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Heeseung’s running out of time.
The blaring horn of the car outside is only growing louder and he turns to the window just in time to spot his mom going to open the door. Fuck.
Heeseung’s seconds from giving up when a familiar green glint catches his eye. Jackpot. He smiles, releasing a breath he didn’t even know he was holding as relief washes all the way down his back. With all the grace of a teenage thief, he shoves the wads of cash in his bag and doesn’t look back.
Heeseung’s mom stares at him for a second too long when he steps into the car.
It’s that same look that makes itself known every time she thinks Heeseung isn’t paying attention and the weight of her constant gaze is starting to become a little unnerving. His mom looks at him like she‘s trying to piece something together, eyes narrowed and brows furrowed, like she knows something.
Still reeling from almost running straight into his father with his favourite whiskey in his hand, Heeseung chooses to act like he isn’t buckling under the prickling sense of being watched and and prays his uncomfortable fidgeting isn’t too obvious. After a few terribly awkward moments of silence, the hard set in his mom’s perfectly trimmed brow finally settles. The car starts.
Leaning his head against the glass, Heeseung stares out of the window.
Their town is like every other town in suburban Busan; wide roads and low buildings that spread outwards before they go upwards like the skyscrapers that he’s seen in Seoul. The only points of interest are Yeonjun’s convenience store, the abandoned train tracks he likes to frequent and the bridge. Where Heeseung lives, life is ordinary — everyone knows everyone else, and news spreads fast because there never is any.
Their high school is much the same, Heeseung thinks as they pull up to the building. It’s nothing special. The people are relatively friendly, the campus facilities do their jobs well enough and being one of few schools in their area, it houses a relatively large student body comparative to its size so it’s never too quiet.
Still, it’s boring. Heeseung can’t stand it. He loathes the oppressive atmosphere that suffocates him whenever he steps through those doors.
He only ever goes for one reason, anyway.
Sunghoon’s pretty.
It was one of the first things Heeseung noticed about him when they met.
It would’ve been be difficult not to notice the constelation of moles speckled across his new project partner’s skin, or the sparkle in his eyes, or the attractive curve of his smile.
The second thing Heeseung noticed were the pair of inlines hanging from his shoulder. They were pretty, too — white and elegant, like figure skates. Fitting. It’s only natural that Heeseung, as a textbook skater himself, would be drawn to other appreciators of the art.
Where Heeseung’s all speed, danger and adrenaline, Sunghoon skates like a prince would. He’s all soft lines and elegant spins, jumps that always land on one foot with just as much focus on his arms as his legs.
A long time ago, Sunghoon worked the ice. It’s where all of his grace and technique comes from— almost all of his tricks have roots in his figure skating days. He’d been forced to adapt them, of course, once he made the switch from the ice. Rollerblades are heavier, Sunghoon often complains. It’s harder to achieve the same height, the same speed, the same elegance.
Sunghoon still misses the ice, Heeseung can tell. The glazed look that shadows his eyes whenever he talks about figure skating is telling enough.
While Sunghoon’s never explicitly given the reason why he stopped training, Heeseung guesses it has something to do with the finances of it all. To this day, Heeseung still can’t wrap his mind around all of the expenses that apparently come hand in hand with figure skating. All he ever has to do is tighten his skateboard trucks every now and then. He can’t imagine having to pay for skate maintenance, coaching fees and ice time.
Sunghoon’s blades glisten in the morning light, hommage to his skates, and that’s how Heeseung spots him in the crowd.
“Are we still on?” Sunghoon asks as Heeseung nears, hair blowing in the wind like the the main character of a cheesy teen flick. Heeseung’s mesmerised.
Are they still on to skip classes today, he means. Pride doesn’t typically allow Heeseung to admit that he is a bad influence, but he isn’t stupid. This was all his idea, after all. He knows very well that Sunghoon would never deny him.
“Yeah.” Heeseung says, grabbing his beat-up skateboard from Sunghoon when he offers it. If Heeseung’s mom saw him carrying his board to school, she’d probably have his head on a stick by the evening. They’ve long since learnt that it’s just safer for Sunghoon to hang onto it. “I mean, if you’re up for it.”
Sunghoon smiles, just like Heeseung knew he would.
