Chapter Text
Leehan assures him it’s going to be fine but Taesan knows better.
He’s been dreading this moment for months.
Sitting in his classroom, beams of morning sunlight slant through the long windows and cast golden streaks over his desk and the empty notebook page in front of him. The room is packed; way more than he expected for such an early time. He wonders how many people had to fight to get here like he did.
He’s not focusing, though. There’s a much bigger problem he has to contend with. There, in front of him: his ex boyfriend. Myung Jaehyun.
It’s not like Taesan wants to look at him. In fact, he’d rather look at anything but Jaehyun at this ungodly hour. But by some cruel twist of fate, by the time Jaehyun turns up barely two minutes before class starts, windswept bangs plastered to his face and jacket buttoned up in the wrong holes, the only seat left happens to be two rows down from him. Directly in his line of sight. It’s times like these he curses the extra inches of height he has on everyone else.
The professor gives Jaehyun a pointed glare. He grins, bows his head and stumbles through a false apology, then makes his way to his seat. As he squeezes himself past the already taken spots, Jaehyun’s eyes sweep around the room, searching. There’s no one he could be looking for except him. Taesan snaps his face down to his notebook and keeps his gaze low. He can practically feel Jaehyun’s eyes on him, doesn’t dare take another look until he hears the scrape of the chair being pulled back.
He watches Jaehyun drop into his seat and sling his backpack under the desk, the same faded blue one that’s adorned with shiny pins and badges he’s always had. He pulls out his laptop and opens the screen. He’s changed his background since the last time Taesan saw it; it used to be a picture of them, now it’s just a photo of a band Jaehyun likes.
Taesan can’t look away. Not when Jaehyun takes off his jacket and he’s wearing a plain white tee with a silver necklace that catches the light and glitters around his neck. Not when this is the first time Taesan has seen him in months.
When he broke up with Jaehyun before summer, he failed to take into account a major flaw in his plan; they’d already applied to the same college, the same course, the same classes . Of course Jaehyun was going to be here. Of course he was going to have to see his face almost every day. Taesan knew that, yet it’s still an unwelcome shock to his system because the last time he saw Jaehyun, he’d left him standing by the river with red puffy eyes and tears streaming down his cheeks.
He looks exactly the way he did three months ago, minus the tears, as if not a single day has passed. Though Taesan is loath to admit it, he looks good. Maybe he hadn't taken the break up so hard. Maybe Taesan didn’t need to feel as guilty as he does.
To say he’s distracted is an understatement. He hasn’t taken anything in, words flowing straight through one ear and out the other. The professor’s voice is background noise to the ringing in his ears. He’s trying, he really is, because this is his first class of the semester and he wants to make a good start. He wanted this more than anything, did so much to get here, and he’s only wasting it.
But it’s so, so hard when he’s hyper aware of every small movement Jaehyun makes, every piece of hair that’s out of place on the back of his head, every annoying tap of his pen against the table. If he were next to him, still with him, he’d smooth down every loose hair, would take the pen out of his hand and lay it down and tell him to concentrate. But he’s not. He’s two seats back and each tap of plastic pen against wooden table is a sharp jab straight into his skull.
So Taesan sits there, for the next two hours, grinding his teeth and bumping his leg up and down (to the annoyance of his seatmate). His focus is absolutely shattered. By the time the professor calls an end to the lecture, he’s already got his books shoved into his bag and is pushing himself to his feet, the scrape of the chair against the wooden floor painfully loud.
He shuffles to the door, tries to move with the crowd as much as possible. He keeps a watchful eye on Jaehyun’s back, just to be safe, and almost trips when Jaehyun turns his head. He’s only talking to the person next to him, though, a tall boy with red dyed hair and a soft face.
Taesan shoves his face into his collar, tries to ignore how the sight of Jaehyun’s smile is turning him inside out, and makes a mad dash for the exit in three long strides.
He’s not going to survive the week, let alone an entire year.
&&&.
It happens again. So often it can’t be a coincidence. Jaehyun walks into the room, looks around for Taesan. Taesan ducks his head and tries his best to shrink in on himself. Which is difficult, considering he’s easily the tallest in the room. Sometimes there’s a split second of eye contact which leaves him with an uncomfortable buzzing under his skin. Jaehyun’s eyes are just as bright as he remembers, he can’t look for long before it starts hurting, blinding.
The next day they rinse and repeat.
Again and again.
Once, Jaehyun catches him on the way out. He’s waiting at the door, leaning on the wall with his arms crossed. He spots Taesan as he’s trying to slip past, pushes off the wall and opens his mouth as if to say something but Taesan pretends he doesn’t see him, keeps walking because he doesn’t know what he’ll do if Jaehyun talks to him right now. He doesn’t feel ready. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever feel ready.
He feels the burn of Jaehyun’s gaze on the back of his neck as he walks away from him for the second time.
&&&.
“You’ve got to kill me. Right now.” Taesan whines and presses his face into the arms he has crossed on the table. He feels miserable. Completely and utterly miserable.
