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Despite already living in Seoul, Hansol hadn’t thought too hard before applying to live in dorms. The city was big enough that a trip across the Han warranted a taxi. He could have commuted back and forth, even if it was a pain, but he was keen to have his own space. At times, he regrets that decision. Access to free meals and laundry service aside, he gets home sick. If not for the company, then for the ambient noises they entail. His father’s favourite television programmes, the clank of plates in the kitchen, his sister’s hummed version of the latest kpop songs.
But after a week at home over the summer, he’s glad to once again have the freedom to go shirtless, eat ice cream for breakfast and sit on the toilet for hours without someone judging him, except perhaps, for Boo Seungkwan.
“Chwe Hansol, you’ve been staring at the same page for five minutes. Are you falling asleep?” Seungkwan says, reaching over him to grab a fistful of cheese balls, sprinkling orange snow everywhere.
Even with the curtains drawn and the fan at maximum, the late summer heat makes Hansol’s tongue heavy in his mouth and the words on his screen blur. Hansol shuts his eyes and pretends to snore, prompting Seungkwan to give him a playful nudge. “Hey, I can’t be the only one suffering alone! Chwe! Han! Sol!”
They’re studying at Hansol’s low table, occupied by their respective laptops. Hansol has an essay due in less than 12 hours while Seungkwan’s working on a group project due at the end of the month. Seungkwan shuts his laptop with a sigh and Hansol, who knows what’s coming next, does as well.
“Boo! Seung! Kwan!” Hansol retorts. “Tough. In here, I call the shots.”
Seungkwan clicks his tongue. “I’ll swap with you.”
“You wish.”
Seungkwan winds his arm, stretching out the muscles in his shoulder, says, “Dinner?”
This is their routine. When Seungkwan comes over, they study until Seungkwan suggests they get food. After that they listen to music while they wait for delivery. It’s the only break Seungkwan will allow himself. Joshua, an environmental science postdoc, often jokes that he’s like a bullet train, “he’ll stop for nothing except food and Vernon.”
Hansol failed to correct him at the time. It wasn’t Hansol that Seungkwan stopped for, but his room. The dormitory of SU is built so that half the students get the sunrise while the other half gets the sunset. Which means that from noon till sundown, Seungkwan's room is, in his words, an uninhabitable wasteland.
Hansol has his special Boo Playlist piping through on the speakers, lofi mixes of girl group sons, the neon lights cycling on the beat and Boo Seungkwan's head heavy on his shoulder. Seungkwan’s hair is damp, sweat erasing his post-practice shower. New bruises are blossoming on his arms and legs, calluses decorate his palms and fingers. How he keeps his nails so clean despite tearing up the courts 6 days a week is a sure sign of his fastidiousness. He sighs and Hansol feels like a balloon menaced by the breeze, only to be tugged back when Seungkwan grabs his hand to play with.
“Seriously, can we trade rooms?"
“You ask this every time.”
Hansol leans in automatically. When Seungkwan speaks, people have a tendency to listen because his voice has an attractive quality that typically comes from age and experience. It’s a voice that goes ‘listen to me, I have something good to say’, and it never disappoints. His voice is heard everywhere. On the school’s PA, on the court, and on the voice notes Seungkwan sometimes sends him.
“I mean it every time.”
“I don’t want your room.”
“Come on, it’s got a good view. Lots of trees.”
“Tempting offer but I like not melting in midday heat.”
“No fair. You got lucky with this one.” He sighs. “I feel like all my thoughts go quiet here. Jeonghee-noona says that’s something that’s only possible with sensory deprivation tanks.”
“Are you saying my room is a sensory deprivation tank?”
“I was actually arguing that your room is better than one. But you have to admit, it’s basically the same thing. See? We’re sitting in the dark listening to music. Where else do you get this sort of experience?” As is often the case with the slightest provocation, Seungkwan becomes animated, hands flying out to gesture to all four corners of the room. He’s an unsuppressable whirlwind of energy, whether he’s flying across the court or striding across campus with an iced americano in hand, his body speaks volumes.
Hansol has always been jealous of him for that. He’s tried to put himself out there, but found it takes more planning and more contemplation. He doesn’t have the ease, the confidence, the sense of timing that comes so naturally to Seungkwan, because Seungkwan has an innate skill for reading the room.
As if to prove his point, Seungkwan senses a lull and moves to a new topic of conversation. “How’s your assignment going?”
“Boring, but I’m almost done.”
“Almost? Didn’t you say it was due at midnight?”
“All I have to do is cross my Ts and dot my Is.”
“Alright, alright. There’s no need to show off, Mr English ." He lets his tongue mangle the words, drenching it in faux exasperation. Hansol chuckles.
Once the winter season starts to pull the sun from the sky hours earlier, this routine will cease.
You should just move in with me, he thinks. It's an insane thought. He’d never bring it up in a million years.
"What is it?"
"Hm?"
"You're staring. Is there something on my face?"
"Oh, uh, something funny happened today. Someone mistook me for you."
"Again? Really?”
“Yeah.”
Seungkwan brushes the hair from Hansol’s face. “Let me see."
Then Seunkgwan is winding a hand around Hansol's shoulder to pull him in until it’s impossible to get closer. Their shoulders are flush, partially overlapping, the warm shell of Seungkwan's ear bending against Hansol’s reddened cheek. Hansol is still growing, the difference between their heights increasing every day, but it’s almost negligible when they're sitting down.
"Smile!"
His heart is a wild drum, interrupted by the flash of Seungkwan's phone camera. Seungkwan's outline leaps into focus before fading like a flare, the after image sucked into the evening gloom.
"Ow!" Hansol swats at him blindly and Seungkwan, laughing, catches one of his hands and shakes it apologetically while he summons the picture to the screen. He brings the phone to Hansol, his whole body leaning in as he does, even closer than when he was taking the picture, his bleach-fried hair tickles Hansol’s face. "Look."
