Archive of Our Own ^beta

Vernon lays upside down on his bed, feet kicked up parallelly to the wall and head bobbing along with the music coming out of his headphones. He has fairly free reign on his schoolwork as a first year student, which also meant he was yet to wash up even though he woke up hours ago. Jihoon and Wonwoo were both on their phones, Jihoon narrating to his sister about the roundabout trip they took around the city the previous day and the food she couldn’t taste. Wonwoo, on the other hand, listens distractedly. He fiddles with the purple mini stapler he got as a couple set with Jihoon. Vernon pulls out the bud from one ear and hears the shorter talk excitedly while Wonwoo grows progressively annoyed.

“I don’t wanna hear about it, Mom.” 

The voice on the other side protests and speaks some more before Wonwoo cuts the call in the middle of it offhandedly. He flings his phone on his bed and faces an unbothered Vernon, who was trying to give some privacy to his roommates.

“Let’s order in today.”

The grapevine in the form of Wonwoo’s mother brought in the news of her son returning home from university for summer break. Soonyoung had tried to keep tabs on Wonwoo’s arrival but with the fierce happenings in his daily life often led him to forget, for years now he had been discarding his own youth towards salvaging his family. He is twenty years old, behind the cashier bar of their repair shop doing the job as anyone could with his experience and determination. Mrs. Jeon smiles when he greets her when she passes their shop on her way back home, underlying tiredness sits on her face peeking from under the umbrella that gathers her frame. She casually invites him to their home, with or without Wonwoo’s presence. He accepts out of politeness and the obviousness of the offer.

Daily enactments of his routine had slowed his pace and hollowed him out like scoops taken out of the bestselling ice cream. He counts the cash their shop earned for the day, his tiredness grows as he tallies each note to the bulk of tens, twenties, fifties, and so on.

He swiftly ignores the flashing screen of his phone, a message from an old flame he no longer wishes to rekindle with. Everyone around him prepares to leave, the keys of the safe jingle irritably and the drawers refuse to slide shut as smoothly they were supposed to. He makes a mental note to oil them in the upcoming days and curses when his own becomes stuck halfway in an awkward tilt. He gathers all the money out and bangs it shut in three forceful hits.

The mirror in the shop mocks his haggard appearance, threatening to urge melancholia out of him. His clothes smell like sickness and of the telltale smell of hospital, test reports weigh heavy in his backpack and he has given up counting how many times the waiting rooms have found him in their enclosure. Why does it never end?

Leaving the employees to finish up the closure of the shop, Soonyoung clambers down the street while searching for a corner he can smoke in. As he lights his third cigarette of the day, he thinks of Wonwoo. Wonwoo would probably be happy to know he had cut down his daily nicotine intake and that he would not have to pull away when Soonyoung tries to land a kiss on him out of fondness. The orange streetlights create a hue against the twinkling end of his alight smoke, he inhaled the fumes with the ease of practise.

Buried in the pile of received texts, he finds his brother's number with the intention to ask if he needs to get anything before he returns home for the day and finds a text from the other which was delivered an hour ago.

"Mom isn’t eating, come back soon.”

He sucks the inside of his cheek and rolls the cigarette butt against his fingers before he chucks it in the corner. Heaving a sigh, he kicks his scooter on and heads home, cutting through the street.

After he had made sure his parents were well fed and off to bed, he remains sprawled in his mattress with some wine in his system, drifting in and out of sleep. His brother, Jeonghan is snuggled in the bed, watching Netflix with way more volume than is appropriate at this time of the night with complete disregard that Soonyoung has to get up early to attend classes tomorrow.

“Can you lower the volume? I am trying to sleep here goddamn it.” He bemoans, face squashed against the pillow. The sound lowers a bit, like a pity throw in the air with no real intention to solve the issue at hand. Soonyoung waits it out, silently hoping he could drift off to sleep even with the sounds of a gazillion guns firing from the speakers. 

He got an idea that he should watch whatever was playing too so he could fall asleep faster, his agitated eyes would have had enough and force him to power down on their own. Two episodes later, he was still wide awake. 

“It’s way past midnight, turn it off hyung.” His brother motions him to wait with an unsteady hand, face glistening from the illuminated computer screen. Soonyoung changes positions and attempts to become comfortable in the mattress. When nothing worked, he sat up.

“If you do not turn that shit off in the next ten seconds, I will hand your ass back to you! I have class tomorrow! And then I go to work because you clearly won’t! Do you not understand that? SWITCH IT OFF.” He half yells, careful to not wake their parents but making a point to fling his pillow onto the older guy. 

“Fine, grumpy pants.” Jeonghan pouts but follows through his words. In moments, the room is drowned in darkness. Peace at last.

Wonwoo notes the crisscross brutalism inspired beams and vaults of the airport, he mentally climbs and swings from them without falling off in his visualization of the trick. Then he imagines himself failing to grip another bar above and plummeting to the ground, his ghost body splatters on the white marble quite similar to a persecuted fly stuck to a window.

He sees apparitions of people who have somewhere else to be, move around his broken body, he lays there like a character in a cartoon and suddenly comes back to life. He stands up and looks around sheepishly, embarrassed to have fallen down to disrupt them and walks away with funny little sounds in the background that erupt with every step he takes.

When he feels humored enough, he turns to his exercise and jots down pointers like he was instructed by his therapist.

“While on your journey back home, record everything you’re feeling and thinking about on this trip, we’ll discuss it when we meet again next week.” She had asked. Hilarious intrusive thoughts, he types in vaguely.

Having arrived early to avoid the Sunday rush, they still had more than an hour left until boarding. Suffering through a security check took several years off Wonwoo, not because he carried anything he wasn’t supposed to carry but because of how bothersome it was to unravel his backpack and watch his precious stuff streamline into the big useful machine. There were several things to be worried about, the possibility of his stuff being misplaced for one.

The aftershocks of that panic flowed through him after he was cleared and had begrudgingly tried to shove his stuff back inside with JIhoon’s help. The feeling simmered inside him when he munched on some McDonald’s while Jihoon sat nearby holding his own burger, swallowed by the weight of the huge headphones around his shoulders. They had a tray full of fries between them, Wonwoo shoved three at once and took a bite off his burger.

Neither of them was much of a talker except the random bursts of conversation in themes that managed to catch their attention. Jihoon told him once about his habit of planning out escape routes wherever he goes in case an apocalypse unfolds and he has to run for his life. Wonwoo was thrilled and amused to find he wasn’t the only one, a flesh encased vessel of paranoia and wild imagination. He wonders what Jihoon must have found by now in the bustling airport. Do they even let you out once you’ve checked in?

At one point, he runs out of things to do on his phone so he decides to call his brother to learn how things were at home before he stepped into the city. It rang for a while, and just when Wonwoo was about to end the call, an enthusiastic Chan answered.

“Hi hyung! How long until you board?”

“Channie, we still have time. How’s everything today?” Wonwoo smiles, glancing sideways at Jihoon. The shorter one looks up from his phone and wiggles his brows. From what he could hear through the phone, their mother was busy cleaning the house as far as the Sunday morning ritual goes.

“Mom is moving at the pace of a tornado around the house….” Chan singsongs. The lady in question mutters something that Wonwoo does not catch due to the disservice of the medium.

“You know exactly how it goes.”

“I can’t believe she didn’t tell me you were coming today. Hah! The lack of communication in this family will land us in big trouble one day.” Chan lets out a disbelieving laugh.

“That’s because she doesn’t want me there.” Wonwoo mentions casually, studying his nails and frowning at the uneven cuticle.

“But you’re coming anyway, that’s why I respect you hyung, you’ve got a heart of steel. It’s fascinating!” Wonwoo shrugs and his lips curl in amusement lightly at Chan’s comment. He nods to himself, “Yes, your hyung is an anomaly indeed.”

“Did you pack the shoes you got for me properly?” The expensive, branded ones.

“Yes, I am wearing them right now.”

