Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

INT. YEONJUN’S BEDROOM. MORNING.

A bird chirps merrily on a branch outside of a second-story window. Slowly zooming in, we take a look inside YEONJUN’s bedroom, and the camera pans to the alarm clock atop the nightstand. The display states that it is currently 5:53 A.M. We cut to a close-up of YEONJUN’s face from above, zooming in until the tiredness on his face is visible. This early in the morning, the world is still quiet and undisturbed, and Day 9130 begins.

Yeonjun is awake and staring at the ceiling, mapping the same old cracks and lines with his eyes, way before his alarm clock blares.

He’d been up minutes before the sun even rose, fully alert before the birds even started chirping to signal the start of a brand new day. Like a robot programmed to respond to the ringing on his bedside table, his arm mechanically shoots out to shut the noise down before his mother comes knocking, probably thinking he hasn’t gotten up yet.

He loves her, but these quiet moments before life starts in full swing are reserved for only him. He needs these peaceful minutes if he’s going to get through his day. He gives himself a few more seconds of staring aimlessly before he breathes in a lungful of air and holds it in (one, two, three).

From the tree outside his window, a bird tweets urgently, each chirrup louder than the last. Yeonjun sighs, heavy and world-weary, and takes that as a sign to get up and get ready.

A FOGGED MIRROR. MORNING.

Yeonjun brushes his teeth and washes his face. Minute details of work pop into his head unbidden, but he waves them away as he pats himself dry.

From downstairs, he hears a muffled call of “Yeonjun! You’re going to be late!”

He’s not. He’s never late; his routine takes half an hour, eating breakfast and chatting with his mother takes fifteen minutes, his daily drive takes another fifteen, and there’s never any heavy traffic in Rainbow Village. But he knows his mother is just concerned, so he calls back, like always, “Gimme a moment!”

“Eat your breakfast while it’s hot!” she exclaims. Yeonjun can picture her, hand on the banister and looking up at the empty stairs, apron tidy and never stained. He wonders how she does it. Every time he cooks, it’s a mess, but maybe mothers just have superpowers he’ll never be aware of.

He dresses in the daily coat and the tie he had laid out the night before and goes down.

INT. KITCHEN. MORNING.

“Good morning,” his mother greets, barely looking up from her newspaper as she takes a sip of hot chocolate, her drink of the month. Last time it was some kind of slimming tea, and he remembers her green juice phase, too. Yeonjun wonders what it’ll be next month. Maybe some kind of energy drink?

He drops a kiss on her cheek before slipping into the other chair, plating himself some sliced sausages, eggs, and rice, with his mom’s kimchi on the side—the perfect breakfast, in his humble opinion. “Good morning. Breakfast looks good.”

“Thank you,” she says, hand on her chest, touched. “How’d you sleep, my son?”

“The usual.”

“No nightmares?”

He sighs inwardly. He hasn’t had them in years, but she asks every morning regardless. He does appreciate it, but it gets repetitive. “No nightmares,” he confirms anyway.

She nods, satisfied with his answer. “Good. Eat up, you need the energy.”

“Energy to what?” Yeonjun tries to joke. “Call strangers up and offer them insurance? Make passive-aggressive statements about how likely they are to die?”

“Yeonjun!” she gasps, affronted. “Your job is perfectly fine! You have a nice, stable position, your pay is great, and the benefits are amazing. Your job saves lives, so you can do with more gratefulness, my son! What more can you ask for?”

He doesn’t have the heart to tell her that all he does is sit on his ass and punch numbers into a telephone, waiting and hoping that the other person will listen to his spiel and give his company their money. He wants to say that yes, he earns enough to pay the bills off, buy his mother’s medicine, and settle the house’s mortgage, but he barely has any left over to save up for other things.

But yeah, what more can he ask for?

“Sorry,” he mutters, shoving a bunch of kimchi into his mouth. The spiciness and the sourness wake him up a little bit more.

Sensing the change in his tone, his mother softens up. She folds her newspaper closed and sets it to the side, taking the hand not holding his chopsticks into both of hers instead. “My Yeonjun. What’s wrong?”

He shrugs. Technically, nothing is.

“You can tell your mother anything,” she prompts, kind eyes looking into his. Her hands are smooth over his own, rubbing a soothing thumb over his knuckles, the same way she’s always done since he was a snot-faced kid crying over a wounded knee.

Yeonjun finds comfort in her words. His mother will understand if he explains it well, right? She always has his back, whatever he does.

“I want to go on a vacation. I just think it’s time for one,” he declares, resolute.

She’s in the middle of another sip when he says this, but her cup stops between the table and her mouth. Her lips purse into an almost-frown, but she smooths it out into a neutral face right after.

Just that micro-expression tells Yeonjun that he made a mistake.

“Oh, a vacation,” she says cheerily, gently setting her cup down. She pastes a smile on her face, and Yeonjun knows it’s one of her fake ones. “Again with this travel thing, sweetheart?”

Frustration bubbles in Yeonjun. In every other aspect of Yeonjun’s life, she’s always his biggest supporter, but she never fails to make him feel like he’s the same snot-faced kid when they talk about this. “Yes, mom. Is it so bad that I want to see what’s out there? Explore a little bit?”

The fake smile she tried to keep up drops in an instant. “What’s there to explore, darling? Everything you can ever need is right here in Rainbow Village.”

A buried memory of his elementary teacher telling him the exact same thing resurfaces. The laughter of grade school children rings in his ears, and even now, more than a decade later, he still wants to sink into his seat out of mortification.

Not everything. Not everything he needs is here.

“But I’m talking about want, mom. Not need," he says instead.

His mother shrugs, and the corner of her mouth quirks in another fake, tight-lipped smile. He hates that smile. “What’s the difference?”

Yeonjun never should’ve opened his mouth. This isn’t the first time they’ve had this conversation, but every time it happens, he fools himself into believing that something will be different each time they talk about it. But nothing ever does, and deep in his heart, where unshakeable truths lie, he knows nothing ever will.

He decides to drop it; his watch tells him he’s going to be late, anyway. He tells his mother that.

“Oh,” she exclaims, glancing at the clock on the wall. “Wait, have some of this drink first. It’s good for you—full of vitamins and nutrients.”

It’s hot chocolate. What vitamins is she talking about? He bites his tongue, though. “You know my boss doesn’t tolerate lateness, mom.”

“Maybe he’s late today, too,” she dismisses his concern with a flippant wave while she pours him a cup. “Just take a sip, sweetheart. You’ll love it.”

He sighs. She always makes him try her newest buy. He knows she won’t stop until he says yes, though, so he takes the cup wordlessly and blows on the liquid to cool it a little. Once the rim touches his lips, his mother suddenly announces, “Choco Loco. A winter favorite. Perfect for cold days! Good for you in many ways.”

The taste lingers on his tongue. It’s too sweet, quite unremarkable, but if his mother loves it so much, then he won’t be the one to say anything negative about it. “It’s good,” he lies.

She beams and holds the box of the hot chocolate mix up with her two hands. “Right? It’s barely 10,000 won for this pack.”

“That’s a great deal.”

She places the box back on the table with care and comes closer. She fixes his crooked necktie and his uneven lapels. Then, she cradles his face, and Yeonjun can’t help but lean into her warm hands. These hands have raised him, fed him, and given him everything he knows. “Only the best for my only son,” she murmurs, patting his cheek.

This close, he can see the wrinkles underneath her television-worthy makeup and melts at how even late into his twenties, she still takes care of him like she did when he was younger. There has never been a morning where she hasn’t prepared a full breakfast or a night where a nice, warm dinner wasn’t waiting for him.

“Thanks, mom,” he says, and means it.

She carefully fixes a strand of his hair. “Just stay here, darling. With me. We’re so happy, aren’t we?”

It hurts him to lie straight to his mother’s face. But it’s necessary sometimes, he thinks, as he nods once.

“Good,” she whispers, and a relieved smile brightens her face. She steps away and looks at the clock again. “Alright, get going! If your boss gives you an earful, tell him to come to me, alright?”

He laughs at that and grabs his briefcase and coat. Before he steps out of the door, he calls out, “I’ll give him your number.”

“You better!”

EXT. THE STREET IN FRONT OF YEONJUN’S HOUSE. DAY.

Sporting a no-nonsense business suit, YEONJUN steps out of their picket-fenced house into the quiet and blissful neighborhood he’s known since he was a kid. Rows and rows of perfect, ideal houses line the street, and YEONJUN takes a deep breath of the fresh morning air. MR. PARK, the garbage collector, is humming a familiar tune under his breath.

Yeonjun isn’t allowed a chance to recover from the exhausting conversation with his mother before he’s met with a cheerful greeting.

“Oh, good morning, Yeonjun-ssi!” Mr. Park waves a gloved hand enthusiastically. His other hand is dutifully holding a trash container.

Although Yeonjun is seriously running late, he gives Mr. Park a genuine smile of his own. Mr. Park has never failed to greet him with a jolly welcome every morning. “Hi, how’s it going?”

The older man shrugs, smile still as wide as ever. “The same as it always is. Have a great day at work!”

Yeonjun salutes him and walks towards his car. “Thanks, you too!”

Mr. Park whistles a happy tune as he ambles toward the house next to Yeonjun’s, and Yeonjun observes the spring in his step, the way his arms swing in a carefree manner.

And Yeonjun wonders while he takes out his car keys—if someone like Mr. Park can live life so happily even with such a mundane job, why can’t he? Is Yeonjun the one in the wrong here? Is he truly ungrateful for wanting more?

His thoughts are disrupted by a light giggle, and Yeonjun can’t help the smile on his face from blooming even wider. He’s about to address the source but he’s beaten to it by a loud, but nonetheless cute, “Good morning, Uncle Yeonjun!”

Bom is the most adorable kid he’s ever seen. As usual, she’s carried in her dad’s arm and her mother fusses over her tiny collar. She giggles whenever her mother gets too close to her neck, too ticklish for things as trivial as being presentable.

“Hi, Bom!” He calls back, waving grandly from across the road. Another giggle spills from Bom’s lips, and Yeonjun feels his bad mood melt away. “Good morning, Mr. and Mrs. Jeon!”

“Hello, Yeonjun,” Mr. Jeon says, tipping his hat in respect. “Ready for another week at work?”

Yeonjun forces a laugh and opens his car door. “As ready as I’ll ever be!”

Mr. Jeon sighs in solidarity and Mrs. Jeon titters. “Isn’t that the truth.”

“Well, I’ve got to get going,” Yeonjun calls, one foot in his car, “but in case I don’t see you, good afternoon, good evening, and good night!”

INT/EXT. YEONJUN’S CAR — RAINBOW VILLAGE. DAY.

YEONJUN makes his way to his office in the city proper, passing along streets that all look perfectly maintained, with houses similar to his own.

EXT. OCEAN DRIVE. DAY.

Halting at one of the many traffic lights dotting YEONJUN’S drive, he lets his gaze wander around. To his left is a beautiful deep, blue sea, the surface as the sun hits the water. It is a sight to behold, but YEONJUN quickly glances away and opts to stare at the stoplight until it turns green.

EXT. RAINBOW LANE. DAY.

Yeonjun is cruising along Seabreeze Lane with his windows rolled down, enjoying the lack of other cars, when he registers a faint, high-pitched whistling sound above the melodic murmur of the radio.

And before Yeonjun could even wonder about what that was, he suddenly hears a deafening crash! in front of him. A surge of panic travels through his spine, and instinctively, he slams on the brakes.

A high-pitched, deafening screech fills the air as the tires squeal against the pavement, and Yeonjun winces at the piercing sound. Unidentified metal bits clang against each other as his car works overtime to stop its own momentum.

Yeonjun is jolted back and forth as the car suddenly ceases any and all movement, and his seatbelt tightens across his chest in an effort to stop him from flying forward.

What in the world just happened…?

Frantically, he pats all over himself. Thankfully, all his limbs are intact, and he didn’t hit his head anywhere.

He peers out of his windshield to look at the rubble, but the hood obstructs his vision, so he steps out of his car to investigate. Carefully, he walks over to the remains scattered all over the road.

At first, the thing seems to be a spherical object of some kind, made of glass and metal. Yeonjun steps forward, carefully avoiding the sharp shards, and upon closer look, it looks to be some kind of light fixture. It even has a label—in big, bold letters, it reads SIRIUS (9 Canis Major).

Yeonjun casts a sweeping glance around him, but all the street lights look perfectly fine. Not a single lamppost is missing its bulb, and the shapes don’t match either.

Maybe it came from a plane? Or a helicopter? But a cursory look at the sky shows that there’s nothing to be found but seemingly-perfect, endless blue.

Huh. Weird.

Yeonjun goes back to his car. He can’t drive through the rubble because his tires might get pierced, so he has to take a longer route.

Oh, well. He’s already late anyway.

EXT. THE COFFEE SHOP IN YEONJUN’S OFFICE BUILDING. DAY.

We start with a view from behind the counter. The coffee-shop goers are all chatting, and there’s an atmosphere of anticipation in the air. From beyond the coffee shop windows, we see YEONJUN approaching, briefcase swinging with every step, and like they all received the same command, the coffee shop goers suddenly turn their heads down, minding their own business.

Yeonjun enters his favorite coffee shop and is immediately hit with the wonderful aroma of ground coffee beans and the sweet smell of mouthwatering pastries. Above him, there’s a chime coming from the bell hanging above the door.

Almost instantly, he’s hit with a renewed sense of vigor. There is nothing like coffee to brighten him up and get him ready for the day.

“Good morning, Yeonjun!” The barista, Chan, greets with a wide grin. “What can I get for ya?”

Yeonjun pulls his wallet out and grabs a couple of bills. “Just the usual, Chan. Thanks!”

“An iced Americano coming right up!”

He moves to the claiming counter and takes this singular moment of quiet as a chance to survey his surroundings. He looks at every single face, and curiously enough, everyone in this small but busy coffee shop seems to be busy with something. There are people chatting with their seatmates, and people on the phone with whom Yeonjun presumes to be loved ones or business acquaintances. There are couples holding hands over the glass tabletops, and parents holding onto their children's tiny little fists to keep them from running around.

They all look like they'd want nothing more than to stay in this moment forever.

Yeonjun quirks his lips up in a soft, fond smile. He's happy for them.

He wants that for himself, too.

The sound of ice rattling around in a plastic cup kicks him out of his reverie. "Iced americano for Yeonjun?"

Yeonjun takes the cup. "That's me. Thanks, Yeri!"

Yeri, one of the cafe's employees, gives him a salute. "Anytime, Yeonjun. Have a great day!"

As he walks away, he thinks, I hope I do, too.

INT. YEONJUN’S OFFICE. DAY.

Aside from a few sunny greetings from his coworkers, nobody really bats an eye when Yeonjun clocks in fifteen minutes late, and he settles down into his cubicle as usual. In an uncanny coincidence, his boss actually was late, just like his mother joked.

Maybe his boss had a difficult conversation with his own mother, too.

He gets through the bulk of his paperwork with little to no ado; that’s what happens when you’ve been doing your job since graduation, he supposes. It’s mindless work, more clerical than anything, but if it pays the bills and keeps a roof over his and his mother’s head, then he has no right to complain.

He takes his lunch break on the dot. Usually, he makes a short trip to the company cafeteria to eat with his colleagues, but today he has different plans. He apologetically refuses his coworkers’ offers to spend their lunchtime together, and aside from a few shared glances among them, thankfully, nobody says a thing and leaves him be.

Yeonjun brings out the lunchbox that his mother painstakingly packed for him—one that his colleagues always ooh and aah over whenever they lunch together—mutters a quiet thanks, and quickly inhales his meal.