Seungkwan smiles up at him from the picture, the hand he had used to pull Hansol closer turned into a sneaky bunny perched on his shoulder. His full moon-face, tanned from afternoon practice, is haloed by the remnants of what Jeonghan calls dandelion hair, a bad bleach job from a bet he lost in the first semester. It’s soft from the shower and rumpled from where his hands kept running through them as he worked on his presentation.
Beside him, Hansol looks like a vampire startled by the sun. His face, illuminated by the flash, is too pale and makes his acne scars stand out. He doesn’t tan easily, compliments from his mother’s side. He burns instead, in ugly blotches that has Seungkwan clicking his tongue in dismay. After a hiking trip up Bukhansan where he wore nothing but short sleeves and a cap, Seungkwan gifted him with a family-sized tub of aloe vera gel to treat his burns, though he’s guilty of letting it collect dust beside his electronic keyboard.
Seungkwan clicks his tongue now, pursing his lips to make that little kissy noise that indicates he’s thinking. “We don't look alike at all,” he says, sounding disappointed. “Maybe it's the hair.”
“What? Did you want to look like me?”
“Of course! Who wouldn’t want to look like a heartthrob like you? Even people who don’t go to this uni know you’re the campus crush.”
Hearing that would be easier to believe if it wasn’t the total opposite of what he heard his whole schooling career. Hansol has been treated like a freak since he stammered his way into elementary school. He came to Korea in time for formal schooling and had to pick up the language fast. Somehow, between reciting lines from cartoons and doing a lot of nodding and smiling, he managed. But his looks still resulted in a lot of bullshit from the kids in his class.
His uni debut shocked everyone, mostly himself, and he had to relearn what it meant when someone’s head turned. Seungkwan, surprisingly enough, was the precursor to this. ‘Woah, you’re fucking handsome.’ It was the first thing out of his mouth when they met during orientation week and it was sincere enough to make Hansol blush.
Seungkwan seems to have misinterpreted Hansol’s silence, however, because he says, “When you start wearing your beanies again, it'll probably stop.” Then he adds, “No self-respecting athlete wears beanies.”
It hadn't the last time, though Hansol doesn’t tell him that. Instead he says, “Mingyu-hyung does. Soonyoung-hyung too.”
“I said self-respecting.”
“Wonwoo-hyung,” Hansol begins.
“He’s not an athlete, and contrary to what Seungcheol-hyung claims, eSports don’t count. You’re not working any muscles.”
“There’s muscles in fingers.”
Seungkwan ignores him. “I could always bleach my hair again. Hyunjae-noona says I’m a cute blond.”
“Noo, don't. It's bad for your scalp.”
“My roots are showing though.”
“If you dye your hair you have to do proper treatment.”
Seungkwan gives him a fond smile, and he starts to say something before he’s interrupted by a notification on his phone telling them the food has arrived. They trek down to the dorm entrance because delivery men aren’t allowed inside the dormitory. It’s a long walk, punctuated by the sound of their slippers smacking the linoleum and Seungkwan singing K-pop.
“Why are you listening to Hyunjae-sunbaenim anyway? Wasn’t she the one who outed you to the volleyball team?”
Hyunjae, the vice-captain of the girl’s volleyball team, had been wary of Seungkwan’s devotion to the team. His esoteric knowledge of their team’s stats and how he attended their matches so religiously was off-putting at best. He’d told her he was gay to reassure her, but it seemed that she’d taken that knowledge at face value and spread it among the team. By the time either of them realised their mistake, the whole campus knew.
“She didn’t mean anything bad by it. Besides, she already apologised.”
Seungkwan gives too much credit to the women in his life. It’s one of the many constants of Seungkwan, Hansol has discovered — an iced americano in one hand and a noona in the other.
“She shouldn’t have said it anyway.”
"That’s true, noona got me lunch as an apology, though."
The basketball team hadn’t cared, but their fans did and while Seungkwan had an active force of seniors ready to shut down any of the nastier stuff, it hadn’t stopped the rumour mill from jeopardising Seungkwan’s place in the school. It was only after the student committee, headed by Seungcheol, had stepped in to reinforce the No Discrimination Policy that got things under control.
But the incident had made Seungkwan incredibly paranoid. To the student body, he remained almost defiantly outgoing, winning basketball matches, attending sports events and festivals to mixed responses. But he ghosted his friends, skipping private gatherings in favour of larger social events. He wasn’t ashamed, but he knew the effect his social stigma would have on others and kept to himself.
He'd even avoided Hansol and took great pains to avoid him. He worked around Hansol’s schedule, took detours or outright ignored him on campus. It got to the point where Hansol had to actively trick Seungkwan into thinking he'd left, and laid in wait like a stalker outside his door, to confront him about it. Once the committee stepped in, the whole thing blew over in a week or two, but Hansol still makes sure that if he’s seen in public with Seungkwan, he sticks close.
"Seungkwan-ah..."
Seungkwan must see the look on Hansol's face or hear the drop in his tone because he's quick to reassure Hansol. "It's not like that. I like the attention, I like being around people, I wouldn't be friends with any of them if I didn't."
Hansol doesn't get it. The prospect of friendship drama never appealed to him. He has a circle of close friends who he often hangs out with one-on-one, and even then the natural friction that occurs is enough to tire him out for days after. He doesn’t know how Seungkwan can stand it.
They’ve retrieved the food and have unpacked the food on Hansol’s low table. Seungkwan flips the lights on, maneuvering around the room like it’s his own. He grabs soda from Hansol’s mini-fridge along with two plastic cups.
“Should we have soju?”
“Is your essay that hard?”
“No, but soju makes it easier to write.”
“Is that so? Well tomorrow’s Thursday which means no practice, so I don’t mind.”
Hansol knows, it’s the only reason he suggested it. He doesn’t like soju all that much, but he keeps a carton of it in the corner of his room and one chilling in the fridge for this express purpose. It’s a habit he’s adopted that he doesn’t think much about.