“HYUNG!” Chan makes an indignant noise that has Wonwoo pulling his phone away from his ear.

“It’s there with my luggage, don’t be silly, brat.” He mutters, eyes rolling and twitching beneath his glasses. His glasses needed desperate cleaning and maybe even a change of pair with the amount of scratches the lenses had. “I am hanging up now, remind dad about my arrival timings yeah?” Chan agrees easily and the call disconnects.

Jihoon scratches his neck and stretches his hands so far above himself, Wonwoo fears he might snap his spine, “I can’t wait to get home. There’s shit ton be done this summer.” Jihoon says, clearly pumped to be on vacation and looked forward to spending days in harmony for the next one month.

“Yeah, I can’t wait either.” Wonwoo replies artificially, taking a leap of faith in order to keep the conversation going. In the circuit of his mind, the resistor has never worked harder.

“I just hope there is no child around us, I would like to get some sleep.” Jihoon grumbles on their way to the boarding gate. Their finals sucked the life out of them, even with a schedule, they missed out on precious sleep for a stretch of an entire month and a half with essays to be handed in, vivas to be given and reports to be written in addition to the theory exam.

Jihoon’s wishful thinking becomes an elaborate joke of the universe because there’s a child in front of them and he wouldn't stop staring at Wonwoo. He privately guffaws at Jihoon’s glares of disdain and closes his eyes.

Wonwoo’s Notes (expand later)

• excited to meet friends in city

• looked down at the city from the airplane

• dont care about going home

• ate hotpot with Jun before leaving

• dislike airports, a hassle

• stay alive (imp)
• hilarious intrusive thoughts

• hung out with how tf do u work on yourself?

The music erupts from Wonwoo’s outdated speakers, the sound isn’t crisp enough for one to immerse in it but sufficient for the two teens to stumble around hand in hand, dancing against the beats. Soonyoung twirls Wonwoo around and to return the favor, Wonwoo places a hand on his waist so the other could dip backwards forming an elegant bow. They laugh in fits, happy to have the house to themselves. Soonyoung throws out some jazz hands to add extra effects while Wonwoo poses and gives out flying kisses to the audience of two.

“Yah yah, lift me, lift me.” Wonwoo smacks Soonyoung’s back to gain his attention when he senses the climax of the song approaching. The vocals interpolate and the instrumentals go crazy. Soonyoung puts an arm around Wonwoo’s shoulders and takes his leg off the ground. The drums clash together and the guitar riff hits all the right spots, they sway as if they were in a musical.

The song comes to a dramatic end and they strike a pose, the moment freezes within a tableau. Wonwoo gets off Soonyoung’s arms, still gasping from their little show. But he smiles at Soonyoung, so bright that it recharges Soonyoung enough for another dance number.

Soonyoung fixes his shirt, recovering from the disorientation and looks at Wonwoo, who speaks outright.

“You farted didn’t you, you funny bastard. I heard it!”

Soonyoung’s roars without shame, “That’s because you were fucking heavy!”

Wonwoo gingerly picks up the bowl on the floor and grimaces at the mark left behind by the spilled soup on the wall. Great, he thinks. An ugly stain on an ugly wall. As if the peeling wallpaper wasn’t enough. His father lingers behind his crouched frame, watching Wonwoo clean up the mess he created during his tantrum with impassive eyes. As if to defend himself with his neutral actions.

“Eat your dinner Appa, don’t be like this.” Wonwoo says, standing up and cringing at the wet sensation of the dirty rag against his bare hands. He sidetracks the older man and enters the kitchen, holding the cloth under running water.

“I won’t eat a morsel cooked by this vengeful woman.” His father thunders, pointing his finger at his mother’s moving figure.

“Fine, starve for all I care.” His mother counteracts nonchalantly, Wonwoo snickers at the exchange. He lays the cloth out to dry and clicks his tongue, pinching the front of his dampened t-shirt. It was supposed to be Chan’s job, he was on a holiday for god’s sake!

Given the younger had to study for his tests, Wonwoo had to take over instead of bumming off like he would’ve liked to.

“Did Appa eat?” Chan questions the moment he enters their shared room.

“Nope, you should go and talk some sense into him.” Two children whining about something was better than one child droning on and on. It was a calculated leverage and gave Wonwoo an opportunity to promptly escape the scene. Heaven knows he has tried to build that house of cards before, only for it to meet the same recurring fate.

Chan affirms to the request with a disgruntled exhale, fully aware of what he’s about to get himself into. He wiggles around the bed to accommodate Wonwoo.

Wonwoo holds the boy close as he scrolls through his feed, there’s Soonyoung again in some bar with his brother, and friends he doesn’t recognize. His smoking habits translate into vaping and colorful bars of e-cigs. Soonyoung always lives like he has an empire to his name, which might not be quite incorrect to assume. Chan shifts near him when he sees the image on the phone and places his head on Wonwoo’s arm, looking up expectantly. 

It's been a week since he had been back but Soonyoung had not made any attempts to contact him yet. Last time they talked, he was busy taking care of Jeonghan, his replies were cryptic and short which was probably due to his distaste towards using his phone for personal endeavors. “I prefer to talk in person with people I like.” Or whatever broody and unnecessarily overzealous main leads liked to say these days.

He knows it’s bittersweet for Soonyoung to have him return home, where Wonwoo is closer to him to have and hold. At the same time, Soonyoung laments over Wonwoo’s presence in the town which he believes stifles Wonwoo’s progress in the world.

Wonwoo could only rhetorically smile at Soonyoung’s grandiose attempts to keep him away from his hometown, “You should run away Wonwoo, you must not keep yourself here. This shitty town and our shitty lives, I don’t know if I will ever be able to get out. I am not smart, but you are. You must see the world. Wherever you will be, I will come to you. Do me a favor and live my life for me.”

Wonwoo would never say anything back, he would keep his head down and shoot an empty smile towards Soonyoung because it was really sweet to hear him wish better for him so adamantly. However incongruent it may be to the unrelenting trigger inside Wonwoo’s head.

“Why are you going back if you are so miserable at your house?” 

He recollects his therapist’s question from the session before he was to fly home. He had just shrugged back then, hands without an answer. But he knows now, he has had time to contemplate. It was because regardless of where he was, he was agonized. Living on borrowed time. His house was just one of the many poisons he could choose from off the cupboard of despondence.

University gave him nothing but a reason to grieve and burn, to be the mourner and the departed all at once. He slept like a cadaver until the morning rose in their dorm, sounds of Jihoon preparing for the day. Brilliant, amenable Jihoon who was the epitome of a student and a son. Those speculating eyes which studied him when Wonwoo gave him a preview of what goes on in his head.

Soonyoung would be heartbroken to see him like that. A body that was haunted, a burden for the lifetime. Wonwoo, the son, the friend, the older brother who fails in playing the part.

In a dream in a dream, Soonyoung changes the gears of his handy scooter as they sped through districts they didn’t have anything to do with. Wonwoo cheered from the back, the cool air hitting his face and entangling his hair. It was their thing, setting out in the evenings to ride around areas near their own, under unblinking street lights and pitch dark lanes alike. Soonyoung lets Wonwoo have his fun, dashing past luxurious ‘I want this to be mine one day’ homes. People ventured less on foot in large numbers, vehicles rarely entered and the roads were without disruptions. Soonyoung navigated into an unmarked lane, basking in Wonwoo’s giggles and scintillating excitement.

Soonyoung contacts him the next day and takes him to the karaoke. Soonyoung would have once danced through five SHINee songs in one go, uncontainable excitement struggling to be encased. Wonwoo wasn’t far off either, being his partner in crime. In one of those boxes they call rooms, somewhere on the floor was a patch of damaged flooring. To this day, Soonyoung claims it was Wonwoo who jumped too hard but Wonwoo knows it came off when Soonyoung was trying to wrestle him down for dismissing his victory. But these days, they could only make it until the second half of the third song.