“Of course I am.”
Instead of skidding to a halt when Heeseung calls him, Sunghoon waltz jumps in the middle of the street to face him. It’s a small jump, but it’s so pretty still, his brown locks twirling with him. Sunghoon just has that effect.
By the time he’s finally stopped rolling, he’s only looking at Heeseung, even though he’s managed to turn many heads with his little stunt. It’s like he doesn’t even see them, like nothing matters past the two of them, like he doesn’t even realise how breath-taking he is. Heeseung thinks he might melt.
Ignoring the pounding of his heart, Heeseung steps off of his skateboard and points towards the familiar convenience store’s door.
“We should get some stuff— snacks and things.” Heeseung manages to get out, despite his traitorous heart’s best efforts. He didn’t steal his parent’s money for nothing, after all.
Sunghoon doesn’t warn him before he’s pushing the door open and skating inside, leaving Heeseung barely able to catch the door and let himself in before it swings shut. Yeonjun’s store isn’t far from their school, and it’s a fact heavily reflected by the clientele. It’s a small spot without much selection, but Yeonjun (who isn’t even the owner, just an overworked employee) always gives them free alcohol and an extra bag of chocolate if no one’s there to check.
“Ah, my favourite customers, who definitely look like they should be in school right now.” Yeonjun grins, and Heeseung knows he isn’t serious.
Sunghoon shoots him a mischievous grin of his own, leaning on the counter while Heeseung peruses the store. “You’re good at keeping secrets, aren’t you, Yeonjun-hyung?”
Yeonjun runs a hand through his bubblegum pink hair and shrugs. He wouldn’t look out of place on a runway in Paris, Heeseung thinks. “Depends on who’s asking me to.”
“What kinds of people are you keeping secrets for?” Heeseung scoffs from where he’s busy debating over which Sunghoon will like more; strawberry or banana milk.
A hum sounds throughout the store and Heeseung just knows Yeonjun is shaking his head. “Ignorance is bliss, Heeddeungie.”
And that it is. Heeseung can’t argue with hard facts.
By the time he returns to the counter, his hands are full with various things he thinks (hopes) Sunghoon will enjoy and he dumps all of it on the surface for Yeonjun to total. If he subtly motions for Yeonjun to slip in a couple cans of cheap cider, and if Yeonjun does, nobody has to know.
Heeseung is no stranger to jumping fences.
He strives to get what he wants and sometimes, there are fences between him and the things that he wants. Naturally, he must jump those fences when the time calls for it.
Through experience, he’s learnt a few very important lessons. The first being; chain link fences are the devil’s creation. They leave ridges in your skin, the holes are too small to act as functioning hand and footholds, and they tend to be much higher than wooden fences. It just so happens that the fence they’re tackling is chain-linked. Luckily, the scaling difficulty decreases significantly with assistance.
(The other lessons go something like, don’t jump alone - you might not be able to get back to the other side without help, and don’t climb barbed fences, for obvious reasons.)
Sunghoon grabs the hand that Heeseung offers once he’s standing on the wall by the perimeter of the fence and with a little exertion, they both make it to the other side. Their efficiency is only granted by the fact that it’s not exactly their first time doing this.
A soft chuckle grabs Heeseung’s attention. “It’s been ages since we came out here.”
It has been a while, Heeseung silently agrees. Last time he bunked, the school had called home and Heeseung had been so damn lucky that only his dad had been home. Had his mom been the one to pick up that call, he probably wouldn’t be here right now. She’s firm, definitely toeing the line that is overly strict, but Heeseung knows that it comes from a place of love. Suffocating love, but love all the same. Sometimes, Heeseung thinks that love turns into paranoia. Fear.
A hand slides into his grasp. Heeseung looks down. Sunghoon’s grip is warm and secure.
“Yeah.”
They’re trespassing, but neither of them really see it that way. How illegal can this really be, anyway? It’s not like they’ve made a hideout of a government facility; just a collection of rich people houses that are in the later stages of construction, which they’d claimed as ‘their spot’ shortly after discovering that empty pools make great private skate ramps.
Whether it be on the ice or on this shitty pool ceramic, Heeseung thinks Sunghoon was made to skate. Sure, he specialises in all of the fancy tricks like the triple axels and the salchows, but this Sunghoon is unmatched.