He feels a bit crazy tonight, though. The evening heat sticking to their skin, his thoughts spinning like the tornado from Seungkwan’s party trick. Seungkwan flips it 6-1-12 and cracks the seal. He pours them both a shot and clicks their glasses together.
“Let me have a bite.”
“Aren’t you on a diet?”
Seungkwan makes a noise. “Just one bite.”
Hansol is already leaning over with his chopsticks outstretched but he’s moving too much. Seungkwan grabs his wrist to steady it and pulls the whole dumpling off with his teeth.
“Seungkwan,” Hansol whines. “That’s mine.”
Seungkwan holds up a hand in apology, though he’s grinning, “You can have some of my noodles."
Hansol helps himself to Seungkwan's jajangmyeon, the noodles brown and glistening in the dim light. "Is it tasty, Hansol-ah?"
"Yeah.”
“Good.”
Hansol reaches for his shot only for Seungkwan to trap it between his hand and the glass. Seungkwan’s a stickler about drinking alone, but he doesn’t drink much, preferring to force others to go at his pace. “Not so fast, let me finish this bite first.”
Hansol relents. Seungkwan’s hand is a warm brand on the back of Hansol’s hand. He has beautiful hands, whether they’re curved around a basketball or flipping a pen in circles, muscles flexing around delicate fingerbones. Most athletes have rough, calloused hands, but Seungkwan keeps his moisturised and manicured.
Staring at their overlapping hands makes Hansol’s brain go fuzzy and he’s still in a haze when Seungkwan says, “So she’ll be at the next game.”
There's only one 'she' that Hansol knows is interested in Seungkwan's games. “Suri-noona will be at your next game? Isn’t she working?”
“What? I wasn’t talking about noona.”
“Huh?”
That's when Hansol realises he’s missed a lot more than regular gossip. Seungkwan was sitting in the campus cafe when someone approached him to ask if he was Boo Seungkwan (he was) and if he would be interested in going on a date (he was).
“It was a girl in the year below. I was so surprised I just said yes. I’m not totally uninterested. You know, I’ve dated girls before in high school. I’m not against it, I’m just also attracted to men. It’s just that after last semester, no one was interested in dating me. Who knows? I might end up with a woman after all. Enlisting might completely turn me off men,” he laughs. “Anyway, since she’s been to my matches, I thought I should go.”
I’ve been to your matches, Hansol thinks.
The truth is, the only time it’s acceptable for him to stare at Seungkwan is when he’s on the court. To think that someone else will get to do that whenever they want turns him cold.
“What? Are you jealous?”
Because Hansol doesn’t like confrontation or conflict, he says no. Seungkwan wouldn’t have believed him anyway.
—
Designing his dormitory room had been a touch and go effort. Hansol’s studio equipment had been purchased through a lot of scrounging and saving, but mostly begging Jihoon. But it was the other non-necessities that had been collected through windfalls and seniors who took a liking to him and bequeathed him with their hand-me-downs. The mini-fridge was first, then the hot water kettle, then the rice cooker, when Jeonghan found out he’d been eating nothing but cup noodles since fresher’s week. He’d insisted that having a rice cooker would save him so much money, and Hansol, who found himself able to buy side dishes for once, had to admit he was right.
The electric hotpot was his real pride and joy. He’d saved up for a good one when Seungkwan expressed a longing for hotpot after receiving a soup packet from Minghao in the year above. Hansol had it tucked under his bed for weeks, fully intending to surprise Seungkwan when the first autumn chill rolled around, but now, staring at Seungkwan, blond and brilliant, strolling across campus with a brunette on his arm, he doesn't think he'll get the chance.
He knows her by her volleyball uniform and sports shoes squeaking through the gymnasium to pick Seungkwan up from practise. Her triangle-shaped pendant catching the light when she leans forward to hug him, and the thick frames she wears that he helps to readjust when they pull away. They look good together in a way that makes Hansol's chest twist.
He tries not to let it get to him. Keeps his eyes laser-focused onto Seungkwan’s jersey darting between blockers, palming the ball as he fakes a pass. A familiar ponytail swings into the air as people leap up to cheer at Seungkwan’s game-winning three-pointer, and Hansol has to leave.
"It's not anything" becomes his personal mantra, but he's not sure where it's directed. At himself or the girlfriend. Either way, it’s not enough and, out of self-preservation, he has to stop.
He stops dropping by practice, starts missing matches, avoids Seungkwan and his bouncy new girlfriend with legs like an antelope and that high ponytail, swinging like a rope.
The end of the year is long and lonely. Hansol ferries his body to and from the lecture hall to the studio where Jihoon has a cot set up for all-nighters. Hansol camps out there under the guise of recording a mixtape and Jihoon is too kind to kick him out until the holidays. When the semester ends, he retreats home, defeated, ignores his sister’s teasing remarks in favour of ranking up in Valorant. He doesn't get very far, gaming has never been his strong suit, but Wonwoo and Seungcheol, who are out of town visiting family, convince him to meet the international grad students for barbecue and soju.
Hansol goes without complaint. He's been told he's getting a free meal, plus Joshua will be there. Joshua was his Korean conversational partner back in the first semester and Joshua often shoots him screenshots of lab admin paperwork and asks him to translate. He is, as Joshua puts it, his personal translation app and Hansol has a sneaking suspicion that Joshua has him saved as "Verpago".
He turns up to the barbecue in the tracksuit he wore to sleep which Joshua smirks at but says nothing. Hansol’s not expecting to see two others at the table. Junhui, who high-fives him in greeting, seems cool. And though Minghao, an MBA student with a focus on fashion, raises an eyebrow, he’s quick to pull up a chair for Hansol.
Hansol vibes through the whole dinner, nodding along and eating the meat they pile onto his plate. He learns Junhui is majoring in acting and knows Seokmin, Hansol’s birthday buddy and one of Seungkwan’s best friends, through theatre. Joshua himself has been roped in to helping Jihoon with recording English vocals on a song. Hansol wonders why he wasn’t asked until Joshua sings a run and Hansol admits it’s out of his wheelhouse.
