here just like this. Dongheon had been able to skate just fine on his own by that point, but Yeonho had insisted that Dongheon hold on to him anyway, just in case, and Dongheon remembers how he had rolled his eyes and complained while clutching onto Yeonho’s arm, but he also remembers the same warmth and comfort that he feels now.
The two of them continue skating in the same ridiculous position, slow and careful as Dongheon adjusts to the wheels beneath his feet, and it all kind of blends together, the bubblegum pop music, the swirling colors, and Yeonho starting a playful banter between them that Dongheon quickly falls right into rhythm with until they’re both laughing loud and Dongheon remembers the arcade off to the side of the rink. He remembers joking around like this that night as the two of them played games for hours and hours.
They keep skating as Yeonho’s grip on Dongheon’s hands loosens, and Dongheon remembers the two of them sharing a soda with two straws, something so sugary that it made their teeth ache as they talked about college and future plans and watched their friends go for a few final rounds in the rink in the hour or so before closing time.
And now, Yeonho is only holding on to Dongheon’s fingertips, Dongheon mostly skating by himself and his heart fluttering, his skin tingling as he remembers the photobooth right by the exit, and how on that night, he and Yeonho spent their last quarters on a photo strip of the two of them making cute faces that Dongheon still has stored away in one of his notebooks, and he knows Yeonho still has his copy too. They’ve never talked about it, but Dongheon has seen it tucked away in the top drawer of Yeonho’s desk.
That night, in the photobooth, when they had finished taking pictures but didn’t want to leave from behind the curtain just yet, their eyes had met, and Dongheon, caught up in the magic of the moment, in the magic of them, had touched Yeonho’s cheek, and then leaned in to kiss him, softly and sweetly, and Yeonho had kissed back.
But nothing else had ever happened after that. They had shyly pulled apart when they heard their friends shouting for them that they had to leave, and Dongheon remembers looking into Yeonho’s beautiful eyes and feeling some sublime mix of happiness (the happiest he had ever felt) and an intense longing for something that, at the time, seemed impossible, and not because they both didn’t feel it, not because they both didn’t want it, but because they were young and scared and all they thought they could do was to pretend it didn’t happen.
They hadn’t been back to the rink since then, not until tonight, years later, when they just happen to be here, back in the same place with the same friends, and Dongheon feels that same feeling, that same longing just as Yeonho is about to let go of his hands.
And so Dongheon lets one hand go, but not the other, Yeonho chuckling in surprise as Dongheon tightens his grip on the other hand and swivels around to skate with Yeonho side by side, hand in hand, and Dongheon looks ahead, humming along with the music, but he can feel Yeonho staring at him, and he can feel the shine in Yeonho’s eyes as he squeezes his hand tight.
They're older now, things have changed, and maybe now, it’s possible.