Chapter Text
Yeonjun stands in the middle of the airport, his chest filled with a mix of nostalgia, grief, and dread.
It feels like everyone else around him is moving, rushing off to see loved ones or to beat the lines at check in, but Yeonjun is glued to the airport tiles, watching his flight flash across the screen. There, in all caps, reads: ON TIME right next to his flight to Seoul and the gate number. He doesn’t know what he was expecting, if he had been hoping for a delay or cancellation to avoid being back in Korea for just a little while longer.
Next to him, a toddler bursts into tears. Yeonjun barely spares them a glance, too busy focusing on the way his heart is racing and how sweaty his palms are. Behind him, the line for check-in grows longer, the crowd of people larger and louder. He can barely think straight.
This sucks, Yeonjun thinks. He’s known grief before—the loss of a friend, waking up and realizing you are no longer a child, but this feels different. It feels more real, permeating every part of his body. He hasn’t been back since high school.
Does anyone even remember me? Do I want them to remember me?
Yeonjun doesn’t think he does. It’s far easier to disappear than it is to reconcile with his past and the ghosts that haunt him, hovering over his shoulder. They’re a constant reminder of who he used to be, of the people he left behind when he moved away from Seoul all those years ago.
This was a mistake, Yeonjun thinks. Reunions are for people who enjoyed high school, who think the world revolves around the people that they used to be all those years ago. Like anyone still cares about them, Yeonjun thinks. Not him—Yeonjun is more than happy to leave his past buried, but the universe works in funny ways.
His flight disappears from the screen to make way for the others, and Yeonjun takes it as his sign to finally check in. By the time he gets to his gate, the knot of anxiety in his chest is loosening, giving way to something far more calming.
The airport is bustling around him, but relatively quiet despite the business. He finds his gate with ease, grateful for the lack of people around him. It almost feels like no one else is going back home, that he has been left to make the journey himself.
Yeonjun knows that's not true. He knows for a fact it’s not just him, that the ghosts of his past still linger and follow him wherever he goes. Even now, as he makes his way to his seat on the plane, they, too, move with him.
—
Beomgyu reads the text message from Soobin, and it leaves a sour taste in his mouth.
Hey, you’re still going, right?
It's not like he forgot. In fact, it's all he's been thinking about ever since invitations went out. He knows he could back out, but there's a part of him that wonders if Yeonjun's going to show up.
Eventually, he types back, yeah. wanna go together?
Beomgyu’s never been one to break a promise, after all.
—
Yeonjun stands by the baggage carousel some hours later, waiting for his luggage. It feels impossible to move with the heavy weight of the city already pressing down on him, squeezing the air out of his lungs and sucking every last drop of blood from his heart. He’s forgotten how stifling it is to be back home, and he hasn't even left the airport yet.
He watches the luggage at the baggage claim circle one by one, his heart slamming against his ribcage and memories of his childhood pouring into his mind, a reminder of what he left behind. He almost misses his bag when it arrives, too distracted by the prospect of facing his former classmates and old friends after being gone for so long.
—
In a way, it was easier back then. Or maybe it all felt easier. Yeonjun can't be sure. But they sure were something, the five of them going around and solving mysteries in Kai’s mom’s old van. They somehow managed to scrape together the money to fix it up a bit, adding a logo and a new layer of paint. They were a team, loosely connected, but a team, the kind that shouldered each other's burdens and learned the importance of patience with one another.
Yeonjun knows he’s partially responsible for them falling apart, but he wishes they could go back to the old days. Back then, he didn’t have half the responsibilities he has now. It was just him and his friends and whatever mystery they happened to stumble across, not taken seriously by their local police and tossed to the side. It was just him and Beomgyu, brainstorming at his parent’s house in the dead of the night, scribbling notes in his notebook to show to the rest of their friends during homeroom. It came so easily, being with Beomgyu.
There are so many things Yeonjun regrets: the stupid arguments he and his friends would get into, stubbornly going against whatever side Beomgyu was on out of spite, not listening to Soobin when he said it was too dangerous to go investigate a case, hearing Beomgyu say, “Why didn't you listen?” when he woke up in the hospital later that day—the list goes on and on. His pile of regrets has only grown with time, never to disappear like he hoped.
But in the end, Yeonjun thinks his biggest regret is leaving Beomgyu. Looking back, there are so many things Yeonjun would've done differently. He would’ve showed up at Beomgyu’s front door the morning of his flight overseas and told him everything: his fears and anxieties, why he couldn’t stay in Seoul any longer. He would’ve cried into his shoulder and asked him if he wanted to go, too. He knows Beomgyu would’ve said no, because as much as Yeonjun is entwined with Beomgyu, he is still his own person and Yeonjun could not rob him of his own dreams and wishes because of his selfishness.
It’s too late for all of that now. Even so, Yeonjun thinks about it from time to time—what could’ve been if he didn’t have to leave, or if he asked Beomgyu to come with him.
These days, he works as a cold case detective overseas, taking on all the old cases everyone else gave up on thirty years ago and battering away at them until a puzzle piece slides into place. It can get a little mind numbing at times, but Yeonjun doesn’t mind. Or at least that’s what he tells himself—his high school reunion isn’t the only reason he’s back in Seoul, after all. There’s more to it than fragile friendships and worn out threads connecting his memories.
But Yeonjun knows. One way or another, he would’ve made his way back here. There’s only so far he can run.
—
Nothing's going right—his hair, his suit, his tie. His neighbors won’t shut the fuck up and stop fighting, making it impossible to concentrate. Beomgyu’s dangerously close to texting Soobin and telling him he’s not coming.
Beomgyu’s still fiddling with his tie when his phone buzzes with a message from Soobin. With a sigh, he picks it up.
There, flashing across his screen is a message from Soobin: Don’t even think about canceling on me. I’ll see you there in an hour, or I'll have no choice but to drag you there myself.
Beomgyu fixes his tie in record time.
—
The first thing Yeonjun notices is that Beomgyu hasn’t changed all that much. Yeonjun spots him in the crowd immediately, and with the recognition comes a sharp ache in his chest, like all the oxygen has been knocked out of his lungs and replaced with something far more deadly.
