Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

There’s this boy…

“Do you play?”

Oh Seungmin’s art classroom is not spectacular. In fact, it’s not even meant to be an art classroom. Just the year prior, there’d only been one classroom, in a building across the campus, that had been expected to host all the beginning art classes of their overpopulated high school. The single class stuffed full of students from all classes who were trying to fulfill their visual arts requirements. 

Not to argue that it was any less of an art classroom, though it was greatly different than the other. With papers tacked to the wall in varying styles, from poorly rendered spheres to intricate story maps. Acrylic paint plastered to the insides of basin sinks, the nozzles strange because they used to be laboratory faucets fit for a typical science lab. Blue and red ink staining the black counters. Sharpie doodles of messy cats and misshapen stars pair with watercolor spills, sprawled from one end of the light wooden tables to the other. 

Sunshine reveals the veins of the plants that droop over the counters, over messy and torn-apart boxes of pastels or color pencils, each with a color missing, two oranges in one, no oranges in the other. The plants each have a name, haphazardly taped in a design to their pots. A Wilbur. A Thomas. A Josephine.

Sunshine reveals a halo around the boy who sits opposite from him, a chewed eraser, garishly yellow number two pencil spinning mesmerizingly between his fingers, a habitual action that doesn’t falter despite the boy’s eyes traveling strictly from his paper to him . 

There’s an air of confidence about the boy Seungmin has yet to obtain, an upperclassman vibe of merely knowing where he is, of sitting in the same school building he’d sat in the year before. It’s slightly intimidating, paired with the glow the sun gives him, hitting his face and spilling over the many different planes of it, illuminating a painted smile, close-lipped and pleasant. Shining over irises a vast and smooth brown, snaring Seungmin and pulling him in without any proper intention. 

For a long, painful second, Seungmin just sits there, staring. He hadn’t prepared to be spoken to, hadn’t prepared to speak. It was only the very first period on his very first day of high school. Blinking, licking his lips, Seungmin can only make a single sound. 

“Huh?” 

The pencil manages to not fly from his grasp when it comes to a sudden stop between his index and middle fingers, and he points to Seungmin’s paper with it, tapping on Seungmin’s poor, just kind of decipherable drawing of a keyboard, half-done. “The piano. Do you play the piano?” 

“Oh.” There is a moment, as if Seungmin has to think about that. Even though the proof is quite literally being shown before him, drawn by his own hands not even thirty seconds ago. “Sort of,” he mumbles eloquently, “Uh, the keyboard. I’m not too good at it yet.” 

Shrugging, he tamps the urge to just erase the drawing, his own pencil, a mechanical one freshly bought from a Staples in an outdoor mall outlet, one of those kind of too-expensive ones that looks more technical than it is, eraser still clean and white. It’d turn greyish black immediately, if he erased the drawing. It helps him resist it. “I didn’t even really mean to start playing it. I just did.” 

Chewed pencil boy raises a brow, leaning back. He’s quite expressive, in every movement he makes, in every twitch his face displays within a singular, animated reaction. An amused hilarity of confusion, at Seungmin’s vague addition. “How do you not mean to?” 

Once again, Seungmin shrugs, crossing his arms over the table, his stare falling down to the other’s paper, where he sees aborted doodles of a singular face he kind of recognizes, the smushed face of a cloud-furred dog, a tie, and an acoustic(?) guitar. His arms cover the rest of paper, graphite rubbing up and against his wrist, staining it with shiny lead, spreading it messily across the white sheet. Seungmin cringes internally, biting his cheek. 

“Do you play?” 

Cocking his head, looking down at his own meager illustrations, the boy bites into a smile, snorting at whatever joke must be playing in his own head, one he deigns not to share with Seungmin, only glancing up playfully. “Sort of.” Already, he’s messing with Seungmin, though they’ve just met. Seungmin hardly knows how to react. 

First-day jitters are plaguing him badly at this very moment. 

Maybe they’re just slightly more pronounced, because of how pretty, he finds this brand new classmate, as fresh to him as the pencil in his hand he’d only unpackaged last night, to neatly slot into his clean, untouched pencil case. Very pretty, in fact. 

Maybe it was that damned sunlight, hitting him directly over the plans of his face, bouncing along his eyelashes which he flutters as he expectantly blinks. Waiting for any response. Making the strands of his hair glow a maroon, clouds of them around his head, haywire and untidy only when revealed by the sun. 

It burns along the hairs of his neck, through the beret he’d decided to wear for his first-day outfit, and he almost feels lightheaded, with the heat, and with the emptiness of his tongue, lips parted, but nothing coming out. His mind is drawing an utter blank, and he can’t explain an inch of why. 

Unexpectedly, the other laughs, short and quick, covering his mouth with his hand to prevent it from growing and bursting into the quiet of the rest of the concentrated and focused classroom, most everyone a bit too scared to interact just yet. “Sorry. I’m going for the drums. You’re just very cute. I’m not going to bite, you know, even if you’re a freshman.”

Trying desperately to skip past the first part, cheeks warm, Seungmin balks, “You’re not?”

Smugly, he nods. “Nope. A sophomore.” As if he’d accomplished so much by being a single grade above Seungmin. Knowing the ways of high school, just a tad, Seungmin supposes he’ll see that kind of reaction a lot, with sophomores specifically. 

Cool and level. Seungmin leans back, taking his elbows off the table surface, distracting himself with the Instagram addresses poorly crossed out just below the edge of his paper. “Oh. Would’ve guessed you were a freshman.”

He has to hold back his own laugh when the boy quietly gasps, leaning over the table to parse Seungmin’s expression. “What’s that supposed to mean, jerk?” Neither of them gets their answer as the teacher speaks suddenly, asking politely, almost too politely for a high school classroom, for their attention. 

Sophomore boy does not return to class the next day, or the next, and Seungmin learns, watching half his class disappear and be refilled, that schedules in the beginning of the year are not nearly as solid as he’d thought. Despite seeing him once, Seungmin finds himself enraptured with the idea of him, and he rambles about him during lunch with his friends from middle school. 

“He’s got reddish-black hair,” Seungmin fervently explains, sitting on semi-wet grass beneath a tree for shade in the end of summer sun, unforgiving in its final days. It creates a haze around their first week of school, yellow-lit and pressingly warm all around, stuffy and cotton-like. Seungmin blames the weather, for his fuzzy mind. 

“Reddish black?” Hyeongjun echoes, teasing, “Is that even a thing?”

“Shut up,” hisses Seungmin, “And I know he said his name somewhere. It started with a K, or maybe a G. Possibly quite even a J.”

“A J?” Jiseok says through full cheeks, “Another one?”

“And he kinda looks like a hamster,” Seungmin continues on, ignoring them all with a fierce determination. He knows how he sounds. Kind of ridiculous and a bit obsessive, but he’s allowed a little first-day of high school crush, is he not? 

Suddenly, Jungsu drops down beside him, his tote bag slung precariously over his shoulder, a hazard that has almost knocked him and Jooyeon out at least once since they’ve entered high school. He’s not a freshman like them, but he’d known Seungmin before, they lived on the same block, and had remained in contact with him over the single year they’d been apart. He pops in here and there, uninvited, silencing his other friends who don’t know him enough yet to know not to be awed by him and his sophomore familiarity. 

“Hamster? I know him!” 

Wide-eyed, Seungmin turns, pulling Jungsu down by the strap of his bag. “You do? Who is he?” 

+

There’s this boy, and his name is Goo Gunil. 

Since the very first period of Seungmin’s very first day in high school, he has been gradually, and steeply falling for this boy. You could say he’s on the precipice of a cliff, just barely keeping from teetering over the edge, and at the very bottom, waiting for him with open arms, is Goo Gunil. 

Goo Gunil whose hair has seen more bleached colors than prongs of a comb. Whose fingers are far from soft, rough but always gentle when they grab Seungmin, or hold Seungmin. Whose smile is absolutely disarming, at times devastating. Whose talent stretches beyond bounds Seungmin knew possible. Whose humor is so corny it should be considered a crime Seungmin would never turn him in for.

Being in the same grade, Jungsu is closer to Gunil than he is, and he’s closer to Jungsu than he is to Gunil, but these hesitant feelings, this crush his friends have been teasing him about behind Gunil’s turned back for forever now, are bigger than they need to be, and they burst in Seungmin’s chest each and every day, threatening to simply tumble out, taking the rest of his butterfly nested guts and pounding heart with them. 

So one can guess how nerve wracking it is to face the fact that now that Seungmin was a junior, and Gunil a senior, he had limited chances to do anything about said feelings before Gunil attended his dream school in San Jose or maybe even Boston and was whisked away, swept off his feet by some pretty person who could probably play five instruments and knew how to file taxes or drive stick shift. All of these abilities which Seungmin lacks. 

Beyond. Nerve wracking. 

It’s really unignorable, in the January after winter break, bundled in layers of thin sweaters, the sky deceptively blue and the sun deceivingly bright. He and his friends, who have remained close even now, closer, even, huddle together on a table bench against one of the school’s pillars, waiting for the first bell to ring, so the staff will let them in the warm school buildings where the cold can no longer nip their noses and claw at their cheeks. 

