Work Text:
inertia
/iˈnərSHə/
noun
- a tendency to do nothing or to remain unchanged.
- a property of matter by which it continues in its existing state of rest or uniform motion in a straight line, unless that state is changed by an external force.
Eunseok has known Chanyoung since he was two feet tall and could barely utter a sound.
He looks at Chanyoung now and misses the little boy who used to hold his hand, walking to and from school together. The little boy who was always begging to stay over at Eunseok’s house, because he liked it better for some reason. The little boy who hit a growth spurt at the age of ten and skyrocketed in height, until that little boy was no longer so little and Eunseok was forced to look up at him until he, too, had a growth spurt at the age of fourteen.
Neither of them really grew into their bodies. Anton’s limbs were always too long for him, he was always running into things and hitting his head. Eunseok’s shoulders were always too broad and he never quite fit into his clothes the same ever again, and most of the clothes he did fit into seemed so weird to wear because his waist was slimmer than his shoulders. They were two gangly and awkward teenagers, still trying to get used to their bodies.
Eunseok remembers when Chanyoung first grew taller than him. He hadn’t cared. Chanyoung had been the one upset about it. When Eunseok had asked, Chanyoung had looked at him with the biggest frown and tears threatening to spill from his eyes.
“Because people won’t think you’re my hyung anymore,” Chanyoung had said, all too devastated for a pre-pubescent ten year-old.
“Why does it matter?” Eunseok had asked.
Chanyoung had shook his head so hard that Eunseok had been afraid it was going to fly off. He always wondered why he needed to be so aggressive like that.
They were joined at the hips as kids. They went everywhere together, no matter what, and it had mostly been thanks to Chanyoung’s persistence. Eunseok, even as a child, had very much been a recluse. Recess wasn’t for him—he’d often spend it inside with a teacher, or off in the corner somewhere avidly avoiding the other children on the playground. Chanyoung would always join him, despite the fact that Chanyoung had been, and always will be, so shy. Maybe it had helped that they had been neighbors.
They had also been some of the only Asian kids around. Their families stuck together like glue, often inviting one another to each other’s house and cooking for each other. Eunseok had spent just as much time at the Lees’ home as much as he had spent at his own home. He still remembers the smell of Mrs. Lee, Chanyoung’s mother, making her famous kimchi bulgogi and the way it always made his lips tingle for at least three hours after eating it. Chanyoung would always tell him to not eat so much of it if it made that happen, but Eunseok never listened. He liked it too much.
During middle school, the two of them would often visit the library after school. Their parents worked and couldn’t afford babysitters, but the neighborhood was safe enough that they didn’t need to worry about the worst of the worst happening. They were safe in the library, especially since their parents personally knew half of the staff there. Eunseok and Chanyoung would hole themselves away in the children’s section—Eunseok sitting in the middle of a bean bag, with Chanyoung curled up against one of his sides, and he would read a book aloud to Chanyoung. Back then, Eunseok is sure his voice had to have been extremely monotone—just like his voice is now—but Chanyoung insists now that he always enjoyed it.
Sometimes, though, Eunseok would sneak them away into one of the more adult sections. He’d grab a book that looked cool and would crack it open and attempt to read it, but he always struggled with half the words. Chanyoung never seemed to mind him struggling with the words, though, and never even asked him to stop reading—even after consistently stumbling or cracking over words that Eunseok didn’t know the meanings to at the time.
As they grew older, they’d go from the library to the nearby laundromat and the mom-and-pop shops that lined the ten minute walk between their school and their homes. The laundromat had a plethora of cheap snacks—ones that were even cheaper than from the convenience store on the far west of town, twenty minutes away from their houses—and seats for the two of them to occupy while they did their homework or just hung out. The owners had been an elderly couple who adored them both. They often got their snacks for free, but Eunseok would always leave them some kind of monetary value behind: a dollar, five dollars, whatever had been available and in his pocket at the moment. During the summertimes, the couple would give them popsicles and sodas for free.
Eunseok remembers the sticky fingers and sugar highs. Remembers the one summer when Chanyoung had dared him to shake his soda then open it, and Eunseok had, right on the sidewalk outside of the laundromat, and the orange soda had exploded all over him, soaking through his shirt and shorts. Chanyoung had cried because he hadn’t meant to ruin Eunseok’s clothes, but Eunseok had told him it was fine—there had been no reason to cry, because they were at a laundromat, and Eunseok could just wash his clothes there.
He remembers sitting in the laundromat in his boxers for thirty minutes while the washer did its thing. The old man hadn’t even charged him to use it, just did this trick where he inserted a coin then pulled it right out and got the machine going instantly. Eunseok hadn’t even bothered with drying them after. It had been nearly a hundred degrees, the sun beaming down on them so harshly, and the cool, wet clothes on his body had been enough to keep him from probably getting heat stroke. Chanyoung had still apologized, several times in fact, all the way home. He only shut up when Eunseok made him by shoving a frozen Konjac Jelly pouch into his hand and telling him to.
The only other places they had spent a lot of time at had been the local ice cream shop—which somehow also doubled as a boba tea shop—and the very tiny local game shop next door to it. Neither place had been very fancy or big. It was like two people sharing a house, with a wall right down the middle: one half was the ice cream/boba shop and one half was the game store. A lot of the places in their town have weird layouts. The buildings are old and they aren’t always capable of being able to be remodeled or anything like that, lest they risk the entire place coming down and costing them more than it’s worth.
Eunseok’s own childhood home is nearing a century old. It’s two stories with a basement, though the basement had flooded when Eunseok was eight and it never truly recovered, and just barely something that could constitute as an attic above their heads. All of their bedrooms are on the second floor, with the kitchen, dining, and living rooms all on the first floor. Chanyoung’s home is a one story building that’s more recent, only about forty years old. Two bedrooms, two baths. Kitchen and dining room set, and a living room.
Eunseok shared a room with his little brother until he turned fifteen. Chanyoung has shared a bedroom with his two younger siblings (Minyeon, little sister, and Jaechan, little brother) for his entire life, even into his older teens and after graduating high school.
The transition between middle school and high school had been hard. Eunseok is three years older than Chanyoung, so when Eunseok had graduated middle school, Chanyoung was left alone there for two years. Then Eunseok was graduating high school, and Chanyoung was left alone for another two years in that hell hole. Eunseok would still walk him to and from school, though, every morning and every afternoon. He’d walk with the three Lee siblings and his own younger brother, Dongmin, and see them off at 7AM, then greet them again at 3PM.
Even as teenagers, Chanyoung would always hold Eunseok’s hand. He never stopped.
They’re young adults now. Or, at least, Eunseok is a young adult and Chanyoung is a freshly turned twenty year old. Chanyoung graduated high school last year. Eunseok’s grades had never been anything past average. He was smart, but he lacked a lot of proper motivation and he only did what he needed to do to keep from being suspended or expelled. Enough to stay along the B average line for as long as possible. Chanyoung, on the other hand, has always been incredibly smart. Straight As throughout all of elementary and middle school, and nearly straight As throughout the entirety of high school. He could have easily gone to college right after on a scholarship, and Eunseok knows he got scholarship offers, but Chanyoung never took them. Eunseok hasn’t bothered asking him why.
They’re too big for Eunseok’s full size bed these days. Eunseok can fit on it by himself, but Chanyoung is so much bigger than him now. Over six foot tall and all gangly limbs that he still doesn’t know how to properly use. Eunseok always ends up being elbowed or kneed, but he never cares. He’ll suffer being jabbed as long as it means Chanyoung can stay close to him. As long as they can continue some kind of routine together, because Eunseok knows—he can feel it—that change is coming soon.
