Archive of Our Own

At age eight, Kim Hongjoong tells his mom he wants to be an astronaut. His mom laughs and tells him, “Anything you dream of Hongjoong, you can become it.” At age eleven, Hongjoong realizes that he isn’t a big fan of math or science, and Mr. Hughs says you have to be good at both to be an astronaut.

At age thirteen, his voice cracks just a bit as he yells at his mom to stop babying him. He only receives her infamous eye roll before she squeezes his cheeks and presses a lunch box into his hands. Still a baby, his brother rags on annoyingly as he pushes Hongjoong out of the way, cackling at the noise of displeasure that escapes Hongjoong. At age fourteen, Hongjoong breaks his arm falling off a tree (trying to prove to his brother that he could, in fact, climb said tree). His mother fusses over him as his brother teases him about how stupid he looks with his new cast. Hongjoong’s embarrassment is only short-lived when the cutest boy in their year writes his name on his cast and calls him cool. 

At age sixteen, Hongjoong believes fate has something great for him, an adventure, a calling, whatever people like to call it nowadays. All he knows is that he’s destined for something bigger and that something is not wasting his after-school sitting behind a cash register watching his older brother flirt with his babysitter (gross). He already knows what university he wants to get into, and has his entire future planned out down to the very bookstore he hopes to fall in love in. He’s got printed photos of New York plastered all over his bedroom walls, and well-loved sketchbooks filled with ink made with all his aspirations and desires. 

At age eighteen, Hongjoong is reckless, and a bit dumb, but someone full of heart. High on his dreams and ambitions, maybe Shakespeare was right: the world is his oyster. Because he’s going to get away from this small suburbia and make a name for himself. If his brother is out there somewhere in the world doing whatever he wants, it’s ridiculous that he couldn’t do the same. He’s too big for the four small corners of the convenience store he’s grown up in. Too big to be stuck with all the losers who couldn’t be bothered to pronounce his name correctly and small-minded adults who couldn’t understand what it meant to create art. 

At age twenty-six, Kim Hongjoong sits at the counter of his family’s convenience store, listening to the Top 100 Pop Songs blanket his messed up posture, lost in the big abyss of adulthood, drowning in his own youth. While Hongjoong wouldn’t be so quick to dub himself as ‘unhappy’ in particular, that isn’t to say that there’s a bit of lingering dissatisfaction with his current circumstances. He hasn’t touched a single sketchbook since graduation despite the ghostly ache of his wrist itching to do something besides counting cash and holding canned goods. Familiar faces no longer bring comfort, but a stark reminder of all his incompetencies. 

It’s been three years since he’s come back from college—one as far as away from this place as possible—only to find himself back where he started and no answer to “Where do you find yourself in say, ten, fifteen years?”

— — — — — —

“That’d be five dollars,” Hongjoong says monotonously, punching in the numbers on the computer and sighing when he sees Apple Pay flash on the phone in front of him, “We have a ten-dollar cash limit.”

“You seriously can’t make an exception for me, your childhood bestie?” The voice replies, amused.

“Personally, I don’t want to see your face around here ever.” Hongjoong snides, finally looking up, unamused.

“Not even your childhood crush then?” Seonghwa tries again, this time in Korean, lips upturned into a smirk.

“I will go into your house and break your Lego display case, how about that?” 

Waving a hand in the air clearly unfazed by the threat, Seonghwa sniffs, handing him a couple of singles before grabbing the bag of chips and switching back to English. They did this often,  moving between English and Korean, melding the languages together in a frenzied blur that often confused even their parents growing up. “Yeah yeah, whatever. And five dollars for a bag of Hot Cheetos? What has this place come to? You’ve lost a customer in me!”

Snorting, Hongjoong stuffs the bills into the register, slamming it shut before looking at Seonghwa, batting his eyes in a way that’s supposed to be demurely seductive, “You promise?”

“You’re no fun at all,” Seonghwa complains, pulling a disgusted face before jumping to sit on the counter despite Hongjoong’s complaints, and ripping open the bag of chips. “It’s not even busy here—hey!” Seonghwa whines at the jab to his side, playfully tussling with Hongjoong. 

Hongjoong scowl seems to only deepen as he continues to try pushing Seonghwa off the counter. The two of them have done this dance countless times for many, many years. Seonghwa merely bats Hongjoong’s hands away and says, “It’s not busy here, let me hang around a bit. Your mom wouldn’t treat a long-time customer like this! And you missed Yunho’s promotion celebration, by the way. O’Malley’s was a rager.” 

Hongjoong grabs a few pieces of Cheetos, shoving them in his mouth before saying, “Well, first of all, my mom doesn’t know that you’re a jackass. Secondly, I had to close the store last night. I’m essentially the store manager while my parents are gone. Yunho already knew I couldn’t make it. And please never call O’Malley’s a rager ever again.”

“The store usually closes way earlier than the time we went out last night—“ Before Seonghwa can finish his sentence, the bell on top of the entrance chimes, signaling a customer. Both of their heads whip over to the sound and Hongjoong makes one last effort to push Seonghwa off the counter before a figure comes around the corner from the snacks aisle. 

“Yeosang!” Seonghwa smiles, finally getting off the counter. Hongjoong huffs, making a show of aggressively wiping where the other had been sitting with the rag that he keeps at the register. 

Pulling an earbud out from one of his ears, the wires dangling in a mess of knots, Yeosang blinks up at them in confusion, eyes wide before his features quickly softened into a smile, “Hi Hongjoong hyung and Seonghwa hyung, didn’t think I’d see you here today.”

Always so polite. Something Seonghwa definitely wasn’t deserving of.

Hongjoong bites back the need to say that unfortunately, Seonghwa is always here. Instead, he opts to take in Yeosang’s new dye job, admiring the bright green and haphazard black highlights. His aunt did hair and he knew there was no way any of the aunties around here would’ve let Yeosang walk out of the salon looking like that, so he must’ve dyed it at home. Hell, he’s surprised Seonghwa, who also did hair, let Yeosang touch his scalp without professional supervision. Not that it wasn’t a good look on the other. Hongjoong thinks Yeosang looks good all the time, in anything and everything.

Yeosang is close enough for him to notice that he’s got glitter in the corner of his eyes, admiring how the sun that shines through the store windows reflects against the flakes. He seems bare-faced aside from that, his birthmark is out for the world to see, pink against his pale skin. In awe of how someone could be so fucking pretty, Hongjoong is starting to understand how someone can be so in love that they want to die. 

God, I’m pathetic, Hongjoong mourns internally, noticing that Yeosang has several random pins keeping the longer parts of his bangs out of his face, and his hands are occupied with several boxes of Apollo strawberry chocolates. Of course.  

“Here for your usual?” Hongjoong finally remembers how to do his job properly, ignoring Seonghwa’s knowing look from behind Yeosang and pretending like the way Yeosang beams at him, cheeks growing full and round doesn’t make Hongjoong feel like he just drank a jug full of milk despite being lactose intolerant. Yeosang’s got that little happy mischievous smile on his face as he dumps eight boxes of chocolates onto the counter, earbuds still leaking music. 

“The usual,” Yeosang nods like he’s just done something extremely important, “But it’s not my money this time. Mingi lost a bet.”

Hongjoong and Yeosang technically didn’t really get to know each other until after he’d come back home from college, despite growing up in the same small town, having gone to the same schools from primary to secondary school, and with parents who all gossiped together at the only Asian grocery store here in passing. It wasn’t entirely because they were in different grades but more because the two of them had run in different groups. Whereas Hongjoong stuck to Seonghwa, Yunho, and San like glue, wasting away in his physics teacher’s classroom after school as part of the Robotics team, refusing to acknowledge anyone outside the three of them, Yeosang ran around with a much rowdier crowd despite his own calmer demeanor. He wouldn’t say that Yeosang was considered one of the popular kids, but Hongjoong was well aware that everyone liked Yeosang. 

It was kind of hard to ignore one of the few other Korean kids in your school too. They were from a small town with an even more tightly knit Korean community (there weren't many of them in the first place); his mother and Yeosang’s mother were part of the same book club (and so were Seonghwa’s and Wooyoung’s mothers), and every Korean kid here had at some point suffered through Sunday school. They did cross paths, only temporarily, saying hello to each other in the hallways. Hell, Yunho and Wooyoung were the aforementioned small-town high school sweethearts everyone feared. But Yeosang only seemed to prefer the company of Wooyoung and their two friend groups never mingled the way they did like after they all found themselves back here, in the small town they all vowed to escape from. And Hongjoong was long gone before either Yunho or Wooyoung decided to merge their friend groups.

Well, some of them never left at all. Whether it was out of their own volition, like Yunho, San, and Jongho, who didn’t feel suffocated by small graduation sizes and knowing the same five faces since they were in diapers. Or like Seonghwa and Mingi, who simply didn’t have the right resources to run away. Either way, Hongjoong learned fairly quickly once he got back, as he reconnected and formed new relationships, that the world will continue to spin regardless of what you do with your life and yourself. And at the end of the day, no matter how different the waning and waxing of each phase in everyone’s existence may have been, they all had ended up here again, in this stupid small town they called home. 

So, maybe he hadn’t really known who Yeosang was. But that was okay with Hongjoong. There are parts of his life where he wholeheartedly believes no one should’ve been able to perceive him, high school being one of those periods. He thinks it’s a special thing, to have someone be part of your entire life but not get to know them until later on. It may sound bittersweet, to finally get to know someone that you’ve known all your life, but Hongjoong loved the idea that the right people will always find you at the right place. For Hongjoong, that’s who Yeosang was— is. He also thinks fifteen, sixteen-year-old Hongjoong couldn’t have handled the wonders of Kang Yeosang anyway. 

Hongjoong remembers when Yeosang decided to carve out a spot in his life, settling into the crevices of his aching, wandering soul still trying to mend failed childhood dreams. 

Yeosang had stepped into his parent’s convenience store some two years ago, with an even poorer dye job and a lot less of the awkward, lanky teen he knew who took AP calculus BC in his sophomore year of high school because he got special permission. He still had the same happy little smile, though, as he pushed two boxes of Apollo strawberry chocolates toward Hongjoong, wired earbuds leaking a song he hadn’t recognized. 

Yeosang had returned a week later, hair dyed freshly black and wireless headphones on this time when he dumped another two boxes of the chocolates onto the counter, a shy smile still on his lips.

“Are these your favorite snacks?” Hongjoong had asked, not knowing where the desire to start up a conversation with a customer came from. 

“Mhmm,” The other had hummed thoughtfully, “They’re a nice treat for myself.”

His voice was a lot deeper than Hongjoong had expected it to be, different from how he remembered it might’ve sounded back in high school, but the way his lisp wrapped around his words was still familiar, warm. Yeosang had also paid the exact amount in cash, without having to be told about the credit card minimum, and waved goodbye, hand partially covered in his sweater’s sleeve while the other hand held the chocolates close to his chest.

The third time Hongjoong had seen Yeosang was only a few days later. He had gotten himself three boxes of the chocolates this time with a Pocari Sweat, and when Hongjoong asked if he wanted a bag, Yeosang declined, handing him the exact amount in cash (despite meeting the card minimum requirement) and only picked up two, leaving the third on the counter.

“You forgot—“ Hongjoong started but Yeosang shook his head, smiling as he pushed the third box closer to Hongjoong’s side of the counter. 

“For you,” He had said softly in Korean, “A nice treat for yourself.”

Yeosang had come back exactly a week later, back to his regular two boxes when he smiled at Hongjoong knowingly, “It was a nice treat, right?” 

Feeling himself smile back, heartbeat speeding up in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time, Hongjoong nods as he takes the cash from Yeosang’s hands, “The best. I get why you like it.”

Hongjoong hadn’t really. They tasted like any other sweet Asian brand chocolates and truth be told, he was a much bigger fan of dark chocolate. But if Yeosang had liked them enough to buy several boxes weekly, they were the best chocolates in the world then. 

“I’m Hongjoong, by the way. Yunho’s friend.”

“I know who you are.” The way Yeosang had said that he knew of Hongjoong was a bit jarring. To think someone was perceiving him in ways beyond his control, out of his own awareness of the space he took up in other people’s lives. But Yeosang had given him a sweet smile, tilting his head to the side as he did so, and while it didn’t make Hongjoong feel any better, he believed this was the first instance of him falling into love with the other.

“I’m Yeosang. It’s nice, finally being able to meet the person everyone talks so highly of.” 

And that was how Hongjoong found himself anticipating Yeosang’s convenience store runs for the tiny conical strawberry chocolates. He even made sure to keep them fully stocked at all times.

His visits were always sporadic, every few days, sometimes only once a week but frequent enough for Hongjoong to feel less like he was wasting every second of his life being useless. Sometimes Yeosang would come in just to buy one box, spending more time talking to Hongjoong about random things that had happened to him throughout the week, leaning over the counter, hand covering his mouth conspirationally. 

He’d gush about how cute their center’s service dog—Bella the beagle—is (Hongjoong is very aware of who Bella is and he thinks her whole existence is to make her owner, Dejun’s life, as hard as possible). He’d embarrassingly mention how Janice from the morning Tai Chi class tried to introduce her son to Yeosang, or relay gossip he’d heard from the aunties at the center, like how Uncle Lee was on his third wife now, until Hongjoong realized he was supposed to be shelving the boxes of Shin ramen in the back of the store. 

Perhaps he shouldn’t be depending so much on one person to provide for his happiness while he’s stuck in a bleak loop of looking at peeling paint and the ring of the cash register. Maybe he should go to therapy, or invest in a journal to put those Shakespearean prose to some use (Seonghwa’s words). But it didn’t feel wrong, to be infatuated with someone, if it was something only between him and himself. 

And Hongjoong really did like Yeosang. He was charmed by the openness in Yeosang’s eyes, in his gestures, in his words, and yet there was so much he didn’t know about the other. He was enamored by how simple Yeosang lived his life, how much the other found wonders in the mundane because all Hongjoong could do was not be simple. 