“Moping again, loverboy?” Jooyeon taunts, throwing his arm over Seungmin’s shoulder, pulling him as close as he can with the scarf wrapped stubbornly around his neck, a constant even in the warmer months. It’s wooly and scratchy, close to painful against Seungmin’s chilled neck, the collar of his button-up insufficient covering. It also jams the cushions of his headphones into his jaw, mildly uncomfortable. 

“I’m not moping,” he denies, face pressed against Jooyeon’s. He only accepts it because it shares warmth between them, and he isn’t going to deny that now, eyeing the fog laid over their campus, frightfully thick, shrouding even the figures of schoolmates feet away. Gunil should be here soon. He’s usually as early as Seungmin, but cases, where he oversleeps, aren’t that rare. 

Sighing loud and dramatic, the air of his breath visible, gloved fingers tugging at his earlobe, Jungsu juts out his lips, dissatisfied. “If anyone should be moping, it should be. I thought sending out college apps would be relieving. I only feel more stressed.” 

Preventing Jungsu from refreshing his email page for the hundredth time that minute, Jooyeon reaches over Seungmin’s lap, shoving the school-issued computer shut. “Don’t worry.” Jungsu stares at the closed computer in mild shock, blinking. “Stanford will accept you for sure.” 

Squeezing his eyes shut and dropping his head to his laptop, Jungsu pulls at his hair. “Once again, Jooyeon. Do I have to explain to you what a reach school is?” 

“...Not a target school?” 

Supposing he’ll give it a rest for the morning, Jungsu shoves the computer into his bag, a different, more expensive than the one he’d donned in Seungmin’s freshman year, crafted with blue pleather and round silver buckles. “Close enough.” 

Seungmin almost wishes Jooyeon hadn’t kept Jungsu from continuously stressing, because now his full, almost completely awake, attention was on Seungmin, picking and laying Seungmin bare beneath his knowing gaze. Reading and studying Seungmin like sheet music he already has memorized. “And you’re definitely moping. C’mon, why don’t you just ask him out if you’re so worried about him ghosting all of you guys the minute he steps foot into a college dorm with some questionably bicurious dude who has a ceramic bowl of rings and long hair for a roommate.” 

“I am a questionably bicurious dude with a ring bowl and long hair,” Jooyeon remarks, with nothing but vapid consideration, as if Jungsu were commenting on him personally.

Adjusting his sweater where Jiseok’s head lays, half asleep and not really there with the rest of them, eyes half-lidded, Hyeongjun glances at Jooyeon with a hint of a smirk. “Great for Seungmin then because Gunil certainly isn’t in love with you. And Jiseok made you that bowl for art.” 

Whipping his head around, Jooyeon pouts. “Is that supposed to be an insult?” 

“None of you are any help. How did this even become about Gunil?” questions Seungmin, avoiding Jungsu’s eyes, both of them knowing full well before conversation had progressed, Seungmin had been thinking about said senior, poring over the expanse of his feelings like a meadow of deadly flowers with the prettiest petals. Poorly, he tries to divert the topic, “How long until school starts?”

With a yawn, Jiseok lifts his head up halfway, allowing Hyeongjun to roll his shoulder, rub his hand over the sore spot Jiseok’s skull no doubt left behind. “No,” he corrects, voice raspy and deep, “You’re just helpless . Somehow you’ve managed to crush on the same guy for nearly three years straight, become one of his best friends, one of his closest and most trusted friends, knowing from the beginning you liked him, and haven’t made a single move.”

“Not one,” Hyeongjun emphasizes needlessly, pulling his beanie further down his face rather than acknowledging Seungmin’s unappreciative glare. “Why not, honestly? Gunil wouldn’t mind.” 

There are a million and one reasons Seungmin could give, all of them truthful to an extent. Because obviously, above all else, Seungmin loves and cares for Gunil. Gunil’s friendship to him is precious and he cherishes it, cleans it, and tucks it away into a neat little case like he does with all his many accessories that he holds dear. Has he worried about ruining that with his schoolboy crush? Here and there. But…

“I guess I never thought it was that serious,” he mumbles, tugging out his long cotton sleeves out from beneath his larger coat, pulling the fabric over his fingers, hiding his hands in a deep purple color, like blood of plums. “I never thought to be more than his friend. Not until…” 

Not until the vague possibility existed that not even that could no longer be a reality. Now, when it very much does exist, does Seungmin agonizingly consider over and over, holding onto Gunil and never letting him go, with a different sort of desperation than say Hyeongjun or Jiseok. 

Rejuvenated with an excitement, Jiseok no longer is groggy or bleary, fully present now at the school table, leaning over it eagerly. “Okay! So make a move now. Ask him to the winter formal or something. It’s next week.” 

“The winter formal,” Seungmin considers, “I don’t know. Isn’t that a bit juvenile?” 

“Juvenile?” Hyeongjun echoes, incredulous, “You’re still a high schooler, Seungmin. You’re juvenile. But…” He trails off, and all eyes fall on him, as they do when he speaks and falls quiet, latching onto his silence like a lifeline. “What about prom?” 

First bell rings. 

+

After school, Jiseok drives Seungmin to the nearest convenience store, and they pick out a small purple notebook and a pen Jiseok found cute and couldn’t resist buying two of. And they sit outside a cafe with an outdoor heater, feeling unnecessarily secretive about their current mission. Hyeongjun brings out drinks and a muffin for them all to bite into. Jooyeon hoards it immediately, as they all thank Hyeongjun for his help. 

“Is this really necessary?” he asks, plopping a bit of muffin into Jiseok’s mouth rather than his own, Jiseok begging him for it. “Can’t you, like, be normal and just ask him out during passing period?” 

“Absolutely not,” Seungmin gasps, opening the notebook and writing on the first page in blocky lettering: ASKING GUNIL OUT TO PROM . Writing and seeing the words make him giddy, warming him inside more than the heater placed neatly beside trimmed hedges, the dirt sprinkled with straw wrappers and empty sugar packets. “It’s gotta be more special than that.” 

“Like a promposal,” Jiseok suggests, the skin between his eyebrows creasing pensively. 

Stealing the muffin from Jooyeon, despite the younger having yet to take his own bite, Hyeongjun shakes his head with a deep frown. “Promposals are like scary, aren’t they? And pressuring. Gunil may not mind the attention but…” 

“You’re right,” agrees Jiseok, “A private promposal.” 

Hyeongjun stares at the older warily. “Something like that.” He takes the notebook from Seungmin, flipping to the next page and penning in slanted letters under a single bullet, private promposal(?) . 

“What would Gunil like though?” Seungmin wonders, denting his bottom lip with his teeth. “I mean, even if he says…no, I’d want him to be able to appreciate it. The effort. He’d like something special. Meant just for him, with him in mind. It’s not too hard, but I want him to really like it, to feel really loved.” 

He’s met with a silence and he looks up, rearing back in his seat. Everyone is staring at him, with various degrees of intrigue. Like they’re really stepping back for the first time and examining that Seungmin’s crush was a crush, and not just a strong friendly admiration. “Stop looking at me.” 

“You really like the moron, don’t you?” Jiseok sighs, “I suppose someone has to.” 

“It’s kind of cute,” Jooyeon murmurs, grinning. He turns, squinting. “Why aren’t we like that, Jiseok?” 

“Cut it out.” 

“So what does Gunil like?” Hyeongjun speaks over their bickering, tapping the end of the pen against the lined paper. 

It reminds Seungmin of Gunil’s endless amount of broken pencils, his supply purely stolen from classrooms before he started stealing primarily from Seungmin, now only using mechanical pencils with those removable pink erasers that came in batches. He doesn’t tap them on papers though, he spins them on them, like teacup rides, until they fly away from him. 

They’re all having one of those moments where you could remember everything and their scientific names until asked to list them, each drawing a respective blank. “Ties?” Jooyeon hesitantly offers, and Hyeongjun writes it down, like it will somehow help a promposal. 

Time to get abstract then. “Whatever I do,” Seungmin tells, propping himself on his chair to oversee everything that Hyeongjun notes, “It’s gotta be kind of badly cheesy. Gunil loves cheesy things. He is cheesy. He actually really liked Duckie from Pretty in Pink .”

“Duckie?” Jiseok parrots, “That makes a terrible amount of sense.” 

“Isn’t Seungmin more of a Blane guy though?” Jooyeon asks. 

Confused, Hyeongjun pauses, looking up and between them. “Did you guys all watch this movie together? I have no idea what you’re talking about. Who is Ducky? Are people actually named Ducky? We should call Jiseok Ducky.” 

Taking the pen to write down the sort of idea they’ve gathered, Seungmin explains, “His real name was Phillip. And no. Jungsu forced them to watch it during his romcom phase. Gunil had already seen it. And he made me watch it with him.” 