Beomgyu looks older, more mature. His face is sharper than Yeonjun remembers, carefully carved out by the hands of time. Of course he looks older, Yeonjun thinks. It’s been five years. So much can happen in five years. It’d be weird if he didn’t change.
Yeonjun stands in the entryway, frozen, for ten seconds too long. He picked up his nametag by the front doors after checking in a few minutes ago, but he stands there, clutching it in his hand as wave after wave of forgotten memories lurch through him. Beomgyu is a hard person to forget, after all. He should’ve known it would take more than time to wash away everything Beomgyu has given him over the years.
I should go, Yeonjun thinks, panic flooding through his body and setting off every alarm there is. I can’t stay here. I can’t see him or Soo—
“Who’s holding up the line?” Someone mutters from behind him, and Yeonjun snaps out of it almost immediately. He glances over his shoulder, stepping to the side so that he is no longer in the way. He forgot where he was for a second, and it’s unnerving. Dread creeps up his throat, but he swallows it down, not wanting to deal with it right now.
Yeonjun opens his mouth to apologize, the words just barely slipping out when he realizes who was speaking to him. Yeonjun almost hurls on the spot, rattled by a strong wave of emotions and the erratic heartbeat in his chest.
Just my luck, he thinks miserably. He shouldn't have come.
“Oh,” Soobin says, making a point of looking away from him. Yeonjun would take offense if he wasn’t trying to do the same. There’s a specific sort of awkwardness that comes with facing someone you used to know like the back of your hand, especially after so much time has passed. Yeonjun feels like a stranger; he is a stranger. They're all strangers to him, and he doesn't know how to feel about it.
Now they’re both blocking the entrance into their high school gymnasium, staring at each other like it’s their first time meeting all over again. Yeonjun swallows nervously, his throat dry from the thrum of anxiety beating away at the remnants of his sanity.
Behind Soobin, he sees someone slip past, away from the gymnasium. I wish that was me leaving, Yeonjun thinks desperately. All he sees is a flash of brown hair before the person’s gone, swept up in the crowd. Yeonjun looks back at Soobin—he can’t exactly ignore him right now. It’s not that he wants to; Yeonjun just doesn’t know what to say. What do you say to someone you left behind? To someone you fell out of touch with, locked up your memories together and let them collect dust on a forgotten shelf?
Yeonjun doesn’t know. He's missed him so much it hurts, but he can’t tell if that’s simply the anxiety flooding his body. He hopes it isn’t.
Soobin’s changed. A lot. He’s grown into his height, less lanky and awkward than he used to be. Yeonjun doesn’t even have the time to marvel at the difference before Soobin’s muttering, “It was nice seeing you,” and slipping into the crowd, like he’s itching to get away from Yeonjun.
Nice, Yeonjun thinks bitterly as he moves out of the way. That definitely wasn't the most awkward encounter I've had in years.
He fumbles with his nametag, trying to pin it to his suit. It takes a couple of tries for him to succeed, but by the time he does, Beomgyu is nowhere to be seen in the crowded room. Maybe it’s for the best. He’s sure Beomgyu would have a similar—if not worse—reaction as Soobin if he spotted him in the doorway. Soobin probably went looking for him, now that Yeonjun thinks about it.
Briefly, Yeonjun wonders if Kai and Taehyun came, too. He supposes it’d be weird if they didn’t, but a small part of him hopes they were too busy to come. He’s not ready to face all of them once more. A glimpse of Beomgyu was enough to make him start sifting through long forgotten memories, opening up the doors to his past to let all the ghosts flow through.
—
Beomgyu doesn’t realize how hard he’s squeezing the glass in his hand until Soobin tells him to knock it off.
“You’re looking positively murderous tonight,” Soobin tells him, raising an eyebrow curiously at him.
Beomgyu forces himself to relax, imagining the tension seeping out of his body and gathering in a puddle on the floor instead of curling up inside of him, pouring into all the crevices it can find. It almost works until he remembers the last time he saw Yeonjun, how it felt like someone was squeezing every last bit of life out of his body.
“I can’t believe he showed up,” Beomgyu mutters, distracted by the sight of Yeonjun. “And like nothing happened! You’re sure he didn’t say anything to you?”
He’s changed, Beomgyu realizes. He’s taller, and there’s a more serious look to him than before, but maybe that’s from the suit he’s wearing. Beomgyu can't be sure.
“Nothing,” Soobin confirms, but he sounds dejected as he says it. Even Beomgyu’s shoulders slump forward when he hears his answer, unable to help it. What could've possibly happened for him to act this way?
Yeonjun couldn’t have gone farther away from them, packing up everything he had ever known and flying to the states right after they all finished high school. Not even a proper goodbye, just an ominous text sent to their group chat about taking some time for himself. Beomgyu officially found out through a friend of a friend that sent him Yeonjun’s instagram story with #glowup in the bottom corner. Beomgyu simply clicked out of the conversation and stared at his bedroom ceiling for a long, long time.
“Maybe you could try talki—”
“No,” Beomgyu says sharply, cutting Soobin off. “If he wants to talk to me, he can do it himself. I’ve already tried. It’s his turn.”
Soobin gives him a look—it’s a mixture of pity and disbelief—but Beomgyu ignores it easily. He studies the crowd of people instead, wondering if Taehyun and Kai are here tonight, too. What would Yeonjun say if he ran into them? Beomgyu doesn't know. He’s never been the type of person to go unnoticed, even when they were still in high school. Yeonjun was the face of their little group, the one everyone knew.
Beomgyu closes his eyes briefly, and thinks to himself, it doesn't matter. Soobin was their unspoken leader anyways, and Yeonjun never let the attention go to his head, not in the sort of way that made Beomgyu feel as if he was leaving them behind.
He opens his eyes once more, refocusing back on the glass of champagne in his hand. Maybe the attention did go to his head eventually. The last Beomgyu heard of him, he was some big shot detective overseas, and now that he’s back home, he has yet to reach out to any of them. Beomgyu included.
“Growing apart is part of growing up, you know,” Soobin points out. “He did tell us he needed time before he left.”
