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The ages between 21 to 25, Euijoo realizes, are a bit awkward. It’s neither here nor there. There are no huge achievements to celebrate. He feels like burying himself under a soft blanket until his brain conjures up a heavy thought revolving around existential dread is better than climbing out of bed and pretending that completing yet another revolution around the sun doesn’t terrify him. Because truth be told, it does, even when he likes celebrating it.
It’s an enigma—he hates that he’s getting older but he likes that the day will be about him. Not in a self-absorbed kind of way; just the fact that everyone will cut him some slack for every decision he makes. He’s not Euijoo the Leader–he’s Euijoo the Birthday Boy and it feels like the only day he can breathe without the weight of expectations pressing down on him.
But still, it’s the idea that time is slipping away from him that makes him have to lock himself in the bathroom and cry his eyes out whenever his birthday rolls around. It’s a little stupid, he knows it, he’s internalized it, but that’s just how it goes. He’ll be fine after he’s done feeling bad about himself and he’ll plaster on the biggest smile he can and act like everything’s fine. That’s one of the things he’s good at–pretending.
Time. Cruel, relentless, utterly indifferent. It moves forward, never pausing to let him take a breath or reassess the past. It walks, sometimes, when he’s feeling like shit or when he’s lining up at the bank to tell them that his card isn’t working anymore. It jogs, when he was a trainee, when he was figuring out his future, when he was almost certain he was going to make it. But most of all—it runs—when he debuted, when he was unanimously elected as their leader, when he realized it’s August and another year had gone by.
So it felt like some kind of sick joke when Nicholas told him to open his birthday gift and he’s handed a watch.
The one he’s been browsing the website for days for. Nicholas noticed it when they were eating dinner and pointed it out. Told him he should buy it as it’s not that expensive anyways—a gift for himself. Euijoo had put it in his basket after the dinner and forgot to check out—blame his useless credit card—and when he looked again in the morning, it was sold out. He didn’t beat himself over it too much, it’s not like it was a limited edition watch. It was pretty ordinary. Nothing expensive. Not like the ones K likes to buy himself.
It’s an okay one—for someone who hates time so much but needs to be punctual all the time, he knows the watch will do its job. Remind him that there’s nothing to fear about the passing of time. It’s just time. Precious, fleeting, yet always present. It should assure him; but instead, it makes him want to throw up all over Nicholas’ thoughtful gift and the empty bowls on the restaurant’s table.
Euijoo sucks it up and forces a smile. He’s grateful for it, he really is, but it just makes him a little anxious. “Thanks, Nicho, I like it,” he says, hoping Nicholas doesn’t notice anything out of tune with him. He glances down at the watch, the polished silver catching the dim light of the restaurant. It’s beautiful, really, and Euijoo knows it’ll be the fashion item he wears all the time–to schedules, to the airport, to eat lunch with the members–but the fact that on one of the days he hates/loves the most, he’s reminded of his mortality, he feels like he’s sinking.
Nicholas beams at him, clearly pleased with himself, his eyes sparkling with that familiar warmth. “I knew you’d like it! Thought it’d fit your style, anyways.”
“Yeah.” Euijoo takes the watch out of the box, inspecting it carefully, feeling his insides twist–unsure from anxiety or from happiness. Maybe even a mix of both. It’s a birthday gift; but beyond that, it’s a reminder of time, of growing older, of everything he’s been trying to avoid thinking about since the day of his birth is nearing. “It’s really nice.” He tries to not sound repetitive because it is nice but the feeling of dread still lingers in the back of his mind and he can’t find any other word to show his gratitude but he knows Nicholas feels it.
He wants to say that it sort of puts a burden on him, though, that even if he’s looking forward to his birthday every year–and has been more excited about it once he’s debuted because he wants to see what the fans have prepared for him–it also reminds him of everything he hasn’t achieved yet. And now that he’s in the public eye, under the watchful gaze of his fans and everyone who’s interested in him–it’s even harder to ignore the pressure. Everywhere he goes, everywhere he turns, everywhere he looks–everyone’s sending in their well wishes, a constant reminder of the passing time.