Jiseok slams his hands on the table. “Hold on. You’re telling me he made you watch a prom movie with him. And this is the only time you’ve considered asking him to it. And you have no idea what he wants. Oh Seungmin, how stupid are you?” 

Ready to groan and moan at Jiseok for the nth time for pestering him about the situation, Seungmin is abruptly startled with a hand falling to his shoulder. He knows who it is immediately, scrambling to aggressively shut the notebook as Gunil peers over his shoulder, giving Seungmin a smile and a painful, awkward wink because he was insufferable like that and it made Seungmin squirm. 

“Why are we calling Min stupid?” Gunil asks, straightening and ruffling Seungmin’s hair. He has a coffee cup in his other hand and Seungmin just knows it's dark and bitter, intolerable to any average taste buds. He guards his own too sweet drink closely, cradling it in his damp palms. “He isn’t stupid.” 

Dressed for the cold, he’s bundled in a puffy coat that squeaks when he moves a certain way, a beanie pulled over his head. His cheeks and nose are red, and there’s a shine in his eyes that seems to only brighten in the dim evening of winter. It’s hard not to find him cute. 

There as well, Jungsu pulls the notebook away from Seungmin while he’s distracted, opening it, eyes widening, before discreetly handing it off to Jooyeon, who hides it over Jiseok’s lap. Gunil pulls up a chair for each Jungsu and himself, positioning his right next to Seungmin’s, sitting in it, oblivious to Seungmin’s flustered silence at his sudden nearness. 

“He doesn’t know how to ask someone to prom.” 

The air grows thick really quick, and slowly, everyone pivots their heavy stares to Jooyeon. A suffocating silence falls over them as Jungsu and Seungmin glare at him. Seungmin considers vaulting the rickety metal table to throttle Jooyeon. Nervously, sweating buckets, Seungmin glimpses Gunil’s reaction. He almost starts when Gunil is already looking at him, sipping from his coffee, hand curled beneath his chin. 

His face is oddly neutral for him, out of a sort of contemplation. “You’re asking someone to prom?” Seungmin tries to pick everything he can out of the single sentence, the pitch of Gunil’s voice, any emphasis on any word, anything to tell Seungmin how he feels about that. More strange than anything, he can’t pick up on anything, and maybe that’s due to his own anxiety broaching the topic with its subject. 

“Uh. Maybe.”

Gunil’s response is strikingly lackluster. “Oh.” His eyes dart around the table, not falling on anyone in particular. He takes a swig of his drink, swirling it in his hand and settling his gaze on the lid. “Does that interrupt the plans?”

Prom tickets were expensive. Couple tickets were a tiny bit more expensive, but you could split the costs. Since they were a perfect six, they’d all just decided to get couple tickets. Gunil and Jungsu. Jiseok and Seungmin. Hyeongjun and Jooyeon. “‘Course not.” He sits in anticipation waiting for Gunil to ask more questions. Perhaps who Seungmin was planning to ask. Which would be perfectly logical and therefore utterly damning. But he doesn’t. Just sips at his drink as an awkward tension fills the space between them. 

“Right,” Jungsu drawls, cutting into it mercilessly, “Gunil, we gotta get going.” He stands, pulling Gunil up by the arm.

Puzzled, Gunil looks between him and the rest of them, frowning. “We do?” 

“We do.” 

Clearly, they didn’t, but Gunil accepts Jungsu dragging him away anyways, waving back to them all, eyes catching onto Seungmin for a split second longer. He mouths a goodbye just as Jungsu shoves him into the passenger seat of his own car, talking eagerly as the doors shut, though none of them can hear what he’s saying. 

Sucking his teeth, Jiseok sets the notebook back on the table, and they stare at it like it has the potential to kill. “So that was something…” 

Standing abruptly, Seungmin rounds the table and pulls Jooyeon in a bone crushing hug, depriving him of air and making him laugh breathlessly into his chest. “Lee Jooyeon, I’m going to murder you.” 

+

There’s butter coated over Seungmin’s tongue, thick and grimy, and kernels that he desperately needs to floss but can only wash down with overly carbonated cherry zero sugar seven up because it’s all his mom had from a work potluck a week ago. Its aftertaste is faint and vaguely grass like, but it isn’t the worst thing he’s ever tasted. He sets the white can down on his nightstand, looking to his side, appraising Hyeongjun’s expression. 

“I don’t know,” Hyeongjun mumbles, flicking at his own almost full can. Hollow thudding sounds ring through the air but he’s comfortable enough with Seungmin to not mind making such a noise. “It was kind of underwhelming…You definitely shouldn’t ask Gunil to prom like that.”

Head falling back to his headboard, laptop sliding down the sides of his thighs, Hyeongjun catching it before it can fall off his bed and to the floor, Seungmin groans. “That wasn’t the point! I was just showing you who Duckie was.” Pursing his lips, looking up at his popcorn ceiling, a random hook embedded it from a past house owner. “And Gunil likes it, okay…”

Though he temporarily entertains it. Imagines Gunil dropping him off at his house, stopping him in front of his car, pulling him close, closing the distance between them. Ugh. 

Grabbing the laptop and kicking it to the foot of the bed where it’s just barely out of danger, Hyeongjun spins onto his stomach, careful not to disturb Seungmin’s bedding, neat and precise, folded and tucked picture perfect under the mattress. Soft and clean smelling. “Apologies,” he grins, “I’m sorry for insinuating any insult to your precious Gunil.”

Not nearly so careful, used to Jooyeon and Jiseok coming over and screwing his bed up anyways, Seungmin grabs the pillow from beneath his own head and bats at Hyeongjun’s head with it. “Drink in my hand,” he reminds through laughter, “Drink! Hand!” Until Seungmin relents. 

Thankfully nothing spilled. “Don’t worry. It isn’t the best in my opinion either. Gunil thinks Blane was preferable, not the best, but preferable. I disagree. I liked Duckie more, though neither of them amount to Andie.” He realizes Hyeongjun side eyeing him, defensive. “What?”

Snapping his gaze away, sipping at his drink, Hyeongjun feigns innocence. “Nothing. I can see Gunil pulling some Duckie, though obviously not the jealous jerk part…I can see why you prefer him.” There’s an implication there, one Seungmin isn’t dumb enough to misunderstand. But is smart enough to ignore. “Now was watching this really integral to our research?”

Honestly, “No. But I didn’t want you to feel left out since we’d all seen it.” Appreciatively, Hyeongjun smiles, looking up at Seungmin shining. “And because I have absolutely no idea where to even begin. I’ve never asked people to dances, and definitely have not liked the ways I’ve been asked.” 

“Don’t you think you’re overthinking this?”

“It’s prom…isn’t it supposed to be big?” He turns into his side, propping his elbow against his pillow. Between them is a stuffed animal that Hyeongjun clings to, gifted to him by Jungsu a birthday ago. “Plus, it’s kinda like my confession.”

Realizing this, Hyeongjun nods, mouth rounded in a small ‘o’. “Well at least we have some pointers for what not to do. Also, sorry for questioning you so much. It makes sense you’d want this to be perfect. You’re you.”

Naggingly neat and obstinately organized, even pushing it onto his friends in instances, that makes sense to assume. And it’d be right, even for slightly wrong reasons. Seungmin wants this to be absolutely perfect. No room for error. To him it’s more than a promposal, a confession. It’s a direct method of simply letting Gunil know how cared for he is, how loved he is by Seungmin in particular, before Seungmin may lose the chance to ever fully express that. Heartily he sighs, and thankfully, Hyeongjun doesn’t pry, content in his silent revelations. 

Finally, he breaks the quiet, though it hadn’t really been unwelcome. He sucks his teeth and peers at Seungmin. “Have you considered, possibly, asking Gunil himself?”

“Junhan, you are absolutely insane.”

+

The purple notebook is strategically placed before him, the rest of its contents hidden, the pen cutely topped with a faceless bunny head primly postured between his fingers. There are questions over the blue lines, predetermined and thoughtfully crafted between him and Hyeongjun just the night before.

In his head this is an operationally executed interrogation, with Gunil sat beneath the swinging fluorescent light, puzzled by Seungmin’s concentration, a bit spacey, thinking about something Seungmin has no clue about. He tries being mean, snapping his fingers, clicking his tongue, but it makes him squirm, and eventually, he just reaches over, tapping the back of Gunil’s hand splayed over the table, sparking Gunil into awareness. 

He blinks rapidly up at Seungmin, smiling apologetically, cheeks coloring a meek pink. He doesn’t move his hand from Seungmin’s and Seungmin kind of just wants to leave the moment at that, wants to leave it undisturbed and resting in place just so. Gunil’s hand slightly beneath his own, pretty in the coming spring sun, not even the unnatural abundance of clouds able to tamp his cheery glow. The warm library lights sit plainly over his face. Enveloping him simply. Perfectly.

Tilting his head, Seungmin probes, “College?”

Minutely, Gunil shakes his head, exhaling through his nose and regrettably pulling away, placing his fingers beneath his thighs. “Something like that. Sorry, what’s this for again?”