It was their dinner last night, but something about his mother’s cooking makes it seem like it’s freshly made all the time.

As soon as he swallows his last bite, Yeonjun packs his lunchbox away. He tidies up the bento box and wipes his utensils with a paper towel. He carefully inserts them back into the bag they came with, zips it closed, and tucks the package underneath his desk. He swipes away any microscopic crumbs from his desk, even though he made sure not to make a mess.

Once his desk is clear, Yeonjun gets to doing the real reason why he even gets up every day.

Yeonjun takes a deep breath and cradles the telephone receiver in one hand, and with aching familiarity, punches in the same numbers he’s always done since he started this job.

There are a couple of rings before somebody picks up.

“Good afternoon, this is Mijoo, how may I help you today?” A pleasant female voice answers.

“Hi,” Yeonjun keeps his voice down. Although his immediate coworkers are not around, he can’t have anyone else overhearing this conversation. “Can I be connected to Belgium’s directory assistance, please?”

Mijoo hums amenably. “Of course, sir. Please wait a moment.”

There’s a beep, and Yeonjun listens to the soothing jazz instrumental while he’s being transferred. He’s heard this tune so much that he can probably hum it in his sleep by now.

After a minute, another pleasant voice speaks, but this time, it’s one that Yeonjun is well-acquainted with. “Good afternoon, this is the Belgian directory assistance. My name is Sooyoung, what can we do for you?”

“Hi, Sooyoung-ssi,” he greets carefully. "It’s Choi Yeonjun.”

“Oh,” she exclaims in surprise. “Hello, Yeonjun-ssi. How can I be of assistance today?”

“Same as always,” Yeonjun says. “Is there a listing for a Choi Beomgyu?”

There’s a beat of silence on the other end of the call, disturbed only by static. Finally, with an apologetic tone, Sooyoung says, “Yeonjun-ssi—”

“I know,” Yeonjun cuts her off bluntly, but there’s a sting of guilt immediately after. His mother raised him to be a polite man, but he honestly can’t bear to hear the same words she tells him every day. “But can you please try again? Please?”

He must sound desperate enough, because Sooyoung pauses for a heartbeat. Yeonjun holds his breath before she gives in. “Okay, please wait a moment while I look up Choi Beomgyu.”

Hope floods his system, waking him up better than any cup of coffee ever could. “Thank you,” he breathes, and he prays his gratefulness is conveyed with just those two words.

Again, Yeonjun is met with a staticky silence while Sooyoung does her job. He barely has to wait a minute before there’s the distinct crackle of the receiver being picked up.

Yeonjun presses his own receiver even tighter to his ear. “Is there a new entry? Did you find him?”

“I’m sorry,” Sooyoung says, and all of Yeonjun’s hopes disappear like smoke. “But just like yesterday, there still isn’t any listing for a Choi Beomgyu, Yeonjun-ssi.”

He doesn’t have the strength to hide the dismay he feels. He feels his heart crack a little when he says, “Oh. I see.”

Sooyoung sounds sympathetic when she reassures him, “I’ll be on the lookout for any Choi Beomgyus., Yeonjun-ssi. If any pops up, you’ll be the first to know.”

Her words ease his disappointment the tiniest bit, it’s like all the energy has been sapped from him. “Thanks for your time, Sooyoung-ssi,” he mumbles, and he drops the call without any further fanfare.

Multiple emotions grapple for dominance within Yeonjun’s chest, and every single one beats its fists against him unrelentingly. Disappointment, anger, sadness, and dismay are all present, but towering above them all is hopelessness.

He looks out of his window and peers at the never-changing scenery of company buildings and establishments. People move like they always do—some are running errands, some are merely strolling, and some are rushing to work, just like he was. If he closes his eyes, the image is burned into the back of his eyelids like a regretful tattoo, because nothing ever changes. He goes to work, he calls the same number, he gets the same response, and he undergoes the same heartbreak.

Every. Single. Day. Will he ever learn?

His rumination is disrupted by an energetic, but also frantic, “Hey, Yeonjun!”

“Wh—” Yeonjun startles, but settles down when he sees that it’s just one of his coworkers, Changbin. “Oh, hi,” he greets politely, trying to calm his racing heart down.

Changbin is a pretty nice guy; he’s always down to help whenever Yeonjun is stuck with something, whether it’s about work or something else. He’s one of the people who never fails to invite Yeonjun to eat lunch or grab drinks after work, and Yeonjun considers him more of a friend than a colleague.

Right now, though, after his call, Yeonjun can’t say he appreciates Changbin’s presence too much. Still, he pastes on a smile, which turns into a worried look when he registers the panic on Changbin’s face.

Yeonjun reaches out and places a calming hand on his shoulder. “You good?”

“I’m perfectly fine!” Changbin reassures with a nod, but his smile still belies his agitation. Yeonjun’s worry isn’t appeased, but the hand he has on Changbin is brushed off in favor of Changbin bringing out whatever he was holding behind his back and brandishing it between them. “I went here to show you something!”

The something is Rainbow Village’s daily newspaper. Changbin unfolds it carefully, smoothing out the pages into something readable, and all but shoves them into Yeonjun’s face. He takes a step back in surprise.

“Look,” Changbin points at the headline. In bold, black letters, the newspaper reads, RAINBOW VILLAGE DECLARED THE BEST PLACE ON EARTH! In smaller print, the text says: More on page 2.

Although the statement was nice to read, it isn’t really news to Yeonjun. All his life, his mother made sure to tell him every time she could that they lived in an amazing place and that they were extremely fortunate to be there. Based on her stories, she didn’t come from such a good area, so Yeonjun put the pieces together and never commented on it, even though to him, Rainbow Village is just… decent. It’s a good place, but it’s nothing spectacular. He loves this town, and he has a ton of amazing memories from childhood, but Yeonjun thinks that there’s more out there—more, but out of reach.

He also doesn’t know why Changbin is showing him this, but he plays along. The level of excitement his friend’s exuding is unwarranted, in his opinion, but Yeonjun won’t deny him his happiness. Maybe he just loves Rainbow Village more than Yeonjun does, and that’s okay. “Oh, that’s incredible.”

Changbin looks into his eyes. “We’re lucky, aren’t we?”

Why is he so serious about this? It unsettles something within Yeonjun, but he gets the feeling that Changbin won’t accept any other answer other than a resolute yes, so Yeonjun gives him that. Behind his back, he crosses his fingers when he says, “We are. We live in the best place on earth, what more can we ask for?”

“Yeah.” There is an almost imperceptible sigh of relief from Changbin, and his shoulders visibly relax. His smile becomes less stiff, more natural, and transforms into his usual bright grin. “I honestly don’t get why anyone would wanna leave!”

Yeonjun can list a hundred reasons off the top of his head, but he holds them in. He fakes a laugh and pats Changbin on the back, subtly leading him out of the cubicle. He feels like a traitor to his own self when he says, “Who knows!”

He's in the middle of another cold call when someone knocks on his cubicle wall.

Annoyed, he raises a finger to let the person know to wait a moment. The person on the other end of the call was being receptive to his spiel and he's so, so close to convincing her. "Ma'am, I promise you won't regret it. Insurance saves lives, and I'm 100% sure the same will happen for you."

The woman hums hesitantly. "Well, yeah, but it's kind of expensive, isn't it?"

This is one of the most common questions, and Yeonjun can recite the defense in his sleep. "That's true, ma'am. But you can't put a price on your peace of mind."

The woman hums again, this time in contemplation. "I'll have to talk to my husband about it. Can you call again same time tomorrow?"

"Of course, ma'am," Yeonjun does a little fist pump. "Thank you very much for your time!"

"Thank you, too," and the woman hangs up.

Yeonjun leans back in his chair and breathes a sigh of relief. He hopes she convinces her husband; at the rate he's going, he'll surpass his quota just in time for month-end, and his boss will definitely be happy with those results. And a happy boss means he might finally get that promotion, which means more money, which means more savings. More to fund his trip to Belgium.

Another knock, more forceful this time, finally makes Yeonjun swirl his chair around. What greets him is the displeased face of his boss, his mouth downturned in a way that only ever spells trouble for Yeonjun.

He stands up abruptly. "S-sir," Yeonjun stutters, "what can I do for you?"

His boss hands him a folder. Yeonjun takes it and immediately opens the file. "An associate in our Wavecrest branch screwed something up, and now everything's on fire over there. They need someone from the head office to fix things, and they need it now."

Yeonjun’s blood freezes in his veins. "Wavecrest?"

He skims the folder's contents, scanning over the report labeled URGENT. It seems like there's an operations issue, and things are basically at a standstill for now. Since their Seahaven arm has a leaner workforce, their hands are tied until somebody from the main branch steps in.

"Yes. You need to go there and see what the problem is," his boss instructs him with a stony face. "I think it was just a minor issue that snowballed into this whole fiasco, so once you clear things up, I'm gonna send someone else to look into the main systems. For now, just one person will be enough."

Wavecrest is a picturesque town across the harbor—a quiet, lovely little place. His mother speaks fondly of it, tells him about the days they used to vacation there when he was a kid. He can't remember those trips, but the photographs in their family albums display clear blue waters and white sands.

It's a beautiful town, and in any other circumstance, Yeonjun would have loved to go. But going to Wavecrest means going to the terminal, and getting a ticket for the ferry. Getting a ticket for the ferry means getting on the ferry, which means he'll be on the waters. And being on the waters means…

No. No, he can't have that.

"B-but I'm just a salesman, sir," Yeonjun tries to reason, clutching the file with trembling hands. Under his fingers, the cardboard crinkles. "I don't think I'm the best person for this task."

Even to his own ears, he sounds pathetic. Desperate. But if that’s what it’ll take to get out of this trip, so be it.

His boss is undeterred, however.

"Nonsense. You'll be fine. It's just a bit of investigation," he waves Yeonjun’s concern away. "Go before the ferry closes. The sea air will also do you good."

"But—"

"I said now, Yeonjun."

His mouth snaps shut. Wordlessly, he picks up his briefcase and shoves the folder into it. "Okay."

"Good. Let me know how it goes first thing tomorrow."

"Yes, sir."

[???]

"Today's the day, dude, I can feel it," a man in uniform says, playfully punching his colleague's arm. His eyes are glued to Yeonjun's figure, slowly making its way to them.

"Nah," the other man refutes, shaking his head. "I bet you ten thousand won he'll turn back the minute he sets foot on the pier."

"Have some faith in him!"

"If I didn't give him the benefit of the doubt, I would've said he won't even make it past buying a ticket. Trust me—this is me having faith."

EXT. RAINBOW VILLAGE FERRY TERMINAL. DAY.

From behind the terminal window, we see a nondescript car pull in. YEONJUN walks out of it and shuts the door meekly, his eyes glued to the waters. Very slowly, he approaches the terminal, and his body language betrays how uneasy he is.

Maybe if he walked at the pace of a turtle, the ferry will leave, and he'll have no choice but to turn back. Sure, he'll face his boss's wrath, but that's a small price to pay.

As it is, though, there were virtually no cars on his way here, and his trip was unfortunately smooth and uninterrupted. Even if he took only a single step per minute, he'd make the ferry with plenty of time.

He still takes a single step per minute, despite how ridiculous he looks. Thankfully, nobody spares him a glance.

His shoes crunch the gravel underneath his feet, and sooner rather than later, he's standing in front of the terminal's window.

"A ticket for Wavecrest?" The operator prompts.

He's not sure how the man knew, but maybe the ferry was only slated for Wavecrest trips around this time. Well, if it saves him the trouble of talking and possibly throwing up his lunch once he opens his mouth, then he'll take it. Yeonjun nods and counts out the bills, handing them over with trembling hands.

"Have a safe trip," the man pleasantly announces once Yeonjun's been handed his change.

With a shaky nod, Yeonjun walks away.

[???]

"Look!" The first guy points at Yeonjun’s back in the distance. "He's almost all the way there. I told you today's the day."

The second man scoffs, not even looking up from his papers. "Just wait and see."

EXT. RAINBOW VILLAGE FERRY TERMINAL. DAY.

Yeonjun tries to get there. He really does. But he's read of sea legs in his childhood sailing books, and now he thinks that it's entirely possible to experience them on land. He feels like any moment now, he'll lose his balance, faceplant on the wooden boards, and possibly break his own nose because of how unstable he feels. It's like his knees are hollow and his feet are saddled with sandbags.

Underneath the pier, in the minimal spaces between boards, he catches glimpses of calm waters sloshing around.

He scrunches his eyes shut and fights down the nausea.

Choi Yeonjun, you are stronger than this, he chants in his mind, trying to reason with himself. You’re safe, you’re fine. The trip is just for 30 minutes, and you can just take a short nap on the way there. It'll be over before you know it.

One step. Two more. He fights against the invisible current that's slowing him down.

But the tide starts getting stronger. The waves start crashing heavily against each other, every wave a resounding roar, and the rush in his ears is as loud as a clap of thunder.

PLAYBACK — EXT. RAINBOW VILLAGE HARBOR. DAY.

"Can we go farther, please?" A nine-year-old Yeonjun asked his dad. He made sure to put his best pleading face on, the one that gets him an extra cookie after dinner. "Please, dad?"

There was hesitation written all over his father's face as he carefully maneuvered their boat. "I don't know, son." He points to the slowly-darkening horizon. "Those clouds don't look too promising."

He clutched at his father's arm, shaking him in the way whiny kids do. "But dad! Please, I wanna see more!"

His father shook his head and sighed heavily. "Fine,” he conceded. “But just for a bit more, okay? We gotta get back in time for dinner or your mom will get mad."

Yeonjun threw his hands in the air and cheered. This was the best day ever!

EXT. RAINBOW VILLAGE FERRY TERMINAL. DAY.

Yeonjun turns on his heel and rushes back as fast as he can. He bumps into a few people who are approaching the ferry, but he can't muster the strength for a simple apology.

He'll just tell his boss that he had a family emergency. Yeah, his boss will understand.

[???]

"Don't give me that look," the first worker groans, fishing his wallet out of his uniform pocket.

"What look?" The second man defends. "I'm not giving you any look."

"That I told you so look. I hate it."

"But I did tell you so."

"Shut up," the first man grumbles, forking over ten thousand won.

His colleague says nothing, but the pleased smirk on his face communicates it all.

INT. YEONJUN’S HOUSE. NIGHT.

"How was today, Yeonjunnie?" His mother asks once they're both seated at the dining room table. "Anything interesting happen?"

"Same old," he deflects. He digs into his food–it's a hearty meal of hot kimchi jjigae and pork belly, a favorite of his. He sighs once the spice and the tang hit his tongue and burns a trail down his throat. Perfect, as always.

He groans in appreciation. "Mom, how do you always know to make this when I've had a bad day? It's like you're omniscient. Do you have something you wanna tell me?"

His mother belly-laughs and pats his arm gently. "I'm glad you love it, sweetheart. Eat up, and tell me about this bad day of yours."

In between big bites of rice and thin slices of meat, he relays the Wavecrest branch situation, recounts how his boss made him go to the pier and how it isn't even his job but he was made to do it. She tuts sympathetically at the right times, her face scrunched in pity. He also tells her the truth about how he felt on the way to the ferry, and admits not being able to go through with the trip. With every word, he wilts with shame, but his mother holds his hand through it all.

"I just feel like I'm going nowhere, mom," he says at the end. "Like all these years of therapy were for nothing. Like I haven't recovered at all."