College was meant to be a fresh start, an escape - so why does he feel so awful?
“Not even a good morning? A how was class? I missed you so much, how did I manage without you, Leehan?” A smooth voice comes muffled from the other side of the table. Taesan raises a lazy hand and folds down every finger except for the middle. It earns him a light chuckle in response.
“I said good morning to you at home, and this is way more important than whatever you did today,” Taesan grumbles against his arm. He props his chin up and blinks back the blurriness in his eyes so he can look at the boy across from him.
“And the I missed you?”
“You know I always miss you,” Taesan gives in with a sigh. Leehan nods sagely and takes a bite of his food.
“What’s the problem then?” Leehan asks around a mouthful of sandwich. His best friend looks at him with a weighted gaze, brow raised, and Taesan already knows he isn’t going to take this seriously. They’ve had this conversation twice already and this time will be no different.
They’re in the campus cafeteria, sat at a chipped plastic table on wobbly plastic chairs. Leehan sits opposite him, long strands of hair framing his face. He’s got a plaid button up jacket on with a brown hoodie underneath, silver bracelets lining his wrists. He chews his food slowly, deliberately, and Taesan can feel the judgment before he’s even opened his mouth.
“My ex is the problem.”
“Your ex? Jaehyun?” Leehan says in faux surprise, as if there’s any other ex that he would bother mentioning. Any other ex that goes to the same college as them. Any other ex that's in any way as significant as Jaehyun.
“Not funny,” Taesan huffs and pushes his own half eaten food away because the sight is making him feel ill, and defending his honour is more important than lunch right now.
“What about him is the problem?”
“Are you serious? His face is the problem. Every day.”
The chair creaks as Leehan leans back and folds his arms across his chest. “Remind me who broke up with who again?”
“Well-- I broke up with him, but--”
“So why are you so worried about it? He should be hating your face right now.”
“Because,” Taesan says, and sighs, sitting himself up properly. He pokes at his forgotten sandwich. He doesn’t have a good explanation, doesn’t know how to explain the feelings twisting around inside him. “It’s just… annoying.”
“Right,” Leehan says, face unmoving. “Because you still like him.”
“No, that’s not--” He denies it so quickly that Leehan laughs. Taesan glares across the table and he holds up his hands in defense. “You’re meant to be on my side. I don’t feel like you’re supporting me here.”
“I am on your side. The side of your happiness. Which would be getting back with Jaehyun.”
“Forget it.” Taesan turns his face to the side and puffs out his cheeks, exhaling. Putting aside the fact that his best friend knows him better than he knows himself the majority of the time, Leehan is wrong. Very, very wrong. “Not happening. Never happening. I don’t wanna see his stupid face anymore.”
“Whatever you say,” Leehan says, unconvinced. He never is. He unfolds his arms and takes another casual bite of his sandwich, like they’re discussing the latest episode of a drama and not the matter of Taesan’s broken heart.
Taesan rolls his eyes and tips back on the plastic chair, balancing on the back two legs. He lets his head fall back and takes in the world upside down. He looks at the students sat at their tables, watches others walk past, and lets the low buzz of the chattering crowd cloud his brain. Across the room, as if they’ve manifested him by talking about him, the last person he wants to see.
The sound of his laugh is unmistakable. Taesan snaps his head back up so fast he almost goes crashing to the ground.
Leehan raises an eyebrow. “What now?”
“He’s-- He’s behind me. God, Leehan. I think he’s haunting me,” he sputters. Leehan takes a glance behind him, and Taesan swats at his hand. “Don’t look. You’re making it obvious. Fuck, I just said I don’t wanna see his face anymore and he’s right there .”
“This is the only cafeteria on campus--” Leehan offers, but Taesan silences him with a hiss. Leehan shrugs and leans back again. Instead, he says, “There’s someone with him. Blond boy. Someone from your class?”
“Blond…?” He racks his brain, tries to remember anyone in their class with blond hair, but he’s drawing a blank. “No, I don’t think so.”
And because curiosity killed the cat, he has to turn around just for a quick, sneaky look. He drags his eyes over Jaehyun, tries not to linger too long on the curves of his lips, then takes a quick glance at the boy with him. He’s got short blond hair with blunt choppy bangs, a light blue pullover sitting on his smaller frame. There’s a pair of thick rimmed circular glasses sitting on his nose. Most importantly, he’s making Jaehyun laugh, so loud Taesan can hear it from across the room. If a truck crashed through the cafeteria and into his and Leehan’s table, Taesan thinks he’d let it roll right over him.
“He’s kind of cute,” Leehan says, and Taesan snaps his attention back to him, mouth open in horror. Leehan has all his focus trained on the blond boy, face resting in his hand.
“Why would you say that? I can’t believe you said that.” Taesan waves a hand in front of his face, and Leehan’s gaze slowly drifts back over to him. “Earth to Leehan? Are you listening to me?”
“Oh, right. Think it’s his new boyfriend?”