Chanyoung is against his back. His cheek presses against Eunseok’s shoulder, the two of them rolled and curled up onto their sides in Eunseok’s small bed. Eunseok is playing his Switch, eyes glued to the screen as he navigates through Mementos with Joker and the rest of the party. (He loves Morgana’s little cat car form. Maybe he should buy himself a figure of it later. Would Chanyoung like one? He’ll have to ask.) Eunseok turns a bit, to do just that, but he doesn’t get a chance to so much as think about speaking when he sees Chanyoung behind him.
Chanyoung is crying. It’s silent and soft. Eunseok hasn’t heard a single sniff or sob from the younger man behind him this entire time, and his Switch volume isn’t even that loud. Chanyoung has been silently crying for—god knows how long, right against Eunseok’s back, and Eunseok hasn’t even noticed. He feels like an ass.
“Chanyoung-ah,” Eunseok starts, furrowing his eyebrows. Chanyoung startles, jumping away from Eunseok’s back a little, eyes going wide. “Why are you crying?”
Chanyoung bites his lower lip. It wobbles, even between his teeth. Everything about him right now trembles, shakes with the apparent intensity of Chanyoung’s current feelings. “Hyung.” Chanyoung says the honourific, but it sounds broken.
Eunseok’s Switch is abandoned on his nightstand in favour of Eunseok turning around in the full size bed. His ass is hanging off the edge of it, but Eunseok isn’t going to get any closer unless Chanyoung wants him to. Chanyoung sniffs again, reaching a sleeve covered hand up to rub under his eyes, frowning deeply.
“Sorry,” he whimpers out his apology, eyes shining with tears. Watching Chanyoung cry never gets any easier, though Eunseok has seen him cry a million times since they were children. Chanyoung’s always been the more sensitive one of the two of them, especially on the surface. Eunseok doesn’t cry—hasn’t cried since he was probably three years old. “I don’t know why I’m crying.”
Eunseok watches him carefully, studying him. Chanyoung has seemingly been off for the past week, but Eunseok hasn’t mentioned it in case it makes Chanyoung pull away from him. He knows Chanyoung will come to him when he wants or needs to. Eunseok only ever asks when he’s certain Chanyoun won’t. (It’s never happened.)
“Why have you been weird all week?” Eunseok asks, still studying him.
Chanyoung stays quiet, snuffling as he wipes under his nose. There’s a little snot. Eunseok stares at his nose, overcome with a strange urge to kiss it. He doesn’t. He peers back up into Chanyoung’s eyes, and waits.
“I got a letter last Tuesday,” Chanyoung finally says, voice low. He swallows, biting down on the inside of his lip. He sniffs, cheek now resting against his sleeve clad fist. “From one of the universities I applied to. An acceptance letter.”
“Chanyoung-ah, that’s great—”
“It’s really far away,” Chanyoung says, slowly turning his eyes up. He locks gazes with Eunseok. “In another state.”
Something inside of Eunseok breaks at that. He doesn’t quite know what it is yet, but he can feel it. This strange cracking and sudden hollow feeling developing inside of his chest.
Eunseok knows that Chanyoung’s always wanted to live away from here. Chanyoung has talked about moving out of their little town since he was fourteen, since he could truly imagine doing so. Eunseok always imagined him doing it. Has always been able to envision Chanyoung leaving this run-down town and moving on to become something bigger and better than Eunseok can ever think or dream of becoming. Because Chanyoung is someone who can do that.
Eunseok is not. Eunseok is a solid pillar in his family’s life, in their environment, in the townspeoples’ lives. Dongmin needs him here, he’s only eleven years old after all. His parents need him here, to look after Dongmin and take care of him and help him because they work long hours and leave before the school day starts. Until Dongmin can truly care for himself, Eunseok cannot go.
He’s never imagined himself living outside of this little town. He thinks about the possibility of it, those very brief scenes that end up in his subconscious and cause him to imagine. Eunseok doesn’t know if he can do it. He’s so used to this life—stability, though it may lack comfortability. He knows this town better than he knows himself. He could show you all of the best hiding spots in the park that’s five minutes from their houses. He could tell you the secret items you can order from the local pizza shoppe or the ice cream/boba shop. He could tell you each and every historical fact about this place without even batting an eye, because Eunseok is twenty three and has never lived anywhere else his entire life.
Chanyoung is twenty years old and yearns to leave. Eunseok has always seen that in him. Where Eunseok is willing to stick in place, Chanyoung wants to spread his wings and go. Eunseok doesn’t blame him. Will never blame him for feeling that way. It’s common, isn’t it? Growing up in a small town for so long and wanting to experience life outside of that little bubble? Chanyoung is the normal one. Eunseok is the odd one out.
If Chanyoung wants to go, then Eunseok will let him. Who is he to determine Chanyoung’s life in such a way?
“You should take it.” Euneok says. His voice sounds much more distant than he means it to be.
Chanyoung looks at him and Eunseok sees the pain between his brows. He watches stray tears roll down Chanyoung’s cheeks. Eunseok reaches a hand up and brushes one of them away, warm palm gently resting against Chanyoung’s cheek. It feels odd. Off. Different from the last few times he’s wiped Chanyoung’s tears away. He didn’t give Chanyoung the answer he was looking for, Eunseok already knows that. Chanyoung wants Eunseok to tell him to stay. Don’t leave.
“It’s a four-year program.” Chanyoung is no longer looking at him. Eunseok doesn’t feel offended by that. He lets Chanyoung play with the hem of his shirt, long fingers just peeking out from the sleeve of his hoodie. “Breaks are short. I wouldn’t be able to come back a lot.”
He knows. Eunseok knows. Universities always work that way: years long programs to prepare someone for their future career, and any additional years added onto that if someone wants to get a degree further than just a bachelor’s. Eunseok only applied to two universities his senior year of high school. He was accepted by both of them. He chose to rip up the acceptance letters and burn them in a summer bonfire. He’s never told a soul about it.
“You should go.” Eunseok won’t let Chanyoung be like him. Not when Chanyoung deserves what’s happening to him. Not when he knows how badly Chanyoung wants this. He can see the pain and conflict in Chanyoung’s eyes, because Eunseok isn’t doing what he wants for once in their lives. Eunseok is pushing him. “You applied for it and you got it. So you should take it and go, Chanyoung.”
Chanyoung’s eyebrows knit together as more tears build up in his eyes. Eunseok wants to feel bad, he does. He can’t, though. He needs Chanyoung to understand why Eunseok is pushing him so hard. Chanyoung doesn’t deserve to be stuck in this fucking town, not like Eunseok. He deserves to be as free as he wants to be: his life is much more precious than he believes it to be, and Eunseok needs Chanyoung to see that.
They aren’t kids anymore. Eunseok needs to finally tell Chanyoung to let go of his hand.
Chanyoung accepts the university’s acceptance of him. He tells his parents and they are overjoyed. He tells Eunseok’s family, too, because they had been invited over for dinner that very night and their families celebrated Chanyoung’s future.
Eunseok already knows that Chanyoung isn’t happy with him. He barely looks at Eunseok the entire night, not even when they’re literally sitting across from each other at the dining room table. His parents converse with Eunseok happily, expressing their gratitude in Eunseok’s encouragement of telling Chanyoung to go and accept. They tell him they’ve been worried that Chanyoung was never going to go to university at all. Something twists inside of Eunseok’s chest at their admission of that.
He watches Chanyoung even if Chanyoung doesn’t watch him. There are a lot of emotions in his chest, swirling around like some kind of supernova cloud, getting fast and dense as they start to collapse into themselves.
