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Ricky’s tuning the strings of his bass when Gyuvin says it. “I might have a crush on you, but it’s not a big deal.”
“What?” He whips around, and the asshole’s flipping his drumsticks almost lazily. “Gyuvin, what the hell?”
“I thought it would be a good time to tell you!” Gyuvin pouts. “Practice hasn’t started yet because Hao-hyung and Yujinnie aren’t here, anyway!”
That’s… true. Good on Gyuvin for considering the fact that they’d need to be alone for this— it’s not one of the most idiotic things he’s done in his eight years of being Ricky’s best friend, thankfully, but it’s still on the list.
In fact, Ricky doesn’t even know what to say. ‘ Okay’ would make one or both of them wince. ‘I’ll get right back to you on that’ surely can affect Gyuvin’s performance (and Ricky’s, for that matter) for the rest of the practice if he’s overthinking it. ‘I’m sorry’ is certainly not appropriate, because that sounds like a rejection. Is it a rejection? No, far from it.
‘Thank you for loving me.’
Ah, if Zhang Hao were here, Ricky would be six feet underground for even considering it.
Ricky considers it for a moment, then decides he needs another moment, so he busies himself by fiddling with the settings on his amp. He’s well aware that Gyuvin is watching him with some sort of look: something of curiosity, of wanting to know another person like the back of your hand.
“… Having a crush on someone is a big deal, you know,” Ricky says cautiously, finally. Are you sure?
“Of course I’m sure, idiot.” Gyuvin scoffs as if it’s common knowledge, then looks away and starts nonsensically tapping the rim of his snare drum with his fingertips. “God, don’t— don’t look at me like that. We’ve been friends for years, Ricky, your face says it all.”
“You’d know a lot about my face, wouldn’t you,” he mumbles in reply while stretching out his fingers so he could fret properly. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Gyuvin raise his drumsticks as if about to attack him with them, and he smiles. “Is it alright if I ask why it isn’t a big deal to you?’
“Hmm. Let’s see.” Another lazy flip with his drumstick between his fingers. “It’s been… I dunno, maybe six years since it really began. For me, the tides push and pull, people awaken and sleep, and I have a crush on Shen Quanrui. On you, Ricky.” Gyuvin lets his eyes fall shut, and even if Gyuvin is stationed with his drums separating him from the group, Ricky can point out the length of his eyelashes. “It’s not a big deal because having a crush on— having you with me has made living the best it could be. The way things stand now, there’s no way I’m getting over you, and the terrifying part is that I don’t mind it.”
A beat of silence, broken by the sound of Ricky doing his bass exercises and Gyuvin dropping one of his drumsticks then faintly saying, “aw, shit” under his breath. It’s expected rather than awkward. They’ve known each other long enough for two things to become apparent: Ricky is the type to plan out what he’ll say and double check it mentally before he does anything, while Gyuvin verbally dumps out his thoughts so he needs the time to reflect on how he feels afterwards.
Ricky finishes his first chord scale before murmuring, “You know, we’ve been friends for eight years, Gyuvin.”
“Yeah? And?”
“You liked me for three-quarters of the time we’ve known each other?”
“So what if I have,” Gyuvin shoots back defensively, although he’s obviously trying his hardest to bite back a smile. “There’s no need to rub it in. Instead, let’s talk about why that’s the only thing you picked up from my very heartfelt confession to you, Ricky.”
He’s challenging Ricky with a familiar stare, one that’s known to Ricky through Gyuvin’s love for competitive games, as well as the adrenaline he gets when they’re playing in front of a crowd.
Actually, Ricky was expecting this question, because as much as he denies it, he’s striving to learn Gyuvin like the back of his hand, too.
“Well,” Ricky starts shifting his weight from foot to foot, mindlessly plucking on the bass strings. It’s better than staring back into Gyuvin’s eyes and taking in the way he’s effortlessly twirling his sticks between his fingers— it’s during these moments that Ricky remembers how attractive Gyuvin is. “I know you, and I know that you’re probably feeling embarrassed because that’s the sappiest thing you’ve said in a long while, so I’m focusing on the lighter parts of your confession.”
The way that Gyuvin’s jaw hangs open is enough to deem him victorious. Ricky shrugs casually and strums another chord.
“How could you say something like that so easily?” Open mouth now replaced with a pout, Gyuvin sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose. “You know me too well, damn it. I hate you.”
“According to you, it’s quite the opposite—”
He’d love to keep going but Gyuvin cuts him off with a sudden drumroll, and sets his sticks down with a groan once Ricky’s been silenced. “Please. Have mercy, won’t you?”
“I actually think I’m being pretty nice.” Ricky pauses, and adds as an afterthought, “I like you too, by the way,” just because he’s never been so sure of anything than he is right now.
Gyuvin squeaks out a “What?”. He then proceeds to fall out of his chair, throw his drumsticks while falling out of his chair, and land on the ground just as the drumsticks drop onto his drum set and bounce about the different drums and cymbals, causing a loud series of clashing sounds.
Standing there with his bass hanging off its strap on his shoulder and his lips parted slightly, Ricky watches and thinks to himself, yeah, I definitely like him.
Sure, it takes a while for Gyuvin to recollect himself and then ultimately pretend like… whatever that was didn’t just happen, but Ricky finds that his heart is beating a little faster, right here, in Gyuvin’s garage, surrounded by their instruments.
