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Life is a series of mundane situations that snowball into relevancy. You wake up, go to school, study and sleep. After three years, you wake up and get a degree.
Then you wake up, go to work, go home and sleep. After eighty years, you wake up old and look at whatever you've built through that series of mundane decisions.
Each time, you have to believe that you’re laying the bricks to something important, but you’re the only person that gets to decide that. To some, that’s reassuring, to others, that’s terrifying.
And sometimes, you wake up one day and you don’t recognise what you’ve built, you have no idea what you’ve become.
The basketball team places 2nd in U-League and though everyone cheers, Seungkwan can feel their disappointment. The coach makes sure to tell everyone that they’ve done a good job, but he’s holding back tears of his own.
Someone murmurs, “If only Jeonghan-hyung and Seungcheol-hyung were here...”
Seungkwan doesn’t want to hear it but he does. Jeonghan and Seungcheol were team captain and assistant team captain last year and they were the reason the basketball team stormed U-League and came out on top. They left behind a legacy so large, the rest of the team struggled to fill their shoes. Seungkwan knows Mingyu, their current captain, has it hardest of all, especially because there is no assistant team captain this year.
Assistant team captain was a role created specially for Seungcheol. Partly because he already had his position on the student committee, and partly because Jeonghan refused to be captain on his own. He was a damn good captain but he worked better with Seungcheol beside him, silently supporting him. They were one of the strongest pillars holding up the team.
Mingyu is a good captain, but he’s not Jeonghan and Seungcheol.
When the coach finishes his spiel, Seungkwan nudges Mingyu who stammers into a speech. He sidesteps the insubordination with a deftness that Seungkwan adores and says, “Even if we didn’t win, we came all this way and we got close. Our efforts didn’t pay off this time but next time we’ll do it. Right?”
The team screams their assent.
“That’s right. We’ll have plenty more opportunities,” Mingyu says.
The team still goes out to celebrate though everything they put in their mouths has a bitter tang. No one talks about it, and if they do, they’re shushed by more bold proclamations of “there’s always next time” and “we’ll get better, we’ll show them”.
The truth is, there is no next time. There is only another time, a different time. A time in which Mingyu is not captain and the seniors have graduated. A time with a different captain, a different team.
Not this team. That’s how university is.
Seungkwan hears one senior too many click their tongue and raises a glass. “Everyone, cheer up! We still placed!” Seungkwan says, though one after the other, people start shooting looks. “Next time for sure—”
Heads turn towards him and Seungkwan recognises the weight of their gazes.
They’re not just looking at him, they’re looking for hope, they’re looking for someone to take the lead. It can’t be Mingyu, it can’t be any of the seniors, they’re all leaving. There’s no one left in his year to do it. He casts a glance at Chan but he’s not looking.
Seungkwan swallows, steels himself, forces himself to sound confident when he says, “Next year, we’ll win.”
This time, the table erupts in actual cheers.
Seungkwan makes it to his dormitory room, somehow. He’s still upright though all day he has felt like falling to his knees. He couldn’t do it in front of the team, it would only devastate them.
He stands in the middle of the room, in the dark. The faint glow of the streetlights squeeze under the curtains. His head is so heavy, his muscles are burning, his legs are two wobbly sticks, his feet don’t exist.
In his wrist is a phantom ache.
He’s so tired. He wants to fall, he can’t fall, he’s going to fall.
Stay up, he thinks. Stay up, you’ve promised them, now stay up. Just stay up. Just a little longer, come on.
Hansol has a recurring dream. It’s pretty childish considering he was a child when he dreamt it, but it’s one he treasures. He’s never told anyone before, but it’s this:
He’s sitting on the swings of a playground and there is someone beside him. When he starts swinging, the person beside him starts as well. They go back and forth and back and forth and they’re laughing and talking. They make a game of how high they can swing and stretch their legs out as far as they’ll go to see whose toes stick out more.
Hansol tries to catch sight of who it is he’s swinging beside but because it’s a dream, they’re always just out of his field of vision. All he sees is their back as they swing in front of him and a flash of their profile as they cross paths.
