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“I love everybody because I love you
I don't need the city, and I don't need proof
All I need, darling, is a life in your shape
I picture it, soft and I ache” - Mitski, Strawberry Blond
“If you drop that box I will fucking end you.” Seungmin hisses at where Jeongin is trying to balance a box labeled fragile atop the three boxes he’s already carrying.
“Maybe without all your nerd figurines you’d actually get laid for once,” Jeongin snarks back, still handling Seungmin’s box way too carelessly for comfort.
Seungmin toes off his sneakers and shuffles after Jeongin into the living room before narrowing his eyes, “I know where you sleep Innie. You better be careful.” It’s not even an empty threat: one misstep, and Jeongin will be waking tomorrow morning from a wax strip ripped off the shin and the sight of hot pink toe nails.
Clearly, Jeongin is unimpressed. “You’re not nearly as scary as you think.” What a mistake.
As he starts plotting Jeongin’s inevitable demise, he takes the chance to inspect their new apartment. It’s small, but they’re also broke barely-adults in their final year of college. Besides, having their own, adult apartment fills Seungmin with such fresh and neoteric air, even the peeling paint and temperamental hot water cannot anchor him. Seungmin is a grown-up now, soon to be co-tenant of a grown-up apartment with his best friend, and he can barely breathe through the novelty of it. All this to say, Seungmin is elated.
Luckily for Jeongin, Seungmin’s figurines have been safely navigated to his room. Jeongin might live long enough to share in that elation too.
They decide to order pizza, having neither the groceries nor the energy to cook dinner themselves.
“I want the barbeque chicken topping,” Jeongin declares, nudging his head over Seungmin’s shoulders to look at the phone screen. With the hand that isn’t currently occupied with the delivery app, Seungmin shoves at Jeongin.
“You’re a brat, get off me.” Unfortunately, Jeongin’s need to annoy him must be greater than his typical aversion to hugs because Seungmin immediately finds himself locked within a Jeongin-shaped straitjacket. It’s just a touch too close to chokehold for something Seungmin might otherwise consider a show of benevolent platonic affection.
Seungmin presses order, “It’ll be here in 15 minutes,” he says, before twisting his body to knock Jeongin to the floor. He only gets a moment to bask in superiority before Jeongin is dragging him down in kind. The tussle ends with interlocked legs and the two of them wheezing with laughter.
This is his favorite version of Jeongin, Seungmin thinks–eyes bright and cheeks flush with warmth–the very embodiment of joy. He likes it all; the raw, unrestrained chuckles, the messy hair.
He barely has time to catch his breath before the doorbell is ringing, announcing the arrival of their dinner.
Seungmin pokes Jeongin with his foot, “Innie be a good dongsaeng and get the pizza.”
“You bought it, hyung. You get it,” Jeongin shoots back. Still, Seungmin knows he’s won when Jeongin frees his leg from where it’d been trapped under Seungmin.
He sticks out his tongue, “Nuh-uh.” Somehow, Jeongin always brings out the most childish version of himself.
“Fine, I’ll get it,” Jeongin grumbles as he makes his way to the door, “since you’re clearly too old to make this long, arduous journey.” By the time he comes back, though, he’s grinning again, pizza box held foolishly over his head.
It’s early evening, and outside their curtainless windows, the sun is just barely gripping on to the sky. All they’ve unpacked in terms of furniture is a low folding table, it’s small enough that Jeongin’s elbow is jammed into his side because they’ve inexplicably crammed themselves behind the same side of the table.
It’s nice, reminds Seungmin of the sleepovers they had as kids.
“I’m gonna get some napkins,” Seungmin announces, moving towards the kitchen to look for the tissue boxes. He finds them hidden behind a box of cooking utensils, dumped haphazardly on the counter.
As if predicting the arrival of tissues and rising to the occasion, Seungmin returns to the living room just in time to watch Jeongin drop an entire slice of pizza onto his white shirt. It’s not a rare occurrence, but it’s still hilarious anyways.
Seungmin’s laughs harder at Jeongin’s pout and grabby hands towards the tissues.