Eunseok’s lips are still tingling from Mrs. Lee’s kimchi bulgogi when he finds Chanyoung on the roof. It’s hard to get out there, these days, with their much bigger bodies. But Chanyoung is stubborn, and so is Eunseok. The roof tiles are rough against Eunseok’s palms as he crawls his way up there. Chanyoung’s legs are crossed and locked at the ankles, his arms resting over his knees. He doesn’t even look to see who’s come onto the roof with him: it’s only ever been the two of them who do this together.
“I’m sorry.” Eunseok isn’t, but he says it, anyway. He sits on the roof next to Chanyoung, positioning himself in the same manner. His locked hands sway between his open legs as he stares out at the setting sun.
Chanyoung is quiet for a minute, before he slowly shakes his head. “You should apply there too, hyung. Your grades were good enough.” Chanyoung is trying to plead with him, Eunseok knows this. Chanyoung, though he craves for it, has never been the best with personal change. Chanyoung deals with change better than Eunseok does, though.
Eunseok shakes his head, letting his eyes drift down to watch the people below. “I can’t, Chanyoung. I have to stay here for Dongmin.”
Silence. He can hear the way Chanyoung is breathing now, unsteady and heavy and scared. Eunseok glances over, watching the way Chanyoung grips his hands into trembling fists. “Your parents should be the ones raising him, not you.” He sounds bitter, but Eunseok only hears a hurting young boy that doesn’t want to hear Eunseok’s excuses.
And all Eunseok says will be excuses. He can’t let Chanyoung keep himself tethered to someone like him. Chanyoung needs to experience life without Eunseok. If he stays and realizes he no longer wants anything to do with Eunseok, it will be harder and worse because their lives will have been so cemented into this town. If Chanyoung goes and realizes he no longer wants anything to do with Eunseok, then it will be easier. He won’t have to bother contacting him, and he can avoid Eunseok whenever he comes back to town. It’s the only logical solution.
“He’ll be a teenager soon enough,” Eunseok says, gaze drifting down to his own hands. He studies the planes of them, the definition of his knuckles and the lines of his palms that he can see. “When he is, then maybe I can think about college. I won’t have to take care of him as much.”
Chanyoung doesn’t answer. Eunseok turns to watch him fully now, eyes catching the way tears are falling from him again. He wonders if Chanyoung has been crying since he got up here, or if he only started when Eunseok arrived. It creates a burning pit inside of Eunseok’s stomach, either way, one that feels like it could suffocate Eunseok alive if he doesn’t put it out.
Eunseok’s words are not a promise. They’re only that: just words. Eunseok is not promising Chanyoung a thing, because he can’t afford to give Chanyoung any kind of hope to keep him tethered to this place, to this town, to him. Eunseok is trying to cut the strings himself, without asking Chanyoung’s permission. If he were to ask, Chanyoung would say no, and Eunseok would be forced to cut them, feeling like a prick. This, at least, will leave Eunseok with a slightly better conscience. Maybe.
“You’ll be okay.” Eunseok says, slowly turning his head back to the horizon. The sun is getting lower. Slowly, slowly, slowly. The beams of it burn in his eyes, but Eunseok refuses to look away. Deep oranges and pinks and purples litter the sky above them. They are pretty, but Eunseok thinks they will never be as pretty as Chanyoung.
Eunseok sits. Chanyoung cries. The wind caresses them both. They return to the inside of Chanyoung’s home when the sun has disappeared and the moon shines brightly above them. Chanyoung does not look at him and Eunseok does not force him to. He leaves Chanyoung’s home with a deep aching in his chest and a tub full of Mrs. Lee’s homemade kimbap.
Things are strained between them the rest of that summer, and Eunseok is okay with that.
Chanyoung is preparing for a very big change. Eunseok is avidly trying to avoid thinking about that very big change. He knows it’s coming. He hears about it from everyone he meets on the street, from the conversations that flow in through the game shop where Eunseok works. Everyone knows everyone here, and Eunseok and Chanyoung have been a big topic since they were children: of course, everyone is going to be in awe at the fact that only one of them is leaving, and the other is staying behind.
Working is the only thing that allows Eunseok to keep it off of his mind. He forces himself into work mode for his shifts, and thinks only about his job and what he needs to do. He doesn’t let himself think about Chanyoung. About Chanyoung leaving. About the hollowness he’s already feeling. Eunseok forces himself out of it, squeezing his eyes shut as he physically shakes his head to himself.
There’s no one else in the game shop right now. Just Eunseok. Me, myself, and I.
Usually, Chanyoung visits him while he’s working because he has nothing better to do. He hasn’t stepped foot into the shop since that night on the roof. Eunseok doesn’t know how he’s supposed to feel about it, because he’s already feeling too many things and he doesn’t want to feel anything more. His brain is already filled with enough thoughts as it is. His feelings, in general, are complicated. Eunseok should probably talk to someone about them.
Chanyoung doesn’t ask for his help in packing. Eunseok doesn’t feel offended by it. He only goes over to the Lee house because Minyeon and Jaechan ask him to, because they, too, seem to enjoy Eunseok’s company as much as Chanyoung does. Did. Does.
Chanyoung is moving pretty far away. All the way to New Jersey.
It’s a long ways away from their little hole-in-the-ground town. Eunseok tries to convince himself it’s not that bad. That it’s just a plane ride away—maybe two, if single flights cost an arm and a leg. It would be longer to drive there, and probably just as expensive. But it’s fine. That’s what Chanyoung needs, isn’t it? To be so far away from home. From this place. Chanyoung needs to be on his own. He’s always been fiercely independent, despite how much he’s relied on Eunseok their entire lives and despite how much his family likes his help. Chanyoung is everything that Eunseok is not. Eunseok is more than okay with that.
The day of Chanyoung’s departure sneaks up on him. He’s leaving exactly a month before classes start, so that he can familiarize himself with the campus and become adjusted to city life before he’s swamped with work and anything else that comes his way. At least, that’s what his parents are saying.
Eunseok guesses it’s because Chanyoung doesn’t want to be here any longer than he has to be. That he wants to leave already, because Eunseok is the one who told him to go in the first place. He’s listening to Eunseok, even if it means retreating into himself. Eunseok doesn’t really blame him.
Chanyoung leaves the day after tomorrow. He’s leaving today, though, and staying in a hotel for the night. His parents are going to ship any remaining things Chanyoung didn’t pack to him at a later date. Eunseok doesn’t know why he’s not just taking it all at once—but who is Eunseok to question his decisions right now? It’s probably going to be cheaper, anyway.
Eunseok drives him to the hotel. His parents asked him to do it, and though he knows Chanyoung would have wanted him to decline, Eunseok wouldn’t have been able to say no to Chanyoung’s parents. He’d feel even shittier. The car ride is quiet, uneventful. The only noise between them is the radio that’s playing music at a volume so low it’s only just able to be heard. Eunseok thinks if he were to turn it up any louder, it would make things worse.
Getting Chanyoung into the hotel is easier than the ride. They work together to get all of his things up to his room, and by the time they’ve finished, Eunseok is dreading his lonesome car ride back home. Back to town.
Without Chanyoung.
He stands awkwardly in front of the driver’s side of his car, arms limp at his sides. He knows he needs to reach out and open the door and get in already, but Eunseok can’t seem to bring himself to do it. The sky is getting darker by the minute, the sun dropping further and further as it disappears behind the horizon. Eunseok wants to sit outside for a while, out here in the city. He wants to listen to the sounds of the cars on the highway, the beeping of the crosswalk signs, the dogs barking despite the time of night. He doesn’t want to listen to crickets for a while.
