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The café is modern and chic. It is decorated with tasteful, bright furniture and funky light fixtures. Soft music hums from the speakers and the light of a summer’s evening filters in through the glass-paned windows.
It’s not the sort of place that is aesthetically congruent to awkward meetings.
Jisung is sweating already despite the air conditioning. He sweats while he is nervous and he’s not nervous per se, but it’s hot, and he’s tense, but also wildly excited and…yeah. He exhales and rubs his palms on his knees. Though not soothing, it does act as a distraction because Jisung finds an unnoticed stain.
His phone beeps, grabbing his attention away from the errant stain. It’s a text from Minho stating that he’s about five minutes away. Jisung’s heart jumps first and then his right knee. The napkin holder wobbles on the table but withstands the sudden movement. Jisung taps a syncopated beat on the arm of his chair. He wishes he’d chosen the seat that faces the door but it’s too late for that now. So, he cranes his neck and watches the door.
It’s a bit embarrassing to be gawking like this but the café is only half full and all the employees are staring at the cash register for some reason. The buried flickers of excitement are a roaring rush now.
He misses Minho’s entry by the seconds he loses to turning away and massaging the crick on his neck. It’s the clatter of the closing door that grabs Jisung’s attention, makes him leap to his feet.
A tense pause follows as Minho traverses the distance between the door and the table. Jisung’s smile is uncontrollable and wild. He bounces on his feet as he waits for Minho to come closer, the closest he has been in a year.
Then Minho is close. But nowJisung is assailed by doubts of whether he’s supposed to hug him or not. “Hi, hyung,” he says just as Minho takes the remaining two three steps, “I’m – woah! Okay,” his words are muffled against Minho’s shoulder. “Missed you,” he whispers instead, words collapsing to smoke.
It’s different. That’s what strikes him first and lingers as Minho divests himself of his ID card, backpack and jacket before settling opposite Jisung. The hug is different because Minho has changed his perfume and they’re both taller and broader which has changed the mechanics of the hug. Different. Hugs are kind of like a fingerprint of a relationship, aren’t they? It’s weird to notice that it is not the same as he remembers.
It prickles at Jisung for some reason even if he makes one-half of the change himself.
“I can’t believe I’m finally seeing you,” Minho says, playing with his fingers. A nervous gesture but he is beaming too. “Not that there’s anything different about your face though. It’s just as bad as it was during video calls with your shitty Wi-Fi connection.”
It's reflex to kick Minho's ankle in retaliation. Minho yelps and then his gaze darts towards the register. He hunches his shoulder, his ears tinged red. Jisung snickers, and the tension dissipates.
“I’m glad to see your ugly face too,” says Jisung.
───────
The T.V. was playing a rerun of a baseball match. Sunlight slanted through the blinds on Minho’s windows, bestowed stripes of light on the cats’ fur, and pooled its heat on Jisung’s toes. The baseball players were shadowed by the light, and the commentary drowned under the sound of Jisung’s sniffles.
Jisung was not crying. He was just... clearing his throat a little. Sure, it was all clogged up and his nose wouldn’t stop running, but that was because of allergies or something.
“Hannie, don’t cry.” Minho’s voice was as shaky with laughter as it was heavy with affection. There was also a wetness to it that wasn’t there a few moments back. “I’ll come back during the break, yeah?”
Jisung fought his way out of Minho’s hug. “Shut up! I’m not crying. It’s because you’re crying,” he sobbed, clutching Minho’s arms even as he wriggled with all his might. “Shut up!”
Minho was laughing, one of his hiccuping, uncontrollable ones that all made him look like he’ll never know sadness again. “You’re a mess! Listen,” he wrapped a hand around Jisung’s shoulder and patted him, “we’ll text every day, okay? And I’ll tell you all that you need to know when you come to college.”
Time stretched like a dessert before Jisung’s eyes. The days were like grains of sand. Jisung was suddenly, irrepressibly terrified. He tried not to let it show as he said, “I know. But… hyung. I’ll miss you so much.”
Minho hummed as he pinched Jisung’s cheek. “I’ll miss you too. But, we live in the 21st century, Hannie. I’m never not gonna be a part of your life, idiot. Why’re you crying as if I’ll forget you?”
His parents weren’t in touch with any of their school and college friends. Jisung was only seventeen, but he knew that Minho’s world was expanding and that there was a high chance he’ll be pushed to the corners to accommodate for newer, shinier things. It was only natural after all. It happened to everyone.
“You’ll text me every day?” he croaked instead, burrowing closer to Minho and wiping his nose on the soft fabric of his shirt. “You won’t replace me as your best friend?”
Minho slapped his thigh with his free hand but didn't let him go. “Yes and never. And anyway even if I forget; I’m sure you’ll make sure that I won’t ever hear the end of it.”