“ Don’t ,” Taesan says, voice coming out more strangled than he means it to. He clears his throat and Leehan gives him a knowing look. “He can’t be. We’ve only been here a week. It’s too soon, right?”
“Yeah, I hope so.” Taesan shoots him a half hearted glare and Leehan laughs, a loose strand of hair falling in his eyes. “For your sake, obviously.”
“You’re impossible.” Taesan shakes his head and cards a hand through his hair. “Let’s talk about something else. Anything. How was class?”
“Oh, so now you wanna talk about my day?”
“Just talk.”
Even though Taesan asked, his mind still wanders as Leehan delves into a speech about all the assignments he’s been given. He feels bad for not listening, he really does, but his head is so filled with Jaehyun, whoever the blond boy is, how he’s going to survive the rest of the year, and he just can’t .
He’s interrupted from unwanted thoughts by a buzzing in his pocket. He slips his phone from his jeans and absentmindedly flicks the screen open. There, at the top of his notification list sits something that makes his heart sink and his face drop.
[13:24] Dad: Call me when you can. I have…
The rest of the text isn’t visible, he’d have to open it to see. He swipes it away instead. He chews his bottom lip, doesn’t realise how tense he is until he looks up and Leehan is staring at him.
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah, fine,” Taesan lies, twisting his fingers in his hands. “My dad-- My dad texted.”
“Oh,” Leehan says, face drawn in concern. “What did he say?”
“I don’t know. Didn’t read it.” He puts his phone face down on the table and closes his eyes to try and stop the vertigo. If he felt sick before, he feels even worse now. Looking at the half eaten sandwich on his plate makes bile rise sour in his throat. “Can we go? I’m not hungry anymore,” he says and screeches his chair back, stands up on shaking legs.
His father always has known how to make a bad day worse.
Leehan follows him wordlessly, stands up and gathers their plates. He clears them up quickly, then grabs his bag from under the table and shrugs the strap over his head. Taesan is already hovering by the door, rolling back on the balls of his feet and picking at a hangnail on his thumb. Leehan bumps his shoulder gently and they leave the noise of the cafeteria behind.
As they’re walking, Leehan curls an arm around him and squeezes his elbow. If it was anyone else, Taesan would shove his hand away. But it’s Leehan, his roommate, his best friend, and he’s grateful for anything to ground him.
They’ve known each other since they were early teens, ever since Leehan tumbled into his life a ball of odd animal facts and inquisitive stares. They’ve navigated teenhood together, navigated all the awkward growing pains and navigated first crushes and first fights. They’ve navigated Taesan’s shattering relationship with his parents (and they still are). And now they’re navigating his first major break up. Leehan is constant; always quiet support and distraction. In Jaehyun’s absence, he’s Taesan’s everything.
“Change your mind about coming to dance later? It’s the first session,” Leehan asks. Taesan appreciates his effort in changing the topic, but it just twists something painful in his chest.
Taesan shakes his head. He wants to go, of course he does. He won’t, because he knows for a fact Jaehyun will be there. Jaehyun’s always loved dance, something to spend his overabundance of energy on. Taesan loves it too, for different reasons. It’s like music; a channel to pour his feelings into so he doesn’t have to feel them anymore. Even though that’s what he desperately needs right now, he still won’t go.
“Nah, I have work later. Have fun though.”
“You sure? You can always turn up late.”
“I’ll be too tired,” Taesan says. It’s part excuse and part truth. Leehan accepts it, doesn’t push him any further. He’s always been good like that.
“Take it easy today, don’t work too hard.”
Taesan forces out a laugh and shrugs his shoulders to try and relieve some of the tension coiling in his muscles. “I’ll try.”
&&&.
Sungho starts cleaning even before the last customers leave.
He wields a rag in one hand and a spray bottle in the other, sweeping up empty plates the moment they’re clear. At one point he almost trips Taesan with his mop. Which would have been a catastrophic disaster, considering Taesan’s arms are lined with plates heaped with steaming food and very breakable glass bottles. He catches himself before he falls though, doesn’t even spill a drop, and Sungho stays out of his way for the rest of the evening.
Eventually, the last diners of the night filter out and Taesan flips the neon closed sign behind them. He leans against the counter that separates the kitchen from the seating area, watching Sungho wipe down the messy tables.
The restaurant isn’t the biggest, but it’s got that cosy, homely feel to it. The lights are dim, casting the whole room in a warm glow, and the walls are lined with paintings and framed photographs. It’s a nice place; tucked away down a side street on a quiet road. Somehow business stays steady though, they get their regular customers, some stragglers. Part of the charm is the family owned business side, run by Sungho’s parents with a few extra staff members, Taesan included.
“You did good today,” Sungho says without turning to face him. “You've picked it up really well.”
He’s scrubbing furiously at the one spot on the wood that’s always sticky. He never gets it off, but he’s tried consistently the entire three weeks Taesan has been here. His long hair hangs in his face as he leans over the table. Sometimes he pins it back out of the way but today he lets it sit loose.