“Eunseok-hyung.” Chanyoung’s voice startles Eunseok out of his thoughts. He blinks as he turns towards him, looking up at Chanyoung, confused. He’s supposed to be inside of the hotel right now. “Hyung, I have something to give you.”
Eunseok furrows his eyebrows, blinking again. “Something to give me?”
Chanyoung nods. His hands are fiddling with something in his hands—a bag of some kind. He holds it out to Eunseok, who takes it carefully. Before he can open it, though, Chanyoung stops him. “Open it when you get home, okay? Please.”
Eunseok wants to say no, because he’s been going against what Chanyoung wants this entire time, but he realizes he needs to do something for Chanyoung right now. At least just once, before he leaves. Eunseok nods as he grips onto the handles of the bag. “Okay. When I get home.”
Chanyoung nods in return. They stand there, awkward and unsure of what to do next, before Chanyoung runs a hand through his hair. He glances away from Eunseok, hands dropping down as he twists his hands together in front of himself. “I’ll be back to visit. Promise, hyung.” Eunseok gives him a small smile, nodding again.
Chanyoung says his goodbye, then turns to head back into the hotel. Eunseok watches him go. He turns back to his car and climbs in, turns it on, and heads back for home. The radio is silent on the way back, the only noises coming from the outside world around Eunseok’s car as he drives. The bag Chanyoung gave him sits in the passenger seat, taunting him, calling for him to open it.
Eunseok is good on his word. He doesn’t touch the bag until he’s home, behind the closed door to his bedroom.
For some reason, it feels like the bag is making fun of him. Or taunting him. Or something. It sits in Eunseok’s lap, hands lying limply against his thighs. Eunseok needs to open it, but he’s not sure if he wants to open it or not. He forces himself to open it, anyway. He tugs the bag open, careful as he does so, before he reels away from it like he’s been burned, completely startled.
Eunseok is up on his feet with a pair of bulky, old-school headphones gripped between his hands. They’re a neutral shade of green—something soft, but not pastel, and not too harsh because Chanyoung doesn’t really like super bright or super dark colours like that. They’re worn down from years of use, but they’re in nearly perfect condition because Chanyoung has been taking care of these headphones since Eunseok gifted them to him for his 14th birthday.
And now they are in Eunseok’s hands. Chanyoung gave him the headphones he once gifted him as a parting gift.
Memories flood Eunseok’s entire system. He remembers how bright Chanyoung’s eyes had been when he ripped open the wrapping paper and saw the box with the headphones showing on the outside. He remembers how Chanyoung refused to take them off for an entire week, even if they weren’t plugged into anything to listen to music or shows, even when he went to sleep he would lie on his back with the headphones on. He remembers how Chanyoung would never let anyone else but Eunseok touch these headphones, because that’s how much they meant to him. Still mean to him.
Eunseok feels numb as he slides the headphones on over his ears. They’re adjusted to his size already. Chanyoung’s always been a pre-planner like this. He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, steadying himself, before he opens them again.
He plugs the headphones into his phone and opens up his music app instantly. Eunseok goes right to the playlist that Chanyoung made for him back in middle school. He’s always updating it. Or, at least, he used to. Eunseok doesn’t remember the last time Chanyoung’s touched the playlist. He doesn’t really care right now.
Eunseok presses the play button, doesn’t bother putting it on shuffle. He lies back in his bed then, phone lying on his stomach, as he stares up at the ceiling with the music playing in his ears through the headphones. They’re bulky. They don’t feel right sitting on his head like this. Eunseok knows he won’t be able to sleep comfortably with them on, but he refuses to take them off.
His face feels wet before he even knows he’s crying. The world is spinning when Eunseok opens his eyes because he’s not letting himself breathe properly. Eunseok openly sobs, sitting up in his bed as he turns around to face his pillow, burying his face into his hands.
Eunseok does not cry. He hasn’t cried since he was little enough to not know how to use his words to talk. Eunseok does not sob. He hasn’t wailed since he was a tired baby in his mother’s arms.
But he’s kneeling on his bed and crying into his hands, with music that Chanyoung picked out for him specifically blasting against his ear drums, with Chanyoung’s headphones resting atop his head, because there is something tearing itself apart inside of him that he’s never been able to acknowledge until now. Until Chanyoung has basically forced Eunseok to face it in the darkness of his bedroom, alone, without being able to face Chanyoung fully.
Eunseok cries himself to sleep for the first time in over a decade. He doesn’t remember any dreams. He only remembers Chanyoung.
Eunseok never realized the true monotony of his life until Chanyoung left.
Chanyoung has only been gone for three months, but Eunseok feels like it’s been three years.
They text regularly—all hours of the day, even when Chanyoung is supposed to be in class or asleep—and they’ll even spend hours on the phone together. Chanyoung has a lot to talk about. That part of it all isn’t as strange as it could be, because Chanyoung has always been the one who talks the most out of the two of them. Even though he’s quiet, he talks, and Eunseok always likes to listen. He listens to whatever Chanyoung has to say, offers his words only when Chanyoung wants him to or asks him to.
It’s hard. Eunseok has belatedly realized the consequences of his own actions, pushing Chanyoung so hard in the direction of college. But at the same time, he cannot bring himself to regret it. Eunseok feels a deep and intense longing for Chanyoung in his chest, but if he were to let Chanyoung know of it, he’s sure that Chanyoung will drop everything to come back to this tiny little town of theirs. And Eunseok can’t have that happen.
So he tells Chanyoung he misses him, if only briefly or in code. He doesn’t mention how his days have gotten colder and longer and harder without Chanyoung in them. He doesn’t say that Minyeon and Jaechan often ask Eunseok why he hasn’t visited the Lee house in weeks, why Eunseok only ever sees them in the mornings before school and the afternoons after school. He doesn’t tell Chanyoung that he can no longer listen to music if it’s not played through Chanyoung’s headphones.
He doesn’t tell Chanyoung that he’s cried himself to sleep six times since he’s left.
Eunseok can only handle his emotions so well, and so much. He’s never felt this way before in his life, and he’s not particularly ready to face these feelings head on. Not yet, anyways. He has to give Chanyoung his own time to adjust. He has to see if he is right, if Chanyoung will gradually flow away from Eunseok. If the distance between them will truly show, or if Eunseok is making it all up in his head.
Eunseok wants Chanyoung back. He is a selfish man with selfish desires and a head screwed on tight enough to realize this. There is a heavy part of Eunseok that regrets pushing him away—that regrets letting Chanyoung slip through his fingers like this, even though Eunseok knows he isn’t in a place to regret this at all.
He is reaping what he was sown, a creator of his own destruction.
Eunseok stares at the screen of his phone, the picture staring right back at him. It is a candid picture of him and Chanyoung during high school, taken by Eunseok’s mom. It’s been his wallpaper since his mother sent it to him. No one ever bats an eye at it, and no one asks him why the picture is his wallpaper in the first place. Eunseok has always been grateful for that.
Chanyoung is in class right now, but Eunseok wants to call him. He’s overcome with the urge to hear Chanyoung’s voice, rather than imagine it. His hands twitch, the urge to reach out and text Chanyoung so utterly real—before Eunseok tears himself away from his spot behind the counter and forces himself to attempt to restock the shop with anything that might need it.
His phone lies on the counter, screen turning black as it goes into Sleep Mode, the picture of teenagers Eunseok and Chanyoung fading away.
Eunseok is shaken awake by his phone blasting Chanyoung’s ringtone—My Number by Tegan and Sara—in the dead of night.
He is half asleep as he scrambles to grab his phone, vision blurry and mind bleary and barely registering the fact that his alarm clock reads 2:37AM in bright red lights, answering the call without a single ounce of hesitation.