Wonwoo taps out first, throwing himself on the seats to catch a breath. The disco lights shimmer and ricochet from his glasses, sweat sticks to his sideburns but he feels momentarily free. 

Then they move to the mall, falling over each other from Wonwoo’s wisecrack bullshit and terrorizing the employees with their ministrations. Soonyoung pulls Wonwoo close, nose against the side of his neck and his hands circle around Wonwoo’s lithe waist while they window shop every store. Wonwoo plays along, finding comfort in the closeness due to years of common experience. He discovers his limits when Soonyoung puckers his lips to lean in for a kiss on his cheek, Wonwoo moves away whilst screaming weakly leaving a pouting Soonyoung behind. Being very aware of how two guys fondling each other in public could be written off as public indecency, they escort themselves out before one of the employees jumps on the opportunity.

“That was sick, we are heathens.” Soonyoung said, walking down the stairs.

“You were about to dry hump me! YOU’RE SICK.” Wonwoo argues, with no real bite in his tone.

“Stop defaming me! I was just trying to kiss you. And well, you responded!”

“That I did. We ruined their evening, poor things.”

Soonyoung thwarts ahead with a screech to express his gloating, “We got them good. Every job has its own occupational hazard, they’ll live.” As if what they did was some kind of a statement to rub onto someone’s faces.

Wonwoo rolls his eyes and takes the hand extended towards him anyway. The food corner at the local joint was overflowing with teenagers and young adults with nothing better to do so they joined the crowd. Wonwoo found them a bench in waiting area, surprisingly left empty by people who were waiting, seemingly hoping to get in as soon as possible.

He sat and gestured towards his lap for Soonyoung to occupy, they remained that way for about five minutes until Soonyoung shot up and motioned Wonwoo to follow him. The seats were in a less intimate location than they would’ve liked but they were there to eat and bounce off, not on a lookout. 

Soonyoung checks his phone sitting on the opposite end, replying to a few messages with a smirk, Wonwoo studies him with a bemused expression. “You wanna know who I am talking to right now?” Soonyoung mewls, locking his phone and placing it downwards facing the table. He leans in towards Wonwoo, chest bracketed by the table separating them. An devilish impression on his face.

“Judging from the way you’ve been goofing about, it must be a booty call.”

“Wonwoo-yah, you truly know me best.” Wonwoo groans at the admission, he takes his glasses off with an unimpressed look to press the ball of his palm against his eyes gently.

“I don’t wanna hear it-no wait actually I do. Don’t sleep with older guys, I’ll kill you, Kwon Soonyoung. First, I’ll end him, then I will come for you. I am warning you, again.”

“That was once. I have never gone down that road since…well, since you yelled at me. I am being safe, okay? The recent one is around my age. Met him through a friend, he’s really cute. We’ve only hooked up once before and, what can I say, I am going to his place this Saturday. If everything goes well, that is” Soonyoung winks, bracing to make space in their table so the server could dump their greasy plates on it before moving on to the next table.

“Haven’t you been bed hopping too much?” Wonwoo ponders, reaching for the kimchi jjigae and creating a concoction of a perfect portion of rice and stew.

“I haven’t fucked in three whole months,” Soonyoung holds up three fingers to emphasize his point. “I am an unbelievably busy man, Jeon Wonwoo. Allow me this.” He immediately stuffs his mouth with a whole dumpling, his enlarged cheeks move adorably.

“As if I have any say in this. You will go wherever your dick takes you.” Wonwoo says with a dismissive flick of his chopsticks. Soonyoung blatantly shrugs with a grin and digs further into the food. “And my heart takes me to you.” He recoils in a moment, making a finger heart at a moderately repulsed Wonwoo.

“Can we get the bill please?”

“Don’t tell anyone that you are seeing a doctor.” His mother tells him when he steps out to get himself some water. Wonwoo halts and tips his head in question, “Why?”

“It doesn’t look good. You...are not like that.” She directs with her chin. 

“Like what? Like my aunt?”

“Your aunt is off the rails,” she hisses, “you’re alright. You will be alright, it's nothing to worry about.” 

Wonwoo stares at her blankly for a few seconds and recovers, “Sounds about right.” He turns to go back when she calls, “Wonwoo, is Coups coming tomorrow as well?” 

“Heck if I know, mum.” Wonwoo positions the bottle of water on his hip and moves near her.

Over the years, Seungcheol had grown distant to his mother’s side of the family. Him and Wonwoo were close, but Seungcheol was a little apprehensive about coming out of his shell. Always has been, but it has become chronic given the circumstances. There was nothing Wonwoo didn’t know about his cousin, but even so it was wise to remain stealthy around him. He doesn’t want to push Seungcheol’s buttons any more than he already does. 

“Haven’t you talked to him recently?” His mother folds Chan’s sweatpants and lifts her head to look at him. She was still dressed in her cleaning clothes, stained with days of toiling and sweat. Wonwoo turns up the air conditioning.

“Nope.” He pops the ‘p’ and give her a quick kiss on the face before retreating to his room.

Seungcheol conjures on the Jeon doorstep the next day, Seungkwan immediately greets him and Wonwoo happily returns the ministritions. 

“Look what the cat dragged out of the bag. How are we, brother?” Wonwoo asks, watching Seungcheol put away his shoes neatly. The older boy smiles with a covert note, as if he wasn’t supposed to smile. “As you can see I am well enough.” 

Wonwoo bangs the door shut behind them and takes Seungcheol's bag off his back, his aunt sits near the dining table. She giggles at him, a little too stretched and a little unnerving. His aunt used to love him before things went haywire, sort of. His mother clatters around in the kitchen, asking his aunt to stay put. Wonwoo gives her a straightforward tight lipped smile, he sees her, in a way.

“Honestly, I didn’t think you would come.” Wonwoo says, brushing some strands tickling his forehead.

“Your mom called me up to drag my ass here first thing in the morning. Otherwise, I wouldn’t know. Mom doesn’t tell me anything, just takes Seungkwan wherever she needs to go. I don’t exist.” Seungcheol shrugs, restrictive like a barrel full of oil. He shifts and crosses his legs, making it seem as if it’s not that big of a deal. But Wonwoo knows.

“And other occasions? With the extended family?” He draws out.

“You know how I feel about them. They get on my nerves. It messes with my head.” 

“You need to keep up with appearances at least, not leave me alone during events. I look pathetic loitering around on my own you know? What am I supposed to do when they start discussions about you? Why give them more reason to talk about it? We need to stick together. Who else do we have?” Wonwoo flicks his forehead without any force, to make sure the older boy is listening. 

“I don’t give a damn about what they say. I don’t like being around them.” Seungcheol defends himself, as stubborn as a bull. It was Wonwoo who had to hear others tell him about how rowdy Seungcheol was and answer questions about the others' whereabouts. How was he supposed to say out loud that Seungcheol preferred the company of his friends more than his family, including himself?

“When I was struggling back then, they were after me. Now it’s you who’s in the ditch, so they talk about you. You understand that much don’t you? ” Wonwoo reasons truthfully. It was imperative to not be the weakest link, leave that to deadbeat uncles and devious aunts. 

“You are right. That’s how it is.” Seungcheol sniffs, pressing Wonwoo’s hands firmly. His long lashes fanning above his dark circles, the ornate strokes in a painting of a gallery. 

When Wonwoo had first entered Soonyoung’s new apartment, the smell of cigarettes engulfed him firsthand. But he had moved along, keeping quiet but making sure to radiate his disapproval. Soonyoung had laughed at his puzzlement.

“Why do you live like this? I am messy in every sense of the word but this...” Wonwoo widened his eyes at the lump of clothes and shoes strewn on the floor, bed and hangers alike. He followed Soonyoung in for a tour nonetheless, keeping the discomfort that was churning inside.

“We’ll fix it soon enough, look at these goddamn curtains we have and I haven’t even set up my own room. We still sleep on the same bed.” Soonyoung admitted naturally, pointing to his brother. Wonwoo had taken note of the nearly full ashtray on the table and shaken his head at the state of the house.  

