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If there’s an emotion Hyunjin hates most, it’s nostalgia. For an emotion that’s usually tied to happiness, it only ever makes the ache in Hyunjin’s chest burn deeper, as if the memories were the spark his dry forest of a heart needs to set aflame. Scenes pass by his eyes like a movie played too fast; speeding by just enough to make Hyunjin lose his balance when he needs it most. What was nostalgia, anyways? Why did it leave Hyunjin so… empty?
Thoughts pass through Hyunjin’s mind, slow and thick like molasses, as he lays staring at the ceiling. His teeth are nearly chattering from the cold in his room, though he makes no move to cover up. In a sick way, the cold feels comforting—the freezing air passing over his bare legs reminds him of how it felt to show the most barren pieces of his soul; reminds him of how it felt to trust something— someone —so much that they could hold a dagger made of ice to his heart and he wouldn’t hesitate to let it plunge into his once-warm skin. Perhaps he could say his arms were made of lead, hands made of pure steel, and that’s why he couldn’t bear to pull the blanket, laying only inches away from his fingertips, over his exposed skin. Perhaps he could say that he couldn’t feel the breeze at all, that he was warmer than the sun on a mid-July afternoon, and perhaps—
—perhaps he wouldn’t be too far off, because all he could feel is the ever-growing pain in his chest.
Hyunjin wonders what triggered this feeling in the first place. Maybe it was the feeling of his paintbrush gliding over the textured paper weightlessly, distantly reminding him of a time where he, too, was weightless; maybe it was the way he put his shoes on that morning, tying them tight enough that with every step he’d feel the pressure digging into the top of his foot, because the sick bastard that was déjà vu liked to set up camp in his home; maybe it was hearing Saturn for the first time since then, and maybe it was letting the soft violin in the background take over every last nerve in his body. However, Hyunjin thinks it could be a combination of everything. Even now, as Saturn plays just a little too loudly through his earbuds, he can’t help but think about everything from before. The past has since left Hyunjin feeling like he's missing a piece, like his teenage years are nothing more than a subplot in his life and the past was the climax. Now he’s stuck in the after, stuck in the rubble it created, and all he can do is reminisce over the before as if it’d send Hyunjin back in time, and, sure—he’s climbed his way through the rubble, he’s worked through the wreckage enough to stand a little taller, to breathe a little easier, but there will always be a piece of him stuck in the ruins.
All of a sudden it’s as though the dark grey paint of his ceiling has turned into a theatre, showcasing all of his most bittersweet memories. Snapshots of their old conversations fade in and out; sweet melodies of their laughs mixing together, drowning out the music from his earbuds; the feeling of sticky perspiration pooling at the backs of Hyunjin’s knees when he would sit across from the window and they’d laugh about his lack of skill in whatever battle royale game he was playing at the time—it all flashes by so fast that Hyunjin feels like he’s spinning. A rush of nausea passes over him and he only has a split second to reach for the garbage can by his bed before he’s throwing up what little was left in his system.
“Oh my god, oh my god, no—“ Hyunjin’s trying his best not to yell as excitement passes through his veins like a flood, but it's almost fruitless—no matter how hard he tries, he can't hide how happy he is. "Fuck, Seungmin, Iron Man's going to kill me, oh my god—"
"You know, some context would be great," Seungmin chuckles, voice coming out muffled through the tinny speakers of Hyunjin's phone.
"I started a new match," he explains, "and I landed at the Stark Industries building, right? But before I could get a gun Iron Man was already on my ass. I couldn't even get a grenade! He's gonna fuckin' kill me, oh my god."
"You know, you say oh—" the line goes so quiet for a moment that Hyunjin isn't sure if Seungmin's hung up or not. A second later, however, soft static fills his ears and he flinches; Seungmin's voice picks up only moments later, "a lot."
As Hyunjin manoeuvres his character towards an empty room, he laughs, "I've no fucking clue what you said."
“I said,” Seungmin emphasises, “you say oh my god a lot.” Hyunjin can almost hear him rolling his eyes and he can’t contain the small giggle falling from his mouth. “What are you even playing, huh?”
“Fortnite,” Hyunjin says shortly. “YES! I got a gun, I’m not going to die. Go me, go me!”
“Remind me again why I talk to you so much?” Seungmin jokes, laughing softly. “I don’t think my Fortnite download ever finished. Let me check.”
“You talk to me this much because I think you might be obsessed with me, and like, to be honest? I wouldn’t blame you, I’m sexy.”