“Hello?” Eunseok slurs the word, rolling himself over until he can push himself to sit up on the side of his bed. “Chanyoung?”
The other end of the line is quiet, for the most part. Eunseok can hear muffled music and a lot of muffled voices, like they’re all very far away and Chanyoung is hiding himself away from everything—which he very much might be. He must be at some kind of party, which makes something sting inside of Eunseok’s chest. Chanyoung hadn’t mentioned anything about a party over the past few days. Either he didn’t want Eunseok to know—or going to it had been a last minute, impulsive decision that Chanyoung had made. Something so different from the usual way Chanyoung tends to do things.
Eunseok is still waking up fully, reaching a palm up to rub at his eyes. He opens his mouth to speak again when he hears it, a loud snuffle followed by a quiet sob.
“Hyung.” Chanyoung says into the phone, voice wobbly. He sounds hurt.
Eunseok furrows his eyebrows, sitting up straighter in his spot. His heart feels heavy in his chest, pounding hard against his ribs. “Chanyoung-ah? What’s wrong?”
Chanyoung sobs again, his crying now louder. He hiccups a little, static crackling a little through the phone. “Hyung. Eunseok-hyung… I don’t wanna be here…”
“Where is ‘here’, Chanyoung?”
“Party,” Chanyoung mumbles, words a little slurred. “I don’t… I didn’t… my friends dragged me out—said I was… said I was bein’ depressed… or somethin’...”
“Chanyoung…” Eunseok sighs softly, his heart settling under his ribs. He feels momentary relief, before he feels an unwarranted anger and frustration with Chanyoung’s university friends. “You should have told them no. Are you okay, though? Have you been drinking?”
Chanyoung snuffles again as he nods, and Eunseok only knows that he’s nodding because he can hear it. “Yeah—yeah, played… a drinking game. ‘t was fun.” He pauses, before he lets out a tiny sob once more. “Hyung, I don’t wanna be here. Please… please, can you come get me?”
Something coils around Eunseok’s heart so tightly, he feels like it might burst on the spot. Does Chanyoung not remember where he is? Where Eunseok is? Is he so drunk that he can’t remember the fact that the two of them are thousands of miles away from each other right?
“Chanyoung-ah… hyung can’t come and get you. Don’t you remember?” Eunseok doesn’t want to say it. Eunseok wishes he could hop on a plane and fly to Chanyoung and rip him away from that damn party within just minutes. But the truth of the matter is that Eunseok cannot. He is trapped here, helpless in the moon lit darkness of his bedroom, while Chanyoung is at some random university party, sobbing to him on the phone. “I’m at home, Chanyoung. I can’t just come and get you.”
Eunseok doesn’t know if it’s his words that set Chanyoung off or if it’s something else, but Chanyoung lets out a wretched sob that shatters Eunseok’s heart into pieces just by the mere sound of it.
“Hyung, please—! I want… I want to go home, I want—” Chanyoung sobs into the phone, static making him sound more broken than he probably is. Eunseok can only imagine what he must look like right now. “It hurts, hyung, I don’t… Eunseok-hyung, please…” Chanyoung sounds so desperate that it makes Eunseok want to cry himself.
“I miss you, hyung…” Chanyoung cries, hiccuping and gasping softly for breath. “I miss you so fucking much, it hurts. I just… I hate it here—!”
“Chanyoung.” Eunseok tries to sound stern, but his voice is shaking. Tries to make himself feel steady and strong like Chanyoung is expecting him to be, but his voice is wobbly and broken and worried. Eunseok feels like a giant pit has just opened up in his stomach, his heart starting to turn into some kind of blackhole.
There’s another strangled noise from Chanyoung’s side of the phone, before his crying starts to fade. Eunseok jolts slightly in place, panic already starting to rise up inside of him, the crackling of the phone speaker only growing worse, before he hears someone new talking into the phone.
“This is Eunseok, yes?” They ask. It must be a guy, his voice is surprisingly calm and rather soothing in this current situation.
Eunseok swallows a bit before he nods, even though the other party can’t see him. “Yeah, that’s me.”
“I’m sorry Anton-ah disturbed your sleep. He got away from us before we could stop him from doing something like this. He kept asking for you,” He says, voice soft and gentle. Eunseok can still make out the faint sound of Chanyoung crying, his name still coming from him. “My name is Shotaro, by the way. I’m one of Anton’s seniors at university. We’ll take care of him, Eunseok-ssi. Please don’t worry.”
This man—Shotaro, as he introduced himself—is still a stranger to Eunseok. No matter what he says, Eunseok is going to worry. He can’t help it. Chanyoung is—(the single most important thing in Eunseok’s life)—important. Eunseok’s best friend (his other half), even if they may be worlds apart right now. It’s a part of Eunseok that he can’t turn off.
Eunseok tries to not say that. His mouth twists up, and for a moment he is extremely grateful that Shotaro can’t see it, before he’s slowly nodding against his phone. “Take care of him for me.” Because I can’t take care of him from here.
“We will,” Eunseok thinks he can almost hear a smile in Shotaro’s voice. It is, at the very least, slightly calming. “I’ll make sure he calls you tomorrow and everything. Please rest well, Eunseok-ssi. Anton-ah will be alright.”
With a mumbled thanks, the call ends. Eunseok’s hand falls to his lap, phone half-clutched in his fingers, staring down at Chanyoung’s contact name flashing on the screen.
He’s supposed to work tomorrow. Eunseok doesn’t think he’ll be able to go back to sleep, even if he tried his damnedest. His head hurts. He can feel a migraine settling into his skull. Eunseok unlocks his phone and goes straight to the message thread with his manager, sends off a text saying he’s sick and won’t be able to make it in, then immediately sends a text to Chanyoung.
Me
i hate it here too.
i hate being here without you.
don’t let them take you from me.
i want to bring you home too.chanyoung-ah
take care of yourself for hyung.
It’s been a year and a half.
Chanyoung never came home for the summer. Or the winter. Or the spring. Eunseok hasn’t bothered asking why—both from Chanyoung’s parents or from Chanyoung himself.
It’s not as though Eunseok doesn’t think about it. He thinks about it a lot, actually. But there’s nothing that Eunseok can personally do about it, other than ask Chanyoung about why and risk upsetting him to the point of possibly no return. Though, admittedly, Chanyoung would never let himself go that far. And Eunseok would never let it get that far, either. Eunseok should maybe care about it more than he does, but there is little more caring to do than he already does.
If he lets himself think about it too much, it causes a struggle in his heart and the gears in Eunseok’s brain grind together until they start steaming.
It’s not like Chanyoung has forgotten about him, either. They still text and talk daily, despite the time difference. Chanyoung will send him random pictures or voice clips or whatever else, and Eunseok’s day will be instantly brightened as well as saddened at the same time. Talking with Chanyoung is part of Eunseok’s routine now, and there’s a part of him that can’t seem to stand it. That this has turned into routine between them, and that it’s not being done simply because he wants.
Eunseok wakes up, takes Dongmin to school if his little brother wants him to, goes to work. Talks to Chanyoung throughout the day, forces himself to be more sociable than he really is for his job that’s not super exciting in the first place. Finishes work, goes home, eats dinner, then sleeps. A cycle that continues on every day of Eunseok’s life. Rinse and repeat, like you do when you shower.
He should be doing more, probably. Eunseok is entering his late twenties, after all. Chanyoung is already twenty two and is nearly halfway through his first four years of college. Eunseok is stuck in a revolving day-in and day-out routine at a slowly dissolving game shop.
The phone rings in the dead of night again.