Taesan quirks a smile and folds his arms across his chest. “I think I've pretty much got the hang of it now.”
He’s not as shaky as he was when he first started, can carry more, weaves through rowdy customers with a lot more ease. He’s pretty popular too. Though he’s still a bit awkward with interacting with the customers, they seem to like him well enough. Especially the college girls.
Sungho glances over his shoulder and raises his brows. “Yeah? Could help clean up a bit more, though.”
He turns and lobs the rag at Taesan's face. Taesan snatches it out of the air before it hits him, dangles it in front of himself by the tips of his fingers. “Gross. Stinks.” He wrinkles his nose and tosses it back. It lands with a wet slap on the table. “Should’ve put it in the job description if you wanted me to help.”
Sungho laughs, a bright outburst, and goes back to mopping the table. “How was your first week? Any good?”
“Yeah, it was okay,” Taesan says, though it’s a lie. He can’t remember a single thing, was entirely too focused on his little problem. He pushes himself off the counter and takes the broom that’s propped against the wall, starts sweeping it across the floor, catching dust and debris in the bristles. “Gonna be a lot harder than I thought.”
“How much work do you have already?”
He wasn’t listening when his professor listed out all their assignments. He’ll have to check online later. “Too much,” he settles on, because it’s probably the truth.
Sungho snorts. “Wish I had time to take classes. If I didn’t have to help dad out so much…” He pauses and sighs wistfully. “You’re lucky.”
Lucky to have to hide his college application from his parents. Until the acceptance letter shows up and he comes home to his parents sitting at the kitchen table, open envelope in front of his father. Lucky to sit through a lecture on how disappointed they are in him, how he shouldn’t have gone behind their backs and that his father wants him to apply someplace else. Lucky to be told how useless his passion is, how it’s going to get him nowhere and he should give up on the one thing he loves more than anything.
“Yeah, you’re right,” he says instead. He absentmindedly brushes crumbs from under a table into a pile and circles it with the broom. He leans heavily on the handle, pushes the wooden end into his cheek.
“I’ll finish that,” Sungho says and beckons for him to hand over the broom. He can tell Taesan is distracted. He always seems to know, somehow. “Take the bottles out and you can head off.”
He likes Sungho. Hasn't known him long, but he’s the type of person that's easy to get along with, easy to talk to. It's different than with Leehan; Sungho doesn’t know Taesan's baggage, so he doesn't ask, and Taesan doesn’t need to talk. He's responsible, clean, and makes sure Taesan is comfortable here. Taesan thinks they're pretty similar in many ways, but different, too. Sungho drives, for one. He’s more outgoing. He listens to his parents and does what they want without complaint. Something he’s never done.
Sungho senses Taesan’s hesitation, steps around the table and pries the broom from his grip. “It’s fine, really. There’s not much left to do. You should go before it gets too dark.”
Taesan doesn’t argue, because he’s honestly exhausted and he doesn’t feel like he’s going to be much help anyway. His back aches and there’s a sharp digging at the back of his head that’s starting to surface. He scoops the empty glass bottles from the tables, hooking his long fingers around the clear necks. They make a high pitched ringing noise every time they bounce against each other.
It’s a decent job. Doesn’t pay that well, but it's enough to cover his share of the rent and lets him not rely on his parents for money. It’s tight, real tight, but he makes it work, and they're nice enough to fit shifts around his class hours. They even let him start a couple of weeks early, an excuse to escape his house as the last dregs of summer faded out.
And, it keeps him distracted. Some nights it's so busy he doesn't have time to think, doesn't have time to feel the things he’s been feeling the past few months, the feelings he's been desperately trying to push down and ignore.
He slips past the counter and into the kitchen. The smell of cooked food still hangs heavy in the air, and he tries to ignore how it makes his stomach grumble in discomfort. He’ll have to grab something on the way home.
As he's dumping the bottles into the glass bin, Sungho's dad steps in from the cold, a stale, acrid smell lingering in a cloud around him. He must have been out for a smoke. He spots Taesan and smiles, warm, unfamiliar. It’s clear where Sungho gets his smile from, the bow shape of their lips so similar.
“Thanks for your help today,” Sungho’s dad says. His voice is rough, scratchy, but kind. It doesn’t have the bite in it that he’s so used to from his own father.
“Well, that’s what you pay me for,” Taesan jokes, voice stiff. He finishes with the bottles and cleans his hands on his apron.
He never knows how to talk with Sungho's dad in the few times he has to. Mostly, he stays in the kitchen, hands Taesan the food to serve out when it's ready. Their conversations usually never get further than shouting orders over the bustle of the kitchen.
“Right,” he laughs, the wrinkles around his eyes stretching with the curves of his face. He’s got that worked to the bone look about him, creases in his forehead and hollows under his eyes, a little like Taesan’s own father, but less miserable and more fulfilled. “You’re putting in more effort than the other kids, though. Probably the best of the lot.”