Jeonghan was getting ready for a party, blending the foundation with little dabs, like he has done it countless times before. Wonwoo stood near the mirror and watched Soonyoung grab Jeonghans leather jacket and try it on, Wonwoo could tell they didn’t keep their clothes separately and had the habit of throwing on whatever they found appropriate for the day.

He approved Jeonghan’s winged eyeliner and found Soonyoung in his room, trying to untangle himself from the conundrum of which pair of boots should he wear out. That’s when Wonwoo noticed the polarity between himself and them make itself apparent by the breadth of a hair strand. As people, their lifestyle, their mindset and their spoken word. Soonyoung and by extension Jeonghan, lived fast paced and formidable lives. Soonyoung earned the night outs at the club, the expensive clothes and shimmery accessories suited him. His arrogance was only a front, the real boy was sitting on the floor digging through the mounds for a hair band while mumbling babyishly. Wonwoo will probably never visit those high end places with him, because Wonwoo belonged in Soonyoung's escape world.

Wonwoo had walked back to his house back then, praying the entire way that his clothes weren’t smelling rancid, unwilling to confront his mother on pointless accusations.

Each time he visited after that, Wonwoo found himself becoming habitualized to the stench of nicotine permeating in every corner of the house. Even the bathroom bears proof of it. He doesn’t visit often, not like he had ever had to. Soonyoung always beats him to it and presents himself at Wonwoo’s doorstep whenever he is in town.

Soonyoung kept busy, juggling college and an entire business to oversee tipping on a weighing scale. Wonwoo understands this lifestyle was not the one Soonyoung had chosen but the one he had to live with, as collateral for keeping himself afloat. The clutter on the table makes it apparent. Those keys, the pack of half empty cigarettes and medicine costing a lung or two that are thrown around haphazardly.

“Wonwoo-yah, I am a little tired. Let’s stay inside today?” Soonyoung asks, waiting for Wonwoo to answer. It’s a premonition for Wonwoo to expect Soonyoung’s exhaustion to spill over at any moment. 

“We can do whatever you want, I am just here to hang out.” Hearing that, Soonyoung shrugs off his top, revealing a grey undershirt sticking like second skin to his torso. His blonde hair droops below his eyes.  

Wonwoo cooks some ramen for two, with Jeonghan being away for the month on a vacation trip. Soonyoung stays around for needless support and brings the bowls to the table when it’s done. He cracks open a bottle of beer, which Wonwoo refuses to indulge in. As if to reimburse for his friend declining a refreshment, Soonyoung lights a stick coated with menthol. Wonwoo accepts his offer to shotgun one hit, his throat burns with the intensity of the menthol infused smoke but he keeps the reflexive cough in. Why, he cannot pinpoint, but he figures knowing how to smoke successfully is an achievement too. In a crooked sense.

The pair crawl into the bed wordlessly after the cigarette promptly extinguishes, Soonyoung chases Wonwoo’s warmth, slightly tipsy and settles between his arms.

Wonwoo opens his arms further so Soonyoung could lean on his chest. He runs his hands over Soonyoung’s hair and back, satisfied by how the shorter deflates and releases all the tension. Soonyoung savors the affection before Wonwoo was to detach himself, unable to sustain the proximity of another body. A sense of serenity descends, the shade of the dark room falls all over and upon them due to Soonyoung’s affinity to brightness. He could not unwind unless his vision was cloaked, perhaps because he associated the lights being on with a job unfinished, waiting for him to get it done.

This is how it goes, like clockwork. Wonwoo offers himself in atonement, when trouble breaks in paradise. He has nothing but his sympathy, he wants Soonyoung to take all of it. He could not see any other use of him than his inherent capacity to embrace others' pain, he would give it all up for somebody who would utilize it better than whatever he was hoarding it for. 

Soonyoung starts talking, and it begins slowly with random bits of everything that happened while Wonwoo was gone. One by one, he layers the bricks on top of each other and Wonwoo listens, hanging on to each word.

Soonyoung was done saying he was done. Overhauling responsibilities, making sure jobs were completed successfully, keeping up with his friends because he cares about them and losing himself in the process.

Was he the only one left to shoulder the burden of the world? Tirelessly taking it upon himself to fix things that aren’t even his to fix.

Sometimes he wishes he didn’t create this tough persona for himself, he aspires to witness a day when the fancy sunglasses he wears would make him even remotely feel like somebody composed enough to have control over his own life. He works, chain smokes and some days when he’s lucky, he makes out with boys who are friends of friends in trial rooms and empty washroom stalls.

He listens to Jeonghan wax poetic about starting a new life somewhere else where nobody knows who he is and what kind of a family he comes from. If his brother leaves, all sharp mouthed and adamant on owning land on the moon, it’s Soonyoung who will have to stitch the tear left behind by him. He’s been cleaning messes left behind by other people since he was a child, he knows business and parts of the town no other teenager his age has stepped into. He’s been throwing himself into it like a hammer to a blunted nail. He knows people, he’s seen the worst of them and maybe that's why he can’t trust the likes of them with himself. 

Wonwoo absorbs everything, never taking a second of Soonyoung’s time. He hugs Soonyoung close, squeezing his arm at intervals to let him know he’s present there with Soonyoung. The evening bleeds into night outside, weaning off their time together. Wonwoo happily accepts the party favor of a strategically placed bucket under a leaking roof and cradles Soonyoung like an infant.

“You must be waiting very long to tell me all this..” He mentions after a pause, looking down at the blonde who lay motionless. The nature of Soonyoung’s problems does not change, but every experience within it comes with a sinister aftertaste.

He feels selfish when he thinks about himself, his future and desires. Being as engaged as he was in playing the part of the omnipotent guy who could take it all, there was hardly any personal time left for himself. Severe burnout followed and even though Wonwoo had tried injecting a necessary selfishness (better known as self preservation) in him, the rules were often forgotten in the real game. Wonwoo couldn’t be there with him everywhere. In fact, Wonwoo intimately related to his unwillingness to enlist other's help, the ivory towers of expectations can't break if they weren't put up in the first place, would they?

Wonwoo wonders the depth of this trench Soonyoung finds himself in every waking day of his life, how much he suffers on his own until Wonwoo knocks on his door or otherwise. This is the sort of stuff they glorify in inspirational channels, something Soonyoung himself internalizes. The need to be strong, the desperation and the abhorrence of being human.

“I have. There’s nobody close enough anymore. My friends..we are all in different places. I would rather not be so open in front of others, I can’t. I won’t, if it’s not you.” There it is, this special treatment especially hand wrapped for Wonwoo. It beckons him to think of things that remain unfathomable. Wonwoo feels something break inside of him every time Soonyoung says things like this. An undeserving omen, tied around his neck like a charmed talisman.

“I am just some boy you happen to know. Don’t give me that much credit.” Wonwoo had whispered in response to such sentiments once, long before he had given up trying to prove himself to be less than everything to Soonyoung. Refusing to accept he had any effect on Soonyoung, to exist in a way that mattered to anybody but his parents.

He’s cruel and distant as per his negotiations, but the way Soonyoung’s words cut deeper into his psyche, they feel palpable. The devotion breathes life into him and makes him want to pay back tenfold.

He guesses whether Soonyoung sticks to the familiarity they share, stemming from the uncontested truth that Wonwoo knows Soonyoung at his very core, he knows Soonyoung like a habit that comes naturally.  

“I don’t think everyone is out to get you but what I think does not matter. Enough people have been vindictive enough for you to feel this way. You need people to rely on, you deserve that much.” He tilts his head to lay emphasis and touches Soonyoungs face, hoping his genuine regard seeps through their skin.

“I go outside and I realize I can’t trust anyone, Wonwoo. I see them and their approach towards me, it all feels hollow. Like if I ever show something genuine about me, they’ll take advantage of it and screw me over. I am always so scared of letting people in.” Soonyoung mumbles, curling into himself and Wonwoo lets his mind wander into the dangerous territory of self blame.