As much as Heeseung loves Sunghoon’s elegance and his practised moves, nothing compares to watching him let go of the constraints of routine. Heeseung prefers when the dips and ridges in the ceramic dictate his next moves, where he goes, rather than the formulas drilled into his muscles. Like this, he smiles more. And that’s all Heeseung could ever really ask for.
A soft smile painting his lips, he drops in and joins Sunghoon.
They’re blitzing through the cans of cider (so weak that they’re barely buzzed, but it’s all Yeonjun lets them get away with), when Sunghoon’s eyes suddenly flicker blank, then unreadable. He’s staring somewhere past Heeseung, past the houses. Unsettled, Heeseung whips around to follow his line of sight and freezes.
“Shit.”
The police.
“Come on, Hoon-ah.” Scrabbling to his feet, Heeseung haphazardly shoves everything they came with into his bag and slings it roughly over his back. They don’t have time to waste. “We gotta go.”
Sunghoon blinks up at him owlishly. “What the fuck, hyung?”
The shouts behind them are growing much louder, closer. They don’t have time for this. “We gotta go, now!”
Barely waiting for a response, Heeseung yanks Sunghoon onto his feet, gives him a shove in the right direction and hopes he has enough sense to haul ass. He does, thankfully, and then they’re sprinting across the construction site, through the fields and the unfinished plains, and that’s when Heeseung sees it - a hole in the fence, just big enough for them to squeeze through.
He wills his legs to take him faster, faster still, ignoring the threatening shouts behind them. The metal glistens brighter and brighter until he’s able grab it with her fingers, the steel rattling under the force of his grip.
“We can both fit, go!” Heeseung orders, already slotting his body through the hole. The jagged edges scratch through his clothes and tear his skin, but he pays it no mind as he looks back once to make sure Sunghoon is following suit.
The other side of the fence feels like freedom, like fresh air, but he doesn’t stop running, won’t stop until he can’t hear the shouts anymore. He throws a hand out, but no one takes it. A glance to his left, right, leaves him empty. He’s running alone.
Fuck.
Heeseung turns on his heels before he can even question himself.
When he finds Sunghoon caught by the fence, he shucks his bag off of his shoulders and gets to immediate work. Red welts bloom on his fingertips as panic strips them of their usual dexterity. He doesn’t dare look back. The charging footsteps sound like they’re mere seconds away and it’s Sunghoon’s bag that’s caught but Heeseung can’t undo this stupid fucking knot and they’re running out of time— fuck it.
“We can come ba-“ Heeseung begins to say but Sunghoon’s already sliding out of the straps and bolting.
They run,
And run,
And run. Until they barely recognise the buildings, until they barely recognise the people, until the shouts cease, until it’s just the two of them again.
Sunghoon can barely catch his breath, face flushed crimson rouge and eyes glassy from stress, exertion, the adrenaline crash, or all three. For an ex-athlete, Sunghoon’s stamina has never been on the exceptional side of things.
Once Heeseung’s pants slow and become deep breaths instead, he takes a moment to get a good look at his best friend.
Sunghoon looks like he might cry. He’s keeled over, hands resting on his knees, and Heeseung supposes that this is the point where he should start feeling bad. He is the one who dragged them out here in the first place, the one who almost bagged them both a criminal record each, but the look on Sunghoon’s face ends up forcing a bark of laughter out of him before he can even consider apologising.
“Shit, oops. I’m sorry?” Heeseung tries to get out in between laughs.
Unfortunately, his attempts at reconciliation are not well received and Sunghoon does not look amused in the slightest. At least, for a convincing moment moment before the hard lines in his expression are softening. Heeseung has to give it to him, Sunghoon does try to stay mad at him, he really does, but then he’s laughing, too.
(Just like Heeseung knew he would.)
‘Funny’ is the last word Heeseung would think to use to describe what they just did, yet here they are; laughing like they have a reason to, in the middle of a street they aren’t familiar with, still recovering from their narrow escape from the law.
Yeah, there’s nowhere Heeseung would rather be.
No one should be home.
