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iv

Kyungsoo sheds his leather jacket and puts on an apron.

It's summer again. Jongin is in front by the cash register, a crooked smile in place. Kyungsoo hears him say, “Good day! Table for how many?” and “This way, please.”

Kyungsoo checks the miso broth as he remembers the hustle and bustle of the kitchen in the previous year. He remembers feeling out of place as everyone worked through the orders as fast as they could, and the apron Jongin gave him was three sizes too large—it looked awfully silly on him as he chopped stalks of onion spring into tiny bits. He remembers the things Jongin told him, a small peek inside his world. 

A story Jongin bravely plucked out from his heart. A story that led Kyungsoo to help out in a ramen shop every summer.

“Kyungsoo hyung!” Jongin waves through the window, fishing out a lime green sticky note from his breast pocket and passing it to him. “It's Minseok hyung! He wants a Santouka. Oh, and one order of the special gyoza, thanks!”

Jongin slides back to his spot as Kyungsoo nods. He takes out the gyoza to steam and begins preparing one bowl of ramen. 

Nothing much has changed. It's the same boiler, the same stove, the same ladle that Kyungsoo had used. All the people he worked with last summer are still here, with the addition of Donghae, Jongin's cousin, who started helping out when the shop was at its busiest during the summer festival. Even the dirty brown grease stain Kyungsoo never managed to remove is still there, along with the sign that goes ‘All employees must wash their hands!’ printed on laminated paper.

The first difference is that Kyungsoo is in his third year, while Jongin is in his second.

Jongin's head pops out of the window again, a messy mop of dark brown hair. “One shoyu ramen,” he says, eyes sparkling. “Thanks, hyung!” And he vanishes once more.

Jongin is much more handsome than last summer. That’s the second difference.

i

They first met at the school grounds during one of the laziest days of Kyungsoo’s sophomore year. The start of the term had just begun so there wasn’t much to do and fuss over, and Kyungsoo had been fiddling with a Zippo he bought last Christmas on the campus fields. His bag held only one notebook and a pen, and it was splayed on top of the freshly cut grass, a black jumble between his legs.

Jongin had been very shy when he asked Kyungsoo, “Umm, hello. May I sit here?”

Kyungsoo shrugged in response. The boy looked tremendously relieved as he brought out his packed lunch and started picking out bits of shrimp and green peas from his rice with his chopsticks. He didn't utter a single word. Unlike the rest of the people who sputtered random words to make some semblance of a conversation, the boy seemed to find the silence bearable.

It was mostly out of curiosity regarding the quiet, freshman boy that Kyungsoo lit his cigarette. He dragged as much as he can, inhaling deep, then wheezed out thick puffs of gray smoke, most of which floated to Jongin's direction.

Kyungsoo waited. Jongin didn't yell, or curse, or stand up and leave with his nose up in the air. 

As he expected, the younger ignored him, eating his lunch peacefully as if the sophomore didn't exist. The only thing that betrayed his apparent indifference was that he kept on holding his breath, observable by the way his shoulders were bent back, stiff and uncomfortable. 

Kyungsoo smirked as he let the cigarette dangle between his fingers, proud to have figured out the freshman very quickly.

But there was more to Jongin than meets the eye, as Kyungsoo learned a week after. 

His leather jacket was hung to dry across a steel pole behind the bleachers, where he smoked a pack empty. Jongin had sought him out during his lunch break, and there he stood, holding out a brown paper bag with his head bowed down. 

Kyungsoo furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, and after a moment’s hesitation he took it in his hands and shook the bag empty to reveal its contents.

“I saw you having a hard time the other day, when we were having our gym class,” Jongin had said, still looking away from him as the older boy gaped at a pack of nicotine patches that landed squarely on his lap. 

Kyungsoo remembered coughing a lot during the relay run that Thursday, and in the end, the teacher had instructed him to sit in the benches for the rest of the hour. 

“And yesterday I had an errand to run,” Jongin gulped. “And I passed by a drugstore, so I thought—umm.”

Kyungsoo felt his ears ringing. He rearranged his features to form a blank stare. “What's your name?”

“Kim Jongin,” he responded promptly, head bowed and hands cupped together like a child in prayer.

Kyungsoo felt a strange cross between guilt and frustration, though he didn’t know why. 

“Say, you’re from class 1-D, right?” That at least he could guess, since first, second and third years from all the same sections shared a single gym class; it’s a small school of a small town, and the lack of equipment had been exemplified by the ratio of fifty-eight students per basketball hoop.

Jongin nodded, daring to look at him from the fringes of his hair.

“You really didn’t have to but… thanks, Jongin-ssi. I’m— uh. Um,” Kyungsoo had no idea what to say anymore; he let the sentence die there.

That was the first time Kyungsoo saw Jongin smile, the corners of his lips curving up in apparent delight, and it did a small tug on Kyungsoo’s heart.

ii

Jongin must have thought that Kyungsoo’s acceptance of his small gift had signified some sense of amity; from then on he sat with him during their gym class and shared lunch breaks.

Sometimes Baekhyun, a flighty second year who’s also coincidentally Kyungsoo’s best (and only) friend, would tag along and harass him in front of the freshman. During their first meeting, Baekhyun had proudly declared that he had once been the only person in the whole world who had the guts to talk to Do Kyungsoo regardless of his ruffian appearance and cold demeanor. 

“Kyungsoo is a sour old man in an eighteen-year-old body,” Baekhyun told Jongin conspiratorially as the trio ate their lunch together. “He walks to school, and he smokes so chronically that he smells like a rubber factory sometimes. And oh, he enjoys staying indoors and playing crossword puzzles and Sudoku every Sunday morning. I’m afraid he’ll wind up fossilized under a farm of peat moss someday. Please take care of him for me, Jongin-ah.”

Kyungsoo blindly punched Baekhyun in response, and Jongin laughed out loud at his hyungs’ antics. “Don’t worry, Baekhyun hyung. I will.”

For some reason Kyungsoo could not comprehend, Jongin enjoyed Baekhyun’s company a lot, so Kyungsoo lets him jump in without much complaint.

All in all, there wasn’t much to say about his relationship with Kim Jongin. Not really talking, but not really ignoring each other either—if Kyungsoo could be bothered to describe it, it’s an unusual sense of camaraderie that took comfort in each other’s existence. Under the shade of a sycamore tree, Jongin would be hunched over reading a mystery novel while Kyungsoo would be staring off to outer space, absent-mindedly scratching the sore spot on his patch.

“Uhh, I saw your name on the list, hyung. Congrats.”

Kyungsoo didn’t expect him to break the silence that day, so he ripped his gaze from the canary resting on a tree branch and turned to Jongin, who flushed a deep red at the sudden attention.

“You must be really smart,” Jongin continued with honest reverence, and Kyungsoo finally realized that he was talking about the class ranking list. 

The older shook his head meaningfully. If there was anyone in the world who should be acknowledged for his academic achievements, it was his brother Seungsoo, who had graduated as class valedictorian and held the much-coveted student mayor position five years before. Bright and bubbly Seungsoo had been a hero for being one of the few to escape the sleepy town of Jeungpyeong, and consequently landed a seat in the local government. Kyungsoo’s straight A’s and acerbic personality could only hope to compete.

“How about you? I heard you’re some sort of prince in the shopping district,” Kyungsoo said, referring to a tidbit Baekhyun had happily divulged to him during their homeroom earlier. His friend is usually a pot of trivial information, but Kyungsoo supposed he has his uses. “You’re family owns something there?”

Jongin nodded. “We have a ramen shop nearby. It’s not that great, but my family’s been running it for a while now.”

Kyungsoo only hummed in response. And he remembered, quite suddenly, the item he had inside his bag. He took out the small Tupperware carefully wrapped in vinyl cloth, and handed it to Jongin.

“My payment for the patches,” Kyungsoo stated, scratching the tip of his nose. He watched as Jongin slowly removed the knot and uncovered the plastic container. Jongin pored over the pork cutlets and fried rice, and his eyebrows comically leapt over his forehead. “There’re no scallions in this. How did you—”

“I noticed,” Kyungsoo admitted quite grudgingly. “You don’t like any greens on your rice, right? Or seafood?”

“Wow.” His tone was still dumbfounded as he took a bite. “Hyung!” Jongin then exclaims. “This tastes amazing! Did you make all this?”

“Yes.”

“Wow,” Jongin said again, holding a cutlet piece between his chopsticks. He then took another spoonful of rice and moaned, the glint in his eyes nothing less than brilliant. “Do you want to be a chef when you grow up? Seriously, this is delicious!”

Kyungsoo decided to ignore the praise. “Don’t talk when your mouth is still full,” he murmured.