The thing about this dream is that there is always a moment in which the person gets off the swings and walks away, leaving Hansol behind. Sometimes Hansol purposely tries to wake himself up, to avoid seeing the end of this dream. But usually, he just keeps going, trying to draw it out as long as possible.
But when they get off the swings, the person never looks back, they just keep walking away as Hansol tries to swing higher and higher to get to them. But it’s a swing, you can’t go anywhere but up and then back down. All Hansol can do is stare at their back as they grow smaller and smaller, disappearing into the distance.
Lately, that person has been looking more and more like Seungkwan.
As winter approaches, Seungkwan finds himself seeking out his seniors more. Jeonghan, despite having graduated to become a full-time consultant, could be found hanging out in Joshua’s apartment more than his own. Mostly due to its proximity to his office.
Since Joshua’s viva is coming up, he’s rarely home, pulling all-nighters in the library or lab. So Jeonghan gets full reign of his apartment, his closet and his kitchen, as does Seungcheol who drifts in and out in between his shifts, or whenever he wants company. They water his plants, use his bed and his shower and his Netflix. Occasionally, they kidnap Joshua to get dinner and drinks.
Seungkwan doesn’t question their arrangement, they’re friends, even if it is weird that Jeonghan sometimes answers the door wearing Joshua’s shirt and Seungcheol’s trousers.
Tonight, Jeonghan is home alone. Joshua’s out with friends and won’t be back until later. There’s yangnyeom chicken, rolled omelette and cheese ramyun laid out on the coffee table and Seungcheol’s phone charger plugged into the extension cable.
There’s a Netflix show on the TV paused on a cut of two characters staring at each other though Seungkwan has no idea what the context is. It looks romantic but the characters are both men and Netflix doesn’t have a big library of modern LGBT kdramas.
Jeonghan has offered him some chicken but Seungkwan can’t stomach anything. He breaks out the soju instead and lets Seungkwan talk while he finishes his dinner.
“It’s my fault,” Seungkwan tells Jeonghan who makes little noises to show he’s listening. “I got injured back in first year and I didn’t let it heal properly. It was fine for the first few games but then it started to hurt and I...”
It’s hard to articulate just what happened during the match because Seungkwan still doesn’t have the words for it. There were times in which he could have made the shot but as he bent his wrist back, there was this pain, like a large needle being stuck through the palm of his hand that reached down his forearm. And he froze.
He’d passed the ball to someone else but everyone knew, everyone saw that he could have made the shot but didn’t. There weren’t that many defenders in the way. He could have done it. He’d seen the path but...
“Does it still hurt?” Jeonghan asks, mouth full of chicken, reaching forward to wiggle Seungkwan’s wrist back and forth.
“That’s the thing,” Seungkwan exclaims. “It doesn’t! The doctor cleared me to play, I have complete range of movement.”
Jeonghan waits until Seungkwan continues.
“I think I’m afraid, that’s what it is. I’m scared. But of what? I’m fine!” He slams a fist into his thigh. “I didn’t used to be this scared. What’s wrong with me?”
Jeonghan puts an arm around him in a sidehug. His fingers are sticky and his body is bony and tough, but he’s warm and he smells like soap. He squeezes Seungkwan tight. He used to do this after matches and Seungkwan got overemotional. “Go ahead and cry. I’m squeezing your tears out,” he’d say.
A tear escapes his eye. “I’m sorry, hyung.”
“Why are you sorry?”
“We had an unbeaten streak in U-League, you and Cheol-hyung had been defending it since you were first years.”
“Eyy,” Jeonghan says. It’s the noise he makes that means ‘what are you talking about?’ “Don’t worry about us, we’ve already graduated. It’s all on you now.”
It’s all on him?
“Huh?”
“Mm,” Jeonghan says. “You’ll take over soon, won’t you?”
Instantly, Seungkwan remembers how the team cheered and knocked their glasses on the table at the beef barbecue place after U-League. As though Seungkwan would single-handedly lead them to victory. But the only way he could do that would be as captain.
