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It’s not the last day of high school, but it is the last year, and the first year ever in Jaemin’s life the word last inspires a bittersweet tang in him.
They’re at that age, when everything is starting to feel murky and uncertain and complicated — but without exception, every dawn still shimmers with possibility.
He hears the irregular thump thump thumping of Jeno’s basketball on the asphalt of the sidewalk before Jaemin sees him. Then his shadow turns the corner, long and hazy in the dim light.
On cue, Jaemin’s heart skips a beat and his breath catches in his throat. That’s a first. They’ve known each other the whole of their seventeen and a half years, through preschool and elementary and middle school up through the time Jaemin became the smartest student in their grade in high school and Jeno became vice-captain of the basketball team.
Nobody knows they still observe the ritual of walking to school together in the wee hours of the morning, not even their new best friends, the head prefect Renjun and Donghyuck, captain of the basketball team.
Which has been a secret harder to keep than it sounds, since Renjun and Donghyuck are publicly known to be inseparable best buds themselves.
Jaemin kind of likes it this way, actually — it’s not like they’re ashamed of how different they are; just that it’s nice to have this closeness all to themselves, when the rest of the world thinks they’ve long drifted apart.
Some things don’t have to be shouted from the rooftops — because they occupy the quietest corner of one’s heart.
They don’t even talk much during these meandering walks; but Jeno always takes the side of the pavement closest to the road, and sometimes he dribbles his worn ratty ball as he walks and Jaemin thinks he’ll skip dessert at recess so he can add a penny to the fund he’s saving up to buy a new basketball.
In all honesty, he’d already saved enough before Jeno’s latest birthday, and was fully intending to buy it then. But then his birthday had come around, a few months prior, and Jeno hadn’t given him anything except verbal wishes on the morning of.
He’d overthought it, and felt, irrationally, that a basketball — or any gift, really — after that, would feel unnaturally momentous.
Now, Jaemin doesn’t know if it’s because he’s slightly older, or it’s something about the morning air and sky, but that all feels stupid, trivial and insignificant.
He should’ve just done what he wanted, and bought Jeno the basketball so he could have a new one for the last year before graduation.
“Are you still gonna play in university?” he blurts out, apropos of nothing.
Jeno looks over at him, expression slightly confused and amused.
“This?” He twirls the ball on a finger.
Jaemin nods sheepishly. The leaves rustle overhead in the faintest breeze which ruffles through Jeno’s almost messy hair, and he tears his eyes away, chest suddenly too full to look.
Jeno has continued walking, hugging the ball to his chest now. Jaemin glances at his shoulders, then catches up.
“I don’t know,” Jeno says, giving him a carefree smile. “Why?”
Jaemin shrugs. “No reason.”
They walk a few more paces, in companionable silence, then Jeno says, “Do you want me to?”
Jaemin looks at him sharply. “What?”
“I mean — do you think I should?” Now it’s Jeno’s turn to look sheepish.
“I don’t know,” Jaemin rolls his shoulders again, thrown. “It’s up to you. Do you like it?”
“Hmm.” Jeno runs a finger over his lips, and Jaemin’s eyes follow the movement almost unconsciously.
“I have something to tell you.” The words slip out of his mouth in a daze.
Jeno pauses a beat, turns to look at him with head tilted slightly and eyes narrowed with interest.
“What is it?” For some reason, he sounds almost eager.
Jaemin swallows. “Not now. On graduation day.”
“Graduation day,” Jeno echoes, voice low. Jaemin just nods, throat dry.
“Okay.” Jeno nods too, decisively. After a heartbeat, he adds, “I’ve got something to tell you too.”
“What?” Jaemin gasps, and Jeno laughs out loud at the look on his face. He counters, eyes twinkling with mischief: “Graduation day.”
“No fair!” Jaemin grabs his shoulder, but drops his hand when Jeno eyes it. He hopes he’s not blushing. His fingers tingle.
Jeno’s shirt is creased where Jaemin’s fingerprints are left, fading. He doesn’t straighten it.
Jaemin looks up, and Jeno is still looking at him, quietly. His expression is unreadable now, for one of the first times since Jaemin has known him.