And Kyungsoo supposed that’s when it all started.

iii

The phone rang five times before Kyungsoo, hair exploding in different angles, crawled out of his favorite blue blanket and picked up. “Hello?” he half-said, half-groaned.

“Ahh, Kyungsoo hyung?”

“Oh.” Kyungsoo had initially thought it was his brother calling from some far-off conference in Europe. It was five in the morning, so he wasn’t expecting Jongin to be on the other line. “It’s you. Is everything all right?”

“Yes. Umm—I mean, no, hyung.” Kyungsoo heard him rake in a deep breath. "Were you sleeping just now? Oh, right. Stupid question. Of course you were. I'm very sorry for intruding. I know it's summer break—”

“What is it exactly?” he cut in, a little bit exasperated. Jongin always apologized first before asking for anything.

“Do you have any plans this summer?”

“Not really,” Kyungsoo responded. His brother would be home in a few days from the conference, and Kyungsoo was supposed to pick him up at the bus station, not that he's exactly looking forward to it. Besides that though, there's nothing else. “Why?”

“Can you cook for me?”

There was silence on the other line. 

Kyungsoo blinked twice. “I don't think I'm quite following you,” he said finally.

“Our shop needs some extra hands. It's summer and it's our busiest season,” Jongin explained. “Most of the helpers are in university now, and we only have two cooks left. And I know you cook very well so I'd—we'd be really grateful if you'd help, hyung.”

“You want me to go all the way to the shopping district today? To cook ramen?”

“Not only ramen. But erm, basically, yes.”

Kyungsoo bit his lip. “You know this is different, right? I've only cooked for you, Jongin.”

“You still will, hyung. But am I— I mean, is it too burdensome?”

Kyungsoo started scratching his head while dragging out a heavy sigh. “No, Jongin.” You're not.

v

Baekhyun is already at the foot of their tree when Kyungsoo arrives. It’s the start of another school year, and the clumps of grass are damp from all the raining that comes every September. The thick cloth of his jacket is not enough to hamper the cold; Kyungsoo almost misses the heat of the kitchen every summer back at ramen shop, and the warmth of Jasmine green tea Jongin always brews after a hard day’s work.

“You’re cutting class again,” Baekhyun laughs idly, spreading his legs so that all the dry places left in the area are covered. “I’ve always thought you’ve grown soft in the past year, but our Kyungsoo is almost still the same.”

He kicks Baekhyun harshly and plunks himself on the grass, leaning on the hard tree trunk before closing his eyes. “I didn’t come here to smoke.”

“You don’t even have to say anything, Soo. You stopped smoking ever since Jongin came around.” 

“Shut it, Baekhyun. I want to sleep.”

“Oh, and Jongin’s off practising with Sehun for the school’s dance company right now, if you’re interested in his whereabouts.”

“Stop talking about Jongin,” Kyungsoo mumbles, already half a step into slumber. “Or about anything, really. I need a shut eye.”

Baekhyun clamps his mouth shut thereafter, snickering as he turns to the paperback he’s been reading.

So he still wants it after all is Kyungsoo’s last thought before he falls asleep.

vi

Kyungsoo dreams about Jongin.

He’s eighteen once again, and pillows of smoke had started checkering on the glass panels of the window. The shop was almost empty except for the both of them and a scalding pot of tea ready to cool in the midst of the dull ache of the afternoon. The light from outside had a yellow-orange tint, a scenic combination from the setting sun and the only blooming forsythia shrub in the district.

Jongin’s fingers were wrapped around his cup. “I had a lot of fun today,” Jongin told him, grinning. “My parents are out of town, but they want me to send in their thanks.”

Kyungsoo shrugged while he adjusted the cuffs of his jacket. “Don’t mention it. It seemed important.”

“It is,” Jongin answered heavily, and Kyungsoo wondered how much the other boy meant by that. 

“You’re going to be a third year soon.”

“Yeah. Why?”

“Do you already know what you’re going to do after?”

Kyungsoo scratched the side of his ear, murmuring, “Not yet. I’m still waiting for all the cards to fall in my hand so I could decide, if you know what I mean.”

“I don’t know yet either,” Jongin responded, sounding a bit lost. “All my life I’ve dedicated myself to find something that’ll help me in managing the store in future. I still haven’t decided which course to take yet.”

All your life? “I thought you wanted to dance,” Kyungsoo said, confused. If there’s one thing Kyungsoo can claim about the younger boy, it’s how fluid and utterly beautiful Jongin is when he moves, an aesthetic-kinetic masterpiece. They’d known each other for ten months now that they could easily be considered as friends. It threw Kyungsoo off that Jongin would be anything but a dancer.

“Dancing is just a hobby.”

“But you’re very good at it,” Kyungsoo asserted. He could feel his eyebrows twitch uncomfortably. “It can’t just be a hobby.”

“I might dream other dreams,” the other replied. “Even if I go away for a while, maybe to a university in the city, I’d still return to this place. No matter which path I’d take, I’d always end up here, in Jeungpyeong.”

Kyungsoo said nothing, because there really wasn’t anything for him to add. He decided to keep his hands curled firm on his lap.

“But I’m not sad or angry about it or anything, to be honest,” Jongin said, watching the scenery from across the window with a faraway look. “It’s what I was always meant to do. As the son of the Kim family, this is the job I have to fulfill.”

Like a serf tied to his land, Kyungsoo thought. Jongin’s future would always be in this quaint ramen shop far across the tiny town of Jeungpyeong, where the sun always rises an hour too early and sets an hour too late.

“I’m a little worried that I’m not cut for running the business,” Jongin admitted. “I don’t think I have it in me. I’m not good at cooking either, but I’m thinking of going into food industry. What do you think?”

Jongin’s dark brown orbs were heavy and penetrating. “Yeah, maybe” was what Kyungsoo managed to say, turning to look at his cup instead.

“Hyung,” he began. Kyungsoo looked up, but Jongin’s eyes were on his cup, purposely avoiding his gaze. 

Jongin took a long sip of his tea before continuing, “This place… this is my home. The shops are almost rundown and the people are old, and sometimes the slightest drizzle can flood the whole district. I know it’s nothing like what they have in Seoul, and I know this isn’t the best place in the world but… I wanted you to know that this is where I am, and where I’ll always be.”

Then Jongin looked at him, gaze warm and smile soft. His cheeks were forming a blush, his eyes shining light as honey. 

Kyungsoo felt that familiar tug in his heart again, similar to that time Jongin got sick with flu and had his arms wrapped around his waist as Kyungsoo biked as fast as he can to the nearest walk-in clinic—only this time, it’s much, much stronger. 

“Do you want me to—” 

And there it was, the words that haunted Kyungsoo up to this day, the offer that almost slipped out of his tongue without him knowing, without him understanding.

What was he supposed to say? Hey, Jongin. That thing you’ve been worrying about, what if I take care of that for you?

Kyungsoo’s tongue flopped around in his mouth like a fish out of water, rendering him unable to let him say the words he’d been meaning to tell.

“Hyung?”

Kyungsoo shook his head, looking away. “It’s nothing. Never mind.”

vii

“Wake up, Kyungsoo hyung” says the warm voice that breaks through his dream. Kyungsoo lets one eye peek open, and Jongin’s there, sitting way too close to him for the elder to deem it comfortable. He sits up immediately and brushes away the grass that clung to his clothes while he was sleeping.

Jongin laughs and reaches out to touch Kyungsoo’s face. “You still have something on your cheek,” he says, grinning. “Why are you out here, anyway? It’s a gloomy day. Not exactly suitable for sunbathing.”

“I didn’t feel like coming to class,” Kyungsoo replies. He whips his head to the left, then back again. “Where’s Baekhyun?”

Jongin takes a good bite off of his tuna sandwich. “He’s with Sehun. They’re off dilly-dallying in the soccer field, I think. Sehun wants Baekhyun hyung to teach him how to play.”

Kyungsoo nods. Oh Sehun, one of Jongin’s friends in dance class and also a second-year, is a handsome, poker-faced terror of a child and a walking time bomb, much like his favorite hyung Baekhyun. It’s probably one of the reasons why they got along as soon as Jongin introduced them to each other. 

Jongin prods him with his fork. “You should be going in now, hyung. I woke you up because the bell rang. You have Calculus for your next class, right? Wouldn’t want to miss that. I heard Mr. Jang packs a punch.”

“Yeah, yeah. I heard you the first time when you said ‘calculus’.” Kyungsoo gets up in a sloth-like pace, his vision a little groggy but otherwise okay. “Thanks for waking me, Jongin,” he mumbles.

Jongin waves his hand. “I’ll see you later!”