Taesan keeps quiet, ducks his head because he doesn’t know how to take the compliment. He makes a small noise of thanks and starts slowly edging towards the door again. He wants to leave, but doesn’t want to be rude about it.
“Oh, hold on--” Sungho’s dad calls, and when Taesan looks at him he’s holding up a clear bag filled with plastic tubs stacked inside, the sides fogged from the steam. “Eat this when you’re home. As a thanks for staying so late.”
“You didn’t have to--” Taesan says, but he’s cut off with a firm hand slapped on his shoulder, strong and worn. He freezes, body tense, unsure how to react because he’s never had this sort of interaction before, and it's weird, new and uncomfortable.
“It’s only being thrown out if you don’t take it. Now get outta here.” He sends Taesan off with a wave of his hand, ushers him out of the kitchen before he has a chance to argue. Taesan stumbles out into the main restaurant with the bag of food warm in his hands.
Sungho catches his eye and laughs at the knot in his brows.. “He’s feeding you now?”
“I didn’t really get a choice,” Taesan huffs, grabbing his coat from the hook next to the door and shrugging it on over his uniform. He zips the black puffer right to the top, tucks his chin into the collar. “Gonna head off now. I’ll see you later.”
“See you later. Get home safe,” Sungho calls.
Taesan hums in acknowledgement and steps outside, the bell by the door jingling as he shuts it behind him. It’s getting colder as they’re edging further into fall, and he shoves his free hand into his pocket to escape the chill. He likes this time of year, likes how the colours turn brown and orange and yellow, likes how it’s starting to get darker earlier. He used to like summer, the freedom of it. It’s different now, he can’t think of summer without seeing Jaehyun by the river. He hates it, hates winter too. Fall is the perfect in between.
He texts Leehan he’s on the way home and tells him not to worry about dinner.
&&&.
The October morning air is crisp and browned leaves crunch and disintegrate under his boots as he trudges into the local cafe, black beanie pulled over his numbed ears and jacket done up right to his chin to keep out the cold. The door swings to a shut behind him as he stifles a yawn and joins the end of the queue. It’s busier than usual; a lot of people must have morning classes. He recognises a few, tries not to look at them because he’s not exactly ready for human interaction. He makes sure his headphones are secure over his ears so he has an excuse in case anyone tries to talk to him.
He stares down at the note he has pulled open on his phone screen, blank except for the title in bolded letters; ‘Lyric assignment ideas.’ It’s been empty for days. Thank fuck it’s not due until the end of the semester. He sighs and locks his phone screen again. Like always, he puts it off to worry about later.
He steps forward in time with the queue. The person at the front turns around with their order, starts walking towards the exit and Taesan steals a quick, bored glance and instantly wishes he hadn’t looked up. It’s Jaehyun. Because who else would it be. He’s bundled up in his light brown fleece coat and baggy jeans, scarf wrapped tight around his neck with his chin just barely peeking over the top. His cheeks and nose are slightly red from the chill but he looks warm, soft.
Taesan ducks his head again, bites his lip so hard it hurts, the grip on his phone so tight his knuckles turn white.
He wills Jaehyun to walk past, wishes he could turn invisible, but Jaehyun spots him, and there’s that stupidly endearing grin on his face and Taesan hopes to God a hole under his feet will open up and swallow him whole. It doesn’t, obviously, and he’s left face to face with his ex-boyfriend who he hasn’t said a single word to since they broke up, and he’s got this horrible sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach and a hole where his heart should be.
Leehan was right, he was the one who broke up with Jaehyun. He shouldn’t be feeling this way.
Maybe he’s right about other things, too.
He could ignore him, use the headphones excuse but he’s already made eye contact now, and Jaehyun is standing in front of him looking at him expectantly, and even though they’re not together he’s always had a hard time saying no to him. Before he even realizes what he’s doing, he’s sliding his headphones off and letting them hang on his neck. Muffled beats of bass echo into the air between them. He fumbles with his phone and hits pause, slipping it into his back pocket.
He waits for Jaehyun to say something, doesn’t want to be the first one to speak. Jaehyun clears his throat, scratches the back of his head, and though he’s the one that initiated this interaction, he clearly hadn’t planned it through. Maybe he didn’t even realize he’d approached him. Did it by habit.
Taesan waits, and eventually Jaehyun comes out with a meager, “Hey, Taesan.”
He offers Taesan a small smile and his heart catches in his throat. It’s the first time he’s heard his voice in months. It’s still the same, still has that hint of deepness to it despite his soft features. The sound of his name from Jaehyun’s lips is so painfully familiar, so painfully good. The seconds of silence hang heavy between them and he has to force himself to speak around the lump in his throat.
“Hey,” he says back, the word falling strained and clumsy from his lips. He can’t bring himself to say Jaehyun’s name. Isn’t sure he can say it without cracking. He hopes Jaehyun can’t hear the way his heart is pounding against his ribcage, threatening to snap his bones and break free.