The blood drains from his face. Captain? Him? Take over as captain of the basketball team? The more he thinks about it, the more he realises this is the truth. He will probably take over as captain.
Jeonghan has resumed eating. He looks like he’d rather turn the show back on, like he’s bored. He knows that’s not true, that’s how Jeonghan always looks. His demeanor hasn’t changed, he just looks a bit tired. And Jeonghan cares about him, Jeonghan cares about all his friends, but...
What if Seungkwan tells him he doesn’t want to be captain? What would Jeonghan say? Wouldn’t he be disappointed?
Seungkwan stares at the television in horror, his expression unwittingly mirroring the actors on screen. Since when was he this ungrateful towards his seniors? Did he always get this trapped in his own head? Obviously being captain isn’t about him, it’s about what’s best for the team.
A bad feeling curdles in his stomach and he quickly downs another shot to drown it.
“Hyung, can I have a bit of chicken, after all?”
“I thought you weren’t hungry?” Jeonghan teases, before handing him a fork. Seungkwan puts a sticky piece of chicken into his mouth. He grabs the remote and switches the Netflix show back on, drinking the fear down his throat until it settles, but, like a layer of oil, it doesn’t disappear. It rises to the top and doesn’t disappear.
When Hansol started his pseudo-apprenticeship with Jihoon, he didn’t think anything would come of it. Sure he loved music and messing around and people said his beats were pretty sick. Early on, he’d even fostered some lofty aspirations about hitting the top 20s (he wasn’t picky about which) but he treated them as nothing more than idle daydreams. Stuck on Soundcloud as he was, he felt embarrassed even mentioning his rap tracks. But Jihoon knew better.
He always said Hansol had two things other people could only dream to have — taste and drive. It sounded a bit like a car commercial, and he said so, but Jihoon didn’t laugh.
“Just know that while everyone out there is chasing the latest trend, you’re in here creating it. And when, not if, you get your first hit, I’ll treat you to a meal. Wherever you like, no budget.”
Hansol is mostly skeptical about this but when a two minute hyperpop dance track he pens goes viral on social media, Jihoon, true to his word, treats Hansol to a meal.
Jihoon knocks his soju glass against Hansol’s. “Well done,” he says.
Hansol, still reeling, nods. He feels pretty numb about the whole thing considering he’s someone who uses the internet solely for listening and uploading music. He’s still not clear how he went viral except that the chorus is inescapable on Tiktok and YouTube Shorts which is translating to his listener count and royalties increasing. He’s already gotten a few emails from radio stations about being added to their rotation. Jihoon has even arranged for them to have a joint meeting with his manager.
Everything is moving so fast Hansol’s head is spinning even before he’s finished his first drink.
Jihoon doesn’t mention anything more about the whole thing, which Hansol is silently grateful for. He just lays more meat onto the barbecue and orders them another plate of beef. They talk about other things instead like Hansol’s course, the stereos in Jihoon’s new studio, and Seungkwan.
“How are things?”
“Good,” Hansol says. Then after a while, he says, “Well.”
Jihoon gives him an encouraging look.
Hansol lets out a sigh. “I think he’s going to quit the team.”
“He told you this?”
“No, but I saw the withdrawal form on his desk.”
“Did he say why?”
“I don’t know. I think it has something to do with getting second in U-League.” Hansol runs a hand through his hair. He’s probably getting it all greasy. “I always thought he’d become captain.”
“I hope he doesn’t,” Jihoon says. Hansol stares at him but he continues eating, unconcerned.
“Why?”
“Honestly, Mingyu shouldn’t have been team captain either. He’s too sensitive. He’s always been overly considerate of other people’s feelings, especially when he feels like he’s obligated to them. Seungkwan’s a lot like him, worse, even. If this is what he’s like when they get second place, imagine what he’ll be like if they don’t qualify.”
Hansol slumps back in his chair, as if Jihoon’s words have knocked him over.
“There are just some people who do better as followers than leaders,” Jihoon says. “Jeonghan-hyung knew this, that’s why he got Seungcheol-hyung to support him.”
“So, should I support Seungkwan’s decision to quit the team?”