Lie at the ready, Seungmin clears his throat, donning a facade of professionalism that instantly has Gunil’s mask of inattention fading, captivated fondly by Seungmin’s determination. “AP Lang. Short essay….”

Brows furrowing, Gunil glances up, into his head. “I don’t remember doing anything like this last year.”

“Different teacher. A new one,” Seungmin tersely supplies, simply wanting to move past the lying and into the questioning. Lying to Gunil makes him vaguely uneasy, for no reason, and he reconciles with the fact that he’s probably going to have to continue doing so until he asks the big question. Prom. Not engagement. Obviously. “Do you still wanna do it or…?”

Instantly, Gunil bursts forward, leaning over the library study desk and latching on the hand Seungmin has yet to remove from between them. “No, no. Seriously, sorry. I was a bit distracted, but now you have all my attention.” He maneuvers their hands, linking his pinky with Seungmin’s. “Promise.” 

And Seungmin has no choice but to believe the words, suddenly encumbered with the full weight of Gunil’s gaze bearing down on him. Completely attentive, all on Seungmin. Their fingers twined. Seungmin has a hard enough time speaking quickly as it is, always needing some time to gather his thoughts, but it’s even worse like this. Always worse like this. 

Ducking his head, squeezing the pen and placing its nib under the first question. “Right. Thanks. Um…” He rereads the question he’s supposed to ask over and over again, like his eyes are too unfocused to process it the first time. “What are ways you’ve shown appreciation?” 

Intrigued, Gunil leans back, considering the question. “Wow, this sounds like something we’ve probably been asked in adulting. Probably. Maybe you should’ve done this with Jungsu. I'd feel like he’d know how to answer better.” 

“Hyeongjun chose Jungsu.” AKA Hyeongjun was using this time to inform Jungsu of their plans, so if Gunil asks, Jungsu can say he’s been subjected to the same thing. And also because he’s been mysteriously busy as the juniors plan this, but he’s obnoxiously involved and curious about each of the moves Seungmin plans to make. “Guess I got stuck with the short end of the stick.” 

Mock offended, Gunil just gapes, before closing his mouth and leaning his chin on his extended arm, thinking. “I don’t know. I try to show appreciation in the ways that people will be able to feel it. So it’s kind of different for everyone. Though I do give lots of praise, and support. I guess being there for someone, being able to help them, is my biggest way of showing love for someone. Amongst other things.” 

As careless as if he were doodling, Seungmin pens the words in, sort of. This isn’t the question he needs. He’s leading up to it. In a natural, conspicuous manner that shouldn’t leave Gunil suspecting anything. Not that Gunil was hardly suspicious of many of the odd behaviors his friends display. And there were many. Many odd behaviors. 

Before Seungmin can move onto the next question concocted mostly by Hyeongjun, or maybe even Jiseok through text, Gunil speaks up again, “What’s this assignment about anyway? Why me?” Well, Seungmin isn’t planning on asking anyone else to room but that’s not something he can exactly disclose to Gunil just yet.

However, this is not a question he’d prepared for, shortsightedly. So no he has to come up with something believable, and not completely weird, on the spot. None of these questions really had anything substantial to either a rhetorical or synthesis essay. In other words, he’s got nothing. “Uhh. We’re supposed to write about…like…It’s just a random prompt. Um, about a senior. You’re a senior I trust, and rely on so...Doesn’t have to be argumentative or anything.” He fiddles with the spirals of the notebook, clearly fibbing. “Easy thing. Since we just got back from break.” 

“Your teacher seems nicer than mine was,” Gunil snorts. He pauses, eyes widening. “Rely on? You rely on me?” And he smiles, all gooey like, as if Seungmin had just given him the best compliment in the world. Distantly, Seungmin writes something, but he doesn’t look down at his paper. He can’t really look away, stuck in his own trap. 

Setting down his pen, Seungmin comes to a decision, pulling away his hand from Gunil before it becomes too much for him, playing with the earring dangling from his left. “Obviously. Ever since I really met you. You’ve always been there for me, and you, you and Jungsu, but you a lot, have helped guide me through all my highs and lows since I’ve started high school.” 

Exhaling, he leans back, making it clear his list of questions has been temporarily abandoned. “Sometimes I kinda feel bad. Like I’ve been cheating. Just ‘cause I had you here the whole time. That this should have been harder, and a bit more stressful for me. I mean, it’s junior year, and I still feel…like a freshman. Almost.”

Gunil beams , his entire expression soft and unguarded. “Really?” he breathes, like Seungmin had just given him something so incredibly precious, a treasure beyond all other treasures. Seungmin swallows, nodding. Pleased, Gunil presses his fingers over his face, chewing on his bottom lip. “I didn’t think I was that helpful. I’m glad. To have made it as easy for you as possible. I wish I could make it easier. The easiest. I don’t like seeing you struggle.”

Too bad, because Seungmin is certainly struggling right now. And with nothing Gunil can help him with. All he can do is nod once more, all of a sudden just a tiny bit choked up. Clearing his throat, he looks down at his notebook, all the questions swirling and blurring in his vision. “I’ve got to struggle sometimes, Gunil.”

“Yeah.” Gunil leans forward, enough to grab Seungmin’s cheek and squeeze it affectionately, before swiping Seungmin’s hair out of his face and settling back in his seat. “I know. So what’s next?”

Dragging the nib all the way to the bottom of the page, Seungmin trains his gaze on the ink bleeding into the sheet, hesitating. “What would make you feel most loved?” He peers up, through his lashes, garnering Gunil’s reaction. 

Of course, Gunil takes the question absolutely seriously, not second guessing it for a second. He looks to the side, biting his nail, thoughtfully. “I don’t know, honestly. That’s hard.” Puffing up his cheeks with air, he crosses his arms over the table, digging his chin into them, looking at Seungmin. “I dunno, sometimes just being around you guys makes me feel so loved. Being around you , makes me feel loved. You know?”

Seungmin blinks, speechless. 

The tips of his ears and the apples of his cheeks are slightly flushed and he grins up at Seungmin. “I mean look at just now. You made me feel really loved then. Telling me I was all nice and reliable. Who wouldn’t want to hear that?” And for the moment, that millisecond, they’re in their own little world, caught up and spiraled into Seungmin’s questions, wrapping around them and sifting between them. 

Then the door opens, and Seungmin looks up, breaking it. Of course, it’s Jungsu, Hyeongjun trailing behind him, glancing at Seungmin with apology. As if he’d probably tried holding Jungsu back as much as possible, but had probably easily failed. It’s fine, he relays with his responding smile. He thinks he’s gotten a tiny fraction of what he needs. As much as he can get from this botched attempt at an interview. 

“Come on,” Gunil gripes in greeting, “You’re interrupting our date. Go away.” Halting, he looks back at Seungmin. “Is there anything else?”

“No, it’s a short essay. I’ve got enough. Thanks.” 

“Anything for you, Min.”

What about a yes?

+

“So he said he liked flowers?” Jiseok asks, eyeing his radio before decidedly turning it up, tapping his fingers along his steering wheel to the beat. As the song he clearly likes nears its end, they pull into a space in the parking lot, sitting in the car for a moment, savoring the warmth as they pull their hoods over their head, a rare bout of pouring rain pelting against the roof of Jiseok’s car, rolling down the windows in entrancing rivulets. 

Clicking open the door, shouting over the sound of water falling against road and cement, Seungmin replies, “Not necessarily. Or at least, not yesterday. He’s said a while back that he likes pretty flowers.” 

Pulling him onto the sidewalk and underneath the shopping outlet’s narrow strip of an overhanging arch, Jiseok scoffs. “And how long have you internalized that?”

Pouting, Seungmin surveys the surrounding shops, before finding the one they’d arrived for. “Only since freshman year.” Jiseok laughs, high pitched, starting suddenly and ending just as abruptly. “Shut up. Jungsu likes flowers too. These are just things you memorize about friends.”

“ Friends ,” Jiseok teases, but Seungmin decides to ignore him this time, trying his best to escape the mist of rain by bursting into the flower shop, Jiseok not a step behind him, warm, humid air and a jingling bell introducing them to shelter. 

Everything seems even more blue in the dreary lighting. The tealish linoleum floors and the wood painted cornflower. It’s not dull though. If anything it’s sort of comforting, in comparison to the outside. Especially with the brightly colored plants potted and stacked on shelves and in arrangements. Spray painted bronze mirrors and oldish frames sit on the walls, a fruitless decor. All together, it’s soothing. 

Seungmin has no idea where to begin, awed and captivated by all the pretty flowers just near the entrance of the shop, small and delicate in their greeting as they brush against the backs of his hands. Jiseok kneels beside him, carefully pulling the stem towards himself, before scrunching his nose. “Not all flowers smell good, I guess.” 

Snickering, Seungmin pulls him up by the hood. “There’s no one behind the counter. So we browse until they come back.” Because neither of them are going to deny that they know crap about any of this. So they’re going to need help. Extensive help.