Jisung laughed, but it was strained. Things will change and neither his character nor Minho’s promise could halt its creep all that much. “Yeah. You’ll never hear the end of it.”
“Now stop crying,” Minho chided, dropping his hand. He stood up and stretched. “You’re coming to see me off, right?”
Jisung nodded, wiping his eyes with his sleeve. The game they were watching before Jisung’s impromptu waterworks session continued unabated behind Minho’s back. His team was losing. “Of course.”
───────
Their conversation is a little stilted. Okay, a lot. There’s a lot of rust to be scraped off considering that they hadn’t spoken in months. Intermittent texting didn’t oil the wheels of a friendship all that well for Jisung, it turns out.
It also doesn’t help that they’re short on time.
“I wish I could stay longer,” Minho is saying, brows and mouth slanted apologetically. “But I have so much to do after getting back.” He pats his bag. “I think I’ll have to work on it while traveling back also.”
Jisung’s nod is rueful and sympathetic. “I’m in the same boat, hyung. He twiddles the straw that’s stuck into his milkshake like a peace flag. “Except for the traveling bit! But – yeah.” He shakes his head. “I have a lot of assignments that are due soon too.”
Minho taps his nails against his glass. The clink of glass is lost to a burst of hooting laughter from a table near the door. “College, huh?”
There’s a short, commiserating silence.
───────
Once, Jisung went to visit Minho who had come back for his break.
Things didn't go according to plan. When Jisung arrived, Minho was drunk after an outing with friends.
It wasn’t Minho’s fault, Jisung knew. He was the one who had turned up unannounced. They’d had sporadic conversations about meeting up when they both had time and Jisung had just…assumed. It did make sense that Minho would also want to meet his same-aged friends. It was just bad timing.
“It’s okay,” Jisung said with only a longing glance or two at Minho’s video game setup. “I’ll… uh. We can just talk.”
Laughing, Minho sat on the floor and grinned. “Sure. If you give me some time then I’ll sober and up and we can play and all,” he said.
“It’s late, hyung,” Jisung grimaced, “I kinda have – well I do have school and then cram school…”
“One day you’ll be free of your timetable and curfews,” interrupted Minho, still smiling. “Then you’ll be able to have fun.”
Jisung bristled but didn't say anything. He had come straight to Minho’s place after cram school, and he was tired. Tired enough to be selfish and take it the wrong way and not give him the benefit of doubt. He didn’t want to feel small and boring at nine in the night. “Maybe, next year I’ll join you on the floor,” he muttered as he went to Minho’s room to undress.
By the time Jisung had changed, washed his face, finished the last of his homework, and triple-checked if he had missed any homework, Minho was twenty minutes into a movie that he was watching with unseeing eyes. Jisung sat next to him. What else could he do?
The next day Minho took him to a café for breakfast and regaled Jisung with college stories. He was doing well. Very well. He loved it, he said, there was more freedom to explore and find out who you are beyond the musty walls of classrooms and cram schools.
“Becoming a full-fledged person is only possible after school, I think,” he added, sipping his coffee. “School’s fun and all but you can’t explore much, you know?”
He was holding himself still, Jisung noticed, maybe to avoid aggravating his headache. The inaction, however, created a distance. It was probably Jisung’s imagination. Yet, Minho’s words referred to things that Jisung couldn’t relate to and his stiffness seemed patronizing.
Or maybe, Jisung was trying to find in Minho the reason for the weight in the pit of his stomach. A weight that was nameless not because it was unknown but because names meant tangibility. Most of all, names meant awareness.
“I’ll see it for myself soon,” Jisung said instead, going for excitement and finding the sopping dregs of fear instead. He stared into the depths of his coffee. “Maybe I’ll finally become someone other than the guy who doesn’t understand the standard model of physics.”
Minho snorted. “You have such big aspirations, Hannie!”
“They’re the only ones I have,” Jisung agreed, glumly.
───────
Small talk propels them to conversation. They begin with the usual stuff: parents, siblings, pets, the big things.
Jisung says, “so then we decided that we all collectively need a break. My friend said he knows someone – a family friend? cousin? – who has this small cottage. So, we’re planning to go there and forget about this semester.”
“You deserve it. Your coursework sounds like hell,” Minho shakes his head. “Will you be coming back home after your vacation?”
“Maybe,” Jisung shrugs, then rubs the back of his neck. His hair is getting longer. It’s the longest it has been since school. “Depends on whether I get an internship or not.”
Minho rests his elbows on the table and cradles his chin on his steepled fingers. “I’m coming back this time. So, if you’re also there then we can meet and spend some time together.”
“That’d be great!” Jisung grins but it flickers. “It’s been so long since we’ve actually hung out, isn’t it?”