Jihoon shrugs, crossing his arms. “If he stays on, he’ll most definitely be made captain. He’s the most capable out of your year.”
“Yeah.”
“Or they could always make Chan captain. But Chan isn’t as good as him yet. It’s not out of the question though. Thing is, if Seungkwan’s appointed, he won’t say no.” Then Jihoon says, “Do you want him to be captain?”
Hansol stares at the grill instead of giving his reply. The flames flicker up, waving their orange fingers through the grill to brown and blacken the meat. There’s no stopping it, no controlling how hard this fire burns, just like there’s no controlling Seungkwan.
“I don’t know. It’s not up to me.”
Seungkwan’s finished his shift at the cafe and has just got one foot out the door when someone reeking of alcohol falls onto him. Drunks aren’t too uncommon at this time of night and at least this one is mostly upright. Seungkwan still stumbles a little under their weight. They’ve already brought in the chairs so Seungkwan hauls the person up by their armpits so he can maneuver them to lean against the wall. In the dim light, their flushed face is starting to look a lot more familiar…
“Chwe Hansol!”
“Boo Seungkwan,” Hansol mumbles.
Hansol’s too drunk to walk on his own so Seungkwan sits him outside a convenience store and gets him a hot cup of tea while he buys himself a packet of iced Americano. As he assembles his drink, ripping off the plastic cover and pouring in the coffee, Hansol sips gingerly at his tea and makes a face at the bitterness.
“Drink it all or you’ll have a hangover tomorrow,” Seungkwan instructs.
“I have a hangover right now. It hurts,” Hansol moans.
“Drink, it’ll get better.”
Hansol does, though not without complaint. Seungkwan slides a triangle gimbap to him.
“How did you know I was working tonight?"
"Because Yoon-eun-sunbae's at a mixer when she's supposed to be on shift, and Kayla-sunbae's gone camping this weekend," Hansol rattles off, to Seungkwan's surprise. "That leaves you and Ik-san on shift."
"How on earth did you remember all that?"
"Shh," Hansol mumbles. "Don’t yell. I didn't memorise anything, I just asked around and read my feeds."
Still, the effort it took to follow and keep up to date with their seniors' movements makes Seungkwan's heart melt. "How much did you drink, Hansollie?”
Hansol holds up some fingers. “Five,” he says.
“That’s three, Sol-ah.”
“I minused two, because I had two glasses of water.” He blinks at Seungkwan and says, “You’re too far away.”
“Aigo. They don’t cancel out,” Seungkwan says, moving his chair closer to Hansol who winces at the sound of the metal legs scraping against the floor. Hansol smells like smoke and barbecue and soju, his earlobe is squishy and velvety soft. “Who did you drink with?”
“Hyung.”
Seungkwan laughs quietly. “Clearly. You wouldn’t have drank so much otherwise. Which hyung?”
“Jihoon-hyung.” Hansol makes a gesture with his hand, as if to denote someone’s height, and then thinks better of it. He shoots a wild-eyed look at Seungkwan, “Don’t tell him I said that!”
“You didn’t say anything, but if you did, he would be mad,” Seungkwan agrees, still laughing. Hansol groans, covering his face with his hands.
“My head hurts.”
“Poor Hansollie,” Seungkwan leans over the short metal table to pet the shock of brown hair sticking up from his padded coat. “You know your tolerance is bad. It goes through your system so fast. That's why you really shouldn't drink so much. Why did you anyway? Were you upset about something?”
Hansol makes a noise like a purr. Such a cat, Seungkwan decides. Silent and unassuming, big brown eyes and soft pettable hair. Even his breathing has the huff of a disgruntled feline. He must have had a good night, Seungkwan thinks.
“I’m not upset,” Hansol says, eyebrows cutely furrowed. “I’m just sad. You’re quitting the team,” Hansol sighs.
Behind him, a disgruntled car honks loud enough that Seungkwan flinches at the sound but Hansol doesn’t even twig. His eyes have drifted half-shut under Seungkwan’s ministrations. Seungkwan almost thinks he’s fallen asleep.
“I’m not quitting the team, Hansol.”