“C’mon hyung, don’t laugh. It’s gonna stain.”
Seungmin hands Jeongin the tissues, but doesn’t dampen his joy. “Sorry, sorry. Just can’t believe you’re still as clumsy you are”
“Hey!” Jeongin throws a dirty napkin at him, “you’re a terrible friend. How could you find joy in my misery. I’m going to change my shirt.”
One time, when Jeongin and Seungmin were still coming to terms with adolescence, they had snuck out of cram school to visit the old fortune teller by the park. The canopy was a mess of violet silks that while translucent, lent to such a foreboding atmosphere the gossamer was enough to block out the sun. She had instructed the two of them to sit across where she perched behind a low ornate table, and read them their fates from a set of battered tarot cards.
In the humid late-spring, Seungmin had been there, pressed shoulder-to-thigh next to a twelve year old Jeongin. They had been boys then, both believing and unbelieving in fate—arrogantly self confident and privately sensitive to the passing words of an old woman. She was a startling subversion from the world that was theirs: the school rooms and park benches and back alleys that they’d possessed. Because that woman’s room–tent, really–had a decided otherness that had both unsettled and offended them.
Under the hydrangea-tinted sky, Seungmin had been there, left hand clasped clammy and inconspicuous in Jeongin’s right one, held out of sight under the table because he was not scared. Not when the fortune teller’s unblinking eyes stripped bare the sanguine veneer he used for a war shield. Not when she’d leaned out of the shadows to expose her crumpled skin, wrinkled and spotchy like a paint rag. And especially not when she’d stared straight into Jeongin’s eyes and told him he’d soon die in a terrible accident. All the same, they walked everywhere for the next several weeks, not because of a newfound automobile avoidance, obviously, but because the exercise would do them good.
Seungmin, she had said though, was lucky. He’d die of old age.
Seungmin knows he can look back now, and admit they truly were scared. Underneath the staunch dismissal of fate and fortune, Seungmin had believed in the what-if. Regardless, mortality is too unwelcoming a truth even for the unfounded bravery of pre-teen boys.
Seungmin knows now that the fortune teller had just been an old woman, spinning stories to scare school children. He knows this because Jeongin has far outlived his death sentence, and Seungmin will never fulfill his.
Jeongin, now twenty-two and in a brand new shirt, has resumed his position by Seungmin’s side.
Inside his new-old apartment, Seungmin is here, and about to start a new chapter of his life with his closest friend. No part of the long life the fortune teller had foreseen for Seungmin feels lucky, though, so he’s glad he can discount her words. He’s always wanted what he couldn’t have, and he’s old enough by now to know that greed is a cardinal sin. Age will never touch him because Seungmin knows he’ll die far sooner from wanting too much. Maybe that's a gift, an escape to a life sentence of dreaming.
Here’s a secret Seungmin’s never told anyone: he’s in love with his best friend.
Here’s a lie Seungmin will tell himself: everything will be ok.
“Sometimes, when he is holding me and I feel like I am liquid in his arms, I wonder if anything else in my life will seem real after this. It is as if I traveled beyond the earth and reached out and touched a burning star, and it is both endurable and terrifying.” - Francis Cha, If I Had Your Face
The school year begins and Seungmin is swept away by the endless flurry of assignments and projects he must tackle. Between the sleepless nights and drowsy mornings, his feelings take a backseat, retreating into a dull ever-present ache.
It’s like an old injury that acts up erratically in the gaps of Seungmin’s days: he feels it in the quiet moments on the bus ride to school or in line to purchase his third iced americano of the day. And if sometimes he presses the bruise just to feel it throb, that’s no one’s business but his own.
It goes like this: Seungmin is spending yet another late night in the library. He’s trying to study for his Criminal Justice exam tomorrow but it’s been half an hour of staring at the same page in his notes and he’s starting to consider the very real possibility he’d written them in hieroglyphics.
He’s about to give up, maybe he’s not meant to be a lawyer. He’s still young enough to find a rich man to marry, and–
He’s startled by a hand on his shoulders. He yelps in shock, ready to fight whatever creature that would haunt a deserted library at 3am, but it’s only Jeongin.