That is the rub of it, Jisung thinks, watching Minho’s smile dim. They’re in different colleges and far away from each other. Their hectic schedule spills over vacations as well with internships and volunteering eating up their time. Minho usually comes back only for the last few weeks of his holidays, busy as he is. And –
Jisung swallows. It’s just a little bit harder to reach out the more time they spend apart. The distance looms and presses and it always feels like he should wait for a time when he’s not so busy, not so tired, not so preoccupied with stuff, and can devote all his attention to Minho.
The condensation from his glass pool on the table; the ice cream on top of the milkshake is beginning to melt. Jisung hides behind the action of taking a sip.
Minho fills the silence. “We never knew how much time we had back then, did we? All those days at the arcades and at my house playing games. Everything seemed endless.”
It hadn’t to Jisung. He’d known. The thing is, he’s fallen prey to the same thing he had once feared. He has taken the worn-down, rutted path that approximately eighty percent of adults took as they grew older. Falling out of touch and doing nothing – not realizing that sand was slipping from their fingers until only grains stuck to the skin and itched at odd moments.
“We were children then,” replies Jisung, looking at Minho head-on and keeping his gaze steady. His face has matured so much. “But… things change, right? Maybe – uh.” He scratches his brow, a little overwhelmed by the knot in his throat. “Maybe we looked at our friendship the way children do.”
“Do you mean that we thought we’ll be friends forever?”
Silence. Minho’s question reverberates in the air like the aftermath of a beaten gong. “Yes,” Jisung says, softly.
───────
The first week of college was hell. Jisung spent a lot of time fighting back tears, or frustration, or an overwhelming wave of helplessness that drowned him as the professors rattled information and expectations.
Minho guided him through it, sent him cheery memes, and texted him every night. Asked him how his day went, threatened to beat up that senior who snapped at Jisung for bumping into him, told him how easy things will be eventually.
“Once you get into the flow of things, it’ll be so easy, Jisung, don’t worry,” Minho said over the phone. He sounded exhausted and Jisung could hear the click of a keyboard in the background. “You’ll just have to hang in until then.”
Jisung simultaneously felt like a child entitled to comfort, and like an adult who needed to suck it up. He was near the stairwell because his roommate was kind and Jisung feared that a pity-fueled invitation was imminent any day. If he overheard Jisung cribbing to Minho then he might get the invitation today itself. He wanted and didn’t want the invitation at the same time. He also wanted to drop out and go back home.
“When will that day come when I’m used to everything?” Jisung asked, rubbing his eyes, “I’m - I know I’m being a baby, but it’s too much, hyung. Was it like this for you too?”
Minho made a soothing sound. “It’s like that for everyone, Hannie. You’re basically uprooting your life and starting a new stage of your life, right?”
“Yes,” Jisung whimpered. He tried to slow his breathing so that he didn’t choke on a sob.
“But you have your family,” Minho continued, still in that soothing, steady voice, “and you have me. We’re here for you, Sungie. You’re not alone there, you have our support. You’ve got this, Hannie! It’s just a matter of time.”
“I smelled this hoodie that I’d never worn till now and nearly cried because it smelled like home,” Jisung said, drily. “I don’t think I got this.”
Minho’s laughter was familiar and knocked against the dark wall of Jisung’s mood, pushed it back. It was a splash of color; the lights in his home’s window.
“You’re so adorable sometimes,” Minho said, voice lilting. The weight of fondness was palpable. The drab walls of Jisung’s dormitory took a hue of warmth. “Just wait and see, you'll be the it-boy on campus in no time.”
“I think my roommate will give me solid competition,” Jisung laughed, then hesitated. “It’s – it’s normal right? The way I feel?”
Static washed over the line as Minho chuckled again. “Jisung, you know that I cried to you every night. Then, I was too tired to cry. A few months later, I had friends to cry with. Then I was a cocky second year who didn’t give a damn.”
“I want to fast-forward to the cocky second-year stage,” Jisung murmured, picking at his brow. “I – thanks, hyung. I didn’t mean to… just become a waterfall of complaints.”
“Shut up,” came the immediate reply. Then, “I’m here for you, Sungie,” said so kindly, so gently that the sob that Jisung had successfully choked back tickled his throat again.
“Thanks, hyung,” Jisung managed to say without any embarrassing cracks or shakiness. “You should sleep now.”
“Text me tomorrow.”
“Will do.”
───────
“I’ve been really busy and yeah…” Minho's ears are pink and even though his gaze is steady, there’s a waver there too. Maybe he hadn’t expected the sudden change in mood. He breaks eye contact and fiddles with his mug.
Perhaps Jisung is saying all the wrong things. He’s stepping on toes; he’s putting his foot in his mouth. This is supposed to be a chill meet-up and here goes Jisung making doomsday-esque pronouncements. But this situation itself is wrong, isn’t it? There’s a distance that shouldn’t have existed.
Two people when split by space and distance, find that time is the hook that keeps them together. But it isn’t time itself of course; it has long passed. It is the memories that keep them together because what is memory if not an impression of time?