“I know. I know.” But Beomgyu is having a hard time letting go of it, even though he knows he should. It's hard when he still sees Yeonjun everywhere, in the porch swing of his childhood home and pictures frames his mother still keeps. He can't escape him, no matter how hard he tries. No matter how much time has passed since their paths diverged.
Tsk. Beomgyu turns back to Soobin, handing him his champagne, and says, stiffly, “I’m going to the bathroom.”
—
Yeonjun wants to crawl out of his skin. It’s become quite obvious that his former classmates still recognize him, judging from the stares and whispers that follow his every move. It’s stifling. He doesn't even manage to make it to his seat before he’s backtracking out of the gymnasium, searching for the bathroom. He hates the attention, the stares and hushed conversation. He misses the normalcy of his life, and he’s seriously debating taking the first flight back and forgoing his business plans completely.
Finding the bathroom is too easy—two lefts and a right later, he flings open the door and comes face to face with none other than Beomgyu. A teary-eyed, flushed cheeks and slightly panicked Beomgyu. Nothing could’ve prepared him for their sudden reunion, even though Yeonjun knew it was inevitable.
That’s the thing about him and Beomgyu. Yeonjun always found it impossible to resist his pull, no matter how badly he tried.
Yeonjun opens his mouth to speak, and promptly slams it shut. He can’t remember half the things he wanted to say to Beomgyu if he ever saw him again, his mind nothing but a blank canvas. He opens his mouth again, but nothing comes out. It doesn’t even matter—Beomgyu is the first to break the dangerous silence between them.
“Just the person I wanted to see,” Beomgyu sniffles, wiping any lingering tears from his cheeks. He makes a point of looking off to the side, avoiding Yeonjun’s eyes.
He’s changed since high school, but Yeonjun isn't surprised. They all have.
God. Yeonjun feels absolutely terrible, barging in on such a vulnerable moment. There’s no way he could’ve known, but it still doesn't feel right. It’s not even his place to offer him comfort, not after everything. It doesn’t matter how badly Yeonjun wants to—he doubts Beomgyu would let him.
This is all so wrong. Yeonjun being here, Beomgyu crying, Soobin not knowing what to say to him. He hates it. He wishes he never left them. He wishes he stayed where he was, that he didn't come tonight. So many regrets. Yeonjun can't breathe from the crushing weight of it all.
“I can leave,” Yeonjun finally offers, trying to maintain a semblance of peace between them. “If you want.”
Beomgyu shakes his head, like he can't believe what he’s hearing. The silence stretches between them like a never ending ocean, broken only by the occasional sniffle from Beomgyu. Yeonjun stands there, not sure of what to do. He feels like he should say something, but the words get stuck in his throat and all he can do is watch helplessly. God. He shouldn't have come tonight. He should've stayed in his hotel room and eaten cheap takeout and gone about his business the next day before catching his flight back.
But he didn't do that. He's here, and he has no choice but to face Beomgyu.
Then, softly, Beomgyu says, “I didn't think you would have the nerve to show up like nothing happened.”
Yeonjun grimaces. He doesn't have a response, so he stands there, underneath the shitty fluorescent lighting and across from the person who used to be his best friend, wishing everything hadn't gone so terribly wrong once he left Korea.
He’s saved from responding by the sound of the door opening behind him. Yeonjun turns around and comes face to face with a semi-pissed off Soobin. He narrows his eyes at Yeonjun, and asks, “What did you do?” with more sharpness than Yeonjun thinks he deserves.
“What did I do?” Yeonjun repeats back, not even bothering to try and hide his shock. “He was already crying when I came in. I get that I didn't leave you guys on the greatest of terms, but I don’t appreciate your tone.”
Soobin bristles at his mini outburst, but doesn't say anything. The expression on his face tones down from semi-pissed to mildly pissed, which Yeonjun considers to be a sort of victory for him. He’s never liked making Soobin mad—it feels like disappointing his parents, in a way. It’s even worse with Soobin, especially since it takes a lot for him to genuinely get angry with someone.
“God.” Yeonjun pinches the bridge of his nose, glancing up at the ceiling lights to stop himself from crying. It doesn't seem to be working very well.
Beomgyu is still refusing to look at him and Soobin hasn't budged ever since he entered the bathroom, leaving them standing in a peculiar triangle, staring at one another. Yeonjun doesn't know if he should laugh from pure disbelief or cry. He hadn't expected a positive reaction from any of them to begin with, but this is somehow worse than he thought it would be.
“You don’t appreciate his tone?” Beomgyu asks quietly, breaking the miserable silence between the three of them. He makes a point of looking Yeonjun in the eyes this time, and adds, “You’re the one who left without a proper goodbye.”
“I told you I needed time…I didn't think I owed you anything more than that at the time,” Yeonjun retorts before he can stop himself, giving in to the quiet flames of anger. “It wasn’t like I didn’t say anything. Besides, there was mo—”
Yeonjun stops himself, but it’s too late.
He regrets it as soon as the words leave his mouth. He hadn’t planned on staying permanently. He was meant to go back, to go job hunting in Seoul for his gap year and find an apartment and learn how to find a friend in the grief that consumed him. But one month turned into two. Two months turned into six. Yeonjun deleted social media off of his phone after a week, found a job in the states, changed his number. It became permanent.
For five years. Now? Now he doesn’t know.
Beomgyu presses his lips into a thin line instead of answering, handling his response with far more grace than Yeonjun thinks he deserves right now.
Soobin glances between the two of them warily, and says, gently, “We were your friends, hyung. You could’ve at least called. He’s allowed to be upset.”
Yeonjun doesn’t miss the use of he instead of we. He and Beomgyu have always been inseparable. It’s been that way since the day they met. Yeonjun and Beomgyu. Beomgyu and Yeonjun—they were always together, in one way or another.
“Don’t you think we deserved more? You did owe us something. A proper goodbye, a letter—anything. I thought we meant more to you than that,” Soobin says loftily.