As they got to know each other, Hongjoong learns that Yeosang had gone all the way to Chicago with Wooyoung to study pre-law (Wooyoung had gone into nursing), and spent some time as a legal assistant before returning, around the same time Hongjoong had come running back home, after realizing how he wasn’t ready yet to be an adult. Not ready for what the world had awaiting for him. Hongjoong thought about it once, that this was what made them so different. While Yeosang had been scared of what adulthood would mean for him, Hongjoong was so ready to embrace an idea he had so many misconceptions about. But perhaps it really didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things, because as a result of every attempt to fix every fucking problem in their lives, they both ended up back here, in a town they thought was too small for them. 

And while his parents hadn’t been too happy about his decision to not apply to law school immediately after undergrad, it seemed like they got over it pretty quickly. It wasn’t like Yeosang wasn’t trying to figure out his life. He wasn’t Hongjoong, who was pretty adamant about ensuring that adulthood never came knocking on his door again. Yeosang was now working as a coordinator for the town’s community center’s legal services and counseling department and the elderly swim team at the YMCA adored him. 

Hongjoong also knew Yeosang’s situation all too well. Knew firsthand how it felt when your own plans decided to change on you without you knowing. He had his life all figured out, ready to tackle whatever the world threw at him, only to finish his bachelor's degree with a bittersweet taste in his mouth, and no achievements to back up the years and money he’d wasted in trying to be someone he’s not. After a year of trying to find a job post-graduate in New York, nearly one hundred job applications later, and recklessly debating on going to graduate school, he got a lengthy text message from Yunho saying how he and Wooyoung were engaged. It was then that Hongjoong finally decided to sweep his ego off the floor, packing up all the things he’d tried to make a life in New York with, and went back home. 

His mother had greeted him at their doorstep. He had been too ashamed to let them know when he’d flown back in, deciding to take the bus and the annoying twenty-minute walk home from where the bus dropped him off in the center of the town. It was more like thirty, considering how much he tried to fit into just one suitcase, with the rest of his belongings collecting dust in a storage facility somewhere, or on the side of the streets of New York with the rest of his dreams. 

His mother gasped in surprise upon seeing him, holding his face in her hands like she did when he was eight, proclaiming that he’d become an astronaut.

“I missed you.” He had whispered, Korean feeling foreign on his lips even though he never stopped speaking the language when he moved to New York, where Korean culture was much more profound and overt, and less like a taunt band holding something together. 

But the foreignness in speaking Korean only reflected the crushing feeling of failure he felt as a son, a first-generation kid who was meant to be something bigger, and better. Maybe he should’ve majored in something more useful and soul-draining, like business. But that didn’t matter now, diploma tucked somewhere in his suitcase between his jeans and T-shirts, because all the moves he had planned out for himself were all the wrong ones. 

“Welcome home,” His mom had smiled up at him, looking much smaller than the last time he’d seen her. His dad had also come out, reading glasses on top of his nose bridge as he shook his head, “You should’ve told me that you were going to be home this late.”

“Your appa means he misses you too.” His mom had said pointedly, nudging his father as they pushed his suitcases into the house. He knows his parents have questions. He knows that they’re confused about why he’s back here, but the sadness caused by being empty nesters outweighed their own expectations. But he knows what they’re thinking: why, while their first son was out there finishing up his residency, their second son had no problem fitting all his lifelong experiences into half a Word document? 

And here Hongjoong was, roughly three years later, running a one-man job at his parents’ store, dealing with some of the most unintelligent people who were allowed to walk this earth (he’d once had to tell someone that their ten-dollar bill didn’t cover the total cost of their fourteen dollar purchase), and being subjected to the worst songs pop artists today could come up with. 

It didn’t make things better that his parents were currently off on their triennial trip to Korea for the next five weeks, so it was up to him and his younger cousin to keep this place afloat with no accidents. Hongjoong was just lucky that the ahjummas next door were kind enough to give him to-go containers of freshly made kimbap and yangnyeom gejang. 

He really did want to go celebrate Yunho’s promotion, and Seonghwa was right about the store closing way before the time of the party, but Hongjoong didn’t think he had it in him to spend a whole night at O’Malley’s drinking solely draft beers in a bar that smelled like socks and Febreze Gain air freshener (no matter how much Seonghwa brags about it having been a rager, Hongjoong highly doubts it). And anyway, last night Hongjoong had sent Yunho enough money to buy the newest Final Fantasy game, he should be grateful.

Hongjoong stops mulling over the past and the decisions his last night self had made when Seonghwa makes a loud noise of disappointment, fingers combing through Yeosang’s hair. 

“How the hell did your job let you dye your hair like this?” Seonghwa asks incredulously, shaking his head at the dried ends before switching over to Korean to show his astonishment. “How the hell did you dye your hair like this?”

Yeosang lets Seonghwa mess with his hair, giving Hongjoong an embarrassed look. Hongjoong feels for Yeosang, truly, knowing that the judging gaze of hairstylist Park Seonghwa was worse than that of several ahjummas. The other shrugs as Seonghwa finally relents, smoothing out the top of his head, “Wooyoung and I were looking at old photos we took of ourselves when we were in sixth grade—during our emo phases.” All three of them visibly cringe at the word but Yeosang keeps his amused smile, “And well, Wooyoung said I should try something like that because my hair was already blond. And anyway, my job doesn’t care. Who would be their Korean translator that they use, rather than calling actual interpreter services?”

Hongjoong snorts, scanning the chocolates, “Aren’t you legally certified to be an interpreter though?”

“Potato, tomato,” Yeosang says, waving his hand in the air before handing Hongjoong cash. 

Yeosang bids them a soft goodbye a few minutes after catching up with Seonghwa, walking out of the store, and crossing the street. Hongjoong looks at the time on his watch, realizing that this was usually around the time Yeosang took his lunch break, and notices a box of Apollo strawberry chocolates on the counter. 

Sitting on top was a yellow post-it note with a small cartoon drawing. Hongjoong doesn’t know when Yeosang has time to even draw these things, but feels himself break into a smile anyway, carefully placing the drawing in the drawer alongside the others Yeosang had left him and opening the box of chocolates. 

He plops a strawberry chocolate in his mouth as he hears Seonghwa say, “You’re sick.” 

Looking up from the drawer full of cutely drawn characters, Hongjoong frowns, realizing the other is still here, hands in his stupid bag of hot Cheetos. “What?”

“Loveeeeeee sick.” Seonghwa sings teasingly, a shit-eating grin on his face now. 

“Please get the hell out of my store.” Hongjoong snaps.

— — — — — —

Hongjoong doesn’t see Yeosang around for another two weeks, which isn’t surprising considering he had cleared out the store of the very last Apollo strawberry chocolates they had in stock on his last visit. Hongjoong had been tempted many times to let Yeosang know how he could mass buy them, but the idea of Yeosang no longer stepping through the doors of the convenience store to buy those chocolates—to make Hongjoong’s day a little more bearable—made him feel a little unsettled. 

Sue him, he really did like the guy, okay?

The next shipment of the random Asian snacks that the store sold wouldn’t be here until the end of this week, so Hongjoong is surprised when he sees Yeosang walk in, his signature wired earbuds still a tangled mess. His hair no longer has the fading remnants of vibrant neon green, but is now chocolate brown. Hongjoong is a little disappointed at how short-lived it was, Yeosang bringing color to the world around him wherever he went. The brown matched him though, as did anything Yeosang decided to do.

He’s wearing a white button up tucked into black slacks. Which isn’t completely unusual, but the dress shoes are different, considering Yeosang never wears dress shoes. He had mentioned to Hongjoong once that wearing sneakers was just more comfortable and he didn’t have to go carrying more stuff when he went to the gym after work, even if it wasn’t really “business casual per the center’s dress code.”

He gives Hongjoong a shy wave as he enters the store, making a beeline for the candy aisle before moving to where all the bottled drinks are kept. The speakers in their store croon distastefully from above and he knows he could easily change it to something better, but maybe Hongjoong just likes to suffer (he can’t figure out how to connect the Bluetooth speaker to his phone).

Hongjoong busies himself with his fingernails when Yeosang walks up to the counter, a bag of muscat-flavored candy and Pocari Sweat in his hands, lips form into a pout, “I forgot you ran out of the Apollo strawberry chocolates.”

Laughing, endeared by Yeosang’s gloomy expression which truly just makes him look like a sad puppy, he rings the other up, telling Yeosang his total before saying, “Come back next week, I promise I’ll have a whole box set of them saved for you.”

“Please make it two box sets since you have me waiting.” Yeosang jokes back, holding up two fingers, expression brightening and Hongjoong feels himself cringe at the fact that he mentally compares the look on the other’s face to a puppy’s ears perking up and tail wagging out of excitement. 

As he watches Yeosang fumble with his suit jacket draped over his arm, Hongjoong feels himself experience whiplash as he stares at Yeosang’s arms, his muscles flexing as he pulls on the sleeve of his button-up. God, I am so pathetic, Hongjoong thinks—a usual thought every time he was around Yeosang. When Yeosang successfully takes out his wallet and hands Hongjoong the exact amount of cash, he can’t help but be curious, “What’s got you dressed up all fancy?” 

Hongjoong slips into Korean by the end of the sentence, stumbling slightly as he tries to remember how to say the word in Korean, and opening the cash register to put in the cash. Yeosang uncaps the Pocari Sweat, taking a sip before rubbing at the nape of his neck sheepishly. 

“Online school interview,” Yeosang replies smoothly in Korean. Yeosang was always a little better at Korean than Hongjoong was.

“School interviews?” Hongjoong questions, “Like grad school?” 

“Yeah,” Yeosang says like it was simple. Like contemplating and going through the process of applying for graduate school was simple. He continues to explain in Korean, “I retook the LSAT last summer, liked the score I got, and started submitting applications for law school. I just had an online interview for Wake Forest.” 

It’s clear that Yeosang can see the confusion written on Hongjoong’s face because he laughs, “North Carolina hyung. I thought you knew your geography.”

— — — — — —

“Did you know Yeosang was applying for law school?” Hongjoong brings up one night a couple of days later, as he sits on the couch in Seonghwa’s and Jongho’s place, wishing it would swallow him whole. He’s two beers in and out of his depth. 

Wooyoung had a night shift, which meant Yunho and Jongho designated tonight as their game night, even though Seonghwa and he were both shit at video games. The other two are arguing with each other on the floor as they play Naruto Ultimate Ninja Storm 5 and Seonghwa looks like he’d rather be anywhere but here, wallowing in Hongjoong’s pitiful state with him. 

He could be watching America’s Next Top Model Cycle 12 for the fifth time right now.

“I’m surprised you didn’t know,” Yunho says, after having calmed down. His eyes are still glued onto the TV screen, pressing buttons on the game controller in rapid fire, but he’s always been good at multitasking. “Yeosang’s parents were surprised about it too. That, you know, he decided to go back to law school so soon. Or at all. When he came back home with Wooyoung, he’d been pretty adamant that grad school wasn’t something he was considering in the near future. Maybe something made him change his mind.” 

Yunho shrugs before yelping as Jongho pinches his side in an attempt to distract him. He uses one hand to push Jongho away futilely and continues, “Considering he’s heard from multiple schools for interviews, I’m guessing named partner Yeosang is truly in our near future.”

Seonghwa snorts from where he’s lounging next to Hongjoong, “Named partner? I think you’ve been watching too much Suits.”  

“Yeosang’s too good of a human being to be Harvey Specter.” Jongho chimes in.

“Man, I can’t believe he’s actually going to be a lawyer,” Yunho says after completely obliterating Jongho in the game, electing to ignore either one of their comments. 

Jongho groans, dropping the controller before flopping onto the floor. “Well, he still has to get into law school first. No Yeosang of ours will be a fraud.”

“And what if he wants to be a prosecutor?” 

“You think he’d work at the DA’s office?”

“Why did everyone know besides me…” Hongjoong mumbles, stomach suddenly feeling upset, ignoring the rest of the conversation the three of them are having. It doesn’t seem like either Yunho or Jongho heard him, but Seonghwa gives him an unreadable look before shaking his head.

— — — — — —

“Mind if I sit with you?” Hongjoong hears a voice from behind him as he sits on the swing at their town’s local park, swaying back and forth. He’s got a good hour and a half before he’s supposed to open the store. Hongjoong turns his head around, eyes going wide at Yeosang standing there, drowning in a soft-looking cardigan and fucking joggers. 

“Um, uh—sure,” Hongjoong stutters, brain glitching for a second before he motions towards the empty swing next to him, “By all means, it is a public space.”

It’s an early Sunday morning at the start of February. The perks of being more down South meant that it was always still relatively warm all year round, save for some mornings and late nights. It had rained the previous night, keeping the air chill but still a bit muggy. 

That was the worst part of living in New York, besides the fact that he was a transplant. It could be nearly freezing in the morning and a sauna by the time the afternoon rolled around. Here, in this small little dot on a map, everything is slightly more predictable. 

Hongjoong lets the lit cigarette he’d been smoking burn away in between his fingers and catches Yeosang staring at it. Flushing, he makes a poor attempt at trying to hide it, “Sorry, uh, um—does this bother you?”

Shaking his head, Yeosang looked away from Hongjoong’s hand and up at him, lips trembling in the way Hongjoong knew meant he was trying to figure out what to say. “No, it’s fine. Didn’t think you were the type to smoke.”

“I—uh, I really don’t.” Hongjoong stutters out, not sure why he feels like he has to explain the stupid nicotine addiction he developed in college to Yeosang, “Or I try not to, as much, you know. I haven’t actually in a long time but uh—I just can’t vape. Vaping makes me look…stupid.” 

Hongjoong’s words cause Yeosang to laugh, throwing his head back as he tries to cover his giggles with his hand. “I haven’t heard someone use that reason as to why one prefers cigarettes to vaping before.” 

“Well, it’s all bad for you so who cares.” Hongjoong feels his ears grow hot, and drops the cigarette butt onto the ground, pressing the sole of his shoe onto it. He realizes how much that wasn’t such a smart idea and goes to pick it back up, standing up to go over to the trashcan and throw it out. As he makes his way back to the swings, he tries to be discreet in smelling himself before settling back down and looking over to Yeosang again, “What brings you over here this early on a Sunday morning anyways?”