Kyungsoo doesn’t like waving back, but he offers him a small smile.

viii

In the month of December Jongin invites the boys over to his home for Christmas. The cold is wolfish through their fur hats and mittens as Baekhyun, Sehun and Kyungsoo roam around the shopping district. Sehun purchases the latest issue of some shoujo manga Kyungsoo has heard so much about from one of his classmates. It has a strong-looking heroine on the cover, dressed in a quirky outfit that the elders in their town would condone and brandish their walking sticks at.

Kyungsoo wades through a confectionary store. He confirms whether the big custard tarts he’s had his eye on are still on sale, and buys a paper bag full of them. 

“I’ve never been to this side of Jeungpyeong before,” Baekhyun intones, jumping along the snow-crusted road. “Though it’s not exactly pretty right now in the winter, it must be awesome in spring. Or summer. The forsythia must be in full bloom by then.”

Not exactly, Kyungsoo thinks, taking a bite of his tart. His boots dredge out the snow from the path.

As if he could read his mind, Sehun starts, “You should ask Kyungsoo hyung. He’s been helping out Jongin in his ramen shop every summer.”

Mentally groaning, Kyungsoo side-kicks the younger kid. Sehun deftly evades it.

Baekhyun falls silent afterwards, a far-away look on his face. He doesn’t talk until they arrive in Jongin’s house, where he grabs Kyungsoo by the arm and sets him aside by the kitchen counter.

“You fiend. You’ve been holding out on me,” Baekhyun wags his finger, frowning. “I didn’t know you’ve been hanging out with Jongin the whole summer, and I get to learn from Sehun? Of all people?”

“I thought you like Sehun.”

“That’s not the point! If you were any good a friend, you would’ve told me,” Baekhyun huffs. “And I’m disappointed with Jongin too. Something happens between the two of you and I get second-hand info. That’s not fair.”

Kyungsoo rolls his eyes. “We’re not in a warzone, Baekhyun. This is Jeungpyeong, where almost nothing ever happens. And nothing’s going on between Jongin and me. I’m lending him a hand since they’re short on people. I just cook. It’s not really significant.”

“I believe you,” Baekhyun concedes. He lets go of Kyungsoo’s arm. “Except for the part that you said it’s not much. I have to disagree on that, Soo.” And without elaborating any further, Baekhyun leaves the kitchen. Kyungsoo gives out a shaky breath before entering the living room.

The sofa has already been claimed by Sehun, with his feet propped on the arm rest and chewing on one of the tarts Kyungsoo bought, thumbing down black and white pages and flipping to the next scene. Jongin shares a happy grin upon their arrival.

“How’s dance practice coming on, Jongin-ah?” Baekhyun starts the conversation, stealing a fish stick from the plate. “Are we finally going to win against the Myeonsen Cougars this year?”

Jongin shakes his head. “A lot of the best dancers were in the batch that graduated this year, and there’re only seven of us in the company left.”

“We’re only hoping we don’t get shoved back to last place,” Sehun contributes in a drone. “Or beaten up to a pulp. That would also be desirable.”

“If you don’t fix your dancing then we’re going to be. Your timing is always one-quarter of a second off,” Jongin teases.

Sehun briefly pauses from his reading to give Jongin the stink-eye. “We can’t all be Mr. Wonderful, can we? Coach Minhee and the rest of the girls in our team drool over you when you do your warm-ups and it’s absolutely revolting to look at.”

The tan-skinned boy smacks him hard with a pillow. Baekhyun doubles over in laughter, egging Jongin to assault Sehun further.

“Jongin is quite popular,” the older boy agrees. “I think half of the girls in our class have a crush on you.” Baekhyun ropes Kyungsoo in by the shoulders. “Isn’t that right, Kyungsoo?”

Kyungsoo only shrugs. “Probably.”

Baekhyun’s eyes narrow into slits. “You don’t even know who I’m talking about, do you? Gosh, Kyungsoo, we’re already within half of our school year. No matter how brainy you are, you won’t have enough credits to graduate if you keep on skipping classes like that!”

Kyungsoo retracts himself from Baekhyun’s hold and huffs. The reason why he cuts most of the time is exactly because of the people in his class. In his second year nobody gave a rat’s ass about him, and now all the people who initially thought Kyungsoo was scary did a major three-sixty and are now always at his table—jealous boyfriends and hopeful girls who’re always asking him about that cute dancer named Kim Jongin from class 2-C. It’s annoying and off-putting. Being around Jongin most of the time doesn’t mean he’s the man himself.

“Speaking of graduation, you’re all going to be liberated from this god-awful town this May.” Sehun quips. “Have you decided on anything yet?”

“I’m going to be a pilot!” Baekhyun yodels enthusiastically, fist pumping the air as he leaps from his futon. “I’m going to rule the skies and swarm the airbase with my devilish good-looks and ridiculously hot body!”

“You should’ve settled with being an underwear model, country boy,” Jongin leers as Sehun guffaws in his seat, taking another tart from the paper bag.

Baekhyun turns to Kyungsoo. “But ahhh, let’s hear about what the almighty Do Kyungsoo wants to do for the rest of his life. I heard it’s exceptional.”

Kyungsoo ignores this jibe and answers simply, “Business.”

Jongin slightly sputters on his drink while Baekhyun stares at him disbelievingly. 

“Business?” Baekhyun repeats. “You want to major in business?”

“It’s practical,” Kyungsoo reasons. He begins scratching on the nicotine patch under his sweater. “And it’s easier, since I’m good with numbers.”

“You’re not humble either,” Sehun remarks. “But why the sudden interest in—”

“I think it’s a good choice,” Baekhyun interrupts, glancing briefly at the red-faced Jongin. “When it comes to ordering people around, Kyungsoo’s talent knows no bounds.”

Kyungsoo dares to let out a sigh of relief. Sometimes, he’s grateful to have Baekhyun as a friend.

ix

The doorbell rings. Kyungsoo feels like dying every step he takes to the front porch. He forgot to wear his slippers and the wooden floor is freezing cold. He curses at the icy doorknob as he swings the door open.

“Good morning! I came to pick you up!”

Kyungsoo slams the door.

“Hey, wait! Kyungsoo hyung!” The bangs on the door are painfully loud in Kyungsoo’s empty home.

“I’m not coming to some rogue discotheque. It’s Sunday and it’s cold outside. I want to sleep.”

Jongin’s voice is muffled through the barriers. “Come on, hyung! Don’t you want to do something on your birthday? You’re only nineteen once!”

“Go away, Jongin.” He calls, moving up to his room again.

“I’m not leaving here until you come out!” His tone is laced with mirth; Kyungsoo can picture him smirking now, undeterred. “Baekhyun hyung specifically asked me to drag you there if you won’t come with me willingly!”

“What makes you think you can?”

“Seungsoo hyung gave me the keys to your house!”

Kyungsoo stops a foot from landing on the staircase. He goes back and opens the door, glaring wearily at an amused Jongin. His eyes glue on the set of house keys dangling playfully on the younger’s index finger. “Why did my brother give you that?” he gapes.

“Who do you think planned all this?” Jongin grins genially, brighter than the morning glow. He pauses, and then laughs. “And though I think you look very cute in those pajamas, hyung, get dressed. Baekhyun hyung, Seungsoo hyung, and Sehun are waiting for us at the curb.”

Kyungsoo scowls at his penguin-adorned nightclothes. “You guys are insane to conspire with my brother. And I don’t really like drinking.”

“Think of it as a joint celebration, Kyungsoo,” Jongin says, slipping from formal to informal language so abruptly that Kyungsoo finds it dizzying, though he really couldn’t bring himself to mind. Jongin only ever talks informally to him when it’s only the two of them. “Your birthday is today, and my birthday would be the day after tomorrow. If you don’t like celebrating yours, then just think that you’re celebrating mine.” He smiles and curls a gloved hand on Kyungsoo’s naked fingers, tugging slightly.

“You hate the cold, right? Come on, Kyungsoo. You’ll be warmer if you have more people around you.”

“I don’t know…”

“Let’s be happy together, hyung!” he shouts across the empty sidewalk, cheering. And Kyungsoo, maybe not unwillingly altogether, follows his lead.

x

The day before spring break comes, Jongin and Kyungsoo are left under the shade of their tree again, with Baekhyun and Sehun off to buy something they probably don’t need at the stationery store. Kyungsoo stares at the sunlight peeking out from the crest of leaves blowing across the branches.

“Next summer…” Jongin breaks the silence, his mind shifting off to somewhere.

Kyungsoo inclines his head to look at him. Jongin is lying down the grass just like him, with his head anchored by the roots. “Hm?” Kyungsoo grunts.

“I just realized you’re graduating so… will you be coming back this year? To the shop?”

Jongin is not quite looking at him, with his head tilted downward and his hands pressed together again—nothing like a prayer, but a confession.