While he appreciates Nicholas’ sentiment, it feels like it symbolizes more than just a gift. It’s like it’s tying him to all these milestones he feels he should have reached by now, all the things he should have accomplished. And the worst part is, he knows it’s irrational to think this way. But birthdays always bring this internal tug-of-war: between wanting to celebrate and wanting to hide from the ticking clock.
So instead, he swallows it down. The night’s still young–he still has to turn on his birthday livestream soon and act like he’s not fighting against himself in his head. That’s what’s expected of him. Euijoo the idol, Euijoo the birthday boy, happy and grateful, excited to turn a year older.
He unclasps the metal strap and drapes the watch around his wrist before extending his arm, requesting Nicholas to fasten it for him.
Nicholas takes Euijoo’s wrist gently, the tip of his fingers brushing against the cold skin on Euijoo’s inner arm, right by his ulnar artery. There’s a beat–then two. He secures the watch around the soon-to-be birthday boy’s wrist with a quick click. “Looks nice, Juju.”
Euijoo glances at the watch, now snug around his wrist, and nods. “Thank you, Nicho.”
A few minutes after that, they walk out of the restaurant, ducking behind pillars and unsuspecting patrons. It feels heavy–the newly-added weight around his wrist–the rhythmic ticking of it being the only thing he can hear. Time pressing forward, carrying him along with it, whether he’s ready or not.
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The live went well–except for a tiny mishap when he accidentally disconnected and the only thing the audience could see was a black screen. He sang himself a speedy version of the happy birthday song, thanked all the members who took the time to leave a comment on his live, showed off the gifts he got from Harua and Nicholas. Then he talked a little, read all the comments and laughed at them. His heart was too full that his mind got too preoccupied with the thought of it suddenly bursting and he’d completely forgotten about his dread.
But once he got into the car and he’s heading back to the dorm–it slowly crept up on him. Like a vine by the side of an old building. It was subtle at first–a whisper at the back of his mind. As the car rolled down the quiet streets, though, it lingered and it spread. An itch he couldn’t scratch, a pesky stain he couldn’t wash off.
He wants to sleep, he really does, and he’s answered all of the text messages from close friends and families but it all still feels so– heavy . He knows he’s done all what’s required from him and it’s so late at night he needs to sleep if he still wants to have the energy to be all smiley in the morning. Pretend like a breakdown over his own existential crisis isn’t looming. There’s that ache in his chest that he can’t just ignore, it weighs down on him, makes him feel like he’s sinking into the mattress.
Instead of shutting his eyes and giving sleep a second attempt, he climbs off his bunk and walks out of the bedroom, careful not to make any sound. Then he walks down the stairs, slips into his shoes and grabs a jacket from the hanger–he’s not even sure whose it is–and steps out of the dorm, the cool night air hitting his face like a balm against the heaviness in his chest. He’s not sure where he’s going–tonight or in life generally–but he knows he just needs to move, to do something other than lie in his bed and ruminate about his mortality. The quiet of the neighborhood feels like an escape, a distraction, at least for a little while.
Before he can walk any further–he’s only walked two houses down the street–his phone buzzes in his pocket. He grabs it and reads the notification.
Nicholas: Hey, you’re not home yet?
A small, amused smile makes its way onto his face as he reads the message. It comes automatically, like even the mere sight of Nicholas name in his notification makes both his brain and body know that they don’t have to work so hard. That they don’t have to put up a wall and make Euijoo act like someone he’s not. It eases the tension a little bit but he still feels his stomach churning from the anxiety of it all.
He types in a reply–a short night walk with a company who understands him without him having to speak a single word doesn’t hurt.
Euijoo: I’m outside. Needed to clear my mind.
It doesn’t take long for the automatic porch light of their house to turn on–signaling that someone’s walking below it–and a few seconds after that, he can see Nicholas walking past the tall hedge of grass and turning the corner. His hands are in the pockets of his sweatshirt, he’s wearing his usual pajamas underneath, his hair is a mess and he looks slightly out of place in the midst of their very tidy neighborhood. And Euijoo smiles–the familiarity tugging all the right corners in his heart.