He doesn’t sound angry, just disappointed. There’s no worse feeling than disappointing someone like Soobin, who is constantly learning and listening, a pillar of support for them all. Yeonjun feels sick to his stomach at the reprimand, and deep down, he knows Soobin is right. He always is.
Yeonjun glances over at Soobin and feels something twinge inside of him, like he’s falling apart. Soobin, who has always been so gentle with them, who watched over them in ways Yeonjun didn't, despite being the oldest. Yeonjun may have brought them together during high school, but Soobin was the glue keeping their little group connected, the one person they could all rely on, no matter the time of day or night.
Something in his chest aches as he thinks about what used to be, like an open wound pouring blood. He’s choking on it: his grief, the metallic taste of blood, his anger. Yeonjun hates it.
“Like he cares,” Beomgyu mutters, wiping a fresh wave of tears. “He didn’t care enough to tell us why he was leaving. He didn't even bother staying in touch.”
“Beomgyu,” Soobin chides softly, surprising Yeonjun.
Wasn’t he just lecturing me? But that's just how Soobin is. Yeonjun can't even begin to explain how much he's missed them. He hates that they've become strangers, that he doesn't know what Beomgyu does for a living or if Soobin ever moved into a place of his own. If they keep in touch with Taehyun and Kai. Part of him hopes they do.
“What?” Beomgyu snaps, quick to respond, as always. “Tell me I’m wrong. Don't you think we deserved more than that? You said it yourself.”
Soobin’s eyes widen slightly, taken aback by the sharpness of his voice. Yeonjun can't remember the last time he heard Beomgyu sound like that, but maybe he deserves it this time.
“I tried talking to you,” Beomgyu says flatly. His voice sounds far too quiet now.
It’s unsettling, but Yeonjun can’t focus on it because his mind is reeling—he can't believe what he heard Beomgyu say. He tried, and Yeonjun didn't even know about it. He should've known. He should've reached out. He should've visited.
“You never responded to my texts.” Beomgyu looks away, apparently done talking with him.
But Yeonjun feels like Beomgyu took a wrench to his heart and gutted him open in the bathroom of their old high school, watching as their age-old memories and nostalgia pour out of him, pooling by their legs. God. Yeonjun can’t focus on anything else right now.
Beomgyu texted. He wrote. He reached out; he was there, he wante—
Despite everything. Despite Yeonjun leaving. Despite the haze of grief and distance and growing apart. Yeonjun can't think straight.
Soobin shoots him a mildly annoyed look, like he’s thinking, Really, dude? You couldn't respond?
Fair enough, Yeonjun supposes. He feels so stupid.
“I changed my number,” Yeonjun blurts out eventually. “I—I didn't know you texted.”
Then, more quietly, “I would’ve responded, I swear. I’m sorry.”
“Would’ve, could’ve, should’ve,” Beomgyu says, shrugging off his apology like it’s nothing. “A little too late for that, no?”
Maybe. But Yeonjun hopes it isn’t. That’s part of the reason he came back, isn't it? He can keep lying to himself about the reunion coinciding with his business trip, but it’s more than that. It has been from the start.
Standing there in the bathroom, Yeonjun tries to gather his thoughts. There’s so much he wants to say; he doesn't even know where to start. Five years is so much lost time that he can't possibly catch up with them in one night. But he doesn't know if they want to hear him out, if Beomgyu would even bother spending any more time with him than he has to. Yeonjun doesn't know.
His response is cut off by the bathroom lights switching off out of nowhere, plunging them into total darkness. He flinches, holding his hands out defensively. Neither Soobin or Beomgyu say anything, and Yeonjun hopes they’re just as confused as he is.
Lovely timing, he thinks bitterly. What else could go wrong?
Someone curses in the midst of the darkness, sounding suspiciously like Beomgyu. Yeonjun finds himself fumbling for his phone after the initial surprise wears off. He’s already forgotten their conversation, too busy trying to figure out what’s going on.
It isn't getting any easier to see in the dark and his eyes are having trouble adjusting, much to his dismay.
“Guys?” Yeonjun’s voice sounds like the darkness is going to swallow it up at any second, robbing him of his ability to speak. Fear slithers over his skin, unwelcome and miserable. Yeonjun hates it.
He’s greeted with two phone flashlights shining directly into his eyes and he winces, turning his head away. He bumps into something hard and yelps instinctively, heart racing and mouth dry from fear.
Something feels distinctly wrong about all this. Yeonjun can’t shake the feeling that everything is only going to get worse from here.
“Why are you making so much noise?” Soobin asks him, sounding mildly annoyed. He flashes his phone light in Yeonjun’s face once more, revealing the sink behind him and not the axe murderer that Yeonjun thought he bumped into.
Yeonjun winces, feeling his pride buckle just the slightest bit under their stares. How embarrassing. He is not having a good night.
“So I got a little freaked out. Sue me,” he says defensively, avoiding both of their eyes.
Silence from Beomgyu and Soobin. Yeonjun cringes inwardly, feeling embarrassed. This is so terrible, he thinks to himself. Why did I come?
“C’mon. Might as well go back to the gymnasium at this point. Hey, hyung, wanna leave?” Beomgyu seems to be ignoring Yeonjun, which—to be fair—is perfectly reasonable.
"Here, I'll go first," Soobin offers, already heading towards the door.
A few seconds later, Yeonjun hears the door creak open. Fear flashes through him once more, hot and heavy, and he feels a rush of panic sweep it up and launch it as hard as it can towards him.
Yeonjun finally fishes his phone out of his pocket, turning on his flashlight to guide him out of the bathroom. Two flashlights may be enough for now, but there’s no such thing as being overly cautious. The more light they have, the better.
Beomgyu shoots a wary glance in his direction, before wordlessly setting off after Soobin. Briefly, Yeonjun wonders what he’s thinking.
Yeonjun trails behind the both of them, following suit easily. There’s no way he would've stayed there all by himself, even if it means that he has to follow Beomgyu and Soobin around.
Outside the bathroom, they find complete darkness in the hallway. His blood runs cold, and unease floods his body. Weird. Something isn't right, he thinks nervously. It's like they're back in high school all over again, solving a case that's far above their pay grade and a little too scary for a group of amateur detectives.