Junhui is... funny. He says strange things like "You're alright" and "Much taller than I thought you'd be," followed by rapid-fire Mandarin to Minghao who seems annoyed when he replies, then angry. He apologies to Hansol and then reprimands Junhui for reasons Hansol can't fathom.
Throughout the meal, he’s wondering who the empty seat is for, assuming it’s Jihoon since Joshua mentioned he was still on campus. So when he hears the rustle of plastic as the tent flap of the roadside stall rises and falls and someone slides into the empty seat, that’s who he’s expecting to see.
A hand lands on his head and slides down to his shoulder. “Hansollie,” Seungkwan sings, “How have you been?” And Hansol nearly falls off his chair.
He doesn’t though. Just stares in shock as Seungkwan deftly greets all three hyungs like they’re bosom buddies when he's only supposed to know Joshua who’s also on the basketball team.
“I thought you’d gone back to Jeju,” Hansol says, rushing to fill his glass.
“Flights are expensive right now. I’ve been working part-time instead and helping Jihoon-hyung out.”
“Where? The Ediya near campus?”
“Mmhm, and I play basketball with Shua-hyung on the weekends.”
“We’re actually going to play a game at the Han River after this. Wanna come?” Joshua says.
Usually Hansol says no. In sports, he’s an uncoordinated mess. Throwing his body after the ball becomes a priority such that he fails to consider how the rest of his body will catch up. That usually results in his limbs splaying outwards until he’s crab-walking across the court chasing a ball out-of-bounds.
Seungkwan gives him a conciliatory pat. “You can’t just spring this on him out of nowhere, hyung,” he simpers, making excuses for Hansol again. It’s not necessary, Joshua’s cool, and Hansol can fight his own battles if he needs to. It rankles him that Seungkwan would need to step in on his behalf, he supposes that is what prompts him to accept the invitation.
Junhui and Minghao tag along, though Junhui sits out in favour of cheering excitedly from the sidelines. They manage to secure half a court and Joshua produces a ball from his bag, then they break into teams of two, Joshua with Minghao and Hansol with Seungkwan. “You guard,” Seungkwan tells him, and Hansol’s more than happy to defer to his judgement.
The heavy meal, soju and winter chill should have been enough to slow anyone down, but as always, Boo Seungkwan has the talent to turn anything into a competition and quickly inspires Joshua to step up his game. Hansol falls behind, and so does Minghao, whose height advantage doesn’t preclude the fact that he’s also a beginner.
Soon enough, a small crowd gathers and a group of fellow students ask to join in. Hansol manfully bows out. Minghao stays in the game for a while longer, but soon after collapses on the sidelines. Junhui seems to have raided a convenience store, his pockets full of snacks and drinks which he offers to Hansol and Minghao. “Seungkwan-ssi is good, isn’t he?” Junhui says.
“He’s really good,” Minghao says with only a tinge of bitterness. Seungkwan had stolen the ball from under his nose not once, but three times.
“Yeah, he’s on the university team,” Hansol says, feeling oddly proud. “They recently won a national competition.”
On the court, Seungkwan chases after the ball, smacks it out of the air and into Joshua’s waiting hands. Defenders are on him in an instant and Joshua bounces it between their bodies to Seungkwan, who’s on the move. He races up to the net and bounces the ball off the backboard, scoring a two-pointer, easy as that. He offers Hansol a high-five and it connects with a stinging clap.
“I feel like I’m watching a live action production of Slam Dunk,” Junhui says. Hansol’s never seen it but he nods along.
“Is he going to go pro?” Minghao asks.
“I don’t think so,” Hansol says. He’d had a similar conversation with Seungkwan before, about going pro. Seungkwan was on a sports scholarship and more than likely going to end up team captain once Jeonghan finished his MBA, but Seungkwan said going pro wasn’t sensible given his height and build. He was very aware that his innate talents weren’t national level, nevermind international. It was better to focus on his other strengths and keep basketball as a hobby. Competitiveness and passion could only get you so far.
Watching Seungkwan fly across the court, Hansol thinks Seungkwan undersells himself, but he knows it’s not his place to say anything. It’s true he has a smaller build than most basketball players, but his dexterity, coordination and agility are unmatched. The way he dodges the defenders and gets into just the right position for Joshua to pass him the ball is not just an indication of their teamwork, but his own pinpoint accurate analysis of his opponents.
What he doesn’t bank on, however, is the other team getting riled up.
Their play doesn’t get noticeably more aggressive, but they do stick to Seungkwan more, hands flying up to fence off his attacks, bodies get in his way. No one really knows how it happens, but somewhere in the three-point arc, the mess of limbs tangles and the bodies, thrown off their centre of gravity, begin to fall. Seungkwan, in the midst of making a shot, doesn’t notice until it’s too late.
Junhui is the first on the court, Joshua, caught up in the euphoria of Seungkwan’s impossible two-pointer, is second to scramble to help pull Seungkwan from the pile. Hansol can’t seem to move, his head still ringing with Seungkwan’s cry of pain. Minghao calls for a taxi and has to hit Hansol to get him to respond. “Hansol, where are we? I need to tell the driver. Hansol?”
It’s not serious. It’s not. Seungkwan has a sprained wrist on his non-dominant hand. The doctor says he’ll still be able to play, but to take it easy. “It’s a good thing you’re on break,” he says. He doesn’t need to be kept overnight or anything so, at Seungkwan’s insistence, the doctor plies him with painkillers before sending him on his way.
Joshua parts ways with them at the dorm, and then Seungkwan says, “I need a drink.”
“You can’t drink on painkillers.”
“Who’s gonna stop me?”
He follows Seungkwan to room to make sure he doesn't. Grabs a sleeping bag from his room. Seungkwan protests all the way. “I can still use my right hand, Hansol.”
"You better not."
Sometime in the middle of the night, Hansol wakes with a start, disoriented and cold. His feet are sticking out from the sleeping bag. It takes him a moment to remember where he is, to place the unfamiliar ceiling, the sounds of traffic from the window, the smell of air freshener, and is immediately comforted by the familiar layout of the university dorm rooms.