Immediately, though Seungmin would have preferred to stick together, Jiseok splits away. It’s not a very big shop, but Jiseok is short enough to hide behind the shelves, disappearing from sight and drawing a long sigh from Seungmin. Maybe for now, he can just look at what he wants to, since apparently, that’s all Jiseok was doing. 

Typical enough, Seungmin wants to see the roses. 

Delicately running his hands over petals and through leaves, Seungmin rounds a corner, and stops. Squatted on the floor before him, cupping a rose tenderly in his palms, hair wet and sticking to his face, is Gunil. This. Was not something he had foreseen. Why oh why had Jiseok left him now ?

As if sensing Seungmin, Gunil turns his head, lips parting into a reflexive smile that Seungmin doesn’t even think he realizes is there. “Seungmin? Didn’t think I’d see you here.” And then his smile fades, as he realizes, pushing himself to his feet. “Oh, is this for prom?”

Shit. 

“No!” Seungmin blurts, waving his hands frantically, cheeks burning. His birthday gift this year is going to be a tombstone with Jooyeon’s name on it, cause of death: him.  “Uh. They’re for my grandma! She’s in the hospital. Uh, yeah. Sick, or something.” Oh what the hell kind of reasoning is that? Seungmin apologizes profusely to his poor grandmother. 

Horrified, Gunil gapes, covering his mouth with his hand. He comes closer to Seungmin, to comfort him. “Oh my god is she okay?” 

Before Seungmin can answer, Jiseok appears, looking down at two colorful vases in his hand. “These are really pretty, Seungmin. Maybe we should…” He looks up, noticing Gunil, eyes blowing comically wide. “Oh, wow. Gunil. You’re here. What luck.”

“Jiseok?”

Setting aside a vase on a random surface, Jiseok throws his arm over Seungmin’s shoulder, grinning poorly. “What’s up! Seungmin and I were just shopping for…a flower arrangement. My mom wants one for my birthday. Next week. Yeah.” Seungmin has to give it to him, that's a much better excuse than the one he’d given, but that doesn’t help now. 

Terribly confused, Gunil sits halfway in a reaction of sympathy and incredulity. He blinks rapidly, trying to form words. “I thought you were here for Seungmin’s grandma? In the hospital.”

“Oh!” Jiseok’s voice sounds like it’s dying in his own throat. Fiercely, he side eyes Seungmin, one eye twitching. You couldn’t have come up with anything else? “Well yeah of course.”

“So…which one?” 

“Jiseok’s birthday,” Seungmin eagerly goes with. Just exactly at the same time as Jiseok bursts. 

“Seungmin’s grandma.”

Fingers digging into Seungmin’s collarbone, Jiseok corrects himself. “My birthday.”

In unison with Seungmin’s, “My grandma.”

Oh they might as well just drive themselves off a cliff after this. Gunil’s stare flickers between them, eyebrows creasing together. “Are you guys messing with me?” he asks hesitantly. “If it really is for your date, I don't…why would I mind? If anything—“ He cuts himself off with a pained expression Seungmin can’t decipher. He spits out the next words like they’re sorry. “I’d wanna help. Isn’t that what I’m supposed to do, as your senior?”

Panicked, Seungmin looks to Jiseok. Jiseok purses his lips and shakes his head, eyes shut. They’ve backed themselves into a corner, he’s saying, there’s no way out but to give some of the truth. Seungmin bites back a sigh, teeth in his tongue. “Okay, yeah it’s for prom. Sort of.”

“Sort of?”

“Sort of.”

Gunil looks him in the eye, a flint sparking there. There’s a rustling sound and they face the counter, a girl coming up with an arrangement of flowers wrapped and papered. Roses, white and pink with smaller bundles of purple between them. It’s really pretty. “Oh!” His ears burn red as he races to the front, discussing the flowers quietly with the girl. She gives him instructions on how to preserve them before. Handing them. To Gunil. 

Seungmin realizes he never asked what Gunil was doing here. 

Stopping in front of them, guarding the flowers close to his hoodie, Gunil avoids their stares, bashful. The pleasing petal colors compliment the lavender overtone to his hair. “Uh. Just remember I’m always here for you. No matter what.” And without letting them respond, he shoulders past them, pulling his hood on and rushing into the rain. 

Seungmin gazes at his receding back. Watches his headlights blare through the rain-covered windows, and drive off. He chews on his inner cheek, contemplative. He turns back to Jiseok, freezing. 

A rose petal in his mouth, Jiseok wide eyes him. “You can eat flowers. You know that right?”

“We’re not making it to graduation at this point…”

+

It’s raining again. Hard. Seungmin would’ve had to walk to school in it if it weren’t for Jungsu forcing him into his car before he could even try. They huddle together in the cafeteria now, surrounded by the bustling noise of everyone else who comes to school taking shelter just the same as them. 

Jungsu is distracted by his phone, and Seungmin is too tired, unbothered, to try and figure out with what. He assumes it’s Jungsu checking for college letters again, even though most aren’t supposed to go out until March, but then he realizes Jungsu is typing, kind of aggressively. And it’s hard not to notice when his head rests on Jungsu’s shoulder. 

“Are you fighting someone online?” he murmurs, shifting his head just slightly, causing Jungsu to instinctively pause for Seungmin’s own comfort. 

Exhaling and setting down his phone on the table, though it still buzzes, Jungsu shakes his head. “No. I’m fighting our very own senior of the year.”

Instantly, Seungmin straightens, concerned and very much awake. “Why? Did something happen, You guys don’t fight very often,” Almost none at all, honestly. Other than Seungmin himself, Gunil probably fights with Jungsu the least. The most would probably be Jooyeon, though it tears Gunil up inside if things get too serious and then it’s up to the rest of them to help mend things. 

Placating him, Jungsu reaches out and pinches Seungmin’s ear. “Nothing much. He’s just…hm. He’s kind of stressing himself out a lot. Kinda like me. But he was feeling sick last night. So I told him to just stay home. But he refuses. Of course.” Because Gunil has a near perfect attendance for all four years of his high school career and a severe hatred for missing things. 

So Seungmin isn’t much surprised. But being accustomed to it doesn’t ease his worry any less and he leans against the booth table, crossing his fingers beneath his chin. “How sick?”

“Not too sick,” Jungsu continues to assure and a Seungmin wonders how much of it is to comfort himself, or regurgitated excuses from Gunil, to appease Seungmin. “Headache. Dizziness. I dunno. He tried to play it off.” And then a metaphorical light bulb flickers alight over his head. 

Grabbing Seungmin’s shoulder and shaking him, Jungsu proposes, “ You convince him to skip. Just for today.”

Frowning, Seungmin escapes Jungsu’s grip. “Like he’s going to listen to me. He’s stubborn. And an oaf. Maybe Hyeongjun, or Jooyeon,” 

But Jungsu is set in this. Entirely convinced in ways Seungmin can not even imagine. “No, no. He will. Especially right now, he’ll listen Trust me. There’s no harm in trying, right?”

And, Seungmin supposes Jungsu is right. When Gunil does arrive, before all the others somehow, Seungmin observes him closely, for any of the signs of unrest and unwellness that Jungsu had warned him about. Sluggishly, the older sits opposite from them, muffling a yawn with his red tipped hand, each blink heavy as he rests dazed eyes on them. Not too sick, but definitely something was wrong.

With purpose, Seungmin focuses back on Jungsu, as if he’d never looked away. “You know, I’ve never skipped class. Not once. I kinda wanna do it before senior year.” Puzzled, Jungsu squints at him, trying to reveal his angle. “Well, ‘cause skipping in senior year is kind of useless, you know? Then it’s just senioritis and nothing’s special about it.”

Catching on just a bit, Jungsu glances at Gunil, who uncharacteristically hasn’t attempted in the slightest to join the conversation, watching, gaze sort of faraway. “What’s so special about skipping at all?” A motivation, something that will garner Gunil’s sympathy. 

Jooyeon was going to be upset he’s missing all this. They were putting on a worthy show. Sighing, Seungmin slumps over the table, reaching out his hands, grabbing Gunil’s in an acknowledgement. They’re freezing, and the hem of his sleeve is wet. While he’s at it, Seungmin does his best to rub warmth and feeling into Gunil’s palm, as best he can. 

“Nothing really. I kinda just want the experience. Like the feeling of leaving early to go to the dentist, where no one you know is about, but like, all day, and your parents aren’t driving you to your appointment and then a Wendy’s afterwards for a small frosty.”

A tad bitterly, Jungsu mutters, “My parents never did that. They didn’t want the sugar right after a dentist appointment. Which makes sense I guess…” He realizes he’s digressing and simply, thankfully just shuts up, staring at Seungmin, waiting for him to continue in his ploy. 

“You want to skip?” Gunil asks suddenly, almost scaring them both. There was a great gap between Seungmin initially bringing up the topic and Gunil asking about it now but Seungmin won’t fault him for it, sure he’s somewhere else in his head. “For real?”

To Jungsu’s innate delight, Seungmin thinks he’s caught Gunil on a hook, and reeled him right in. He glances at Jungsu once, who isn’t even smiling, just observing with a wide, bouncing gaze. “For real.” 