Kyungsoo wheezes, feeling the air grow particularly hot. “I’ll still do it if you want me to,” he answers finally, wanting Jongin to think that it’s still his choice whether he comes or not.

“That’s great,” Jongin says. “Of course, I really don’t want to trouble you…”

“It’s not, Jongin-ah. I’m really happy to help,” Kyungsoo amends. He realizes that, oddly, he means it.

Jongin finally looks at him, giving him one of those smiles Kyungsoo distinctively knows is only meant for him. “Thanks.” Slowly, Jongin reaches out for his hand and squeezes it. Hesitantly, Kyungsoo squeezes back.

And just like that, Kyungsoo’s high school life comes to a close.

xi

Seungsoo is home for the summer. He revels in making his younger brother cringe and throws one comment after another as Kyungsoo packs his things.

“You own like five leather jackets with the same design,” Seungsoo chuckles. “That will definitelymake a very menacing statement to your roommate.”

“Baekhyun’s actually my roommate in the city,” Kyungsoo grumbles, grabbing the set of monochrome shirts Seungsoo is jeering at and folding it neatly inside his luggage. “And would you please leave? You’re absolutely no help at all.”

Light brown hair, black-rimmed glasses and a cotton button-down with sleeves rolled up to reveal pale, athletic arms, Seungsoo is the polar opposite of Kyungsoo’s black hair, torn-up jeans and shabby gray shirt. The only thing they hold similar is their wide, round eyes which their neighbors always say came from their mother, whose gaze had always been stern and penetrating when she was still alive.

“I’m so proud of you, Kyungsoo,” his brother sing-songs, ruffling Kyungsoo’s hair into a ragged state. “Off to some adventure in the city! My little brother is finally growing up!”

“Don’t think you have this house all to yourself for four years, though. When I come back your trash must not be lying around everywhere.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Seungsoo grins. “Still helping out in the Kims this year?”

“Correct.”

“And next year? And the year after that?”

“What do you mean?”

“I never knew my brother to volunteer for something that he won’t commit to for a long time. Like your goth boy facade, which was effective by the way. Didn’t get picked on as much by your high school classmates, eh, or did you?”

“That’s none of your business,” Kyungsoo growls. “I’m not like you, Seungsoo, who lets those stupid kids beat you up and call you a freak.”

“Ahh, and where are those hooligans now? Probably cleaning up some muck in a water park,” Seungsoo bellows quite proudly. He pinches the tip of Kyungsoo’s nose and chuckles. “Tough-looking guys are actually softies at heart. I’m sure Jonginnie’s already figured that out.”

“You make me vomit,” Kyungsoo says dryly. “Go away, Seungsoo. Go ruin somebody else’s day other than mine.”

“If you say so!” Seungsoo catcalls, sniggering as he shuts the door close. Kyungsoo complains about irritating, domineering older brothers and slams his luggage shut.

He leaves his room, dashes downstairs, and unlocks his bike from the post. The sky is clear and the birds are chirping happily as the tires grate on the pebbles of the rocky surface, the road to the shopping district going clearer and clearer by the mile.

After thirty minutes, Kyungsoo pauses at the stock of dandelions by the bamboo railings. Jongin is by the door, waiting for him.

“You’re actually a little early today, hyung.” Jongin greets. His polo is tucked in hastily that one side of it peeks out from the rim of his black slacks—Kyungsoo fights the urge to fix it and smooth the edges. Jongin looks good on it, anyway.

“I’d rather be here than back at home, where Seungsoo is,” Kyungsoo apprises, scowling a little. “He’s going to be watching some sports anime at full volume just to annoy me.”

“Oh, right. He’s home for the summer. He stopped by here yesterday.”

This is news to Kyungsoo. “Really? Why?”

“He came out here to buy lunch,” Jongin tells him, pausing for a while to remember. “He just came in, looked around a bit, and when I was going to ask him what he wanted to eat he said, ‘Ahh! Just the person I wanted to see.’ He ordered tonkatsu, I think.”

Kyungsoo rolls his eyes. His brother could’ve been more obvious.

“Come in, hyung,” Jongin ushers him. “Rest your legs while we wait for the others.”

xii

It rains. Hard.

The shop is empty save for two or three customers that had braved the immense downpour and savored the heat of the ramen soup. Donghae mops the floor extensively, while Kyungsoo stares off to the dark clouds. The sky had been clear when he cycled his way over to the district, had held no absolute warning of the bad weather that was to come.

Jongin joins him at the table, a tray of freshly brewed tea in hand.

“The radio says the storm’s not going to pass anytime soon,” he informs him as soon as he sits down.

“You don’t mind me staying in?”

“Of course, hyung. You can stay in as long as you like. It’s my fault for making you come all the way here, anyway.”

“You’re really… never mind.”

And Jongin sees the way Kyungsoo falters, holding something back from him again. Jongin feels his shirt sleeves begin to tighten, but he smiles at his hyung anyway. “When are you leaving for Seoul?”

“Next week. I’ve already finished packing, but I think I have to buy more pillow cases. The ones back home get soiled pretty easily.”

“I heard Baekhyun hyung will be rooming with you.” And Jongin laughs at this. The two had always been together ever since high school, even though Kyungsoo complained how much he disliked the other’s gossipy manner.

Kyungsoo shrugs and watches the dark sky mill overhead. “Yeah. Now that you’ve mentioned it, I think nothing much would change—,” he stops half-way, and looks at Jongin. “Well, except for you and Sehun, obviously.”

“We’ll visit you,” Jongin says. “Sehun’s been to Seoul loads of times, so he knows where all the good places are. You get bored very easily, hyung, and I think Sehun and I will have to come and save you.”

Kyungsoo chuckles, and it makes Jongin warm all over. “I’ll be looking forward to it. And I’ll drag Baekhyun here with me when spring break comes.”

Jongin knows he’s becoming way too greedy, turning into a mustachioed miser, but when it comes to Kyungsoo, he can’t help but act on his selfishness. He has to remind himself that Kyungsoo won’t always be around, isn’t obligated to be with him always. High school is almost over. Kyungsoo’s leaving for college, and Jongin would have some growing up to do too.

But maybe, just for today… 

“Do you promise, hyung?”

Kyungsoo smiles, a tad melancholy, but maybe a bit hopeful too. “I promise.”

xiii

“Thank god I caught up with you! The club’s having another meeting tonight at eight thirty. Can you come?”

“Of course, of course! Oh, and tell Hyejin those flyers would be done by tomorrow morning.”

Kyungsoo wrestles Baekhyun by the arm as soon as the boy runs back to hallway. “I thought you have a party to attend tonight.”

Baekhyun curses. “Oh hell, I forgot! Quick, Kyungsoo! Tell me what to do!”

Kyungsoo smacks him with his accounting textbook, glaring at him. Ever since they’ve entered university, Baekhyun has entered an enormous amount of school-wide organizations and fun groups. Last week he divulged that he’s interested in joining a fraternity, and Kyungsoo almost decked him in the face with his scientific calculator.

“You suck,” Baekhyun grumbles, rubbing his head. There are new streaks of blue on his mahogany hair, another one of Baekhyun’s so-called experiments. “Help a friend out, please?” 

“Ditch the booze. Attend the meeting.”

Baekhyun whinnies. “But I’ve always wanted to attend a frat-party! I heard pilots-in-training have really great wangs—”

“Then go for the dick and ditch the club meeting,” Kyungsoo says rather crossly, turning to walk again to the direction of his next class.

“I’m looking for an answer that would make me attend both,” Baekhyun sighs. “Why is it always 1 or 0 with you, Kyungsoo? Are you a computer?” He leaves before Kyungsoo can answer, running to where the boy from one of the societies Baekhyun signed up for had left.

Kyungsoo drifts back and forth to his classes, feeling oddly restless and bone-tired at the same time. Unlike his hometown, the sun had stopped shining in this part of Seoul, or probably hiding behind the humungous skyscrapers and billowing domes. The business department is swaying with chatter and dry laughter, but the only sycamore tree that rests at the center of the campus is still.

He doesn’t attend his last commerce class and settles for lying under the shade of the tree. The coolness of the trunk tells him that summer had just left, but it’ll probably come back soon enough.

xiv

Kyungsoo arrives at the platform at twelve-thirty. It takes about an hour commute to the station, and another two hours by train until he arrives at the Chungcheongbuk-do, where little Jeungpyeong is nestled. By his estimate, he’ll arrive at three-thirty if the ride goes without a hitch. Baekhyun would be taking the last train home (“I’m sorry! I have a student council meeting until four in the afternoon. I promise I’ll catch up to you, I promise!”).