Hansol raises his head to look at him. “Really?”
"Yeah."
"Really, really?" Hansol's eyes are wide open now. He looks like a doll. If his breath didn't stink, Seungkwan would kiss him. "You won't quit?"
“Mmhm. Why? Does that upset you?”
“Yeah, a little. I mean, I won’t get to watch you play basketball.” His eyes fall shut again, agonised by his headache
“You really love watching me play basketball, huh?” Seungkwan asks softly.
“Yeah, it’s my favourite thing.”
This is the start, Seungkwan thinks, soon he’ll realise all this is just for show. The lights are coming down, the spotlight is shifting, the commercial is ending. When I quit basketball, he'll stop looking at me. Then it'll be over for real.
“Me too, Hansollie, playing basketball is my favourite thing too.”
Hansol’s popularity skyrockets overnight. Not only is his new track trending, people are digging up his previous work, scouring forums to listen to his middle-school, and even more embarrassingly, his high-school shit. People are crawling out of the woodwork to claim that they “were here first”. No one knows what he looks like, but now everyone is talking about Vernon, Hansol’s producer name.
Hansol is conflicted. He doesn’t particularly enjoy the spotlight but he likes that his music is gaining recognition, he likes that people are extending invitations to him, he likes that he’s got a manager. He’s got prospects, he could get a source of income from a trade that’s historically unstable.
His bank account is also starting to look a lot less pathetic. He starts picturing a decent apartment with a bigger closet and a king sized bed, and even a balcony. He might go on a trip. Maybe Seungkwan would want to come along.
He starts imagining them on holiday, hiking up mountains, walking through cities, strolling on beaches. Seungkwan with an iced coffee in his hand, both of them sporting sunnies to peer at museum exhibits, clothes and tourist spots. Seungkwan launching into one of his famous rants whenever something doesn’t live up to his expectations.
Would Seungkwan be okay with backpacking or would he prefer staying in hotels? Would he enjoy camping? Would they spend hours wandering through museums or would Seungkwan prefer the outdoors? Would they drive or walk? Hansol didn’t know how to drive but Seungkwan had obtained his license the semester before. He might insist on driving to get some practice in.
Hansol realises he doesn’t have the answers to any of these questions but he’s excited nonetheless. He thinks they might go during the year-end break, maybe he could go on a trip to Jeju.
The thought stops him. Jeju.
He’s been there on a school trip, a family trip, he’s been to the touristy spots, but it’s Seungkwan hometown. He would show Hansol the local spots. Where he hung out after school, where he went to clear his mind, the best places to hike to. Hansol imagines being friends with Seungkwan in high school.
Would they have been friends? Maybe not. Maybe Hansol would have seen him from across the classroom, surrounded by friends, laughing with his head thrown back, his laugh shooting into the air like confetti. Maybe Hansol would have loved him then too.
Maybe he would have found the courage to approach him during sports day or after the end of year exams. Called him out to the beach or to the foot of one of the mountains, where they’d be all alone. Would Seungkwan still think he was handsome? Would he swear like he had in first year, face red with sweat from unpacking, melted iced coffee hanging from his hand, jaw agape?
Or would Seungkwan have transferred to his school in Seoul, bringing his island boy cheer to the city? Maybe he would nearly crumble under the cynicism of city school kids and pull himself up at the last moment. Or maybe he would win them over from day one with his disarming smile and open attitude. Either way, maybe Hansol’s school days would have been more exciting, and not so lonely after all.
He texts Seungkwan. He wants to see him.
In his excitement, he forgets. He forgets that Seungkwan is like him. That’s they’re the type to hold things in until they get too much. He forgets that just because Seungkwan is smiling, it doesn’t mean that he’s not also unhappy.
He forgets his dream, pushing its warning sign to the back of his mind.
The thing about growing up a maknae who takes responsibility is that not only do you have to keep taking responsibility for your sunbae's mistakes, the way you used to waive or soften that responsibility, by acting cute is exhausting, and the worst part is, you don't get to do it forever. A ten year old taking the flak for their older brother dropping mum's favourite mug is not the same as a twenty year old trying to keep a team together.