Eunseok scrambles up in his bed, My Number blasting into the quiet air of his room. He quickly grabs his phone from his nightstand and swipes right to answer, his eyes barely even open.
“‘Llo?” Eunseok mumbles, rubbing at his eyes with his free palm. “Ch’nyoung?”
“Hyung.” Chanyoung’s voice is barely above a whisper, just barely audible. Eunseok wonders if he’s just making it all up. “Eunseok-hyung…”
No.
No one else can say his name like that. No one but Chanyoung.
“Chanyoung,” Eunseok mumbles again, sitting himself up on his bed. His head is a little dizzy. He doesn’t even know what time it is right now. “Hey… what’s wrong?”
Quiet follows, before Chanyoung sniffs quietly. He whimpers quietly into the phone. He’s crying again, and Eunseok vaguely wonders if he’s drunk again. If he is—well, Eunseok doesn’t know how to feel about that. He never expected Chanyoung to be one of those people who go out and get drunk constantly while in college, but… Well, people change. And Eunseok hasn’t seen Chanyoung for two years now.
It’s only inevitable that his best friend would change, right under Eunseok’s nose.
Eunseok can’t stop his mouth from blurting out, “Are you drunk dialing me again?”
Chanyoung lets out soft, yet choked up laughter. He snorts quietly, laughter ringing through Eunseok’s ears, before he hears Chanyoung sniffling again. “No, hyung, I’m… I’m not drunk right now.”
“It’s late,” Eunseok murmurs, shifting around in his bed. He glances at his door, though it’s shut tightly, before he settles, leaning back against the wall with his legs laid out in front of him, feet dangling over the edge of his bed.
Another small bout of silence. Then, “I know. I—I’m sorry, I just…”
“Why are you crying?” Eunseok isn’t sure if he wants to know or not, but he has to ask. For his own selfish purposes, too.
“I’m sorry,” Chanyoung says again, a small hiccup in his voice. “I never came. For any of my breaks.”
“It’s okay.” It’s not, but Eunseok has no right to say that. He’s never really had any rights over Chanyoung to begin with. “University is a bit rough, isn’t it?”
Chanyoung makes a soft noise, but whether in agreement or not, Eunseok can’t tell. “And flying costs a lot. Since I don’t have a car, either.” That’s right. Chanyoung has his license, but no car. His parents could only ever afford the one, and Chanyoung had never asked for one. Eunseok hadn’t really thought about how expensive it would be to fly out in such short periods of time. He feels a little stupid for having not thought about it before this. “My parents thought it would just be better for me to focus for my first two years… we saved up so I can come visit sometime this year instead.”
Eunseok’s not sure what to say. If he should say something. So he doesn’t say a thing. He nods to himself, even if Chanyoung can’t see it. The silence is on his end this time, because he can’t seem to figure out what to say. His thoughts are too muddled, too singed by Eunseok’s depressed attitude that he doesn’t quite know where to go from here.
In a way, he’s tired. But maybe Eunseok has always been tired. Stuck here while Chanyoung gets to experience a life that Eunseok should have tried reaching for himself. He’d made his decision, though, ripping up and burning the acceptance letters he’d gotten from colleges. It’s a regret Eunseok will always carry with him, but there’s nothing he can do now except try to push forward. He’s tired and he misses Chanyoung.
God, does he miss Chanyoung.
“I miss you, hyung.” Chanyoung says the words that are on the tip of his tongue, forcing Eunseok to come face-to-face with all the emotions he’s been avoiding.
Something cracks inside of Eunseok’s chest. He doesn’t know if it’s his heart or not.
“I miss you, too, Chanyoung.” Eunseok can’t stop the words from spilling out of him. There are more on the tip of his tongue, threatening to slip—but Eunseok manages to rein them in, stopping himself from saying something entirely embarrassing.
He realized it nearly half a year ago. Sometime after Chanyoung had called him drunk, when his friend Shotaro said he would take care of Chanyoung for him. There had been a dark simmering in Eunseok’s gut, and for the longest time, he hadn’t understood what it meant—until he did. All this aching and intense anger. Eunseok knew there could only be one explanation for it, even though he’d been pretty sure that he’d already known for a while now:
He’s in love with Chanyoung.
Maybe he always has been. Maybe it’s taken him until right now to fully realize it.
Eunseok’s mouth hangs open with unsaid words, unable to make himself say them. He should. He should —but he can’t. Chanyoung is on the other side of the country from him, living his own life and attempting to get through college, stressing and feeling bad about not having been able to come home to visit for two years. Eunseok can’t put that on Chanyoung’s conscience right now—it’d make him such a shitty friend if he were to do so.
Instead, the only words that manage to slip from him are, “It’s not the same without you, Chanyoung.”
Chanyoung sniffs on the other line, letting out a wet laugh. It nearly breaks Eunseok’s heart, hearing that type of laughter. He misses Chanyoung’s bright laughter, the kind that makes his nose scrunch and his eyes turn into crescents and creates crow’s feet in the corners of them at the same time. He misses seeing him smile in real time, and not just in pictures or videos or face-timing. There’s this endless, deep aching in Eunseok’s chest that he doesn’t think he’ll ever get rid of until he can set his eyes on Chanyoung’s face right in front of him once more.
“I miss you so much, Eunseok-hyung,” Hearing Chanyoung say his name makes him shudder. He grips his other hand into a fist, pressing it against his knee, biting his lip roughly. “I wish you were here with me…”
Me too.
Eunseok is too much of a coward to say it. Two simple words that could give Chanyoung so much hope—yet Eunseok doesn’t let himself dream that far. He shouldn’t try to chain Chanyoung down, not again. He needs to let Chanyoung make his own decisions again.
He presses the back of his hand between his eyes, face scrunching up as he does. He can feel the tears threatening to leave, but he can’t let himself cry. Not now, not when it’s Chanyoung who needs him. Eunseok has to be strong.
(He’s getting tired of being strong.)
It’s winter break, and Chanyoung is home.
It had been a surprise to everyone but Chanyoung’s family. Tears were shed and people even cheered upon the young man’s arrival back to their hometown—so many familiar faces gathered around Chanyoung’s home to give him a warm welcome, creating a welcome party of the like’s that people could only imagine having. People probably would have thought a celebrity was visiting their quaint little town with the way people were acting upon Chanyoung popping up, and in a way, Chanyoung is a celebrity (making Eunseok one by default).
Eunseok is happy beyond words, and maybe that’s why he’s acting such a fool. He’s barely spoken more than five sentences to Chanyoung, probably a total of thirty words or something, since he’s been home. Eunseok just can’t stop watching him. He’s changed so much, yet he still remains the same twenty-year-old Chanyoung that Eunseok had sent off to the airport two years ago.
His hair is red now. Eunseok can’t stop staring at it. It’s not a bright stoplight red; it’s a warm, dark red that reminds Eunseok of burgundy, if only a little darker. His skin looks a bit tanner than before, or it could Eunseok’s imagination. His gaze roams over all of Chanyoung’s features, trying to commit them to memory, comparing him to the Chanyoung of Eunseok’s memories. It’s strange, seeing Chanyoung in person, even though it’s what Eunseok has wished for during the last year and a half. It’s different than it used to be because of Eunseok’s feelings.
Eunseok almost feels guilty. There’s an ugly feeling coiling in his gut, but he manages to make it through Chanyoung’s welcome home dinner without incident. As soon as it’s over, Eunseok heads up to the roof of Chanyoung’s house. It’s a repeat of the night Eunseok rejected Chanyoung’s attempt to get him to go to college with him, only this time, Eunseok is the one on the roof first. His lips still tingle from Mrs. Lee’s kimchi bulgogi, his tongue feeling numb from all the unspoken words he’s been keeping inside of him.