Stuck in a conflict for half a second, Gunil stands. “Alright. Let’s skip.” 

“Who said I wanted to skip with you?” 

“Me. Am I wrong?” 

Seungmin doesn’t dignify him with an answer. But he does take Gunil’s hand. And lets the other pull him out of the campus, just as he’s entered it. He hopes his parents won’t be too mad about this one. 

+

Gunil’s car smells an awful lot like him. Or maybe Gunil just smells like a watered down product of it. Seungmin knows from experience that there’s an empty tub in the backseat that used to be filled with coffee grinds. His older brother had told him it was a good way to keep his car from smelling like crap. And though he’s been using the same tub since he got the car, he’s yet to get rid of it. So he kind of always smells like coffee. And so do the three blankets he always keeps folded in the back in case any of them need it on a ride with him. 

Seungmin takes one now, puts it up to his nose, and inhales, peering at Gunil from his peripherals. Somehow, Gunil already looks a tiny bit better. Or maybe that was just because he was extracted from the school’s sickly dull lighting, or the stress of having to simply arrive at all. 

If Seungmin allows wishful thinking, perhaps he can convince himself that it’s his presence, that makes Gunil feel better, in any way. 

“Where are we going?” he asks, just loud enough to be heard over the humming of the engine and the repetitive motion of the windshield wipers, fighting an endless battle against the torrent of raindrops, winning for brief seconds at a time, before their success is brutally ripped from them milliseconds later. It’s a fun battle to watch, to track with his eyes until his head begins to hurt. 

The sound of Gunil turning on his blinker, switching lanes and looking in his mirror, is calming, where it really has no right to be. “The mall.” As if he’d somehow known the exact feeling Seungmin had been desperately chasing in his made up on the spot description. Even if Seungmin had been lying to his face, and he’d bought it helplessly, he still knew Seungmin well enough. It kind of makes Seungmin want to burn up from the inside out. 

He doesn’t respond, and it’s early enough that the sounds of rain and the warmth and aroma of Gunil’s car, his blanket, almost lulls him into a sleep. The car all of a sudden stopping, turning off, alerts him that they’ve arrived, and Seungmin inhales, recognizing that he’s taken on this task granted to him by Jungsu to keep Gunil from stress today, and he was going to accomplish it better than anyone else. Just because. 

Pulling his keys from the ignition, Gunil speeds out of the car, rounding himself to Seungmin’s side before Seungmin can even discard the blanket in his lap. Politely, he opens the door, holding an umbrella that had materialized from whatever lays in his backseat, over the gap between him and Seungmin’s seat. Quickly, Seungmin ducks beneath the cover he’s offered, shutting the door and waiting for Gunil to lock it. They’re forced awfully close as they hurry through the mall’s automatic doors, and it somehow feels different than he and Jiseok rushing inside together. 

They laugh about it nonetheless. Short and quick before dragging their feet across the mats at the entrance, greeted as always by the just a smidge away from eeriness of the hollow mall. 

See, the mall used to be filled with more life. A tiny bit bustling despite the smallness of their town. Naturally though, over time, the stores just kind of faded into obsoletion, and disappeared before they were old enough to question it. Even grown now, since it’s the nearest thing to their neighborhood, it’s a frequent hangout. Just, not specifically for what it sells, just the nostalgia and space it provides. 

Vast, white tiles that expand for thousands of square feet, like a blank canvas for squeaking sneakers and muddy boots to decorate. And today, with hardly anyone else there, the main consumers of this mall besides the busy Target at the very end, Seungmin and Gunil are its designated artists, Gunil’s torn up, cracked-soled Vans and Seungmin’s somewhat new platform Converses their brushes. 

He’s getting ready to ask why Gunil had brought him here specifically, if he’d had any specific plans, like buying an impromptu movie ticket in the attached AMC or sitting in the food court and sipping on boba questionably sold at the frozen yogurt shop. But, shaking out his umbrella and tying it closed, hanging it from his wrist, Gunil grabs Seungmin’s hand and starts tugging him along. And Seungmin puts up no fight whatsoever. 

However, Gunil does none of that, instead leading Seungmin into the pit of a park with red fire truck patterned carpeting and climbable blocks for small children. The younger is confused, to say the least. “I know I was talking about being a kid, but I wasn’t trying to go back to being one.” 

Biting on his lip, Gunil scrolls through something on his phone, concentrated enough to block Seungmin out, whether it’s intentional or not. There’s more color in his face now, and he seems entirely distracted from whatever had been bothering him. Seungmin hopes it stays that way, even when they split paths later today, and go home, so Jungsu won’t text him tomorrow, saying Gunil’s condition has only worsened despite his efforts. He wouldn’t want that. He wouldn’t like it. He’d kind of hate it. 

Pushing himself up on one of the climbable blocks, just tall enough to not be a complete level chair for his lanky legs, Seungmin satisfies himself with just watching Gunil, like he always finds himself doing. Looking up, admiring, observing Gunil, ever since that day in freshman year. Always some sort of awed or endeared by whatever the older is doing, whatever lesson he’s unintentionally teaching Seungmin. 

Finally, Gunil finds what he’s been looking for, and he presses his thumb to the screen of his phone with fervor, setting it beside Seungmin and then lifting Seungmin off of the block, soft notes playing from the tinny speakers. Seungmin grips his arms, startled. “Huh?” 

With no explanation, Gunil twirls him around, which is awkward and unsuccessful, seeing as Seungmin is taller than him, but it makes them both grin like fools, and with no watching eyes, neither of them feel any need to be embarrassed. With Gunil and his horrid, but passionate dancing, and Seungmin, with how incredibly fond of it he is. 

Unlike his dancing, Gunil’s singing though, is good, even if he’s just nearly out of his breath, and he’s breathless to begin with; laughing along to Seungmin’s laughter, grinning wide at Seungmin’s joy. But it’s still good, and Seungmin almost freezes, when the words begin, flying over his head, as Gunil’s voice wraps around his mind. 

“This is the first day of my life,” Gunil begins, confident, knowing every word and its special inflection by heart. They’re none Seungmin knows, familiar with Gunil’s melody heavy and thematically romantic taste in music, but not this song in particular, a little raw and vulnerable. He swallows, and the rest of the mall, shiny white and blinding, somehow fades away. “Swear I was born right in the doorway.” 

This time, Seungmin holds up his hands, lacing his fingers with Gunil’s and he holds them there, clasped between them as they sway jerkily over the kids playground carpeting, clashing terribly with everything else, maybe even with each other, but who really cares. They don’t. 

“I went out in the rain.” Gunil smiles bigger at the part, like the coincidental irony is the funniest thing ever to him for all of a moment. “Suddenly everything changed.” He trails off, bumping into the block and nearly knocking his phone over onto the unvacuumed floor, bursting into laughter at his clumsiness, covering the next verse of the song, as he bends over, muffling himself with Seungmin’s sweater. 

When he recovers, he’s ready to launch into the next part, though they’re still now, closer than they were before, and Gunil is looking up at the skylights, prompting Seungmin to do the same, blueish grey clouds staring down at them gloomily, but it’s an atmosphere Seungmin can’t even grasp right now, solely trapped in whatever bubble Gunil has crafted just for them. 

His voice gets quieter, or maybe everything around them gets louder, as Seungmin is forced into a spatial awareness. “And so I thought I’d let you know. Yeah, these things take forever, I especially am slow.” Seungmin looks down at him, though he doesn’t take his eyes off the roof, or the rain, or whatever he’s stubbornly attached his gaze to. His smile is gone, though he doesn’t look quite upset, only a bit serious, too serious. 

“But I realized that I need you. And I wondered if I could come home.” 

Briefly, time comes to a standstill, and the air is heavy, pressing down on Seungmin’s shoulders, reaching a fist into his lungs and taking his air from him. It’s so unbearably warm, now that they’re not outside, and Seungmin is vigilant, about the touch they share. 

There’s a sudden slam and they jump apart, spinning around. A mother and her child glare at them with equal amounts of judgment. Seungmin’s skin prickles with self consciousness and he backs up as Gunil bursts forward, grabbing his phone and shutting the song off, apologizing profusely, incredibly flustered as they gradually flee the playground and the intruders that the play area was designed for. 

When they’re out of their line of sight, they double over, chuckling nervously with a probably deserved humiliation. And a little bit more. Because for some reason, Seungmin feels like he’s been caught with his hand in the cookie jar, reaching for something sugary and sweet that he wasn’t quite allowed yet. It’s unshakeable, that giddy, glucose soaked guilt. 

Cheeks still a pretty pink, Gunil straightens, avoiding eye contact and shoving his phone in his pocket. “So I saw outside that they were doing some reruns in the theaters…Wanna watch one?” 

Desperately attempting to move on and take his pounding heart with him, Seungmin nods, walking alongside Gunil. “Oh, did you know I made Hyeongjun watch Pretty in Pink the other day?” 