"Shit," Soobin mutters. It's faint from where Yeonjun is standing, but he hears it regardless. He almost laughs, but holds himself back. Now isn’t the time.
"Shit," Beomgyu agrees. Yeonjun is about to add on, maybe even voice his own uneasiness, when they hear a sudden burst of screams coming from the gymnasium.
Yeonjun flinches at the unexpected sound, wishing he was anywhere but here right now. His hotel room sounds far better than this half-assed reunion.
"This is not good," Soobin mutters. He glances back at the both of them, traces of concern etching his face. Even Beomgyu looks back at him, and it takes a second too long for Yeonjun to realize there's an unspoken question hanging in the air between them.
Yeonjun licks his now-dry lips, and says, hesitantly, "I think we should go investigate. For old times sake."
"We aren't big shot detectives like you. Sure you still wanna investigate with us?" Beomgyu asks, irritation slipping into the folds of his voice.
Soobin shoots him a look, like he's considering telling him to back off, but Beomgyu merely holds his hands up defensively. He doesn't say anything else, but he doesn't have to.
"Yes, I do," Yeonjun responds, trying to keep his voice as firm as possible. “Of course I do.”
Silence from the both of them, but Yeonjun doesn't care.
Beomgyu gives him one last glance back, more curious than angry this time, before they're off, heading towards the source of the screams.
—
Yeonjun’s heart is pounding like crazy by the time they reach the gymnasium doors, and he swears there’s a droplet of sweat rolling down his back.
How embarrassing, he thinks. This isn't anything I haven't handled before, so why am I scared? It’s just a power outage. I’m sure it’s nothing.
He glances over at Beomgyu, who looks strangely put together despite the situation, and wonders if there is any chance of gluing together the broken shards of their relationship. Would he even let me if I tried?
Not just Beomgyu, but all of them. He still hasn't seen Kai and Taehyun since he showed up tonight. He isn't sure if he wants to, or if they want to see him, but it can’t hurt to try. Maybe he should. Patch up old wounds, sew them closed. It might hurt at first, but it’ll pass eventually, as most things do. Yeonjun doesn’t know. He can’t concentrate.
He shakes his head, trying to focus on the task at hand. He can think about them later, when they aren't in complete darkness. In front of him, Soobin reaches out to pull open the doors to the gymnasium.
Yeonjun watches uneasily, and the pit of dread in his stomach thickens miserably when Soobin looks back at the both of them, and says, “It’s locked.”
“Fuck,” Yeonjun swears. “This isn’t good.”
He had a feeling they wouldn't be able to open it, but it’s one thing to think about it and another to have it come true. His brain automatically goes to the darkest scenario imaginable, cooking up horrors and other terrible thoughts to explain their current situation.
The feeling of unease, mixed in with panic from earlier is worse now, stretching and filling the gaps left behind. Yeonjun shudders, once, and forces himself to get it together.
Beomgyu, completely ignoring his earlier comment, says, “What kinda lock is it? Maybe I can get it open.”
Soobin glances down at it, shifting so that his flashlight is angled towards it. Beomgyu peers over his shoulder to get a better look, and Yeonjun can see the concentration on his face despite the dim lighting.
In the end, Yeonjun doesn't say anything, deciding that maybe it’s best to stay quiet whenever he can. He doesn't want to break the precarious ceasefire they have all silently agreed to, not yet.
“We should try to see if the people inside can unlock it first,” Soobin suggests, and Beomgyu easily agrees, stepping back to give him room.
Yeonjun watches from off to the side as Soobin raises a fist, knocking against one of the doors. He pauses, and leans closer. Yeonjun’s breath hitches in his throat, but nothing happens.
“Is anyone there?” Soobin calls out again, raising his voice this time. When he doesn't hear an immediate response, he knocks once more. Yeonjun strains his ears, trying to latch onto anything from the other side, but it’s surprisingly difficult.
In front of him, Beomgyu is frowning. Soobin appears disgruntled, and Yeonjun watches as he puts his ear to the door in a desperate attempt to catch any sound coming from the gymnasium. A few seconds pass as they all stand there in bated silence, the suspense building ever so quickly.
Just when Yeonjun is about to declare he can't take it any longer, Soobin says, “They’re stuck, too. I can hear someone asking for help.”
“Makes sense,” Beomgyu murmurs, eyebrows pinched together in concentration. “We just need to figure out how to get the doors open. If I had a bobby pin…Or a crow bar…”
“Unfortunately, a crow bar was not on my list of essentials for a high school reunion,” Soobin laments, trying to keep the mood light between them. The tension is palpable despite the fear connecting them, and Yeonjun doesn't know how much more of it he can take.
Yeonjun smiles before he can stop himself, and catches Soobin’s eyes on him. He wipes the smile off of his face, embarrassed, and says, “Maybe we can try to help someone pick the lock from the inside…? I’m not sure how well they can hear us, though.”
“The doors are made of wood, right? Maybe we can bust them in,” Soobin suggests, but it’s half-hearted at best and Beomgyu’s already shaking his head. Yeonjun doesn't think it’s a good idea, either. The one time he tried busting down a door, he dislocated his shoulder and ended up in the hospital.
“Not worth the risk,” Beomgyu explains easily. “We could injure someone on the other side if they’re standing nearby, and that’s only if we manage to break them. I think our best shot is looking for a needle or pin of some sort and picking the lock ourselves.”
Yeonjun clicks his tongue in response, irritated with himself. He doesn't have anything on him other than his phone, wallet, and keys, which means there’s nothing useful in his pockets. There’s no reason for him to have brought a bobby pin, but he regrets not bringing one now. If he had, things would be going differently right about now.
Beomgyu wordlessly walks away with his flashlight, peering down at the ground in search of something useful to pick the lock with. Yeonjun is left alone with Soobin, who glances over at him from time to time and then pretends he was looking elsewhere. Yeonjun can't blame him, but it still stings a little.
Just as Yeonjun is about to break the silence, Beomgyu calls out, “I found a bobby pin! Must've fallen from someone's hair or their purse when we were all coming in earlier.”