The door creaks open quietly, but no further noise comes from within the house. Heeseung looks back at Sunghoon standing by the front yard and shoots him a thumbs up, which the pretty boy returns enthusiastically. Releasing his vice grip on the door handle, Heeseung allows himself to sigh in relief. No one’s home.
All Heeseung can think about as he launches himself into the hallway is that he’s never pulling a stunt like this again. His phone isn’t worth it. On the off chance that one of his parents could have been home, this retrieval mission wouldn’t have ended in his favour.
He curses himself for forgetting in the first place, realising that he must have dropped it when he was searching the drawers for his mom’s stack of emergency cash.
There’s the distant sound of muffled music Heeseung recognises as the tv playing - his dad must have forgotten to switch it off before leaving. The house almost feels too empty, too wide. The tv shouldn’t be on. It was off when he left. Something’s wrong.
He ignores the prickling feeling by his neck in favour of making a beeline to the study room where he knows his phone is lying on the floor. In and out, then he can go back to Sunghoon (kind Sunghoon, sweet Sunghoon, pretty Sunghoon, everything that this house isn’t) and forget about these four walls until four o’clock, sharp. Heeseung never makes it that far.
His trip is cut short in the middle of the hallway, just outside of his parents’ room. The door is swung open.
No one was supposed to be home. He can’t move. The drawers he’d tried going through in the morning are pulled open again. The music stops. He thinks he hears his dad say his name. The woman he’s with scrambles to cover herself.
Heeseung’s face crumbles.
He can’t think.
So, he runs.
Down the narrow hallway, past his broken doorway that constantly groans with the need for repair, past the family pictures they’d accumulated over the years, though Heeseung thinks it’s been a long time since they’ve identified with the word. Towards the door he’d left half open, towards Sunghoon, who’s still waiting for him, who always waits.
His dad came this way. Down the same hallway, through the same memories. Heeseung doesn’t stop running even when the hurtling force of the wind tousles his hair and joins the blood roaring in his ears. His legs won’t stop moving and he doesn’t bother trying.
He can’t think.
Suddenly, two hands are grabbing Heeseung’s shoulders, trying to steady him.
“What the hell happened?”
The voice is muffled by the ringing in Heeseung’s ears and all he can register is how the warmth of the hands sears through his clothes, burns his skin, pressurises the air in his lungs until he can’t breathe. Heeseung bristles; shakes the offending hands off of his shoulders. He doesn’t want to be touched, but he still can’t breathe, can’t think. His skin still burns.
A distant horn blares. They’re by the tracks.
“Calm down, Heeseung-hyung.” The voice comes again, softer this time. Less muffled. It sounds like Sunghoon. The burn begins to subside. It’s only when Heeseung no longer feels the desperate need to claw at his throat for a sliver of oxygen does he realise that Sunghoon had been on his heels this entire time.
His dad doesn’t come after him, but Sunghoon does.
“What happened?” Sunghoon whispers. His eyebrows are joined in deep concern, cheeks rosy and blushed. The sun is too bright, too warm, but the hazy glint it casts in Sunghoon’s eyes is beautiful. In the midst of the chaos, Heeseung can’t help but think he’s so pretty, still.
A flicker of something bubbles in Heeseung’s stomach and threatens to spill. He doesn’t have an answer to Sunghoon’s question. Instead, he takes his skateboard from Sunghoon’s warm, warm hands and keeps walking.
He thinks Sunghoon knows.
Dinner is always quiet. There’s never anything to say. After a couple years, you get used to it.
Heeseung wonders what he’d be doing right now if he’d accepted Sunghoon’s offer to stay the night. His eyes had twinkled with worry as he reluctantly accepted Heeseung’s board once they’d reached the school gates again, and Heeseung had thought about kissing him until the pout started becoming the smile he loves so much. He didn’t. When Sunghoon held out his pinky instead, he took it.
Dinner is always quiet. There’s never anything to say. This time, the room is heavy with everything left unsaid.
Heeseung looks at his mom. They hadn’t talked on the drive home.
She knows.
Heeseung looks at his dad. The man doesn’t meet his eye.
He knows he stole the money.
He knows he skipped.
He knows he knows.
And he knows Heeseung won’t tell.
(As a wise man once said, ignorance is bliss.)