Yeosang raises an eyebrow, “This is my Sunday morning thinking spot. I think I should be the one asking you that.”

“My apologies Hillside Development Inc., to what do I owe the pleasure then?” Hongjoong jokes back, head bowing in jest. Yeosang laughs at the gesture, rolling his eyes. 

“I like the quiet,” Yeosang says after a moment of silence, aside from the creaking of the swing set. It feels like there’s a story to be told there, the way Yeosang stares out towards the empty road. Hongjoong feels like he’s gained a piece of the puzzle to Yeosang’s entity as the other continues, “And as I said, this is my favorite thinking spot. When it’s quiet, I feel like I can finally hear myself think.”

“And what is that brilliant brain of yours thinking?” Hongjoong whispers, wrapping his arms around the chains of the swing, and digging his shoes into the wet mulch. He realizes belatedly that he might be overstepping, but he hopes even more than ever that Yeosang might be an oversharer like him.

“That Mrs. Janice needs to stop asking me if I’m interested in older White guys,” Yeosang says seriously, brows furrowed in a way that makes Hongjoong feel endeared despite throwing his head back, laughing at the absurdity of the statement. A part of him is disappointed at the avoidance but perhaps he hadn’t earned that right to pry into the unfavorable parts of Yeosang just yet. 

“Did she seriously you ask that?”

“Well, not exactly that!” There’s a sulky expression on Yeosang’s face as he tries to explain himself, “But it feels like it! She keeps asking me if I’d be interested in meeting her son. I know who her son is, I’m not interested!”

Trying his best to stop laughing as Yeosang crosses his arms in a huge ‘X’, Hongjoong casts an amused raised brow at him, “Does she know that her son is literally dating a man right now? He and Hyunwoo have been together for nearly a year.”

It suddenly made him think about what Wooyoung had mentioned once, how it was statistically insane, that such a small town harbored such a dense population of gay men. 

(“Actually,” Yunho said, raising his hand like he was in class answering a question, “San is bisexual.”)

Yeosang nods, lips jutting out in the pout that Hongjoong is all too happy to see and grumbles, “I don’t know if I should be concerned that her son might have a thing for Asian dudes or feel bad that she thinks I’m a better choice. Hyunwoo is a total sweetheart!” 

— — — — — —

“I think I’m going to paint a mural on the side of my parent’s convenience store,” Hongjoong says to Seonghwa the next day, making grabby hands towards the bag of spicy dried squid on the table. 

Seonghwa makes a surprised noise as he pushes the bag over to Hongjoong, eyes wide, “That’s—what the fuck, that’s crazy. What brought this on? Y-you haven’t touched any art-related thing in, like, three years.”

Hongjoong doesn’t know what brought this on either. Not when he’s been so carefully avoiding the very thing that comforted him throughout his mediocrity. 

A couple of months after he moved back home, his parents mentioned to him that they had redone the outside of the convenience store awhile back and left a side of it blank. They told him they left it that way in hopes of him one day painting something for them like he used to do as a kid. His mother didn’t try to pry when he couldn’t give them an answer but occasionally he’d catch her staring wistfully at one of the paintings he had done in middle school hung up in their living room like it was something that should’ve belonged in the Louvre. 

Sometimes, Hongjoong thinks that there’s no reason for him to be so lost in his mind and ineptitude. He sees enough suffering and sadness in the world, both around him and on his phone screen to know that the weight on his chest, heavy and unforgiving, when he lays in bed at night was nothing but a simple mild inconvenience he should’ve overcome long ago. He was always grateful for the unwavering support and love that his parents poured into his interests and dreams, into his identity and his impulses. But sometimes it did feel a bit silly, to not be able to do something you’ve spent your whole life doing—so well in fact, that he even got a degree out of it—only to balk at the mere thought of it now. Because he was what? Depressed and burnt out? 

Yet, despite the anxiety and spiraling over the thought that Hongjoong was somehow betraying his family and loved ones because he simply couldn’t bring himself to at least paint some fucking pictures because you clearly couldn’t get a job out of it, he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the conversation he had with Yeosang at the playground yesterday. Nothing profound or groundbreaking was said, but maybe because of how simple the question Yeosang had asked was, and how normal their conversation had gone, devoid of judgment and expectations, had made Hongjoong want to pick a paintbrush back up. 

Maybe it was because it was Yeosang. Maybe it was because Yeosang made him want to try even when everything is just kind of shit. But that wasn’t something he was quite ready to delve into just yet.

“ I heard that you were an art major in college?” Yeosang is squinting into the distance, the sun glaring down on the both of them now that the day has started and the town has begun to wake up.

Hongjoong grips the chains of the swing tightly and nods, “Mmm, you’ve known me for nearly three years now and you’re just asking about it?”

“Well,” Yeosang pouts, “It seemed like a bit of a touchy subject for you. You know, college in general. I assumed there were just more interesting things you’d rather want to talk about.”

“Oh—well, yeah, that’s true,” Hongjoong sighs, wringing his hands together, suddenly feeling anxious, “But yeah, I was. I majored in Fine Arts, that’s what my bachelor’s is in. What brought this up?”

“That sounds so cool, hyung,” Yeosang replies cryptically, “Did you like it? Were you happy?”

“Was I happy?” Hongjoong says out loud. For a moment, he contemplates, stumped at how to answer. Truthfully, it was a loaded question and maybe Hongjoong really should get a journal. He looks down at his watch, realizing he needs to go open the store soon, so he opts for: “I—maybe. Well, yeah. For the most part, I think. It was kind of…a given you know? I was made to do this. All I’ve wanted to do my entire life was create art.”

“I think it’s inspiring, you know, that there’s something in your life that you love so much like that.”

“I guess—well, someone reminded me how much love I have for something,” Hongjoong states, shrugging. Like it wasn’t completely crazy that he was finally pushing himself out of the mental art block he’s had since coming back home. 

Not that anything has happened—he wasn’t rushing to paint just yet, but saying it out loud made Hongjoong feel an excitement he hadn’t felt in a really damn long time. Hongjoong was also grateful that Seonghwa wasn’t looking at him in concern or worry, but genuine excitement at the fact that he was going to paint again.

“And what is that?” Seonghwa asks softly, a small, knowing smile on his lips.

“To create art.”

— — — — — —

Hongjoong is working on unboxing their monthly shipment of noodles and ramen when the bell on the door chimes and Yeosang walks in with Wooyoung and Yunho in tow. While Yeosang seems content on being in his own little world, the other two are holding hands, sharing a joke before Yunho breaks out into a wide grin, leaning in to laugh into the crook of Wooyoung’s head. 

Something ugly and fleeting twists in his stomach and Hongjoong wishes he could be better at pretending that he wasn’t jealous of the two of them, but was it so wrong to want to know the feeling of being loved unconditionally by someone else too?

So Hongjoong does what he does best: “God, why did you bring the married couple with you today, Yeosang.”

“Why are you always so miserable?” Wooyoung bites back, “Jealous that I’ve found the love of my life and the only thing you’re intimate with is those konjac jelly pouches you feel up every day?”

Both Yunho and Yeosang try their best to hide their laughter and Hongjoong scowls, “Now why would I be jealous of someone who got married right after high school? You’re both victims of the patriarchy.”

“We were twenty-two!” Wooyoung and Yunho speak at the same time before sharing a look and breaking into matching grins. When Wooyoung goes in to kiss Yunho, Hongjoong fakes a gag. 

With a huff, Wooyoung walks over to Hongjoong, nudging his back with his hip to get to the curry-flavored instant ramen cups, reaching out for one and pauses, “Wait—do patriarchal expectations apply to a married gay couple?” 

“Well—“

“Please don’t start,” Wooyoung cuts Hongjoong off in Korean before beckoning Yunho over so they can decide what to get themselves for lunch. Hongjoong clamps his mouth shut, not before muttering asshole, making a face, and then going back to what he was being paid to do. 

Yeosang lingers at the end of the aisle, seemingly content with watching Hongjoong do minimum wage labor. Wooyoung and Yunho have already moved on to what drinks to get, when Hongjoong puts the remaining Jin ramen onto the shelf and peers up at Yeosang. 

“Apollo strawberry chocolates?” Hongjoong asks, already knowing the answer. 

Yeosang nods back at him solemnly, “Apollo strawberry chocolates.”

Lips curving into a smile, Hongjoong lifts himself from where he’s kneeling and waves for Yeosang to follow him to the back. “We just got the shipment of Meiji snacks. I opened the boxes but hadn’t had time to put them on the shelf yet.”

They pass Wooyoung and Yunho, who are bickering about whether they still had enough gochugaru back home, and Hongjoong spots where he had left the big cardboard box, pink and brown candy-shaped designs peeking out from where he’d cut it open. He’s glad that the side where he’d written in Sharpie ‘ For Yeosang’ is facing away from them as he goes to grab some for him.

When Hongjoong hands Yeosang four boxes of Meiji chocolates, two as an apology for making him wait an additional few days because shipments always never come on time, Yeosang looks like he’s been itching to ask him something. Hongjoong decides that he’s too much wrapped around Yeosang’s finger to not put him out of his misery so he tries to joke, “This is the only shipment for the next month. Maybe we should pace ourselves.”

He’s not fully sure how the joke lands, considering Yeosang’s snort feels more like a grimace. Hongjoong grimaces right back at him, offering an awkward smile before they walk back over to the counter to ring him up. Hongjoong makes sure he only charges him for two boxes (he’ll pay for the other two out of his own paycheck) and Yeosang still looks like he wants to say something so Hongjoong bites the bullet, “You look like you want to ask me something.”

Yeosang seems embarrassed at being caught and for a fleeting moment, all Hongjoong can think is ‘how cute’ as he looks at the way Yeosang purses his lips, jutting out in their usual round shape when he’s deep in thought. 

“Mmm,” He starts and Hongjoong nods, trying not to spiral before Yeosang can even ask the damn question. Yeosang seems to hesitate for a few more seconds before he breathes out quickly, “I was just wondering if you wanted to go to the light show they’re putting up at the park this weekend?”

It’s a good thing Hongjoong is an avid, active Yeosang listener because he catches every single word that falls off the other’s tongue. 

“Wooyoung or San couldn’t make it?” Hongjoong slips out before he can help himself. He tries his best to play it off as a teasing joke; play off the fact that he feels like he might explode from being asked to hang out with Yeosang in a non-group setting, but he’s always been pretty bad at not sounding insecure. 

Yeosang, thankfully, doesn’t seem to notice and shakes his head, lips becoming more pronounced, a full-blown pout now. Hongjoong is so fucked.

“No—I didn’t ask them. I thought you would like to see them because I heard you liked going to them when you were a kid but you haven’t gone to one since you got back. Seonghwa told me that, by the way, just so you don’t think I’m a creep.” Yeosang seems intent on looking anywhere but Hongjoong as he continues to ramble. It’s endearing and Hongjoong only feels a bit bad to let Yeosang continue for a few more seconds, “So I—you don’t have to say yes. If you were going to go with someone else or if you didn’t want to go, I wouldn’t take it personally—”

God, are you stupid Hongjoong? Why are you playing hard to get when you’re just going to say yes anyway? Look at him. Hongjoong fights himself internally as he attempts to stop Yeosang in his tracks, Maybe he wasn’t the only one that was kind of a mess. “Hey, wait that’s not—Yeosang, of course, I’d love to go. I love the light show they put on every year here. I haven’t gone since because I’ve been, uh, well—whatever, it doesn’t matter. I’m happy that you thought about me.”

“So…” Yeosang trails off, looking hopeful, “Does that mean you’ll go with me?”

“Yes, of course, Yeosang. You could ask me to go dumpster diving with you, and I’d be a little disgusted, but I’d do it.”

Yeosang giggles, shaking his head in exasperation, “Hyung I don’t think I would be a big fan of dumpster diving.”

For maybe the hundredth time, in the three years of getting to know who Yeosang is, as he looks at the bright smile that breaks out on his face, Hongjoong understands how someone can be so in love that they’d want to die.

— — — — — —

“A little birdie told me that you’re going to the light show this weekend with Yeosang.” Seonghwa teases, trying his best to wiggle his eyebrows suggestively before opting to give him a nudge and flopping down next to Hongjoong on the couch. 

A rerun of a random season of America’s Next Top Model is playing, and Hongjoong has spent the last thirty minutes thinking just how insane Tyra Banks was. He groans when Seonghwa flops right on top of him rather than beside him, pushing him off in annoyance before stealing the bag of popcorn Seonghwa had in his hands. 

“And was Wooyoung the little birdie?” Hongjoong sniffs offensively, shoving a handful of popcorn into his mouth and looking back at the TV screen where Tyra is about to eliminate one of the contestants. 

“No actually, Yunho did.” 

That was something Hongjoong was shocked to hear. “Didn’t beg Yunho for a little gossip gremlin.”

“Well, I think he was trying to stop Wooyoung from telling the rest of us, but ended up outing the information himself.”

Knew it, Hongjoong thinks before saying, “That’s more like it.” 

With his eyes still focused on America’s Next Top Model, Hongjoong doesn’t notice the weird look Seonghwa is giving him, but the wretched vibes emanating off of the other, Hongjoong knows all too well. So he sighs, eyes still focused on Tyra Banks as he asks, “What?”

“You’re like…” Seonghwa makes a few random indecipherable gestures with his arms, “Not nervous right? Shitting and peeing your pants? About to cry and throw up?”

Giving Seonghwa a look of disgust, Hongjoong rolls his eyes, “First of all, what the fuck, that’s gross. And secondly, why would I….be nervous?”

“It’s a date,” Seonghwa piles on him. “Is it not? Yeosang asked you out, didn’t he?”

“Why are you phrasing everything like a question? Yes, we’re going to the light show together. That’s what happens when you accept someone’s invitation to go out.”

“Yeah…but together…you are going…out.” Seonghwa presses like he’s not saying something so obvious and yet being so cryptic at the same time.

“Yes, that is how you make plans with other people.” Hongjoong repeats himself, getting annoyed, “He asked me to go with him because he heard from you, by the way, that I liked going to the annual light show when I was younger. And I said yes.”

“Wow, you are so unintelligent.”