It’s spring. The heaters are simmering but it’s not enough; Kyungsoo wraps a blanket around himself, reading a Sunday paper one of the baggage handlers had been giving away for free. It says that the ginseng festival will fall today, just as Jongin had said. He flips away the other pages and stops at the crossword portion of the newspaper. He takes out his pen and gets to work.

At the stop at Yongin, another man in a stylish fedora comes on board and sits across from Kyungsoo. He asks for the lifestyle and business pages Kyungsoo has discarded, and smiles at him.

“You on a trip?” The man starts, his tone light and friendly. 

“Jeungpyeong is actually my hometown. I’m coming home for the Ginseng festival today.”

“Ahh, I thought you were a tourist. Are you in high school?”

“College, actually.”

“Oh. Well, some people don’t actually come back once they’ve tasted how living in Seoul is like,” the man says rather thoughtfully. “Especially young boys like you. It’s pretty rare these days.”

Kyungsoo chews on his lip, a habit he acquired just recently. Staying or leaving Jeungpyeong had never really been a big question to him ever since he was little, though he knows that the reason why he’ll never have the heart to leave is quite different from before. 

“Seoul is… very loud,” is what Kyungsoo opts for an answer, and the man laughs, nodding enthusiastically.

“Right, right! Sometimes, everything is just a wreck in the city that I miss the slow pace of living in the countryside too.”

Kyungsoo continues working on the puzzle section of the newspaper, while the man looks away, enjoying the mountains rising and falling from a distance.

The train stops again at Boeun. The man tips his hat at Kyungsoo and bids him farewell, smiling again, before hopping along the tip of the platform. The carriage is almost empty now, and ten times colder. Kyungsoo retreats further to his blanket.

It’s a tiring journey. Kyungsoo wakes up slathering drool all over his only luggage, a scruffy, old black duffel bag his brother had given him as a parting gift when he was sixteen. He slips on his shoes and gets off the carriage.

It surprises Kyungsoo that Sehun is at the junction of the railway station, waiting for him. His slippers are coated with dry mud, and he taps it on the floor rather impatiently. “You’ve gotten slower, hyung,” he jeers, smirking at Kyungsoo’s bewildered expression. “Why? Thought Jongin would be the one to pick you up?”

“Anyone would be better than you,” Kyungsoo fires back. “Still failing your science classes?”

Sehun punches him in the arm, laughing superbly while adding, “You’ve gotten shorter too, hyung”, and Kyungsoo is reminded why they are friends. The younger boy’s rather childish tone will seem friendly and welcoming at first, but then he snarks at the most unsavory of times and people would shy away from him, disillusioned. His honest and most of the time provoking side comments are one of the things Kyungsoo likes in the relatively short list of things Kyungsoo finds likeable about Oh Sehun.

There are no buses during Sundays, so Sehun and Kyungsoo walk all the way to the shopping district. It’s about a thirty-minute walk from the train station, and the two bid their time by regaling stories and catching up to one another. 

“Baekhyun is maddening to watch,” Kyungsoo tells him. Here one second and gone the next, Baekhyun’s schedule is packed with org fairs, talks, afterschool parties and events he suspiciously dubs as ‘jump sessions’. He recalls coming home one night to find him strapped to a bottle of vodka and puking on the toilet bowl.

Academically, Baekhyun’s not slumping—in fact, he’s in the top five of his graduating class. Almost everyone on campus knows about the crazy country boy who’s in every university gig all night and still manages to ace his exams. 

“Having the time of his life, just as he’d promised,” Sehun smirks. “Does he get laughed at for using dialect?”

“He only talks dialect with me anymore. It’s okay, though. He’s still the same Baekhyun we all met in high school. Only a thousand times busier and weirder.”

Sehun only nods, seemingly understanding. He stares at the rusty lamp post up ahead, redirecting his thoughts elsewhere.

“Jongin misses you, hyung,” Sehun discloses once they’re near the ramen shop Kyungsoo hasn’t seen for months. “He doesn’t talk about it a lot, but he has all your postcards stashed in his History notebook. I caught him looking at it sometimes in class. So… please don’t be angry that he didn’t pick you up today.”

“Yeah, I understand.” Kyungsoo murmurs. It’s the festival today, he supplies in his head, wanting to reassure himself. Of course he’s busy.

Sehun opens the door for him, watching him doubtfully. Kyungsoo tries to ignore the way some of the people are staring at him and walks up to the counter, where Jongin is punching numbers on the register, relaying the customer’s orders to the cooks.

Jongin looks up.

Kyungsoo freezes in the middle of the shop. Something unnamable bubbles up from his stomach, to his throat, and he suddenly feels dizzy. But Jongin stands out through the haze in his vision, and his face is suddenly buried on Jongin’s chest, his hair propped up on Jongin’s shoulder.

Jongin is laughing hard, though it sounds rather sad. “Thanks for coming, hyung.”

Kyungsoo realizes that Jongin is taller than him now, and something prickles at his eyes.

xvi

Kyungsoo helps out for the duration of the festival. The store is packed, and he spots a few curious people who came from the neighboring district, and some other faces that Kyungsoo doesn’t recognize. 

The tiny woodpecker engravings are now hung with white masks and velvet stitching, all in the name of the earth goddess Teojusin, the county’s patron. 

The ginseng cookers contest is held in none other than the only place in the whole district that can hold more than thirty people all at once. The shop is suddenly flocked with spectators in the afternoon as every challenger took out their knives and chopping boards. The ginseng tangsuyukhad been Kyungsoo’s personal favorite, but the pork galbi had been handed over to the maker of thesamsaekpyeon, which aroma Kyungsoo finds a little too strong for his liking.

The Ssireum match commences in the evening. Sehun, Jongin and Baekhyun prank Kyungsoo into signing up for a one-on-one with a burly kid named Yeongok. Kyungsoo sweet talks himself out of the match with the referee, and in turn whips his three friends in no time with a bamboo stick he keeps in Jongin’s kitchen. Together, they run all over the shopping district, laughing as hard as their lungs could permit. 

At the peak of the night, Jongin excuses himself from the festivities and joins Kyungsoo atop a hill overlooking the rice paddies below. With his legs on top of the other like an Indian’s, Kyungsoo sits near the edge and caresses the sprouting grass with his fingers.

“Hyung,” Jongin starts, voice cutting through the pounding of the drums and the shingle of tambourines below, and Kyungsoo grips on the grass blades as hard as he could. “I’ve been meaning to ask. Are there any other reasons why you chose to study business in Seoul?”

Kyungsoo wants to grab him by the collar and say, Isn’t it obvious?

But something stops him again, like a brief rewind to back when he was still eighteen and infinitely more unsure than his twenty-year-old self. And it’s worse now that Jongin’s looking at him like that, as all the awkwardness and love Kyungsoo had stomped down repeatedly has come to resurface.

Too many implications. Too many things he has to explain.

“No, there’s nothing else,” Kyungsoo recites like some worn-out definition in one of his textbooks, and he wishes deep inside that Jongin doesn’t believe him.

xv

He bikes along the path around the marshes of the shopping district, the periphery of the Jeungpyeong county. There are several frogs that leap forward as he goes, and the crickets and the grasshoppers sing along. The fields then transform into multi-colored lanterns, beat-up cement and alloy roofs. The one and only streetlight is peppered with dust, and it glows faintly in the mid-morning sunshine.

“Ahh, Kyungsoo! You’re back again this year!”

Kyungsoo quickly dismantles himself from his bike and bows. “Good morning, Hyeseong-ssi.”

“Eii! Always so formal! I thought I already told you to call me noona, eh? I’m not that much older than Jonginnie, you know,” Hyeseong, Jongin’s first cousin once removed, snickers.

She watches Kyungsoo lock his bike on the thick bamboo railing of the lot and slides next to him, whispering. “I saw Jongin talking with you on the phone yesterday. He seemed really happy that you’re going to be working with us again even in spring.”

Kyungsoo almost drops his key. “Umm, I really don’t have anything to do.” Again. “And I’m glad to help out.”

“You’re very sweet, Kyungsoo. But say, Jongin had told me you’re taking business. Is that right? What are you planning to do after you finish? Are you going to work in the city like your brother?”

That’s too many questions for him to answer with a single sentence. “I haven’t really decided yet.” It’s almost half a lie, Kyungsoo thinks. He coughs out awkwardly to quell the sandiness in his throat.

Hyeseong ruffles the hair on Kyungsoo’s head and gives him a few motherly pats on the shoulder. “Well, you still have time. You’ll think of something.”

xvii

“You’re very stupid,” Baekhyun says as they board the train taking them back to Seoul. Kyungsoo had just been on the receiving end of one of Jongin’s needlessly warm, back-breaking hugs when he bid the two farewell. He grips on the strap of his bag hard, looking for support.