Beside him, Seungkwan is weeping. Hansol turns to see him sitting up in bed, holding his hand to his chest in pain.
“Hansol-ah?” Seungkwan sniffs. “Did I wake you?”
“No, it’s just cold.”
He’d had to borrow Seungkwan’s clothes since he’d brought all his clothes home to wash, but even Seungkwan largest jumper rides up and his track pants don’t go past Hansol’s ankles. Socks help, but Hansol is still freezing. He clenches his teeth tight to stop them from chattering and says, “Are you okay? Do you need anything?”
“Can you get me a painkiller?”
Hansol does and Seungkwan downs it with a bottle of water. Then he takes a moment to calm himself.
“Are you okay?” Hansol asks carefully.
“I think I twisted it when I was sleeping. Can you sleep beside me? Make sure I don’t move around?”
“I don’t want to jostle you.”
“You won’t, you sleep like the dead,” Seungkwan says, making space for Hansol to lie down. “Remember the camping trip? You went to take a nap and missed dinner. I tried so hard to wake you, I even blasted Wonder Girls, but you were knocked out cold.”
“You still made me ramyun in the middle of the night.”
“Of course! How would you be able to sleep on an empty stomach?”
They end up squeezed in the single bed, Seungkwan’s arm carefully placed on his stomach, Hansol lying on his side to pin him down, giving him a perfect view of Seungkwan’s profile. A beautiful mistake. Hansol draws his eyes up and down the topography of Seungkwan's face, lingering on acne scars he usually covers up with light foundation, observing how the gathering of melanin of his moles bulge very slightly out of his skin.
“Why have you been avoiding me?” Seungkwan asks, words slurring as the painkillers start to kick in. "Did I do something?"
Hansol shrugs his shoulders, careful not to jostle Seungkwan's injured wrist. “I’m not avoiding you now.”
Seungkwan kicks him weakly, it’s more of a nudge. “I’m serious.”
“I’m serious too, we’re stuck together.”
Seungkwan kicks him a few more times until Hansol gives in with another weak excuse. “You were busy.”
Seungkwan’s voice softens. “I’ll never be too busy for you, Hansollie.”
“Your girlfriend,” Hansol says, even though just mentioning her is like thumbing a bruise, a dull pain spreading across his chest.
“What about her?” Seungkwan says, nearly asleep. His lips twitch up. “Are you still jealous?”
“Yeah,” Hansol whispers.
“She’s a good kid. She's a blocker, you know? She's taller than me."
I'm taller than you, Hansol wants to say. He buries his nose in Seungkwan’s sleep shirt. It smells like laundry and soap and sweat.
"Very talented," Seungkwan continues, not listening. "Cute. She’s pretty girlish despite her looks. She dresses all cool and mature but she’s really just cute. I think she's your height.”
Hansol doesn't really want to hear about Seungkwan's girlfriend. But he can't just change the topic.
“You should get a girlfriend.”
“I don’t want one.”
“You should get one. Then you won’t be so lonely.”
Hansol bites the inside of his cheek.
“Don’t you miss her?”
In Korean, the act of missing someone does not have to be accompanied by the subject. This is something Hansol realises later is why the conversation turned out the way it did. To refer to the act of missing someone, whether a question or statement, is phrased the same with the simple addition or subtraction of a question mark. “보고 싶어?”
“Huh?”
“It’s the holidays. Don’t you miss—?”
The subject being implied by context, in this case, Seungkwan’s girlfriend, his family, even, and yet, what Seungkwan says turns Hansol’s world upside down.
“Yeah, I did,” he says. “A lot. Even now that I’m with you, I didn’t see you all semester. I feel like I’ve missed you all this time.” Hansol thinks he misheard or Seungkwan did, doped up on pain and painkillers, but either way he doesn’t correct Seungkwan. The fact remains that Seungkwan missed him. His heart beats faster, fueling his brain uselessly trying to make sense of this revelation as Seungkwan keeps talking. “Is that weird? That’s not weird, is it?”
“No,” Hansol whispers, feeling rather than hearing Seungkwan’s breathing deepen as he falls asleep.
—
Hansol moves back into dorms for the rest of semester break, to his sister’s relief. He does go home for Christmas. He invites Seungkwan along for mass though neither of them are religious, Seungkwan gets a kick out of singing hymns.
Just before Seollal, Seungkwan shuffles off to the airport in the KTX. Hansol carries his luggage for him all the way to the airport and hovers constantly until Seungkwan assures him that he’ll ask for assistance if he needs it. “ When you need it,” Hansol says, texts, calls. He thinks the message bears repeating when Seungkwan can be so thoughtless about his own body.
In return for his mothering, Seungkwan sends him pictures of Jeju. Of the beach in winter, cold and grey and beautiful. Of the shafts of sunlight that shatter the sea into glittering shards of glass. A week or so later, Hansol goes to meet him at Incheon only to get scolded.
“What are you doing here? I said I’d meet you back at campus.”
“I came to help you with your luggage so you wouldn’t have to take the airport express.”
“I could have taken the subway on my own. My sprain is a lot better.”
“Yeah, you’ve taken off your bandage too... Have you been playing basketball?”
“...No.” Seungkwan smacks him on the arm. "Don't look at me like that."
“Ow! I’m just looking out for you.”
“Look elsewhere,” Seungkwan snarks.
“The doctor said not to strain yourself.”
“I haven’t! Just some light dribbling and free throws with my good arm."
"You better not have taken off that brace."
They bicker all the way back to Seoul. Seungkwan quietly swears at him and he swears back, just a bit louder to scandalise Seungkwan in front of the working crowd. It’s familiar, this new equilibrium, far less stable, far more likely to end in tears. An unassuming sapling clawing roots deep into the soil.