“Really? Without me! What’d he think?” 

“Eh.” 

“...I’m ignoring that.” 

+

Over and over again. As soon as Gunil drops him off, after they spent all school day bothering every poor employee in that mall, Seungmin searches up the lyrics of that song, finds it, and plays it on repeat. Incessantly. Obsessively. Over and over again. 

Just like Gunil now, he’s got every word, every line, every melody, ingrained into his mind. Stuck in his mind, in his head, on a constant loop that sometimes unsyncs with the song playing from his phone and he has to reach over and start it again, until there’s no chance of him getting any part of it wrong. 

He likes the song, he likes it more with every second, but obviously it’s much more than that. It’s that moment, filmed from his eyes and played on loop. Over and over again. In his mind. The way it builds up, suspends him, only to leave him falling flat. Gunil lifting him, dancing, singing to him. And then he takes Gunil’s hands. And they’re close, and Gunil’s voice is softer than any car blanket, any blanket at all, and his words are exhilarating in their tenderness. 

But I realized that I need you.

And then so cruelly, is he cut off. But now Seungmin knows the rest of the words. And he can’t help but imagine them in Gunil’s voice everytime he hears them. And he’s gone off track again, the verse in his head clashing with the verse playing aloud. He reaches out, and starts it all over again. This is the first day of my life . 

Melting from the inside out, warm and gooey like molten honey or jam or syrup or whatever it is filling his heart with a vigor and lightness, he pulls his blankets up over his head, turning over and screaming into his pillow, even though it doesn’t help the heat lancing over his skin, settling in his cheeks and neck, patchy and uneven. It just barely skirts painful, all these feelings roiling and churning in his chest. It hardly avoids being absolutely unbearable. 

If it were anyone else, who didn’t share the same soul crushing, heart gripping, world turning, smile as Goo Gunil. Seungmin thinks it would be. Absolutely agonizing. 

There’s a knock on the door, and he’s forced to turn down his phone, the speakers it’s connected to, to hear who’s on the other side. “It’s me! Auntie let me in. Are you decent?”

Seungmin isn’t quite sure this is what he needs right now but he sits up, climbing out of his bed to open the door and let Jungsu in. “Are you decent?” he echoes, mockingly, hoping he looks somewhat sane right now, only his fairy lights turned on, a song just a tad outside of his listening range blasting in the back, his face almost feverish. 

He doesn’t feel all too sane. But it’s the thought that counts. 

“Sorry I’ll ask if you’re butt-naked next time with your mother right across the hall,” Jungsu mutters, plopping himself in Seungmin’s desk chair, spinning in it once, looking around as if he hasn’t been in this room a million times in the past thirteen years of his life. He pauses, craning his head and narrowing his eyes. “This is one of Gunil’s songs.” 

Of course, only Jungsu would know that and be able to catch Seungmin before he could take the song off repeat. He shuts his door with a great sigh, turning down his speakers even more before sitting at the center of his bed, only slightly bothered that his blankets are a bunched up mess beneath his crossed legs. “One of Gunil’s songs? What, did he make it?” It’s an already futile attempt of a diversion, but at least he could say he put up a fight, even if he was bound to lose from the beginning.

Raising a brow, Jungsu asks, “Do you always get this sulky when put on the spot?” Seungmin drops his head to his covers, holding his hands over his head like this was an earthquake drill. Jungsu sighs. “He’s been playing this song a lot recently. In my car and his own. I think I could play it by ear at this point.” 

So could Seungmin. And he was nowhere near Jungsu’s skill level just yet. In response, he just groans, burying his face as much as is physically possible into his blankets. Even though it’s miles away now, he can smell coffee, a stained scent in his nose. 

“Right. So, what happened today? Neither of you have been active in the groupchat and Jiseok is kind of getting frantic because Auntie Kwak is trying to put together his little birthday gathering and you guys haven’t told her your favorite sandwich arrangements prior to this year.” He exhales, pursing his lips, as if he’s once again considering it now that he’s brought it up again. 

Raising his head, shaking his hair out of his face, dyed bits of blond sticking to his cheeks. “We went to the mall,” he says with trepidation. Making it so incredibly obvious that something more happened. Jungsu stares him down, unrelenting. It only makes it harder for Seungmin to continue, urging on Jungsu’s nagging. 

“Out with it, Seungmin. I’m going to be bothering you all night.”

Kneading his face with his knuckles, hiding his rapidly oncoming blush, Seungmin brings his knees to his chest. “There was just. Something. That happened. I think? I mean…we like danced. Together. To this song. And Gunil sang some of it to me.” 

Unreactive, Jungsu blinks. It doesn’t help Seungmin’s timidness and he spins away from Jungsu’s stare. “It just felt really intimate, okay! I don’t know. It was really nice. And he was really nice. And he didn’t let me buy lunch, of course. And he made sure I wasn’t hit by the rain the whole time. But that’s just Gunil . The problem is I like Gunil. So it just all feels so…” He trails off, falling back onto his bed, letting his head fall off the side, so he’s staring at Jungsu upside down. 

“Special?” Jungsu finishes, voice delicate, like a stray bit of extra air will be Seungmin’s final button and he’ll promptly combust, with Jungsu himself as unfortunate and almost willing collateral. “You know you are special to him, whether it’s in a certain way or not.” 

It almost feels worse, that Seungmin does know that. Everything feels dangled before his face on a string, right there, and out of reach. 

It feels better, that though there’s a probability that Gunil will outright reject him, and the feelings that have been years in the making, developing past a first sight puppy love crush, into something a bit more grown, more tangible and real. He’ll always be something special to Gunil. 

And Gunil, will always be something special to him. 

“Jungsu, there’s gotta be sheet music for this song online, right?” 

Grinning, Jungsu grabs Seungmin’s head, reaching into it and reading every idea scattered sloppily about the maze of his mind. “Oh, there absolutely is.”

+

“Have you considered asking Jiseok?” 

Jooyeon pouts, looks out into the distance shrugging. “I don’t know. Doesn’t really feel right, yet. But the goal is getting you and Gunil to prom. The rest of us are gonna go as friends. Ew, you guys are gonna really upset our rhythm.” 

Pulling a face, Seungmin steals one of Jooyeon’s school breakfast, dry and solid as cardboard, french toast sticks, just to steal them. There’s a reason he didn’t get any for himself, and is only nursing a slightly sticky, miniature apple juice carton between his cold hands. “That’s if anything happens. But valid.” Recognizing that he absolutely does not want to eat this, he just puts it back. Jooyeon won’t care about his germs. 

Not even seconds after Seungmin sets it down, Jooyeon is dipping it in the little syrup container, stuffing it in his mouth. Seungmin is only a tad disgusted, and with no room to judge. Through his food, Jooyeon scoffs, “You’re definitely going with him. I just know it.” His confidence in Seungmin is emboldening, at least. And very in character for Jooyeon. 

“Thanks, Joo. Always glad to have you. You’ve also got.” He points to his face, just by the corner of his mouth. “You’ve got some syrup there. Please clean it.” He even hands Jooyeon a tissue from his bag. 

It almost falls to the damp cement ground when a hollow metal thud rings and reverberates through the school table bench. Seungmin jumps, turning his head. Gunil’s hands sit, red from the cold and from the brutal impact of his skin and the frigid metal, right beside him. And Gunil’s eyes are on him, burning through him, before promptly falling away. 

“Are you free tomorrow?” Gunil asks, voice short and spacey. He avidly avoids any eye contact, visible swallowing, chest heaving. Every mannerism of his is notably strange, sort of faraway and distant. He gets like that when he’s nervous. Like his spine is being removed from his back, and without the much needed support, that reliability and sturdiness inlaid in his bones, he fills up with helium and floats away. 

“Uh. Yeah.” 

“Cool. Meet me at the green park after school?” 

Eloquent as ever, Seungmin nods, repeating, “Sure, yeah.” And with his answer obtained, Gunil straightens, satisfied and kind of triumphant. It’s adorable, even if his abrupt exit, leaves Seungmin nothing but horribly puzzled. He looks over at Jooyeon, who wheezes at the whole ordeal, craning his neck to laugh silently over his food. “What?” 

“You guys are funny,” is all Jooyeon supplies. 

Seungmin frowns, considering it. He looks back at the empty space Gunil leaves behind, resting his chin in his hand. He wonders, ponders, what makes Gunil so nervous, all of a sudden. 

Perhaps…

+

Perhaps. Perhaps. Perhaps. 

His keyboard, an old one donated to him by Jungsu, the keys with worn stickers on them to indicate notes is laid out on his bed, creasing the comforter. His stand is set up not even five feet away, but he hadn’t felt like sitting at it, sat on his knees, pressing each note, murmuring the lyrics beneath his breath. 

Drawn away from his sheet music, his eyes are distracted, focused on the vase on his desk. An arrangement of lilac and lavender, baby's breath scattered artfully between the wiry stalks and stems. The flowers he and Jiseok had chosen based on the florist’s recommendations, because neither of them knew crap. Seungmin trusted her, because with her advice, the flowers have yet to wilt. 