If Jaehyun notices his discomfort, he doesn’t react. Instead, he says, “Heading to class?”
“Yeah. You?”
“Yeah. Needed to wake up a bit first, though.” Jaehyun laughs lightly and shakes the drink in his hand. The ice clatters in the plastic cup and the coffee inside swirls in time with the churning in Taesan’s stomach. He doesn’t feel thirsty anymore, though his mouth is dry as a desert.
“Me too. I think everyone had the same idea,” Taesan says, and nods towards the queue in front of him. He’s slowly getting closer to the front, step by step. A little longer and he can escape.
“Pink lemonade still your favourite?”
He’s not expecting it. It knocks the breath clean out of his lungs, leaves his head spinning and he can do nothing but stare at Jaehyun, eyes swimming and he can’t see, can’t breathe. Of course he still remembers. He remembers everything. Somewhere past the haze he registers himself saying, “Always.”
He opens the front door to a blast of hot summer air and a face full of Jaehyun. Jaehyun, with two drinks in his hands, perspiration dripping down the plastic cups and running streams over his fingers. One is a deep brown, filled to the brim with ice; Jaehyun’s. The other has a pinkish tint, bubbles swirling to the surface; Taesan’s.
Jaehyun is grinning, despite the heat and the shine of sweat on his face. He’s got a patched up backpack slung over one shoulder, one earphone nestled in his ear and the other dangling tangled over his Joy Division tee. He must have walked all the way here. He’s glowing, and Taesan can’t look away.
“Got something to help us study.” He holds out Taesan’s drink to him. “Your favourite,” he says, like Taesan doesn’t already know. Like Jaehyun doesn’t remember every single time they go out, every single time he orders Taesan’s drink for him because he doesn’t need to ask what he wants. He just knows.
Taesan takes it, the cold drink a welcome chill on his warm palms. He smiles, genuine, and Jaehyun lights up. Taesan can practically see his tail wagging.
“Thanks,” he says simply, though he means more than that.
He moves aside so Jaehyun can step into the house. Jaehyun makes it two strides in, one foot on the back of his heel so he can kick his dirty sneakers off, when Taesan feels a prickling on the back of his neck, an instant wave of dread.
“Are you just going to stand there all-- oh. Jaeyoon.”
Taesan closes his eyes, exhales through his nose, then turns around. “It’s Jaehyun, dad.” He bites his tongue to stop himself from saying anything else, anything that could cause a scene because so far he’s managed to keep Jaehyun far away from his tumultuous home life. He’d prefer to keep it that way.
“Right. Jaehyun,” his father corrects, distant. He doesn't care, won’t remember next time anyway. “Close the door. You’re letting all the hot air in,” he says curtly, then disappears down the hallway to the kitchen.
Taesan sighs and turns back to Jaehyun, who’s frozen in the doorway, eyes wide. “Sorry.”
Jaehyun laughs, a clear attempt to alleviate some tension. It doesn’t take away the tightness in his chest, but Taesan is grateful for it anyway. “At least he got it kind of right this time. What was it last time? Jinyoung? Jiseok?”
Taesan snorts and shakes his head. “Jiseok, I think.” Jaehyun goes to close the door behind him, but Taesan stops him with a hand on his wrist. “Wait, I-- can we go somewhere? I don’t want to be here.”
“Whatever you want,” Jaehyun says simply, goes along with whatever Taesan asks like he always does. He waits while Taesan tugs on his battered converse, holds his drink while he ties his laces in knots and grabs his keys. “Where do you wanna go?”
Taesan thinks for a moment, and there’s really only one place they can go that gives them the quiet solitude he needs right now. Somewhere secluded and shaded, an escape from the overbearing heat and his equally overbearing father. “The river? We can sit and study on the bank.”
“Sounds good.”
Jaehyun hands him back his drink and they both step outside under the blazing summer sun. He wishes he picked up his cap on the way out, but he’s not going back into that house until his parents are asleep. They walk in tandem, bare skin of their arms brushing. They don’t talk. Don’t have to. Taesan takes a sip of his drink, lets it fizz on his tongue and down his throat.
When they round the corner and follow the river down, Jaehyun picks up the loose ear of his earphones, slides it into Taesan’s ear and hits play on his phone. The music beats gently, uneven, some pop song Jaehyun is into right now, and he taps the volume up button on the wire between them, letting the song fill his head until there’s no space for anything else.
Jaehyun laughs, bright and beautiful and Taesan can barely hear it, feels like his ears are stuffed with cotton. Jaehyun says something else he doesn’t take in, and he’s got this sudden strickening fear that Jaehyun is going to ask to walk to class with him, to sit with him, that he’ll have to continue feeling like this.
He doesn’t even notice it’s his turn to order until Jaehyun gestures towards the counter.
“Oh, right. Uh, need to order. I’ll see you in class,” he mumbles, tries to ignore the expression he can’t quite place that flashes over Jaehyun’s face, that tugs the corner of his lips down.