His mother rubs his back soothingly, the way she always does when he's upset. "My Yeonjun, don't say that. You went through such a traumatic thing; it's perfectly okay if you aren't absolutely fine yet. There's no time limit on these things, dear."

Yeonjun stays silent. He takes another bite, and to his dismay, it feels like sandpaper on his tongue.

"Don't pressure yourself, Yeonjun," his mother whispers carefully. "Take it slow, and things will get better in time. Okay?"

With his mouth full and his throat clogged with things he can't say, he mumbles, "Okay."

EXT. AN UNFINISHED BRIDGE. NIGHT.

“Thanks for coming out tonight,” Yeonjun sighs, loosening his tie carelessly and plopping down onto the cement.

His best friend, San, hands over a can from the six-pack he brought, which Yeonjun takes gratefully. He cracks it open, holds it out, and San taps it with his in a silent form of cheers. “It’s nothing you haven’t done for me.”

San takes a long swig of his beer, and Yeonjun does the same. The bitter taste is overridden by how cold the drink is, and he makes a sound of appreciation as he gulps it down.

It’s just the two of them staring out into the dark, endless unknown, with nothing but the strong, crashing waves serving as their background noise. With every swig of beer, Yeonjun starts calming down.

After an extended period of thoughtful silence, San bumps their shoulders gently. “So. What’s troublin’ ya?”

Yeonjun sighs and takes another sip. “I’m just tired, man,” he exhales. “Sorry that I’m taking up your time like this.”

San rolls his eyes playfully and pushes him. “Stop saying sorry! You’re making it awkward, dude!”

Yeonjun looks down and chuckles. “Sorry.”

His best friend pushes him harder, and Yeonjun has to brace himself against it. “There you go again!”

This time, Yeonjun laughs genuinely, shaking his head. “Fine, see if I ever apologize again."

San sniffs haughtily. “There’s never anything to apologize for anyway.”

“Still.”

“Dude, believe me when I say that it’s fine. I’m here for you.”

Warmth pools in Yeonjun’s chest. “Thanks, man.”

“I got you.” A hand lands on his shoulder, clasping it reassuringly. “Now, mind telling me what’s got you so worked up? Your boss giving you a hard time? Or is that jerk in Accounting out for your blood again?”

“Nah, I just…” Yeonjun doesn’t waste time pretending everything’s fine—San knows him too well for that. “I just wanna get out of here, San.”

“I see,” San hums and takes his statement in stride. “Why?”

Yeonjun stares at the waves meters beneath their hanging feet. He can barely see anything in the dark, but the sound of the water crashing against the rocks still fills him with a slight sense of dread.

A small misstep and it’s over before he knows it.

He looks away from the endless depths and turns to his best friend with a slight urgency. “Don’t you wanna be something?” he presses.

San holds his gaze. “Do you think you’re nothing, Jun?” he probes.

Yeonjun pauses. “No.”

“Then what do you mean?”

Frustration simmers within him. He can already feel that this will take the same turn that the conversation with his mother took. Still, he tries to persevere. “I feel like I was born to be bigger, San. Like I was made for something, and I have no idea what that is because I’m stuck here.

He can see the concern in the sharp lines of San’s eyes. “Jun, that promotion’s coming, I can feel it. Just be patient, alright?”

“This isn’t about that!” Yeonjun exclaims, throwing his hands in the air. “I wanna go out there and explore. I wanna discover more, about life, about myself, and be… more, you know?”

“I get you, I do,” His best friend raises his hands in surrender. “I don’t love my job either. Who wants to be stuck stocking vending machines?”

Objectively, Yeonjun knows his desk job is better than San’s, and he feels a prick of guilt at his insensitivity. “Sorry.”

“Stop that,” San says firmly.

Although he knows that San doesn’t take offense over such things, Yeonjun’s guilt still eats at him. It must show on his expression because San sighs and rubs a hand over his face tiredly. “How about a trip to Gyeongju? We can check out some of the history stuff you’re obsessed with.”

“I don’t wanna go around South Korea, San.”

The other frowns at him. “Jun, we already live in the best place in the world—where’s there to go? I’ve never heard of anyone who wanted to leave Rainbow Village."

Again with the best place thing—he’s honestly getting so tired of hearing that. It sounds like propaganda at this point. Yeonjun exhales exasperatedly. “Dude, anywhere. Everywhere. I want to go to Switzerland. Canada. Heck, I wanna see what’s in Australia! Anywhere’s better than here, San.”

San peers at him knowingly. “Are those really the places you wanna go?”

And there it is. Once again, Yeonjun has driven himself into a corner, with nothing else to do but face the truth.

All of a sudden, he feels incredibly transparent, like all his inner thoughts and desires are laid bare and broadcasted in front of the world. San truly knows him best; Yeonjun can’t hide from him even if he tried.

The truth rushes out in one breath, like it was punched from him. “Belgium.”

San gives him a remorseful look, and Yeonjun hates it because he knows what’s coming next.

“Yeonjun,” San speaks softly. Too softly, like he’s talking to a frightened animal. “It’s been years already.”

San’s right. It has been years. But in the grand scheme of things, does that really matter? Are his desires any less valid because they’re driven by things of the past? Aren’t most desires driven by the things people can’t let go of, anyway?

To him, it doesn’t matter whether it’s been five, ten, or even 20 years. He remembers vividly how Beomgyu loved the water–the same waters that terrify Yeonjun–like he remembers his own name. He remembers how lovely Beomgyu looked playing amongst the waves like he just saw him yesterday. If he tries hard enough, he can still envision how bright Beomgyu’s smile was while they built sandcastles together because Yeonjun didn’t want to go into the sea.

It doesn’t feel like it’s been years, because the searing pain in his chest still makes him feel like it was just earlier today that Beomgyu left—no, taken from him.

Yeonjun doesn't say anything, choosing instead to look into the sea that Beomgyu loved so much.

San sighs beside him.

“Tell you what,” he starts. “I know someone from work. Really nice girl, very pretty, and she’s been making comments about how cute you are whenever you visit. Just say the word—I can set something up. What do you think?”

Yeonjun shakes his head. “I’m not—”

“I know you’re not interested,” San interrupts, “but this fixation isn’t healthy, Yeonjun. Please listen to me—just try it out, okay? Who knows, maybe you guys will hit it off.”

Even without going on the date, Yeonjun already knows that they won’t, just like every guy and girl San set him up with in the past. But he knows San just wants him to be happy, so he says, while crossing the fingers on the hand he’s leaning on, “I’ll think about it.”

He’s been lying a lot today, but the relieved look San gives him tells him it was the right thing to say. “Let me know when you make up your mind. I have a good feeling about this one, Jun, I swear.”

Yeonjun takes a sip from his now-lukewarm beer instead of answering.

INT. YEONJUN’S BEDROOM. MORNING.

A bird chirps merrily on a branch outside of a second-story window. Slowly zooming in, we take a look inside YEONJUN’s bedroom, and the camera pans to the alarm clock atop the nightstand. The display states that it is currently 5:56 A.M. We cut to a close-up of Yeonjun’s face from above, zooming in until the tiredness on his face is visible. This early in the morning, the world is still quiet and undisturbed, and Day 9131 begins.

A FOGGED MIRROR. MORNING.

Yeonjun, miraculously, musters the strength to get up and brush his teeth, wash his face. From downstairs, he hears, “Yeonjun! You’re going to be late!”

Sighing, he hollers, "Wait a moment!"

"Your breakfast's gonna go cold!"

It's not. His breakfast is never cold, for some reason.

INT. KITCHEN. MORNING.

“Good morning,” his mother greets, barely looking up from her newspaper as she takes a sip of hot chocolate.

He kisses her cheek.

“How’d you sleep, my son?” She asks, licking the tip of her pointer finger and flipping to another page.

“The usual.”

She peers at him over the top of her newspaper, a questioning look in her eyes. “No nightmares?”

“No nightmares,” he confirms.

A DINING ROOM IN THE UNITED STATES.

A kid eats a breakfast of cereal and milk while he watches Yeonjun eat his side dishes and rice.

“Mom, I want to try his breakfast,” he points out. “He always looks like he enjoys it so much.”

“Mhm,” the mom answers noncommittally, eyes fixed on the television. “Maybe tomorrow, dearest.”

“But mom,” her son whines, “you always say that!”

EXT. THE STREET IN FRONT OF YEONJUN’S HOUSE. DAY.

The air is always pleasant in Yeonjun's neighborhood, and the fresh breeze hits his face and rejuvenates him from the inside out. The sun is shining unobstructed, high in the sky, and he savors the warmth on his skin.

"Good morning, Yeonjun-ssi!” Mr. Park stops humming to greet him, waving enthusiastically with a signature gloved hand and carrying a trash container with the other.

With the same enthusiasm, he greets, "Hi, good morning!"

"Have a great day at work!” Mr. Park salutes, walking away.

Yeonjun salutes back. “Thanks, you too!”

He watches Mr. Park waddle a little due to the weight of the container he's carrying, and he wonders why Mr. Park won't invest in a trolley so that he doesn't have to lug those cumbersome cans around. Surely that's a hazard for his back—he's not as young as he once was.

Maybe Yeonjun can ask his mom if they have something lying around in their basement.

From his peripheral, he sees Bom wave her hands in her usual energetic manner from across the street before he hears her. “Good morning, Uncle Yeonjun!”

“Hi, Bom! Good morning, Mr. and Mrs. Jeon!”

“Hello, Yeonjun,” Mr. Jeon says, tipping his hat in respect. “How's it going?”

Yeonjun opens his car door. “Business as usual!”

Mr. Jeon belly-laughs. “That's a good one, Choi!”

He's not running late today, but because of the light fixture incident yesterday, Yeonjun doesn't wanna take any more risks. One never knows what they'll encounter on the road, so he bids his farewell. “Well, I’ve got to get going, but in case I don’t see you, good afternoon, good evening, and good night!”

INT/EXT. YEONJUN’S CAR — RAINBOW VILLAGE. DAY.

YEONJUN makes his way to his office in the city proper, passing along streets that all look perfectly maintained, with houses similar to his own. He encounters no incidents, no falling lights. Everything proceeds smoothly.

EXT. DOWNTOWN RAINBOW VILLAGE. DAY.

Yeonjun pulls on his car handle to ensure that it's locked when, in the reflection of the window, he sees a homeless man smiling.

And he's looking right at Yeonjun.

Yeonjun whirls around to face the stranger. When their eyes meet, Yeonjun feels tears well up almost instantly, and a lump forms in his throat, rendering him unable to speak.

Through his blurred vision, he scans the homeless man's face. Aside from grayer hair and more wrinkles around his eyes, he looks exactly the same as Yeonjun remembers. His clothes look dirty and worn, but his beard looks kept and his hair grease-free.

Time seems to slow down as the man raises a hand and cradles Yeonjun's cheek. He’s powerless to stop it, and he doesn’t want to, either.

He’s missed this.

The world shrinks into a bubble of just the two of them, and it’s like nothing else exists. All of the people in his peripheral vision fade away. The man smiles at him serenely, and Yeonjun leans into his touch. He takes the man's hand and presses it closer to his cheek. A lone drop makes its way down his face, and through the lump in his throat, he tearfully chokes out, grinning in disbelief, “Dad.”

His dad’s face lights up. Just as he opens his mouth to say something, a lady dressed in business attire and a man in the middle of walking his dog suddenly grab him by either arm, dragging him away from Yeonjun before he can react.

Yeonjun’s safe little bubble of tranquility shatters into pieces, in it wake, the shards bury themselves into his skin.

And just like earlier, this happens in slow motion, too: his father reaches for him, and shock, fear, and desperation are written into the lines of his face.

But Yeonjun is frozen still.

When the scene registers in his head, his father has already been dragged a couple of meters away. He's fighting against the two, struggling against their grips, but he’s old and weak while the two are young and strong. They barely struggle as they take him away.

“Wait,” Yeonjun breathes out, but there is no strength in his voice. He tries again. “Wait! Stop!”

The assailants ignore him, and they continue striding like nothing's out of place.

“Son!” His father screams, and the pure panic springs Yeonjun into action.

He hasn’t heard that voice in years. He can’t go another day without hearing it again.

Yeonjun drops his briefcase with a thud. Under the unforgiving sun, Yeonjun takes off after them.

There's a deafening rush in Yeonjun's ears, and adrenaline pumps through his veins. Sweat runs into his eyes, his heart is trying to beat itself out of his chest, and his lungs heave in exertion, but he ignores all of it. Thankfully, his legs are long, so the distance between him and his dad gets cut down in half in no time. It helps that his dad is still struggling, dragging his feet and making his captors' lives harder.

One step. Two more. Five. Nine.

Yeonjun's shoes are getting scuffed by the concrete, and his legs are complaining against the sudden bursts of movement, but he doesn't care. It took years before he stopped waking up in the middle of the night, entangling himself into his sheets and sobbing for his father, and he'll be damned if he lets this go just like that.

“Woah!” A stranger exclaims as Yeonjun pushes past him in his haste. In the corner of his eye, heads keep turning towards him as he gives chase, but can’t give a single damn.

They can look all they want.

Faster, Yeonjun, run faster!

He runs with everything he has in him, runs until they’re within reach. Yeonjun stretches his hand out, but his fingers brush nothing but air.

"Dad! Hold onto me!"

And once again, it happens in slow motion. His dad breaks one arm free from the man in the sweatsuit. His eyes widen in surprise at his unexpected freedom, and he desperately reaches for Yeonjun's outstretched hand. The tips of their fingers brush, and Yeonjun feels hope well within him.

This is it. He's so close.

But the seed of hope is crushed not even a second later, when out of nowhere, a group of office workers rushes in front of Yeonjun, breaking the minuscule amount of contact between him and his dad.

No. No!

Not when he's this close. He can't let somebody be taken from him again—Yeonjun won't be able to live with himself if he lets it happen again.

With an animalistic kind of aggression, Yeonjun shoves two businessmen out of his path, not caring if he hurts them or not. They make pained noises as they fall to the ground, unbalanced, and Yeonjun internally winces when he hears the thuds of their bodies hitting the ground. In his head, he apologizes, but he can't afford to stop now.

More people get in Yeonjun's way, but he tries to shove them all away from him without hurting anybody too seriously. A sea of black, gray, and white clothes flood his vision, but Yeonjun is undeterred, weaving in between the spaces he can find.

“Dad! That’s my dad!” He shouts, but his cries fall on deaf ears. The office workers continue to swarm him, and his chest tightens in panic as his dad’s helpless face continues to bob in and out of view. They’re slowly escaping Yeonjun’s sight, and all these people aren't helping.

Why are there so many people out and about right before office hours start?

Yeonjun halts for a bit to gather his bearings and catch his breath, forcing himself to slow down and recuperate. His chest heaves, his lungs working double-time to pump oxygen throughout his body.

He catches a couple of people looking at him, but they all avert their gazes as soon as they realize that he's looking right back. Maybe it's because he's been running and shouting like a madman, but he gets the feeling that that's not the case.

That's not his problem right now, though. Right now, he needs to figure out a way to get to his dad.

He observes how the mob seems to move in coordinated lines. When a line finishes its path, another one replaces it. Seamless, like it's choreographed. But with each interval, with each replacement, there's a second that there's nobody blocking his way.

Bingo. That's his chance.

In the next interval, Yeonjun holds his breath and darts into the space. He feels an errant hand grab his coat tightly, dragging him back into the fray, but he snatches it back and runs again at full speed.

His dad is now tens of meters away, but the two assailants have slowed down, probably thinking that they lost Yeonjun already. But when his dad sees him break free from the crowd, his eyes widen and he starts struggling more intensely. The captors appear confused until he shouts, "Help me!"