Baekhyun rolls his eyes at his friend’s zombie-like state and lends him a hand. “You look like you’re about to faint,” he remarks, letting Kyungsoo lean his head on the window. 

“I’m alright,” Kyungsoo murmurs.

“No, you’re not. This can’t go on like this. You have to tell Jongin—”

“What? Tell Jongin what?”

Baekhyun purses his lips, and Kyungsoo notices for the first time in the trip that the blue in Baekhyun’s hair is now colored blonde. “You’re acting very disappointing right now, Soo. What happened to my tough, all-snark, shitty best friend?”

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to say.”

“I think you know, but you just can’t say it out loud. And though it really bothers me, even if you can’t say it, I won’t interfere. This is between you and Jongin.”

Kyungsoo almost snorts. Is he supposed to say thank you?

“Don’t even try lying to me about the reason why you took business; I’ve known you too long to understand how your brain works. Taking culinary arts would’ve been too obvious,” Baekhyun sighs and mutters, “I don’t really understand what Jongin sees in you,” and turns to assemble their baggage at the right compartments. 

xvii

Kyungsoo came back again for his summer break, and this time Jongin didn’t even have to ask for his help around in the shop. He’s now volunteering himself to do much more than cook, and he arrives to the shop early and helps Donghae with cleaning the dining area.

When the shop is almost at closing time, Kyungsoo smiles at him and asks if there’s anything more he can do. Jongin gives him a vague notion of dismissal and excuses himself from the room. He runs to the nearest restroom, splashing his face with water multiple times to clear his head, to slow the rapid beating of his heart.

Jongin glances at himself in the mirror and immediately scowls in disgust. His reflection is absolutely glowing in happiness, and Jongin almost throws up.

He knows where all this would lead to and he shouldn’t want Kyungsoo like that.

“Jongin-ah.” His father swings the door open, a concerned furrow hanging on his aged brow. “Are you alright, son?”

“Yes, I’m just—I might have had too much of Kyungsoo hyung’s nikujaga. He always makes too many of it and it’d only be a shame to have it all go to waste, since it really tastes good.” Not to mention it slowly became Jongin’s favorite dish out of the whole menu—in the oddest moments, like sitting through a boring lecture in Economics, he sometimes craves for it.

“Speaking of which, where is the boy? I haven’t formally thanked him yet for going out of his way to help us every year. His university’s in Seoul, am I correct? It must take him a long ride every school break to come back here in Jeungpyeong.”

Jongin rips his gaze to the faucet. “He must’ve left. I already told him he could go home.”

“Will he still come next year?” His father asks innocently, and Jongin hears the series of underlying questions underneath.

He grips at the ledge of the sink and mumbles, “I have no intention to include Kyungsoo hyung in the family business, father. He’s just… a very good friend that always helps me when I’m in trouble.”

“Well, we’re not in an actual crisis to be honest, and we’ve already had enough people working in the shop but he’s still here,” His father says, throwing him a meaningful look. “I’m already considering starting paying him for the hours.”

“It’s nothing like that,” Jongin mutters.

His father shrugs, “I thought you’d want to carry on the business with someone.”

Jongin knows this isn’t the time to be embarrassed, but his face suddenly feels sickly hot. He flicks the tap open and lets the cool water run through his fingers.

“Well, that’s also good if you’re set on continuing alone. You’re my son, and I know you’re capable of doing this on your own,” his father finally says when Jongin doesn’t respond anymore. “But I honestly think Kyungsoo-ssi doesn’t know that, so it’s best you should tell him. We don’t want him to keep on coming if you’re not interested in having any ties with him.”

Jongin nods bleakly. “Yes, I understand.”

He closes the door behind him, leaving Jongin alone to fix his frazzled thoughts.     

He sighs, and it echoes loudly in the small compartment.

Kyungsoo doesn’t deserve to be stuck here with him; Jongin can’t have him share the burden with him.

He won’t let him.

xix

The bleakest day comes in the first Wednesday of October. The sun isn’t shining again in uptown Seoul, and Kyungsoo is wading around the campus, waiting for his next lecture to come about.

There are rows upon rows of lilies-in-the-valley that are starting to wilt in the garden of the horticulture department, a building only half a feet apart from Kyungsoo’s department. He spots all this from the second floor, and he props his arms on the ledge, letting the soft breeze play with the tips of his hair.

He almost falls asleep when he hears somebody call his name. “Hyung! Kyungsoo hyung!”

Kyungsoo sees a familiar face amongst the sea of students flocking around to get to their respective classes. He blinks.

“J-Jongin?”

xviii

Jongin met up with Baekhyun and Sehun on his way to the business department. Sehun had been another addition to the Baekhyun-Kyungsoo bunkmate duo when he took up dance. Jongin opted for another university in Incheon, the only university in the city that offered Food Technology as a major.

“You’ve grown even taller, Jongin-ah,” Baekhyun said in awe, slapping a hand on Jongin’s toned legs. “I don’t think it’s appropriate to even be seen with you.”

“Hey, I’m taller than that twerp,” Sehun countered, sipping through his third bubble tea of the day. He placed his feet on top of the stone table. “Look at me filling in my khakis well—doesn’t it look nice, hyung?”

Baekhyun ignored him. “You haven’t told us you were visiting. Is this one of those spur-of-the-moment gigs you had with Kyungsoo back in high school?”

“Umm.” Jongin fiddled with the strap of his bag. “Kyungsoo hyung doesn’t actually know I’m here, but I’m going to meet him.”

Baekhyun took in Jongin’s serious face and frowned. “What’s the matter? Did that dork do something wrong again?”

“No, it’s just… Kyungsoo hyung’s been helping me with my family’s shop for a long time now. I want to tell him that I don’t want to burden him any longer.”

Both Sehun and Baekhyun shared sidelong glances, and after a brief moment of silence Baekhyun placed a hand on Jongin’s wrist. “I guess Kyungsoo hasn’t told you yet. He’s not actually that good in telling others what he feels.”

“What, hyung? What does Kyungsoo want to tell me?”

“I have an idea, but it’s best if it comes from the guy first. It’ll probably take him a year or two, knowing him, but maybe you should hear Kyungsoo out first.”

“A year or two,” Jongin shook his head morosely. “By then it would already be too late.”

Baekhyun let out a breath, understanding. “I’ve known Kyungsoo longer than you and Sehun have, and I, well… I just want you to know that Kyungsoo had changed a lot after he met you, and that you’re really important to him more than he lets on.”

“He’s important to me too,” Jongin mumbles. “That’s why I don’t think this is right. I don’t want to chain him there.”

“I’m not sure how he’ll react, but if you think it’s for the best then I’m not going to stop you,” Baekhyun smiled at him reassuringly. “You’re a big boy – you know what to do.”

“I got your back, bro,” Sehun patted him at the back, a little bit harder than Jongin expected. “Just break it to Kyungsoo hyung gently. He’s never been cool with surprises.”

“Okay. Okay, yeah, I got it.” Jongin picked up his messenger bag slung at the crook of his chair and stood up. He’d tell it to Kyungsoo hyung straight. He won’t run away, the same way he’s going to face his future head on.

And maybe, if he’d have enough courage left to spare, he’d tell Kyungsoo how he really felt.

xx

“Please don’t come back to the district this summer,” Jongin tells him, imploring, pleading. Kyungsoo blinks once, twice, to refocus his vision. But Jongin’s still there, a determined look on his face.

They’re under a sycamore tree again. The tension between them cuts through Kyungsoo by flesh and bone, and he thinks of it as a presage that something bad will happen in the only place in Seoul that reminds him of home.

“Why?” Kyungsoo questions. “Is something wrong next year? Is the shop closing?”

“… No,” Jongin says slowly, searching frantically for the words he’d selected specifically for this conversation, but it gets lost in the whirlpool of thoughts—he can’t believe it’s been months since he’s seen Kyungsoo again. He’s not wearing the black leather jacket he used to take everywhere when they were in high school; a white collar is peeking out of a form-fitting, navy blue sweater, but Jongin knows he doesn’t have time to admire how good Kyungsoo’s pale neck looks. 

Baekhyun was right. Kyungsoo had changed.

But if Kyungsoo had then it means Jongin had too, because love is always a mutual thing—not only one person comes out of it changed.

Jongin recollects himself and draws out, “What I meant to say is, please don’t ever come back to the shop. You don’t have to do it anymore. We’ll find someone else for the job.”

Kyungsoo balls his fists. “What if I want to, Jongin? What if I want to do it?”

“Don’t you understand, hyung?” Jongin argues, tears threatening to spill from his eyes and cling to his lashes. “Do you know what it means if you’ll continue working for us?”