“It’s alright, don’t pretend in front of me. You can be yourself, be anyone you want to be.” Wonwoo grabs onto Soonyoung’s outstretched hand reassuringly.

“I feel like I am not enough, unworthy and unlovable to everyone. Like I can’t do anything.” 

Wonwoo flips their positions and squishes Soonyoung’s sweet cheeks between his palms, “You are one capable person if I have seen one. You work so hard, manage your family business and are pursuing a degree simultaneously. You would do anything for your family and people you love. I am so proud of you, never go down that train of thought ever again.” He admonishes the blonde and only lets go when Soonyoung nods in understanding.

“You know how I tell you about everything that bothers me now. It’s almost funny because I act like a foolish child with you.”

“Because I am special?” Wonwoo asks with a slight quirk.

“You already know you are.”

Having grown up together in a shared dwelling, Wonwoo has seen Soonyoung take on duties nobody should expect from a child. The bewilderment he had experienced when Soonyoung would tell him he just came back after paying the water bills or electricity bills, running errands as if he wasn’t as old as twelve year old Wonwoo himself.

Even though Wonwoo had always been the taller one, he could never look beyond Soonyoung and the capricious happenings of his daily life. Soonyoung was a grown up to him, until Wonwoo realized he was forced to let go of a frivolous childhood to keep the door of his household from splintering into a million shards. The entire bandwidth of Soonyoungs early life was riddled with despondent encounters and a cruel game of monopoly.

 No wonder he latched on to Wonwoo, two houses down and across the expanse of a barren field with an awful knack for meddling and being ultimately kind.

Wonwoo recalls their first meeting often, in moments as random as lightning strikes in a stormy night. When he is washing dishes, standing in the corner of the rattling subway train, when he reads anything related to the sanctity of friendship.

Everyone knew ‘Hoshi’ in that part of the town, from thugs to citizens of goodwill, his influence although not all encompassing, flows like a tried and tested legacy. People acknowledge him as a force to reckon with. Or perhaps just a passing old friend, remembered due to frequent encounters and small favors. If you didn’t know him, you would have heard of him. Soonyoung happened to be chatty, collecting good mornings and hello’s from several directions on his way to mingle with the world.

In a time when grown-ups complained about the younger generation being unfriendly and stuffy, Hoshi was a breath of fresh air, savvy with business and street sense. Zooming in and out of their neighborhood in his trusty cycle he owned back then, led him to meet Jeon Wonwoo.

Before Soonyoung, Wonwoo spent his time in the four walls of their old apartment, doing homework and playing with baby Chan. Wonwoo, in his lonesome, would look out of the window that opened towards the main street and see a pair of brothers haggling away in their school uniforms. When the kids gathered to play outside, Wonwoo would bury his eyes onto the latest crime show episode. He would blow raspberries onto Chan’s small tummy and smile on his own when the child would laugh back at him. Alternatively, he would stare at the walls of his damp house, at four, at seven, at ten years old, the powdery walls would speak to him. He would try to decipher little Chan’s crayon scribbles and wonder where his own drawings went.

He was not a sickly child, a little thin and pale yes but physically he was capable of everything. Sometimes though, he would catch a cold and his mother would blame it on their damp, dark house with cracked floors. Wonwoo would keep tripping over it, his nails shed each time he jolted over. His mother always said a house like that without sunlight was a host for diseases. Maybe Wonwoo caught several of those diseases in that dingy, unlit house. 

Wonwoo knew he was about to get sick days before the illness actually got hold of him, strangely anticipating those couple of days when the fever was at its worst. It forced his parents to look after him, with his continuous sniffling and sluggish pace. It made him feel punished, he preferred to be invisible but instead he would be massaged and fed medicine while being chided for getting sick. On the other hand, he felt an absurd subtle happiness settle in his chest, to have his mother touch him gently and his father feed him medicine like how birds feed their children in the nest. He felt like an actual child.

Wonwoo could do so many things in the flowery sense but he stayed in, squeezing himself on the couch right below the window, observing the world. Wonwoo always felt out of place, fidgety and scatterbrained. He would pick up lego blocks left behind by his brother and switch through T.V channels while his parents' screaming voices became white noise. He grew up in that small apartment, with no one to call on the phone because he had no friends at school. He had no reason to come out of his house either.

Soonyoung broke the monotony, each evening when he stepped into the complex. Wonwoo liked joking around for the laughs but there was only so much he could do on his own. But Soonyoung liked him, from the first day itself, he liked Wonwoo tremendously. Since the day he gave up the chocolates’ he brought for himself to Wonwoo on the latter's birthday, he knew he was a goner. Wonwoo earned a true good friend. 

Soonyoung developed a fierce endearment towards Wonwoo, two boys with scraped knees and snotty faces. Something allowed him to sense anything that was out to destroy Wonwoo. Like how he hated Wonwoo’s bully even before Wonwoo told him anything about it, muttering profanities Wonwoo had heard his father use before as the equally tiny bully had walked away. Wonwoo felt equal parts of hilarity and an indebtedness. 

They would talk for hours, undulate the variants and Wonwoo would fall into his oratorical frame of mind. He gave speeches about things Soonyoung had never heard of before, he argued for and against himself. Wonwoo would wait for his friend to add more after he finishes speaking, Soonyoung contributed his fill as they would walk under the ultraviolet. Soonyoung liked hearing Wonwoo talk with so much passion. Even though he did not understand much of what was being said, he liked it when Wonwoo broke his element and ranted away. 

Put in front of the inescapable likelihood that fell onto every boy in the bridle of manhood, together and by themselves, they vowed to break away from the curse of becoming their fathers. The moral interpretations of the world were soon to be presented as riddles, a bird must fight its way out the egg. 

In a quaint, standard neighborhood at the heart of the town, there was an empty plot of land adjacent to the housing complex where Wonwoo had been living. He did not know who owned it; it had laid barren for as long as he could remember, with only a badminton net separating the parameters to create a makeshift court. The sounds of the impact on the shuttlecock weaved through the air on random evenings, the rackets swung artfully and made a rhythm similar to the ticking of an amplified wall clock. On other days, it was a jungle of overgrown vegetation, creepers cascaded from the badminton net like a curl on a cherub face.

Wonwoo stood observing the scene, devoid of any life carried by boisterous children who once used to gather in the field. He was one of them, included in an ephemeral unspoken agreement to play together with no plan for tomorrow. Soonyoung would be there too, to teach him how to hold the baseball bat and cheer when he could make points, frankly unexpected of his novice self. He doesn’t see those kids around anymore and salutations have become redundant. Wonwoo was to leave in a couple of days, about to become a stranger in the neighborhood he grew up in. Drinking in the last few glimpses of the place he would no longer call his, he tours the area like a tourist.

A beetle crawls into his right foot, perhaps mistaking him to be stationary. His body turns towards Soonyoung’s house, situated only one building down and his fingers twitch in anticipation of his own moves. He waits for the beetle to disembark, feeling a bit silly and on the verge of shaking it off his foot. He walks towards Soonyoung’s place, masquerading as a casual stroll taker, to enjoy the pleasant evening. An illicit affair in his own right.

He wastes his time in front of the entrance while kicking stones from different positions as they would in a game of golf, he was relieved to find nobody outside the house. He doesn’t stride in like he usually would, he doesn’t call out for his friend but he stands upright, at fourteen and with a heart surrounded by barbed wire. Live well, my Soonyoung. I am sorry, I will always be sorry.

His mouth presses together, he whispers a silent prayer and allows his feet to take him back home.

In the cusp of twelfth grade, Soonyoung confesses to Wonwoo. The decision was taken with careful deliberation, as delicately as a boy of his tenacity could manage. He found facing Wonwoo too daunting, hesitant to meet his eyes in case he became a victim of the other’s freakish clairvoyance. Instead, he trusted his scooter to become accomplice to his plan.