Crap. They look back and when they see Yeonjun coming after them, they resume their brisker pace.

"Stop it!" Yeonjun yells, closing the distance separating them. "He's my dad! Please!"

Suddenly, a bus screeches to a halt near the curb where the captors and his dad are. Even before the bus has stopped moving completely, the double doors fly open. With one last frantic look back at Yeonjun, the two captors push his dad in and climb up on the bus themselves.

With a burst of energy that he didn't even know he had, Yeonjun speeds up even more and reaches the bus before it leaves. But right as he gets to the doors, they close in his face.

"Let me in!" Yeonjun pleads, slamming the glass doors with his fists. "My dad is in there, let me in!"

He's aware he must look deranged, sweat running down his temples and his chin, his hair blown into a chaotic mess by the wind. He can't even blame the bus driver for not even sparing him a glance. None of the other passengers do, either.

The bus suddenly starts moving, and Yeonjun is forced to take a step back before he's caught in the bus' movements.

No.

Defeated, Yeonjun falls to the curb, eyes wide and staring after the bus.

He stares until it’s out of sight. And once the bus is no longer in view, anger begins to simmer, and quickly turns into a boil.

Somebody's been taken from him again.

Furious, he turns back to the crowd that stopped him from getting to his dad, but to Yeonjun’s puzzlement, he finds no one there.

Aside from a couple of employees rushing to their jobs lest they be late, everything seems to be normal. Not a single trace of the hordes of people that were blocking his path. Gone as quickly as they came.

His anger turns into hesitation. There's no way tens of people cleared out the space just like that, right? Sure, he was distracted, but it isn't possible for such a crowd to dissipate in the few minutes Yeonjun was chasing after his dad.

Slowly, he approaches a frazzled lady rushing to work with sweat on her brow. "Hey, did you see where the crowd went?" he inquires as politely as he can.

"Huh, what?" She startles at his attention, eyes wide. She appears nervous, for some reason. Maybe he looks insane and she fears for his safety. Maybe she has a horrible boss and Yeonjun's not helping her cause by forcing her to be even later, but he really has to know.

"All the people who were just here. In business suits. Some of them were pedestrians, too. Did you see them?"

She looks around anxiously, eyes darting everywhere but never focusing on Yeonjun. "Sorry, but I don't know what you're talking about. I didn't see those people," she squeaks, like she’s afraid of his reaction.

What?

That's impossible. Even if she just got here, there's no way she didn't catch even a single glimpse of the huge crowd that Yeonjun was in the middle of.

"Okay, thank you," he says distractedly.

The woman squeaks again and practically runs away, her heels clacking on the concrete.

Maybe the woman was distracted and didn’t see the crowd. Yeah, that’s probably it.

Yeonjun looks around for more possible witnesses, and spots a few people chilling at the veranda of a nearby restaurant. He walks and advances toward someone sipping their coffee.

He tries his luck again. "Hello. Did you see where all the people went? The crowd? Probably 50 people or so?"

The man doesn't look up from the newspaper he's holding. "Don't know what you're talking about, son."

What in the world is happening? How come two people didn’t see the entire commotion he caused? Maybe he should talk to another person, just to be entirely sure.

However, a niggling feeling at the back of his head tells him he’ll get the same answer, though. He can ask every single person in this square, and he’ll only get responses with varying degrees of confusion and annoyance.

With dejection making him feel like the weight of the world is dragging him down, Yeonjun starts walking back to his car.

He doesn't bid the man farewell.

Did he just… imagine all of that?

Even if he entertains that possibility, it just doesn't seem right. The creases on his suit and the sweat making his shirt stick to his back confirm to him that it was all real, and that the chase did happen. But why can't anyone else seem to remember?

He gets to his parking spot and picks up the briefcase he dropped earlier. Thankfully, the nonexistent crime rate in Rainbow Village meant that his belongings were safe, even though he left them for more than ten minutes. He dusts it off and looks at his reflection in his window.

The sight makes him wince—his hair is an unsalvageable bird's nest, his face is damp and ruddy from exertion, and the wrinkles in his suit are beyond saving. Sighing exasperatedly, he roughly runs a hand down his face.

Why is everything so confusing these days? He just wants to go home and lie on his bed until everything makes sense again. But he can't; his quotas aren't going to meet themselves, and he's really gunning for that promotion, but it’s like his boss takes a demented kind of satisfaction from holding it back. And now an unwanted image of his boss's stern face pops into his mind, and he groans.

Well, whatever. Complaining about it won’t change anything—that much Yeonjun is sure of. So he straightens himself out as best as he can using his car's window. He takes his handkerchief out and wipes all traces of his sweat away. He readjusts his coat and tie until he doesn't look like he went on a wild goose chase, running after shadows of the past. He can't do anything about the redness on his cheeks, but maybe it'll calm down on the walk from here to his cubicle.

He checks the time. 9:10 AM. He's late—again.

With a defeated sigh and hunched shoulders, he starts walking to his building. But before he can go more than a couple of meters, he sees something that makes him stand up straighter.

The man from earlier, the other assailant... he was walking his dog, wasn't he?

A poodle, with fur as white as snow and as soft as a cloud, is sniffing the ground, and its leash drags behind it.

INT. YEONJUN’S BASEMENT. NIGHT.

Instead of going straight to his room after another uneventful dinner with his mother, Yeonjun decides to head to their oft-unvisited basement.

Because of how rarely he goes here, Yeonjun has to swat a few cobwebs away as he descends down the creaky stairs. The light flickers when he switches it on, and for a second, he thinks it's gonna give out, but it pulls through in the end. The small bulb floods the cramped room with an oddly warm glow, making the space look liminal.

Everything in this tiny room is covered with a fine layer of dust, and Yeonjun makes a mental note to go on a deep cleaning session soon, or his mother might start freaking out when she sees this pitiful state of neglect for herself.

There’s a good–well, not good, but valid–reason why it’s in disarray, though.

Yeonjun only ever goes to their basement for a few reasons. The first and foremost one is if his mother needs some kind of tool or appliance for the chores they do. Since her hair started turning grayer at the edges, Yeonjun put his foot down and refused to let her do any kind of heavy lifting, especially when she got that diagnosis. His mom tried to complain at first, insisting that she wasn't helpless, but he could tell she appreciated the lifted burden.

Besides, it's the least he can do for everything that she’s done for him, especially since she took on the role of two parents. Yeonjun can’t thank her enough even if he tried.

The second instance he goes down here is when Halloween or Christmas comes around. His mother loves getting into the holiday spirit, loves to decorate both the exterior and interior of their house. Apparently, when she was younger, it was her family’s tradition to spend a day just putting up little ornaments around their home, and Yeonjun likes that it’s been passed on to him. If he ever gets children someday, he’d wanna put up little tidbits in nooks and crannies that make their house just a tad brighter, too.

The third and final reason Yeonjun goes down here is when he misses Beomgyu so much it keeps him awake. When he lays motionless in bed, staring at his bare ceiling unseeingly, bogged down by a flood of memories he can’t seem to let go.

After today, he thinks he can be forgiven for being stuck in the past. Just for today.

When there's a crippling ache in Yeonjun's chest–spreading outward and rendering him useless–because of how much he yearns, he goes down here against his common sense. Against everybody’s advice to let go and move on, he kneels beside the wooden chest filled with different knickknacks from his childhood: exploration books, toys, and his once-favorite clothes. His yearbooks from grade school, high school, and university.

But Yeonjun's most prized possession doesn't belong to him. It belonged to him.

When Beomgyu got taken away, Yeonjun was desperate for anything related to him. But even with the months that they spent together, Yeonjun had absolutely nothing to remember Beomgyu by. No photos, no gifts. There were no silly notes that weren’t immediately thrown away, and definitely no letters.

Yeonjun got nothing. It was always him giving Beomgyu little souvenirs, but Beomgyu never gave him anything back.

Still, he doesn’t begrudge Beomgyu any of that. All that Yeonjun needed was his love, but when he realized that every single trace of Beomgyu was gone, he couldn't help but mourn the lack of material things. Beomgyu wasn’t even included in their yearbook.

All Yeonjun has left of him are memories. And a cream cardigan he left behind that fateful day at the beach.

Sometimes, when he's delirious with insomnia and longing, teary from exhaustion and desolation, he closes his eyes, presses the woolly material to his face, and tries to remember the feeling of Beomgyu's hair tickling his nose.

If he tries hard enough, he can delude himself into thinking he remembers Beomgyu's scent, when truthfully, all he can recall is the smell of the saltwater breeze.

He does the same now and tries not to cry.

He’s shed enough tears already, back when he used to visit their basement so much more five or four years ago, but the number has dwindled throughout the years.

It's been a while since he's allowed himself to remember. His therapist, his mother, even his friends—they all discouraged him from doing so, warning him that all he's accomplishing is picking the scab off a recovering wound and letting it fester. He heeded their words; he stopped opening up the chest and getting reminded of all he's lost.

It worked for a while, but now that he's here again, he doesn't know why he ever stopped.

As Yeonjun holds the cardigan close, he feels today's rollercoaster of emotions melt into the background. The waves of anxiety that have been drowning him during dinner, when he was avoiding talking about what happened today, stop churning inside him. But Beomgyu–brave, headstrong Beomgyu–would have encouraged Yeonjun to talk about what happened instead of running away from it.

When he hears the basement stairs creak with his mother's steps, he resolves not to run anymore.

"Sweetheart, what on earth are you doing down here?" his mother asks incredulously.

Carefully, Yeonjun folds the cardigan back into the chest but keeps a lone hand on top of it. He imagines it's Beomgyu's hand, and he grips the material the same way Beomgyu would have squeezed his.

"I need to tell you something, mom."

"You couldn't have said it over dinner?” his mother raises a questioning brow. “And get up from the floor, you're getting dust all over your pants, dearest."

Dust is the least of his concerns, if he's going to be perfectly honest.

"Do you wanna talk about it in the living room?" Yeonjun offers instead. "I think it's best if you sit down for this."

"Just tell me now." A flippant hand waves his concern away. "What's bothering you?"

Yeonjun takes a deep breath and clutches the cardigan tighter. "I saw dad.”

“You saw who?”

“Dad,” he repeats. “Today, before work. I know it sounds crazy, but I swear I did."

His mother frowns for a split-second, but her expression changes into a sympathetic smile so fast Yeonjun thinks he just imagined the switch. "Oh, my darling Yeonjunnie. I believe you; I see his face everywhere, too, and I miss him just as much as you do."

"No, I mean that I saw him literally, mom," Yeonjun shakes his head. "It was definitely dad, and he looked worse for wear. Like he was homeless. Then he was taken away by two strangers I thought were just regular people, and I had to chase after them, but they took him to a bus that closed before I got to it."

His mother laughs derisively and rolls her eyes. "Good! We can't have homeless people roaming around the business district, Yeonjun! What will the people say?"

Yeonjun groans in frustration, rubbing at his temple with two fingers and trying to temper the burgeoning headache. "I'm telling you, mother, it was dad! They never found his body, so it's not impossible that—"

"Your father is gone, Yeonjun.” She snaps impatiently, almost angrily, and Yeonjun flinches. “You did not see him today because he's dead."

He swears he can hear a pin drop in the silence that follows after his mother's sharp words.

When she registers whatever face he’s making, she softens immediately, and her voice loses its cutting edge. Like she flipped a switch, her normal, loving voice returns. "Ah, I’ve hurt my Yeonjunnie, haven’t I?” she coos.

She goes down the few final steps and comes closer to him, crouching beside him. She tucks his hair behind his ear. "I'm sorry for being so harsh, sweetheart. Mother was just overwhelmed—you know this is painful to talk about for me, too."

Yeonjun fights back the tears the way he should have fought for most of the things in his life. "I’m sorry," he mumbles, refusing to look her in the eye.

“No, sweetheart, you don’t have to apologize,” she murmurs. “I know that it's been extremely hard for you. Maybe in the back of your head, you still blame yourself, that's why you're hallucinating your father. But you should know that I have never thought that what happened was your fault, Yeonjun."

“I know that,” he whispers.

She smiles in a way Yeonjun can't decipher. "Do you?" Then, using the grip she has on his shoulder, she pushes herself upright and looks down at him. "Get some sleep, sweetheart. I'm sure you're tired, and there's nothing a good night's rest won't fix."

He stays silent as she ambles up the stairs. On the last step, she turns back and says, "And what did I say about opening up that chest again? You know it isn't good for you."

Then she steps into the light of their house, and Yeonjun is alone again.

A DINER IN SEOUL.

"They were so cruel for doing that to him," the waitress sighs wistfully, absentmindedly wiping down one of the tables. "I was rooting for them so bad! They looked so cute together. Literally everybody I knew loved their romance."

The cooking lady heaves a sigh as well, but she sounds more resigned. "Beomgyu was getting too close to telling the truth, Minjeong-ah."

"And?" Minjeong whines, spraying the disinfectant quite forcefully. "They were so in love! How could they break Yeonjun's heart like that? Everybody loved Beomgyu! It was the perfect starcrossed lovers story!"

Hyejin knows that nothing she says will make Minjeong understand. Such is the naïveté of youth, she supposes. There were so many factors at play, so many stakes, that even though Beomgyu was perfect for Yeonjun, and Yeonjun had never looked happier than when they were together, it just couldn't be. Hyejin knows that, but Minjeong has the privilege of staying ignorant.

She'd prefer it that way—the youth can stay young.

Taking her silence negatively, Minjeong grows defensive. "Well, fine. I guess I get it a little bit. But couldn't they have let some traces of Beomgyu be left behind? There was nothing! Nobody ever even acknowledges his existence! If I were Yeonjun, I'd be in the psych ward by now. I don't think I can handle having to second-guess an entire person's existence at any given point, eonnie. Imagine if everybody I knew suddenly refused to talk about Jimin-eonnie to me—I'd go insane! That's just cruel."

"It is," Hyejin agrees. "But at least he has the cardigan. That's how he's sure that Beomgyu's real. They could never take belief from him."

"At least he has the cardigan," Minjeong slumps down in one of the fake-leather booths, the material squeaking under her uniform. "Oh, well. When the show ends, I hope they get to meet again. I have faith! It'll be like no time has passed. I seriously think they're made for each other, eonnie."

Under her breath, Hyejin mutters, "I hope so, too."

PLAYBACK MONTAGE — EXT. UNIVERSITY CAMPUS — STEPS. DAY.

It was DAY 7313, and YEONJUN (20) was participating in the university pep rally. SAN, WOOYOUNG, and some cheerleaders were nearby. YEONJUN, fascinated by the crowd’s energy, was scanning his surroundings.

It was Spirit Week at Rainbow Village’s local university, and everyone was riding the celebratory atmosphere. Left and right, people were in blue and gold, hollering cheers and greetings to their respective friends. Yeonjun, in the spirit of the occasion, wore a navy blue button-down—he was always eager to bask in the feeling of belonging, of being part of something grander than himself.

Beside him, San was in the middle of an elaborate handshake with their other friend, Wooyoung, who had with him two girls wearing their university’s cheer uniform. In his reverie, scanning the crowd for familiar faces and noting the new, he barely heard Wooyoung calling out his name.

Fingers snapped inches from his face. “Earth to Yeonjun? Hello?”

Yeonjun was startled, almost falling into the fountain behind him if not for San gripping his sleeve tightly. “Dude!” his friend pulled him upright and dusted him off. “What’s got your head in the clouds?”

