Work Text:
Daehyun always loved summer.
He loved the freedom that came with the heat, the dusty wind that blew through his hair, the warm nights spent outside.
Youngjae remembered the glint in Daehyun’s eyes whenever he looked at Youngjae. He remembered Daehyun’s chiming laugh as he opened his window when Youngjae drove through endless desert. Youngjae remembered lying with Daehyun on the hood of his car beneath the endless sky and the twinkling stars.
Youngjae remembered holding Daehyun’s hand. Youngjae remembered how Daehyun interlocked their fingers without a word.
Youngjae remembered his chest tightening.
Youngjae remembered how he fought for breath as he drowned in Daehyun’s presence.
Youngjae should have known that maybe Daehyun wasn't drowning in the same way.
It was July, the summer after college, when Daehyun announced he'd be backpacking around Europe.
Spiritual healing, he told Youngjae.
I have to find myself.
It's not here in this tiny city.
And Youngjae let him. Because Youngjae knew he'd come back. Eventually.
Two years have passed. This is the longest Daehyun’s been gone. Youngjae is almost afraid to look for him. Youngjae’s almost afraid to find out what Daehyun’s been doing.
Youngjae’s phone rings on the bedside table. He groans as he turns to his side. He doesn’t look too closely at the name on the lit screen.
"Hello?" Youngjae says.
"Youngjae."
The voice is too familiar in the darkness of the night and the haze of sleep. Years of nothing, countless months of silence, and suddenly Youngjae.
"Daehyun?" Youngjae asks. He tries to shake the dregs of sleep out of his mind. "What's going on?"
"I need you to open your front door," Daehyun says.
Youngjae closes my eyes and runs his free hand through his hair. "What? Why?"
"That would ruin the surprise. Now open your door. Hurry up," Daehyun insists.
The dial tone echoes in Youngjae’s ear, and he sighs as he puts his phone on the end table. He flicks on the lamp and sits up. His mind reels with memories of Daehyun. His smile. His dark brown hair. His sparkling eyes. His laugh. His touch.
Youngjae pushes himself off the bed and shuffles towards the front door.
When he opens it, Daehyun is standing in front of him, carrying a canvas knapsack. His smile is a little different than Youngjae remembers it.
Youngjae can't bring himself to speak.
Daehyun bites his lip.
"Hey," he says. "It's good to see you."
Youngjae tries to reply, but it dies on the way out of his mouth.
Daehyun walks through the doorway. He drops his knapsack on the floor.
And then Youngjae feels Daehyun’s lips, warm and soft in the cold air of the hallway. Youngjae doesn’t even know how to begin to react.
His fingertips brush the edges of Youngjae’s lips. He presses his forehead against Youngjae’s.
"I had a lot of time to think in Europe," Daehyun whispers. "And this is something I want."
Youngjae can't bring himself to look away from Daehyun’s eyes. Youngjae can't speak. There’s a lump in his throat.
"Youngjae?" Daehyun asks. "Please say something."
In that moment, Youngjae realizes that isn't something that can go on.
It's been too long. Maybe, when he was 21, he would have been smiling with Daehyun.
But he’s moved on.
"I missed you," Youngjae whispers, and he swallows the lump lodged in his throat as Daehyun's smile begins to widen. "But... I can't."
Daehyun frowns, and it's something Youngjae can't bear to look at. Daehyun seems to age several years from just that. "What?"
Youngjae pulls away from Daehyun, and he almost immediately begin to miss Daehyun’s touch. "I can't do this. I'm sorry."
Daehyun doesn't say anything. his eyes search Youngjae’s for an answer he can't even begin to explain.
"I... I thought you left for good," Youngjae says. "I forced myself to move on, Daehyun. It hurt, but I had to. I couldn't stay the crying little boy anymore." Youngjae’s hands are trembling. He balls them up into fists. His nails dig into his skin. "I don't...love you like I did before, Daehyun. We're not teenagers anymore."
Daehyun nods, and Youngjae’s can tell he's fighting back tears.
"I'm sorry, Daehyun, I really am," Youngjae whispers.
"No, it's fine," Daehyun says. He picks up his knapsack, and heads to the door. "I shouldn't have assumed."
"Daehyun," Youngjae calls out. He doesn’t know he’s supposed to say, but he doesn’t want Daehyun to leave yet.
Daehyun spins around. Underneath the pale light of the corridor, he looks ashen and tired. He forces a smile. "We've changed, Youngjae. And I didn't realize that until now, but that's okay. Goodbye."
And he leaves the exact same way he did the last time.
Sometimes, when Youngjae is driving in the city, he thinks he sees Daehyun walking down the street, and his heart almost stops as he’s thrown back into the desert at midnight, holding Daehyun's hand beneath a blanket of stars.
But he realizes that the hair he saw is too black, or the smile he saw is too small, or the eyes he saw are too round.
Youngjae forces himself to take a deep breath and drive past, his knuckles turning white from how tight he’s gripping the steering wheel.