Hyunjin’s met with nothing more than a light shuffling sound coming from his phone, so his focus turns towards the game in front of him. It’s a wonder he hasn’t died yet—with how little he’s paying attention, someone could’ve easily bludgeoned him to death—but he knows it’s most likely either because of the bots filling the game, or because he’s really good at hiding. Maybe, for the sake of his pride, he’ll say he’s just really good at hiding. His loadout isn’t as bad as he would’ve expected; he’s got a blue Stark Industries rifle, a grey pump shotgun—which, honestly, sucks a lot, but it’s better than nothing—and a couple small shields sitting to the left in his tray. While it’s definitely not enough to fight Iron Man, it’s enough to keep him standing until he can find something better.
“It hasn’t finished downloading,” Seungmin sighs. “I don’t think I have enough space for it, but I even deleted a lot off my hard drive for it. Maybe it’ll be enough. I dunno.”
Hyunjin feels a little guilty for the soft pang that hits his heart. Of course, he’s not upset with Seungmin—likely never could be—and he knows that it’s not really Seungmin’s fault. He was just so excited to show Seungmin the ropes, to share something with him, to just have something to do with him. It’s hard, being so far away from Seungmin, and there were few things that could make the ache hurt less. This was just one less thing.
“Haah, shit—“ Hyunjin bites down on his lip as he focuses back on his game, only to find Iron Man heading right his way. There’s a small whitish-red line growing on the screen and before he has a chance to react, the laser incinerates him. His screen reads ‘#12th Place!’ and he frowns. “Fucking Iron Man.”
"You dead?" Seungmin teases.
"Yeah—it's because you were distractin' me, you know?" Hyunjin replies without a second thought. He sets the controller down on the couch beside him and uncrosses his legs. Maybe sitting on his legs for so long wasn’t a good idea because when he goes to stand up, pins and needles prick at his feet and he nearly falls back down.
“Oh yeah, sure,” Seungmin chuckles, “blame me for your losses.”
“It’s totally your fault, you know?”
“It’s not my fault I’m so sexy, nor that I live in your head rent free!”
Seungmin was right—he had, and likely always will, live in Hyunjin’s head rent free.
Hyunjin wipes the back of his hand across his mouth and sinks back into his mattress. Every last ounce of his energy must’ve left his system with his breakfast; at this point, even breathing seems to take too much effort. His eyes transfix on the ridges of the ceiling again and as much as the nausea seems to have subsided, he still feels like the room is spinning. The emptiness he’d felt in his heart sinks into his stomach like an anchor sinking into the ocean, and for a moment, he wonders if… if any of this is worth it.
Maybe everything would be easier if Hyunjin could cry. Maybe he wouldn’t hurt so bad; maybe he wouldn’t feel so empty if his emotions could flow down his cheeks in shiny rivers. A bitter taste fills Hyunjin’s mouth as his movie of memories starts to play on his ceiling once more. Nostalgia, for Hyunjin, feels like cold seawater crashing over his honey skin in varying waves. Sometimes, the waves feel nice against his sweaty skin; memories of him and Jeongin playing on their bikes in the cool spring breeze, of the two boys monkeying around in Hyunjin’s old kiddie pool—pieces of time when things were so much simpler. More often than not, though, the waves are filled with sharp rocks and shards of seashells that dig in and cut his once unblemished skin.
Most of the harsher waves are made of memories of Seungmin. Memories of when they’d stay up talking until the early hours of the morning even when Seungmin had school the next day, or when they’d troll little kids on Roblox, or when they’d watch concert compilations of their favourite bands until four in the morning. Every memory drenches him in ice-cold water and leaves him freezing—leaves him feeling naked and exposed and vulnerable.
He fucking hates it.
“I love you,” Seungmin whispers. The sound comes out crackly through the crappy earbuds in Hyunjin’s ears, but it’s still his favourite sound—no matter how bad the quality is, Hyunjin thinks he could listen to Seungmin telling him that for decades. “I love you so much, Jinnie, forever, okay?”
He’d be lying if he said his heart didn’t do a couple somersaults in his chest. He feels like he’s on cloud nine, soaring high enough in the sky that nothing could touch him. A soft smile spreads across his face. “I love you, too, Seungmo.”