Yeonjun chuckled, neck and ears heating up in embarrassment at being caught slipping in front of two pretty girls, who were hiding their giggles behind their pompoms. “Sorry,” he apologized sheepishly. He rubbed his nape and willed his blush to calm down. “Was just looking around.”

San leaned into his space. “Look no further,” he whispered conspiratorially into Yeonjun’s ear while the cheerleaders were distracted by a girlfriend of theirs who passed by. “The girl on the left told Wooyoung you looked cute and wanted to be introduced.”

He looked at San suspiciously. “For real?”

His friend nodded seriously. “For real.”

He could feel his blush worsen exponentially, the heat spreading up his neck to the tops of his cheeks. He took a peek at the girl San was referring to, and she was gorgeous—her long, dark hair was pulled up into a sleek ponytail, and there were wisps that framed her face perfectly. Her nose was as cute as a button, and her lips were pink and full, like she just bit into a lush strawberry.

Her cheeks glowed with a flush when she caught Yeonjun looking, and she ducked her head with a shy smile. San nudged his side–quite roughly, if Yeonjun might add–when he saw the interaction.

“It’s your time, man,” he whispered again.

The girl tucked her hair behind her ears and slowly held a hand out. “Hi, Yeonjun-ssi. I’m—”

Whatever her name was, Yeonjun never heard it, because a lone French horn blared, signaling the start of the marching band’s performance and surprising everyone within hearing distance.

His attention was easily caught by the sudden cacophony of instruments playing their university hymn and the outpour of loud, enthusiastic cheers from the student body. Beside him, Wooyoung and San were hollering at the top of their lungs, and Yeonjun wasted no time joining in, excitement running through his veins.

He was clapping along to the beat the drums were setting when, in a fateful circumstance, the crowd shifted—and Yeonjun saw him. Straight out of a movie he’d seen before, he looked exactly like the love interest in a romantic comedy who made the main character fall in love at first sight.

The first time Choi Yeonjun laid eyes on Choi Beomgyu, the first thing he thought of was: I need to know him.

And he was looking right at Yeonjun, too.

Looking back, Yeonjun wants to chastise himself for basically ignoring the girl Wooyoung was introducing to him, but truthfully, he couldn’t care less. He was too fixated on the beautiful boy sitting underneath the tree, and the beautiful boy’s eyes widened in shock when he registered Yeonjun’s gaze. He looked adorable, his head whipping left and right to confirm if Yeonjun was actually staring at someone else.

As if it was unthinkable that he would be worthy of anyone’s attention. But to Yeonjun, he deserved everyone in this quad looking at him, and only him. Yeonjun wouldn’t blame them if they did—the boy had a face worth dreaming of, a face worth televising on every screen in Rainbow Village.

As it stood, the selfish part of him was grateful that nobody else was, if the disbelief displayed on the boy’s face was to be believed.

Yeonjun couldn’t break their eye contact. Something about him was so magnetic that Yeonjun just couldn’t look away, even though Wooyoung and San were trying to catch his attention, even though the marching band was doing everything in its power to shake the ground with its noise, and even though, out of nowhere, frat boys were suddenly running around and tearing their shirts off to reveal torsos painted in their university colors, hyping up everybody in their path.

Despite these obstructions, Yeonjun just couldn’t bear to look away from the tiny smile making its way onto the boy’s face, lighting him up even more than he already was. He craned his neck to get the boy back in his sights, because already, Yeonjun was consumed by the way he bit his bottom lip, flustered by Yeonjun’s unwavering attentiveness.

He was making a move to get up and approach the boy. He can’t take the distance between them any longer–he had to get closer and know his name. But suddenly, a weight dropped onto his lap, and instinctively, Yeonjun grabbed it–or her. His hands were gripping the waist of the girl talking to him earlier.

In the commotion, the cheerleader got pushed and lost her balance, which ended up with her seated firmly on Yeonjun’s lap, with Yeonjun’s hands gripping her waist and her fingers curled around his nape to avoid falling face-first onto the ground.

“I am so sorry,” she squeaked, her eyes wide with mortification. “I think someone bumped into me and I fell—”

He took his hands off of her like he was burned. “It’s alright,” Yeonjun hurriedly reassured. He gave the girl a quick, customary once-over to see if she was unhurt. Aside from her reddening face, there didn’t seem to be any visible wounds or sprains, which means that the only injury she was suffering from was embarrassment.

Her face was turning into a worrying cherry red. Yeonjun wanted to spend more time telling her that it was fine, an accident was an accident, but the more time he spent comforting this girl was more time he spent not looking at the beautiful boy.

As the girl still apologized profusely, Yeonjun was already scanning the surroundings for him. He inspected every face he saw, every head of hair, but the crowd was too overwhelming. Too much. Yeonjun couldn’t see him anymore.

Frantic, he pushed the girl with just enough strength to get her off of his lap. With an urgency he’d never possessed before, he climbed up the fountain ledge, hoping against hope that the extra height would provide a better view.

San was flabbergasted. “What are you doing up there, Jun?”

Yeonjun ignored him in favor of scouring the crowd for his face, squinting against the harsh sunlight. Please, please.

His friends were reaching for his hand, slightly pulling him so he’d get down already, but Yeonjun swatted them away. He just needed to scan one more–one more face. One more body. He was still around, searching for Yeonjun the way he was searching for him.

But deep down, Yeonjun knew that in the blink of an eye, in the few seconds that he wasn’t looking, the beautiful boy had already gone.

PLAYBACK — INT. THE UNIVERSITY LIBRARY. EVENING.

Day 7365 is coming to an end. Through the library windows, we see that the sun is setting in the background. We cut to YEONJUN seated at one of the library desks, and in front of him is a thick book for one of his classes. However, YEONJUN’s attention seems to be taken by something else.

Yeonjun couldn’t believe his luck. It took everything in him not to gasp out loud when he took a break from studying, and his tired eyes landed on somebody he never thought he’d see again.

It was like a lifetime’s worth of good fortune pooled together to make this happen—to allow Yeonjun to see him again.

This time, Yeonjun refused to let him go.

He shut his textbook and packed his things with a determination and a sense of urgency he didn’t think he’d ever experienced before. He really needed to digest his lesson, what with his strict professor who administers graded quizzes every class, but he couldn’t afford to waste more time. What if, in another blink, the beautiful boy disappeared again? What if this was fate’s way of favoring him, showing him it was on his side?

He couldn’t risk it. He wouldn’t risk it, especially not after he spent two months fervently wishing he’d catch a glimpse of him again. Just a single glimpse, that was all Yeonjun asked for.

Yet here he was, still as beautiful as the day Yeonjun first saw him. He looked a bit more tired, with bags more visible under his eyes, yet he was every bit as gorgeous as Yeonjun remembered.

Yeonjun’s heart thumped in his chest with every step that brought him closer.

One step. What if he found Yeonjun ugly? His mother always told him he was the most handsome in the world, and that millions would love to know him, but mothers were never the most trustworthy when it came to their sons.

Three steps. What if, upon closer look, the boy deemed him unworthy of any more time? Yeonjun’s heart dropped to his stomach.

Five steps. What if he didn’t wanna be disturbed? Maybe he had an important exam coming up, and Yeonjun being a nuisance wasn’t something he wanted to deal with.

Seven steps. Oh, no. What if he had a boyfriend? Two months was a lot of time to meet somebody, especially for people like him. Yeonjun wouldn’t be able to take the embarrassment.

Nine steps. What if Yeonjun just imagined the connection they had? They had a few minutes at best before the chaos occurred and he disappeared from Yeonjun’s sight. Maybe it was all a figment of Yeonjun’s active imagination—a heat-induced delusion. What if it wasn’t real?

Ten steps. But what if it was?

Yeonjun stood in front of him, but he had earbuds on, and under his breath, he was humming along. Yeonjun had never heard his voice, but he was sure it was the loveliest sound in the world.

He could feel his heartbeat in his throat as he tapped the boy on his shoulder. Startled, the boy removed his earbuds and looked up. When he registered Yeonjun, his eyes widen in recognition.

“H-hi,” Yeonjun stuttered, breath hitching in his chest. Immediately, he felt heat creep up his neck, and he cleared his throat in embarrassment. “Hi.”

He hadn’t said anything yet, but the slow, sweet smile blooming so prettily on his face told Yeonjun that all his fears were unfounded.

“Hello,” the boy murmured, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. Yeonjun desperately wanted to be the one to do it for him. But in a split-second, the pleased expression on his face turned into a panicked one. He looked around like he was searching for something before laughing nervously and fixing his gaze on Yeonjun. “Um, is there anything I can help you with?”

With his full attention on him, Yeonjun, like a buffoon, forgot every single word in his vocabulary. Oh no. He didn't actually think this far ahead; all his brain power went to gathering the courage to walk up to this pretty boy.

Oh, that's it. Yeonjun didn't know his name yet. "What's your name?"

Internally, Yeonjun winced. Was that really the best he could come up with? What's your name? He didn't even say it in a cool, collected way! He seemed like a demanding loser who felt entitled to something not owed to him.

But instead of being freaked out about Yeonjun's odd tone, the pretty boy smiled, and Yeonjun's breath was knocked out of him. "You can call me Beomgyu," he said, looking up at Yeonjun through his long, dark eyelashes, which frame his round eyes perfectly. His gaze felt like a shot through Yeonjun's chest.

Every single feature on Beomgyu's face fit him perfectly. From his strong brows to his full lips, they all worked together to make up the most stunning face Yeonjun had ever seen. He didn't think he could ever forget someone like him.

Yeonjun took a deep breath. He could do this. "My name is Choi Yeonjun," he introduced.

Beomgyu giggled, and his face lit up. "Don't worry, I know who you are," he whispered, and in the face of that smile, Yeonjun's knees were weak. He holds on to the desk Beomgyu was occupying to steady himself.

And he knew who Yeonjun was? How? He wasn't that well-known on campus, in his opinion. Sure, people here and there asked him out, but not enough to warrant his name being known by a complete stranger. What had he heard? Were they good things? What did he think of Yeonjun? Did Beomgyu even think of Yeonjun as much as he'd been thinking of him?

Before he could ask any of those embarrassing questions and make an even bigger fool of himself, his attention was thankfully caught by Beomgyu playing with the pen he'd been using in between his fingers. The quick movements were fascinating; Beomgyu's fingers were slender, his nails well-kept. He moved the pen in between the spaces in fluid, well-practiced motions, and Yeonjun was transfixed. Underneath his hand, Yeonjun caught a glimpse of what Beomgyu had been spending his study time on.

He gestured to Beomgyu's notes. "You write music?"

"Oh," Beomgyu exclaimed in surprise, and his hand halts in its movement. He dropped his pen and made a move to cover his notebook, but caught himself last second, choosing to smooth out the pages instead. "Um, yeah, I do. Sometimes. I get bored."

"That's so cool," Yeonjun said, and it was true. He liked music, but only enough to listen to it, and dance in the privacy of his own room. "Do you take that up here?"

At that, Beomgyu looked up at him again. There was a hint of confusion on his face, his brows scrunched in an adorable frown, but Yeonjun must have imagined it because a second later, Beomgyu was nodding along, a pleasant smile on his lips.

"Yeah, um, I'm in my second year already. You're on your third, right?"

Oh, so that explained why Yeonjun had never seen him before. There was no way Yeonjun would forget him if he already met him–he was absolutely sure.

"I am. You can call me hyung, if you wanted," Yeonjun offered.

Beomgyu's eyes widened, and his lips formed into a cute 'o'. Then, he looked down shyly, and Yeonjun could see that his ears turned the tiniest bit of red.

"Okay, hyung," Beomgyu responded bashfully, a blush on the apples of his cheeks.

Yeonjun bit his lip. Beomgyu was so cute that he wanted to take him into his arms and squeeze him so tightly, and he'd keep him so close that nothing would be able to take him away. But he couldn't do that to a virtual stranger, so he channeled it all to the grip he had on Beomgyu's desk instead.

He cleared his throat. Enough dilly-dallying. "I know we only just met, but would you wanna go–"

Beomgyu suddenly covered Yeonjun's hand with his own, with an urgency he didn't have before.

"Um, wh—"

With a strong pull, Beomgyu dragged Yeonjun into his study cubicle. Before Yeonjun could say a word, Beomgyu was placing a finger to his lips in a shushing motion, and Yeonjun shut his mouth in a heartbeat.

With their hands still clasped, Beomgyu picked up his pen and flipped to the next page in his notebook to scribble something down hastily.

Don't speak. Someone's watching.

A shiver ran through Yeonjun. Huh? Like the librarian? She was pretty strict when it came to students talking in the library’s quiet zone. Did Beomgyu mean the other students? Was Beomgyu embarrassed to be seen with him? "What do–"

Beomgyu tightened his hold on Yeonjun's hand and encircled the words Don't speak multiple times, and Yeonjun got the message loud and clear. When Yeonjun mimed zipping his mouth shut, Beomgyu nodded and wrote something again.

If we want to talk, we need to get out of here.

Yeonjun took the pen from Beomgyu. Where should we go?

I know a place. Do you trust me?

Beomgyu looked into his eyes, his brows raised as Yeonjun pondered the question. Did he? This was the first time they ever talked, and it hadn’t even been five minutes since Yeonjun walked over. But Beoomgyu’s palm was warm in his, and the way he was looking at Yeonjun felt like Beomgyu knew him despite their circumstances.

In an uncharacteristic burst of courage, Yeonjun wrote down: Lead the way.

PLAYBACK — EXT. RAINBOW VILLAGE BEACH. NIGHT.

Our only viewpoint of BEOMGYU (19) and YEONJUN is from afar, provided by a camera hidden in a rocky formation. On the bottom half of the screen is a seemingly endless stretch of sand, and the upper half is the inky black expanse of sky, dotted with stars here and there. BEOMGYU and YEONJUN are walking away, shoulders bumping together, slowly approaching the waves.

When Beomgyu wrote that he knew a place, Yeonjun expected something like the roof of some building or a secluded area somewhere on the university grounds. Maybe even his dorm room, if he really wanted some privacy. Never in Yeonjun's wildest dreams did he expect Beomgyu to ask Yeonjun to drive them to the beach. Even weirder still, Beomgyu refused to talk on the way there, choosing instead to keep holding the hand Yeonjun didn't have on the steering wheel.

Despite how weird it was, though, Yeonjun felt peace like never before. In Beomgyu's presence, the silence was comfortable rather than unnerving. With the windows down and the wind whipping through his hair, the only sound in the night his car engines, and Beomgyu's fingers playing with his own, Yeonjun felt giddiness mixed with a certain kind of calmness that he'd never experienced before.

It was good. Yeonjun could get used to it. Beomgyu emitted a kind of warmth Yeonjun only remembered feeling during winters while seated next to the fireplace, with a steaming mug of hot chocolate in his hands. Beomgyu could make him feel like that with just a single hand in his.

The second Yeonjun found a suitable place to park in and turned his engine off, Beomgyu hopped off the car and breathed a visible sigh of relief. He looked so relaxed compared to the tension he was holding throughout the ride that Yeonjun also felt eased, like Beomgyu's happiness traveled off of him in waves and seeped into Yeonjun.

Yeonjun spent a bit just looking at Beomgyu enjoying the sea breeze, his face serene and his posture relaxed. The wind blew Beomgyu's hair clear from his face, and he paints a picture so divine that Yeonjun's breath hitched in his chest. He could look at him forever.

Beomgyu broke his trance by tapping on the window, tilting his head as if to say You coming?