I don’t care! I—  “I do, and it’s not a problem with me, Jongin.”

“It is to me,” Jongin says. “I’ll be stealing your future away from you, hyung, and you’re going to be stuck in Jeungpyeong forever.”

Kyungsoo knows it’s wrong to say it, but he says it anyway. “…Is it because I’m not good enough?”

“No, Kyungsoo—,” Jongin exclaims, steady hands grasping Kyungsoo by the shoulders. “It’s nothing like that. My family’s been running the only restaurant in our district for years and I— I’m the only son of the Kim family. Everyone’s starting to have expectations of you and I don’t want that. It won’t be fair to you.”

“You’re not in any position to judge whether it’s fair to me or not. I’ll still do it, Jongin. I want to do it.”

“Why, hyung? Why?”

“I—” he fumbles through his speech as Jongin takes a step closer, staring at him expectantly. “I…”

Jongin looks crushed when he doesn’t continue. He then envelops the elder one in his arms as easily as Kyungsoo found it hard to speak, perching his chin on his head. “Please don’t come back, hyung,” Jongin whispers to his ear, and Kyungsoo grips tight on Jongin’s sleeves. He doesn’t want to let go. 

xxi

“Hey, stop moping. I need you to focus here.”

Kyungsoo looks up to Baekhyun's outstretched fingers.

“Bubblegum pink or hot rod red?”

Kyungsoo regards him for a while, and then answers, “I don't know, but you'd look ugly in both, anyway.”

“Okay, fine. Be like that, sourpuss. Jongin's not going to ask you to come back again with that long face of yours.”

Kyungsoo can't find the energy to summon up a glare, so he opts to stare at the bunk above him, retracing the steel foundations with his eyes.

He hears Baekhyun sigh, and next thing he knows he's being shoved by Baekhyun to the far side of the bed, asking for some space. Kyungsoo gives in and lets him sidle next to him.

“I feel like in the mood for some melodrama,” Baekhyun chuckles. “Come on, Soo. Tell your best pal what's been eating you this whole week.”

Kyungsoo opens his mouth, and closes it. Then, he opens it again. “... I think I messed up, Baek. I think I did something wrong.”

“You know what I think?”

Kyungsoo sighs. “Sure. Enlighten me.”

“Well, it's not that you did something wrong. Actually, you're not really doing anything; that's the problem. You're just letting Jongin read through all your cryptic little actions and expect it to mean something. I can see it, and Sehun sees it, but Jongin's somewhat lacking in the bravery department just like you, and that explains why you're never going to go anywhere.”

“It's my fault, then?”

“Of course! Really, Kyungsoo—this is about what you’re going to do after you graduate in college. You want to work with the Kims, don’t you? That’s why you’ve been helping them out every summer and—what, wait for Jongin’s family to ask you to work for them, since you can’t bring yourself to tell Jongin about it?”

Baekhyun can be sharp when he wants to be. Kyungsoo rakes his hair with a frustrated hand. “Well, Jongin doesn’t want me there, so I guess it’s no longer an option.”

“I don't know, but think about it. Think about the words you can't say, and the words Jongin can't say himself either. If you ask me to bet on it, I'm a hundred percent sure that they’re exactly the same.”

“I—” Kyunsoo stutters again. “I don’t know.”

And Kyungsoo really wishes he could understand it, wishes he could find the reason why.

His parents’ death had robbed him of ambition, of love. Seungsoo had never really been around either, and drowned all his sorrow with school work and left eleven-year-old Kyungsoo to his own devices. From then on Kyungsoo’s constant companion had only been himself, and he’d been okay with it. But loneliness is a sharp-edged shield; it wounds as much as it protects. 

And then Jongin came along, with his boyish laugh and his shy smiles and his nicotine patches. The leaves of the sycamore tree had been bright green that summer.

Kyungsoo remembers the one-legged halmeoni who always orders a miso-based Chuka ramen during Thursdays. She always mistakes Kyungsoo for her nephew.

He remembers that second summer when he always puts too much spice on the girl’s ramen broth from across the bakery, who always takes her sweet time in flirting with Jongin during the weekends.

He remembers Jongin’s words, the only ramen shop in Jeungpyeong, the only road Jongin must take.

He remembers almost telling Jongin a promise.

Kyungsoo’s twenty-one, and Jongin’s almost there. They’re not in high school anymore.

They’re no longer just friends.

He stares ahead in silence, taking it all in. Jongin’s future is set on stone, and Kyungsoo realizes with a jolt that he would do absolutely anything to be a part of it.

“Well, it’s not the end,” Baekhyun amends.  “It’ll probably take as long as it would for you to muster up all your balls to take that one-way train to Jeungpyeong this summer, and maybe even then it won’t be too late. Jongin cares about you, stupid, probably even more than we can ever imagine.”

xxii

Seungsoo pats the dust off of his trousers as he strolls. Vienna is an old city.

He glances above, where the summit is still yards uphill. The skyline glitters, and the clouds sail across the cerulean expanse gracefully like thousands of ships pulling in ashore. Red and brown-roofed houses and white stucco eateries nestle on every side of the road.

He walks another mile and comes across a homely stand by the plaza. He plucks out a postcard and grins.

xxv

Jongin wakes up to the soft thrum of the zithers in the air.

It’s June 9th. Jangddeul Field Song Festival is transcribed in a black fountain pen in his bedside calendar. Jongin slowly gets up from his bed and brushes his teeth. It’s ten o’clock in the morning, and he’s running a late.

It’s a big day. The shop is an ark of every kind of human being in the world—tourists and locals are cramped inside, and the newbie his mother had hired just a week ago is now bearing the brunt of the monster brought out by the singular hunger of the customers. Jongin has to stop himself from chuckling at the poor boy’s expense.

He sees a familiar set of round eyes and pale skin inside the kitchen.

He can’t breathe.

xxvi

Kyungsoo resorts to the only way he can resolve what happened between him and Jongin—which is ignoring it—and despite the younger boy’s wishes, he took the first train to Chungcheongbuk-do that left at five in the morning.

The train had been speedy, and he arrived at eight o’ clock. By that time all the lanterns had been lit and the procession had almost started. All the elders were wearing white, their faces powdered like Noh actors in a play.

He stepped inside the shop. The crew were somewhat surprised that he’d come back though they were professional enough to not let it show, and Donghae assigned him to kitchen duty again.

Kyungsoo burrows himself in his work. He tries to think of nothing else.

When Jongin comes and sees him, his mouth falls open, his eyes locking him there. Kyungsoo hears the anxious beeping of the fryer, but he doesn’t look away.

xxiv

“Your dad’s going to kill you if he sees this,” Sehun remarked wryly as he aligns his sandals on the end of the doorway, pointing to the trash can full of instant noodles and Japanese take-outs. “He’s going to banish you for being a traitor, the way I see it.”

Jongin moaned underneath his pillow. “I didn’t give you that spare key so you could welcome yourself in any time you want. Are you even human?”

“A human with no regards for etiquette.” Sehun went straight to Jongin’s tiny refrigerator and grimaced at the speckles of dust that greeted him afterwards. “Do you have anything edible around here? Like something I can make from a pan?”

“There’s cheese on the top shelf.”

Sehun pressed his arms to his chest. “Baekhyun hyung is right. You are dumb.”

“Baekhyun hyung sent you here?” Jongin questioned in surprise, propping himself up from his bed with one arm.

“You and Kyungsoo hyung are two sides of the same coin,” he told him. “He’s been miserable since that amazing stunt of yours at the gazebo, and of course you’re not going to deal with it like a man, are you? Because you’re dumb.”

“That’s very helpful, Sehun, thanks,” Jongin replied sarcastically. He flopped right back to the mattress.

 “Fine. Be like that. I hope your frown will sweep the world clean of its filthiness.”

“I want to be alone, please.”

“Jongin,” Sehun said very sternly, and Jongin dared to spare at least one glance at him. Sehun rarely calls him by his first name. “Why did you tell Kyungsoo hyung to stop coming?” he asked pointedly, setting a tone that clearly stated he wanted a definite answer.

“I— I don’t want to chain him to such a boring place, Sehun. Our tiny town doesn’t offer a lot of possibilities, and Kyungsoo deserves better.”

Sehun cocked a delicate eyebrow at him. “Really now? Is that what you truly feel?”

I want to be with him were the selfish words he didn’t want to utter, but Sehun heard it anyway. Through the silence the letters formed themselves into a neat, one-lined sentence, and it spliced through the cool air of the autumn season.

“See? That wasn’t so bad. Now you just have to tell Kyungsoo hyung.”

“I don’t think he’d want to see me again.”

“Grow a spine, Jongin. We’re not kids anymore.”