Hongjoong huffs, pausing the episode and turning fully towards Seonghwa, who’s leaning back on the couch, arms crossed and shaking his head. “If you are just going to insult me in my own home, mooching off my Kirkland popcorn, while I’m having my ANTM me-time, then get the hell—”

“Yeosang asked you to go to the light show with him. Just like how I’m going with Jongho.” Seonghwa interrupts, giving him a pointed look, “He didn’t ask Wooyoung or San, or even Mingi, even though all of them are free this weekend. He specifically went out of his way to ask me if you liked the light show and then went to you, hoping that you’d say yes. He made sure none of us invited you to the light show because he wanted to go with you—only you. And of course, you’d say yes because you’re Hongjoong and he’s Yeosang.”

When Hongjoong remains silent, Seonghwa scoffs, continuing, “He asked you on a date, you buffoon. And you said yes, which is probably the only smart idea you had in this entire situation.”

Holy shit, is he going on a date with Yeosang?

— — — — — —

Maybe Seonghwa was right because Hongjoong sure feels like he’s going to piss his pants. 

The night before, he and Yeosang had agreed to meet in front of the entrance to their local park zoo, which hosts the annual light show, fifteen minutes before the start of it. Hongjoong, being the anxious person he was, had gotten to the park zoo nearly half an hour before. It’s one of the chillier nights of the year so Hongjoong’s in some thicker, random thrifted varsity jacket, and a beanie. He had seen Seonghwa and Jongho earlier, arms linked and ready to give him a pep talk. 

Hongjoong had been too anxious to really remember anything important they said, but he was sure he left the conversation feeling ten times worse. 

“Out here wasting away all by yourself beautiful?” He hears Seonghwa try to say flirtatiously from behind him. Hongjoong whips his head around to see Jongho snickering as Seonghwa attempts to move closer to Hongjoong, giving him one of those raised-brow smirks meant to look attractive as Seonghwa throws an arm around his shoulder.

Pushing Seonghwa away and backing up in disgust, Hongjoong grimaces, “Jongho, your man is trying to flirt with other men.”

“I think it's sweet,” Jongho states, arm still linked with Seonghwa. He’s got a wide smile on his face, giggling at the way Seonghwa lands a big fat smooch on his cheek. Oh how men fall in the presence of pretty men, Hongjoong could relate.

Hongjoong applauds himself for actually not throwing up right there and then. “God, why am I friends with you two?”

“You’d simply die of loneliness without us. Or of toxoplasmosis.”

“What the hell is toxoplasmosis?” Hongjoong says incredulously. 

Jongho, who is an actual veterinarian tech, opens his mouth to explain but shakes his head and just goes, “You’ll know when it happens. But Donut would never do that to you.”

Hongjoong casts him one last confused stare before glaring at Seonghwa, “Can y’all just leave me alone? Yeosang is going to be here anytime now.”

“We’re literally all friends.” Seonghwa scoffs, “Why can’t I see Yeosang too?”

“Because your diabolical aura will scare him away.” Hongjoong makes a show of shivering visibly, earning an eye roll from both of them.

“Rich coming from you.” Seonghwa snarks back, “I’m surprised your pathetic wet-sopping vibes didn’t chase him away first.”

“Maybe Yeosang is just into really sad and desperate men.” Jongho supplies unhelpfully, nodding his head like he’s thinking hard.

“True.” Seonghwa agrees readily, earning a deeper scowl from Hongjoong.

They had bid him goodbye without giving him any good advice, aside from a “try not to piss your pants” from an all too amused Seonghwa. Hongjoong would’ve spent the rest of the night wallowing in his misery if Yeosang hadn’t chosen the perfect time to show up. 

Yeosang’s got his hair clipped up in an assortment of colorful star clips that pop brightly against his dark hair. He’s wearing a well-loved, thick knitted cardigan that’s pilling a little and a loose turtleneck. Hongjoong wonders if the other is feeling cold at all and his brain unhelpfully supplies him with the idea that he could give Yeosang his jacket and they could fall in love under the starry night sky (but then I’d be cold, Hongjoong can’t help but think, I don’t like the cold at all). 

Hongjoong waves to greet the other, heart thumping against his chest as Yeosang waves back. 

He understands he’s always been a pretty awkward person, unsure of himself and his body language in ways that never corrected itself even beyond his teenage years. But what does one do when the person they’re obsessed with is equally as awkward as you?  

“Hey,” he says lamely, giving Yeosang a small smile and an awkward wave of his hand, the other in the pocket of his jacket, shoulders hunched inwards.

“Hi,” Yeosang says back, a little sheepish and shy, waving back awkwardly again as he approaches Hongjoong. 

They stand in front of each other for what feels like ages and Hongjoong thinks he really could stare into Yeosang’s eyes forever, but that’d be very weird. And Yeosang was never someone who enjoyed prolonged eye contact either. So Hongjoong pushes aside his inner turmoil, puts on his metaphorical big boy pants, and holds out his hand, “Should we go in now?”

Yeosang looks surprised at Hongjoong’s outstretched hand and for a second, he realizes that they’ve never held hands before and maybe he should’ve waited until later on in the date to be this straightforward, but the beginnings of his internal spiral disappear the moment Yeosang grabs his hand. 

Hongjoong’s glad that he doesn’t go visibly red like Yunho does when he blushes, as Yeosang’s bigger hand practically covers Hongjoong’s own smaller one. Yeosang’s hand is much warmer than he’d expected it to be, but he’s not complaining. Not when Hongjoong’s got chronic sweaty palms himself.

“You look good, by the way,” Hongjoong musters up the courage to finally say, hoping Yeosang doesn’t feel and see how much he’s sweating. “The pins,” He uses his free hand to point at Yeosang’s head, “Are super cute.”

“Thank you,” Yeosang replies, reaching out with his free hand to play with one, smiling a little more comfortably than just a few seconds ago, “You too, hyung.”

If he wasn’t visibly red before, he might as well be now. Hongjoong feels himself flush even more at the implications of Yeosang’s words, trying his best to push down the desire just to roll over, scream into the nook of his elbow, and kick his feet in the air like a lovestruck teenager. Did he call me…cute? 

“Oh uh, ah-ha…thank you.” Hongjoong clears his throat, rubbing the nape of his neck in embarrassment. It’s a bit awkward as they walk towards the entrance, falling back into silence, letting the employee scan their tickets on Hongjoong’s phone, and he thinks about how he’s never really held anyone’s hand like this before. 

Yeosang seems like a pro at hand-holding though, swinging their arms back and forth and occasionally rubbing soothing circles on Hongjoong’s hand, despite his awkwardness. Which wasn’t surprising at the least. Being friends with people like Wooyoung and San required the ability to accept a type of smothering, overwhelming love that never came naturally to Hongjoong or his friendships. But Hongjoong understood the two of them, now that he’s gotten to know Yeosang better. He wouldn’t mind getting used to that type of love if it was with him.

They’ve gone halfway through the park, passing a 200-foot pagoda and just finishing the glowing walkthrough dragon tunnel, when Hongjoong finishes his ramblings on how they choose the concept of the light show every year.

“I’m not boring you with all of this am I?” Hongjoong asks, realizing how much he’s talked and how much Yeosang hasn’t.

“Mmm, not at all,” Yeosang answers quickly, shaking his head. Their hands are still intertwined and Yeosang has been swinging them back and forth for the last five minutes. He smiles at Hongjoong, squeezing his hand, “I think everything you’ve said sounds so cool, even if I don’t exactly understand it.”

“We can talk about something else—” Hongjoong begins only for Yeosang to shake his head again, more firmly this time.

“No way,” Yeosang says, lips forming into his signature pout, “You always listen to my ramblings when I visit the store, even if none of it makes sense to you. Who even sits there and listens to someone talk about housing regulations? So why wouldn’t I want to listen to the things you want to talk about too, even if it doesn’t make sense to me? And anyway, I like hearing you talk about the things you enjoy. I like learning about the things you like too.”

The way Yeosang says it makes everything feel so simple, leaving no room for Hongjoong’s insidious doubts. He’s always been told that he gets too invested in understanding the things he was interested in, but Hongjoong didn’t get why one wouldn’t want to dive into knowing every single little thing about the stuff they enjoyed.

And here Yeosang was, taking in Hongjoong’s endless fascination concerning light art with an eager stride. It makes his chest constrict in a way he’s never experienced before. Seonghwa would call Hongjoong a hopeless romantic, and he wouldn’t have argued, feeling himself just fall a little bit more in love with Yeosang. 

“Okay.” Hongjoong nods, feeling warm.

“Okay,” Yeosang nods, hand still warm in his, “So which light show was your favorite one?”

They eventually find a place to sit down and rest when Yeosang spots a Dippin’ Dots stand. Hongjoong never understood wanting to eat something cold while it was cold outside, but maybe that’s why he wasn’t cut out for New York (among many other glaring issues). Also who in their right mind would say no to Yeosang’s endearing need to indulge in a sweet treat?

Yeosang looks excited to dig into his ice cream when they finally find a place to sit, on a bench near where usually the butterfly garden is. Tonight, the area is lit up by the beautiful displays of an assortment of lights, and the soft glow of yellow creates a halo behind Yeosang, making him look like an angel. He’s so pretty—pretty enough for Hongjoong to ignore that no one should ever be that happy to eat a flavor called Cool Crunch Mint. 

Hongjoong watches as families and couples pass by them, all in their own little world, holding his own cup of Dippin Dots. Strawberry Cheesecake Yodots, his mind supplies. He was surprised Yeosang didn’t order anything strawberry-related. 

“I’m surprised you didn’t order some strawberry-chocolate thing.” He teases, using the spoon to play around with the little dots of ice cream. 

Yeosang is eating a spoonful of his own when Hongjoong comments, responding with a snort before speaking, “I like Apollo strawberry chocolates. Not just strawberry-chocolate-flavored things.”

“Oh, I see,” Hongjoong says lamely. Which made a lot of sense. Hongjoong liked grapes, but he wasn’t so much a fan of grape-flavored things. 

“I know it’s odd,” Yeosang starts, already finished with his ice cream, throwing it into the trashcan next to their bench before tucking himself against Hongjoong’s side. “I just really like how they taste.”

“It’s not odd at all.” Hongjoong argues, giving him a little nudge and a small smile, “I think it’s cute that…uh you really like those chocolates. Everyone has a comfort snack. And I can’t complain. You’re single-handedly keeping our store afloat with your business.”

Yeosang laughs, “I think it’s Seonghwa’s Hot Cheetos obsession that’s keeping your family’s business afloat.”

Hongjoong groans, “I don’t get how he can eat two bags of those abominations in one sitting.” 

They spend the rest of the night on the bench, the light show long forgotten as they end up talking about random things, letting the conversation flow from one place to another. They reminisce about high school, how much of a disaster Wooyoung’s promposal for Yunho was, and that of course Yeosang had been both prom king and valedictorian in his graduating year. 

Hongjoong shares how the only reason why he was part of the robotics team was because Yunho had practically begged him to join and it was between that and the anime club. Yeosang had laughed at that, saying he and Mingi were part of the anime club and that Hongjoong would’ve had a blast (Hongjoong was pretty sure he wouldn’t have). 

The more Yeosang shares about his past, the more Hongjoong yearns and wishes he’d been better at making friends—at opening up to other people and not letting his teen angst dictate the way he navigated his relationships. It isn’t the first time Hongjoong wonders how different his life would be if Yeosang had been in it back then. Would he have appreciated Yeosang’s loveliness the same way he did now? Or would he have made sure the safety bubble he’d built for his teen self kept Yeosang out too? 

As he watches Yeosang recall fondly a memory of some trouble he and Wooyoung had gotten into during their senior year of high school, he reaches his answer pretty quickly, honored to share future memories with Yeosang now. 

Talking about high school turns into sharing their college experiences, which Hongjoong always assumed that they had traversed very differently. He realizes quickly, however—when Yeosang admits how lost he’d felt during undergrad and that he had considered dropping out—that Hongjoong wasn’t the only one suffering through uncertainty. Perhaps it made him a bad person to think this, but for someone who had selfishly believed he was the only one going through adversity, it was relieving to hear someone else, who seemed like they had all of their life together, be burdened by the same problems he carried. 

Higher education woes turns into discussing familial obligations and Hongjoong opens up about his family dynamics and his strained relationship with his older brother (Hongjoong elects to omit that the main reason for their rocky relationship stems from Hongjoong’s own jealousy). 

In return, Yeosang meets him halfway, sharing how he used to be closer to his older sister (a type of solidarity formed around overbearing strict parents) but after coming back home from college, with his sister having gotten married and moving away to Seattle, their relationship was never quite the same. They keep in contact occasionally and Yeosang gets to see his baby nephew during the holidays, but he feels like there’s a wall between them that he can’t overcome. Yeosang admits that he hadn’t tried to mend their relationship after coming back home, but his sister hadn’t either.

“Why go back to law school?” Hongjoong can’t help but ask. Yeosang looks surprised by the sudden question.

“It felt right, I think?” Yeosang shrugs, seeming to contemplate what he wants to say next, like this was some college interview and his acceptance depended on the answer he provided. “I came back here thinking I was never going to go back to school—never go to law school. Then I started working at the center, and it reminded me of why I wanted to be a lawyer in the first place. Being back here, back home, allowed me to rediscover my dreams.”

“Ah,” Hongjoong can feel jealousy seep into his lungs, and he exhales heavily to get rid of the feeling, “I’m happy for you, that you’re figuring out what you want to do. The world needs more kinder people like you.”

Yeosang leans back, looking over to Hongjoong, and smiles brightly, “I mean, like someone super duper cool once told me, I was just made to do this.”

They shift to lighter topics again soon after, and Hongjoong feels like he can talk to Yeosang forever. He’s half tempted to do the same thing he does to a begrudging Seonghwa when they’re both drunk, which is to overshare. But before they know it, the park is announcing on its loudspeakers that the zoo is set to close soon. Blinking up in surprise, Yeosang’s mouth parts in an ‘o’ shape. 

“Wow, I hadn’t realized how long we’ve been talking for.” Yeosang says, a little sheepish, “But I enjoyed every minute of it.”

Hongjoong flushes, heart soaring at the words, “Me too.”