He couldn't get his seatbelt off fast enough, and he rushed out, almost tripping over his own feet and faceplanting onto the sand. Beomgyu giggled as Yeonjun righted himself, and although embarrassed, he couldn't help but laugh along.

An outstretched hand appeared in front of him, the palm open in invitation. Yeonjun's eyes traveled from the fingers to his forearm, to his shoulder, then to his face. When he got there, Beomgyu was looking at him expectantly.

Yeonjun glanced uneasily between Beomgyu's hand and the darkness beyond this lit area of the beach. Now that he was no longer in the comfortable cocoon Beomgyu cultivated in his car, Yeonjun was reminded why he rarely went here. The relaxing sound of the waves turned into harsh crashing in his ear. The seemingly limitless expanse of sea, instead of being comforting, was now foreboding.

Sensing his hesitation, Beomgyu took his hand in his and intertwined their fingers. Slowly, he took Yeonjun's hand and placed it near his cheek.

"Trust me?" Beomgyu whispered.

Yeonjun stuttered, but he wasn't sure if it was because of his fear or the warmth of Beomgyu's cheek. "I—"

Beomgyu seemed to catch onto his unease because he nuzzled further into Yeonjun's hand. "You've got nothing to be afraid of, hyung. I'll keep you safe, I promise."

Keep him safe? From what? Maybe Beomgyu thought he was afraid of the dark, of creatures unseen to the naked eye. And although they were around the same height, Beomgyu seemed slighter than him, so it wasn't like he could fight off anything that Yeonjun couldn't.

Yeonjun wanted to tell him that the sea was merciless, that it takes and it takes with no regard for what was left behind. But the confidence with which Beomgyu said it, the way he kept their eyes locked together, told Yeonjun that Beomgyu was telling the truth. That he wholeheartedly believed that he could protect Yeonjun from whatever he was scared of.

Helpless–to Beomgyu's eyes, to Beomgyu's words, to Beomgyu's warmth–Yeonjun nodded. "Okay. Lead the way."

Beomgyu had no shortage of blinding smiles. Carefully, he led Yeonjun closer to the sea, and the glow from the streetlights became fainter and fainter with every step.

Once they were a certain distance from his car, Beomgyu took an unceremonious seat on the sand. Yeonjun followed suit, their hands still clasped together, and Beomgyu finally spoke up. "Sorry that I took you so far from uni. I had to, or else we wouldn't be able to talk as freely as we could here."

"What do you mean?"

Beomgyu frowned and chewed on his lip. The scrunch between his brows told Yeonjun that Beomgyu was thinking hard over what he would say. After a few seconds of contemplation, Beomgyu carefully settled with, "There are eyes and ears everywhere, hyung."

"Like, our classmates? Professors? I don't think they care who's with whom, Beomgyu-yah."

Despite the serious atmosphere of their conversation, Yeonjun caught Beomgyu's lips quirk into a tiny smile at the way Yeonjun dropped informalities. He felt himself blush a little bit; he didn't even mean to say it so casually, but if Beomgyu was going to smile like this every time he did so, then he'd find sweeter names for him.

"They care more than you think they do," Beomgyu said solemnly. But he sighed and forced his own shoulders to relax, and Yeonjun couldn't help but do the same. Beomgyu gave him another sweet smile, then said, "But enough about them. Right now, I don't really care about anyone else but you."

Yeonjun could feel the blood rush to his cheeks when Beomgyu's words registered. Despite the darkness, it must have been intense enough for even Beomgyu to see, because he giggled again when Yeonjun choked on his own spit. He gave Yeonjun's back a couple of taps while he cooed, "There, there. Was that too forward? I'll slow down for you, hyung."

"Don't tease," Yeonjun whined, pressing his palms to his cheeks. They were so warm underneath his touch. So embarrassing. Why was he reacting like a child with a crush?

"I'm not teasing!" Beomgyu defended, but good-natured amusement laced his tone. "You're just too cute."

He took Yeonjun’s hands from his cheeks and held them in his. If possible, Yeonjun’s cheeks reddened even more. He could burst from the feeling.

“Tell me more about you, hyung.”

Yeonjun hesitated. “I don’t think I’m that interesting…”

“Nuh-uh! Why would you say that?” Beomgyu shook his head vehemently. “I think you’re the most interesting person in Rainbow Village–no, in the world. I’d love to know anything you’re willing to tell me.”

And weirdly enough, he wanted to tell Beomgyu anything he was curious about. From his greatest dreams to his greatest fears, Beomgyu only needed to ask, and the words would spill out from Yeonjun like river water. As he tried to tamp down his blush, Yeonjun prompted, “Well, what do you wanna know?”

Beomgyu’s eyes shone with something Yeonjun couldn’t name yet, but he wished to. He hoped and he prayed that with enough time, he might be able to. “Everything.”

And so Yeonjun did.

A BAR IN LONDON.

“Maybe it’s just the romantic in me, but this is still my favorite episode,” the bartender swoons, sighing wistfully at the screen at the corner of the bar. It usually only gets used for sports games, but she requested to see this specific re-run. Thankfully, the manager agreed. “Beomgyu was willing to risk everything for Yeonjun. Can you imagine?”

One of the bar’s most loyal patrons merely grunts. “I guess.”

The bartender rolls her eyes. “Why am I even talking to you about this—you’ll never get it in a million years! Men are such brutes!”

PLAYBACK — EXT. THE UNIVERSITY CAMPUS — BENCHES. DAY.

It's the afternoon of Day 7450, and YEONJUN and BEOMGYU could be seen sitting together on one of the benches in front of YEONJUN'S college. They were sitting side-by-side, and their arms touched with how little space there was between the two. The sun was shining, but the two are protected by the shade of a cherry blossom tree.

Even though Yeonjun could never say that he quite enjoyed studying, there was something to be said about studying besides the beautiful boy that occupied his thoughts 24/7. Something to be said about taking breaks in between chapters just to stare at Beomgyu's face while he blushed from the attention and swatted Yeonjun away, whining at him to "Pay attention, hyung! Your book's not gonna study itself, you know?"

Yeonjun grinned cheekily, taking Beomgyu's errant hand and intertwining it with his, dropping their joined hands on Beomgyu's thigh. With his free hand, he flicked Beomgyu's button nose and it scrunched adorably. "I am paying attention. To you. I think that's more important than whatever this book's telling me."

"Stop it! "Beomgyu covered his burning cheek with his other hand. Yeonjun mourned the way it got hidden from his view. Beomgyu hated tomatoes so much, but he looked so similar to one sometimes. "If you fail that exam, I'm gonna get all up in your face and tell you I told you so."

"You know I'd love you getting all up in my face, bear."

Beomgyu huffed, rolling his eyes skyward, but the red on his cheeks wasn't fading at all. "I'm done with you, Choi Yeonjun!" He pried his fingers out of Yeonjun's grip and gathered his notebooks and pens. "Until you finish all your chapters today, I will be seating in front of you."

"Why are you punishing me," Yeonjun moaned dramatically, already grieving the loss of Beomgyu's warmth beside him. He pinched the pages he'd gotten through and held the book up in front of Beomgyu, who was settling down across him. "I've been studying, look! I got through so many pages already, Beoms!"

His boyfriend–Yeonjun still got giddy at the fact that he could call Beomgyu that–crossed his arms and raised a brow at him. Oddly, Yeonjun felt like a reprimanded child. "How many is that?"

"Twenty-five," Yeonjun said proudly, puffing his chest out. "That's a lot!"

"Uh-huh," Beomgyu nodded, playing along. "And how many do you need to read through?"

Here, Yeonjun deflated like a balloon. "Sixty-three."

"And we've been here how long?"

"Two hours," Yeonjun hunched even further. "And a half."

"I rest my case," Beomgyu said proudly, chin tilted up victoriously.

"But I wanna sit next to you," he groused under his breath.

"Finish those last thirty-five pages, and you can sit next to me all you want."

That perked Yeonjun up. "Let's have dinner together?"

Beomgyu leaned over, smiling fondly, and pinched his cheek. "Okay, cutie. We can have ice cream after, too, if you wanted."

"Of course I want to," he complained, but it comes out muffled because of Beomgyu's assault on his face.

His boyfriend made a show of heaving a put-upon sigh as he sat back down. "You are so lucky you're the cutest guy ever."

"I am lucky," Yeonjun stated matter-of-factly. He waited until Beomgyu was taking a sip of water before he said, "I'm your boyfriend, aren't I?"

Beomgyu promptly choked, turning red from another reason altogether, and Yeonjun cackled at him.

Once things had calmed down–once Beomgyu had kicked him in the shin and scolded him, once Yeonjun had his book open to the right page again, Yeonjun took a moment to appreciate how lovely it was to just exist like this with Beomgyu. Beomgyu, whose hands are busy writing down his own notes, eyes roving all over his own texts, but whose feet gently bumped into Yeonjun's every now and then.

Their only background music was the scratching of pen on paper and the distant, constant murmur characteristic of any public space. Beomgyu's left hand is well within reach, but he looked so concentrated, a cute furrow in between his brow, that Yeonjun decided to keep to himself.

This–sitting in front of each other and studying together, only the tips of their shoes touching as a consistent, welcome reminder that they were right there–was enough.

PLAYBACK — INT. YEONJUN'S CAR. DAY.

It was Day 7508. BEOMGYU and YEONJUN are shown to be talking inside YEONJUN's car. The discreet camera atop the hood provided a frontal view of the couple.

"I give up!" Beomgyu yelled in frustration as he hit another curb. "Hyung, I think that maybe it's time we consider the possibility that driving isn't for me, you know?"

Yeonjun tried not to laugh–he really did–but Beomgyu's annoyed face was just too cute. "How 'bout one more try, hm? Practice makes perfect, Beomie!"

Beomgyu shot him with a look that Yeonjun thought should be classified as lethal because he felt his heart speed up in his chest, way faster than what was normal. With his big, round eyes directed at Yeonjun, he fluttered his lashes and said, "No more, baby?"

Hit him with the nickname, too. Choi Beomgyu was not good for his health. "Beomie..."

Another flutter. "Please?"

Yeonjun's flimsy resolve was quick to crumble after that. "Damn it, Gyu," he groaned, covering Beomgyu's deadly eyes and pushing his face away lightly. "You know what that does to me!"

Beomgyu cheered and crowed as he undid his seatbelt, "Exactly. Now let's switch."

"One day that won't work on me anymore," Yeonjun warned as he undid his own.

Beomgyu stuck out his tongue childishly. "I'd just look for new ways to keep you on your toes, then."

Once Yeonjun was back in the driver's seat and Beomgyu in shotgun, Beomgyu swiped his hands over the dashboard in front of him lovingly. "This is where I belong, hyung. I'd rather be your passenger princess over driving on my own, honestly."

Yeonjun faked an affronted squawk. "I knew you were just using me for my car. Ouch."

"Whatever gave you that idea, hyu–" Beomgyu teased, making a move to buckle his seatbelt once more. However, Yeonjun beat him to it, taking the strap from him gently and slowly crossing the fabric over Beomgyu's torso. He made sure to keep eye contact all the while, leaning in closer than needed until there was barely any space between their noses.

"Just had a feeling," Yeonjun whispered. Beomgyu's eyes drift to his lips, and Yeonjun fought back a smirk. "Not so funny now, huh?"

As if broken from a trance, Beomgyu shoved him away with a squeak, and Yeonjun chuckled while he whined. "You're so unfair!"

"What," Yeonjun defended, settling into his seat again. "I'd argue that it was fair, since we're even now!"

Beomgyu violently shook his head. "No. I'm more affected than you are, so I'm more disadvantaged here!"

Yeonjun laughed at how ridiculous Beomgyu's statement sounded, but his ears heat up at how he could visibly affect Beomgyu. "You affect me just as much, Beomie."

"Nuh-uh."

"Yes-huh."

"Fine," Beomgyu huffed. "Let's just agree to disagree?" He held out his left hand for an awkward handshake.

With Yeonjun's own left hand, he shook Beomgyu's, but before Beomgyu could slip away, he gently grasped his wrist with his right, quickly intertwining their hands and placing them on top of the console.

"Agree to disagree," Yeonjun repeated and started up the car.

"Choi Yeonjun," Beomgyu sighed, but in his peripheral vision, Yeonjun could glimpse his beautiful smile.

The rest of the drive to the park was quiet save for Beomgyu humming along to whatever song was playing on the radio, but Yeonjun wouldn't have it any other way.

PLAYBACK — INT. YEONJUN’S BEDROOM. DAY.

On Day 7687, two birds chirped merrily on a branch outside of a second-story window. Inside YEONJUN (21)’s bedroom, two figures could be seen cuddled close together. The digital display announced that it was 3:13 P.M. Although it was the middle of the day, YEONJUN and BEOMGYU’s world was quiet and undisturbed.

One of the good things about being human is the ability to find joy in the most mundane of things, Yeonjun found. Some people found joy when doing their different hobbies–there were people who lived for adventure and those who lived for ease. He knew people who were go-getters and people who were content staying behind them. There were small things, too, like the first bite of a craving, or the feeling of diving into bed after the sheets were freshly changed.

Even for himself, these mundane things had been multiple different things at different times. When he was a kid, there was a time he loved getting new books about exploration. He'd spend hours poring over maps and charts, painting vivid pictures in his head of unknown territories. When he grew up a little, it had been making up fictional adventures on the moon and other planets in the shower. When he became of age, it was cracking open an ice-cold bottle of beer with San. Now (and maybe forever, he secretly thought), he found the most joy in laying beside Beomgyu while he napped peacefully.

Don't get him wrong–he found a lot of joy with Beomgyu every time they were together. But there was a certain level of serenity Yeonjun could only experience whenever Beomgyu snuggled close to him and laid his head upon Yeonjun's chest, murmuring a quiet, "Good night, hyung," despite the afternoon sun.

If there was nirvana, it would be this: Beomgyu's hair tickling his nose, his front pressed to Yeonjun's side. It would be an arm slung over Yeonjun's torso, and a fist clutching at Yeonjun's shirt like he didn't want him going anywhere. It would be a leg squeezing in between both of his own because Beomgyu got cold way too easily despite the temperate weather outside.

And when Beomgyu awoke, his cheeks chubbier than usual and his eyes still squinted against the light, muttering "five more minutes" as buried his face in the crook of Yeonjun's neck; when Yeonjun gently unearthed him from his hiding place and took his face between his hands; when Beomgyu's eyes were falling shut again but he still had his lips in a pout, demanding a kiss, Yeonjun thought: if there was heaven, it would be this.

PLAYBACK — INT. RAINBOW VILLAGE GROCERY STORE. DAY.

Yeonjun examined the contents of their cart. So far, they got onions, apples, mirin, green onion, radishes, and some lush cabbage heads. After surveying their little collection, he nodded in satisfaction. "I think we're done? The rest we have at home."

Beomgyu pinched his arm. "Ow! What was that for?" Yeonjun whined childishly.

His boyfriend shook his head and tsked. "Foolish hyung. We're having bossam, but we don't have pork belly yet!"

Yeonjun scratched his head and chuckled sheepishly. "Oh."

"We gotta get ssamjang too. And rice," Beomgyu counted on his fingers. "You also said your mom asked you to restock on sesame seeds, ginger, and garlic. How could you forget those!"

"Good thing I have you to remind me, huh?" Yeonjun joked, sidling up close to Beomgyu and placing his head on his shoulder lovingly. "What would I do without my baby?"

"What would you do, indeed," Beomgyu sighed, shrugging playfully to jostle Yeonjun's head. Yeonjun pouted at him morosely. Beomgyu loved puppies, so if he made himself look like a kicked one, maybe Beomgyu would give him a kiss like he did all cute puppies...to which Beomgyu stuck his tongue out. No dice, then. "Let's get going, we gotta get back soon if we're gonna make it in time for dinner."