“Hi hyung, brought you coffee,” he says, sheepish, pulling out the chair next to Seungmin.
“Fuck, Innie, you scared me,” Seungmin huffs. Still, he’s glad for the interruption. “Why are you still up anyways? Here to keep my company?” he teases.
Jeongin rolls his eyes. “Don’t be arrogant, it’s not cute. Plus, I’ve got a psych paper I need to get through.” And with that, Jeongin is pulling on his headphones and ignoring Seungmin to focus on his laptop.
It’s almost believable, that Jeongin is another overtired college kid, only generous enough to share in Seungmin’s exhaustion. But he’s Jeongin’s best friend, so he knows better. Knows that the psychology paper in question isn’t due for another two weeks.
It fills him with an indescribable warmth, he feels giddy, almost, that Jeongin’s here in the middle of the night just for Seungmin. The two of them are alone in the library, the dim lights shining softly on Jeongin’s frame. He’s focused on his paper, absentmindedly nodding to whatever indie song he must be listening to. The headphones he’s wearing are the old pair Seungmin got him for his 15th birthday and at this point it’s barely holding together: there's a strip of duct tape over where it had cracked along the center. Seungmin’s unreasonably glad that he still uses it. It’s a little pathetic, probably, how much Jeongin’s presence affects him.
It doesn’t matter. He’s too happy to care. Jeongin is comforting in a way that no one else could ever be, and just sitting by his side means Seungmin can focus back on his studying. The high takes him all the way to morning.
He must lose track of time, because the next thing he knows, Jeongin is shaking him gently, telling him he needs to get to his 8am and that he got Seungmin another americano so he doesn’t “fall asleep and drool all over his Criminal Justice test.” Seungmin just nods, he’s thankful for the coffee and he’s a little too tired to think properly.
He’s grateful for Jeongin, grateful that he’s here. If it had been Changbin, he’d lecture Seungmin about the adverse health effects of all nighters. Chan would disapprove of the sheer number of coffees Seungmin’s drank in the past 24 hours. But Jeongin doesn’t judge and doesn’t threaten him with the caffeine addicts anonymous flier Felix keeps sending him.
Jeongin just knows him. Knows how obsessive Seungmin needs to be about studying, knows that Seungmin is resilient enough for the strict standards he holds himself to.
He experiences the day hazily, like one of those arthouse movies from the thirties that Jeongin used to be obsessed with.
It’s still pretty early when he decides to go to bed, and he can hear Jeongin singing aloud from his room. It’s almost exactly what Seungmin’s always wanted, and he doesn’t let himself think about the uncomfortable truth that separates reality from his fantasies.
This is enough. Jeongin must have unnecessarily pulled an all nighter just to keep Seungmin company. He’s an incredible friend, the best Seungmin will ever find and his friendship has always been enough for Seungmin. He can’t let himself dream for more.
Once, when Seungmin was younger, his sister had taken him to the beach. They’d sat knee-to-knee on that picnic blanket and watched the sun turn a canvas of the sky. “Sunsets are for dreamers,” she had told him, “that's why they’re so beautiful.”
Seungmin is a dreamer, has been since he’d been condemned to be one at seven, when the salty air smelt of freedom.
Now, salt is the phantom sheen of tears that hurt too much to be cried.
Here is the gap again: it’s the flimsy plywood wall that separates Jeongin’s room from his and it’s the poorly bandaged crack on Jeongins’s headphones. He’s tired enough for that insatiable monster inside him to breach the walls and remind him he’ll never have Jeongin the way he wants. He’s a stupid fool for thinking he could get away with playing house when he wants the real thing.
The unreality of twilight has filled the night with an almost mystical atmosphere and the bitter burn of hope softened just enough by the strawberry colored skies. When the loneliness grows unbearable and the leaving sun takes with it his inhibitions, just briefly, he allows himself to entertain the impossible. His fantasies fill universes in those brief moments, occupying the other end of his mattress with a body parallel to Seungmin’s quotation. A conclusion to this grandest love declaration.