Wonwoo loved going on leisurely joyrides with Soonyoung, where purpose was meaningless and the only thing that remained was the wind, the mileage and perpendicular vertebral columns.

Soonyoung said the words so softly at first, almost hoping Wonwoo doesn’t hear any of it. The sounds of the engine uninhibitedly quietened down.

Wonwoo pushed his glasses up and leaned forward near his ear, “What?!” he questioned, oblivious to the declaration. He had to squint because of the bokeh patterns clouding his vision from the vehicular lights, his hair battering against Soonyoung’s neck. Soonyoung turned his head hesitantly and figured there’s no other way to do this. 

“I am in love with you. Have been, for a very long time.” When felt Wonwoo stiffen against his back, he imagined things that could stab his heart and bleed it dry. 

Wonwoo hooked his fingers in the loops of Soonyoung’s jeans instead, “Really?” he exclaimed doubtfully, like he was pleasantly surprised. “That’s not so surprising actually.” He laughed animatedly. Soonyoung let out the breath he was holding straight away.

“I already know you don’t like me that way, it’s no problem though. I like it just as we are right now.” A simple wish for a simple boy, being in his company was enough for Soonyoung. 

“Eh Soonyoung-ie is shy, are you blushing? Show me your face.” Wonwoo steered the conversation to take the pressure off Soonyoung. As if to acknowledge Soonyoung’s feelings for him, he hugged Soonyoung’s back with solace. That Jeon Wonwoo, he always knew what to do to put Soonyoung at ease.

Before Wonwoo went inside his house that night, he carded his hands through Soonyoung’s coarse hair and patted his full cheeks, squishing them gently. “Thank you,” he said with a serene smile, “I love you too, just so you know. Thank you for loving me all these years, you will always have me. In some way or the other. Always remember that.” Soonyoung affirmed his words with a thoughtful nod before driving away, his lips tingling with the rejuvenated sensation of Wonwoo’s pale skin.

But that happened later, after Soonyoung could discern his feelings and categorize them into reasonable interpretations. Every friendship needs a dramatic arc, something so tantalizing and heartbreaking that would seize our heroes apart. Jeon Wonwoo and Kwon Soonyoung too were preys to that folly, tucked away in the nick of time until nothing in the universe could keep them apart any longer.

Jeon Wonwoo’s mind is a catacomb. It is a kitchen in every horror movie, void of any light, where communion thrives and bellies are filled. At midnight, when the residents of the house are fast asleep under the covers comfortably, carefree and inebriated by the essence of the time. In the dark, dark kitchen there is a sink in its obvious place and incessant droplets of water fall into the surface in intervals. The splashing reverberates against the room. Then, when it culminates into nothingness, the blaring lights in the living room come to life. 

The first time Soonyoung brought it up, he was sitting beside Wonwoo in some rooftop, staring at the horizon melt away. He is saying something to him, but Wonwoo could not hear. Wonwoo concentrates on the vibrations, the frequency that travels between the two of them and suddenly, it comes as a whiplash. He can hear.

“…The years you were gone, it broke me into pieces. I cannot forget that day, even though I have forgiven you long ago. It’s like a nightmare replaying in my head.” Soonyoung says dismally.

Wonwoo frowns and looks at Soonyoung properly. What did he mean by that day?

The air leaves his lungs as he pieces it together, of what he’d done to Soonyoung.  A dreadfulness anchored itself deep inside him and his hands involuntarily gripped the front of his shorts. The assumption that he didn’t cause any trouble and the way he moved on when Soonyoung clearly didn’t. He touched his ear and found his hands were growing colder with an incremental drop, something made him want to crawl out of his own skin. He causes problems everywhere he goes.

Wonwoo lets it pass as it submerges him, in silence and in his own company, his heartbeats alter back into the usual count. He presses Soonyoung’s knee and runs his hand over the material like a dog nudging its owner. He doesn’t know what he could possibly say. 

“I should have tried more, I just fell apart and yelled at you..I thought you’d be okay. I see now that I was wrong. I am sorry Hoshi. I should’ve said it way sooner but I am sorry. Something was wrong with me, it’s not an excuse but you need to know I didn’t mean any of it.” Wonwoo gushes, afraid of cornering Soonyoung when it was the last thing on his agenda. 

“I lived like that, then you moved houses and I couldn’t see more of you. It got worse as time passed, it was difficult for me to even call other people my friends. We lost contact.” Soonyoung continues, holding Wonwoo’s hand over his thigh.

“I am sorry.” Wonwoo murmurs, he could only hope his voice conveys his regret. He carries it around like a mountain of unwashed clothes within himself. He doesn’t explain, he feels he makes excuses when he explains.

“You say this but it’s not that easy.”

Wonwoo chooses not to reply, he wishes Soonyoung would drop it and move along. Juvenile compulsions urge him to leave everything behind but he turns them away like a parcel delivered to the wrong address. His defenses shoot up and he hardens, every drop of remorse evaporates. What do you want me to do? He wants to ask, begging for an articulation of whatever had passed. Did you ever care to find out why I was acting that way? He doesn’t ask.

Like every good pickle one found themselves in, Wonwoo’s outburst was ripe and culminated at the eve of the hour. The details of their altercation don’t matter because they carry no substance by themselves. But Wonwoo discovered his unwillingness to join the festivities of Chuseok meant to be celebrated that evening, nearly eight years ago. He had always been enthusiastic about them, so Wonwoo couldn’t figure out why he felt a sense of disconnect and apathy towards it. He just needed to be left alone. That wasn’t possible because he couldn’t tell his parents, who were already suspicious of his fluctuating mental state and weren’t afraid to point it out. 

Soonyoung was being his jolly self, trying to play around with Wonwoo’s phone, sending random texts to a girl Wonwoo was casually talking to at the time. Wonwoo was growing impatient trying to reach for the phone but Soonyoung was stronger. When he got the phone back and saw Soonyoung had replied to the girl quite informally, something unconditional bubbled inside him. He broke into cold sweat and pangs of irritation hit him.

He remembers yelling something at Soonyoung, his eyes welled up pathetically. He clawed at his clothes, abruptly wanting to change into better clothes through his tears because the awareness that he had to groom himself for the evening seeped into his consciousness. His mind pulled every emergency stop it could afford and proposed he was malfunctioning because he was scared that the girl would stop talking to him. But Wonwoo knew very well that he didn’t care if she did. The dissonance of the matter, the inability to stop his tears and the fear of his parents finding out had Wonwoo heaving, his lungs grew heavier every second.

First his mom found him clawing off his clothes, her reaction was to question him for his behavior, when he couldn’t answer she held his neck and shoved him harshly. She must’ve hit him at some point, Wonwoo doesn’t quite recall. He remembers shutting down, his father entering the room and his parents wondering out loud if their son was finally taken by derangement. 

His memory evoked the visage of Soonyoung bolting out of his house in tears. Wonwoo didn’t care he was barefoot and his shirt was unbuttoned, he dashed through the night as the cicadas sang of his doom in the field to his left. The bottom of his feet stung from the friction of the rough surface and his knees almost buckled outside Soonyoung’s house.

Soonyoung was wiping his cheeks off harshly, he felt like a kicked toy. He couldn’t understand why Wonwoo would act that way because of something so silly. Did that girl mean so much to him for Wonwoo to go into a rampage for her? Did he really do something which called for such a vehement reaction? 

Wonwoo hugged him hesitantly from the back, Soonyoung shrugged it off. He couldn’t make himself look at Wonwoo, he felt insulted and was in no mood to reconcile. Forced to keep their affair hidden from adults, they attended the festivities together but Soonyoung was averse to any initiation from Wonwoo. He took the apology he was offered and tucked it into his back pocket, they didn’t hold hands while returning.

 Wonwoo had no explanation to give, he felt like he didn’t know himself. Either he had slipped into one of his teenage fits or there were serious rectifications to be made concerning his disposition. Most would be inclined towards the former explanation, Wonwoo would not blame them. 