Yeonjun glanced at his wristwatch. "Oh, shoot. Yeah, the meat'll take a while to prep, and mom's gonna kick my butt if we're late."

"I'm always right," Beomgyu turned his nose up in the air haughtily, which Yeonjun flicked. "Ow!" Beomgyu made a move to punch him again, but at Yeonjun's knowing look, Beomgyu deflated and slowly put his arm down. Yeah, that's right, Choi Beomgyu. "Fine, I deserved that so I won't be petty. Let's just go get what we're missing before any further violence is inflicted."

"Yah, you started it! But since I'm such a mature and understanding hyung and boyfriend, I'll let it go," Yeonjun gestured towards the aisle grandly. "Lead the way."

Like the princess that he was (which he pretended to hate being called by), Beomgyu flipped his hair with an elegant hand and began pushing the shopping cart down his royal path—also known as Aisle 13, the condiments section. With Beomgyu's attitude and commitment to the bit, he could visualize Beomgyu in the most princely coat, luxurious silk and satin draped all over his lithe figure, dripping with crystals and pearls. Atop his head, Yeonjun imagined, was a silver crown fit for the most sought-after prince, and its surface was studded with only the most precious jewels in all the land.

Yeonjun sighed dreamily, gazing upon Beomgyu's slowly retreating back. What a sight his boyfriend was.

But slowly, his grand vision melted away, the royal illusion morphing back into the Beomgyu of this world. The Beomgyu who was looking back at him, brows raised and head tilted as if to ask, you coming? The Beomgyu who took brave and bold steps forward, but never failed to check if Yeonjun was right beside him. The Beomgyu who would go grocery shopping with him, and take it even more seriously than he did.

That Beomgyu.

His Beomgyu.

"Yeah, yeah," Yeonjun conceded, jogging up to where Beomgyu was. "Just got distracted by your beauty."

Beomgyu flushed as red as the tomatoes he hated. "Choi Yeonjun, you are so—" he fumed, but Yeonjun cut him off by taking the cart from his slack grip.

"Annoying? Corny? Insufferable?"

"Cute," Beomgyu corrected, sighing like it burdened him to say it. "Unbearably cute. You'd think I'd be used to it by now."

"Well, I hope you never do," Yeonjun joked. Their shoulders bumped together as they ambled to the meats section, and the small points of contact felt good.

There was a comfortable silence for the time it took them to get to the freezers, with Beomgyu taking short pauses to grab some of the stuff they needed off the shelves they passed. As Beomgyu scanned each label and each price tag, comparing amounts and costs,e Yeonjun watched him and tried to envision a future wherein this sight–Beomgyu studiously comparing two almost-identical containers of ssamjang and muttering under his breath about value for money–was a regular part of his life. Would Yeonjun still want it? Would it still have the same novelty in the future as it did today?

Beomgyu's round eyes switched back and forth between the two but apparently decided that the first option was the winner. He placed the second container back on the shelf and seemed surprised when he caught Yeonjun staring. "What?" He asked, eyes still wide. "Sorry, was I taking too long?"

Yeonjun reached out and swiped an imaginary speck of dirt off of Beomgyu's cheek. "Just had something on your face," he lied.

Beomgyu's hand fluttered to the apple of his cheek. "Oh, thanks."

"No problem," Yeonjun murmured.

It didn't take him long to decide that yes, this was a sight that would never get old. He'd love to have this every single day of his life, please. Which cashier should he go to for payment?

Beomgyu was in the middle of inspecting the cuts of meat, but out of the blue, he said, "I don't think I will, by the way."

"Hm?" Yeonjun paused in his own examination when Beomgyu spoke. "What do you mean?"

Beomgyu glanced at him from the corner of his eye. "You said you hoped I'd never get used to you," he moved on to another cut of pork belly, turning it over in his hand. He deemed it satisfactory and placed it in their cart. "And I'm saying I don't think I ever will."

If, despite the cold emanating from the freezer, shooting tiny pinpricks of pain up his fingers and gradually turning them numb, Yeonjun thought that he had never felt as warm as he did at this moment—well, nobody else in the world had to know.

PLAYBACK — INT. YEONJUN'S HOUSE. EVENING.

"I just realized," Yeonjun thought aloud as they prepared their side dishes. “I've never been to your home yet.”

Beomgyu paused in slicing the radishes, the rhythmic sounds that were filling the air suddenly halting. "Oh, haven't you?"

Yeonjun hummed while mixing the ingredients for the sauce. "Yeah. We've always gone here."

Whenever they went on dates, Beomgyu always instructed Yeonjun to pick him up and drop him off at the park near his house. If they weren't coming from their respective homes, they left university together. It had all become a regular part of their routine that Yeonjun never really thought to question it, because why fix something that wasn't broken? Now that he thought about it, thought, he would love to see where Beomgyu lived. Not in a creepy, stalkerish way, of course, but he was curious to see the home that raised such a wonderful person like Beomgyu. Was it a warm, lovely place, filled with family pictures all over the mantle and the walls? It would only make sense that such a warm, lovely person like Beomgyu came from such a home, right? Maybe Beomgyu's family was the kind that they showed on television—the kind that often bickered but loved each other to bits at the end of the day.

He'd love to get to know Beomgyu's family, too. He wanted to thank Beomgyu's parents for raising him so diligently—for raising him to be the kind of person that helped cook in other people's homes just because he wanted to.

Beomgyu laughed, ahh-ing in realization. He sounded a bit clogged, though, a bit forced like he was coming down with a cold. He made a mental note to make some tea before he drove Beomgyu home later. "Your house is just so much nicer than mine, hyung. Your mother works so hard keeping such a beautiful home, doesn't she?"

A cheerful voice came from behind them, and Yeonjun turned to see his mother come into the kitchen. In lieu of walking towards him, though, she went straight to Beomgyu and enveloped him in a tight hug, which Beomgyu returned enthusiastically. "Oh, Beomgyu," she tittered, squeezing his cheeks, "you are such a sweet child! Yeonjun," she turned to him, "I always ask, where did you find such a charming boy?"

Yeonjun gently pried his mother's hands off his boyfriend's cheeks, which were already turning a ruddy red. "Mother," he tutted, placing his hands over hers, "what did I say about greeting Beomgyu normally? You know, without catching an assault case?"

She rolled her eyes. "I am not assaulting him! I am merely showing him my appreciation. Look at him," she gestured at Beomgyu, who had resumed slicing the radishes into thin matchsticks. She also walked over to the simmering pot on the stove, containing the slowly-boiling pork. "And this looks perfect! He's just as diligent as I am; such a hardworking boy. He'd make a fine husband one day!"

"Mother!" He groaned, while Beomgyu shyly laughed in the background.

"What! I was merely stating facts! Why are you so affected, my darling son?" She cooed and directed her previous attack on Beomgyu's cheek to Yeonjun's. "Do you want Beomgyu as your hus—"

This time, he pleaded and clutched at her wrists. "Mother. Please."

His mother sighed dramatically and dropped her hands from his face. "Yeonjun, sweetheart. If you don't put a ring on it, somebody else will!" She warned, wagging a finger at him like he was a child who needed reprimanding. "Am I right, Beomgyu?"

Beomgyu froze like a deer in the headlights. "Um—"

"Alright," Yeonjun saved Beomgyu from having to answer such an embarrassing question. Like he didn't know Beomgyu was too good to be true! But he had no plans of waxing poetic about him in front of his mother just to prove his intentions, so he just raised his arms in a placating manner. "Just let us graduate first, okay?"

She harrumphed and crossed her arms. "Good. Education is the priority."

"Now can you please let us make dinner in peace? Beomgyu might cut himself because he got distracted from your theatrics."

"Oh, fine," his mother relented, stomping away. "But I'm doing this for Beomgyu, and not because you asked!"

Once she was out of earshot, Yeonjun exhaled heavily. "She always does this every time you're here!" He grumbled, puttering over to Beomgyu's place at the counter and wrapping his arms around him, his front to Beomgyu's back and his hands snug over Beomgyu's belly. "You must be tired of it, huh?"

Beomgyu dropped the knife for a second to pat his hand comfortingly. "I don't mind it, hyung. I think it's nice she likes me this much. And that she sees me in your future."

Yeonjun kissed the back of Beomgyu's nape and rejoiced in the resulting shiver. He was so sensitive. "It's probably 'cause I talk about you too much; I've brainwashed her into not thinking of anybody else for me."

"Yah, Choi Yeonjun, are you in love with me?" Beomgyu teased, his tone mocking.

"I mean, I don't hate you," Yeonjun shot back. For that, Beomgyu elbowed him in the ribs.

"This is amazing," his mother gushed, oohing and aahing over their little feast. It wasn't the grandest meal–he could hardly call boiled pork belly and radish salad a meal fit for a queen–but she acted like it was, and Yeonjun was inclined to agree. "Thank you for the meal! Oh, you boys did so well, I could cry!"

For today's dinner, Yeonjun thought it'd be great to have bossam again. It wasn't the most difficult dish to cook, nor the most time-consuming, but the combination of his mother's radish salad and the juicy pork belly was something to write sonnets about. So when his mom told him to invite Beomgyu over, he took the chance to do something nice for her and for him by taking over the preparation. However, Beomgyu derailed his plans by being way better in the kitchen than Yeonjun, and whatever shame he felt was overshadowed with pride by miles. Beomgyu, with his frilly little apron as he busily fussed over everything that had to be done, fit like a missing puzzle piece in Yeonjun's home. From the boiling to the slicing to the mixing, Beomgyu ran the kitchen like it was a ship, and Yeonjun was just his happy assistant.

As Yeonjun chowed down another thick slice of pork belly, he observed Beomgyu and his mother chat pleasantly about Beomgyu's studies. His mother was always intent on making Beomgyu feel at home, always trying to engage in conversation with him, and Beomgyu always did his best to give her all of his attention. Even if it was at Yeonjun's expense, he couldn't find it in himself to be displeased—he liked seeing the most important people in his life get along so well.

After their meal, Yeonjun's mother sat back and sighed. "Oh, I am going to burst! I'll have to retire to bed soon, my dears."

"So early, auntie?" Beomgyu asked, placing his chopsticks down as well.

"I'm not as young as I used to be," his mother bemoaned, placing a hand on her forehead. "I get tired so early now. But, no matter! Feel free to stay as long as you'd like. Yeonjun, make sure to get him home safely, got it?"

"Of course," he reassured. "Sleep well, mother."

"I will, I will," she stood, and Beomgyu shot up to assist her. "Good night now, darlings. Have fun!"

Beomgyu helped her up the stairs and to her room while Yeonjun cleaned the dinner table. It was only fair that he took over this part since Beomgyu was the one in charge earlier.

He was in the middle of washing dishes when Beomgyu came back. Despite Yeonjun's protests, he took over the wiping duty.

"Your mom is so nice," he sighed contentedly. "Today was so nice."

"Even though we basically just did chores the entire day?"

"Especially because we just did chores the entire day."

He handed Beomgyu a plate. "So should we just clean our houses for every single date? Wash our clothes?"

Beomgyu dug into his side lightly with an elbow. "You know what I mean."

He did know what Beomgyu meant, and he agreed wholeheartedly. Going out to experience new things was fun and created amazing memories for them, but there was something enchanting about being able to still enjoy each other's company during the not-as-exciting times. It took him back to their conversation at the grocery store, and it made him smile.

Something told him he'd be having a lot of these days with Beomgyu. Call it a gut feeling.

PLAYBACK — EXT. UNIVERSITY GROUNDS — STEPS. NIGHT.

Despite his mother's offer to use their home as long as they pleased, Yeonjun wanted to end their night somewhere else. Somewhere special.

The confusion was apparent on Beomgyu's face as he unbuckled his seatbelt. "Why are we here, hyung?"

Yeonjun killed the car engine, the rumble coming to a halt. "You'll see."

"Ooooh, mysterious," Beomgyu teased lightheartedly. "I like that in a man."

They both got out of the car, and their twin slams echoed throughout the empty university grounds. Yeonjun held a hand out for Beomgyu, who took it without a second thought. Yeonjun hoped Beomgyu couldn't feel the slight dampness.

Yeonjun swung their hands together. "Did you have fun today?"

Beomgyu grinned at him. Despite the minimal illumination from the street lights, he looked luminous. Beomgyu's smile could light up the entirety of Rainbow Village, Yeonjun thought. "Lots. Dinner was so good; I ate so much."

"Good," Yeonjun said, pleased. If Beomgyu was happy, so was he. "I'm glad, baby."

Beomgyu dropped his hand. Yeonjun could feel the complaint bubbling up, but it fizzled out as soon as Beomgyu linked their arms together and leaned his head on Yeonjun's shoulder. Suddenly, the night's cool breeze had nothing on Yeonjun.

The sound of the cicadas and Beomgyu humming filled the silence as they walked to the destination Yeonjun had in mind. He had no way of knowing if everything was done according to his instructions, and he knew there was no point in worrying because they were going to find out soon. But he couldn't help it, alright? He trusted San with his life, and by extension, Wooyoung, but everything had to be perfect. It was what Beomgyu deserved.

All his fears were alleviated when the familiar place slowly came into view, and Yeonjun could cry and collapse from the relief that flooded through his system. Beomgyu, on the other hand, gasped loudly and whipped his head towards Yeonjun. "Wha—"

"Surprise?" Yeonjun asked weakly. His knees felt like jelly, and he was kinda glad Beomgyu let go of his hand because if they were damp before, they were even more of a mess now. "Happy anniversary, baby."

Under the biggest tree in their quad, at the exact same spot where Yeonjun first saw Beomgyu, San and Wooyoung had set up a picnic area that looked like it came out of a magazine. Fairy lights were strung all over the tree's branches, which lit the area up just enough for Yeonjun to see the tears brimming in Beomgyu's eyes, and they shone like diamonds.

All Yeonjun had to do was spread his arms in invitation, and Beomgyu threw himself at him so swiftly and so suddenly that Yeonjun let out an oof! at the impact.

"Don't cry, baby," Yeonjun murmured, kissing Beomgyu's temple and rubbing his back in comfort. Beomgyu sniffled. "You don't like it?"

"Hyung!" Beomgyu wept into Yeonjun's ear, and he couldn't help but grin. "How did you even do this?"

"Wooyoung and San helped," he whispered, carding his fingers through the hair at the back of Beomgyu's head. "While we were at dinner, they were setting all this,” he gestured broadly, “up. I gotta thank them."

And he did. Yeonjun wasn't really expecting much; actually, he just asked for something simple. But his friends seemed to have turned into designers overnight; everything looked professionally set up—from the fairy lights being strung up artfully, to the rose petals artfully scattered all over the picnic blanket, and even to the snack arrangement that didn't look like everything was thrown together hastily. There were even a few tea candles strewn all over the place, which added to the romantic atmosphere.

He was so grateful he could kiss them.

"Remind me to thank them too," Beomgyu broke away from him, but his hands stayed on Yeonjun's chest. He took everything in, and Yeonjun swore there were stars in his eyes. "This is so beautiful, hyung. I can't believe you'd do this for me."

Yeonjun pulled him even closer with a hand on his lower back. "You deserve the sun, the stars, and everything in between, Beomgyu. The moon, if you asked for it."

Beomgyu turned to him. Softly, he said, "Happy anniversary. I love you. So much, hyung."