Once they make it outside of the park, Hongjoong feels the awkwardness he’d felt at the start of their date come flooding back in. “Um…were you going to take the bus back home?”

He feels relieved to know Yeosang seems just as clueless as to what to do next, rubbing the nape of his neck, putting his weight on one leg and then onto the other. “Actually, uh, I drove here. I saw that the parking was free today so…um.”

“Oh, awesome. That’s good.” Hongjoong replies, unsure of what to say or do next.

“Um, can I give you a ride home?” Yeosang hesitantly offers. 

Hongjoong’s bus card weighs heavily in the pocket of his pants, “If that’s no trouble for you.” 

Yeosang smiles, shaking his head and leading him to the park’s parking lot, “Nothing is trouble when it comes to you.”

Once Hongjoong waves goodbye to Yeosang from the front yard, the other waving back from the driver’s seat, he hurries inside, locking his door shut. 

He hears the sound of Yeosang’s car driving away before he shucks off his shoes, making sure he puts them on the designated shoe rack before walking over to the couch in the living room, still in the dark, and flops dramatically face first. He thinks about screaming into the cushion, realizing that his parents aren’t home, and does end up screaming into the couch.

The drive to drop Hongjoong off wasn’t anything crazy, with Yeosang’s car radio crooning indie bands he’s never heard of. They had mainly been silent during the ride, in the post-date awkwardness that Hongjoong was only familiar with once, long ago during his sophomore year of undergrad. It was really what happened once Yeosang parked in front of Hongjoong’s driveway that made him want to shrivel up and simply stop existing.

“I really do like you Hongjoong,” Yeosang spoke up, as they sat in his parked car, unsure of what to do next. He’d attempted to turn himself around to face Hongjoong in the driver’s seat with his seatbelt still on, barely looking comfortable before reaching out for Hongjoong’s hand. Hongjoong had been surprised by Yeosang’s boldness, but of course, someone had to be, because if it was up to him, pining after the other man would’ve proceeded for another three years. He lets Yeosang hold his hand, always firm and warm, “And just to make sure there was no misunderstanding, tonight was a date.”

“I—yeah I know.” Hongjoong breathes out, flushing at Yeosang’s confession. He feels a little embarrassed about how hard he’s squeezing Yeosang’s hand, but the other doesn’t seem to mind all that much. And considering how out of his depth he feels, Hongjoong does what he’s usually good at, rambling. “About, uh, this being a date. And I—me too. About you know, uh, liking you too. I was so happy when you asked me to go to the light show with you. I didn’t know you meant like, on a date, but I’m glad! Seriously! I mean, I was freaking out a lot but—”

Yeosang suddenly laughs, almost sounding relieved, “I’m glad. I’m so, so glad that you like me too.”

When Hongjoong makes eye contact with Yeosang, he can’t help but laugh too, feeling giddy as he watches Yeosang’s lips form into that smile Hongjoong is all too obsessed with. It’s an awkward laugh they share like they’re both figuring out how to be in love together, but Hongjoong is grateful. This might just be the beginning, but being awkwardly in love with Yeosang is an honor he’d never expected to be reciprocated. 

They stay like that for a bit and Yeosang looks conflicted for a second, leaning back and forth before shaking his head and letting go of Hongjoong’s hand. “Well, I don’t want to keep you anymore, it’s late.”

“Oh right,” Hongjoong says lamely, already missing Yeosang’s hand in his, finally unbuckling his seatbelt.

“Have a good night hyung,” Yeosang says softly, still smiling at him, “Sweet dreams. Don’t let the bed bugs bite.”

Hongjoong laughs, heart still beating fast against his ribcage at the confession but feeling himself relax, “You too,” he replies, “Get home safely.”

Before Hongjoong can fully get out of the car, Yeosang reaches out for his hand again, “Let’s do this again soon—these dates—okay?”

“Yes, please.”

Hongjoong flails his arms dramatically once more, still face first on the couch before he feels a heavy weight on his back and he stretches his neck up, turning his head around. 

“Donut he likes me back.” Hongjoong gushes, feeling giddy and kind of like, ready to explode in sheer happiness.

Donut, their American Shorthair, stares at him with her big yellow eyes and meows.

— — — — — —

Another long week passes by and Hongjoong’s trying to sneak mouthfuls of his instant curry ramen when his phone notification goes on. He jumps, rushing to silence it, thankful that the store is currently empty. He unlocks his phone to see a text message from Yeosang.

Yeosang
stuck in the office today 
finishing up 
a case report (；ω；)
raincheck?

Hongjoong
Don’t worry :)
I’ll just do inventory tonight then!

Yeosang
i really wanted to try that new boba place
but they have me stuck here!! 
doing the grunt work!!
my boba !!!! 
_:(´ཀ`」 ∠):
boba…. (´°̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥ω°̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥｀)

Hongjoong laughs at the absurdity of Yeosang’s texting habits, imagining him sneakily trying to use his phone at his desk. 

Hongjoong
There’s always next time.
This is all experience for when you become named partner future lawyer Kang Yeosang.

Fighting!

Yeosang
*yeosang has liked your messages*

After their date, they began texting each other a lot more, sometimes so much that Hongjoong felt like a lovestruck fool, pulled into Yeosang’s orbit to spin around him like he was the sun. 

Hongjoong learns rather quickly that there were certain idiosyncrasies of Yeosang’s that he noticed to be rather both endearing and surprising simulteanously, especially when it came to texting. For example, Yeosang opted for never sending full sentences—a strange desire to double, and triple text by breaking them up into several messages—and had an emoticon or kaomoji for every mood and every situation. He also really liked reaction memes. 

For the past week, Yeosang had been busy with the extra load of work his supervisor gave him, as the season always brought on more cases for their center. Earlier this morning Yeosang had sent a series of distressed emoticons to express his unhappiness towards “soul-sucking corporate America”, and asked if Hongjoong wanted to try the new (and now one of two) boba places in this town. 

It seemed like Yeosang wouldn’t be getting out of work on time as he anticipated, which Hongjoong had a feeling was going to happen (and made sure to anticipate so it didn’t feel like the end of the world when he did in fact, asked for a rain check). It wasn’t like Hongjoong hadn’t seen the other all week. Yeosang tried to stop by during his lunch breaks throughout the week, something made easy considering how close both of their jobs were to each other, but he could never stay long enough and Hongjoong was always occupied with a customer during those times.

So aside from fleeting hellos and how are yous, texts and calls were enough for Hongjoong, but he sure would make Seonghwa laugh in his face to deny that it wasn’t slightly disappointing that nothing life-changing happened after their first date (i.e. they fall in love and build a home and a house together). 

But that was just the reality of being an adult who sought a life outside of work, work, and work. You just had to learn that distance (separation by a road) made the heart grow fonder (increasingly desperate for a thread of intimacy). 

A couple of hours later, Hongjoong is pulling up to the parking lot of the center where Yeosang works when he sees him step out. The sun was long gone and Hongjoong’s all exhausted from arguing with a lady about how he couldn’t exchange or refund her for the twenty-four packs of Indo-mie she bought because it was too spicy (there were only half of them left!). 

Yeosang had mentioned that he would be staying in the office till seven and after that whole debacle, Hongjoong decided that inventory could wait till tomorrow and closed up the store a bit earlier than usual. 

It seems that Yeosang had noticed his car pull up because he was jogging over to where Hongjoong had parked, eyes wide but a big smile on his face.

“What are you doing here?!” Yeosang exclaims, clearly tired from the long day. His hair looks like it’s seen better days but Hongjoong can’t help but stare up at him in awe, wondering if it was truly okay for him to be in the presence of someone as beautiful as Yeosang.

Hongjoong blinks once, twice, before embarrassingly turning around to grab the bubble tea—one hundred percent sweetness with cheese foam, pudding, and brown sugar boba in it, because Hongjoong had long given up trying to understand how Yeosang could enjoy such sweet things—and holds it up, “Surprise?”

They’re sitting in Hongjoong’s car, still parked in the lot in front of Yeosang’s job. Hongjoong had debated driving them somewhere else, but it wasn’t like there was any other car here. 

“Thank you for doing this,” Yeosang starts, twirling his straw around in the cup trying to get the remaining pieces of pudding, “I really needed this today.”

I’d do anything for you. Swim across the globe for you if I could, to be honest, is what Hongjoong wants to say. But instead of potentially making Yeosang weirded out, he opts for: “I know you wanted to go, so I brought the boba to you.”

“Seriously, I’m so happy that I could kiss you.” Yeosang says, seemingly unaware of what he just said, 

“Yeah?” Hongjoong chokes out.

— — — — — —

“You kissed?!” Seonghwa screams, jumping right onto Hongjoong, who is lying on his bed. He groans at the impact, ears feeling warm, “In the parking lot of his workplace?!”

“Will you quiet down?!” Hongjoong says frantically, even though they’re the only two people home right now, and trying to push Seonghwa off.

“Literally no one is home,” Seonghwa says, relenting anyway and rolling off Hongjoong and lying next to him. They’re crammed in Hongjoong’s full-size bed that he’s had since he was fifteen. 

“So…” Seonghwa continues, lying on his side and resting his head on the palm of his hand. He makes a half-assed attempt at wiggling his eyebrows, which just makes him look constipated. 

Groaning, Hongjoong hides under the blankets he’d already cocooned himself, “I don’t want to relive it. It was embarrassing.”

“Oh my god did you use your tongue on the first kiss?!”

“No!”

“Did your breath stink? I told you to wash your tongue—“

“No! And I do clean my tongue you freak!”

Seonghwa doesn’t let up, however, and continues to egg him on, “Okay, so what happened? You didn’t like, throw up on him, did you? Lactose intolerance didn’t finally catch up on you?”

Scowling, Hongjoong slaps Seonghwa’s arm, “You’re fucking gross, you know that right? And I didn’t drink any milk! I had a Strawberry Green Tea.”

It’s silent for a few seconds, as Seonghwa watches Hongjoong sulk before sighing, nudging him, “Hey, I’m serious, why are you embarrassed?”

Hongjoong feels their noses bump against each other as they lean closer together and Yeosang giggles, backing up just slightly and scrunching up his nose. Hongjoong flushes in embarrassment and tries to apologize only for Yeosang to shake his head and smile at him.

He wraps a warm, steady hand around the nape of Hongjoong’s neck and brings him in closer, “Just hold still okay?”

“Wait, Yeosang was your first kiss?! How did I not know that?” Seonghwa all but yells again, pouncing on Hongjoong and shaking him.

Feeling his brain rattle, Hongjoong tries to stop Seonghwa from giving him motion sickness and sighs when the other stops to let him explain himself, “Well, I was hoping to bring that small bit of information to my grave.”

Hongjoong thinks back to when Seonghwa and him were fourteen, sitting on the same bed, in the same room. He remembers how Seonghwa had asked if he’d ever kissed anyone and when he shook his head, the other had asked if he wanted to try kissing. Hongjoong remembers leaning in, awkward and haphazardly just like he’d done last night with Yeosang, before both of them made eye contact and backed away, laughing.

“Ew, I can’t.” Seonghwa groaned, scrunching up his nose and flopping onto his back. 

Hongjoong had stayed sitting up straight, nodding in agreement. No matter how much he crushed on Seonghwa from elementary to middle school, the thought of kissing him here, in his bed, no longer shared the same appeal. “Yeah, no way.” 

He didn’t tell anyone that he never tried kissing anyone again after that, not even Seonghwa, who knew Hongjoong’s secrets before he even did. He always imagined a prince sweeping him off his feet, like in those stupid fairytales he never liked. He imagined, plenty of times throughout his life, how it would feel to fall in love. He often looked at how his parents loved, decades of marriage, two grown kids, and still acted like they were falling in love with each other for the first time every day. Growing up, he believed that if he could not find someone to love like how his parents loved each other, no one was worthy of the love Hongjoong had.

The first time Hongjoong thought he was in love, it had been when he was eleven, not quite truly understanding what it meant to be in love but remembered meeting Seonghwa for the first time and being captivated by the way he carried himself. Surely, to eleven-year-old Hongjoong, someone as pretty as Seonghwa had to be his prince charming. 

When it was no longer Seonghwa, it was the nameless faces of pretty people on the train, at his college’s sad excuse of dining halls, and in corners of the library he hadn’t even known existed. Seonghwa told him once when they were video-calling each other one night, years back during college, that Hongjoong just couldn’t help but fall in love with the world around him. He doesn’t really remember much about how they even came to the topic of love, but he couldn’t refute Seonghwa’s observation. 

But while everyone else seemed to know what to do with their attraction, diving right into the deep end of the dating pool, Hongjoong stayed on the shallow steps, fearing that no one would understand the way he loved. 

Hongjoong thinks about how Yeosang’s lips felt against his, how awkward it must’ve been to kiss someone as inexperienced as him, to guide someone older than you through their firsts because he couldn’t be brave enough to guide himself through the pains of allowing oneself to be exposed to others. 

Yeosang was worth all the love that Hongjoong had in his body, in every crevice of his heart, but was Hongjoong worthy of Yeosang’s love? 

While he was still embarrassed because the kiss was pretty awkward, he’d been more worried that a kiss meant giving parts of himself to Yeosang that he’d spent years trying to avoid by crushing on the other from afar. But then the image of how Yeosang had grinned at him after, so wide that Hongjoong could see his two sharp front teeth, like he couldn’t get enough of Hongjoong, flashes through his mind. He thinks about how wildly insane it was, that you could love someone so much that it made you want to die, and Hongjoong lets out a loud groan, rolling back onto his stomach and muffles into his pillow, “I think I really fucking like him.” 

Seonghwa laughs, patting his back sympathetically, “Yeah, I know.”

— — — — — —

“Will you be at Yunho’s birthday party?” Hongjoong asks, staring at their intertwined hands as Yeosang plays with the rings on his fingers, the other’s hands enveloping his own. He hears Yeosang humming in response before repositioning himself so he’s essentially snuggled into Hongjoong’s side. They’re on the couch of Hongjoong’s living room, watching a random episode of Kitchen Nightmares. 