Soonyoung would carry it around like a briefcase for the coming years, speculating that Wonwoo would have the combination. It doesn’t go that way. He would shake inconsolably, the vision of Wonwoo he saw earlier haunted him in the throes of animosity. The boy was watering plants, with no awareness of Soonyoung watching him discreetly as he passed by, his pace increasing with his heartbeat. Wonwoo, in his truest form, unaware of how he wreaks havoc in the world and tiptoes back into his cave. Sweet faced Wonwoo with his venomous tongue and power to burn Soonyoung’s soul and being to the ground.

Wonwoo’s words from that day echo in his head, a wireless stereo that plays without his permission. He wants to turn back and talk to Wonwoo, his mind wages a war and arms itself to the teeth with figurative ammunition to throw at the unsuspecting boy.

He mourns their friendship, what was left of it. The jar of childhood innocence and sincerity that belonged to him, stumbled out of Wonwoo’s hands and soiled the carpet.  

Even with everything he was capable of, the petulant, stubborn adult that took his body hostage could not kill the child inside of him.

He missed Wonwoo so terribly, it ate him alive.

Wonwoo’s family shifts three months later, not far by any means but nowhere near their childhood home. Wonwoo must’ve waited for him to show up, but he didn’t go. His pride scattered thorns in the path, he compensated by spending his nights crying under the covers. But he refused to see Wonwoo out of spite. Their last memory in that street remained catastrophic. 

Like a string of beads breaking, it falls apart. Their friendship disassembles like its beads leaping on grainy floors. It takes two years for Soonyoung to even begin gathering them. 

The second time Soonyoung brings it up, it has already been more than five years since they started being involved in each other’s life again. The days before that were a requiem for a potentially dead friendship, until Soonyoung found some courage to text Wonwoo. Wonwoo would reply to him in a tongue so intimate, it was like they never stopped. The vinyl which kept scratching under the needle, stuck on the same note soon started rotating effortlessly. They’ve never looked back since. 

Soonyoung is lying across him this time, staring at the canopy of the ceiling. It all circled back to the same point, Soonyoung wanted Wonwoo to feel guilty about what he did. For destroying his faith and for being his first heartbreak. He wanted Wonwoo to pay penance for the rest of his life.

“You should never forget what you did to me.” He chanted, for what it was worth.

Wonwoo feels provoked this time, but does not mean to be innocuous, “Can we please let this go,” holding onto every semblance of non-confrontation.

“I can’t, I understand it now that I have grown up but I can’t soothe that child inside me, he doesn’t understand.” Soonyoung says with a stubborn streak, turning ominously towards Wonwoo.

Wonwoo sighs, he wants to act out so bad, “I haven’t forgotten it either. I don’t talk about it but I think about it at least once a week. You say it like it didn’t affect me as well. To be in a mental state like that and ending up destroying everything I put my hands on. So don’t you dare act like I haven’t suffered.” His voice quivers. Soonyoung is unusually quiet, maybe gearing to protest against him, to demand something Wonwoo cannot give him. But he doesn’t, so Wonwoo continues.

“I was a child too, you keep talking about your child self but you see, I was one too. I have forgiven him, Hoshi. I have accepted he was cruel to you and he was punished for it. Heaven made sure of it. Trust me, he regrets everything. So, I request you to consider forgiving him too, it was not what he wanted for either of us.” He brandishes as his mother hollers at them to come out for dinner, Wonwoo takes the chance to distance himself from Soonyoung.

He settles into the chair, waiting for Soonyoung to take his seat. When the other arrives, he hands Soonyoung his chopsticks and places the rolled egg near him because he knows Soonyoung likes them.

“I can’t promise but…I will try. To forget about it.” Soonyoung looks at him intently, gauging his reactions up close.

“I am not telling you to forget about it, but please forgive him.”

Wonwoo pulls his leg away when Soonyoung tries to entangle it with his own beneath the table. He shoves the food inside and chews noiselessly, without sparing Soonyoung a glance. Mostly because of shame rather than vexation. Some part of him still revolts in mutiny, he was irked at Soonyoung for being so obtuse to his predicament, of his history of unnamed sickness. The winning phase however, holds sincere regret concerning his past actions because it was in his nature to put others feelings before his own, to right a wrong he had committed and to be considerate. His brain processes a hundred things at once, but one particular thought took the foreground.

“I cannot seem to decipher what goes on inside your head.” Soonyoung had mentioned in passing once, crooning about the mystery that surrounded Wonwoo. Soonyoung thought it was a part of his allure, his capability to remain private while others were uncomfortably open to him.

Soonyoung’s misconstrued view of his past self left a peculiar but familiar taste in Wonwoo’s mouth, it almost escapes his lips, “What about me Soonyoungie?” but he doesn’t utter them out loud. He allows Soonyoung his right to be the sole victim and concedes into his role of a crass assailant. Some things never change after all.

“Could you be a little kinder?” He neglects to convey that because Soonyoung had been nothing but kind and loving towards him, he looks at Wonwoo with the adoration one holds for the moon and he puts up with different sweet and sour versions of Wonwoo. Asking for anything more is unfair, asking Soonyoung to dissolve his hurt and move on is no less callous than asking him to be his lover. It could never be authentic nor realistic.

After dinner is done and the table is wiped clean, later, when grudges were repackaged into smaller vestiges, Wonwoo feels prepared to start talking to Soonyoung again. Their friendship grew stronger in the refractory silence, its uncanny resilience surprised both of them each time. Wonwoo, back to his composed self, found it useful that Soonyoung had brought up old unfinished business. He prefers his relationships to be honest and upfront, regardless of the unpleasantness they bring with them. 

Soonyoung, not used to being silent around Wonwoo, patiently waits until the other decides to speak. He wonders if he had said too much. 

“You were probably mad I didn’t come to you.” Wonwoo’s deep voice shakes him out of his monologue. 

Soonyoung braces himself and lies down, “I was livid. I was waiting around, trying to predict your next move. But then you never came, so instead I felt abandoned. That’s what made it worse. The feeling that I was not worth fighting for.” 

“I didn’t abandon you,” Wonwoo interjects frantically, “I didn’t think you would want me back after that. I figured you would never want to see me again. So I never tried, I wanted you to be free from me. I told you..I thought about it very often.” 

Soonyoung widens his eyes at the newfound information, “And I thought that…” 

“You thought I didn’t care, yeah we’re idiots.” Wonwoo flings himself near his friend, chuckling at a still recovering Soonyoung. 

"Would you have been my friend again, if I had gone to you?" Wonwoo asks.

"No, I wouldn't." Soonyoung absconds, as simple as that. Wonwoo asserts with his hands in the air. 

“How did you come to like me, even after I did that to you.” Wonwoo leans on his palm, his arm folded vertically under his head. The other hand rests upon Soonyoung’s sternum. 

“I have always loved you, even as children. I wanted to protect you,” he gently slaps Wonwoo’s arm when the other imitates being scandalized with the prospect of being protected, “and cherish you. But I eventually gained awareness as I grew, I could understand my emotions. Jeonghan’s persistent questioning about the way we interacted helped too.” 

“Jeonghan’s still at it? To this day?” It would not be the first time he had stamped Soonyoung with a query of that sort.

“Oh yeah, he has his suspicions. It’s kinda hilarious how everyone thinks I am fucking you when I am not fucking you. We just have a lot of sexual tension. And chemistry.” Wonwoo makes a face but does not refute, passively agreeing to Soonyoung’s hypothesis. 

“I just love you, I am happy that you’re my friend. When I look at you, it’s not inherently sexual but more nuanced than that. I can live without having sex with you for the whole life, who knows I might end up living wherever you will be in the future.” Soonyoung explains sincerely but it makes Wonwoo snort with the possibility of him being the Madonna in Soonyoung’s theoretical Madonna-whore complex. 

