Archive of Our Own ^beta

SUMMER

Connection begins in summertime and radiates like the sun. Time is spent on each other. In the summer, they travel across the city, go to beaches and lay their towels down. Freedom is when they walk together at night with no obligations to stop them.

"I forgot my wallet," Sunoo says. 

They stand next to each other, lined up at the convenience store. The customer before them departs and Sunghoon waves for Sunoo to step forward. His hand grazes Sunoo's, takes the soda he holds. 

"It's okay," he says, "what're friends for?"

Not even a moment's pause as Sunghoon pays for what Sunoo wants. No hesitation within any of it.

Sunoo smiles at him. "Thanks." 

Together they go back to the beach. Summer feels safe—even with the sun's departure, the sky remains dark blue, light leftover from the day. They sit next to each other and watch the waves. 

Sunoo twists open his soda, but pauses. "Want a sip?" 

"Sure." 

When the drink's handed back, Sunoo takes his time. Sweetness comes first, followed by sharpness of carbonation. It lingers on his lips. He thinks of what it means to kiss someone; if it would feel like this. 

"Have some more," he says, handing the bottle to Sunghoon. 

They pass the evening like this. Back and forth. Each time the carbonation lingers. It feels like a kiss to Sunoo, only separated by distance. It's like what their friendship is—close to love, but never enough. 

AUTUMN

Yearning starts in autumn. Breezes pick up speed to shed trees of leaves; gutters collect rain. They walk under an umbrella and talk about the school year.  

"I remember my first year," Sunghoon says. He looks at Sunoo with warmth, like remnants of summer. 

"Was it hard?"

"It was hard to decide what to focus on—classes, friends, you know?" 

He nods. "I think so." But all Sunoo focuses on is what he can't have. What invades his thoughts makes it hard to focus on anything else.

"You'll do fine." 

They stop at a crosswalk. Rain stands in their way; water runs along the roadside. 

"I hate the rain," says Sunoo.

"Because it always rains on your birthday?"

Sunoo looks at him with surprise, opens his mouth to speak. But he can't say anything.

And Sunghoon smiles. "I remember," he says, "you told me before." 

WINTER

Interest is a glimmer in winter. The first snowflake appears, only to transition into snowfall. In its midst, Sunghoon tracks Sunoo down to go skating after exams.

"This was a terrible idea," Sunoo laments. 

Sunghoon kneels before him to help with his skates. "It's not terrible. It's something new."

"University was something new, and look at what happened."

"What?"

He hesitates, but says, "I think I failed all my classes." 

"You probably didn't."

"And if I did?" 

He sees Sunoo's expression: despair, discomfort, things that make him want to do something. To hold him, even—and the thought makes him turn away. He stands once Sunoo's skates are tied and holds his arm out for him to take. "It's not the end of the world. I'll be here."

Together they walk past doors into the arena. Before them is the glassy rink with dozens of people gliding and scraping by. 

"I can't do this," Sunoo says. 

"Yes you can." 

"I can't," he repeats, "I'm going to fall."

Sunghoon steps onto the ice first and extends a hand. "Who says I'll let you?"

Some hesitation but finally he takes his hand and follows suit. His steps are wobbly, full of fear, yet there's trust in every movement he makes—reliance on Sunghoon to keep him safe. 

"Take it slow. You don't have to go fast," he says, as other skaters breeze by.

"I don't know how to skate at all." 

"I'll show you."

"Show me how you normally skate," Sunoo says, with a smile, "I want to see."

He laughs. "But you've seen me skate before. Dozens of times."

"I know, but I've never been here with you. I'm always standing far away. It feels different like this." 

"Okay, but stay here."

He glances at Sunoo once more before he takes off. The ice greets him with its familiarity, and he remembers the same fear from years ago. Fear of falling and the need for something to trust. He weaves among the other skaters, crosses over when the rink curves, and stops next to Sunoo soon after.

"Happy?"

"I can't believe you can do that." 

"It's nothing."

"No, it's amazing," Sunoo says. There's admiration in his voice, glimmer of awe in his eyes.

All thoughts disappear from Sunghoon's mind. Nobody has looked at him this way. He manages to say, "Thanks." But it's hard to speak and so he holds his hands out again. 

"I don't think I can do this," Sunoo says. He takes Sunghoon's hands but tighter this time, as if life is in their grasp. 

"I won't let you fall."

"You promise?"

Something is important about this promise. More than anything else. "I promise." 

They skate together—or try to, within Sunoo's limits. But Sunghoon doesn't care how far they go. He thinks instead of Sunoo's hands. He thinks how he can't let him fall. And he thinks what it means to be trusted in this way, to care so much. Enough for him to realize that he loves him. 

SPRING

Devotion blooms in spring. Snow melts away; they walk beneath cherry trees and admire pink blossoms. The sidewalk is full of bumps and cracks. Roots of trees have extended past their boundaries and crossed lines to never look back. 

Sunghoon finds himself offering an arm before he knows why. "So you don't trip," he tells Sunoo. 

"Thanks." He takes Sunghoon's arm. 

They talk about small things without meaning, but what matters is how it keeps them talking. Soon they reach a park and sit on a bench. Above them, more blossoms: sweet, pink, lavish. 

Sunghoon is relieved when Sunoo doesn't let go. He can't explain why this brings him comfort more than anything else. And when he glances over, he meets his gaze.

"Sorry," Sunoo says. He moves his hand away. 

Sunghoon hesitates, but reaches over and takes his hand. "It's fine." Their fingers interlace and palms press against one another. There's a warmth that passes through Sunghoon; mimics the air around them. 

They sit in silence. The park is still with only movement from the wind. In the distance, someone walks their dog along the grassy lawn. 

"Thank you," Sunoo says. 

"For what?"

"For holding my hand." 

He nods, face warm. "I like it. It's nice." 

"Why don't you hug me instead?"

"You want me to hug you?"

"You don't have to dare me." He lets go of Sunoo's hand but moves closer, puts his arms around him. Something flickers through nerves within his chest; makes him realize this was more of a dare than he thought. 

"I'm glad." He closes the distance and hugs Sunghoon tight. "I trust you." 

He doesn't know what to say, only knows that he enjoys the intimacy—Sunoo's warmth, physicality of trust, but still he couldn't speak. 

"You can kiss me," Sunoo murmurs. 

To know there was trust was enough for Sunghoon to lean close, press his lips against his. Trust existed in everything: in not making a mistake, in how he knew he loved Sunoo, wanted to be close. Soft and gentle and everything that existed between them. 

When he pulls away, he's shy. He knows Sunoo feels the same. He feels it, in how he presses his face against his jacket. 

Sunghoon thinks of something to say, anything that'll make things warm between them again. "What's your favorite season?" 

Sunoo looks up at him. Confused, but smiling. "My favorite season?"

"Yeah, your favorite season."

"I like every season," he says, "because I spent every single one with you."