“Fuck yeah,” Soobin responds, looking over in Beomgyu’s direction. “Please tell me you remember how to pick a lock, because I don’t. Unless…?”
He glances over at Yeonjun, who shrugs half-heartedly in a feeble attempt to maintain his earlier casualness.
“I could do it if no one else knows how to. I learned in high school, back when we…” he trails off before he can finish, remembering that they aren't really friends anymore, that they don’t need to know everything about his life.
It’s easy to forget the distance separating them, to fall back into their old routine, slotting together like the pieces of a puzzle would. Beomgyu’s already come back to their side, holding out the bobby pin for Yeonjun to take.
“All yours,” he says. Yeonjun might be imagining things, but he swears Beomgyu’s voice is thawing, almost like he’s warming up to him all over again. Yeonjun hopes he is.
He decides not to say anything about it, taking the bobby pin from Beomgyu and getting straight to work. It’s harder than anticipated because of the poor lighting, but Yeonjun knows they have no other choice at this point. He fiddles with the lock for an embarrassing amount of time, wishing his hands weren't so clammy and that he worked better under pressure.
Next to him, Soobin and Beomgyu stand quietly. Neither of them say anything. Yeonjun is grateful—he doesn't have it in him to argue with either one of them right now. Eventually, Yeonjun gets the door unlocked. Beomgyu breathes a sigh of relief, but Yeonjun hesitates, unsure of whether or not to open it.
“What if there’s something much worse on the other side…?” he asks, feeling the familiar thrum of anxiety in his chest. He glances over at them, almost like he’s searching for reassurance.
“Nothing a group of former amateur detectives can’t handle, right?” Beomgyu answers, but he’s not looking at him. Which, fine, is completely valid, but it still hurts.
Yeonjun shrugs, a flare of courage bursting through him at Beomgyu’s words, and pushes the door open before anyone else can say anything.
Here goes nothing, he thinks.
—
Of course Yeonjun knows how to pick a lock, Beomgyu thinks to himself. He’s pretty sure he was the one who taught Yeonjun to do it, now that he thinks about it. But Beomgyu doesn't think it's worth mentioning, not after everything that’s happened between them.
Yeonjun’s already pushing the door open, and Beomgyu follows him with a knot of anxiety building in his throat. He can hear people whispering and see the flashlights from their phones swinging in their direction, wary of their presence. Beomgyu can't blame them; he would be suspicious, too.
Unsurprisingly, the first person to recognize them is Taehyun. Beomgyu doesn't know what to say or do when he meets Taehyun’s eyes, but neither do Soobin or Yeonjun. It makes sense, if he thinks about it. He and Soobin stayed in touch, but everything sort of fell apart without Yeonjun there to bring them back together. He still talks to them, but it’s not the same. Not like how it used to be.
In a way, Yeonjun was the thread connecting them, and Soobin was the glue keeping them together. Without Yeonjun, Soobin couldn't keep them all together, no matter how hard he tried.
And, god, did he try. Beomgyu would know. He’s been there for it all. Beomgyu wonders if they truly even fell apart the way he assumed—he still had Soobin, after all, and Taehyun’s had Kai this entire time. Maybe it was just Yeonjun who left their orbit while they broke off into smaller groups.
“Oh my god,” Taehyun says, drawing Beomgyu away from his trip down memory lane. “Holy shit.”
“Nice to see you too,” Beomgyu responds casually, glancing around the gymnasium. “Anyone know what happened? We were in the bathroom when the lights went out.”
“Ohhhh, maybe that was why we heard screaming,” says the person standing near Taehyun. Beomgyu squints, trying to see who it is in the wave of darkness, an—
“Holy shit.” Yeonjun’s voice spooks all four of them, and even Beomgyu flinches at the sound of it. “Sorry, I just—wow, um, didn't recognize you guys right away. Hi.”
“And who are you?” Taehyun asks coolly, raising an eyebrow. Even Beomgyu winces, and he can hear Soobin suck in a sharp breath behind him. Murmurs flit through the crowd of people, and it’s all so ridiculous. Haven’t they moved on from petty gossip by now?
“Never mind that—has anyone called for help?” Beomgyu blurts out, trying to dispel any lingering awkwardness before it leads to a fight.
The answer feels pretty obvious, but he asks it anyways. Just in case, he tells himself.
“We tried, but the cell towers in the area must be down. None of us have any service,” someone in the crowd answers. Beomgyu can't tell who it is, but it doesn't matter. “See for yourself.”
Sure enough, when Beomgyu checks his phone, he finds that he has zero signal and a nearly drained battery. He sighs, pocketing his phone and attempting to focus his attention elsewhere. Even though he was expecting it, Beomgyu still cant believe it.
“No electricity, no cell service. Could it be some sort of freak storm…? Maybe we could send a group of volunteers to check the exits,” Soobin suggests. He's so put together and calm that even Beomgyu starts to relax, like nothing could go wrong as long as Soobin isn't worried. He just has that effect on people—he always has.
It comes as no surprise when several people volunteer to go check out the other exits to see if they’re locked as well, Yeonjun included. Beomgyu stays back, even though he wants to go more than anything. Part of him is itching for an adventure, anything to feel the thrill of adrenaline in his veins, but something about this entire situation feels off to him.
Besides, he has more important things on his mind right now. Like Taehyun and Kai, for example. Beomgyu sits down on the ground next to them, leaning his back against the wall, and says, almost casually, “Long time no see, am I right?”
A beat of silence. Beomgyu’s heart is leaping into his throat when Kai finally blurts out, “I can't take it any longer—come over here!”
He leans across Taehyun to pull Beomgyu into the world’s messiest hug, and Kai’s voice is muffled when he says, “I missed you guys so much. Why did we ever stop talking?”
He pulls back, waiting for a response. Beomgyu doesn't miss the expectant look on Taehyun’s face, even amidst the darkness surrounding them.
Beomgyu shrugs. He doesn't have a good answer. Part of it is his fault, too. Seeing them reminded him of Yeonjun. He knows it wasn't fair of him, that they deserved better, but Beomgyu was sad and learning how to cope with a loss that felt larger than life at the time. He didn't know what else to do. It was easier to push everyone away than it was to welcome them into his orbit. It was easier to let them go.