And the thing is, Seungkwan has no excuse. There have been plenty of people who've been captain and been and gone. It’s not like he’d be alone either. He has no shortage of seniors, mentors and coaches. That isn’t the issue.
It's been hard to say his own name lately. He doesn't know where his confidence has gone. It's like someone stole it from him in his sleep. In the past week he'd choked up during a presentation, stammered through a customer’s coffee order, and nearly tripped over himself at practice. He’s finding himself wrong-footed in all the worst situations possible and he doesn’t know why. People aren’t excusing him as often anymore. Their eyes are growing colder, their voices harsher, the weight of their gazes are increasing.
The thing about growing up a maknae is that your responsibility changes and it’s harder to adapt to it. If you’re used to picking up the slack, you won’t be ready to take the helm.
Several seniors have hinted it to him and he’s already been in a couple of unofficial meetings with the coach but he’s supposed to take over as captain at the end of the year and he’s terrified. Could he smile like Mingyu did after they got second place? Could he deliver a harsh command like Seungcheol or dispense a calm call to arms like Jeonghan? Or would he find himself tripping over himself?
What sort of captain would he be?
What sort of captain could he be?
Seungkwan is exiting the dormitory one winter afternoon as the sun is setting when someone approaches him.
“Excuse me.”
He pauses, jogging on the spot. He’s already late to practice, having forgotten his sneakers, but he’d never snub someone looking for him. Ingrained habit, he thinks.
The girl is leggy, that’s what Seungkwan notices first. Short skirt, baggy jumper, blonde hair hanging past the shoulders. She’s gorgeous.
He gives her a disarming but polite smile, expecting a story about lost key fobs or needing directions around campus. She surprises him by saying, “Do you know if Vernon is in?”
Seungkwan doesn’t process the foreign name immediately. “Vernon?”
“Yes, Vernon, er, I don’t know his last name.” She trails off, sounding uncertain, before forging bravely on. “I’m told he lives in this dorm?” She looks mixed but Seungkwan can’t place her accent or her looks.
I’m a big fan, Seungkwan thinks, that’s what she’ll say. She must have seen his music trending and found out he goes to this university. Well, he thinks, Hansol can’t hide in his hoodies forever. “And you are?” Seungkwan asks.
“I’m an exchange student. Joshua Hong, er Hong Josh-, er Jisoo-ssi directed me to him? Phone, er, I couldn’t get his contact so I thought I’d talk to him directly.”
Seungkwan is hoping his cheeks aren’t too red from embarrassment, at least the streetlights are on, they might help him hide it. “Oh of course, Vernon’s part of the language partner program,” he mutters to himself. He says, ‘Language Partner Program’ again in English and the girl’s face melts into relief.
She nods. “Yes, that.”
“You might see him at the sports hall. He’ll be wearing a black hoodie.”
“Of course.” Her head wheels from left to right, scanning the campus with a wary eye, her gaze skating over the blackening buildings. “Er, where is that?”
“Over there,” he points at the steel and glass building across the green. “I’m just heading there myself but we should hurry. I’m actually late.”
She’s wearing sneakers so it’s not hard for her to keep up, though he does feel bad for making her jog over. She says her name is Jill and she’s on a summer exchange programme. Her assigned language partner, however, was double-booked, so Joshua said she could try asking Vernon. He wasn’t part of the program anymore, but he might be willing to help her.
“Oh, I know some people you can hang out with. They know English and Korean. You talk with them, your Korean will be very, very good,” Seungkwan says in English, flashing her a thumbs-up.
“Thank you so much,” she manages in Korean. Seungkwan's already changed into his uniform so they head straight to the courts. Heads turn at the sound of the door opening and Mingyu waves a hand at Seungkwan for him to hurry up.
Hansol’s dozing off on the bench, black hoodie pulled up. He must have pulled another all-nighter working on his music. At the squeak of his sneakers approaching, Hansol stirs. He turns towards the noise, grinning, but it’s not Seungkwan that greets him, it’s Jill, nervously fidgeting
Seungkwan turns away. It’s none of his business. Throughout practice, he keeps sneaking glances at them. Hansol’s eyes aren’t on him, too busy speaking to the girl.