“Unless some crazy freak accident happens, I should be.” Yeosang starts, again trying to find a more comfortable position. The upper half of his body is practically on Hongjoong’s lap while the rest of his body is lying sideways. “Wooyoung would kill me if I wasn’t there celebrating his husband being the first one to turn twenty-five out of all of us.”

Before Hongjoong can make a smart comment about how he and Seonghwa were technically the first to turn twenty-five, both twenty-six, Donut meows, jumping right on top of Yeosang’s legs. Yeosang immediately drops Hongjoong’s hand to reach out to scratch the back of Donut’s ears. Hongjoong squints at his cat, who looks like she’s giving him a smug look as Yeosang coos at her, telling her how sweet and pretty she is.

“She’s not sweet. She’s evil and thinks our existence is to simply serve her.” Hongjoong sniffs, a pout on his lips before pointing an accusing finger at her, “And stop stealing my boyfriend’s attention, Donut.”

He makes grabby hand motions for Yeosang’s hands, causing the other boy to laugh, giving Donut one more scratch as she meows back at them before letting Hongjoong hold his hands. 

“You’re just like a cat. But don’t worry, there’s enough of me and my love to go around!” Yeosang tries to placate as Donut jumps up on the back of the couch, walking over to where Hongjoong is and smacking her tail against the back of his head, meowing loudly again as if she was trying to talk back to him. 

Hongjoong scoffs, knowing it's childish when he sticks his tongue at his cat after Yeosang sits up to give him a kiss. Before Hongjoong can ask for one more, ignoring Donut’s disdainful meow, Yeosang tells them both to stop making a fuss so he can see if Gordon Ramsay was able to successfully rehabilitate a shoddy restaurant with a narcissistic owner.  

“Do you think I can put my name on whatever gift you’re giving Yunho?” Hongjoong asks after a moment of silence and Yeosang snorts.

“Yes, sure, whatever you want darling,” Yeosang replies, eyes still on the TV screen in front of him. He pats Hongjoong’s thigh, making a shushing motion, “But shhh, we’re getting to the good part, some poor guy is about to get sick from eating rotten lobster.”

Hongjoong relaxes himself into the cushion and starts running his free hand through Yeosang’s hair, feeling the other relax too. He smiles to himself, having yet to lose the feeling of elation every time Yeosang refers to him in Korean terms of endearment. Yeah, I’m his darling. Take that again Donut.

— — — — — —

“Aren’t your parents are coming home this weekend?” Yeosang is leaning over, elbow resting on the checkout counter, chin on the palm of his hand as he plops a piece of Apollo strawberry chocolate in his mouth. He stares up at Hongjoong with his big brown eyes, the fluorescent lights making them shine. 

“Yeah, they’re back this Saturday. Their plane touches down around six I think? I was going to pick them up.” Hongjoong casts Yeosang a glance before going back to messing with the store’s Bluetooth speaker, queueing up a playlist from his phone (he finally figured out how to connect to the speaker, with the help of a very patient Yeosang). 

Yeosang hums, “At night?”

“Mhmm.” 

“Raincheck on the record store date then?” Yeosang asks, pushing the box of chocolates towards Hongjoong.

“Oh fuck,” Hongjoong starts, eyes going wide with his hand in the box. He gives Yeosang an apologetic look, “I forgot we planned to go this weekend. Fuck, I’m sorry. I really wanted to take you there.”

There was a small, secluded record store that existed on the other side of town, where Hongjoong spent much of his adolescence after he’d gotten his license. The owner had been an old lady who spent all her life loving music and wanted to share that with others; who would let him choose the music they’d play for the day while he sat in the back of the store, drawing away in one of his battered sketchbooks on a small wooden stool. 

The record store was far away from the main shopping place of their town, and was pretty much the only thing in that area besides a breakfast and lunch-only diner. Hongjoong had no idea how the owner was able to keep the store in business for as long as she has but he was grateful that one of the few places in this town he’d considered a safe space for himself, was still here.

When he first came back home, it was the first place he’d gone to, an abandoned sketchbook in his bag and heart heavy. Someone young—probably just a bit older than Hongjoong himself—had greeted him when he entered the store and he’d been confused as to why the owner wasn’t there. Hongjoong learns that they were the owner’s grandson and that his grandmother—the owner of the store—had passed away a month ago. But instead of letting this place go, the grandson had decided to take over and keep the business running to preserve her memories. 

Later, after Hongjoong had requested for them to play ABBA’s Arrival, the old lady’s favorite artist, the grandson told him that his grandmother used to talk about Hongjoong all the time and how much she appreciated having someone who seemed to love music as much as she did. The grandson had pointed to a bunch of framed artworks behind the counter and Hongjoong realized it was all the art that he’d given to her after spending hours hiding in the store. He had spent the rest of that day at the record store, sitting on the same stool he did as a teenager, overcome with emotions, and cried.

Hongjoong wanted to show Yeosang the store, not because he was thrilled to be showing someone a space that he spent countless hours allowing himself to be the vulnerable teenager he was, but because he knew Yeosang liked music, and even if the late owner was no longer here, she’d appreciate someone who loved music just as much as she did. And who was Hongjoong, if not a hopeless romantic? The idea of the two of them—lovers, partners, significant others, boyfriends—sifting through vinyl records and CD cases of a vintage record store, listening to some old eighties band warbling about falling in love gave Hongjoong butterflies. Oh to be a cliché—to fall in love in a record store.

“Ugh, I’m so sorry,” Hongjoong says again and Yeosang shakes his head, standing upright and closing the box of chocolates.

“Hey, it’s fine, seriously,” Yeosang reassures, smiling at him and reaching out to smush Hongjoong’s cheeks before trying to smooth out his frown.

“Picking up your parents is more important than going to a record store with me. Plus, after you pick up your parents, you’ll have plenty of more time to take me to the record store and anywhere else you want to go.”

“Sorr—“ Hongjoong starts, partially muffled by Yeosang still squeezing his cheeks only stopping at the other’s pointed look. He sighs and Yeosang nods before letting go of his face. “Okay, okay. My bad. But I swear I’ll make it up to you. Especially before Yunho’s birthday, yeah?”

“I know you will, but like I said, it’s okay.” Yeosang looks at the time on his watch and frowns, “But my lunch break is almost over. I’ll text you later alright? Also, remember that Wooyoung’s mom packed a new batch of kimchi for you to pick up later tonight.”

Hongjoong hated how fast those forty-five minutes went by. He feels himself pout and a little daring, “Before you go, one kiss please?”

Yeosang laughs, playfully rolling his eyes before nodding. He leans over the counter, coming closer to his face before landing a wet kiss on Hongjoong’s cheek.

“I meant on the lips!” Hongjoong complains as Yeosang giggles, shaking his head and turning around to leave, waving goodbye.

— — — — — —

Yeosang meets his parents (well, really his mother) only a couple of days after they come home from Korea. It wasn’t entirely on purpose, because if Hongjoong had any say in it, he’d make sure Yeosang never met his parents. Not because they weren’t accepting of Hongjoong’s sexuality or the relationships he had with others, but because the only things they knew how to do was love and embarrass the hell out of him.

But Yeosang always had a knack for bad timing. He drops by after work one night, trying to give Hongjoong the iPad he accidentally left at his place the day before. Hongjoong tries to be discreet, but his mother recognizes Yeosang immediately (because of course she did, his mother and Yeosang’s mother often gossip with each other at the grocery store).

“Oh, Yeosang! I didn’t know you were friends with Hongjoong!” His mother exclaims, eyes wide in surprise.

“Mom, he’s Wooyoung’s friend, of course, he’s my friend too.” Hongjoong practically whines, not caring that he looks childish in front of Yeosang (he feels like Yeosang has seen him in much worse states), tugging on her sleeve.

“Hello, it’s nice to meet you finally.” Yeosang bows, ever so the polite kid everyone’s auntie was in love with and smiles.

His mom smiles back, “What brings you here so late?”

“I just wanted to drop this off to Hongjoong. He forgot it at my place.” 

For a second, Hongjoong doesn’t think his mother buys it, but she nods anyway, pulling the door open wider, despite his protest. “Do you want to come in? It’s late but Hongjoong and I are just watching Coffee Prince.”

Hongjoong flushes when Yeosang laughs. The other shakes his head, declining, “I would love to, Coffee Prince is a classic. But I have work tomorrow and it’s late. Next time, Mrs. Kim.”

“You can just call me mom.” Hongjoong’s mother replies easily, waving her hand in the air. 

“Mom.” Hongjoong groans, feeling himself grow hotter in embarrassment by the minute. The smile on Yeosang’s face only seems to grow wider though, and he glances over to a visibly blushing Hongjoong. “Next time then, mom.”

When Yeosang leaves, Hongjoong stares longingly at his car driving away, his mom goes to stand by him, linking her arm with his.

“Well, Hongjoong-ah, you could do a lot worse.”

“ What?!” Hongjoong splutters, “Huh?! Wait, what do you mean?”

“Do you think I’m stupid?” His mom rolls her eyes, patting his cheek before walking back towards the living room, where his father was passed out on the reclined massage chair, “I wasn’t born yesterday! I have eyes too, you know. You sure got things done while we were away. Yeosang is your boyfriend isn’t he?”

“H-How did you—what? How?”

“You think the aunties weren’t telling me everything that was happening around here when your father and I were in Korea? Aunt Eunjin nearly had an aneurysm because she saw you and Yeosang holding hands. She blew up my WhatsApp saying you were committing sins.”

“Oh.”

“I told her she should be worried about her own kids hating her.”

“Mom…that’s mean.” He sighs as they both plop down onto the couch. He latches onto her, and they snuggle up together as she presses play on the episode of Coffee Prince they were watching before Yeosang had stopped by. She gives him a pointed look and he snorts, “But true. You got her there.”

“Anyway,” His mom waves a dismissive in the air, laughing, “what friend visits this late at night with the excuse of bringing you something you forgot at their place when they can just give it to you tomorrow morning huh? He wanted to see you. I think he didn’t realize your dad and I were home and awake too.”

Hongjoong hums, impressed by his mother’s observation, “Why are you such a professional at love?”

“Who do you think did all the work in this relationship with your dad huh?”

Hongjoong laughs, “True.”

“He’s too pretty for you, by the way.”

“Mooooommmm!” Hongjoong whines, but feels himself nodding his head in agreement. Yeah, I know.

— — — — — —

They’re lying in the back of Yeosang’s pickup truck on top of an old, thick outdoor picnic blanket Hongjoong insisted they bring with them, parked somewhere along the walking trail. It was nearing the more woodsy area on the outskirts of town, and while Hongjoong wouldn’t consider it worthy of making it on the tourist destination list of this shoddy town, she was beautiful in the daytime. 

Despite how frequently they saw each other, it had been hard to get their schedules to align to go on a proper date, with Yeosang working late hours and Hongjoong still working full time at the store despite his parents being back. This was the one weekend when Yeosang felt like he’d gotten enough done on his cases not to extend his workaholic hours, and Hongjoong had gotten his cousin to take over his Saturday shift after begging (and nearly crying) to the seventeen-year-old. 

Hongjoong is leaning against the rear windows of the truck, a knee propped up to balance his sketchbook. He’s been trying to draw the view in front of him for over an hour now. Yeosang lays next to him, head on his shoulder, occasionally peeking up to see what Hongjoong is drawing, only to have Hongjoong twist himself so Yeosang wouldn’t see it. 

“Until I’m done, okay! You can’t look!” Hongjoong whines after Yeosang tries to take a peek for the fifth time. He attempts to lift the sketchbook above his head, causing the other to pout before going back to focusing on playing Ocarina of Time on his Switch. All that could be heard was the wind, a bird here and there, and the sound effects and music coming from Yeosang’s game device.

Some people would argue that this wasn’t exactly a proper date, but Hongjoong preferred this over fancy restaurants or the like. Not because he thought he was above the cliches (look at him), but rather because he enjoyed basking in the calming silence of simply being next to your loved ones. When things got hectic, even in their cramped small town, it was nice to know that the two of them could come together and escape all that noise. So outside of coffee shop dates, rummaging through art supply stores, and going to the only sushi restaurant in their town for the fourth time in a week, Hongjoong and Yeosang considered coming together to do their own things in the safety of each other’s spaces a different, special type of date. 

It seems like Yeosang had paused his game several minutes ago, content with just digging himself into Hongjoong’s side like he was trying to fuse with him, and closes his eyes.

“You’re not napping are you?” Hongjoong asks, pencil halting against the paper of his sketchbook. He only receives a soft hum in reply and he laughs, closing his sketchbook and putting it to the side. They scoot further down so they’re both fully lying on the bed of the truck, although even with the blanket, it’s not the most comfortable thing ever. But Hongjoong will deal with the consequence of having a bad back later, as cuddling with Yeosang was so much more important.

Hongjoong repositions himself so he’s facing Yeosang, the other opening up his arms to allow Hongjoong to press his face up against Yeosang’s neck. Hongjoong throws a leg over Yeosang’s, and he laughs as he feels the other sniff the crown of his head.

“What was that for?”

He feels Yeosang shrug as he replies, “Just wanted to.”

“You’re silly, Yeosang.”

“Yeah,” Yeosang agrees, “Your silly Yeosang.”

Giggling at what he did there, Hongjoong pokes at Yeosang’s side, eliciting a surprised noise and a laugh.

Hongjoong lets out a content sigh, squeezing the other in his arms before speaking again.

“How’s the whole law school thing going? I know you’ve been hearing back from different law schools lately…is there anyone of them that have caught your eye?” before they both comfortably settle in each other’s embrace. It’s silent for a few minutes before Yeosang hums, contemplating something. 

“I’ve been getting more law school offers,” He whispers, tightening his hold on the back of Hongjoong’s shirt. “I have to decide soon.”

Hongjoong stiffens at Yeosang’s words, pressing his face deeper into the nape of Yeosang’s neck, words muffled as he replies, “Have you…have you decided on anything yet?”

He wanted to avoid this conversation as much as he could, despite it always being in the back of his head. He knew that eventually, that Yeosang would be going back to school, maybe to some place close, maybe to some place far. Their town was too small to have anything besides a local community college and the closest state university to them was still a little over two hour drive away. Hongjoong figured that any law school Yeosang wanted to go to was either across the state or out of the state. 