Yeonjun leaned in, and Beomgyu's eyes fluttered close. The kiss was soft, slow, and perfect, and Yeonjun could spend forever like this, and it still wouldn't be enough. Beomgyu was addictive, and Yeonjun was hooked.

When they broke apart, Beomgyu looked dazed and out of breath. "I love you, too," Yeonjun murmured against his lips. "I have one last thing."

Beomgyu's eyes bugged out incredulously. "Even more than this? This is more than enough, hyung!"

The box had been burning a hole through his pocket the entire day. He'd had it for months, but he figured this was the best to time give it. "It's just something I've been wanting to give."

His boyfriend delicately cupped his face in his hand and kissed his cheek. "What more could you possibly give me, hyung?"

He brought his hand forward. "How about this?"

Beomgyu drew in a sharp inhale.

On his palm lay a rectangular midnight blue box, velvet and luxurious to the touch. Inside lay a simple silver chain, but it was nothing too special. The real star of the show was what was on the chain.

"Hyung," Beomgyu's breath hitched, and he sounded dangerously close to tears again. "It's so beautiful."

"It's yours," Yeonjun said, peering into Beomgyu's eyes. "If you'll have it."

Beomgyu's eyes shot to Yeonjun's in a panic. "Hyung, I can't possibly—"

"She said it was for the person I loved most, Gyu," Yeonjun urged softly. "And you're the person I love most. The only person I'd love this much. May I please have the honor of placing it on you?"

As if he was shocked silent, Beomgyu shakily nodded. Yeonjun gingerly turned him around, and Beomgyu went without any resistance. He took the necklace from the box and unclasped it, and, with the most care as he had ever exhibited in his life, placed the necklace on Beomgyu's neck.

Nestled snugly at the center of the ring was a gleaming princess-cut diamond, bright and clear like a perfect summer’s day. The gem caught the soft glow of the fairy lights, and it looked even more dazzling than it already was.

Still, it didn’t hold a candle to the brilliant smile on Beomgyu’s face as he gazed upon Yeonjun’s mother’s engagement ring. "It's gorgeous, hyung."

Yeonjun tipped Beomgyu's chin up with a finger. "You're gorgeous," he said, his heart spilling out of him. "I love you so much, Beomgyu. The necklace serves as my promise to you."

A promise that he'd replace it with the real thing a few years down the line. Replace it with something that Beomgyu could wear on his ring finger.

"Okay," Beomgyu nodded fervently. He sniffled, and a tear slipped past his eye that Yeonjun immediately wiped away. "Okay, Yeonjun hyung. I'll hold you to that."

Instead of responding, Yeonjun chose to kiss him again. He was so giddy and in love that he could barely restrain himself, and he couldn't stop smiling like the world's biggest idiot while their lips were locked.

All of a sudden, Beomgyu broke away with a gasp, but Yeonjun refused to let him go. "Hyung, wait—"

"Just one more—"

"Okay, but wait, this is important—"

At that, Yeonjun pulled away and gave him his space. "What is it, love?" he asked.

"I can't..." Beomgyu began, but he trailed off. His mouth opened and closed as he searched for the words, but it clicked shut when he couldn't find the right ones.

"You can't...?" Yeonjun urged softly.

But Beomgyu seemes to change his mind. He shook his head as if he was clearing out his thoughts. "No, never mind. I need to tell you something."

There was an urgency in his words that caused Yeonjun to snap out of his lovesick bubble "What is it, baby?"

"I can't tell you right now."

"Why not?"

"Just... not now, hyung." Beomgyu looked at him meaningfully, like he was trying to convey something with only his eyes. Unfortunately, even after a year together, Yeonjun didn't know what it was. "But meet me at the beach tomorrow night. I'll tell you then."

PLAYBACK — EXT. RAINBOW VILLAGE BEACH. NIGHT.

Yeonjun and Beomgyu had been on so many dates Yeonjun lost count already, if he was being truthful. It wasn't because he didn't care about any of them; in fact, he could probably recall each and every single one in near-perfect detail. It was just that there wasn't any point in keeping count if Yeonjun planned on doing this for the rest of his days.

It was just as simple as that. The only dates Yeonjun was keeping count of were the day they first met, the day Beomgyu took him to the beach, and the day Yeonjun got the honorable title of being Beomgyu's boyfriend, which they celebrated only yesterday.

And speaking of the beach, he could say the dates they had there were some of his favorite ones, purely because of how happy Beomgyu looked while they were there. It was like he lit up from within whenever they stepped foot on the sand—a radiance brought by the wind of the sea and the smell of salt in the air. Because of this incandescent glow, Yeonjun learned to love the beach because Beomgyu loved it. He would never step foot in the water again, but the sand in his shoes was a small price to pay for the way Beomgyu beamed whenever they made the drive here.

When Yeonjun asked why Beomgyu loved the beach so much, Beomgyu simply said, "Because I'm with you."

Yeonjun felt warmth bloom in his chest, but he knew in his heart that that wasn't the real answer. Still, he let the topic go at the time because if that was a conversation they needed to have, he trusted that Beomgyu would have already brought it up. As it stood, if that was the answer he was comfortable giving, and as long as it still held a semblance of truth, then Yeonjun would accept it and be the most patient man in the world.

The love Beomgyu had for the beach was nowhere to be found on his face when they met up that night, however. Instead of the usual glow, Beomgyu was dim, like how it looked when there was a ominous cloud covering the sun. He glumly played with the ring on his new necklace.

He was so happy yesterday that he was radiant. What happened between then and now?

"Hey, baby," Yeonjun spoke gently, scooting over to Beomgyu, but not closing the distance just yet. When he didn't move away, Yeonjun took that as a sign that it was safe to place his arm around Beomgyu's shoulder, who leaned imperceptibly into his warmth. "What's wrong, my love? You've been down the entire time. Do you want to go home?"

Silently, Beomgyu shook his head no. He'd curled in on himself, his arms encircled over bent knees. He looked so small. "Don't wanna."

"Then what does my baby wanna do, hm?" Yeonjun coaxed, nosing at Beomgyu's cheek. Beomgyu giggled quietly, muttering a soft that tickles, hyung. "The world's our oyster."

Suddenly, Beomgyu turned to face Yeonjun directly. There was barely any moonlight to illuminate his face, but there was still enough for Yeonjun to see how his lips downturned into an expression Yeonjun had never seen before. Tension was written all over Beomgyu's face, and something sour curled in Yeonjun's gut.

It was almost impossible, and Yeonjun couldn’t bear the thought., but… Was Beomgyu breaking up with him?

Before Yeonjun could start begging for Beomgyu to stay, ready to promise he'd change whatever Beomgyu found wrong, Beomgyu started speaking, and what he said felt like a punch to Yeonjun's gut—both good and bad. "I want to spend every day with you, hyung. That's what I wanna do. I wanna do this every day and not have to worry."

Yeonjun could get on his knees and breathe the biggest sigh of relief the world had ever known, but when the last part of Beomgyu's sentence registered, all those good feelings got tainted with tinges of anxiety. Their relationship had no bumps so far; everything was smooth sailing, which Yeonjun was grateful for. What was causing Beomgyu to feel like this?

He tried to keep his voice even, but there was only so much he could do to hide his own nerves. "Worry about what?" Yeonjun asked.

"I just..."

Beomgyu's brows scrunched in such a way that told Yeonjun he was getting irritated at his own inability to express whatever it was that he wanted to say. And frustration would not get them anywhere, so Yeonjun quickly tried to coax him down from his mounting exasperation. "Take it slow, baby," he cooed, kissing Beomgyu's temple. "Hyung's not going anywhere, okay? Take all the time you need."

Beomgyu closed his eyes and took several deep breaths. Yeonjun, although he himself was already feeling dread creep in, stayed true to his word and stayed right there. There was nowhere else he'd rather be, anyway.

Then, Beomgyu's eyes shot open, and he turned to Yeonjun so quickly, exhibiting an urgency he'd never expressed before. "Hyung. Remember what I said? Before?"

"Which one?"

"The day we first went to this beach. Remember?"

No, Yeonjun was mistaken–he had seen this behavior before. The very same day Beomgyu was referring to, the day they first talked. Beomgyu acted so weird then, so shifty and nervous, but in the whirlwind of their romance, Yeonjun forgot all about it. All he could recall was trying so hard to get to know every morsel he could about Beomgyu, so fixated on making up for lost time.

His fingers went numb, and it wasn't because of the cold night air. "What did you say back then?" He prompted.

"I told you that eyes and ears were everywhere, hyung," Beomgyu whispered, eyes wide and teary and scared, and Yeonjun's blood ran cold. "And they still are. Always."

"Beomgyu, baby, I'm confused." He wasn't merely confused; no, Yeonjun was terrified. He was alarmed by what Beomgyu was saying, but he knew in his heart that Beomgyu wasn't merely using a metaphor. But a tear slipped from Beomgyu's eye and ran down his smooth cheek, and worry trumped over any of his fears. He couldn’t show Beomgyu that he was scared, too.

"Can you explain to hyung what you mean?" he asked, forcing an air of calmness. He couldn’t risk exacerbating Beomgyu’s fright.

"They're watching, hyung. All the time."

"Who's watching?" Yeonjun threw a look around them. For miles around, there was nothing but sand and sea. "We're alone here, Beomgyu. It's why we love the beach so much, right? Because we could be alone?"

Beomgyu shook his head fervently. "That's not what I mean!"

Against his will, Yeonjun was beginning to get frustrated. Why couldn't Beomgyu just be direct with it? What's with all this hesitation and vagueness? "Then what do you mean?" he snapped.

Beomgyu flinched at his tone, and another tear rolled down his face.

Immediately, guilt started eating away at Yeonjun. He opened his mouth to apologize, but Beomgyu grabbed his forearms and cut him off before he could say a word.

Beomgyu stared right into Yeonjun's eyes, and Yeonjun had never seen him look this serious.

"Listen to me,” he began, eyes wide and frantic.” Everyone's putting on a show for you, hyung. Everyone you know. From the teacher who told you you were too late to explore the world, to that guidance counselor who told you not to go into history and suggested you should take business instead. Your best friends are acting, and so is your mother. Your neighbors are merely peforming, and all your classmates, too."

"This," Beomgyu grabbed a fistful of sand and let it fall between is fingers, "is fake." He pointed at the moon with a shaky finger. "That's fake, too, hyung. Everything is not real!"

Unbidden, tears welled up in Yeonjun's eyes. What the hell was Beomgyu saying? "Beomgyu, slow down, please. I don't understand what you're talking about and you're scaring me."

"Hyung, please listen to me!" Beomgyu shook him, desperation and panic written all over his face.

Yeonjun grabbed Beomgyu's hands to try and calm him down. He found them cold and trembling, and he clutched them to his chest in an attempt to warm them up. "I am listening! Beomgyu, please just explain—"

"There's no more time, I'm sure they've sent someone to take me away," Beomgyu shook his head again, and his tears were in freefall now. "I wasn't supposed to tell you anything, but I couldn't live with myself anymore. I couldn't say silent; I love you too much, hyung. I want to spend every day with you, but not like this. I love you too much."

The way Beomgyu was saying he loved him didn't fill Yeonjun with the same glee it did yesterday. Today, it just filled him with foreboding.

"Who's coming, my love?" Yeonjun asked desperately, gripping Beomgyu's hands tightly. "Tell me. I'm not letting anyone take you from me."

Beomgyu opened his mouth to speak, and Yeonjun held his breath. The world was hushed around them—it felt like the seas and the skies were also waiting for what Beomgyu had to say.

The silence stretched into eternity.

Then, in a split second, a rumbling roar—the telltale sound of a car at full speed. Beomgyu's eyes widened with fright, and seconds later, two bursts of light flooded their vision.

Headlights.

Yeonjun averted his eyes from the sudden assault to his senses, but he could barely recover before Beomgyu was grabbing his face and kissing him like his life depended on it. Almost immediately, Yeonjun kissed him back.

Beomgyu’s cheeks were damp with his tears, but Yeonjun didn't care. All he could focus on was the hopelessness he could taste on Beomgyu's lips, and how this tasted like a goodbye he was never going to be ready to give.

He kissed Beomgyu harder; maybe if he was able to fuse their lips together, he could prove to Bemogyu nobody would ever be able to take him away. Maybe he could assuage Beomgyu’s fears, and he’d be as happy as he was yesterday.

Beomgyu kissed back just as rough. He tangled his fingers into Yeonjun's hair tight enough to hurt, strong enough to hold on.

It was messy. A bittersweet frenzy. Yeonjun wanted none of it if it meant goodbye, but he needed all of it if this was the last time.

Then the car came to a screeching halt a few meters away from their spot, and they were ripped apart by a hand pulling Beomgyu away by the shoulder, dragging him to a standing position. Beomgyu yelped in shock from the force with which the man ripped them apart, and the noise froze Yeonjun still.

"Beomgyu," a man with graying hair and a kind face said, dismayed. "Son, I told you to be home by dinnertime, didn't I? Yet here you are canoodling with this..." he peered at Yeonjun over his glasses, "...boy."

Beomgyu fought against his grip, but the man was quick to restrain him with both of his hands on Beomgyu's biceps. Beomgyu wailed in pain, and the sound tears at Yeonjun’s heartstrings.

"No!" Yeonjun shouted, finally coming to his senses. He hurried to stand and reach for Beomgyu, stumbling in his haste, but the man pulled him far away from Yeonjun's grasp. "Who the hell are you?"

The man tried to smile but Beomgyu was struggling hard against his hold. "I'm Beomgyu's father. Sorry we had to meet in these circumstances."

Beomgyu screamed, straining against the man's grip on his forearms. More tears fell from his eyes, and Yeonjun's heart ached something fierce. "No! No, he's not! Hyung, we look nothing alike! I don't know him! I've never seen him in my life!"

"Alright, champ," Beomgyu's so-called father grunted, dragging him closer to the car. Beomgyu fought back with every bit of his strength, but the man was just burlier. "Let's get you home." To Yeonjun, he whispered conspiratorially, "Beomgyu isn't... right in the head. He always has episodes like this. Sorry you had to deal with him."

Yeonjun's blood boiled. Deal with him? Yeonjun loved him! How dare this man insinuate—

"Hyung, don't believe him," Beomgyu sobbed, and it was another knife in Yeonjun's chest. "He's lying—"

"That's enough from you, kid," the man's face hardened, and so did his voice. "It's time to go home."

Then he opened the passenger door and shoved Beomgyu into the seat, with Beomgyu fighting back all the while. But the man was stronger, and he slammed the door right in Beomgyu's face.

While the man walked to the other side, Beomgyu rolled the window down and poked his head out. "Remember what I told you, hyung! I'm telling you the truth! I love you! I'll come back for you!"

Before stepping into his own seat, the father turned to Yeonjun and declared, "No, he's not. We're moving to... Belgium. Yeah, Belgium. This place isn't good for him."

And then he shut the door and drove away, kicking up clouds of sand in their trail.

Yeonjun stared at the car as it left him behind, taking Beomgyu away with every second that he stood still. But his feet were glued to the sand, and Yeonjun couldn't move them even if he wanted to. Something heavy weighed his legs down, rendering him unable to run after the love of his life.

All Yeonjun could do was stare.

A strong gust of wind blew, and something soft brushed against his bare leg. Yeonjun looked down, and what he saw was a punch to the stomach. It finally broke him down, on his knees with tears streaming down his face, heaving with the reality of what just happened.

At his feet laid Beomgyu's cardigan.

When Yeonjun picked it up and hugged it close, chest heaving as he sobbed, he swore he could feel Beomgyu's lingering warmth.