Listlessly, he presses the same key several times in a row, hardly recognizing the repetition, his ears and mind so far away. There’s a thrumming restlessness, harboring beneath his skin. One he hasn’t been able to shake all day. Or at least, since Gunil’s question. Invitation? Proposal ? 

Hissing, Seungmin leaps from his bed, opening his window and pressing his face to the netted screen. Cold wind meets his skin there, but there’s no sound of rain. No feel of it. He turns back, checking his phone for the weather. No great chance of rain all night. He drops it to the bed and stares down at it, pacing back and forth, back and forth. 

His family is asleep in their rooms. All the lights but his own are dim in the house. He’d hardly gotten in trouble for skipping school, with a lame excuse that he’d felt sick, backed up by Jungsu saying he’d convinced Seungmin to go home before even arriving to his first class. 

So, Seungmin is confident enough, to abruptly pack away his keyboard into its soft case, wrapping its cord around trembling fingers and haphazardly stuffing his foldable stand in there as well. He zips it up as quietly as he possibly can before ruffling through his closet and wardrobe, nearly tripping over himself as he changes out of his pjs into something nice. He’s running on a rush, and it doesn’t leave him as he stuffs his phone in his pocket, grabs his bouquet, and quietly leaves the house.

It’ll take him twenty minutes to walk to Gunil’s house. Let’s hope he doesn’t talk himself out of this before he’s arrived. He sticks his earbuds in his ears, and listens to Gunil’s song. Over and over. He doesn’t even realize he’s outside of Gunil’s house until he’s there, staring at the single story home with Christmas decorations still limp in the front lawn, the Christmas lights slowly falling off their hooks on the roof, twinkling and bright against the velvet sky. 

This is more than just impulse, he reasons. It’s perfect, is what it is. Spontaneous but with enough planning to show how much thought he’s put into this. The words he’s going to say will show more than tell how much he appreciates Gunil. Loves him in a way that’s just a little different than everyone else. This is a way to make Gunil feel loved even if nothing comes out of it. 

But Seungmin is seriously starting to doubt nothing will. 

Shakily exhaling, he pulls out his phone as he heads toward the gate to Gunil’s backyard. 

are you awake?

senior resident<3: im not a grandpa

senior resident<3: don’t say anything oh seungmin

i wasnt going to

senior resident<3: why

senior resident<3: is smth wrong?

just wait

senior resident<3: youre being scary

Crouching beneath the windows, though all but Gunil’s room is dark, and even his curtains are drawn, Seungmin makes his way to the backyard. He stops for a moment, realizing how insane this all is, and slaps his own face, reasoning that he might as well go through with it. 

Now or never. 

He unzips his case, unfolds his stand, plugs it all into Gunil’s outside outlet that he has to battle the cover off of, and faces it to the backdoor. He feels crazy. Insane. Doing all this. He reads over the sheet paper, setting it where he can see it, and approaches Gunil’s window, hesitantly knocking on it. 

After a painful moment, where he’s second guessing everything, wondering if this was all worth it, if he’s making a terrible mistake, and an evil Gunil is going to step out and just laugh and laugh at him, like a nightmare. Gunil draws back the curtains, gaping when he sees Seungmin on the other side of the glass. He rushes to open the window. 

“What are you doing here?” he whisper shouts. 

“Come out here,” Seungmin refuses to answer. Gunil stares at him, concerned and awed, pleading for an explanation with his gaze. Seungmin swallows, putting his hands together. “Please?” 

As soon as the curtain drops, he rushes into place, taking one deep breath, before playing the beginning of the song, letting himself be wrapped in the sound, in the bewitching melody. He looks up when the door opens, forcing his breath to be steady, even though his heart is pounding terribly in his chest, and his insides feel like they’re on fire, burning into his sweater and his jeans and his socks, and his head kind of throbs, but it all kind of feels just a little bit right. 

Walking out in fleece pants, patterned with snowmen wearing sunglasses, and an oversized t-shirt stolen from his dad at one point in his life, Gunil watches on, mystified, eyes glittering under the low lamplight, lips parted fascinatedly. He’s so pretty, just standing there, silent, leaving Seungmin uninterrupted, polite, and somehow, that makes everything easier than it was when he wasn’t there. All the pressure leaves, and Seungmin sings. 

It’s in the second verse where his voice hitches just slightly, as he stumbles upon truths, “Yours was the first face that I saw. I think I was blind before I met you. And I don't know where I am, I don't know where I've been. But I know where I want to go.” He pauses, still playing, but the aerosol soaked air getting caught in his throat as Gunil steps closer. 

It’s a terrible performance honestly, he’s shaken up and he’s incredibly imperfect. But he knows Gunil doesn’t mind. So it’s easier not to mind, himself. “Remember the time you drove all night. Just to meet me in the morning?” He keeps stepping closer. And it’s not like Seungmin can step back. It’s not like either of them can really do anything, but what they’re doing now. Stuck. “And I thought it was strange, you said everything changed. You felt as if you'd just woke up.”

Gunil is close enough to look down now, at his fingers dancing over the keys, trapped in their flowing motion, even when his mind's a mess and his heart in a tandem. “And you said,” Gunil murmurs, and Seungmin shuts his mouth with a click, eager to hear the rest, “This is the first day of my life. I'm glad I didn't die before I met you. But now I don't care, I could go anywhere with you. And I'd probably be happy.”

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Seungmin continues, “So if you wanna be with me. With these things there's no telling. We just have to wait and see.” Gunil looks up, rubbing his eyes and cocking his head, a small smile growing on his face, twitching like he’s trying to hold it back. To make it seem like he’s taking Seungmin utterly seriously right now, but some part of him for some reason is unable to. Seungmin gets it too, smiling around his words, gummy-like and sugary. 

“Besides, maybe this time it’s different.” 

“Is,” Gunil softly corrects, overjoyed. 

Rolling his eyes, Seungmin fixes it. “Besides, maybe this time is different.” He ducks his head, cheeks red, as he plays to the end. “I mean, I really think you like me.” The soft sounds of his keyboard fade out into the air, carried away along with the chilling breeze. In the lieu of silence, he finally says it. “Wanna be my kinda not platonic date to prom?”

Gunil forces Seungmin’s head up, glaring. “You knew I was planning to ask you tomorrow, didn’t you?” 

Leaning into his touch, Seungmin shrugs. “I was hoping. I had to do it first though. I’ve been planning to since we got off break.” 

Blinking, Gunil pulls away, hugging himself, looking for some reason embarrassed. “Oh! Right. I knew that…Sort of.” Seungmin looks at him probingly. “...I thought you were going to ask someone else and so I was trying to ask you first…as quickly as I could. That’s why I was in the flower shop the other day. Now, when am I going to give those to you?”

Oh. Seungmin quickly rushes to his case, pulling out his bouquet and pushing them into Gunil’s chest until the other grabs them, biting into his smile as he tilts his neck to smell them. “Lavender,” he hums, “Mom will appreciate that.” 

“You really thought I was gonna ask anyone else?” With his case now empty, he works on packing his things away, falling into this new sense of normal, that they’re both new to. A realization of feelings, of something mutual. He’s trying not to get too high off it just yet. It’s increasingly harder. “Who? When have I ever talked about anyone? I’ve…It’s been just you, for real.” 

“You’re really trying to make me blush, Oh Seungmin,” Gunil snorts, chewing into his cheek and hiding his face behind the flowers, just like he had in the flower shop. He sits on his outdoor bench swing, pushing himself into motion. “And…been? How long have you. Do you. Like me?” 

“One moment.” Seungmin rips his cord out of the wall, and shoves it all haphazardly back into his case before clumsily closing it, settling beside Gunil on the swing, kicking at the floor so they’re swaying back and forth. He pulls Gunil’s arms down, so Gunil is no longer hiding, grinning goofily and helplessly, flushed where the lavender and baby’s breath caresses his cheeks. “Is it not obvious at least by now? I’ve kind of always liked you.” 

Taken aback by the kernel of information, Gunil squints, down at where Seungmin’s touching him. “Always is a long time. It’s kind of nice though. Do you know how weird I thought I was, for liking you, sometimes? If it weren’t for Jungsu even I was just going to let you ask whoever you wanted out to prom, which obviously you could still do. But then it wouldn’t have been me. And I wanted it to be me. I wanted to ask you. Because I’ve liked you for a really long time too, Seungmin.” 

Now Seungmin thinks he looks just as bad as Gunil, his cheeks aching with the force of his grin, happiness swelling in his chest. “I’m glad. This would be really embarrassing otherwise, you know?” 

“You were still willing to do it.” 

“I was.” 

They sit there for a couple minutes, like that, festering. Seungmin turns. “You haven’t answered yet.” He watches slyly as Gunil groans, dropping his head back before facing Seungmin back, unable to really do anything but hold the bouquet as an affection, though Seungmin is perfectly satisfied with that, beyond elated that Gunil likes them. 

“Yes, I’d love to go to prom with you.”