“You wanna tell me now?” Jeno blinks, then cracks a smirk.
“No!” Jaemin shoves him, and his basketball rolls into the bushes. Jeno laughs, and dives in after it.
“I’ll make you spill it first,” Jaemin threatens, voice wobbling, when Jeno emerges with grass stains on his pristine uniform shirt and his hair tousled handsomely.
“Oh?” Jeno runs his razor sharp eyes over Jaemin, from head to toe, and Jaemin swears he shivers. “We’ll see, Jaeminie.”
Time passes inordinately quickly. It seems like it was just yesterday they unofficially issued each other that petty challenge, when graduation day arrives.
It’s the last morning of school. A lot has happened in the meanwhile. Jaemin celebrated his birthday and this time, Jeno did surprise him with a little present, because nineteen is a special birthday, as he explained.
For a while then, Jaemin had been a little miffed because if he had known Jeno would be doing this, he would’ve gotten the ball and enjoyed the selfish pleasure of Jeno handling it daily on the way to school.
The blue-grey dawn light is so familiar it’s difficult to imagine he won’t be walking through it with Jeno from next year on.
They’d both picked different colleges, and of course, like so many other childhood friends, promised not to drift apart as they took their first steps into adulthood. But Jaemin can’t help worrying, because it’s the first time since they were toddlers they won’t be in the same school.
Jeno creeps up behind him today, startling him. He isn’t messing with his ball for once, and it’s nowhere in sight. But when Jaemin asks, eyebrows raised, Jeno smiles sheepishly and signals to his backpack, which is visibly more bulky than usual.
“Oh.” Jaemin frowns but chalks it up to the fact that there won’t be lessons today, and they don’t need to bring any textbooks.
It seems like forever since he’s seen Jeno with his agile hands free, but his friend doesn’t look awkward at all. Jaemin wants to say something, to express his convoluted thoughts and feelings on this day, but he also doesn’t want to ruin Jeno’s apparently easy and carefree mood.
“What’s that?” They’ve barely advanced a few steps when Jeno pries, peering into the big plastic bag Jaemin himself is carrying, in the hand furthest from Jeno.
Jaemin immediately clutches it tighter, paranoid despite knowing the brand new basketball inside is wrapped up in gauze paper, and Jeno could never see the minuscule words written on it from this distance even if it weren’t.
“Nothing.” He feels embarrassed, toting multiple bags like a middle-aged woman to school on the last day, unlike Jeno; and flustered that the other noticed.
Jeno narrows his eyes and scoffs. “Come on, I can see it’s obviously a basketball.”
Jaemin gapes. “How’d you know?”
“The shape is obvious.” Jeno stares at him incredulously. “And you’re carrying it in a bag from the sports store, for heaven’s sake.”
“C’mon, spill it,” Jeno nudges him, when he’s too stupefied to respond for a moment. “Who’s the basketball for?”
“Nobody,” Jaemin blurts, panicking. “Not you, anyway.” Then he curses under his breath.
Jeno looks taken aback, thrown. His smile wavers.
“I didn’t know you knew anybody else on the basketball team.”
“Well, you don’t know everything about me,” Jaemin retorts, now having given up on how his mouth is apparently hell-bent on ruining all his plans. “I know Donghyuck,” he adds.
“And the ball is a gift for Donghyuck?” Jeno’s brows continue to rise higher.
“No, someone else,” Jaemin stutters, then strides ahead before he loses control of his lips. He knows that here, now, this in Jeno has given him is probably the most perfect moment for his confession. But it’s just — not right.
Or maybe, he’s still too chicken.
Jeno catches up with him and slings an arm around his shoulder, startling him again.
“Hey, I was just kidding around. Don’t get mad, yeah?”
Jaemin can’t resist that ingenuous smile. He’s so screwed.
A student dressed in their uniform flies past them on a bicycle. Ahead, Jaemin can see the gates of their school looming, banners congratulating this year’s graduates fluttering in the breeze. The sun has almost fully risen.
“Do you — uh, want to go home together today, too?” Jeno says, out of the blue.