“I got into the law school in UGA, which is probably the closest to here. There’s also Wake Forest—remember hyung, the one in North Carolina.” At that comment, Hongjoong snorts, still refusing to leave the safety and comfort of Yeosang’s chest.

“Yes, I remember.” Hongjoong says, “But that’s huge Yeosang—why didn’t you tell anyone? Are you considering them? Any other schools you’re deciding on or still waiting to hear back on?”

“UGA would be nice, it’s close and a lot cheaper.” Hongjoong felt Yeosang’s shoulder move like he was shrugging, “My parents like it too, my sister went there for nursing, so it’s familiar for them.”

“I feel like there’s a big but there though.”

A wave of silence washes over them as Yeosang seems to be deep in thought again and Hongjoong waits patiently for the other to gather his thoughts. He finally detaches himself from Yeosang’s embrace and intertwines their hands together, giving it a gentle squeeze. 

“I mean—I didn’t tell you or any of the other guys this because…I guess I have my aim a little higher?” Yeosang finally says, peering down at Hongjoong and squeezing his hand back, “UGA and Wake Forest are nice…but UChicago is my dream law school. It was my top school when I was applying to colleges in high school. And when I was there in undergrad their JD program was the only one I was considering. Maybe I’m being too picky right? I should be happy that I’m getting offers anyway. But I—”

“You feel like you belong somewhere else?” Hongjoong whispers.

“Yeah,” Yeosang breathes out, “No matter how ridiculous that sounds. I really want to be there. But even if I get in, and that’s a huge if, I’m not sure that I’m ready to go back to Chicago. Isn’t that crazy of me, to be so conflicted about my needs? ”

Hongjoong shakes his head, “I think it’s very normal to be conflicted about the things you want in life.” 

He wants to say more, but Hongjoong isn’t equipped with the right words to soothe the worries etched on to Yeosang’s heart, so he does the only good thing he’s learned from loving Yeosang. He brings his face closer to Yeosang’s, despite the awkward position, and presses their foreheads together. Yeosang closes his eyes and smiles. 

I’m not sure that I’m ready to let you go so you can feel like you belong somewhere else though, Hongjoong thinks. 

— — — — — —

Things come boiling over at Yunho’s birthday party, which Hongjoong should’ve predicted, considering last year during his birthday they had to bring Mingi to urgent care after he and San tried doing some stupid trick they saw on TikTok, and he ended up with an ankle fracture. 

The year before that, the entire neighborhood was without power halfway through the party, and the eight of them ended up playing Uno in the dark, with only leftover scented candles and a single flashlight. At some point, Wooyoung and Hongjoong got into a fight after Wooyoung had placed a plus-four on top of his own plus-four. 

Yunho might have had a weird type of luck in nearly all parts of his life: always winning games, being the first person in their silly little friend group to find the love of his life, pulling the figure he wanted every single time when it came to those stupid blind boxes, but for some reason, the luck never extended to having just one calm birthday (and the one time it did happen, Yunho had gotten food poisoning the next day). 

“Those balloon letters you’re hanging up are crooked,” Wooyoung says, when he peeks his head out from the kitchen, frowning at where Hongjoong is sitting on the ground blowing up the balloons. 

This year, Wooyoung decided it was a great time to try out his baking skills, making a Tres Leches cake from scratch. Hongjoong wasn’t particularly worried about dying via Wooyoung’s cooking, considering he was one of the two (the other being Mingi) who could be in the kitchen without becoming a fire hazard. But if Wooyoung was a menace to society everywhere else, he was even more so in the kitchen. He had already banned San from entering and only permitted Seonghwa to under strict rules not to go anywhere near the stand mixer. 

“I worked hard on this you know,” Hongjoong grumbles, looking up at the ‘Y’, ‘U’, and ‘BIRTHDAY’ hung up on the wall, a bit lopsided but it was honest work. They look fine to him, didn’t Wooyoung understand artistic liberties ? 

“Well, work harder,” Wooyoung replies before disappearing back into the kitchen. 

“Wow, everyone’s a critic now.” He mutters to himself, going back to his masterpiece. 

San, who was lounging on the couch, being no help at all and scrolling through channels on the TV, looks up, casting Hongjoong a bright smile, and two thumbs up, “I think it looks great.”

Hongjoong sighs but gives the other a small smile, “Thanks Sannie.” He raises his voice a little, “At least someone appreciates my hard work here!” 

Hongjoong finishes putting the balloons and the rest of the decorations in Wooyoung’s and Yunho’s living room about half an hour later, only getting a bit sidetracked when San puts on a rerun of an old Real Housewives of Beverly Hills episode. 

By the time he was done, Seonghwa had finally come back from a quick errand run, holding a big white box in his arms. Hongjoong casts him a confused look and Seonghwa smiles sheepishly, “In case Wooyoung fucks up the Tres Leches.”

In the end, Wooyoung doesn’t fuck up the Tres Leches, a cake pretty hard to get wrong in all honesty, so they decide to cut the strawberry shortcake that Seonghwa had gotten, eating it while they waited for the others to arrive. 

The party was more like a little potluck, seeing as they only ever celebrated each other’s birthdays among the eight of them. Sometimes it was simple get-togethers like this one, dancing obnoxiously to the top hits of the early 2000s all night, or themed birthdays like when Wooyoung celebrated his last year, and made them all create powerpoints of animes that great divergent thinkers and intellectuals in history would’ve liked. Hongjoong stood by his opinion that Socrates would have loved the Daily lives of High School Boys. 

Jongho and Mingi both worked on Saturday and weren’t expected to come until later in the evening. Yunho was currently having lunch with his younger brother, the only person that he was still in touch with after becoming estranged from his family when he finally decided to come out to them at the end of his senior year of high school. 

It was as much of a shitshow as one could imagine coming out to extremely conservative Asian parents, who cared more about achievements on paper than the well-being of their children would be. Yunho likes to pretend that it hadn’t hurt him to be shunned by his parents, not being able to keep in contact with his brother, and the aftermath of staying with Wooyoung’s family till he was able to get himself back up on his feet, but Hongjoong knew it meant a lot to him when his younger brother had reached out a couple of months ago, hoping to reconnect again. It was probably why Wooyoung was so on edge today.

Hongjoong knew very well how much they all deeply cherished familial love though, it being something that shaped the pathways for all eight of them to find each other and the core of their own makeshift little family too. And it was also why Yeosang wouldn’t be able to make it tonight. 

So much for his moral obligation as Wooyoung’s platonic soulmate. 

Neither Wooyoung nor Hongjoong could fault him though, despite how much Hongjoong had felt like shit all day. Who knew you could miss someone you see and talk to nearly every day so much?  

Yeosang’s parents had sprung on him a last-minute flight to Seattle to visit his sister because, to the shock of everyone, she had given birth to her second child. They all knew that his older sister was expecting another kid, they just hadn’t realized how soon that would be. And despite Yeosang saying he didn’t need to go and he could just visit during the holidays, they all knew that he wanted to go. 

“You said you haven’t seen your sister and your nephew in nearly two years because you worked even during the holidays. I think you should go.” Hongjoong reasoned with Yeosang. 

The other still looked conflicted, “I know, but I really—”

“Hey, I’ll give Yunho the present you got for him and Wooyoung—everyone else will understand okay? You have a niece now too, and a sister who you seem to miss a lot. Despite how much you say you two aren’t close, she didn’t just text your parents about it, she explicitly asked you to go. So it’s a no brainer, go see her.”

“Okay.” Yeosang relents, still looking troubled. 

“Plus, wouldn’t it be great to avoid the potential disaster that always happens during Yunho’s birthday?” Hongjoong jokes, trying to lighten up the mood. 

The frown that was on Yeosang’s face finally melts away, and he lets out a small giggle, “Yeah, it really wasn’t fun trying to explain to the nurse on call how Mingi broke his ankle.”  

It’s much later on in the night, after singing (very badly) happy birthday to Yunho, and congratulating him on a job well done for surviving another year, Hongjoong finds himself out on the back balcony of the apartment, several shots and a beer running through his system. 

He’s nursing his second beer, a cigarette in the other hand when he hears the door open and a voice go, “You know those are bad for you right?”

Turning around to see Wooyoung, Hongjoong rolls his eyes and takes one last hit before pressing it down onto the unused ashtray left out. 

“Pot meets kettle then,” Hongjoong mutters, taking a sip of the now lukewarm beer in his hand before leaning against the balcony railing and looking down at the other houses. 

Wooyoung stumbles a bit, walking over to where he is, and copies him, trying to figure out what exactly Hongjoong is looking at. 

“You missin’ Yeosang so badly that you’re staring longingly at houses made for nuclear families?” Wooyoung says, grin full of shit. 

Rolling his eyes, Hongjoong takes another sip of his beer. He can’t be sober for this. “Your husband literally just beat his high score on Just Dance, and you’re out here bothering me about my boyfriend.”

“Your boyfriend,” Wooyoung coos, “That’s so cute.”

“What do you want Wooyoung?”

“Can’t a guy get some fresh air too?”

Hongjoong so badly wants to be petty and say well, no, you can’t get some fresh air, but instead, he chugs down the rest of his beer. 

“Well anyway, I miss Sangie,” Wooyoung starts, wiggling back and forth where he’s standing, a telltale sign of an incoming drunk ramble, “I definitely know I’ll miss Sangie a lot later. Considering he’s leaving for Chicago soon too. Who’s going to—”

Hongjoong feels like cold water has been dumped on him at Wooyoung’s words, breath hitching, “What?”

Wooyoung whips his head around, eyes wide, “What, what?”

“Wha—what did you say?” He feels like he’s clawing for the words to leave his throat, “Leaving for Chicago?”

“Wait, what? He didn’t tell you?” Wooyoung looks just as confused as Hongjoong feels and suddenly he thinks he’s going to throw up.

The world couldn’t have played a sicker joke on Hongjoong than it was doing right now. “No, he didn’t. When—when did he tell you this?” 

A million things are running through his head, and a reasonable part of him tries to tell him it’s not the end of the world. Because it isn’t—the world was too spiteful to end because Hongjoong felt like it was. 

Hongjoong feels guilty, for thinking it serves Wooyoung right for making him feel this way, as realization dawns on the other’s face. He slaps a hand over his mouth, gasping before trying to explain himself, “Fuck, holy shit. Was I not supposed to say anything? It was right before he left for Seattle. Shit, Hongjoong I didn’t know he didn’t tell you at all. Fuck, fuck, fuck—I’m so sorry—fuck, he’s going to kill me.”

Halfway through Wooyoung’s muttering of apologies, Hongjoong had stopped listening to him, ears feeling like he was being forced underwater. He was suddenly entirely too sober to be out here, empty beer bottle in his hand and in dire need to grab himself another (and perhaps a strong drinker), listening to Wooyoung apologize for telling him something he shouldn’t have told Hongjoong. Apologizing for something Hongjoong really did not want to hear from Wooyoung, of all people.

Yeosang was going to Chicago? Did that mean…?

— — — — — —

“Is it true? That you’re going back to Chicago?” Hongjoong blurts out before he can help himself.

Yeosang looks up from where he’s sitting on the swing, eyes wide. It’s late at night, and Yeosang has just gotten back home from Seattle. The other had texted Hongjoong, wanting to meet him at the park. 

Yeosang
i know it’s late
but can we meet up…please? 
(/ε＼*)
at the park ʕ•́ᴥ•̀ʔっ
you can say no… no pressure!
(╥﹏╥)

Hongjoong
Of course we can.
Swings at the park in twenty?

Yeosang
yes, please.

Hongjoong grimaces at Yeosang’s confused expression. What Wooyoung accidentally let slip on Yunho’s birthday had been eating him up for the last two nights and he tried his best not to let his souring mood affect how he was with Yeosang through messages and phone calls. He knew that whatever Wooyoung knew, Yeosang would eventually tell him too. But something churned in his stomach, thinking about how he wasn’t the first person that Yeosang went to. 

But wasn’t it a bit hypocritical of him, to think Yeosang was obligated to go to Hongjoong first for every single thing that occurred in his life, when Hongjoong didn’t do that with Yeosang either?

Despite his uneasiness, Hongjoong was still happy to see Yeosang, even though the other had only been away for a couple of days. He told himself that he could— would —wait for Yeosang to be ready to let him know the big news, but the moment he saw the other’s back, sitting there on the swing and looking up at the scattered stars up in the sky, the insecurities seemed to pour out of him like a broken dam. 

“Huh?” Yeosang questions, brows furrowed, head tilting to the side, “Wait—Hongjoong, where did you hear that from?”

Hongjoong feels unsure of himself as he stands in front of Yeosang, hands to his side . “It’s true then, yeah? That you’re going to Chicago. I heard from Wooyoung. He was drunk, of course, but, you know.”

He tries to sound nonchalant like he doesn’t care, but god he really fucking cares. 

“Shit,” Yeosang mutters under his breath and then speaks louder, “Yeah—dammit Wooyoung, I—yes Hongjoong, it’s true—”

“You’re going to accept, aren’t you? And go to Chicago.” Hongjoong cuts Yeosang off, fully aware that he’s spiraling right now. This wasn’t the first time the conversation around Yeosang leaving for law school was being had between the two of them and yet for some reason, this time, the reality settling in hurt a lot more than what he’d imagined when the time finally came to Yeosang actually leaving. 

Hongjoong knows that he should hear Yeosang out. Let the other explain the situation and not jump to the worst scenarios he can think of. Like Yeosang leaving and deciding that he—their relationship—wasn’t worth trying to balance with the many other things in his life. That this was nice, Hongjoong was nice, but you know what’s nicer? University of fucking Chicago. 

But that was his biggest fear, wasn’t it? That Hongjoong wasn’t worthy enough to be next to the other things in Yeosang’s orbit.

“No—yes, well maybe! I don’t know!” It’s unlike Yeosang to raise his voice like this, teetering off into an exasperated tone that wasn’t fitting of him at all. Yeosang doesn’t seem like he knows what to do with himself, hands clenching and unclenching by his side as his brows crease together. 

“Why didn’t you tell me first?”