They’re invincible. Untouchable. Nothing could rip them apart and Hyunjin is so, so secure in their relationship. It’s a first for him—feeling secure enough to blindly trust someone, but he knows that Seungmin feels the same. Through countless conversations that drag into the early hours of the morning, Seungmin would tell him about how happy he is, how loved Hyunjin makes him feel, how complete he felt. It was easy for the two to communicate, no matter the subject—if something was wrong, they didn’t hesitate to say something.
Hyunjin has never been more in love. Soft sighs fall from Seungmin’s lips as he begins to fall asleep; there’s an ache deep in Hyunjin’s bones, an almost insufferable desire to just hold his boy, to touch his boy. He wonders, briefly, if Seungmin holds the same desires. Within only a few minutes, Hyunjin’s breathing evens out with Seungmin’s as sleep blankets over his frame.
Lead-filled fingers run down Hyunjin’s pale face, trembling as they pass over each and every curve. He can’t pinpoint a single emotion running through his body; his breathing is shaky as his eyes close, clenching tightly in hopes of stopping the river of tears he can feel building up behind his eyes. Isn’t this what he wanted, though? Wasn’t he begging to cry only minutes ago? If it was what he wanted, why isn’t it making him feel better?
It’s on days like this that Hyunjin’s waves aren’t made of just memories, though. It's on days like this, where he feels full of cement, that his waves are filled with guilt and shame. It's on days like this, where he's filled with those feelings, that he nurses the idea of drowning in the waves, of letting them take over until there's nothing more of him left.
There’s not a lot left of him, anyway.
By some sort of miracle, Hyunjin manages to pull himself out of bed long enough to shower. It’s easier to cry in the shower for him—if the water drowns out his tears, who’s to say that he was ever crying in the first place? Seungmin used to laugh at that—sure, the tears would wash away, but what about his swollen eyes?
“Shampoo, of course,” Hyunjin would tell him. “Y’know how if you get shampoo in your eyes, you look high as fuck? Exactly that.” Seungmin never believed him, though; he could see right through Hyunjin.
Trudging back to his room in only a fluffy black robe, Hyunjin has to admit he feels a little better after his shower. Admittedly, he still feels like shit, but not as shitty as he did—that’s gotta be an improvement, no? He sits down at the foot of his bed and reaches for his phone on the nightstand, nearly falling off in the process. It isn’t until he has unlocked his phone and put on his comfort playlist that he realises Jisung’s left him more than a few worried texts.
Shit . Jisung.
ji ji <3 — 1h
hey bubs
guess what bro
the pot store by walmart had pineapple flavoured papers
can’t believe they don’t have pineapples printed on them tho. this feels like homophobia
ji ji <3 — 1h
can i come over later? i’ll bring the pineapple papers
it’s not fun being at home rn
ji ji <3 — 44m
if ur busy tho thats okay !! idm either way u_u
i miss u
if u don’t miss me ur stinky /hj
ji ji <3 — 28m
hyun?
you okay? did smth happen?
you’re never this silent unless something’s wrong
i don’t wanna just show up incase it’s smth to do with ur parents but i’m a little worried
ji ji <3 — 2m
okay i’m rly worried now so
i’m coming over
if its ur parents they can speak to my lawyer
i’ll be there eventually
pls be okay :(
Hyunjin’s heart, however riddled with guilt, swells at Jisung’s texts. He tries to stay on the positive side of things—he tries to think about how Jisung knows him well enough to know what’s normal for him and what isn’t; tries to think about how Jisung found pineapple papers of all things and his first thought was to tell Hyunjin; tries to think about the fact that Jisung’s going to be with him in t-minus 15 minutes.
Thinking about the good things doesn’t help.
Slowly but surely, the air feels like it’s being ripped from Hyunjin’s lungs. Cement fills his limbs and he finds himself stuck on the edge of his bed, unable to do anything except stare at the ground and think . As the thoughts take over his mind like a storm cloud over a blue sky, all Hyunjin wants to do is message Minho. Minho would know what to do, would know what to say—he always did, even if it came off as harsh sometimes. Hyunjin wishes he could hug Minho like he used to. For a moment, he contemplates unlocking his phone and messaging him like he wants to, but ultimately he decides against it—Minho has enough to deal with; he doesn’t need Hyunjin’s bullshit, too.
Hyunjin misses Seungmin.
Why did he leave, after all? What happened there? He would almost give anything to go back to the day it happened, to see if he could change it at all, to see if there was any chance of Seungmin staying in his life. It’s stupid to dwell on such things, he knows, but he can’t stop the racing thoughts nor the ache in his heart. Would it really have been so different if he got the necessary closure? If Seungmin had straight out said that he didn’t want to be with Hyunjin anymore, that it was over with right there, would it really have stopped whatever this is?