He doesn’t wait for Jaehyun’s reply, walks up to the counter on floaty legs and fumbles through his order. He doesn’t turn around while he waits for them to prepare his drink, tries not to move because he still feels dizzy, still has a ringing in his ears that’s making him feel nauseous. He squeezes his eyes shut and tries to dislodge the stars behind his eyes.
He only snaps back to reality when the barista calls his name and finally hands him his cup, the cold of the drink a shock to his already chilled hands. He should have got something different, something warm. Something that doesn’t remind him of Jaehyun.
He forces himself to turn around, forces himself to move his legs and walk towards the door. Part of him expects Jaehyun to still be waiting for him. But he’s not. He’s already left, already gone, and Taesan isn’t sure whether he’s relieved or disappointed.
He already knows he’s not going to be able to concentrate in class today. He could skip it, but they’re only two weeks in and he can’t get into the habit this early. He resigns himself to a long, long morning.
&&&.
He tells Leehan about it, of course. Waits for him outside his classroom like a drenched cat in the rain outside the door. Leehan sees him, stops in his tracks when he sees the misery painted on his face.
“What are you-- what happened?”
“My worst nightmare.”
That could easily mean one of many things, but Leehan guesses immediately. They walk as they talk. Taesan pours his heart out and Leehan listens, nodding at the right times, gasps and swears appropriately. Taesan finishes and takes a deep, shaky breath.
Leehan starts to say something but Taesan cuts him off, because he knows exactly the words that are about to leave his mouth. “I know what you’re going to say. You don’t need to tell me again.”
“Just think about it.”
Did he break up with Jaehyun? Yes. Has he regretted it every single day since? Maybe. Is he going to do anything about it? Absolutely not. Thinking about it hurts, so he doesn’t think.
Because the thought that there could be an amicable outcome to this, that there’s an ending that Taesan hadn’t designed for himself; something that's hopeful and happy, is too much to bear. He doesn’t deserve that. He deserves this, this horrible unrelenting squeeze on his heart.
“Whatever,” Taesan says dismissively. It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters. “What do you want for dinner?”
Leehan shakes his head, but lets him change the subject. “Let’s order something in. Movie night?”
“Movie night,” Taesan agrees.
&&&.
He’s sitting on the floor with his back to his bed, the metal frame digging into his skin, his laptop open on his lap and a blank document open on the screen. The white space blares mockingly in his face as he taps rhythmically over the keys on his keyboard, not quite pressing down.
He’s stuck. Again. Been staring at this document for the better part of two hours and still it’s empty. It’s just song lyrics. He’s written them before, so many times. He doesn’t know why now is so different, why he’s so wholly stuck .
It’s annoying. So fucking annoying because he knows he can do it. And it’s there - right there, brushing tauntingly against the tips of his fingers just out of reach. The essay part was easy; analyze a few songs, write about his inspirations, the theoretical stuff. It’s the practical that’s getting him. The lyrics. Just words.
Drumming his fingers over the keys again, he tips his head back against the bed and stares at the ceiling. His and Leehan’s room isn’t the biggest, they’re in the cheapest accommodation the college offers, somewhere they can still barely afford with his limited income and Leehan’s parents help. It’s got cheap written all over it; faded wallpaper and marked up floors, dents in the door and a window that doesn’t close properly.
They’ve tried to make it as homely as possible, though. Band posters litter his side of the wall, photos of him and Leehan when they were younger. There used to be some of him and Jaehyun too, some of the three of them together, but those have been long discarded (they’re only tucked away inside an old book - he couldn’t quite bring himself to throw them out).
Leehan’s side has fairy lights draped over the wall and around the head of his bed, a couple of figurines on the shelf and an aquarium lamp sitting on the bedside table. His bed sheets are a deep blue, patterned with small multicoloured fish, as opposed to Taesan’s plain black ones.
He rolls his face back towards the screen and moves the cursor over his finished song folder, double clicks to open it. Maybe he can reuse something, salvage some lines from some songs he’s already written. It feels like cheating, but it’s all he’s got in him right now.
He scrolls through them, skimming over the names. They range from recent all the way back to his early teenage years, those cringey songs he wrote when he barely had a grasp on the basics and was in the throes of his teenage angst. They’re bad, really bad, but he’s still got that weird nostalgic attachment to them. They’re his beginnings.
No one has ever listened to them. No one except Jaehyun during that one night they were huddled under his sheets, earphones shared, and in a moment of vulnerability he’d pressed play and shared a part himself no one was ever supposed to see.
Scrolling a little further down he sees something else that no one will ever, ever see. Especially not Jaehyun. It’s an unnamed file, just a string of random letters because the moment he’d finished recording he’d hidden it away never to be touched again. Now, though, alone in their room, frustrated at himself and his lack of ideas, it’s staring at him so temptingly. He knows how it will make him feel, knows the bad headspace it will put him into.
He gnaws on the skin of his bottom lip, picking at it with his teeth. He gives in quickly, because he’s nothing if not self destructive, and he feels like shit anyway so what’s a little more heartache?