Nicholas looks up at him, one part worried, another sleepy. “Are you alright? Did something happen?”
“No.” And that’s the problem. “I just–needed this, I think.”
“Okay.” Nicholas is unsure but decides to believe him anyway. “Let’s walk then.”
They walk in silence for a little while; Euijoo slows his steps so Nicholas doesn’t have to walk too fast. There’s always an understanding between them, even down to the pace of their strides. In the mundane, during the eventful times, even in the in-betweens. He doesn’t have to dwell on it too much and vice versa. They know each other too well–which he thinks is both a blessing and a curse–a blessing because he doesn’t have to use his words to communicate what he’s feeling but a curse all the same because Nicholas sees right through him . He can’t hide behind his niceness and genuinity, the façade he’s always put on. Nicholas sees it all, Nicholas knows it all.
“I’m scared.” Euijoo finally admits, they don’t stop walking. “Birthdays make me sad, my birthday. It feels like I’m growing older and I should already accomplish everything I’ve always wanted to accomplish but at the same time, I feel stuck.” Noticing the potential hidden implication in his words, he continues. “But not like–stuck in this team, no , I know we’ll be okay and the only way is up but you know? Individually.”
Nicholas nods understandingly, maybe he feels the same way Euijoo does or maybe not but he understands. “You’ve accomplished a lot of things, though, as yourself, individually.” Their steps are synchronized, the buzz from the overhead street lights momentarily distracts him from his thoughts. “I mean as Byun Euijoo–you’ve made a mark.”
Euijoo chuckles, he’s still so far from making an actual mark. A mark that matters. “Yeah? Where?”
“Everywhere,” he says, no hesitation in his voice, “the fans, the team,” a small pause, “me. ”
“Was the last one necessary?” Euijoo raises an eyebrow, quirking up his lips.
Nicholas nods, “Yeah, it’s the most important one.”
“Whatever.”
“I’m serious.” They turn the corner, walking through a path they don’t usually walk through. It’s still well-lit and the row of houses on their left and right are dark, silent, like they’re completely void of people. But it’s 3 AM and other people are asleep. They’re the outliers. Walking through a foreign country’s neighborhood like they own it. Euijoo’s mind travels to the way Nicholas looked when he walked out of the house, juxtaposed against the quiet Japanese neighborhood background, and how he seemed just a tad bit out of place. He wonders if he looks like that too–confused, different, not of this planet. “I think–you’ve inspired me to always be the best version of me.”
Euijoo almost full on belly laughs, but decides that he doesn’t want his neighbors on his ass. “You’re being extra honest today.”
“I mean it is your birthday,” he answers calmly–like the reminder doesn’t make Euijoo want to curl up into a ball and cry.
“Which is just a mark of the passing of time.” Euijoo retorts, looking over at Nicholas, his skin glows under the orange hue of the lights above them. “And time–I think that’s what I’m scared of the most.”
There’s another pregnant pause as Nicholas tries to register Euijoo’s words. Swallow them, understand them, filling in the spaces that he thinks might’ve been lost in translation. Euijoo feels bad for making Nicholas’ brain work overtime with the deeptalk at 3 in the morning; as if his brain hasn’t been working so hard for the past few years with all the new languages he has to learn how to speak. He almost cuts through the stillness between them, to tell Nicholas not to worry about it, that this isn’t a conversation to be had in the crack of dawn.
But Nicholas beats him to it. “Shit and I gave you a watch.”
Euijoo laughs at that, almost completely forgetting that his spiral–though not triggered by the gift he received from Nicholas–is catalyzed by it. “Which is fine, I’ve always wanted it anyways and I think you got tired of seeing me stuck on that same website page.”
“Yeah, it’s been weeks and it’s not even that expensive,” he answers.