It’s only a matter of time.
They’re only five minutes into the movie and Hansol can already feel his attention wandering. Honestly, the opening montage dragged. It was pretty, but it dragged. It seemed to do more for the director’s aesthetics than it did for the story. Or maybe Hansol is just restless because Seungkwan is warm and soft next to him.
Even though they’re going out, he still finds himself holding back. He wonders if he can make an excuse of the changing seasons to hold him. But Seungkwan feels a bit sensitive today so Hansol resolves to wait at least another half an hour. He usually ends up cuddling Hansol on his own anyway, all Hansol has to do is be patient.
The movie does pick up the pace. It’s some kind of romcom mix-up where the main couple get together very quickly but they get separated because of a misunderstanding. The man is in a phone booth calling his lover for the fifth time, not realising her phone is dead. He’s listening to the phone ring through the handset, not speaking, when Seungkwan says, “I think we should end this.”
Hansol, wondering whether he’s going to hang up the phone or just keep listening, says, “Yeah,” his eyes still glued to the screen. “I don’t think this movies going to get any better. I heard the main couple dont even end up together.”
The ringing has gone to voicemail and the man hesitates before leaving a message, Hansol pauses it before he finishes speaking and then looks over to see tears dripping down Seungkwan’s face.
He doesn’t know what’s happening at first, Seungkwan can be emotional but he usually verbalises why. Like if he fought with a friend or had a tiring day at work, he'd be ranting for at least five minutes before he even started breaking down.
Hansol’s not used to this storm in a teapot, he can't divine what’s wrong from nothing. The only thing he has to go off on is the movie which is frozen on the man, his mouth half-open, the subtitles reading "Where are you?"
“Hey, hey, it’s okay, it was a terrible movie anyway,” Hansol says, hovering over Seungkwan, no idea where to put his hands.
Seungkwan says nothing, just silently sobs into the crook of his arm. It's terrifying, it's heartbreaking, it goes on for so long that Hansol ends up curled around him, as if he could smother his sobs with his body.
"I'm sorry," Seungkwan says finally. "I'm being stupid."
Hansol’s brain is still catching up. He’s missed something. Something important, again. But he doesn’t know what because Seungkwan hasn't said anything. "No, no, no,” he says helplessly. “You’re not. You haven't done anything wrong. You could never.”
“I am. I’m just,” he sighs. “This is so humiliating. I need to get over myself.”
Hansol pulls away, trying to study Seungkwan's expression, to divine his thoughts from the tears smeared across his cheeks. “Did I do something wrong?”
Seungkwan shakes his head. “No, of course not! You're perfect. I'm sorry,” his voice breaks on a sob and hearing it makes Hansol feel like crying himself.
“Don't be sorry. Tell me what's wrong.”
“I’m sorry, I’m just scared,” he says, utterly miserable.
“No, no, why are you scared?"
“I don’t know. I can’t explain it. I’m sorry.”
Hansol's feels like he's standing on unstable ground. He can't even tell Seungkwan not to apologise. He just keeps stroking his back, there's nothing he can say. Seungkwan’s hands are balled into fists but slowly, very slowly, they unclench and wrap around Hansol’s middle. He rests his cheek on Hansol’s shoulder, his breath is warm against Hansol’s neck.
It’s still early and the typical dorm noises proliferate the building. Footsteps from down the corridor, doors opening and shutting, the sound of water running, the sound of music, of talking and laughter filtering through the walls. But their breathing is the loudest thing in the room.
"I'm going back to my room," Seungkwan says, pulling away.
"Are you okay?" Hansol asks.
Seungkwan pauses, in a moment of pure, icy terror, Hansol is afraid of how still his body is, as motionless as a mannequin's. Then Seungkwan grabs Hansol and squeezes him tight. When he pulls away, he looks close to tears again and gives Hansol a watery smile. "Yeah, I'll see you soon."
That's the last time Hansol sees him because soon after, term ends and Seungkwan disappears.