He regrets it all.
“Honestly?” Beomgyu starts, ready to let it all spill out of him in the midst of their reunion: his fears and regrets, the loneliness he felt without them, how badly he’s missed Yeonjun, how he’s sure there’s more to his sudden disappearance five years ago. He so badly wants things to go back to how they used to be, but he can’t seem to let go of his grievances.
“It doesn't matter,” Kai blurts out, “I mean, it happens. You grow up and drift apart. That’s just how it is.”
“Yeah,” Beomgyu says softly, not knowing how else to respond.
Then, quietly, Taehyun adds, “I’m happy you guys are here. I didn't know if you were coming or not.”
“That’s the funny thing, actually. I wa—”
He’s interrupted by the crowd of volunteers returning, flashlights flickering the darkness and obscuring his vision. Beomgyu blinks, willing his eyes to adjust faster. Everyone turns to look at them, Beomgyu included. Just one look at Soobin and Yeonjun’s grim faces tells him everything he needs to know.
“Fuck,” Beomgyu says softly. "I had a feeling they wouldn't find any exits."
“Whatever this is, it’s not good. I heard a scream when the lights went out, which caused panic and more screaming. You guys didn’t scream, right?” Taehyun asks, keeping his voice low so no one else hears them.
“No…none of us did,” Beomgyu answers, his brain shifting into overdrive.
“That’s what I thought, but I didn't wanna jump to conclusions. What do you think?” Taehyun questions, peering over at Beomgyu.
This is good. Familiar, even. It reminds Beomgyu of high school, when they would bounce theories back and forth between classes and go trespassing for clues. Beomgyu almost misses it.
“I think something weird is going on," Beomgyu answers honestly. There's no reasonable explanation for what's going on, no matter how he looks at it.
Kai nods in agreement, his eyes scanning the room. Beomgyu follows his gaze, but is unable to pinpoint it. He shakes his head, turning back to Taehyun.
"We should find the sign-in sheet and check if everyone’s here,” Beomgyu adds, the idea coming easily to him. It’s like they're 17 all over again, back when it was the five of them against the world.
It’s stupid—how unstoppable he felt when he had them by his side. But here he is at 23, feeling the exact same way. Some things never change, Beomgyu realizes.
“Good idea, but we need a cover story,” Taehyun murmurs. “That way no one gets suspicious in case this is all part of some terrible plan. ”
“I’ll see if they have any ideas,” Beomgyu whispers, and he stands up to make his way over to Soobin and Yeonjun.
They branch away from the group as he approaches them, unease etched across their faces.
“Locked?” Beomgyu guesses, even though he already knows the answer. He finds himself drawn to Yeonjun, studying his face to see if any flickers of emotion appear. He can't tell, but he blames it on the darkness surrounding them.
Soobin nods, and Yeonjun murmurs, “People are gonna get antsy if we don't tell them. But if we do…I don't wanna cause mass panic. Something’s definitely up, though.”
Beomgyu glances over at him, pushing his resentment and hurt aside, and it’s like he’s an teenager all over again, watching Yeonjun pick apart a case piece by piece. He scans the room casually, probably trying to see who looks the most suspicious, before his eyes land on Beomgyu once more.
Beomgyu swallows nervously, looking away in an attempt to stay composed. It isn’t easy—Beomgyu didn’t realize how much he missed him until now. It all feels a little silly, his anger and petulance from earlier. Isn’t it time to let go? Make amends?
Deep down, Beomgyu knows he has it in him to forgive Yeonjun. He heard the stories after he left, how there was something happening in his personal life, how he dropped everything for his family. He doesn't know how true the rumors are, but a small part of him believed them. Like if they were true, then it’d be easier to understand why he left.
“We need an excuse to leave so that we can find the sign-in sheet without raising suspicion,” Beomgyu whispers carefully, trying to make sure no one overhears.
Soobin looks around the room as the rest of the volunteers disperse to spread the news, cocking his head and listening to the bits of conversation flitting through the room; Beomgyu looks back at Yeonjun, who nods in response.
“We can say we’re looking for cell service,” Yeonjun suggests. He speaks slowly, like he’s tip-toeing around glass shards, scared of hurting himself. Beomgyu can’t blame him—they aren't on the best of terms.
“You wanna tell them?” Beomgyu asks curiously, peering at him to gauge his response. But Yeonjun is as calm as ever, his facial expression neutral when he agrees.
Beomgyu envies his composure, but there’s no time to think about it right now. He waits for Yeonjun to make the announcement—people murmur in agreement when he speaks, as poised as ever—and then they’re walking through the double doors once more, flashlights on and a heavy silence stretching between them.
It’s eerie, walking through the dark hallways. Beomgyu’s heart is racing, and every turn feels like it’s coming straight out of a nightmare, holding unseen horrors. He hates not having the hallway lights to guide him, but Yeonjun appears unbothered, leading the way for the both of them with his phone’s flashlight. Beomgyu stays silent, not wanting to voice his fear out loud.
At one point, Yeonjun admits, “I’m a little freaked out right now. Something isn’t adding up. What scream did they hear if it wasn't us…?”
Beomgyu’s so far past freaked out that he might be on the verge of a panic attack, his breathing shallow and fast. He can’t really hear what Yeonjun says after, or think straight. It’s not until Yeonjun stops in his tracks, and asks, “Are you okay?” that he walks himself away from the cliff, taking a long, deep breath.
“No,” he says shakily. “But I can keep going. We need to figure this out before something bad happens.”
Yeonjun appears hesitant about this, looking at him with concern.
“I’m not gonna force you to stop,” he says eventually, like he’s decided against arguing with him. “But if you need to, just tell me, okay?”
Beomgyu nods, and they’re off again, nearing the front doors. As they get closer, Yeonjun slows down and presses a finger to his lips, telling Beomgyu to stay as quiet as he can. Beomgyu nods silently, and they come to a stop before rounding the last corner, staring at each other wordlessly.
Then, Yeonjun mouths, “One. Two. Three.”