Tapping on the file, it opens his audio software and starts playing without warning. It blares loud into the room around him, and he quickly scrambles to lower the volume. Leehan is out, but it still feels embarrassing somehow. Taesan listens for a few seconds, his own voice spilling raw and unrefined from the speakers. He sounds strained, desperate, and the lyrics… fuck, the lyrics.
It’s a song he wrote a little over a week after he’d broken up with Jaehyun, on a night he felt so alone he could do nothing but lay on his bed, staring at his ceiling and trying desperately to breathe, to feel anything that wasn’t crushing loneliness and the deep ache in his bones.
He could have called Leehan. He could have called Jaehyun and begged him to take him back, and he would have, he would have been at Taesan’s door within minutes with open arms and an open heart. They’d stumble through apologies and it would be okay again. They’d be okay. But he didn’t. He forced himself up, dropped himself in front of his computer and poured his entire soul into the microphone until his chest felt hollow and his eyelashes were wet with unshed tears. His voice was left a scratchy, wavering mess and when his mother had asked him in the morning what happened, he’d lied and said must have caught a cold. She hadn’t asked any further because she hadn’t cared enough to.
He could call Jaehyun now. He never deleted his number. He won’t.
He hates it. Hates how his voice sounds so pathetic, how broken it makes him sound. He’s convinced himself so hard that he’s okay, that this is what he wanted, and this is just an unwelcome reminder of those feelings he’s locked away. He shouldn’t have opened that fucking song.
He clicks off quickly, slams the lid of his laptop shut because he’s not getting any work done so there’s no point in all this anyway. The room feels uncomfortably small, like the walls are closing in on him, and the lack of light blocked out by closed blackout curtains (he’s always slept better that way) is making him feel like he’s drowning. He’s got to get out of here before he explodes.
He pulls himself to his feet and tosses his laptop onto his unmade bed, instead grabbing his pair of wireless over-ear headphones, the kind that block out all noise. He tugs them hard over his ears, connects to his phone and puts the volume on full. Grabbing his keys, he kicks on his old sneakers by the front door and slips out into the dingy hallway. Again, it’s a cheap place. There’s ominous stains on the ceiling. The hallways are thin and the wallpaper is peeling.
He doesn’t think about it too hard. Taking the several flights of stairs down to the ground floor, he shoves the front door open with his shoulder, stepping out into the fall sunlight.
&&&.
Taesan is practical. He’s independant to the core. Feelings like this are pushed away, locked in a box to deal with later. It’s how he survived his teenage years, how he survived summer and it’s how he’ll survive this year. He just has to keep going, has to keep pushing and pretending. It’ll come back to bite him, eventually. He knows that. It’s just too much right now.
He’s walked three laps around campus, blasted through multiple of his favourite albums, and he’s still got that heavy ache in his bones, that black cloud fogging his brain and weighing down every step. It’s not working, the distraction, no matter how high he turns up the volume (his hearing is probably fucked by now), no matter how hard he digs his fingernails into his palms and creates bloody crescents to try and channel the pain somewhere other than inside him.
It’s not working.
He’s frustrated; at himself, at these feelings, at his empty work document.
If this doesn’t stop soon, he’s going to be useless at the restaurant later. He couldn’t take that - he’s done good so far, doesn’t want to repay Sungho and his family’s kindness with disappointment. He’s disappointed enough people in his life, anyway.
He drops himself down on a bench, the cold metal pressing into his back and thighs. He watches dead leaves spiral from the branches of trees and watches flocks of birds dip and dive with the wind.
Thirty minutes pass by in a haze and he watches a pair of students walk up the concrete path. One has two steaming coffee cups in his hands and the other is holding an arm full of books. As they get closer, their features get clearer, and Taesan does a double take because he knows that face better than he knows his own. Leehan, hair slicked back into a ponytail to stop the wind blowing it in his face. Next to him, blond boy from the cafeteria, shorter next to Leehan and chattering away while he listens.
What the fuck are they doing together?
The blond boy is turned away from Taesan but Leehan is faced towards him. He must feel Taesan’s heated glare because Leehan catches his gaze when they walk past. Taesan mouths the word traitor and Leehan shakes his head lightly, shoots him a look that says “we’ll talk about this when I’m home”, and Taesan scrunches his face in a way that makes Leehan laugh out loud. Blond boy is confused, looks over his shoulder and Taesan quickly pretends to be looking down at his phone instead.
They walk away, Leehan looks back at him and holds up his hand in an ‘ok’ sign. A question. Taesan shoots one back, even though he’s not. At least this was a momentary distraction, something else to think about that isn’t his own despair. How the hell do they know each other? Why hadn’t Leehan told him? He’s getting an earful later for sure.
Taesan checks his watch. He’s wasted enough time, needs to start getting ready for work, his other distraction, so he pushes himself back up, pushes his legs to move in the direction of home.
He just keeps pushing and pretending.