It takes a while for the coach to let Seungkwan back onto court. He wears a wrist guard that he says is scratchy and irritating. Mingyu tag teams Soonyoung into teasing him about bench-warming, but they also stay back to run drills with him, to make sure their ace doesn't lose his touch. Their new recruit, Chan, is just as eager to help out, happy to play water boy for a chance to banter with his hero.
Hansol continues to avoid the gynasium. He has no desire to run into Seungkwan’s girlfriend or watch her high ponytail swing back and forth.
He does see Seungkwan at dorms but he always seems to be rushing off. Sending someone off at the airport. Attending someone's recital. Accompanying someone to a mixer. He's in bullet train mode, Joshua told him. With the new school year starting, the seniors are extra busy making the most of their last year.
So it’s safe to say Hansol isn't expecting it when he gets accosted on the way to the office in the student union on a late Friday afternoon.
Seungkwan pops his head out from one of the booth seats, his blond hair already going black at the roots, and calls out, “Chwe! Han! Sol!"
“Boo! Seung! Kwan!” Hansol returns, shuffling over obediently.
Seungkwan makes a beckoning motion towards the iced americano in Hansol’s hand and Hansol tucks it against his chest. “This is for Seungcheol-hyung."
"He can always get Jeonghan-hyung to get one for him."
"You know Jeonghan-hyung wouldn't move a muscle."
"He'll at least defend you when you show up without it. Come on, I need the caffeine more. I'm starting to get the shakes.”
Hansol rolls his eyes but relinquishes the coffee. He eyes Seungkwan’s massive pile of papers. “What are you working on?”
Seungkwan makes a noise at the back of his throat. “I’m helping Jiheon-noona edit her final paper so she’ll have time for Les Mis. The upcoming musical,” he adds.
Hansol makes a face. Jiheon is a senior in Seokmin's troupe who, he’s heard, complains often about not having enough time for rehearsals because she's falling behind on coursework.
“Did she ask you? Or did Seokmin-hyung?”
It’s almost a given that Seokmin will be co-lead or at least part of the main cast. It wouldn’t be out of the question that he asked Seungkwan to help out his fellow cast member.
Seungkwan, for his part, doesn’t say who. "Does it matter?" Hansol supposes it doesn't, a favour is a favour, and Seungkwan is still editing her work.
“You don’t have to say yes to everything, you know,” Hansol says.
Seungkwan spreads his hands across the papers, pressing his fingers into his extensive notes, warping his already slanted scrawl. “I know but I like to."
"Do you even sleep?"
Seungkwan gives his cup an ice-rattling shake to get to the dregs. "I sleep enough. Can you get me another coffee? Don't give me that look. Coach still hasn’t let me back on the court."
"I bet your girlfriend’s happy about that."
"...We broke up. Didn't I tell you?"
Hansol stares at him in disbelief. He didn’t know. Seungkwan may have told him but maybe he wasn’t paying attention. Again.
“Anyway, it’s not a burden for me to help out the people around me.”
“Jeonghan-hyung does it too, but he always makes sure he has time for himself.”
“First of all, Jeonghan-hyung is much smarter than I am. Second of all, I do take care of myself,” he says, offended.
Hansol can hardly imagine Seungkwan partaking in a break without filling it with an activity of some sort.
“You can still come over anytime you want, you know? To like,” Hansol waves vaguely.
“Hide out?” Seungkwan asks, bemused.
“To hang out. I have some new tracks.”
Seungkwan perks up at that. “Really? New tracks by The Vernon himself? Rising rapper from the Hongdae underground? Of course I want to listen to those!"
Hansol blushes and laughs. “Then come over.”
Seungkwan's smile turns subdued. “When I have the time.”
“Even when you don’t. Come anytime. We’re friends,” Hansol adds.
Seungkwan looks more relieved than he should. “Thanks, Hansol-ah.”
—
Seungkwan doesn’t come over. In fact, Hansol doesn't see much of him at all over the next couple of weeks. Up until one night when he's slaving over an essay in the library and his phone rings.
"Hansol-ah," Seungkwan's words trip over each other in a mad rush to make it through the receiver, stumbling over hiccups and little stifled giggles. "Hansol-ah, I wanted to tell you- you're pretty. Your eyes are incredible. Did you know that? You're so pretty like a doll. You're really, really, really—"
"Seungkwan-ah," Hansol says patiently. "Are you drunk?" Seungkwan sounds like he's well over his limit of a bottle and a half.
"Nooo! I'm not drunk at all!" Seungkwan exclaims. "Here, see?" He breathes into the receiver and Hansol can hear laughter erupting on the other side. “How is he able to tell from that?” someone says, a few high-pitched giggles sneaking their way through. Someone calls Seungkwan cute in a way that gets Hansol nervous.
"Where are you?"
Hansol finds Seungkwan in a bar in Hongdae surrounded by seniors he doesn't recognise. He's flanked on either side by very pretty women with round faces who have him trapped in their arms. They coo and coddle him, pinching his cheeks and plucking at his clothes. The men aren't much better, petting his hair, pouring him more drinks and teasing him when he pouts and protests. Hansol arrives just in time to snatch a shot from his hand and down it.
Seungkwan looks up when Hansol clears his throat. "Hansollie, you're here."
Seungkwan's lips are cherry red, as if he's been biting them all night long. His eyes are bleary and bright.
"Seungkwan," Hansol says.
"Hey, aren't you Chwe Hansol! The Chwe Hansol?"
No one has ever spoken to Hansol like that. "Excuse me?"
"You're one of SU's great mysteries. Wow, he's even more handsome up close."
"Where have you been hiding this whole time?"
Hansol has no idea what's happening. All the seniors have turned towards him with matching wolfish grins.
"Join us, sit down. Have a drink." Someone tries to press a shot into Hansol's hand, another tugs on his windbreaker.
Seungkwan's eyes clear up in an instant, he snatches the drink away and downs it, in a moment of clarity, half of it goes spilling down his chin. "Don’t bother,” he simpers. “Hansollie isn't much fun."
The seniors look surprised. Then they laugh.
"Yah, Seungkwan, you can't talk to your seniors that way."
"You might hurt our feelings."