Jongin covered his face again with his pillow again.

“Kyungsoo hyung might not look like it, but he always sees through his promises. He’ll never back out on you.”

“I know,” Jongin sighed despondently. “I know.”

“He’s done a lot for you, Jongin.” Sehun squeezed his shoulder. “Maybe it’s your turn now.”

xxvii

“So, this is the famous Do Kyungsoo I’ve heard so much about?” A voice croons in delight, and Kyungsoo halts his cooking to come face-to-face with a kind-looking woman in her forties. Her eyes are crinkled into crescents, and her smile is familiar. The whites on her hair roots are showing.

He then sees Jongin running from behind her, and then it clicks.

“You’re much better-looking than Jongin let on,” she says, chuckling delicately. “I can see why he likes you so much.”

“Mother!” Jongin groans in exasperation.

Kyungsoo bows as low as he could. He’s been hanging around the store for years, but he never expected he’d get to run in to Jongin’s parents this summer since they’re almost always out of town. “G-good morning, Mrs. Kim.”

A pair of worn hands pulls him upright. “You don’t have to be so formal with me, Kyungsoo. Think of me as your own mother, okay?”

“Umm, okay.”

“I wanted to thank you personally. I know it’s been rude of us never to have done so before for three years, especially since you’ve never even asked for anything in exchange all this time. Thank you for taking care of my son and for helping us with everything.”

Kyungsoo looks down and rubs his forearm in embarrassment. “I— I haven’t really done that much, ma’am.”

“You are invaluable,” she insists. She touches the side of Kyungsoo’s face, stroking his cheek lovingly. “Everything you do is, and I want you to know we appreciate it very much.”

“Mother, don’t you have to meet with Mrs. Han for the potato sale today? She’s outside waiting for you,” Jongin interrupts quickly.

“Oh! Yes, of course!” She cries, flipping her towel onto her shoulder and scrambles for the exit. “I shouldn’t keep her waiting. Thank you for reminding me, Jongin. And it was very nice to meet you, Kyungsoo! Please stay for dinner!”

Jongin sighs for a moment before giving Kyungsoo a sideward glance. He closes in the distance between them in three steps.

He brandishes a towel of his own and wipes the small streak of tomato sauce on Kyungsoo’s forehead. From down under, he can see Jongin’s pupils dilate.

“We can’t talk here. Later. Outside,” he mutters, and Kyungsoo bobs his head in silent agreement.

Jongin edges back, and they stare at each other for a long moment. Kyungsoo calculates that it’d only take half a second for him to bridge the gap, lower the younger’s face to his height, lean in…

Kyungsoo breaks the moment by turning away, turning his back on Jongin, and the latter ducks his head and finally, finally leaves.

xxviii

They meet at the same spot at the top of the hill. Kyungsoo picks on the dirt on the soles of his shoes with the tip of a dried twig, studying the small flickers of yellow lights from the town below, like fireflies capering in the night. And Jongin arrives an hour later after he’s done with his duties back at the store. He’s blinking the tiredness out of his eyes.

But unlike last time, Kyungsoo is the one who speaks first. “Are you angry?” he asks, sounding very unsure of himself.

Jongin shakes his head. “No, not really. Just surprised. I actually didn’t think you’d want to see me again.”

“Well, I’m here, so that’s that.”

“Yeah.”

There’s that terrible silence again. The brick wall that has amassed ever since that fateful day last fall is growing thicker by the minute, and Kyungsoo wants to tear it apart brick by brick by an apology—but something nips at him, tells him a ‘sorry’ will never be enough to summarize what has happened between them.

Kyungsoo’s palms are sweaty. “Jongin, I—”

“No! Umm,” Jongin bursts suddenly, and then his cheeks start to color a vivid red. “Wait, let me go first.”

“Oh. Okay. Go ahead.”

Jongin eases back and takes in a deep, deep breath. “Hyung,” he begins. “I’m sorry if I fought with you. I thought maybe… maybe I might have forced myself onto you so much that you felt obligated to come back. I’m really grateful for everything, hyung, but what’s more important to me is for you to be happy. I— I care about you a lot, Kyungsoo. I really, really do.”

Kyungsoo opens his mouth to respond, but Jongin isn’t finished yet. “I don’t want to place the burden of my family on you, hyung. You’ve already done so much for me, but I haven’t really done anything for you. The least I could do is to stop you from getting too involved with me like this—”

“That’s for me to decide,” Kyungsoo cuts in, shaking his head. “I’ve seen everything, Jongin. I want this.”

“You’re not going to be a pilot like Baekhyun hyung,” Jongin warns. He looks angry. “Or a dancer like Sehun. We’ll be busting tables and sweeping the floor and managing the shop. You’re going to be stuck here in the countryside forever. Do you really want that?”

“Remember what I told you when you asked if I had any other reasons why I took in business?” And he’s finally going to say it now; his palms are slick with perspiration, and he wipes them off nimbly by his jeans.

Kyungsoo closes his eyes tightly so he won’t miss a beat.

“I lied. I had another reason why I took it. It didn’t make that much sense before, but now I— this isn’t just about me helping in your family’s business anymore. I’ll never leave, Jongin. You can’t make me.

“I like you,” Kyungsoo breathes finally, and the air that gushes in his lungs is so sweet that his eyes are starting to itch with tears.

But he keeps his eyes shut, afraid of the censure and shame that would definitely form on the other boy’s expression. He doesn’t want to see the look of surprise on Jongin’s face, or worse—the guilt.

Something warm wraps around Kyungsoo’s neck, and the latter realizes with a jolt that it’s Jongin’s calloused fingers flittering around his exposed skin. “May I kiss you, hyung?”

He feels like laughing. As if Kyungsoo’s always the one in charge, Jongin never forgets to ask.

Kyungsoo feels his breath bounce back to his mouth—it seems that Jongin is very close now. He keeps his eyes closed, his feet planted firmly on the ground. “Okay.”

As soon as Jongin presses his lower lip onto his, the dam of emotions Kyungsoo never knew he had suddenly bursts, and it washes him away so strongly that it feels like Jongin’s own torrent is merging with his. Kyungsoo presses a hand on the small of Jongin’s back, pulling him closer.

And it comes. The slow, excruciating burn of Jongin’s breath, Jongin’s mouth, Jongin’s everything pressed against him, hot and overpowering. Kyungsoo never thought he’s been waiting so long for this moment. He can hear the other’s heart pounding erratically on his chest, the rise and fall of Jongin’s labored breathing—Jongin’s hand is planted on Jongin’s waist, and Kyungsoo’s is tugging insistently on Jongin’s shirt, and… and…

xxvix

Kyungsoo can feel Jongin’s muscle tense underneath his touch. He peppers kisses on his neck, his chest, his spine, just so he’d feel alright.

Jongin turns, and their noses bump softly in the dark. Kyungsoo whispers a few comforting words, and in that instant, the rigidness under his palm relaxes.

Jongin buries his head on Kyungsoo’s shoulder and inhales quietly, kissing the bob on Kyungsoo’s Adam’s apple, his wrist, the center of his palm.

“I missed you,” Jongin confesses, wiping away Kyungsoo’s bangs before planting a kiss on his forehead. “I missed you terribly.”

“We’ll be together,” Kyungsoo promises. It had been a long and confusing journey, and it probably still will be—but at last they’ve finally arrived here. Maybe that one-way road Jongin thought he’d be journeying on alone will be a much, much brighter place.

xxiii

Dear Jongin,

My brother is a dispassionate, cold-blooded person who gets angry easily when things don’t turn out the way they’re supposed to. He likes spending his Sundays alone in his room doing god-knows-what, and he absolutely hates the cold. He’s neurotic and a smartass and a dumb five-year-old sometimes. He makes the best pasta in the world, but he never likes being praised about his cooking. He gets awkward when he’s being put in the spotlight. More importantly, he rarely tells anyone how he feels.

Please love him with all your heart.

Seungsoo hyung

Vienna, Spring

xxx

It’s closing time again. Jongin and Kyungsoo are cooped together in the same corner of the store, with the same kind of Jasmine tea leaves swirling inside an old ceramic teapot.

“You’re not wearing those nicotine patches I gave you.”

Kyungsoo shakes his head. “I don’t need them anymore.” He smiles, and Jongin smiles back.

“Thank you,” Kyungsoo says a minute afterwards, and Jongin whips his head towards him.

“For what?”

Kyungsoo looks at yonder. “For letting me see this place.”

Jongin hums, letting a finger graze to Kyungsoo’s chin, then to his lips, before pulling him in for a soft kiss. Kyungsoo closes his eyes, and there’s nothing else to say.

The first rain of the season starts to fall from the summer sky, but their hands keep each other warm.