Jaemin turns to face him. “You mean, walk home?” His heart beats a little faster — it’s almost like a blessing; extra time to work up the courage to open his mouth bestowed upon him.
But “No,” Jeno responds, crushing his hopes. “Just the bus. If you’re leaving right after school.”
“Yeah,” Jaemin mumbles, dazed. “Sure.”
Jeno grins. “Let’s meet on the rooftop after the last bell, then? We can sign each other’s yearbooks too.”
“Okay.”
Jeno punches his shoulder and gives him a last lopsided smile before loping through the gates, where they usually part.
After school, Jaemin opens his locker and stares at the sports store bag which he had shoved into his locker the moment he arrived, and locked securely. It’s half a day later and he doesn’t feel any more prepared.
His phone buzzes in his pocket. It’s Jeno with a message that simply says rooftop waiting. No mention of their mutual agreement for the graduation day they made six months ago. Maybe he’s forgotten.
He texts back coming and closes his locker after emptying the last of his textbooks into his backpack.
The sky is blue behind Jeno when Jaemin sees him. He’s wearing his basketball jacket, and looking devastating. Jaemin’s heart throbs uncontrollably, and he knows he’s going to lose this friendship today, for better or worse.
“You don’t have practice today?” Jaemin shades his eyes as he approaches.
“Yeah, no, I think I’m heading home early to hit the sack.” Jeno’s fumbling in his bag.
“Then why’d you bring your ball?”
“Uh — I played a little at recess?” Jeno stops fumbling for a moment, then resumes. He resurfaces with his yearbook.
“Here, sign it for me. I reserved the last page all for you.”
“Thanks, I guess?” Despite himself, Jaemin smiles.
“You’re welcome. Do you want me to write something in yours?”
“Mmhm.” Jaemin shrugs off his backpack onto the ground and hands Jeno his yearbook. They both sit down to write properly.
There’s only the sound of pens scribbling for a few minutes, then Jeno slides the book back into his lap. Jaemin finishes up and returns Jeno his. They’re leaning against each other’s backs, and the sun is so hot they probably can’t stay much longer. Jaemin wishes time would stop.
His heart does — stop, that is, as he reads Jeno’s message. There’s nothing except his signature, a cheeky doodle, and one line of text.
Have you forgotten what you wanted to tell me today? I’m waiting.
He hears Jeno chuckle as he reads Jaemin’s much longer, earnest passage that contains all his feelings except the most important one.
“So?” Jeno’s voice vibrates from behind him, much deeper like this. Jaemin could drown in it, in his presence.
They turn at the same time, bringing their faces unnervingly near. Both back away, caught off guard.
“You have something to tell me too,” Jaemin points out in a small voice, as Jeno clears his throat. “Don’t you?”
“I… yeah,” the other admits, looking uncomfortable. “Why don’t you go first?”
Jaemin rolls his eyes, swallowing. “Make me.”
They’re on the bus back, which is packed with students from various schools, and neither have caved.
When the bus is at a stop light, Jeno leans over and whispers in his ear, “You haven’t given the basketball to — whoever yet?”
The shiver that travels down Jaemin’s spine at the heat of that voice, right in his ear, makes him lose his balance right as the bus starts moving again.
Jeno catches his other elbow, his arm steady behind Jaemin’s back.
“Are you okay?”
Jaemin nods, shaken.
Jeno doesn’t unwrap his arm from around his waist for awhile.
After they get down the bus, near the place they meet every morning, Jaemin replies, “Not yet.”
Jeno looks confused. “Why not? Is it because I called you to the rooftop too early?”
“No, I — look, we’re reaching home. Are you going to tell me what you want to say?”
Jeno stops in his tracks and turns to look at him, a distance from the bus stop. For the first time, he looks awkward without anything to occupy his hands — as awkward as Jaemin has felt all day.
Jeno opens his mouth, then closes it. “You first,” is all he can grit out, eventually.
Jaemin groans. It looks like they’re equally hardheaded.
“Fine,” he concedes with a long-suffering sigh. “Shall we say it at the same time?”
Jeno brightens, and everything is instantly forgiven for Jaemin. Ugh, he thinks again. So screwed.