They turn the corner simultaneously, pointing their flashlights in the direction of the doors. Beomgyu lets out a sigh of relief when he doesn't see anyone waiting to murder them. Even Yeonjun appears relieved. He doesn't waste any time, though, walking over to the table to take photos of the sheet. He’s careful not to touch anything, just in case, and Beomgyu keeps watch as he does it. He’s starting to get antsy when Yeonjun whispers, “Done.”
They barely take two steps before Beomgyu hears the sound of footsteps from his right. He pauses, realizing the footsteps are getting faster and closer—like the person's running towards them.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he swears, snatching Yeonjun’s hand as he breaks into a run. Yeonjun doesn't question him as they sprint down the hall, their steps echoing and the sound of their breathing too loud in the quiet of the night. Beomgyu’s heart is hammering all over again and he can't tell if it's the fear or champagne from earlier that’s making him nauseated. His stomach churns uneasily, and it takes everything in him to keep going despite every nerve ending in his body screaming at him to stop.
Beomgyu can't hear the sound of footprints any longer, but he knows he hadn't imagined the person following them. It’s not possible.
By the time they make it back to the gymnasium, Beomgyu's pantings so hard that he has to hunch over and put his hands on his knees to catch his breath. The world tilts in waves beneath him, which doesn't help matters.
Yeonjun doesn't waste any time slamming the doors shut and barricading them. Beomgyu ignores the clamor building up around them as people demand answers, trying to placate the wave of unease flooding his body right now.
Beomgyu’s stomach churns once more, making it difficult to focus on the mayhem building up around them. He feels queasy, but he can’t tell if it’s from the sheer amount of terror racing through his body or the alcohol from earlier.
In between gulps of air, Beomgyu manages to gasp, “There was someone out there following us.”
Then, as everyone starts yelling and pestering the both of them with even more questions, Beomgyu gets a terrible feeling that everything is about to go horribly wrong. Three seconds later, he turns to the side and pukes onto a very expensive looking pair of loafers.
—
Beomgyu barely registers Yeonjun rubbing his back, or how he ends up leaning against his side. One second he's losing his dinner and the next Yeonjun's keeping him close.
When Beomgyu doesn't speak, Yeonjun says gently, “Come sit down. I’ll get you some water.”
Beomgyu shudders, but doesn't resist when Yeonjun wraps a careful arm around him to usher him to the side. It’s easy to ignore the alarms sounding in his head from Yeonjun’s presence when he can barely stand right now. He can't tell if it’s from running or from fear. The visceral, grip-you-by-the-throat sort of fear that never truly dissipates. He hasn't felt anything like it in years.
Faintly, he hears Soobin and the others softly asking Yeonjun what happened. His stomach convulses once more, but there's nothing left in it. He winces as Yeonjun helps him sit down, trying to be as careful as possible.
“One too many drinks?” Yeonjun jokes, apparently trying to keep the mood light. Beomgyu swallows uneasily, propping his head up with his hands instead of answering. He doesn't trust himself to speak right now.
Soobin drifts off to whoever owns the loafers, muttering apologies and offering to buy them a new pair on his behalf. Beomgyu barely registers it when he comes back, crouching down next to him. He looks concerned, which isn't surprising.
“Okay?” Soobin asks gently.
“I’m fine,” he reassures, feeling the nausea starting to subside. “I don't think alcohol and sprinting for your life are a good mix.”
“Yeah. Probably not,” Yeonjun laughs, as if there’s nothing wrong. It’s almost easy to forget about what’s happening all around them, like the two of them are in their own little world. But then Beomgyu remembers his lingering resentment, and the smile on his face fades immediately.
He looks away from Yeonjun, uncomfortable with how comfortable it is to be with Yeonjun after all this time. Taehyun reappears with a glass of water for him, leaving Beomgyu thankful for the distraction. Soobin stands back up, appearing anxious once more. Beomgyu can't blame him; he’s felt uneasy ever since the lights went off.
Yeonjun takes this as his opportunity to explain to everyone what happened, and Beomgyu can feel the ripple of unease pass through the crowd as he speaks.
Someone asks, “How do we know you aren't lying?”
There’s a brief pause, but if Beomgyu knows one thing about Yeonjun, it’s that he can keep it together under pressure. It's something he's always admired about him. Beomgyu is nothing like him, quick to fall apart under the slightest bit of resistance.
“You’re welcome to go out there and see for yourself,” Yeonjun suggests, shrugging half-heartedly.
Unsurprisingly, no one budges.
“That’s what I thought. I think it’s best if you just take my word for it. I have no reason to lie, after all.”
Beomgyu is about to open his mouth to speak when he hears a low hum. He freezes, waiting to see what it is. A few seconds later the lights flicker back on, revealing the faces of his former classmates and the state of the gymnasium. He squints at the sudden brightness in the room, unable to see anything as his eyes slowly adjust.
He blinks rapidly, and he’s barely gotten used to the lights when he hears someone scream. Panic flits through the crowd, like tinder to a match, and he pushes himself up off the ground, trying to get a better look. Yeonjun shoots him a worried glance, but doesn't say anything. Beomgyu wouldn't have listened either way.
“It’s coming from the other side of the gymnasium,” Taehyun tells them, his eyes focused on the crowd forming.
For a second, they’re all frozen in time, hovering between indecision and running over to investigate.
Eventually, Beomgyu starts walking, a pit of dread carving its way through his body. Whatever it is, it’s not good. He can hear his frie—classmates, he reminds himself—taking off after him, but he doesn't slow down. The panic starts creeping in the closer he gets, taking over his body. It’s difficult to ignore his heart slamming against his ribcage and his heavy breathing, especially as the room slowly falls apart.
He pushes his way through the crowd, asking, “What? What is it? Why is everyone screaming?”
No one answers him, but it doesn’t matter because Beomgyu bursts through the edge of the crowd and almost stumbles over the lifeless body of the only and only Park Sunghoon, world famous figure skater and his former classmate turned stranger.
Beomgyu just barely has enough time to whisper, “Oh, fuck,” before everything around him descends into complete and utter chaos.