When he wakes, it's gone. The aftertaste of dreaming is sour, and Seungmin is a stupid child, unable or just unwilling to learn. It’s cruel, he thinks, for the universe to leave him with nothing. His bed remains pristine, not even an indent in Jeongin’s shape.
He aches.
Here’s a secret Seungmin’s never told anyone: he’s in love with his best friend.
Here’s a lie Seungmin will tell himself: everything is ok.
“I cried and cried. But then I had to stop. One thing about me was that when I was having a serious wish session, I tried never to wish impossible wishes. I might have wished for sixteen crayons instead of eight, but even when I was little, I never wished for a thousand crayons, because I knew a thousand different crayons did not exist.” - Cynthia Kadohata, Kira Kira
Once finals week is over, the crew congregates at Chan’s apartment for a movie night.
“Sometimes I feel like you guys just come here to eat my food and use my TV,” Chan sighs, leaving the kitchen with a bowl of popcorn in his hands.
“Duh, hyung.” Jisung quips, just as Seungmin says, “why else would we hang out with an old man like you?”
The eight of them are sprawled out in Chan’s living room, limbs overlapping in the small space. It’s been ages since they’ve all had the chance to hang out together, and Seungmin has missed this odd family of theirs.
“I’m gonna get so drunk tonight!” Hyunjin exclaims, passing out bottles of beer and soju. Seungmin watches as Hyunjin’s expression flickers briefly, before settling on fuck it, yolo and he launches a beer at Minho’s back.
“Hey, what the fuck, Hwang?” Minho exclaims, putting down his phone. “Do I need to get the airfryer?”
Seungmin reaches across Hyunjin, now hiding behind Changbin, to grab a bottle of soju. He waves it at Minho, “sorry, did you want this instead?”
Minho narrows his eyes, “don’t you dare.”
Seungmin throws it anyway. Amidst the ensuing threats (from Minho) and cheering (everyone else), Seungmin’s eyes catch on where Jeongin sits on the other side of the room, shaking, with his head tipped back in mirth.
He’s distracted enough that he doesn’t see the pillow coming until it’s already hit him.
Changbin chooses a sad highschool film for them to watch. They had started a drinking game not even twenty minutes into the movie, and at this point Seungmin is paying more attention to the vibes than the actual plot. He likes the movie, regardless. There's something beautiful about how it portrays love, no matter how tragic.
Everything else starts to blur as he gets drunker, and all he can do is keep watch of Jeongin in his periphery. Until he blinks and suddenly Jeongin is gone.
He's lost Jeongin. He wants Jeongin back.
“Where’s Innie,” he slurs to Felix. Unwinding had seemed like a good idea earlier, but now Seungmin regrets drinking far more than he typically does. Everything is wrong now that he can’t see where Jeongin is.
“He didn’t drink tonight, so he offered to drive Minho and Changbin home. Chan’s with him too.” Seungmin takes stock of who's left, it’s just Felix, Jisung, Hyunjin, and him surrounded by evidence of the past several hours.
He doesn’t know why he says it. Maybe it’s the alcohol or the emotional movie or the fact that he’s so sick and tired of this feeling he doesn't know what to do with himself.
“I’m in love with Jeonginne,” he whispers. For a second, he thinks he said it so quietly that no one in the room even heard. That he can call this all a dumb idea and forget it ever happened.
Then he hears Felix inhale before he’s wrapped in a hug. “Oh, Seungminnie.”
“And It’s just, he doesn’t, I don’t know...Sometimes I don’t think I don’t know how to do anything else.”
He loves too deep, and sometimes he’s scared it’ll consume him until there’s nothing left.
But that’s just what love is. Love’s greater than life. It’s gotta be. If there’s no greater purpose to this love then it means all the pain was just pain. No beauty in the tragedy.
Honestly he’s just a kid. And he’s trying to learn all this pre-law bullshit but he can’t help but feel how unfair it is of the universe to expect him to understand feelings too.