It doesn’t take long for Chanyoung to find him and join him. He struggles getting out of the window, the various grunts and quiet yelps of worry making Eunseok’s chest feel lighter than it has all evening. Soon, Chanyoung’s weight settles onto the roof tiles next to Eunseok, and he can feel the warmth coming off of him. Eunseok can see their breaths in the air in front of them, snow slowly falling down around them. It’s cold outside, but Eunseok has never felt more warm.
“Chanyoung-ah.” Eunseok is the first one to speak up between them, a change of pace that even startles Chanyoung next to him. Especially because Eunseok rarely uses the honourific with him these days. His confidence is fleeting, and Eunseok is certain that if he doesn’t speak now, he’s never going to be able to bring it up again.
Turning his head and peering up, Eunseok’s gaze meets Chanyoung’s, and the words fall out rather unceremoniously. “I love you.”
It takes a minute for Chanyonug to process them, eyes slowly widening, until they’re as big as saucers. Eunseok’s body is suddenly jerked in place as Chanyoung reaches out to him, gripping onto the front of his sweater tightly, yanking Eunseok towards him.
“You—” Chanyoung’s voice cracks, like it did when he first hit puberty, and Eunseok’s heart skips a beat. “You love me?”
Eunseok wants to nod, but he can’t seem to move his body. He manages to swallow, overcoming the lump forming inside of his throat, and says again, “I love you, Chanyoung-ah.”
There are already tears dropping from Chanyoung’s eyes when they kiss. It’s rougher than Eunseok is expecting, but Chanyoung’s lips are a good enough distraction for him to not give a fuck. His lips are warm, pressing incessantly into Eunseok’s, like he’s attempting to merge them both into one. It’s no picture perfect first kiss, but it’s perfect enough for Eunseok. He reaches a hand up to Chanyoung’s, squeezing at it gently until the other’s grip is slowly loosening.
Chanyoung pulls away for only a second, before kissing Eunseok again, softer this time. Eunseok kisses back, lacing their fingers together and squeezing Chanyoung’s hand once more. Chanyoung snuffles as he pulls back completely, bumping their foreheads together. Their heavy breathing makes little clouds in the winter air between them.
“I’ve wanted to do that since I was ten,” Chanyoung mumbles, eyes shifting away shyly.
Eunseok blinks—not necessarily taken aback, but not exactly expecting that kind of confession, either. “What, kiss me?”
Chanyoung nods, just as shy. He chews on his lower lip for a moment. “Yeah. I think… when I was that young, I wasn’t quite sure if I understood what sexuality was or anything, but I remember, whenever I saw my mom and dad kiss, I’d think to myself, ‘Wow, I want to do that with Eunseok-hyung’.”
Eunseok’s mouth twitches with laughter, but he doesn’t let it out. He huffs out softly instead, earning him a slightly rough bump in the shoulder from Chanyoung. He’s pouting at Eunseok now, full lips pursed too cutely for Eunseok.
“It’s not that funny, hyung! I was just a kid.” Chanyoung shakes his head a little, before he looks down at their tangled hands. “I was just a kid, but… I really liked you. Ever since then. I’ve liked you for such a long time, Eunseok-hyung.”
Eunseok lets himself breathe properly, trying to settle the rapid beating of his heart. It only seems to make it worse, really, but Eunseok doesn’t mind. For once, in the past two years since Chanyoung’s absence, he feels nothing but a good kind of pain inside his chest. “I think I have, too. I was just… too stubborn and maybe emotionally stupid to put two-and-two together.”
Shaking his own head a bit, Eunseok closes his eyes and presses their foreheads together again. Their noses touch from how close they are, and Eunseok can’t keep himself from leaning further in and kissing Chanyoung once more. Slow and chaste, simply wanting to feel Chanyoung’s lips against his own.
“I’m sorry it took me so much longer to realize my feelings, Chanyoung. I made you wait for so long.”
Chanyoung smiles into the kiss, barely shaking his head. “It’s okay. Don’t be sorry, hyung. Just… just keep kissing me. Please?”
And who is Eunseok to refuse him?
They spend the rest of Chanyoung’s break glued to each other’s sides, even more so than before Chanyoung left. They hold hands everywhere, much to the dismay of Chanyoung’s younger siblings, and Dongmin constantly makes faces at them whenever he’s with them together.
By now, everyone seems to understand what’s happened between them. Eunseok and Chanyoung are dating. There are a lot of reactions to the news of their relationship, with the biggest one coming from Chanyoung’s father.
“Finally,” he had sighed when Chanyoung told his family the very next day, gripping onto Eunseok’s hand for dear life. “I was about to tell your mother that I was going to get involved if it didn’t happen sooner or later.” Chanyoung had sputtered, red from practically head-to-toe, and Eunseok had never felt more respect for Chanyoung’s father than he had in that very moment.
It’s easy to lose track of time with Chanyoung by his side. His ever so monotonous days turned into days full of vibrant colours, full of Chanyoung’s smiles and laughs and kisses. Eunseok can’t name a time when he’s been as happy as he is now, except maybe when the two of them were tiny boys finally being allowed to go out places to play together. There’s a sense of nostalgia Eunseok gets as they visit all of their old favourite spots together—from the library, to the old laundromat, to the park near their houses. Even to their old schools.
The days pass by as slowly as they do quickly. Chanyoung kisses him whenever he wants. Eunseok is allowed to do the same. A few days are spent holed up in Eunseok’s room, making out to make up for lost time. It’s like a fantasy from Eunseok’s dreams has come true, and he’s almost terrified that one day he’s going to open his eyes to the darkness of his room at night and everything is going to be gone. Chanyoung is going to be gone—again.
But it never happens. Though Eunseok knows that Chanyoung will have to leave at the end of his break, Eunseok knows that he won’t be gone like his brain is trying to convince him of.
Chanyoung leaves in three days. Eunseok doesn’t want this blissful time to stop, but college starts up again, and Chanyoung can’t risk staying later, lest he forfeit missing a few classes because of exhaustion or the possibility of going back late. He forces himself to be okay with it, as much as he can, but Chanyoung has another idea.
“Eunseok-hyung,” Chanyoung says, slow and careful. They’re in Eunseok’s room, lying side-by-side on his bed, even though they’re much too big for it now. They can lay tangled up together without any worry. “Move back with me.”
Eunseok blinks, too stunned to react at first. Chanyoung is patient, though, waiting until Eunseok is able to fully process his words before he speaks again. “Move in with me. To New Jersey.”
“Chanyoung…” Eunseok’s mouth twists up, trying to think of just how to respond, before he swallows down his initial rejection. “I don’t—I’m not—”
“I live in an apartment,” Chanyoung tilts his head back, peering up into Eunseok’s shaky gaze. His hand rests on Eunseok’s hip, searing warmth settling some of his nerves. “There’s enough room, and—and since we’re dating, we can just share a room. It’s nothing fancy, and rent isn’t the cheapest but I’ve been able to handle it so far, and I know you said you didn’t want to go to college but I just thought—” He’s rambling, words nervous, and Eunseok can see the panic slowly rising in him.
“Chanyoung.” Eunseok murmurs, firm and warm. It gets Chanyoung to shut up, snapping his mouth shut as he watches Eunseok work through his thoughts.
“I… I want to.” Eunseok says, truthful and a bit strained. After all, asking for what he wants has always been Eunseok’s Achilles heel. “I want to, but—but I can’t just abandon my family.”
Chanyoung starts to deflate, disappointment already swirling in his eyes. Before he can become depressed, though, Eunseok’s lips quirk up into a small smile.