“Yah, Shen Quanrui,” Gyuvin exclaims, pointing a drumstick at him accusingly. It takes a while to register that Gyuvin’s talking to him solely because he hardly ever uses Ricky’s birth name. “You couldn’t have just told me that earlier and saved me a shit ton of embarrassment?”
“I found it funny,” he replies honestly.
“ Funny?”
Ricky looks away and lets his fingers drift amongst the bass strings. “… and kind of cute, I guess. To see you that way.”
“Oh.”
This… is a new development, because not once in their eight years of friendship had they had an awkward silence. They’ll study in the library quietly and Gyuvin will occasionally tap him on the shoulder and show him a funny video, stifling a laugh into his hand. They’ve had moments after arguments where Ricky will seek him out, sit down next to him, and bring Gyuvin’s head closer to rest on his shoulder. When Gyuvin broke up with his girlfriend a handful of years ago, he sobbed into Ricky’s neck, and silently, they held each other.
Ricky can say with utmost confidence that this is the first time he’s ever felt awkward around Gyuvin. Here they are, two best friends that happen to have crushes on each other, lingering before practice and wondering what the hell you’re supposed to do after confessing your undying admiration for another man.
Is this the part where people kiss, Ricky thinks to himself, which means hopelessness for whatever comes from their requited pining, because he knows for a fact that Gyuvin is thinking the same exact thing.
The door bursts open. Both Ricky and Gyuvin jump — Gyuvin nearly yells out another curse or two and drops his drumsticks for the nth time — when Zhang Hao and Han Yujin walk in with brown paper bags in their hands.
“The pizza place was closed so we picked up burgers instead,” Hao announces, placing the bags onto a table near the back. He walks over to his guitar and slips the strap over his head, letting the instrument hang from his torso. “Gyuvin, please don’t eat all of the fries— why do you both look so red?”
“What,” Ricky says.
“That’s absolutely not true,” Gyuvin hurries to add, although the way that he unsubtly presses the back of his hand to his cheek implies otherwise.
Hao narrows his eyes. “Eight years of being best friends, and you confess to him in his own garage, Ricky?” he asks him in rapid-fire Mandarin.
“What confession? We didn’t do anything,” Ricky answers blankly. He’s a little bit mentally occupied: Yujin and Gyuvin are leering at him with looks burning through the sides of his head. Not to mention the fact that Hao’s glare alone is enough to take down thousands of ships. (He’s also beautiful enough to launch an equally large number of ships. Like that Helen of Troy person Ricky learned about in history, or something.
Huh. Would that mean Zhang Hao is Helen and that loserish boyfriend of his is Paris?)
“The last time I’ve seen you blush so hard is when you asked me if you could date Monika on Doki Doki Literature Club because you had a massive crush on her.” Hao rolls his eyes. “Don’t lie to me, you little shit.”
“Did you guys finally kiss?” Yujin pipes up out of nowhere while fiddling with his guitar.
All three of the other members of the band sharply turn around to face him. “Yujin,” Gyuvin hisses through gritted teeth. “What’s ‘ finally’ supposed to mean here?”
“Well, I don’t know what Hao-hyung told Ricky,” the youngest mutters rather darkly, “but I do know that at least half of the world has been waiting for you guys to confront your shit already.”
“Language.” Hao walks over to him and tugs his earlobe.
“Sorry,” Yujin cheekily responds in Mandarin.
Ricky would be proud of him easily picking up on their native language if not for the fact that Yujin basically implied their obviousness about their feelings. The general understanding — extending outside of their band to their friend group — is that Yujin is extremely observant and while he does get a little tired of his ‘nagging hyungs’ sometimes, most of what he says often holds true. “How did you know that we talked about it?” he asks Yujin, to Gyuvin’s surprise.
“I dunno. Just a hunch, I guess. ‘Cause after six years of crushing on someone—” Yujin turns to Gyuvin, “you can’t really repress it anymore.”
Ricky blinks. “That’s…”
“… Exactly what happened,” Gyuvin finishes, and collapses on top of his drum set, his head lying in his arms as he groans. “I couldn’t hold it in anymore.”
He sounds so conflicted that Ricky starts taking off his bass and walking over to comfort him, but Zhang Hao fixes a stare onto him— if you start now, we’re never going to get practice finished. It sucks, because although he’s not anywhere near Yujin’s level of accuracy, most of the time, Hao’s right.
“I think you’re just a little bit predictable, Gyuvin,” Ricky decides on telling him, giving him a small smile when Gyuvin raises his head up from his arms. “It’s not a bad thing. It’s sweet.”
“You think so?” The grin that Gyuvin shoots back is just as sweet.
“Yeah. I do.”
“ Ooookay,” Hao yells and plays a loud riff on his guitar, making all of them wince. Ricky feels the heat rush to his cheeks again. “That was very cute to watch, but we have a performance in two days, and I don’t think our fans will like it much if YUEHUAZ turns out to be a really shitty-sounding band.” He shoulders his guitar and nods back at their drummer, “Gyuvinnie, count us in, will you?”
“You got it!” Gyuvin winks at Hao and raises his drumsticks in advance, then his gaze falls on Ricky. “Ricky—”
“I’m not off the hook, I know.” A verbal confirmation of what’s yet to come; neither of them know what will happen. Right now, all Ricky knows is the familiar feeling of his fingers on the strings and the weight of his bass grounding him to the planet and the fact that Gyuvin’s sticking by him, no matter what. “I’ve got you.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he hears Gyuvin reply. He knows that boy like the lines on his palm, and the blood running through his veins, and most of all, he knows Gyuvin is blushing. “One, two, three, four—”
They’ll be okay.