Jisung knows Minho’s favorite bands and singers, the food he loves the most, his dreams, and his fears. But he doesn’t know the new music that Minho has discovered in the weeks they go without talking, the food that he has changed his mind about, and those small, private dreams that are knocked down or built up, the fears that have been overcome in the months between their rare video calls.
What if there are only memories to hold on to one day? What if Jisung has to scroll and scroll down his texting app to find Minho and finds a timestamp going back years? What if he becomes a stranger to him and finds that the Minho he remembers is nothing like the Minho who exists in a place that he doesn’t know?
“This…” Minho clears his throat. “This is… I guess we’ll have to make more time.”
Their time together is already burning from two ends. Minho has to leave within the next half an hour or he’ll miss his bus. There’s traffic to account for. The roads are moody, and all traffic lights are untrustworthy. They’re fair-weather friends and nothing else.
“So many things get in the way. I feel like I have no time at all,” Minho says. His eyes are creased and heavy. “Can you believe that three years have already passed like this?”
Jisung can. It is impossible not to. Not when Minho looks so different, not when his hair is not in that horrid style he’d favored as a teenager. And especially not when he sees the university sweatshirt Minho’s wearing. His Minho hyung’s a busy college student now, and no longer a high school senior who took Jisung under his wing.
“I wish we could meet more often,” Jisung murmurs, too afraid to voice the things that he had thought. “It’s been too long, hyung.”
Minho nods. “I really wish I could talk to you more, but I come home late and just fall asleep.” He scowls at his drink before glancing at Jisung with a helpless furrow to his brows. “But I’ll have to try harder, right? We’ve been friends for so long.”
Jisung knows. He does the same. “Life does gets in the way,” Jisung shrugs, giving up on his coffee and instead spearing his cake. “And I think… catching up is scary sometimes.”
His roommate tells him that ‘catch up’ is a phrase that builds a fence around people. It is too burdensome, too frightening. I don’t want to know all that I’ve missed, but I also want you to know that you have a place in my life. I just don’t want to know that I’ve missed a lot.
Jisung clears his throat. His eyes are burning. “But we should do it anyway. I’ve missed you, hyung.”
Minho’s nose twitches and he smiles. “I miss you a lot,” his voice dips lower, “I just wish… things were the same as before for just a while. When we could talk every day.”
They wouldn’t ever be the same. How could they be when they’re four years older? Minho seems to realize it too. His face crumples and he sighs. “Or maybe we should make these,” he waves a hand around, encompassing the walls of the café, “meetings a regular thing. Meet once a month or something, you know?”
“Or do weekly texts like we used to do,” Jisung offers. Is this what people do when they find that they too have started drifting from their promises? Realize that there is a gradual absence of action. A slow creep of complacency. “Just… anything that we can manage with our schedules.”
“We should,” nods Minho. “I don’t want us to be like our parents and their friends, I guess,” he grimaces. He reaches out with his hand and pats Jisung’s arm. “I don’t… I don’t want us to become strangers.”
It’s the golden hour now, Jisung notices. Thick, bright light floods inside the café from the windows, burnishing everything in its vicinity. Minho will have to leave soon. “We won’t.” Jisung shifts his arm till he is holding Minho’s hand. It’s cold with the milkshake that he’s been holding but as soft as it always is. “Not if we make some effort.”
Minho squeezes Jisung’s fingers. “Yes.”
There’s a moment of silence. Jisung wonders if Minho is replaying the same memories in his mind. Of another time and two teenagers making a similar promise. Teenagers who grew up to be the ones sitting in an expensive café, bookending the near breakage of that old promise.
───────
“I think we’re blocking the way, hyung,” Jisung laughs even though he refuses to let Minho go too. He inhales and the breath catches in his throat. Minho is always so warm to hug. The rest of the mechanics of their hugs may be different but the warmth isn’t.
“Let them watch our moment,” Minho mumbles though he does step away. “Maybe they’ll learn something from us.”
Fiddling with the strap of his backpack, Jisung shuffles backward. “You should leave, hyung. I think you’re running late.” He can’t believe that they have to split ways already. Sand slipping through his hand.
“Yeah,” Minho sighs, patting Jisung’s chin. “I should.” He looks torn but then his gaze flickers to his wristwatch. “I’ll see you then.”
Jisung’s eyes still feel hot. “Of course.”
“Text me?”
“I will.”
Minho waves and leaves the shade of the awning. The streets are swelling with the office crowd and they rush him ahead. He turns a corner before Jisung can blink twice.
He takes out his phone. I miss you already, he types, sending it off before he starts to cringe. His second message is: any good music that you’ve listened to lately?
What he means to say is: let’s go a long way together. Let’s keep our promise.
He pockets his phone and walks away from the café.
End.