"Hansollie doesn't drink," Seungkwan says.
"It's just a drink, Seungkwannie, it won't hurt him."
"Hansollie doesn't drink," Seungkwan insists.
"Chwe Hansol doesn't belong to you, Seungkwanie," someone pipes up.
"Actually," Hansol says, and every head at the table turns to look at him. "He's really drunk so I'm gonna take him back."
An arm winds its way around Seungkwan’s shoulders. "Aw. He can drink a little more, can't you, Seungkwannie?"
"You said that you'd accompany us to the next bar at least."
"He looks like he's gonna throw up,” Hansol tries.
"He's fine—" another senior starts to say and Hansol is seriously considering hitting a senior but Seungkwan's head hits the table first.
—
"Hansol-ah, let me go."
"No, you'll fall."
"I won’t.”
“I’m not arguing with you. Be still or I’ll drop you. Right in the middle of the road."
“You didn't have to come get me. Now we’re stuck in Hongdae with no way back."
"We're not going back."
"And I can't afford a cab."
"Those seniors were gonna let you drink until you got alcohol poisoning."
"It's part of the university experience. Hey, I'm serious, let me off. Let me off!” An old man carrying a bundle of cardboard boxes gives them a nasty side-eye. Hansol is aware they’re being too rowdy for a residential area but he doesn’t care. He just tightens his grip on Seungkwan’s arms slung around his neck and half drags him into the elevator.
Manuevering a drunk Seungkwan through his family home is harder than despite the fact that Seungkwan’s bones have turned to jelly. He starts mumbling something about the lingering smell of smoked meat. Hansol thinks it might be spaghetti night. "Be quiet, my parents are sleeping," he says, and hauls Seungkwan's warm body onto his bed before flopping down beside it.
“Hansollie, I’m cold.” It’s late spring but the house is chilly and Seungkwan left his jacket at the bar, which he's sure to complain about later. Hansol grabs the end of the duvet and folds it over Seungkwan. “Where are we?”
“In my family home. So if you would keep your voice down—”
“Come under here with me.”
“I’m not going to do that.”
“Why not? Come on. Please?”
“Stop it or I’ll throw you out. I swear.”
Seungkwan’s face crumples. He starts to whine. “Hansollllieee.”
"Seungkwannieee," Hansol says. “You need to stop saying yes to people. I don’t want to have to rescue you from another sogaeting.”
Seungkwan tries to smack his arm and ends up pawing limply at him. “It’s none of your business who I say yes to. If someone wants to go for dinner, I’ll go. If they want me to go with them to a concert, I’ll go. If they want to date me, I’ll do it.” He glares at Hansol in challenge. "Now get over here."
Hansol leaps onto him and they tussle, or Hansol smothers Seungkwan who unsuccessfully tries to fend him off. “Stop it," he tells him, though it's unclear what he means.
“You stop it. Stop being so nice to me. If you’re not going to do anything about it then you need to let me make a fool of myself in peace.”
When Hansol first met Seungkwan, uni hadn't started yet. The afternoon sun was uncommonly hot, piercing through the veil of spring to cook the dormitory corridor. Hansol had just finished moving in when he caught Seungkwan emerging from his room, a melted iced Americano in one hand.
Seungkwan, fanning himself with one hand, had locked eyes with him. His mouth fell open. “Wow,” he said. “You’re fucking handsome.”
The first student Hansol had met who actually opened up the possibility that Hansol was making his college debut. It was a little too early to eat nangmyun but Seungkwan, who had moved in a couple of weeks early, was keen to show Hansol what he considered the best restaurants in the area. Hansol, who had never had a friend quite as extroverted as Seungkwn, was helplessly dragged along. Afterwards Seungkwan convinced him to play basketball by the Han River where they shot hoops until the sun went down. They sat and watched the lights by the river and Seungkwan said something about how big Seoul was compared to Jeju and then gave himself a little slap on the face.
"Why did you just hit yourself?"
"Because it feels like I'm dreaming."
His face was shiny with sweat so that under the streetlights he looked like he was glowing. Though they were in the city miles away from the sea, the air was briney and clean. Everything was incredibly romantic. A stupid question was perched on the edge of Hansol’s tongue like what cologne he was wearing. Instead he asked one even more stupid like if Seungkwan was looking to find a girlfriend in uni. Seungkwan had said, maybe not a girlfriend .
"Oh are you waiting until after conscription or something?" There were guys like that who liked to focus on what they were doing without the distraction of dating. Seungkwan had given him a weird look and then just made a noncommittal noise which Hansol took to mean ‘maybe’, but maybe it was a mocking noise. Like Hansol didn’t get whatever Seungkwan was trying to say and Seungkwan thought it was self-admonishing himself for it.
It seemed unimportant at the time, Hansol barely knew him. But now it seems so important, so monumentally important that Hansol is wide awake at 3am in his childhood bedroom trying to suppress another stupid question on the tip of his tongue. “What did you mean?” he might ask. “What were you looking for?” Only, Seungkwan snores loudly in his ear and Hansol can’t find it in him to wake him up.
It’s always like this, Hansol ruminating in a dark room while Seungkwan slumbers on. The only time his thoughts manage to catch up to him is when Seungkwan has stopped.
Hansol doesn’t remember falling asleep, but he dreams, picking up where their conversation by the Han left off, except Seungkwan’s hair is longer and bleached and brown at the roots. It must be after summer because he’s in his navy blue shorts he bought on a trip to Busan and his shirt is moist with sweat.
He’s laughing at something Hansol said, that great gulping laugh that sounds like capitalised “HA HAs” that catapults Hansol back to when he was a kid lying on the floor reading the Sunday funnies, a spoonful of sugary cereal coagulating in his mouth. Seungkwan reaches over pets Hansol’s hair with his other arm, which is strange to Hansol, because why would he reach over with his other arm. Then he realises they’re holding hands. Seungkwan’s hand is large and slender, his fingers slim. Those same fingers have pinched Hansol’s face, his ears, wrapped around his shoulders, gripped his arm, now they’re in his hand and they’re so far away from his core but feel so much closer.