Jeongin is just his favorite person in this terrifying, expansive universe. And maybe it’s not quite butterflies in his stomach, when Jeongin is within every cell of his body, a necklace frustratingly tangled into his DNA. All he knows is he’d be happy to devote his entire life to Jeongin’s whims.
“Seungminnie,” Hyunjin sounds pained, “I don’t know why you do this to yourself.”
He hadn’t thought it possible to grow possessive over his own misery, but if loving Jeongin is unbearable, it’s his pain to bear anyways. He’ll be damned if he lets anyone take this tiny sliver of Jeongin he’s been permitted away from him.
“I’m ok though. Really.” But he’s still crying.
Here’s a secret Seungmin’s told three people: he’s in love with his best friend.
Here’s a lie Seungmin will tell those three people again in the morning: everything is ok.
“Actually, you said Love, for you,
is larger than the usual romantic love. It’s like a religion. It’s
terrifying. No one
will ever want to sleep with you.” - Richard Siken, Crush
Changbin invites him to lunch a few days later under the guise of checking out the new noodle place that’s opened nearby. They both know that’s not the case: Changbin is hardly subtle when worried, but the pretense eases Seungmin’s pride enough to follow along.
Someone must have told him about Seungmin’s meltdown at Chan’s place. He thinks it's Jisung, but he’ll worry about the tattler later. At the end of the day he’s still a college student who isn’t going to turn down a free meal.
Changbin waits until Seungmin’s nearly halfway done with his food before speaking. “You know you can tell me anything right, Seungmin. Sometimes you don’t need to carry everything yourself.”
Seungmin considers this. He’s already opened his big mouth, the metaphorical cat has long left the bag. Besides, Changbin is a good listener.
“It’s just sometimes I feel like there’s some greater purpose, you know? Maybe I was destined to love him.”
If Changbin is shocked by how easily Seungmin responds, he doesn’t show it. “That’s…I don’t think that’s fair to yourself, Seungmin.”
“Nothing’s fair, hyung. But I don’t think I know how to live in a world where Jeongin isn’t more important than anything.”
“That’s not true,” Changbin insists softly. At some point he’d moved to the seat beside Seungmin. “Love is just love. It’s really not all that, Seungmin. Don’t let it be all that.”
He doesn’t know why he’s still holding on to this depraved glorification of love. His face is wet for some reason.
“You’ll be ok Seungmin. It’s ok.” Jeongin knows him better than anyone else; better, even, than Seungmin himself. Maybe that's the problem. “You’re going to be ok.”
He’s crying. Changbin is holding him, rocking him back and forth, and he’s crying.
“Ok hyung, I’ll try”
Here’s a secret Seungmin’s told four people: he’s in love with his best friend.
Here’s a truth Seungmin will tell himself: everything will be ok.
“All right then, let me try to rephrase. When I was alive,
I aimed to be a student not of longing but of light.” - Maggie Nelson, Bluets
In the meantime, a trip.
The eight of them are renting a small condo by the beach for spring break. He’s been spending more time with his friends, hadn’t realized how much he’d let Jeongin monopolize his attention until he’d forced himself to reconnect with other people. How had he forgotten how much he enjoyed gaming with Felix or café hopping with Minho?
He wouldn’t say he’s been ignoring Jeongin, per say, but he’s tried to limit exposure. This vacation, however, means he’s stuck within close proximity of Jeongin, with nowhere to escape to.
Seungmin’s surprised when Jeongin corners him one evening, and despite Seungmin’s protests, insists they go for a walk on the beach. They walk silently, and when they reach the sea, Jeongin takes his shoes off to wade into the water. The foamy border at the edge of the water fluctuates, forming a glittering barrier between them. Seungmin thinks to join him, but he’s rooted to his spot, like the centuries old boulders scattered along the shoreline.
“You’ve been ignoring me,” Jeongin states plainly.
“I-” Seungmin is cut off.
“I don’t care why, ok? Just listen.” Jeongin walks back towards Seungmin, somehow crossing the trench between them with ease. “It’s ok if you’re going through something, or need some space. But,” he pauses for a moment, “I missed my best friend.”