“They should make a shitty coming of age movie about us, drive the indie audience a little insane, you know with the ‘representation’,” Wonwoo air quotes, “and the lack of communication and the testosterone. It makes for a Cannes debut.” he opens his hands to portray a screen, with genuine belief that their story had potential for something greater. Soonyoung laughs at the other’s excitement and gives him a kiss, “I won’t disagree.” 

Their old town lay at the lap of hills, it suffered from neglect from the government for a long period of time and only picked up some slack when Wonwoo was a teen. Wonwoo would walk alone to the academy he was enrolled in, strangely uninterested in the tempting curiosities of the world. Or perhaps it was the persistent fear that his mother would catch him and drag him back by the end of his shirt. His corner at the PC room must have been reclaimed already. It must’ve been the year after he let Soonyoung go. The rain was threatening to fall, all other students left in pairs but he didn’t have anyone for company. He almost wishes Soonyoung would pass by.

Junhui and Wonwoo make a great team, they had discovered in their junior year of college. Junhui was one of the reasons Wonwoo was still alive, but that demands another story for another day. Their friendship was a blessing, and a testament on how to be mutually obsessed with each other. Anything they did together won over academic critique and awarded them with highest grades among the bunch. They shared their common agreement on antinatalism and the several ways the world could end at any moment. Both of them were frank individuals, with absurdist notions and were prominent parts of their department’s relatively ingenious queer population.

Overjoyed to receive Wonwoo’s open invitation, Junhui flies in with Minghao to spend Christmas Day with Wonwoo and his family. That’s how Junhui and Soonyoung met and collided for the better, because Soonyoung was at Wonwoo's house at almost every event they hosted and anybody who had anything to do with Wonwoo knew Soonyoung by proxy. Soonyoung keeps away at first as a notorious introvert but loosens up when Junhui’s infectious smile invades his sight. Wonwoo takes the opportunity to introduce them to each other.

“Soonyoungie, this is Jun..we met at the university.” Jun wiggles his fingers at Soonyoung as a greeting. “At the torture chamber,” he turns to Wonwoo, who chortles at a remark, “Yeah, we met at the torture chamber.” 

Soonyoung cracks a smile and wraps his arm around Wonwoo’s waist almost posessively, “Hi Jun, I am Soonyoung. Or Hoshi, Whichever you prefer. Wonwoo and I go way back, don’t we darling?” In response to which Wonwoo throws him a playful warning look. Jun smiles along knowingly.

“Indeed we do, Soonyoung is very obsessed with me. And that,” he points towards the lanky boy arranging the chairs at the dinner table, “is Minghao.” Minghao looks back at the mention of his name and waves, offering a sweet hi. Famous last words. 

“I would like you to know that everyone in this room right now has homosexual tendencies.” Wonwoo announces when Minghao enters taking the number up to four, he was searching for a cushion to support Wonwoo’s fathers sore back. He is mildly taken aback but looks satisfied with the revelation. Jun and Soonyoung look at each other expectantly, realization strumming in them. Although it was supposed to be lighthearted, it felt refreshing to say it out loud. To find people who shared a precious identity with him even though they met in completely normal circumstances. Wonwoo felt the need to let his closest friends know such crucial information about each other, hoping it would acquaint them on a relatively profound level. Moreover, he felt utterly grateful.

Chan was intrigued by so many grown boys spending time in their house at once, he could not decide which one should he be conversing with. Minghao seemed the most approachable, he was eagerly talking to his mother in the kitchen about the kinds of fabric found in his province back in China for some reason when Chan struts in. They had skipped the Christmas tree tradition because neither of them were particularly fixated on decorating one but they had fairy lights and music, Chan’s personally curated kpop playlist. Everyone ends up dancing together. 

He watches his brother dance in full swing with Soonyoung’s hand in one hand and Jun’s hand in another. Wonwoo seemed alive when he was around people he liked, a sharp contrast to when he was alone as a result of being micromanaged throughout his life. Without a word, without a sliver of emotion in his demeanor unless Chan came to him for something, which he undertook enthusiastically. Wonwoo was like a ghost without destination, that materialized only when someone needed him which often gave him an uncaring guise of an old relic in the attic. 

Soonyoung appears out of nowhere and clings to him, Chan giggles at the tickles that were rained on his stomach by the older guy. Both of them watch Wonwoo interact with Jun, uninhibited joy splashing from his face and a sly expression surfaces that were reserved for days he planned to become the life of the party.

"He's having fun." Soonyoung points to Wonwoo. Chan nods in agreement, glad to hear Soonyoung say what he was thinking all along.

The food is the reason Wonwoo loves events, it gives him a reason to experience some form of fulfillment in his life. Over stuffing himself is purely hedonistic, and apparently a common human indulgence in order to enjoy the endorphins it temporarily creates. The entire cohort eats heartily after which Soonyoung leaves to celebrate with his brother and his friends. 

Soonyoung’s parents did not celebrate festivities, mostly due to their older age and frail health. The days of family gatherings were long gone, leaving their two sons to search for their own merriment if they so wished to. Soonyoung and Jeonghan sustained themselves through found families and close friends, an unstable state of belongingness that shifted as often as the needle of a ruined compass. 

“I like Soonyoung,” Jun says when he gets under the covers that night, tucking himself graciously under Wonwoo’s chin. Wonwoo hums and cuddles closer, smoothening the blanket so no opening is left for cold air to sneak in. Minghao snores, looking at peace in the folding couch next to them. 

“His dirty jokes are so funny, I may have met my match.” 

“Tacky you mean, you are both corny so no wonder you’re eating it up. I make plenty of indecent jokes too!” Wonwoo huffs, not wanting to be left out. “Okay mister fancy. You don’t make them as often as I would like you to. I want to fraternize with other freaks such as myself.” Jun’s voice vibrates against his chest.

“I am glad you’re getting along, horny little shit.” 

Sleep comes to them eventually, after they've let each other go and turned their back to each other. One could claim it was because of Wonwoo's affinity to being in close contact to anyone for an extended period of time but truth to be told, they needed to be more worried about ending up talking all night and forgetting to sleep.

Wonwoo folds the letter Soonyoung wrote for him, a little tattered and with dog eared edges from the number of times it has been spread open and folded back into secrecy. Soonyoung’s handwriting was atrocious, but it kept Wonwoo’s mother from making sense of the content inside of it from the multiple times she had found it on his study table. 

He debates whether he should take it back with him to the university, to keep him company on bad days. He settles on leaving it behind, as a piece of him in its habitat. He will be a different Wonwoo there, barely hanging onto the thread with Jihoon’s achievements giving him imposter syndrome and the fast pace of life screwing him up. 

His old unread books collect dust, the copy of Discipline and Punishment stares back at him in mockery. He wished he could say he was a washed out prodigy, scrambling to revert back to their promising future. But instead, he is a vehicle for his fucked up prefrontal cortex and optimistic annihilation. He picks it up and shoves it in an empty space in the bookshelf. He cannot bear himself at times like this, these random bursts of hatred he felt for himself. He makes a mental note to discuss it with his therapist, what was he paying her for after all. 

Three days until his departure, a foolproof temporary goodbye to Soonyoung gave him the closure he needed for the current trip. His mother fluttered in and out of his room, bringing things he might need in the dorm. She asked him if there was something he wanted to eat, running her hand through his hair and he felt an overwhelming urge to hug her. 

It rains the next day. He sits with a mug of coffee Chan got for him and opens up a document. He inevitably types in the homework given by the therapist for the week, he is quite diligent with it as a desperate measure to find a way out of the whirlpool. But his narration starts diverging and takes the form of something more stimulating. He titles it ‘draft one’.

Traffic shatters his expectations of a peaceful journey, he is running tremendously late. The heat swelters, he drags down his collar to take in the nonexistent wind. Jihoon blows up his phone with hurried texts from the airport that makes Wonwoo’s anxiety skyrocket. He reaches the airport five minutes before check-in closes and has to move in, leaving his family stranded. 

Airports, goddamnit!