“I know that but it’s–I hate being reminded that time isn’t going to stop or slow down for me and I hate that I’m getting older but I don’t feel wiser.” Euijoo states, eyes staring straight ahead; they’re nearing another corner. “So I didn’t know if buying myself a gift that’d constantly remind me of the passing of time would be a great idea, you know? But you bought it for me and I’m grateful for it, I really am, I’ll wear it all the time,” he pauses for a while, reorganizing the words in his head, “it’s just, it’ll remind me that I’m heading towards nothingness in the end.”
Nicholas scoffs, they both turn the corner. “I actually–ugh, it’s stupid.”
Euijoo slows down his steps, the soles of his shoes dragging against the concrete. “What?”
“I had my own reason as to why I bought you a watch.” Nicholas says, there’s doubt in his voice now.
“Oh ? What is it?”
“It’s stupid and sappy–I don’t want you to feel weirded out.”
“Is there anything you can do that’ll weird me out? I feel like we’re way past that by now.”
Nicholas sighs and stops in his tracks–Euijoo follows suit. The one inch height difference between them feels large now. Nicholas reaches for Euijoo’s hand, the tip of his fingers brushing against Euijoo’s, then he circles his fingers around Euijoo’s wrist. He raises it so it’s in both of their lines of vision, Nicholas’ middle and ring finger is pressed against the skin on Euijoo’s wrist. Stronger than the finger he lightly put on Euijoo during dinner–this time, there’s determination in it.
Euijoo’s heartbeat quickens and with the way Nicholas’ fingers are pressing against his artery, he knows the other boy feels it too. “There are many different spots where you can take someone’s pulse–one of them is here, on your wrist.” Nicholas presses down again, stronger this time, the pressure on his skin multiplies–his heartbeat is accelerating. “The normal resting heart rate for adults is sixty to one hundred beats per-minute,” Euijoo knows his is way above that by now, “and a minute is sixty seconds, an hour, sixty minutes. Which I thought was pretty rad, you know? All these sixties.”
“Okay–where are you going–”
“You’ll have your watch around your wrist and you’ll hear its mechanical ticking, even feel it vibrate against your skin. And while you’re focused on the passing of time, while you fear it, it also can be a reminder that you’re alive.” Nicholas continues, his grip on Euijoo’s wrist loosen but his fingers are still pressed against Euijoo’s artery. He has no idea if Nicholas is counting his heartbeat or if he’s just doing it for the drama. “Like–sixty is the minimum beats per minute right? And the watch is going to tick sixty times every minute. It could ground you when you feel like your heart is beating out of your chest or when you feel like time is moving too fast. A constant.”
Euijoo has never thought about that before, how could he? When thinking about it just puts an added burden in his mind?
Nicholas eventually lets go of his wrist and Euijoo’s a little disappointed in the loss of contact. “And, hey, since the watch is from me–every time you feel it ticking against your wrist, you can think of it like you’re feeling my heartbeat too. I mean, not literally,” he chuckles awkwardly, trying to make it sound casual when it’s the most vulnerable shit he’s ever said to Euijoo, “but you’ll know I’m right there with you. Even when we’re apart. It’s like… I’m by your side, you know?”
“You’re saying I’ll always feel your heartbeat?” And that it’s going to beat beside mine? Pressed up against my pulse point? Unknowingly becoming a part of myself I’ll never be able to erase from existence?
“Yeah, sure, if you want to.” They’re not ready for this conversation yet, not ready to acknowledge the implication underneath: our hearts, two organs belonging to two different people, will always beat as one.
Euijoo smiles a bit–the tension slowly dissipating into the air. The fear of time slipping away from his grasp momentarily soothed by the presence of the one person who understands him the most. He nods his head, “Okay–I’ll take that.”
Nicholas turns on his heels and starts walking down the pavement again, Euijoo follows suit. And even when Nicholas–unknowingly/knowingly–fastens up his pace, the birthday boy always manages to catch up to him. When they’re standing side by side, their knuckles accidentally brush and instead of pulling away from the touch–Euijoo embraces it.
He reaches for Nicholas’ hand and slowly–but surely–fills in the gaps between Nicholas’ fingers. Skin against skin, artery against artery, pulse point against pulse point. Two hearts syncing as one.