The crashing cerulean waves and egg yolk sun frame Jeongin from behind. Seungmin thinks he looks like a returning Greek hero.
“Sorry,” Seungmin says.
“Thanks,” Jeongin replies.
Jeongin pulls Seungmin down to sit beside him in the sand. The sun is still setting in front of them. Jeongin tells an awful joke that and despite everything Seungmin finds himself laughing. There’s nothing too dumb or childish when it comes to the two of them. Above all Jeongin is still his best friend. Seungmin’s missed this.
They get back late, and Seungmin falls asleep with the imprints of sand still peppering the underside of his feet. When he wakes, it's to the sun peeking across the sparkling sea into the open bedroom window.
Seungmin doesn’t remember much of his dream, only the sensation it left him with: he feels as though someone had rescued his heart from where it was sitting prisoner behind the bars of his ribs. They had cradled Seungmin’s heart with such soft hands that he knows instantly it must’ve been Jeongin.
The bitterness hits him like morning breath, and for a brief moment he’s mourning a dream he can’t even remember.
It passes quickly, leaving Seungmin stunned by just how free he also feels.
Here’s a secret Seungmin will tell Jeongin: he’s in love with his best friend.
Here’s the truth: Seungmin will be ok.
“Life is easy and hard, beautiful and ugly.” - Thanhhà Lại, Inside Out & Back Again
It’s unnoteworthy when it happens.
Seungmin decides it as he’s walking home from work, just another one of the choices he’s had to make this random Tuesday: get kimchi jjigae for dinner, walk home instead of taking the bus, confess to Jeongin today.
He’s still nervous, but it’s a nice sort of nerves: intermixed with excitement and anticipation. Just surface level tremors, really, a far cry from the earth-shattering upheaval it might’ve once been.
Maybe he’s sentimental. Or nostalgic. Or maybe he’s just overtaken by spontaneous whimsy. But he walks the takeout bag past their dining table and settles onto the floor of the living room.
That’s where Jeongin finds him two minutes later. “You could’ve just knocked on my door, hyung, why’d you text me that dinner was ready. That’s so stupid.”
“Come on, Jeonginnie. Is it stupid if it works?” Seungmin grins.
Jeongin just huffs, reaching past Seungmin to grab the takeout bag. “Is this kimchi jjigae again? You can’t just eat kimchi jjigae for every meal, hyung. It’s not a balanced diet,” Jeongin complains, “and why’d you always double knot the bag. Now it’s annoying to undo.”
It’s so Jeongin, to whine about all the little, irrelevant things–the text message, ordering kimchi jjigae, even the way Seungmin has tied the bag–but not question why they’re eating on the living room floor. It’s as if he knows the significance of the sudden change, of what Seungmin’s going to tell him today. It’s as if he’s still Seungmin’s best friend, forever and ever, no take-backs.
“Keep complaining, and I’ll eat it all myself.” Seungmin threatens, but unties the food for Jeongin anyways. It’s comfortable eating with Jeongin. Seungmin’s glad to be here.
“This is where we ate our first meal in this apartment, remember? You dropped a slice of pizza and got sauce all over your shirt,” Seungmin chuckles.
Jeongin flashes him a foolish smile, “Eating here I remember. The sauce part? Hmm, I don’t think so.” But even as he says this, his hand finds Seungmin’s under the coffee table, giving Seungmin an encouraging squeeze.
He takes a deep breath.
“I’m kinda in love with you, you know.” It’s just a fact, and since when has Seungmin let facts scare him? Besides, it doesn't matter what Jeongin’s answer is. Seungmin will be ok, really and truly ok.
Jeongin doesn’t let go of his hand.
“I know. I’ve known for a long time, dumbass.”
Somehow he doesn’t find himself surprised. After all, Seungmin’s toughest battles have always been with himself.
When Jeongin kisses him, it’s soft.
Here’s a truth that used to be a secret: he’s in love with his best friend.
Here’s another truth: Seungmin is ok.