Hansol realises they’re bickering about the sun because they’ve lost track of time but it sounds more like they actually have control over where the sun should be in the sky. Hansol thinks it’s ridiculous that Seungkwan is trying to help him plan his own dream and Seungkwan says, “Obviously, you couldn’t plan your way out of your room.”
“You’re exaggerating.”
“You forget things all the time. I even have to remind you not to eat certain foods because of your allergies. Honestly, who can’t even keep track of their own allergies?”
“It’s not that I don’t keep track, it’s just not that important.”
“Listen to yourself. Life-threatening allergies aren’t important? This is why you need me around.”
Then why aren’t you around? Hansol wants to ask. But Seungkwan is right there, beautiful as a dream, beautiful in the dream, smiling at him, saying, “Let’s stay together for a long time. Until we’re old and decrepit. Alright, Hansollie?”
—
Hansol finds himself in the dormitory common room on Saturday at a drinking circle with three overlapping friendship groups. There’s at least five people he doesn’t know here but they all know each other in some way or another through the basketball team, surprisingly well-connected. Seungkwan is here but Hansol came with Jihoon so he’s sitting between him and Joshua, tuning into each conversation whenever they ask him a question.
Life buoys of green and brown bottles rise and fall among the sea of wrappers and snacks. Mingyu lifts one and capsizes it over every empty glass, filling each one with its own tiny sea. Tubs of red tteokbokki and eomuk-tang rise up like white whales which thirteen pairs of chopsticks harpoon with extreme precision, scavenging the carcasses down to their last scraps.
Soonyoung gets delightfully drunk and, in between rants about internship interviews and his thesis advisor, executes ingenious little dances that draw Seokmin in until their hands are linked. Chan, along with half the table, burst out in incredulous laughter. The seniors watch over the proceedings, Seungcheol has one arm slung tipsy over Joshua’s shoulder, his hair mussed by his own restless hand, Jeonghan’s chin is denting his shoulder.
The evening is cut short by Mingyu who insists that they need to get up early the next day for practice. He’s chided by Jeonghan who says he’s being too eager for someone who isn’t even team captain yet and he’s not leaving until his glass is empty. Jihoon, however, takes the opportunity to say his goodbyes so he can get back to work. This prompts Hansol to glance at Seungkwan, however, who has half-crawled into Wonwoo’s lap. Wonwoo for his part just pets his hair indulgently, like he doesn’t even register Seungkwan as a full-grown man and more of a very affectionate dog.
Minghao catches Hansol’s eye and nudges Junhui who nudges Seungkwan who sits up and starts protesting at the people who have decided to leave. But Soonyoung has already checked out and so has Seokmin, causing the table to wind down. Seungkwan is shoved into Hansol’s arms with his jacket draped over his shoulders and a parting grin from Minghao who, Hansol believes, is entirely too perceptive for everyone’s good.
The nap did Seungkwan some good in sobering up. He walks back to their dorms with very little assistance, though he does convince Hansol to go to the convenience store with him. Hansol doesn’t want him to handle any hot food in case he ends up wearing it, so he gets them both ramyun and triangle kimbaps and they sit outside on the metal chairs to eat it. Seungkwan struggles to split his chopsticks until Hansol plucks it out of his hands.
Then Seungkwan jokingly says, “Hansol-ah, if it’s going to be like this, should we just date?”
Thirty-seven seconds of agonising, excruciating silence pass before Seungkwan realises what he's just said and a look of horror comes over him.
"Yes," Hansol says.
"Never mind, I— did you just say yes?"
"I, yeah?"
Seungkwan squints clumsily at him, "Are you making fun of me?"
"Of course not! I do want to date you!"
"Good!" Seungkwan says, blushing. "If you're doing this just to make me happy, I won't forgive you. I'm serious. I'll kill you."
"No way. Unless you're only asking because you're drunk."
"Don't insult me. I may not have the best sense of timing but...but neither do you!"
"You're right," Hansol says, shaking his head. "I'm slow to catch on and I miss out on a lot. It feels like I just never get there on time. By the time I realise what's going on, I've missed my chance. I just didn't want to go another year watching someone else next to you."
Seungkwan gives a wet laugh. "Is that why I didn't see you all winter? It took me getting drunk for you to come find me?"
"You should stop drinking so much. And don't say yes all the time."
Seungkwan laughs again. "Poor Hansollie," he says, reaching out to pet Hansol's hair. "It must have been hard. It's been so long since we hung out in your room, huh?"
"Yes, you've been so busy and I’ve been waiting for you to come home all this time."
Seungkwan makes a noise of defeat and covers his face, completely overwhelmed.
Hansol lets him stew for a while, then he says, "I think your ramyun has become a rice cake."
"Who cares!"
"It's completely hardened."
"You're crazy."
"Look at me."
"No, why should I? You're a menace."
"Look at me, I want to see you."
"What does it matter? Me looking at you has never stopped you from looking at me."
"Yeah, but I wanna see your eyes."
Seungkwan's hands slide down but he's still looking away. "There, happy?"
"Look at me."
"Who can look at you? Stop making fun of me. And stop with your face."
Hansol's aware that he's probably grinning too widely, sticking his face right next to Seungkwan. He probably looks deranged. He doesn't care. "How?"
"I don't know, that's not my problem. Just stop. You, you are a terror, with your staring and your face, and your hair and your general existence just stop. I can't take this much of you, I'm going insane."
Hansol's grin grows impossibly wider. "So what I'm hearing is that you're crazy for me."
"I’d hit you but you need your face, it’s the only thing that’s stopping noona from strangling you."
"Which one?"
"All of them." One terrible beat. Seungkwan lowers his hands to study Hansol's expression. "I was just joking! They adore you, really. Don't worry."
It's not that easy. Hansol knows that. But looking at Seungkwan jab at his mushy noodles before giving up and tearing open a hot bar, he thinks he could handle it.