“Do I have to tell you everything first?” Yeosang says, frowning. He presses his lips into a thin line before inhaling, calmly trying again, “Wooyoung was just there, with me when I opened the email. I didn’t plan to tell him first. I was always going to tell you first anyway.”

For a second, Hongjoong sees the other try to reach out towards him, only to drop his hands back by his side. Instead, Yeosang sighs, slumping back onto the swing, and zipping up his hoodie, “Would you like me to tell you now? Because yes, I got into UChicago’s Law School.”

The fight in Hongjoong, however, spurred by unfounded jealousy and insecurities, is still boiling over and he finds himself unable to control it.

“What about after? You had days to tell—” Hongjoong starts to say, feeling as petty as he sounds, now staring down at Yeosang, his body casting a shadow over the other’s disappointed look. 

“I—Hongjoong, please .” Yeosang’s face settles into something a little defeated and Hongjoong feels all the fight leave him at the other’s hurt look. Hongjoong’s silence is all Yeosang needs to continue, “I was in Seattle. I waited because I wanted to tell you in person. I found out right before we had to leave for the airport. I wasn’t trying to keep anything from you. I swear, if you’re going to be difficult, we don’t need to have this conversation.”

“It’s not that—I’m not trying to be difficult.” 

“What then? Because you seem a bit upset right now.”

“Because I am—” Hongjoong starts, what, insecure? That’d surely make Yeosang feel any better. 

“If you leave, what am I going to do with myself?” He finally admits, voice low but loud enough for Yeosang to hear. 

“...What?”

“We—we just became this,” Hongjoong says weakly, motioning his hand in a circle between the two of them, suddenly feeling extremely childish and stupid. Like he was throwing a tantrum over something that hasn’t even occurred yet. But that seems like a common occurrence, burdening others with his incompetencies because he couldn’t handle them like a grown adult. 

He can’t stop though, feeling the insecurities lying heavy on his chest finally turning into the words he’s never been able to formulate, “For the first time in years, I feel like I’m on stable ground. That the world isn’t going to collapse right beneath me because of something I did. Because I’ve finally done something right . I’ve finally got you. I’ve got someone who understands me even when I’m being complicated and annoying. For the first time in my life, I feel like I have someone who I can love unconditionally, and be unconditionally loved back.”

Something dawns on Yeosang then, an unreadable expression crossing over his face before frowning, looking confused, “So you’re not upset because I didn’t tell you, but because I got in and that means I’d have to leave, which you think won’t make our relationship work?”

Shaking his head fervently, Hongjoong kneels in front of Yeosang, grabbing his hands, mulch digging into his legs uncomfortably, “No, I’m so proud of you. I’m so happy that you got in, I swear that’s—“

“But that’s what you’re implying, isn’t it Hongjoong?” Yeosang frowns, “What about me leaving is going to make this not work? When during the countless other times we’ve talked about this, did it ever seem that I would just do that? Unless—unless it’s me? Am I not worth—”

“No! You’re worth every single second I spend on this stupid Earth!” Hongjoong exclaims, squeezing Yeosang’s hands tighter, “But it’s exactly what you said, that you’ll have to leave. And I don’t—I’d spin the world around for you, but I don’t think I can follow you there. I would never try to make you stay, but I keep thinking about it, every time we talk about you going to law school. And for a bit, I thought I could, you know, follow you there. But—I can’t.”

“Hongjoong…I don’t need you to follow me there—or anywhere at all.” Yeosang breathes out, almost sounding relieved. “Did you think I would ask you to uproot your life like that? I—I don’t need someone who will drop everything for me or spin the damn world around for me. I don’t ever want someone to burden themselves with making me happy at the expense of their own happiness. There are many sacrifices we’d be willing to make for someone we love, and some we can’t. And that’s perfectly okay . I just need someone who will get that and love me anyway. And you’re crazy if you think I’m going to love you any less because there’s physical distance between us. Will you love me any less if I leave?”

“No, never.“ Hongjoong says stubbornly. He feels like he should say more, but he was so out of his depth. He’d never been in a relationship, not even situationships or flings, hell , before Yeosang, Hongjoong had only ever went on a date once. He’s never felt this intense reciprocity of love from someone who wasn’t his family or friends. It simply didn’t feel real. The idea of making a long-distance relationship work wasn’t even something that had crossed his mind at all. But Yeosang was right, as he was with most things. Hongjoong would never stop loving Yeosang, no matter the distance. But God, had he been so scared that Yeosang would.

“Then there’s your answer.” Yeosang says, interrupting Hongjoong’s train of thought. Said with so much finality that it makes Hongjoong breathless, “I love you . And I love this place—this stupid small town and all its little quirks—where everyone is so nosy and I feel like I can’t ever have any alone time or—or any time to just be with my own thoughts. I love the tight-knit community our parents have built here for us. But while you’ve come back here to realize that you belong here, in this place you’ve spent your entire life trying to escape from, I’ve learned that the one place I was always happy to call my home doesn’t feel like home anymore. Not in a very long time.”

Yeosang pauses, taking a deep, shaky breath and Hongjoong nods, encouraging the other to go on, “You mentioned once, that it was normal to be conflicted about the things you want. And I thought about how I didn’t feel like I was ready for Chicago, but Chicago has always been ready for me to come back. I love you Kim Hongjoong, and I want you to love me as much as you love this stupid, small town. I’m not making you choose one or the other. But whether it’s here or in Chicago, or in whatever the hell state I end up in, if you want us to work, I’ll make us work, because you are my home.”

“I want—” Hongjoong feels his throat close up like every breath he takes is consumed by the very person in front of him. He feels like a little child again, unsure and smothered in his own insecurities. But the way Yeosang looks at him with so much conviction—so much love—leaves Hongjoong wanting a lot more than his fragility can give him. The way Yeosang’s words wrap around Hongjoong like a warm embrace, there’s suddenly a clarity in his future. The world stops feeling like it’s crashing down on him.

He doesn’t realize he’s crying until he feels wetness on his cheeks, and Yeosang reaches out to try to wipe them away despite crying himself. “I want it to work—I want us to work. It was stupid of me, to react that way and to dump my insecurities onto you instead of talking to you like the adults we are.”

Yeosang laughs, still wiping away the tears on Hongjoong’s face, “Yeah, a little.”

Nodding Hongjoong swallows the lump in his throat and continues, “But I—I love you too—so, so much Kang Yeosang. Loving you was—is always so easy.”

Yeosang smiles weakly at him and nods back, pressing their foreheads together, “Then we’ll work. You don’t have to go with me, but you have to let me go.”

They weren’t perfect, Hongjoong already was well aware of that, no matter how much he believed that no one could be as perfect as Yeosang was. Perhaps two awkward, lost people shouldn’t be looking for each other to guide them through and out of their long list of dirty laundry, but they’ll figure it out. Because that’s what love is supposed to do.

“Okay,” After a moment of silence, as they stay together like this, holding each other, Hongjoong whispers, “And maybe—maybe I’ll warm up to Chicago one day.”

Letting out another watery laugh, Yeosang squeezes his hands, “Yeah, maybe.”

— — — — — —

Two months after Yeosang leaves for Chicago, Hongjoong buys a blank bullet journal at the secondhand bookstore down the street from his parent’s convenience store. 

He does it mostly to humor Seonghwa, and because, with the shitty health insurance he buys, therapy was out of the question (for now). Before he knows it, he starts dedicating entries upon entries to his day, to his thoughts (and spirals), doodling on the edges of his paragraphs long tangents on how much he misses Yeosang, and the rating of takeout meals the two of them had while facetiming during dinner. He burns through the pages faster than he anticipates, and he finds himself buying a second one a couple months later, as the seasons change. Hongjoong doesn’t like to admit it, as with most things related to Seonghwa, but maybe the other was right. 

Journaling turns into taking out the sketchbooks he’d bought with Yeosang when they went on their third date (Yeosang had taken him to a locally owned art supply store that sold a specific type of oil paints that Hongjoong loved), left to collect dust after he found himself unable to look at them the same way after Yeosang had left. 

Sometimes he’d catch Donut lying in the spot on his bed Yeosang used to enjoy laying on and Hongjoong would feel guilty. Guilty and so stricken with sadness because she’d never understand why one of her favorite humans (only second to his mom) wasn’t here anymore. 

Maybe he was being dramatic (Seonghwa would surely describe him as such), but things did feel different without Yeosang here. Without his convenience store visits, without his stupid Apollo strawberry chocolates and awkward laughter that endeared Hongjoong to no end, this small cramped town he called his home didn’t feel like home without him. Which was rich, coming from the guy who discovered within himself that very little could replace the joy and fulfillment he felt being back in his hometown. Despite the little time they were actually together, Hongjoong had long allowed Yeosang to make space for himself in his life.

So no matter how much time they spent video calling each other despite Yeosang’s hectic law school schedule, and the strict routine Hongjoong had of sending photos of his meals to the other, they were only temporary fixes to soothe his raging heartache. 

But Hongjoong persevered because that’s what he’s always been taught to do. To keep on moving because the world was never altruistic enough to stop for you. And a few months turn into a whole year. In between all the grieving and reflecting, he decided to get a real job aside from working at his parents’ convenience store, looking for something closer to what he had pursued in school and even finished the mural project his parents had asked him to do so many years ago. 

“Is that—“ Seonghwa starts, staring up at the large mural before them, eyes wide in awe.

“Yeah,” Hongjoong replies, smiling wistfully. His heart feels like it’s soaring when he looks up at the art piece.

Standing tall before them is a mural of their town and all the beauty that it has to offer. In the middle of it was the side profile of Yeosang, kneeling on one knee, a soft smile on his face as he was feeding the stray cats that often took refuge behind the convenience store. 

Two journals also turned into nearly a fifth one. Hongjoong meets with a therapist for the first time, he treats himself to a box of Apollo strawberry chocolates once a week, and several hundred video calls and meal photos later, he realizes that these are not temporary fixes to his heartache, but permanent remedies to Hongjoong’s love for Yeosang. 

— — — — — —

“Do you miss him?” Seonghwa asks, watching Hongjoong type something before locking his phone. 

Looking up from his dark phone screen, Hongjoong furrows his brows, “Huh?”

“Yeosang. You know, your boyfriend.”

“I know he’s my boyfriend,” Hongjoong says, annoyed and not understanding what Seonghwa was getting at. “And I literally just texted him.” 

He gives Seonghwa an ever more confused look as if to say ‘duh’.

“No, you idiot,” Seonghwa replies, rolling his eyes before casting a glance over to where Jongho is hovering over Wooyoung’s shoulder, bothering him while he’s trying to make tuna kimbap for the rest of them. He’s quiet for a second before looking back at Hongjoong, “Let me ask again, do you miss him?”

Hongjoong knows what Seonghwa had meant the first time. He just liked giving the other a hard time (and because he hadn’t exactly wanted to answer the question). 

He observes the way Seonghwa’s lips had curved into that relaxed, soft smile he gets when looking at Jongho do anything and thinks no one is watching. Hongjoong’s always been a little (a lot) jealous of Yunho and Wooyoung and the long years of love they’ve had for each other, but he was always a little more jealous of what Seonghwa had with Jongho. 

Not because their love was any more special than Wooyoung’s and Yunho’s, but because Hongjoong always considered Seonghwa as having the same type of miasma of convoluted emotions and problems as him. But whereas Hongjoong was lucky enough to be able to get out of this place, no matter how short-lived, Seonghwa kept himself here out of some punishment for his lack of privilege. And yet, when he looks at Seonghwa and sees his reflection in Seonghwa’s eyes, he thinks about how the other had ended up with everything Hongjoong did not—being everything he wasn’t. 

A small, selfish part of Hongjoong is guilty of being resentful, for feeling like it was unfair that Seonghwa had achieved that type of happiness before he could. Had his luck run out before he could use it? Had he been too ungrateful of the advantages that Seonghwa had not been afforded in his own upbringing?

Not that Seonghwa—that either of them—was unlovable or didn’t deserve the love, the care, and the happiness that fell onto their laps. But when you’re used to always being in last place, you like to imagine what it would feel like coming in first.

Hongjoong sighs as Seonghwa continues to stare at him, an eyebrow raised, expecting an answer. 

“Yeah, I do.” Hongjoong finally relents, “Every day.” 

— — — — — —

Two years later.

Hongjoong’s waiting for the parents of the kids he works with at the after-school art program at the community center to pick them all up, watching Jaehyuk—the last of the kids—wave goodbye as he holds his mother’s hand, bundled up in as many layers as possible as the snow gets heavier outside. He sighs in relief, shoving his hands into the pockets of his winter coat. It was rare that they got snow like this here, but of course, you know, climate change.

With winter break starting next week, he would be seeing some of the kids a lot more frequently—those whose parents decided enrolling their children in the winter break art program was more economical than going on vacation. He had spent the last couple of days preparing the art studio to accommodate the children being in there for longer hours (which included buying a ton more paint and clay). 

He decides to stay outside a little longer, despite how cold it’s getting, watching as the white flakes fall and try to stick to the ground they hit. He can’t believe it’s been over five years since he moved back here. 

Sometime around after Yeosang had finished his second semester in law school, Hongjoong decided to start volunteering at their town’s local youth arts program, working with adolescents to help support them in sharing their voices through public art. Wooyoung had introduced him to the founder of the program, hoping to expand Hongjoong’s network of those creating art just like him. Hongjoong found himself liking it so much that now, two years later, he was a full-time mentor and running smaller programs within the organization itself. 

It felt— feels nice to be useful. To be doing something he loved and genuinely enjoyed. His parents had joked about no longer having someone do all the work in the store, but were excited for him, happy that he was happy. 

Just about ready to go back inside, face feeling numb from the cold, Hongjoong suddenly sees a familiar face standing outside. 

“Yeosang…?” Hongjoong calls out hesitantly, scared that saying his name out loud would make the person that still entirely consumes his mind, disappear. That the figure approaching him on the steps of the building was merely a figment of his imagination.

Yeosang looks up from under the umbrella he’s holding, wired earbuds a dangling, tangled mess around his neck, and gives Hongjoong a small smile, familiar and warm, “I’m home.”