“Let me… let me talk to my parents tomorrow.” Chanyoung’s eyes shoot up to his forehead, surprise overtaking his expression. Eunseok can’t stop himself from laughing. “Why do you look like that? You shouldn’t be so surprised. I’ve… I’m pretty sure I’ve wanted this since you left, but for some reason, I couldn’t let myself accept the fact that I deserve everything you’re experiencing, too.
“I thought that my time had come and gone. That I couldn’t leave just because Dongmin was so young, because I thought my parents weren’t going to be able to raise him without me here. I thought… I thought that I was doomed to stay stuck here for the rest of my life, and that you were the one between us who deserved to go out there and experience life to the fullest.”
Eunseok reaches a hand up and pushes some of Chanyoung’s hair behind his ear. He smiles, a little fragile and insecure, but he knows that Chanyoung isn’t going to judge him for any of this. “I want to go, Chanyoung. Just give me a little more time to get it figured out.”
“Eunseok-hyung!” Chanyoung calls from their bedroom, voice ringing clearly into the kitchenette.
Eunseok is busy attempting to make them a small breakfast to go, because he doesn’t feel like stopping anywhere on their way to meet his friends. “What, Chanyoung-ah?”
There’s some shuffling noises as Chanyoung doesn’t immediately answer. Eunseok doesn’t pay it much attention as he focuses on the eggs he’s scrambling. He’s startled by arms suddenly wrapping around his midsection, jumping slightly, before turning to playfully glare at Chanyoung over his shoulder.
“I could have flung hot eggs everywhere, idiot.”
Chanyoung only smiles, feigning innocence, before leaning down to peck Eunseok’s lips. “Sorry. Anyways, Sungchan-hyung says we have five minutes to meet them at the cafeteria before he comes hunting us down.”
Eunseok snorts. He’s been living with Chanyoung for three months now, after having figured out everything with his college re-application and making sure he had enough funds to afford loading all of his stuff up into a U-Haul and driving cross-country to New Jersey to live with Chanyoung on campus. It had been hard, especially because Eunseok’s acceptance letter hadn’t come within the first month, but for once, Eunseok hadn’t let himself be discouraged by it all. Instead, he had remained positive, and thanks to that, he’s landed himself here with Chanyoung. With his boyfriend.
He hasn’t really left the apartment in these three months, either, and Chanyoung hasn’t let his friends over. Eunseok had requested that upon first moving out here, because he wasn’t sure how well he’d acclimate to the sudden change in lifestyles and scenery. Eunseok had been right, of course; the change of it all had been rough, causing a small bout of insomnia for him for the first month and a half of being here, but having Chanyoung there for him has made all the difference in the way Eunseok processes changes and his own thoughts and feelings.
Eunseok is living with his boyfriend, has been accepted to start college at the start of the next year, he’s got a new job lined up at the on-campus library, and he’s about to meet Chanyoung’s college friends. He doesn’t spend his days stuck in his own head as much as he used to. His parents text him sporadically throughout the days, and so does Dongmin, and there’s a unique sense of homesickness that Eunseok feels whenever he sees their names and contact photos, but the intense want to stay where he is overrides that homesickness completely.
The breakfast burrito Eunseok made is kind of bland, but it’s warm and fills their bellies as they walk to the campus’s cafeteria. Eunseok can feels eyes on him—on them—strangers who don’t know who he is, and who probably know who Chanyoung is, and there’s a strange, weird feeling in his gut that people only know Chanyoung and not him, when they’re supposed to be known together.
These codependency and attachment issues will probably be the death of him. Eunseok will try to work it out in therapy or something.
“Whoa, he’s actually real!” are the first words Eunseok hears from Chanyoung’s friend group. It comes from a guy about as tall as him, black pointed gauge earrings in his ears, big eyes staring at Eunseok like he’s just witnessed a ghost appearing before him. “I thought you were joking, Antonie!”
Chanyoung rolls his eyes, a smile gracing his lips, and Eunseok feels a little off kilter. On instinct, he presses himself up closer to Chanyoung’s side—so similar to how Chanyoung used to be with him, when they were younger—before Chanyoung is squeezing his hand and letting go of it, sliding his hand up along Eunseok’s back. His arm goes around Eunseok’s shoulders, pulling him close, and Eunseok feels his anxiety slowly starting to settle.
“Of course he’s real, Seunghan-hyung,” Chanyoung mumbles, pretending to be offended. “Did you guys think I’ve been lying about a boyfriend for nearly five months now?”
“Sungchan-hyung started a bet on it,” Another guy, blonde and short, pipes up, pointing towards this so-called ‘Sungchan’ across the table.
He’s got golden brown hair and a look of disbelief written all over his face. “I can’t believe you’d out me like that, Sohee-yah!”
Sohee cackles, leaning himself into Seunghan’s space. Between Sohee and Sungchan are two more guys, another blonde whose hair is long enough to just about reach his shoulders, and the other has hair that’s silver. Eunseok suddenly feels the need to reach up and touch his own hair; it’s been black since the day he was born, and he’s never tried dyeing it.
Maybe I should go blonde.
Chanyoung clears his throat, drawing their attention back to the two of them, before he puts on a somewhat shy smile. “Okay, well. Guys, this is—this is Eunseok. My childhood friend, the one I called that time? And now, well, he’s my boyfriend now, so—”
Eunseok bows his head in greeting to them, lips pulling up in an awkward smile. He’s never been the best with groups of people, and it had been worse when the two of them were kids. Now Chanyoung is the more extroverted one of the two of them, and Eunseok is left to play catch up with gaining friends. “Nice to meet you guys.”
They introduce themselves in order: Seunghan, fashion major and music production minor. Sohee, computer science major. Wonbin, dance major and literature minor. Shotaro, dance major. And Sungchan, photography and literature majors.
They’re an interesting group. All of them are older than Chanyoung, but only by a couple of years. Shotaro is the oldest amongst them, with Eunseok right between him and Sungchan. He’s weird, how easily Eunseok seems to blend in with all of them. They treat Eunseok as if he’s been there the entire time, like they’ve known him as long as they’ve known Chanyoung.
While Chanyoung is busy fussing about something with Sohee and Sungchan, Wonbin watching them when an amused expression, Eunseok finds himself shifting closer to Shotaro.
“Thank you, by the way.” He tells him, making Shotaro raise an eyebrow.
“For what?” Shotaro returns.
“For taking care of Chanyoung before.” Eunseok says, nodding towards his boyfriend. He watches him for a brief moment, before turning his gaze back to Shotaro. “When he drunk dialed me.”
“Oh, that.” Shotaro laughs softly and waves a hand in front of himself. “You don’t have to thank me for that. But I’ll say you’re welcome, anyway. He’s our friend—I wasn’t going to let him get into trouble during his first ever college party.”
Eunseok smiles, going to reply, but Shotaro stops him before he’s able to. “Oh, and be prepared to be dragged to a ‘welcome party’ when you officially start up next year. Sungchan-ah has already planned your doom out.”
“I heard that!” Sungchan says, pointing a finger at Shotaro accusingly. “Stop telling him my plans!”
Shotaro smiles crookedly, snickering at Sungchan’s misfortune, and Eunseok finds himself laughing along.
Chanyoung’s hand finds its way to Eunseok’s at some point, the two of them finally having gravitated back to each other’s sides after a bit. Eunseok is far from his home, but he’s never felt more at home than he does right here, surrounded by Chanyoung and the people so willing to be his friends. It’s easy to forget that he’s essentially starting anew, that no one here is aware of who he is aside from being a new student. Eunseok doesn’t find it as scary as he thought he would.
Being able to kiss Chanyoung whenever he wants is a big help, too.