Why did Seungmin leave with almost nothing? Maybe, Hyunjin thinks, he was asking for too much at the end of it. He knows what happened, he knows what he was asking for, he knows he was showing Seungmin such a vulnerable piece of himself—maybe it just wasn’t something Seungmin was ready for. Hyunjin was going through a lot then and he really just needed someone to take care of him because his parents wouldn’t . Was he asking for too much?
The same intrusive thought he’s been nursing since the breakup rears its ugly colours again, showing up at the front of his mind like annoying solicitors at the front door. Could it have been because he was coming on too strong? Did Seungmin not like what they had? Was he not happy? Did… did Hyunjin misread everything when they were… intimate?
Was Hyunjin like the men he’d dealt with as a kid?
The sound of the doorbell echoing through the house nearly knocks Hyunjin out of his stupor, but yet not enough to completely knock him back into place. In the back of his mind, he knows that he should let Jisung in, but—if he doesn’t let him in, maybe he’ll go home, maybe he’ll leave Hyunjin to drown in his mess. Maybe, if Hyunjin doesn’t let him in, it’ll stop postponing the inevitable.
He’ll lose Jisung. Just like he lost Seungmin.
Hyunjin isn’t sure how much time had passed between the first ringing of the doorbell and Jisung’s arms snaking around his shoulders. The more logical part of his brain reminds him that Jisung knew where the spare key was; reminds him that even though he didn’t let Jisung in, Jisung didn’t leave. It’s a quiet hum in the back of his head and it’s so, so easy to ignore, but when Jisung presses a soft kiss to his neck, it turns into the loudest roar Hyunjin’s ever heard. He didn’t leave.
He didn’t leave.
“Sung,” Hyunjin croaks out, wincing as his voice cracks. He doesn’t say much more—doesn’t have to—before Jisung scooches back onto the bed and pulls the older boy into his lap, cradling him as if he were fragile, made of porcelain and held together with wood glue.
“Ssh,” Jisung hums, burying his face in Hyunjin’s damp black locks. “You’re okay. Just breathe a little, ‘kay? Not—not really into holding corpses, sorry.”
A faint chuckle falls from Hyunjin’s mouth. Salty tears flow down his cheeks in glittery rivers, dripping off of his chin and onto Jisung’s crisp grey t-shirt, and Hyunjin can almost physically feel the cement in his veins liquify. Jisung’s untrimmed nails draw small circles onto his exposed shoulder, as if he were trying to carve the solar system into his skin.
“I’m sorry,” Hyunjin says after a moment. He blinks away the tears and wipes the trails off with his pinky, but he doesn’t dare to look up. He doesn’t dare to make eye contact with Jisung because he knows that if he does, the guilt will eat him alive.
What kind of boyfriend was Hyunjin, really? What kind of person cries into their boyfriend’s arms over someone that broke their heart months ago? Before Jisung even came along? Hyunjin doesn’t deserve someone as kind as Jisung—not when he’s like this. But, as much as he knows he’s not worthy, he’s too selfish to let Jisung go.
He loves Jisung.
“You don’t have to be sorry,” Jisung frowns. “I’m just glad you’re okay. What happened?”
“Can we—can we talk about it later? I just want to be like this for now, I just want to exist; everything else can come later.”
“Of course, Hyunnie.” Jisung reaches for the soft black blanket tucked behind Hyunjin’s pillow and throws it over the both of them, almost like a forcefield protecting them from the outside world. He starts humming a tune and it doesn’t take Hyunjin long to figure out what song he’s humming—it’s his favourite, after all.
Hyunjin looks up at Jisung, finally, with red rimmed eyes and a ghost of a smile. When their gazes lock, Hyunjin’s breath hitches. Jisung’s eyes are so full of love, so full of adoration, that it almost makes Hyunjin nervous. They haven’t said the big three words to each other yet but it’s this that tells Hyunjin that Jisung loves him.
There will always be a missing piece in his heart in the shape of Seungmin, but as he tucks closer into Jisung’s chest, Hyunjin thinks that maybe there’s enough room for a Jisung-shaped piece, too.
You taught me the courage of stars before you left
How light carries on endlessly, even after death
With shortness of breath
You explained the infinite
And how rare and beautiful it is to even exist.